Composers Datebook

There was a time when German opera houses would have fought over the chance to premiere an opera by Richard Strauss. But by 1940, when he finished the mythological opera, The Love of Danae, there was a war on and Strauss had fallen out of favor with Germany’s Nazi rulers.

A scheduled premiere in Dresden had to be cancelled. In Leipzig, the orchestral parts for the new opera were lost in a fire, and in Munich an Allied air raid damaged the opera’s sets and scenery. By the summer of 1944, when conductor Clemens Krauss was rehearsing handpicked vocal soloists and the Vienna Philharmonic for the opera’s belated premiere at the Salzburg Festival, the collapse of the Third Reich was imminent.

On August 1, an order was issued from Berlin canceling all music festivals and closing all theaters. Somehow Salzburg managed to get a dispensation, and rehearsals for Strauss’ opera were allowed to continue. A private dress rehearsal of The Love of Danae took place in Salzburg on August 16, 1944. The 80-year old composer attended, and, with tears in his eyes, thanked the performers with these words: “Perhaps we shall meet again in a better world.”

Richard Strauss (1864-1949): Die Liebe der Danae (Symphonic Fragment); Toronto Symphony; Andrew Davis, conductor; CBS 45804

It’s said that nature abhors a vacuum — and so, apparently, did Richard Wagner, who devised a brass instrument to bridge a gap he perceived between the horns and the trombones in the orchestra of his day. And so the Wagner tuba was born, a brass instrument Wagner designed for the 1876 premiere of his cycle of four Ring operas in Bayreuth, Germany, which began on today’s date that year with Das Rheingold — the first opera in the Ring cycle.

Other composers have also scored for Wagner tubas, including Anton Bruckner and Richard Strauss, both ardent Wagner fans, and also Igor Stravinsky, who, though certainly not a Wagnerite, did include Wagner tubas in the early versions of some of his famous ballet scores.

Some contemporary composers include parts for the Wagner tuba in their works as well, and a quartet of these instruments appears in a 1994 score Hungarian composer György Kurtág wrote for the Berlin Philharmonic and its then music director, Claudio Abbado. Kurtág is noted for his short, epigrammatic and introspective chamber works, and Stele is his first major work for a large, conventional, arranged symphony orchestra.

György Kurtág (1926-2019): Stele; SWR Symphony; Michael Gielen, conductor; Hänssler 93001

Some have claimed that it was on today’s date in 1877 that the American inventor Thomas Edison recorded his own voice reciting, “Mary had a little lamb” on a tinfoil cylinder of his own design. Other historians date the precise birth of the phonograph earlier, others later. In any case, the Edison Speaking Phonograph Company wasn’t established until January of 1878.

Initially, music wasn’t Edison’s top priority: He thought his phonograph might be profitable as an aid to stenographers, or for families who wanted to record the last words of beloved relatives.

Eventually, however, classical music and the phonograph began to interact.

In London in 1888, a bit of a Crystal Palace performance of Handel’s oratorio Israel in Egypt was captured on an Edison cylinder. In Vienna, Johannes Brahms, seated at the piano, recorded a snippet of his famous Hungarian Dance No. 3, with a spoken intro many wrongly assumed was by the composer.

The voice of British composer Arthur Sullivan was captured, however, commenting, “I am astonished — and terrified — at the thought that so much hideous and bad music may be put on record forever!”

Well, Arthur, I’m afraid there’s no going back now…

Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904) arr. Kreisler: Songs My Mother Taught Me; Fritz Kreisler, violin Pearl 9324

George Frederic Handel (1685-1757): excerpt from Judas Maccabeus; Edward Lloyd, tenor; Koch Historic 7703

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897): plays on an Edison cylinder (recorded 1889); Johannes Brahms, piano; Pearl 99049

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897): Hungarian Dance No. 1; Idil Biret, piano; Naxos 8.550355

As the proverbial saying goes: “Necessity is the mother of invention.”

