2024/2025 Program Notes

Borromeo String Quartet Concert

Program Notes by Elizabeth Morrison

With two string quartet concerts to delight us this winter, it’s interesting to see how each one uses the traditional plan of a chamber music concert to satisfy and intrigue. Like a fine meal, with its sparkling appetizer, complex main course and delicious dessert, a chamber music concert often starts with a classical quartet, follows it with music from outside the standard repertoire, and rewards us at the end with a delectably romantic conclusion. It’s a wonderful scheme, and we are in for two unique treats.

The Borromeo Quartet begins with Mozart’s Quartet No. 19 in C major, K.465, the quartet known as “The Dissonance.” This is certainly a “sparkling appetizer,” but it is also one of Mozart’s greatest contributions to the quartet literature, linking him to his older contemporary Haydn and foreshadowing the late quartets of Beethoven. Mozart’s too-brief life falls completely within the span of Haydn’s longer one. Mozart was born in 1756, when Haydn was 24 years old, and left this world in 1791, when Haydn was 59. Haydn was already famous during Mozart’s child-prodigy days, and his Opus 20 string quartets may have inspired Mozart’s 1773 set of six early string quartets.

They did not meet in person for another decade, however, most likely in 1783, after Mozart had moved to Vienna. They bonded while playing chamber music, as so many have since; Mozart usually played viola, with Haydn on second violin. They parted for the last time on December 15, 1790, when Haydn left Vienna for London. Mozart is said to have told Haydn that “We are probably saying our last farewell in this life,” bringing tears to the eyes of both men. They worried that Haydn, at 58, might not survive his travels, but it was Mozart who died a year later. Haydn wrote to a friend, “For some time I was quite beside myself over his death, and could not believe that Providence should so quickly have called away an irreplaceable man into the next world.”

That Haydn was the elder did not mean the influence flowed only one way. It was mutual, and Mozart’s music inspired Haydn long after he was gone. Their interchange began when Haydn published the six quartets of Opus 33 in 1781. He had not written any quartets for almost a decade, and he described them in a letter to prospective patrons as composed in a “new and special manner.” They brimmed with innovations in rhythm, harmony and form. Mozart noticed. He responded with a set of six quartets of his own, which he published in 1785 and dedicated to Haydn. The Dissonance Quartet is the sixth of these “Haydn” quartets, and their crowning achievement.

The nickname “Dissonance” derives from the second measure of the first movement. The tempo marking is Adagio, very slow. The cello begins alone, with a series of quiet C naturals; the viola enter on an A flat, leaving the tonality uncertain. The second violin enters with an E flat. Finally the first violin enters with an A natural, above the viola’s still-sounding A flat in the octave below. This was so unusual, so shocking, even, that the first publishers returned the manuscript, assuming it to be in error. Of course, it was not; these opening measures were actually playing out their own profound logic. They progress by degrees to a G major seventh chord that hangs in the air, then resolves, introducing a brilliant Allegro movement in C major. The effect is thrilling, whether you’re hearing it for the first time or the hundredth.

The quartet continues through a beautiful Cantabile slow movement in F major, a jaunty Menuetto with a striking trio section in C minor, and an Allegro finale that is a tour de force of musical forms. At first glance a rondo with a recurring refrain separating contrasting episodes, it is also a theme-and-variations movement (the rondo refrain is never the same way twice) and has the overarching drama of sonata form. The movement pays homage to Haydn in sheer inventiveness, and is as groundbreaking as anything the Father of the String Quartet ever wrote.

Mozart played the Dissonance Quartet for Haydn in 1785, and Haydn, in turn, took notice. His initial response was, “If Mozart wrote it, he knew what he was doing.” His second was to tell Mozart’s father, Leopold, that “Before God and as an honest man I tell you that your son is the greatest composer known to me either in person or by name.” Haydn had many quartets left to write, and Mozart helped light his way. Even years later, when Haydn was composing his oratorio The Creation and depicting the cosmos emerging from harmonic chaos into C major on the words “Let there be light,” we can sense Mozart smiling behind him.

