Martin Suckling (b.1981)
storm, rose, tiger (2011)
The title is adapted from a phrase in Borges’ short story The Circular Ruins. Amongst many other things, this story is an allegory of the creative process, narrating a magician’s attempts to dream a human being in minute detail, dedicating himself to the task with such fervent passion that the dream-creature becomes a living man. It is a strange and compelling story, with a great deal of resonance for me as a composer: the magician’s struggles as he strives to bring his creation into focus, his commitment, his bouts of self-doubt, his decision to destroy what he has made and start again, the bittersweetness with which he sends his work out into the world; all these are familiar waypoints on the creative journey.
Rather than a programmatic mirroring of the story through music, there were two features in particular which seemed to relate to musical processes I was interested in exploring and so provided the starting point for work on the piece. The first feature is the idea of bringing something in and out of focus, of ‘seeing’ musical material more or less clearly, perhaps like the sort of transformations we experience in dreams. The second is the fundamentally repetitive nature of the magician’s task, its incremental nature, night after night. The musical analogue I planned was to explore three types of material in sequence (storm; rose; tiger - though these are to an extent arbitrary labels rather than descriptions), repeating the succession several times and transforming each component through expansion or compression, whilst playing with ideas of ’focus’ within each section.
Such was the plan, but music often has a mind of its own. While this was my starting point and many of the above elements will be readily audible, the finished piece follows its own logic.
I have made extensive use of so-called ’microtones’, particularly in the latter sections of the piece.
These are notes that lie outside our familiar Western 12-note scale, and in my music are derived from quarter-tone approximations of the harmonic series. These unusual pitches serve two roles: to blur on the one hand, and to evoke a new musical landscape on the other. The blurring occurs as bending and glissandos around standard pitch-units, an offshoot of my initial thoughts on types of focus. The ‘new musical landscape’ comes from using harmony where notes outside a piano keyboard are an integral feature. Here the term ‘microtone’ is something of a misnomer, as I never use an interval smaller than a standard semitone; rather I am interested in those larger intervals that fall in the gaps - a semitone and a half, for example, or the interval between a major third and a minor third - that give the harmony a special and often (to my mind) glowing, radiant quality. In short (and perhaps opening myself up to easy criticism!) I am aiming for a special type of beauty that the microtonal resource enables. storm, rose, tiger falls into a number of distinct sections. A turbulent opening gives way on its repeat to a long melody in the winds. The strings shadow this wind line and gradually overwhelm it with ornamentation. There follows a grotesque dance, after which there is a return to the opening material presented in greatly expanded form: intensely expressive string polyphonies eventually freeze into simple harmonies, while sotto voce winds create increasingly elaborate patterns. The final section is a passacaglia, circling around a repeating modal (microtonal) pattern, beginning with the violins alone and eventually incorporating the entire orchestra.
© Martin Suckling, August 2011
Robert Schumann (1810-1856)
Symphony no 4 in D minor, Op 120 (Original version, 1841)
Andante con moto – Allegro di molto
Romanza: Andante
Scherzo: Prest
Largo – Finale: Allegro vivace.
In 1838, during a visit to Vienna, Schumann discovered the autograph score of Schubert’s Symphony No 9, the so-called ‘Great’ C major Symphony, neglected and still unperformed. The discovery had made him “tingle to be at work on a symphony”. Up until 1840 he composed little but solo piano music, but his long-delayed marriage to Clara Wieck that year coincided with a torrent of song-writing, and 1841 saw him devote himself, with equal single-mindedness, to orchestral music. He composed his First Symphony in January and February 1841. It was followed over the next few months by the Overture, Scherzo and Finale, and the first version of his Symphony in D minor, together with sketches for a symphony in C minor, which he never completed, and the Phantasie for Piano and Orchestra which became, a few years later, the first movement of his Piano Concerto.
The D minor Symphony was intended as a present for Clara’s birthday on 13 September. In his diary in March he noted his intention to write a ‘Clara’ symphony: “in it I will paint her picture with flutes and oboes and harps”. Together with the Overture, Scherzo and Finale, the D minor Symphony was first performed in Leipzig in December, but it was given a cool reception, prompting Schumann to withdraw the work.
Ten years later he revised and re-scored it. At first he called the new version Symphonic Fantasy, but changed the title back to Symphony before the first performance in March 1853, giving it the number by which we know it today. He also replaced the original Italian movement headings with German ones.
In its final form Symphony No 4 is Schumann’s most concentrated attempt at welding a multi-movement work into a unified whole. Themes recur across all four movements, which follow one another without breaks. The most important of the 1851 revisions are aimed at strengthening the links between the movements, smoothing the transition from the introduction into the first movement and from the Scherzo into the Finale. The other major difference is that the 1851 orchestration is thicker and heavier. Schumann erred on the side of caution in making sure that every important instrumental entry was covered as securely as possible, but Brahms, for one, preferred the lighter scoring of the first version. There are gains and losses in both scores – the original’s clarity of orchestration against the more compelling sense of unity in the later version – and now that the original is being played more frequently it seems likely that the two will simply coexist side-by-side.
