Harold in Italy, Op. 16 | symphony by Berlioz | Britannica.com Harold in Italy, Op. 16 symphony by Berlioz Alternative Title: “Harold en Italie” Related Topics Madama Butterfly Harold in Italy, Op. 16, symphony in four movements with viola solo composed by Hector Berlioz in 1834. Berlioz wrote the piece on commission from the virtuoso violinist Niccolò Paganini , who had just purchased a Stradivarius viola. Upon seeing Berlioz’s first movement, however, Paganini found the piece to be insufficiently flashy for his own performance, and he never played it, though he confessed to admiring it and readily paid the agreed fee. Berlioz later explained his inspiration for the work in this way: My idea was to write a series of scenes for the orchestra in which the solo viola would be involved as a more or less active character, always retaining its own individuality.

By placing the viola in the midst of poetic recollections of my wanderings in the [Italian] Abruzzi , I wished to make of it a sort of melancholy dreamer after the manner of Byron ’s Childe Harold . Thus the title: Harold in Italy. Hector Berlioz. The composition is structured in four long movements. The first, titled “ Harold in the Mountains, ” carries the subtitle “Scenes of Sadness, Happiness, and Joy.” It is an introspective introduction to the protagonist, a subtle theme, first played by the solo viola, that echoes throughout the work. The second movement, “ The March of the Pilgrims Singing Their Evening Prayer, ” contrasts Harold’s lush romantic perspective with the pilgrims’ gentle religious fervour. The “ Serenade ” of the third movement depicts a mountaineer of the rugged Abruzzi region singing to his beloved. The English horn serves as the voice of the singer, yet Harold is there too, in the solo viola, observing the intimate scene.

For the final movement, Berlioz turns to a more-animated episode, “ The Orgy of the Brigands, ” but, even amid the tumultuous action, he recalls the earlier scenes, with musical echoes of the previous movements. Berlioz Harold in Italy See also Texts and Documents ; Berlioz and his music: self-borrowings Berlioz wrote little music during his stay in Italy in 1831-2 as winner of the Prix de Rome of 1830, and formed a poor impression of music-making in Rome and Italy at the time (cf. his Memoirs, chapter 39 ). In his subsequent concert tours of Europe he never returned to Italy. But in other ways his Italian stay had a deep and lasting impact on his musical output. The impressions he derived from his wanderings in the country were to permeate many of his subsequent compositions down to his last major work Beatrice and Benedict . The first large-scale reflection of his Italian experiences is the symphony Harold in Italy, composed in 1834 at the suggestion of Paganini, completed at Montmartre and first performed later that year at the Conservatoire .

It is one of Berlioz’s most relaxed and poetic works, very different in atmosphere from the Symphonie Fantastique of 1830. Harold’s melancholy is free from anguish, and even the concluding Orgy of Brigands has none of the nightmarish quality of the Witches Sabbath in the earlier symphony. Berlioz’s brigands are human beings, not supernatural monsters, and the grinding dissonances and dislocated rhythms of this energetic movement are counterbalanced by passages of great delicacy (bars 231-268, 394-440), as well as by the quiet reminiscences from the earlier movements at the start (bars 12-98) and near the end of the movement (bars 464-500), a device he adapted from the finale of Beethoven ’s 9th Symphony.

Berlioz himself gives an account of the origins of the work (Memoirs chapter 45 ), from which the following may be excerpted (the full text may be found in Texts and Documents ): My intention was to write a series of orchestral scenes, in which the solo viola would be involved as a more or less active participant while retaining its own character. By placing it among the poetic memories formed from my wanderings in the Abruzzi, I wanted to make the viola a kind of melancholy dreamer in the manner of Byron’s Childe-Harold. Hence the title of the symphony: Harold in Italy. As in the Fantastic Symphony, a principal theme (the viola’s opening melody), is reproduced throughout the work. The difference is that whereas in the Fantastic Symphony the idée fixe keeps obtruding like an impassioned obsession on scenes that are alien to it and deflects their course, Harold’s melody is superimposed on the other orchestral voices, and contrasts with them in tempo and character without interrupting their development.

In addition to the general atmosphere of the work the 3rd movement, entitled ‘Serenade of a mountaineer of the Abruzzi to his mistress’ contains a direct echo of Berlioz’s Italian experiences: it imitates the music-making of the ‘ pifferari ’ which Berlioz had admired in Rome and in the mountains (cf. also the first of the three pieces for Alexander’s melodium). The use of a solo instrument to represent a person was an innovation on the part of Berlioz, though it may have been suggested by the frequent use of a solo instrument in Weber ’s operas (Der Freischütz, Euryanthe) to accompany a characteristic aria by one of the protagonists. The idea was later followed by Rimsky-Korsakov (Scheherazade) and Richard Strauss (Don Quixote, Ein Heldenleben).

Berlioz had a special fondness for the viola and made frequent use of its special tonal qualities in many of his works – he had already used a solo viola to accompany Marguerite’s ballad on the King of Thule in his Huit Scènes de Faust of 1828-9, in the same key of G major (H 33, later incorporated in the Damnation of Faust, but transposed down to F major). Harold in Italy is not a viola concerto – hence the initial dismay of Paganini when Berlioz showed him the work. The viola part is in fact free from any element of technical display for its own sake, which Berlioz always avoided in his instrumental writing, even in such a work as his Rêverie et caprice for violin and orchestra. The work is thus hardly a fusion of concerto and symphony, but rather one of chamber and symphonic music. This can be seen in a number of very lightly scored passages throughout the work, notably in the slow introduction to the first movement (bar 38 and following) and near the end of the finale (bar 473 and following).

The very opening of the work – the theme in the cellos and basses – carries a probable echo of the start of the Symphonie Fantastique (bar 3). The alternating semitone interval with the lower or upper note, one of Berlioz’s musical fingerprints, is found throughout the work (for example bars 112-14, 135-6, 205 and following in the first movement; bars 18-20 in the second; bars 4-6, 51, in the third; bars 83, 87, 91, 129 and following, 167-9, 207 and following in the fourth). The theme of Harold – re-used by Berlioz together with other music from his discarded overture Rob-Roy – is foreshadowed in the minor key in the first movement (bar 14 and following) before its statement in the major by the solo viola (bar 38 and following).

The melody is, for Berlioz, unusually regular in shape – two symmetrical four bar phrases, each of which consists of two bars of a falling interval followed by two bars of a rising then falling arpeggio. It will be seen that much of the thematic material of the symphony is derived from the Harold theme – the first and second subjects of the first movement, the serenade of the third movement, and the main theme of the last. A few technical points: First movement: Berlioz’s metronome mark for the slow introduction is quaver = 76. As pointed out by Hugh Macdonald (Berlioz Studies, ed. Peter Bloom [Cambridge University Press 1992], p. 23-4) this speed works for the opening pages but seems slow with the entry of the solo viola in bar 38. In this version the tempo has been very gradually increased from bar 13 to reach quaver = 80 at bar 38. Second movement: the arpeggios in the solo viola part in the middle section of the movement (bars 169-247) have been written out in full, to produce the required effect.

No attempt has been made to reproduce the special sul ponticello sound of the viola in this passage. Third movement: this movement is written throughout in 6/8 time, but with two different tempi, the first of which (Allegro assai, dotted crotchet = 138) is double of the second (Allegretto, dotted crotchet = 69). At the end of the movement Berlioz superimposes the two. The tempi given by Berlioz are somewhat faster than what is often heard in performance. To enable the listener to judge, the movement is presented here in two versions, the first with Berlioz’s original tempi, the second with somewhat slower tempi (dotted crotchet = 126 and dotted crotchet = 63).

