El amor brujo (1925)
Manuel de Falla (1876 - 1946)
El amor brujo (“Love, the Magician”) was originally written in 1914-15 as a gitanería (“Gypsy Piece”) for a renowned flamenco dancer, but went through a number of other versions before released in its final version as a one-act ballet pantomímico. The plot is essentially boy-meets-girl, but in this case the girl is tormented by the ghost of her former lover, who is eventually lured away so that the two protagonists can exchange the “kiss of perfect love.” The composer described trying to capture the character of the Andalusian gypsy in the music, but I’ve always appreciated how he went beyond the mere imitation of folk music. The orchestration is lean and transparent (even the famous “Ritual Fire Dance” has a more sparse sound than some of the more bombastic re-arrangements of it).
 
Austin Piazzolla Quintet
Part of my job description as conductor of the Wilmington Symphony is to choose programming and guest artists. Last year, the Austin Piazzolla Quintet performed at Ted’s Fun by the River, and the reaction by those fortunate enough to be there was so enthusiastic that the idea of bringing that energy to a collaboration with the Symphony was suggested (in particular by my wife Sandy, who likely exerts more influence on me that perhaps other audience members). Their name-sake composer Astor Piazzolla, in a way similar to what de Falla did with his Andalusian sources, used Argentinian popular music as a departure-point. APQ’s take on nuevo tango adds many harmonic twists, metrical surprises, and influences from jazz, contemporary classical music, and beyond, above all with a great flair for the dramatic and emotional elements. 

W.A. MOZART (1756 – 1791)
Overture to The Impresario, K. 486
While an undergraduate at the University of Michigan,
I was fortunate to be in the conducting class of
Elizabeth A. H. Green, who had literally written
the book on the subject. “Ma” Green (as she was
called by students only when she wasn’t around)
taught conducting as a rigorous and disciplined
system in service of a non-rigorous, wholly
expressive outcome. She used Mozart’s Overture to
The Impresario as a teaching piece because it has
a wide range of dynamics and articulations that
required us to go beyond mere time-beating.
The work itself belongs to a 30-minute comedy with
spoken dialog that Mozart wrote as his entry for
a private competition on the invitation of Emperor
Joseph II. In what sounds like it should have been a
scene from the film Amadeus, the other entry was
written by Antonio Salieri. Mozart’s Overture brims
with energy and lyricism, with no fewer than six
distinctive themes practically climbing on top of each
other to be heard in the first minute-and-a-half.
 
PYOTR ILYICH TCHAIKOVSKY (1840 – 1893)
Variations on a Rococo Theme, Op. 33
I was surprised to learn that Tchaikovsky loved the
music of Mozart, whose elegant classical style would
seem to be antithetical to the composer of the 1812
Overture, Romeo and Juliet, and the “Pathetique”
Symphony. Yet amidst all Tchaikovsky’s bombast
and pathos there is plenty of music that reflects his
admiration for the earlier composer, perhaps no more
clearly than in the Variations on a Rococo Theme.
The Theme is actually by Tchaikovsky; I’ll leave it to
the musicologists to decide whether it is even in a
Rococo style, but it does have a clear two-part with
repetitions form that is typical of mid 18th-century
themes used for variations. The work was written
for German cellist Wilhelm Fitzenhagen, a colleague
at the Moscow Conservatory, who had more than the
usual influence on the progress of the work (in the
manuscript, the solo part appears in Fitzenhagen’s
handwriting). Tchaikovsky’s publisher complained that
Fitzenhagen was trying to “cello it up.” The Variations
are predominantly light-hearted and are accompanied
by a Mozart-sized orchestra, the Russian composer
successfully channeling the spirit of his idol.