Influence is explicitly explored in the next quartet, Dig the Say, by the New York-based composer Vijay Iyer. It is likely new to most of us, so it qualifies it as the taste-expanding main course on the concert menu. The trick, as always with new works, is to locate the heart of music that doesn’t come with built-in familiarity bias. So who is Vijay Iyer? He was born in 1971 in Albany, New York to Tamil immigrant parents, and is a brilliant polymath. He began studying violin at age 3, taught himself piano, and earned degrees in math and physics from Yale and U.C. Berkeley. But the call of music was as strong as the allure of the Fibonacci numerical sequence, of which he wrote in 2009 that “I became intrigued by these numbers some years ago, and have used them to structure much of my work ever since.” He is now celebrated as a composer and performer in the jazz and classical worlds alike.

Dig the Say arose out of a 2012 commissioning project by the string quartet Brooklyn Rider, who celebrated their 10th anniversary by commissioning thirteen new quartets from composers rooted in jazz, rock, or folk music. Each composer was asked to cite an influence or muse from the last 50 years. Iyer chose James Brown. Yes, that James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, the singer, dancer, and songwriter whom the Smithsonian Museum calls the “central progenitor of funk.”

If you need to ask what funk is, you may be missing an essential piece of your musical education. Funk, as introduced by Brown in his 1969 album Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag, is music both deeply rooted in Africa and thoroughly American. It finds the percussive side of every instrument (even the violin), and forms the syncopations of jazz, rock and R&B into polyrhythms that, somehow, make you want to dance. As Iyer explains,

When I was asked by Brooklyn Rider to choose an artist who had inspired me, James Brown instantly came to mind. Like many, I have studied his music; of course it’s best to enjoy it with your body and soul, but there is also much to learn from analyzing his music’s interlocking bass, drums, guitar, horn, and vocal parts…He brought a lot of ideas to the table about groove, communication, form, and space.

You will certainly hear the funk in Dig the Say. Iyer took his title, as well as the titles of its four movements, from the lyrics of Brown’s 1969 hit song I Don’t Want Nobody to Give Me Nothin’ (Just Open Up the Door, I’ll Get it Myself), which you can easily find on YouTube. Check it out if you want to understand Iyer’s attraction, and perhaps feel it yourself. Dig the Say is about eight minutes long and is played without a break. But it does have four movements, not so different from ones you’d find in a classical quartet. The first movement is lively and rhythmic, the second slow and soulful; there is a brief (under a minute) section we can think of as the scherzo, and a wild finale. This is just context, a way of connecting funk to the classical world. We can be as analytic with it as we want to be. But why not just do as Iyer suggests? Enjoy it with your body and soul.

The concert concludes with Schubert’s 14th and next-to-last quartet, the masterpiece in D minor known as Death and the Maiden. Composed in 1824, when Schubert was 27 years old and suffering from a serious illness from which he would not recover, it is one of the four late quartets that became pillars of the string quartet literature (the others are the Quartettsatz, the Rosamunde Quartet Opus 29 and the G major Quartet Opus 161.)

Schubert had been composing quartets since he was a teenager, trying them out with his father and brothers, learning his craft. The Arianna Quartet performed his early Opus 168 in G minor at our March 2024 concert. You can refresh yourself on those early quartets on the ECMS website; click on “Concerts” and then “Last Season Program Notes.” Looking backwards to Opus 168 from Death and the Maiden, it’s easy to see the seeds of greatness already present in his first-ever minor-key quartet.

The title refers to a poem, by the German poet Mattias Claudius, which Schubert had set to music in 1817. Its gentle chorale-like piano accompaniment provides the theme for a set of variations that make up the quartet’s slow movement. It is long and dramatic, and we might surmise that the poem that inspired it is substantial, but it is actually quite short, with just two verses. In the first, the Maiden asks Death to pass her by. She is still young, she says; do not touch me! In the second verse Death replies that he is her friend. He is not fierce, and she shall sleep softly in his arms.

That’s it! So where do the variations come from? Whence the drama, the heavenly length, the moods from tender to terrifying to resigned? I’m not the first to wonder if Schubert was also drawing on another poem, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Erlkönig, which he had set to music in 1815. It too is about Death, who appears in the form of the mysterious Erlking and reaches out to take a child. It’s a boy instead of a girl, and the poem finds room for the child’s father, a narrator and even for their horse. But listen to both songs (YouTube stands ready) and tell me if you don’t hear the Erlking’s driving triplets along with the melancholy chorale. You might detect a direct quotation from Erlkönig in the quartet’s final movement. You might even hear the horse. Triplets are a rhythmic foundation throughout the quartet, in the declamations of the first movement, in the variations, and in the last movement, a tarantella or “dance of death.”

