PROGRAM NOTES
Béla Bartók (1881-1945)
SELECTIONS FROM FOR CHILDREN, ARR. LEO WEINER
& TRADITIONAL LULLABIES, ARR. ALEX FORTES
The cataloguing and studying of folk traditions had gained attention through the work of Johann Gottfried von Herder in the 18th century. Béla Bartók had his own discovery of regional tunes and their unique patterns of tones and rhythms in 1904, after hearing a Transylvanian woman named Lidi Dósa singing. It fundamentally shifted his creative process, freeing him, as he said, “from the tyrannical rule of major and minor keys,” and giving him an alternate path to modernism outside of the atonality of Arnold Schoenberg and his followers. Additionally, one of the greatest contributions Bartók made to posterity was the magnitude of field recordings of traditional Eastern European folk music he collected over the course of his lifetime.
Besides his work as a composer and cataloguer, Bartók was a remarkable pianist and educator. It was his experience as a teacher that inspired him to write music for beginners: For Children, written between 1908-11, and Mikrokosmos, from 1932-39. After relocating permanently to the United States in 1940 to escape the ravages of the Second World War in Europe, Bartók reissued his music in American editions. Remarking on For Children around that time, he reflected:
“Already at the very beginning of my career as a composer I had the idea of writing some easy works for piano students. This idea originated in my experience as a piano teacher; I had always the feeling that the available material, especially for beginners, has no real musical value, with the exception of very few works—for instance, Bach’s easiest pieces and Schumann’s Jugendalbum. I thought these works to be insufficient, and so, more than thirty years ago, I myself tried to write some easy piano pieces. At that time the best thing to do would be to use folk tunes. Folk melodies, in general, have great musical value.” So great was their musical value that Bartók would sometimes perform selections from For Children in his concert programs, including a radio broadcast in 1945, one of his final public appearances.
Interspersed with For Children on this program are three lullabies, which are an essential sub-type of folk tune. Melodies are passed down from generation to generation by heart, becoming both part of a large collective memory and a very personal remembrance. It is these memories in musical form that bind us together as humans across time and culture.
A prime illustration of this cross-cultural occurrence is Arrorró mi niño (Hush, my child). Alex Fortes, who arranged this tune, notes:
“As I was thinking of lullabies that had been sung to me as a kid, I remembered one that started with the words "Arrurrú" or "Arrorró," as did my sister, but neither of us could remember the exact tune or the exact words -- it was a very blurry memory. I did research trying to figure out what song this could possibly be, and I found many different variations on this tune, most of which were extremely familiar. I think many of these versions were sung to me by my family from Mexico, Colombia, Spain and the Canary Islands, as well as close family friends from El Salvador, Venezuela, Argentina and other parts of Latin America. I found an article by a musical historian theorizing that "Arrorró" originated among North African Berbers (it may be closely related to a Tamazight word for little kid), became popular in Spain and the Canary Islands a thousand years ago, when the Islamic Caliphate ruled North Africa and most of the Iberian peninsula, and then found its way to Spanish colonies across the Americas, where each continued to evolve with local melodies and lyrics. My arrangement tries to get many of these cousin lullabies talking to each other in a mini-quodlibet.”
Emily and Jesse Irons note of their family’s uniquely personalized lullaby, “My Darling Isabelle is a classic please-go-to-sleep lullaby, one of dozens improvised in the first year of our daughter’s life. We didn’t initially understand when Isabelle started requesting that we ‘sing Isabelle,’ but once we figured it out we knew we had a keeper.”
Finally, Nen nen korori (hush/sleep baby) is also known as the Edo Lullaby, the former name of modern-day Tokyo. Given its nickname, the written version of the song likely came from the Edo period (17th – 19th centuries). This third and final lullaby was programmed at the suggestion of A Far Cry violinist Megumi Stohs Lewis, who describes her personal connection to the song:
“My great-grandmother in Japan, Bahchan, sang Nen Nen Korori to my mom when she would spend the summers at Bahchan’s house in a small village in the mountains. My mother sang it to me, and I sing it to my daughter and son now. I loved feeling my mom’s hand smoothing my hair back while she sang it, and hearing it always brings a sense of comfort and safety for me.”
Franghiz Ali-Zadeh (b. 1947)
SHYSHTAR: METAMORPHOSES FOR STRING ORCHESTRA
Franghiz Ali-Zadeh began studying from a young age in her native Azerbaijan and started composing as early as age 8. She eventually enrolled in the State Conservatory and studied with Kara Karayev, one of the foremost musicians of Azerbaijan during its Soviet era, and a former composition student of Dmitri Shostakovich at the Moscow Conservatory.
As a pianist, she notably promoted works of contemporary composers like John Cage, George Crumb, Oliver Messiaen, Arnold Schoenberg and his students, Alban Berg, and Anton Webern, by giving some of the first performances of their music in Azerbaijan. As a composer, Ali-Zadeh’s references span everything from her upbringing with the standard repertoire of Bach and Mahler, to her love of modernism and the revered musical tradition of her homeland, called Mugham. A deeply passionate and intricate artform, Mugham encompasses both the modal tonalities and melodic phrase structures used as the foundation for improvisation, and is culturally esteemed as a combination of poetry, philosophy, and meditation. It was named as one of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity traditions by UNESCO in 2003. For Ali-Zadeh, drawing on all these influences, and using elements of each in a variety of ways, allows her to revel in the joy of what she calls a “rich musical continuum” between East and West.