JOHANNES BRAHMS (1833 – 1897)
Symphony No. 3 in F Major, Op. 90
The Wilmington Symphony is in the midst of an ongoing
Brahms Symphony cycle, with one performed
every other year. This season we’ve reached his third,
the shortest of the four and one that is unusual in
the genre because it ends quietly. It does follow the
four-movement plan that would have been familiar to
Brahms’ Viennese predecessors Haydn, Mozart, and
Beethoven. The first movement has a dramatic sweep
similar to that of Robert Schumann’s Third Symphony,
with which it also shares a rhythmic and metrical
pattern. The second movement has a hymn-like
theme played by a four-part choir (two clarinets and
two bassoons) which alternates with more expansive
music enjoyed by the larger orchestra. In place of the
typical Minuet and Trio, Brahms offers what is for
me one of his most beautiful creations- a passionate
triple-time movement with a yearning, melancholy
melody first played by the cello section. The last
movement begins with a rapid but shadowy theme that
flits through the string section before gathering into
more substantial material. As the momentum gathers
for an ending, Brahms instead lets the energy subside
into unexpected tranquility, and the symphony ends
with a serene echo of the very beginning.

​Over the Stone (Tros y Garreg)
Karl Jenkins (b. 1944)
 
One of the royal advantages of being the Prince of Wales includes having an official harpist. “Over the Stone,” for two harps, percussion, and strings was “commissioned at the kind request of His Royal Highness” for harpist Catrin Finch and composed by Sir Karl Jenkins in 2002. Jenkins became famous for the familiar quasi-Baroque string music accompanying the DeBeers diamond commercial, and since has written a number of works that blend a popular-music sensibility with classical choral and symphonic forms.
 
“Over the Stone” capitalizes on the possibilities of having two harps instead of one- sometimes the soloists reinforce each other and at others there is a kind of dialogue. The styles range from folk-music simplicity (Tros y Garreg) to Piazzolla-like Latin abandon (Vamp Latino).  The fifth movement, for just the two soloists, demonstrates more unusual ways of playing the harp, including pedal glissandi (bending the pitch of ringing strings by changing the pedals), playing close to the soundboard, and slashing across the strings with fingernails.
 
Much of the work is joyful and immediately attractive, and I think that the percussion instruments work particularly well with the crisp articulations inherent to the harp.
 
 
Symphony No. 2 in E Minor
Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873-1943)
 
Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 was given its premiere in 1908 to great applause with the 34 year-old composer conducting. Since then the work’s reception has varied- even while the composer was still alive its almost hour-long duration was felt to be excessive and so drastic cuts were made. I can recall that by the time I went to college in the 1970’s no self-respecting serious musician would even admit to liking Rachmaninoff, his reputation having sunk so low. Since then, though, audiences have come around to appreciating the great beauty and vivid emotional content of his music, not to mention his dazzling way with the symphony orchestra.
 
The three faster movements of Symphony No. 2 are similar in that once the more energetic initial theme has had its say, the composer brings in one of his “big tunes.” Even in the second movement Scherzo the fun is interrupted by a melody with a great romantic sweep. The third movement, being the contrasting slow part of the symphony, is practically all big tunes. The rising melody that the violins introduce at the outset was loved so much by pop musician Eric Carmen that he appropriated it for his 1976 hit “Never Gonna Fall in Love Again” and was shortly thereafter contacted by the Rachmaninoff estate about royalties owed. As beautiful as this melody is, the next one floated by the solo clarinet over gently undulating strings is even more so. I included this symphony in the WSO’s 2018-19 season at the suggestion of Symphony member Coleman Burgess, who also happens to be the solo clarinetist.
 
Other than not observing one repeat sign in the first movement, we are presenting the symphony without cuts, and so my advice is to sit back and luxuriate in the sheer abundance of memorable tunes and let the composer’s structure gradually and rewardingly unfold. 

​Overture to Russlan and Ludmilla
Mikhail Glinka (1804 - 1857)
 
Glinka’s mid Nineteenth-century operas were the inspiration for succeeding generations of Russian composers in that the reach of his music challenged the dominance of western European composers. When I was at the University of Michigan in the mid-1970’s, Mstislav Rostropovich visited Ann Arbor as a guest conductor and cellist for a concert with the University Orchestra. He had left the Soviet Union only a few years prior, and not being in total command of English, employed a Russian-speaking student to help him find the right words during orchestra rehearsals. While working on the Overture to Russlan and Ludmilla, he stopped before the big cello/viola tune and huddled with the translator, after which he asked the players to make it “sound like sirloin steak.”
 
