Hector Berlioz (1803-1869)
Roman Carnival Overture
This overture was an afterthought. It was composed in 1843 to serve as an introduction to the second act of Berlioz’s 1838 opera, Benvenuto Cellini, based on the life of the Renaissance Florentine sculptor-goldsmith. Although Berlioz felt a spiritual kinship with the flamboyant Cellini, the opera was a failure. This was partly because of its mediocre libretto, but also because of the composer’s unconventional musical style. Nevertheless, the overture, which made use of material from the opera, was successful. Berlioz may have felt that adding another compilation of themes to open the second act might help the opera to succeed. Regardless of whether The Roman Carnival was able to salvage the opera, it has become a staple of the concert repertoire, and it was at an orchestral concert that it was first performed.
After an opening flourish, the slow introduction is devoted to Cellini’s first-act aria, “O Teresa, you whom I love better than my life.” The melody is first stated by the English horn, then taken up by the violas, then by the violins, winds, and cellos. The main body of the overture begins with a tarantella, sung in the opera by Cellini’s followers, “Come, ye people of Rome, hear something new.” A saltarello theme danced in the opera by the entire company follows. Seemingly reaching a climax, the theme fades away, before returning with renewed vigor for a spectacular ending.
The late Jeffrey M. Edgmond—former principal timpanist and librarian—wrote these notes for the Billings Symphony’s first and only (previous) performance of Berlioz’s overture.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Piano Concerto No. 10 for Two Pianos
In 1777, Mozart and his father, Leopold, were sacked from their jobs by the Archbishop of Salzburg after one-too-many petitions for a leave of absence. Leopold almost immediately begged for his job back, while his son decided to leave anyway, setting out with his mother on an 18-month European tour of Mannheim, Munich, Augsburg, and Paris.
A disheartened 23-year-old Mozart returned to Salzburg in January 1779. While there had been some interest in his compositions and his piano playing was warmly received, none of the promising positions he applied for came to fruition. Despite the frustrations, the tour did expose Mozart to the varied musical styles that were beginning to gain popularity across Europe, including the symphonie concertante, a format which serves as a showpiece for multiple soloists.
Reluctantly resuming his position in the Salzburg court, Mozart set about trying to please his employer by composing a string of new works based on the styles he had heard in his travels. With the symphonie concertante format, he quickly realized the need to limit the orchestra’s role to that of accompanist, making the virtuosity and interplay between the two soloists the focus.
Of similar difficulty and prominence, the two solo parts work as a team—at times playing in tandem, trading off or finishing each other’s phrases; other times, overlapping and complementing each other. Yet despite an abundance of notes, Mozart’s writing is so seamless that if you close your eyes, you will be hard pressed to separate the solo parts. That said, keep your eyes open—because, well, Anderson and Roe—and soak in the brilliance of one of the first works of a mature Mozart.
Tonight is the Billings Symphony premiere of this Mozart work.
Ottorino Respighi (1879–1936)
Fountains of Rome
Active around the turn of the 20th century, Italian composer Ottorino Respighi’s work bridges the romantic and modern eras of classical music. Originally from Bologna, he moved to Rome in 1913 to become professor of composition at the Liceo Musicale di Santa Cecilia. Initially intimidated by the ancient city, Respighi overcame his unease by looking at its past to create the three works for which he is best known: Pines of Rome, Roman Festivals, and, first of all, Fountains of Rome.
Fountains of Rome was completed in 1917, some four years after he’d arrived in the city. Although intended to be played in one movement without a break, the symphonic tone poem actually falls nicely into four sections, each showing a particular fountain at a particular time of day. Respighi poetically described what you will hear:
“The first part of the poem, inspired by the Fountain of Valle Giulia, depicts a pastoral landscape: droves of cattle pass and disappear in the fresh damp mists of a roman dawn. A sudden loud and insistent blast of horns above the whole orchestra introduces the second part [the Fountain of Triton]. It is like a joyous call, summoning troops of naiads and tritons, who come running up pursuing each other and mingling in a frenzied dance between the jets of water.
“Next there appears a solemn theme borne on the undulations of the orchestra. It is the Fountain of Trevi at midday. The solemn theme, passing from the woodwinds to the brass, assumes a triumphal character. Trumpet peal; across the radiant surface of the water there passes Neptune’s chariot drawn by seahorses and followed by a train of sirens and tritons. The procession then vanishes, while faint trumpet blasts resound in the distance.
“The fourth part [The Villa Medici Fountain] is announced by a sad theme, which rises above a subdued warbling. It is the nostalgic hour of sunset. The air is full of the sound of tolling bells, birds twittering, leaves rustling. Then all dies peacefully into the silence of the night.”
While the second part of Respighi’s homage to Rome, The Pines of Rome, has appeared on four previous programs, tonight’s performance is a Billings Symphony premiere.
Georges Bizet (1838–1875)
arr. Greg Anderson
Carmen Fantasy
Love is a rebellious bird that no one can tame. — Carmen
On the topic of love: have you ever been seduced?
Have you ever fallen for someone,
knowing it was a very bad idea?
In Bizet's beloved opera, Don José experiences
both when he loses his heart to Carmen,
a notorious gypsy and a saucy minx.
As you listen, imagine yourself similarly ensnared
… or is it you who seduces in the heat of the night?
A concert fantasy in the grand romantic tradition, the Carmen Fantasy for Two Pianos weaves together several distinct scenes from Georges Bizet's beloved opera Carmen. Serving as an introduction, the work begins with the "Danse Bohémienne" from Act IV, a ballet that is almost always cut from modern performances of the opera. (Incidentally, Bizet used the same material as incidental music to L'Arlésienne.) The introduction is followed by the "Aragonaise" (originally the entr’acte to Act IV, a scene just before the opera’s climactic bullfight), the famous "Habanera" from Act I (in which Carmen sings “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle,” or, “Love is a rebellious bird"), and the "Card Aria" from Act III (in which Carmen reads in the cards that both she and Don José are doomed to die). Following the terrifying omen of death, the music cuts to the "Flower Song" from Act II, a scene that epitomizes that love Don José and Carmen once shared for one another. Ultimately, the juxtaposition serves to highlight the tragedy of the opera without actually recreating the opera's climactic recitative (in which Don José murders his former lover, Carmen). The fantasy concludes with a party scene from the beginning of Act II, in which Carmen and her friends entertain army officers with a song about gypsy girls (much like themselves). The music accelerates in a whirlwind of fevered rhythm, Basque tambourins, and ecstatic dance. — Greg Anderson & Elizabeth Joy Roe
