Live in the studio with pianist Soyeon Kate Lee and host Brian Hannah.
From Music Director Daniel Meyer
Some of my favorite music evokes landscapes or nature. January’s concert is inspired by my fascination with how a composer can create an aural landscape inspired by his favorite environment. I tend to look for the connections between what we see and what we hear, as well, and when it comes to creating a concert program for the Philharmonic, sometimes a visual cue can provide just the right inspiration for how seemingly disparate elements may fit together into an elegant program. Take Smetana’s The Moldau, for instance. The music has this wonderful, perpetual undulation designed to simulate the flow of the Danube River as it flows through the Bohemian countryside. It’s one of Smetana’s most famous and most popular musical creations, but what makes it interesting are all of the stops or discursions Smetana allows us to take as listeners. Indeed, if all we hear were the undulation of the river, we may get quickly bored or succumb to an invitation to fall asleep! But among other musical ‘happenings,’ one of my favorite is a country party that emerges, complete with heavy-footed steps in a peasant polka. It’s unexpected, delightful, and to me a musical scene not unlike the wonderful peasant scenes Peter Breughel is able to capture in his paintings.
The visual riches certainly to not end with Smetana. Bartok was a conscientious chronicler of the sound world around him, whether it was folk song and dance of the Hungarian countryside, or whether it was the birdsong he heard outside his window while convalescing in Asheville, North Carolina. Listen closely to the second movement of his brilliant Third Piano Concerto to hear how he masterfully incorporates these birdsongs into a dialogue with the solo pianist, Soyeon Kate Lee.
Jean Sibelius was a composer who, in many ways, felt compelled to incorporate the expansive vistas of his native, frozen, Finnish landscape into his own music. For me, much of what makes his music unusual, and a departure from the Continental traditions of Brahms and Tchaikovsky, is how he can simulate the undulation of a top-frozen but very active river, or the bubbling of a geyser, or the eruption of a storm swirling with some of the most turbulent winds you can imagine. These evocations of nature become one with his compositional technique – the gestures become motives, the motives become phrases, the phrases intersect, overlap, and collide to create the most stunning musical effects. In his Second Symphony, you will experience this and more. Human meets nature, and both exist in a constantly shifting sound world that will simply sweep you away with its force.
From Music Director Daniel Meyer
While we are not even halfway into our 2016-17 concert season, there are so many memorable musical moments that I will cherish. From the brilliance of Beethoven’s Eighth, Ken Johnston’s sumptuous Glazunov Concerto, how fun it was to be a rock star for a night with Jeans n’ Classics in a Police tribute, or to play the delightfully ghoulish scores from Tim Burton’s iconic films – the musical memories are rich and I am eager to come back for more. Our Philharmonic is stronger than ever, and our musicians are coming to each new project with so much enthusiasm and a desire to attain new artistic heights.
As we finish 2016 and embark with hope into 2017, let me take this opportunity to thank you for your passion for the Erie Philharmonic. It is an honor to serve this community as Music Director, and I hope you and your family will continue to enjoy how our musicians bring their best to the Warner Theatre stage. As much as we treasure the Warner as our musical home base, you know that we spend many hours in schools, the Art Museum, community resource centers, and countless other locales throughout northwestern Pennsylvania. It is a distinct pleasure to hear how the classical music can brighten someone’s life, and we will keep dedicating ourselves to Erie in the best way we know how: through great music.
I wish you and your family the very best for a Happy New Year, and I cannot wait to get back to the stage to bring you more with our superb musicians of the Erie Philharmonic.
Daniel Meyer, Music Director
Prepared by Ken Meltzer
Vltava (The Moldau) from Má vlast (My Fatherland) (1874-1879)
Bedřich Smetana was born in Leitomischl, Bohemia (now, Litomyšl, the Czech Republic) on March 2, 1824, and died in Prague on May 12, 1884. The first complete performance of Má Vlast took place at the National Theater in Prague on November 5, 1882, with Adolf Čech conducting.
Approximate performance time is twelve minutes.