Lyric Concerto
Steven Errante (1953 - )
 
During those college years in the 1970’s, I was immersed in the rather insular world of avant-garde music, where there was an attitude that quality and audience-appeal were inversely related. When I graduated and entered the real world, I began to realize that this approach meant I wasn’t communicating with my audience, and so when violinist Steven Bjella asked me to write a sonata for violin and piano, I decided to write from the heart without worrying about being at the cutting edge of music history. Last year, Bjella asked me to orchestrate the piano part of the sonata and the result is what I’ve titled Lyric Concerto, since it has less of an emphasis on pyrotechnics than the typical concerto.
 
The first movement is a kind a slightly off-kilter waltz. The second begins with a somber saraband rhythm but gradually progresses toward a more peaceful resolution. The third is based on an insistent long-short-short rhythm (also coincidentally a feature of the Glinka overture), and with the distance of some years since its composition, I can hear myself finding my inner Brahms and Rachmaninoff. Tonight’s performance is the premiere of this version.
 
Firebird Suite - 1945
Igor Stravinsky (1882 - 1971)
 
Igor Stravinsky rocked the musical world in the early 1900’s with his three big ballets- The Firebird, Petroushka, and The Rite of Spring. The first of these still shows the influence of Rimsky-Korsakov and sometimes even Tchaikovsky, but Stravinsky was nonetheless clearly taking music in a new direction. The original 1910 Firebird ran to 45 minutes and was written for a huge orchestra that included 3 harpists and 6 percussionists. Stravinsky’s 1945 suite (at least partly motivated by trying to regain copyright) is written for a smaller orchestra, and much of the shimmering effects of the original are replaced by a leaner, drier sound that reflected the changes in Stravinsky’s musical sensibility over the intervening 35 years. I like both versions, but since we performed the earlier one back in 2000 I thought it might be interesting to hear the composer’s later take on the material.

​Scheherazade, Op. 35
Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844 - 1908)
 
Rimsky-Korsakov gave the four movements of Scheherazade titles loosely based on the One Thousand and One Nights stories, but later withdrew the titles so that listeners could make up their own stories as they experienced his music. Like his Russian compatriots Tchaikovsky and Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakov brought exciting rhythmic vitality and a flair for orchestral color to the Romanticism inherited from Berlioz, Liszt, and Wagner. Scheherazade is a virtuoso showpiece for the entire ensemble as well as individual players (especially the violin, cello, clarinet, and bassoon), but it also has sections in which the entire orchestra has to coordinate in rhapsodic phrases that spontaneously ebb and flow. The fourth movement, with its overlay of two, three, and six beats per measure creates energy that finally spills over into the return of the “sea” music from the first movement.
 
Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun
Claude Debussy (1862- 1918)
 
Debussy’s tone poem, inspired by a literary poem of Stéphane Mallarmé, created a quiet revolution, because for all its sensual beauty, the way musical ideas are created and connected radically breaks from the goal-directed themes and harmonic progressions of his predecessors. Wisps of themes drift in and out, occasionally creating moments of tension or dramatic weight, but they always dissipate and a new musical idea emerges. At the end, the music dissolves into silence. 
 
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
Paul Dukas (1865 – 1935)
 
Anyone living today has probably experienced (in the movie theater, on VHS tape, DVD disc, or most recently, streaming) Walt Disney’s Fantasia, and therefore cannot hear The Sorcerer’s Apprentice without thinking of Mickey Mouse. Dukas took his inspiration from a 1797 poetic ballad by Goethe. The musical sections closely follow the action of the poem, which is told in first person from the viewpoint of the apprentice. I’ve always felt sorry for Dukas in that like Clement Clarke Moore, the distinguished professor of Oriental and Greek literature who is known today only for “’Twas the Night before Christmas,” he is remembered for this one work despite having composed orchestral, stage, and ballet works. 

​Leonore Overture No. 3, Op. 72b
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770 - 1827)
 
Beethoven’s sketchbooks show how many different versions he would make before being satisfied, but this effort sometimes continued even after the music was performed. In the case of his sole opera Fidelio, the overture went through a number of versions, and comparing them allows us to see the composer searching for the right proportions and dramatic structure. His first two versions (Leonore No. 2 and No. 3) used the same musical ideas, but in No. 3 the time scale was extended- passages which built up tension were given more time, climaxes were more powerful, to the point at which it overwhelmed the first few scenes of the opera. Realizing the problem, Beethoven eventually went on to write two more versions (using different musical materials), ultimately settling on the more lightweight work known today as the Fidelio Overture. Leonore No. 3 has special significance for me because it was on the first concert I conducted with the Wilmington Symphony back in the fall of 1986.
 
