The muses were Ancient Greek goddesses of inspiration. Throughout history, the term muse has been used to describe any number of people, all of whom inspired works of great art and/or literature. In the popular imagination, muses are almost always women, inspiring brilliant men to their greatest artistic achievements. Why am I bringing this up? Because in the case of the piece we are going to talk about today, the Brahms Clarinet Quintet, the muse, and the source of inspiration, was very different. In 1890, Brahms retired from composing. In a way this was very rare. Composers very rarely retired, and most went on composing until their deaths, leaving unfinished works, but Brahms declared that he had nothing left to contribute, and that a younger generation should take over. He was only 57 years old, but he had become embittered both with the world of music and with the world as a whole. His 4th symphony had ended in a kind of apocalyptic destruction of the symphonic genre as a whole; a paroxysm of disillusionment with the direction music was going and with the direction of politics in Europe. But in March of 1891, Brahms heard a clarinetist named Richard Muhlfeld. Muhlfeld quickly became, for lack of a better word, Brahms’ muse. His playing directly inspired Brahms to write 4 works for the clarinet, a trio, 2 sonatas, and a quintet, the topic for today’s show. The clarinet quintet is practically the definition of the so-called autumnal Brahms. The clarinet quintet is one of Brahms’ most expansive chamber works, and it is Brahms at his most wistful, nostalgic, and even tragic. Today on the show I’ll take you through this magisterial work, exploring all of the things that make this piece so special, so touching, and so unforgettable. Join us!

Classical music and politics have never been easy bedfellows. Composers and performers throughout history have relied on patronage and support from wealthy sources in order to keep their dreams afloat, and so unlike many other forms of music, classical music often has the reputation of being a politics-free zone. But the truth is that there is a whole repertoire of classical music that is infused with politics, and not just music from the 20th and 21st centuries. Today, with the American election looming just around the corner, we'll explore a series of pieces that all had political messages, the stories behind them, the motivations of the composers who wrote these pieces, and of course, the music itself. We'll be covering music by Haydn, Smyth, Shostakovich, Verdi, Adams, and much more today - join us!

The original production of Westside Story ran for 732 performances, spawned a movie that won 11 Academy Awards, and is still a go to on every list of the greatest Broadway Musicals ever written.  The collaboration between Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim, and Jerome Robbins was a revolution on par with the collaborations of Stravinsky, Diaghilev, and Nijinsky on the Rite of Spring.  No Broadway show had ever been so gritty, so tragic, and so raw.  The first performances of Westside Story were done against the backdrop of a rise in gang violence in New York City.  The socio-economic aspects of the show were evident to everyone who watched it, and I always like to remind people that the location where Bernstein, Arthur Laurents, who adapted Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet for this show, and Sondheim imagined the story taking place is where Lincoln Center now sits, a seat of opulence and extravagance. Simply put, this was a musical, a comedy, a tragedy, a political statement, and most importantly, a stunningly revolutionary work of art by these collaborators.  Today, I want to tell you about the music, and more specifically, the Symphonic Dances from Westside Story, an arrangement that Bernstein made with his colleague Sid Ramin 3 years after the show’s premiere.  The Symphonic Dances brought Bernstein’s electric music from the theatre to the concert stage, and it’s stayed there ever since.  So today, we’ll go through each number, talking about just what makes this music so great, and also about the show itself - its background, its production, and the issues that Bernstein, Laurents, Sondheim, and Robbins were trying to tackle, all through the eyes of a tale of woe about Juliet and her Romeo, or of course, Maria and Tony. Join us!

Caroline Shaw is one of the most fascinating, innovative, and brilliant composers of our time. Since winning the Pulitzer Prize in 2013, she rocketed onto the scene and has stayed there ever since, writing music that has captivated audiences around the world. In this conversation, which dates back to 2020(so there is a bit of pandemic talk at the beginning), we talked about her musical upbringing, the shock and surprise of her Pulitzer win, her compositional process, and much much more. This was a really fun and edifying conversation and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! 