Fourth movement: (1) To obtain the correct note values on playback it has been necessary to notate several passages in full and not in abbreviated form (triplets or sextuplets in bars 38-40 [violas], 107-9 [violins 1 & 2], 175-6 [strings], 278-9 [strings], 338-9 [strings], 449-52 [1st violins]). (2) Berlioz gives no tempo indications or metronome marks for the concluding part of the movement after bar 449. The present version follows current performing practice in slowing down for the return of the pilgrims’ march and then returning to the original tempo of the orgy (bars 464-505). A slight quickening of the tempo is also applied from bar 514 onwards up to minim = 112, without which the music risks dragging. Berlioz - Harold in Italy - 3MBS Subscribers can hear Berlioz’s Harold in Italy as broadcast on the Bose Afternoon Concert on Saturday 20th June 2015 .

As winner of the Prix de Rome in 1830, Berlioz spent the following two years in Italy. He found musical life in Rome to be particularly uninspiring, and wrote little music there as a result. Berlioz’s second symphony, Harold in Italy (1834) draws inspiration from this period. Scored for the unusual combination of orchestra and solo viola, the four movements depict different recollections of Berlioz’s wanderings through the Abruzzi, a mountainous region east of Rome. The literary inspiration for Harold in Italy’s title comes from Lord Byron’s dramatic poem, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. The poem depicts a young man’s search for pleasure, as he wanders through foreign land. Berlioz’s memoirs reveal that the solo viola part was intended to express the melancholic dreams of Berlioz’s semi-autobiographical protagonist, Harold. Harold in Italy originally came at the request of Italian string virtuoso, Niccolo Paganini. Paganini approached Berlioz in 1833, after a performance of Berlioz’s first symphony, Symphonie Fantastique (1830).

He asked if Berlioz would be interested in writing a concerto that he could perform on his new Stradivarius viola. Berlioz was reportedly hesitant to write for such a celebrated virtuoso, since he was unable to play the viola himself. But Paganini had faith in the composer, and he eventually agreed. After completing the first movement, Paganini insisted that Berlioz show him the work. He was disappointed to see how many rests there were, claiming, “there is not enough for me to do, I should be playing all the time”. Needless to say, Paganini didn’t like the work, and never performed it himself. Yet Berlioz continued to work on it, changing the concept from a viola concerto to a symphony with solo viola. The premiere took place at the Paris Conservatoire in 1834, with the solo part performed by Chrétien Urhan, principal violist of the Paris Opera. The work was given several more performances in the following years, always with great success. Berlioz encountered Paganini again several years later in Paris, after he had conducted a concert of Harold in Italy and Symphonie Fantastique.

It was the first time Paganini had heard the entirety of the work he had once requested. In his memoirs, Berlioz recounts a most unusual experience in which the famous virtuoso knelt before him, kissing his hand in front of the whole orchestra. Paganini’s sentiments were reinforced the following day, when he sent a letter to Berlioz’s home declaring that his musical genius destined him to carry on the great traditions of Beethoven. It also contained a humble offer of 20 000 francs, to be accepted as a token of gratitude for his divine compositions. Berlioz was uncharacteristically speechless after such a gift, and used the money to suspend his work as a music critic. He later composed the choral symphony Romeo et Juliette, dedicating the work to Paganini. In the first movement of Harold in Italy, listen out for the mood changes between reflective melancholy and passionate joy, as we follow the protagonist through the mountains. The Abruzzi farmers can be heard singing hymns in the second movement, as they walk through the hills at the end of a long day.

A mountaineer joyously serenades his lover in the third movement, and there is no denying the spirit of Beethoven in the finale. About Madeline Roycroft Madeline Roycroft is currently finishing an Honours degree in Musicology at the Melbourne Conservatorium of Music. Her thesis looks at the reception of Shostakovich in France. She has completed a Diploma of Languages in French as well as undergraduate studies in musicology and oboe performance. Classical Notes - Classical Classics - Berlioz: Harold in Italy, By Peter Gutmann (1876 - 1975) with his viola Indeed, in his M�moires Berlioz deplored the "antique, absurd and deplorable prejudice that had handed over the performance of the viola parts to second or third-rate violinists. Whenever a violinist is mediocre, it is said, 'He would make a capital violist.'" Berlioz seized upon the viola's status as an outsider in the world of 19th century music (with which he undoubtedly identified) to fashion a fascinating, highly personalized role for it throughout Harold. Like Berlioz himself, the solo viola finds itself increasingly isolated from the orchestral mainstream.

In the first movement, it seems at one with the orchestral depiction of nature – it launches the Harold theme to break out of the rigidity of the opening orchestral fugue, and then in a series of fitful rising figures, struggles to rouse itself and find an appropriate melody for the sonata portion, in which the full orchestra heartily joins, producing a partnership where each stimulates the other in a unified concerted blend of rising excitement and driving momentum. The relationship unravels in the second movement, though – at first an augmented Harold theme blends harmoniously with the pilgrim song, next becomes disruptive with triplet rhythm, and then turns downright annoying, as rapid arpeggiated chords (emulating the guitar Berlioz liked to strum on his mountain walks) are played sul ponticello [near the bridge] for a gratingly nasal, whiny tone that sours the peaceful meditation of the solemn prayer like a rowdy child in church. The third movement finds the solo viola marginalized, emerging only to play its Harold theme as a distant observer to the intensely human amorous activity being depicted.

After the finale leaves reminiscences of the earlier movements behind, the viola is utterly silent, as if Berlioz, having conjured an onslaught of evil and rebellion, finds himself too timid to join in – or, as if, as Hugh Macdonald put it, Berlioz was temperamentally a stranger to his own wishful imaginings. Indeed, it is only heard once more – harmonizing with the off-stage trio's vain attempt to restore a brief breath of serene stability, after which the boiling orchestra leaves them all decisively behind to seal its mutiny. In his M�moires, Berlioz blamed the disastrous November 23, 1834 premiere of Harold on the conductor, Girard, who failed to accelerate the end of the first movement, leaving it cold and languid, and then lost count during an encore of the second, calling out for the orchestra to jump to the end. But no matter – the audience seemed far more interested in La Captive, Berlioz's setting of the Hugo poem of the erotic reveries of a harem slave.

(The next performance two weeks later gained even lesser notice – the audience was wowed by Chopin, a guest star who played the Romanze from his first piano concerto.) Berlioz was so upset by the premiere that he resolved never to let anyone else conduct any of his work, and to prevent inadequate performances he closely guarded the scores and delayed their publication (Harold appeared only in 1848). Even so, for posterity, Berlioz left some quixotic and obsessively detailed instructions in his score, including placement of the players (the solo viola is to be near the harp), the type of drum-sticks to use on various phrases, the method of rolling tambourines (with the fingers), the number of beats to give in certain measures, and a caution that a gradual crescendo is to extend evenly over 115 measures. By all accounts, including his own, Berlioz was an exacting conductor who rehearsed each section intensively – from a 1843 concert he cut the finale, finding the trombones incompetent and the violins too few for the sound he required.

