Building Blochs and Birkenstocks

Mendelssohn Excerpts from ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’

FELIX MENDELSSOHN (1809-1847)

Intermezzo, Notturno and Scherzo from the Incidental Music to A Midsummer Night’s Dream

In 1826, soon after having discovered the works of Shakespeare, Mendelssohn composed his Overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It was the charm and humour of this particular play which prompted him to transcribe Shakespeare’s spirited text into music, with special references to the enchanted forest, the magic spell, and even to the braying of the donkey.

When the King of Prussia commissioned him in 1842 to write the incidental music for the Dream, Mendelssohn took up the work as if he had just finished the Overture. Sixteen years after completing this youthful work, he not only set it at the beginning without altering a note, he also used it as the thematic source for most of the incidental music. The result was a surprisingly successful integration of old and new material, and the unity of style was preserved throughout.

Among the pieces based on new material there are three which appear in concerts more frequently than the Overture: the Intermezzo, the Notturno and the Scherzo. The Scherzo, famous for its gossamer orchestration, is the first music to be heard after the Overture. It sets the scene for the meeting of Puck and the fairy who must “hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear”, and warns the listener that “the queen and all her elves come here anon”. The fairy is vividly evoked by a breath-taking flute solo: “over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough brier, over park, over pale, thorough wood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere swifter than the Moone’s sphere….”

By the end of the second act of the play, Hermia has lost Lysander, and has been searching desperately throughout the forest for him. Exhausted and despairing, she eventually falls asleep not far from Lysander, and the following Notturno (Andante tranquillo) is a welcome moment of peace in this very busy play.

© Stefan de Haan

Bloch Schelomo (arr. George Morton)

Ernest Bloch (not to be confused with the philosopher, Ernst Bloch) was born in Switzerland, and studied music in various European countries before moving to the United States in 1916. He lived the rest of his life here, except for a return to Switzerland during the 1930s. In addition to a distinguished career as a composer, he was a music administrator, leading the Mannes School of Music, the Cleveland Institute of Music, and the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. Possessed of a remarkable intellect, he was wide-ranging in his extra-musical interests, especially that of photography. While his musical style is firmly founded in late Romantic, Central European traditions, his peripatetic intellectual interests inspired an impressive variety of compositions. On the one hand, his large corpus of works includes symphonies, string quartets, and concertos, and other works that are more or less traditional in their tone and style.

But, on the other, there is also a wealth of compositions that reflect, among other influences, impressionism, Wagnerism, American Indians, the Civil War, Black spirituals, San Francisco’s Chinatown, and, of course, the Swiss Alps.  The world was his oyster. But, today, he is indelibly connected, and most known, for the works that loosely constituted his “Jewish Cycle.” Born of Jewish parents, by his thirties be began to explore his religious heritage and immersed himself in a search for both his personal and musical identity. The result was a half dozen or more of seminal works that reflected this passion. Among them are: “Three Jewish Poems” for orchestra, settings of Psalms for solo voice and orchestra, the Israel symphony, Suite Hébraïque for viola and orchestra, the choral Sacred Service for the Sabbath, and several others. But, one of the most known and respected of these is Schelomo, for solo violoncello and orchestra.

Subtitled “Rhapsodie Hébraïque for Violoncello and Orchestra,” very simply the work is a musical expression of the tragic, tormented, and despairing thoughts of the old King Solomon—“Schelomo” being Hebraic for “Solomon.” Originally, Bloch had conceived of the work as one for solo voice and orchestra, but the practical reality was he didn’t know Hebrew sufficiently well to do a creditable job of it.  However, he happened to meet a ‘cellist whose style of playing inspired Bloch to substitute the crepuscular, meditative capabilities of that instrument for the human voice. Bloch’s direct interest early on was not so much in the character of King Solomon, as it was in the dark message of the Book of Ecclesiastes. Bloch and his family were not doing well at the time, and in his depressed state of mind, found a kindred spirit in the immortal words of the first chapter: “I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.” “For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.” And all the rest of this chapter of pessimism writ large. These are the words of Solomon, of course, and thus the title of Bloch’s composition. And coincidently, at the time, the wife of the incident ‘cellist, had sculpted a wax figurine of Solomon, and Bloch dedicated the work to the statue.

Schelomo was completed by 1916 and given its première the next year, in a Carnegie Hall concerto of Bloch’s music. Its musical style, of course, contains elements that reference what are to be perceived as “Jewish”, Semitic, or Middle Eastern musical memes or clichés, such as “gapped” scales, certain augmented intervals, and the like. Other essential traits include cantorial repeated notes, and florid, chant-like melodic embellishments. Bloch’s signature “snap” rhythm (TAH-dah) is everywhere, as well as a fondness for the interval of a fourth, which evokes the sound of the shofar. But, essentially, these are only building blocks.

