Samuel Barber (1910-1981) – Adagio for Strings op. 11

If one hears the name of Samuel Barber, the word Adagio is immediately added. There are not many works in the classical repertoire that can compete with the glamorous role in history of this piece, having served as music in numerous movies and as a last musical farewell on various presidential and royal funerals. Originally the middle movement of Barber's String Quartet Op. 11, he arranged it for string orchestra, when Arturo Toscanini asked him to write a piece for large orchestra, sending it along his Essay for Orchestra No. 1. It is composed in an monothematic arch form, where the melody is build up by fragments of scales, slowly crawling to a climax where all the instruments reach a high point of fortississimo. Then the opening melody is heard, three times more, every time shortened and slower, until completely fading away.

After finishing his studies at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia Samuel Barber became a fellow of the American Academy in Rome in 1935. It was here that he wrote his famous String Quartet Op. 11. Besides composing, singing had always been a great passion. He even thought of starting a baritone career, but decided to stay loyal to writing music. Growing up in a talented generation of American composers, he always searched for a neo-romantic sound. Where others, like Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein, Marc Blitzstein and David Diamond, defined American music and experimented with the different styles, Barber's works remained very tonal. Although he is mostly known for his previously mentioned work, many of his vocal works (accompanied by piano or orchestra), several orchestral essays, his violinconcerto and the opera Vanessa, for which he received a Pulizer Prize, have acclaimed their role in today's musical life around the world.

Aaron Copland (1900-1990) – Two Pieces for String Orchestra

As papa Haydn and père Franck in their times, Aaron Copland can be seen as the father of a great and industrious generation. He was born and brought up in Brooklyn in a family of Jewish-Lithuanian immigrants, where Copland starting composing at the age of 15. Having studied in Paris with Nadia Boulanger, he developed upon return a strong national language, using native songs and jazz, inspiring and influencing numerous composers, such as Barber, Bernstein, Blitzstein and Schuman. Alongside many ballets, overtures and three symphonies, he composed various works centred around a string orchestra, as we can see in his Concerto for Clarinet, Quiet City and these Two Pieces, which were originally written as a string quartet.

The development of twentieth century music cannot be seen apart from great historical events. As the Great War lead to a deepening of Dodecaphony and the Second Wold War triggered Serialism, American music in the ’30 was largely influenced by the Depression. In a time that society fell apart, American composers found inspiration in simple folk or cowboy tunes, resulting in some of Copland’s most popular works, El Salón México, Billy the Kid and Fanfare for the Common Man. Written five years apart, Two Pieces (1923 and ’28) is a work that finds its inspiration in simple motives and strong, dance-like rhythms. The first movement, a Tranquillo legato, is solely build upon a static but majestic four note theme, reaching slowly to a climax and then returning to a disappearing, murmuring end. Even though the second movement, a Allegro moderato, is written in a 4/4 bar, it is structured as a 3+5/8 bar, resulting in lively offbeat melodies, constantly provoking and confusing the listener. More complex as the former, the latter movement is an ABA form, using in the middle section the first theme as a dance like accompaniment for a simple, folk like hymn, appearing in every group. The opening and closing section are based on a frolicsome jumping melody, constantly changing character and appearing in each voice as a main theme or just as repeated fragments, waiting to erupt.

Carl Nielsen (1865-1931) – Suite for String Orchestra, Op. 1

Often referred to as Little Suite, a name Nielsen never used, the Suite for String Orchestra was written while attending the Royal Conservatoire in Copenhagen, where he studied harmony, counterpoint and fugue with Orla Rosenhoff. It was first performed in the Tivoli Concert Hall in 1888, where a year before the orchestra had already played his previously written Andante tranquillo e Scherzo. Received well by the Copenhagen public it acclaimed its place in the standard repertoire until today.