In the autumn of 1874, Bedřich Smetana suddenly found himself totally deaf. Smetana was forced to resign all of his public appointments, and it appeared that the career of the first great Czech nationalist composer was at an end. But Smetana’s passion to express unbounded love for his Czech homeland was too powerful. This devastating period witnessed the triumphant birth of Smetana’s orchestral masterpiece, Má vlast (My Fatherland). Smetana composed this collection of six orchestral tone poems during the period from 1874-1879.
Smetana dedicated Má vlast to the city of Prague. The first integral performance of the work occurred on November 5, 1882, with Adolf Čech conducting. In his biography of Smetana, Václav Zelený described the event: “Everyone rose to his feet and the same unending storm of applause was repeated after each of the six parts…At the end of (the concert) the audience was beside itself and the people could not bring themselves to take leave of the composer.”
The following is Smetana’s description of The Moldau:
Vltava (The Moldau)—
Two springs gush forth in the shade of the Bohemian forest, the one warm and swift flowing, the other cool and tranquil. Their waters join and rush joyously down the rocky bed, glistening in the light of the morning sun. The hurrying forest brook becomes the River Moldau (Vltava), which flows across the land of Bohemia, widening as it goes. Passing through dark forests, the sounds of the hunter’s horn are heard ever nearer. Through meadowlands it passes where a wedding feast is being celebrated by peasants with song and dance. At night, water nymphs play in its gleaming depths in which are reflected fortresses and castles from the glorious past. At the Rapids of St. John, the stream becomes a roaring cataract, beating its way through rocky chasms, widening at last into the majestic river that flows through Prague, greeted by the mighty old fortress, Vyšehrad, where it vanishes over the horizon lost to the poet’s sight.
Concerto No. 3 for Piano and Orchestra (1945)
Béla Bartók was born in Sînnicolau Mare, Hungary, on March 25, 1881, and died in New York on September 26, 1945. The first performance of the Third Piano Concerto took place in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on February 8, 1946, with György Sándor as soloist, and Eugene Ormandy conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra.
Approximate performance time is twenty-three minutes.
On October 8, 1940, one month before Hungary joined the Axis alliance, Hungarian composer Béla Bartók and his wife, pianist Ditta Pásztory, gave a farewell concert at the Academy of Music in Budapest. The Bartóks then departed their native land for the United States, arriving in New York harbor on October 29, 1940. During the journey to the United States, the composer wrote: “this voyage is...like plunging into the unknown from what is known but unbearable...God only knows how and for how long I’ll be able to work over there.”
Bartók’s fortunes continued to decline when he settled in New York. His health deteriorating from the onset of leukemia, Bartók was often unable to fulfill the few commissions he received. Still, there were some brighter moments for Bartók in the United States. A 1943 commission from conductor Serge Koussevitsky supported the composition of one of the masterpieces of the 20th century, Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra. Koussevitsky and the Boston Symphony Orchestra presented the world premiere of Bartók's miraculous composition at Symphony Hall on December 1, 1944. Bartók reported: “The performance was excellent. Koussevitsky is very enthusiastic about the piece, and says it is ‘the best orchestral piece of the last 25 years.’”
Nevertheless, Bartók realized that his life was drawing to a close. During the summer of 1945, Bartók attempted to complete his Third Piano Concerto, a work he hoped would serve as a concert piece for his wife. On September 21, Bartók’s friend and pupil Tibor Serly visited the composer at his apartment. There he found Bartók in bed, desperately working on the final movement of his Piano Concerto. The next day, Bartók was taken to West Side Hospital. He died four days later.
Prior to his death, Bartók had, for the most part, finished the Third Piano Concerto, save the orchestration of the final seventeen bars, which Serly completed. Despite the undeniably tragic circumstances under which Bartók composed his Third Piano Concerto, the work displays a profound strength, optimism and joy of life. It is in that sense a triumph, albeit posthumous, for one of the 20th century’s greatest composers.
The Concerto is in three movements. The first (Allegretto), opening with the soloist’s introduction of the expansive principal melody, features virtuoso writing throughout. The slow-tempo second movement, in A—B—A form, juxtaposes a hushed chorale (Adagio religioso) with a central middle section (poco più mosso) suggesting the sounds of bird calls. A reprise of the opening section leads to the finale (Allegro vivace), which follows without pause. A brief upward flourish by the soloist precedes the introduction of a syncopated figure, the recurring principal theme of this rondo finale. The work concludes with brilliant writing for the soloist, capped by a bold ascending passage.
Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Opus 43 (1902)
Jean Sibelius was born in Tavastehus, Finland, on December 8, 1865, and died in Järvenpää, Finland, on September 20, 1957. The first performance of the Second Symphony took place in Helsinki, Finland, on March 8, 1902, with the composer conducting.
Approximate performance time is forty-three minutes.
In the fall of 1900, Jean Sibelius and his family departed their native Finland for Italy, stopping first in Berlin. In February 1901, they finally reached their destination—the village of Rapallo, located just south of Venice. There, Sibelius began work on his Symphony No. 2.
In May, Sibelius and his family returned to Finland. There, Sibelius continued to work on his Second Symphony. In November of 1901, Sibelius informed his friend, Baron Axel Carpelan that he had almost completed the Symphony. However, Sibelius continued to revise it, necessitating the postponement until March of the planned January 1902 premiere.
Sibelius conducted the premiere of his Second Symphony in Helsinki on March 8, 1902. It was a rousing success, and Sibelius repeated the program on March 10, 14 and 16, each time to a capacity audience. This was a particularly tumultuous period, a time when Finland was under the grip of Russian domination. Patriotic emotions were at a fever pitch. Sibelius had previously composed overtly nationalistic pieces, such as Finlandia (1899), and the Finnish people were anxious to find a similar message in the new Symphony.
In an article that appeared the day after the premiere of the Symphony No. 2, Finnish conductor Robert Kajanus ascribed the following program to the last three movements of the Second Symphony:
The Andante strikes one as the most broken-hearted protest against all the injustice that threatens at the present time to deprive the sun of its light and our flowers of their scent...The scherzo gives a picture of frenetic preparation. Everyone piles his straw on the haystack, all fibres are strained and every second seems to last an hour. One senses in the contrasting trio section with its oboe motive in G flat major what is at stake. The finale develops toward a triumphant conclusion intended to rouse in the listener a picture of lighter and confident prospects for the future.
Years later, conductor Georg Schnéevoigt, a close friend of Sibelius, wrote that the opening movement depicts the untroubled pastoral life of the Finnish people before the onslaught of foreign oppression.
Throughout his life, Sibelius was consistent in his emphatic denial that the Second Symphony was based upon any such programs. Still, it is not at all surprising that the Finnish people continued to find a personal message of hope in this fiercely dramatic (and in the end, triumphant) work by their greatest composer. More than a century after its premiere, the Symphony No. 2 remains a source of inspiration and pride for the Finnish people, as well as a mainstay of the international symphonic repertoire.
The Second Symphony is in four movements. The first (Allegretto) opens with a repeated ascending figure in the strings, based upon a three-pitch motif that will form the nucleus for several themes throughout the Symphony. The slow-tempo second movement (Tempo, Andante, ma rubato) incorporates music Sibelius first associated with an encounter between Don Juan and Death. The third movement is a quicksilver scherzo (Vivacissimo), contrasting with a pastoral episode. The concluding movement (Finale. Allegro moderato) follows without pause. The Symphony’s opening three-note motif is now presented in an heroic transformation. In the stunning climax, the motif undergoes its final and most eloquent transformation.
From Music Director Daniel Meyer
Thought I would unpack each element of our coming ‘Home for the Holidays’ concert for you, piece by piece, deconstructing every morsel and delight until all that’s left are a few crumbs on the cookie plate….
Okay, not really.
In fact, the best part of the show is the element of surprise. What lovely moods can we bring with the mellifluous voices of the Erie Philharmonic Chorus? What razamuhtazz can we reveal through the voice of Erie’s own Playhouse star Kate Neubert Lechner? What joys abound when Penn State Behrend’s Young People’s Chorus take the stage and sing as one? And what of our own Erie Philharmonic, in symphonic holiday splendor?
You’ll just have to come to the Warner Theatre to find out! The Saturday matinee concert is one act, designed for families to enjoy together in a concise but colorful format. The evening concert is our full, two-act performance with all of the bells and whistles. In either case, we want you to be there, because our most important mission is to get you and your family into the joyous mood of the season. We want to celebrate all that make this 'Most Wonderful Time of the Year' with you and yours, and thank you for your support as we continue to strive to bring the best music possible to Erie.