(The sound Berlioz sought was indeed mammoth – his ideal orchestra would have had 435 players, including 120 violins, 16 horns and 30 harps!) Perhaps in reaction to the emotional egoistic style of Paganini that induced the work, and consistent with his goal of teamwork among all players, Berlioz criticized Wagner's conducting as too free and acclaimed a performance of Harold in which the viola solo had fine rhythmic control and another in which the solo was played by a violinist of the orchestra "who had no pretensions to being a virtuoso." We can only wonder what the impassioned composer would have thought of the diverse recordings we now have of his neglected symphony. While according to Lance Brunner's compilation, the Symphonie Fantastique boasted four complete recordings (led by Rhen�-B�ton, Fried, Weismann and Weingartner) within the first year of the electrical era, William Primrose Harold had to wait nearly two more decades for its phonographic debut by the Boston Symphony Orchestra led by Serge Koussevitzky, with William Primrose, violist (now on Biddulph or Naxos CDs).

Fortunately, the result was not a mere performance but a true interpretation, bursting with stirring character and probing expression. The first movement is full of tension as the viola leaps ahead, eager for discovery, even as its dark tone suggests lurking menace and the nervous phrasing of the orchestra dispels any sense of a joyous romp in the country. The second movement is unified by a deeply meditative spirituality as the enchanted viola blends effortlessly into the strings' song, and then complements the central section with tender and wistful arpeggios, each shimmering chord and phrase exquisitely molded. The third, too, is cast in a dream-state, with smoothly blended transitions between the disparate sections to modulate the rusticity. The finale brilliantly reflects the composer's historical position by treading a highly appropriate balance between emotional excess and restrained classicism, delving beneath the surface to find a core layer of disturbing terror. The solo viola ardently pleads for a return to stability by stating the earlier themes with pride before reluctantly succumbing to the orchestral entreaty to join the revelry.

Climaxes are labored, their gravity defeating any mood of genuine liberation, with distorted bass drum and ear-splitting cymbals (abetted by the stressed recording quality) tearing the sonic fabric with regret and anguish. The trombones stride atop the texture, to reflect the composer's love of the instrument and the importance he attached to its deep but hair-raising sustained tone. Primrose recalled that he first learned the part at the request of Arturo Toscanini for a 1939 broadcast concert by the NBC Symphony, in which he was the co-principal violist, before embarking on a solo career. That thrilling event is preserved in rather crude sound on a Music & Arts CD. We also have a more sonically flattering, but far less exciting, recording of another 1953 Toscanini/NBC broadcast, with the orchestra's other co-principal violist, Carlton Cooley (BMG). Despite balances that over-emphasize the soloist, who nearly overrides the full orchestra's volume, the 1939 version is far more dynamic, with thrillingly precise ensemble and rhythmic articulation.

While the second rendition emphasizes the work's classicism through its unyielding pace (except for acceleration at the very end of the first and last movements), the earlier concert adds an extra measure of energetic abandon and a more subtle flexibility of tempo and phrasing, and its sheer visceral impact is enhanced by a powder-dry acoustic without even a hint of echo or concert-hall atmosphere. The solo playing reflects the diverse aura of each performance, with Primrose wonderfully inflected in the first and Cooley far more reserved in the second. For quite a while it seemed that Primrose virtually owned Harold on record. He returned as soloist in 1952 with Sir Thomas Beecham conducting his Royal Philharmonic Orchestra (Sony).

As with his acclaimed recordings of the Symphonie Fantastique (EMI) and Requiem (BBC), Beecham crafts a patient, graceful and beautifully balanced reading radiating grace and moderation, as if to sublimate his own character to let the music itself gleam (thus, neutrality without the unrelenting rigidity and emotional detachment that drags down the 1953 Toscanini record and that perhaps reached its nadir in the 1977 recording by Lorin Maazel and the Cleveland Orchestra with Robert Vernon on a London LP). While this approach can be lauded as respecting Berlioz, it can also be viewed as a disappointingly aloof refusal to engage the deeply personal passions that fueled composition of this work in the first place. (A 1956 Beecham BBC concert with Frederick Riddle (BBC CD) is slightly brusque and compromised by horrendous solo playing.) Primrose appeared yet again in 1958 in the first stereo Harold with Charles Munch conducting the Boston Symphony (RCA).

Never one to wallow in emotional excess, Munch delivers the fastest Harold on record at a breathless 38 minutes, only in part by omitting the first movement exposition repeat (which would have added about 1� minutes). The fleet tempos allow no lingering over details. Thus, the first movement is more a jog than a jaunt through the country and the cruel velocity of the arpeggios in the second really put Primrose to the test (which he passes brilliantly). The third is normally paced, and thus foregoes the shift to a faster gear that usually follows the placid second, while the sweet, vibrato-laden solo discounts the "leather lunged" serenader the composer described. The sharp and clear finale upholds a sense of musical abstraction above the score's characterization of carousing. Balances exaggerate the harp and triangle but the sparkling, transparent recording displays the conductor's characteristic lack of pretension. Curiously, despite Berlioz's present regard as the quintessential French composer of his time, we have few recordings of Harold by French conductors.

Aside from the atypical Munch, one of the very few others hails from the Montreal Symphony led by Charles Dutoit with Pinchas Zuckerman (London) and it's a beauty. At 45 minutes, it's the most leisurely-paced Harold I've heard on record, with exceptionally smooth, blended and patient unfolding of the musical splendors enhanced by Zuckerman's liquid, romanticized phrasing. Yet, to avoid wallowing in thickened textures, the sonority throughout is crisp and textures are luminous. The third movement, in particular, overflows with sheer love for the bucolic scenes that inspired Berlioz. Another dynasty of Harold recordings to place alongside Primrose's are the three led by Colin Davis. Perhaps recalling the work's origin, Davis's first 1963 recording with the Philharmonia Orchestra (EMI) features the acclaimed Yehudi Menuhin who, like Paganini, was a famed violinist. (Primrose also began his career and made early recordings on the violin, but then abandoned it for the viola.) Perhaps in recognition of Menuhin's status, Davis defers to his soloist's proclivity for inflection.

Menuhin's fame appeared to have guided the album's marketing as well, as his name appeared on the LP cover in a far larger font than either conductor or orchestra (and of the performers only Menuhin is identified on the spine labeling). At 44� minutes, the reading is rather bland and catches fire only at the very end, as urgent accents colorfully fight the otherwise steady underlying rhythm. A Davis-led 1975 Philips LP with the London Symphony Orchestra and Nobuko Imai is sharper, quicker, more rhythmically taut, and less solo-dominated. Davis's most recent Harold is a 2003 London Symphony concert with Tabea Zimmerman (2003, LSO CD) – even faster and more vibrant than in 1975, with each section keenly characterized, but especially remarkable for the extraordinary detail of the recording, from which timbres constantly emerge, fostering a fine appreciation for Berlioz's famed orchestration skills. Although a bit bass-shy, the textural differentiation strongly suggests a sonority that approaches the composer's own aesthetic.

For the full historical treatment, John Eliot Gardiner leads Gerard Causs� and the Orchestre Revolutionnaire et Romantique (1994, Philips CD) in a reading that consciously emulates the performance practices of the composer's time. In notes to their companion CD of the Symphonie Fantastique , Gardiner decried the "pummeling into conformity" by plusher sonorities of modern orchestras that yield a crude substitute for Berlioz's minutely calibrated timbres and textures, and instead justified a blend of authentic and new instruments to achieve an historical reappraisal by reconstructing the characteristic orchestral sound that Berlioz achieved with his supreme instrumentation skill. Their Harold indeed is remarkable, although there are some sonic compromises to modern ears; thus, while the sharp tympani are indeed thrilling, the trombones, which Berlioz regarded as a sonic anchor, emerge as rather light-weight for that role. The sheer sonority adds a vast infusion of telling character, especially evident in the finale, where inner voices hold their own and the shrill piccolo and swirling violins are highlighted rather than blending into the overall mix.

