Louis Moreau Gottschalk (1829 - 1869)
Symphonie romantique, and other works
Before his death at the age of forty in 1869, Louis Moreau
Gottschalk achieved a stunning list of 'firsts'. He was the first American
composer to be hailed in
Europe; the first American virtuoso (on piano) to be saluted
by the likes of Chopin; the first American musician to erase the hard line
dividing 'serious' from 'popular' genres; the first to introduce American
themes into European classical music; the first Pan-American artist in any
field; and among the first American artists to champion such causes as
abolitionism, public education and popular democracy. Above all, he was the
first to capture the syncopated music of South Louisiana and the Caribbean in
enduring works that anticipate ragtime and jazz by half a century.
Who was this phenomenon? Born in New Orleans in 1829, he
was the son of a Jewish businessman from London and a colourful and capricious
white Creole woman whose family had fled the slave revolt that swept the island
of Saint-Domingue (Haiti) during the French Revolution. Steeped in New
Orleans's rich operatic heritage (the Crescent City had two opera companies
before New York had one), young 'Moreau', as he was called, was sent as a boy
to further his studies in Paris Before his twentieth birthday he had stunned the
salons frequented by Liszt, Thalberg and Chopin with brilliant and moving
compositions that evoked the Creole songs he had absorbed from his family
circle.
Gottschalk, like Chopin or Dvorak, was not content simply
to incorporate folk material into his works. In the process of composition, he
transformed his raw material into pieces that are alternatively sentimental, bracingly
raucous, or darkly brooding. Sometimes, as in the quotation from the popular
nursery song included here as part of the medley O! ma charmante, the musical
material even transformed from major to minor, changing its emotional tone
entirely. Most of his symphonic works, demanding pieces for piano, operatic fragments,
patriotic works and art songs are imbued with a tender lyricism that exudes the
musical bouquet of the tropics. An ardent Unionist during the Civil War, he
nonetheless saw himself, and was seen by others, as the 'Chopin of the
Creoles'.
Conductor Richard Rosenberg has captured this essence in
a beguiling and diverse selection of Gottschalkiana. Here is the first
recording of Gottschalk's Symphonie romantique, subtitled A Night in
the Tropics, based on the composer's own orchestral score, now preserved at
the New York Public Library. In the second movement it features an unlikely and
arrestiug fugue based on a syncopated Cubau theme.
Here, too, are adaptatious of Gottschalk pieces by his
friends and self-proclaimed disciples Sidney Lambert (1838-1909), Lucien
Lambert fils (1858-1945) and Nicolas Ruiz Espadero (1832-1890). The
last, a formidably proficient Cuban friend of Gottscha1k's, transcribed the Louisianian's
Tarantelle, Op. 67. No.5 for winds, strings and piano. Hearing
this work, offered here for the first time ever on CD, one must wonder whether
Gottschalk did not himself participate in the project during the months before
his final departure from Havana in 1862.
And here, finally, are several of Gottschalk's virtuoso
compositions for piano, sympathetically transcribed for orchestra by the gifted
Jack Elliott, who was commissioned by the American Ballet Theater to adapt a
group of Gottschalk's eminently danceable pieces for use on the ballet stage.
What a pity Lynn Taylor-Corbett's choreography is not also included!
The compositions offered here are culled from all phases
of Gottschalk's enormously diverse career. He spent years concertizing
throughout the United States, breaking new ground for America by offering
entire programmes of his own compositions. No snob, he would offer up the same
repertoire to Ohio farmers or Nevada gold-miners as he would to Bostonians.
After being falsely but successfully framed by musical enemies in San Francisco,
he fled to South America, where he spent the years 1865-69. Just as he was on
the verge of returning, and just as he was about to realise his lifelong dream
of devoting his days fully to composition, he died unexpectedly in Brazil of a
ruptured appendix. To our good fortune, fresh compositions continued to flow
from his pen down to the last month of his life.
Frederick Starr, Author of: Bamboula! The Life and
Times of Louis Moreau Gottschalk (Oxford, 1996)
In the course of a multi-year project to revive the music
of the all-but-forgotten 'Creole Romantic' composers (including Edmond and
Eugene Dede, and
Charles, Sidney and Lucien Lambert), I also sought to clear
the cobwebs that had settled on works of the best-known among them, Louis
Moreau Gottschalk. That he was lionized during his lifetime (an Elvis Presley
of the Victorian era?) did not rescue his music from posthumous distortions or
a century-long neglect.
Gottschalk's A Night in the Tropics (1859) had only
been performed since his death in condensed and 'corrected' versions. My
reconstruction of this work is based on the composer's autograph manuscript,
with instrumental forces not quite as large as those employed at Gottschalk's
own performances (which featured over 650 musicians) but quite large nonetheless.
It retains Gottschalk's unusual voice leading and notation. I believe that the
meticulous care Gottschalk took in consistently adding rests and dotted rhythms
is a key to the 'tropical' passion he sought to evoke. The arrangement of this
symphony for two pianos by Gottschalk's friend and colleague, Nicolas Ruiz Espadero,
provided the basis of my orchestration of the lost forty-two bars at the end of
the orchestral score I incorporated the sound of 'harmonieflautas' at the end
of the first movement (based on Gottschalk's own account of where and how it
was employed), using an antique South American concertina. In the final
movement of A Night in the Tropics, Gottschalk indicated only the first
measure of the Afro-Cuban percussion, using the notation 'Bamboula'. He fully expected
the ensemble to improvise the remainder of that samba movement in a manner that
places it as a sort of 'missing link' between nineteenth-century concert music
and a musical language that would soon evolve into that of Jazz
Richard Rosenberg