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BRAD GEMEINHARDT, FRENCH HORN Praised by the New York Times as having performed “with poetry and backbone” at a recent performance on solo horn Mahler’s 5th Symphony at Carnegie Hall, hornist Brad Gemeinhardt is Principal horn of the Metropolitan Opera, where he has been a member of the orchestra since 2007. Over his extensive and varied career spanning the last quarter century, in addition to countless performances at the Met, Mr. Gemeinhardt has performed as a Guest Principal horn of such ensembles as the New York Philharmonic, the Israel Philharmonic, the Chicago Symphony, and the Philadelphia Orchestra. He has also performed in numerous Broadway shows, as well as with the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, American Symphony Orchestra, and the San Francisco Symphony, among many others. Also he can be heard on television shows, radio jingles, commercial recordings and in many feature films, beginning with The Producers (2005) to the more recent The Joker (2019) and In the Heights (2021). Mr. Gemeinhardt also appears frequently with the Met Orchestra Chamber Ensemble’s performances at Carnegie Hall’s Weill Recital Hall, where he has performed the Brandenburg 1st Concerto, the Brahms Horn Trio, Schubert Octet, among other pieces, all to great acclaim. Brad Gemeinhardt is sought after as a teacher and mentor for young, aspiring French horn players. He serves on the faculties of the Juilliard School Pre-College Division and Columbia University, and is a Valade Fellow at Interlochen Arts Camp in Michigan. In addition, he is regularly invited to give master classes as a guest artist, most recently at the Juilliard School, the Manhattan School of Music, New York University, the Aspen Music Festival and School, and New York University. Mr. Gemeinhardt received a Bachelor of Music degree from The Juilliard School, where he studied horn with the late Jerome Ashby. He resides in Manhattan with his wife Dana, his teenagers Alex and Marin and his cavapoo Macintosh.

September 29, 2024: Edward Arron, Carter Brey, Rafael Figueroa, and Zvi Plesser, cellos Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) Air from Orchestra Suite No. 3 in D arr. for four cellos September 29, 2024: Edward Arron, Carter Brey, Rafael Figueroa, and Zvi Plesser, cellos When music scholars began sifting through Bach’s long-forgotten works in the nineteenth century, they came across four orchestral masterpieces that they catalogued as “orchestral suites” because of their similarity to suites for keyboard or individual string instruments—and simply to avoid confusion. Bach, however, had called them “ouvertures” in the tradition of his German contemporaries, who used the term for an orchestral work consisting of an overture and several dance movements in the French style. Bach most likely wrote his Third Orchestral Suite around 1731 in Leipzig where he was music director at the University of Leipzig, director of the Collegium Musicum, Kantor of the Thomasschule, music overseer at four major churches, and composer of music for all these entities. Though he may have composed some of the orchestral suites earlier, the earliest existing copies date from Bach’s Leipzig days, so we can assume he performed all of them there with the Collegium Musicum. The Third Suite may be the most famous of the four on account of its sublime Air. One of the most popular and arranged pieces of all time, it achieved special notoriety through August Wilhelmj’s version for the violin G string (1871). This afternoon our four cellists play the arrangement by the Finckel Cello Quartet. The Air’s binary form—two halves, each repeated—and its “stepping” bass overlaid with a long, sustained melodic line are standard Baroque procedures, but its poignant effect transcends all formulas. —©Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

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April 23, 2017: Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano; Warren Jones, piano HECTOR BERLIOZ (1803-1869) Les nuits d’été, op. 7 April 23, 2017: Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano; Warren Jones, piano The origins and inspirations for some of the most ravishing songs in the repertory are somewhat obscure. Berlioz composed Les nuits d’été (Summer Nights)—originally for voice with piano—in 1840–41 following his dramatic symphony Roméo et Juliette . The date March 23, 1840, appears on a manuscript copy of “Villanelle” and the cycle of six songs was published in the summer of 1841, but Berlioz never mentions them in his letters around this time. These are love songs of the highest Romantic order—Romantic referring to the period that saw the rise of lieder, or mélodie in France, as the ideal genre to express the countless images of buoyant hope, insatiable longing, and heartbreak that permeated Romantic poetry. Were Les nuits d’été really inspired by Berlioz’s mistress, Marie Martin (stage name Recio), as many have claimed? Berlioz began seeing Marie around this time and she accompanied him on his travels of 1842–43. Well aware of her limitations as a singer—she lasted only one season at the Paris Opéra—he still wrote vaguely positive reviews of several of her performances. She was the most frequent performer of “Absence,” the fourth song in the cycle, which he orchestrated specifically for her. Yet the many references to past love affairs and separations in the cycle make it difficult to link the settings too specifically with Marie. And, one would almost rather attribute these gorgeous outpourings to any other inspiration, in view of his unhappiness under her tenacious, jealous hold and her insistence on performing on his concerts over his opposition. Perhaps it was simple admiration for the poems of his friend and fellow critic Théophile Gautier that inspired Berlioz to such heights. He selected six poems from Gautier’s La comédie