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Chapel Hill Philharmonia
Hill Hall — University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
7:30 p.m. Sunday, May 2, 2010
“Fanfares and Dances”
Yoram Youngerman, Guest Conductor
Aaron Copland
(1900-1990)
Fanfare for the Common Man
Ottorini Respighi
(1879-1936)
Ancient Airs and Dances, Suite No. 3
Italiana
Arie de Corte
Siciliana
Passacaglia
Felix Mendelssohn
(1809-1874)
Piano Concerto No. 1 in G minor, Op. 25
Molto allegro con fuoco
Cissy Yu — piano
CHP Young Artist Concerto Competition Winner
Intermission
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Symphony No. 7 in A major, Op. 92
Poco sostenuto — Vivace
Allegretto
Presto — Assai meno presto
Allegro con brio
Program Notes copyright 2010
Mark E. Furth, Ph.D.
Do not reproduce without permission.
[email protected]
“Fanfares and Dances”
Music can be martial, celebratory, amorous, or contemplative – a force moving us to march, dance, love, or reflect. Tonight’s Chapel Hill
Philharmonia program spans this wide range. A common thread is rhythm. From the drum beats that open Aaron Copland’s Fanfare for the
Common Man to the propulsive finale of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, this is music in which we feel strongly the grouping of
stresses in regular intervals, or measures. Rhythm serves as an organizing principle that governs our immediate perception of musical time.
Paradoxically, music also can evoke an almost indefinite sweep of time, capturing the expanse from the dawn of mankind to the unknown
future. This sense may be triggered by the sounds that for uncounted eons have heralded great events, the arrival of a leader, or the beginning
of battle – a rhythmic pulse coupled with the blare of massed instruments – the essence of a fanfare. The biblical Joshua used one to halt the
sun. Film lovers will recall how in 2001: A Space Odyssey director Stanley Kubrick employed the opening fanfare from Richard Strauss’s Thus
Spake Zarathustra to convey the progression of human evolution, from cavemen to astronauts. In his suites From Ancient Airs and Dances,
Ottorini Respighi chooses less imposing music, folk-inspired songs and dances, to forge a link with times past. Whether grand or simple, we
seem programmed to respond to rhythm and melody. In Copland’s words, “So long as the human spirit thrives on this planet, music in some
living form will accompany and sustain it and give it expressive meaning.”
Born at the beginning of the 20th century to Jewish-Lithuanian
immigrants (has father changed the family name from Kaplan),
Aaron Copland grew up in an apartment above his family’s
department story in Brooklyn, New York. He learned piano and
began composing in his early teens and, although intellectually
curious and widely read, he eschewed college to pursue music.
Like many American composers between the two World Wars,
Copland gravitated to France to study with Nadia Boulanger.
He spent three years as her pupil (1921-4), then returned home
to become a champion of contemporary American composers,
employing organizational and teaching skills in addition to writing
challenging new music.
Copland was attracted to socialist philosophy and, influenced by
the Great Depression and visits to revolutionary Mexico, became
an active supporter of progressive causes. In the 1930s and 40s
his music moved away from edgy modernism: “I began to feel
an increasing dissatisfaction with the relationship of the musicloving public and the living composer. The old ‘special’ public of
the modern music concerts had fallen away, and the conventional
concert public continued apathetic or indifferent to anything but the
established classics. It seemed to me that we composers were in
danger of working in a vacuum…I felt that it was worth the effort
Aaron Copland composing by candlelight, 1946
to see if I couldn’t say what I had to say in the simplest possible
terms.” His ballet music (Billy the Kid, Rodeo, Appalachian Spring),
film scores including an Academy Award winner for The Heiress (1949), and patriotic works from this period often incorporated folk influences
and were easily assimilated. They earned Copland a reputation “as the foremost American composer of his time.” (Grove Encyclopedia)
After World War II Copland’s politics and open homosexuality made him a target for attack under McCarthyism. A performance of Lincoln
Portrait was cancelled from a concert for the Eisenhower presidential inauguration in 1953, and Copland was forced to testify before a Senate
subcommittee. He emerged from this period largely unscathed, and continued to compose until his mid-70s. By his death at age 90, he had
received virtually every public honor that could be awarded to an artist.
