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CYNTHIA PHELPS, VIOLA “Not only does Cynthia Phelps produce one of the richest, deepest viola timbres in the world, she is a superb musician” (Seattle Post-Intelligencer). Principal Violist of the New York Philharmonic, Ms. Phelps has distinguished herself both here and abroad as one of the leading instrumentalists of our time. The recipient of numerous honors and awards, including the 1988 Pro Musicis International Award and first prize at both the Lionel Tertis International Viola Competition and the Washington International String Competition, she has captivated audiences with her compelling solo and chamber music performances. She is “a performer of top rank…the sounds she drew were not only completely unproblematical –technically faultless, generously nuanced– but sensuously breathtaking” (The Boston Globe). Ms. Phelps performs throughout the world as soloist with orchestras, including the Minnesota Orchestra, New York Philharmonic, San Diego Symphony, Orquesta Sinfonica de Bilbao, and Hong Kong Philharmonic. She has appeared in recital in Paris, Rome, Los Angeles, Boston and Washington, and at New York’s Alice Tully Hall, London’s Wigmore Hall, and St. David’s Hall in Cardiff, Wales. She has also been heard on National Public Radio’s St. Paul Sunday Morning, Radio France, and RAI in Italy, and has been featured on The MacNeil/Lehrer News Hour, and CBS Sunday Morning. Ms. Phelps has performed internationally as a collaborator with such artists as Isaac Stern, Itzak Perlman, Pinchas Zukerman, Yo-Yo Ma, Lynn Harrell, and Yefim Bronfman, among many others. A much sought-after chamber musician, she performs regularly with the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, New York’s Bargemusic, the Boston Chamber Music Society, and Music From Copland House. Ms. Phelps has performed with the Guarneri, American, Brentano, and Prague String Quartets, the Kalichstein-Robinson-Laredo Trio, and at the Mostly Mozart, Marlboro, Seattle, Bridgehampton, Ravinia, La Jolla, Santa Fe, Bravo!Colorado, Naples, Cremona, Schleswig-Holstein, and Chamber Music Northwest Festivals. Ms. Phelps regularly receives enthusiastic reviews for her performances as soloist with the New York Philharmonic; works she has performed include Berlioz’s Harold in Italy, the Bartok Viola Concerto and Strauss’s Don Quixote, the Benjamin Lees Concerto for String Quartet, and the recent premiere of a concerto written for her by Sofia Gubaidulina. Recent performances have included a New York Philharmonic International tour featuring the Gubaidulina, a new work written for her by composer Steven Paulus (commissioned by the Tucson Winter Chamber Music Festival), and return solo engagements with the Hong Kong Philharmonic, the San Diego Symphony and numerous other orchestras. This season, Ms. Phelps appears in virtually every major concert hall in New York City, including performances with the American String Quartet, the Kalichstein-Robinson-Laredo trio, and mezzo-soprano Suzanne Mentzer. She also performs in recital in La Jolla, as well as on tour with violinist Ida Kavafian and cellist Ronald Thomas. She looks forward to a new viola concerto written for her by Richard Danielpour. Her solo debut recording is on Cala Records, and can also be heard on the Marlboro Recording Society, Polyvideo, Nuova Era, Virgin Classics, and Covenant labels. Ms. Phelps and her husband, cellist Ronald Thomas, reside in New Jersey and have three children, Lili, Christinia, and Caitlin.

