THE FLORIDA ORCHESTRA | 2018-2019 37
Program Notes
Ottorino Respighi (1879-1936)
Pines of Rome
Duration: ca. 23 minutes
Trees have adorned the canvases of countless painters
over the centuries, from Leonardo da Vinci to Asher
Durand, artists who found inspiration in the majesty
of an ancient oak or the grace of a willow. But the
wonder of tree and forest also has been crystallized
by artists who paint with sound, and one of more
evocative creations is Respighi’s Pines of Rome, part of
a musical triptych that includes the Fountains of Rome
and Roman Festivals. These works unfold like prisms
in the late afternoon sun. An evocative, multicolored
portrayal of four Italian landscapes, Pines bustles with
people, animals, and nature in repose.
Respighi often is not regarded as one of the more
important 20th century composers, and broke a longstanding
Italian tradition by not writing a successful
opera. He was part of a group of Italian musicians
who sought to revive their country’s music through
Renaissance and Baroque forms, as he so eloquently
did in his Ancient Airs and Dances.
As a composer, Respighi emphasized clarity in his
orchestration, the interplay of light and shade, and
melodic invention. His music in general is immensely
likable – lavish, melodious and buttressed by arching
harmonies. Yes, he would have made a good painter,
as his eye for detail and penchant for sweeping
gesture are indelible, even if he wears on his sleeve the
obvious influence of Rimsky-Korsakov and Richard
Strauss.
Some critics regard Pines as a lightweight musical
postcard, more sonic impact than substance. Even
the New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians notes
that while imaginative, the music lets “picturesque
colorfulness spill over into a flamboyant garishness
that seems aimed at lovers of orchestral showpieces.”
But Respighi was more interested in honoring the past
than making a progress statement, one reason why
he signed a petition in 1932 condemning modernistic
trends in Italian music.
So be it. Pines of Rome is entertaining stuff, not
cerebral, and is part of every orchestra’s canon. Cast
as a four-part tone poem, the music opens with Pines
of the Villa Borghese, a depiction of an elegant estate
surrounded by trees where adults relax and children
play in the background. The mood suddenly shifts at
Pines Near a Catacomb, and the orchestra takes on a
dirge-like quality as a hymn played by a solo trumpet
rises from below.
Again, the music changes course, this time to the Pines
of the Janiculum, a nocturne bathed in moonlight.
Audiences unfamiliar with this music may be surprised
to hear, following a soft clarinet solo, the recorded
sound of a nightingale. In the score, Respighi mentions
the use of an American-made Brunswick record player,
which was set up with a microphone backstage.
Finally, we come to the ground-trembling Pines of
the Appian Way, depicting the ghosts of an ancient
Roman army marching through the fields, returning
from battle, the sound of footsteps and trumpets
growing louder as they draw near. Pushed forward
by an insistent rhythm, the musical legion reaches its
destination and the orchestra pulls out all the stops in
a triumphal close. The film composer John Williams
was so impressed with this last movement that he
borrowed it for the score of the movie Superman.
Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873-1943)
Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Op. 18
Duration: ca. 37 minutes
Few musicians struggled with public criticism as much
as Rachmaninoff. After the disastrous 1897 premiere
of his First Symphony, of which a poor performance
by the orchestra was partly to blame, he sunk into
despair. A fellow Russian composer and critic, Cesar
Cui, called the new work a “symphony from Hell,’’ a
review that left the sensitive Rachmaninoff close to
unhinged. He stopped writing music for nearly three
years, and eventually sought medical help, immersing
himself in therapeutic hypnosis.
“Something within me snapped,” the composer wrote.
“All my self-confidence broke down. A paralyzing
apathy possessed me.” He sought treatment from
Nicholas Dahl, a doctor familiar with auto-suggestion
techniques. Dahl convinced his patient to address
his struggle through a creative outlet: compose a
concerto for piano “with the greatest of ease.”
Rachmaninoff rested, meditated, and began writing
with a renewed energy, combining music of palpable
mood with seamless and soaring melody. With
confidence restored, he produced a masterpiece,
the Piano Concerto No. 2, the single-most performed
work of its genre, according to data bases of American
orchestras. The ominous eight chords that open the
work are unforgettable, acting as a hypnotic prelude
to the contrasting themes of the first movement.
The concerto encapsulates many of Rachmaninoff’s
trademarks: melancholy, soaring melodies that
touch on pathos, and brilliant instrumental writing.
This is Rachmaninoff reaching full maturity, showing
a confidence with large-scale forms, concise and
balanced. It also can test performers with small hands:
Rachmaninoff was a powerful pianist with who could
span an octave and a half from thumb to pinky finger,
and he used his formidable reach to harness the
instrument.