From the Composer: Cindy McTee

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Composer Cindy McTee says hello!

We’ll be performing her Adagio for String Orchestra on our March 25 & 28 televised concerts on WQLN PBS.

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Cindy McTee

Greetings from St. Louis where I remain at home with my husband, looking forward to the day when we can all experience live performances, without restrictions, in a concert hall. In the meantime, forward-thinking musicians, board members, and administrators continue to find creative ways to present music, and I would like to thank the Erie Philharmonic for doing just that.

I thought I would begin with a few comments about my creative process. Where does music come from? What provides the initial inspiration? Does a lightning bolt strike? For me, ideas generally come gradually. Sometimes I begin by conceptualizing the larger aspects of form and content. Then I work in layers to create the infrastructure. But most often I compose more organically, starting with what I call germ seeds or sound objects—a single sonority or a sequence of short melodic/rhythmic events. And then I “encourage” the larger gestures and textures to evolve out of these materials.

I should also say that the impulse to compose often begins as a rhythmical stirring and leads to a physical response—tensing muscles, gesturing with hands and arms, or quite literally, dancing. It might have been Stravinsky who said that “music either sings or dances.” Some of my pieces (for example, my Adagio) focus on singing lyricism and free, elongated melodic lines, while others rely more heavily on pulse and shorter, tightly controlled rhythmic ideas often closely associated with jazz.

We all relate to music in various ways—intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, and physically—mind, heart, soul, and body. About seven years of ballroom dance lessons in the ’90s helped me to get in touch with the physical aspects of music—breath, tension, and release—and “tap” into my intuition to connect musical time and space in ways I could not have imagined otherwise.

Although I have never made a conscious attempt to create “American” music, I would have to agree with those who have said that my music generally reflects my American roots more than my European-based training. Charles Ward of the Houston Chronicle helped me to understand this in a review of my Circuits:

Circuits . . . was a charging, churning celebration of the musical and cultural energy of modern-day America. From repetitive ideas reminiscent of Steve Reich to walking bass lines straight from jazz, Circuits refracted important American musical styles of this century. Similarly, the kaleidoscope of melodies, musical “licks” and fragmented form aptly illustrated the electric, almost convulsive nature of American society near the start of the 21st century.

My Adagio, however, represents another “Americanism” having to do with the presentation of diverse, even conflicting, musical materials in the same piece—something I attribute to Charles Ives. For example, in the opening of this work, one hears a dissonant, atonal, tension-filled counterpoint of melodies that eventually give way later on in the piece to harmonic consonance.

As a composer, I came of age in the ’70s, a time of turning on both political and artistic fronts. I experienced crossing the Berlin Wall and living behind it as a student in Poland. Soon after, I broke away from my modernist training to a place somewhere in between it and the world I had known as a kid—jazz, Gershwin, and (from my dad's collection of recordings) turn-of-the-century romantic composers like Respighi, Rachmaninoff, and Sibelius.

I consider myself lucky to have composed during a time when anything is possible and composers can speak in multiple languages if they want to, sometimes in the same piece. I would like my music to communicate an integrated and balanced approach between formalism and spontaneity, objectivity and subjectivity, brain and heart. I hope my Adagio achieves these objectives on some level for those who listen to it—and I thank you for engaging with me through music, especially during these difficult times.

 Better days are just around the corner. All the best to you. —Cindy

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Our Monthly Playlist: Guest Artist Edition

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Pianist-composer Michael Brown and cellist Nick Canellakis share what they’re listening to!

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Nick’s Playlist Picks

Nick Canellakis

Scriabin: Prometheus - Chicago Symphony

I came across this piece by accident in the car. I had never even heard of it, and it blew me away. It's probably the most out there, weird Scriabin you're going to find, and has one of the greatest final cadences I've ever heard. The final chord made my jaw drop.

Franck Symphony in D minor: Berlin Philharmonic with Lorin Mazell

I hadn't heard this piece since I played it as a student at the Curtis Institute, and for some reason I decided to revisit it recently.  I love Franck, and this is quintessentially him. Passionate, dark, and heart on the sleeve romantic. 

