Composers Datebook

Today we honor one of America’s greatest patrons of chamber music, Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge, who died on this date in 1953.

Born in 1864, Coolidge was the daughter of a wealthy wholesale grocer. She put her inheritance to good use. In 1924, she proposed to the Library of Congress that an auditorium be constructed in Washington, D.C., that would be dedicated to the performance of chamber music. A year later it was built, and Coolidge Auditorium at the Library of Congress still stands today.

Not content with just a superb venue for chamber music, she diligently commissioned new works to be played there. The list of important chamber pieces her foundation commissioned is impressive, and includes Bartok and Schoenberg string quartets, the original chamber versions of Copland’s Appalachian Spring, Stravinsky’s Apollo ballets, and modern works by American composers as diverse as Samuel Barber, Milton Babbitt, George Crumb and John Corigliano.

Coolidge was an amateur composer and accomplished pianist. Her passion for music and enthusiasm for the creation of new works was all the more remarkable considering that tragically she battled deafness from her mid-30s.

Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971): Apollo ballet; Stockholm Chamber Orchestra; Esa-Pekka Salonen, conductor; Sony Classical 46667

At Carnegie Hall on today’s date in 2002, the American Composers Orchestra presented new works inspired by the Hebrew Psalms. The program included the premiere of a new work by American composer David Lang, How to Pray.

In his program note, Lang wrote: “[The] Psalms are so central to religious experience [because] they are a comprehensive catalogue of how to talk to the Almighty. ... Of course, it's like reading one side of a correspondence. ... I am not a religious person. I don't know how to pray. I do, however, know some of the times and places and formulas that are supposed to help make prayer possible. Sometimes I find myself sending those messages out. And then I wait, secretly hoping that I will recognize the response.”

The minimalist-style, patterned repetition in Lang’s How to Pray, reminded some listeners of a “mandala” — those intricate graphic patterns intended to be an aid to meditation for Hindu or Buddhist believers.

Stravinsky fans with sharp ears might also recognize the running piano line from the beginning of Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms, which Lang borrows and weaves into the pattern of How to Pray as both a tribute and inspiration.

David Lang (b. 1957): How to Pray; Real Quiet ensemble; Gil Rose, conductor; Naxos 8.559615

On today’s date in 1979, a new play by Peter Schaffer, Amadeus, opened at the National Theatre in London.

Schaffer’s play tells the story of Mozart’s final years in Vienna, including some posthumous gossip that it was the petty jealousy and back-stabbing intrigue of Mozart’s Italian contemporary Antonio Salieri that hastened his untimely demise. There was even a Romantic legend that Salieri had actually poisoned Mozart, a legend Shaffer gave a psychological spin.

Music historians were quick to attack Shaffer’s play as wildly inaccurate and downright unfair to poor old Salieri, who, they said, was not all that bad a fellow. Accurate or not, Schaffer’s play was a big hit, and five years later was made into a wildly successful film. That movie version of Amadeus prompted millions of new classical music fans to snap up any recordings of Mozart’s Requiem they could find.

And what about the music historians? They couldn’t even find comfort in the old public relations adage, “There’s no such thing as bad press as long as they spell your name right!” They felt even the movie’s title was bogus. Mozart never signed his middle name “Amadeus,” preferring the French version, “Amadé.”

Wolfgang Mozart (1756-1791): Requiem; La Chapelle Royale and Orchestre des Champs Elysees; Philippe Herreweghe, conductor; Harmonia Mundi 901620

In France, today is “la Fete de la Toussaint” — All Saints’ Day — observed as both a sacred and secular national holiday, a time to visit cemeteries and put flowers on the graves of relatives. In 1947, when memories of the dead of World War II were still fresh, French Radio broadcast three premieres at a special concert from the Salle Gaveau in Paris.

First on the program was the French premiere of Hungarian composer Lazlo Lajhta’s somber In Memoriam. This had been the first new orchestral work to be performed in Budapest when concert life had resumed after the war.

Second was the world premiere of the Symphony No. 6 by Polish composer Alexandre Tansman, who, being Jewish, found refuge in France in 1938, then, during the German occupation, had fled to the United States. In 1946, he returned to Europe in time for the premiere of his symphony, In Memoriam, at this concert.

The third work on the program was another world premiere: a newly completed Requiem Mass by French composer Maurice Duruflé, originally commissioned as an orchestral work in 1941 during the German occupation of France, which morphed into a choral Requiem Mass by the time of the liberation.

Maurice Duruflé (1902-1986): Requiem; Westminster Choir; Joseph Flummerfelt, conductor; Avie 46

Since today is Halloween, how about a tale from the crypt — with a composer’s skull or two tossed in for good measure!

Music lovers have always had a “thing” about composers’ skulls. In 1820, for example, Prince Esterhazy ordered that Haydn’s remains be transferred from Vienna to Eisenstadt, only to discover that Haydn’s skull was missing. It had been stolen by two of Haydn’s closest friends, who had bribed the gravediggers, claiming they did it for pseudo-scientific phrenological research.

In 1888, it was the remains of Beethoven and Schubert who were dug up and moved to Vienna’s new Central Cemetery. Nothing was missing, but on both occasions, the Austrian composer Anton Bruckner was present, and, according to witnesses, managed somehow to lovingly hold the skulls of both Beethoven and Schubert in his hands and speak to them before they were reburied.

For his part, Bruckner insisted that he buried under the organ at St. Florian Monastery in upper Austria, and if you pay your respects today, you will see that Bruckner’s coffin is in an underground crypt, sharing space with a wall of thousands of stacked skulls looking out at you, bones belonged to early Christians who, like Bruckner, wished to be buried there.

