So much to learn, so much to hear.
Today's listening adventure involved the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, with Previn at the helm, in the Vaughan Williams 5th Symphony. The bulk of my time with Vaughan Williams has been with his wind music--most specifically his Folk Song Suite. One of the founding pillars of the wind band repertoire, it's a charming piece, one that I've had the pleasure of performing three or four times. It showcases the British military band format, which at the time of the Suite'scomposition was still, artistically speaking, in its infancy. It dips its toes into the waters of the artistic range of which wind ensembles are capable. Without it and pieces of its time, we could not have the impressive range of music for winds that we have today. But when it comes to Vaughan Williams output, I am coming to realize that it is child's play.
My first real experience with RVW's orchestral output was the Sinfonia Antartica, which I--foolishly, perhaps--took on as a final project for an orchestration class three years ago. With its rich palette of color and huge ensemble size, I thought I could bring it to life as a piece for large wind band. The project was an exercise in diligence and frustration, as I struggled to make the work accessible for winds. While other students hammered away at orchestrations of 16-bar hymns for their final projects, I lived with Vaughan Williams for three months, every night trying to make progress on this beast, this musical headstone for Robert Falcon Scott and his doomed expedition to the South Pole. As the years passed, popular perception of Scott has changed from one of reverence to doubts about his competence. But all criticisms aside, I could not ignore the drama of the final journal entry he penned before his death on the Ross Ice Shelf, which RWV took as inspiration for the Antartica:
I do not regret this journey; we took risks, we knew we took them, things have come out against us, therefore we have no cause for complaint.
The more time I spend with Vaughan Williams, the more I appreciate his voice amongst 20th-century composers. I'm still a small fish in the world of orchestral and wind repertoire, I don't deny it. But as I listen to more works, both widely accepted and on the fringe, I also refuse to hide my wide-eyed excitement when I come upon one that reaches me profoundly. It no longer matters to me if that piece is not on the cutting edge of musical development, even at the risk of appearing naive. If my wonderment makes me naive, so be it. I would rather open my heart to a popular work like the 5th than remain bitter and closed off, resigned only to championing the works of the avant-garde. New works must always be championed, I agree, but not at the price of ignoring the beauty of works that came before and may simply be less experimental than the latest Stockhausen or Rands.
Previn talks about how people are often afraid to program Vaughan Williams' less violent symphonies out of fear that people will not come out to hear them. But in the 5th, Vaughan Williams crafted a gem, an introspective work that does not need to be on the cutting edge. It stands on its own amongst 20th-century symphonies, a heartstopping work that shows an old master wielding the forces of a large symphony orchestra deftly, almost effortlessly, and to astonishing effect. The Romanza alone made my bottom lip quiver and brought tears to my eyes. I felt so exposed, so utterly revealed that I had to rest my head in my hands while listening to it. It brought me to that moment of emotional intimacy in which I feel physically weakened, when my sense of being in my own skin and skeleton fades, replaced by an overwhelming sense of immersion in something beautiful, truthful and larger than myself.
I hope never to reach a point in my life where I am no longer capable of going to that state. If the childlike wonderment that allows me to access that state makes me naive, then I will celebrate my naivete as long as I am able.
My first real experience with RVW's orchestral output was the Sinfonia Antartica, which I--foolishly, perhaps--took on as a final project for an orchestration class three years ago. With its rich palette of color and huge ensemble size, I thought I could bring it to life as a piece for large wind band. The project was an exercise in diligence and frustration, as I struggled to make the work accessible for winds. While other students hammered away at orchestrations of 16-bar hymns for their final projects, I lived with Vaughan Williams for three months, every night trying to make progress on this beast, this musical headstone for Robert Falcon Scott and his doomed expedition to the South Pole. As the years passed, popular perception of Scott has changed from one of reverence to doubts about his competence. But all criticisms aside, I could not ignore the drama of the final journal entry he penned before his death on the Ross Ice Shelf, which RWV took as inspiration for the Antartica:
I do not regret this journey; we took risks, we knew we took them, things have come out against us, therefore we have no cause for complaint.
The more time I spend with Vaughan Williams, the more I appreciate his voice amongst 20th-century composers. I'm still a small fish in the world of orchestral and wind repertoire, I don't deny it. But as I listen to more works, both widely accepted and on the fringe, I also refuse to hide my wide-eyed excitement when I come upon one that reaches me profoundly. It no longer matters to me if that piece is not on the cutting edge of musical development, even at the risk of appearing naive. If my wonderment makes me naive, so be it. I would rather open my heart to a popular work like the 5th than remain bitter and closed off, resigned only to championing the works of the avant-garde. New works must always be championed, I agree, but not at the price of ignoring the beauty of works that came before and may simply be less experimental than the latest Stockhausen or Rands.
Previn talks about how people are often afraid to program Vaughan Williams' less violent symphonies out of fear that people will not come out to hear them. But in the 5th, Vaughan Williams crafted a gem, an introspective work that does not need to be on the cutting edge. It stands on its own amongst 20th-century symphonies, a heartstopping work that shows an old master wielding the forces of a large symphony orchestra deftly, almost effortlessly, and to astonishing effect. The Romanza alone made my bottom lip quiver and brought tears to my eyes. I felt so exposed, so utterly revealed that I had to rest my head in my hands while listening to it. It brought me to that moment of emotional intimacy in which I feel physically weakened, when my sense of being in my own skin and skeleton fades, replaced by an overwhelming sense of immersion in something beautiful, truthful and larger than myself.
I hope never to reach a point in my life where I am no longer capable of going to that state. If the childlike wonderment that allows me to access that state makes me naive, then I will celebrate my naivete as long as I am able.
posted by Qualario at 4:42 PM
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