Royal Hunt and Storm from Les Troyens
Hector Berlioz (1803-1869)
“[It is] the finest and most sustained piece of nature painting in all music; it is like some noble landscape of Claude [Lorrain, 17 th c.] come to life in sound.” Thus wrote opera guru Ernest Newman about the “Royal Hunt and Storm” from the opera Les Troyens by Hector Berlioz.
That opera was a marvel in many ways, as the composer wrote, “I am sure I have written a great work, greater and nobler than anything [I have] done hitherto.” He was not being egotistical, for he knew that eventually his opera would go down in musical history as his grandest and possibly his greatest accomplishment. Berlioz labored over the score from 1856 to 1860. However, largely because his music was by then out of fashion, the composer was unsuccessful at getting it staged. Finally, in 1863, there was an opportunity to produce Acts III-V under the title The Trojans at Carthage. This was also the premiere of the “Royal Hunt and Storm,” which comes at the end of Act III. The best description of the pantomime that accompanies this symphonic intermezzo comes from Kobbe’s Opera Book:
The scene is a virgin forest near Carthage. Naiads cross the glade and swim in the stream. The sound of the hunt can be heard in the distance; the naiads listen anxiously, then disappear. Huntsmen cross the stage; there are signs that a storm is approaching, and one of them takes shelter under a tree. Ascanius is seen, and after him come Dido and Aeneas, the former dressed as Diana, the latter as a warrior, and both take shelter. Naiads dash off, fauns and satyrs dance, and cries of “Italie!” are heard. A tree falls, struck by lightning and bursts into flames; the fauns pick up its burning branches and dance off. The scene is covered with thick clouds, the storm dies down, and gradually peace returns.
How, then, are we to listen to this music? Again, Newman is our guide:
[The listeners] who know Virgil will not make the mistake of seeing in the “Royal Hunt and Storm” only a piece of nature painting in music, dragged in for its own pictorial sake. [They] will listen imaginatively to it, as Berlioz certainly intended [them] to do, as the passionate climax to the realization by Dido and Aeneas of their love for each other.
Piccolo Concerto in C Major, RV 443
(arr. for Vibraphone by Evelyn Glennie)
Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741)
Vivaldi’s flute concertos come from around 1730 and after, when the transverse flute was replacing the Baroque recorder in 18th century orchestras. Besides his 10 solo flute concertos, Vivaldi also wrote two concertos for recorder and three for an instrument designated as a flautino. Authorities are unsure whether this was a sopranino recorder or its close relative, the flageolet. In either case, the sounding range that Antonio Vivaldi sought was very high, corresponding to that of the later-developed piccolo on which these works are performed today. This high-pitched sound gives the “piccolo” concertos their special charm. Evelyn Glennie has imaginatively adapted this idiom to that of the vibraphone.
The Concerto begins with a vigorous theme. Solo passages work chiefly in broken chord figures, but just before the final statement, Vivaldi tests the soloist with a passage emphasizing wide leaps.
The Largo movement is like an aria with the vibraphone featured in the manner of a solo singer. Gently rocking rhythms, heavily ornamented at times by the vibraphone, lend a pastoral flavor to the music.
The finale presents an arresting theme, containing a trill, which the vibraphone then takes as a springboard for solo passages. A wide variety of leaps and rhythmic acrobatics spotlights the soloist’s agility before the music returns to the main theme to round out the concerto.
Barracuda Concerto
Jacob ter Veldhuis (1951- )
“Jacob TV” he styles himself, but this Dutch composer’s name is actually Jacob ter Veldhuis (1951- ). Originally a rock musician, he studied composition and electronic music at the Groningen Consertatoire, where he won the Dutch Composition Prize in 1980.
During the decade that followed, ter Velhuis made a name for himself with melodious compositions, acknowledged to be “straight from the heart.” He has said, “I pepper my music with sugar.” Since then, he has occupied himself with American media and world events, thus the name “Jacob TV.” His extremely mellifluous music and rejection of the avant garde have stimulated such a broad range of popularity that, beginning in 2001 an annual multi-day Jacob TV Festival has been held in The Netherlands.
During 2006, the composer in residence for the Tromp International Music Competition & Festival was Jacob ter Veldhuis. The competition included première performances of two pieces specially composed for the competition by ter Veldhuis. They were actually two versions of the same piece: one for solo percussion, Barracuda Solo, and one for percussion and symphony orchestra, Barracuda Concerto. Ter Veldhuis writes:
I was working on both pieces simultaneously. The Concerto version is more elaborate. There are orchestral entr’actes and it includes a few low adagio passages and a tremolo passage with four sticks on marimba that really only worked with an orchestra.
The composition was written in close collaboration with Dame Evelyn Glennie, who also performed the premiere of the solo version at the festival. Since then, several touring solo percussionists have featured the Barracuda Concerto in their repertoires.
Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 60
Antonín Dvorák (1841-1904)
The Sixth Symphony of Antonín Dvorák, which became his first to be published, arose from the happiest of circumstances. In November 1879, the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, under the baton of Hans Richter, presented the premiere of Dvorák’s Third Slavonic Rhapsody. It was a great success, and Richter invited the composer to write a symphony for the following season. Dvorák complied, and by October 1880, four copyists were busily preparing the score for what the composer hoped would be a December 26 premiere. Unfortunately, Richter had to postpone until March because of the orchestra’s heavy workload. As March approached, however, Richter again made excuses for not scheduling Dvorák’s symphony. Now the circumstances were not so happy. The reason this time was anti-Czech bigotry among the orchestra, some members of which refused to play Czech music two seasons in a row. Dvorák sensed was what was happening and took the score to Adolf Cech, who premiered it in March 1881 with the Prague orchestra.
Certain music by Dvorák is similar to Brahms, the idol of his youth. The D Major Symphony is one of these works, and the first movement has a particularly Brahmsian flavor — that of the Second Symphony, also in D major. There is a childlike innocence and pastoral feeling to the Dvorák Sixth, and these qualities appear most clearly in the first movement.
The Adagio of Dvorák’s Sixth has been compared to the Adagio molto movement of Beethoven’s Ninth. The key is the same, and they begin in a pattern of sounds. However, there the similarity ends. Dvorák’s movement centers on a long, lyrical melody, which nearly dominates the movement
The big attraction in the symphony is the Scherzo movement, the third, which was encored at its premiere. It is a classic Czech furiant, a “swaggerers’ dance,” which is particularly furious here. The contrasting, central pastoral Trio section makes effective use of the piccolo.
The symphony ends with a large-scale movement marked Allegro con spirito. Here, the fresh, innocent spirit of the first movement returns and with it some suggestions of that movement’s main theme. However, this finale also has exuberant themes of its own. Analyst Donald Tovey summed up his impression of the music with the words, “Altogether, the finale . . . is a magnificent crown to this noble work, and is admirably endowed with that quality that is rarest of all in post-classical finales, the power of movement.”