Kevin Puts (b. 1972): Marimba Concerto; Ji Su Jung, marimba; Baltimore Symphony; Marin Alsop, conductor; Naxos CD 8.559926

American opera composer Jake Heggie and his librettist Terrence McNally decided to follow their Dead Man Walking — a successful but harrowing opera about capital punishment — with a lighter, more comic work, Great Scott.

Now, McNally winced when people called Great Scott a “comic” opera, since it deals with a serious topic — for opera lovers, at least, namely, “Does opera still matter?”

Great Scott is set in a large U.S. city with a respected, but struggling, opera company. The city also has a powerhouse professional football team. In Great Scott, international opera star Arden Scott returns to her hometown to save the opera company by staging the world premiere of a long-lost Italian bel canto work, Rosa Dolorosa, Figlia di Pompei. Unfortunately, the scheduled premiere falls on the same day as the home team’s first Super Bowl.

Does the diva save the opera company? And who wins the Super Bowl?

Well, you’ll just have to listen to the opera to find out!

Fortunately, a Dallas Opera recording of Great Scott was made at its premiere on today’s date in 2015 — featuring powerhouse American mezzo-soprano Joyce DiDonato in the title role.

Jake Heggie (b. 1961): Rosa Dolorosa Overture from Great Scott; Joyce DiDonato, mezzo-soprano; Dallas Opera; Patrick Summers, conductor; Erato 9029594078

On today’s date in 1739, George Frideric Handel took out an advertisement, announcing that he was now accepting subscriptions for his new set of 12 Grand Concertos for strings. He had, in fact, finished the first concerto one month before, on Sept. 29, and spent the next five weeks polishing off the other 11 at the rate of one every two or three days.

Handel’s publisher was John Walsh Jr., who had a shop in London at the sign of the harp and oboe in Catherine Street on the Strand. One hundred twenty-two copies of the music were to be printed and sold at a prepublication price of two guineas each. Among the initial 100 subscribers were three royal princesses and the duke of Cumberland, and two copies each were sold to the Academy of Music in Dublin and a certain Charles Jennens.

It was Jennens who was to provide the text for Handel’s next major oratorio, Messiah, and the city of Dublin the venue for its famous premiere.

So, in 1739, just as today, it pays to advertise!

George Frederic Handel (1685-1757): Concerto Grosso No. 5; I Solisti Italiani; Denon 6305

In St. Petersburg on today’s date in 1893, Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky conducted the first performance of his latest symphony, his sixth. From the beginning, this symphony has been commonly known by its French subtitle, the Pathétique, a designation suggested by the composer’s brother, Modest.

Now, by Pathetique, Modest meant something like “passionate” or “emotional,” with overtones of “pathos” and “suffering,” but in plain old English, “pathétique” translates as “pathetic,” a word with a slew of negative connotations. The French sounds much better, thank you. Tchaikovsky had originally wanted to call it A Program Symphony with, apparently, no intention of cluing anyone in on what that program might be.

In any case, nine days after he conducted the premiere, Tchaikovsky was dead. Was his death the result of a fatal glass of unboiled water recklessly drunk during the height of a cholera epidemic? Or was it a deliberate suicide to avoid the scandal of a homosexual affair becoming public? Did his Symphony Pathétique encode the answer?

Speculation has raged around Tchaikovsky’s last symphony ever since, surrounding this last work with what one critic has called “voluptuous gloom.”

Peter Tchaikovsky (1840-1893): Symphony No. 6 (Pathétique); Russian National Orchestra; Mikhail Pletnev, conductor; DG 449 967

On today’s date in 1994, Dennis Russell Davies conducted the Chicago Symphony in the premiere performance of a 23-minute orchestral work by American composer Steven Mackey. The new piece was titled Eating Greens, after a painting of the same name that the composer purchased at an African art store in the French Quarter of New Orleans.

Eating Greens is a colorful orchestral suite of seven movements. The fourth movement is only 46 seconds long and is playfully labeled “The Title Is Almost as Long as the Piece Itself.” Other movements’ titles acknowledge the influence of the colorful and playful visual artist Henri Matisse and the quirky but brilliant jazz composer and pianist Thelonious Monk.

In the liner notes for the recording of Eating Greens, conducted by Michael Tilson Thomas, Mackey wrote, “On more than one occasion, Michael has used the word ‘wacky’ to describe my music. Composers usually blanch at such attributions — nobody wants to be captured in a single word — but I can live with ‘wacky.’ It is not a common adjective, does not end with ‘ism’ and clearly the rhyme with my last name personalizes it.”

Steven Mackey (b. 1956): Eating Greens; New World Symphony; Michael Tilson Thomas, conductor; RCA/BMG 63826

For composers of new operas, all too often, after the heady champagne of opening night comes the strong black coffee of “the morning after” — sipped anxiously while reading the first reviews.

Imagine yourself as American composer Robert Ward, whose opera The Crucible was premiered by the New York City Opera on today’s date in 1961. Here’s what he would have read in the New York Times the following morning:

“Last night, the audience heard an opera that, in philosophy and workmanship, could have been composed at the turn of the century, or before. And, judging from the response at the end of the work, the audience loved it.”

Hmm. Not all that bad, so far.

But down a few more lines comes this zinger: “Mr. Ward is an experienced composer whose music fails to bear the impress of a really inventive mind. Melodically, his ideas had little distinction. ... [The opera’s] powerful subject cried out for intensity, for brutality and shock. ... Instead, we had musical platitudes.”

Ouch!

Oh, well, despite the nasty review, his opera did well at the box office, and, for the record, went on to win the Pulitzer Prize for Music the following year.

Robert Ward (1917-2013): The Crucible; New York City Opera; Emerson Buckley, conductor; Albany 25/26