Ottorino Respighi
The Pines of Rome
Laboring under the shadows of such greats as Puccini, Rossini, and Verdi,
many lesser Italian composers at the turn of the 20th century found that, to
their countrymen, music meant only opera. Ottorino Respighi is credited with
being the first Italian composer in that period to achieve both fame and
popularity for purely orchestral works. His three most famous works, the tone
poems Fontane di Roma (Fountains of Rome, 1917), Pini di Roma (Pines of Rome,
1924), and Feste Romana (Roman Festivals, 1929), exemplify the eclectic,
pictorial style that won him such popularity.
Respighi began his music education at the Liceo in his native Bologna in
1899. In 1900 he accepted a position as principal violist with the Imperial
Opera in St. Petersburg, Russia. There he studied orchestration with
Rimsky-Korsakov, to whom Respighi always acknowledged a great debt. After
additional study with Max Bruch in Berlin and many years working as a violinist
or violist for various musical groups in Italy, he was appointed professor at
the St. Cecilia Conservatory in Rome in 1913. This position gave him enough time
to compose, and he achieved his first success in 1917 with the tone poem
Fountains of Rome. Respighi was also interested in preserving renaissance and
medieval musical traditions, and at the same time Fountains was published he
completed the first of what would eventually be three suites based on airs for
lute, which he orchestrated for piano and strings (Antiche arie de danze per
liuto, Ancient Airs and Dances for Lute).
After several years of contemplating scenes for a sequel to Fountains,
Respighi begain work on Pines of Rome in 1924. The piece combines his skills in
colorful orchestration and evocative composition with his interest in older
music, including references to medieval plainchant and to folk tunes -- in this
case, children's songs that his wife, Elsa, an accomplished singer and composer,
had taught him. Although thematically straight forward, the work requires
virtuoso playing from each section of the orchestra and features unusual
rhythmic patterns. The score also calls for some unusual instruments: six
buccinae, medieval precursors to trumpets and trombones, in the fourth movement,
as well as a record ing of a nightingale at the end of the third. Respighi
noted that modern brass could be used to replace the buccinae, but there was no
substitute for the recording because, as he explained later, "I simply realized
that no combination of wind instruments could quite counterfeit the real bird's
song." Respighi did not expect Italian audiences, fond as they were of their
operas, to welcome the work; during rehearsals for the first performance he is
quoted as saying "Let them boo … what do I care?"
The premiere was held on December 14, 1924, at the Teatro Augusteo in Rome,
and just as expected, the audience did boo -- at the atonal trumpet blasts at
the end of the first movement, and at the nightingale. But the finale's
triumphal brass won the audience over and earned the piece a standing ovation.
It has enjoyed popularity ever since, with Respighi's friend Arturo Toscanini
championing the work in the United States and leading its premiere in New York
in 1926.
The work's extremely specific musical imagery and brilliant scoring to
achieve this effect has been cited by many early Hollywood composers as an
inspiration. Indeed, Respighi was so specific in what he intended that he
published descriptions of the settings he envisioned for each movement at the
beginning of the score. For the first, Pines of the Villa Borghese, he
wrote:
"Children are at play in the pine groves of Villa Borghese; they dance
round in circles. They play at soldiers, marching and fighting, they are
wrought up by their own cries like swallows at evening, they come and go in
swarms."
The section opens brilliantly and moves in flurries of sound, with snatches
of military fanfares and children's songs, including the Italian version of
Ring-around-the-rosy, shouted out by brass or woodwinds and accented by colorful
percussion (ratchet, triangle). The movement builds to a bustling crescendo
while a trumpet blares a discordant note. This has been likened to children "blowing
a raspberry," but to this mother's ear it sounds just like a parent shouting "Enough!"
And, as Respighi writes:
"Suddenly the scene changes -- we see the shades of the pine trees fringing
the entrance to a catacomb. From the depth rises the sound of a mournful
chant, floating through the air like a solemn hymn, and gradually and
mysteriously dispersing."
Pines Near a Catacomb begins with solemn chords in the low strings,
over which the trombones sound a quiet theme reminiscent of Gregorian chant.
This develops until an offstage trumpet introduces a second motif. As the
trumpet ends, the strings begin a rhythmic pulsing, changing meter from 6/4 to
5/4. But though the pulsing gradually crescendos, the two original themes are
never lost: the brass continues to play the chant, then a portion of the trumpet's
tune, underneath the strings. The movement dies away as a quiet piano cadenza
opens the next movement, The Pines of the Janiculum.
"There is a thrill in the air: the pine-trees of the Janiculum stand
distinctly outlined in the clear light of the full moon. A nightingale is
singing."
A clarinet plays a long, rubato solo over soft, sustained string chords.
Flutes and strings develop this first motif, then the oboe introduces a rising
and falling theme that is quickly taken up by the strings. Though the movement
always keeps a fluid, forward momentum, the overall effect is calm and
reflective, never agitated. It rises to an ethereal sound with the addition of
flowing arpeggios in celeste, harp, and piano, then the clarinet sounds a long
sustained note and the recorded nightingale makes its appearance over softly
trilling strings. The movement ends in quiet contemplation. But this mood is
quickly broken by piano, low brass, and low strings sounding insistent, repeated
eighth notes over marching fifths in quarter notes, depicting:
"Misty dawn on the Appian Way: solitary pine trees guarding the magic
landscape; the muffled, ceaseless rhythm of unending footsteps. The poet has a
fantastic vision of bygone glories: trumpets sound and, in the brilliance of
the newly-risen sun, a consular army bursts forth towards the Sacred Way,
mounting in triumph to the Capitol."
The army of the finale, Pines of the Appian Way, approaches somewhat
ominously, with bass clarinet and low brass sounding fragmentary phrases of
military fanfares while the upper strings begin to pulse in descending
half-steps. An extended English horn solo marks the dawn and the brass begins to
call out, both offstage and on. The movement builds to an inexorable climax and --
whether it be the army Respighi envisioned or the flying whales of a recent
Disney movie -- the listener cannot escape the image of some great body in
glorious, triumphant motion.
April 13, 2003
|