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Orquesta Filarmónica de Buenos Aires Christian Baldini, director 3 de Octubre de 2019 Teatro Colón, Buenos Aires (Argentina) Buenos Aires Philharmonic Orchestra Christian Baldini, conductor October 3, 2019 In 1907, responding to a query about the meaning of the title, Ravel responded: “I understand your bafflement over how to translate the title ‘Alborada del gracioso.’ That is precisely why I decided not to translate it. The fact is that the gracioso of Spanish comedy is a rather special character and one which, so far as I know, is not found in any other theatrical tradition. We do have an equivalent, though, in the French theater: Beaumarchais’ Figaro. But he’s more philosophical, less well-meaning than his Spanish ancestor.” First of all: the name. Those fluent in Spanish will recognize that Alborada del gracioso does not translate quite literally to “Dawn Song of the Jester ” — an alborada is song sung at dawn ( … okay, check … ), and a gracioso is a humorous person (gotcha), so we can see how this came to be. And what was a French composer doing composing a Spanish dance? Ravel himself was born in the Basque region of Europe, between France and Spain, and he was inspired by mother’s stories from her childhood in Madrid. There’s a homesickness for a world he never knew, yet felt compelled to represent in his music. Alborada del gracioso was not, in fact, his only Spanish composition; he earlier composed his orchestral suite Rapsodie espagnole and the aforementioned Boléro is also meant to be a Spanish dance ballet. So what is it, exactly, that makes Alborada del gracioso feel so memorable and fresh? Consider its opening: Quiet, anxious pizzicato on the strings and harp simulate the sound of a guitar before a glissando leads into the woodwinds. Its soft playful nature draws in the listener. Seeing it live, I felt myself fully leaning in so I could hear better. This is intentional! The musicians aren’t playing too softly; they’re playing softly enough that you immediately want more. Lucky for all of us, that more comes sooner than later. Not a minute into the piece, it explodes. Cymbals! Tambourine! Timpani! CASTANETS! (I’m going to admit, if your music has castanets, I absolutely love it.) Its middle section features a vaguely wistful, sometimes ominous bassoon solo almost too good to believe. Perhaps that’s because I don’t believe it — not really. It feels like the long wind-up to a punchline. A sad clown putting on a tragic little play. It’s all a little performative, which only makes its return to boisterous form feel all the funnier. Just before the five-minute mark, the orchestra launches into a greatly exaggerated version of its core theme. It’s like Ravel is almost mocking himself. Those theatrics don’t last too long. A muted trumpet rattles off an energetic fanfare. Again, it’s Ravel’s use of the mute that draws a listener in further. “What is that?” you might ask yourself when it bursts in. No sooner than it arrives, it departs. The melody briefly lulls — seductive strings and clarinet take over — before it explodes into its finale. All these individual moving parts, like dancers strewn across a dance floor, join together for the ending. In unison? Sort of … but the scattershot nature of Alborada del gracioso is part of what makes it feel so special. Everything is coming from everywhere, and the second you try to catch all of the moving parts, the timpani swoops in and carries them all away. https://www.wqxr.org/story/ravels-alborada-del-gracioso-frenetic-burst-energy/ https://www.sfsymphony.org/Data/Event-Data/Program-Notes/R/Ravel-Alborada-del-gracioso-Bolero

Orquestra Sinfônica de Porto Alegre (Porto Alegre Symphony Orchestra) Christian Baldini, conductor April 13, 2024 Casa de Música de OSPA https://ospa.rs.gov.br/ospa-e-prestigiada-por-um-grande-publico-em-concerto-classico FastNotes Written in 1815 when Schubert was 18, the Third Symphony is notably concise, and shorter than the composer’s first two symphonies. But it also foreshadows ideas that would expand the scale of the symphony. Schubert’s Third has no real slow movement. Instead there is a lightly scored (without trumpets and timpani) Allegretto in ABA form. The third movement is marked “Menuetto,” but the name is rooted more in tradition than reality. The middle section, scored for solo oboe and bassoon, and strings without cellos, is more a Ländler, or even a waltz, than a minuet. The finale, in the rhythm of the tarantella, is marked “presto vivace” (quick, lively). The movement