Composers Datebook

On today’s date in 1784, Italian violinist Regina Strinasacchi gave a concert in Vienna and had the good sense to commission a new work for the occasion from an up-and-coming young Austrian composer named Wolfgang Mozart.

“We have the famous Strinasacchi from Mantua here right now. She is a very good violinist, has excellent taste, and a lot of feeling in her playing — I’m composing a sonata for her at this moment that we’ll be performing together on Thursday,” he wrote to his father.

Wolfgang’s papa must have been pleased about the cash commission, but might have frowned to learn that Strinasacchi received her part barely in time for the performance, and that his son hadn’t even bothered to write out his own part in full. Also, Regina and Wolfgang never got together to rehearse prior to the concert, which meant that she was probably sight-reading her part, and he improvising his.

No matter — the new sonata was received warmly and afterward Wolfgang had a whole month to dot all the musical i’s and cross all the musicals t’s in his score before it was printed. And, for the record, this Violin Sonata No. 32 is arguably one of Mozart’s finest.

Wolfgang Mozart (1756-1791): Violin Sonata No. 32

On today’s date in 1865, the hottest ticket in Paris was for the premiere of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s long-awaited grand opera L’Africaine, or The African Maid, at the Paris Opera. And when I say “long-awaited,” I mean long-awaited! Meyerbeer had begun work on L’Africaine some 25 years earlier. It had become a standing joke in the French press to rib Meyerbeer about the “imminent” completion of his opera.

There were many reasons for the delay: Meyerbeer was a slow worker and a perfectionist; he was sidelined by ill health; he was waiting for better singers, more sympathetic management at the Opera, etc. etc.

Opera fans back then must have given up hope he would ever finish L’Africaine, but — surprise! — he did and the work was slotted for production at the Paris Opera. At that point, ironically, he died, and his widow entrusted another composer to supervise the rehearsals for its 1865 premiere.

Meyerbeer’s operas were the 19th century equivalent of the sweeping costume epic movies of Cecil B. DeMille. In L’Africaine, the hero is the explorer Vasco da Gama, and one of the opera’s more spectacular stage effects involved a Portuguese ship running aground on an exotic reef and being taken over by a swarm of natives.

Giacomo Meyerbeer (1791-1864): “O Paradis” from L’Africaine; Ben Heppner, tenor; London Symphony; Myung-Whun Chung, conductor; DG 471 372

Today’s date in 1945 marks the birthday in Pittsburgh of great American playwright August Wilson. He chronicled the experiences of the Great Northward Migration of African-Americans decade by decade across the 20th century in a series of ten powerful and poetic plays collectively called The Pittsburgh Cycle. Plays in the series include Fences and The Piano Lesson, both of which won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Wilson was inducted into the American Theater Hall of Fame and a Broadway theater is named after him.

American composer Kathryn Bostic provided theatrical scores for several of his plays, working closely with him. Because of her collaboration, she also scored the PBS American Masters documentary August Wilson: The Ground on Which I Stand, which ultimately led her to create The August Wilson Symphony, which was premiered by the Pittsburgh Symphony in 2018.

One of the major quests in Wilson’s plays is what he called “finding one’s song,” and music — especially the blues — figures large in his work. Perhaps with that in mind, Bostic composed a song, “State of Grace” as her personal memorial to Wilson, a song she has recorded, accompanying herself at the piano.

Kathryn Bostic (b. 1970): “State of Grace”; Kathryn Bostic, vocal and piano; Pittsburgh Symphony strings; KBMusic digital download

On today’s date in 2002, Mariss Jansons led the Pittsburg Symphony in the premiere performance of the Symphony No. 2 written by 32-year-old American composer Michael Hersch.

Hardly a child prodigy, he was introduced to classical music at 18 by his brother Jamie, who showed him a videotape of Georg Solti conducting Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. That experience shook him. “It scrambled everything. That’s when I knew that I was to be a composer... My whole life started over at that moment,” Hersch recalled.