Fanfare for the Common Man was commissioned by Eugene Goossens, the English-born conductor of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra,
and premiered March 12, 1943. Copland recalled, “During World War I he had asked British composers for a fanfare to begin each orchestral
concert. It had been so successful that he thought to repeat the procedure in World War II with American composers.” Goossens underwrote
eighteen fanfares he hoped would make “stirring and significant contributions to the war effort,” often assigning specific topics. For example,
he had Howard Hanson write a Fanfare for the Signal Corps, while Walter Piston’s fanfare honored “the Fighting French”. Yet Copland found
a more universal subject, perhaps helping to explain why his is the only one of these works still played today. He also incorporated the Fanfare
into his Third Symphony, and it first gained a wide audience in that context.
The populist title of Copland’s Fanfare reflected his politics. No doubt he enjoyed the irony of honoring the GI grunt, “the common man
[who], after all, was doing all the dirty work in the war and the army,” with a musical device conventionally employed to celebrate generals,
dignitaries, and royals. Musicologist Elizabeth Crist suggests that Copland also wished to pay homage to “a progressive vision of social justice
and international community.” At one point he considered titling the work a Fanfare for Four Freedoms. Freedom of speech and religion and
freedom from fear and economic want often were cited by President Franklin Roosevelt and Vice-President Henry Wallace as “the foundation
of a new ‘moral order’.” Crist believes that Copland actually chose the Fanfare’s name to echo the title of a remarkably successful radio
speech given by Wallace to expound on these freedoms – “The Price of Free World Victory: The Century of the Common Man.”
To this writer a fanfare, regardless of its intended ceremonial purpose or instrumentation, calls to mind the closing words of the archetypal
romantic novel by Miguel de Cervantes (1547-1616): “’God save me!’ said Don Quixote. ‘What a life we shall lead, Sancho my friend! What
flageolets will reach our ears, what Zamoran pipes, what timbrels, what tambourines, and what rebecs!’” If a fanfare stirs images of a gallant
knight-errant tilting at a windmill, Ottorini Respighi’s third suite of Ancient Airs and Dances evokes a more intimate form of romance –
courtly love, as practiced in the great Italian city-states of the Renaissance.
Respighi grew up in Bologna, Italy. He began musical studies with his father, a piano
teacher, but focused more on violin and viola. He also studied composition with Luigi
Torchi, a pioneering musicologist who helped instill in his pupil an abiding passion for early
music. Another influential teacher was Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, a master of orchestration.
Respighi studied with him while performing in the orchestra of the Russian Imperial
Theatre in St Petersburg during two winter seasons of Italian opera. Back in Bologna,
from 1903-8 he continued to support himself with orchestral jobs and as violist of the
Mugellini String Quartet. He also began to publish transcriptions of works by 16th to 18th
century composers, including Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643) and Antonio Vivaldi (16781741). His own writing also drew favorable notice. In 1913 Respighi became professor
of composition in Rome at the state-sponsored Conservatory of Santa Cecilia. A decade
later he was promoted to director, but after three years gave up the administrative post
to devote more time to composition. In 1919 he married one of his students, Elsa Olivieri
Sangiacomo (1894-1996). They collaborated closely until his death in 1936. Elsa survived
her husband by almost 60 years, living to the age of 102, served as his biographer, and
continued to promote his work.
Respighi’s breakthrough orchestral piece was Fountains of Rome, completed in 1916.