Concerto in E minor for violoncello and orchestra, Op. 85
Edward Elgar (1857- 1934)
 
One of Elgar’s last major works, it composed in the aftermath of World War I. The first movement has what I can only describe as a “somber lilt,” a kind of autumnal melancholy that pervades the music.
 
“Parto, parto, ma tu ben mio” from La Clemenza di Tito
W. A. Mozart (1756 – 1791)
 
Written in haste for a lucrative commission during Mozart’s last year of life, La Clemenza di Tito has been overshadowed by his concurrent project, The Magic Flute. In the aria “Parto, parto, ma tu ben mio,” Sestus (a castrato role) agrees to execute an assassination at the bidding of his beloved Vitellia. In addition to his dramatic writing for the voice, Mozart elevates the clarinet from a member of the orchestra in the pit to a character on stage.
 
Symphony No. 8 in B minor, D. 759 “Unfinished”
Franz Schubert (1797 – 1828)
 
Franz Schubert (who, as a 17-year old, reportedly sold his text-books to pay for a ticket to see Beethoven’s Fidelio), wrote symphonies that continued the classical style of his predecessors Haydn and Mozart. But in the Symphony No. 8, one can feel new winds blowing. The shadowy beginning of the first movement has a subtle agitation and gradual unfolding that makes it understandable that this symphony was an audience favorite in the second half of the 19th century. And this was despite Schubert having only completed two movements out of the expected four. In the serene second movement, one of my favorite passages is the long oboe solo (the second theme) that drifts over a kaleidoscopic series of key changes in the string accompaniment. It has a relaxed pacing that is more characteristic of the Romantic period.
 
Donna Diana Overture
Emil von Reznicek (1860 – 1945)
 
Reznicek unfortunately comes to us as a one-hit wonder despite the large amount of music he composed. He was a contemporary of Richard Strauss but never achieved the success of his more extroverted contemporary. If Reznicek’s popular Donna Diana Overture, with its non-stop good spirits and sparkling orchestration, is any indication, some of his other works deserve attention. 

Overture to the Tale of the Fair Melusine, Op. 32
Felix Mendelssohn (1809 – 1847)
 
Melusine is a fresh-water sprite from European mythology. Often depicted as a mermaid, the main thread that runs through many versions of the fairy tale is that she requires any nobleman seeking to marry her to never observe her in the bath, and those who cannot live with this restriction are sent packing. Mendelssohn’s overture on the subject was written in 1834 as a birthday gift for his sister Fanny, but the composer denied any specific correspondences between his music and the plot of the story. The overture alternates between gently rippling music (as heard in the clarinets at the beginning) and the more agitated music introduced by the string section. As with much of Mendelssohn’s music, I find the sheer beauty and grace of the music causes orchestral players to search for their most lovely, singing tone-quality to do justice to it.
 
Sea Pictures
Edward Elgar (1857 – 1934)
 
Originally written in high keys for soprano voice, Elgar’s five Sea Pictures were transposed down for the powerful voice of English contralto Clara Butt, who reportedly gave their premiere dressed as a mermaid. The texts are by different poets, including Elgar’s wife (Caroline Alice Elgar, who was already a published author before marrying Edward). Colorful and evocative, I have always felt that these songs take wonderful advantage of the richness of the lower female voice, and a visit to Cornwall a couple of summers ago confirmed for me that the composer beautifully captured the intersection between the English coast and the sea surrounding it.
 
The Tender Land, Orchestral Suite from the opera
Aaron Copland (1900 – 1990)
 
In the summer of 1970, I was a high school student at the National Music Camp in Interlochen, Michigan, and had the opportunity for an entire week to watch guest conductor Aaron Copland rehearse a concert of his own music, including an orchestral suite from his opera The Tender Land. I still have strong memories of how, in his Brooklyn accent, he coaxed the young musicians to play with “more charactah.” With their classical training, they were not used to playing their instruments as if they were accompanying a barn dance.
 
