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Join us for a mesmerizing evening featuring Dallas-based composer Quinn Mason’s A Joyous Trilogy. The highlight of the night is the collaboration with the Syracuse University Oratorio Society, as we present Carl Orff’s iconic masterpiece, Carmina Burana, known for its epic and movie-famous opening, O Fortuna.

O Fortuna has been used in such films as Excalibur, Speed and The Doors, on television in Only Fools and Horses and The Simpsons and has been covered or sampled by musicians such as Michael Jackson, Charlotte Church and John Williams. This performance promises to be a breathtaking journey through one of the most recognized compositions in the classical world.

Tune into this video to see Jessica King, our talented Bassoon and Contrabassoon player, share her excitement and insights into what makes Carmina Burana such a must-see event!

Veterans and active-duty military personnel are invited to join us with a free ticket for themselves and one guest. Please use the code PARADE23 in checkout to activate this promotion. This generous offer is made possible by our concert sponsor, Visions Federal Credit Union. Don’t miss this enthralling evening of music at the Oncenter Crouse Hinds Theater.

 

 


PROGRAM

QUINN MASON: A Joyous Trilogy
RAVEL: La valse
ORFF: Carmina Burana

 


Thanks to our sponsors for this performance!

 

 

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PROGRAM NOTES

“The Apotheosis of the Dance”: That’s how Richard Wagner described Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. Had he lived another half century, he might well have transferred the epithet over to La Valse by Maurice Ravel (1875­­–1937). Ravel began the piece in 1906 as a tribute to Johann Strauss II called Vienna—but by the time he finished it in 1920, the name had changed. It might seem slightly arrogant to title a work “The Waltz,” as if it were the only one. Still, with its continual succession of archetypal waltz gestures in ...

“The Apotheosis of the Dance”: That’s how Richard Wagner described Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. Had he lived another half century, he might well have transferred the epithet over to La Valse by Maurice Ravel (1875­­–1937). Ravel began the piece in 1906 as a tribute to Johann Strauss II called Vienna—but by the time he finished it in 1920, the name had changed. It might seem slightly arrogant to title a work “The Waltz,” as if it were the only one. Still, with its continual succession of archetypal waltz gestures in unvarying 3/4 waltz meter, with its regular dance-friendly phrases, with its sweeping gestures, with its glittery orchestration (plenty of lift from the harps), with its seductive glissandos (slides), La Valse is such a flawless distillation of the genre that the title seems appropriate. A perfect gem.

Except…

There was a profound reason Ravel switched gears between 1906 and 1920—World War I, and his experience as an ambulance driver amid its horrors. After the War, the whipped cream of Vienna had soured—and Ravel’s work turned from an innocent homage to something that seems, to many listeners at least, closer to a warning. There are hints of menace in the dark shadows of the beginning; and although at first they are brushed aside by the music’s brilliance,   they are harder to ignore as the work continues. Right before the end, the music turns unmistakably violent and the dance collapses (much as the bolero collapses at the end of Bolero), bringing down with it the whole waltz-and-Sacher-torte innocence of Johann Strauss II. That warning turns out to have been on the mark. Just over a decade later, the Third Reich was established in Germany—and the occupation of Austria followed soon thereafter.

The damage, of course, was incalculable—and it hit music as well as everything else. True, music was central to the Nazi propaganda machine (Strauss waltzes had, in fact, a special role to play), so it got plenty of state support. But that support could hardly compensate for the devastating effects of Nazi policies. Since so many performers and composers either fled or were killed—and since there were tight restrictions on what could and could not be performed—the musical world of Germany and Austria deteriorated dramatically. Certainly, the Nazi regime produced little lasting music. Even Richard Strauss, the reigning German composer, seemed to fade during the decade between 1933 and 1942.