Mendelssohn String Quartet in A minor, Op. 13 - Guarneri Quartet

I recently played this piece for the first time, so I naturally went to the Guarneri Quartet to study up. I, along with most string players I know, grew up listening to their recordings, and they still represent the gold standard for me. First violinist Arnold Steinhardt's way of turning a melody goes straight to my heart.

(For a totally different, but equally brilliant approach, check out Quartuor Ebene)

Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto no. 2 - William Kapell and Pittsburgh Symphony with William Steinberg

My best friend and recital partner Michael Brown introduced me to this recording. I'm a sucker for this piece, and this recording is worth a listen not just for Kapell's brilliance, but the gorgeous orchestra playing of the Pittsburgh Symphony.

Last Leaf - Danish String Quartet

The Danish Quartet performs innovative programs that mix classics by composers like Beethoven and Mozart with traditional Danish folk music. This is a CD of all folk music, and it's incredibly fun to listen to.

Michael’s Playlist Picks

Michael Brown

Nikolai Medtner: Piano Concerto No. 2, 

Geoffrey Tozer, Piano, Neeme Järvi, Conductor, London Philharmonic Orchestra. Medtner was a brilliant Russian composer-pianist and close friend of Sergei Rachmaninoff. I'm obsessed with the alluring freshness and vitality of his music and this Concerto is a riveting experience from start to finish. For another spellbinding recording of the work, check out Medtner's own performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2p-PUA0fGs&t=656s

Strauss/arr. Schulz-Evler: The Blue Danube

Josef Lhévinne, piano. This is one of my desert island recordings--it knocks my socks off every time. To think it was only one take!.

Solo Monk

Thelonius Monk, piano. This entire album is worth checking out--its brilliance has kept me company on many nights during the pandemic.

Anton Arensky: Waltz from Suite No. 1 for Two Pianos, Op. 15

Harold Bauer/Ossip Gabrilowitsch, pianists. These two "golden age" pianists from the turn of the 20th century had fascinating lives, knew everybody, and left rich musical legacies. They play this delightful waltz as one, with a lightness and spirit that is unparalleled. 

Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 1

Leonard Bernstein: Piano and Conductor. New York Philharmonic, 1960. Leonard Bernstein play/conducting Beethoven's First Piano Concerto with the New York Philharmonic takes my breath away. The performance fearlessly embraces humor, tenderness, and drama and he makes me feel that I’m hearing this work for the very first time.

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Interview with Dr. Jean Snyder, Harry T. Burleigh Historian

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Dr. Jean Snyder is the author of the book Harry T. Burleigh: From the Spiritual to the Harlem Renaissance.

Below is our interview with her about Harry T. Burleigh and how she came to study the Erie native’s history.

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Can you explain for people who don’t know him already, who was Harry Burleigh?

Dr. Jean Snyder

Burleigh was famous as a fine baritone, first in Erie, where he was born and spent his first 25 years. In the several years before he left for New York City, he was known as one of the best singers in Erie. When he went to New York City to study at the National Conservatory of Music, he was immediately welcomed in the black music community as “the celebrated Western baritone.” He was the first African American composer to publish a significant catalog of secular art songs; many famous American and European opera and recital singers such as Irish tenor John McCormack sang his songs. McCormack performed at last 27 of his songs, and was a good friend. Burleigh was a music editor at the New York office of the Ricordi Music Publishing Company based in Milan, Italy. As an editor there, he had extraordinary access to the publication of his art songs. He was a pioneer in arranging spirituals for concert use, and many of the singers who had been singing his art songs immediately added his spiritual arrangements to their repertoire. He was also a mentor to younger singers and composer who are better known today, such as tenor Roland Hayes, contralto Marian Anderson, and bass-baritone Paul Robeson, as well as composers William Grant Still, Jester Hairston, Florence Price, and others.

Can you talk about his journey to New York and his relationship with Dvorak?

