For Couperin

François Couperin (1668-1733) wrote a large number of keyboard pieces (pièces de clavecin) and in doing so ensured the popularity of the "genre piece" in France. Such pieces were intended as descriptive, portrait-like numbers. So a piece like the rondeux Les Amusemens ('Amusements') paints a sound-portrait of people amusing themselves, with more than a suggestion of wistfulness at the transitory nature of human pleasures. Les Tours de Passe-passe ('Sleights of Hand') is intended to convey the idea of a conjuring trick by artfully passing ideas between the hands, after lulling you into thinking that the left-hand is doing nothing particularly interesting. L'âme-en peine ('The Soul in Pain') uses dissonances and drawn-out rhythms to suggest the aching of the tormented soul. The style here is typical of what French music was like at that time, with melodic coherence attaining ever greater importance yet still retaining all those myriad small ornaments which give the French Baroque its distinctive character. 

These three pieces were arranged for chamber orchestra a few years ago by Britain's very own Thomas Adès (b. 1971). His Three Studies from Couperin are more arrangements than actual studies but they are full of the composer's own beguiling ear for orchestral colour and his ability to add little extra touches here and there which add an extra-specialness to the music. Tom's take on Les Amusemens is to bring out its veil of wistfulness with muted strings and brass. Those 'sleights of hand' in Les Tours de passe-passe are re-imagined as ideas being passed cunningly between various instruments. L’Âme-en-peine enhances the ache of its dissonances of the soul by slightly smearing them. The composer appears to love these Couperin pieces and the warmth of his orchestrations seems to be winning a lot of affection from audiences in return.

Thomas Adès's orchestrations of Couperin, despite their 'of-our-timeness', still retain much of the essence of Couperin's originals. Richard Strauss's lush Divertimento Op.68, by way of contrast, keeps the notes of Couperin's originals but floods them with a late-Romantic opulence which, despite the presence of a harpsichord, is a world away from the Baroque and from neo-Classicism, not to mention several galaxies away from the requirements of 'authentic performance' practice. None of which stops it from being a pleasure to hear, albeit not one of its composer's best pieces.  For an immediate point of comparison, please try Strauss's ear-tickling, confectionery take on our friend Le Tours de Passe-passe, one of  the work's most engaging movements. There are eight movements in all, which I'll list below and add links to the originals wherever I can:

1. La Visionnaire

2. Musette de Choisy

3. Le Tic-Toc-Choc, La Lutine

4. Les Fauvétes plaintives

5. La Trophée, L`Anguille, Les jeunes Seigneurs, La Linotte effarouchée

6. Le Tours de Passe-passe

7. Les Ombres errantes

8. Les Brimborions, La Badine

What of that most famous of all tributes to Couperin, Maurice Ravel's Le Tombeau de Couperin? Well, for starters, it's not a tribute to Couperin specifically, being more of a general tribute to the spirit of French Baroque keyboard music, written to commemorate his friends who had been killed during the First World War. The original piano version takes the form of a Baroque keyboard suite - Prelude, Fugue, Forlane, Rigaudon, Menuet and Toccata. 

The Fugue and Toccata may not be familiar to you if you only know the familiar orchestral version of the piece. The former is not as bad a piece as some critics might have you believe, though it's not up to the very high standards of the four famous movements - or the fine Toccata. If you do fancy hearing orchestrations of these too, please take a listen then to the more-complete-than-complete performance of Le Tombeau de Couperin from Zoltán Kocsis, who orchestrated both movements to fit in seamlessly with the original Ravel orchestrations. Mr. Kocsis scores the Fugue for winds only, and the Toccata for a larger-than-Ravel orchestra. 

There are so many lovely things in the familiar orchestral version of Le Tombeau de Couperin - the ending of the Prelude with its trills across all the notes of a tonic triad as crossed by a swooshing glissando from the harp; the Forlane's grace, bitter-sweet dissonances and enchanting woodwind solos; the Minuet's gorgeous woodwind-led melody and bagpipe-style trio; and the Rigaudon's brilliance (including some striking trumpet writing) and coquettish flute-led central passage. 

Always a favourite piece, Le Tombeau de Couperin. 

The Waltz X: The Last Waltz?

