Rouvali Conducts Strauss

A concerto for saxophone will almost assuredly spark certain expectations in an audience member’s mind, since the instrument is so closely associated with jazz, that quintessentially American art form. Never mind that Belgian artisan Adolphe Sax always intended his invention to be used in classical music, and that French composers like Bizet, Ravel, and Ibert deployed it generously and stylishly in concert works; for many listeners, the saxophone will evoke big-band swing, sophisticated bebop, ecstatic free jazz, and soulful fusion — with sidelong forays into the heart of rock & roll.

Rest assured that Billy Childs is well aware of this association; after all, he’s among the most versatile, prolific, and celebrated pianists active in contemporary jazz. Although he trained formally in composition and theory from an early age, it was as a young musician inspired by masters like Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea that he first achieved renown. He also found success as a sideman to trombonist J.J. Johnson and trumpeters Nat Adderley and Freddie Hubbard, and as a solo artist and bandleader, with significant recordings on important labels like Windham Hill, Stretch, Sony Masterworks, and Mack Avenue.

Now increasingly esteemed for his concert works, Childs has been active as a composer for decades, with commissions from the Los Angeles Philharmonic, Detroit Symphony Orchestra, Minnesota Orchestra, and many other significant ensembles and institutions. His knack for infusing the European classical tradition with the sounds and spirit of popular music idioms, naturally and without cliché, has earned comparisons to an iconic forebear, Aaron Copland.

In composing Diaspora, a concerto for saxophone and orchestra, Childs had to reconcile the two most prominent pillars of his artistic identity: the creative jazz soloist and the strategic concert-music composer. But the piece ultimately symbolizes something considerably deeper. In an extensive composer’s note (see page xx), Childs designates the work as “a symphonic poem which strives to chronicle the paradigm of the forced Black American diaspora, as sifted through the prism of my own experience as a Black man in America.” What results is at once a virtuosic showcase for a soloist with orchestra and also a compelling narrative evoked clearly in sound.

In planning the concerto with Steven Banks, the saxophonist for whom he created the work, Childs selected works by three prominent Black American poets to construct a framework, “much in the same way that Ravel’s Gaspard de la Nuit illustrates three poems by Aloysius Bertrand in three separate movements,” he writes. Further inspired by Samuel Barber’s First Symphony, Childs fashioned the work in a continuous span comprising three sections: “Motherland,” inspired by Nayyirah Waheed’s poem “Africa’s Lament”; “If We Must Die,” named after Claude McKay’s poem of the same title; and “And Still I Rise,” named for the Maya Angelou poem. Appropriately for a piece meant to convey intense sensations and emotions, the score is punctuated with unambiguous expression markings: “Sudden jolt,” “Adagio despondently,” “As angrily and viciously as possible,” “Ugly and disagreeable,” and so on.

Initially bright and buoyant, “Motherland” conjures sensations of liberty and security with lilting soprano saxophone and percolating tuned percussion, evolving into scenes of brash conflict, stormy peril, and pensive reflection representing the depredations of slavers. For “If We Must Die,” the soloist takes up the alto saxophone, playing fiery figurations that build to a frenetic split-tone shriek during episodes representing the Middle Passage with its crashing waves and the New World slave trade with its unspeakable terrors.

A ruminative solo cadenza leads directly into “And Still I Rise,” a lyrical affirmation set to hymnlike strains that unmistakably evoke a church service. Timpani, snare drum, and tambourine introduce a martial finale, with sweeping strings and robust brass conjuring a sonorous declaration of dignity and unity. As Childs explains in the score, “Maya Angelou’s shining poem reminds us (and America) that Black people cannot and will not be held to a position of second-class citizenship — we will still rise.”

— Steve Smith

Steve Smith is a writer and editor based in New York City. He has written about music for The New York Times and The New Yorker, and served as an editor for the Boston Globe, Time Out New York, and NPR.

