PROGRAM NOTES

Fledermaus: Overture | Johann Strauss Jr. (1874)

Johann Strauss the elder and Joseph Lanner are responsible for turning the modest waltz—of humble Austrian, rural origins—into the celebrated Viennese Waltz.  For over a century and half the Viennese Waltz has attained a status as the acme of sophistication, beauty, and elegance.  What would New Year’s Eve be without visions of swirling dancers in gowns and tailcoats accompanied by the Vienna Philharmonic?  The tradition is founded upon the incredibly active musical entertainment tradition in Vienna’s cafes, gardens, salons, palaces, and annual carnival.   There was money to be made in popular dance music, and in the second quarter of the nineteenth century Lanner and Strauss the senior brought their considerable talent and entrepreneurship to the scene and dominated it. Strauss went on to build a career around frequent and peripatetic touring with his 28-man ensemble and became the toast of Europe from Budapest to Glasgow, all built upon a foundation of high musicianship as conductor and composer, and a remarkably astute business sense.

And all of this may largely be said of his son, Johann the younger.  Whatever his father did, the son took inspiration and did more. Our favorite Viennese waltzes today are predominantly those of the son, and his gift for melodic invention, harmonic grace, and rhythmic verve was recognized early on by the world’s great composers. Strauss composed not only the waltzes that practically have come to define the genre for the world, but was also a highly successful composer of polkas, marches, gallops, quadrilles, and other works, including operettas such as The Gypsy Baron, A Night in Venice, and, of course, the universally-loved Die Fledermaus.

By the 1860s the operettas of the Parisian, Jacques Offenbach, had come to dominate musical theatre in Vienna, and who better to counter the blandishments of the Frenchman than the local “Waltz King?” Turning to the composition of operetta, by 1899 he had composed over a dozen of them.  But, none succeeded as did Die Fledermaus (The Bat). First performed in 1874, the infectious melodies, zany stage shenanigans, and general light-hearted élan have firmly established the operetta as an audience favorite everywhere. There is no sinister little furry creature in this work, rather, the title stems from a ludicrous incident before the comedy even begins:  a drunken notary, dressed in a risible bat costume, awakens the morning after a revelry lying in a public park, ridiculed by the local children. A plot of revenge, a sparkling masked ball replete with mistaken identities, and other humorous incidents take it from there. The overture features the immortal central waltz from the show, woven together with zestful polkas and other familiar tunes from the drama. The immense appeal of Strauss’s inimitable melodies is enhanced with the essential nuances of coy Viennese musical styling that have no peer in creating grace, refinement, and—pleasure!

Written by William E. Runyan.

Symphonic Variations | César Franck (1885)
César Franck’s Symphonic Variations is a masterful blend of concerto and variation form, created for piano and orchestra. Written in 1885, it remains one of Franck’s most celebrated works and a staple of the Romantic repertoire for pianists. Unlike a traditional concerto, this piece unfolds as a continuous, organic journey, with themes evolving gracefully between soloist and orchestra.

Franck, a deeply spiritual and introspective composer, was fascinated by cyclical form—the idea of reusing and transforming themes throughout a work. In Symphonic Variations, you’ll hear the main themes return in new guises, developing in complexity and emotion as the music progresses. The piano doesn’t simply show off; instead, it dialogues intimately with the orchestra, weaving through delicate passages and bursts of virtuosity alike.

From its gentle opening to its exuberant finale, the piece showcases Franck’s gift for lyricism and rich harmony. It is a brilliant example of French Romanticism, offering both structural ingenuity and heartfelt expression. Though Franck’s output was relatively modest, works like the Symphonic Variations have earned him a lasting place in the canon of great Romantic composers.

