EMERGING ARTISTRY

Composed 1899, by Maurice Ravel (1875-1937).

Maurice Ravel was only 24 when his piano solo Pavane pour une Infante défunte (Pavane for a Dead Princess) became the rage of the drawing rooms and salons of Paris in 1899, but the work already held the unmistakable stamp of his style. A graduate of the Paris Conservatoire, young Ravel had worked with Gabriel Fauré and was an admirer of Emmanuel Chabrier and Erik Satie. Yet though he was an ardent scholar of a wide range of musical forms, his own musical language was immediately apparent in this short piece: in the lightness of touch, in the change of mood and timbre using harmonic rather than dynamic shifts, and in the deftness of melody.

The Impressionist movement was in full flower and the Pavane may have gained some interest due to the strong image that its title conjured. Who was this dead princess? Ravel always assured listeners that the title was nothing more than a fancy of his, that he imagined the tune to be “a slow Spanish dance to which a little princess may once have danced.” Indeed, the only real princess involved was the Princess Edmond de Polignac, a noted patroness of the arts, to whom Ravel dedicated the piece.

The work was popular enough that Ravel orchestrated it in 1910 (the version heard in today’s concert), though in later years he tried to distance himself from it. He felt that it stole too much from Chabrier, and complained that its highly sectional ABACA construction showed “quite poor form,” and was “inconclusive and conventional.” And he may simply have been tired of amateur pianists trying their hand at it. He told one such performer, “Next time, I hope you’ll remember that I wrote a Pavane for a deceased princess … not a deceased Pavane for a princess.”

Yet there is something ineffable and moving in this deceptively simple work that cannot be dismissed. It unfolds on a stately eighth-note pulse, following the form of the Renaissance pavane, a courtly dance. Each successive iteration of the main theme is contrasted by growing orchestral textures, from plaintive woodwinds in the B section to sweeping strings and harp in the C section. Ravel builds on each reiteration as well, stating the main theme first with horns, then with a flute and oboe duet, and finally growing from pianissimo to fortissimo in the strings in the course of the last few bars. The overall effect is never demanding or abrupt, yet insistent in its own subtle way.

Composed 1901, by Gabriel Pierné (1863 - 1937)

Gabriel Pierné wrote his Konzertstück, op. 39 in 1901 and premiered the work after his appointment to becoming the chief conductor of the Concerts Cologne in France. Primarily known in the time as a conductor, his compositions were often overlooked. The Konzertstück is a single movement concerto in three parts written in a mixed impressionist and romantic style typical of Pierné. It is very lyrical and typical of what you might expect a harp concerto to sound like. It is very angelic and beautiful.

A piece of historical context: the work was premiered by Henriette Renié (1875-1956) and dedicated to her harp teacher Alphonse Hasselmans (1845-1912). My own former harp teacher, Judy Loman, studied with Carlos Salzedo (1886 – 1961), a former classmate of Renié in the harp studio of Hasselmans at the Paris Conservatory of Music. Most harpists today, including myself, can trace their harp lineage back to Hasselmans, as he taught a major generation of harpists that are still famous as teachers of legend themselves to this day within the harp world, like Salzedo and Renié. Most modern harp techniques are descended from this one teacher at the Paris Conservatory in this one period, and consequently there is a large body of music that was written for the harp in France around the turn of the 20th century.

When I first heard Konzertstück, I would not say that I was immediately drawn to the piece. This was simply because I was much more interested in Ginastera’s lively harp concerto. However, I decided to do the USA International Harp Competition, the world’s largest, and I passed the competition to get into the competition, being one of only five Americas representing the nation out of 49 contestants. The final round of the USA International Harp included Konzertstück, and so I learned the piece for that competition. While I did not make it that far in that competition, I was thrilled to win the Royal Conservatory’s Corcoran Concerto competition with this work. I premiered the piece with the Royal Conservatory Orchestra in Toronto in the spring of 2023 with conductor Bill Eddins. While the work may not have been my favorite, audiences seemed to really appreciate my performance of it. I think the piece is a little delicate for my taste, but as I have played the work over the last couple years, I have appreciated it more and more. Whenever you play a piece, you must find something that makes it meaningful to you, and I try to focus on the languid beauty of the piece. Its long lines and bittersweet harmonies are precious. The piece is an impressionist fantasy, and it moves freely and dreamily.

