Saint Louis Symphony Chorus  Amy Kaiser Director Leon Burke III Assistant Director Gail Hintz Accompanist Richard Ashburner Manager  Justin Abate Jason Alcorn Joseph Argus Richard Ashburner Daniel A. Bain Elizabeth M. Belle Rudi J. Bertrand Paula N. Bittle Michael Bouman Richard F. Boyd Pamela A. Branson Bonnie Brayshaw Marella Briones Daniel Brodsky Buron F. Buffkin, Jr. Leon Burke III Sarah Burkhead Leigh A. Burton Christi John Bye Cherstin Byers Tamara Miller Campbell Margaret Schelin Campbell Renee Carey Anna Carr Molly Kastory Carter Mark P. Cereghino Holly Lynn Chase Rhonda E. Collins David A. Cornell Linda J. Cornell Deborah Dawson Alycia Kathleann Davis Stephanie DeChambeau Diane Dietz Mary Donald Stanley Estrin Ladd Faszold Kathleen Favazza Jason Fawe Robin Fish Camille Fisher Steve Garcia Lee Garner Margaret W. Gitu Louis J. Goldford David Goldman Susan Goris Karen Sikora Gottschalk Addie Cox Gramelspacher Susan Greene Jill Guyton Susan H. Hagen Amanda Harr James O. Harr Nancy Helmich Brendan Hemmerle Christine Hemphill

Ellen Henschen Gretchen Hewitt Kristi Hickey Brad Hofeditz Matthew S. Holt Denise Howard Mary Huebner Gregory Inman Grace E. Jackson Stephanie Jones Warren Keller  Robb Kennedy LaNette Kotthoff Katrina Korte Norbert Krausz Leanne Magnuson Latuda Lauren Lee Sharon Lightfoot Christine Mahoney Jan Marra Damen Lemonda Martin Elsa Toby Newburger Dylan Oakley Duane L. Olson Malachi Owens, Jr. Susan D. Patterson Tafra Perryman Daniel A. Pickett Paul Provencio III Shelly Ragan Yvonne Raptis Robert Reed Kate Reimann Dave Ressler Greg J. Riddle Patti Ruff Riggle Terree Rowbottom Marushka Royse Susan Sampson Joseph Sardo Mark V. Scharff Paula K. Schweitzer Lisa Sienkiewicz Derek M. Silkebaken Janice Simmons Nicholas Simpson Glenn Slates Steven Slusher Roger Smalley Charles G. Smith Shirley Bynum Smith Justin Smolik Charles Stapinski David Stephens Denise Stookesberry Oliver Stoutner Pamela M. Triplett David R. Truman Nancy Maxwell Walther Jim West Donna R. Westervelt Paul A. Williams Young Ok Woo Young Ran Woo Carl Scott Zimmerman

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Higher Realms
BY PAUL SCHIAVO 

The pleasures of music are many and varied. We enjoy this art, for one thing, as a purely sensual experience: for the physical sensation of tone, for the array of delightful timbres with which instruments and voices ravish our ears, for the build-up and release of harmonic tension. Music also appeals to the intellect, its coherent sonic designs, its intricate weaving of melodic lines in counterpoint, and its elaboration of often simple thematic ideas into extended compositions appearing to us as bracing and satisfying reflections of our intelligence, and perhaps as intimations of a larger intelligence at work in the universe. And certainly music has emotional appeal, few experiences so dependably conveying our joys and sorrows, giving voice to our exaltations or assuaging our grief.

But music reaches us in yet another way. Throughout human history, music has been regarded as a conduit to the realm of the spirit, as a pathway to the divine, a glimpse of some higher realm beyond the mundane world in which we conduct our daily affairs. It is for this that music plays such a prominent role in the rituals and worship services of most religions. Ecclesiastic music--that is music composed for use in church--forms a large part of the canon of Western music, with contributions from many of history’s greatest composers. But not all religiously inspired music falls into this category. Especially during the last two centuries, many composers have given expression to their faith or spiritual feelings in music that is not liturgical or otherwise intended for use in houses of worship. Yet if we judge by the ability of this music to transport us to higher realms, such music is profoundly felt and springs from an authentic yearning for the divine.

Our program presents three compositions written as concert pieces, but which nevertheless take their inspiration from religion. Our concerto would seem an entirely secular piece. But, as music critic and SLSO blurb writer Greg Sandow observes, Prokofiev’s First Violin Concerto, though not overtly religious, is not devoid of spirituality.

Serge Rachmaninoff remains a popular composer today on the strength of his piano music and his orchestral works. His sacred music forms a relatively small and little-known portion of his output, but it is not negligible. Several of Rachmaninoff’s church compositions entail deeply moving music, and they also reflect the Russian cultural ethos in which Rachmaninoff matured. Chief among these works is the Vespers, for unaccompanied chorus.