Composer’s Note

Concerto for Saxophone and Orchestra [Diaspora] is a symphonic poem which strives to chronicle the paradigm of the forced Black American diaspora, as sifted through the prism of my own experience as a Black man in America. When Steven Banks approached me about the piece, the first thing we discussed was the narrative: What particular story would the piece tell? How would it unfold? We decided that, much in the same way that Ravel’s Gaspard de la Nuit illustrates three poems by Aloysius Bertrand in three separate movements, so would this concerto do with poems by Black poets. ... So I started to compose from the vantage point that the poems Steven and I settled on (“Africa’s Lament” by Nayyirah Waheed, “If We Must Die” by Claude McKay, and “And Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou) would be guideposts which inspired the direction of a three-part storyline: Motherland, If We Must Die, and And Still I Rise. ...

Motherland

The program of the composition starts out on a positive note; the first theme played solo by the soprano saxophone and later joined by an uplifting scherzo accompaniment from the orchestra, is meant to evoke a sense of well-being and security as Africans are living in the motherland. ... Of course, it is understood that within the confines of Africa itself, there were tribal wars, treachery, and misery — even slavery; it’s not a utopia I’m trying to illustrate here. Rather, I want to depict a sense of purity — a purity arising from having been thus far unobstructed by the outside destructive forces that would later determine our fate. ... As the harmonies of the string patterns continue to shift toward a more ominous shade, the soprano saxophone takes on a more urgent tone, playing short bursts of melodic fragments. Then a battle ensues, a battle between the slave traders and the future slaves. ... After a dissonant orchestral hit, the soprano sax utters a melancholy theme as the slaves are being led to the slave ship. This takes us to the first saxophone cadenza, which to my mind, represents a moment of painful reflection about being captured like a wild animal and led to a ship, the destination of which is to a future hell.

If We Must Die

Part two of the journey ... begins with the first vision of the slave ship. ... The slaves are boarded onto the ships and the Middle-Passage journey to America begins; sweeping rapid scales in the lower strings, woodwinds, and harp describe the back-and-forth movement of the waves. This section develops and reaches a high point [when we] see America for the first time, from the point of view of the slaves. [An] antiphonal, almost pointillistic push and pull between the alto saxophone and the orchestra aims to represent the confusion, rage, and terror of the slave trade, where families are ripped apart as humans are bought and sold like cattle. The subsequent section is a mournful lament of despair, meant to outline the psychological depression caused by the sheer brutality of this new slavery paradigm. ... While this is happening, there is a background pattern played by vibraphone and celesta which depicts a slow and steady growing anger; this figure gets faster and faster until it overtakes the foreground and brings us into the next scherzo-like section. This section ... is describing a resistance, anger, and rebellion against being subjected to subhuman treatment over the course of centuries. After the apex of this segment occurs ... the alto saxophone plays a short and tender cadenza which signifies the resilience of Black Americans and the introduction of the idea of self-love, self-worth, and self-determination.

And Still I Rise

This final section of the concerto/tone poem is about Black empowerment. The church has always been a cultural focal point in the Black community, a sanctuary providing psychological and emotional relief from the particular hardships of Black life in America. It is also a place to worship, pray, and wrestle with the larger spiritual and existential questions which concern all of humankind. And beyond that (or perhaps because of that), the church is historically the central hub of Black political and cultural activism in America. This is the ethos that the last section of the concerto is reflecting. So this final chapter of the piece starts out with a hymnlike passage, which is actually a variation of the opening folklike melody at the very beginning of the concerto. ... This is followed by a march-like ostinato which symbolizes steely determination in the midst of great and formidable obstacles as the alto sax plays rapidly above the orchestral momentum, until we finally reach the victorious fanfare at the conclusion of the piece. Maya Angelou’s shining poem reminds us (and America) that Black people cannot and will not be held to a position of second-class citizenship — we will still rise.

— From a composer’s note by Billy Childs

Richard Strauss made no secret of the fact that Ein Heldenleben (A Hero’s Life) is about himself. The hero was not Hercules, not El Cid, not Napoleon, but living, breathing Richard Strauss.