It was, frankly, a matter of economic necessity that led 36-year-old Austrian conductor Clemens Krauss to program an all-Johann Strauss concert by the Vienna Philharmonic at the Salzburg Music Festival on today’s date in 1929.

The Festival was established in 1920 with high ideals but insecure funding. To succeed, the Festival needed both strong local support and wealthy visitors from abroad. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, but in 1929, as the festival approached its 10th anniversary, its finances and future seemed uncertain.

Now, Krauss knew that Strauss waltzes were popular with both the natives and the festival’s international visitors, so why not offer a whole concert program consisting of nothing but the dance music of Johann Strauss? The August 11, 1929, concert proved to be a resounding success, and the idea was repeated at the Festival several times over the next decade.

Back home in Vienna, Krauss revived the idea of an all-Strauss concert on December 31, 1939. That year-end tradition continues to this day, as the Philharmonic presents its annual New Year’s Concert, broadcast worldwide from Golden Hall of the Musikverein in Vienna.

Johann Strauss, Jr. (1825-1899): Annen Polka and Perpetuum Mobile; Vienna Philharmonic; Clemens Krauss, conductor; Preiser 90139 (recorded 1929)

On today’s date in 1813, William Henry Fry was born in Philadelphia. As a journalist, he was one of the most vociferous champions of American concert music, and put his money where his mouth was by becoming a composer, creating a number of programmatic works, including a Niagara symphony and another titled Santa Claus. Above all else, Fry was passionate about opera, and wrote several of his own.

Fry was a colorful — if understandably biased — music critic. Here’s an excerpt from his 1862 review of a New York performance of Verdi’s Il Trovatore — an opera only 9 years old at that time:

“Trovatore … has a wonderful plot, beyond human comprehension; though finally we learn in the last scene that [the tenor] is made into soup by the order of his brother [the baritone], who then expresses his emotion and surprise on learning of the transaction as the curtain falls. As to the music — there are some charming, popular, ingenious, artistic … points; [but] there are others egregiously vulgar and rowdy. The Anvil Chorus, for example, is about the equal to a scene of mending a sewer set to music; or repairing a pair of cast-off leather breeches.”

William Henry Fry (1813-1864): Macbeth Overture; Royal Scottish National Orchestra; Tony Rowe, conductor; Naxos 8.559057

If your dad wrote music for silent movies and you also want to write music, does that increase the odds you’ll end up a film composer, too? That was the case with David Raksin, who was born in Philadelphia in 1912, and who died in Los Angeles on today’s date in 2004.

When he was 23, he moved to Hollywood to help Charlie Chaplin arrange Chaplin’s music for the film, Modern Times, and stayed on in Hollywood, working without credit on dozens of B-rated films.

A big break came in 1944 with the tremendous success of Raksin’s haunting score for the 1944 film noir classic, Laura. By the time of his death, he had written scores for hundreds of films and TV shows.

In 1960, for the Horn Club of Los Angeles, he wrote Morning Revisited. He explained the odd title as follows: “They needed a piece [for] their entire ensemble … two antiphonal groups of six French horns, four Wagner tubas, a baritone horn, two contrabass tubas, and seven timpani. I was busy working on a picture, so I’d start work at four or five a.m., and that’s how I wrote Morning Revisited.”

David Raksin (1912-2004): Morning Revisited; The Horn Club of Los Angeles; David Raksin, conductor; EMI 63764

Just about any time is a good time to be in Paris, but chances are, given your druthers, you wouldn’t have chosen to be there in 1942. The city was occupied by German troops, and World War II had several more dismal years to grind on.

But if you were in Paris on today’s date in 1942, you could have visited the Paris Opera for the premiere of a new ballet by French composer Francis Poulenc: Les Animaux Modeles or The Model Animals, with a scenario based on animal fables by French writer La Fontaine.

In 1924, in happier times, Poulenc had made his name with another one-act ballet. Les Biches or The Does and was written for the Ballets Russes of Monte Carlo. That work’s scenario described the flirtations and seductions of some bright young things at a house party in the country. “Everything was simple and carefree, sunshine and good humor,” as Poulenc himself put it.

