Composers Datebook

For the 1965-1966 season of the New York Philharmonic, Leonard Bernstein planned a series of concerts titled “Symphonic Forms in the 20th Century,” programming works by Mahler, Sibelius and other great European masters. Bernstein also included American symphonies, including, on today’s date in 1966, the belated premiere performance of David Diamond’s Symphony No. 5.

Diamond began work on his Symphony No. 5 in 1947, and its original inspiration was two-fold: Diamond wanted to compose a symphony for Bernstein to premiere and to translate into music the vivid emotions he experienced after attending a performance of Sophocles’ tragedy, Oedipus the King. But Diamond found recreating the Oedipus story harder than he thought. He ended up putting his Fifth aside, and finished and premiered his Sixth, Seventh, and Eight Symphonies before coming to the realization that, “Program symphonies were just not for me.”

Years later, Bernstein asked, “What ever happened to that symphony you were going to write for me?”

Diamond explained all this to Bernstein, who replied, “Well, it’s about time you did something about it — it’s silly to have one symphony that just isn’t there!”

And so, Diamond set to work completing a non-programmatic Fifth, dedicated to Leonard Bernstein.

David Diamond (1915-2005): Symphony No. 5; Juilliard Orchestra, Christopher Keene, conductor; New World 80396

Few of us today really know — or care — very much about the War of Austrian Succession, a conflict that troubled Europe in the 18th century. For music lovers, it’s enough to know that to celebrate the end of that war, George Frederic Handel was commissioned to compose music for a fireworks concert in London’s Green Park, an event that took place on today’s date in the year 1749.

Back then there were no such things as microphones and loudspeakers, so Handel’s score called for a huge military band of 24 oboes, nine horns, nine trumpets, three sets of timpani, 12 bassoons, two contrabassoons and strings. When King George II was told about it, he balked a little at the expense.

“Well, at least I hope there won’t be any fiddles,” he commented, and so Handel was informed the strings were definitely off.

A public rehearsal was held at the Vauxhall Gardens and a London newspaper reported that 100 musicians performed for an audience of more than 12,000, causing a three-hour traffic jam of carriages and pedestrians on London Bridge. The official event with fireworks went off with a bang — as well as a few fires breaking out.

George Frederic Handel (1685-1759): Music for the Royal Fireworks; Academy of St. Martin in the Fields; Neville Marriner, conductor; Argo 414596

On today’s date in 1965, the first complete performance of American composer Charles Ives’ Symphony No. 4 took place in New York.

38 years earlier, in 1927, also in New York, British conductor Eugene Goossens had performed the first two movements of Ives’ Fourth Symphony, after many a sleepless night trying to figure out how to perform certain sections of Ives’ score where the bar-lines didn’t jibe — parts where more than one rhythm pattern happened simultaneously.

“I remember,” Goosens said, “that I wound up beating two with my stick, three with my left hand, something else with my head, and something else again with my coat tails.”

For the 1965 premiere and first recording of Ives’ complete symphony, Leopold Stokowski solved this problem by enlisting the aid of two assistant conductors, David Katz and Jose Serebrier — all three men working simultaneously at times to cue the musicians in the trickiest passages of the score.

One of conductors who assisted Stokowski in 1965, José Serebrier, went on to recorded Ives’ Fourth again — this time without the aid of assistant conductors, coat tails, or the surgical addition of another set of arms.

Charles Ives (1874-1954): Symphony No. 4; Los Angeles Philharmonic; Gustavo Dudamel, conductor; DG 4839505

José Serebrier (b. 1938): Symphony No. 2 (‘Partita’) London Philharmonic; José Serebrier, conductor; Reference 90

On today’s date in 1926, Giacomo Puccini’s last opera, Turandot, had its belated premiere at the La Scala Opera House in Milan, with Arturo Toscanini conducting. The originally scheduled 1925 premiere had to be postponed, as Puccini had died in November 1924, leaving Turandot unfinished.

Another Italian composer, Franco Alfano, was brought in to complete the opera based on Puccini’s sketches. It’s said that after showing Toscanini his completion, Alfano asked, “What do you have to say, Maestro?”