In 1929, the conductor Nicolas Slonimsky contacted the American composer Charles Ives about performing one of his works. This was a bit of a surprise for Ives, since he had a checkered reputation among musicians and audience members, if they even were familiar with his name at all. In fact, he was much more famous during his lifetime as an extremely successful insurance executive! Ives mostly composed in his spare time, and his music was mostly ignored or ridiculed as that of a person suffering from a crisis of mental health. Most of his music was never performed during his lifetime, and even today, he is thought of as a great but extremely eccentric composer, and orchestras and chamber ensembles often struggle to sell tickets if his name appears on the program. But for those who love Ives, there is an almost evangelical desire to spread his music to the world. I’m one of those people who loves Ives, and it is one of my personal missions to bring his music to as many places as possible. The piece I chose to talk about today is Three Places in New England, or the New England Symphony, a piece that is a perfect amalgam of what makes Ives such a spectacular composer - his radical innovations, his ahead of his time experiments, his humor, his humanity, his warmth, and the staggering creativity that marked all of Ives’ great works. We’ll start with a little biography of Ives in case you’re not familiar with him, and then we’ll dive into Three Places in New England.  By the end of the show, I hope, if you’re not already, that I will have converted you into an Ives fan for life!

Fundraiser link here: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/1026719635067?aff=oddtdtcreator On October 29th, 1931, The Rochester Philharmonic in New York State presented the world premiere of a new symphony by the composer William Grant Still. A symphonic premiere is always something to look out for in musical history, but this one had an even greater significance. The premiere of Wiliam Grant Still’s First Symphony, subtitled  “Afro American,” was the first time a symphony written by a Black American composer was performed by a leading orchestra. William Grant Still was a man of many firsts, whether he was the first Black American conductor to conduct a major orchestra, the first to have an opera performed by a major company, the first Black American to conduct an orchestra in the South of the United States, and much more. Today we’re going to focus in on Grant Still’s first symphony, a symphony that Grant Still had long thought about, conceptualized, and dreamed of. It was also a symphony wrapped up in the roiling currents of Black America at the time, with the Harlem Renaissance in full swing and Alain Locke’s tract The New Negro sparking discussion and debate all over the country. It was a symphony that attempted to do something no one had ever done before; that is, to marry together the genre of the Blues with that of symphonic music. Until 1950, it was THE most performed symphony written by an American composer. But until 10 or 15 years ago, it had all but disappeared from the stage, but due to the explosion of interest in Black American composers of the past and present, this brilliant symphony is making its way back onto stages all over the world. The way that Grant Still constructed this meeting of two genres of music was ingenious and innovative from start to finish, and so today on the show we’ll explore all of the historical context of the symphony, what Grant Still was trying to do with his monumental new endeavor, and of course, all of the music itself. I want to thank John McWhorter for his brilliant contributions to this episode, as well as the Aalborg Symphony for embarking on a fantastic recording of the symphony, which you will hear throughout this episode.  

"It was on the train, with its steely rhythms, its rattle-ty bang, that is so often so stimulating to a composer – I frequently hear music in the very heart of the noise.... And there I suddenly heard, and even saw on paper – the complete construction of the Rhapsody, from beginning to end. No new themes came to me, but I worked on the thematic material already in my mind and tried to conceive the composition as a whole. I heard it as a sort of musical kaleidoscope of America, of our vast melting pot, of our unduplicated national pep, of our metropolitan madness. By the time I reached Boston I had a definite plot of the piece."  That was George Gershwin talking about writing Rhapsody in Blue, one of the most popular pieces of American Classical Music of the 20th century.  But is the Rhapsody in Blue classical music?  Or is it Jazz?  Its certainly played on more classical concerts than it is on Jazz concerts, it uses a full orchestra (though that’s not what it was originally written for), and the greatest soloists of the classical field regularly play the concerto on so called “serious” classical concerts.   But on the other hand, the structure of the piece is anything but classical and there’s ample room for improvisation though most classical pianists don’t improvise when they play the piece.  So which is it?  Well, the answer is a bit of both, which probably is one of the main reasons for its enduring popularity.  There are very few pieces that put a smile on your face like Rhapsody in Blue, and so today, we’ll explore this most American of pieces, talking about the amazing story of its conception, Gershwin’s quest to be accepted by the great classical composers of the day, and of course, the music itself. Join us! Link to fundraiser episode on Appalachian Spring: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/1026719635067?aff=oddtdtcreator  