As the First World War drew near, audiences in Central Europe were being treated to waltzes from a composer who combined the melodic and rhythmic spirit of the Strauss Family with the scrumptious late-Romantic harmonies of Richard Strauss, Puccini and the like. Even Gustav Mahler was enamoured of the composer's best-known waltz - Lippen schweigen ('Silent Lips'), better known as 'the Merry Widow waltz'. Its composer Franz Lehár  was a man with a remarkable gift for writing achingly memorable melodies, such as the main theme of Lippen schweigen, and setting them against rich and masterfully-scored accompaniments. Though I seem to have known that tune since I was evicted from my pram, it was the quality of the various melodies that go into making the Gold und Silber ('Gold and Silver Waltz') such a popular favourite that first alerted me to the delights of Lehár. If you've never heard it before, please take the opportunity to do so now. As you will hear the waltz follows the traditional pattern, as does Wilde Rosen ('Wild Roses') - a piece of which the composer himself was particularly fond. In Wilde Rosen you can hear the ingenuity with which Lehár weaves delightful counter-themes around some of his melodies. This is typical of the man. Just listen to the orchestral richness of the Altwiener Liebeswaltzes ('Love Waltzes from Old Vienna'). The composer himself conducted extracts from several of his operettas, including waltzes from The Count of Luxembourg and Eva, helping to spread his own message. Lehár continued to enjoy success between the wars, but as a popular phenomenon his was a dying art, losing out - especially after the Second World War - to the encroaching form of the musical.

Talking of which...one of the many gems from George Gershwin (and, of course, his brother Ira) was a song originally written for a review called The Show Is On about a lady who likes just one composer...and it isn't Lehár or Gershwin. By Strauss!: 

When I want a melody

Lilting through the house

Then I want a melody

By Strauss

It laughs, it sings

The world is in rhyme

Swinging to three-quarter time 

I suspect she would have been a fan of Arnold Schoenberg's arrangement of Strauss waltzes though I also suspect that she wouldn't been quite so keen on Schoenberg's own take on the form - the Waltzer from the Five Piano Pieces, Op.23. This is among the composer's first wholly twelve-tone works - and is unquestionably the first ever twelve-tone waltz. You won't be able to dance to it, despite the waltz rhythms. It's more of a fantasy-piece. As for his Strauss-waltz-arranging disciples, well, Anton Webern wrote no original waltzes of his own. Alban Berg, however, made conscious allusions to the Viennese waltz in his beautiful Violin Concerto of 1935 (very clearly in the 'Wienerisch' section around five minutes in). These, however, are essentially memorials for the waltz.

Of course, as we saw in Russia, the waltz lived on beyond the end of the First World War - and beyond La Valse - even if its glory days had well and truly gone. You see a waltz movement here and a fleeting glimpse of the waltz there among the works of many a famous 20th Century composer, but - as with the Schoenberg and Berg examples - they are fleeting things, memories, nostalgic or ironic glances backwards, parodies, mockeries. The waltzes in Richard Strauss's Der Rosenkavalier were already tending in that direction before the Great War, and his only concert waltz, München was originally written in 1939 but then re-written with a minor-key section in 1945, with the addition of the words "ein Gedächtniswalzer". It was a memorial waltz - a memorial to Munich, its opera house and to the waltz.

It needed a memorial. Of course, in popular music the strains of the waltz lingered on. Film composers also found many-and-varied uses for the waltz. Light music composers kept the waltz flame flickering too. Composers of musicals often reach for a waltz. My survey of the music of Paraguay's greatest composer Barrios showed the waltz thriving in the bars of Latin America. Ballroom dancers the world over are still dancing away to waltzes. Many sub-species of the waltz have sprung up across the globe. But among the major classical composers the waltz went into serious decline. Given that people still love a good waltz, that's a shame, isn't it?

Let's not end on a triste note about la valse. I've got quite a few miscellaneous waltzes to offer you, to round things off.

Fancy a pair of Edvard Grieg Valse-caprices for piano duet? Dating from 1883, they make a charming set. I think the first is the best, with a melodic appeal that should win its many friends. It really does speak the language of its composer, albeit with waltz rhythms rather than with Norwegian folk rhythms. The major/minor shifts in the trio section of this Valse-caprice are particularly characteristic. I'd never heard them before but I was aware of Grieg's involvement with the form. His series of sixty-six Lyric Pieces contains many an attractive waltz. I've always enjoyed playing the Vals, Op.12/2 - another gem where unpredictable major and minor shifts add a touch of Griegian magic. For a spirited take, please try the Vals, Op.38/7 - short but charming. The Norwegian folk influence is felt in the captivating melody of the Valse-Impromptu, Op.47/1, another magical number, with its tune based on an unusual (but very characteristic) take on the minor scale. The Valse mélanconique, Op.68/6 is more conventional but has much to recommend it.