< Back Béla Bartók Rhapsody No. 1, Sz 86 for cello and piano Zlatomir Fung, cello; Albert Cano Smit, piano Program Notes Previous Next

March 13, 2022: Kristin Lee, violin; Nicholas Canellakis, cello; Michael Brown, piano MAURICE RAVEL (1875-1937) Sonata (Duo) for Violin and Cello March 13, 2022: Kristin Lee, violin; Nicholas Canellakis, cello; Michael Brown, piano In 1920 Henry Prunières, editor of La Revue Musicale, commissioned pieces by ten prominent composers—Bartók, Dukas, Falla, Eugene Goossens, Malipiero, Ravel, Roussel, Satie, Schmitt, and Stravinsky—to be published in a special issue commemorating Debussy and to be played on a special recital at the Société Musicale Indépendante on January 24, 1921. Ravel’s contribution was the first movement of his Duo for violin and cello. Owing to work on a concurrent commission for the opera L’enfant et les sortilèges and numerous other distractions—including moving into a country villa where he could compose undisturbed—Ravel did not resume work on the Sonata until the summer of 1921, completing it in January 1922. At the time of the premiere on April 6, 1922, by violinist Hélène Jourdan-Morhange and cellist Maurice Maréchal, the work was still titled Duo, perhaps reflecting Kodály’s 1914 work of the same title for the same combination of instruments. Indeed the Hungarian flavor of parts of the finale may indicate more than titular influence. Ravel noted the Sonata (its published title)—as a “turning point” in his career from the lushness of previous works to a more “stripped down” style. The work shows a “restraint from harmonic charm,” wrote the composer, and is “more and more an emphatic reversion to the spirit of melody.” Unintended dissonances marred the first performance—consequences of Ravel’s novel ideas, which proved technically challenging. Naturally some critics complained about the austerity of the new style, but Gustave Samazeuilh wrote of the “supple imagination of the first movement, “the surprising verve” of the second and fourth movements, and the “pure and sustained line” of the slow movement. Ravel met the challenge of composing for reduced forces not only through a new melodic style, but through an incredible variety of textures, articulations, and timbres. In the sonata-form first movement he keeps both instruments in the same register much of the time, thus focusing not on their differences but their pitch content, which shifts between major and minor. By contrast, the scherzo showcases the different ranges of the two instruments and, even more striking, the difference between pizzicato (plucked) and arco (bowed) articulations. A wonderful texture is created by broken chords in harmonics that accompany the violin’s folklike pizzicato theme, which later returns arco with a new accompaniment. Another novel sonority occurs at the conclusion with the cello’s pizzicato, triple-stop glissando (slide). The slow movement begins and ends in calm introspection, rising to a turbulent peak in the middle. Its simple lyricism provides a great foil for the preceding scherzo and the following finale, which by turns can be characterized as agitated, playful, and driven. In this concluding movement Ravel delights in changing meters, Hungarian folk touches, and further pizzicato and arco contrasts as he artfully creates new themes and combines them with ideas that we’ve heard before, including prominent recalls from the first movement. The great swirl of themes, keys, and textures suddenly comes to a halt in a simple C major chord. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

January 29, 2023: Danish String Quartet BENJAMIN BRITTEN (1913-1976) Divertimenti January 29, 2023: Danish String Quartet Already proficient on the piano since an early age, Britten began viola lessons at the age of ten with Audrey Alston, who introduced him to composer Frank Bridge. Britten’s youthful compositions, unguided by a composition teacher, already numbered over one hundred, and Bridge was impressed enough to persuade Britten’s parents to arrange for private lessons with him in London beginning in 1927. These lessons continued after Britten left South Lodge prep school in 1928 to attend Gresham’s, a boarding school in Norfolk. Bridge’s mentorship was a saving grace since Britten was often unhappy there. He entered the Royal College of Music in 1930, where he began studying composition with John Ireland, who was much more conservative than Bridge in his musical tastes. Britten kept in close contact with Bridge, whose advice he respected more. In his last year at the Royal College of Music in 1933, Britten began a suite of movements for string quartet initially titled Alla Quartetto serioso, with the deliberately contrasting subtitle “Go play, boy, play,” a quotation from Shakespeare’s Winter’s Tale. His idea was to depict friends and activities from prep school days. He began on February 13 with an Alla marcia movement that briefly became conflated with a never-realized “Emil” suite at the beginning of April when Britten became enamored by the film Emil and the Detectives. Based on Erich Kästner’s novel, the story featured children triumphing over adults, which also had Britten thinking of his school days. Britten dedicated the Alla marcia movement to David Layton, a friend