During Bartok’s life, the violin concerto we now know as Violin Concerto No. 2 was simply known as Bartok’s only violin concerto. The reason? His first concerto, written when he was a much younger man, had never been performed or published. This was a deeply painful memory for Bartok, who had written the concerto for a woman he was in love with, Stefi Geyer, but Geyer refused both Bartok’s advances and the concerto itself, and so it remained unperformed and unpublished until after Bartok’s death. Bartok had written other works for violin and orchestra, including a rhapsody written for his friend and recital partner Zoltan Szekely. Szekely continuously asked Bartok to write him a full blown concerto, but Bartok refused again and again, until finally in 1936 Bartok agreed. But even then, Bartok wasn’t so easy to pin down. Bartok resisted the idea of a full scale concerto, saying to Szekely that he wanted to write a theme and variations for violin and orchestra, but Szekely refused, and demanded a 3 movement standard concerto. Bartok finally agreed, but as you’ll see later, he found a way to get his theme and variations in anyway! The concerto took two years to write, partly due to Bartok being busy with some of his greatest large scale works, but also because of Bartok’s acute stress due to the rise of fascism across Europe. He was constantly thinking of emigrating from his native Hungary, and finally in 1938 he left. As he wrote to his friend: “What is most appalling is the imminent danger that Hungary too will surrender to this system of robbers and murderers..." All of these competing impulses - Bartok’s bitter memories of his first concerto, the turbulent political siutation, and his seeming lack of confidence in writing a full scale concerto, contributed to the delay, but finally in 1938 the piece was finished and was triumphantly premiered on April 24, 1939 in Amsterdam. This concerto is one of the greatest 20th century violin concertos, and is full of a massive amount of brilliant detail as well as an urgently emotional and passionate character. It is a gigantic, nearly 40 minute long piece, and its difficulties for both the violinist and the orchestra are immense. Today we’ll talk about all of the ins and outs of this remarkable concerto, including its challenges, its beauties, its emotional scope, and its brilliant combination of tonality and 12 tone music. Join us! Recording: Danish Radio Symphony, Augustin Hadelich, Violin, Vasily Petrenko Cond.

In December of 1884, Dvorak wrote to a friend about the composition of a new symphony: "I am now busy with this symphony for London, and wherever I go I can think of nothing else. God grant that this Czech music will move the world!!" He was in the midst of working on what would become his 7th symphony, and even though it is nowhere near as popular as his 9th symphony(The New World Symphony) or even the sunny 8th symphony, it is often thought of as Dvorak’s greatest symphony, and for the record, I agree. This symphony is Dvorak at his most serious, most passionate, and most intense. Throughout the symphony, a kind of darkness pervades the work that is very unusual for Dvorak, though it also is full of so many of the things that make Dvorak’s music so beloved today: gorgeous melodies as far as the eye can see, glorious orchestral writing, and more. But what it lacks, unlike the 8th symphony for example, is the kind of simplicity and naivete that marks much of Dvorak’s music, and this lack of “innocence” has led scholars, musicians, and audience members to try to find an extra musical “meaning” for this music. Is the music an expression of Czech nationalism? Is it an expression of grief after the loss of his mother and eldest daughter? Was Dvorak trying to impress Brahms with his seriousness? What could have caused Dvorak to suddenly embrace such darkness in his music? Well, as we’ll find out, it could be a combination of all of those reasons, but also it could be none of them at all. In the end, what is most important is the remarkable music that Dvorak wrote for this 7th symphony, and so today on the show we’ll go through the symphony, trying to illuminate just what makes this, perhaps, Dvorak’s greatest symphony. Join us!