Moving from the far north to the far south of Europe, we find the waltz flourishes in the hands of the Chopin-soaked Enrique Granados. His Valses Poéticos takes the traditional form of an introduction, waltz sequence and reprise-coda. From lightness to melancholy, nobility to sentimentality, Granados's richly-imagined set offers the listener many rewards. Listen out in particular for the 6th waltz - the one marked 'sentimental'.

Such pieces come from the heart of the Romantic piano composer tradition. We've already looked at Liszt's Mephisto Waltzes - those waltzes that were so hard to hear as waltzes. Liszt wrote quite a few non-devilish waltzes too. I'm not sure that many pianists would agree that the early Grande Valse di Bravura isn't devilish, given the devilishly difficult demands it places on the performer! This is an entertaining piece in the most brilliant salon style of the time. From the more intimate side of Liszt's nature came the lovely Valse mélancolique - one of many works the composer reworked over the years. You can trace this process in action by journeying (happily) through the transformation of the first version of the Petite Valse favorite into the second version of the Petite Valse favorite and from there into the Valse-Impromptu. Delightful music! Nor must I forget the Valse oubliées. These are very special waltzes from Liszt's later years. No.1 has always been a favourite, for understandable reasons. It has all the best tunes. No.2, however, is a dazzling and dream-like fantasy, full of beauty and not to be missed. No.3 enters into visionary harmonic worlds to come (as late Liszt was so often to do) and is, if anything, even more airy and beautiful. No.4, ironically, was literally a forgotten waltz for many years, only being rediscovered in America and published in 1954. It is even closer to the soundworld of Scriabin and full of flare and fire. The Valse oubliées are indeed something special, unlike...

Did you know that Liszt's son-in-law Wagner wrote a waltz? The Zuricher Vielliebchen Walzer for piano of 1854 is that most surprising of things. I think you'll agree it's hardly a masterpiece, but it's a charming trifle nonetheless. Who'd have thunk it? That's really it though for Wagner and the waltz (except for an arrangement he made of Wine, Women and Song) - unless you are prepared to countenance my passionate belief (which I will defend to the death - and beyond) that the Flower Maidens' beguiling Komm o holder Knabe from Parsifal is a waltz!

Let's leap across the Atlantic and forward in time (before working backwards again). Two of the three great ballets of Aaron Copland feature waltzes. There's the Saturday Night Waltz from Rodeo - a lovely slow waltz announced by the 'tuning-up' of the 'fiddlers' of the orchestra. There's also the no-less-lovely slow Waltz that precedes Billy's death in Billy the Kid. Both give a flavour of how the waltz had become a popular dance in the America of yore.

Charles Ives had penned a characteristically off-centre take on the waltz a quarter of a century earlier. His Waltz-Rondo of 1911 has strange and purely coincidental echoes of the Ravel Valse nobles et sentimentales, among other anticipations. It's a rich and fascinating piece that's as oblique a take on the waltz as Schoenberg's Op.23 piece a decade later. Less complex (but charming) is the Waltz parodying the popular waltzes of the time that Ives wrote in 1895, as arranged by Jonathan Elkus in 1971. (The original song can be heard here). This is the waltz as a sentimental song (or a take thereon).

American composers of Ives's were still showing themselves to be smitten by the great masters of the classical waltz, especially Chopin. There's Horatio Parker, for example,with his Chopinesque Valse gracile of 1899 and George Chadwick with his equally Chopin-inspired (and highly agreeable) Three Waltzes of 1890.

This American process is a rewind of the process we have been seeing in Europe - the move from the real thing to parodies and nostalgic memories of the real thing.

Let's end with another American composer but one who began as an Austrian composer and whose music is Viennese to its fingertips, Erich Korngold. His work in arranging rare Strauss operettas brought a fair few of them back from the dead. Korngold's music is rich in influence, sharing some of the spirit of Franz Lehár whilst also being aware of Schoenberg. Of course, Korngold is best known for his film music, all written for the studios of Hollywood. A man of the past and the future then. I've enthused about Korngold's music (at length) before, so this is my second bite of the cherry here. It's such a tasty cherry though that I'm always happy to keeping nibbling at it.