de la mort (The comedy of death)—two of a lighthearted nature, which he positioned first and last, and four in a more melancholy vein. The composer provided his own title, drawn from the poet’s images of night. The first song, “Villanelle,” is clearly a “daylight” song, but it sets up the happiness that will later turn to despair. Images of night appear repeatedly in the interior songs, even though “summer nights” are not specifically mentioned. In “La spectre de la rose” the ghost of a rose returns nightly to haunt the dreams of a young woman who wore the flower to a ball. In “Sur les lagunes” (On the lagoons), night envelops the lamenting lover. “Au cimitière: Clair de lune” (At the cemetery: moonlight) explicitly occurs at night, but also includes lovely images of shade and sunset. In 1843 Berlioz orchestrated “Absence” as a kind of appeasement offering to Marie, and she performed this version several times. It was not until 1856, however, that he orchestrated another of the songs, choosing “Spectre de la rose” for a February engagement with mezzo-soprano Anna Bockholtz-Falconi. Ecstatic over the performance, publisher Jakob Rieter-Biedermann asked Berlioz to orchestrate the remaining songs. The new versions were published later that year, each dedicated to a different singer who had impressed him in roles he had written. One wonders how it struck Marie (whom he had married in 1854) to learn that her “Absence” had been dedicated to Madeleine Nottès, his Marguerite in Faust. The songs have been performed countless times since and have long since been considered among Berlioz’s finest creations. “Villanelle” owes its infectious merriment to the simplicity of its melody and to the lightly repeated chords in the winds—an effect Berlioz had commented on in the second movement of Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony. Especially effective are the ends of the second and third verses (the first contains the same musical phrase, but without tempo fluctuations.) In the second the music slows at “et dis moi de ta voix si doux ” (and say to me in your soft voice), then resumes in a rush with “toujours ” (always). The third verse’s lovely image of returning with strawberries picked in the wood doesn’t really warrant the slowing and speeding up, but we are happy to hear the device again. The atmosphere changes immediately for “Spectre de la rose,” which employs longer spun-out phrases and a delicate orchestral texture of solo muted cello, paired flute and clarinet, and muted violin and viola background. The haunting images of the poem are made more poignant by Berlioz’s touches of nostalgic sweetness. Leaps are employed with tender expressiveness, and he finds just the right orchestral touches, as in the string tremolos at “Ce léger parfum est mon âme ” (This faint perfume is my soul). He ends ingeniously in simple recitative as the poet bestows his epitaph with a kiss. “Sur les lagunes,” the only minor-mode setting, presents a dark mood with its mournful half-step motive and repetitive accompaniment figure, which suggests the undulating of a boat on water. The grief-stricken lover cries out in a dramatic descent at the end of each verse: “Ah, sans amour s’en aller sur la mer! ” (Ah, without love to depart on the sea!) The song ends on an unresolved harmony—at sea, as it were. “Absence” also dwells on bereavement, that of separation, with the most exquisite lingering over the opening phrase. This phrase, which opens the refrain and therefore returns twice, is haunting in its unusual harmonization and its straining upward. The refrain also contains one of the most agonizingly beautiful peaks anywhere, leading to and attaining the word “loin ” (far). The intervening episodes contribute to the drama by building in a chanting style, the second at a higher pitch level than the first. Gentle pulsation characterizes the opening and closing sections of “Au cimitière,” with subtle harmonic shifts between major and minor. The middle section becomes more agitated (verses 3 and 4), and Berlioz makes a fitting response to the poet’s words about music bringing back a memory. The ending contains some gently clashing dissonances to reflect the “chant plaintif ” (plaintive song). Berlioz exuberantly portrays the high spirits and exoticism of the poet’s “L’île inconnue” (Unknown isle). We also hear undulating waves and the breeze whipping up. A hint of reflection follows the sailor’s admission to his fair companion that the faithful shore of eternal love is little known. Anywhere else is fair game, suggests the cheerful conclusion as the wind picks up and the waves are set in motion again. © Jane Vial Jaffe Texts and Translations Les nuits d’été Villanelle Quand viendra la saison nouvelle, Quand auront disparu les froids, Tous les deux nous irons, ma belle, Pour cueillir le muguet aux bois. Sous nos pieds égrenant les perles, Que l’on voit au matin trembler, Nous irons écouter les merles Siffler. Le printemps est venu, ma belle, C’est le mois des amants béni; Et l’oiseau, satinant son aile, Dit des vers au rebord du nid. Oh, viens donc, sur ce banc de mousse Pour parler de nos beaux amours, Et dis-moi de ta voix si douce Toujours! Loin, bien loin, égarant nos courses, Faisons fuir le lapin caché, Et le daim au miroir des sources, Admirant son grand bois penché, Puis chez nous, tout heureux, tout aises, En paniers enlaçant nos doigts, Revenons, rapportant des fraises Des bois. Le spectre de la rose Soulève ta paupière close Qu’effleure un songe virginal Je sais le spectre d’une rose Que tu portais hier au bal. Tu me pris encor emperlée Des pleurs d=argent de l’arrosoir, Et parmi la fête étoilée Tu me promenas tout le soir. O toi, qui de ma mort fut cause, Sans que tu puisses le chasser, Toutes les nuits mon spectre rose À ton chevet viendra danser. Mais ne crains rien, je ne réclame Ni messe ni De Profundis. Ce léger parfum est mon âme Et j’arrive du paradis. Mon