MUS 1500 Student Recital includes Aill Harris, cellist

 

Tuesday, August 31, 2021 at 12:30pm in Magale

  Allemande from Cello Suite No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1008 .... Bach (1685-1750)

Aill Harris, cello

 

Faculty Cello Recital, 8/31/2021, Magale Recital Hall, at 7:30 pm

Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924)

Elégie, Op. 24 (1883)

Romance in A Major, Op. 69 (1894)

Sérénade, Op. 98 (1908)

John Price, piano

Vincent D’Indy (1851-1931)

 Sonata in D Major for Cello and Piano, Op. 84 (1924-1925)
          Gavotte en Rondeau: Tranquillement
          Air: Trés lent
          Gigue: Gaîment

          Entrée: Modéré

Chialing Hsieh, piano

Darius Milhaud (1892-1974)

 Sonata for Cello and Piano, Op. 377 (1960)
          Aniné, Gai
          Lent, Grave
          Vif et Joueaux

Dan Ley, piano

 This program is dedicated to the memory of my beloved mother, Helen Christopher, who passed away on July 4. 

Program Notes by Jackson Harmeyer

This evening’s recital by cellist Paul Christopher features  music  by  three  French  composers,  each  of  whom  symbolized  a  different school  of  thought  in  the  opening  decades  of  the  twentieth  century.  While  Gabriel  Fauré  belonged  to  the academic establishment, Vincent  d’Indy was the true conservative, holding steadfast to Romantic  ideals  while  Fauré  pursued  new  modes  of  expression.  Their  younger  colleague,  Darius  Milhaud,  although  at  times  a  radical, melded  tradition  into  a  distinctive  voice  and  prolific  output.  Despite  their  differences,  however,  there is also much which connects these composers, all of  whom  sought  a  renewed  vision  of  French  music.  This recital is dedicated to the memory of Paul’s mother, Helen  Christopher, who passed away on July 4, 2021.

These  days  Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924)  is  best‐
remembered for his Requiem—an hour‐long composition 
for  chorus,  two  vocal  soloists,  organ,  and  orchestra.  Yet 
Fauré  was  more  often  a  practitioner  of  small  forms  as 
evidenced by his charming songs and delightful chamber 
music. While some of his contemporaries considered him 
a dangerous Modernist, he never defied tonality as did the 
composers  of  the  next  generation. His musical  language 
was instead one of sensuous colors, subtle harmonies, and 
poetically‐crafted  melodies.  It  represents  a  French 
sensibility  far  removed  from  the  weighty  orchestrations 
and  fierce  drama  of  Richard  Wagner  and  the  Germanic 
ethos he exemplified, although the experience of Wagner 
had  been  essential  to  the  Frenchman’s  harmonic 
development. Fauré expressed his interest in music at an 
early age and, by nine, he was accepted to the renowned 
Parisian  music  school  Ecole  Niedermeyer.  Among  his 
teachers  was  Camille  Saint‐Saëns  who  would  become  a 
lifelong  friend.  After  graduation,  Fauré  worked  as  an 
organist and local music teacher, so that true recognition 
for his compositional abilities only came in 1896 when he 
was  appointed  professor  of  composition  at  the  Paris 
Conservatoire.  Ultimately  in  1905  Fauré  became  this 
institution’s director for a period lasting fifteen years until
1920. His pupils included Maurice Ravel, Nadia Boulanger, 
Charles Koechlin, and other prominent figures who would 
guide French music in the years after World War I.

