Composers Datebook

On this date in 1905, Austro-Hungarian composer Franz Lehár conducted the first performance of his new operetta, The Merry Widow. He was sure it would be a success, but others did not share his confidence. The show’s librettist, lawyer in tow, urged him to cancel the premiere, and the nervous theater manager banned Viennese reporters from dress rehearsals, fearing bad advance press.

After a lukewarm debut at Vienna’s Theater an der Wien, The Merry Widow moved to a smaller, suburban theater, where it suddenly caught on. Within a year it had become a sensational hit throughout Europe.

Lehár’s contemporary, Gustav Mahler, was a Merry Widow fan, although he sent his wife, Alma, to buy the music rather than risk the embarrassment of having the director of Vienna’s Imperial Opera House seen buying such a shamelessly “pop” score.

Ironically, another great fan of Lehár’s music was Adolf Hitler. Despite the fact that his wife and many of his professional associates were Jewish, his music continued to be performed in Nazi Germany. He was 68 when Austria became part of the German Reich, and continued to conduct in Vienna and Berlin.

Lehár’s family was spared, but many of his former associates were forced into exile. Others were not so lucky: In 1942, Louis Treumann, who first sang The Merry Widow Waltz at the 1905 premiere in Vienna, died in the concentration camp at Theresienstadt.

Franz Lehár (1870-1948): The Merry Widow excerpts; Budapest Philharmonic; Janos Sandor, conductor; Laserlight 15046

While hardly twins, the String Quartets of Claude Debussy and Maurice Ravel are often linked in the minds of music lovers and record companies. Admired today for their grace and sheer beauty, back when these quartets were first performed in Paris, reactions were quite different.

Debussy’s work premiered on today’s date in 1893, played by the Ysaÿe Quartet. One critic wrote the music was “strange and bizarre, with too many echoes of the streets of Cairo and the gamelan.” The gamelan reference was a dig at Debussy’s enthusiasm for the Indonesian bronze gong ensemble that he — and many Europeans — heard for the first time at the Paris Exposition of 1889, which bought musical performers from around the globe to that city.

Ravel completed his quartet ten years after Debussy’s. It’s dedicated to his teacher Gabriel Fauré, and was first played by the Heymann Quartet on March 5, 1904. Ravel submitted it to both the Prix de Rome and the Conservatoire de Paris. It was rejected by both institutions, and Fauré described the quartet’s last movement as “stunted, badly balanced, in fact a failure.”

Now if Debussy were a modern-day American, he might have sent Ravel a note saying: “I feel your pain” or “Been there, done that” — but what he actually wrote to Ravel was: “In the name of the gods of music and in my own, do not touch a single note you have written in your quartet!”

And you know what? Debussy was right.

On today’s date in 1910, the Metropolitan Opera premiered a new opera by German composer Engelbert Humperdinck, already famous for his opera Hansel and Gretel. This new opera was also a fairytale and titled Königskinder or The Royal Children.

The female lead role of the Goose Girl was sung by Geraldine Farrar, admired back then for both her vocal and physical beauty. Farrar wasn’t scared of geese, either. She convinced both Humperdinck and Giulio Gatti-Casazza, the Met’s manager, to add a touch of verismo to the staging.

In her autobiography, Farrar writes: “Humperdinck was not a little taken aback when I mentioned that I intended having live geese which were to move naturally and unconfined about the stage … The conductor was much perturbed and objected to the noise and confusion they might create; but Mr. Gatti was resigned to my whim … So with the help of … the ‘boys’ behind the stage I had as pretty a flock of birds as one could find on any farm. When the curtain rose upon that idyllic forest scene, with the goose girl in the grass, the geese unconcernedly picking their way about, now and again spreading snowy wings, unafraid, the [audience] was simply delighted and applauded long and vigorously.”

Unlike Hansel and Gretel, Königskinder had an unhappy fairy-tale ending, and despite some really lovely music, it’s seldom staged these days — with or without live geese.

Engelbert Humperdinck (1854-1921): Koenigskinder Excerpts

In the hands of a great performer, the violin can sing with the personality and intensity of a great opera singer. Pyrotechnics may dazzle, but nothing moves an audience as much as when a great violinist “sings” through his instrument.