“Nimrod” from Enigma Variations, op. 36 Edward Elgar (1898–1899)

Elgar’s first significant, acclaimed work, the Variations, was given its première in 1899, conducted by the great Hans Richter. It was an immediate success, and garnered performances and praise in Europe—including from Richard Strauss. Not bad for a composer of modest reputation who had chiefly labored far from the bustle of London. Although he had been steadily building his reputation in provincial English cities as a well-respected composer of cantatas and the like, an orchestral work on the scale of the so-called “Enigma” Variations seemed to be without precedent. What is clear, however, is that, at the age of forty-two, he had served his apprenticeship well, and years of experience laid a solid foundation for his most famous work—especially his vaunted mastery of orchestration.

The importance of the composition and its delightful “enigma” generated an enormous interest and speculation, which has continued unabated to the present.  The genesis of it is well known, for Elgar left ample record of his thoughts.  Apparently, after a long day of teaching, he trudged into the house, and his wife said something to the effect that he looked like he could use a good cigar.  He indulged himself, sat down at the piano and was improvising rather desultorily, when his wife, Alice, said that she liked one of the tunes, and he continued improvising little variations on the tune that reflected some aspect of the personalities of his close friends.   The rest is history.  On the score, over each variation, Elgar wrote either the initials of each friend, or in a few cases, a name or nickname.  Who these folks are and some of their “characteristics” limned by the composer is known, now, but that was not the enigma.   The tune, itself is clear; we hear it straightway, at the beginning.  It’s a simple little affair: a short motif of four notes, preceded by a rest, heard six times, half of them in reverse rhythm—a wonder of musical concision. And then follow thirteen variations, one each for thirteen friends, and a last variation about the composer, himself. So what is the “enigma?” 

Elgar spoke several times of a “larger theme” that runs throughout the work, but is “not played.”  Furthermore, he referred to its “dark saying,” declaring that it would remain a mystery. And why even call the work “Enigma,” in the first place?  Generations have tried to solve the mystery, to no avail.  All manner of tunes have been adduced as the mystery tune—including “Pop Goes the Weasel.”  Elgar created a mystery and it remains a mystery, for the composer took it with him to the grave.

The short theme is heard first, with a brief contrasting section before the theme returns.  The first variation (C.A.E.) follows immediately, dedicated to his beloved wife, Caroline Alice Elgar.   The second variation (H.D.S.-P.) is a tribute to Hew David Steuart-Powell, an amateur musician at whose chromatic warm-ups Elgar gently poked fun.  (R.B.T.) Richard Baxter Townshend follows, a send up the amateur thespian’s breaking voice, rather like an adolescent boy.  After two more variations we arrive at No. 7 (“Ysolbel”), a viola student of Elgar, depicted by a solo viola playing a passage that sounds a bit like an etude for that instrument. Variations 8 and 9 refer to Troyte Griffiths, an architect who was a rather poor pianist—you can hear it—and Winifred Norbury, whose calm personality is there in the variation.  A held note in a sole violin unmistakably leads into the next variation—the most beloved of them all.

“Nimrod” holds a special place in the hearts of Britons, for its magnificent grandiloquence and poignancy, and one hears it played publically in times of great tragedy or circumstance—rather like Barber’s Adagio for Strings in this country. It is dedicated to Elgar’s best friend, Augustus Jaeger. Jäger, of course, is German for “hunter,” and Nimrod was the great hunter in the Old Testament.

“Dorabella” was a good friend, whose stutter is famously depicted in the little flutter in the woodwinds. Variation 11 hilariously tells the incident wherein Dan, the bulldog of friend, George Sinclair, falls down the bank of a steam, paddles along, and barks happily upon his exit from the water.  “B.G.N.” was a cellist (he inspired the cello concerto), and so he gets a little cello solo, here. The mysterious “* * *” left on a sea voyage before Elgar could get permission for the dedications, so she is anonymous, here. A quotation from Mendelssohn’s “Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage,” is heard in the solo clarinet, with the timpani contributing some nautical engine noises.

