Philharmonic Concert

carthage music department presents

Philharmonic Concert Dr. E. Edward Kawakami, conductor with 2020 Concerto Competition Winner Azniv Khaligian ‘22

Thursday, March 10, 2022 | 7:30 p.m. | A. F. Siebert Chapel

program Hebrides Overture

Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)

The Lark Ascending Ralph Vaughan Wiliams (1872-1958) Azniv Khaligian, violin 2020 Carthage Philharmonic Concerto Competition Winner Hungarian March

Hector Berlioz (1803-1869)

There is no Intermission

philharmonic personnel Violin 1 Azniv Khaligian* Lee Fulkerson Katrina Briselden Emma Conran Violin 2 Ashlynne Edwards** Julia Rieckmann Claire Guenther Riley Conway Eleanor Riley Viola Sam Gomberg** Carissa Kiehl Genevieve Zauhar Megan Baumeister Meghan Keifer-Zagar Elena Cordoba Olivia Carson

Cello William Dowell** Grace Hill Zoey Kurka Lily Lourigan Brian Dean Abby Roushia

Bassoon Bryan Weiss Horn Lena Welch** Sophia Figura

Bass Sydney Edwards**

Trumpet Caroline Lilly** Colin Conway

Flute Bailey Schneyr** Emma Eckes (piccolo) Gabriela Booth

Trombone Angela Barone Seyi Ajibade Samuel Hoopingarner

Oboe Hannah Wong** Amber Ward

Tuba Drake DeBoer**

Clarinet Katiann Nelson** Zach Ward Lexy Klawonn

Timpani Henry Meyer** Percussion Justin Hall Erik Wilson * principal ** concertmaster

program notes The Lark Ascending

He rises and begins to round, He drops the silver chain of sound, Of many links without a break, In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.

For singing till his heaven fills, ‘Tis love of earth that he instils, And eer winging up and up, OUr valley is his golden cup, And he the wine which overflows To lift us with him as he goes.

Til lost on his aërial rings In light, and then the fancy sings.

(George Meredith, 1828-1909)

Taking its title from George Meredith’s poem of the same name, The Lark Ascending evokes the birdsong of the lark with a single violin that soars and chirrups over the orchestra. Opening with an rhapsodic solo, the solo violinist ascends higher and higher as she calls out to the audience. Leaving the strings behind, the violinist creates a serene, yet melancholic, melody that floats over the silent orchestra. The strings return to support the soloist, murmuring underneath the clarity of the violin’s birdsong. Eventually, the winds answer the soloist with songs of their own. From the call of the clarinet to the fluttering of the flute, the winds become companions to the violin as it ascends into the sky. Yet, ascenions, like all journeys through nature, are ever changing. Gusts of wind propel the orchestra forward before settling into a calm serenity. The soloist continues its song, adding new voices through fluid double-stops and interjections from the winds. These interjections become their own conversations as the winds take the time to sing with each other away from the soloist. But the violinist always returns, floating up over the orchestra as it sings its birdsong. The dialogue continues through the journey, with the strings occasionally surfacing from the texture to sing their own melody before subsiding into the landscape. However, the bird calls begin to die away, leaving only the original lark in its ascension. But that lark soars, with the violinist flying and singing through her finale. Eventually, the song retreats, with flourishes giving way to a serene clarity that floats away.

The Hebrides Op. 26 The Hebrides is a painting made of music. Depicting the Scottish islands that Felix Mendelssohn journeyed through as a student, the overture showcases his reaction to the extraordinary landscape. Even though the opening of the piece was sketched in the infancy of the journey and was nearly identical to the finished opening, it took numerous years and multiple revisions before Felix finished the overture. In a letter to his sister, Fanny, Felix wrote that (an earlier version of ) The Hebrides was incomplete, smelling “more of counterpoint than of train-oil and seagulls and salted cod” and that “it should be just the other way round.” Luckily, in his final version– called the “London” version–creates a picturesque landscape through sound.

This landscape is fueled by its opening motive in the cellos and violas, which passes through numerous instruments with its rhythm pattern being further redeveloped throughout the piece. Undulating eighth and sixteenth notes create the waves that

program notes support the melody. Winds float above the water like the mist above the sea. A trumpet and horn fanfare announce an arrival into the Hebrides with a power often reserved for royalty. The currents shift and change, with waves of sixteenth notes crashing into the orchestra. Yet within the storms and treacherous tides are periods of calm, with the winds providing the last respite before the turbulent finale. Flurries of diminished arpeggios and striking wind entrances create a musical storm as the orchestra fights through the sea. In the end the storm subsides into three quiet notes that shroud the islands in mist and mystery.

“March Hongroise” (“Hungarian March) from La Damnation de Faust La Damnation de Faust lies at the crossroads between the stage and the concert hall. Called by Berilioz a “légende dramatique,” its imaginative musical landscapes made this recreation of Johann Wolfgan von Goethe’s Faust difficult to stage in the theatre. It was through the concert hall–where audience members relied on the music to supply the setting–that La Damnation de Faust found its early success. It is through this musical imagination that the “March Hongroise” contains its splendor.

Amusingly, this splendor is a passing aside in the larger plot, with the work’s protagonist, Faust, watching the Hungarian army in the distance as he contemplates his purpose in life. The glorious brass fanfares and the striking percussive beat confuse Faust, who wonders why these young soldiers seek glory through battle.

Its grandeur is matched by a militaristic discipline, with a steady rhythmic core juxtaposed with sudden changes in dynamics and instrumentation. Early on, this discipline remains steadfast as the winds and strings alternate between various precise motives, however, it slowly becomes more enthralled with glory and battle as the march rages on. After a precise passing of the primary motive–a group of triplets followed by a series of quarter and eight notes–between various instruments, the orchestra explodes into a show of force and power. Low strings and brass hammer away as the winds and upper strings fly into the stratosphere, culminating in a final fermata in the brass. Short, but intense, “March Hongroise” shows off its might through a display of grandeur.

Fine Arts at Carthage acknowledges that the land on which our building stands is part of the traditional Potawatomi, Sioux, Peoria, Kickapoo, and Miami peoples past, present, and future. These homelands reside along the southwest shores of Michigami, North America’s largest system of freshwater lakes. We honor with gratitude the land itself, and the people who have stewarded it throughout the generations. Many Indigenous peoples thrive in this place—alive and strong, and this calls us to commit to continuing to learn how to be better stewards of the land we inhabit as well.

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