owes much to the frenetic drive of comic opera overtures. Composed: 1815 Length: c. 25 minutes Orchestration: 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, and strings In 1815 the 18-year-old Schubert was working as a full-time, year-round schoolteacher, taking twice-weekly composition lessons with Antonio Salieri, and doing some private music teaching on the side. Yet he somehow managed to compose over 200 works, including four operas, two masses, two symphonies, and 145 songs, a productive explosion that has had music historians shaking their heads for generations. He began his Third Symphony on May 24 and finished it on June 19. He also wrote some songs, liturgical music, and an operetta in those 26 days. The Third Symphony is notably concise, and shorter than Schubert’s first two symphonies. But it also foreshadows ideas that would expand the scale of the symphony. The rushing scale passage of the first movement’s slow introduction is turned into the second theme of the Allegro, contrary to the standard practice of making the Allegro contrast with the introduction by not having them share any musical elements. Schubert would revisit the idea to great dramatic effect a decade later in his “Great” C-major Symphony. Like the Seventh and Eighth symphonies Beethoven was writing at about the same time, Schubert’s Third has no real slow movement. Instead there is a lightly scored (without trumpets and timpani) Allegretto in ABA form. It has an ambling principal section and a middle section with a jaunty little clarinet tune. The third movement is marked “Menuetto,” but the name is rooted more in tradition than reality. The minuet had had a long life — about 150 years — but it was dying. In his late works, Haydn liked to spice his minuets with odd accents that would have flummoxed any dancer. Schubert does the same here, with rudely accented upbeats: the phrases all begin on the third beat, not the first. The middle section, scored for solo oboe and bassoon, and strings without cellos, is more a Ländler, or even a waltz, than a minuet. The finale, in the rhythm of the tarantella, is marked “presto vivace” (quick, lively), about as clear an instruction to avoid dawdling as a composer can write. The sheer fleetness of the themes creates enormous momentum, but Schubert adds a few sly (or dramatic, depending on the performance) pauses to keep us guessing. The movement owes much to the frenetic drive of comic opera overtures. — Howard Posner https://www.laphil.com/musicdb/pieces/3963/symphony-no-3-in-d-major-d-200 Regente - Maestro - Compositor

UC Davis Symphony Orchestra University Chorus Christian Baldini, music director & conductor Mondavi Center for the Performing Arts (California) - March 6, 2020 Jacqueline Piccolino, soprano (Seraph) Kyle Stegall, tenor (Jesus) Daniel Yoder, bass (Peter) University Chorus (Angels, Disciples, Soldiers) - Caleb Lewis, director Beethoven: "Christ on the Mount of Olives", op. 85 Even though the music of Ludwig van Beethoven forms the very basis of our repertoire, there are great many pieces in his œuvre that have fallen out of focus in the course of time. Some deservedly so, some to a puzzling effect. The oratorio Christus am Ölberge, Op. 85 (Christ on the Mount of Olives, 1803/1804/1811), quite popular in its time, began to fall out of fashion as the 19th century proceeded. As years went by, it was eventually turned into a footnote to the great choral masterpieces of Beethoven’s late period, namely the Missa Solemnis (1819-23) and the Ninth Symphony (1822-24), as well as Leonore/Fidelio (1805-14). Yet, Christus am Ölberge is a substantial work of its own right. Tremendously expressive, yet intimate, Beethoven’s score is a spellbinding portrayal of the Redeemer’s inner struggle, empowerment, and joyous triumph. Scored for three soloists, chorus and orchestra, Christus am Ölberge is based on a libretto by Franz Xavier Huber. Beethoven set it to music during the early months of 1803, while residing at Theater an der Wien. The oratorio was premierd as a part of Beethoven’s academy concert on 5 April, alongside the Second Symphony (1801-03) and the Thrid Piano Concerto (1800), both heard for the first time as well. Immensely popular in Vienna those days, the oratorios of Haydn and Handel were obviously well-know to Beethoven. Understandably reluctant to dwell in the shadows of his great predecessors, Beethoven adopted somewhat different approach for his take on the medium. In relation to the Biblical accounts of the story, Huber took many liberties with his libretto. There are