Finally, the fourteenth and last variation is of Elgar, himself (“E.D.U” from his wife’s pet name for him—the German, Eduard. It is telling that in this music ostensibly about himself, he uses the material from the two variations dedicated to the persons most important in his life, his wife, “C.A.E,” and his great friend, “Nimrod.” Elgar was a complex man, but it is a certainty that his enjoyment of friendship and the love of others was central to his being, and the work perfectly illustrates that.

Written by William E. Runyan.

Finale: Allegro con fuoco from Symphony No.4, op. 36 | Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1877–1878)

Tchaikovsky completed six symphonies, of which the last three are concert staples. The fourth is a product of a particularly tumultuous time in his life, centering around his relationship with two women. They are the wife of his short, disastrous marriage, and his patroness—whom he never personally met. He began composition of the symphony in 1877, shortly after he had been “adopted” by Nadezhda von Meck, the wealthy widow of an engineer. Von Meck had begun generous financial support of Tchaikovsky, and perhaps, more importantly, had entered into a long, personal relationship via correspondence that lasted more than a decade. They exchanged at least two letters a week in a relationship that probed philosophic and artistic matters.  While remote and superficially formal, this affiliation obviously served deep emotional needs of Tchaikovsky.  They may have encountered each other on the street, but never spoke face to face.  He agreed in the summer of 1877 to dedicate the symphony to her, his “best friend.”

At this point, his life took a turn that most now agree can only be characterized as bizarre, if not perverse. In short—the facts still provoke controversial interpretations—he abruptly married Antonina Milyukova, a woman he hardly knew, proposing marriage only a few days after having met her. Tchaikovsky’s diffidence was well articulated in a letter to von Meck: “[I have] lived thirty-seven years with an innate aversion to marriage . . . in a day or two my marriage will take place . . . . What will happen after that I do not know.” Work on the symphony stopped, understandably, while this precipitous relationship rocketed to its dénouement. The loveless marriage was doomed from the beginning, complicated by Tchaikovsky’s homosexuality—the attendant psychological motivations will never completely be understood. The next couple of months were hell, he tried to commit suicide by wading up to his waist in the Moscow river, hoping for pneumonia; ultimately he fled the country. Distance from Antonina obviously worked its charms, for he finished the symphony by January of 1878. He dedicated the work to von Meck, and a well-known letter to her tells us much about what the composition meant to him.

While Tchaikovsky was averse—like most of the musical intelligentsia—to imbuing a symphony with extra-musical “stories” and meaning, after the composition’s completion he complied with a request of hers to tell her what the work was about. He wrote at length, somewhat emotionally and with no small hyperbole, but the gist of his response is instructive.   Fate is the subject and focus of this symphony:

“The introduction is the seed of the whole symphony, undoubtedly the main idea. This is fate, that fatal force which prevents the impulse to happiness from attaining its goal, which jealously ensures that peace  and happiness shall not be complete and  unclouded, which hangs over your head like the sword of Damocles, and unwaveringly, constantly poisons the soul.”

Thus, the first movement opens with a powerful unison from the horn section followed by the rest of the brass announcing the “fate” motive; it returns at each division of this sonata form to remind us. The first theme is in the string section, cast in a waltz rhythm; Tchaikovsky’s ballets are eloquent testimony to his mastery of that dance. The second main theme is announced by the solo clarinet, offering some hope, but is dashed by the recurring motive of fate. The movement ends in emotional depths.   The second movement is a lyrical reminiscent that Tchaikovsky called “ . . . feeling that enwraps one when he sits alone at night in the house exhausted by work . . .  It is sad, yet sweet to lose one’s self in the past.” The scherzo that follows is a testament to the composer’s reputation for skill in orchestration. The strings play pizzicato all the way through, opening the movement by themselves. The middle section begins with woodwinds alone, playing a kind of little village band tune. The brass, staccato, follow with their contribution, with the movement ending somewhat as it began, again with pizzicato strings. The famous finale begins with a raucous, virtuoso rip followed by the main theme, a Russian folksong called “In the Field a Little Birch Tree Stood.” The words to the song allude to marriage, women, solitary existence, and the divergent fates of those who marry—or do not. The fate motive from the first movement intrudes upon the festivities yet one more time, but is swept away by the exuberance of the coda. Tchaikovsky’s words inform: “Rejoice in the happiness of others—and you can still live.”