from Gresham’s, and at one time labeled it “P.T.” for “physical training,” a school activity in which Britten was adept, known especially for his cricket playing. Britten completed two other movements, “At a party” and “Ragging” (dedicated to South Lodge friend Francis Barton) and began another on his way to a projected five. The three completed movements were performed—not especially well, thought Britten—on December 4, 1933, by the Macnaghten String Quartet, led by his friend Anne Macnaghten. Then in 1936 Britten revisited the pieces, replacing the Alla marcia (which he recycled in “Parade” from the song cycle Les illuminations) with a more dramatic modern march. He titled the middle movement simply Waltz, and the last, still bearing its dedication to Barton, he called Burlesque. The work in final form, now titled Three Divertimenti, was premiered on February 25, 1936, by the Stratton Quartet at London’s Wigmore Hall. Britten wrote that the performance was received “with sniggers and pretty cold silence,” which so upset him that he never published the work. It was issued posthumously in 1983, and has received many performance by quartets seeking a somewhat less formal genre for their programs than a full-fledged string quartet. Britten wrote marches throughout his career. The edgy opening March here revels in spiky rhythms, glissandos, doubled-stopped unisons, piquant grace notes, and mock fanfares of the kind that appealed to Shostakovich. (Interestingly, the two were to become friends late in their careers after cellist Mstislav Rostropovich introduced them in 1960.) The middle movement, titled simply Waltz, sounds slightly nostalgic and a bit pastoral, as if glancing backward in time. Nevertheless, the forward-looking outlook that Bridge instilled in the younger composer often surfaces, and the waltz becomes somewhat aggressive before calm returns. Burlesque takes the listener on a wild ride with its constant tremolos and darting fragments. Its perpetual motion drives to demonstrative chords and, after pausing with hesitating fragments, drives maniacally to its abrupt close. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

< Back Robert Schumann Sonata No. 1 in A minor, Op. 105 for violin and piano Program Notes Previous Next

April 23, 2017: Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano; Warren Jones, piano GIOACHINO ROSSINI (1792–1868) Canzonetta spagnuola April 23, 2017: Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano; Warren Jones, piano By 1815 Rossini’s operas were being performed all over Italy, except in Naples, which had its own traditions. The shrewd impresario Domenica Barbaia, however, invited Rossini to compose for him and then to serve as artistic director of the San Carlo opera house in Naples, where he became a favored son, “reigning” from 1815 to 1822. Probably in 1821, toward the end of his time there, he composed his virtuosic Canzonetta spagnuiola (Little Spanish song), “En medio a mis colores” (Surrounded by my colors). He set three verses, separated by a refrain, with colorful Spanish/Gypsy flair. His oscillating ornaments are challenging to the singer and thrilling for the audience, and his Spanish/Gypsy style sounds prophetic of Bizet, whose “Gypsy Song” in Carmen with its similar after-beat accompaniment, ornaments, and acceleration bears a striking resemblance to Rossini’s dashing work. © Jane Vial Jaffe Texts and Translations Canzonetta spagnuola En medio a mis colores, ay, Pintando estaba un día, ay, Cuando la musa mía, ay, Me vino a tormentar, ay. Ay, con dolor pues dejo Empresa tan feliz Cual es de bella Nice Las prendas celebrar, ay. Quiso que yo pintase, ay, Objeto sobrehumano, ay, Pero lo quiso en vano, ay, Lo tuvo que dejar, ay. Ay, con dolor pues dejo, etc. Conoce la hermosura, ay, Un corazón vagado, ay, Mas su destin malvado, ay, Ie impide de cantar, ay. Ay, con dolor pues dejo, etc. —Anonymous Little Spanish Song Surrounded by my colors, ay, I was painting one day, ay, when my muse, ay, came to torment me, ay. With sorrow then I left my happy task of celebrating the charms of the beautiful Nice, ay. My muse asked me to paint, ay, a more spiritual subject, ay, but he asked in vain, ay, and he had to leave, ay. With sorrow then I left, etc. An inconstant heart, ay, may know beauty, ay, but its cruel destiny, ay prevents it from singing, ay. With sorrow then I left, etc. Return to Parlance Program Notes

October 14, 2018: Garrick Ohlsson, piano JOHANNES BRAHMS (1833-1897) Variations on an Original Theme, op. 21, no. 1 and Variations on a Hungarian Song, op. 21, no. 2 October 14, 2018: Garrick Ohlsson, piano Brahms wrote to his friend Elisabet von Herzogenberg, “I have a singular affection for the variation form, and I believe that this form still compels our talent and ability.” His fondness stemmed in large part from his training in piano and composition with Eduard Marxsen, who stressed above all the importance of being able to vary a theme and whose own output contains a plethora of pieces in variation form. Brahms’s entire body of work is permeated with variation techniques, but the variation form itself also looms large—eight individual sets of variations and ten movements within larger works. These span four decades, from his Variations on a