Celebrating Autumn through the Arts

The content for this week’s Music for Autumn webinar took some surprising turns. How easy it was back in June to craft the first one of the series entitled Music for Summer. I expect the same ease will prevail for the final sessions: Music for Winter and Music for Spring.

But Autumn turned out to be more squirrelly. Initially, the material seemed disconcertingly barren (no pun intended). I did begin with “Autumn” from Antonio Vivaldi’s set of four concerti grossi known as The Seasons. It is always rewarding to revisit a familiar work, especially when featuring a performance with “period” instruments, reconstructed and played as Vivaldi would have known them.

For other low-hanging fruit, I picked Peter Tchaikovsky’s endearing set of piano pieces also called The Seasons. Tchaikovsky allotted each month its own piece. “September,” for example, presents a boisterous mood based around the idea of hunting. The pianist’s hands ring out the calls of the hunting horns; we hear the scurrying of the dogs and flurry of horses. “October,” though, is filled with longing, and indecision. The stark contrast between these two numbers suddenly gave me an idea of how to frame the whole session.

The metaphor “the glass half empty/the glass half full” suggested itself, as it did seem that every work expressing Autumn fit into one of those two categories. Either the musical atmosphere was wistful, expressing lost hope, lost love, and overall decline. Or, the atmosphere was boisterous, overflowing with excitement and rejoicing as the harvest comes into view.

So, following that design, I plucked another low-lying fruit for the boisterous side: the Autumn section of Alexander Glazunov’s ballet The Seasons (1900). Glazunov, a gifted composer of symphonies, concerti, and ballet scores, long served as the Director of the St. Petersburg Conservatory. He did much to build up Russia’s musical life in the years around the Bolshevik Revolution (which, of course, ruthlessly destroyed most of what was established).

Glazunov’s The Seasons proceeds not month by month, but through four seasonal sections, underpinned by a mythological story portrayed by the dancers. Notably, the music for Autumn, while ebullient, is exceedingly short, by far the briefest of the tableaux (scenes). Listening to its soaring themes one is reminded just how strongly the 19th-century orchestral sound fueled the fires of the Hollywood film score (i.e., you decide whether John Williams knew such pieces or not!).

Continuing with idea of abundance, I found Renaissance madrigals and solo songs from the Baroque that focused on harvest. Some of those had texts that got carried away with the bacchanalian spirit, so they didn’t make the cut. I also wandered into the world of Europe’s traditional fall festivals, including the famous Oktoberfest at Munich. As a side note, in our dearly beloved city of Weimar, Germany, the annual “Onion Festival” (Zwiebelmarkt) breaks forth this weekend. Here, in addition to traditional foods and boisterous music, kiosks will overflow with every item imaginable made from onions (anyone want an onion necklace?)

Finally, how could one bypass the treasury of hymns expressing gratitude, including those closely associated with our finest Autumn holiday Thanksgiving. I settled on a straightforward choral performance of Come, Ye Thankful People, Come, but several other hymns fought mightily to get on the agenda.

As to the “glass half empty” side of Autumn, the offerings were rich as well. There is a touchingly beautiful song called Herbst (Autumn, text by Ludwig Rellstab) composed by Franz Schubert. Many other 19th-century Romantic composers took up the call, including Robert Schumann who chose the poem Das Laub fällt von den Bäumen (The Foilage Falls from the Trees) by Siegfried August Mahlmann.

To my surprise, I found a vocal quartet called Spätherbst (Late Autumn, text by Hermann Allmers) among Johannes Brahms’ works. Part of a set of four quartets, opus 92, this song is cast for four-part chorus and piano accompaniment, a style of music we rarely hear these days, but one that gives singers pleasure to perform.

Then, I turned to the American songbook, where the nostalgic side of Autumn wins! I had never considered how many of the top hits from the golden age of song are tinged with Autumn’s sadness. Examples include the iconic Autumn Leaves, immortalized by the transcendent voice of Nat King Cole; September Song, owned by the great Frank Sinatra, and a terrific song I forgot until my husband, Hank reminded me of it, Try to Remember (otherwise known as “Get out the Kleenex”) from the musical The Fantasticks.

Also featured were autumnal landscapes by three of my favorite artists: Paul Cezanne and two Russian giants, Isaac Levitan and Ivan Shishkin. I also added in fall poetry, noting Sonnet 73 by Shakespeare (what did Shakespeare not consider?), and a heart-stopping short poem by Robert Frost: Nothing Gold Can Stay.

As my two-fold approach unfolded, a third category of expression did arise, to my delight, namely, a subtle combination between the lamenting of loss plus the hope of a silver lining. Several works evoked this idea, including a short poem by Emily Brönte called Fall, Leaves, Fall with a couplet that won’t leave my mind:

I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;

In this vein, I found a tune made popular by the great Cowboy legend Gene Autry called When Golden Leaves Begin to Fall. Here, a man is lamenting his sweetheart’s departure, with autumn’s imagery setting the tone. But he looks to the time when she may return, and they will be married. The song seemed popular primarily with country singers, although I can imagine it sung in any style. My choice was a version by the master musician Bill Monroe, whose unique voice and banjo virtuosity remain unequalled.

So here we are. It is Autumn. Where I live, a long stretch of sunny days has vanished. It is cool and wet. Sandals have given way to muddy shoes. Wet leaves are coating the driveway. Autumn is ready to declare her triumph over summer.

Still, nothing is more beautiful than Autumn and its transformation into winter. Yes, Spring is gorgeous, especially here in North Carolina. But autumnal reds and oranges, the browning of grass, the charcoal outlines of trees shorn of their verdure, and the crystal morning frost exceed all of spring’s beauty, at least in my eyes. Fog rising from the hills, the mat of grass pressing itself down as the fields go to sleep, and brisk darts of cool air surprising our faces—all of these offer an unparalleled drama. How happy, then, I am that artists across time have transformed Autumn’s treasures into words, notes, images for us to cherish year round.

The recorded webinar on Autumn can be viewed here.