At the time, he was a notorious young conductor and composer, age 34, who had neither fought in real battles nor rescued damsels in distress. And his path to fame had been no struggle. His father played principal horn in the court orchestra in Munich, and young Richard mingled with leading German musicians as a boy. His natural talent was noticed and encouraged, and, with the right connections, he was soon launched on a successful career. It is no small wonder he thought a lot of himself.

The one big choice that all young German musicians had to make in the closing years of the 19th century was whether to follow the flag of Wagner or Brahms. Richard’s father had played for Wagner and disliked the music and the man. So, instead of embracing the Romanticism of Wagner’s operas, the younger Strauss was initially steered toward the more formal world of sonatas and quartets — music without storylines. He later found a path between these two factions in the tone poem, a form pioneered by Liszt.

Strauss’s first entry came in 1889 with a four-movement depiction of Italian life, Aus Italien. He then embarked on a magnificent series of tone poems, creating one masterwork after another for more than a decade, concluding with An Alpine Symphony in 1915. Spanning contemporary philosophy to mythic exploits, the quest for the meaning of life to earthy humor, Strauss must have felt there was no subject on earth he could not turn into a blaze of modern music.

Perhaps most importantly, he had no need for text or voices. The scores include occasional headings to guide listeners and performers along the sonic journey, but the orchestra, with its intricate blend of sounds, had become in Strauss’s hands so expressive that any attentive listener could follow the action.

Strauss is said to have boasted that he could portray a teaspoon in music, and he dug deep into the repertoire of musical associations to find the right sonorities — the proper brushes and colors — with which to illustrate his ideas. Following his philosophical and dramatic tone poems, he decided to tell the story of his own life in two tone poems: Ein Heldenleben and Symphonia domestica. (Though whether he initially conceived of the works as a pair or later set out to write a sequel to the original is less certain.)

In Ein Heldenleben, Strauss writes with self-confidence and élan that carry the listener through a glorious narrative. The music is divided into six clearly marked sections, which flow together without pause. Structurally, they are patterned after Classical sonata form — dividing the difference between Wagnerian emotion and Brahmsian formality. The Hero is represented in a series of energetic themes. The orchestra, comprising more than 100 musicians, is fully engaged.

After introducing the Hero’s theme in the horns, a silence precedes the appearance of the Hero’s enemies: mean-minded critics who leave a trail of ugliness and spite, conveyed by angular woodwinds supported by two clumsy tubas. The Hero steps in and sends them packing, and proceeds to introduce his wife, Pauline, personified by a solo violin. Her section of the work moves like an operatic recitative or a solo cadenza, with no tempo indication. Changeable in mood, her theme shifts in and out of key areas and characters — an undoctored musical portrait of the woman who stood by her husband for 55 years. Eventually, the music develops into a love scene of great rapture leading to a state of repose.

The dreaded cackle of a critic is heard on the flute, and before long, offstage trumpets signal an approaching conflict. Once the snare drum enters the fray, the battle is fierce and hard-fought. All the work’s themes are hurled into the front lines in a display of orchestral virtuosity, as if the composer must tap every resource to survive. Sure enough, the Hero comes out on top, his critics are laid low in the dust, and glorious victory is proclaimed in E-flat major, the main key of the work.

Looking back at the journey to this hard-fought triumph, Strauss then creates a tapestry of quotations from his earlier works. In this section, more than 30 snippets from previous symphonic and operatic compositions are woven together with the themes of the hero and his wife. After that, even more doubt and adversity must be overcome before the Hero can truly claim serenity and peace as a reward for a life of toil.

In listening to Ein Heldenleben, we should not forget that Strauss was still a young man at the time of its conception. He was looking forward to what eventually became a long and productive career, leading to a comfortable life of celebrity and satisfaction in the companionship of his wife. The final pages of Ein Heldenleben can be heard as a prophecy of the beautiful works of Strauss’s final years, anticipating his late-career successes such as Metamorphosen and the Four Last Songs.

— Hugh Macdonald

Hugh Macdonald is Avis H. Blewett Professor Emeritus of Music at Washington University in St. Louis. He has written books on Beethoven, Berlioz, Bizet, and Scriabin, as well as Music in 1853: The Biography of a Year.