On today's date in 1896, a French audience in Nancy must has been so moved when great violinist Eugène Ysaÿe gave the first performance of this music: the Poème for Violin and Orchestra by Ernest Chausson. In addition to famous artists like Manet and Degas, Chausson counted among his friends many of the great musicians of his day, including Ysäye.

Although they admired his work, Chausson was not always appreciated by the public. But when Ysaÿe premiered Chausson’s Poème in Paris in 1897, the applause went on and on. Used to just the opposite reaction, Chausson was stunned by his success, and, while thanking Ysaye profusely, kept repeating to himself: “I just can’t believe it!”

Modern-day violinist Joshua Bell was the inspiration for this songful contemporary work by Aaron Jay Kernis. Air for Violin was originally composed for violin and piano, and premiered in 1995 by Bell. He recorded it the following year with the Minnesota Orchestra.

Ernest Chausson (1855-1899) Poème; Isaac Stern, violin; Orchestre de Paris; Daniel Barenboim, conductor. CBS/Sony 64501

Aaron Jay Kernis (b. 1960) Air for Violin; Minnesota Orchestra; Joshua Bell, violin; David Zinman, conductor. Argo 460 226

On this day in 1926, Walter Damrosch conducted the New York Symphony in the first performance of the last major orchestral work of Finnish composer Jean Sibelius — his symphonic tone poem Tapiola. The title refers to an ancient Finnish forest god, Tapio, and the music suggests an ancient mystery culminating in a burst of terrifying savagery.

After receiving the score, Damrosch wrote this note of appreciation to the composer: “No one but a Norseman could have written this work. We were all enthralled by the dark pine forests and the shadowy gods and wood nymphs who dwell therein. The coda with its icy winds sweeping through the forest made us shiver.” Today the commission fee Damrosch paid Sibelius for this orchestral masterpiece makes us shiver: Sibelius was paid only $400.

At this point in his career, Sibelius was afflicted by intense self-doubt. He wrote in his diary: “I have suffered because of Tapiola … was I really cut out for this sort of thing? Going downhill. Can’t be alone. Drinking whiskey. Physically not strong enough for all this…”

For the next 30 years and more, Sibelius lived in retirement, drinking heavily, and though rumors persisted that he was still writing music, no scores were discovered after his death.

Jean Sibelius (1865-1957): Tapiola; Helsinki Philharmonic; Paavo Berglund, conductor; EMI 68646

On today’s date in 1937, as a Christmas gift to the nation, the NBC radio network broadcast the first NBC Symphony Orchestra concert conducted by Arturo Toscanini. The orchestra had been specifically created to lure the famous Italian conductor back to America.

For the first selection on his first concert, Toscanini chose what was then an obscure piece an obscure Italian composer named Antonio Vivaldi: his Concerto Grosso No. 11, to be exact.

These days we are used to hearing Baroque music in “historically informed performances,” “hip” for short, and often played on period instruments. By those standards, Toscanini’s Vivaldi might be described as “pre-historic,” but in 1937 it must have seemed a shockingly hip selection: a bracing, bold shot of unfamiliar Baroque music by a composer rarely — if ever — heard on a symphony concert.

In fact, one might argue that Toscanini was trying to be “historically informed,” since he probably used a score prepared by the Italian musicologist and composer Gian Francesco Malipiero, based on manuscripts and original editions of Vivaldi’s music found in the library of the Liceo Musicale in Venice, where Malipiero taught in the 1930s and Vivaldi lived in the 1730s.

Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741): Concerto Grosso No. 11; NBC Symphony; Arturo Toscanini, conductor (r. Dec. 25, 1937)

Okay, how’s this for a movie scene worthy of Doctor Zhivago:

It’s October 1917 and Lenin has overthrown the Tsarist government of Russia. A composer and virtuoso pianist can hear gunfire from his apartment as he works and decides that his family must flee their homeland. He receives an offer for recital appearances in Scandinavia and uses the offer as a pretext to escape Russia. But first, the family must face a dangerous journey to Finland in trains crowded with terrified passengers.

At the Finnish border, a music-loving Bolshevik guard recognizes the famous artist and allows the family safe passage. But wait — there are no more trains running, so they must travel to Helsinki in an open peasant sleigh during a raging blizzard. They arrive in Stockholm on Christmas Eve, and one year later the composer and his family are able to book passage from Oslo to New York.

If that sounds perhaps a bit too melodramatic, consider that scenario is exactly what happened to Sergei Rachmaninoff, his wife, and two daughters.