As well as those arrangements of Strauss operettas, Korngold wrote a pastiche singspiel called Walzer aus Wien ('Waltzes from Vienna') which drew on Strauss's less-known music (the Broadway version was called The Great Waltz) to tell a story from the life of the Waltz King. For a flavour of what must be a wonderful piece, please take a listen to the waltz-aria Frag mich Oft . (A second delicious aria may be heard here.) One of Korngold's final works was a short orchestral tribute to the great man, Straussiana, drawing on an obscure Strauss polka and an obscure Strauss waltz. There's not a hint of irony in it. This is love.

Korngold wrote waltzes of his own, including in his remarkably prodigious youth. I like the story about the teenager's Vier fröhliche Walzer all being dedicated to friends at school - all girl friends - and his father confiscating the young composer's manuscript to try to deter him from thinking about girls! The pieces were re-discovered later. As you would expect from the extraordinarily gifted youngster, the waltz Margit sounds like the work of a fully mature composer and contains a rich flow of melody and harmony. For a waltz from a work from the composer's actual maturity, please try the warmly nostalgic second movement from the Suite Op.23 for two violins, cello and piano left hand or the delightful finale of the String Quartet No.2, Op.26 - both first-rate waltzes. If you ever feel yourself wanting to sing along to a Korngold waltz you will be in good company - as you can hear from the composer's own performance (on piano) of the waltz-song Die schönste Nacht from his operetta Die Stumme Serenade. Try it for yourself with the waltz, Feast in the Forest, from his legendary film score The Adventures of Robin Hood or with Pierrots Tanzlied from the composer's most famous opera, Die Tode Stadt.

Resisting the urge to end with Engelbert Humperdinck's The Last Waltz, that's the end of this short series of posts on the waltz. Hope I didn't leave out too much! 

The Waltz IV: The Kings of Swing

As Chopin was writing out his waltzes and Berlioz was fantasising about a scene in a ballroom, the Strauss Family's father, Johann Strauss I, was getting into his stride. The craze for the waltz may have been starting to fade in Britain and France but it was exploding in the capital of the land of its birth where, alongside Lanner, Strauss the Elder gave the Viennese and the waltz a massive shot in the arm. We don't tend to hear a great deal of Johann the Elder's music, even at the New Year's Day concerts in Vienna - with one very obvious exception, the inescapable clap-along Radetzky March (named in honour of the Austrian field marshall Joseph Radetzky von Radetz) - but there are some delightful waltzes to be had from Strauss I (even if none of them has the magic of the best of Johann the Younger).

His best-known waltz is Lorelei Rheinklänge, Op.154 but (to put my explosion imagery earlier to good use!) his Ballracketen, Op.96 is even more delightful. As a Brit, I can't resist also linking to his Huldigung der Königin Victoria von Grossbritannien, Op. 103, a waltz that begins with Rule Britannia and ends with God Save the Queen! 

The zenith of the Viennese waltz, however, came in the second half of the Nineteenth Century when the waltz passed from father to sons - namely Johann Strauss II and his brother Josef and Eduard. Supreme artistry and popular appeal mark out Johann Strauss the Younger's contributions to the genre. His gift for a good tune was second to none and, along with his almost-as-gifted brother Josef, he invested a great deal of poetry in many of his introductions to the waltz. Johann Strauss II expanded the waltz sequence (often including an introduction and coda) as set out by Weber and added richer melodies, harmonies and orchestral colours to those of his father. 

He was a prolific composer, so offering you a decent selection of his waltzes is both easy (so many to choose from) and hard (so many to choose from). I will save some of the most famous for a later post, where they will be heard in intimate arrangements by an unlikely group of composers. OK, let's start with a popular piece, Frühlingsstimmen, Op.410 ('Voices of Spring') which shows, I think, why this Strauss is the best Strauss. It may lack a slow introduction but the sheer quality of the waltz tunes puts it in a league of its own. A whirling theme, a tune from the country with birdsong (on flute), a more wistful melody of much beauty and a jolly tune to lead us towards the close. The waltz's vocal version is sometimes included in performances of Die Fledermaus, where is it entirely at home. The whole thing is delightful and invites comparison with the piano waltzes of Chopin. I played arrangement of popular Strauss waltzes on the piano as a youngster, so many - like Voices of Spring - feel like childhood friends to me. I would try to ooze flexibility during the lovely slow introduction to Wiener Blut, Op.354 ('Vienna Blood') and then straighten up for the grander bits. Wiener Blut was written for a royal wedding, so celebratory grandeur had its place in the waltz alongside the customary charm and the loveable easy-going waltz tunes. 

