Program notes by Eric Bromberger

Multiple Pianos, Many Hands

This concert takes us back to an earlier time when music was often heard – and made–in a different way. In the days before recordings brought us unbelievable riches (and spoiled us in the process), music-lovers often heard music by making it themselves. Every educated household had a piano, and had members who could play it. Enjoying music was, then, both a way to expand one‘s horizons, to widen one‘s access to music being performed in far away places, and a social affair, as people gathered to hear and make music together.

In the nineteenth century, virtually all orchestral music (and even some chamber music) was published in arrangements for piano - 4 hands. One could hear, for example, a Mahler symphony at a time when those works were rarely performed by orchestras. So tonight‘s program re-creates, in a way, those occasions when friends would gather for the fun of making music together, both as players and listeners, when households had one, and sometimes two, pianos. The first half of the concert features three works originally written for two pianos. Two of them – An American in Paris and the Mother Goose Suite – have become much better known in their orchestral versions, but George Gershwin and Maurice Ravel first composed them for two pianists (the second of Rachmaninoff‘s two Suites for two pianos was conceived from the beginning as a work for two pianos.)

The second half of the program is different, holding four well-known orchestral works, but performed tonight by multiple pianists on two pianos. Of course, we can hear these pieces in a multitude of great recordings, but this concert offers us interesting alternatives, giving us an opportunity to hear these works as many listeners heard them more than a century ago, played by friends and family at home. We‘ll also hear virtuoso pianists in various combinations, bringing their own experience and expertise to this music. And, you can be sure, having a lot of fun in the process

An American in Paris for Two Pianos
GEORGE GERHSWIN
Born September 28, 1898, Brooklyn
Died July 11, 1937, Beverly Hills

The acclaim that greeted Rhapsody in Blue (1924) and the Concerto in F (1925) strengthened Gershwin‘s desire to be taken seriously as the composer of “concert” music. He resolved to write a work for orchestra alone, without the starring role for the piano that had helped make the earlier two works so popular, but the actual composition of this music did not take place until the spring of 1928, when Gershwin, his sister Frances, his brother Ira and Ira‘s wife Leonore took an extended family vacation to Paris. Happily ensconced in the Hotel Majestic, Gershwin composed what he called a “Tone Poem for Orchestra” – a musical portrait of an American visitor to the City of Light – between March and June 1928, and it was first performed by Walter Damrosch and the New York Philharmonic on December 13 of that year. But Gershwin was still so wary about his ability to write for orchestra that he began by composing An American in Paris for two pianos, and only when he was satisfied with this version did he go on to orchestrate the music. Gershwin did not publish his original two-piano version. It was later edited and prepared for publication by G. Stone, and this is the version heard on the present concert.

From the moment of its première, An American in Paris has always been one of Gershwin‘s most popular scores, winning audiences over with its great tunes, breezy charm and Gershwin‘s obvious affection for Paris. Musically, An American in Paris is a series of impressions strung together with great skill. Gershwin – anxious to insist on his abilities as a classical composer – tried to argue that the piece was in sonata-form, and he pointed to such general areas as exposition, development, and recapitulation. But such arguments protest too much. It is far better to take An American in Paris as a set of polished episodes – a collection of sunny postcards from Paris – than to search too rigorously for resemblances to classical forms.

For the New York première, Gershwin and Deems Taylor prepared elaborate program notes, explaining what was “happening” at each moment in the music. These were probably written with tongue slightly in cheek (in fact, Gershwin had made sketches for this piece several years before going to Paris), and they should not be taken too seriously. But it is worth noting that Gershwin structured the music around the idea of an American walking through the streets of Paris, and he included three of what he called “walking themes.” That program note describes the very beginning: “You are to imagine, then, an American visiting Paris, swinging down the Champs-Elysées on a mild, sunny morning in May or June. Being what he is, he starts without preliminaries and is off at full speed at once to the tune of The First Walking Theme, a straightforward diatonic air designed to convey an impression of Gallic freedom and gaiety.” Along his way come pungent episodes: a snatch of a Parisian popular song and particularly the strident squawk of the horns of the Paris taxis. At about the mid-point comes the famous “blues” section: our tourist is apparently feeling homesick, and his nostalgia takes the form of this distinctively American music. Matters are rescued by the sudden intrusion of a snappy dance tune; the cheerful final section reprises the various “walking” themes, and An American in Paris dances to its close on a great rush of happy energy.