Note by the soloist, Ben Albertson

Composed 1951 or earlier, by Florence Price (1887 - 1953)

“To begin with, I have two handicaps — those of sex and race. I am a woman; and I have some Negro blood in my veins. I should like to be judged on merit alone.”  – Letter to Serge Koussevitzky, music director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, from Florence Price, 1943, asking him to review her compositions.

At this point in her career, Florence Price was not an unknown. In 1932, she had achieved national recognition after winning first prize for her Symphony in E minor in the prestigious Wanamaker Foundation Competition. A year later, she became the first African American woman to have a work performed by a major orchestra at the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair. There is no record that Koussevitzky replied.

It would take over 70 years for the Boston Symphony to program a single work by her. Boston – the city where she attended New England Conservatory from 1903-1906, earning a double performance degree with honors. Boston – the city where she found her unique musical voice, supported by her professors, inspired by the words of Antonín Dvořák, “I am now satisfied that the future music of this country must be founded upon what are called the negro melodies...they are the songs of America and your composers must turn to them.” Boston – the city where she faced racism in housing and from students. 

“I should like to be judged on merit alone.” No historical composer has generated as much public interest in recent memory as Florence Beatrice Price and she is now one of the most widely programmed American composers of her generation. Given her vast catalog, boundless creativity, and fascinating life story, it’s easy to understand why. I hope you will read more at the QR code below. It is a story of heartache, love, loss, faith and hope. Born in 1887 in Little Rock, Arkansas, she eventually settled in Chicago by 1927 to escape increasing racial tensions in the south. There she furthered her studies in composition, orchestration, and organ and began a long period of prolific and rich compositional activity. Her music was performed and published, and she was active in the cultural life of the community.

After her death in 1953, almost all her 300 compositions faded into obscurity. In 2009, a collection of her scores and papers were discovered in an abandoned house in Illinois and there has been a resurgence of research and programming of her music.

It's important to know the complete history of classical music, including times when voices have been oppressed, silenced and ignored. The future is dependent on our understanding of history.

“I should like to be judged on merit alone.” Originally written for solo organ in the 1950s, Adoration is one of her best-known works. A beautiful work of devotion and sincerity and possibly a reflection of her deep faith, it was one of her last compositions. Previously considered lost, it is a brief prayerful work in three parts – a long meditative melody, a responsorial section reaching an expressive peak and finally a return to the opening melody, cadencing in Amen.

Note by Pam Chaddon

Composed 1937-38, by Béla Bartók (1881 - 1945)

Playing Bartók’s second violin concerto is like stepping into a world where primal energy collides with luminous mysticism — music that feels both ancient and eerily alive. Written in 1938 as Europe edged toward war, the concerto absorbs the tension of its time, unfolding as a soundscape full of danger, wonder, and unbridled adventure. Bartók, deeply influenced by folk traditions, transforms the raw rhythms and haunting melodies of Transylvanian folk music into something entirely his own. The violin here, becomes a storyteller — soaring through flashy virtuosity, murmuring in fragile harmonics, and summoning spirits that flicker between beauty and menace.

This piece came from a turbulent time in Bartók’s life. Fascism was rising in Europe, and his anti-authoritarian beliefs left him feeling increasingly isolated in Hungary. The death of his mother in 1938 deepened his sorrow, and the looming decision to leave for America added to the weight he was carrying. Yet out of this uncertainty, he created something fiercely beautiful. When it premiered in 1939 with Zoltán Székely as soloist and Willem Mengelberg conducting the Concertgebouw Orchestra, audiences were struck by its boldness—music that fused complexity with deep passion, refusing to be swallowed by the darkness around it.

What makes Bartók’s music so striking is the way he transforms folk traditions into something raw and modern. His melodies break apart into jagged motifs and hypnotic patterns. His signature “night music” glows in eerie tremolos and sliding harmonics, creating a world where danger and enchantment intertwine. The pounding rhythms and sharp dissonances give the music a primal, ritualistic feel. And even in its moments of delicacy, as in the second movement’s dreamlike variations, folk influences are never far, as if the spirits of distant villages have seeped into the score.

Playing this concerto means entering a world full of contradictions—a place where history and fantasy blur, where savagery and sublimity exist side by side. It is music that demands both ferocity and fragility, a testament to his belief in folk roots as the soul of human expression. Every note pulses with the heartbeat of the earth itself, a reminder that even in chaos, beauty persists.

Note by the soloist, Lun Li