Ottorini Respighi
This together with Roman Festivals and Pines of Rome, constitute the trilogy of symphonic
poems for which Respighi is best known. Perhaps because these works were favorites of
Italy’s bombastic dictator Benito Mussolini, it became fashionable to criticize Respighi for letting “picturesque colorfulness spill over into a
flamboyant garishness that seems aimed primarily at lovers of orchestral showpieces.” (Grove Music) However, there seems little evidence
that he was sympathetic to Mussolini’s politics. Rather, “the unworldly Respighi was probably, in truth, more influenced…by a simple, child-like
delight in the kaleidoscopic riches of a modern orchestra than by the pageantry of fascism.” (Grove Music)
In works drawn from older sources, Respighi’s style was more elegant. A sympathetic reviewer argues that his “deep love of ancient Italian
and medieval church music not only focused interest on these genres but it also inspired some of his most refined and appealing masterpieces
like: Ancient Airs and Dances, The Birds [based on baroque pieces imitating birdsong], the Three Botticelli Pictures and the Concerto
Gregoriano.” (Ian Lace)
Michelangelo Caravaggio, “The Musicians”, 1595
The three sets of Antiche danze et arie per liuto (Ancient Airs
and Dances) date from 1917, 1924, and 1932. They draw
directly from love songs and dances of the late Renaissance,
most of them transcribed from lute tablature. Typical lyrics are:
“It is sad to be in love with you,” “Farewell forever, shepherdess,”
“Lovely eyes that see clearly,” “The Skiff of Love,” “What divinity
touches my soul” and “If it is for my innocence that you love
me.” Each suite comprises four pieces. Suite No. 3, presented
this evening, is for strings. The first movement, Italiana, comes
from an anonymous popular 16th century Italian song. Arie
di Corte (“Airs of the Court”) derives from a ballet by lutenist
Jean-Baptiste Besard of Burgundy. The Siciliana is a Sicilian
dance in 6/8 time, typical of the 17th and 18th century. The final
Passacaglia is a dance in slow triple time, comprising a set of
variations constructed over a recurring ground bass, similar to
a Chaconne. Respighi transcribed this movement from the late17th century guitarist Lodovico Roncalli. While largely faithful to
the originals, Respighi endows the work with enough interesting
harmonies to engage sophisticated 21st century listeners.
Felix Mendelssohn possessed extraordinary talents. In the Preface to Mendelssohn: A Life in
Music, Duke University Professor R. Larry Todd describes the composer. “He was a prodigious
polymath/polyglot whose intellectual horizons – embracing music, drawing, painting, poetry,
classical studies and theology – were second to none among the ‘great’ composers, and whose
musical precocity, not just in composition, but also conducting, piano and organ, violin and
viola, was rivaled only by Mozart. Mendelssohn was among the first conductors to adopt the
baton and…advanced the fledgling art of conducting to an independent discipline. He ranked
among the very foremost piano virtuosi of his time and performed feats of extemporization
legendary already during his lifetime; in addition, he was probably the most distinguished
organist of the century. He was the ‘prime mover’ of the Bach revival…Mendelssohn was
the restorer of the oratorio, who produced two examples judged worthy of Handel…[He] was
a versatile, craftsmanlike composer whose work effortlessly mediated between the poles of
classicism and romanticism, and he convinced Robert Schumann to label him the Mozart of
the nineteenth century.” Yet, Todd also observes, “Of the major Western canonical composers,
Mendelssohn’s posthumous reception traced an especially wayward, volatile course, subject
Felix Mendelssohn, 1833
to the pendulum swings of musical fashion.” Rejection of the Victorian age coupled with
virulent anti-Semitic critiques, first from Richard Wagner, later from the Nazis, conspired to
heavily tarnish his reputation. Despite recent efforts at reassessment and rehabilitation, the current view of Mendelssohn remains uneven –
often relegating him to a rank below the true ‘greats.’ Mendelssohn, like Mozart, died dismayingly young, at age 38. One can only speculate
whether with more years he would have found new paths more generally acknowledged to fulfill his promise.
A banker’s son, Mendelssohn benefitted from a privileged childhood. He, older sister Fanny, and two younger siblings grew up in Berlin and
received excellent private tutoring. Felix and Fanny displayed great musical gifts. While Fanny was discouraged from professional aspirations,
Felix knew no such limits. His compositional sophistication as a teenager was unprecedented. By the age of 18 he had completed works that
rank among his finest, including the String Octet, the incidental music to A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and a first mature String Quartet in A
minor, Op. 13, modeled after a newly published quartet in the same key, Op. 132, by Beethoven.
The young Mendelssohn was not immune to amorous fancies. The A minor Quartet was based on a love song to the object of his first strong
adolescent crush, Betty Pistor, a singer who became an intimate friend of the Mendelssohn children. A companion string quartet, Op. 12,
bore a dedication to her. In 1830, now 21-years-old, Felix developed a musical friendship, soon to blossom into fuller romantic interest with
Delphine von Schauroth, a younger pianist prodigy. At this time Felix was on a Grand Tour around Europe, accumulating impressions that
were translated into memorable works, such as Fingal’s Cave and the ‘Scottish’ and ‘Italian’ symphonies. As the young man made his way
through Italy and across the Alps, the he frequently found himself thinking of Delphine, composing two Lieder particularly for her, and other
songs about being separated from a beloved. In autumn of 1831 Mendelssohn returned to Germany and in October he gave a concert of
his own music, in Munich before the Bavarian royal family. The program included the premiere of the hastily written Piano Concerto No.