The suite begins with a love scene from the opera, a duet with soaring melodies that ends with ominous chords representing the grandfather’s intrusion into the end of the scene. Next comes the party scene, in which Copland shows once again his uniquely effective way of translating what we now call American “roots” music into a symphonic texture. Without pause, the suite moves on to the uplifting quintet from the end of the opera’s First Act: “The promise of living with hope and thanksgiving is born of our loving our friends and our labor.”


- Written by Conductor Dr. Steven Errante

​Over the Stone (Tros y Garreg)
Karl Jenkins (b. 1944)
 
One of the royal advantages of being the Prince of Wales includes having an official harpist. “Over the Stone,” for two harps, percussion, and strings was “commissioned at the kind request of His Royal Highness” for harpist Catrin Finch and composed by Sir Karl Jenkins in 2002. Jenkins became famous for the familiar quasi-Baroque string music accompanying the DeBeers diamond commercial, and since has written a number of works that blend a popular-music sensibility with classical choral and symphonic forms.
 
“Over the Stone” capitalizes on the possibilities of having two harps instead of one- sometimes the soloists reinforce each other and at others there is a kind of dialogue. The styles range from folk-music simplicity (Tros y Garreg) to Piazzolla-like Latin abandon (Vamp Latino).  The fifth movement, for just the two soloists, demonstrates more unusual ways of playing the harp, including pedal glissandi (bending the pitch of ringing strings by changing the pedals), playing close to the soundboard, and slashing across the strings with fingernails.
 
Much of the work is joyful and immediately attractive, and I think that the percussion instruments work particularly well with the crisp articulations inherent to the harp.
 
 
Symphony No. 2 in E Minor
Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873-1943)
 
Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 was given its premiere in 1908 to great applause with the 34 year-old composer conducting. Since then the work’s reception has varied- even while the composer was still alive its almost hour-long duration was felt to be excessive and so drastic cuts were made. I can recall that by the time I went to college in the 1970’s no self-respecting serious musician would even admit to liking Rachmaninoff, his reputation having sunk so low. Since then, though, audiences have come around to appreciating the great beauty and vivid emotional content of his music, not to mention his dazzling way with the symphony orchestra.
 
The three faster movements of Symphony No. 2 are similar in that once the more energetic initial theme has had its say, the composer brings in one of his “big tunes.” Even in the second movement Scherzo the fun is interrupted by a melody with a great romantic sweep. The third movement, being the contrasting slow part of the symphony, is practically all big tunes. The rising melody that the violins introduce at the outset was loved so much by pop musician Eric Carmen that he appropriated it for his 1976 hit “Never Gonna Fall in Love Again” and was shortly thereafter contacted by the Rachmaninoff estate about royalties owed. As beautiful as this melody is, the next one floated by the solo clarinet over gently undulating strings is even more so. I included this symphony in the WSO’s 2018-19 season at the suggestion of Symphony member Coleman Burgess, who also happens to be the solo clarinetist.
 
Other than not observing one repeat sign in the first movement, we are presenting the symphony without cuts, and so my advice is to sit back and luxuriate in the sheer abundance of memorable tunes and let the composer’s structure gradually and rewardingly unfold. 

​Alexander Borodin (1833 – 1887)
“Overture” and “Polovtsian Dances” from Prince Igor (1887)
 
As a doctor and chemist, Alexander Borodin provided science with such discoveries as “the first nucleophilic displacement of chlorine by fluorine in benzoyl chloride,” but fortunately we also have the fruits of his avocation in the form of a small body of memorable musical compositions. He wrote tuneful symphonies and string quartets, and left an unfinished opera about 12th-century Prince Igor and his war against the Polovtsy. After Borodin’s sudden death, his friends Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov and Alexander Glazunov finished Prince Igor, leading to a posthumous premiere in 1890.
 
Karel Husa (1921 – 2016)
“Élégie et Rondeau” for alto saxophone and orchestra (1961)
 
Czech-born composer Karel Husa became a US citizen in 1959 and spent his final years in Apex, North Carolina. A prolific composer, he won the 1969 Pulitzer Prize for music. His 1961 “Élégie et Rondeau” begins slowly with a long solo line for the alto saxophone. Strings and later the rest of the orchestra gradually join to create an intense climax. After it subsides, bells, xylophone, vibraphone and piano introduce scattered notes that gradually assemble into a short melodic cell, providing the basis for the strongly rhythmic figures of the Rondeau.
 
