"Emperor" Waltzes
Johann Strauss II
Andy Bhasin, conductor
Symphony No. 1 in D
Gustav Mahler
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Program Notes
Kaiser-Walzer (“Emperor Waltzes”)
Op. 437 (1888)
JOHANN STRAUSS, JR. (1825 - 1899)
In October 1889, Strauss was invited to give a series of five concerts at the newly opened concert hall in the Berlin Königsbau, the magnificent complex housing the court of the German Kaiser, Wilhelm II. Strauss composed a new waltz for his appearances that he originally titled Hand in Hand, a reference to Austrian Emperor Franz Josef’s visit to Wilhelm in August, when he extended “the hand of friendship” to Germany. By the time of the work’s premiere, however, on October 21, 1889, it had become the Kaiser-Walzer — Emperor Waltzes — a shrewd bit of politicking suggested by Strauss’ publisher, Fritz Simrock, that obviated the need to dedicate the piece to one monarch or the other while satisfying the vanity of both. The Emperor Waltzes is the last of the great works in the form composed by Johann, Jr., “the most beautiful flower that the incredible tree of Strauss music had produced in 75 years,” according to the French writer Guillaume Ritter. It is by far Strauss’s longest waltz, and seems more intended as waltz “tome-poem” than a functional dance. Still, foot-tapping melodies abound, and many find its very real charms irresistible.
Symphony #1 in D (“Titan”)
GUSTAV MAHLER (1860 - 1911)
I Langsam. Schleppend - Immer sehr gemächlich (Slow. Sluggish - always very leisurely)
II Kräftig bewegt (Powerfully moving)
III Feierlich und gemessen, ohne zu schleppen (Solemn and measured, without dragging)
IV Stürmisch bewegt (Stormy and agitated)
It’s an interesting though perhaps unanswerable question: when composers revise their works, which version is to be preferred—the original or the revision?
It comes up a lot, because some composers were inveterate revisers. Anton Bruckner, for one, tended to fold at the merest criticism and revised nearly everything he wrote—sometimes drastically. Most people think the revised versions are better and that’s how they’re usually performed. Then there is Stravinsky, who seems to have re-worked at least some of his earlier pieces largely to renew his copyrights! But Stravinsky was a vastly different composer when he went back to works like The Firebird, and many listeners prefer the original versions to the “new and improved” models.
Mahler’s First Symphony is a harder case to call. He originally promoted it as a “Symphonic Poem” in two parts and five movements, but the work seemed to confuse those listeners who didn’t openly dislike it. Friends persuaded Mahler to provide a written guide for his audience, so he named the work “Titan” (after the novel by Jean Paul) and devised a descriptive program for it after the fact.
Unfortunately, the program did not predispose audiences to greater understanding or acceptance of the symphony—it seemed to make things worse, actually—so Mahler retracted it. Years later, when he published the score, he called the work a symphony and dropped the symphonic poem’s second movement, Blumine, giving the work a more traditional shape. For more than sixty years this was the only First we knew, for Blumine was missing and presumed lost. After its discovery in 1959, we have had a vexing choice: should we return to Mahler’s original concept—abandoned only because people couldn’t or wouldn’t understand it—or stick with the later version he considered definitive?
Blumine (Blossoms) is a gorgeous movement, its lyrical trumpet singing with innocence and simplicity. It also contains themes that return again in the Scherzo and Finale, and its restoration gives context to those references. But it also makes the First a more sprawling, episodic work, and after the initial enthusiasm for including it, many conductors have since reverted to the tighter, more compact four-movement First, the version the BSO performs this afternoon.
Mahler said that the first movement of the symphony represents “Nature’s awakening from its long winter sleep.” This eerie, elemental picture is a sunrise in sound, punctuated by cuckoo calls, distant trumpet fanfares, and a languid horn melody. The primary theme comes from Mahler’s earlier setting of a rustic song entitled “I Crossed the Meadow at Morn.” That melody and most of the others come together in an exuberant, hell-for-leather finish.