Theme by R. Schumann Variations of 1854 (or his Variations on a Hungarian Song if he indeed began them in 1853) to the variation movement in his E-flat Clarinet Sonata of 1894. Alongside the musical evidence, Brahms’s verbal statements make it clear that he preferred “strict” variation form over “fantasy” variations that strayed too far from the structure of the theme. Further, he said, within each discrete variation the resemblance to the theme, even if subtle, should be recognizable and not “found only with the eyes.” Nevertheless, he clearly allowed for great leeway within each distinct variation and showed remarkable ingenuity in his overall organization within a set. Brahms composed the two sets of Opus 21 variations in different waves of inspiration—the Variations on an Original Theme by February of 1857, preceded by the Variations on a Hungarian Song by 1856. On the surface they share little beside their form and D major key, yet in both instances Brahms groups together the minor-mode variations as a unit, connects many of the major-mode variations through melodic figuration, and concludes with a grand finale that returns to elements of the first variation. The differences in the two sets have much to do with his choice of themes—in the first case an expressive original theme written with an eye toward its potential for myriad sophisticated variations, and in the second an existing Hungarian song, which lent itself to a more melody-oriented and often extroverted treatment. Both themes, in different ways, show his penchant for metric play. The lovely theme of the Variations on an Original Theme unfolds in two nine-bar halves—each with a regular four-bar phrase plus an irregular five-bar phrase, a configuration he maintains almost throughout. The first two variations grow out of a gentle left-hand figuration that draws on the harmonic framework even as it contains references to the melodic outline. Brahms includes a nice hemiola (shift between groups of three pulses and two) toward the end of the first variation, and in the second he subtly introduces new harmonies. The third and fourth bring back the theme’s feature of a repeating bass note (pedal tone) with quiet, fluid chordal patterns above—tied over bar lines in the third and in a spate of little two-chord units in the fourth. Variation 5 introduces a delicate canon in contrary motion and Variation 6 scampers off like quicksilver but in gentle arching phrases. Variation 7 is remarkable for its spare, leaping textures. Brahms forcefully unleashes the minor mode in Variation 8 in a texture that quickly alternates right and left hands—something he would return to many times in his career. Variation 9 brings the set’s tempestuous climax, abetted by ominous left-hand rumbles that derive from the original pedal tones. Variation 10 remains agitated even as it recedes from the previous peak. The major mode returns with Variation 11, which is striking for its insistence on the pedal tone in the form of long trills. Brahms varies the repeats in this variation and adds an expansive coda that recalls earlier variations before subsiding peacefully. Brahms first jotted down the theme of the Variations on a Hungarian Song in January 1853 while concertizing with Hungarian violinist Ede Rémenyi, who provided him with a rich store of his country’s tunes. That April Brahms sent a set of three piano settings of Hungarian tunes to another Hungarian violinist, Joseph Joachim, who was to have a longer and much closer association with Brahms. The second of these settings became the theme for the present set of variations, which Brahms sent to Joachim in July of 1865, following up with a revised version in 1857. What especially attracted Brahms was the theme’s alternating measures of 3/4 and 4/4, a kind of metric play that fascinated him as much as it did Marxsen, whose formal tutelage he had just left to tour with Reményi. Brahms maintains the metric alternation through his first eight variations, returning to it at the conclusion of the extended finale. Following his presentation of the brief eight-measure theme in strong chords, Brahms immediately shifts to the minor mode for Variations 1 through 6. Their brevity allows only a glimpse at some fascinating characters—grandiose, lightly chordal, fleeting, imposing, ruminating (with some cimbalon-like accompaniment), and scampering. The switch to major at Variation 7 brings a supremely delicate variation over “quasi pizzicato” left hand. Throughout Brahms retains a melodic connection to the theme, sometimes altered subtly and sometimes migrating into another voice (Variations 2, 7, and 8 in part). The smoothing out of the meter begins in Variation 8, which is fascinating for its texture of little grace notes in the upper left-hand. Variations 9 through 12 retain the expressive vein with increasingly elaborate figuration building to the capping Variation 13 with its kaleidoscopic further variations, excursions to B-flat major and minor, and triumphant recall of the theme. We would be remiss not to mention that Brahms waited until 1861 to send both sets of variations to his publisher Simrock, who issued them in two volumes under the same opus number in March of the following year. The first public performance of the Variations on an Original Theme did not occur until October 31, 1865, when Clara Schumann presented them in Frankfurt am Main. The English pianist Florence May, Brahms’s student and biographer, gave the first public performance of the Variation on a Hungarian Song in London on March 25, 1874. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

