Overview
This program features four pieces that were all composed in America in the 20th century. The 20th century was a period of rebuilding and reimagining of symphonic music. In the aftermath of giants like Strauss and Mahler, many were confused about how music would progress. Was there still a place for traditional Western tonality, or had the time come for a new musical language? Composers like Arnold Schoenberg and Paul Hindemith devised entirely new systems for organizing pitches, while John Cage famously challenged the very notion of music with his piece 4’33”. While the United States had been established for nearly 150 years, the 20th century saw the first significant exploration of what an American musical sound might be.
This program highlights three composers who, in the face of uncertainty about music’s direction, elected to give traditional harmony another go, and in doing so, played significant roles in the development of what we have now come to think of as uniquely American orchestral music. These composers blended the rich European traditions of their predecessors with the new sounds of Americana—colored by jazz influences, American folk songs, and eventually, the powerful impact of cinema—to create a unique American musical language, one which would eventually give rise to the iconic Hollywood sound we know today.
As you listen to this program, imagine the musical lineage that leads directly from these works to the iconic film scores you love. For instance, Rachmaninoff’s lush orchestration and emotional depth can be heard in the music of John Williams. Samuel Barber’s famous Adagio for Strings has been used in more than a dozen films from Platoon to Amelie. Leonard Bernstein was equally at home as the internationally renowned conductor of the New York Philharmonic, and one of the preeminent Musical Theatre composers of the mid-20th century.
Second Essay for Orchestra (1942)
Samuel Barber (1910-1981)
Run Time: Approx. 12 minutes
Samuel Barber is one of the most celebrated American composers and, unlike many, he was able to enjoy that acclaim during his lifetime. The Second Essay for Orchestra was written at a time when Barber’s fame was on the rise; Adagio for Strings had been recently premiered, and he was receiving commissions from many top orchestras.
On the same radio broadcast as Adagio’s premiere, Barber’s First Essay for Orchestra was also performed. The piece caught the attention of Bruno Walter, prompting him to commission a similar work for the New York Philharmonic. Barber would eventually complete a Third Essay in 1978.
The Essays are single-movement works, a new model that marked a departure from traditional forms. At the time, most orchestral works that were neither concertos nor ballets still adhered to the long-enduring multi-movement symphonic form. The Essays, in contrast, are tightly crafted, self-contained explorations of a single theme – a concept that felt fresh and modern in the early 20th century, particularly as many composers of the era were expanding the symphonic structure, not contracting it.
The work’s title, Essay, is unique and a bit unusual, but describes the work rather aptly; much as a literary essay introduces a central argument and develops it through supporting points, Barber’s orchestral essay presents a clear musical thesis and continually reinforces it throughout the work. The main theme appears immediately in the opening bars, played by the flute, and is built on fourths and fifths—open, stable harmonies that he frequently employed. These intervals, which evoke a sense of spaciousness and clarity, are hallmarks of the early American orchestral sound and are also frequently employed in film music, often to convey a sense of awe or vastness.
Throughout the piece, Barber demonstrates exceptional skill in thematic development. As the work progresses, this theme is reshaped and reinterpreted through changes in mood, tempo, instrumentation, and texture. Yet, no matter how varied the expression, the motif remains identifiable. It never dissolves into abstraction or meanders off-topic, but instead evolves organically, much like a well-argued essay where the central point is never lost, only refined.
Leonard Bernstein
The modern American orchestra has been shaped by several monumental figures, but perhaps none so much as Leonard Bernstein. While his name recognition may have faded somewhat in the recent decades, films, such as Steven Spielberg’s adaptation of West Side Story and 2023’s Maestro, have helped to reintroduce his legacy to the public. Bernstein was the first American-born conductor to lead a major American orchestra (The New York Philharmonic), his compositions graced both concert halls and Broadway stages, and over the course of his career he won seven Emmy awards, two Tony awards and sixteen Grammys. He was also a dedicated music educator, with broadcasts of his Young People’s Concerts beloved by many. Bernstein’s eloquence in championing the importance of the arts was profound, and he had a deep understanding of why art matters and must endure.
“Art never stopped a war and never got anybody a job. That was never its function. Art cannot change events. But it can change people. It can affect people so that they are changed… because people are changed by art – enriched, ennobled, encouraged – they act in a way that may affect the course of events… by the way they vote, the way they behave, the way they think. It is the artists of the world, the feelers and the thinkers, who will ultimately save us; who can articulate, defy, insist, sing and shout the big dreams.”
-Leonard Bernstein, 1963
Missa Brevis (1988)
Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990)
Run Time: Approx. 9 minutes
Missa Brevis was written in 1988 to commemorate the retirement of long-time Atlanta Symphony Music Director Robert Shaw. Shaw had founded the Atlanta Symphony Chorus in 1970 and by the time of his retirement, it had grown into a nationally acclaimed ensemble
True to its name, Missa Brevis is indeed brief, with some of its movements clocking in at under one minute. The mass follows the full liturgical Ordinary text, with the exception of the “Credo,” which Bernstein chose to omit.
Much of the music was repurposed from Bernstein’s incidental score for Lillian Hellman’s play The Lark, a retelling of Joan of Arc. Because of its subject matter, the music carries distinct medieval and renaissance-era influences. It is sometimes told that Robert Shaw, upon hearing the score, suggested to Bernstein that it might make a good short mass, but this story remains unsubstantiated.
