Koussevitzky Memorial Program, with the Boston Symphony led by Andris Nelsons, July 28,2024
James Lee III, Freedom’s Genuine Dawn, with speaker Thomas Warfield
Aaron Copland, Piano Concerto, with pianist Paul Lewis
Randall Thompson, Alleluia and Igor Stravinsky, Symphony of Psalms, both with the Tanglewood Festival Chorus, James Burton, conductor
The program looked strange on paper: a new work based on a speech by Frederick Douglass set as a grand orchestral melodrama; an early and rarely performed concerto by Aaron Copland; an a capella choral work traditionally sung at the Tanglewood opening ceremonies performed here in mid-season; and a setting of sacred texts by a Russian expatriate. All but the first work were associated with Serge Koussevitsky, musical founder of Tanglewood and the most significant patron of new compositions in the twentieth century, whose 150th birthday was being commemorated this past weekend.
Apart from this loose, unifying theme, how did the works on this program hang together? It takes a bit of background digging and imaginative listening to find the connections, but they are there. Copland provides the key: he connects to everything in one way or another. The first piece, by James Lee III, is a response to one of Copland’s more familiar compositions (see below); the third piece was written to commemorate the opening of the Tanglewood music school in 1940 for which Copland served as composition teacher. Stravinsky was an important influence and musical kindred spirit whom Copland connected to via their mutual friend Nadia Boulanger. It was she, together with Koussevitzky, who encouraged the creation of this concerto.
Copland’s Piano Concerto of 1926 uses elements of the blues, ragtime and jazz as elements of a new modernist language, one that dismantled and reassembled these stylistic elements like the objects in a cubist painting. This work is almost contemporary with the jazz-inspired Concerto in F by George Gershwin, but despite both being jazzy works of Jewish pianist-composers from Brooklyn, they could not be more different: while Gershwin was fusing the classical concerto with popular culture, Copland was seeking to use jazz as an element of a particularly American form of Modernism.
The first of its two movements is built on the blues, an idiom that Copland also utilized in four solo piano works and which appeared in later jazz-inflected compositions, like the Clarinet Concerto that he wrote for Benny Goodman. The second movement more directly draws from the jazz of the twenties, the era of late ragtime (stride piano), the Charleston, and New Orleans jazz. These styles are the ingredients of a musical tossed salad, but they also give the work a dated quality that may be responsible for its relative obscurity. The piece was revived by Leonard Bernstein in the 1960’s, in performances with Copland playing the solo part, that had a strong impact; one such can be seen on YouTube here.
Preceding it on the program was James Lee III’s “Freedom’s Genuine Dawn,” which left a much stronger imprint. It tacitly but consciously responds to one of Copland’s iconic works, “A Lincoln Portrait” of 1942. Both compositions are melodramas (i.e. spoken text with musical accompaniment) setting famous lines from historic mid-nineteenth-century speeches regarding slavery and American history, as well as providing brief biographical information about the speakers, Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln respectively. Both set their texts in epic, cinematic style resounding with moral sentiment. Composer James Lee III, collaborating with the writer Wordsmith, responds to Copland’s 1942 work in almost all these respects, but with a starkly contrasting message.
Where Copland used a variety of Lincoln sources, Lee focuses on only one by Frederick Douglass. Excerpts of his 1852 July 5th speech, entitled “What to the slave is the 4th of July?,” are set in a modernized musical language that incorporates many of Copland’s idioms, even quoting motives from “A Lincoln Portrait,” supplemented with contemporary stylistic resources. Lee skillfully constructs a musical jeremiad about the hypocrisy of a country that celebrates freedom, independence, and equality, but tolerates, relies on, and justifies the institution of slavery. Douglass’s speech pivots on the fact that he cannot fully join the celebration of American independence:
“What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? and am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits and express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from your independence to us?”
By consciously emulating Copland’s work, Lee highlights the contrasts, both of ideas and of musical and emotional responses. Words and music here also use an elevated rhetorical tone, rendered by Thomas Warfield in a highly theatrical manner, one that could have perhaps been delivered with more subtlety. Both works have an epic sweep, surveying large swaths of history and evoking a biblical sense of righteousness, conjuring up the conflict between the ideology of the founding fathers and the reality of slavery. While Lincoln (and Copland) focused on the future, Douglass denounced the present situation (as of 1852), and especially the notions that the humanity and claim to human rights of the slave need to be demonstrated and argued for. Lee augments the musical language of 1942 with that of 2024, and in a subtle way confirms the argument’s continued relevance for today. Yet, despite the harsh content and bitterness of tone, in the end Douglass and Lee manage to find light at the end of the present’s dark tunnel:
“Allow me to say, in conclusion, notwithstanding the dark picture I have this day presented of the state of the nation, I do not despair of this country. There are forces in operation, which must inevitably work the downfall of slavery. ‘The arm of the Lord is not shortened,’ and the doom of slavery is certain. I, therefore, leave off where I began, with hope.”
In this concluding section, Lee turns most clearly to Copland, citing a proclamatory motive in the brasses that joins Douglass to Lincoln in foreseeing a future turn toward justice and hope for the nation.
I have given so much attention to this work because I found it the most consequential in terms of content and performance. In the second half of the program Douglass and Lee’s concluding turn to optimism was elevated to a spiritual sphere by Randall Thompson’s ecstatic, a capella “Alleluia,” along with the rapt conclusion to Stravinsky’s “Symphony of Psalms,” both offering transcendental, spiritual praise.
While “Freedom’s Genuine Dawn” was delivered with powerful commitment by Warfield and the Boston Symphony, the Copland concerto and Stravinsky symphony both received less than fully satisfying performances, owing to Nelsons’ tendency to thicken musical textures and obscure important detail in works that should ideally be lean and transparent, qualities espoused by Nadia Boulanger who was the friend of one and mentor of the other. Perhaps for this reason, and despite its position as the opener, Lee’s work provided for me the central emotional weight of the program.
Stravinsky’s symphony of 1928 was the first paid commission of the many important projects initiated by Serge Koussevitzky, including (among many others) Britten’s Peter Grimes, Copland’s Symphony no. 3, Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra and Schoenberg’s A Survivor from Warsaw, and Messiaen’s Turangalila, all major additions to the orchestral canon. Setting a selection of verses from diverse psalms, “Symphony of Psalms” is characterized by its seriousness and austerity. This is reflected in its orchestration, which excludes high strings but includes two pianos, providing a unique sonority, lean, dry, and percussive. Its instantly recognizable repeated opening chord is unusually voiced so as to emphasize those qualities from the outset, and the predominance of woodwinds and pianos leaves an indelible sonic fingerprint. As with Copland, the performance would ideally be light and springy—Stravinsky needs to ‘swing’ in his own way; and the heavier elements of low strings and brass would need to be lightened up. One unique characteristic of Stravinsky’s musical language is a de-emphasis on a functional bass, shifting the timbral focus to the higher registers and requiring brightness and textural clarity. Unfortunately, Andris’ performance reversed these values and strove for heft and richness, two traits this work does not need. On the other hand, the large Tanglewood Festival Chorus chanted their parts with suitable restraint and dignity, revealing the music’s debt to Russian church chant which had such a strong influence on the composer. The piece left enough of an impression to allow us to feel appropriate gratitude to Koussevitzky for participating in the genesis of this work which proved pivotal in his career as a patron of new music.