Burleigh took the train to New York City in January of 1892 to audition for a scholarship for the Artist’s Course at the National Conservatory of Music. There were 200 applicants for the four scholarships, and Burleigh was awarded one of them. Antonin Dvorak came to be the director of the conservatory in September of 1892, as Burleigh was beginning his second semester. When Dvorak heard him sing, he invited him to come to the apartment where he lived with his family to sing the songs he’d learned from his grandfather, who’d been a slave. Burleigh described how he’d sit down at the piano (loaned to Dvorak by William Steinway) and accompany himself while he sang. Dvorak would stop him and demand, “Is that really the way the slaves sang it?” He listened so carefully that he was able to write a melody for his New World Symphony, the Largo theme of the second movement that was so much like a spiritual that many people think he copied a spiritual. But it was his own melody. Twenty minutes after he’d written it, he played it for one of his composition students, saying, “Is it not beautiful music? It is for my symphony--but it is not symphonic music.” Burleigh played double bass and timpani in the orchestra under Dvorak’s direction and was orchestra librarian. He often accompanied Dvorak on his walks through the city, and his beautiful penmanship and music manuscript writing made him an ideal assistant; he helped prepare the parts for the first performance of the New World Symphony, as it had not yet been published.

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Watch Dr. Snyder and baritone Eddie Pleasant discuss the legacy of Harry Burleigh on Facebook LIVE on Tuesday, November 17 @ 7pm!

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What’s your favorite Burleigh piece?

That’s a difficult question: there are so many lovely songs. One of his last art songs, “Lovely Dark and Lonely One,” is a setting of a Langston Hughes poem; I also love his second song cycle, the Five Songs of Laurence Hope, as well as “The Trees Have Grown So,” “Have You Been to Lons?” and others. There are some lovely sacred choral pieces that are not well known, such as “Christ Be With Me (St. Patrick’s Breastplate),” and a beautiful setting of the Lord’s Prayer, which has only recently been published. There are some wonderful choral arrangements of spirituals: “I’ve Been in the Storm So Long,” “You Hear the Lambs A-Cryin’,” “There Is a Balm in Gilead,” “Wade in the Water.” Then there’s the delightful “Mister Banjo.” I could go on. Many people know his spiritual arrangements, but there are a couple that aren’t in the anthology that many singers know, such as his arrangement of “Dry Bones,” which he wrote for Paul Robeson. I’m pleased that many singers are discovering his art songs, and you can find more and more of them on YouTube as well as on fine recordings.

Did Burleigh ever return to Erie?

Burleigh returned to Erie quite often to sing, especially in the early years. I’m still working on documenting every return to Erie, but he spent time in Erie in 1893, and he came numerous times to sing in the early 1900s—at least seven times between 1900 and 1909 (1900, 1903, 1904, 1905, 1906, 1908, 1909); then in 1914, twice in the 1920s, once in the 1930s, and in 1944 and in 1946. From the 19-teens on he was very busy with his work in New York City; he was much in demand as a soloist, singing recitals, singing at St. George’s Episcopal Church and Temple Emanu-El, composing his art songs, working as music editor at Ricordi. When he began publishing his spiritual arrangements in the 1916-1917 recital season, he started giving lecture-recitals on the spirituals, and he sang spirituals and spoke about them on the radio.

How did you begin studying his life and how did you first hear of him?

I taught in Kenya from 1966 to 1969, and I sang in the choir at the Nairobi Baptist Church with Catherine MBathi, who was a fine contralto. Several years later when I took my mother to see her first grandchild in Zambia, where my brother and his wife were teaching, I asked Catherine what I should bring her. She said, “I need some spirituals. I don’t care what they are, just so they are arranged by H. T. Burleigh.” I thought, “Who’s H. T. Burleigh? I’m a singer, I should know who he is.” So when I went up to the opera in Chicago, I went to one of the music stores on Wabash Avenue, and I found  a small anthology of Burleigh spirituals. I bought one for Catherine and one for myself, gave Catherine hers and forgot about it. When I taught in at a Teacher’s Training College in Zambia, I discovered ethnomusicology. I came to the University of Pittsburgh to do my doctorate in ethnomusicology, and one of my first seminars was in African American Music with Dr. Nathan Davis. Burleigh’s name was on the list of composers we could study, so I chose him for my project. I found so much in the Carnegie Library, including two 78 rpm recordings of his music: Nellie Melba singing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” and an English soprano, Maggie Teyte, singing “Just You,” one of his art songs. I was delighted to discover that he had written many lovely art songs as well as spiritual arrangements, and I was hooked!