destin fut digne d’envie, Et pour avoir un sort si beau Plus d’un aurait donné sa vie. Car sur ton sein j’ai mon tombeau, Et sur l’albâtre où je repose Un poète avec un baiser Écrivit “Ci-gît une rose Que tous les rois vont jalouser.” Sur les lagunes: Lamento Ma belle amie est morte. Je pleurerai toujours; Sous la tombe elle emporte Mon âme et mes amours. Dans le ciel sans m’attendre Elle s’en retourna; L’ange qui l’emmena Ne voulut pas me prendre. Que mon sort est amer! Ah, sans amour s’en aller sur la mer! La blanche créature Est couchée au cercueil. Comme dans la nature Tout me paraît en deuil! La colombe oubliée Pleure et songe à l’absent; Mon âme pleure et sent Qu’elle est dépareillée. Que mon sort est amer! Ah, sans amour s’en aller sur la mer! Sur moi la nuit immense S’étend comme un linceul. Je chante ma romance Que le ciel entend seul. Ah, comme elle était belle, Et comme je l’aimais! Je n’aimerai jamais Une femme autant qu’elle. Que mon sort est amer! Ah, sans amour s’en aller sur la mer Absence Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée! Comme une fleur loin du soleil La fleur de ma vie est fermée Loin de ton sourire vermeil. Entre nos coeurs quelle distance! Tant d’espace entre nos baisers! O sort amer! O dure absence! O grands désirs inapaisés! Reviens, reviens, etc. D’ici lâ-bas que de campagnes, Que de villes et de hameaux, Que de vallons et de montagnes, À lasser le pied des chevaux! Reviens, reviens, etc. Au cimitière: Clair de lune Connaissez-vous la blanche tombe Où flotte avec un son plaintif L’ombre d’un if? Sur l’if une pâle colombe, Triste et seule au soleil couchant, Chante son chant: Un air maladivement tendre, À la fois charmant et fatal Qui vous fait mal Et qu’on voudrait toujours entendre; Un air comme en soupire aux cieux L’ange amoureux. On dirait que l’âme éveillée Pleure sous terre à l’unisson De la chanson Et du malheur d’être oubliée Se plaint dans un roucoulement Bien doucement. Sur les ailes de la musique On sent lentement revenir Un souvenir Une ombre, une forme angélique Passe dans un rayon tremblant En voile blanc. Les belles de nuit demi-closes Jettent leur parfum faible et doux Autour de vous, Et le fantôme aux molles poses Murmure en vous tendant les bras: Tu reviendras! Oh jamais plus, près de la tombe Je n’irai, quand descend le soir Au manteau noir, Écouter le pâle colombe Chanter sur la pointe de l’if Son chant plantif. L’île inconnue Dites, la jeune belle, Où voulez-vous aller? La voile enfle son aile, La brise va souffler. L’aviron est d=ivoire, La pavillon de moire, Le gouvernail d’or fin. J=ai pour lest une orange, Pour voile une aile d=ange, Pour mousse un séraphin. Dites, la jeune belle, Où voulez-vous aller? La voile enfle son aile, La brise va souffler. Est-ce dans la Baltique? Dans la mer Pacifique? Dans l’île de Java? Ou bien est-ce en Norvège, Cueillir la fleur de neige, Ou la fleur d’Angsoka? Dites, la jeune belle, Où voulez-vous aller? Menez-moi, dit la belle, À la rive fidèle Où l’on aime toujours! Cette rive, ma chère, On ne la connaît guère Au pays des amours. Où voulez-vous aller? La brise va souffler. —Théophile Gautier Summer Nights Villanelle When the new season comes And the cold weather has gone, We will go together, my love, To pick lily-of-the-valley in the woods; Our feet scattering the pearls That we see trembling as morning dew, We will go and hear the blackbirds Sing. The spring has come, my love, It is the blessed season for lovers; And the bird, preening its wings, Sings songs from the edge of its nest. Oh come and sit on this mossy bank And talk of our happy love, And say to me in your soft voice: Always! Far, far away, our footsteps wandering, We’ll startle the rabbit from its hiding, And the deer, mirrored in the stream, Admiring its great antlers; Then back home, completely happy, content, Our fingers entwined, return Carrying baskets of wild Strawberries. The Specter of the Rose Lift up your eyelids That glow with a maiden dream. I am the specter of a rose Which you wore last night to the ball. You took me still moist From the silver tears of the watering can. And through the starry festivities You walked me with you all evening. Oh you who was cause of my death, Without your being able to escape it, Every night my pink specter Will come to dance at the head of your bed. But do not fear anything, I don’t ask for Mass or De profundis. This faint perfume is my soul And it is from paradise that I come. My destiny was one to be coveted; To have a fate so beautiful, Many would have given their lives. For my tomb is on your breast, And on the alabaster where I rest A poet with his kiss Writes: “Here lies a rose That all kings will envy.” On the Lagoons: Lament My fair one is dead. I will weep always. She has taken with her into the tomb My whole being and all my love. To heaven, without waiting for me She returned. The angel who drew her back Would not take me with her. How bitter is my fate. Ah, without love to depart on the sea! The white creature Sleeps in the coffin; And now all nature Seems to me in mourning. The forsaken dove Cries and dreams of the departed; My soul cries and feels As if cut in two. How bitter is my fate. Ah, without love to depart on the sea! All about me, the vast night Spreads like a shroud. I sing my song, And the sky alone hears it. Ah, how beautiful she was, And how I loved her! Never will I love A woman as much as she. How bitter is my fate! Ah, without love to depart on the sea! Absence Come back, come back my beloved. Like a flower away from the sun The flower of my life is closed up Away from your warm smile. What distance lies between our hearts; So great a gulf between our kisses; O bitter fate! O cruel absence! Mighty desires unsatisfied. Come back, etc. From here to there what plains lie between, What towns and villages. What valleys and hills, To tire the horses’ hooves. At the Cemetery: Moonlight Do you know the white