only three dramatis personae involved, Jesus, Seraph and Petrus. In addition, there are splendid choral numbers as well, featuring angelic hosts, menacing hordes of Jesus’ captors and the mighty fellowship of disciples. An aptly brooding overture sets the hour-long oratorio in motion, with sinister brass calls, echoed by ominously rolling timpani. Joined by rapid string figures and lyrical woodwind passages, the stage is set for the Passion-tide drama. In the opening scene, we encounter the Redeemer in agony, terrified by the events about to pass. The Seraph appears, alongside a Heavenly host, proclaiming divine empowerment. Cast as a tenor, Jesus is portrayed, first and foremost, as a humane figure, going through a spiritual journey from frailty and doubt to triumphant redemption. It should be noted, that Beethoven was composing Eroica (1802-04) simultaneously with the oratorio. Both works originate from Beethoven’s personal Gethsemane, the deep crisis bought forth by his inevitable loss of hearing, as manifested in the Heiligenstadt Testament. It has been speculated that Beethoven’s choice to have a tenor singing Jesus might have provided a model for Wagner’s Parsifal (1877-82). Be that as it may, Beethoven’s heldentenor Redeemer is an absolutely intriguing one. Jesus’ solitude is interrupted by the arrival of the Seraph. Sung by a soprano, Christ’s guardian angel is portrayed with compelling vocal bravura. Here, Beethoven evokes the spirit of Mozart, to a riveting effect. Joined by full chorus, the Seraph sets forth to reassure Christ with a marvellous vocal tableau. Followed by a sublime duet for Christ and Seraph, the scene closes with affirmation. Beethoven sets Jesus’ arrest to music with vivid imagination. Sung by male voices, Jesus’ capturers are engaged in contrapuntal hide-and-seek, rooted in splendid dramaturgy. The third soloist, Petrus appears in the final scene. Cast as a bass, Petrus is the personification of mankind, with all those burning humane emotions and motives. The final terzetto is the dramatic culmination of the oratorio. Vengeance is turned into compassion, as Petrus’s anger is soothed by Jesus and the Seraph. Here lies the ultimate triumph of Christ. The oratorio closes with a gorgeous fugal finale for chorus and orchestra, worthy of Haydn. Text by Jari Kallio https://jarijuhanikallio.wordpress.com/2020/03/06/christus-am-olberge-triumphs-as-rattle-and-the-berliners-revisit-the-forgotten-masterpiece/ Ludwig van Beethoven / Лудвиг ван Бетховен / لودفيج فان بيتهوفن / লুটৱিস ফান বিটহ'ফন / Λούντβιχ βαν Μπετόβεν / لودویگ فان بتهوون / 루트비히 판 베토벤 / Լյուդվիգ վան Բեթհովեն / לודוויג ואן בטהובן / ルートヴィヒ・ヴァン・ベートーヴェン / ლუდვიგ ვან ბეთჰოვენი, 路德维希·范·贝多芬, / بيتهوفين, ,לודוויג ואן בטהובן / 루트비히 판 베토벤, Λούντβιχ βαν Μπετόβεν, লুডভিগ ফান বেটোফেন

Gerardo Gandini, La ciudad ausente (libretto by Ricardo Piglia) Teatro Colón, Buenos Aires, Argentina December 7, 2023 UNEDITED LIVE PERFORMANCE Dirección musical Christian Baldini Dirección de escena Valentina Carrasco Escenografía Carles Berga Vestuario Luciana Gutman Iluminación Peter Van Praet Asistente de dirección musical Diego Censabella Asistente de dirección de escena Lorenzo Nencini Asistente de escenografía Mercedes Camejo Asistente de vestuario Martina Nosetto PRINCIPALES INTÉRPRETES Elena: Oriana Favaro Macedonio: Sebastián Sorarrain Russo: Gustavo Gibert Junior: Alejandro Spies Fuyita: Andrés Cofré Ana: Mairin Rodríguez Lucía Joyce: María Castillo De Lima Mujer Pájaro: Constanza Díaz Falú Hombre Viejo: Mariano Fernández Bustinza Estudiante: Iván Maier Doctor Jung: Sebastián Martínez Enfermera: Verónica Cano Ayudante: Darío Leoncini 6 Sopranos Laura Polverini Analía Sánchez Natacha Nocetti Izumi Ishigaki Selene Lara Iervasi Cintia Velazquez In the framework of the cycle Foco Gandini, which honors Gerardo Gandini on the tenth anniversary of his death, we will present La Ciudad Ausente, the opera that the composer and the writer Ricardo Piglia wrote together from the novel by Piglia (with the same title). Released in 1995 and represented in the Colón theater for the last time in 1997, it returns to the stage with musical direction by Christian Baldini and scenic direction by Valentina Carrasco. The themes of the novel The Absent City, by Ricardo Piglia, are the great obsessions of Argentine literature: paranoia, history and, of course, Argentine literature itself. There they appear, as in Domingo Faustino Sarmiento or Rodolfo Walsh, the investigation and the document; There he is, as in Roberto Arlt, the figure of the inventor on the verge of