Fauré wrote several pieces for cello and piano throughout 

his career. In addition to the two sonatas which are both 

late works, there are also five character pieces, spanning 

the years 1880 to 1908. His Élégie, Op. 24 is the earliest of 

these,  composed  in  1880  and  premiered  in  1883  by  its 

dedicatee, the cellist Jules Loëb. It was initially intended as

the  slow movement  of  a  cello  sonata,  a  response  to  his 

First  Violin  Sonata  completed  a  few  years  earlier.  Yet, 

when Fauré showed the finished movement to Saint‐Saëns 

and  Saint‐Saëns  programmed  it  at  a  concert  he  was 

hosting, it gained such immediate popularity there was no 

going back and crafting other movements around it. The 

somber  melody  offered  by  the  cello  is  expressive  and 

direct—one  of  the  last  times, according  to  scholar  Jean‐

Michel  Nectoux,  that  Fauré  permitted  “such  a  direct 

expression  of  pathos”  in  his  music.  Subsequent  works 

were  to  be  “more  introverted  and  discreet.”  From  the 

opening  statement  with  its  cool  restraint,  the  cello 

develops  this  melody  into  more  passionate,  less‐

controlled areas across the A section. The piano takes on a 

greater role in the intervening B section when it offers a 

consoling countermelody to the cello. The cello attempts 

to  make  this  melody  its  own  but  a  tumultuous  cadenza 

ensues. This  results in  the  return  of  the  first  theme at a 

stressful octave higher than the original. There is release 

as the piano reiterates its secondary theme and the cello 

reluctantly joins in. The  final moments are  desolate,  but 

the piano remains as caring companion to the cello.

Beyond the Élégie, we also hear Fauré’s Romance, Op. 69 

and  Sérénade,  Op.  98,  composed  in  1894  and  1908, 

respectively. Set in A major, the serene Romance provides 

a  marked  contrast  to  the  powerful  Élégie.  Apparently  it 

was envisioned as a work for cello and organ to be played 

in  one  of  the  church  settings  so  familiar  to  Fauré.  This 

original, nevertheless, was not rediscovered or published 

until the year 2000. The melody additionally appears in the 

song Soir of the composer’s Opus 83 where its text reflects 

on daylight passing into evening and the mysterious new 

world  that  emerges  in  the  darkness.  Something  similar 

happens in the version we hear where, even without this 

text, we enter  into a  nocturnal world  full  of  shades and 

subtleties.  Our  last  piece  by  Fauré,  the  Sérénade,  was 

written  as  a  gift  to  Pablo  Casals  upon  his  wedding 

engagement. This Catalan cellist had become a close friend 

and  advocate  to  Fauré,  performing  his  Élégie  frequently 

and  eventually  premiering  its  orchestral  arrangement  in 

1901.  He  seems  to  have  never  publicly  performed  the 

Sérénade, however, which is somewhat unsurprising given 

that  Casals  had  kept  the  Bach  Cello  Suites  private  for  a 

dozen  years,  studying  and  rehearsing  them  by  himself, 

after  he  had  discovered  their  forgotten  manuscript  in  a 

thrift shop. The Sérénade suggests a return to the Baroque 

with its middle section in particular resembling a rigaudon, 

a French dance which was popular in the seventeenth and 

eighteenth  centuries.  Its  outer  sections,  meanwhile, 

possess  Spanish  traces,  including  modal  intervals  and 

plucked,  guitar‐like  chords.  These  Baroque  and  Spanish 

elements can be taken to represent the work’s dedicatee, 

Casals, harking to his interests and his heritage.

If  in  Fauré  we  observe  a  conscious  attempt  to  remove 

Germanic  influence,  then  in  our  next  composer,  his 

contemporary  Vincent d’Indy (1851-1931),  we  find  an 

opposing allegiance to German aesthetic aims, indeed, an 

attempt  to  revitalize  French  music  upon  German 

scaffolding.  Like  his mentor  César Franck with whom  his 

studies began in 1872,  d’Indy  found  ties with Franz Liszt 

and  Richard Wagner.  Like Franck and  Liszt,  d’Indy wrote 

symphonic  poems,  including  several eloquent  depictions 

of the sea and landscapes of southern France. Here as well 

as  in  absolute  works,  d’Indy  applied  the  cyclic  forms 

investigated  by  these  predecessors.  In  1876  d’Indy 

attended  the  premiere  of  Wagner’s  Der  Ring  des 

Nibelungen  in  Bayreuth  and  found  this  experience 

emotionally overwhelming. His own music dramas would 

be of mixed quality, but still apply Wagner’s leitmotiv and 

his advances in orchestration. All four men further viewed 

Ludwig van Beethoven as a common ancestor in structural 

and  dramatic  matters,  although  Andrew  Thomas  has 

commented  of  d’Indy  that  “his  famed  veneration  for 

Beethoven  and  Franck  has  unfortunately  obscured  the 

individual  character  of  his  own  compositions.”  His 

frustrating  personality  must  have  something  to  do  with 

this too: he often expressed controversial political beliefs 

and crusaded against music that did not meet his approval. 