gravestone Where floats with a plaintive song The shade of a yew tree? On the yew a solitary white dove, Sad and alone as the sun sets, Sings its song: A sickly sweet air At once enchanting and fatal, Which affects you unpleasantly And which one would like to hear always; Like a song sighed to heaven By an angel in love. One would say the awakened soul Weeps under the earth in unison With the song, And from grief at being forgotten Complains in a cooing Very softly. On the wings of music One feels slowly returning A memory A shade, an angelic form Passes in a shimmering ray, Shrouded in white. The beauties of the night, half-closed, Throw their weak and soft perfume Around you And the phantom in mellow poses, Whispers while stretching its arms toward you: You will come back! Oh never again, near the tomb Will I go, when evening descends In its black coat, To hear the pale dove Sing from the top of the yew Its plaintive song. The Unknown Isle Tell me, young beauty, Where do you want to go? The sails are set, The breeze is getting up. The oar is ivory, The flag of silk, The helm of fine gold. For ballast I have an orange, For sail, an angel’s wing, For ship’s boy a seraph. Tell me, young beauty, Where do you want to go? The sails are set, The breeze is getting up. Is it to the Baltic? To the Pacific Ocean? To the Island of Java? Or is it to Norway, To pick the snowflowers, Or the flowers of Angsoka? Tell me, young beauty, Where do you want to go? Take me, the fair one replies, To the faithful shore Where love lasts forever. That shore, my dear, Is little known In the country of love. Where do you want to go? The breeze is getting up. Return to Parlance Program Notes

March 24, 2019: Edward Arron, cello JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Prelude from Suite for Cello in D, BWV 1012 March 24, 2019: Edward Arron, cello Bach most likely composed his Six Suites for unaccompanied cello, BWV 1007–1012, while serving as Kapellmeister at the court of Prince Leopold in Cöthen between 1717 and 1723. Precise dating is difficult because they survive, not in Bach’s own hand, but in a copy made later in Leipzig by his second wife, Anna Magdalena Bach. It is likely that the Suites were written either for Christian Ferdinand Abel or Christian Bernhard Linigke, both accomplished cellists and Cöthen residents. Estimation of their performing abilities is, in fact, considerably enhanced by the mere idea that Bach may have written these substantial works for one or the other of them. Though appreciated in some circles, as Forkel’s 1802 Bach biography makes clear, the Suites fell into quasi-oblivion along with much of Bach’s music in the decades following his death. Bach’s celebrated biographer Philipp Spitta gave them their due for their “serene grandeur” in his monumental study (1873–80), but they remained little known by the general public until they were championed by Pablo Casals in the early twentieth century. Bach’s forward-looking exploration of the cello’s potential unfolds within the traditional configuration of the Baroque suite, which consisted of old-style dances in binary form—allemande, courante, sarabande, and gigue—with a newer-style optional dance movement, or Galanterie, interpolated before the final gigue. These interpolated dances in his cello suites consist of minuets, bourrées, or gavottes, and he prefaced each of the Suites with a Prélude. Throughout, Bach’s contrapuntal genius shows in his ability to project multiple voices and implied harmonies with what is often considered a single-line instrument. The Sixth Suite is unusual in that it was written for a five-stringed instrument. Was it the violoncello piccolo? viola pomposa? cello da spalla? In any case, the fifth string would have sounded a fifth higher than A, the highest string on a four-stringed cello. Any performance problems in playing this work on today’s four-stringed instrument—different tone quality from playing higher on the A string than Bach would normally have written, certain awkward double stops, or rapid string crossings (bariolage) requiring an open E string—have long since been solved. The extensive Prelude immediately proclaims the virtuosic nature of this Suite—the cello plays almost constant triplets except for a passage near the end when Bach employs doubled note values. Specified dynamic markings, used sparingly in Bach’s time, call for quick juxtapositions of loud and soft. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

MARON KHOURY, FLUTE At age 20, virtuoso flutist Maron Khoury became the youngest musician to join the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra. Born in the village of Tarshiha, Galilee, to a musical family, Khoury started playing the flute at the age of 11. Three years later, he was admitted to the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia to study with renowned flutist Jeffrey Khaner. Prior to his enrollment at Curtis, Khoury studied with Eyal Ein-Habar and Uri Shoham (Israel Philharmonic), Sara Andon (Idyllwild Arts Academy), and David Shostak (Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra.) Khoury is a recipient of several grants from the Curtis Institute of Music and the Charles M. Kanev Memorial Fellowship. In addition, he is a winner of the America-Israel Cultural Foundation Scholarship and the Schoen Fellowship Grant in honor of Charlotte White. He performed under many notable conductors including James Levine, Riccardo Muti, Simon Rattle, Christoph Eschenbach and Daniel Barenboim. Khoury has performed numerous concerts and recitals throughout the U.S. and Europeand has a long list of invitations to lead workshops. He has performed with The West-Eastern Divan Orchestra under the direction of the renown conductor Daniel Barenboim. Maron has also participated in the New York Mostly Mozart festival, The Lake Tahoe summer festival, and has performed as soloist with iPalpiti Festival among others.