It would be perverse not to include An der schönen blauen Donau, Op. 314 ('The Blue Danube', as if I really needed to translate that for you!) The tremolo strings evoking the shimmering surface of the water, the motif based on the notes of a major triad on horns (and sometimes strings) evoking the grandeur of the river, the answer high woodwinds chords evoking the glint of light on the river, the long bass notes evoking the depth and breath of the river...all those familiar, too-easily-taken-for-granted features found in the famous introduction...so well-known and yet still so impressionistic, so magical. And the waltzing hasn't even begun yet. A curious fact here is that the waltz didn't go down a storm at its première, rather unusually for a Strauss waltz. Audiences have been reacting far more appreciatively ever since! 

"What about some rarities? I mean, come on Craig, the flipping Blue Danube for goodness sake!"

Well, how about a tribute to another river, An der Elbe op. 477? The slow introduction is another lovely evocation of a river in flow - more shimmers, more triad-based magic, but also some magical light-on-water effects that don't sound a million miles away from Wagner and his Forest Murmurs. The waltz sequence that follows has plenty of tuneful appeal too. It's quite a find. So is Gartenlaube, Op.461 ('Garden Trees', I think), with its charming woodwind-dominated introduction and its deliciously-scored main theme. Music to charm the birds from the trees! And talking of charming woodwind writing, you might also enjoy the introduction to Gedanken auf den Alpen op.172 ('Thoughts in the Alps').

Going back to the start of his career, his Jugend-Träume op 12 ('Youthful Dreams') is notable as being its composer's break-through piece, winning five encores at its first performance back in 1845. All the ingredients are there - an imaginative introduction, a memorable lilting main theme and an easy flow of waltzes.

To finish though this short survey of an artist's life, it's time a couple more famous ones to finish, both from the height of Johann the Younger's fame - Künstlerleben op.316 and G'schichten aus dem Wienerwald, Op.325  ('Tales from the Vienna Woods'). The latter must be heard with its slow introduction, for it is a thing of delight. Open fourths and fifths suggestive of nature call beckoningly on winds, a drone begins and a grand invitation to the dance is issued. A solo cello sings to us and gentle melodious fills us with warmth. A bird sings and the zither (or muted strings) sings its magical song, calling us to the Vienna Woods. A sequence of five waltzes and a coda (with reprise) follows. Any performance that omits that introduction should be roundly booed. (Only joking!)

As for Josef Strauss, I refer you to to a post of mine from a year ago, New Year Swallows from Austria, for an appreciation of his art - especially his gift for crafting beautiful introductions. I shall re-quote his brother Johann here about Josef: "Pepi [his family nickname] is the more gifted of us two; I am merely the more popular." I think Johann was being overly modest there, but there's no doubt that his brother's gifts were of a high order. As a fresh example of his genius, please try his Geheime Anziehungskrafte (Dynamiden), op.173. The title evokes the secret powers of attraction and the play of atoms and the introduction to the waltz sequence conjures a dream-like vision in much of symphonic power. As I said in my earlier post about Josef, it does rather seem a shame that he couldn't have dropped the waltz sequence altogether and expanded his introduction into a miniature symphonic poem. Still, the reliably tuneful, colourfully-orchestrated waltz sequence gives the listener such a good feeling that such qualms almost dissolve. The main waltz tune here begins with nine notes that fans of an unrelated Strauss, Richard, might recall as being the same first nine notes of one of his waltz tunes from Der Rosenkavalier (5.11 into this link). It could be co-incidence, of course (after all, it's a simple waltz tune formula that could easily keep cropping up), or it could be a deliberate echo by Richard. Who knows! 

What though of brother Eduard? Eduard Strauss was definitively in his brothers' shadows and made a speciality of polkas and conducting. His waltzes - such as Schleier und Krone, Op.200 ('Veil and Crown'), written for an Imperial wedding, Glockensignale, Op.198 ('Bell Signals') and Doctrinen, Op.79 ('Doctrines') - show talent but I can't detect the spark found in his brothers' finest pieces. Can you?