Despite these fine accounts from veteran conductors, let's not forget that Berlioz was only 31 years old when he wrote Harold. More than any other conductor, Leonard Bernstein led the score with a thrilling and highly appropriate youthful exuberance. His 1961 New York Philharmonic recording (Sony) was to have presented yet another solo by Primrose, who apparently fell ill, and so instead features William Lincer, the Philharmonic's principal violist who indeed seems fully integrated into the orchestral fabric and is closely miked for a further sense of immediacy and involvement. Sharp, brash and lean, the result comes close to the feel of period instrumentation, but with a riveting passion absent from most reconstructive attempts. Indeed, the performance is ardently romantic, bristling with energy as Bernstein strains to wrest the utmost fervor out of his forces. Bernstein also left us a 1977 remake with the Orchestre National de France and Donald McInnes (EMI), that is equally exciting, but in a more subtle way.

A companion French recording of the Symphonie Fantastique is overtly impetuous and meticulously detailed, but for the first movement of Harold Bernstein takes his cue from Toscanini's careful balance between classical restraint and rebellious invention to portray the duality of Berlioz's conception with constant excited outbursts that arise and subside naturally from within the French orchestral tradition of smooth, mellow sound in which the overall performance is nestled. The result is a fine depiction of the artistic struggle waged within the composer's soul, taking constant flight yet tempered by the aesthetic roots from which he could not fully extract himself. The middle movements provide a serene respite and lead naturally into the finale, which Bernstein depicts as troubled and dark, as if to accentuate the composer's inability to fully identify with his fantasy, but then caps it off with a wild and disconcerting final acceleration, as if to break the mood, shake off any philosophical burdens and arm the youthful Berlioz to prepare for new adventure. The thick sonic ambiance, which not only enhances the "French" sound of the ensemble but contributes so much to its effectiveness, may have arisen in part as an artifact of the quadraphonic format of the original release.

Among other recordings I've enjoyed, the budget-priced version by Rivka Golani and the San Diego Orchestra led by Yaov Talmi (Naxos), while lacking the distinction of those already noted, is surprisingly accomplished and idiomatic. And while at first glance the 37-minute Igor Markevitch recording with Heinz Kirchner seems to trump the others for speed, don't be fooled – the timing is due to a massive cut in the finale (from numbers 46 through 52 in the Breitkopf and H�rtel score), despite the composer having written out both identical iterations of the long middle section, as if to insist that the repeat was required. In any event, this is a sturdy, thick, heavily-textured Germanic reading, as would be expected from the Berlin Philharmonic – illustrating Paganini's insistence (seconded by Liszt) that Berlioz was the true artistic heir of Beethoven. But even amid the excellence of these recordings, my all-time favorite is the overlooked 1953 recording by Hermann Scherchen and the Royal Philharmonic (Westminster LP, briefly available in a 4-CD Tahra box).

Sharing much of the sense of sheer adventure of the 1961 Bernstein, and with even greater visceral excitement than the 1939 Toscanini, his approach channels Koussevitzy's huge unbridled personality but adds wild extremes, boasting both the slowest second movement on record and the fastest fourth. After a deceptively placid methodical opening, the mood is shattered with a sudden shift to vast velocity and force, as soloist Frederick Riddle, in far better form than with Beecham, digs into his instrument and tosses off his figures with striking staccato amid orchestral snarls. The middle movements boast distinctive, humanizing touches – the second evolves into a profoundly religious rapture, as gingerly phrasing gradually gains confidence with the lengthening lines, and the third evokes the amateurism of Berlioz's serenader through labored pacing and choppy accompaniment. But it's in the finale that Scherchen pulls out all the stops, violently contrasting the sweet moments of repose with wild breakneck climactic tempos, fully conveying the volatility of the composer's psyche, torn between the stability of social expectations and his fevered imagination.

Scherchen saves his biggest surprise for the very end, though – having led us to expect a truly ferocious finish, he catches us off guard with a thoroughly restrained final climax, as if to remind us that, after all, this is concert-hall music nestled in the conventions of a bygone era. Of all the performances on record, Scherchen's comes closest to conjuring for modern listeners the sheer shock and wonderment Berlioz's audiences must have felt when first encountering his music. The many sources for information about Harold In Italy and Berlioz in general begin with the composer's own M�moires, available in several editions and translations. Among biographies, I found those by D. Kern Holomon (Harvard University Press, 1989), David Cairns (University of California, 1999) and Hugh Macdonald (J. M. Dent & Sons, 1982) especially informative.

Macdonald also authored a BBC Music Guide to Berlioz's Orchestral Music (University of Washington Press 1969) and Cairns contributed a valuable article on Berlioz to The Symphony compendium edited by Robert Simpson (Penguin, 1966). The Cambridge Companion to Berlioz (edited by Peter Bloom, Cambridge University Press 2000) includes articles by Julian Preston on genre, Pierre Citron on the M�moires and Joel-Marie Fouquet on the Grande Trait� d'instrumentation et d'orchestration. Jacques Barzin's Berlioz and the Romantic Century (Little, Brown & Company 1950) is an extraordinary and extensive analysis of the composer in the context of his psyche and times. Paul Henry Lang's sweeping Music in Western Civilization (W. W. Norton & Company 1941) is deeply insightful and personal. Above all else, the full orchestral score (reprinted by Dover in the same volume as the Symphonie Fantastique , 1984) displays the extraordinary complexity of Berlioz's conception.

This article is indebted to all of these, along with liner notes to the LPs and CDs I've cited. Copyright 2008 by Peter Gutmann Harold in Italy, Symphony with Viola Solo, Op. 16 Harold in Italy, Symphony with Viola Solo, Op. 16 About the Work Composer: Hector Berlioz © Richard Freed Harold in Italy, Symphony with Viola obbligato, Op. 16 Berlioz completed the score of Harold in Italy on June 22, 1834, and heard the work�s first performance five months later (November 23) at the Paris Conservatoire, with Chr�tien Urhan playing the solo part and Narcisse Girard conducting. Norman Lamb was the soloist in the National Symphony Orchestra�s first performance of this work, conducted by Hans Kindler on November 21, 1948; Roberto D�az was the soloist in the most recent ones, with Richard Hickox conducting, on May 20-22, 1993.

In addition to the solo viola, the score calls for an orchestra of 2 flutes and piccolo, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets, 4 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 cornets, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, cymbals, triangle, 2 tambourines, harp, and strings. Duration, 45 minutes. _________________________________________________ The legendary violinist and composer Nicol� Paganini (1782-1840), one of the dominant figures of the musical world when Berlioz began making a name for himself, was enormously admired by his fellow musicians as well as his adoring public. Berlioz described him as "a Titan among the giants," and as "that great artist who exercised such a happy influence upon my destiny.� It is to Paganini that we owe the existence of two of Berlioz�s finest works" both of them among the four called symphonies--though he never performed either of them, and actually heard only one of them.

These two remarkable musicians first met after a concert of Berlioz�s works conducted by Narcisse Girard on December 22, 1833, three years after the premiere of Berlioz�s Symphonie fantastique, and within a few weeks Paganini asked Berlioz to compose a work for him in which he coupled play the Stradivari viola he had just acquired. Berlioz responded that he knew too little about the viola, and that Paganini himself would be better able to write the brilliant piece he wanted, but Paganini persisted, adding that he was "too unwell at present to compose," and Berlioz took on the assignment. He recalled some years later, I endeavored to write a solo for the viola, but so combined with the orchestra as not to diminish the importance of the latter, feeling sure that Paganini�s incomparable execution would enable him to give the solo instrument all its due prominence. When Paganini was shown the first movement he was clearly disappointed. "This is not at all what I want," he said; "I am silent a great deal too long.

