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1 CHAN 10819 – TURINA Turina: Orchestral Works One day in 1907 the young Spanish composer Joaquín Turina (1882 – 1949) was given a sound piece of advice by a distinguished colleague. It was in Paris just after he had taken part as pianist in the successful first performance of his Piano Quintet in G minor, Op. 1. At the time Turina was studying composition under the direction of Vincent d’Indy at the Schola Cantorum and had suppressed the Spaniard in him to become a second-generation disciple of César Franck. Isaac Albéniz – who, having found his inspiration in the folksong and folk dances of his native country, had brought about nothing less than Spain’s musical renaissance – was present at that performance and was not entirely pleased with what he heard. He undertook to help Turina get his Quintet published in spite of his own disapproval of its stylistic derivation from César Franck. He got him to promise, however, that he would never write music like that again and would in future base his art on Spanish folksong – specifically, since he came from Seville, Andalusian folksong. Yet, it was only after his return to Spain, on the outbreak of war in 1914, that, following Albéniz’s advice, Turina was able to draw his major creative sustenance from his musical roots – which he was to do with such conviction that, along with his friend Manuel de Falla, he would become one of the two leading Spanish composers of his generation. His experiences in Paris in the meantime, not least his encounters with the Spanish-friendly music of Debussy and Ravel, had already taken him a long way towards his goal. La procesión del Rocío, Op. 9 Turina’s first orchestral score – written in 1912 and performed with encouraging success in both Madrid and Paris – is unmistakably Andalusian in both its setting and, in spite of some evidence of his Parisian training, its idiom. It was inspired by memories of the Procesión del Rocío (Procession of the Dew) which takes place every June in Triana, the 2 gypsy quarter of Seville. The first section, ‘Triana en fiesta’, sets the scene: crowds gathered for the procession dance soleares to the lively rhythms that animate the opening bars and seguidillas to the more lyrical melody introduced by solo oboe a little later. A drunk also appears on the scene, heard on solo strings. The procession, bearing an image of the Virgin Mary, begins with the entry of flute and drum with material which recurs throughout. The religious element of the occasion is represented by an expressive chorale which, quietly introduced by divided cellos, is presented in full orchestral glory amid chiming bells at the climax of the procession. Trumpets add the Marcha real to the celebration. The procession over, the fiesta briefly resumes but dies away at the end. Canto a Sevilla, Op. 37 The story of the evolution of the Canto a Sevilla is long and complicated. The essential fact, however, is that, whatever shape it took between its origin as a cycle of four songs for soprano and piano in 1925 and its present form as a blend of orchestral songs and instrumental movements, it was always a heartfelt tribute to Seville by the leading poet of the city, Muñoz San Román, and its leading composer, Joaquín Turina. The earliest orchestral version of Canto a Sevilla, first performed in Seville in 1926, was such a miscellany that Turina clearly felt it would be wise to link the various pieces in one way or another. The most effective means to that end is an impressionistic ‘Preludio’ inspired by a spring evening. Beginning with an expressive flute solo, it presents against a Vivo background of minutely scored Andalusian nocturnal activity a legato melody sustained mainly by solo woodwinds. The flute solo returns before an evocation of distant, sensuously syncopated dance music and a climactic recall of the Vivo material. ‘Semana Santa’, the first of the four vocal movements, is set in Holy Week, an occasion for street processions as, at an early stage, a far-away sound of drums and trumpets confirms. Román’s poem describes the scene and introduces a saeta – traditionally, an 3 unaccompanied devotional song performed on a balcony on the route – for which Turina relaxes the regular rhythm and sets the voice free to shape an elaborately decorated line in flamenco style. There is another, similarly expressive saeta, this one unaccompanied, before the procession disappears into the distance. ‘Las fuentecitas del Parque’, beginning with a solo violin version of the opening flute solo and recalling the impressionistic poetry of the ‘Preludio’, evokes the beauty of the fountains in Seville’s Park – ‘this Eden of souls’, according to Román’s verse. In direct contrast is the purely instrumental movement ‘Noche de Feria’, vividly alive with sevillana dance rhythms, a sentimental farruca and instrumental echoes of flamenco singers, including a solo bassoon at the end of the slower middle section. Chillingly introduced by muted strings and celesta, ‘El Fantasma’ is an atmospheric setting of a poem about a ghost that haunts the streets by night – a figure, Román tells us after a subdued but grotesque march, said to be Love in disguise. Set in brilliant daylight, ‘La Giralda’ is a tribute to the bell-tower that dominates the Seville skyline. Except in a religiously aspiring middle section, it is vibrant with the rhythm of the fandanguillo and ends with a flamenco-style vocal cadenza. The last movement, ‘Ofrenda’, is Turina’s fond offering to Seville, which, beginning slowly, rises gradually in tempo while recalling earlier moments in the work, notably the sustained woodwind melody from the ‘Preludio’, and finally slows down for a monumental ending. Danzas gitanas, Op. 55 As a committed devotee of ‘sevillanismo’ – the culture of Seville and the surrounding region of Andalusia – Turina had written many gypsy dances before the Danzas gitanas, Op. 55 (1930). He could scarcely have avoided it: gypsy music and Andalusian folk music are inseparable. These gypsy dances, however, are rather different from the highly coloured, extravagantly rhythmic examples found in most works of this kind. Set in Granada rather than Seville (though still, of course, in 4 Andalusia), they seem at times to emulate Manuel de Falla’s Noches en los jardines de España (Nights in the Gardens of Spain) in their poetry. First of all there is the slow introduction. Though very short, it features the solo violin that has a reflective role to play elsewhere in the work, as in the ‘Zambra’ which otherwise has the rhythmic vigour characteristic of the dance. The ‘Danza de seducción’, beginning with an exotic flute solo, has something in common with a seductive scene in Falla’s El amor brujo, while the ‘Danza rituel’, which includes another violin solo, is far from the display of elemental vitality that one might expect of a ritual dance. As for the ‘Generalife’, which is set in the same place as the first movement of Noches en los jardines de España, it shares with that Falla piece the presence of a piano in the instrumental colouring. ‘Sacromonte’, which evokes the atmosphere of a gypsy area of Granada, releases the energy at last. The Danzas gitanas are more often heard in a piano version which was so successful that Turina wrote a second set (Op. 84) for the same instrument four years later, in 1934. Rapsodia sinfónica, Op. 66 The Rapsodia sinfónica, one of Turina’s last orchestral works, was completed in 1931 and represents a rather more mature and more reflective composer, less interested in the precise evocation of a certain place and the physical exhilaration of a specific dance form than in a more generalised flamenco atmosphere. While inevitably limiting the range of colour available, the scoring of the Rapsodia sinfónica for piano and strings alone encourages an intimate relationship between soloist and orchestra. The extended slow introduction (Andante) begins with a firm statement from the strings and dramatic gestures on the piano but at an early stage they are both engaged in a nostalgic improvisation on Spanish themes, the textures enriched by decorative keyboard effusions and the sentiment intensified by a poignant comment 5 from a solo violin or expressive exchanges between upper and lower strings. The shorter and quicker Allegro vivo section, the start of which is signalled by a vigorous rumble on the piano as it assembles its energy, has a clearer purpose. Basically, it is a matter of extracting maximum interest from the contrast between, on the one hand, two brief but lively dance tunes and, on the other hand, a more developed lyrical melody introduced by piano and immediately answered by solo violin. Although Turina applies local colour with restraint here, the Andalusian inspiration is both unmistakable and irresistible. © 2014 Gerald Larner