November 20, 2022: Steven Banks, Saxophonist-Composer Xak Bjerken, Piano, Principal Strings of The Met Orchestra WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791) Quartet for oboe (soprano saxophone) and strings, K. 370 November 20, 2022: Steven Banks, Saxophonist-Composer Xak Bjerken, Piano, Principal Strings of The Met Orchestra Mozart was entranced by what he called the “delightfully pure tone” of oboist Friedrich Ramm when they met in Mannheim in 1777. Ramm, who was thirty-three at the time, had served as principal oboe of the Mannheim Court Orchestra since he was nineteen, having joined the orchestra at the age of fourteen! Mozart presented him with a copy of his Oboe Concerto (written for Giuseppe Ferlendis in Salzburg), with which Ramm soon created a sensation. The following year in Paris, Ramm enthusiastically anticipated playing one of the four solo wind parts in Mozart’s newly composed Sinfonia concertante (now lost in its original form). Mozart reported that he “flew into a rage” when he learned its performance had been blocked by the director of the Concert Spirituel, Joseph Legros, owing to the machinations of rival composer Giuseppe Cambini. In the winter of 1780–81, Mozart met up with his friend Ramm again in Munich, where the composer was presenting his opera Idomeneo and where the oboist had moved with the court orchestra when Karl Theodor became Elector of Bavaria. There in the first months of 1781 Mozart wrote his Oboe Quartet for Ramm, thereby adding a priceless gem to the chamber music literature. In this performance, the soprano saxophone (henceforth referred to as “soloist”) takes the oboe part, presenting most of the work’s enchanting melodies and offering brilliant displays of virtuosity, particularly in the finale. Mozart even offers the wind player a chance for a cadenza in the slow movement. Lest this soloistic treatment and the three- rather than four-movement structure suggest a concerto, it should be said that the Quartet still engages the listener in the more intimate discourse of chamber music. Particularly alluring are the interchanges between the soloist and the violin, as in the first movement when Mozart’s “second theme” consists of the violin now rendering the opening theme while the soloist joins in with a soaring countermelody. The slow movement must have displayed Ramm’s singing tone admirably—and now does the same for that of Steven Banks. Indeed, Mozart treats the melody much like that of an aria, exhibiting not only the soloist’s ability to sustain a long line but to negotiate wide leaps such as he often required of his singers. The soloist dominates again in the Rondeau (Mozart employed the French spelling), presenting all three occurrences of the jolly refrain. The second contrasting episode contains an extremely unusual device for Mozart: the soloist switches to duple meter while the violin, viola, and cello carry on merrily in the prevailing triple meter, creating a delightful if brief tension. Passages of rapid figuration and further wide leaps test the soloist’s agility, and several times Mozart’s writing ascends to lofty heights—as at the piece’s conclusion—again demonstrating his full confidence in the artistry of his friend. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

December 4, 2022 – The Sitkovetsky Trio LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN (1770–1827) Piano Trio in G major, op. 1, no. 2 December 4, 2022 – The Sitkovetsky Trio Beethoven carefully considered his presentation to the musical world of Vienna. Though he had composed quite a few works by 1795, he chose the three Trios that form Opus 1 as his first publication. He had been sponsored by Elector Maximilian Franz to move from his hometown of Bonn to Vienna at the end of 1792, to study with the great Joseph Haydn and to make his name in a musically more active world. Haydn was writing piano trios at that time, and though Beethoven probably had started work on his trios before he left Bonn, it was natural for him to work on them under the influence of his new teacher. When Haydn left for a sojourn in London in January 1794, Beethoven immediately began studies with Johann Albrechtsberger, which continued for fourteen months until Haydn’s return. A sketch for one of the movements of the G major Trio, op. 1, no. 2, was found among lessons Beethoven had done for Albrechtsberger. Beethoven’s Opus 1Trios were performed privately in 1794 at the house of Prince Lichnowsky, who received the dedication. Ferdinand Ries, later Beethoven’s pupil, reported many years after the fact that Haydn was among the distinguished guests in the audience and that the older composer had many nice things to say about the works, but advised against publishing the Third in C minor, saying the public would have difficulty understanding it. Ries also reported that Beethoven took this to be a sign of jealousy on Haydn’s part. It has been shown more recently that Ries’s account mixed up the chronology and that any possible qualms Haydn may have had about the C minor Trio were raised upon his second return from London in 1795, after the Trios had already been published. In response to this and other accounts that Haydn was envious of the younger composer, esteemed musicologist James Webster wrote, “It is inconceivable that the powerful and original genius of Haydn at the height of his powers should have had any difficulty with this work . . . or indeed any of Beethoven’s music of the 1790s, unless for reasons that reflect on Beethoven’s limitations rather than his own.” Furthermore, Webster demonstrated that no irreparable falling out between the two composers