ROBIN BEAUCHAMP Homage
I. Premonition
II. The Darkness Declares the Glory of the Light
III. Celtic Fanfare
POULENC Gloria, FP 177
I. Gloria in excelsis Deo
II. Laudamus te
III. Domine Deus, Rex caelestis
IV. Domine Fili unigenite
V. Domine Deus, Agnus Dei
VI. Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris
SAINT-SAËNS Symphony No. 3, op. 78, C minor (Organ Symphony)
PART I
Adagio – Allegro moderato
Poco adagio
PART II
Allegro moderato – Presto
Maestoso – Allegro
When writing about the life and music of a living composer it can be especially helpful to go straight to the horse’s mouth. In that spirit, I paid a zoom call to Robin Beauchamp, Professor of Sound Design at SCAD, and Penny, his sweet chocolate Labrador Retriever.
Johnson:
How did you become a composer?
Beauchamp:
My mother was a choreographer, and growing up she would play a specific pop song over and over to develop the dance for that piece. It would drive the family crazy, but as a young child, I would keep listening to it and peel away a different layer each time it was played. I was fascinated with how the music was put together: the colors, the instruments, it was all a large sonic puzzle. With each pass I could focus on—and appreciate—a different element of the music.
In high school band I used to admire the band director’s large shelf of textbooks. One of the books I noticed was Orchestration by Kent Kennan. I asked him if I could borrow it, and he said, “Yes, but only if you don’t bring it back!” I must have read that book four or five times in the following weeks. After which I precociously decided that I would do an arrangement of Burt Bacharach’s song “Long Ago Tomorrow” for concert band based on what I learned from the book. Looking back, I’m sure the arrangement was terrible, but it was a powerful experience for me as a young kid to conduct the performance of my own arrangement!
To this day I don’t think of myself as a composer first, but more as an arranger and orchestrator with a lifetime of experience mixing and editing for film and television.
Johnson: Beyond music, what are some of your passions and interests?
Beauchamp: I do love landscaping.
Johnson: Can you discuss your process for composing a new work for the Savannah Philharmonic?
Beauchamp: Keitaro Harada and I were discussing some upcoming arrangements for the Philharmonic, and he asked me if I would be interested in composing an original work. One of the things I really like about working with Kei is that he hasn’t tried to micromanage my artistic process, which has really motivated me to do my best work—I don’t want to disappoint someone who has put their faith in me.
The only direction Kei gave to me was to include something in the music that was uniquely Savannah. I had previously written a little piece for brass and organ called Celtic Fanfare, played at the St. John Baptist Cathedral for St. Patrick’s Day. And what says “Savannah” more than St. Patrick’s Day? So it was a natural fit for me to expand the Celtic themes from this little piece into a more substantial work for full orchestra.
The pandemic hit during the compositional process—a dark time for all of us—so I wanted to create a work that would begin with darkness and uncertainty, but build to an affirming climax: a juxtaposition of darkness transforming into light. As the author T. S. Eliot wrote in his play Murder in the Cathedral, “The darkness declares the glory of light.”
There are three sections to this piece, and each section is an homage to one of my three favorite film composers. The first section, “Premonition,” is a nod to Bernard Hermann, the composer for such Hitchcock films such as Vertigo. The second section, “Darkness Declares the Glory of Light,” is slower, and pays tribute to French composer Maurice Jarre’s music for Jacob’s Ladder. The third movement is a fun closing to the piece that uses the Celtic fanfare ideas and is an homage to film composer Erich Korngold.
Johnson: What would you say have been the challenges for composing this big piece?
Beauchamp: I hate to say it, but I just don’t see this project as being a challenge, but really an opportunity. I suppose the main challenge in composing any large work is pulling it all together from the initial sketches. Plus, there is always a concern that when you’re writing a work for orchestra, one that will have a big audience, that you don’t want to create a stinker! I certainly hope that my piece won’t disappoint Kei, and that it won’t disappoint the audience either.
There is a conception that when one composes a new work for orchestra, that the composer must create an edgy, contemporary work that demonstrates one’s hip understanding of latest trends in classical music. However, I am distinctly not “hip”: I am who I am, a pop and commercial music arranger, and I don’t make any apology for that. I take pride in the depth and sincerity that I put into each of my musical projects. When composing Homage, I realized that in the creative process that I should just be who I am, and I hope my music will take listeners on an emotionally moving journey.
Francis Poulenc (1899-1963) is a composer that the city of Savannah can appreciate: a man who loved the social life and hitting the town, but was also good about attending Sunday morning Mass. A music critic once described Poulenc as being part monk and part rascal! Poulenc’s father’s side of the family came from the rural southern part of France, and his mother’s side of the family were Parisian artists and craftsmen. Poulenc himself felt that his devout Catholic faith came from his dad’s side, and his artistic adventurousness from his mother’s.
Poulenc began piano lessons at age five, and by the time he was a teenager, already had big plans to enter the conservatory. Sadly, his parents’ early, tragic deaths and World War I scuttled these plans, but fortunately, he found a piano and harmony teacher who helped him network in artistic and intellectual circles, allowing him to pursue a career as a musician.
Gloria (1960) is a later work by Poulenc, one that comes towards the end of a successful career composing songs, sonatas, concertos, ballets, and operas. It is also a sacred work, applying the text from the Catholic mass. Here is an English translation for each of the six movements:
- Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, goodwill to all people.