October 19, 2008 – Sheryl Staples, violin; Cynthia Phelps, viola WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791) Duo in G, K. 423, for violin & viola October 19, 2008 – Sheryl Staples, violin; Cynthia Phelps, viola Mozart’s relationship with the Archbishop of Salzburg, Hieronymus Colloredo, was never a cordial one. The Archbishop regarded court musicians as members of his household staff, obliged to serve at the whim of the master. Mozart, feeling increasingly resentful and constricted, finally submitted his resignation in 1781. Afterwards, he wrote to his father, “I am no longer so unfortunate as to be in Salzburg’s services – today was that happy day for me.” The tense relationship between the composer and the prince ended ingloriously; the archbishop’s chief steward, Count Arco, dismissed the unruly musician with a “kick in the behind,” as Mozart reported to his father. In the summer of 1783, Mozart returned to Salzburg for the first time since his break with Archbishop Colloredo. It was a nervous visit for Mozart, who was bringing his new wife, Constanze, to meet his father for the first time. In a letter he expressed concern that the archbishop might have him arrested. While in Salzburg, Mozart found the court music director, Michael Haydn (the younger brother of Joseph), suffering from a protracted illness and unable to complete a commission from the Archbishop for six duos for violin and viola. The impatient Archbishop had threatened to cut off Haydn’s salary until the two remaining duos were complete. As a favor to his old friend, Mozart composed the missing duos and gave them to Hadyn to pass off as his own. The two resulting works, in G and B-flat major, received more praise than the other four. It must have given Mozart an ironic pleasure to know that his old enemy Colleredo was unwittingly enjoying the music of his despised former employee. Mozart was a skillful player of both instruments, although his preference was for the viola. The Duo in G reflects this preference, as he treats the lower instrument as a full partner in the musical discourse, rather than relegating it to its more familiar role as an accompanying voice. The first movement features a sparkling interchange between the two instruments. The lyrical slow movement is built on an aria-like main idea, reflecting Mozart’s lifelong love of opera and the human voice. The liting Rondo is a movement of great charm and virtuosity. Although composed in a lighter vein, as befit the style of his older musical colleague, Mozart’s effortless mastery shines through at every turn, often bringing to mind the writing in his earlier masterpiece for solo violin and viola, Symphonie Concertante. By Michael Parloff Return to Parlance Program Notes

March, 10 2024: Richard Goode, piano LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN (1770–1827) Sonata No. 30 in E, Op. 109 March, 10 2024: Richard Goode, piano In 1826, the last year of his life, Beethoven told his friend Karl Holz that he would write no more piano pieces. He made the statement during a discussion of his last three piano sonatas—opp. 109, 110, and 111—which he considered the best piano sonatas he had written. “It [the piano] is and remains,” he said, “an inadequate instrument. In the future I shall write, in the manner of my grandmaster Handel, one oratorio and one concerto for any string or wind instrument per year, provided that I have finished my Tenth Symphony (C minor) and my Requiem.” Commentators still argue over whether Beethoven felt limited by the physical qualities of the piano of his day or whether he needed more moving parts/voices than pieces for piano alone could accommodate, but these last three sonatas certainly show no waning of interest in the creative possibilities of form within the sonata genre. Written between 1820 and 1822 while Beethoven was working on the Missa solemnis and Ninth Symphony, these late sonatas return to exploring the fluid forms and balances among movements that had characterized his piano sonatas of 1814–16—opp. 90, 102 (Nos. 1 and 2), and 101. In the interim years, the Hammerklavier Sonata, op. 106, a revolutionary work in many other ways, had reverted to a traditional four-movement pattern. Beethoven completed the present E major Sonata mainly in the summer of 1820. He dedicated the work to Maximiliane Brentano, the daughter of Antoinie (whom many believe to be the intended recipient of the famous “Immortal Beloved” letter) and Franz Brentano, Beethoven’s frequent benefactor and financial provider for the publication of the Missa solemnis . There is no evidence that Maximilane ever played the Sonata or was even capable of handling its challenges, but along with the dedication copy Beethoven included a sweet personal letter full of appreciation for her and her parents, saying, “While I am thinking of the excellent qualities of your parents, there are no doubts in my mind that you have been striving to emulate