delirium. And, also, as in Argentine history, the conversations in low voices, the conspiracies, the fear. The opera composed by Gerardo Gandini based on that novel, with Piglia himself as librettist, adds another level to the same game: it talks about the opera. There is a woman, loved and condemned to immortality, prisoner of a secret machine that sings stories – little operas. There is a guardian of this strange museum and also a researcher who tries to reveal the plot. The music, magical, melancholic, and sometimes terrifying, is another voice in that dazzling polyphony. Estreno: Teatro Colón, Buenos Aires, 1995 La ciudad ausente - ópera en dos actos. Libreto de Ricardo Piglia, basado en su novela homónima. Los temas de la novela La ciudad ausente, de Ricardo Piglia, son las grandes obsesiones de la literatura argentina: la paranoia, la historia y, desde ya, la propia literatura argentina. Allí aparecen, como en Domingo Faustino Sarmiento o Rodolfo Walsh, la investigación y el documento; ahí está, como en Roberto Arlt, la figura del inventor al borde del delirio. Y, también, como en la historia argentina, las conversaciones en voz baja, las conspiraciones, el miedo. La ópera compuesta por Gerardo Gandini a partir de esa novela, con el propio Piglia como libretista, agrega otro nivel más al mismo juego: habla de la ópera. Hay una mujer, amada y condenada a la inmortalidad, prisionera de una máquina secreta que canta historias –pequeñas óperas–. Hay un guardián de ese extraño museo y también un investigador que intenta develar la trama. La música, mágica, melancólica, y a veces terrorífica, es otra voz en esa polifonía deslumbrante. La ciudad ausente se estrenó en el Teatro Colón en 1995 y se repuso dos años después, con puesta de David Amitín y escenografía de Emilio Basaldúa. REVIEWS https://www.clarin.com/espectaculos/ciudad-ausente-colon-musica-gerardo-gandini-escucho-potencial-futurista_0_tzruIHltn0.html https://www.pagina12.com.ar/693183-la-eternidad-y-sus-maquinarias https://www.olyrix.com/articles/production/7278/la-ciudad-ausente-ville-absente-decembre-2023-article-critique-compte-rendu-teatro-colon-buenos-aires-argentine-opera-piglia-baldini-carrasco-berga-gutman-praet-favaro-sorarrain-gibert-spies-cofre-rodriguez-lima-falu-bustinza-maier-martinez-cano-leoncini https://www.lacapitalmdp.com/christian-baldini-me-siento-inspirado-e-identificado-con-la-musica-de-gandini/ https://www.lanacion.com.ar/espectaculos/musica/la-ciudad-ausente-homenajea-a-gerardo-gandini-el-poliglota-musical-nid05122023/ https://www.lanacion.com.ar/espectaculos/musica/la-ciudad-ausente-una-muy-lograda-reinterpretacion-poshumana-de-la-opera-de-gerardo-gandini-nid06122023/

Orquesta Sinfónica Nacional (Argentina) Christian Baldini, director Auditorio Nacional - Centro Cultural Kirchner Buenos Aires, 26 de Julio de 2023 Robert Schumann, Sinfonía No. 1 "Primavera" - Op. 38 Christian Baldini, conductor, National Symphony Orchestra of Argentina Although he had made some "symphonic attempts" in the autumn of 1840 soon after he married Clara Wieck, he did not compose his first symphony until early 1841. Until then, Schumann was largely known for his works for the piano and for voice. Clara encouraged him to write symphonic music, noting in her diary, "it would be best if he composed for orchestra; his imagination cannot find sufficient scope on the piano... His compositions are all orchestral in feeling... My highest wish is that he should compose for orchestra—that is his field! May I succeed in bringing him to it!" Schumann sketched the symphony in four days from 23 to 26 January and completed the orchestration by 20 February. The premiere took place under the baton of Felix Mendelssohn on 31 March 1841 in Leipzig, where the symphony was warmly received. According to Clara's diary, the title "Spring Symphony" was bestowed upon it due to Adolf Böttger's poem Frühlingsgedicht. The symphony's opening has traditionally been associated with the closing lines of Böttger's poem, "O wende, wende deinen Lauf/Im Thale blüht der Frühling auf!" (“O, turn, O turn and change your course/In the valley, Spring blooms forth!"). This view has been challenged, and the call of a Leipzig nightwatchman has been mentioned as an alternative source. In a letter to Wilhelm Taubert, Schumann wrote: Could you breathe a little of the longing for spring into your orchestra as they play? That was what was most in my mind when I wrote [the symphony] in January 1841. I should like the very first trumpet entrance to sound as if it came from on high, like a summons to