May you and your family have a beautiful holiday, and we’ll see you on Saturday.
From guest soloist Kate Neubert Lechner
I’ve always found that music has been the cornerstone in my life, so it’s no surprise that I connect much of the Holiday season to music. Some of my fondest memories from my childhood and beyond all have a soundtrack. Nat King Cole’s Christmas albums underscore decorating tree and most of the holiday season when I was a kid. I know my mom didn’t really have Nat on repeat all December, but his recordings are just immediately evoke the holidays for me.
Christmas morning is Arthur Fieldler and the Boston Pops “A Christmas Festival”, with that fantastic brass pealing “Joy to the World.” And, one of the most special memories, Christmas Eve is Silent Night, sung sitting next to my grandmother during the candlelit service with the room being lit only by candles. I can still remember exactly what she looked like and the warmth, love, and peace that radiated.
I am so honored and happy to be able to kick off the Holiday season with the Erie Philharmonic and add a few new musical memories to my holiday vault and hope that audiences will be able to take some special memories away with them as well.
From Music Director Daniel Meyer
We often think about the incredible competition that exists between performers. Classical music has its share of high-profile events where the top singers, pianists, and violinists all vie for the title of best in the world. Careers are launched by winning one such coveted prize, and although triumph in a major international competition like the Queen Elizabeth, the Tchaikovsky, or the Van Cliburn can act as a springboard, it is certainly no guarantee of fame and fortune.
When it comes to composers, we tend to think of each living in her own world. We imagine composers living in isolated spheres, laboring late by candlelight, spinning master creations by dipping a quill into ink and transcribing passion into tiny notes and rests. But in reality, composers live in the very same competitive atmosphere as performers. There are a finite number of orchestras, and the opportunities for composer to have a work premiered by an orchestra of the caliber of the Erie Philharmonic is actually quite rare. And let's face it, with amazing works by Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Brahms, Strauss, and Beethoven, the field of works from which we can select our concert programs is already crowded. It can be hard to find a contemporary voice who can stand alongside those great composers and have something valid to say and be of a similar quality.
But we can and we must be a part of that natural process. We must continue to support the composers of our time and encourage them to write music that resonates today, using the instruments of yesterday. Our concert culture today is quite different than that of Mozart or Beethoven's day. Concertgoers then expected that the music they would hear would be new to them. They wanted to experience the latest creations. They craved the adventure of being a part of that creative process. That is why it is so fun to think of what kinds of rivalries and competitions existed between Mozart and Salieri, between Beethoven and Rossini. We can imagine the sheer jealousies that sprang from each composer hearing a great performance or hearing another audience leap to its feet or demand an encore. We can think of how composers took their cues from their rivals, either through imitation or through forging a consciously distinct path from that of their competitors.
We will look into those competitive composers in our concert on Saturday, when we pit two 'rival pairs' against each other. Three of the four composers emerged victorious. Their music is safely considered to be within the 'canon.' Their music has stood the test of time and now continue to be performed with a frequency that leads us to call them 'masters.' Mr. Salieri, very popular and highly-regarded in his day, remains on the periphery (and would be forgotten were it not for Peter Shaffer's famous play and film 'Amadeus'.) We will feature one of his charming scores to give you a chance to assess whether or not he's has been unjustly neglected.
Prepared by Ken Meltzer
Sinfonia Veneziana (ca. 1786)
Antonio Salieri was born in Legnano, Italy, on August 18, 1750, and died in Vienna, Austria, on May 7, 1825.
Approximate performance time is ten minutes.
The name Antonio Salieri inevitably conjures images of Peter Shaffer’s 1979 play, Amadeus, and its 1984 cinematic adaptation by Miloš Forman. Both the play and movie use the rumor that a jealous Salieri plotted the demise of his rival, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, as the basis for immensely entertaining theater. Shaffer’s drama makes the Salieri-Mozart rivalry the foundation for an allegory—the chasm between workmanlike competence, and divine inspiration.
