Santa Monica Symphony

Concert Program Dec. 10

• William Mathias: Laudi
• Ginastera: Pampeana No. 3
• Dvořák: Symphony No. 6

When Antonín Dvorák’s Sixth Symphony in D Major premiered in 1881, he had only just emerged as a composer of international stature, thanks to the enthusiastic support of Johannes Brahms and the success of his first set of Slavonic Dances in 1878. Since Dvorák’s previous symphonies were virtually unknown, the Sixth Symphony was introduced as Symphony No. 1; only much later did a more accurate chronology of his symphonies correct this original numbering. The symphony’s buoyant optimism undoubtedly owes much to Dvorák’s recently changed circumstances and, indeed, much in the first and last movements may be taken as grateful homage to Brahms, bringing to mind the latter’s Symphony No. 2 (1877), also in D major. Although Brahms would seem to have had the advantage in the close relationship that developed between the two, he was ruefully envious of the younger composer’s superb gift for melody. For his part, Dvorák worked hard to please Brahms in this symphony, drawing heavily on the Viennese symphonic tradition. Not only does he borrow from Brahms himself, but he also employs a rich harmonic vocabulary reminiscent of Schubert, and alludes to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in the slow movement, both in key and in detail. But the scherzo movement is pure Dvorák, a fiery orchestral furiant replete with striking cross rhythms that pit groupings of two beats against three. Perhaps the ultimate compliment was paid this movement by Bernard Herrmann, whose credit sequence for Alfred Hitchcock’s North by Northwest is a close variant of Dvorák’s opening. Those with sharp ears will notice a telling bow to the Viennese tradition of thematic integration, when the main theme of the first movement returns as a local climax within the furiant, and returns yet again to launch the finale—this time played backwards!

The Argentinean Alberto Ginastera achieved much success as a composer with great rhythmic and orchestral flair in the late 1930s, just as the United States was developing a taste for Latin American dance rhythms. Although the second movement of his Pampeana No. 3 reflects this tendency, the outer movements are more contemplative, indicative of the composer’s middle period, which the composer himself labeled “Subjective Nationalism” (following a period of “Objective Nationalism” that the Santa Monica Symphony has explored in previous seasons, with Estancia and the Creole “Faust” Overture). Whereas Pampeana No. 1 and Pampeana No. 2 were both chamber sonatas, No. 3 is subtitled “A Symphonic Pastorale”; intriguingly, its profile matches that of the Dvorák Sixth in allowing its nationalist dimension to emerge most obviously in an inner dance-based movement. In setting the Argentine pampas, Ginastera may have learned a thing or two from Copland’s “open plains” style, but he inflects this style with an unmistakable Argentinean flavor traceable in part to its basis in characteristic guitar tuning and idioms. The angst-ridden dissonances that emerge in the first movement have been heard as a response to the vast emptiness of the pampas, but it is worth nothing that by the time of the work’s composition (1954), the composer was at odds with the Peron government (which explains why the work was premiered in Louisville), and it seems natural to relate the movement as well to those circumstances, balanced by the more transcendent finale. Pampeana No. 3 as a whole is patterned in nested symmetries, both across the movements (broadly, fast-slow-fast) and within each movement.

Welsh composer William Mathias balanced an abiding interest in 20th-Century compositional innovations with an obvious love for traditional sounds. Although the attractiveness of his music has made him seem reactionary to some, his active promotion of such figures as Schoenberg, Webern, Berg, Messiaen, Boulez, and Carter belies this simplistic evaluation. His Laudi (1973) reflects an interest in ritualistic music typical for his generation of composers, and its imaginative use of percussion instruments clearly marks it as a contemporary piece. Among his strongest 20th-Century influences were those who found ways of modernizing a more traditional sound-world, such as Bartók, Hindemith, and Stravinsky; Laudi, in particular, provides a powerful echo of Stravinsky’s characteristic treatment of blocks of relatively static material.