LEVY: Cello Concerto / Symphony No. 3 / A Summer Overture
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Frank Ezra Levy (b.1930) Son of the distinguished Swiss composer, pianist, and teacher Ernst Levy, Frank Ezra Levy was born in Paris on 15th October, 1930,...
Frank Ezra Levy (b.1930)
Son of the distinguished Swiss composer, pianist, and teacher Ernst Levy, Frank Ezra Levy was born in Paris on
15th October, 1930, and came to New York in 1939. He began cello lessons at the age of ten, and at twelve he
began studies in theory and composition with Hugo Kauder, which continued for nine years. After graduating from
the High School of Music and Art, Levy attended the Juilliard School of Music and the University of Chicago. His
major cello teachers were Leonard Rose and Janos Starker.
A former member of the St Louis Symphony and the Feldman Chamber Ensemble, Frank Ezra Levy is still a
professional cellist, and continues to compose. Large works include a four-act comic opera, a cantata, four
symphonies, several other orchestral pieces, and eight concertos. All the rest of his 88 published works are
chamber music, an extraordinary variety of pieces for 1-15 instruments, often in highly unusual combinations.
Notable premičres of Frank Levy's music include his Third Symphony at Carnegie Hall (1989), the Holocaust
Triptych at Manhattan School of Music (1993), his First Cello Concerto at Lincoln Center (2002) and Apostrophe
No. 3 for 15 solo strings, at Music Festival of the Hamptons (2004). Currently available among his recorded works
are the Fourth Symphony and First Cello Concerto. LP recordings include the Violin Duo, Sonata for Clarinet and
Piano, Suite for Horn and Piano, Adagio and Rondo for Two Clarinets and Bass Clarinet, and the Brass Quintet.
A Summer Overture Cello Concerto No. 2 Rondo Tarantella Symphony No. 3
I wrote my first piece, a setting of William Ernest
Henley's Invictus, at the age of ten, when I was going
through an 'opera period'. A subscription to the
Metropolitan Opera was my birthday present that year,
and Wagner was my idol, so that song was undoubtedly
influenced by his music. Some years later, when
everything I had composed through high school was
accidentally thrown out, I was devastated until I found
that anything of real value was still in my memory: my
little Invictus was not.
Wagner was soon replaced, when I was twelve and
began studying theory at a small music school run by
two Viennese refugees in Manhattan. My teacher was
Hugo Kauder, a brilliant composer whose own musical
training had emphasized an intense study of
Renaissance masters. Strict, demanding, unreasonable,
Kauder taught me species counterpoint for years with
little or no praise, while squashing my creative efforts.
Only many years later I learned that he considered me
his prize student. As part of my studies I participated in
weekly chamber music sessions at his apartment: the
playing was often quite dreadful, but the music, mostly
Kauder's own, intrigued me. It still does. I was
fascinated and moved by it, and in fact can still recall a
particularly haunting pentatonic melody in his setting
of a Chinese drama. I was so much influenced by his
style that some characteristics, a concern with the
melodic and rhythmic integrity of individual parts, for
instance, and doublings in fourths and fifths, still
appear in my own music.
My other principal influence was my father, with
whom Kauder formed a close friendship and mutual
admiration society. A formidable pianist, and a major
teacher at New England Conservatory, M.I.T. and other
schools, Ernst Levy was primarily a composer. I still
remember singing in the Dessoff Choir, as a twelveyear-
old tenor, when we performed his Ninth Symphony
at Carnegie Hall. The following summer my brother
Matthys and I, and two young ladies from the
conservatory, were the only students in a little music
course my father taught in Skowhegan, Maine, while
completing the piano sketches for his Tenth Symphony.
Although he wrote fifteen symphonies in all, his Tenth,
one of the most lyrical and expressive of all my father's
works, had the most profound and lasting effect on my
musical development.