Whatever their source, Schubert puts them to expressive use from the very first measure. As the great composer of songs–he wrote over 600 of them–he somehow manages to imbue one of the most monumental works in the string quartet repertoire with the intimacy of song. After intermission, settle in for moments of ravishing beauty and others that may chill you to the bone. From the opening unison D to the final measures in Prestissimo, there are a few precious moments of relief. Hold on to them when they come. You will need every one.

Gary Hoffman Mainstage Concert

Program Notes by Elizabeth Morrison

Tonight’s concert opens with two sonatas for cello and piano, by Claude Debussy (1862-1918) and Frédéric Chopin (1810-1849). A wonderful prospect, because piano and cello just happen to be ideal sonata partners. Like siblings who shared a childhood, piano and cello have been together for a long time. Until the mid-18th century, cello and piano–or rather keyboard, whether harpsichord, clavichord, or organ–were inseparable. Known jointly as the “continuo,” their parts were written as a single line of music, with the cello doubling and strengthening the bass. As the Baroque era gave way to the classical, the siblings matured, and their mutual dependence receded. The piano, a stronger instrument than the harpsichord, had less need for a cello to double its bass. The cello, for its part, longed to be free of continuo duties and to play, for once, a melodic line.

Of course, Baroque-era cello sonatas did exist. Antonio Vivaldi wrote at least ten, which he called “Sonatas for Violoncello Solo col Basso”– sonatas for solo cello, plus another cello on continuo, and keyboard. The virtuoso cellist Luigi Boccherini wrote six, again for “cello and basso continuo.” But the true cello sonata–one cello, one piano–took longer to emerge. Mozart wrote 34 violin sonatas and exactly zero cello sonatas. Then Beethoven, in 1796, early in his career and without Mozart’s example to worry him, composed two sonatas “For Piano and Violoncello,” Opus 5, and the genre was born.

Beethoven’s sonatas, and those that followed, reveal why the combination works so perfectly. It turns out it’s not the long history of continuo; it’s the nature of the cello itself, specifically its range. The cello, as is often said, has the range of the human voice; actually, it can go lower and higher than any voice. A continuo cello never plays very high–that’s not what it’s for–but it can, and once it is no longer needed on the bass line, we get to see what it can do. Both cello and piano can roam freely across all registers. Either can play the bass, either can sing the melody. In their equality we find a marriage of true minds.

You will hear this clearly in tonight’s sonatas, beginning with Debussy. Last season we heard Debussy’s sonata for violin and piano, and noted that in 1915 Debussy had been inspired to plan a set of six sonatas for various instruments after hearing a Septet by Camille Saint-Saens. He wrote the cello sonata first, followed by a sonata for flute, viola and harp, and then the violin sonata. (Sadly, he died at 55 before completing the set.)

World War I was under way, and Debussy planned his cello sonata as an homage to the 18th century French composers Couperin and Rameau. They were composers he loved, and in any case, in wartime he considered it his patriotic duty to be as French as possible. The three movements are all quite short; the entire sonata takes under twelve minutes. The five-minute Prologue opens like a French overture, slow, intense, and ornamented. This would be the Couperin part, if François Couperin, a French Baroque harpsichordist and organist, somehow wrote in pentatonic and whole-tone scales. The Sérénade begins with the cello in pizzicato, like the bass in a jazz ensemble, with the piano more than holding its own in funkiness. The partners pass effects back and forth, then shake free to show what they alone can do. The cello unfurls long, fluid lines, the piano finds elusive harmonies in rolling six-note chords. After four fascinating minutes, and without a break, they move to the Finale, the liveliest of the three movements. A rondo with an unmistakable Spanish feel, it is full of unusual effects from the cello and bravura playing from both. Listen for the cello to show off its full range, flying from top to bottom in a few seconds, then reprise the pentatonic passage from the first movement. A few abrupt chords later and it is over, a brilliant, surprising jewel.

