PROGRAM NOTES

Hailed by the Washington Post as “the saxophone’s best friend, fiercest advocate and primary virtuoso in the classical realm,” performer and composer Steven Banks strives to bring his instrument to the heart of the classical world. He commissions and writes music that expands the repertoire for saxophone, introducing audiences to new possibilities for artistic expression. Banks is a devoted and intentional supporter of diverse voices in the future of classical music. His work on stage and on the page prompted Seen and Heard International to write, “Banks has the potential to be one of the transformational musicians of the 21st century.”

This season Banks will bring his “charismatic confidence, technical flawlessness, adventurous phrasing, [and] unbelievably sweet tones’’ (Seen and Heard) to debut performances with the St. Louis, Indianapolis, Oregon, and Montréal symphony orchestras. In Europe, he makes debut appearances with the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic, BBC Symphony at the Barbican, Deutsche Symphonie-Orchester Berlin, and BBC National Orchestra of Wales. In recent seasons, he has made impressive debuts and built lasting relationships with the Cleveland Orchestra, Seattle Symphony, Pittsburgh Symphony, Boston Symphony Orchestra, New World Symphony, Minnesota Orchestra, Aspen Festival Orchestra, and the symphony orchestras of Cincinnati, Utah, San Diego, and Detroit. He enjoys collaborating with conductors including Xian Zhang, Manfred Honeck, Stéphane Dénève, Rafael Payare, Peter Oundjian, Ruth Reinhardt, and Miguel Harth-Bedoya.

Banks is committed to establishing the saxophone as a vital voice in classical music by commissioning works that showcase its expressive capabilities. This season, he premieres Joan Tower’s poignant new concerto “Love Returns” at the Colorado Music Festival, with additional consortium performances by the National Symphony Orchestra Washington, Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, and Toronto Symphony among others. Billy Childs’ “Diaspora”, written for Banks and commissioned by Young Concert Artists and ten orchestras—the largest consortium ever for a saxophone work—marks a major milestone in his mission. His growing list of recent premieres includes Carlos Simon’s “hear them”, Augusta Read Thomas’ “Haemosu’s Celestial Chariot Ride”, Christopher Theofanidis’ “Visions of the Hereafter”, and many others.

In recital, Banks appears with pianist Xak Bjerken at prestigious series including Cal Performances, Chamber Music Northwest, Davies Hall, Merkin Hall, The Kennedy Center, The Kravis Center, Festival Napa Valley and Chamber Music Sedona. As a chamber musician, he enjoys deep collaborations with the Miró Quartet and Verona Quartet, joining both ensembles for tours of newly co-created programmes. Banks is a founding member of the award-winning all-saxophone ensemble Kenari Quartet.
Described as “colourful and continuously fascinating” (The Boston Musical Intelligencer), Steven Banks’ compositions are increasingly in demand, reflecting his rising profile as a composer. He has been commissioned by Young Concert Artists and the chamber music festivals of Tulsa, Tucson, Bridgehampton, and Chamber Music North West. His recent works include “Reflections and Exaltations”, “Come What May”, and Cries, Sighs and Dreams all scored for saxophone and string quartet, and “Begin Again” for baritone saxophone, cello, piano, and meditation guide.

His solo works “Through My Mother’s Eyes” (commissioned by Chicago Symphony for Hilary Hahn) and “Fantasy on Recurring Daydreams” (premiered by pianist Zhu Wang) have received critical acclaim. His saxophone and piano works, including “Come As You Are”, are among the most performed pieces by saxophonists worldwide.

As part of his ongoing advocacy for diversity and inclusion, Steven Banks is excited to launch the “Come As You Are” project this season—a innovative community engagement initiative in partnership with orchestras, designed to increase representation in the concert hall through vibrant community performances and affordable ticket access. In addition, Banks spoke at TEDxNorthwesternU about overcoming institutional prejudices in the industry. He also co-created the Learning to Listen roundtable to explore the nuances of the Black experience in classical music, as well as Illuminate!, a conversation series on education, activism, and the LGBTQIA+ community in classical music, created in partnership with the Sphinx Organization.