In  1892  he  refused a  position at  the  Paris  Conservatoire 

and instead founded the Schola Cantorum where he could 

instruct how he saw fit. Although his teaching was heavy 

on counterpoint and dismissive of what he considered the 

formlessness  and  harmonic  sensationalism  of  Claude 

Debussy,  d’Indy  became  an  important  mentor  to  Albert 

Roussel, for instance, while his writings had later influence 

on Olivier Messiaen and Heitor Villa‐Lobos.

The Cello Sonata in D major, Op. 84 is a relatively late work 

by  d’Indy,  composed  in  1924  and  1925.  It  is  in  four 

movements in a conventional nineteenth‐century pattern, 

and its musical content still owes much to that legacy. An 

additional  element,  however,  is  its  incorporation  of 

Baroque  dances—the  gavotte  and  gigue—as  well  as  an 

operatic air as its Third Movement. As had Fauré, his pupil 

Ravel,  and  indeed  many  French  composers  in  the  first 

decades of the twentieth century, d’Indy demonstrates an 

affinity for earlier music. His own affinity though has more 

to  do  with  a  devout  Catholic  faith  and  his  work  at  the 

Schola Cantorum where Gregorian chant and Palestrinian 

polyphony were practiced than a stern defiance of German 

Romantic  norms.  The  Sonata’s  First  Movement,  Entrée. 

Modéré,  moves  at  a  relaxed  pace  as  it  follows  several 

different  ideas  over  its  span.  Its  rhythmic  and  metric 

freedom  is  suggestive  of  the  Baroque,  even  if  more 

concrete  references  are  missing  from  this  opening 

movement. The Second Movement, Gavotte en Rondeau. 

Tranquillement,  has  a  wit  and  charm  about  it  expressed 

initially  in  the  cello’s  pizzicato  and  piano’s  matching 

staccato chords. The quick runs later in the piano part are 

particularly beautiful. The Third Movement, Air. Très lent, 

is almost sung with its long melody and sustained notes. 

Except for its chromaticism which recommends it more to 

a  seventeenth‐century  operatic  lament,  this  melody  has 

the mostly stepwise motion and even divisions of chant. 

Its  deep  melancholy  is  quickly  dispelled  by  the  cheery 

Fourth  Movement,  marked  Gigue.  Gaîment.  Here  the 

nobility and interplay of the first two movements return as 

cello and piano again trade ideas in a friendly dialogue.

The Cello Sonata in D major, Op. 84 is a relatively late work 

by  d’Indy,  composed  in  1924  and  1925.  It  is  in  four 

movements in a conventional nineteenth‐century pattern, 

and its musical content still owes much to that legacy. An 

additional  element,  however,  is  its  incorporation  of 

Baroque  dances—the  gavotte  and  gigue—as  well  as  an 

operatic air as its Third Movement. As had Fauré, his pupil 

Ravel,  and  indeed  many  French  composers  in  the  first 

decades of the twentieth century, d’Indy demonstrates an 

affinity for earlier music. His own affinity though has more 

to  do  with  a  devout  Catholic  faith  and  his  work  at  the 

Schola Cantorum where Gregorian chant and Palestrinian 

polyphony were practiced than a stern defiance of German 

Romantic  norms.  The  Sonata’s  First  Movement,  Entrée. 

Modéré,  moves  at  a  relaxed  pace  as  it  follows  several 

different  ideas  over  its  span.  Its  rhythmic  and  metric 

freedom  is  suggestive  of  the  Baroque,  even  if  more 

concrete  references  are  missing  from  this  opening 

movement. The Second Movement, Gavotte en Rondeau. 