Shyshtar: Metamorphoses opens with a burst of energy propelled by neoteric dissonance, then shifts to unfold an expanse of lyrical introspection that seems almost improvisatory in its unhurried ease. As the work progresses, it shape-shifts between these two moods before suddenly collapsing in a hush at the end that swells to a definitive, and dramatic, closing.
Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904)
SERENADE FOR STRINGS IN E MAJOR, OP. 22
The young Antonín Dvořák spent the earlier portion of his career as a professional violist, gigging in dance bands and eventually sitting principle in the orchestra at the Provisional Theatre in Prague under the baton of Bedřich Smetana (and filling in where needed elsewhere, including under the direction of Richard Wagner). In addition, he was teaching piano lessons and pursuing a growing interest: composing. He was approaching his thirties when his ambitions to write music became increasingly serious, producing multiple string quartets, his first two symphonies, song cycles, and more. By 1871 he began to talk about his compositions publicly for the first time, and shortly after his works were being performed in public.
There were a few setbacks along the way toward this goal, including losing the opportunity to meet and study with Franz Liszt, but eventually things began to come together. Starting in 1874 Dvořák began applying for grants through the Austrian State Stipendium and was awarded financial aid four different years. The money was welcome, but it would be a personnel substitution that changed everything. In 1875, Johannes Brahms, who was in the prime of his career, stepped in to replace one of the jurors. Two years later when Dvořák submitted his application that included the Serenade for Strings in E major, the Theme with Variations for piano, and Moravské dvojzpěvy (‘Moravian Duets’), Brahms was sufficiently impressed to write to his publisher, Fritz Simrock saying, “As for the state stipendium, for several years I have enjoyed works sent in by Antonín Dvořák (pronounced Dvorschak) of Prague...Dvořák has written all manner of things: operas (Czech), symphonies, quartets, piano pieces. In any case, he is a very talented man. Moreover, he is poor! I ask you to think about it!” Brahms also wrote to his friend, the famous violinist Joseph Joachim, further commending that “It would be difficult to discover a finer, more refreshing impression of really abundant and charming creative talent.”
The rest, as they say, is history. It was a singular time for Dvořák: he was recently married, a new father, and being promoted by one of the greatest composers. With these auspicious stamps of approval, he rapidly gained an audience for his music and became a rising star who would eventually be amongst the most respected composers in history. It is no wonder that the Serenade for Strings, with its luminous lyricism, abundant beauty, and jaunty charm, would help launch his international career, and continue to be one of the most beloved works in the string ensemble repertoire nearly one hundred fifty years later.
Karl Doty (b. 1985)
CASTLES
Castles was written during a trip to my parents' house in MN after the birth of our first son, Pekka. During the trip, I was struck by feelings of experiencing old familiar things but within a new context. I was wanting to write a tune during the trip but it wasn't until a snowstorm hit on our last day that I found myself outside shoveling the driveway and running back inside time after time to write down melodic fragments which would later become the main melody. Originally written for violin and bass and played by myself and my wife Liesl, this brand-new version for A Far Cry carries on the spirit of experiencing familiar things within a new context. I hope that you enjoy!
Note by Karl Doty
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
STRING QUARTET NO. 16 IN F MAJOR, OP. 135,
III. Lento assai e cantante tranquillo, arr. A Far Cry
Last works of composers are often met with a sense of wonder and reverence mixed with curiosity. It is as if they are whispering to us from their death beds. We lean in, desperately wanting to know what it is they mean to say. In the case of Beethoven’s Op. 135—his final work—he “speaks” directly to us. The communication is through the subtitle of the last movement, Der schwer gefasste Entschluss (“The difficult decision”) and two brief sentences written in the score that he emphasized musically using syllabic rhythm, Muss es sein? Es muss sein! (Must it be? It must be!). Explanations for this puzzle span the comic (a friend who owed him money) to the poignant (Beethoven knew this would be the last quartet of his life).
Whatever the reason for the inscription, the Op. 135 quartet does seem to be tinged with an air of reminiscence. It has been described as “a brilliant study in Classical nostalgia.” In other words, at the end, Beethoven was thinking back to his beginning. Indeed, by the standards of the adventurous musical terrain covered by Beethoven’s other last quartets and piano sonatas, the Op. 135 seems almost conservative, though still punctuated with unmistakably defiant Beethovenian gestures (and the seemingly ever-present suggestion of a fugue that crops up again and again in the late works). The exquisite centerpiece is the third movement, with the expressive marking Lento assai e cantante tranquillo (very slow and singing peacefully), and an essence halfway between a lullaby and a hymn.
Ludwig, the son of a drunkard father who physically abused him in alcoholic rages and tormented him with ambitious expectations to become the next Mozart-like wunderkind, had to confront the question “Must it be?” many times throughout his life. Amidst the triumphs of his success and fame, there was ample personal tragedy and perpetually dysfunctional and/or crumbling relationships. Then there was the heartbreaking hearing loss that threatened to catastrophically derail his life’s passion. But it didn’t. Each time, he responded to life’s questions through his music, and answered, as he does in his last work, “It must be!” and carried on.
Kathryn J Allwine Bacasmot is a pianist/harpsichordist, musicologist, music and cultural critic, and freelance writer. A graduate of New England Conservatory, she writes program annotations for ensembles nationwide.