awakening. Further on in the introduction, I would like the music to suggest the world’s turning green, perhaps with a butterfly hovering in the air, and then, in the Allegro, to show how everything to do with spring is coming alive... These, however, are ideas that came into my mind only after I had completed the piece. The symphony is scored for two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, timpani, triangle and strings. Schumann especially expanded the use of timpani in the symphony, using the unusual tuning of B♭, G♭, and F in the first movement, and D, A, and F in the third, at the suggestion of Schumann's cousin-in-law, Ernst Pfundt. It was the first major orchestral work of its style to require three timpani.[7] Schumann made some revisions until the definitive full-score of the symphony was published in 1853. The playing time of the symphony is about 29–31 minutes, depending upon the interpretation. Originally, each movement had its own title, with the first movement nicknamed "The Beginning of Spring", the second "Evening", the third "Merry Playmates", and the last "Spring in Full Bloom". However, Schumann withdrew the titles before publication. The first movement was described by the composer as a "summons to awakening", and "The vernal passion that sway men until they are very old, and which surprises them with each year."One scholar wrote that "If that makes this a kind of Last Judgment, then the rest of the symphony is a Garden of Heavenly Delights." The first trio of the third movement quotes motifs from the first movement. The last movement of the symphony also uses the final theme of Kreisleriana, and therefore recalls the romantic and fantastic inspiration of the composer's piano compositions.

Ludwig van Beethoven Symphony No. 6 "Pastoral" Op. 68 Orquesta Sinfónica Nacional de Chile Christian Baldini, director Teatro Universidad de Chile 15 de Junio de 2024 Grabación en vivo (sin edición) Unedited Live Recording Beethoven titled only two of his symphonies, and the only time in Beethoven’s symphonic career that he wrote any “program notes” occurred at the premiere of his Sixth Symphony on December 22, 1808, at the Theater an der Wein. In the printed program that evening, this guide appeared: “Pastoral Symphony, more an expression of feeling than painting. First piece: pleasant feelings, which awaken in men on arriving in the countryside. Second piece: scene by the brook. Third piece: merry gathering of country people, interrupted by the fourth piece: thunder and storm, which breaks into the fifth piece: salutary feelings combined with thanks to the Deity.” Thus, the images are specific; but possibly in his own mind a bit unnecessary. Disclaimers aside, the titles indicate exactly what is being presented, and the result is music, painting via evocation and specific nature references, which are undeniable. The choice of the countryside would have been natural for the composer. He loved his daily walks “where nature is so beautifully silent. How happy I am to be able to wander among the bushes and grass, under trees and over rocks, no man can love the country as I love it.” (Beethoven’s Letters to Therese Malfatti, 1808.) The first movement opens with a direction that it should be played “cheerfully, but not too fast. “ First and second violins proclaim a simple theme, which provides the basis of the movement. Contrary to intense thematic development in his previous symphonies, Beethoven chooses a far less complicated path for this melody. Simple repetitions of the theme, and repetitions of thematic segments served the composer’s wishes. Owen Downes observed, “At one point a tiny five-note figure derived from the second measure is repeated some eighty times without interruption, and yet the whole movement makes an impression of inexhaustibly fertile imagination.” Secondary themes emerge, but never displace the importance of the initial theme. Scene by the Brook continues the gentle mood of the first movement and is written in sonata-allegro format. Second violins set up the watery vision with murmuring triplet figures, while violins produce two main themes. The third movement Merry Assembly of Country Folk provides a boisterous scherzo, probably a parody of rustic bands the composer had heard in Viennese taverns. Anton Schindler commented, “Beethoven asked me if I had noticed how village musicians often played in their sleep, occasionally letting their instruments fall and keeping quite still, and then waking up with a start, getting in a few vigorous blows or strokes at a venture, although