Not surprisingly, Poulenc’s 1942 ballet was a darker, often grimmer affair, expressing perhaps the quiet desperation of the German occupation, mingled with a fervent hope for better days to come.

Francis Poulenc (1899-1963): Les Animaux Modeles; French National Orchestra; Charles Dutoit, conductor; London 452 937

On today’s date in 1893, a talented Italian composer died of tuberculosis at 39. His name was Alfredo Catalani, and, in his short lifetime, he completed six operas. The last of these, La Wally, premiered the year before his death and proved the most successful.

The opera had some passionate fans — including the famous Italian conductor Arturo Toscanini, who even named one of his daughters Wally, after the title character.

These days Catalani’s operas are rarely staged, but one aria from La Wally has kept his name alive. In Act One, the mountain maid Wally sings “Ebben? Ne andrò lontana” (“Well, then? I’ll go far away”) as she decides to leave her home forever.

This aria became very popular with sopranos and has been recorded by artists ranging from Maria Callas to Renée Fleming.

Oddly enough, the aria plays a major role in a movie — a 1981 French crime thriller, Diva, about an obsessed opera fan who has a secret recording made of his favorite soprano singing it — an artist who (in the movie) refuses to be recorded, so (of course) everyone wants to get their hands on his bootleg.

Viardot-Garcia, Pauline (1821-1910): 12 Poems by Pushkin, Fet and Turgenev: No. 12. Les Étoiles; Laetitia Grimaldi, soprano; Ammiel Bushakevitz, piano; Bis 2546

In 1942, the 19th Festival of the International Society for Contemporary Music was held in Berkeley, California. Over 30 composers from 13 nations were represented. All of them were male­ — with one exception. On today’s date, the Prelude, Allegro, and Pastorale for clarinet and viola written by Rebecca Clarke was premiered at the Festival.

Clarke was born in England, in 1886, to an American father and a German mother. She grew up a British citizen, studied music in London, and became one of the U.K.’s first female professional orchestral violists. She was stranded in the United States at the outbreak of World War II and settled permanently in New York City.

In notes for the 1942 Festival, she modestly described her Prelude, Allegro and Pastorale as: “… very unpretentious: a short, unassuming little prelude … The second movement should sound very spirited … The third movement, Pastorale, is rather melancholy and nostalgic…”

This work, and much of her music, remained unpublished during her lifetime, but, over time, its quality and range increasingly came to light. When she turned 90 in 1976, she was interviewed by the BBC, and seemed both gratified and bemused by all the renewed attention.

Rebecca Clarke (1886-1979): Prelude, Allegro and Pastorale; Robert Plane, clarinet; Philip Dukes, viola; Naxos 8.557934

On today’s date in 2012, at the Royal Albert Hall in London, the BBC’s Scottish Symphony, under the direction of Scottish conductor Donald Runnicles, gave the world premiere of a new orchestral piece by Scottish composer Thea Musgrave.

You might be forgiven for asking, “Were any bagpipes involved?” No, but the piece did involve the next best thing­ — ­if you’re Scottish that is — namely the Loch Ness monster. Here’s how Thea Musgrave described her new work, Loch Ness – A Postcard from Scotland:

“This Scottish loch is famous for its monster — only very occasionally seen. In this lighthearted work he, the monster (a tuba), emerges from the depths (E flat) to find the sun (A major) coming out from a thick mist (string clusters).

“As he plays he is warmed by the sparkling sun (trumpets) and by the strains of an ancient Scottish melody. As the sun goes down, he dives back into the deep waters with a big splash. Then a cool moon rises, a light breeze ruffles the surface of the waters, and all is at peace.”

Thea Musgrave (b. 1928): Loch Ness – A Postcard from Scotland; BBC National Orchestra of Wales; William Boughton, conductor; Lyrita 372