The slow introduction is based on a gently falling and rising idea which moves, by way of a brief emphatic chordal passage and a quickening of the tempo, into the main section of the movement, with its bustling main theme. This is offset by two contrasting ideas which appear a little later: a tautly rhythmic theme for woodwind, and a smoother song-like melody for violins answered by flute and clarinet.
The slow movement begins with an expressive melody for oboe and cellos. The music of the first movement’s introduction returns, leading to the central section, based on a new theme, lazily floating downwards on solo violin. The oboe and cello melody, now joined by bassoon, closes the movement.
The Scherzo is fiery and vigorous, with a central trio section which brings back the solo violin music from the second movement in a new rhythm. This comes round again at the end of the movement, settling on a gently rocking figure, out of which the finale begins to emerge. Phrases from the first movement’s main theme gradually acquire momentum until a surge of string figuration sweeps the music forward into the Finale, launched by a new version of the first movement’s energetic woodwind theme. This exultant music is Schumann at his most celebratory. It accumulates irresistible energy and drive, swept along on a rhythmically propulsive current which twice accelerates towards the end to carry the symphony to its triumphant conclusion.
© Mike Wheeler
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Violin Concerto in D major, Op 61 (1806)
Allegro ma non troppo
Larghetto -
Rondo: Allegro
The piano was Beethoven’s instrument, the one upon which he proved himself a brilliant soloist and improviser, and for which he composed the bulk of his sonatas, concertos, and sets of variations. But like Haydn and Mozart before him, he also studied the violin and learned enough about it to produce what posterity has decreed to be the greatest of all violin concertos. Insufficiently adept to play the work himself, he entrusted its first performance to the leader of the orchestra, Franz Clement, a Viennese virtuoso whose musical versatility included such feats of showmanship as improvising a sonata on one string with his violin turned upside down. It was doubtless the latter trick that prompted Beethoven to inscribe on his manuscript the pun, "Concerto per Clemenza pour Clement"; but, as things turned out at the Theater an der Wien in December 1806, Clement did not give Beethoven the clemency he sought. After playing the first movement without incident, he inserted one of his own freakish sonatas before proceeding to the sublime larghetto.
Beethoven’s may have been a pianist’s violin concerto - so were Brahms’ and Mendelssohn’s - but it is as inspired in its tiny details (such as delaying the use of pizzicato notes until the finale, and then using them in just one single bar) as in its long-spun lines. Clement, moreover, must have possessed qualities that prompted Beethoven to let him play it. As one commentator has remarked: "Tone, not display, is its secret." It dates from one of the most productive periods in Beethoven’s life, the two years in which he also composed Fidelio, the Fourth Symphony, the Fourth Piano Concerto, the three Rasumovsky string quartets, and the 32 piano variations in C minor. In mood it corresponds most closely with the Fourth Piano Concerto, but is even more lyrically spacious in design, treating its material with still greater patience. The soloist’s entry in the first movement is delayed until what seems like the last possible moment, and not until the coda is the wondrous (and sublimely simple) second theme heard in its entirety on the solo violin.
The first movement’s binding factor is the rhythm of the five soft drum taps heard at the outset. Tossed from section to section of the orchestra, this motif underpins, punctuates, and inspires the wealth of themes from which Beethoven builds the music, adding a high clarity of definition to a movement otherwise dependent principally on lyrical flow. The larghetto in G major, though only 92 bars long, has the idyllic stillness found in some of Beethoven’s other great slow movements - that of the Emperor concerto springs particularly to mind - although its dreamy beauty (based largely on a series of ethereal variations on the muted opening theme) is finally interrupted by bold orchestral chords, dramatically signalling the return of the home key. These lead without a break to the genial finale, a rondo with a rocking main theme in 6/8 time, with contrasted episodes (one of them employing a solo bassoon to droll yet curiously poignant effect) and a radiance that anticipates the equivalent movement of the Pastoral symphony, composed two years later.
© Conrad Wilson
Limpid in tone, matchless in technique, fearlessly honest in her musicality: it is easy to see why Mullova has become one of the biggest stars of the violin worldwide. Her performance launches a season-long journey through many of the concertos, symphonies and choral works of Beethoven. Schumann’s symphony was a labour of love – it took around a decade to complete and is dedicated to the great violinist Joseph Joachim, who was a child prodigy when it was begun but a mature artist (and grown man) by the time of its completion. Yet, debate still rages about whether Schumann's first or last thoughts on this piece were superior. On this occasion, Ticciati opts for the first version – the one Schumann's own friend, Brahms, preferred.

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