Shostakovich’s 4th symphony is not for the faint of heart. It is a massive work, around an hour in length, and it calls for the second largest orchestra of any in Shostakovich’s output. It is uncompromising, sometimes brutal, and it isn't nearly as lyrical that later Shostakovich has in spades. But with all that said, many people, including myself, consider this symphony Shostakovich’s symphonic masterpiece. It has been described as the symphony containing the kernels of everything Shostakovich would ever write after. It also marks the final piece Shostakovich wrote before his 1936 denunciation that utterly changed the course of his life. Today, on this Patreon-sponsored episode, I’ll take you through this monumental work, telling you the remarkable story of the conception and aborted first performance of the symphony. Then we'll dive into the music itself, talking about the large scope of the piece, it’s unusual form, and of course the raw emotional core that is always so present in Shostakovich. Join us for a wild ride!

They are the most famous 8 notes in not only Western Music, but probably in all of music. If you walk down the street and ask someone to name a painting, they might say the Mona Lisa.  A movie?  Maybe Star Wars.  A piece of classical music?  Certainly, it would be Beethoven 5.  But why?  What makes those 8 notes so arrestingly powerful?  Well, this week, we’re going to take a deep look at this ubiquitous piece, exploring lots of different questions.  What inspired Beethoven to write such a piece (a hint here, it probably wasn’t fate knocking at the door)?  How was this symphony different from everything that came before it?  What influence did it have on composers of the future?  What are the OTHER 3 movements of the symphony like, since many people only know the first movement?  This symphony is monumentally important because in many ways it serves as the fulcrum between the classical and romantic eras. It is the most quoted piece of classical music there is, and it remains the most played symphony in the world. Today on this show from the archives, we're going to be exploring this symphony including new material that includes discoveries I've made about the symphony only in the last year or so, including the impact that the French Revolution had on the conception of this symphony. Join us!

This show is a bit different today. Last year I did a live video podcast on Mozart's Requiem for my Patreon subscribers. I've now edited that show into an audio-only version for everyone to be able to listen to, since this is such an essential piece and there's so much to talk about with it! The audio only version won't get into as much granular detail as the video podcast did, and it won't include quite as many clips from the movie Amadeus, but all the same, we take a deep dive into Mozart's Requiem today, talking all about one of the greatest unfinished works in the history of art. We'll discuss the myths and legends behind the piece, the movements that Mozart started but never finished, and the completions of the score by different composers, especially the heavily criticized but still regularly used completion of Franz Sussmayr. We'll also talk about each movement in detail, exploring just what Mozart brought to the Requiem text. This piece has the distinction of being one of the greatest pieces ever written, just as it is, but also one of the great what-if stories in musical history. Join us to learn all about the Mozart Requiem, and if you want to see the full video version of the show, please head over to patreon.com/stickynotespodcast to find out how you can support the show. 