He certainly made up for lost time, exhibiting an uncanny ability to master both the piano and the intricacies of contemporary compositional techniques in less than a decade.

His first success as a composer came when his Elegy for Strings won a major prize and was conducted by Marin Alsop at Lincoln Center in New York in 1997. Since then, his works have been commissioned and performed by many other leading orchestras and performers.

Hersch’s Symphony No. 2 has no stated program, but it was composed shortly after the events of September 11, 2001, and knowing that, it’s hard to disassociate the score’s violent opening and subsequent elegiac mood from that tragic moment in American history.

Michael Hersch (b. 1971): Symphony No. 2; Bournemouth Symphony; Marin Alsop, conductor; Naxos 8.559281

On today’s date in 1841 an all-Beethoven concert was given at the Salle Erard to raise funds for the proposed Beethoven monument in Bonn, the late composer’s birthplace. Franz Liszt was the piano soloist in Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto, conducted by Hector Berlioz.

About a month earlier, Liszt had dazzled Paris with the premiere of his new piano fantasia on themes from the popular opera Robert the Devil, by Giacomo Meyerbeer. So, as Liszt walked on stage — with the entire orchestra in place, all ready for Beethoven’s concerto — the audience clamored loudly for a repeat performance. They made such a racket that Berlioz and the orchestra had no choice but to sit idly by until Liszt first encored his Fantasia.

In the audience was 27-year old Richard Wagner, reviewing the concert for a Dresden newspaper. Wagner was outraged that the Beethoven was put on hold for Liszt’s flashy solo.

We’re not sure if Wagner attended a concert the following day at the Salle Pleyel, but any modern-day time traveler would probably want to stick around to hear Frederic Chopin give one of his rare Parisian recitals, performing, among other works, his own F-Major Ballade.

Franz Liszt (1811-1886): Reminiscences de Robert le Diable; Leslie Howard, piano; Hyperion 66861

During the last 20 years of his life, avant-garde German composer Karlheinz Stockhausen concentrated on completing an ambitious cycle of seven operas, collectively titled Licht or, in English Light. Each opera was named for a day of the week and inspired by familiar and obscure world mythologies associated with each day.

The opera Montag (or Monday), for example, is devoted to the Moon and the feminine architype of Eve as the mother of all creation.

Each opera begins with a Greeting, or overture, often an electronic piece heard in the theater lobby while the audience gathers, and ends with a Farewell, sometimes intended for performance outside the theater, to be heard as the audience disperses.

Story lines in Stockhausen’s operas have more in common with symbolic Renaissance courtly masques and pageants than works by Verdi or Puccini, but might be considered a 21th century response to Wagner’s 19th-century cycle of four mythological Ring operas.

Portions of these operas were premiered piecemeal starting in 1977, and only on rare occasions staged in their entirety. The last to be completed, Sontag (or Sunday) was performed complete for the first time in Cologne, Germany, on today’s date in 2011, more than three years after Stockhausen’s death.

Karlheinz Stockhausen (1928-2007): “Lichter-Wasser (Sonntags-Gruss)” from Sonntag aus Licht; Barbara van den Boom, soprano; Hubert Mayer, tenor; Antonio Pérez Abellán, synthesizer; SW Radio Symphony Baden-Baden/Freiburg; Karlheinz Stockhausen, conductor; Stockhausen Verlag CD 58

During his stay in America, Czech composer Antonín Dvořák became convinced that distinctive American music could be based on two sources: the work songs and spirituals of African-Americans and the chants and dances of indigenous Native American tribes. By the early 20th century, a number of American composers had taken his suggestions to heart.

One of them, Arthur Farwell, was born in St. Paul, Minnesota on today’s date in 1872. He went to MIT intending to become an electrical engineer, and did, in fact, get his engineering degree in 1893, the same year Dvořák’s views began appearing in the press. Farwell decided that a musical career might be more interesting than engineering. Frustrated at his inability to find a publisher for his set of solo piano transcriptions, American Indian Melodies, he formed his own publishing house.

