HENRI DUTILLEUX (b. 1916)
Métaboles (1964)
Henri Dutilleux composed his Métaboles in 1964 for the Cleveland Orchestra and its legendary music director George Szell. With sonorities reminiscent of Messiaen, this concerto for orchestra will remind the listener of nothing so much as colorful, shimmering jewels, with each evocatively named movement showcasing a different section of the orchestra: “Incantatoire” (winds), “Linéaire” (strings), “Obsessionel” (brass), and “Torpide” (percussion), and the final section, “Flamboyant” bringing the entire orchestra together for a stunning conclusion. The title of the work gives a hint at Dutilleux’ compositional technique; Métaboles refers to a musical metabolism, a process whereby motifs or themes are subtly transformed from movement to movement across time through magical combinations and recombinations of instruments. It is a technique not exclusive to this work. Dutilleux’ output is relatively small—due perhaps to the fact that he is meticulous to a fault and is known to revise his works even after they have been performed: “I work very slowly. I have an obsession with rigorousness, and I seek always to subject my thought to a formal structuring that is precise, abstract, strict.”

BOHUSLAV MARTINU (1890-1959)
Concerto for Two Pianos and String Orchestra (1943)
How many composers could say they were born in a church tower of a small town? Bohuslav Martinu was such a one. The Czech composer’s father was a shoemaker who earned a little extra money as a fire-watchman in the tower of St. Jacob’s Church in Policka, Bohemia, a source of inspiration throughout the composer’s life. But his modest beginnings didn’t keep him from being one of the two giants of 20th century Czech music (along with Leoš Janácek). He had his first violin lessons from the local tailor when as a boy of seven, started composing at ten, and gave his first recital when he was 15. His career at the Prague Conservatory (underwritten by his hometown) was short-lived, as he was expelled in 1910 for not being sufficiently devoted to his studies. Nevertheless he became a violinist in the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra for ten years. The winds of World War II exiled him to Paris, from where he and his wife fled the Nazis, and then immigrated to the United States in 1941. Though he became an American citizen, he lived his final years and died in Switzerland, sadly never able to return to his homeland. His body was eventually reburied in the family grave in Policka, within view of his church tower. Martinu was a student of Albert Roussel and fell under the influence of a wildly diverse set of sources, including Stravinsky, Debussy, Czech folk music, the baroque concerto grosso, and jazz. Martinu’s orchestral style is characterized by an energetic mix of exciting driving rhythms and a dynamism often punctuated by inclusion of a piano, but always lyrical and approachable. He wrote the Concerto for Two Pianos while living in New York, inspired by the renowned talents of duo pianists Pierre Luboshutz and Genia Nemenoff who commissioned the work and premiered it in Philadelphia under Eugene Ormandy. For that performance on November 5, 1943, Louise Beck wrote in the program notes for that evening: “[The Concerto for Two Pianos] takes advantage of all the sonorous and contrapuntal possibilities which two pianos offer. It is predominantly rhythmic in character; interspersed are Czech melodies which in themselves are strongly accented.” Listen for the fiery toccata-like passages…fiendishly difficult to play and are a thrill to hear.

SERGEI RACHMANINOFF (1873-1943)
Symphony No. 2 (1907)
To find more time for composing in 1906, Rachmaninoff needed to get out of Moscow: “I have escaped from my friends. Please don’t give me away,” he confessed to an acquaintance. The result of his get-away to Dresden—incognito and secluded—was the unabashedly romantic Symphony No. 2. Coming in at around 50 minutes in length, it is Rachmaninoff’s grandest work, washing over the listener with its sweeping melodies, lush orchestrations, and inspired lyrical passages. At its St. Petersburg premiere it enjoyed immediate acclaim (in contrast to the dismal failure of his First Symphony that had plunged the composer into grim despair and hypnosis treatment on Dr. Nicholas Dahl’s couch). The symphony unfolds slowly with the Largo’s stately grandeur, moves on to a brilliant Scherzo, then transitions to an impassioned, yearning Adagio—one of Rachmanioff’s most beautiful creations—and concludes with a bright, whirlwind Allegro vivace that evokes the sound of bells in its final measures. The composer believed that music gave him the means to express his emotions: “Music should express the sum total of a composer’s experiences…Music is born only of the heart and it appeals to the heart. It is love.” And it surely is this power of music that has connected Rachmaninoff’s Second Symphony with audiences for more than a century.