Chopin’s Sonata for Piano and Cello Opus 65 was written in 1846-47, nearly 70 years before Debussy’s sonata, and is a romantic take on the magical partnership. Chopin, the quintessentially romantic composer, is also the quintessential pianist. Every one of his works has a piano in it; of the handful that also have another instrument, four include cello. It is his final work, and he played it at his last public performance with the eminent cellist August Franchomme, to whom it is dedicated. At 30 minutes it is nearly three times as long as Debussy’s.

The sonata appears to have given Chopin no end of trouble. He worked on it for two years, writing to his family, “Sometimes I am satisfied with my violoncello sonata, sometimes not. I throw it into the corner, then take it up again.” But the work paid off. It is a masterpiece, down to the smallest detail. The first movement is by far the longest, fully half the length of the entire sonata. The piano opens and introduces the first theme with a Chopin-esque flourish, but it is very much a partnership–the instruments share equally in the beautiful melodies and the stormy outbursts. Listen especially for the exciting moment when, after a flurry of activity, the cello starts at the bottom of its range and flies to the top, while the piano does exactly the opposite, ending up right where the cello began. It happens twice, and when you hear it the second time, get ready for the two great chords that end the movement.

Next comes the Scherzo, a term that literally means joke and was used often by Beethoven for a change-of-pace movement after a romantic storm. This scherzo is a charmingly off-kilter minor-key bagatelle–see if you can catch the rhythm of the first bars. Scherzi are always in a triple meter, three beats to the bar, but you’d swear this was in two, and you’ll never be quite sure where exactly the beat falls. You’ll feel better in the D major middle section, a romantic, very Chopin-y waltz.

The third movement is a slow, dreamy song, shared between the instruments in a way that almost invokes the continuo. The cello plays the melody first over the piano’s bass line, then they simply change places; the piano plays the same tune in the same register, and the cello drops down and plays the exact same bass line; they change places no fewer than four times. It is pure nostalgia; we are remembering those days! Their pas de deux is so romantic you will never want it to end; sadly, the movement is only four minutes long. But so perfect. It makes a wonderful encore piece, and if it sounds familiar, this might be where you have heard it before.

The Finale draws us out of the dream. We don’t need to know what Chopin was going through at the time to feel the melancholy, but his nine-year affair with the novelist George Sand was ending, he was unwell, and had only two years to live. The movement is fast, almost scurrying at times, but somehow there is no sense of relief, let alone triumph. Even when Chopin creates a brief G-major coda, we feel only a kind of so-be-it resignation. But, after Chopin’s lifetime of incomparable piano music–all those Etudes and Mazurkas and Preludes and Polonaises–it is beyond fortunate that he chose the cello for his final work.

After intermission, the sonata partners are joined by violinist Tom Stone to form another perfect combination, the piano trio. The Trio in D Minor, Opus 49 by Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847) is an inspired choice to complete our evening. Chopin and Mendelssohn were almost exact contemporaries who were born one year apart and died within two years of each other, both in their late thirties. They were musical royalty, famed for their virtuoso piano playing as well as their compositions.

Mendelssohn’s trio was completed in 1839, eight years before Chopin’s sonata. While he was composing it, his friend and fellow composer Ferdinand Hiller advised him to beef up the piano part, which he did, creating a romantic piano part that is in almost constant motion, while the violin and cello play long-breathed melodic lines. The cello cedes its higher register to its cousin and long-standing partner the violin, so you will hear more of its rich middle and lower registers than you did in the sonatas.

The trio is just slightly longer than the Chopin sonata, with the movements allotted time more evenly; the first movement and the fourth are both about ten minutes long, the slow movement about eight minutes. Only the gossamer four-minute Scherzo flies by. You will have time to enjoy every delectable melody.

The first movement opens with a cello solo; granted, it is only a single note, one upbeat, but the cello gets to play the melody all the way through, while the piano’s pianissimo syncopations ruffle the waters underneath. The violin joins with its own version of the theme, the piano takes a turn until the cello introduces an arching second theme in A major. The piano has by now unleashed a veritable waterfall of notes, part melody and part harmony, which Mendelssohn created for his own virtuosic hands. The interest never wanes; Mendelssohn has an almost miraculous ability to create music that draws you with it, always astonished.