occurred in the 1790s, though they did experience a period of distrust between 1800 and 1804. Beethoven may have worked more on the Trios after the 1794 performance and perhaps other performances of them at Prince Lichnowsky’s. But his most likely reason for delaying their publication until 1795 was to build up a following—meaning a sufficient number of subscribers. Like the other Opus 1 Trios and the Opus 2 Piano Sonatas, Beethoven conceived of the Trio in four movements, despite the custom of the day to compose chamber works with piano in three movements. The G major Trio opens with an elaborate slow introduction in which the piano predominates. Both the piano and violin preview the main theme of the Allegro vivace, which makes its entrance in the “wrong key” before righting itself to G major. The slow movement contrasts with the surrounding fast movements by its 6/8 meter, expressive nuances, and unusual key of E major. Haydn also used the key of E major for the slow movement of his famous G major Gypsy Trio, but his Trio was written in England in 1795. Beethoven wrote a fleet scherzo instead of a minuet for the third movement of his Trio. Haydn had written minuets in fast enough tempos to be considered scherzos, whereas Beethoven actually called these movements scherzos. The cello, playing quietly in its lowest range, initiates the furtive-sounding main section. The hushed quality remains until the loud closing bars of the main section. The Trio provides contrast in texture, but remains quiet. The principal section’s return is literal, followed by a soft coda that ends pianissimo. The sonata-form finale also begins quietly but soon bursts forth exuberantly. Beethoven’s obvious fun with repeated notes generates the first theme and, in a different fashion, the second. He must also have enjoyed disguising the beginning of his recapitulation, something that Haydn also did on occasion. Beethoven winds down the movement with quiet fragmentation of motives then jolts the listener with the final fortissimo chords. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

January 31, 2010 – Stefán Ragnar Höskuldsson, flute; Stephen Williamson, clarinet; Yoon Kwon, violin; Abraham Appleman, viola; Joel Noyes, cello; Timothy Cobb, bass; Gregory Zuber, xylophone; Gareth Icenogle, narrator CAMILLE SAINT-SAËNS (1835-1921) The Carnival of the Animals January 31, 2010 – Stefán Ragnar Höskuldsson, flute; Stephen Williamson, clarinet; Yoon Kwon, violin; Abraham Appleman, viola; Joel Noyes, cello; Timothy Cobb, bass; Gregory Zuber, xylophone; Gareth Icenogle, narrator Camille Saint-Saëns started life as one of history’s most celebrated child prodigies. His extraordinary level of talent, temperament, and musical knowledge often invited positive comparisons with Felix Mendelssohn. Like Mendelssohn, Saint-Saëns composed fluently from his earliest years and became renowned while still a boy as one of the greatest pianists and organists of his day. As adults, both composers became known for their total musicianship, conservative tastes, classically refined sensibilities, and flawless compositional technique. And, like Mendelssohn, Saint-Saëns became a highly influential teacher and a well-educated polymath, whose extramusical interests ranged freely across such diverse fields as mathematics, botany, archaeology, poetry, literature, and astrology. Unlike Mendelssohn, however, Camille Saint-Saëns lived long enough to see his musical oeuvre become obsolete. His 86 years spanned two completely different musical eras, beginning during the time of Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Brahms, and ending during the period of Debussy, Ravel, Stravinsky and Gershwin. The older he became, the more stubbornly he clung to the music of the past. He grew impatient with forward-looking composers such as Jules Massenet, Claude Debussy, Richard Strauss, and Vincent D’Indy, and his increasing prickliness often drew critical fire. Fortunately, his innate brilliance and sense of fun always attracted a devoted circle of friends and admirers. In 1886, while vacationing in a small Austrian village, he decided to amuse his friends by composing the delightful zoölogical fantasy The Carnival of the Animals. Although the piece was a hit with his colleagues, Saint-Saëns became concerned that it would be considered too frivolous by the public at large and might even harm his reputation as a “serious” composer. With the exception of the touching cello solo, The Swan, he allowed only private performances of The Carnival of the Animals during his lifetime. After his death in 1921, the piece was finally published, and it quickly became one of Saint-Saëns’ most popular works. Inside jokes abound, as Saint-Saëns often pokes fun at other composers by inserting sly, incongruous musical references into the various animals’ portraits. The Tortoise, for instance, takes the frenetic, high kicking Can-Can from Jacques Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld and transforms it into a laggardly dirge. Similarly, The Elephant lumbers through ponderous versions of Hector Berlioz’s delicate Dance of the Sylphs and Mendelssohn’s gossamer Scherzo from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Nor is Saint-Saëns above poking fun at himself. In The Fossils he parodies his own maniacal waltz Danse Macabre, turning the original xylophone solo into a rackety, duple-meter skeleton dance. In the end, no one escapes entirely unscathed, least of all his critics, who are portrayed as asses in “People with Long Ears,” and whom we hear braying away toward the end of the whirlwind Finale. By Michael Parloff Return to Parlance Program Notes