The 1936 choral work Carmina Burana by Carl Orff (1895-1982) emerged out of this horrific environment. The work is an anomaly—in fact, a double anomaly. First, it’s the only real hit to emerge from the Third Reich—and it’s a tremendous hit, at that. Aside from being the most widely performed choral work of the twentieth century, it has shown up in films, in advertisements, at sporting events, serving as a stunning example of how a work of art can transcend the conditions of its composition. Second, it’s the only successful work that Orff produced. He had a long life; he was an influential teacher, especially important for his music for children; he was a significant musicologist with several editions of Monteverdi to his credit; he was a prolific composer who wrote, among other things, substantial settings of three Greek tragedies. But of his stage and concert music, only Carmina has held the public’s attention. Orff is the exemplar of the one-hit wonder.

It’s hard to explain why nearly everything else in Orff’s catalog (other than his pedagogical work) has essentially vanished; but the success of Carmina is easily understood. John Warren—director of the Syracuse University Oratorio Society, which joins Symphoria tonight—points to several factors, in particular the colors (“the orchestration is fantastic”) and the catchy rhythmic and harmonic ostinatos (repeated patterns) “that just pound away at you,” producing a very “visceral response.” The result is music of tremendous immediacy that has extremely broad appeal. “Dynamic and energy filled, it’s hard to resist. You don’t have to have a lot of deep training to comprehend it.” Yet it’s got its “moments of respite,” too—especially in the “Court of Love” section—that serve to increase the power of the more forceful moments. The use of a children’s chorus (tonight, the Syracuse Youth Chorus, making its Masterworks Concert debut with the orchestra) only adds to the color and sense of elation.

Then there are the texts. The work is based on a 19th-century collection that gathered up secular medieval poems in Latin, Middle High German, and Old French. That might seem a bit dry, but it’s assuredly not. Although the outer sections (“Oh, Fortuna”) focus on the power of fate in our lives, for the most part the texts are less concerned with abstract philosophy than with the more immediate aspects of everyday life: food, drink, and sex. That produces a rich variety of musical genres: love songs, drinking songs, and—at the center of the piece—a curious lament in which a swan bewails its fate while being roasted. John points out that even for a chorus used to singing in multiple languages, those in Carmina (“some in quasi-Latin and some in this middle high German, neither of which makes total sense to us”) are a challenge, especially since “there’s a lot of it, and a lot of it is very fast.” But like the music, the poetry speaks directly to the audience.

Our opening work, despite a dramatic difference in style, speaks directly to the audience as well—and with a similarly enlivening spirit. By now, Quinn Mason (b. 1996) is familiar to Symphoria regulars. His poignant Reflection on a Memorial, originally commissioned by the Dallas Symphony for a concert honoring victims of racial violence, was performed in 2021; his very different Toast of the Town popped the cork as we entered 2022. Tonight’s Joyous Trilogy(2019, revised 2021) is closer in mood to the second of these—the result of a desire “to create a composition that was the very embodiment of happiness and cheerfulness, an accessible work that would put any listener in a good mood.” It’s celebratory in nature—no surprise, since it was written for the fiftieth anniversary of the Harmonia Orchestra of Seattle and its conductor Will White, one of Quinn’s mentors. Quinn describes him as “one of the most joyous people I know!”

The work consists of two energetic and forward-pressing movements flanking “a gentle and introspective meditation.” Although its placement right before La Valse is a coincidence, it turns out to be a fortuitous one. La Valsewas one of the first orchestral pieces Quinn heard, one of the works that encouraged him to become a composer. And there are profound connections between the two pieces, even if La Valse was not a conscious model. Joyous Trilogy is, he says, “a concerto for orchestra in everything but name, a virtuoso piece designed to show off not only the skills of the conductor, but also many instruments of the orchestra” (including the principal trombone, who is featured in the second movement). “And that’s what the Ravel does: It’s a marvel of orchestration.”

As an added bonus, Joyous Trilogy will be conducted by the composer himself—the first time Symphoria has had a composer perform his or her own music. All in all, an ideal lift-off for the concert.

Peter J. Rabinowitz
Have any comments or questions? Please write to me at prabinowitz@ExperienceSymphoria.org


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