The first movement is the illustration of a young composer, making his first steps into the music world. Slowly, starting with soft and low strings, harmonies make their way, giving room to a long and legato melody played by the cellos. After the first violins have made their entrance a even more quiet passage starts. The melody stops, while the accompaniment continues, as if thinking what statements it made before. The character of this movement is dark, A minor, and every time the music tries to go to a major key, it is drawn back, becoming even more sinister and obscure. The second movement is completely the opposite. A light intermezzo in the form of a waltz introduces us into a world of sudden dynamic changes and twirling melodies. Although it is again a minor key in which it is written, D minor, you constantly feel the power driving you to a joyous ending; that it ends in a major key is therefore no longer surprising. The last movement starts again with the gloomy character of the first movement. It reminds us of the second theme of the first movement, leading to an explosion of happiness and energy, which characterizes the rest of the piece.

William Schuman (1910-1992) – Symphony No. 5 in Three Movements

It wasn't until his first experience with a symphonic concert that business student William Schuman decided to become a professional musician. Having spent his youth with playing the violin, writing jazz songs and above all his greatest passion, baseball, he turned relatively late to composing, studying with Roy Harris – among others. Already as a young man he was appointed at several music institutes, a position which he would combine throughout his entire life, with composing. Considering his engagement as director at publisher Schirmer and later the presidency of The Julliard School, his list of compositions is remarkable. Besides chamber music, his oeuvre includes many choral and symphonic works, including ten symphonies, making him one of America's most respected composers.

The Sympony No. 5 consists of three movements, starting with a frantic Molgo agitato ed energico. A twelve-bar melody is repeated twice by the violins and once by the lower strings, leading straight up to the second subject. Already in the first few bars, we see Schuman's sense of rhythm, which dominates the two outer movements, where small imitating motives lead up to great homophonic gestures. In the second movement the listener finally gets a chance to breath. Introduced by full, warm cords a tender melody appears in the first violins, accompanied by pizzicati in the double bass. Repeated by the second violins, and later on the violas, it grows to a climax, played by both the first violins and the celli. Accompanied by the middle strings it erupts in four great strokes of sound. We hear once more the introduction, modified, ending peacefully, in a pianississimo religioso. The final movement is a festive collective of shifting rhythmical motives which seem too timid to surpass the piano dynamic for a long time, but when it does, it erupts in a monumental rise to the initial theme of the last movement, making room for a short but powerful coda.

Josef Suk (1874-1935) – Serenade for Strings, Op. 6

How does an eighteen-year-old express his feelings of love, especially when the beloved one is his teacher’s daughter? It was in 1892 that Suk met Dvořák’s 14-year-old daughter Otylka, and the two teenagers felt the beginnings of an attraction which six years later led to marriage. As many sources suggest, it is most probable that his Serenade was dedicated to her.

As Dvořák’s young and most famous student, Suk was strongly influenced by his master’s Serenade, written seventeen years before. The way the sweet melody of the first movement slowly reaches it’s climax and how it’s not a sonata form, but a song-like ABA, reminds us strongly of his teacher’s composition. The second movement is a waltz with a grazioso character, where the first theme jumps between graceful light staccati and legato lines. When we get to the passage where the hemiolas start disrupting the fluent character we are reminded of Dvořák’s Sixth Symphony, where a furiant (a 3/4 bar which is often alternated by a 2/4 bar) is displayed. The third movement is the clearest example of Suk’s love for Otylka. A movement full of sighing melodies, rubati and fermatas… it shows nothing but the longings which every eighteen-year-old goes through. Later in his life, Suk decided to change the instrumentation, by changing some solos into tutti passages, which for this performance have been brought back to the original version. The final movement shows Suk’s skills for writing a sonata form. The last movement, an allegro giocoso, is filled with melodies chasing each other, fanatic fortissimo explosions and, just before the end, a nostalgic reminder of the first movement, which leads into a final outburst ending the piece.