these noble people and are progressing daily—my memories of a noble family can never fade, may your memories of me be frequent and good.” Given the astounding form of the E major Sonata—two unusual and brief sonata-form movements capped by an expansive slow variation movement—several salient details bear noting. The sonata-form of the first movement is unprecedented in both the surprising brevity of its carefree main theme and the shocking interruption by the dramatic, slow recitative-like second theme. Further, Beethoven’s lively development section never varies the arpeggiated, alternating hands texture from the short opening theme; instead the process of development comes from harmonic manipulations. The fierce Prestissimo erupts from the subdued close of the previous movement. Even faster than Presto, the movement serves the purpose of a scherzo but with the more serious framework of a concentrated sonata form. The regular four- and eight-bar phrase lengths contrast with the previous movement’s metric ambiguities. Beethoven not only shows his academic prowess by invoking double counterpoint but uses it for the novel purpose of showing off the piano’s registral range. The hauntingly beautiful variation set that concludes the E major Sonata aptly shows Beethoven concentrating the weight of these late sonatas toward the end. Following the theme, marked “Gesangvoll, mit innigster Empfindung” (Songful, with innermost feeling), the first two variations add harmonic interest, whereas the third, fourth, and fifth variations feature various contrapuntal techniques. The fourth variation, in particular, presents an exquisite study in the timing of certain sounds decaying while others are held. The sixth variation returns, seemingly to the simplicity of the theme, but the added insistent repeated notes suggest a grander purpose here as Beethoven intricately builds up his layers of ornamental sonorities. —©Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

transcr. Sharon Isbin November 2, 2014 – Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano, Sharon Isbin, guitar FEDERICO GARCÍA LORCA (1898–1936) Canciones españolas antiguas transcr. Sharon Isbin November 2, 2014 – Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano, Sharon Isbin, guitar García Lorca may be best known for his literary achievements, yet few great poets and playwrights have been involved in music to the extent that he was. Reported to have hummed tunes before he could talk, he received early musical training; by the age of eleven he was studying piano in Granada with Antonio Segura and Francisco Benítez. Pedro Revuelta, in his article “Lorca and Music” somehow assigned the precise figure of 87% to his life activities revolving around music. Lorca’s poems frequently bear musical titles—Songs, Gypsy Ballads, Suites; and many of his essays are devoted to musical topics—Ancient Spanish Lullabies, How a City Sings and Sleeps , and El cante jondo (often translated as “deep song,” referring to the whole body of flamenco or Gypsy music). Lorca’s inspiration came not only from his native Spanish music, but from composers of Western art music—he apparently listened obsessively to Bach’s Cantata 104: Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme while writing the second act of his famous tragedy Blood Wedding (1933). Lorca loved the music of Debussy, particularly his Spanish-inspired works—he is said to have given exquisite performances on the piano of La soirée dans Grenade from Estampes and La puerta del vino from the second book of Préludes. Lorca formed one of the greatest friendships of his life with composer Manuel de Falla, to whom he was introduced as a prodigy poet when Falla visited Granada in 1919. Falla settled there permanently the following year and the two collaborated on many projects, including the celebrated cante jondo festival in 1922 for which Lorca wrote his lecture/essay El cante jondo . This discussion of the history and techniques of flamenco singing is notable for its consideration of the guitarist as the equal of the singer, since the latter had always been considered the main attraction. In his lecture/essay Ancient Spanish Lullabies , first given at Vassar College in 1930, Lorca dealt with a subject that had been part of him since birth. He particularly stressed that Spanish lullabies, unlike other European lullabies, are not sweet, soft, and monotonous, but they “awaken” the child to the dangers outside the mother’s protective arms; aware of the dangers, the child will realize the security of those arms and fall asleep. Eventually, however, the child must realize that he or she is alone. Lorca collected and arranged many Spanish folk songs, particularly from his native Andalusian region in the south—perhaps tinkering with their words himself. His moving performances of them, sometimes singing and accompanying himself on piano or guitar, became well known to millions of Spaniards before he was shot in the early days of the Spanish Civil War, apparently by supporters of Franco. His refusal to write down his arrangements is in keeping with the history of the oral tradition that so fascinated him. He also disliked the inability of the musical notation to reflect the characteristic microtonal and rhythmic complexities