Banks is proud to be the first saxophonist to receive a prestigious Avery Fisher Career Grant and earn First Prize at the Young Concert Artists Susan Wadsworth International Auditions. Banks serves as Saxophone and Chamber Music Faculty and Artist-in-Residence at the Cleveland Institute of Music. He has previously held teaching positions at Ithaca College, Baldwin Wallace Conservatory, and the University of Hartford. Banks studied with Taimur Sullivan, Otis Murphy Jr., and Galvin Crisp, earning degrees from Indiana University’s Jacobs School of Music and Northwestern University’s Bienen School of Music. Banks is an endorsing artist for Conn-Selmer instruments and D’Addario Woodwinds.

RICHARD STRAUSS
(1864-1949)

INSTRUMENTATION:

3 Flutes (one doubling Piccolo), 2 Oboes, English Horn, 2 Clarinets, 2 Bassoons, Contrabassoon, 4 Horns, 3 Trumpets, 3 Trombones, Tuba, Timpani, Harp, and Strings.

 

PREMIERE:

November 11, 1889, Weimar Opera Orchestra with the composer conducting, Weimar, Germany.

 

QCSO PERFORMANCE HISTORY:

Oscar Anderson conducted the Tri-City Symphony premiere of Don Juan in February, 1946, and Charles Gigante conducted the work in January 1960. James Dixon led performances in 1966, 1973, and 1982, followed by Guest conductor George Hanson in 1994, Donald Schleicher in 2007, and Mark Russell Smith in 2016.

The long evolution of the character of Don Juan that eventually led to Richard Strauss’s 1889 tone poem shows much about changes across European cultures over 250 years.

Don Juan first appeared in the 1630 play El burlador de Sevilla y convidado de piedra (The Trickster of Seville and the Stone Guest) by Spanish priest Tirso de Molina. Essentially a cautionary tale against sexual iniquity, El burlador de Sevilla includes the stern warning, “Let him who does such things expect the same! There is no deadline that is not met, no debt that is not paid, and no life that does not end!” Though Tirso’s rendering of Don Juan’s fate is tragic, he does provide a genuinely happy ending for Don Juan’s lovers: since by law each became his wives by conjugal act, his death makes them widows, and thus free to marry again.

Perhaps because Tirso’s story was so attractive for both moralistic and salacious reasons, dozens of later writers took up Don Juan as a subject. Molière offered his version in 1665, and already a tone of mild admiration was developing around Don Juan, along with the requisite reproaches. Molière’s Don Juan was (like the author himself) an avowed free-thinker, and the moral lessons conveyed focus more on Don Juan’s low ethical principles rather than his violation of divine law. Perhaps as a sign of changing times, Moliére omitted Tirso’s silver lining for the no-longer-married victims; his play instead ends with a lament by Don Juan’s sidekick, who is upset that he has lost his source of income.

Music lovers in particular are familiar with Mozart’s magisterial opera Don Giovanni of 1787, with libretto by Lorenzo Da Ponte. The moral warnings against promiscuity certainly survived in Da Ponte’s libretto, with the stone guest roaring, “Don Giovanni, you invited me to dine with you, and now the hour has come for you to pay the penalty! For everyone has their fate… Whoever sows evil shall reap evil!”. Nonetheless, Mozart’s opera includes plenty of winks about Don Juan’s art of seduction, humor that would likely have scandalized Tirso’s original audience and still raises eyebrows today.

And if the development from Tirso to Moliére to Mozart shows us subtle changes in social values, the evolution of Don Juan in the decades following point to a moral sea change. E.T.A. Hoffman, German Romantic author and astute commentator on music, penned his own short story version of Don Juan in 1813. Imaginatively set in a hotel near a performance of the Mozart opera, Hoffman’s story is focused much less on Don Juan’s moral failings, and instead emphasized his most Romantic of attributes: unquenchable desire. “Don Juan is a man who seeks continually the impossible,” Hoffman wrote. “In every pleasure, he discovers only disappointment; in every conquest, an emptiness that mocks him.”