Rachmaninoff composed this music, a setting for unaccompanied chorus of 15 different prayers, in the early weeks of 1915. The work stems from a tradition in the Russian Orthodox Church of holding all-night vigils on the eve of certain holy days. Its Russian title, Vsenoshchnoye bdeniye, actually means “All-Night Vigil,” though it has become common practice to render this in English in a way that draws an analogy with the Catholic Vespers service, which is performed in the evening. Rachmaninoff did not intend the music for a church service but, instead, for the concert hall. This is where the music had its first performance, at a concert to raise funds for war relief, in March 1915, in Moscow.

In composing this work, Rachmaninoff drew on the sound of traditional Russian Orthodox church music. In particular, he used ancient Russian liturgical chant melodies in nine of his 15 prayer settings, and the harmonies throughout are redolent of the music the composer often heard while attending services during his early years.

 We hear three selections from Rachmaninoff’s Vespers. The first excerpt, “Blessed is the Man,” is a wholly original composition and is built around the repeated refrain “Halleluja, Halleluja, Halleluja.” Based on an old Ukrainian liturgical chant, “O Gladsome Light” features a brief tenor solo midway through and a quiet, intense beauty throughout. Our final Vespers selection, “Praise the Name of the Lord,” also is based on an ancient chant melody, which Rachmaninoff weaves with freely conceived material to create an exquisite braid of contrapuntally combined melodies.

Whereas Rachmaninoff’s religious music forms only a small part of his entire output, nearly everything by the French composer Olivier Messiaen reflects in some way his very personal brand of Roman Catholicism. Messiaen insisted that his faith “is the first aspect of my work, the noblest and, doubtless, the most useful and valuable; perhaps the only one I won’t regret at the hour of my death.” It was a faith unusual in its literal acceptance of the miracles and revelations set forth in the scriptures, and the highly‑charged imagery of the scriptural passages and mystical poetry to which he was drawn drew from him lush, colorful, and strangely ecstatic music.

Composed in 1932-33, L’Ascension is one of Messiaen’s first large-scale works, and in certain ways it is unrepresentative of the strikingly original style he eventually developed. Yet in other ways it is characteristic of the composer’s work. For one thing, although L’Ascension bears testament to Messiaen’s faith, it is not a liturgical work. (Messiaen never composed a setting of the mass or any standard ecclesiastical text.) Rather, it offers four “orchestral meditations,” as the composer described them, on scriptural verses related to Christ’s ascension into heaven. Messiaen inscribed those verses at the head of each movement.

The first inscription derives from St. John the Evangelist. It reads: “Father, the hour is come, glorify your Son, so that your Son may glorify You.” Scored exclusively for wind instruments, this initial portion of the composition presents a majestic, slow-moving prayer.

The second movement bears this inscription from the Mass of the Ascension: “We beseech Thee, O Lord… make us to dwell in heaven in spirit.” Messiaen based the music here on two medieval Hallelujah chants--appropriately, since this movement is titled “Serene Hallelujahs of a Soul that Longs for Heaven.” The following movement also figuratively sings “Hallelujah,” though in a very different manner. Its prefatory inscription is from Psalm 46: “God is gone up… with the sound of a trumpet…. O clap your hands, all ye people; shout unto God with the voice of triumph.” The rejoicing implied by this text finds reflection here in colorful dance-like music.

The final movement again takes its text from John the Evangelist: “Father, I have revealed Thy name unto men…. Now I am no longer in the world; but they are in the world, and I come to Thee.” As in the first movement, Messiaen restricts himself to only one choir in the orchestra, in this case the strings, which he uses to compose a quiet, meditative prayer.

As previously mentioned, the Violin Concerto No. 1 of Sergey Prokofiev is the one piece on our program not explicitly inspired by religious sentiment. In 1915 Prokofiev, 24-years old and already established as one of Russia’s most talented composers, began writing a Concertino for violin and orchestra. He had sketched little beyond the first movement, however, before setting it aside to begin an opera based on Dostoevsky’s story The Gambler. Composition of that work occupied most of the succeeding two years, but with its completion Prokofiev turned again to instrumental music with renewed enthusiasm. One of the first projects to claim his attention was the violin Concertino, which he now expanded into a full‑length concerto. The score was completed in the summer of 1917 but, due to the political upheavals in Russia, was first performed six years later in Paris.