Burleigh’s grandson, Dr. Harry T. Burleigh II, was a veterinarian in Clarksburg, West Virginia, but I knew no one had gotten help from the family. Rollo Turner, one of my mentors in the Black Studies Department, said, “That doesn’t mean you can’t!” So I wrote to Dr. Burleigh. One Sunday afternoon the phone rang, and a voice said, “This is Harry Burleigh!” Dr. Burleigh and his wife were very helpful to me, and that made a big difference. I also had a great deal of help from Burleigh’s niece, Grace Blackwell, who lived in East Orange, New Jersey. She was very close to him in the last years of his life, and she told me wonderful stories that helped make him more human, not just the famous man, the public figure.

Since writing your book, have you discovered anything new about him or his music?

There’s always more to learn. I didn’t know that Burleigh write orchestrations of any of his songs, though some orchestrations of his art songs and spiritual arrangements were written by others. But in fact, he wrote orchestrations of several of his spiritual arrangements, and Lynne Foote, the co-founder and president of the Harry T. Burleigh Society in New York City, who is working on her doctorate at Oxford University in England, has just discovered an unfinished orchestration of “Oh, Didn’t It Rain” that we knew nothing about. We had a great Zooming time on Sunday talking about this and what else we might discover.

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Protest Music

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From Erie Philharmonic Marketing Manager Brigit Stack

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Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975)

The term “protest music” typically conjures images and sounds of the 60’s folk and rock music that we come to associate with counter-culture and social movements of that era. But to anyone who’s ever listened to Dmitri Shostakovich’s music, the term applies to many pieces of orchestral music as well. In the orchestral world, in fact, there’s many instances of radical music – oftentimes without words – that spoke to political movements, uprisings, tragedies and more. Sometimes the music was composed posthumously, but it was nevertheless revolutionary and sometimes dangerous to publish or perform.

Throughout the history of classical music, there is no better example of this than composer Dmitri Shostakovich. So much of what he wrote spoke to Joseph Stalin’s regime in what we now know as Russia and criticized it, even when the focus of his music was not outwardly named to be referencing that environment. Below I want to recommend some of what I believe to be the most powerful and daring music Shostakovich composed to protest the morally corrupt and apprehensible things he lived through. Much of Shostakovich’s music becomes clearly more relevant today and underscores how some of Russia’s history is playing out again in our current moment, standing as “protest music.” His music showcases that in times of strife and despair at a larger, governmental level, there are two types of this protest music: covert themes and musical styles and overt protest through topics and dedications.

Shostakovich: Symphony No. 5

When Joseph Stalin was still reigning over the Soviet Union, Shostakovich often tried to hide his protests as hidden “covert” messages and themes in his music. One of the pieces that illustrated this was his Symphony No. 5. The piece was written after a newspaper article condemned his opera, Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District. His opera was denounced in the newspaper Pravda, in an article titled “Muddle Instead of Music.” Solomon Volkov wrote, “the Party newspaper…carried out a sentence that was to be final (and not subject to appeal): ‘This is music intentionally made inside out…This is leftist muddle.’ As will be shown, these angry opinions belonged personally to Stalin, the country’s main cultural arbiter” (34). Shostakovich immediately began to fear for his life and his family’s safety, sleeping in the stairwell in case Stalin’s police came to take him away in the middle of the night. To illustrate the fear of dying in Stalin’s Soviet Union, “Someone said then ‘it used to be a lottery now it’s a queue’” (Volkov 213). Before his composition of the 5th Symphony, his older sister had been arrested and his mother-in-law sent to a concentration camp. His music was too vulgar and dark and Stalin wanted the Soviet Union and its history to remain in a positive light – whether it meant glorifying its heroes or more “optimistic” sounding music. Although the music has its darker moments, it ends with a triumphant and more positive tone/major key (the same key as Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”), keeping the overall message of the symphony tongue in cheek. This interpretation is depicted especially in the audience’s response to its premiere. “By the end of the symphony, the entire audience was standing, applauding wildly through their tears” (Volkov 150). The standing ovation was said to last for more than 30 minutes. The apparent “joyful” final movement of the piece turns around, however, and mocks the very thing Shostakovich was trying to save himself from. The terror felt by many under Stalin was so profound that even the joy and appreciation felt towards their leaders and country was often forced out of necessity and not true patriotism. Shostakovich later said, “I think it is clear to everyone what happens in the Fifth [Symphony]. The rejoicing is forced, created under threat, as in Boris Gudunov. It’s as if someone were beating you with a stick and saying. ‘Your business is rejoicing, your business is rejoicing,’ and you rise, shaky, and go marching off, muttering. ‘Our business is rejoicing, our business is rejoicing.’” (qtd. in Volkov 183). News had also reached Stalin that Shostakovich was depressed and contemplating suicide after the Pravda article, which made him consider taking further action against him. Volkov wrote, “Shostakovich’s suicide could turn into an international scandal with unpredictable ramifications” (117). Shostakovich’s new symphony gave Stalin the chance to keep the composer around and still maintain his cultural authority – to praise the piece and set all back to normal, however terrifying that might still be for Shostakovich.