Tranquillement,  has  a  wit  and  charm  about  it  expressed 

initially  in  the  cello’s  pizzicato  and  piano’s  matching 

staccato chords. The quick runs later in the piano part are 

particularly beautiful. The Third Movement, Air. Très lent, 

is almost sung with its long melody and sustained notes. 

Except for its chromaticism which recommends it more to 

a  seventeenth‐century  operatic  lament,  this  melody  has 

the mostly stepwise motion and even divisions of chant. 

Its  deep  melancholy  is  quickly  dispelled  by  the  cheery 

Fourth  Movement,  marked  Gigue.  Gaîment.  Here  the 

nobility and interplay of the first two movements return as 

cello and piano again trade ideas in a friendly dialogue. 

With  few  exceptions  it  seems  that  the  music  of  Darius 

Milhaud (1892-1974) is today more often written about 

than performed. Scholars like to discuss such topics as his 

explorations  into  jazz  and  Latin  American  music,  his 

pioneering experiments with percussion instruments, his 

unique approach to polytonality, and his radical early years 

as a member of Les Six. Yet only a handful of the more than 

four  hundred  compositions  Milhaud  wrote  are  regularly 

performed. Indeed his expansive catalog contains twelve 

symphonies,  numerous  concerti  for  a  wide  variety  of 

instruments,  eighteen  string  quartets,  and  more  than  a  

dozen  operas.  Milhaud  was  also  an  important  teacher, 

especially  after  World  War  II  when  he  taught  at  Mills 

College  in  California  and  at  the  Paris  Conservatoire.  His 

students included not only “serious” composers like Philip 

Glass, William Bolcom, and Iannis Xenakis but also figures 

more associated with popular music like Dave Brubeck and 

Burt  Bacharach.  Brubeck  even  named  his  son  Darius  in 

honor of this mentor. Perhaps one reason why the music 

of  Milhaud  is  underplayed  is  because  it  is  difficult  to 

contextualize.  Where  exactly  does  one  begin  exploring 

Milhaud’s  vast  catalog?  Paul  Christopher  has  naturally 

gravitated toward chamber music with cello, and over the 

past few years he has performed Milhaud's Élégie, Op. 251 

for  cello  and  piano  and  his  Piano  Trio,  Op.  428.  This 

evening he tackles Milhaud’s Cello Sonata, Op. 377.

The  Cello  Sonata was  composed in  1959 and  belongs  to 

Milhaud’s late period in which he synthesized the clarity of 

his early style with the feeling of his middle works. Milhaud 

once reflected of chamber music: “It is a form, the quartet 

above all, that conduces to meditation, to the expression 

of what is deepest in oneself […] It is at once an intellectual

discipline and the crucible of the most intense emotion.” 

Certainly we hear these contrasts in his Cello Sonata where 

there  is  much  rigor,  but  especially  in  the  slow  middle 

movement an outpouring of deep emotion. The Sonata is 

in  three  movements.  The  First  Movement,  Anime  ‐  Gai, 

emphasizes separation, both between its two players and 

also between the stream of musical ideas they convey. If 

the instruments are not exactly at odds, then there at least 

seems to be some disagreement with each asserting itself 

at  different  times  in  a  constantly  evolving  conversation. 

The  Second  Movement,  Lent  ‐  Grave,  finds  the  two 

instruments  echoing  each  other  in  elongated  melodic 

statements. These moments can be particularly expressive 

when the cello reaches inward to be answered equally by 

the piano or vice versa. The Third Movement, Vif et Joyeux, 

has all the intensity and joy its French title indicates with 

musical  motives  which  are  eccentric  yet  entirely 

committed.  After a  brief  prelude,  fugal writing  begins in 

the right hand of the piano, to be joined by the left hand 

and  cello  in  turn.  As  this  musical  landscape  reaches  its 

climax,  one  quick exchange  finally  brings  the movement 

and  piece  to  its  close. Despite  its  clear merits,  the  Cello 

Sonata remains one of those virtually unknown works by 

Milhaud, not receiving its  first recordings until the 1990s 

and still minimal attention since then.