Eduard's eldest son, Johann Strauss III, became the last of the Strauss dynasty (dying in 1939) - not that you ever hear his music. (Well, until now that is!)  By all accounts, the lad got off to a disastrous start with one of his pieces going down so badly with the public that he was told by critics to use a pseudonym so as not to tarnish the family name. (Ouch!) Trying out his Unter den Linden Walzer, Op.30 and Kronungs-Walzer, Op.40 ('Coronation Waltz'), written for the coronation of our own Edward VII, shows that he got over this crisis and went on to be a highly competent Strauss - if not a great Strauss. I wouldn't mind hearing more of JSIII. 

The Strauss Dynasty (1804-1939), purveyors of pleasure in three-four time to millions for almost two hundred years now. Long may that continue!

Melodies from Mount Olympus

Today is the opening day of the London Olympics 2012. What will we Brits do with the opening ceremony? Tune in tonight and find out!

There will doubtless be a part for classical music in the event. Classical music has had quite an interesting history of association with the modern Olympics and from 1912 through until 1948, there was even a music competition complete with gold, silver and bronze medals for the best pieces. 

"Complete with..." isn't perhaps the right phrase. In 1912 only a gold medal was awarded to the Italian Riccardo Barthelemy for his Olympic Triumphal March. In 1920 it was gold for the Belgian Georges Monier for Olympique and silver for the Italian Oreste Riva for his Marcia trionfale but no bronze. In 1924 the jury  (which included Stravinsky, Bartok, Ravel and d'Indy!) couldn't reach a decision, so no medals were given at all. In 1928 they did give out a medal but, bizarrely (and rather insultingly, I'd have thought) it was a mere bronze, awarded to the (suitably damned-with-faint-praise) Rudolph Simonsen of Denmark for his Symphony No.2, Hellas (a substantial piece, not remotely what you might be expecting - so please try it!). So far you will have noticed that none of these composers is a familiar name. The familiar names (as in 1924) sat on the juries. The Olympics used to take the idea of the Games being a competition for amateurs very seriously. The one exception to win an Olympic medal was the great Czech composer Josef Suk for his toe-tapping patriotic march Into a New Life (a delightful piece) in 1932. In another bemusing snub, Suk was merely given a silver medal. No gold was given that year! 

Things changed in 1936 when the Nazis took charge of the Olympics - more music competitions, more medals, more music. Guess what? Germany won 4 out of the 6 medals awarded by the largely German jury! Paul Höffer (who?) of Germany won gold for his Olympic Vow, Kurt Thomas (who?) of Germany won silver for his Olympic Cantata and Harald Genzmer (who?) of Germany won bronze for his The Runner. A slightly more familiar name, Werner Egk of...well, I'm sure you can guess where!...won gold in the Orchestral category for his Olympic Festive Music, while Lino Liviabella of fellow Axis power Italy won silver for The Victor and Jaroslav Křička of Czechoslovakia got the bronze with his Mountain Suite. The Berlin Olympics of 1936, incidentally, saw a very great composer enter the scene with Richard Strauss providing an Olympic Hymn for the opening ceremony. Strauss wasn't exactly enthusiastic about it, writing to his friend and librettist, the Jewish writer Stefan Zweig, "I am whiling away the dull days of advent by composing an Olympic Hymn for the proles - I of all people, who despise sports." I'd say the piece is pure hack-work, though the ending is not bad. 

The last London Olympics of 1948 opened with an ode, Non Nobis Domine, by Britain's very own Roger Quilter (plus a blast of the Hallelujah chorus) and saw the Pole Zbigniew Turski vault into the gold medal position in the competition for his Olympic Symphony, with a Canadian Jean Weinzweig and a Finn  Kalervo Tuukkanen winning silvers and the three bronzes going to two Italians and a Dane.

At that point the difficulty of deciding if an artist was an amateur or a professional got too much for the Olympic organisers and the competition was dropped. 

In 1958, the International Olympic Committee decided to adopt a piece originally written for the 1896 Games (the first modern Olympics) by the Greek opera composer Spyridon Samaras, the Olympic Hymn ("Immortal spirit of antiquity"), as its permanent anthem. It's a thoroughly grand operatic chorus.

In researching this post, I kept reading mentions of a Hymn to Apollo written for the 1894 Olympic Congress by one of my favourite composers, Gabriel Fauré. I never knew such a piece existed as it never appears in work lists for the composer. Was it lost? Apparently not, as the IMSLP site has a score of it. Having just played it through on the piano, it sounds like a real beauty - a modal piece in 5/4 time. The tune is not Fauré's own. It's a melody that was written in Ancient Athens:

Hopefully someone will record it one day and someone else will add it to his list of works.