November 20, 2016: Frank Huang, concertmaster; Sheryl Staples, principal associate concertmaster; Cynthia Phelps, viola; Carter Brey; cello GEORGE GERSHWIN (1898-1937) Lullaby November 20, 2016: Frank Huang, concertmaster; Sheryl Staples, principal associate concertmaster; Cynthia Phelps, viola; Carter Brey; cello Sometime around 1919 George Gershwin worked on a short piece for string quartet in the course of his harmony and orchestration studies with Edward Kilenyi. Though popular with his friends, the piece was put aside after Gershwin siphoned off its main motive for an aria in the one-act opera Blue Monday , which was pulled from the stage after its premiere in 1922. The manuscript of the quartet lay forgotten on his brother Ira’s shelf for four decades until harmonica virtuoso Larry Adler reminded Ira of its existence. Adler obtained permission to arrange the piece for harmonica and string quartet, in which version the piece was introduced at the Edinburgh Festival in 1963. It was a short step for Adler, now with the help of Morton Gould, to make an arrangement for harmonica and string orchestra, but it was not until October 28, 1967, that the Lullaby was publicly performed in its original version for string quartet. Ira and Arthur (another brother) published the piece the following year, and it has had equal success with both string quartets and string orchestras. George Gershwin’s ability to cross over between jazz and “art music” has always been considered one of his great claims to fame, and the Lullaby, written as a “classical” piece, enhances that claim. The Lullaby is designed in three main sections framed by a short introduction and coda. Softly sustained chords and violin harmonics lead to the first main section, which features a gently syncopated accompaniment. The central section itself contains three parts, marked Semplice, Recitativo, and Dolcissimo. The return to the main section is altered and shortened and the piece closes with a unifying return to the harmonics of the introduction with a little tossed-off pizzicato for impish finality. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

February 20, 2022 – Paul Huang, violin; Danbi Um, violin; Juho Pohjonen, piano CHRIS ROGERSON Afterword for two violins and piano February 20, 2022 – Paul Huang, violin; Danbi Um, violin; Juho Pohjonen, piano Chris Rogerson began playing piano at the age of two (!) and cello at age eight, but he found his true calling as a composer. He studied at the Curtis Institute of Music, the Yale School of Music, and Princeton University with renowned composers Jennifer Higdon, Aaron Jay Kernis, Martin Bresnick, and Steve Mackey. Rogerson’s music, praised for its “haunting beauty” and “virtuosic exuberance” (New York Times) includes Of Simple Grace for Yo-Yo Ma, a book of Nocturnes written for ten different pianists from around the world, and works for the Atlanta, Houston, Indianapolis, Milwaukee, New Jersey, New World, and San Francisco symphonies, among others. The constant demand for Rogerson’s compositions has resulted most recently in a new piano concerto, commissioned by the Bravo! Vail Festival for Anne-Marie McDermott, and The Little Prince, a violin concerto for Benjamin Beilman commissioned by the Kansas City Symphony. Other premieres this season include Sacred Earth for mezzo-soprano J’Nai Bridges with video by National Geographic photographer Keith Ladzinski and two premieres with the Dover Quartet: Dream Sequence, a piano quintet also featuring Anne-Marie McDermott, and Arietta with bassist Edgar Meyer joining the quartet. As 2010–12 composer-in-residence for Young Concert Artists, Rogerson had works premiered in the YCA Series in New York at Merkin Concert Hall and at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. He served in the same capacity for the Amarillo Symphony, which commissioned and premiered six of his works, among them his Dolos Sielut (Ancient Souls, 2017) and Four Autumn Landscapes (2016), a clarinet concerto for New York Philharmonic principal clarinettist Anthony McGill. Rogerson has also held residencies at the MacDowell Colony, Yaddo, and Copland House, and won the Jacob Druckman Prize as a Fellow at the Aspen Music Festival. Rogerson’s numerous honors include the 2012 Charles Ives Scholarship from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, ASCAP’s Morton Gould Young Composer Award, and prizes from the National Foundation for the Advancement of the Arts and the National Association for Music Education. Rogerson co-founded Kettle Corn New Music in New York City in 2012 and serves as its artistic director. Since 2016 he has also been a faculty member at his Curtis, his undergraduate alma mater in Philadelphia, where he lives full-time. Afterword for two violins and piano was commissioned by the Wolf Trap Foundation for the Performing Arts and premiered in February 2020 by Danbi Um, Paul Huang, and Orion Weiss. Dedicated “to my great friend Jacob,” the piece owes its most ethereal sounds to a two-fold inspiration. Rogerson explains: “There is something noble, sweeping, and grand about looking back on life, reflecting on life’s triumphs, pains, joys, and mysteries. I composed this piece after Jessye Norman’s death, and listened to her sublime recording of Strauss’s autumnal Four Last Songs frequently. Strauss perfectly captures this feeling of contemplation, especially in the final song ‘Im Abendrot.’ In Afterword, I make subtle references to this song. “I also composed this piece while reading Hanya Yanagihara’s novel A Little Life, which is at its core a meditation on life’s sweetness and anguish. Without spoiling the novel, one of the characters experiences unimaginable pain. To me there is something particularly poignant about someone who reflects on a difficult life: the shortness of it, how cruel it can be, how ephemeral, how sweet.” © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