SEMYON BYCHKOV, conductor, born in 1952 in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg), Russia
Semyon Bychkov’s musical career was off to an early start: at age five he was studying piano at the House of Scientists (a kind of club for scientists that featured a wide variety of activities); in his early teens he entered the Glinka Choir School, were musical studies and singing had equal importance with the academic curriculum. At 14 he directed his first choir, an orchestra at age 17 and an opera at age 18. He continued his formal training at the Leningrad Conservatory and was invited to conduct the famed Leningrad Philharmonic, a rare honor for a student. But apparently when Communist Party officials learned that the young man was Jewish and objected to his presumed political views, the concert was cancelled. Realizing that his career would be doomed, he applied to leave the Soviet Union and, unexpectedly, the KGB gave him an exit visa. He arrived in the United States in 1975. He held music directorships at both the Grand Rapids Symphony and the Buffalo Philharmonic, and fortuitously was called upon for short-notice substitutions at the Philharmonic, the Concertgebouw, and the Berlin Philharmonic. International acclaim followed. Life in the West made a strong impression on him…like being able to buy all the bananas he wanted (they were a rarity in the Soviet Union). “There was one event that happened a few weeks after I became a U.S. citizen which left an indelible impression on me. I received a letter from Ronald Reagan. It was a very warm, very personal letter, saying that as along as people like me choose America as a new home, it would always remain a great country. Where else in the world would the Head of State honor a little know musician with a letter such as this?” He is at home with both the operatic and symphonic repertoire, and especially values Luciano Berio and Henri Dutilleux, saying that they have had the greatest influence on him among composers he has worked with. “They are not just extraordinary creators. They are not only interested in their own music, but in music in general and its value, its historical development. They are just as attached to the great music of the past as to the idea that in order to have a permanent value, new music must correspond to contemporary spiritual needs and reflect the life we are living today. I have been inspired by both.” Semyon Bychkov is married to pianist Marielle Labèque, one of the soloists on this program.

“All power to Bychkov’s elbow. [In his Rachmaninoff Symphony No. 2] there is spontaneity, ardour and a big-hearted sense of involvement.” Gramophone Magazine

KATIA and MARIELLE LABÈQUE
Pianos, born in 1950/1952 respectively in Hendaye, France
The words “duo pianists” invariably bring to mind the Labèque sisters, Katia and Marielle, who occupy superstar status among such pairs in the world. Born along the Basque coast of France, near the Spanish border, their mother was Ada Cecchi, an Italian musician and who was their first piano teacher when the girls were just three and five years old. After they concluded their studies at the Paris Conservatory they created international buzz with their recording of Messiaen’s Visions de l´Amen, produced under the composer’s guidance. Their repertoire is astonishingly eclectic—from Bach and Mozart to Lutosławski and Takemitsu—and of course the Martinů concerto (“one of our most beautiful concertos for two pianos,” they say. They credit composer Luciano Berio who encouraged them to pursue all styles of music. They created their own recording label, appropriately named KLM Recordings, and Foundation KML, whose goal is the advancement and awareness of the duo piano repertoire, and fostering encounters among a wide variety of artists…musicians, film makers, and writers. Early in 2006 the pianists brought their multi-media Beatles Project to Palermo (Sicily), and the audience literally leapt from their seats and danced in wild abandon. Katia Labèque is producing Across the Universe of Language, a recording based on Beatles music and involving a band from different fields of music. Katia’s enthusiasm for jazz led her to become a member of John Mc Laughlin’s jazz band with whom she toured worldwide, playing both grand piano and synthesizer keyboard. She also recorded Little Girl Blue with jazz greats Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea, Gonzalo Rubalcaba, and Michel Camilo, and eventually formed her own group in 2001. That same year, Katia Labèque and Viktoria Mullova created a new piano/violin duo that has already garnered international acclaim. Katia Labèque’s life and hobbies flow into one another seamlessly, as she likes “exploring and experimenting with all types of music.” Marielle Labèque enjoys going to the mountains with her three dogs; she’s also a great cook and is passionate about gardens. The pianists live in Rome, “one of the most beautiful cities in the world,” they enthuse.

“The snazzy-snappy soloists, Katia and Marielle Labèque, dazzled in the droll outer movements, and Katia phrased the Mozartean larghetto with exquisite refinement.” Financial Times

“The sisters’ hands were frequently a blur on the keys at either dynamic extreme, but the excitement and propulsion were only enhanced by gentle, floating, even sad episodes in between. The Labèques set about them with typical virtuosity, while all three familiar Slavonic dances had such life and zestful enjoyment about them that it was hard not to dance in the aisles.” Seattle Post-Intelligencer