CELESTIAL DIALOGUES

Silvestre Revueltas, idiomatic master of the Mexican Nationalist style, is sometimes referred to as a “Mexican Prokofiev.” His music is said to contain the intensity of Stravinsky, the folk roots of Bartok, the lushness of Respighi, and the contrast of Ives; one critic even refers to him as “Copland on mescal.” And yet, despite these many comparisons, the defining characteristic of Revueltas’ work is his insistence on creating a musical language all his own.

Revueltas was born in a rural Mexican mining town. His parents had limited access to education and culture, but were dedicated to raising their children to value the arts; Silvestre and his siblings grew up to be musicians, artists, actors, dancers, and authors known throughout Mexico. Silvestre began studying violin with local mentors as a child, and went on to study at the National Conservatory in Mexico City, St. Edward College in Texas, and Chicago Musical College.

Revueltas first began to explore composition as a student in Chicago. When a teacher commented that his early efforts were in the style of Debussy despite Revueltas having never heard of the Frenchman, Revueltas decided not to compose again until he was sure that he would be speaking something new into the world. This perhaps explains why there are no early works from Revueltas - the entirety of his output appears suddenly in a fully-formed style in the last decade of his short life. A dedicated socialist in both his life and his work, Revueltas eschewed the formal constructions of European academia; he never composed a symphony or a concerto, opting instead for shorter and more nimble forms of symphonic, chamber, ballet, song, and film music.

“Ocho por radio” is a whimsical whirlwind of musical ideas that crash manically against each other, giving the impression of slowly spinning a radio’s dial. With his trademark sly humor, Revueltas writes of the piece: “[It is] an algebraic equation with no possible solution, unless you have deep knowledge of mathematics. The author has tried to solve the problem by means of musical instruments, with moderate success.” For this program, we imagine these radio waves as they ricochet out into the universe, carrying Revueltas’ dynamic idealism to the stars.

The composer views this work as a "stylistic confrontation" between a klezmer clarinet solo — deriving from the haunting virtuoso sounds typical of traditional eastern European Jewish bands — and cantorial vocal passages that emanate from age-old Ashkenazi liturgical ritual. The piece also constitutes what he calls "a dichotomy between song and dance, which at the conclusion become one and the same expression: a prayer". The strings — which function simultaneously as collective participant, audience, and echo — for the most part represent a worshiping congregation experiencing what a congregation engaged in true prayer would: a process of spiritual purification.

Am kadosh (Holy Folk) is an introductory cadenza in which the two soloists make their initial entrances and musical statements. The movement's title refers to a traditional call to Jews to arise for morning prayers — "to serve the Creator". It echoes an old common practice among Jews, especially in small towns and villages, or in certain religious neighborhoods in Israel (and previously in Palestine), particularly during the period of the yamim nora'im (Days of Awe) — during the days immediately preceding Rosh Hashana and the "ten days of repentance" between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur — when the s'lihot liturgy (penitential prayers) is recited at the daily morning services (shaharit). The local shammash (beadle) would go from house to house at dawn, knocking on each door to awaken the inhabitants and calling on them to hasten to the synagogue to join the congregation for morning prayers. Thus did observant Jews begin each day in those traditional surroundings, as they still do.

The focus in Uv'yom hashabbat (The Sabbath Day) is on the cantor's song. Its nusah hat'filla (the prescribed traditional musical formulas and modes for specific prayers, sections of services, and specific days or holydays in Ashkenazi ritual) here is centered around a single principal focal pitch (the reciting tone of the chant), which is given a continuous rumbling sound in the cellos and basses.

In A gasn nign (A Street Song) the clarinet takes the lead in a purely instrumental tune reminiscent of Jewish bands in eastern European towns and villages — klezmorim — who typically played these types of melodies in the street, particularly when welcoming the guests as they arrived to participate in a wedding ceremony.