Mahler’s title for the Scherzo (when he temporarily approved of titles) was “Under Full Sail”; though it was an afterthought, it seems fitting. For many people, the real attraction of the movement is the limpid Trio.
Mahler’s inspiration for the third movement funeral-march was the drawing by Moritz von Schwind called “How the Animals Bury the Hunter.” This macabre picture shows various animals of the forest bearing the coffin of the hunter in a procession of mock sorrow. The music itself is a deliciously ironic setting of “Frère Jacques” in a minor key and in canon, interrupted at times by an archly banal village-band tune. Many listeners 100 years ago found this movement to be unforgivably vulgar; today, it’s hard to see what all the fuss was about.
The Finale erupts with a storm: Mahler called it the “sudden despairing cry of a heart wounded to its depths.” The similarity to the same outburst in the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony is very clear. The movement is a study in extremes, wrenching the listener from these ominous wails to exhilarating heights—including a literal quote from Handel’s Messiah: “And He shall reign for ever and ever”—and back again. By the end, Paradise is reached (Mahler’s original title was “Dall’ Inferno al Paradiso”) amid great gales of brass.
Some scholars believe that Mahler’s inspiration for his First Symphony was his torrid love affair with Marion von Weber; others say that the endless leave-taking of the Finale depicts his unrequited love for soprano Johanna Richter. Both or either may be true, but Mahler said, “The real-life experience was the impulse for the work, not its content.” Arnold Schoenberg got it right when he wrote to Mahler after hearing the First in 1904: “It was revealed to me as a stretch of wild and secret country, with eerie chasms and abysses neighbored by sunlit, smiling meadows, haunts of idyllic repose. I felt it as an event of Nature, which after scouring us with its terrors puts a rainbow in the sky.”
Nicholas Armstrong, Artistic Director
Felipe Tristan, Associate Conductor
Andy Bhasin, Assistant Conductor
Violin 1
Carlos Camposeco, concert master
AJ Adkins
Anastasia Antoniv
Morris Barrett
Claudia Roshanak Dillon
Stacy Eriksson
Maeve Farrell
Grace Johnson
Alina Lerman
Candice McCardle
Kendra Nealon
Stephen Painter
Walker Stroud
Andrew Westling
Violin 2
Sarah Richards, principal
Nishan Bhaumik
Maryann Contrubis
Hannah Rose Feldman
Norma Green
Gabrielle Hamilton
Nicki Izakson
Isabel Parkey
Jim Russo
Stan Stanford
Daniel Wu
Xining Zhang
Viola
Rachel Schachtman, principal
Claire Bernard
Yichen Cao
James Du
Heather Goodchild
Jill Jefferson
Isabelle Uhl
Violoncello
Cynthia Racine, principal
Todd Coulter
Maia Takarabe
Sara Bobo
David Balatero
Alex Almgren
Isabel Ortiz
Nicole Zingman
Sydney Gershon
Doublebass
Cherina Mastrantones, principal
Sam McPherson
Adriane Melchert
Ray Palermo
Walter Wallace
Flute/Piccolo
Jenn Forese, principal
Ashley Chia-Wei Yeh
Justin Lee
Alyssa Mena
Oboe
Steve Hands, principal
Tim Hommowun
Jonghee Kim
English Horn
Jonghee Kim
Clarinet
Paul Steinfeld, principal
Matthew Fontana
Donald Moy
Lou Stenerson
Bass Clarinet
Lou Stenerson
Bassoon
Phil Murphy, principal
Norma Kerlin
Fran Piccone
Bassoon
Norma Kerlin
French Horn
Juvenal Santiago, principal
John Scandone, assistant
Lucas Huffman
Ray Lucia
Tessa Pettit
Lester Sanabria
Chris Simpson
Santiago Valenzuela
Trumpet
Tom McGee, principal
Eric Braunstein
Brian Metcalf
Tree Palmedo
Dan Sugarman
Trombone
Alex Somer, principal
Alex Arellano
Scott Bradley
John Cushing
Tuba
David Biko
Timpani
David Cox
Percussion
Dave Wilson, principal
Miguel Tepale
Harp
Margery Fitts