Antonin Dvorák (1841 - 1904) Symphony no 3 in Eb major Op. 10 (1873-4) I. Allegro Moderato II. Adagio molto, tempo di Marcia III. Finale: Allegro Vivace

Programme note by Orlando Jopling

When I was looking for a piece for us to commemorate the centenary of Dvorak’s death, I had a look at his first few symphonies, which are never played here in the UK. The first two show Dvorak struggling to control the large-scale symphonic form which Beethoven had invested with such breadth and power, and I thought those should probably stay in the drawer for the time being.

But the third was a revelation, and I was as excited as when I first looked at the seventh symphony, which we played a couple of years ago.

In this case it was the warmth and relaxedness of that wonderful opening melody which first captivated me, and I straightaway played the first few bars to Anthony, which was all that was needed to convince him that this piece was worth looking at. But as I looked more at the score I was amazed by the muscular symphonic structure which unfolded, all the while leaving breathing space for the sensuous melody to return and develop into something painfully expressive.

Something I want you to listen for in the first movement is the way Dvorak draws such rhythmic strength from the 6/8 rhythm. This kind of rhythmic structure (two beats in a bar, each divided into three) usually ends up a pastoral, easy-going, relaxed dance, the menacing power of the dotted rhythm neutralised into a camp flip of the wrist. But here (like the seventh symphony for those who heard that), the taut structure draws almost all of its energy from the dotted rhythm which creeps into the relaxed melody from inside the orchestra as it develops and rises.

The second and third movements are extremely long. The second is like the Bayeux tapestry; twelve colourful expansive scenes, each with its own story, but which also tell a complete story from beginning to end. In one (near the end of the movement) the Rhinemaidens of Wagner’s Ring make an appearance, gradually coming into focus as the water surges up from the depths of the orchestra, in another the folk fiddler from Dvorak’s home town is in melancholy mood; another is a desolate dark blue-grey landscape without end. The first scene is a clarion call to the river Styx, but despite the funeral march which insists on coming back time and time again, the movement has wonderfully life-affirming soaring melodies in woodwind and strings.

What I like about this slow movement is the way that Dvorak keeps all the pictures and colours, like Wagner’s primeval earth-forces welling up in the Rhine maidens’ under tight rein, never letting go of the classical pillars, and never leaving us wallowing in a self-indulgent mush. Actually the sirens should be Vltava maidens - the Vltava is the beautiful river running through Dvorak’s home town. In the last movement, that first note - a timpani stroke - wakes us up from our narcotic dream of Vltava maidens, and we’re firmly back in classical territory, in particular Schubertian processes (Schubert was one of Dvorak’s big inspirations) - and Schubert’s last movements were enormous! The melody is repeated with as many different orchestrations as you can think of, and I can’t help thinking of sleigh rides across the Czech countryside, which unlike England is without fail covered with snow every winter. And look out for the wonderful three-against-two rhythms when we move into a higher gear and the speed edges up … if you catch that, we’ll be around half-way through the movement.

I hope you enjoy the journey - you won’t hear this piece anywhere else in this country.

OJ January 2004