Pjotr I. Tchaikovsky (1840-1893) – Serenade for String Orchestra, Op. 48

If we come to think of Tchaikovsky’s mature orchestral works, his last three symphonies come to mind. Works which each symbolize the struggle he went through, from the fourth one, were fate knocks on his door, to the sixth one, were he accepts heroically his death. His life, while always living among the well educated (his father was a meir and his grandfather a highly ranked officer in the Tsar’s army), the rich and the top of Russian musical life, always was overshadowed by personal grief. The marriage to his mentally unstable student only led to desperation, not being able to cover the fact that he was homosexual. When they divorced in 1880 a brief moment of happiness entered his life, and it what here, that he wrote his Serenade for String Orchestra.

For illustrating such a calm moment in his life, the first movement starts rather dramatic. A melody in a descending line is displayed, first in the lamentando A minor, changing to the warm C major. It’s a grand opening, which slowly fades away, making room for the allegro moderato sonata form. Here he illustrates how much he loved Mozart. The rest of the first movement – with the exception of the return of the introduction – is more classical then romantic, inspired by symmetrical melodies and dominant-tonic related harmonies. The second movement brings us a much criticized form: the waltz. His critics couldn’t understand how such a ‘serious’ composer, could love the waltz that much. It’s a light, playful movement as if meant to dance thinking of anything but troubles. The third movement, a powerful Élégie, shows his devotion to his homeland. After a dreamy introduction, a Russian melody is displayed forming a long line of question and answer between the violins and the violas and cellos, reaching a lamenting high point and returning to the dreamy introduction. The coda gives us one more time the melody, broken and slow, like an old man with a cane, symbolized by the triolas of the double basses. Was the melody of the third movement inspired on Russian music, the opening of the Finale is a genuine Russian theme. Soft and molto legato it goes into the allegro character of the rest of the movement, a melody which finds its origin in the slow introduction of the first movement, which appears once more towards the end. Tchaikovsky always reserved a special place for this piece, writing after completion to his publisher: Whether because it is my latest child or because in reality it is not bad, I am terribly in love with this serenade, and can scarcely wait to have it presented to the world.

Souvenir de Florence, Op. 70

Tchaikovsky loved Florence. He often fled the cold and depressions he suffered from in Russia to be welcomed by the calm and warmth of Tuscany. He would make endless walks and visit, amongst others, Rossini’s grave at the Santa Croce church. It was upon his return in 1890 that he composed his string sextet Souvenir de Florence, dedicating it to the St. Petersburg Chamber Music Society. Originally written for two violins, violas and celli, it has acclaimed its position in the standard sting orchestra repertoire. Although being at the highpoint of fame and career, the year 1890 didn’t leave the composer unscarred. After having supported him as both a friend and financier for more then a dozen years his patroness, Nadezhda von Meck, suddenly ended the relationship. She claimed bankruptcy. Tchaikovsky, now a success throughout Europe, no longer needed her money, but losing her companionship devastated him.

Souvenir de Florence shows us constantly two faces. It shifts from traditional Russian folk melodies in the opening of the last movements to a Mediterranean saltarello in the middle of the third movement. The four movements are traditionally composed, only in the last movement does Tchaikovsky genially modify the sonata form. The first movement, an elaborate sonata form, starts with a furious heroic theme, as if to celebrate the victory over a long and dark period. In an allegro con spirito the movement bursts with energy, even in the more contemplating second subject. In the development section however, the heroic theme turns more inward, as if falling prey to doubt and fear, only to be revived after a long struggle by the recapitulation. The movement ends with a joyous acceleration. The second movement is a breathtaking song without words. Almost monothematic, it displays a long wonderful long melody, alternating between the violins and the celli. After a short intermezzo, we hear it once more, this time played by solo voices in the orchestra. The third movement is based, much like the last movement, on a Russian folk tune. Starting off simple, like being whistled by a group of working countrymen it quickly turns into a passionate and lamenting colour. After a short coda, the second part is a joyous collection of frolicsome dynamical outbursts, resulting in the recapitulation, where the first half is displayed once more. The work ends with a masterly collage of Russian folk songs and fuges. We see Italy through the eyes of a Russian maestro. Suddenly the pine trees and yellow fields are no longer enjoyed with chianti but with vodka. The movement shifts constantly between the light hearted Italian melodies and the proud and accomplished Russian grandeur. Much like the first movement, it now ends with a boisterous Più vivace, celebrating his return to his home country and embracing once more life with all its challenges and complexities.