In the 1960s American T.V. companies began using a piece called Bugler's Dream by the French-American Leo Arnauld in their coverage of the Olympic Games. John Williams co-opted this theme and used it in his own Olympic Fanfare and Theme, written for the 1984 Los Angeles games. He has written music for others Olympiads - Olympic Spirit for Seoul in 1988 and Summon the Heroes for Atlanta in 1996. John Williams is made for the Olympics! Other music that came out of L.A. includes Philip Glass's The Olympian and out of Atlanta sprang Michael Torke's bright-eyed Javelin. Glass must have caught the bug as he was back for Athens in 2004, with the ambitious, multi-movement Orion.

So will there be any music by a living British composer at tonight's opening ceremony in London? We'll see. Presumably it won't just be Elgar's Nimrod. We have to be more original than that!

Domesticating the Symphony

Richard Strauss's Symphonia Domestica has always been controversial, having both vociferous detractors and staunch defenders. The critics have been chiefly concerned about the programme behind the piece and the perceived mismatch between the programme's 'triviality' (and 'bad taste') and the gargantuan effects and forces employed. I'm an unashamed staunch defender of this domestic symphony and I think that Strauss's sense of humour is a good deal stronger than that of some of his critics. The composer's own defence against the charge of triviality - what is more important than a man's love for his wife and child? - seems sane and true to me. Anyhow, the work contains so much glorious music that, philosophy aside, it is worthy of being loved itself. Moreover, the astonishing thematic working is worthy of admiration.

This is a single-movement symphony but it falls into four distinct sections (Introduction, Scherzo, Adagio and Finale) and threads everything together (including all its many, many themes) such that it seems to be the ultimate cyclical symphony.

As in Don Quixote, it pays to listen closely to at the beginning as within the first five minutes Strauss has introduced us to five contrasting themes already, all associated programmatically with Strauss himself, and moved onto a second cluster of themes associated with his wife, Pauline. That's a lot to take in, but we're given a little extra time to digest them as Strauss immediately begins to develop them before introducing his next 'character' and, anyway, we have some forty minutes still ahead of us to get to know them all very well indeed. You might note that the main Strauss theme (with which the work opens) begins with a three-note figure that inverted becomes the opening of Pauline's main theme. You might also note the 'fiery' theme on violins for Richard - essentially a rising arpeggio - as this ardent motif always bring magic with it. 

The next 'character' we meet is the couple's baby and his theme is presented rather as you would expect the main character in a play to be presented. It's a brilliantly staged entry, the lighting being cast on his beautiful theme, played by the oboe d'amore accompanied by violins, and space is provided for the audience to register this new actor's starring role. This is indeed the score's main theme. The Introduction ends with the magically-scoring cooings of the aunts (trumpets) and uncles (trombones). 

The Scherzo follows straight on and its folk-like main theme, though you might not recognise it at first, is simply the baby's theme transformed by more of his father's creative magic. Both versions of the theme are shortly after counterpointed with an ingenuity so easy-going in the manner of its achievement that the genius behind it can too easily be taken for granted. Baby gets a bath in the Trio section and kicks up quite a rumpus! Here you will also hear a gorgeous new theme of exquisite tenderness on solo violin and an equally gorgeous, romantic theme on horn. Together they create beautiful music! A lullaby follows, begun by what sounds like an (unconscious?) echo of the music that introduces dawn in the second act of Wagner's Götterdämmerung, which has considerable tenderness too. The clock strikes seven (in the evening) and woodwinds serenade us with one of Richard's themes - adorable!

The Adagio section is made from the themes of Richard and Pauline and is a true symphonic slow movement as well as a passionate love scene. Here Strauss gives milk as only he can, weaving and transforming his themes into a seamless musical flow of the finest inspiration, at times tender, at times ardent, even erotic and very often ravishingly beautiful. Strauss then dreams and the result for this listener at least is a dream to hear.

Morning comes and the clock strikes seven again. Baby awakes and the Scherzo's take on his theme forms the basis of the Finale's opening double fugue, along with a second theme begun high up on the violins. The fugue represents Richard and Pauline arguing, but it's a merry argument and the composer's counterpoint is worn lightly, if lustily. The 'reconciliation' follows and the now very familiar themes mingle again, readying themselves for the joyous, brilliant big finish.