of this music. Fortunately in 1931 he made five records of his arrangements, sung by La Argentinita and accompanied by himself on the piano; these have been transcribed and performed countless times since. This evening’s selections of Canciones españolas antiguas , all arranged by Sharon Isbin, are interspersed throughout the program, beginning with “El café de Chinitas,” a song taught to Lorca by his great uncle, who earned his living playing in this flamenco nightclub in Málaga. The song’s protagonist brags that he is a better bullfighter and Gypsy than his brother and will kill the bull before four-thirty. The open-ended harmony (dominant) that ends all the song’s phrases and verses seems fitting in that we never find out what happens in the bullfight, but it is actually a typical practice in Spanish folk song, as in “Romance de Don Boyso.” Here, with distinctive melodic leaps of a fourth, we hear the story of a Spanish nobleman who finds a Christian girl held captive by the Moors, who turns out to be Rosalinda, his long-lost sister. “Nana de Sevilla” falls into the category of unsettling lullabies that Lorca mentioned in his famous lecture, since it tells of a baby, abandoned by its Gypsy mother, whose father may or may not build it a cradle. Lorca often performed his best-remembered song “Anda, jaleo” (Come, clap hands—or “have a good time,” or “make a commotion”) in his lectures and in his play La zapatera prodigiosa . La Argentinita made “Ande, jaleo” a dramatic popular dance when she toured in the 1930s and ’40s—she once called it a “romance of the smugglers of the nineteenth century” and a dance about “the cavaliers of the Sierra in their, fights, loves, and adieus.” Fit with explosive lyrics, it became a powerful resistance song during the Spanish Civil War, then resurfaced after Franco’s time as a flamenco number. With its repeating bass line and jaunty rhythms—together with Lorca’s occasionally piquant harmonic inflections—the folk version tells of a hunter tracking down his beloved who’s been taken away, and of the conflict between shooting to kill a dove (symbolic of her if she’s been unfaithful) and the pain it will cause him. Following pieces by Tárrega and Albéniz (see below), the evening’s second Lorca set begins with the Salamancan folk song “Los mozos de Monleón” (The Boys of Monleón). The music’s outward simplicity—with some sung and some recited text—belies the dramatic ending to its tale of boys going to a bullfight. For “Zorongo” Lorca took sensual Andalusian dance music—said to date back to the Moors—and fitted it with his own verses for La Argentinita to sing; he also imbued his guitar introduction with a plethora of parallel chords. The music’s quickly repeating patterns mingled with slowing phrases have made it a popular addition to flamenco tradition. The fifteenth-century “La morillas de Jaén” (The Three Moorish Girls of Jaén) unfolds with a simple chordal accompaniment and characteristic melodic ornaments. Its patterned introduction and interludes in 3/8 meter contrast with the tune itself, which mixes 6/8, 4/4, and 2/4 to reflect the declamatory style of the text. The vivacious “Sevillanas del Siglo XVIII” (Sevillanas of the Eighteenth Century) takes its name from the fast, triple meter, major-mode couples dance from Seville, which originated as an Andalusian variant of the Castilian seguidilla. The dance is typically performed to a traditional type of verses of four or seven lines with footwork reflecting the animated rhythms of the guitar, castanet, or tambourine. Triana and La Macarena in the poem refer to neighborhoods in Seville, Triana being associated in particular with flamenco. In the concert’s second half, the jaunty style of Lorca’s “La Tarrera” provides a marked contrast to the pensive style of the opening “Aranjuez, ma pensée” by Rodrigo. One might be tempted to ascribe it to the difference between the southern Andalusian style and that of the area in central Spain where Aranjuez lies (to which Rodrigo pays tribute), except that “La Tarara” has often been traced back to Castilian roots. It is such an old children’s song (there’s a Spanish saying that something is “as old as Tarara”) that it has many regional variants, and Lorca may have picked up one in Analusia. The protagonist, “La Tarara,” is a free-spirited, dancing, flirting girl (some say alma gitano or Gypsy soul) who likes to wear all manner of crazy clothing—some versions have her wearing pants completely covered in buttons or a white dress on Maundy Thursday in addition to the verses with frills and bells. More recently she has been seen as a cross-dresser. In any case, this remains one of Lorca’s most lively and popular songs, here arranged by Emilio de Torre and transcribed by Sharon Isbin. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