Shostakovich plays a fragment of Symphony No. 7 on piano

Another composition of Shostakovich’s that illustrates his covert protests of his government is Symphony No. 7, dubbed “Leningrad” and linked with the Siege of Leningrad by Hitler’s forces. Although the piece was mobilized as propaganda to bolster the war effort, it was composed under different intentions and still qualifies as protest music. The onset of the siege of Leningrad allowed him to hide his intentions even more, and Shostakovich also smuggled the piece outside of the country to be performed in the United States and England. Arturo Toscanini – an anti-fascist himself – premiered the piece with the NBC Radio Orchestra. The enemy within their own country was disguised as the enemy outside – the Axis powers now invading and terrorizing the Soviet Union. Due to Shostakovich’s son’s confirmation of events and the practice of “glasnost” (openness about Russia’s history) under Mikhail Gorbachev, much was revealed about the motives and messages behind Symphony No. 7. Testimony by Solomon Volkov was a contested source on so much of Shostakovich’s intentions behind his works, disputed by some to be Volkov’s words more than the late composer’s. Later, however, Maxim Shostakovich (his son) confirmed that many of the political views detailed were indeed his father’s. Musicologist Ludmila Mikheyeva claimed that the themes of this symphony were played for his students before the war with Germany even began. Later, Shostakovich said, “Even before the war, there probably wasn't a single family who hadn't lost someone, a father, a brother, or if not a relative, then a close friend. Everyone had someone to cry over, but you had to cry silently, under the blanket, so no one would see. Everyone feared everyone else, and the sorrow oppressed and suffocated us. It suffocated me, too. I had to write about it, I felt it was my responsibility, my duty. I had to write a requiem for all those who died, who had suffered. I had to describe the horrible extermination machine and express protest against it” (qtd. in Volkov 172). The actual siege by outside forces simply gave the piece a disguise to wear as it expressed so much of the loss all, including Shostakovich, had felt.

Shostakovich on the cover of TIME magazine - the composer was used as wartime propaganda in Russia.

Shostakovich dressed and posed on a roof as a firefighter for after bombing raids, although he never served in the war

After Stalin’s death in 1953, Shostakovich began using more overt methods to protest the brutality and mistreatment of people under Stalin and fascism. One of the most overt representations of this was his String Quartet No. 8., written and finished in 1960 in only 3 days. The dedication made his intentions clear: it was dedicated to “the victims of fascism and war,” and composed shortly after the composer reluctantly joined the Communist Party. His son, Maxim, claims the dedication was for all victims of totalitarian, fascist regimes while his daughter Galina claims that Shostakovich meant it for himself. Both interpretations have merit; many of the melodies of the string quartet were taken from Jewish folk tradition and although we often learn of the anti-Semitism in Hitler’s Germany, it was far more rampant than we think. It permeated the United States as well as Stalin’s Soviet Union. As Shostakovich had said, “Jewish folk music has made a most powerful impression on me. I never tire of delighting in it. It can appear to be happy while it is tragic. It’s almost always laughter through tears. Jews became a symbol for me. I tried to convey that feeling in my music. It was a bad time for Jews then. In fact, it’s always a bad time for them” (qtd. in Civetta). His daughter’s interpretation carries the same merit because Shostakovich’s musical motif is repeated in every movement of this string quartet. This motif is known as the DSCH motif, standing for the notes of D, E flat, C, and B natural. In German musical notation this would be written as D, Es, C, and H, resembling D. Sch, or Dmitri Shostakovich. He often added it to his music to represent himself and it is no coincidence that he would be frequently represented in a piece dedicated to the victims of fascism and war: he himself was one. Since Stalin upheld these policies of anti-Semitism and often singled out Shostakovich’s music for its vulgar, dark nature, this composition after the ruler’s death was a breath of fresh air. It stands as a true protest against the pressures and sorrows Shostakovich had felt his whole life, feelings he often felt mutually expressed in Jewish music. The second movement especially mobilizes one to stand up for what is right, to take down that which oppresses and hurts and to perhaps understand through music other’s lived experiences. 