The history of classical music is littered with the stories of great composers who tragically died young. The composer I’ve been talking about for the last two episodes, Franz Schubert, died at 31. Mozart died at 36, Mendelssohn at 38, Bizet at 37, Gershwin at 38, Gideon Klein at 25, Purcell at 36. The composer I will tell you about today is part of this sad list. Lili Boulanger, one of the most talented and promising composers of her era, died at the age of just 24, and her entire life since the age of 2 was marked by illness and poor health. In her short life she wrote around 24 works, many of which show extraordinary prowess for such a young composer. Boulanger was the first woman to win the famous Prix de Rome, a French composition prize won by past luminairies such as Berlioz, Gounod, Debussy, Faure, Massenet, and many other greats of French composition. It was also won by Boulanger’s father, a story we’ll get to as we go through Boulanger’s life. Her music was marked by the influences of impressionism, but also by the influence of her perhaps more well known sister, Nadia, who became a legendary composition teacher throughout the 20th century. Today I’ll take you through some of the key moments in Boulanger’s life, and we’ll also take a look at 3 of her pieces: Les Sirenes, Faust Et Helene, the piece that won Boulanger the Prix de Rome, written when she was just 18, and we’ll finish with an orchestral piece that might be the most frequent way you might encounter Boulanger’s music in the concert hall these days entiled D’un Matin de Printemps. Boulanger, despite her short life, is one of hte most fascinating and underrated musical figures in classical music history, so if you aren’t already familiar with her music, I can’t wait to introduce you to her this week. Join us! A big thank you to Thomas Goss for his research on Lili Boulanger - his fantastic article on her is available here: https://orchestrationonline.com/lili-boulanger-in-her-own-right/ Performances: Les Sirenes: Chorus: Philharmonia Chor Stuttgart with Helene Schneiderman, mezzo-soprano and Émile Naoumoff, piano Faust Et Helene: Ann Murray (mezzo-soprano), Bonaventura Bottone (tenor), Jason Howard (baritone), BBC Philharmonic, Yan Pascal Tortelier, Conductor D'un Matin de Printemps: BBC Philharmonic, Yan Pascal Tortelier, Conductor

There are a few tropes when it comes to Schubert’s late music. The pieces are very long. They have four movements.  The first two movemnts are expansive, magisterial explorations of the human psyche, and the last two movements are much lighter, almost like two different pieces are at play. All of these tropes fit the Schubert B Flat Sonata we started talking about a couple of weeks ago. After the huge first movement, Schubert takes us into a world of the most remarkably simple and yet profoundly moving music in the second movement, followed by a scherzo and last movement that seem(and I emphasize the word seem) to wash all of that away. The last two movements of this sonata in particular have come in for criticism in some quarters, but this is nothing new for Schubert. You hear this criticism about his G Major Quartet, his cello quintet, and other large scale works. It’s also been theorized that the final two movement “curse” Schubert seemed to struggle with is why he left his 8th symphony unfinished. But as you’ll hear today, I don’t think there’s much, if anything, to criticize in these final two movements, and I’ll try to argue that there’s no drop off in quality in this music, just a different approach and outlook. But the bulk of today’s show will be about this second movement. There is something beyond otherworldy in this character of Schubert’s music. It doesn’t belong to our world, but it doesn’t belong to another world either. Instead it goes somewhere even deeper than we can possibly imagine. Schubert goes to a different place than any other composer when he is in this “mood,” and in this movement, that bleak character is married to profound consolation, creating a movement of utter perfection. So let’s explore the final three movements of this remarkable Sonata together. Join us!

For a long time I’ve received emails and messages from people asking, and sometimes demanding, that I explore the solo piano repertoire. Other than a look at the Goldberg Variations of Bach, I’ve basically neglected a huge amount music, including some of the greatest works ever written. Why have I been doing this? Well, if I’m totally honest, it’s been slightly out of a sense of intimidation. I’m not a pianist, and I’ve always been somewhat in awe of the piano and pianists. Even after spending years with this music, I still felt that I just simply didn’t know the solo piano repertoire well enough to do it justice. Well, now that I’ve gone through ALMOST all of the symphonic standard repertoire, and now that I’ve started exploring the string quartet repertoire, I think it’s time to throw off this sense of awe and dive right in. You might think I might not reach too high to start off, maybe an early Beethoven sonata, or a Mozart or Haydn Sonata. Well, in my opinion you’ve got to go big or go home, so I’ve decided to explore one of the towering masterpieces not only of the solo piano genre, but of all music, Schubert’s Sonata in B Flat Major. This is a piece that has been described as “well-nigh perfect,” as “beyond analysis,” as including “the most extraordinary trill in the history of music,” and as “the climax and apotheosis of Schubert’s instrumental lyricism and his simplicity of form.” These are just a few of the superlatives I’ve found in researching this piece. It was written in the last weeks of Schubert’s short life, and it truly does take the listener on an unforgettable journey. There is nothing quite like Schubert’s final works, and so over the next two episodes, I will take you through this remarkable sonata, a piece that Alex Ross has described as “a premature communication from the beyond.” This is a huge piece, with so much to talk about, so I’ve split this episode into two parts. This week we’ll look at the first movement, and then in two weeks we’ll cover the final three movements. Join us!

H.C. Robbins Landon, the great musicologist, once wrote about Mozart that his music was “an excuse for mankind's existence and a small hope for our ultimate survival." I couldn’t agree more, especially when it comes to a piece like the one we’re going to talk about today, Mozart’s Piano Concerto in D minor, NO. 20, or K. 466. These days, Mozart is still one of the most popular composers in the world, one of two composers almost anyone on the street could name off the top of their head. But it might surprise you to know that Mozart was not always so popular. During the 19th century, Mozart’s music was seen as too light, graceful, and even superficial by the stormy Romantics who wanted to probe the deepest and darkest feelings of humanity and the natural world, by extreme means if necessary. Only a few of Mozart’s works were played regularly during this time period, and this concerto was one of them. It’s easy to say why - it is one of only two Mozart Piano Concertos in a minor key, and its stormy and dramatic character allowed the Romantics to create fantastical stories to go along with the piece, and to connect it to the one Mozart opera that remained popular throughout the 19th century, Don Giovanni. Strangely enough, I see a similar thing happening today, among young lovers of classical music. I often see Mozart’s music being criticized on social media by younger musicians as being too light and superficial, and sometimes I even see this criticism from musicians who seem to gravitate to works that have more extroverted dramatic intentions. But to me, Mozart is just as, if not more dramatic that many of the Romantic era composers. It's all just done in a very different way. This concerto might be the perfect example of all of this! It has all the drama you could ever want for you thrill seekers, and it also has all of the masterful subtlety that for me makes Mozart’s music so endlessly touching. This is a concerto of remarkable breadth of emotion, character, and feeling, and it’ll be a joy to take you through it this week. Join us!    Performance is Mitsuko Uchida with Camerata Salzburg. Assorted first movement cadenzas are performed by Michael Rische.        

My first interaction with the musical term modes was Leonard Bernstein’s brilliant Young People’s Concert, also called What is a Mode? In that show, Bernstein showed how modes are an essential part of what makes modern music, meaning pop and rock music, tick. This was central to Bernstein’s point during this amazing show, which is available on Youtube, and he punctuated his discussion with multiple examples of pop music from the time that used modes. Today, on this Patreon sponsored episode, I was asked to go through all of the modes and show how they have been used in classical music. Much of my show today is modeled on and takes its inspiration from that Bernstein Young People’s Concert, and I’ll be peppering clips from that show throughout my own exploration. As Bernstein says, the common practice period of classical music, starting with Haydn and ending sometime early in the 20th century, didn’t feature a lot of modal music, though that doesn’t mean it was completely absent. So today I’ll explain what modes are, and we’ll go through each of the so called church modes, explaining their characteristics, and then showing you examples throughout musical history of exactly how these modes were used by the great composers. This show might seem a bit technical, but I think there’s a lot of really interesting and fascinating stuff here, so stick with me, and let’s explore modes together. Join us!