December 18, 2016: Emmanuel Ceyssonu, harp; Jerry Grossman, cello; Inn-hyuck Cho, clarinet GILAD COHEN Trio for a Spry Clarinet, Weeping Cello, and Ruminating Harp December 18, 2016: Emmanuel Ceyssonu, harp; Jerry Grossman, cello; Inn-hyuck Cho, clarinet An active composer, performer, and theorist, Israeli musician Gilad Cohen focuses on a variety of musical genres that include concert music, rock, and music for theater. His works have been performed in North America, Asia, Europe, and the Middle East by renowned artists ranging from London’s Nash Ensemble and the Apollo Chamber Players to the Brentano Quartet and Tre Voci (Kim Kashkashian, Marina Piccinini and Sivan Magen), as well as orchestras and choirs throughout Israel and his own rock band, Double Space. Recipient of myriad honors and top composition prizes, Cohen was recently awarded the 2016 Barlow Prize, resulting in the commission of a duet for violin and piano that will be premiered by a consortium of performers. His other recent and current projects include Around the Cauldron , commissioned by Concert Artists Guild with support from the Adele and John Gray Endowment Fund, to be premiered at Carnegie Hall in 2017, and Doaa and Masa , which will be premiered this year by harpist Sivan Magen in Hong-Kong, Israel, and Columbia. He is also working on a new quintet for the 10th anniversary of the Israeli Chamber Project for premiere performances on their 2018 tours. On the rock/pop front, Cohen’s music for Double Space and modern-klezmer ensemble Klezshop was awarded the Outstanding Achievement in Songwriting Award in the 11th Annual Great American Song Contest and was a finalist at the John Lennon Songwriting Contest. As a theorist Cohen has researched structure in the music of Pink Floyd, resulting in articles in prestigious publications, lectures in the U.S. and Israel, a four-credit course at Ramapo College, and the first-ever academic conference devoted to Pink Floyd that he coproduced at Princeton University with composer Dave Molk. As a performing musician, Cohen has played piano, bass guitar, and guitar at renowned venues worldwide, and he has served on occasion as a choral conductor and music director of musicals. A faculty member at Ramapo College, Cohen holds a Ph.D. in composition from Princeton University, and he is a graduate of Mannes College of Music, the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance, and the BMI Lehman Engel Musical Theatre Workshop. Among his principal teachers were Robert Cuckson, Steven Mackey, and Paul Lansky. Cohen composed his Trio for a Spry Clarinet, Weeping Cello, and Ruminating Harp in 2009 (revised 2010) on a commission from the Israeli Chamber Project. ICP members Tibi Cziger, Michal Korman, and Sivan Magen gave the premiere at the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in New York on May 14, 2009, and the work went on to win the 2013 International Composition Competition of the American Harp Society in Dallas. The Trio will also be played this year by members of the Sinfonieorchester Münster (Germany), the Kassia Ensemble at Chamber Music Pittsburgh, and the Exponential Ensemble at New York’s National Opera Center. The composer writes: “When approaching the task of writing a piece for the unusual instrumentation of clarinet, cello, and harp, I have been influenced by a mixture of different musical styles that, in my mind, relate to these instruments: folk music, Jewish klezmer, impressionism, and rock (after all, it is a known fact the cello originated from the electric guitar). As it often happens, the result is somewhat different than the original plan, but some elements from these genres have still found their way to the final version. “The Trio is loosely constructed out of three movements that are played in a row and offer different versions of similar themes, while each instrument aims to pull the musical style in its own direction. While the first movement showcases the clarinet in some klezmer figurations, the second features a texture that resembles a rock band: the cello is ‘soloing’ on top of a rhythmic accompaniment by the harp and a funky bass line by the bass clarinet. At the beginning of the closing movement, the harp reintroduces earlier themes in a gentler and somewhat impressionistic mood. Toward the end of the piece, there is a triumphant moment at which all instruments showcase their individual variations simultaneously. Thus, they celebrate their differences in tone as well as their blend together.” © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

September 24, 2017: Arnaud Sussmann, violin; Michael Brown, piano GABRIEL FAURÉ (1845-1924) Romance in B-flat major, op. 28 September 24, 2017: Arnaud Sussmann, violin; Michael Brown, piano Fauré began composing his Romance, op. 28, in August 1877 out of great boredom while on a three-week visit to Cautarets in the Pyrenées. He had been persuaded to go there by the famous singer Pauline Viardot to give her daughter Marianne, his reluctant fiancée, some time to think. On September 17, back in Paris, he wrote to his friend Marie Clerc that he had tried out the Romance with Marianne’s violinist brother Paul. Finally on the third run-through the assembled Viardot ladies warmed up to the piece, prompting Fauré to remark, “What a pity one cannot always begin with the third hearing.” Two years later he found himself asking Pauline Viardot if he could borrow the piece, having left the only manuscript at her house. The Romance unfolds in A-B-A form, with the flowing motion of the outer sections contrasted by a dramatic central section with an angular theme for the violin. A cadenza-like passage restores the calm of the opening. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes