Intimate Voices: Dvořák, Sibelius, and Kodály

The theme of the final 2013-14 Accordo program, and, indeed, the subtitle of our opening work, the Sibelius Quartet, is Intimate Voices. But, perhaps the term “intimate” may not be fully understood in this context. We often use the word intimate to imply something quiet, secretive, and perhaps between two people. The Oxford dictionary defines intimate as closely acquainted, familiar, private and personal.

First of all, no composer that I have ever known has thought of their music as being private. And although I would not assume that everyone would be familiar with each of these works, each work is very popular, and written by a composer with a well established name known by most music lovers So, what is so “intimate” about this program?

Perhaps, it is that each composer is sharing part of his innermost soul with us, the players and the listeners, through the expression of a nationalistic identity. In the case of Dvořák, this is a somewhat split identity, as this quintet, like it's sister work the “American String Quartet,” was written during Dvořák's happy times in Spillville, IA. These three great composers all felt a deep pride in their individual heritages and sought to express that nationalism through their music in different ways.

The early musical life of Sibelius was spent concentrating on trying to be a virtuoso violinist, while his compositions were inspired mostly by Wagner. But, in the early 1990s, Sibelius had some changes of heart. First, he decided to abandon his quest to be a concert violinist, having said, "It was a very painful awakening when I had to admit that I had begun my training for the exacting career of a virtuoso too late."  He also, somewhat suddenly, turned his back on Wagner's music, calling it pompous and vulgar. Of course, Wagner's music was all the rage at the time, and it is likely that after being initially swept up in hoop-la, as it were, Sibelius began to feel the Finnish ground under his feet and to search out his own style based on a musical nationalism that he himself would be instrumental in defining. His more lasting influences were perhaps Bruckner, with the use of his long pedal tones and slower moving harmonies, and Tchaikovsky. This last influence is ironic as Tchaikovsky was rejected by some of his contemporaries for not being nationalistic enough in his compositions, but instead swayed by lieder-based European romanticism.

In any event, Sibelius, like Mahler, loved nature and would spend hours noting the changes of season and its effects on the nature around him. Sibelius responded to these changes with exceptional intensity as he listened for the changes in bird song and other wildlife, while noting with delight the arrival of every spring and celebrating the wild flowers again blossoming. At the same time, Sibelius was influenced by the folk music of the people around him and in his own home, teeming with daughters. All of these inner workings on Sibelius's life and emotional state are reflected directly in his compositional style; sort of a window to his being, through which he has invited us to look.

Zoltan Kodály is remembered as much for his research and collection of Hungarian folk music as he is for being a masterful composer. Perhaps no other western composer has integrated so much indigenous folk music into their works as Kodály. He was also held in high regard as an ethno-musicologist, and perhaps most prominently as having dedicated much of his life to reconsidering and revamping the way music was talked about to children. He wrote many works intended only for the young and the development of their musical skills. But his mature compositions demonstrate an extraordinary sense of originality in form and content, while blending seamlessly the elements of the extraordinary amount of folk music he unearthed and a complete mastery of Western European compositional style.

In this duo for violin and cello, the result is an almost eerie sense of improvisation for much of the work. Indeed, this impression is also felt by the musicians playing the work.

For those of us who know it well, we rarely play anything in this duo the same way twice consecutively and feel an unusual freedom to be personally expressive, as we are out in an old, small Hungarian community, playing the music of our region for our neighbors after a long day. Kodály's understanding of this music combined with his understanding of traditional Western music and musicians results in this very intimate feeling for all, as if he is there, telling the story himself.

Dvořák's Quintet is at times almost programmatic, although he does not actually give us a story line to follow. The introduction to the first movement somehow elicits the image of the sunrise over the plains of Iowa, and I doubt that anyone could have depicted it more perfectly. This sunrise momentarily gives way to a cloudy threat of something darker. But, true to the general nature of this work, the dark subsides as quickly as it came; we return to the light, and we are off and running. Such is the nature of this entire work: joyous themes based on an endless wealth of ideas, but occasionally giving way to the somber (perhaps as if to reflect the inevitable difficulties facing the everyday residents). In the second movement, initially a bouncy, rollicking work that is as much fun to play as it is to listen, the music suddenly stops and the viola becomes the lonely somber voice with a simple, but beautiful melody. It is such that one cannot help to envision the lone Native American, on his horse far in the distance, literally riding into the sunset. The variation movement seems to tell a series of tales at night around a fire. Each tale tells of the different life and emotional woes of the predominantly Czech residents of Spillville, IA. But the last movement returns with great joy combined with the genius of Dvořák's “musical photography,” for which he is so celebrated.

And what is more intimate than a slide show from the travels of one of histories great composers?

Come and join us on Mon, May 6 for our “intimate” romp through these three great works.

—Guest post by Accordo musician Ronald Thomas