1 in G minor, with the composer as soloist. Although Mendelssohn had sketched this piece during his travels, he performed it even before
fully writing out the piano part. Munich was Delphine’s home, and, seeing her again, he was moved both by her strong musicianship and her
beauty. “But,” recounts Todd, “when King Ludwig played matchmaker and urged Felix to marry her, the flustered composer chose to sustain
their relationship through piano music.” Delphine received, not a proposal, but Mendelssohn’s dedication of the new concerto, to which she
had contributed at least one “’deafening’ passage, presumably one of the noisy octave or arpeggiation passages in the first movement.”
The Piano Concerto in G minor is tightly constructed along lines introduced by Carl Maria von Weber (1786-1826) in the Konzertstück in F,
a piano concerto in which he organized the traditional three movements to be linked and played without a break. Mendelssohn’s concerto
begins with a concise orchestral crescendo. The piano enters with a bravura flourish, almost like a cadenza. The piano and orchestra
collaborate on the exposition, and range through unexpected key shifts. “Thunderous octave scales begin the development, which is full
of pianistic and harmonic adventure,” (Michael Steinberg, The Concerto) followed by a recapitulation of the first thematic material. This
evening’s performance will end after the opening movement. In the full work, a series of fanfares connects to a lovely slow movement, and
another set of fanfares bridges to a glittering, dance-like finale.
Mendelssohn downplayed the concerto: “I wrote it in but a few days and almost carelessly; nonetheless, it always pleased people the most,
but me very little.” However, the piece was a mainstay for many 19th century pianists, including Clara Schumann and Franz Liszt. In Evenings
in the Orchestra, Hector Berlioz spoofs the work’s overexposure. He imagines the fate of an Erard piano on which thirty consecutive pianists
have performed this same piece. The instrument, now “out of its mind,” begins to play Mendelssohn’s concerto spontaneously, “flinging
out turns and trills like rockets.” Removing the keyboard fails to quell the cascade of notes – “the keys are still moving up and down by
themselves.” Finally, the desperate M. Erard attacks his creation with an axe. But, like the splinters of Mickey Mouse’s broom in the Walt
Disney cartoon Sorceror’s Apprentice, “Each piece dances, jumps, frisks about separately – on the pavement, between our legs, against
the wall, in all directions,” until a warehouse worker grabs the fragments and flings them into the fire. “Such a fine instrument! We were
heartbroken, but what could we do?”
Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A major likewise has moved writers to
imagine scenes of dancing, jumping, and frisking about. Richard Wagner grandiloquently
labeled this Symphony “The Apotheosis of the Dance.” Many accounts of the work suggest
a frenzy that exceeds, for example, the mere frolicking of drunken peasants after the storm
in Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony (‘The Pastoral’). Weber opined: “The extravagances of
Beethoven’s genius have reached the ne plus ultra in the Seventh Symphony, and he is quite
ripe for the madhouse.” Composer Jan Swafford calls the work “roaring” and “unbridled,” and
feels it “As a kind of Bacchic trance, with dance music from beginning to end.” Biographer
Maynard Solomon observes: “The apparently diverse free-associational images of many…
critics — of masses of people, of powerful rhythmic energy discharged in action or in dance,
of celebrations, weddings, and revelry — may well be variations on a single image: the
carnival or festival, which from time immemorial has temporarily lifted the burden of perpetual
subjugation to the prevailing social and natural order by periodically suspending all customary
privileges, norms, and imperatives.”
Beethoven drawn in 1818
Beethoven completed the Seventh Symphony in April 1812, almost four years after ‘The Pastoral’, while facing crises in both his public and
private life. At this time Napoleon Bonaparte was invading Russia. Beethoven initially had embraced Napoleon as a heroic revolutionary
leader, and planned to dedicate the Third Symphony (1804), known as Eroica, to him, but was disillusioned when he took the title of Emperor.