“Bloody Sunday” at the Winter Palace in Russia, 1905

Perhaps the most relevant and protest-oriented composition of Dmitri Shostakovich’s is his Symphony No. 11, “The Year 1905.” The historic events that inspired it conjure images of the last few weeks of protests across our country and the world. The dedication of the piece is a telling enough introduction, with movements titled after the events of the 1905 protests and rebellion against the Tsar and the Russian monarchy. These protests proceeded the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution, Lenin’s rise to power and the eventual leadership under Joseph Stalin. 1905 was a time of unrest involving everyone from the peasant to the working class, the military and more. One of the main events of this revolution was “Bloody Sunday,” where protestors led a march to the Winter Palace to deliver a petition to the Tsar. As they advanced, guards fired upon them, resulting in hundreds of deaths. Protests, strikes, and looting erupted once again in response. Tens of thousands of people would die as the government attempted to restore peace. The opening movement of Symphony No. 11 is titled “The Palace Square,” and introduces the foreboding sense of calm before the violence, which is depicted so well in the second movement, called “The 9th of January,” titled so after the event’s date. The third movement pays homage to those who perished as a result of Bloody Sunday, using the funeral march “You fell as victims,” while the final movement foreshadows that the seeds of the 1917 revolution have been sown.

The ending is both foreboding and yet triumphant – a warning and a rallying cry. Revolutionary texts were also heavily cited in the melodies of the movements, not lyrically, but the melodies were known by many as most people grew up singing or hearing those songs. One such song was the march “You fell as victims.” Another was “Rage, Tyrants,” which tolls, “Let our call thunder like a thunderbolt, […] As the sun of freedom will look from behind a cloud, - To death! To death! To your death, tyrants!” Symphony No. 11 was often called a “film score without a film,” because it so aptly and tangibly expresses through music the fear, violence, and oppression of the events on January 9. One could argue that so much of Dmitri Shostakovich’s music does. These overt protestations after Stalin’s death came as protests to his memory – to the history and glorification he wanted so much for the Soviet Union and himself. Shostakovich and his music outlived the cruel ruler, and helped to rewrite his image in the eyes of his countrymen and the world.

These symphonies and string quartets certainly connect to the many things we see protested and mourned today. Though we may not have Russia’s history, we have our own. We have the Boston Massacre, the American Revolution, the Civil War, the Montgomery Bus Boycotts, the Freedom Rides, the Farmworker’s Union strikes, the March on Washington and many other events, including today’s protests. Although most of us might not live in fear of disappearing from our homes in the night, we still find ourselves fighting for some of the same liberties, freedoms, and comforts. Stalin saw arts and culture as an integral tool in emboldening and influencing the society around him – and he was right. At the same time that a piece of music could claim to bow its head respectfully towards a leader, it could also mock and hide its meaning in subtle ways and key signatures. We can mobilize music again to share our feelings and look ahead towards a time where we no longer feel the constant barrage of these negativities.

Perhaps most important of all, we can sympathize with and try to understand the pain and oppression of others. As conductor Kurt Sanderling said, “The quartets are messages to all his friends. The symphonies are messages to mankind” (qtd. in Anderson 374). Shostakovich managed to bottle up the visceral feelings of fear, pain, injustice, anger and sorrow and express them so often wordlessly through music. Music can once again be a revolutionary act to stand up, stand out and express things we often cannot put into words or share plainly and openly.

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