Written by William E. Runyan.

Ritual Fire Dance from El Amor Brujo | Manuel de Falla (arr. William Ryden) (1915)

El Amor Brujo (“Love, the Magician”) is one of the most celebrated works of Spanish composer Manuel de Falla. Originally written as a gitanería—a gypsy-inspired musical scene—it tells the story of Candela, a young woman haunted by the ghost of her unfaithful lover. To free herself from his restless spirit, she performs the Ritual Fire Dance, hoping the flames will drive him away for good.

De Falla’s music is steeped in the traditions of Andalusian flamenco, with fiery rhythms, sharp accents, and swirling melodies that evoke the trance-like energy of a real ritual. The relentless repetition and sudden bursts of sound give the impression of sparks flying from the fire, as Candela spins and leaps around the flames.

Though the piece is brief, it leaves a lasting impression with its primal energy and vivid color. The Ritual Fire Dance quickly became a concert favorite, often performed on its own, as in this arrangement by William Ryden. Its popularity endures as a brilliant showcase of Spanish musical flair and drama.

Clair de lune | Claude Debussy (arr. Lucien Cailliet) (1905)

Few pieces capture the dreamlike beauty of Debussy’s music as perfectly as Clair de lune. Originally written as the third movement of his Suite bergamasque for solo piano, the work takes its name from Paul Verlaine’s poem, which evokes moonlight shimmering over a quiet landscape. Debussy, deeply influenced by poetry and painting, masterfully translated this atmosphere into sound.

Though Clair de lune began as an early work, Debussy revised it before its 1905 publication, shaping it into one of his most beloved compositions. The music flows with gentle, rippling figures and luminous harmonies, offering listeners a moment of serene reflection. Its graceful pacing and soft contours give the impression of moonlight softly illuminating the night.

Lucien Cailliet’s orchestral arrangement brings new color and depth to the familiar piano piece. A skilled orchestrator and longtime member of the Philadelphia Orchestra, Cailliet highlights Debussy’s delicate textures while expanding the palette with rich orchestral hues. In this version, Clair de lune glows with even greater radiance, allowing audiences to experience the magic of Debussy’s vision through the full sonority of the orchestra.

Noel from Sonata in C# | Fernande Decruck (1943)

The Sonata in C-sharp for alto saxophone (or viola) is Decruck’s most well-known work. Decruck created two versions of her world famous sonata, one with saxophone or viola and piano, the other with full orchestral accompaniment. The latter version is rarely heard. Decruck combines the Classical sonata form with impressionistic harmony and at times, polytonality. Decruck dedicated this work to Marcel Mule, the world renowned French saxophonist. Although Mule had countless compositions written for him in his lifetime, he took the time to record the Fileuse movement of the Sonata. The first movement begins mysteriously in the orchestra before unfolding to a pastoral melody featuring the soloist and orchestra in dialogue. The second movement, Noel, references “Noël Nouvelet” (“Christmas Comes Anew”), a traditional French carol and is infused with melancholy. Fileuse (“spinning”) features the saxophonist performing virtuosic passage works and takes the traditional place of the Scherzo. The finale is structured in two parts, a Nocturne which again has a mysterious feel while also evoking a funeral march before transitioning to the Rondel section which brings the work to a heroic close.

There are several different versions of this work and all are available through Éditions Billaudot and its distributors. www.billaudot.com

Serenade, op.35 | Howard Hanson (1945)

Howard Hanson was one of the leading figures of 20th-century American music, known for his lush, romantic style and deep belief in the beauty of melody. Composed in 1945, Hanson’s Serenade for string orchestra captures his signature warmth and lyricism in a compact, heartfelt work.