The piano opens the second movement alone, playing a song-like melody in the right hand. the bass in the left, and sharing an accompaniment between them, as he does in many of his Songs Without Words. If you can free a bit of attention from the ravishing melody, listen to these in-between notes; they are the wine in the crystal glass. When they turn into triplets, and the mood turns minor, the cello entrance is one of the most dramatic moments in chamber music. When the song comes back, you will feel that your dreams, for once, have come true.

The scherzo is one of those movements that Mendelssohn does better than anyone, a Midsummer Night’s Dream movement, with fairies dancing in the forest. The joke is in the rhythm, as it so often is; see if you can figure out the ending of each phrase. But mainly, just enjoy it. That’s what scherzi are for. Catch your breath and get ready for the Finale. It’s another big movement, on the scale of the first, with a rather heroic theme that seems a little squarer than it actually is. There is a wonderful contrasting second theme that you won’t hear for a while, and some quite heroic moments along the way. When, at the end, a rising cello note leads the trio to a concluding D major, you feel Beethoven would have been proud. The ending is total joy.

An American Night at the Opera

Program Notes by Elizabeth Morrison

Pianist and producer Ronny Michael Greenberg and the brilliant young singers Olivia Smith and César Delgado open the 2024-2025 season with a kaleidoscopic view of American opera. Ronny explains,

"An American Night at the Opera is an exploration of how different influences - ranging from jazz and musical theatre to classical and modern operatic forms - come together to create a uniquely American musical experience. Jazz, with its roots deeply embedded in American history, brings a rhythmic and improvisational vitality that has influenced countless composers and continues to shape the sound of American opera. Musical theatre, another quintessentially American form, infuses operatic storytelling with accessible melodies and dramatic flair, creating a bridge between the classical and the contemporary.

The program reflects these diverse influences by including pieces that showcase the grand, operatic qualities of American music in various forms. Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue is a prime example, merging the improvisational spirit of jazz with the sweeping orchestral elements that evoke the grandeur of opera. Similarly, West Side Story blurs the lines between musical theatre and opera, with its powerful narrative and complex score. Sondheim’s works, like ‘Losing My Mind’ and ‘No One Is Alone,’ bring a psychological depth and lyrical intensity that are operatic in their emotional reach. And with Tobias Picker’s ‘I Am a Quiet Flower’ from Awakenings, we see how modern American opera continues to evolve, integrating these rich influences into new, compelling forms.

This program is a testament to the vast and varied landscape of American music, where jazz, musical theatre, and opera converge to create something truly unique.”
–Ronny Michael Greenberg

The concert is bookended by two composers with enormous influence on American opera, George Gershwin (1898-1937) and Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990). Gershwin of course composed the 1935 opera Porgy and Bess, with lyrics by his big brother Ira, but their genius overflowed into more than 500 songs, mostly written together; there would have been even more if George had not died suddenly of a brain tumor at only 37. Bernstein’s 1957 musical West Side Story is another hugely influential masterpiece; its lyrics also mark the Broadway debut of another vital figure in American music, Stephen Sondheim. Between the towering poles of Gershwin and Bernstein, we will touch down for music from two distinctly American operas: Susannah, by Carlisle Floyd, and Awakenings, by Tobias Picker, and two songs, “Be My Love,” by Nicholas Brodszky, and “Stranger in Paradise,” by Robert Wright and George Forrest, with fascinating operatic connections. A vast and varied landscape indeed.

The journey begins with Gershwin. He was born in Brooklyn, the child of Ukrainian Jewish immigrants. A piano came into the home when George was ten (intended, it seems, for Ira, not George) and by the age of 15 George had left school and was working as a “song plugger”–a gig where a pianist played in department stores to promote the sale of sheet music. He soon moved on to recording, arranging, and writing songs, and in 1919, at age 21, had his first hit with the song “Swanee,” recorded by the jazz singer Al Jolson.