Toscanini replied, “I say I see Puccini’s ghost coming to punch me in the nose.”

On opening night, Toscanini stopped the performance at the point that Puccini had ceased composing and left the podium in tears — a touching act of homage to Puccini, perhaps, but also a vote of “no confidence” regarding Alfano’s completion of the beloved master’s score.

Although well received by critics, the Puccini Turandot with Alfano’s ending remained less popular than other Puccini operas for decades. After a run of performances in the late 1920s when the opera was still new, Turandot remained unperformed at the Metropolitan Opera until 1961, when Birgit Nilsson and Franco Corelli scored a huge success in a lavish Franco Zeffirelli revival production.

Giacomo Puccini (1858-1924): Nessun dorma, from Turandot; Academy of St Martin in the Fields; Neville Marriner, conductor; EMI 49552

Haydn’s oratorio The Seasons had its premiere performance on this date in Vienna in 1801. Like its predecessor, The Creation, Haydn’s new oratorio was a great success, and, as before, Haydn received help with the text and a lot of advice from the versatile Gottfried Bernhard Baron van Swieten, an enthusiastic admirer of Handel oratorios and the music of J.S. Bach.

Swieten’s text for The Seasons included many opportunities for baroque-style “tone painting” — musical representations of everything from croaking frogs and workers toiling in the fields, sections that raised a lot of smiles in 1801 and still do today. Haydn, famous for his sense of humor, in this case humored the old-fashioned tastes of the Baron as well.

Speaking of the text, since Haydn was tremendous popular in England, Baron van Swieten prepared an English-language version of his text, trying to fit the English words to the rhythm of his original German. Alas, the good Baron’s command of English was, to put it diplomatically, perhaps not as firm he imagined. So these days, ensembles wishing to perform Haydn’s oratorio have a choice: they can opt for Swieten’s quaint-but-clunky English version, or his more graceful German original.

Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809): Ländler, from The Seasons; Academy of St. Martin in the Fields; Neville Marriner, conductor; Philips 438715

Deadlines are a fact of life for many of us — and composers are no exception.

In 1875, Peter Tchaikovsky agreed to write 12 short solo pieces, one a month, for a St. Petersburg music magazine, beginning with their January 1876 issue. Tchaikovsky dashed the first piece off, but, fearing that he might forget his monthly deadline, took the wise precaution of instructing his servant to remind him.

“Peter Ilyich, isn’t it about time to send something off to St. Petersburg?” Tchaikovsky’s dutiful servant would say before each month’s deadline. Tchaikovsky would drop whatever he was working on and finish the next installment.

So, it’s not too far-fetched to imagine Tchaikovsky on this date back in 1876, putting the finishing touches to this little piano piece for the May issue of the St. Petersburg magazine, a sketch he titled Starlight Nights.

More recently, the contemporary American composer, Judith Lang Zaimont, also composed a set of 12 short piano pieces, one for each month, a suite she titled Calendar Collection.

An accomplish pianist and composer, Zaimont taught for many years at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. This music — which we again offer ahead of schedule — is titled The May Fly.

Peter Tchaikovsky (1840-1893): May, from The Seasons; Lang Lang, piano; Sony 11758

Judith Lang Zaimont (b. 1945): The May Fly, from Calendar Collection; Nanette Kaplan Solomon, piano; Leonarda 334

On this date in 1948, the ballet Fall River Legend was premiered at the Metropolitan Opera House by the Ballet Theatre of New York. The choreography was by Agnes de Mille, and the music by Morton Gould.

The previous year, de Mille and Gould had met at the Russian Tea Room to discuss their ballet, a retelling of the true story of Lizzie Borden, acquitted for the gruesome ax murders of her father and stepmother.

Both de Mille and Gould thought Borden must have been guilty as charged.

“Well, what shall we do about that?” asked de Mille.

“Hang her!” said Gould, adding that in any case, it would be easier for him to write hanging music than acquittal music.