The essence is the marvelous dramatic expressivity of the ‘cello in bringing the humanity of the old, brooding, world-weary king to life.  Bloch is clear in indicating that the conceit of the work is a dialogue between the king and the world with all of its complexity and contradictions. The orchestra, of course, is the world and the interplay of thoughts and emotions is between them is masterful. And yet, notwithstanding this clear, extra-musical “story,” Bloch unifies it all with identifiable musical motifs, contrasting sections, and a sense of direction that sustains the architecture of it all. There are suggestions of priests, concubines, and sensual dances—a welter of “Oriental” exoticism. There are three subtle divisions of the work, the first presenting several themes, emphasizing the blandishments of his wives and concubines, with his rejection of them in the guise of a cadenza, which occurs three times. It builds to a climax of enticement, leading to the second section and the sound of a shofar of an alternative philosophy—first heard in the celesta and the solo bassoon. Dreams and visions come, and go. The orchestra reasserts itself and the climax of the piece occurs here. The last section is a lament of despair, while the orchestra rages in vain, and the ‘cello ends quietly in a total capitulation to the futility of life.

© 2015 William E. Runyan

Bloch ‘Prayer’ from From Jewish Life (arr. Christopher Palmer)

The three pieces From Jewish Life were composed by Swiss-American composer Ernest Bloch in 1924, the same year he took U.S. citizenship. Though clearly inspired and influenced by Jewish experience, they are purely concert pieces, and do not provide any specific liturgical significance.

The first movement, “Prayer”, is a deeply heartfelt plea to the almighty. As Neil W Levin writes, “The initial four-note motive in the minor mode, together with its elaboration in the ensuing phrases, sounds as if it might have served as the skeletal model for Max Janowski’s (1912-1991) now well-known setting of the High Holyday prayer Avinu Malkenu.” This prayer has special meaning in my own spiritual life, as I have been singing it since my childhood. Both “Prayer” and Janowski’s Avinu Malkenu are cantorial in nature, to be sung with heartfelt pathos.

The second movement, “Supplication” (the act of begging humbly), has more angst, almost a sense of urgency as a result of the rhythmic motor in the piano. The third movement, “Jewish Song”, evokes a quintessentially Eastern-European melancholy. Its falling motives with bent intonation might represent the pain of the Jewish experience.

The works were dedicated to Dutch-American cellist Hans Kindler, a highly influential musician of his time, and founder of the National Symphony Orchestra in Washington, D.C. Mr. Kindler was the soloist for the world premiere of Bloch’s most celebrated work, Schelomo in 1917.

Though the popularity of Bloch’s oeuvre has been dominated by works of Jewish connection, we should not forget that Bloch had many other stylistic periods, including Franco-Belgian, modal, serial, and even American folk. In 1927, he was awarded Musical America’s composition prize in a unanimous vote, despite being regarded as an outsider by American music writers at the time. His winning work America (1928) was performed by every major orchestra and conductor in the following seasons.

© Carl Fischer Music

Mendelssohn Symphony No. 4, ‘Italian’

FELIX MENDELSSOHN  (1809-1847)

Symphony No. 4 in A, Italian

I             Allegro vivace
II            Andante con moto
III           Con moto moderato
IV           Saltarello: Presto

When Schubert and Beethoven were still alive and before Mendelssohn was 14 years old, he composed a set of 12 string symphonies, intended for the musical evening in his cultured family home.  These symphonies are delightful, often original and always spontaneous compositons without the slightest sign of immaturity or any other imperfection suggesting that the composer was a child.

His next symphony, first numbered ‘13’ but scored for full orchestra, was composed many years later. Realising that the work was on a much larger scale than the early symphonies, he renamed it ‘First Symphony’, numbering those that followed accordingly.  The Symphony in A major, Op. 90, is the fourth of these, and it was Mendelssohn himself who referred to it as his Italian Symphony.

An infant prodigy is not aware of dancing on a tightrope towards an abyss.  In later life the realisation of the dangers implied in such a feat is liable to cause a crisis which can, and often does, destroy a promising career. In the case of Mendelssohn this crisis was aggravated by a lack of single-mindedness in composition, arising from his many varied talents and interests and, perhaps above all, from his cultured family background.  As an adult he began to doubt the merits of the early compositions he had written so effortlessly, and this critical uncertainty also affected his later symphonies.  For instance, he kept revising the Italian Symphony, always maintaining that it was incomplete, and he would not permit a performance of the work in Germany, although he had no objection to having it played in London.  It is a near miracle that none of these negative factors show in his music.  The Italian Symphony in its now accepted form sounds as fresh, spontaneous and original as the brilliant very early Octet for Strings or the splendid A Midsummer Night’s Dream Overture.

Mendelssohn spent the winter of 1831 in Rome and visited Naples the following summer.  He worked on the Furth Symphony while he was in Italy and finished the original version in Germany in March 1833.  In May of that year Mendelssohn conducted the first performance at a concert of the Royal Philharmonic Society in London but it was not until 1849, two years after his death, that the symphony was first performed by the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra in Germany.

The opening Allegro vivace fits comfortably into a somewhat updated first movement form, and the lively pulse of the running semiquavers even gathers speed in the coda.  The Andante con moto was probably inspired by the music used for a progression of pilgrims that Mendelssohn heard in progression of pilgrims that Mendelssohn heard in Naples.  The gentle third movement has an ingenious trio for horns and bassoons, and the finale consists entirely of a ferocious Neapolitan dance called a Saltarello (from saltare – to jump).  It is in the key of A minor and even ends quite unconventionally in that mode, without returning to its home key of A major.

©  Stefan de Haan