Midori, violin

Program Notes

Che Buford – Resonances of Spirit

Resonances of Spirit
Che Buford

Che Buford studied violin at the Boston Conservatory at Berklee and is currently a DMA candidate in composition at Columbia University. Based in New York City, he has been particularly interested in improvisation, electroacoustics, and interdisciplinary collaborations. Buford is the recipient of the 2024 G. Schirmer Prize for the Gabriela Lena Frank Creative Academy of Music. The composer has prepared the following introduction to Resonances of Spirit:

“When Midori asked me to create a piece based on Negro spirituals— focusing on the violin’s capacity to express pain and sorrow and fitting into a program that explores diverse spiritual influences—I was immediately intrigued. However, I spent time reflecting on how I could approach this in a new, personal way. I have always been deeply moved by the way Negro spirituals express profound sorrow and pain, but also resilience and joy. Yet, rather than referencing them in a literal or transparent way, I wanted to capture their emotional essence and transform it through my own musical language that includes incorporating electronic elements and my own improvisational practice as a performer.

As I started this process, I found myself drawn to spiritual methodologies from the African diaspora, particularly Yoruba practices. I began asking: What recurring themes exist between Yoruba spiritual traditions and the messages conveyed in these songs? How broadly can “spirituals” be interpreted in the context of sound as a vehicle for spirituality? This led me to explore concepts of ancestral memory and the ways memory is embedded in nature.

The piece contains sounds of water, wind, deep vibrating sine tones, electronic drones, whispers of Yoruba prayer, and my own humming and singing within the electronics. The violin blends with these elements, enhancing the atmosphere through exploration of texture and timbre, while remaining fragmented and lyrical.

Resonances of Spirit is part of a multi-piece project that continues to explore these themes of memory, spirituality, and nature. This piece for solo violin and electronics, written for Midori, is Volume 1 of the series.”

Program notes written by Che Buford

Ludwig van Beethoven – Violin Sonata No. 5 in F Major

Violin Sonata No. 5 in F Major, op. 24 “Spring”
Ludwig van Beethoven

The nickname “Spring” for this sonata did not originate with Beethoven, but this is one of those rare instances when someone else’s nickname for a piece of music is exactly right. No matter how often one has heard this music, it always sounds fresh. Beethoven wrote this sonata in 1800-01, at the same time he wrote the Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 23. They were probably intended as a set, and there is evidence that Beethoven intended that they should be performed together. What a study in contrasts these two sonatas make! The Sonata in A Minor is sharp, pithy, almost violent; the “Spring” is flowing, long-lined, and relaxed.

The Spring Sonata opens with a long arc of seamless melody, one of the loveliest Beethoven ever wrote. Beethoven first has the violin play it, then— as if reluctant to give up something so beautiful—he gives the same theme to the piano: the double statement of the opening theme extends over 25 measures. If spring is said to go out like a lamb, there is a darker side to this music that reminds us that it can come in like a lion, and one of the particular pleasures of the opening movement is the contrast between the sunny opening melody and the darker secondary material. After an extended development, the movement ends on a fragment of the opening idea.

The Adagio molto espressivo is of extremely simple structure: first the piano and then the violin play the song-like main idea, which develops not through a rise in tension but by increasingly complex ornamentation. An effective touch here is the steady flow of murmuring sixteenth-notes: that rippling, murmuring sound—present throughout almost the entire movement— complements the music’s serenity.

The Scherzo is brilliant. One of Beethoven’s most original movements, it lasts barely a minute—the ear has only begun to adjust to the dazzling asymmetry of its rhythms when it ends. Beethoven intentionally makes it sound “wrong”—the violin appears to be one beat late—and the real fun of this movement comes at the very end, where “wrong” music resolves so gracefully that listeners suddenly become aware just how “right” it has been all along.

The concluding Rondo returns to the mood of the opening movement, for it too is built on what seems to be a never-ending flow of melody, music that spins on effortlessly. Full of good-spirited energy, this movement offers several varied episodes along the way, but the chief impression is the graceful ease of what is some of the sunniest music Beethoven ever wrote.