usually in the right key before dropping to sleep again. Apparently he had tried to portray these people in the “Pastoral Symphony.” In the fourth movement, the fun at the Merry Assembly of Country Folk is interrupted by a fearsome Thunderstorm, possibly representing a tumult both in nature and in Beethoven’s psyche. At this time his deafness had progressed at an alarming speed over the past seven years. By 1805 he had acknowledged, “winds for me are lost in any orchestral tutti.” Thus, we arrive at a terrifying, stressful experience. What could be worse for a composer than losing hearing? “ It is no longer just a wind and rain storm; it is a frightful cataclysm, a universal deluge, the end of the world,” Hector Berlioz commented. Softly, the movement tiptoes in, with violin “raindrops.” This imagery will appear several times in the movement. The intrusion of a ramming F minor triad signifies that all the merry-making is at risk. Nature takes over with violence and the music is filled with dissonant passages. Piccolos scream and shoot lightning bolts; timpani hammer thunderclaps; volcanic rhythmic patterns shift the winds. In a remarkable climax Beethoven summons a huge syncopated chord (including trombones) over the long span of six measures. Gradually, the storm subsides and Beethoven provides an exquisite rainbow in a long melodic line. The fifth movement, Happy, grateful feelings after the storm: Allegretto begins with simple songs spun from the clarinet, followed by solo horn. It is likely that the composer was recalling little melodies he had heard on the outskirts of Vienna. The orchestra seizes the modest ideas and provides extensive development and ornamentation for the duration of the movement. In the manuscript of the symphony Beethoven wrote, “We give thee thanks for thy great glory.” His pantheistic philosophy consistently found proximity to God in nature. © Marianne Williams Tobias, Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra, 2016.

Orquesta Sinfónica Nacional (Argentina) Christian Baldini, Director 26 de Julio de 2023 Auditorio Nacional Centro Cultural Kirchner (Ballena Azul) La obra "Eusebius", Cinco Nocturnos para Orquesta, del compositor Gerardo Gandini, se estrenó en el Teatro Colón, en septiembre de 1985, por la OrquestaFilarmónica de Buenos Aires bajo la dirección de Juan Pablo Izquierdo El propio compositor, Gerardo Gandini, escribe en las notas del programa: “La figura de Schumann, su música, sus mitos, sus distintas identidades fueron, durante 1984, una presencia obsesiva para mí. Y pretendí exorcizarla a través de varias obras compuestas durante ese año”. Durante 1984 Gandini compone cuatro obras que se relacionan con Schumann: Las dos versiones de Eusebius, la primera para piano y la segunda, completada en 1985, para orquesta. RSCH: Escenas, para piano y orquesta. RSCH: Testimonios, para recitante, piano y sonidos electrónicos. La primera versión de Eusebius, subtitulada Cuatro nocturnos para piano o un nocturno para cuatro pianos, consiste en cuatro formas distintas de una pieza para piano de Schumann, la nº 14 del ciclo Danzas de la liga de David. Cada nocturno conserva la estructura original de 40 compases y en ellos podemos escuchar algunas notas de la obra de Schumann. No se trata de una reconstrucción, sino de una metamorfosis: los nocturnos retoman las notas de la pieza de Schumann en el momento de su aparición, coinciden en el ataque, pero el modo específico de ese ataque varía, como también lo hacen la duración y la dinámica, con lo cual se crean superposiciones, polifonías, relaciones armónicas y planos que no encontramos en Schumann; tampoco quedan rastros de la rítmica original. El criterio por medio del cual Gerardo Gandini escoge unas notas y no otras es de índole tonal. El primer nocturno prefiere relaciones cromáticas: segundas menores, séptimas mayores, novenas menores; el segunda toma cuartas y quintas justas, el tercero toma terceras y sextas; las octavas aparecen en el cuarto. El criterio tonal no tiene que ver con las funciones armónicas, sino con la aplicación a cada nocturno de un colorido tonal. En cuanto al proceso cadencial nunca se afirma por completo. La ambigüedad es quizás lo más característico de Eusebius. (Extracto del comentario realizado por Federico Monjeau en la revista Lulú nº 1, Septiembre de 1991) Gerardo Gandini (Buenos Aires, Argentina), October 16, 1936 – Buenos Aires, March 22, 2013) was a pianist, composer, and music director, who became one of the most relevant figures of contemporary Argentine music of the second half of the 20th