Like Prokofiev’s well‑known “Classical” Symphony, completed at almost the same time, the First Violin Concerto is distinguished by transparent textures and clear formal design. It reveals, however, several original features, most conspicuously the lay‑out of its three movements. Whereas the traditional concerto format calls for a relaxed central movement framed by two fast ones, Prokofiev reverses this formula, casting the second part of his concerto as an animated scherzo to contrast with more moderately paced outer movements.

The concerto opens with what its composer described as a “pensive” melody, presented by the solo violin over a cushion of tremolo sonority provided by its orchestral colleagues. A second subject, with sinuous line and brusque countermelody (heard in the cellos), contrasts sharply with the lyricism of the opening. Prokofiev’s development of these ideas takes the form of an athletic fantasy, culminating in a cadenza‑like solo for the violin. The return of the principal theme is accompanied with glistening harmonics (which produce high, glassy tones) in the solo part, a striking effect.

Unusual sonorities play an even more pronounced role in the succeeding movement, which calls forth an array of extraordinary sounds from the soloist. They serve to heighten the fantastic, almost surreal, quality of the music, one that we encounter frequently in Prokofiev’s work.

The finale offers a synthesis and reconciliation of the contrasting characters of the preceding movements. Its initial measures promise to continue in the vein of the second movement. But the solo violin quickly steers the music in a lyrical direction reminiscent of the concerto’s opening. The ensuing music conveys something of each of these moods until, suddenly, the principal theme of the first movement reappears, as if in a dream, and the concerto concludes tranquilly.

Although not as consistently focused on sacred themes as Messiaen, Igor Stravinsky was another of the 20th century’s outstanding composers of religiously inspired music. His stature as such rests in no small part on his Symphony of Psalms. Stravinsky composed this work in 1930 for the 50th anniversary of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, whose music director, Serge Koussevitzky, requested new works from Stravinsky and several other musicians to commemorate that milestone. Three of the other commissioned composers--Honegger, Prokofiev, and Roussel--responded by producing symphonies. Stravinsky also thought of writing a symphony, but not the traditional kind. As he explained in his 1936 autobiography: “My idea was that my symphony should be a work with great contrapuntal development, and for that it was necessary to increase the media at my disposal. I finally decided on a choral and instrumental ensemble in which the two elements should be on an equal footing, neither of them outweighing the other.”

Having thus decided on a symphony with voices, Stravinsky came “quite naturally,” as he described it, to the psalms for its texts. He started setting verses from three of them in Slavonic translations, but soon came to favor the sound of Latin. Work on the score began early in 1930 and was completed in August. Koussevitzky led the American premiere in Boston on December 19, 1930, six days after it was first performed in Brussels under the direction of another conductor noted for his advocacy of Stravinsky’s music, Ernest Ansermet.

 As he so often did, Stravinsky de‑emphasized the role of the string instruments in favor of winds and percussion. Violins and violas are absent entirely from his orchestra, while the cello and bass parts are largely limited to accompaniment figures that support more conspicuous foreground events. This instrumental deployment affects not just the spectrum of colors that distinguish the work but the type of figuration we hear, and even the work’s rhetorical character. The rapid outer movements, for example, feature running toccata‑like lines and percussive interjections idiomatic of the ensemble Stravinsky devised, and the entire composition conveys an austerity and remote grandeur to which the traditionally warm and intimate tone of violins and violas is unsuited. It is notable, in view of this, that Stravinsky deplored what he called the “lyrico‑sentimental” view of the psalms, describing them instead as “magisterial verses.”

Stravinsky composed the first movement, he remembered, “in a state of religious and musical ebullience.” Its initial gesture is an incisive chord that returns periodically to punctuate both the arching instrumental lines of the opening measures and the entreaties of the chorus.

The second movement offers contrapuntal treatment of two themes, one given out by the orchestra, the other, somewhat later, by the chorus. Stravinsky evidently was inspired by the great chorus‑with‑orchestra movements of J. S. Bach’s sacred works. The “Kyrie” of Bach’s B-minor Mass may not have been the formal model for the centerpiece of the Symphony of Psalms, but the two movements have a certain spiritual kinship.

The closing lines of the second movement call for “a new song,” and Stravinsky provides just that with the intoning of “Hallelujah” at the start of the finale, and at several important moments thereafter. Stravinsky described the slow introduction to this third movement as “a prayer to the Russian image of the infant Christ with orb and scepter,” and its restrained tone and circling repetition of limited melodic material impart a liturgical quality to this passage. Presently the music accelerates to a faster section, the composer explained, which “was inspired by a vision of Elijah’s chariot climbing the Heavens; never before had I written anything quite so literal as the triplets for horns and piano to suggest the horses and chariot.” Stravinsky finally returns to the music of the introduction, extending it in a passage of great stillness and concluding the movement much as it began.

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