My father's style was much more dissonant than
Kauder's, and generally employed larger forces, but the
two men shared a dedication to tonality, linear
counterpoint, rhythmic flexibility and modality that has
shaped much of my own musical approach. I do not,
however, use either of their notational eccentricities:
my father composed without metric signatures, Kauder
without barlines. I have embraced the work of some
twentieth-century composers, Bartok, Janaćek and, to a
lesser extent, Stravinsky, and have avoided other
currents of the time, such as serial music: my most
powerful influences are still Ernst Levy and Hugo
Kauder. It was the spirit of their music, and their refusal
to stray from their individual paths, I think, that
influenced me most. Although with time I developed
my own voice, they showed me the way.
Symphony No. 3, composed in 1977, is by far the
earliest of the works heard here, but the piece
demonstrates a structural approach still at the core of
much of my music: the opening melody, here in the
clarinet, generates a series of variations that dissects,
develops and rearranges it, turning the material like the
bits of glass inside a musical kaleidoscope. Ten 'turns'
bring about a forceful restatement of the theme, and
then a quintuplet figure in unison strings prepares for
and leads directly to the irregular rhythms of the second
movement. This final rondo is based on further
transformations of the first movement's opening
melody. Harmony in my music is generally a byproduct
of linear writing, the temporary alignment of
individual voices: but tonal centres do develop, and
shape an overall harmonic structure. Often I choose a
tonally ambiguous initial motive that will allow a piece
to 'find itself' in the course of the work. This piece, for
example, begins in a tonal centre of D flat, finds C by
the end of the first movement, then settles on A for the
duration of the second.
The symphony is scored for only four winds, six
brass, three percussion players and strings. 25 years
later I chose similarly modest orchestral forces for my
Cello Concerto No. 2, where they are often used
sparingly to help bring the virtuoso cello line into relief.
Much the same process of 'kaleidoscopic variation'
determines the design of the concerto as well: in the
Allegro moderato the solo cello presents the opening
phrase to be transformed through interaction with the
orchestra. Not only individual motives but also entire
sections appear in various guises, in different lights and
colours, with a constant play and shift of textures from
the intricate and complex to the most transparent. The
Molto adagio is a dramatic dialogue between the
individual and the often chaotic events around him: the
solo line, lyrical by nature, sometimes has to fight its
way through the orchestral commentary. A chorale-like
theme evolves and reappears a number of times, as does
the first movement subject. After a return of the adagio
melody in the bassoon the movement ends in quiet
resolution. The final Allegro is an exuberant rondo,
driving, virtuosic, and slightly quirky. Near the end a
tranquil, waltz-like section, a brief theme and
variations, surfaces, and then another reminiscence of
the first movement leads back to the final restatement
and short coda. The concerto was written for my good
friend Scott Ballantyne, inspired by his brilliant
performances of my first Cello Concerto, both in
concert and recording.
The two smaller pieces heard here are scored for
larger forces. In A Summer Overture, my modern-day
translation of the thirteenth-century English round
'Sumer is icumen in', all the forces of a large orchestra,
with an augmented battery of percussion, reduce the
canon to fragments, scatter the pieces far and wide, and
finally reassemble them into a full-blown arrival of the
original. The overture was written in 1997, the same
year composer/playwright Frank Ledlie Moore agreed
to write the libretto for an opera I had long wanted to
compose, based on Aristophanes' comedy
Thesmophoriazusae (A Woman's Festival). Moore was
soon diagnosed with ALS, but despite the increasing
difficulties of communication caused by his illness we
managed to finish the first three of the four acts together
before his death. The opera, Mother's Day, is dedicated
to his memory. In Moore's radical reinterpretation of
Aristophanes a group of working mothers plans to stage
a protest in Washington, D.C., to try to persuade the
president to become a mother herself so that she can
more fully appreciate their concerns. Rondo Tarantella
is the music for the finale of Act II, the climax of a
series of comic episodes: here the president's husband
disguises himself as a woman in order to infiltrate the
demonstration.
Frank Ezra Levy
A Summer Overture (more info)
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A Summer Overture - 8:39
Cello Concerto No. 2 (more info)
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I. Allegro moderato - 6:14
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II. Molto adagio - 7:05
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III. Allegro - 6:52
Rondo Tarantella (more info)
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Rondo Tarantella - 15:53
Symphony No. 3 (more info)
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I. Lento - 11:58
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II. Vivace - 8:12