Indeed, as the literary concept of Weltschmerz took hold among German writers, Don Juan evolved from immoral anti-hero to something of a tragic hero. Translated to English as “world-pain”, Weltschmerz emphasizes weariness of life and sorrow over the failure of the world to fulfill the spirit’s deepest desires. “I am not truly sad — only weary,” wrote poet Nikolaus Lenau, Weltschmerz’s greatest figure, in a personal letter. “It feels as though I have lived for thousands of years and felt everything life can offer.” To the German Romantic imagination, the same words could have been said by Don Juan himself, following his many sexual exploits. Unsurprisingly, Lenau penned a poem on the subject of Don Juan in 1844. “I want to traverse in a storm of pleasure,” declares Lenau’s hero, “and die of a kiss upon the lips of the last woman.”

A generation later, the 24-year-old composer Richard Strauss would transform the insatiable lust of Lenau’s Don Juan into one of the most astonishing and overwhelming musical moments in history. The opening flourish of Strauss’s Don Juan is a gesture of unbridled exuberance, a statement of conquest of the world and everything in it. Yet as shocking as this opening musical gesture is, the work’s conclusion is arguably even more jarring. Completely absent is the sermonizing stone guest, the dragging to hell, or the careful articulation of “the moral of the story.” In Strauss’s telling, rather, the defeat of Don Juan’s Weltschmerz is quiet, like the snuffing out of a candle.

LISTENING GUIDE

TEXTURE:
Much of the thrill and power of Strauss’s first flourish is that all of the strings play their first seven notes in unison (i.e., the same notes at the same time). They break into forceful chords on their first long note, joined by the woodwinds and horns, then finally by the trumpets and trombones (followed by the harp). It is almost as if Strauss is assembling the orchestra section by section.

FORM:
As a tone poem, Strauss’s work follows a continuous and free-wheeling form. Some have labeled the work a sonata-rondo form (because it has development devices similar to first symphonic movements, and the main theme returns repeatedly), but Strauss’s intention seems to be for his listeners to experience his work as a sort of stream of consciousness.

INSTRUMENTATION:
Strauss’s orchestration is a showcase for the entire orchestra; listen particularly for poignant moments on the oboe, and heroic gestures on the horn.

BILLY CHILDS 
(b. 1957)

INSTRUMENTATION:

2 Flutes (second doubling piccolo and alto flute), Oboe, English Horn, 2 Clarinets, Bassoon, Contrabassoon, 3 Horns, 2 Trumpets, 2 Trombones, Timpani, Percussion, Harp, Piano/Celesta, Solo Saxophone (Soprano and Alto), and Strings.

 

PREMIERE:

February 10, 2023, saxophonist Steven Banks with the Kansas City Symphony, Ruth Reinhardt conducting, Kaufman Center for the Performing Arts, Kansas City, Missouri.

 

QCSO PREMIERE

Composer Billy Childs writes:

Concerto for Saxophone and Orchestra is a symphonic poem which strives to chronicle the paradigm of the forced black American diaspora, as sifted through the prism of my own experience as a black man in America. When Steven Banks approached me about the piece, the first thing we discussed was the narrative: What particular story would the piece tell? How would it unfold? We decided that, much in the same way that [Maurice] Ravel’s Gaspard de la Nuit illustrates three poems by Aloysius Bertrand in three separate movements, so would this concerto do with poems by black poets. But then I started thinking of the elegantly succinct and fluent structure of [Samuel] Barber’s Symphony No. 1, where in one multi-sectioned suite, he brilliantly ties together a handful of thematic materials into a seamless and organic whole. So I started to compose from the vantage point that the poems Steven and I settled on (Africa’s Lament by Nayyirah Waheed, If We Must Die by Claude McKay and And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou) would be guideposts which inspired the direction of a three-part storyline: Motherland, If We Must Die and And Still I Rise. Also, I wanted to tie the piece together thematically with various melodies and motifs treated in different ways (inverted, augmented, contrapuntally treated, reharmonized, etc.), like a loosely structured theme and variations—except there are several themes used.