To the extent Amadeus is accepted as historically accurate, however, it does both Salieri and Mozart a great disservice. Modern scholarship is unanimous that Salieri had nothing to do with Mozart’s tragic, untimely death. We also know that on several occasions, Salieri was happy to conduct Mozart’s works. Further, if Salieri was not Mozart’s equal as a composer (who was?), he was highly talented, accomplished, and respected, holding numerous important positions in Vienna (Beethoven was among his pupils). It should also be mentioned that while Mozart did have a very playful side (and an impish love for ribaldry and scatology), he was far from the clownish figure suggested in Amadeus.
The Sinfonia Veneziana combines two works by Salieri to create the three-movement (fast—slow—fast) structure popular at the time. The first movement (Allegro assai) is the Overture to Salieri’s opera, La scuola de’ gelosi (The School for Jealousy). The final two movements, played without pause (Andantino grazioso—Presto), originated as the Overture to the intermezzo, La partenza inaspettata (The Unexpected Departure).
Concerto for Flute and Orchestra No. 1 in G Major, K. 313 (285c) (1778)
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born in Salzburg, Austria, on January 27, 1756, and died in Vienna, Austria, on December 5, 1791.
Approximate performance time is twenty-five minutes.
In September of 1777, Mozart left his home in Salzburg to begin an 18-month journey throughout Europe. Mozart, who felt his talents were not appreciated in his native city, hoped to find steady employment elsewhere. Mozart’s journey took him to Munich, Augsburg, Mannheim, and finally, to Paris.
While in Mannheim, Mozart made the acquaintance of a Dutch visitor to the German city, a surgeon and amateur flutist by the name of Ferdinand Dejean. Dejean commissioned Mozart to compose “three short easy concertos and a pair of flute quartets.”
Mozart did not have great affection for the flute, at least as a solo instrument. In his memoirs, Viennese physician Joseph Frank recalled: “Once when we were speaking about instruments Mozart said that he loathed the flute and the harp.” That opinion is reflected in a letter of February 14, 1778 Mozart wrote to his father, Leopold. In the letter, Mozart commented on his slow progress in completing Dejean’s commission: “you know that I become quite powerless whenever I am obliged to write for an instrument which I cannot bear.”
In light of Mozart’s opinions expressed, above, this quote from a letter he wrote to Leopold in December of the same year bears repeating: “Ah, if only we had clarinets too! You cannot imagine the glorious effect of a symphony with flutes, oboes and clarinets.”
Mozart ultimately fulfilled Dejean’s commission, which included the composer’s two Flute Concertos— in G Major, K. 313, and in D Major, K. 314 (the latter, an adaptation of the composer’s Oboe Concerto in C Major). Despite Mozart’s protestations, the Concertos are beautiful, eloquent works, beloved by flutists and their audiences.
The Concerto is in three movements. In the first (Allegro maestoso), the orchestra introduces the principal themes, before the soloist enters with a more elaborate restatement. The traditional development and recapitulation of the themes are capped bythe flute’s solo cadenza and the emphatic closing bars. A heartfelt slow movement (Adagio ma non troppo) leads to the finale (Rondo. Tempo di Menuetto). A minuet, an elegant court dance in triple meter, serves as the recurring principal theme.
Overture to Guillaume Tell (1829)
Gioachino Rossini was born in Pesaro, Italy, on February 29, 1792, and died in Passy, France, on November 13, 1868. T
he first performance of Guillaume Tell took place at the Opéra in Paris, France, on August 3, 1829.
Approximate performance time is twelve minutes.
Gioachino Rossini’s final opera, Guillaume Tell, is based upon Friedrich Schiller’s play, Wilhelm Tell. Guillaume Tell takes place in 14th-century Switzerland, and relates the story of the Swiss victory over their Habsburg oppressors. With its epic length, spectacle, and ballet, Guillaume Tell is in the tradition of French Grand Opera. Rossini provided music of extraordinary power and eloquence, departing from the early 19th-century bel canto practices that had often featured vocal display at the expense of drama.
In fact, Guillaume Tell earned the praise of such demanding and revolutionary musical dramatists as Hector Berlioz and Richard Wagner. Berlioz deemed Guillaume Tell “seriously thought out, considered at leisure, and conscientiously executed from beginning to end.” Wagner particularly admired the title character’s eloquent third-act aria, “Sois immobile.” During an 1860 meeting, Wagner told Rossini the aria “reached the highest summits of lyric expression.” Rossini replied: “So I made music of the future without knowing it.” To which Wagner responded: “There, Maestro, you made music for all times, and that is the best.”