He also set Emily Dickinson poems to music, experimented with polytonality, and, in 1916, arranged for the first light show in New York’s Central Park, decades before the psychedelic 1960s. Farwell taught at Cornell, UC Berkley and Michigan State, but never felt at home in academia, preferring to organize community-based musical pageants with audience participation. He died at 79 in New York in 1953.

Arthur Farwell (1872-1952): Navajo War Dance and Song of Peace; Dario Muller, piano; Marco Polo 223715

At London’s St. James’s Hall on today’s date in 1885, Czech composer Antonín Dvořák conducted the London Philharmonic Society’s orchestra in the premiere of his Symphony No. 7, a work they had commissioned.

The Society had also commissioned Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 decades earlier, a fact of which Dvořák was quite aware, and just before starting work he heard and was bowled over by the brand-new Symphony No. 3 by his friend and mentor Johannes Brahms. In other words, “No pressure!”

Dvořák felt he must do his very best, and, judging by the warm reception at its London premiere, the new work was a success, with one reviewer calling it “one of the greatest works of its class produced in the present generation.”

But not all reviews were glowing. Another wrote, “the entire work is painted grey on grey: it lacks sweetness of melody and lightness of style.” And his German publisher complained big symphonies were not profitable and advised he write only shorter piano pieces that had a ready market.

But subsequent performances helped establish the new symphony as the masterwork it is, and although not as often-played as his New World Symphony, today Dvořák’s Symphony No. 7 ranks among his finest creations.

Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904): Scherzo (Movement No. 3); from Symphony No. 7; Berlin Philharmonic; Rafael Kubelik, conductor; DG 463158-2

In 1863, the price of The New York Times was three cents, and many plunked down their pennies to read front-page news about “the rebellion” — what we now call the Civil War.

But if you were a music aficionado back in 1863, the Times “Amusements” page noted that one of Verdi’s newest operas, Un Ballo in Maschera, had just closed at the Academy of Music, and the contemporary composer-pianist Louis Moreau Gottschalk had given a concert of his latest works the day before.

After all that “modern” music, maybe you were in the mood for some really old music. The enterprising duo of William Mason and Theodore Thomas was offering a Soiree of Chamber Music at Dodworth’s Hall on April 21, 1863, and their program included the first public performance in America of the Concerto for Two Keyboards and Strings by J.S. Bach. Now this was really old stuff — predating the birth of America in 1776 by a good 50 years!

The Times did not review this Bach premiere, but the next documented American performance in Boston in 1877 was described in Dwight’s Journal as a “cheerful, lightsome, everyday sort of composition … full of vigor and life, the best of tonics.”

J.S. Bach (1650-1721): Concerto for Two Keyboards

On today’s date in 1928, French musician and inventor Maurice Martenot gave the first public demonstration of a new electronic instrument he had created which produced eerie-sounding tones reminiscent of the human voice, but without the human limitations of voice range or lung power.

Martenot was also a savvy promoter of his new instrument, which he took on a world tour, with his sister serving as its first virtuoso performer. The instrument came to be called the “Ondes Martenot”— which translates into English as “Martenot Waves.”

A number of 20th century composers were quite enthusiastic. Arthur Honegger suggested the instrument might replace the contra-bassoon in symphony orchestras, writing: “The Ondes Martenot has power and a speed of utterance which is not to be compared with those gloomy stove-pipes looming up in orchestras.”

Well, contra-bassoonists needn’t worry: their stove-pipes still provide the low blows in most modern orchestras, but the Ondes Martenot does figure prominently in several major 20th century scores, including the monumental Turangalila Symphony of French composer Oliver Messiaen.

And, following Martenot’s death in 1981, the French even formed an official society with the grand title of “L’Association pour la Diffusion et le Développement des Ondes Martenot.”

Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992): Turangalila Symphony; Tristan Murail, Ondes Martenot; Philharmonia Orchestra; Esa-Pekka Salonen, conductor; Sony 53473