So, with that large dollop of poetic license, de Mille and Gould came up with the scenario for a ballet that opens with Lizzie standing before the gallows.

Morton Gould was known for his ability to blend folk music, jazz, gospel, blues and other elements into lively, colorful orchestral works. He was also a noted conductor, with over one hundred recordings to his credit — including a classic RCA Living Stereo recording of the Suite he arranged from his Fall River Legend ballet.

Morton Gould (1913-1996): Fall River Legend; New Zealand Symphony Orchestra; James Sedares, conductor; Koch 7181

In the biographical film Maestro, Leonard Bernstein’s dramatic 1943 Carnegie Hall debut conducting the New York Philharmonic, filling in at the last moment for Bruno Walter, receives a masterful cinematic treatment.

But the first time Bernstein wielded a baton in public took place on today’s date in 1939, when Lenny was still a student at Harvard and conducted his own incidental music for a student performance of the ancient Greek comedy, The Birds, by Aristophanes.

The play was performed in the original Greek, and since almost no one in the audience would understand what was being said, the production relied on visual, slapstick comedy and Bernstein’s electric music to bring the ancient text to life. Bernstein’s score referenced everything from sitar music to the blues to get the humor across. The student production was a surprise smash hit. Aaron Copland and Walter Piston were in the audience, and photos even appeared in Life magazine.

Bernstein recycled one of his bluesy songs from The Birds into his 1944 musical On the Town, but the rest of the 1939 score was never published, and only revived in 1999 for a performance by the EOS Orchestra in New York, and to date has never been recorded.

Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990): On the Town: Three Dance Episodes; New York Philharmonic; Leonard Bernstein, conductor; Sony 42263

On today’s date in 1862, an 18-year-old Russian named Nicolai Andreyevich Rimsky-Korsakov graduated as midshipman from the Russian Naval Academy and prepared for a two-year’s training cruise around the world. His uncle was an admiral and a close friend of the Czar, and in his autobiography Rimsky-Korsakov admits he, too, at first thought it might be a good idea — he loved reading travel books, after all.

But then Rimsky-Korsakov was seduced by music. He’d made the acquaintance of eminent Russian composers of his day, lost interest in a naval career, and dreamed of composing music himself.

The young midshipman’s tour of duty did enable him to hear a lot of it and to sample opera performances in London and New York. But what made the biggest impression on the budding composer was the sky below the equator.

“Wonderful days and nights,” he wrote. “The marvelous dark-azure of the day would be replaced by a fantastic phosphorescent night. The tropical night sky over the ocean is the most amazing thing in the world.”

It’s perhaps not too fanciful to believe that such impressions helped Rimsky-Korsakov develop into one of the most inventive and masterful painters of symphonic colors and instrumental effects.

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908): Prelude (A Hymn to Nature), from The Invisible City of Kitezh; Scottish National Orchestra, Neeme Järvi, conductor; Chandos 8327

A concerto, according to Webster’s Dictionary, is “a piece for one or more soloists and orchestra with three contrasting movements.” And for most classical music fans, “concerto” means one of big romantic ones by Beethoven or Tchaikovsky, works in which there is a kind of dramatic struggle between soloist and orchestra.

But on today’s date in 2003, the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra and its concertmaster Stephen Copes premiered a Violin Concerto that didn’t quite fit that mold. For starters, it had four movements, and this Violin Concerto No. 2 by American composer George Tsontakis was more “democratic” than romantic — meaning the solo violinist seems to invite the other members of the orchestra to join in the fun, rather than hogging all the show. This concerto is more like a friendly, playful game than a life-and-death contest, and Tsontakis even titles his second movement “Gioco” or “Games.”

The new concerto proved a winner, being selected for the prestigious 2005 Grawemeyer Award for Music Composition. Even so, George Tsontakis confesses to being a little shy when sitting in the audience as his music is played, knowing full well, he says, that most people came to hear the Beethoven or Tchaikovsky, and not him.

George Tsontakis (b. 1951): Violin Concerto No. 2; Stephen Copes, violin; Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra; Douglas Boyd, conductor; Koch International 7592