In America, Rachmaninoff became a star pianist, playing 92 concerts at Carnegie Hall between 1918 and 1943. He continued to compose, but lamented, “When I lost my homeland, I lost myself as well … I have no will to create without … Russian soil under my feet.” He would complete only six more major works during his 25 years in America.

Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873-1943) Piano Concerto No. 1; Krystian Zimerman, piano; Boston Symphony Orchestra; Seiji Ozawa, conductor; DG 4796868

On today’s date in 1893, the opera Hansel and Gretel by 39-year-old German composer Engelbert Humperdinck received its premiere performance at the Court Theater of Weimar. It was conducted by a promising 29-year-old composer by the name of Richard Strauss.

It quickly became an international hit, playing to packed houses in Berlin, Vienna and London. Gustav Mahler, head of the Hamburg Opera at the time, declared it a masterpiece, and parents on several continents breathed a sigh of relief: here was an opera without the sex and violence so fashionable in the media — even back in 1893! Hansel and Gretel quickly became a Christmastime tradition — even though there’s nothing in it particular Christmassy apart from children, sugary things to eat, and the appearance of an angel or two.

Initially, Humperdinck didn’t even want to write anything as silly as an opera on Hansel and Gretel. He was a serious young protégé of Richard Wagner who had helped copy the orchestral parts for Wagner’s final opera, Parsifal.

It was his sister who talked him in to writing some music for a children’s play she had prepared on the familiar fairytale by the Brothers Grimm. At some point, Humperdinck must have realized he not only could — but should — work his sister’s play into a full-blown opera, which would blend Wagner’s complex orchestral technique with a simple but universally appealing story that would charm old and young alike.

Engelbert Humperdinck (1854-1921): Hansel and Gretel Suite; Royal Philharmonic; Rudolf Kempe, conductor; EMI 68736

Opera fanatics are a passionate lot. “It’s an addiction,” they say. “Something to die for.”

Now, if opera is an addiction, then today’s date marks the birthdate of an Italian composer who might be described as the ultimate operatic gateway drug. We’re talking, of course, about Giacomo Antonio Domenico Michele Secondo Maria Puccini, who was born in Lucca, in 1858.

Puccini is the composer of three of the most popular operas ever written: La Bohème (in 1896), Tosca (in 1900), and Madama Butterfly (in 1904).

Puccini lived and worked during the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th, and his music brilliantly blended the gorgeous melodies of the 19th century Italian bel canto tradition with the raw, often brutal dramatics of the emerging verismo, or “realism” theatrics of the 20th century.

Unlike 19th century operas, when time stands still while a soprano sings how happy (or miserable) she is, in Puccini’s operas time always moves on, often relentlessly as the action hurls toward the, usually, unhappy ending, when the soprano dies of consumption, throws herself off a castle tower, or dies by ritual suicide with a Japanese dagger.

After all, Puccini’s operas really are “something to die for.”

Giacomo Puccini (1858-1924): “Pinkerton’s Farewell” and “The Death Of Butterfly” from Madama Butterfly; Kostelanetz Orchestra; Andre Kostelanetz, conductor; Columbia MDK 46285

In all, American composer David Diamond wrote 11 symphonies, spanning some 50 years of his professional career. The last dates from 1991, and the first from 1940, completed after his return from studies in Paris shortly before the outbreak of World War II.

Diamond’s Symphony No. 1 was premiered on today’s date in 1941 by the New York Philharmonic led by famous Greek conductor Dimitri Mitropoulos. Despite winning awards and positive comments from fellow composers ranging from Virgil Thomson to Arnold Schoenberg, for years Diamond struggled to make ends meet by playing violin in various New York City theater pit bands. More than one fellowship grant, however, enabled him to live abroad for extended stays, where, he said:

“I can make my income last and live extremely well with my own villa and garden at a cost that would provide a hole-in-the-wall, coldwater flat in America … There is a spiritual nourishment, too, in that cradle of serious music [and] quiet for concentration that could never be found in an American city.”

Defending his more traditional approach, Diamond wrote: “It is my strong feeling that a romantically inspired contemporary music, tempered by reinvigorated classical technical formulas, is the way out of the present period of creativity chaos in music … To me, the romantic spirit in music is important because it is timeless.”

David Diamond (1915-2005): Symphony No. 1; Seattle Symphony; Gerard Schwarz, conductor; Delos 3119