Movement I: MOTHERLAND

The program of the composition starts out on a positive note; the first theme played solo by the soprano saxophone, and later joined by an uplifting scherzo accompaniment from the orchestra, is meant to evoke a sense of well-being and security as Africans are living in the motherland (Motherland being the name of the first section). Of course, it is understood that within the confines of Africa itself, there were tribal wars, treachery and misery—even slavery; it’s not a utopia I’m trying to illustrate here. Rather, I want to depict a sense of purity—a purity arising from having been thus far unobstructed by the outside destructive forces that would later determine our fate. So the movement starts with a soprano sax melody that begins as a diatonic motif (accompanied by marimba and pizzicato cello), but then quickly becomes chromatic, modulating to several remote tonalities. After this, a 16th-note pattern in the strings transitions the listener into a sense of foreboding, signaling trouble on the horizon. As the harmonies of the string patterns continue to shift toward a more ominous shade, the soprano saxophone takes on a more urgent tone, playing short bursts of melodic fragments. Then a battle ensues, a battle between the slave traders and the future slaves, as signaled by the triplet figures in the soprano sax accompanied by triplet patterns in the orchestra, and climaxing in an orchestral tutti section bolstered by a brass fanfare. After a dissonant orchestral hit, the soprano sax utters a melancholy theme as the slaves are being led to the slave ship. This takes us to the first saxophone cadenza, which to my mind, represents a moment of painful reflection about being captured like a wild animal and led to a ship, the destination of which is to a future hell.

Movement II: IF WE MUST DIE

Part two of the journey (inspired by the powerful Claude McKay poem of the same name) begins with the first vision of the slave ship. This is illustrated by a loud tutti blast in the orchestra, following a slow six-measure buildup. The alto saxophone is now the voice of the piece, introducing a rapid 12-tone theme which turns out to be a constant phrase weaving in and out of the entire piece at various moments (it actually made its first appearance back in the first part, during the battle between the African natives and the slave traders). The slaves are boarded onto the ships and the middle passage journey to America begins; sweeping rapid scales in the lower strings, woodwinds and harp describe the back-and-forth movement of the waves. This section develops and reaches a high point with a jarring saxophone multiphonic pair of notes followed by a forearm piano cluster; we now see America for the first time, from the point of view of the slaves. A percussion section and saxophone exchange—followed by an antiphonal, almost pointillistic push and pull between the alto saxophone and the orchestra—aims to represent the confusion, rage and terror of the slave trade, where families are ripped apart as humans are bought and sold like cattle. The subsequent section is a mournful lament of despair, meant to outline the psychological depression caused by the sheer brutality of this new slavery paradigm. The melodic theme here, played by the alto sax, is in its original version, whereas the melancholy soprano sax theme near the end of the first movement is the inversion of this melody. While this is happening, there is a background pattern played by vibraphone and celesta which depicts a slow and steady growing anger; this figure gets faster and faster until it overtakes the foreground and brings us into the next scherzo-like section. This section is marked by an interplay between the alto sax and the orchestra and is describing a resistance, anger, and rebellion against being subjected to subhuman treatment over the course of centuries. After the apex of this segment occurs—characterized by five orchestral stabs—the alto saxophone plays a short and tender cadenza which signifies the resilience of black Americans and the introduction of the idea of self love, self worth and self determination.

Movement III: AND STILL I RISE

This final section of the concerto/tone poem is about black empowerment. The church has always been a cultural focal point in the black community, a sanctuary providing psychological and emotional relief from the particular hardships of black life in America. It is also a place to worship, pray, and wrestle with the larger spiritual and existential questions which concern all of humankind. And beyond that (or perhaps because of that), the church is historically the central hub of black political and cultural activism in America. This is the ethos that the last section of the concerto is reflecting. So this final chapter of the piece starts out with a hymn-like passage, which is actually a variation of the opening folk-like melody at the very beginning of the concerto. It is a plaintive reading orchestrated for just alto saxophone and piano, as though the solo saxophonist were a singer accompanied by a piano during a Sunday church service. Soon the melodic theme in the alto sax is treated with a lush accompaniment reminiscent of the Romantic era, as a healing self-awareness and love becomes more palpable. This is followed by march-like ostinato which symbolizes steely determination in the midst of great and formidable obstacles as the alto sax plays rapidly above the orchestral momentum, until we finally reach the victorious fanfare at the conclusion of the piece. Maya Angelou’s shining poem reminds us (and America) that black people cannot and will not be held to a position of second-class citizenship—we will still rise.