Petris Vasks (b. 1946) – Musica Dolorosa

Born in Latvia, Petris Vasks left for neighboring Lithuania to study, escaping the ensuing stigma which followed him, being the son of a Soviet Union minister. After finishing his studies as a double bass player he returned to his home country and became a member of the Latvian National Opera Orchestra, the Latvian Symphony Orchestra and Latvian Chamber Orchestra. After graduating the Latvian State Conservatory’s composition class, Vasks began his, still ongoing, career as a pedagogue. In utilizing the new aleatorical approach and forging new avenues, Vasks followed the lead of his mentors Lutoslawski, Penderecki and Crumb, opening a new path for young Latvian composers.

Musica Dolorosa was written in 1983 after the tragic loss of his sister Marta, to whom the piece is dedicated. It’s a work full with emotional tension, where grief and emptiness for having suffered the loss of a beloved one carry the slow, but steady ongoing melody. The opening bars show us a cello motive which, unable to stand on it’s own falls down every time. It’s only with the help of the other strings that it finds enough energy to continue, but remains static throughout the whole first section. The middle section is slightly faster, with endlessly repeated sharp notes, like a heartbeat or a pulsing headache. It leads to an enormous climax, resulting in total chaos and despair, only slowly to return to the atmosphere of the first section.

Stephen Westra (b. 1967) – Variations Op. 20a

Born and currently living in The Netherlands, Stephen Westra studied composition, musicology and history and apart from being a composer, he is a freelance writer on music and editor at the Philips Music Center in Eindhoven (NL). Among his works – all dating from 1994 onwards - are songs on German, Spanish, Yiddish and Ladino texts like the cycles Berliner Nachrichten, Drei Inseln and Canciones del éxtasis; two orchestral works (Pumps & Circumstances and Picasso Polka); music for the piano, and an Oktett mit Singstimme. This winter he finished a cycle of 24 preludes through all keys for the piano. He is now preparing a divertimento for orchestra. Various works were broadcasted and have been performed in several main halls in The Netherlands and abroad. Stephen Westra comments on his own work:

Variations: this title may be somewhat abstract. So the piece was not written out from a kind of ‘inner urgency’, on the contrary: I never felt attracted to the form of variations although I know some composers wrote their best works in this form (e.g. Beethoven and Rachmaninoff). But at a certain moment, I decided just as an exercise to write a thirty or so themes and look at their possibilities for making them the subject to variations. Strange as it is, a theme I considered not so well suited was the most fruitful. There are moments that you want to give way to your heart and soul in your music and the result is ridiculous (this is most often the case), and there are obviously moments that you put yourself into a certain pattern and as a surprise hit upon something that is more tolerable. The first six variations I wrote very fast, in a week; the other three came much later. The order was not always clear at all; whether it was a good idea to leave the people behind in the somber mood of the variation which is now the last (Meno lento), I did not know… Anyway, a final virtuosic perpetuum mobile I skipped. The overall form is better now, I think.

The first version of the Variations was written in 2001 for the piano. I think the piece is well suited for orchestrating, but an idea of the director of the Hafnia Chamber Orchestra came in between. Last June he asked me to write a version for string orchestra. And so I did this summer: a composer immediately has to start working when he is sure of a piece being performed. Of course I dedicated it to Simon and the Hafnia Chamber Orchestra.