Written during the final months of World War II, the Serenade feels like a quiet reflection amid turbulent times. Rather than grand gestures, Hanson offers a gentle, flowing melody that unfolds with graceful simplicity. His rich string writing bathes the listener in sonorous harmonies, creating a sense of peace and optimism.

Hanson described much of his music as “romantic” and “expressive,” and this Serenade is no exception. It feels like a musical embrace—intimate yet expansive, familiar yet fresh. Though not as famous as some of his larger works, this charming piece remains a beautiful example of American neo-romanticism at its finest.

Bachata from Tumbao | Horacio Fernández (2019)

I grew up in a large Mexican family with great party dancers and I was the weird kid in the corner who thought he was too cool for dancing. After much verbal torment from my cousins throughout my teenage years, I decided to take up salsa dancing lessons. Despite my awkward beginnings, I started to really enjoy myself after a few months of practice. Suddenly, eager to partake in local courting rituals, I spent a summer visiting the local Latin Dance Club, aptly named TUMBAO, where I further proved myself to be a true Latino. 

At the time, the three most popular genres of Latin Dance music were Salsa, Bachata and Reggaeton, so each movement of this Latin Suite for Orchestra explores their musical possibilities. Having become acquainted to this music through dancing, it became extremely important to me that my music felt authentic, not just another Latin-inspired avant-garde classical music composition. 

Therefore, this music retains the catchy melodies and infectious rhythm of Salsa, Bachata and Reggaeton. If you know your Latin Pop music from the early 21st century, you might even pick up a few references to great visionary Latin Singers such as Daddy Yankee, Romeo Santos, Oscar de León, among many others. 

The term “Tumbao” refers to the basic rhythm played by the bass in Afro-Cuban genres of music. However, it is also a term that has become intricately associated with Latin culture. It is comparable to the word “swag” or “flow” and it can be used to define someone who has a lively vibe to them. It is a word that represents the spirit of Latino culture, one with an unmistakable lust for life.

Written by Horacio Fernández.

Polovtsian Dance from Prince Igor | Alexander Borodin (1890)

Alexander Borodin, a chemist by profession and composer by passion, spent nearly two decades working on his opera Prince Igor. Left unfinished at his death, the opera was completed by his colleagues Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov, ensuring its place as one of the great achievements of Russian opera. Among its many highlights are the Polovtsian Dances, vibrant musical scenes depicting the exotic life of the nomadic Polovtsian tribe.

The Polovtsian Dance with Chorus bursts with energy and color, combining swirling orchestral lines with vigorous choral singing. Borodin’s gift for melody shines throughout, particularly in the memorable themes that have found new life beyond the opera house—in fact, one of the melodies later became the popular song “Stranger in Paradise” in the Broadway musical Kismet.

The music captures both the wild exuberance of the Polovtsian camp and a sense of grandeur befitting the sweeping epic of Prince Igor. It’s a feast of rhythm and melody, brimming with the romantic nationalism that defined much of Russian music in the late 19th century. Today, the Polovtsian Dances remain one of Borodin’s most beloved legacies, thrilling audiences with their irresistible vitality.

PROGRAM SCHEDULE

Johann Strauss, Jr.
Fledermaus: Overture (1874)

César Franck
Symphonic Variations (1885)

Edward Elgar
“Nimrod” from Enigma Variations, op. 36 (1898–1899)

Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
Finale: Allegro con fuoco from Symphony No.4, op. 36 (1877–1878)

Manuel de Falla (arr. William Ryden)
Ritual Fire Dance from El Amor Brujo

Claude Debussy (arr. Lucien Cailliet)
Clair de lune (1905)

Fernande Decruck
Noel from Sonata in C#

Howard Hanson
Serenade, op.35 (1945)

Horacio Fernández
Bachata from Tumbao

Alexander Borodin
Polovtsian Dance with Chorus from Prince Igor