For the bicentennial of Norway’s most distinguished writer, Ludvig Holberg (1684-1754), composer Edvard Grieg penned two tributes: a cantata for men’s voices, and a piano suite titled From Holberg’s Time. The next year, Grieg reworked his Baroque-inspired piano suite into an arrangement for string orchestra.

Decades before the trend of “neoclassical” music, Grieg’s “Suite in the Olden Style,” as he subtitled it, mined Baroque conventions that flourished during Holberg’s life. The Praeludium launches the suite with a galloping rhythm in the accompaniment, establishing an exciting, propulsive mood. The Sarabande, by contrast, steps patiently through the ornate, three-beat pulse of a dance that originated in Spain. The Gavotte, a muscular dance from France, begins with the customary lead-in of two strong beats. A contrasting section takes the form of a Musette, characterized by the droning accompaniments inspired by bagpipes.

The Air leaves dance forms aside for a long, singing melody in a melancholy minor key. The closing Rigaudon reflects a lively French dance style, while also delving into the Baroque style of the concerto grosso, with soloists—here a violin and viola—offsetting the texture of the full string sections.

Aaron Grad ©2014

Orinoco Sketches was written in 2011 for the LA Phil as a memorial for my grandmother, Hannelore Kahane (née Schaefer), who died in May of 2010 at the age of 89. Lore, as she was known to my family, fled Germany in January of 1939 on the SS Orinoco, the last ship to cross the Atlantic before the ill-fated St. Louis, which was famously turned away from all ports. Some nine months later—her family having been denied entry into the U.S. while they waited in Havana for their lottery number to be called— she settled in LA, where both my father and I were born. In her final years, amidst a courageous battle against multiple cancers, my grandmother translated the diaries she'd kept as a teenager from German to English. The last time that I saw her, I asked for permission to email myself those diaries, which became the initial impulse for this piece. In today's political climate, little else need be said about this brief song cycle, suffice it to say that I would not be here to perform it had my grandmother not been allowed into this country. This week's performances mark the world premiere of a newly orchestrated version of the piece, commissioned by The Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra.

— © Gabriel Kahane

Gabriel Kahane ©

(Duration: 6 min)

In 1903, Jean Sibelius wrote a suite of incidental music for a play titled Death, written by his brother-in-law. The next year he extracted the first selection as Valse triste (Sad Waltz), selling it to a publisher to help finance his move to Ainola. Ever since it was first performed on its own in 1904, the waltz has been one of Sibelius’ most popular concert pieces.

In its original setting in the play, Valse triste accompanies a ghostly dance by a dying mother among an imagined crowd, until the dancers vanish and only Death stands in the doorway. Muted strings establish the dark tone of the long-lined melody, while the flute and clarinet appear later in music that offers momentary optimism. The texture of the final cadence, intoned by just four violins, leaves a cold, lonely chill at the end.

Aaron Grad ©2024