Max Bruch (1838 – 1920)
Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 26 (1866)
 
Max Bruch was a teacher and composer who also spent three seasons as conductor of the Liverpool Philharmonic Society. Such has been the popularity of his Violin Concerto No. 1 that it has threatened to make the composer into a “one-hit wonder.” The ravishing melodies that spin across the entire range of the violin are instantly gratifying, as is the skillful interweaving of the solo instrument and orchestra.
 
The Dance of the Coin (2017)
Julia Walker Jewell – Director, Composer/Creator/Screenplay
Honey Head Films – Co-Direction and Cinematography
Lesa Rogers Broadhead – Co-Director, Choreographer, Independent Dance Artist
Steven Errante, Orchestration
 
The Dance of the Coin is a multi-media work for film, dance and music that traces the journey of a 1942 German Third Reich 5 Pfening coin as it travels in time through the hands of both Jews and non-Jews, eventually landing in the palm of Julia Walker Jewell in North Carolina in 2009.
 
A film and choreographed dance sequences, accompanied by piano and orchestra, provide a series of vignettes which juxtapose the increasing suffering and despair of the Jewish people against the increasing power of the Nazi officers. Eight dancers perform on stage, working as one with the music and film. All three aspects of this piece are designed to stand alone and represent the work independently as well as part of the multi-media stage piece.
 
Composer Julia Walker Jewell offers the following reflection on The Dance of the Coin:
 
“The Dance of the Coin is intended to provide the audience with a glimpse into how the lives of those who hold and pass along this coin are affected. As the coin travels from Germany to America, the power of the hand is symbolized. It is the power of the hand that has the potential to be vigilant and strong, and not be indifferent. By using our hands to make music, film and dance, hopefully, we will not experience a repeat of the past, but create a future that embraces all faiths, colors, and cultures.
 
“Although I have been composing classical music most of my adult life, it is only recently that I have started to see the ‘fruits of my labor.’ As this work deals with an important part of human history, it is also an educational piece – one that invites the audience to ponder and reflect on how people behaved toward one another during such a difficult time. I have done a tremendous amount of research and taken great care to show historical accuracy in the vignettes I have created. I think the educational aspect of this work is beneficial to people of all ages, especially since the film, choreography or music can stand alone and be used as teaching tools.
 
“Primarily, it is my hope that The Dance of the Coin is a work of art; that it portrays, reflects and comments on humanity while entertaining, and that it leaves the audience with more hope and inspiration than when they arrived.”
 
Composer and keyboardist, Julia Walker Jewell is a native of Wilmington, NC. She is currently the full time Director of Music at Wrightsville United Methodist Church, where she serves as organist and directs the adult, handbell and children’s choirs. She is also the leader of the Port City Trio, a long time Wilmington band. Along with her husband, Kelly, she owns and operates Ted’s Fun on the River, a popular music venue in downtown Wilmington.
 
As a composer, she writes in both the classical and jazz idioms. In addition to writing for her Jazz Quintet, her classical works have been featured by the Tallis Chamber Orchestra of Wilmington, the “ComposerWorks Series”, and the “Very Special Arts Festival” in Brussels, Belgium. She received her B.A. from UNC Wilmington where she studied piano with Dr. Richard Deas and did her graduate work at Oakland University in Rochester, MI, studying commercial music and jazz.
 
Choreographer Lesa Rogers Broadhead earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in dance and drama from East Carolina University, Greenville, NC, and a Master of Fine Arts Degree from Southern Methodist University in Dallas. Professionally she has performed with The Cleveland Opera and the Atlanta Ballet. Lesa has also held teaching posts at Louisiana State University, Huntingdon College, Kent State University and the University of Akron.
 
Ms. Broadhead’s choreography includes reconstructing classical ballet favorites and contemporary works with themes on historical and societal issues, such as the Holocaust. In 1995 she was artist-in-residence at De Montfort University, Bedford, England, choreographing her first international Holocaust related dance work. In 1999 she presented three of her Holocaust related dance works at The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C., co-sponsored by the museum and the Embassy of Israel. These dance works have been the stimuli for Broadhead writing her first book with the working title THE HOLOCAUST: A Journey through Dance.  Currently, Lesa teaches at Wilmington Conservatory of Fine Arts, DREAMS of Wilmington, and at Brunswick Community College.
 