Adonoi melekh (God, the King) is an emphatic proclamation of God's sovereignty, expressed by solid support from the entire ensemble. The marked, even exaggerated individuality of the solo parts, and the contrast between them, symbolize the individuality and uniqueness of each worshiper as a participant in the communal prayer. These three phrases affirming God's eternal sovereignty — past, present, and future — derive from the Bible and occur in this combination throughout the Hebrew liturgy.

The instrumental peak of the entire work is this traditional eastern European Jewish wedding dance of joy, the freylekh. Celestial Freylekh begins with a solo recitative for the clarinet and continues with the orchestra as it becomes a perpetual-motion wedding dance, symbolizing a marriage between heaven and earth — between man and God, and between humanity and its Divine source.

The composer describes Dinen (Serve!) as "a quietly ecstatic setting" based on a Hassidic melody attached to a piyyut (liturgical poem) recited in the Yom Kippur liturgy and, in some traditions, every Sabbath. This prayer traverses the entire Hebrew alphabet in the acrostic of its strophes, punctuated after each one by the refrain "To You whose life is eternal". Ben-Amots has employed this melody as an illustration of the way in which the major mode is often reserved in Hebrew liturgy "for the most serene and solemn moments".

But for music, Alan Hovhaness may have become an astronomer. At the age of five, while living in Somerville, MA, a young Alan asked his father if the stars above were worlds like their own. This began a lifelong interest in the cosmos that inspired dozens of Hovhaness' works.

Hovhaness was a famously prolific and quick composer, at one point composing an entire Easter Cantata for CBS Radio and Television in just a single weekend, before the holiday. He also famously destroyed over a thousand of his own works after criticism from composer and musicologist Roger Sessions. Following this episode, Hovhaness rededicated himself to a style of composing that made use of modal scales and was based in his family's Armenian heritage. You can read in Hovhaness’ own words about why he destroyed his works here.

Celestial Fantasy was written in the midst of this Armenian period, and is dedicated to the saint and poet Nerses Shnorhali, who led the Armenian Church in the early 12th century. It begins with an Armenian hymn that develops into a four-voice fugue before a powerful conclusion.

Franz Joseph Haydn was an Austrian composer who for a time achieved fame as the best composer in the western world. His works were performed throughout Europe with special attention in Austria, France, and England. He found comfort in his home country of Austria through the patronage of Prince Miklós (better known now as Nicholas) von Esterhazy, a fabulously wealthy man who owned what is now Hungary. This generous supporter of the arts provided Haydn with economic and other professional support throughout much of his career. Haydn focused his efforts, at the behest of Esterhazy, on the symphony, a genre to which he contributed approximately 104 works. These were designed to be performed at events put on by Esterhazy for his guests' pleasure and for his own delectation.

Symphony No. 43 in this remarkable series became known as the “Mercury,” named after the famous Roman god of divine messages. But it is certain that Haydn never intended to reflect any aspect of Mercury’s reputation in this work. It was an abstract piece that has no specific meaning outside of its own internal beauty. Like most 18th-century symphonies, it is in four movements that followed many conventions of the time.

The first movement begins with an extended lyrical melody that is much longer than most Haydn openings. It is lyrical and flowing, and yet with its repeated rhythms it keeps the listener closely attached to its charming progress. We would expect a second subject after this theme, but instead the composer simply extends this marvelous melody to an unusual length.

The rhapsodic second movement is in the expected slow tempo. Most of the winds drop out and the violins use mutes to create a darker, more expressive sound. The ensuing third movement is the traditional "minuet and trio" and announces itself by the faster tempo and the return of the wind instruments, particularly the strong French horns. The minuet and trio were two dances, and the movement reminds us of the joviality of a dance setting.

The fourth movement opens with an invigorating rising melody that sets it off with a newfound enthusiasm. And indeed this keeps up until there is a kind of denouement. Everything slows down and the strings seem to search for something new in long slow notes. Finally there is a poignant silence, something Haydn was fond of, followed by a nearly ribald fast conclusion that lets you know the movement, and the entire symphony, is over.