I must be playing all the time." To which Berlioz replied, "What you really want is a concerto for the viola, and you are the only man who can write it." Paganini left Paris a few days later, for what turned out to be a three-year absence, but he paid for the work he had commissioned; Berlioz went ahead with the composition of the remaining movements, and the work was introduced at the end of 1834, during Paganini�s absence. At first Berlioz had planned a work in the style of his Symphonie fantastique, but with a chorus as well as solo viola, on the subject of Queen Mary of Scotland (Les Derniers Instans de Marie Stuart was the working title), but he discarded the idea of using a chorus, and changed both the subject and the locale, explaining, I conceived the idea of writing a series of scenes for the orchestra, in which the viola should find itself mixed up, like a person more or less in action, always preserving his own individuality.

The background I formed from my recollections of my wanderings in the Abruzzi, introducing the viola as a sort of melancholy dreamer, in the style of Byron�s Childe Harold. Hence the title of my symphony, Harold in Italy. The original Scottish character of work was allowed to remain, curiously, in the form of the principal theme (or id�e fixe, in Berliozian terminology), representing Harold himself, which Berlioz lifted from an overture he had written a year earlier for a dramatization of Sir Walter Scott�s Rob Roy. Berlioz wrote that the overture had so disappointed both him and the audience that he burnt the score immediately after the single performance-but Donald Francis Tovey reminds us that In Berlioz�s vocabulary "burnt" means carefully preserved, so that an admiring posterity can discover . . . the truth of Oscar Wilde�s assertion that a true artist lives in a series of masterpieces in which no program whatever can be discerned. The Overture to Rob Roy turned up early in [the twentieth] century, and proved to be quite an engaging work.

Tovey�s essay on Harold in Italy, perhaps the most entertaining piece in all the seven volumes of his Essays in Musical Analysis (it is in Vol. IV), expresses the greatest admiration for Berlioz and for the work, but begins by debunking the connection with Byron: There are excellent reasons for reading Childe Harold�s Pilgrimage. But among them I cannot find any that concern Berlioz or this symphony, except for the jejune value of the discovery that no definite elements of Byron�s poem have penetrated the impregnable fortress of Berlioz�s encyclop�dic inattention. Many picturesque things are described in famous stanzas of Childe Harold, but nothing remotely resembling Berlioz�s Pilgrims� March, nor his serenade in the Abbruzzi [sic]. As to the brigands, Byron has described the varieties of costume in a crowd of mixed nationality consisting undoubtedly of potential brigands; but the passage is not in the Italian cantos, and Berlioz tells us that his work concerns Harold in Italy. On the other hand there is no trace in Berlioz�s music of any of the famous passages in Childe Harold.

No doubt "there was a sound of revelry by night" in the Orgy of Brigands, but the Duchess of Richmond�s ball was not an orgy of brigands, nor was it interrupted by a march of pilgrims singing their evening prayer. Nor is there anything to correspond to an invocation of the ocean, except a multitude of grammatical solecisms equivalent to Byron�s "there let him lay." There, then, let Berlioz lie; the whitest liar since Cyrano de Bergerac. (This sentence is a completely Berliozian enharmonic modulation.) [From Essays in Musical Analysis, by Donald Francis Tovey. Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press.] Amusing as Tovey�s remarks may be, it must be noted that Berlioz did not suggest that his composition was based on Byron�s poem; he wrote that it is only "in the style of" Childe Harold, and in fact based on his own experiences in Italy. In other words, we have Berlioz himself telling us that for "Harold" we may read "Hector," and that the title simply enabled him to capitalize upon the popularity of Byron�s creation.

As for the "Orgy of the Brigands," here is a pertinent observation from Jacques Barzun�s Berlioz and His Century, as republished by the University of Chicago Press: The last movement of the symphony is the well known "Orgy of Brigands," whose significance deserves a word, for it is a cultural symptom as well as a rousing allegro. The brigand of Berlioz�s time is the avenger of social injustice, the rebel against the City, who resorts to nature for healing the wounds of social man. Berlioz had already given vent to the feeling in an extravagant passage of the melologue [in L�lio, the sequel to the Symphonie fantastique] which introduces the brigands� song and chorus. In Harold he purged himself more thoroughly, the release of violence and vulgarity acting as a needful antidote to the repressions of conventional life. With the forgoing observations of both Tovey and Barzun in mind, the respective movement headings are so fully descriptive that "programmatic" analysis is hardly indicated, but a few observations may be of interest. I. HAROLD IN THE MOUNTAINS.

SCENES OF MELANCHOLY, HAPPINESS AND JOY. A portrait of the hero, against a background of extraordinarily evocative and varied nature-painting. The Harold/Rob Roy theme has been noted as resembling one in the first movement of Beethoven�s Seventh Symphony, a work with which Harold shares some perhaps surprising movement-by-movement common traits as well as a similar emphasis on rhythm and color. II. MARCH OF THE PILGRIMS SINGING THEIR EVENING PRAYER. Berlioz wrote that he improvised this movement "in a couple of hours one evening over my fire" and then spent more than six years brushing it up, even though "it was always completely successful from the moment of its first performance." It was encored at the work�s premiere, in fact, just as the corresponding-and strikingly similar�movement of Mendelssohn�s "Italian" Symphony was. Convent bells are not represented here by real bells or chimes, but, as Berlioz noted, are ingeniously "suggested by two harp-notes doubled by the flutes, oboes and horns." III. SERENADE OF AN ABRUZZI MOUNTAINEER TO HIS MISTRESS.

In the symphony�s scherzo, oboe and piccolo represent pifferi (rustic oboes of varying ranges), while the strings provide musette effects. By way of trio there is a lyrical duet for the viola and English horn. IV. ORGY OF THE BRIGANDS. RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PRECEDING SCENES. There is no introduction; the orgy bursts out in full force, relenting only momentarily for brief review and rejection of material from the earlier movements.

"Whatever may have induced Harold to enroll himself among the brigands," says Tovey, "it is a moment of genuine pathos as well as genuine music when he parts with his very identity in the last broken reminiscence of the main theme, now heard faintly in those chaste clarinets, echoed with sobs, and dying away slowly at the beginning of the fourth bar." Berlioz himself described the remainder of the movement as that furious orgy wherein wine, blood, joy, all combined, parade their intoxication-where the rhythm sometimes seems to stumble along, sometimes to rush on in fury, and the brass seems to vomit forth curses and to answer prayer with blasphemies; where they laugh, drink, fight, destroy, violate, and utterly run riot. The premiere of Harold in Italy was not an unqualified success. Girard�s largely inept conducting almost caused the final movement to fall apart, and Berlioz reported that the first printed review "Overwhelmed me with invectives. . .

On the morning after the appearance of this article I received an anonymous letter in which, after a deluge of even coarser insults, I was reproached with not being brave enough to blow out my brains!" Paganini, the work�s godfather, did not hear Harold in Italy until December 16, 1838; he was so thunderstruck that at the end of the performance he dragged Berlioz back to the stage and there knelt and kissed his hand before the cheering audience and musicians. A few days later he sent Berlioz a congratulatory letter and a gift of 20,000 francs, a benefaction that subsidized the composition of the "dramatic symphony" Rom�o et Juliette. The score of that work, dedicated to Paganini, was on its way to him when he died in May 1840. While Paganini never performed Harold in Italy, the solo part was eventually played on the Stradivari viola for which he commissioned the work from Berlioz.