READ Africa’s Lament by Nayyirah Waheed

READ If We Must Die by Claude McKay

READ And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

MAURISE RAVEL
(1875-1937)

INSTRUMENTATION:

3 Flutes (second and third flute doubling Piccolo), Alto Flute, 2 Oboes, English Horn, 2 Clarinets, E-flat Clarinet, Bass Clarinet, 3 Bassoons, Contrabassoon, 4 Horns, 4 Trumpets, 3 Trombones, Tuba, Timpani, Percussion, 2 Harps, Celesta, and Strings.

 

PREMIERE:

June 8, 1912, Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris, Pierre Monteux conducting.

 

QCSO PERFORMANCE HISTORY:

The second suite from Daphnis et Chloé was slow to make its way to the Tri-City Symphony, premiering here in February 1962. James Dixon led performances in 1970, 1983, and 1989; Donald Schleicher conducted the work in 2004. The most recent performances were conducted by Mark Russell Smith in 2017.

Many important twentieth century orchestral works trace their roots to the Ballets Russes (Russian Ballet Company). In an annual performance season in Paris, impresario Sergei Diaghilev attempted to satisfy the Parisian appetite for all things Russian by presenting spectacular ballet productions, often to newly-commissioned musical scores. Perhaps the most famous series of orchestral works composed for the Ballets Russes were Igor Stravinsky’s The Firebird (1910), Petrushka (1911), and The Rite of Spring (1913). All three were recognized immediately as works of profound genius, both as orchestral works and as music ideally suited to choreography. But a glance at the Stravinsky timeline begs one question: what happened in 1912?

It turns out that, while Stravinsky was on track to complete The Rite of Spring for the company’s 1912 season, various factors led to Diaghilev’s decision to postpone the work’s premiere. Chief among them was the demanding new work Daphnis et Chloé, employing a sumptuous score by emerging French composer Maurice Ravel, who had been laboring at his “choreographic symphony in three parts” since 1909. The subject of the ballet was the Greek myth of two young foundlings who fall in love and, after various trials and misadventures, are ultimately united by the god Pan. Ravel described the work as a “vast musical fresco” depicting the idealized “Greece of my dreams.” The premiere production of Daphnis received from its audience neither the effusive acclaim enjoyed by The Firebird nor the riotous scorn heaped on The Rite of Spring; audiences and critics were generally indifferent to Ravel’s work, considering it too lengthy and not ideally suited to ballet. But musicians ultimately recognized the composer’s singular talent as an orchestra, and his sensuous and exuberant music has become one of the twentieth century’s most beloved works. Stravinsky himself considered it “one of the most beautiful products of all French music.”

Daphnis was not Ravel’s last attempt at choreographic music that failed to please the luminaries in the field of ballet. La Valse (1920), the composer’s doomsday portrait of the Viennese Waltz tradition, was conceived as a ballet but was ultimately rejected by Diaghiev for choreographic purposes. The near-universal acclaim of musicians and their audiences to Ravel’s music, and the concurrent indifference of the ballet-going public betrays the fact that Ravel was a composer of orchestral music first. Or, as Ravel himself declared later in his career, “The composer must be the master of rhythm — not the dancer.”

LISTENING GUIDE

ORCHESTRATION:
Nothing quite like the opening of Daphnis et Chloé Suite No. 2 exists in orchestral literature. While its constituent parts (melodies, harmonies, textures) could be described with technical details, as a whole it is profoundly mysterious.

INSTRUMENTATION:
Listen for the elegant and flexible iconic flute solo. Notice how Ravel navigates the range of the flute, from its lowest pitches to its golden upper register.

INSTRUMENTATION:
The closing bacchanale includes a furious and fleeting solo for the E-flat clarinet. Sometimes called the “piccolo clarinet”, this little powerhouse perfectly captures the celebratory mood of Ravel’s magnificent finale.