Francis Poulenc – Sonata for Violin and Piano

Sonata for Violin and Piano, FP 119
Francis Poulenc

Poulenc loved the sound of wind instruments. When he composed his Sextet for Piano and Woodwind Quintet, he referred to it as “an homage to the wind instruments I have loved from the moment I began composing,” and he wrote wonderfully for winds throughout his life. About stringed instruments, however, Poulenc was much less sure. In particular, the combination of a stringed instrument with piano—a combination that had seemed very natural to Beethoven and Brahms—gave Poulenc trouble. He noted that he did not like the sound of “the violin in the singular,” and he wrote only two string sonatas, the present violin sonata and one for cello. Yet both of these are impressive works.

A dark atmosphere hangs over the Violin Sonata. Poulenc composed it in Paris in 1942-43, during the German occupation, and dedicated it to the memory of the Spanish poet Frederico García Lorca, who had been murdered by the Fascists during the Spanish Civil War. Poulenc was the pianist at the premiere of the Violin Sonata, and the violinist on that occasion was the young French violinist Ginette Neveu. When she was killed in an air crash in 1949, Poulenc went back and revised the last movement of this sonata, which is pointedly marked Presto tragico.

One should not approach this sonata thinking that it is all darkness and gloom, for it is not. The sonata is in the expected three movements, and Poulenc treats the piano and violin as equals. The aptly marked Allegro con fuoco is indeed full of fire. Poulenc marks the violin’s opening theme Très violent, and that marking will recur repeatedly throughout this sonata. The agitated beginning rides along a spiky energy that gives way to a more relaxed central episode, full of an unexpected sweetness; the opening material returns to drive the movement to a violent close. Poulenc attached a fragment of a quotation from Lorca to the slow movement (“The guitar makes dreams weep”) and we may hear something of the guitar, an instrument Lorca played, in the violin’s pizzicato strokes here. This music has an exotic character, its long lyric lines full of dark swirls. The concluding Presto tragico returns to the manner of the opening movement, with a bristling energy and brilliant violin passages, including some for left-handed pizzicato. The ending is striking, and perhaps this is the section Poulenc refashioned after Neveu’s death: the energy dissipates on a cadenza-like flourish for violin, and the sonata vanishes on sharp strokes of sound.

Clara Schumann – 3 Romances, op. 22

Three Romances for Violin and Piano, op. 22
Clara Schumann

In 1853 Robert and Clara Schumann welcomed into their home in Düsseldorf two young men who would go on to become giants of 19th-century German music: Johannes Brahms and Joseph Joachim. Brahms and Joachim would develop a lengthy (and frequently stormy) relationship of their own, but they quickly became true friends of the Schumann family. Robert’s mental health was now in rapid deterioration, and they stood by during his decline and death in an asylum, visiting him frequently and helping Clara and the seven children. In turn, Clara remained close to both men over the remaining 40 years of her life. Her long and intense friendship with Brahms is familiar, but she was also close to Joachim. She gave a number of duo-recitals with him after Robert’s death, and she was close enough to give the violinist financial and domestic advice as he approached his own marriage. Brahms and Joachim were among the most intense mourners of her death in 1896.

In 1853, during the first rush of the Schumann’s friendship with Joachim, Clara wrote, specifically for him, the Three Romances for Violin and Piano. She did not compose a great deal. The demands of being wife, mother, and pianist left her little time, and in any case she was ambivalent about composing: in a diary entry at age 19 she wrote, “A woman must not desire to compose— not one has been able to do it, and why should I expect to?” In fact, these romances were virtually her final composition (her list of opus numbers runs only to 23). After Robert’s death, she stopped composing altogether.

A romance is a type of music without strict formal meaning: that title simply suggests music of an expressive character. All three of these romances are in ternary form plus coda, and all end quietly. Though they were composed during the stress that accompanied Robert’s decline, these pieces show absolutely no sign of that pain, they may be regarded as brief explorations of gentle moods. In the Andante molto, the violin soars easily over the piano accompaniment, though the music’s characteristic quintuplet turn appears in both parts. The Allegretto, in G minor, is more intense, though Clara’s instruction is “With tender performance.” Some have heard the influence of Mendelssohn in this music, which moves into G Major for its center section, full of trills and grace notes; this romance winks out with quiet pizzicato strokes that return to G major in the last measure. The final romance, marked Passionately fast, is also the longest: the violin sings above a rippling piano accompaniment; when this section returns, the composer effectively varies the sound by making the piano accompaniment entirely staccato.

Joachim very much liked the Three Romances, and he and Clara performed them frequently. When she published the set in 1855, she had this inscription printed in the score: “Dedicated to Joseph Joachim with the greatest friendship.”