The instrument, now in the collection of the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, was heard in all the prior performances of the work by the National Symphony Orchestra listed in the opening paragraph of this note, for which occasions it was lent to the respective soloists, both of whom served as the orchestra�s principal violist. Related Artists/Companies well as Harold in Italy (1834, inspired by the poem Childe - THEA - 130 View Full Document This is the end of the preview. Sign up to access the rest of the document. Unformatted text preview: well as Harold in Italy (1834, inspired by the poem Childe Harold by Lord Byron), for viola and orchestra, using the transformation of a constant theme (devised fixe, or fixed idea), anticipates gender the Hungarian composer Franz Liszt symphonic poem called genre that used important composers like Richard Strauss and Richard Wagner, who developed the idea in Germany known as leitmotiv, a concept used in his extensive works, where each character and situation rightful her leitmotiv own or conductor reason.

In 1844 Berlioz published Trait d'instrumentation et d'orchestration modernes (Treaty of modern instrumentation and orchestration), the first book that dealt with this aspect. It exposed the different aesthetics of musical expression. It was very well appreciated as a reference. Among his most important works highlights the monumental opera The Trojans (1856-1859), in which the containment classic gives way to his fervent romance and also the operas Benvenuto Cellini and Beatrice and Benedick. Other major works are the dramatic symphony Romeo and Juliet opus 17 (1836-1838), the cantata La Damnation de Faust opus 24 (1846), Mass messe des morts requiem Great opus 5 (1837), the oratorio Christ's Childhood opus 25 (1850-1854) and Roman Carnival Overture (1844), overture to his opera Benvenuto Cellini (1835-1838).

Among the prose works include his Memoirs (published in 1870, after his death) and Soires d'orchester (1853). He died on March 8, 1869 in Paris.... Berlioz's symphonies. Fuzzy scenic effects of music by Mendelssohn and Schmumann look Berlioz SEASON FINALE WITH MTT: BERLIOZ AND SIBELIUS | New World Symphony SEASON FINALE WITH MTT: BERLIOZ AND SIBELIUS SEASON FINALE WITH MTT: BERLIOZ AND SIBELIUS New World Center Saturday, May 7 at 8:00 PM Sunday, May 8 at 2:00 PM Artists Relish in the last glimpse of this season’s Fellows alongside MTT, who together join acclaimed violist Roberto Díaz, for Berlioz’ part-symphony, part- concerto Harold in Italy. Based on Lord Byron’s Childe Harold, each movement offers a snapshot of his Italian adventures through wandering chromaticism, lilting melodies and a weighty dirge that represents the trudging of pilgrims.

Sibelius likened his Sixth Symphony to a “wild romp,” but instead offers a tranquil refuge of serene sound that builds to a sacred finale. His sweeping one-movement Seventh Symphony hints at 16th-century Palestrina—a bright light in this formidable finale to an epic season. **The Saturday, May 7 performance will be presented as a WALLCAST™ concert, presented by Citi®, in SoundScape Park.** Tickets no longer available online. Program Symphony No. 6 in D minor, Op. 104 (1923) Allegro molto moderato Symphony No. 7 in C major, Op. 105 (1924) Hector Berlioz Harold in Italy, Op. 16 (1834) Harold in the Mountains. Scenes of Melancholy, Happiness and Joy March of the Pilgrims Singing the Evening Prayer Serenade of an Abruzzi Mountain-Dweller to his Mistress Orgy of the Brigands: Memories of Scenes Past Mr. Díaz Symphony No. 6 in D minor, Op.

104 (1923) Approximate duration: 27 minutes The early symphonies of Jean Sibelius expressed the fervor of a young man fighting for recognition for his country and a place for his own voice on the international stage. Starting with the Third Symphony , Sibelius shifted toward a pure and refined orchestral sound, infusing the elegance of Mozart and Haydn into an incisive, modern language. Even through the dark years of a cancer scare and the devastation of World War I, Sibelius wrote honest, uncompromising music that encapsulated life’s joys and struggles in abstract forms. In his final symphonies, Sibelius defied the cynicism of the war-torn era. His sound became even more transparent and rarified, as guileless as the snow that blanketed his isolated country estate in Finland. Material that Sibelius drafted during the difficult gestation of his Symphony No. 5 in 1914-15 ended up shaping both the Sixth and Seventh Symphonies, composed in 1923 and 1924, respectively.

He also redirected themes into the Sixth Symphony that had been meant for a project he considered in 1920, a tone poem based on a Finnish moon goddess. When he crafted the Seventh Symphony in one continuous movement, it was an obvious and radical departure from traditional symphonic structure, but even the Sixth Symphony, with its four movements, abandoned expected conventions and moved closer to the evocative, freeform genre of the orchestral tone poem. A contemporary critic noted the reserved demeanor of the Sixth Symphony, especially in comparison to its predecessor. Writing after the 1923 premiere in Helsinki, he wrote, “The Sixth Symphony is more delicate, smaller in scale and gentler. The Fifth is an exuberant jubilee, the Sixth is pure idyll.” Sibelius himself characterized the Sixth Symphony as “pure spring water,” differentiating it from the more inebriating indulgences of the early 1920s being composed by the likes of Arnold Schoenberg or Richard Strauss.

Unfortunately, Sibelius’ own intake in those years was far from “pure spring water.” Perhaps his most notorious disgrace related to his long pattern of heavy drinking occurred in 1923, when he was on a conducting tour with the Sixth Symphony and other works. In Gothenburg, Sweden, he was found drunk in a restaurant before the concert and was whisked onto the podium just in time. Thinking he was at a rehearsal, he stopped the orchestra midstream shortly after the concert began. “Everything was chaos in my ears,” his wife later confessed. “I was in a state of mortal terror.” That personal turmoil is nowhere evident in the Sixth Symphony, particularly not in the resonant phrases from the strings that begin the work. The Symphony’s key is listed as D minor, but this opening passage actually uses the pitches of the Dorian mode , a sound from older church music. Within the first main section, only a handful of notes stray from the purity of that mode.

The second movement has a rather quick tempo marking for a slow movement, Allegretto moderato, but apparently Sibelius envisioned it at a slower pace and only marked it up to counteract the tendency in those days for maestros to conduct “quite lethargically.” The movement again spends long stretches in un-doctored modes, exploring stepwise melodies of different lengths and rates. The short third movement serves the function of a scherzo, using a lively rhythmic gait like that of a galloping horse and harmonies and melodies that once again explore stepwise themes and modal constructions. The recurring modes and motives that shape this Symphony reach their fullest expression in the finale, which begins with a passage of church harmonies and hymn-like phrases. The ending returns to that material and then settles on a response that is even more veiled and soft-spoken as it retakes the home key. Information on the Sixth Symphony from the official Sibelius site Biography of Sibelius during the period he composed the Sixth Symphony Translated excerpts from Sibelius’ private diaries Symphony No. 7 in C major, Op. 105 (1924) Approximate duration: 22 minutes The single-movement Symphony No.