HoneyHead Films is a full service East Coast based female production company.  Founded in 2016, HoneyHead Films specializes in magical connections with tangible results, and is passionate about the untold art. Co-Executive Producers: Erika Edwards, Kristi Ray, and Devan Clark.

Antonín Dvořák (1841 – 1904)
Symphony No. 9 (“New World”) in E Minor, Op 95 (1893)
 
Czech composer Antonín Dvořák, whose early career was given a boost by the older Johannes Brahms, had a strong connection with folk music, especially that of Moravia and Bohemia. By the age of fifty, his fame had grown enough that the newly formed National Conservatory of Music of America in New York City hired him as director. During his short three years in America, he came in contact with Native American and African American music and wrote newspaper articles about how these traditions could form the basis of an American national musical style.
While in New York, he was commissioned by the New York Philharmonic Society to write a symphony, and in 1893 his Symphony “from the New World” was given a very successful premiere. It has now become one of the most popular symphonies in the repertoire. Many commentators have noted that the abundant folk-like melodies have elements of both indigenous American music and Bohemian music, betraying the composer’s homesickness.
First movement: After a somber introduction, the movement proper begins with a rising figure in the horns, the first of three main themes. The third of these bears a strong resemblance to “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” (minus the first two notes of the spiritual). What follows is a conventional development and recapitulation of the themes.
Second movement: The brass section begins with a series of mysterious chords which give way to the famous English horn melody. Other wistful themes follow, and before the final return of the English horn there is a triumphant full-orchestra passage in which the main theme of the first movement reappears, the cross-movement recurrence of themes being a common technique among of Romantic Period composers of symphonies.
Third movement: The gently propulsive figure in the woodwinds soon becomes a pounding dance in the full orchestra. The tempo calms a bit as gentler dance themes ensue. The return of the opening theme leads to another high point during which themes from previous movements return.
Fourth movement: Trumpets and horns introduce the assertive main theme, the repeated cadences of which lead to a second theme made up of boisterous triplets. A more serene clarinet melody is followed by yet another loud and energetic theme, concluding the presentation of the main material of the movement. The development section brings in themes from the preceding three movements, so by the tie of the “home stretch” part of the symphony we are hearing a musical culmination of much of what has gone on before.
 
Sergei Prokofiev (1891 – 1953)
Concerto No. 3 in C Major, Op. 26 (1921)
 
Ukrainian-born Prokofiev spent much of the time following the 1917 revolution outside of his country, but was welcomed back as a hero in 1932. Most of the rest of his career was spent going in and out of the good graces of the Soviet government. Pianist William Hueholt offers the following reflection on Prokofiev’s Concerto No. 3:
 
“Sergei Prokofiev’s Third Piano Concerto is an instantly appealing work––seemingly made to be enjoyed by a whole audience in a single delicious gulp.  Yet it is also one of those rare works that is undimmed by familiarity.  Those melodies––and what melodies they are!––are somehow elusive.  After one hearing, it seems as though you could whistle them.  But how does that part go again?  Just as soon as you think you grasp where Prokofiev is leading you, whoosh: the bottom falls out, the music swoops away in another direction entirely.
The piece is, for the pianist, full of both fun and frustration.  There is no mystery here as to the composer’s intent; Prokofiev is out to get you.  This is not a virtuoso showpiece––it’s all about the composer, despite the reams of brilliant, flashy writing.  His personality comes across so strongly that at times he almost feels like a physical presence.  No matter how quick you are, Prokofiev the chess master is always one step ahead.
That is why the opening of the concerto is some of the most striking music he ever composed.  The theme is presented by solo clarinet, then doubled by another, then joined by the whole orchestra in a single long sweep.  It is startlingly simple music, a non sequitur; perhaps a lesser composer would have started the concerto somewhere else.  But it lingers sweetly, through all the acerbic wit and glibness to follow.  I think it is a glimpse into Prokofiev’s soul.  And what a soul it is.”
 
Researched and written by Joan Olsson