Mother Goose Suite for Piano - 4 Hands
MAURICE RAVEL
Born March 7, 1875, Ciboure, Basses-Pyrénées
Died December 28, 1937, Paris

Ravel was a very strange mixture as a person. A man of enormous sophistication and intelligence, he nevertheless felt throughout his life a stinging longing for the world of the child: he collected toys and was fascinated by the illustrations in children‘s books. Not surprisingly, he made friends easily with children and sometimes abandoned the adults at parties to go off and play games with their children.

Ravel‘s fascination with the world of the child found expression in his art: he wrote music for children to hear (such as his opera L‘Enfant et les Sortilèges) and music for them to play. His Ma Mère l‘Oye (“Mother Goose Suite”) for piano – 4 hands dates from 1908. Ravel wrote it for Jean and Mimi Godebski, aged 8 and 10, the son and daughter of some of his friends, though it was two other children – aged 7 and 10 – who played the première in Paris in 1910. Each of the five movements was inspired by a scene from an old French fairy tale; the suite, however, should be understood as a collection of five separate scenes rather than as a connected whole. In an oft-quoted remark, Ravel described his aim and his technique in this music: “My intention of awaking the poetry of childhood in these pieces naturally led me to simplify my style and thin out my writing.” This may be music for children to hear – and for very talented children to play – but it is also music for adults: it evokes the freshness and magic of something long in the past. In 1911, Ravel orchestrated Ma Mère l‘Oye, slightly expanding the music in the process. The orchestral version, elegant and beautiful, has become quite popular, but the version for piano – 4 hands retains a particular innocence and purity.

The very gentle “Pavane of the Sleeping Princess” depicts the graceful dance of the attendants around the sleeping Princess Florine. “Hop O‘ My Thumb” tells of one of the most famous figures in children‘s tales – the little boy who leaves a trail of breadcrumbs behind in the woods, only to become lost when birds eat the crumbs. The music itself seems to wander forlornly as the lost boy searches for the path; high above him, the birds who ate his crumbs cry out tauntingly. “Empress of the Pagodas” tells the story of the empress who is made ugly by a spell, only to be transformed to beauty at the end. When she steps into her bath in the garden, bells burst out in happy peals. Ravel‘s use of the pentatonic scale – the music is played mostly on black notes – evokes an oriental atmosphere. “Beauty and the Beast” brings another classic tale. Ravel depicts Beauty with a gentle waltz, Beast with a lumpish, growling theme in the piano‘s low register. A delicate glissando depicts his transformation, and Ravel skillfully combines the music of both characters. “The Enchanted Garden” brings the suite to a happily-ever-after ending. The opening is simple, almost chaste, but gradually the music assumes a broad, heroic character and – decorated with brilliant runs – drives to a noble close.

Suite No. 2 in C Minor for Two Pianos, Opus 17
SERGEI RACHMANINOFF
Born April 1, 1873, Semyonovo
Died March 28, 1943, Beverly Hills

The critical response to Rachmaninoff‘s First Symphony in 1897 had been so vicious that the young composer was left shaken and unable to compose. His family finally convinced him to see a psychologist, who treated him through hypnotic suggestion. Rachmaninoff spent the summer of 1900 in Italy, then returned to Russia and that fall composed the second and third movements of his Second Piano Concerto. The triumphant première of those two movements in Moscow on December 2 seemed to restore his confidence: between December 1900 and April 1901 Rachmaninoff composed the present Suite for Two Pianos, then completed the first movement of the concerto and his Cello Sonata. Rachmaninoff and Alexander Ziloti gave the first performance of the Suite in Moscow on November 24, 1901.

This is big music – ebullient and powerful – and its good tunes and rich sonority have made it a favorite with duo-pianists. The four movements rest on some unusual key progressions, and harmonically the Suite concludes far from its beginning. Each of the movements has a title as well as an Italian tempo indication. The Introduction, in heroic C major, has a firm, declarative opening that gives way to a more poised (but still quite animated) second subject. Its propulsive rhythms continue throughout, even as the movement draws to a quiet close. The second movement, a Waltz in G major, opens with a burst of shining energy from which the broad waltz melody gradually emerges and then develops at length. The Romance, in A-flat major, is based on one of those wonderful Rachmaninoff melodies – deep and dark – that eventually grows to a ringing climax before the movement concludes peacefully. The finale, a Tarantella in the unexpected key of C minor, is based on a theme Rachmaninoff is said to have found in a collection of old tunes during his visit to Genoa and Milan the summer before composing the Suite. The energy that has characterized the entire work returns here with a vengeance, eventually driving this movement to a thunderous conclusion that remains unremittingly in C minor.