7 that Sibelius composed in 1924 (under the original title Fantasia sinfonica) turned out to be his last. He added one more orchestral score in 1926, the bleak tone poem Tapiola , and he started an Eighth Symphony but destroyed the incomplete sketches, choosing to live out his final decades in silence. The Seventh Symphony forms an arc that begins in an Adagio tempo, where it also ends some 22 minutes later. The opening passage climbs up a scale and then winds through slowly morphing harmonies, waiting more than a minute before its first fleeting arrival on the tonic chord of C major. One of the most glorious moments comes when this Adagio music blooms for a noble trombone solo. A seamless transition leads into a faster, scherzo-like section that begins with dry staccato articulations and chatter back and forth between the winds and strings. Leaving that faster tempo, a scale climbs step-by-step (echoing the symphony’s first phrases) over churning strings until we arrive back at the Adagio tempo and a restatement of the trombone theme. Another variant of that melody leads into the concluding passage.

The tonal yearning that has built up throughout the symphony withholds release until the very last moment, when the strings make one last heroic rise of a half-step to settle the final chord. History and program note from the official Sibelius site Audio program on the Seventh Symphony from the BBC Music notation software named for the composer -- Copyright © 2016 Aaron Grad Aaron Grad is a composer, guitarist and writer based in Seattle. Besides providing program notes for the New World Symphony, he has been the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra’s program annotator since 2005 and also contributes notes to the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra and Seattle Symphony. Audio clips provided by Naxos of America, Inc. Hector Berlioz Harold in Italy, Op. 16 (1834) Approximate duration: 42 minutes Berlioz received his primary education at home from his father, an eminent physician who expected his son to join him in the medical profession. As a teenager, Berlioz took flute and guitar lessons and taught himself the rudiments of composition and music theory, but he obliged his father by enrolling in medical school.

Four years later, though, disgusted by “dirty hospital orderlies, dreadful dissecting-room attendants, hideous corpses, the screams of patients [and] the groans and rattling breath of the dying,” he abandoned medicine and took up music. Berlioz eventually enrolled at the Paris Conservatory, where he developed a reputation as an outsider and iconoclast—a position confirmed by the shocking Symphonie fantastique from 1830, which led to his expulsion. That same year, he won the Prix de Rome with a cantata that demonstrated more restraint and rule-following than his previous entries, and in 1831 he left Paris, reluctantly, to commence the Italian residency granted to prizewinners.

He lived in Rome for more than a year, although he ventured out as often as he could; he later wrote, “Rome is the most stupid and prosaic city I know: it is no place for anyone with head or heart.” Although the Rome of his day held little interest for Berlioz, a romanticized notion of Italy, especially as expressed through literature, became an ongoing font of inspiration, as found in his “dramatic symphony” modeled after Romeo and Juliet (set in Verona) and in the opera Benvenuto Cellini , which depicted an artist of the Italian Renaissance. His first work in that vein was Harold in Italy, composed in 1834 and based loosely on the narrative poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage by Lord Byron . The impetus to compose Harold in Italy came from the superstar violinist Niccolò Paganini , who wanted to showcase his Stradivarius viola . Instead of a viola concerto, Berlioz constructed Harold in Italy as a four-movement symphony featuring the viola as a musical protagonist. Paganini was not happy about the viola’s limited role and the long stretches of silence in the solo part and he opted not to play it.

Still, he was so impressed when he first heard it several years later that he gave Berlioz a sizable check to fund future projects. Berlioz titled the first movement, “Harold in the Mountains. Scenes of Melancholy, Happiness and Joy.” There is indeed a melancholic mood in the first three minutes or so, during an orchestral introduction, but the atmosphere turns more serene with the entrance of the viola, accompanied by harp, playing the first instance of a melody that recurs throughout the symphony to signify Harold. For the second movement, “March of the Pilgrims Singing the Evening Prayer,” the viola appears as an outside observer, rehashing a version of the same unifying melody (in its own slower pace) as the pilgrims shuffle past. The pattern repeats in the third movement, “Serenade of an Abruzzi Mountain-Dweller to his Mistress.” The rustic love scene set in central Italy is well underway by the time Harold arrives with another statement of the identifying theme. Like a musical slide show (or travel blog), the finale starts by recapping high points of the journeys undertaken in the preceding movements.

The scene then moves to an “Orgy of Brigands,” using wild, dramatic music to depict the debauchery of a band of outlaws. The viola makes one last meek appearance at the end, supported by other string soloists from offstage, until the fracas resumes. History of Paganini’s viola and its sibling Stradivarius instruments Chronology of Berlioz’ visits to Italy Michael Tilson Thomas, conductor Michael Tilson Thomas is Co-Founder and Artistic Director of the New World Symphony, America’s Orchestral Academy; Music Director of the San Francisco Symphony; and Conductor Laureate of the London Symphony Orchestra. In addition to these posts, he maintains an active presence guest conducting with the major orchestras of Europe and the United States. Born in Los Angeles, Mr. Tilson Thomas is the third generation of his family to follow an artistic career. His grandparents, Boris and Bessie Thomashefsky, were founding members of the Yiddish Theater in America. His father, Ted Thomas, was a producer in the Mercury Theater Company in New York before moving to Los Angeles where he worked in films and television.

His mother, Roberta Thomas, was the head of research for Columbia Pictures. Mr. Tilson Thomas began his formal studies at the University of Southern California where he studied piano with John Crown and conducting and composition with Ingolf Dahl. At age 19 he was named Music Director of the Young Musicians Foundation Debut Orchestra. He worked with Stravinsky, Boulez, Stockhausen and Copland on premieres of their compositions at Los Angeles’ Monday Evening Concerts. During this same period he was the pianist and conductor for Gregor Piatigorsky and Jascha Heifetz. In 1969, after winning the Koussevitzky Prize at Tanglewood, he was appointed Assistant Conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. That year he also made his New York debut with the Boston Symphony and gained international recognition after replacing Music Director William Steinberg in mid-concert. He was later appointed Principal Guest Conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra where he remained until 1974.

He was Music Director of the Buffalo Philharmonic from 1971 to 1979 and a Principal Guest Conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic from 1981 to 1985. His guest conducting includes appearances with the major orchestras of Europe and the United States. His recorded repertoire of more than 120 discs includes works by composers such as Bach, Beethoven, Mahler, Prokofiev and Stravinsky as well as his pioneering work with the music of Charles Ives, Carl Ruggles, Steve Reich, John Cage, Ingolf Dahl, Morton Feldman, George Gershwin, John McLaughlin and Elvis Costello. He also recorded the complete orchestral works of Gustav Mahler with the San Francisco Symphony. Mr. Tilson Thomas’ television work includes a series with the London Symphony Orchestra for BBC Television, the television broadcasts of the New York Philharmonic Young People’s Concerts from 1971 to 1977 and numerous productions on PBS’ Great Performances. Mr.

Tilson Thomas and the San Francisco Symphony produced a multi-tiered media project, Keeping Score, which includes a television series, web sites, radio programs and programs in schools. In 1990 Mr. Tilson Thomas and the New World Symphony were presented in a series of benefit concerts for UNICEF in the United States, featuring Audrey Hepburn as narrator of From the Diary of Anne Frank, composed by Mr. Tilson Thomas and commissioned by UNICEF. This piece has since been translated and performed in many languages worldwide. In August 1995 he led the Pacific Music Festival Orchestra in the premiere of his composition Showa/Shoah, commemorating the 50th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. Thomas Hampson premiered his settings of poetry by Walt Whitman, Renée Fleming premiered his settings of the poetry of Emily Dickinson and the San Francisco Symphony premiered his concerto for contrabassoon entitled Urban Legend.

