Walter Piston (1894-1976): Symphony No. 2 Symphony No. 6
Walter Piston continues to be virtually damned with faint
praise more than a quarter-century after his death. While acknowledging his
extraordinary ear for orchestra timbre, his consummate contrapuntal skills and
his overall lifelong employment of classical forms, commentators have for too
long dismissed him as an academic, as if intellectual rigor and the acceptance
of historical models was a bad thing. Even his remarkably clear notation of
scores and his early background in engineering reinforces the notion of a
fastidious craftsman, which he certainly was in the best sense, rather than a
creative artist. An even casual reflection on music history shows that the
pantheon of truly great composers is peopled by such conservatives as Bach,
Mendelssohn and Brahms, all three content to build upon and find vitality in
musical structures created by their forebears. Likewise, Walter Piston combines
an uncommon rigor with a tone-poet's sensitivity. Well-meaning admirers refer
to him as a "composer's composer," an intended compliment that can imply a lack
of touch with the public audience. In truth, his music commands respect and
admiration from his composer colleagues, including Stravinsky, Krenek,
Sessions, Hanson, Thomson and Carter, as well as by his lay enthusiasts who
have simply given him a close and open listen.
Piston was a New Englander, born in Rockland, Maine, in
1894, of English and Italian ancestry. (His paternal grandfather, Antonio
Pistone, was a Genoan seaman.) From the age of ten, Piston was raised in
Boston, enlisted in 1916 and spent three years in the Navy, where he played
saxophone in the Navy band, and was educated primarily at Harvard (summa cum
laude, 1924) where he joined the faculty in 1926 following two years in Paris
for lessons with Paul Dukas and the legendary Nadia Boulanger. He remained at
Harvard until 1960 when he was named professor emeritus. An excellent teacher,
his students included Elliott Carter, Irving Fine, Harold Shapero and Leonard
Bernstein. Among many honors he received were a Guggenheim Fellowship in 1934
and Pulitzer Prizes for his third (1948) and seventh (1960) symphonies. In
1951, he became the first recipient of the Walter W. Naumberg Chair of Music.
In 1943, when the tide of World War II began to turn in
favor of the Allies, Walter Piston composed his Symphony No. 2, a work with a
palpable American feel that nonetheless avoided the hot blood of patriotic war
fever. The new score received the New York Music Critics' Circle Award and
enjoyed performances by the Boston Symphony, New York Philharmonic and the
Cleveland Orchestra, yet fell into relative obscurity until revived in 1970
when Michael Tilson Thomas recorded it in 1970.
The opening Moderato begins with a long-spun theme in the
strings, darkly hued and somewhat anxious. Winds add a dash of color to the
otherwise basic string sonority. Piston raises the temperature through
increases in pacing, animation and dynamics. A wind- and percussion-dominated
section follows. Jaunty and syncopated, this paragraph sounds conspicuously
American, reflecting the composer's youthful years playing in bands. Quiet
strings return with distant wind commentary and reticent timpani. Piston treats
the primary theme in canonic imitation, though the music remains utterly free
of academic note-spinning. Periodic brass chorales add an effective somber mien
that balances the rowdier moments.
The rapt Adagio, quiet and sadly nostalgic, evokes a sense
of American homespun innocence and provides a lovely solo for the first
clarinet before handing over the lead to the principal flute. This is Piston at
his most achingly beautiful and utterly belies facile and unfounded later
charges of academicism. Orchestral strings lead the orchestra into a section of
elevated dynamics and an intensification of warm feeling before allowing the
clarinet quietly to assert itself, with an occasional "blue" note that furthers
the American backdrop.
The final Allegro surges forward, propelled by percussive
thwacks and emphatically barking brass. Three separate themes, one dance-like,
another poignantly sung by English horn and clarinet, and a third brassily
assertive tune, course through the Rondo-like movement.
The Symphony No. 6 dates from 1955, composed to celebrate
the 75th season of the Boston Symphony and first performed by them under
Charles Munch. Piston dedicated the new work to the ensemble's previous music
director, Serge Koussevitzky, and his wife Natalie. Piston's intimate
association with the BSO began when he settled in Boston in 1926. Over the next
four and a half decades, the orchestra performed nearly two-dozen works by
Piston, including many written expressly for them. In this vein, the composer
wrote, "While writing my Sixth Symphony, I came to realize that this was a
rather special situation in that I was writing for one designated orchestra,
one that I had grown up with, and that I knew intimately. Each note set down
sounded in the mind with extraordinary clarity, as though played immediately by
those who were to perform the work. On several occasions it seemed as though
the melodies were being written by the instruments themselves as I followed
along. I refrained from playing even a single note of this symphony on the
piano."
From that statement one might rightly infer that the Sixth
Symphony drew more than typically upon Piston's consummate skill as an
orchestral painter: the work abounds in delicious contrasts of timbre and
coruscating bursts of color. In the opening movement, marked unusually Fluendo
espressivo, the long opening theme is attractively though modestly scored for
strings and winds. Eventually, descending scales from the harp add a splash of
golden tone before yielding to a second long-flowing tune, this one richly
orchestrated and as highly varied in its unfolding as the initial theme was
unchanging.
The ensuing Scherzo brews up its own contrast of sonority
and mood. Galvanized by percussion, a whirlwind of activity from the rest of
the orchestra creates a high-jinx atmosphere tinged with subliminal anxiety.
This movement provides a perfect foil for the ravishing Adagio that follows.
Low strings provide a sonic "wash" (to use the term from painting) from which
emerges a solo cello enunciating an especially attractive melody that informs
the entire movement even when transferred to other instruments. Though key
signatures are not indicated in the score, the Finale is resolutely in bright A
major. Echoes of jazzy syncopation animate this bright and optimistic music,
internally contrasted by episodes of beguiling warmth featuring, among others,
flute and harp. The work concludes in a blaze of positive energy in a full
orchestral restatement of the opening cello theme.
Steven Lowe
g Seattle Symphony