Missa Brevis features a unique orchestration – boy alto soloist, 6-part chorus, timpani and percussion. The influence of medieval plainchant is evident in the way the soloists interact with the rest of the chorus, yet the lively, sometimes punchy, off-kilter rhythms bear an obvious jazz influence, giving the work an energy that might fit into a Broadway musical as comfortably as it does the concert stage.
Chichester Psalms (1965)
Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990)
Run Time: Approx. 20 minutes
Commissioned by Walter Hussey, Dean of Chichester Cathedral in Sussex, Chichester Psalms was premiered in 1965 with Bernstein leading the New York Philharmonic and the Camerata Singers, before receiving its English premiere at Chichester Cathedral. Hussey offered Bernstein free reign in his writing, but he did note that he thought “many of us would be very delighted if there was a hint of West Side Story in it” (West Side Story written in 1957.) Bernstein was happy to comply and added to the work music from West Side Story’s prologue.
Before the premiere, Bernstein—well known for his whimsy—published the following poem in The New York Times, reflecting on the unexpected tonality he had settled on in his composition, and considering the possibility that it may “sicken” supporters of more modern, avant-garde music.
For hours on end, I brooded and mused
On materiae musicae, used and abused;
On aspects of unconventionality,
Over the death in our time of tonality, …
Pieces for nattering, clucking sopranos
With squadrons of vibraphones, fleets of pianos
Played with forearms, the fists and the palms —
And then I came up with the Chichester Psalms.
These psalms are a simple and modest affair,
Tonal and tuneful and somewhat square,
Certain to sicken a stout John Cager
With its tonics and triads in E-flat major,
But there it stands — the result of my pondering,
Two long months of avant-garde wandering —
My youngest child, old-fashioned and sweet.
And he stands on his own two tonal feet.
Despite Leonard Bernstein’s assertion that Chichester Psalms is a “simple and modest affair,” the work is anything but. With its challenging harmonies and intricate rhythmic meters, this composition is a complex challenge for orchestra and chorus. Bernstein, born into a Jewish family, believed that singing brought one closer to God, and this spiritual connection can be deeply felt in the work. Set entirely in Hebrew, the text is extracted from the Old Testament. Each movement includes a complete psalm plus a fragment of another.
Symphonic Dances (1940)
Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873-1943)
Run Time: Approx. 40 Minutes
Sergei Rachmaninoff was born in 1873 in Staraya Russa, Russia. He achieved fame in his lifetime primarily as a virtuoso pianist; in particular, he had very large hands and was able to reach up to a 10th on the keyboard. Although he spent most of his career in Russia, he emigrated to the United States in 1917. Symphonic Dances was the first work he completed in his new country.
As a composer, Rachmaninoff is perhaps best known for his unapologetically lush, emotional melodies. His tunes, often prone to becoming earworms, have been adopted into popular culture, being turned into love songs and used in film. During his lifetime, many critics dismissed his music as overly sentimental, unserious, and too obviously tonal, but his florid melodies have endured, leaving a lasting influence on 21st-century music. Rachmaninoff’s compositions left a particularly large footprint in film scoring, where his characteristic grandiosity and dramatic scope lends itself perfectly to epic storytelling.
To fully appreciate the sweeping scale of Rachmaninoff’s composition, it’s perhaps prudent to consider the events that colored artistic creation at the time of its composition in 1940. The 1930s were marked by extreme human strife, particularly in America. The Great Depression, the Dust Bowl, and the rise of global fascism following WWI were felt heavily by artists. Yet, it was also a period of massive technological innovation, including the first technicolor films and sound films, known as “talkies.” Perhaps as a reaction to these factors, the 1930s saw a burgeoning interest in grandiose, fantastical storytelling which would come to define American arts for the next century. Notable works created during this decade include The Hobbit (1937) and Gone with the Wind (book 1936, film 1939), classic comics like Superman (1938) and Batman (1939), as well as films like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), The Wizard of Oz (1939), and King Kong (1933). Perhaps these outsized stories were a form of escapism badly needed by a demoralized population, or perhaps they were simply a reaction to a leap forward in technology. Either way, Rachmaninoff’s grandiose Symphonic Dances fits perfectly into this artistic landscape.
The first movement features two main themes. The first is built around a three-note descending motive, underscored by an insistent rhythmic pattern. It conveys the swashbuckling spirit of a hero off on a grand adventure. The second theme, in contrast, is more romantic, initially introduced by the saxophone—an unusual feature of the work’s instrumentation. If the sweeping saxophone melody reminds you a bit of the iconic “Across the Stars” music from Star Wars Episode II, you are not alone! Many have speculated that it had a significant influence on John Williams’ renowned score.
The second movement, a minor-keyed waltz, has a distinctly Russian sound to it. Evocative of the types of Russian aristocratic scenes from famous stories like Anna Karenina, it features enigmatic harmonies characteristics of Rachmaninoff’s Russian contemporaries like Prokofiev and Shostakovich, though it remains decidedly more tonal than their works.
The third movement begins with an ominous lament before bursting into fiery action. The placement evokes the traditional 3rd act conflict in a book or movie, with music that feels perfect for an action-packed sword flight. A galloping rhythm drives the action throughout, spurring the hero on. The movement builds relentlessly, maintaining its whirling energy, and ultimately brings the piece to a satisfying conclusion.
– Valerie Sly, 2025