century. He studied composition with Goffredo Petrassi and Alberto Ginastera, and piano with Roberto Caamaño, Pía Sebastiani, and Ivonne Loriod. He was Astor Piazzolla's pianist in the Sexteto Nuevo Tango formed in 1989. Gandini was a professor at the Instituto Di Tella (Buenos Aires), Juilliard School (New York), Pontifical Catholic University of Argentina, Gilardo Gilardi Conservatory of Music (La Plata, Argentina), and National University of La Plata. He was also in charge of contemporary music courses at the Fundación San Telmo/Goethe-Institut in Buenos Aires and was in charge of one of the composition workshops at the Fundación Antorchas (Argentina). Gandini has been the musical director of the Buenos Aires Philharmonic, musical director of the Teatro Colón, and director-founder of the Opera and Ballet Experimentation Center of the same theatre. During 2003, he was a resident composer of the Teatro Colón. He was the pianist in Sexteto Nuevo Tango, Astor Piazzolla's last sextet. This live version is performed by the National Symphony Orchestra of Argentina, in Buenos Aires, conducted by Christian Baldini.

Orquesta de Cámara de Chile Christian Baldini, director Julio de 2022 Chamber Orchestra of Chile Christian Baldini, conductor July 2022 PROGRAM NOTES By the early 1790s Haydn was an independent operator, after more than three decades of remarkably fruitful employment by the Austro-Hungarian Esterházy family. The most beguiling post-Esterházy offer, coming after his nominal retirement, was from Johann Peter Salomon, the German-born, London-based violinist, conductor, and impresario who offered Haydn, for a handsome consideration, the commission to write a dozen symphonies for his London concerts. With the first six, Nos. 93-98, presented between January of 1791 and the spring of '92, Haydn scored a success the likes of which London had not seen since Handel's greatest operatic triumphs; whereupon Haydn returned to Vienna, to complete the second set of six and for relief from the London social whirl, which had for over a year engaged a composer hardly accustomed to such attention from the more reserved (and class-conscious) Austro-Hungarian aristocracy. In February of 1794, he returned to a breathlessly expectant London with the six final symphonies, of which the next-to-last is this work in E-flat, No. 103 in the Hoboken catalog. On March 2, 1795, the day after the tumultuously received first performance of No. 103, the Morning Chronicle reported: "Another new Overture [as a symphony was called in England] by the fertile and enchanting Haydn was performed, which as usual, had strokes of genius, both in air [melody] and harmony. The Introduction excited the deepest attention, the Allegro charmed, the Andante was encored, the Minuet, especially the Trio, was playful and sweet and the last movement was equal, if not superior, to the preceding." By "Introduction" the critic was presumably referring to both the stunning intrada for timpani solo which gives the symphony its nickname, "Drumroll," and the 39 harmonically uncertain measures that follow: music that foreshadows the Romantic spirit of succeeding decades. The tonic doesn't make itself felt until the entry of the swinging Allegro. In the slow movement tension is created by contrasting two thematic groups that differ melodically and harmonically, minor against major. There is the further appeal of a gentle violin solo in the C-major tune, its innocence shattered by a fierce C-minor outburst from the orchestra. The Minuet starts as a sturdy, well-behaved dance, but soon begins to explore darker harmonic regions, while the complex polyphony of the Trio moves it well beyond the polite confines of the ballroom. The Finale is a marvel of energy and concision, its main theme an example (the most famous of which, although clearly not the first, is the opening of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony) of what a composer of genius can accomplish with only four notes. Haydn, however, delays his main theme with a startling horn call, which then engages in a contrapuntal tussle with the main theme. That four-note motif is subsequently heard in numerous guises until it is ultimately combined with the horn call - now stated by all the brass and woodwinds - in a riotously brilliant, galloping conclusion. - Herbert Glass, after many years as a columnist-critic for the Los Angeles Times, has for the past decade been the English-language annotator and editor for the Salzburg Festival. https://www.laphil.com/musicdb/pieces/3919/symphony-no-103-drum-roll