Moreover, like many of his fellows in Vienna, his home since 1792, Beethoven had suffered during the French occupations of the city in 1805
and 1809. The latter attack occurred just two months after Beethoven negotiated a substantial annuity that appeared to ensure his financial
stability, guaranteed by Archduke Rudolph (brother to Emperor Franz, and Beethoven’s only composition pupil), and Princes Lobkowitz and
Kinsky. Despite his liberal sentiments, Beethoven readily accepted patronage from the Austrian nobility. Before the French shelled Vienna
on the night of May 11, 1809, the imperial family and his other patrons fled the city. The war jeopardized Beethoven’s income and limited
travel. He also found himself supplanted as the city’s most popular composer by the popular operas of Gioachino Rossini. Furthermore,
the 40-year-old Beethoven feared that he would live out his life without a partner. In 1810 he apparently proposed marriage to the niece of
one of his physicians and was turned down. In the summer of 1812 he expressed passionate love for another woman, known now as the
‘Immortal Beloved’ from the address of a draft letter found in his papers after his death. Solomon has made a strong case that she was Antonie
Brentano, a married woman with an eleven-year-old daughter. That autumn the Brentanos returned to their home in Frankfurt, and Beethoven
remained alone – increasingly isolated by his worsening deafness.
For all that, he created the ebullient Seventh Symphony. The work opens with a massive, slow introduction that transitions, after compulsive
repetition of a single note, to a dancing Vivace, built on a galloping dotted rhythm (am’-ster-dam, am’-ster-dam, am’-ster-dam). The Allegretto,
in minor key, serves as the symphony’s slow movement, but at Beethoven’s indicated metronome marking it is faster than walking pace.
(Some conductors prefer a more dirge-like tempo). The lower strings introduce a theme built on simple five-note fragments, and taken up in
variations by the rest of the orchestra. “The idea is a process of intensification, adding layer upon layer to the inexorably marching chords. For
contrast comes a sweet, harmonically stable section in A major. Rondo-like, the opening theme returns twice, the last time serving as coda.”
(Swafford) The movement was encored at the symphony’s premiere, and remains one of the most popular in any of Beethoven’s works. The
ensuing Scherzo pelts madly along, alternating with a slow Trio that could be a formal courtly dance. “The finale succeeds in ratcheting the
energy higher than it has yet been. Earlier we had exuberance, brilliance, stateliness — those moods of dance, but now we have something
on the edge of delirium, in the best and most intoxicating way.” (Swafford)
The Viennese public first heard the Seventh Symphony at the most successful concerts of Beethoven’s music in his lifetime, on December 8,
1813 and twice repeated, as a benefit for soldiers wounded in the battle of Hanau. In June the Duke of Wellington had defeated Napoleon’s
younger brother Joseph in the Spanish town of Vittoria. Victory over Napoleon finally seemed near at hand, and the Congress of Vienna
convened to carve up the French Empire and restore a pre-revolutionary sense of order. The popular highlight of the concert was Wellington’s
Victory, aka the ‘Battle Symphony’ a piece of patriotic program music that Beethoven crafted for the occasion. To the composer’s annoyance
some critics considered the Seventh Symphony a minor add-on. Beethoven conducted an orchestra that included a ‘Who’s Who’ of Vienna’s
musicians. Antonio Salieri served as auxiliary conductor for drums and (in Wellington’s Victory) cannon. Ignaz Schuppanzigh, leader of the
well-known string quartet for which Beethoven wrote most of his works in that genre, was concertmaster. Mauoro Giuliani, better known as a
guitarist/composer, played cello. Composers Giacomo Meyerbeer and Johann Nepomuk Hummel, and pianist Ignaz Moscheles filled out an
augmented percussion section. The famous violinist and composer Louis Spohr was assistant concertmaster. Spohr noted in his journal that
Beethoven crouched completely under his music desk to indicate quiet sections and gesticulated wildly or jumped in the air for crescendi. At
one point in rehearsal, the nearly deaf Beethoven completely lost touch with the orchestra, until they came to a forte section that he could
again hear. Nonetheless, the performances sparkled. The Eighth Symphony, also premiered at one of the three concerts, likewise received
acclaim. It would now be another decade until Beethoven’s next and final symphony would appear, the majestic Ninth with its choral finale,
the “Ode to Joy”, proclaiming a message of universal brotherhood.
— Mark Furth
Guest Artists
Guest conductor Yoram Youngerman, violist and violinist, has performed worldwide, from New York’s Lincoln Center to Canada, Europe
and Israel. He was a member of the award-winning Amernet String Quartet. Yoram teaches in the Music Department at UNC-Chapel Hill.