Guillaume Tell premiered at the Paris Opéra on August 3, 1829. Rossini was thirty-seven and would live another thirty-nine years. Yet, he composed no operas after Guillaume Tell. Between 1812 and 1829, Rossini composed thirty-nine operas, and the years of hard labor had taken a tremendous toll on his physical and emotional health. Rossini spent the remainder of his life enjoying the company of friends, and composing many salon pieces he affectionately referred to as “Sins of My Old Age.” In an 1866 letter to composer Giovanni Pacini, Rossini expressed no regrets about his abrupt retirement from opera: “such a presentiment is not given to everyone; God granted it to me and I bless him for it every hour.”
The Overture to Guillaume Tell begins with an extended slow introduction (Andante) that features a magical combination of five solo cellos. The rustlings of the strings and winds (Allegro) are prelude to a storm sequence of tremendous power. After the storm abates, the English horn, in tandem with the flute, offers a ranz des vaches, the traditional call of the Swiss herdsman to his cattle (Andante). Trumpet fanfares launch the triumphant final section (Allegro vivace). The music, known (perhaps all too well) for its association with the 1950s television series The Lone Ranger, still generates tremendous excitement on its own terms.
Symphony No. 8 in F Major, Opus 93 (1812)
Ludwig van Beethoven was baptized in Bonn, Germany, on December 17, 1770, and died in Vienna, Austria, on March 26, 1827.
The first performance of the Eighth Symphony took place at the Redoutensaal in Vienna on February 27, 1814.
Approximate performance time is twenty-six minutes.
Beethoven began work on both his Seventh and Eighth Symphonies in 1811. After finishing the Seventh Symphony in June of 1812, Beethoven turned his full attention to the Eighth, completing that score on October 12. The premiere of the Eighth Symphony took place as part of a February 27, 1814 concert at the Redoutensaal in Vienna. The program also contained the Seventh Symphony—which had received its premiere the previous December 13—and the (then) wildly popular Wellington’s Victory.
Beethoven’s Eighth is the Symphony that most emphatically reflects the composer’s humorous side. The Eighth also bears a kinship with another comic jewel—Giuseppe Verdi’s final opera, Falstaff (1893). In both works, the composers—at the height of their maturity and powers—employ techniques previously used for the composition of “serious” music to fashion masterpieces overflowing with playful humor. And, if the Eighth Symphony presages the future, it also pays tribute to the past. The work’s high spirits and economy of expression recall the greatest symphonic humorist of them all—Beethoven’s teacher, Franz Joseph Haydn.
The Symphony No. 8 is in four movements. The first (Allegro vivace e con brio) immediately establishes the energy and high spirits that predominate throughout. In place of the traditional slow-tempo second movement, Beethoven substitutes a playful Allegretto scherzando. The third movement is a minuet (Tempo di Menuetto) a court dance in triple meter. The horns (to playful triplet cello accompaniment) introduce a lovely interlude that serves as minuet’s trio section. The third movement closes with a reprise of the minuet. The finale (Allegro vivace) begins with a device found in many Haydn symphonies. The strings play a scurrying, pianissimo figure that suddenly—and without warning—explodes with tremendous force. The finale, a beehive of activity from start to finish, concludes with an extended, and decidedly emphatic, series of chords.
From Patron Services Manager Mat Anderson
As I grew up, I was constantly told that something about the way I interact with customers would leave them feeling welcomed, at home and comfortable.
It could be as simple as a smile, or even knowing just what to say if I could tell somebody's day had been particularly rough.
At 5 years old, I started working (well, as much as I could) in the family businesses. I started out at the donut shop, glazing, sprinkling and filling boxes with whatever our customers wanted. I often stood on a step ladder to each the top of counter and make change, or my grandma would lift me up, bag of donuts in-hand, to give to our customer. It was never work - it was fun... something I learned to enjoy. If empathy is genetic, it certainly runs in my family. It's one thing, aside from freckles, that we all share.
By the time I was 18, I managed our summer ice cream shop full time. I often worked alone throughout the day and then switched to more of a management role once more of our employees got there. 10 and 12 hour days happened, though not frequently, enough that it's something I simply got used to. I loved it and it loved me back by enabling me to save up money enough to attend Mercyhurst University.
