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Music Notes: Part II -Morton Gould, An American Musical Legend
By
David Amos
Morton
Gould, the distinguished American composer, conductor, arranger and music
promoter, died on Feb. 21, 1996. He left a legacy of many compositions and
recordings, mostly using a tasteful blend of American and Latin American idioms
in large and brilliant symphonic settings. He also composed original works of
great depth and skill, always with musical languages that never ceased to please
audiences worldwide.
In the
last issue of San Diego Jewish Times,
I discussed some of Morton Gould’s frustrations and discomfort about his place
in the serious musical world. For this column, I would like to reveal some of my
encounters with him, in preparation for the recording sessions in which I was to
conduct his music.
Gould
considered his Dance Variations, a
large musical romp for two pianos and orchestra, to be one of his finest
compositions. I recorded it in London with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and
the brilliant duo-piano team of Joshua Pierce and Dorothy Jonas. This is a
devilishly difficult piece, which takes the listener through dances titled
Chaconne, Gavotte, Pavane, Polka, Quadrille, Minuet, Waltz, Can-Can, an eerie,
slow Tango in 5/4 time, and a blinding finale, a Tarantella with plentiful
percussion, orchestral effects, private jokes, and challenging orchestration.
Many members of the RPO conveyed to me their pleasure in being involved in the
recording of this piece.
I
could safely say that only virtuoso orchestras and pianists of the highest
technical skill can meet the demands of the Dance
Variations.
When visiting with Morton in 1988, I casually commented that I was first
introduced to his music while a teenager in college, playing his Folk Suite Overture. At first, he seemed to have forgotten that he
wrote this piece, but after a few moments, he thankfully remembered that he had
originally written it in 1938, for orchestra, for the High School of Music and
Arts in New York. The full composition was in three movements, and had never
been recorded.
He
thanked me for reminding him of his own Folk
Suite, and timidly suggested that if the opportunity presented itself, he
would be very happy if I would record the full orchestral version. This is
exactly what happened, and in 1990, I conducted this work in recording with the
London Symphony Orchestra, along with three other unjustly neglected works by
Gian Carlo Menotti, Miklos Rozsa, and Marc Lavry. This album is one of the best
I have done.
In
the 1980s Morton Gould wrote the score for the epic television miniseries Holocaust.
Although he was not a particularly observant Jew, he deeply related to Judaism,
Israel, and the tragedy of the Holocaust. He conducted a recording of this
moving score in its large, full version. But there was also a shorter version, a
22-minute Suite with the highlights of
the soundtrack. I recorded the latter with the Krakow Philharmonic.
But
what makes this story worth retelling is that after studying the scores, both
the full version and the Suite, I was puzzled why he had left out of the Suite a
touching 90 seconds, utilizing the theme from Hatikvah and sequentially unifying the episodes of the concentration
camps to the freedom that followed, and Israeli independence. I called him and
asked as to why it was left out of the abridged version. He hesitated a bit, and
said that he would give it some thought. A week later, he called me, saying that
I was right, to include that segment in the recording, and apologized, saying,
“I was not thinking clearly when I chose the movements for the Suite.”
An unnecessary comment, but it was gallant of him to say so.
I
will never forget my emotions and thoughts during those recording sessions in
Krakow. Imagine, conducting music from the Holocaust, with an all-Polish
orchestra, music strongly quoting Hatikvah
, 30 miles from Auschwitz, during the week of Passover!
My last recording in which I conducted Morton Gould’s music was in Moscow, in
1994, with the New Russia Orchestra. He requested that I record a work he
composed in the middle 1940s, in loving tribute to his new wife, Shirley. It was
titled Harvest, and was dedicated to
Shirley in celebration of their new life as a married couple. This was a rather
introspective, serious, abstract work, with strong influences of Copland,
Americana, and that special Gould signature. It was not easy to record, but the
work was successfully accomplished with the Russian musicians.
At
least, I thought so. About a year later, when all the editing was finished, I
sent Gould a preview recording of Harvest,
expecting to hear from him with words of appreciation, a few humorous cracks,
and possibly a criticism or two. But I heard nothing.
After
a few months, I called him to ask for his commentaries. But all I heard was a
sullen silence, very few words, and certainly no praise at all. He sounded
pained and disoriented.
For
years after that last conversation, and well past the time he had already died,
I was convinced that he simply did not like what I did with Harvest,
and was sparing me of any harsh comments. Maybe this was the case, but well into
the year 2001, I was reading Peter Goodman’s book on Morton Gould, and
realized that during the same week I had made that phone call to him, Shirley
was on her death bed. Maybe he was in too much distress. He had separated from
Shirley years before, but he never stopped loving her, and my phone conversation
was simply ill-timed.
A
few weeks after Gould’s death, the New York Philharmonic, in his honor, added
to one of their subscription concerts a performance of his Spirituals, conducted by Kurt Mazur. Maybe too little, too late.
But in a review of the concert in the New York Times, Bernard Holland wrote, “Smart, concise, alternately shattering and soothing, always sincere. Gould’s orchestral writing represents everything good and important in the American urban sensibility. Here the vernacular assimilates itself by dint of exceptional craftsmanship. Popular music does not drown in its symphonic setting; it is transformed.”