As a Carnegie Hall Perspectives Artist from 2003 to 2005, he had an evening devoted to his own compositions which included Island Music for four marimbas and percussion, Notturno for solo flute and strings and a new setting of poems by Rainer Maria Rilke. Other compositions include Street Song for brass instruments and Agnegram, an overture for orchestra. Among his many honors and awards, Mr. Tilson Thomas is a Chevalier dans l’ordre des Arts et des Lettres of France, was Musical America’s Musician of the Year and Conductor of the Year, Gramophone Magazine’s Artist of the Year and has been profiled on CBS’s 60 Minutes and ABC’s Nightline. He has won 11 Grammy Awards for his recordings. In 2008 he received the Peabody Award for his radio series for SFS Media, The MTT Files. In 2010 President Obama awarded him the National Medal of Arts, the highest award given to artists by the United States Government.

Roberto Díaz, viola Photo credit: Henry Fair A violist of international reputation, Roberto Díaz is president and chief executive officer of the Curtis Institute of Music, following in the footsteps of renowned soloist/directors such as Josef Hofmann, Efrem Zimbalist and Rudolf Serkin. As a teacher of viola at Curtis and former principal viola of The Philadelphia Orchestra, Mr. Díaz has already had a significant impact on American musical life and continues to do so in his dual roles as performer and educator. As a soloist, Mr. Díaz collaborates with leading conductors of our time on stages throughout North and South America, Europe and Asia. He has also worked directly with important 20th- and 21st-century composers, including Krzysztof Penderecki, whose Viola Concerto he has performed numerous times with the composer on the podium and whose Double Concerto he premiered in the United States during the 2013-14 season; and Edison Denisov, who invited Mr. Díaz to Moscow to work on and perform his Viola Concerto. Ricardo Lorenz and Roberto Sierra have written concertos for Mr.

Díaz and he premiered a concerto by Jennifer Higdon in 2015. As a frequent recitalist, Mr. Díaz enjoys collaborating with young pianists, bringing a fresh approach to the repertoire and providing invaluable opportunities to artists at the beginning of their careers. In addition to performing with major string quartets and pianists in chamber music series and festivals worldwide, Mr. Díaz has toured Europe, Asia and the Americas a member of the Díaz Trio with violinist Andrés Cárdenes and cellist Andrés Díaz. The Díaz Trio has recorded for the Artek and Dorian labels. Mr. Díaz’ recordings on the Naxos label with pianist Robert Koenig include the complete works for viola and piano by Henri Vieuxtemps and a Grammy-nominated disc of viola transcriptions by William Primrose. Also on Naxos are the Brahms sonatas with Jeremy Denk and Jonathan Leshnoff’s Double Concerto with violinist Charles Wetherbee and the Iris Chamber Orchestra led by Michael Stern. On the New World Records label is a live recording of Mr.

Díaz’ performance of Jacob Druckman's Viola Concerto with Wolfgang Sawallisch and The Philadelphia Orchestra. Upcoming releases include the Walton Viola Concerto with the New Haven Symphony and William Boughton (Nimbus) and the Viola Concerto by Peter Lieberson with the Odense Symphony Orchestra and Scott Yoo (Bridge Records). Since founding Curtis On Tour six seasons ago, Mr. Díaz has taken the hugely successful program to North and South America, Europe and Asia, performing chamber music side-by-side with Curtis students and other faculty and alumni of the school. In addition to Curtis On Tour, his tenure as president of Curtis has seen the construction of a significant new building which doubled the size of the school’s campus, the introduction of classical guitar and string quartet programs, the launch of Curtis Summerfest which is open to the public and the debut of an online stage called Curtis Performs. In the fall of 2013 Curtis became the first classical music conservatory to offer free online classes through Coursera. Also under Mr.

Díaz’ leadership, the school has developed lasting collaborations with other music and arts institutions in Philadelphia and throughout the world and has established the Community Artists Program (CAP) to develop the entrepreneurial and advocacy skills of young musicians. Mr. Díaz received an honorary doctorate from Bowdoin College and was awarded an honorary membership by the national board of the American Viola Society. In the fall of 2013 Mr. Díaz became a member of the prestigious American Philosophical Society founded by Benjamin Franklin. As a member of The Philadelphia Orchestra, he was selected by Music Director Christoph Eschenbach to receive the C. Hartman Kuhn Award, given annually to "the member of The Philadelphia Orchestra who has shown ability and enterprise of such character as to enhance the standards and the reputation of The Philadelphia Orchestra." Mr. Díaz received a bachelor’s degree from the New England Conservatory of Music, where he studied with Burton Fine, and a diploma from the Curtis Institute of Music, where his teacher was his predecessor at The Philadelphia Orchestra, Joseph de Pasquale. Mr. Díaz also has a degree in industrial design.

In addition to his decade-long tenure as principal viola of The Philadelphia Orchestra, where he performed the entire standard viola concerto repertoire with the orchestra and gave a number of Philadelphia Orchestra premieres, Mr. Díaz was also principal viola of the National Symphony under Mstislav Rostropovich, a member of the Boston Symphony under Seiji Ozawa and a member of the Minnesota Orchestra under Sir Neville Marriner. Mr. Díaz plays the ex-Primrose Amati viola. 500 17th Street Harold en Italie (Harold in… | Details | AllMusic google+ Description by Graham Olson Though the work was originally intended as a vehicle for the virtuoso violinist Nicolo Paganini to exhibit his considerable skill on the viola, Berlioz 's Harold in Italy (1834) eventually became a four-movement symphony which Paganini, who wanted to be "playing all the time," eventually declined to perform.

Somewhat akin to the Symphonie fantastique (1830) in its quasi-autobiographical cast and employment of a unifying idée fixe, Harold finds Berlioz imagining himself in the role of Byron's Harold for the purpose of recounting his own experiences in Italy. The first movement, entitled "Harold in the Mountains," outlines a progression from melancholy into happiness and ultimately, into joy. The sobering fugato which opens the movement soon gives way to an uncertain melody in the woodwinds, which blossoms until the viola presents it in full as Harold's theme, the idée fixe. The movement continues its ascent into joy with an effervescent, unrelenting allegro which eases up only to allow the viola to restate the idée fixe, now fitted into another fugato, before the accelerating momentum brings the movement to an end. Like Mendelssohn , Berlioz made the second movement of his "Italian" symphony a "Pilgrim's March." Essentially restricted to a strophic march structure, the movement is notable for its daring modulations, each marked by the tolling of two bells.

The viola enters again in the middle section, lyrically presenting the idée fixe in the periphery of the passing march before taking on an accompanying role as the procession moves off into the distance. The third movement, "Serenade of an Abruzzi Mountaineer," begins with an accurate replication of Italian bagpipes, or piferari. The rustic affect is made complete with the introduction of the serenade's main melody by the English horn. The viola restates the melody in conjunction with the idée fixe, and the movement develops as Berlioz expounds upon the counterpoint between the two melodies. A somewhat resigned coda, comprising all three elements, ends the movement on a misleadingly peaceful tone. "The Orgy of Brigands," as the finale is titled, opens with the viola revisiting several thematic ideas from prior movements before it is unceremoniously interrupted by the brash, rhythmic power of the orgy itself. Following this brass-fueled, slightly demented fury, the viola briefly returns with the "Pilgrim's March" and a final statement of Harold's theme as the composer's nostalgic reminiscence comes to a close.

Parts/Movements Harold aux montagnes, Scènes de mélancolie, de bonheur et de joie Marche de pèlerins chantant la prière du soir Sérénade d'un montagnard des Abruzzes à sa maîtresse Orgie de brigands. Souvenirs des scènes précédentes Appears On

Question: Who composed the musical work 'Harold In Italy' in 1834?
Answer: Berlioz