Fast forward a to the spring of 2015. The Erie Philharmonic box office position was opening up. The Phil was always something I held on a pedestal as a music student in the area. I was sure, 100% positive that I wouldn't have a chance, but I sent my résumé regardless. Now, because you're reading this, you know what happened next... and I still feel so incredibly fortunate to go into my job every day, and not think of it as 'work.'
Sure, like everything, it has its share of challenges, however, the pros greatly outweigh the cons.
I feel fortunate to call my co-workers friends, I feel fortunate to work in the arts at a time when the Phil is skyrocketing in both caliber and capability, but I also feel fortunate to be able to help plan what may be a very important night for a person coming to see our performance.
Just the other day, I spoke on the phone with an older gentleman who was buying tickets to our Casablanca show on February 4, 2017. During the ticket order, he shared that he's taking his wife as a surprise, because their first date was to see Casablanca at the movie theatre. "Both tickets cost me $.50!" He chuckled. I couldn't keep from smiling. That's what makes coming to the Philharmonic every day and running our box office worth it. Knowing that, in some way, I'm helping to create what may be an important or special evening for people. It continues to give me hope. It continues to remind me of the important things in life. So, check out our season and give me a call! I'd be glad to help you get great seats for any of our concerts.
We have something for everybody!
Mat's Greatest Hits
We're making history on this week's episode of See, Here's the Thing. Steve Weiser, executive director of the Erie Philharmonic, returns to the program to become the first guest to EVER appear our on show twice. He's getting something cool like a pin...or a coupon for a free Frosty.
In Episode 26, Kate, Patrick and Steve talk about a possible concert version of "My Fair Lady" with Colin Firth, Joe Maganiello's casting as Deathstroke, "Beauty and the Beast" concept art, and the #SaveNelly controversy. Patrick somehow gets on to the topic of "wongs," and Kate and Steve can't seem to save him.
We start a Android vs. iPhone war with the release of iOS 10, underscored with Samsung Notes exploding in the background. Xbox and Playstation do their best to compete in the video game realm with new systems, and Steve cherishes his "Bro's Gold" iPhone.
We'll get an in-depth look at the Erie Philharmonic's 2016-2017 season, which features the Beat Beethoven 5K, the music of Danny Elfman, Demarre Gill, and definitely NOT Ken Jeong. We'll also hear about the renovations to the historic Warner Theatre, and the possibility of a concert version of "The Lord of the Rings."
From Music Director Daniel Meyer
Opening night, for me, is such a special time. It’s an opportunity to reacquaint myself with the enormously talented musicians of the Philharmonic, get back into the swing of making music in an intense schedule, and rediscover the music we are are charged with bringing to life on the Warner Stage.
Russian music, particularly written by the composers we have chosen this year, is filled with brilliant orchestra color, deeply-felt emotion, and technical virtuosity. I’ve chosen two very different Russian ballet scores to ‘bookend’ our first Symphonic concert. In both cases, the music is so inventive and pictorial, that you hardly need the dancers onstage to comprehend the content and emotion written into the notes. I personally love conducting Stravinsky’s Petrouchka because it offers so much in terms of rhythmic vitality, unexpected twists and turns, and amazing sonic moments, some of which are tender, some brutal, and some teeming with the spirit of Russian folk dance. Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, on the other hand, is the height of artifice. Fairy-tale stories cast in the most sumptuous orchestral clothing you can imagine. If Petrouchka were an earthy painting by Breughel, Swan Lake would be a most exquisitely detailed portrait by Velazquez.
And then one of my biggest sources of pride is the depth of talent we have within the ranks of our own orchestra. It is a thrill to invite our Concertmaster, Ken Johnston, to return to the solo spotlight, this time in an unabashedly Romantic and tune-driven concerto by Glazunov. I hope you agree that this particular concerto deserves more respect (and more performances!) I suppose the Tchaikovsky Concerto stands clear as the king of Russian violin concertos in terms of its popularity, but this inventive and attractive concerto by Glazunov will make a beautiful foil to our other Russians on the program, and Ken will most certainly bring his wonderful musical approach to this beautiful music.