Previously, he served on the faculties of the University of Cincinnati College Conservatory of Music, Northern Kentucky University, East
Carolina University, and the Jerusalem Rubin Academy of Music. In 2005 Yoram founded the Mallarmé Youth Chamber Orchestra, a project
for advanced chamber music studies for pre-college musicians. He serves as the conductor and Artistic Director of the organization. Yoram
also coaches in the annual Chapel Hill Chamber Music Workshop for adult amateur musicians .
Young Artist Concerto Competition winner Cissy Yu, age 15, is a freshman at East Chapel Hill High. She began playing piano at age 4 and
now studies with UNC-CH Music Department faculty member Wonmin Kim. Her previous teachers included Tien Hsieh, Natsuki Fukawasa,
and Richard Cionco. Cissy won top prizes in the US Open Music Competition in California in 2005, and recently attended the Schlern International Music Festival in Italy. She also excels academically and plays violin in her high school orchestra and in the Mallarmé Youth Chamber
Orchestra.
Chapel Hill Philharmonia
Music Director
Donald L. Oehler
Violin I
Mark Furth*
Kim Ashley
Regina Black
Jocelyn Lim Chua
Katie Eckert
Cary Eddy
Anna Geyer
Kristen Hopper
Barbara Kamholz
Kotomi Kobayashi
Sue Jin Kwon
Katharine Liang
David O’Brien
Doyun Park
Michael Peach
Kamakshi Rao
Laura Rusche
Leah Schinasi
Lindsay Schinasi
William Slechta
Susan Strobel
Doris Thibault
Violin II
Lawrence Evans*
Erin Howard
Elizabeth Johnson*
Tom Anderson
Tom Beale
Celina Charles
Jaeda Coutinho-Budd
Cheryl Harward
Lindsay Lambe
Laurane Mendelsohn
Heather Morgan
Colleen MunroLeighton
Anne Pusey
Sally Rohrdanz
Sara Salek
Alison Silver
Harriet Solomon
Margaret Vimmerstedt
Debby Wechsler
Viola
Kitty Stalberg*
Jennifer E. Arnold
Kalman Bland
Alice Churukian
Benjamin Filene
Catherine Fowler
Lindsay Fulcher
Lindesay Harkness
Charlene Jones
Lap-Ching Keung
Mary Alice Lebetkin
Laura Olson
Jocelyn Salada
Peggy Sauerwald
Pat Tennis
Mimi Xu
Elsa Youngsteadt
Violoncello
Dick Clark*
Karen Daniels
Jim Dietz
Len Gettes
Janet Hadler
Courtney McAllister
Jeffrey Rossman
Rosalind Volpe
Dorothy Wright
Double Bass
Jim Baird*
Dan Thune
Flute
Denise Bevington *
Pat Pukkila
Mary Sturgeon
Oboe
Judy Konanc*
John Konanc
Clarinet
Mérida Negrete*
Wayne Carlson
Steve Furs
Bassoon
Paul Verderber*
Colette Neish
French Horn
Sandy Svoboda*
Jan Kyle
Garth Molyneux
Julia Suman
Adams Wofford
Trumpet
Dave Goodman*
Kohta Ikegami
Melissa Kotacka
Trombone
Charles Porter*
Jim Hall
Steve Magnusen
Tuba
Ted Bissette
Timpani
Roger Halchin *
Percussion
Jennie Vaughn
Pat Pukkila
Harp
Caroline Scism
Librarians
Alice Churukian
William Slechta
* section principal
The Chapel Hill Philharmonia gratefully acknowledges these contributors for 2008-2009
Anonymous, in memory of Don Schier
Tom Anderson
Tom Beale
Kalman Bland
Alice Churukian
Dick Clark
Karen Daniels
Larry Evans
Steve Furs
Len Gettes
GlaxoSmithKline Foundation
Dave Goodman
Janet Hadler
Cheryl Harward
Hulka Family Endowment Fund
Lindsay Lambe
Steve Magnusen
Garth Molyneux
Pat Pukkila
Sally Rohrdanz
www.chapelhillphilharmonia.org
Bill Slechta
Strowd Roses Foundation
Mary Sturgeon
Pat Tennis
Alice Tien
Rosalind Volpe
Debby Wechsler
Nancy Wilson
Dorothy Wright