The three songs that open the program are Gershwin classics. You certainly know them, and they have been recorded by famous artists over the years. But–and here is the opera connection–they are not random songs to listen to over drinks. They were all written for shows. They are, in their way, arias. “Someone to Watch Over Me” is from the 1926 musical Oh, Kay, and “Embraceable You” and “I Got Rhythm” are from a 1930 show called Girl Crazy. It’s possible to watch Girl Crazy on YouTube and get a feel for the context, though you need to overlook some dated political incorrectness. And if you find the plot too flimsy for comparison to an opera, take a look at the plot of Il Mondo della Luna, an opera by Haydn, no less, whose overture the Eureka Symphony will play next April. This is a line impossible to draw.

The next set of songs begins with “Be My Love,” by Nicholas Brodszky (1905-1958). Brodszky was (like the Gershwins) the offspring of Ukrainian Jewish immigrants. A tunesmith who always needed help from arrangers, and who has been described as “near-illiterate,” he nevertheless had an enviable career writing for many musical films. “Be My Love,” with lyrics by Sammy Cahn, was for the movie The Toast of New Orleans, starring the actor and operatic tenor Mario Lanza. The plot is apropos to our operatic evening; Lanza plays a Louisiana bayou fisherman with a nice singing voice. He is lured to New Orleans and groomed for a career as an opera singer, but loses his country charm in the process, along with the love of his leading lady, Kathryn Grayson. You’ll be glad to hear he throws off the influence of opera and regains his lost love.

Next are two songs by Stephen Sondheim (1930-2021). “Losing My Mind” is from the 1971 musical Follies, and “No One Is Alone” is from the 1987 Into the Woods. Sondheim breaks the mold by having grandparents who were German Jews on his father’s side and Lithuanian Jews on his mother’s. As a child in New York, he became friends with James Hammerstein, the 10-year-old son of the famous composer Oscar Hammerstein, and the great lyricist became his mentor. Though Sondheim got his Broadway start writing lyrics for West Side Story, he vowed going forward to write both words and music for his shows, which he did for 16 of his 19 musicals. Follies is his 9th. It tells of a group of aging actors who meet at the crumbling, about-to-be-destroyed theater where they performed and had youthful love affairs. “Losing My Mind” follows a kind of group nervous breakdown, making you wonder if you should ever look back over your life. “No One Is Alone” is from Sondheim’s retelling of four Grimm Brothers fairy tales: Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk and Rapunzel. Many of us saw the production of Into the Woods when the Cal Poly Humboldt Theater Department produced it in March, so we know that Sondheim’s work is as psychological as any opera.

Our two singers now join to sing “Stranger in Paradise,” a song with perhaps the most complicated relationship to opera of any on tonight’s program. It was written by Robert Wright (1914-2005) and George Forrest (1915-1999), a pair of professional and romantic partners who are best known for adapting and adding lyrics to music by the Russian composer Alexander Borodin for the 1953 musical Kismet. See what I mean? The music for “Stranger in Paradise” comes from an exotic scene near the end of Borodin’s opera Prince Igor known as the Polovetsian Dances. The song that ended up in Kismet is a long way from Polovtsy, but you can get a sense of the story by watching Vic Damone and Ann Blythe in the 1955 movie, again courtesy of the miracle that is YouTube. The movie is in saturated 1950s Technicolor and is borderline cheesy, but in a good way, while the song shows us another path for opera to wiggle into our lives.

Ronny Michael Greenberg next takes a solo turn with Gershwin’s Three Preludes, a collection of short piano pieces confirming his genius for combining classical music with jazz. They were written in 1926, two years after Rhapsody in Blue, for a collection called Melting Pot that was originally to include 24 preludes, later whittled down to three. They are tiny gems, each one about two minutes long; only Gershwin could have given them such sparkle.

The first half winds up with music by Leonard Bernstein. The great conductor, composer, pianist, writer and educator was born in Massachusetts to Ukrainian Jewish immigrants. (Is this the right time to ask what it is about having Ukrainian grandparents that produces musical genius?) Like many classical composers, Bernstein counted Gershwin as an influence. He was working as a music camp counselor in1937 when the word came of Gershwin’s death; he memorialized him by playing the second of the Three Preludes.