In 1857, Brahms wrote to his friend Joseph Joachim about his first Piano Concerto, saying, “ “I have no judgment about this piece anymore, nor any control over it.”  Brahms first began sketching his first piano concerto in 1853, but it would be five full years before Brahms finished the piece, and another year until its first performance.  During that time, the piece became a Sonata, then a symphony, then a sonata for two pianos, and then finally a concerto for Piano and orchestra, or as the joke goes, a concerto for piano VERSUS orchestra.  The piece, and Brahms’ struggles with it, are completely understandable considering Brahms’ youth, and the extraordinarily tumultuous circumstances of his private life during the years of 1853-1858.  During this time period, he was anointed by no less than the kingmaker of classical music at the time, Robert Schumann, as the Chosen One that represented the future of music. He became friendly with both Robert and Clara Schumann, began achieving huge successes, then witnessed the slow mental breakdown of Robert, culminating in a suicide attempt and institutionalization, all while falling deeper and deeper in love with Clara Schumann, and she with him.  The turbulence and emotional weight of all of this is reflected in one of Brahms’ most impassioned works, the first piano concerto.  We’ll talk about the historical background for the piece, Brahms’ working out process, and of course, the structure and insides of this massive, daunting piece.

Very often, when I tell people that I’m a classical musician, I am told, “wow, I love classical music! It’s so relaxing!” I think almost all classical musicians have heard that before, and you know what? Sometimes, it’s true! Classical music can be relaxing! But sometimes, and actually pretty often, classical music is NOT relaxing. It is exciting, emotional, passionate, and can make your heart race!  Don’t believe me? Today's show is all about proving that to you. I'm going to share with you some of the most thrilling, powerful,  and well, some of hte loudest music in the history of classical music. I should say SOME OF, because what we are going to play for you today is absolutely not an exhautive list. If you like what you hear today, there is so much more where that came from. What we’re going to do today is to take you through a kind of musical time machine of fast and furious symphonic music, trying to cover as many different styles and eras of classical music as possible. NOTE: What will appear on the podcast feed is a shortened version of a full live concert I did with the Aalborg Symphony a few weeks ago. I highly recommend listening to that version as well, which features full length performances of many of the pieces I'm talking about on the show. You can find that here: https://www.dr.dk/lyd/p2/p2-koncerten/p2-koncerten-2024/p2-koncerten-fuld-pedal-det-er-vildt-det-er-hoejt-det-er-weilersteins-stoerste-hits-12422443145 Enjoy!

There has always been a debate about “The Great American Symphony.” By the time most prominent American composers got around to writing large scale symphonic works, the symphony had very nearly gone out of fashion. To many musicians and thinkers, the symphony had passed on with the death of Mahler. With the advent of atonality, which essentially destroyed the developmental structure that symphonies rested on, there seemed to be nowhere for the symphonic genre to go. The traditional udnerstanding is that composers like Shostakovich, Prokofiev, and Sibelius, among others, picked the symphony back up from its deathbed and resurrected it. But there was a generation of American composers also writing symphonies around this time, and many of them have never quite gotten the consideration they deserve. Ives wrote 4 brilliant symphonies, Bernstein wrote 3 ambitious symphonies, there are the symphonies by the first generation of Black American composers, namely William Dawson’s Negro Folk Symphony, and then there are much less known symphonies by composers like Roy Harris, which were huge successes at the time of their premiers, but which have faded into obscurity. Despite many strong efforts, very few American symphonies have made their way into the standard “canon.” That is, except for one: Copland’s 3rd Symphony, which is almost certainly the most played American symphony. It was written as World War II was coming to an end, and it is one of Copland’s most ardent and life-affirming works. Naturally, connections were made to the Allied triumph in World War II, but Copland insisted that the symphony wasn’t a reflection of the era, writing: "if I forced myself, I could invent an ideological basis for the Third Symphony. But if I did, I'd be bluffing—or at any rate, adding something ex post facto, something that might or might not be true but that played no role at the moment of creation." Whatever the inspiration, this symphony has become one of Copland’s most enduring works, even though it is also in many ways one of his most complex. It is a massive work, nearly 40 minutes in length, and it requires a huge and virtuosic orchestra. It also features some of Copland’s most recognizable tunes, including of course, the Fanfare for the Common Man, which permeates the symphony and is in many ways its central theme. So today, on this Patreon Sponsored episode, we’ll dig deep into this symphony, mapping out its unusual form, and savoring the energy, optimism, and creativity with which Copland attacked the well-worn genre of the symphony. Join us!