February 16, 2020: Ying Fang, soprano; Ken Noda, piano GEORGES BIZET (1838-1875) Chanson d’avril and La coccinelle February 16, 2020: Ying Fang, soprano; Ken Noda, piano Despite Bizet’s primary preoccupation with composing opera, he also wrote more than fifty songs for voice and piano, many of which have stood the test of time because of their fresh contribution to the genre of French mélodie (art song). He built on the style of his teacher, Charles Gounod, but he managed to imbue his songs with more scenic flair and more unusual harmonies and textures. One imagines that if Bizet’s life had not been cut tragically short, he could have produced a body of songs that rivaled those of Fauré, Duparc, and Chabrier, all of whose best songs date from after Bizet’s death. Bizet’s most well-known songs appear in the 1873 collection Vingt (20) mélodies , though most of them had been published before. His somewhat lesser-known but equally great collection, Feuilles d’album (Album leaves), contains six songs all composed in 1866 and published the following year. His final collection (Seize [16] mélodies ), published posthumously in 1883, contains mostly adaptions he made between 1873 and 1875 from unfinished and unperformed operas. His choice of poets demonstrates his amazingly wide-ranging literary tastes, and his dedications include a large circle of friends and colleagues—mainly singers, both professional and amateur. Even when writing in a virtuosic vein his songs are grateful to sing. Bizet composed the charming, graceful “Chanson d’avril” (April song) by 1871 for mezzo-soprano Anna Banderali, wife of composer Grat-Norbert (Adrien) Barth, who a dozen years earlier had beaten out Bizet for the Prix Edouard Rodrigues. Like many of Bizet songs it is strophic, this time in two verses, with a constantly rustling piano part that suggests the stirring of spring and provides a perfect foil for the smoother vocal lines. “La coccinelle” (The ladybug) dates from June of 1868, written for amateur singer Fanny Bouchet. Bizet’s setting provides a perfect example of his ability to create an entire scene within a song. He carefully delineates three characters—in the opening recitative we meet the girl who is the object of the boy’s affection, then for most of the narrative he recounts his missed opportunity for a kiss in a lighthearted waltz as if they are at a dance, and finally the ladybug teases him in her own little song. He concludes with soaring regret and a rueful “I should have.” © Jane Vial Jaffe Texts and Translations Chanson d’avril Lève-toi! lève-toi! le printemps vient de naître. Là-bas, sur les vallons, flotte un réseau vermeil. Tout frissonne au jardin, tout chante, et ta fenêtre, Comme un regard joyeux, est pleine de soleil.Du côté des lilas aux touffes violettes, Mouches et papillons bruïssent à la fois; Et le muguet sauvage, ébranlant ses clochettes, A réveillé l’amour endormi dans les bois.Puisque avril a semé ses marguerites blanches, Laisse ta mante lourde et ton manchon frileux; Déja l’oiseau t’appelle, et tes sœurs les pervenches Te souriront dans l’herbe en voyant tes yeux bleus.Viens partons! Au matin la source est plus limpide;N’attendons pas du jour les brûlantes chaleurs, Je veux mouiller mes pieds dans la rosée humide, Et te parler d’amour sous les poiriers en fleurs!—Louis Bouilhet April Song Get up! Get up! Spring is just born. Yonder above the valleys floats a vermilion space. Everything quivers in the garden, everything sings, and your window, like a joyful glance, is full of sun.Beside the lilacs with their purple clusters, flies and butterflies buzz together; and the wild lily-of-the-valley, ringing its bells, has awakened love asleep in the woods.Since April has sown its white daisies, leave aside your heavy coat and your cosy muff; already the bird is calling you, and your sisters the periwinkles will smile in the grass at you on seeing your blue eyes.Come, lets go! In the morning the spring is more limpid; let us not wait for the burning heats of the day, I want to wet my feet in the damp dew, and to talk to you of love beneath the flowering pear trees! La coccinelle Elle me dit: “Quelque chose “Me tourmente.” Et j’aperçus Son cou de neige, et, dessus, Un petit insecte rose.J’aurais dû,—mais, sage ou fou, A seize ans, on est farouche,— Voir le baiser sur sa bouche Plus que l’insecte à son cou.On eût dit un coquillage; Dos rose et taché de noir. Les fauvettes pour nous voir Se penchaient dans le feuillage.Sa bouche fraîche était là; Hélas! Je me penchai sur la belle, Et je pris la coccinelle; Mais le baiser s’envola.“Fils, apprends comme on me nomme,” Dit l’insecte du ciel bleu, “Les bêtes sont au bon Dieu; “Mais la bêtise est à l’homme.” —Victor Hugo The Ladybug She told me: “Something torments me.” And I saw her snow-white neck, and, on it, A small rose-colored insect.I should,—but wise or mad, at sixteen, one is shy,— have seen the kiss on her mouth more than the insect on her neck.It looked like a shell, rosy back and spotted with black. The warblers to see us better stretched out their necks in the foliage.Her fresh mouth was there; alas! I leaned over the beautiful girl, and I removed the ladybug, but the kiss flew away.“Son, learn what they call me,” said the insect from the blue sky, “Creatures belong to the good Lord, but foolishness belongs to man.” Return to Parlance Program Notes