Robert Schumann – 3 Romances, op. 94

Three Romances for Violin and Piano, op. 22
Clara Schumann

In 1853 Robert and Clara Schumann welcomed into their home in Düsseldorf two young men who would go on to become giants of 19th-century German music: Johannes Brahms and Joseph Joachim. Brahms and Joachim would develop a lengthy (and frequently stormy) relationship of their own, but they quickly became true friends of the Schumann family. Robert’s mental health was now in rapid deterioration, and they stood by during his decline and death in an asylum, visiting him frequently and helping Clara and the seven children. In turn, Clara remained close to both men over the remaining 40 years of her life. Her long and intense friendship with Brahms is familiar, but she was also close to Joachim. She gave a number of duo-recitals with him after Robert’s death, and she was close enough to give the violinist financial and domestic advice as he approached his own marriage. Brahms and Joachim were among the most intense mourners of her death in 1896.

In 1853, during the first rush of the Schumann’s friendship with Joachim, Clara wrote, specifically for him, the Three Romances for Violin and Piano. She did not compose a great deal. The demands of being wife, mother, and pianist left her little time, and in any case she was ambivalent about composing: in a diary entry at age 19 she wrote, “A woman must not desire to compose— not one has been able to do it, and why should I expect to?” In fact, these romances were virtually her final composition (her list of opus numbers runs only to 23). After Robert’s death, she stopped composing altogether.

A romance is a type of music without strict formal meaning: that title simply suggests music of an expressive character. All three of these romances are in ternary form plus coda, and all end quietly. Though they were composed during the stress that accompanied Robert’s decline, these pieces show absolutely no sign of that pain, they may be regarded as brief explorations of gentle moods. In the Andante molto, the violin soars easily over the piano accompaniment, though the music’s characteristic quintuplet turn appears in both parts. The Allegretto, in G minor, is more intense, though Clara’s instruction is “With tender performance.” Some have heard the influence of Mendelssohn in this music, which moves into G Major for its center section, full of trills and grace notes; this romance winks out with quiet pizzicato strokes that return to G major in the last measure. The final romance, marked Passionately fast, is also the longest: the violin sings above a rippling piano accompaniment; when this section returns, the composer effectively varies the sound by making the piano accompaniment entirely staccato.

Joachim very much liked the Three Romances, and he and Clara performed them frequently. When she published the set in 1855, she had this inscription printed in the score: “Dedicated to Joseph Joachim with the greatest friendship.”

Franz Schubert – Rondo in B Minor, D.895

Rondo in B Minor, D.895
Franz Schubert

Schubert composed the Rondo brilliante in October 1826, and it was published the following year, one of his few works to appear in print during his lifetime. Schubert wrote this music for the Bohemian violinist Josef Slavik and pianist Karl von Bocklet, who were active in promoting Schubert’s music during the final years of the composer’s all-too-brief life. Schubert played both violin and piano, so the graceful and idiomatic writing for the two instruments here is no surprise, but the unusual feature of this music is its difficulty. Perhaps the knowledge that he was writing for virtuoso players encouraged Schubert to compose very demanding music. One of the early reviewers in Vienna noted, “Both the pianoforte and the fiddle require a practiced artist, who must be prepared for passages which have not by any means attained to their right of citizenship by endless use, but betoken a succession of new and inspired ideas.” The music’s publisher also recognized its difficulty: Schubert had himself called it only Rondo, but the publisher added the adjective brilliante.

The Rondo brilliante is in two parts: a slow introduction followed by the animated rondo. The opening Andante alternates the piano’s pounding dotted chords with fiery runs from the violin, and this music in turn frames a haunting middle section that Schubert marks dolce. The introduction concludes with an almost timid two-note cadence: B rising to C-sharp. But this restrained figure promptly becomes the basis for the rondo itself, marked Allegro: both violin and piano hammer it out to launch the rondo, and this rising motif will figure as an important thematic element throughout. The rondo section itself combines equal parts virtuosity (busy passagework, high positions, surprising accidentals, and difficult string-crossing) with the most melting lyricism, as Schubert breaks into the bustle of this music with gentle interludes. Along the way, he brings back reminiscences of the slow introduction before a più mosso coda drives this music to its spirited close.

Program notes written by Eric Bromberger