Bernstein was already at the height of his fame in 1949 when he began his collaboration with choreographer and director Jerome Robbins, book writer Arthur Laurents, and the young lyricist Stephen Sondheim, on West Side Story, a retelling of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Originally planned to be called East Side Story, and for the warring gangs to be Catholics and Jews, it evolved to become the story of a Puerto Rican gang, the Sharks, and an “American” gang, the Jets, whose clash ends in tragedy. Maria, a “Shark girl,” stands in for Juliet; she falls in love with her Romeo, the Jet leader Tony. The story is deftly translated from Verona to the streets of New York; the balcony scene takes place on a fire escape, the ball becomes a dance at the gym, Prince Esculus becomes Officer Krupke, while music, lyrics and dance transport us to a timeless world of young love.

Bernstein had already written an opera, Trouble in Tahiti, five years earlier, but wrote that with West Side Story his aim was different. He was treading a fine line between Broadway and opera. He wanted a score that would be manageable for his singers and not tempt them into overtly “operatic” singing, but he also did not want a typical “musical comedy.” A musical tragedy was something that had never been envisioned. Even now West Side Story resists classification, but we do not have to give it a label. It is simply its incomparable self. The three songs that conclude the first half are “Maria,” sung by César as Tony; “I Feel Pretty,” sung by Olivia as Maria; and “Tonight,” a duet for the star-crossed lovers.

Following intermission Ronny will play the solo piano version of Gershwin’s most famous piece, Rhapsody in Blue. Written in 1924, Rhapsody was a commission from the bandleader Paul Whiteman for an all-jazz concert called “An Experiment in Modern Music.” Whiteman requested a concerto which would combine classical and jazz elements. After Gershwin completed the piece it was orchestrated by Whiteman’s arranger, Ferde Grofé, writing to the strengths of his Palais Royal Orchestra, which included Ross Gorman, a virtuoso clarinetist. Gorman reportedly improvised the famous opening glissando in rehearsal, and Gershwin begged him to leave it in. The lengthy concert included 26 separate numbers, with Rhapsody scheduled as the 25th, by which time the audience was looking for the door. But Rhapsody electrified the crowd, the reception was ecstatic, and Gershwin was established as a major composer.

Our opera survey resumes with “I am a Quiet Flower,” from Awakenings, the 6th opera by the distinguished composer Tobias Picker (b. 1954). Picker was a close friend of the British neurologist Oliver Sacks (1933-2015), who wrote about Picker’s musicality, and his Tourette’s Syndrome, in his 2007 book Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain. The opera, with lyrics by Picker’s husband Aryeh Lev Stollman, is based on Sacks’s 1973 book, also called Awakenings, about a group of patients who had been left for four decades in a frozen state, like living statues, after an epidemic of sleeping sickness in the 1920s. Dr. Sacks administered the drug L-DOPA to the comaatose patients and brought about their explosive awakening. The aria is sung by their nurse, Mr. Rodriguez, who, in a startlingly operatic but actual turn of events, finds himself the object of consuming desire by one of the reawakened patients.

Olivia has an aria for us also: Ain’t It a Pretty Night,” from Susannah, by Carlisle Floyd (1926-2021). Floyd was an opera composer through and through; he wrote eleven of them, many set in the post-Civil-War American South (although he also portrayed 17th Century New England witch hunts, Wuthering Heights, and more). He was born in South Carolina and spent much of his life at Florida State University and the University of Houston; his knowledge of the south was direct and personal. Susannah is his best-known work and one of the most popular American operas, second only to Porgy and Bess. It transposes the Biblical story of Susannah and the Elders to rural Tennessee, making it more violent and more feminist in the process. Tennessee Susannah, like Biblical Susannah, will suffer for innocently bathing in a stream and stirring lust in the hearts of the church elders. Her beautiful song, in Southern dialect, celebrates her innocence.

Olivia, César and Ronny, joined by Tom Stone on violin, conclude the concert with two more songs from West Side Story: “Somewhere,” a duet between Tony and Maria, and the up-tempo number from Act I, “America.” The last song is a hilarious debate on the virtues of life in America versus Puerto Rico, but now Olivia and César are no longer Tony and Maria. They have been transformed into two new characters: pro-USA Anita and pro-PR Bernardo. I’ll leave you to choose, but after this splendid American Night at the Opera, I know where I want to be!