Rachmaninoff recorded many of his own works, but never this Suite. He did, however, continue to perform it – and under some unusual circumstances. Late in life, Rachmaninoff became good friends with Vladimir Horowitz and greatly respected the younger man‘s abilities. Occasionally – and for family members only – they would perform two-piano music together, and the Second Suite was one of the works they would play. Rachmaninoff‘s biographer Sergei Bertensson was present at the composer‘s home in Beverly Hills in June 1942, only nine months before his death, and left this account of a Rachmaninoff-Horowitz performance of this Suite: “It is impossible to word my impression of this event. ‘Power‘ and ‘joy‘ are the two words that come first to mind – expressive power, and joy experienced by the two players, each fully aware of the other‘s greatness. After the last note no one spoke – time seemed to have stopped.”

It is our loss that no one thought to record that performance, now gone forever.

Post-Intermission Works

Full program notes for the works on the second half of this program might seem a form of overkill, especially when the focus here is on the arrangements rather than the original versions, but perhaps a few words of introduction may be useful.

Schubert composed his song Ständchen, on a poem by Ludwig Rellstab, during the last years of his life, and it was published posthumously as part of the collection titled Schwanengesang. Ständchen means “serenade,” and in Schubert‘s song the piano accompaniment imitates the sound of the guitar or mandolin while the lover‘s voice surges up passionately, imploring his love to come to him. In its controlled passion and subtle changes of key, Ständchen ranks among Schubert‘s finest songs. The present arrangement for piano six-hands, by Carl Liba, abridges Schubert‘s song slightly.

Wagner‘s Die Walküre, composed 1854-56 as the second opera of the Ring cycle, tells how Siegmund and Sieglinde meet and fall in love, how the valkyrie Brunnhilde ignores the orders of her father Wotan in her attempt to save Siegmund, how both Siegmund and Hunding are killed, and how – as punishment – Wotan puts Brunnhilde to enchanted sleep and surrounds her with a ring of magic fire. The famous Ride of the Valkyries comes from the beginning of the third and final act. The warrior-maiden valkyries carry the souls of fallen warriors to Valhalla, and Wagner‘s music depicts the valkyries riding through dark mountain passes with the bodies of dead warriors strapped to their saddles as lightning flashes in the background and their cries echo through the stormy skies. This music has unfortunately become a little too familiar (its use in a movie about the Vietnam War did it no good), and we almost need to make a special effort to hear it fresh, in all its savage power. This arrangement for two pianos eight-hands is by the great nineteenth-century American pianist Louis Moreau Gottschalk.

William Tell, premiered in 1829, was Rossini‘s final opera–though he lived another 37 years, he never wrote another. Its overture has an unusual structure: Rossini divides it into four parts, several of them miniature tone-poems. It opens with a noble song (scored for five solo cellos in the original), and this gives way to one of the most famous musical storms ever created: big drops foretell the storm, which finally bursts out violently. In its aftermath comes a hymn of thanksgiving based on the old Swiss shepherd‘s song ranz des vaches. The concluding section of the overture, marked Allegro vivace, depicts the call-to-arms of the Swiss soldiers in the opera. In the United States, a generation of Baby Boomers grew up thinking of this as the “Lone Ranger music.” Like Ride of the Valkyries, it has become too familiar, but – heard for itself – it offers some razzle-dazzle music, full of fiery perpetual-motion.

Bizet‘s Carmen was a failure at its première in Paris in 1875, hard as that may be to believe. Since then it has become one of the most popular operas ever written, and its melodies have haunted audiences and musicians ever since. Composers as different as Brahms and Tchaikovsky loved Carmen with a passion, and a host of composers have arranged its gorgeous tunes for violin and other instruments. Those tunes need no introduction here, but it should be noted that this arrangement for two pianos eight-hands is by Mack Wilberg.