- We praise you, We bless you, We worship you, We glorify you. We give thanks to you for your great glory.
- Lord God, heavenly King, Almighty Father.
- Lord, the only-begotten Son, Jesus Christ.
- Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, King in Heaven Who takes away the sins of the world, Have mercy on us. Receive our prayers.
- You who sit at the right hand of the Father, have mercy on us. Only you are holy, only you are Lord. Only you are most high. Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit in the glory of God the Father. Amen.
The first movement of Gloria is truly majestic, uplifting, and celebratory. Poulenc uses the powerful sound of a full choir and orchestra joining forces to create a swirl of symphonic colors and climactic harmonies. In the second movement you will hear Poulenc’s rascal side: the tempo and rhythms of the music feel playful, even a bit mischievous…which doesn’t quite jive with the “we praise you” text…
The third movement, in contrast, is slower, more serene, with a hymn-like texture that gives the music a more sacred tone. In this movement you will hear one of the most beautiful soprano solos accompanied by hushed orchestral and choral responses. The fourth movement takes us right back to playful—It may even remind you of the music from fun 1950’s cowboy movies. Perhaps the rascal Poulenc envisioned Christ, on a horse, with a lasso and 10-gallon hat on his way to the saloon?
The fifth movement is somber, dark, and enigmatic. Again, the listener is treated to a lyrical soprano solo with responses from the choir. The sixth and final movement brings back the majesty and celebration of the first movement, but this time with the choir predominantly featured. However, this piece does not end on a climax: with one more exquisite soprano solo, Gloria calmly and gradually fades away, evoking an other-worldly transfiguration. It seems that the monk side of Poulenc—and not the rascal—gets the last word.
One of the first things anybody should know about French romantic composer Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921) is how to pronounce his name: if you say it like “sen-SAWNZ” (the “t” in Saint is silent, the vowel sounds altered) then you are pretty darn close. Next is to become familiar with his most celebrated works: violinists love the showpiece Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso; opera lovers enjoy his powerful Samson and Delilah; and audiences everywhere are delighted by his most famous work, Carnival of the Animals. But none of these can touch the sheer grandeur of his Symphony No. 3, often referred to as “The Organ Symphony.”
Saint-Saëns (remember! “sen-SAWNZ”) was raised by his mother and his aunt because his father died when he was just a baby. His aunt started giving him piano lessons when he was just three years old, and by age ten, he was already playing concertos by Mozart and Beethoven. Back in the 1800’s, performers almost always gave performances using the sheet music—but not Saint-Saëns! He played everything for memory. In addition to being so advanced musically, Saint- Saëns was something of a Renaissance man, with interests in archaeology, astronomy, math, philosophy, and science. After attending and graduating from the Paris Conservatoire, winning high honors for performance, he went on to hold appointments as an organist, as a music teacher, and also wrote published articles for music journals.
In the 1870’s and 1880’s Saint-Saëns made many trips to England where he was popular with London concert audiences and Queen Victoria. So much so that the Royal Philharmonic Society—a British organization that promotes classical music—commissioned him to compose his third symphony. The work was completed in 1886, and Saint-Saëns himself conducted the world premiere performance, solidifying his reputation there as the greatest living French composer.
Why does this piece have only two movements? Aren’t symphonies supposed to have four? No worries, professional musicians are also scratching their heads on this one. The typical structure of a symphony is four movements—fast, slow, scherzo, finale—but Saint-Saëns decided to combine the fast-slow into one movement, and the scherzo-finale into one movement. So even though the work is technically in two movements, it still seems to follow the traditional four-movement symphonic structure.
The first movement begins slow, quiet, and mysterious. About a minute into the music, the violins begin a faster minor-key murmur, with woodwinds and horns playing lyrically above. As the music gets louder, the instruments switch roles: the woodwinds quickly murmur with strings taking the rising lyrical melody. This is one of Saint-Saëns’ well-loved orchestral techniques: the swapping of ideas from one instrumental family to another, arranging the colors in many different ways. Throughout the rest of the Allegro, the listener will also hear the gentle, warm major-key second theme, as well as many brass fanfare climaxes.
Midway through the first movement (where the 2nd movement would normally go), the organ comes in with soft, warm chords, with the strings on a long, leisurely, luxurious melody on top. This melody then gets passed to the woodwinds, with strings taking the harmony and countermelody in the most calming way imaginable. Saint-Saëns’ long, rich melodies continue to slowly ebb and swell until finally fading away.
If this tranquility gently shuts your eyes during the concert, the second movement (where the 3rd movement should be) will wake you right back up. The ensuing scherzo section alternates between driving strings and timpani—later passed to the woodwinds—and sections of animated playfulness, with Saint-Saëns cleverly quickly transferring orchestral colors.
Midway through the 2nd movement (what would typically be the final 4th movement) the organ eventually gets to show the audience its full plumage with an epic C Major chord. It’s difficult to describe the sheer majesty of a large cathedral organ with full orchestra, but it may be one of the most heroic and empowering sounds one can ever hear. This final section is nothing less than triumphant, and for those of you familiar with the award-winning children’s film Babe (yes, the one about the pig), you may recall when Babe (the pig) wins the top prize in the sheepdog herding competition. If you haven’t seen Babe, please put it in the streaming queue, if for no other reason than you get to hear the amazing ending of Saint-Saëns 3rd symphony with a beloved pig who must discover himself and overcome adversity.
–David H. Johnson
Comments? Questions? Email me at [email protected].