Wednesday, August 13
Rough Waves, c. 1704–09 (ink, color, and gold leaf on two-panel folding paper screen) by Ogata Korin. Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Max Vinetz
Swell
Max Vinetz was born on July 14, 1996. He received degrees from Yale University, Rice University’s Shepherd School of Music, and Princeton University. Swell is scored for two flutes and piccolo, oboe, two clarinets and bass clarinet, two bassoons and contrabassoon, as well as four horns, three trumpets, two trombones and bass trombone, tuba, timpani, percussion, harp, piano, and strings.
Max Vinetz spent his childhood in San Diego, so “the ocean was sort of this backdrop to most of my life experiences growing up,” he says. “It was a place I would go with my friends, a place where I would go alone and just open the trunk of my minivan and just sit and be all emo and look at the ocean. It was a place that I would go when things were going really not good, and a place where I would go where things were really good.” Over time, he began to notice the myriad ways the Pacific played with his senses: how the sun would shine and splinter off its million ripples like a jewel; how a vague hum would gradually resolve itself into a roar of white noise as he approached the shore; how each crashing wave would contain a “brutal” amount of force that might leave you with “salt water in your head for a few days” if it hit you the wrong way. “The ocean is beautiful but also a monstrosity capable of destroying things; very violent and visceral, but also serene,” he notes. “When you start to swim in the ocean, sometimes it’s a really pleasant experience but not necessarily an inherently relaxing experience. This isn’t a kiddie pool. It’s not a lazy river.”
In Swell, Vinetz considers the smallest element of the ocean, the individual swell, and adopts its unique logic as his own. The piece consists almost entirely of small groups of instruments swelling their dynamics from pianissimo to fortissimo. Sometimes those swells occur on sustained notes, sometimes they’re made of simple patterns of sixteenth notes. Most of them only last a few measures. A given group of swells rarely sees its individual components crest simultaneously; instead they cascade around the ensemble like ripples reflecting and colliding in a pool, combining to form billows that themselves interact in unexpected ways. Vinetz’s harmonic language is reasonably tonal, with each surge often carrying a single chord or key-space. Occasional shards of melody do sometimes wash ashore, their sharp edges seemingly worn down by the pummeling brine only to be rapidly subsumed by the next tumbling flow.
Like the beach, Swell is a welter of motionless activity. Vinetz describes it as a landscape with “no real proscribed narrative.” Long phrases appear one after the other, each with its own individual force and frequency, but they never combine to go anywhere. Tonal chords played with conventional techniques come to resemble noisy washes. And bursts of ferocious activity will be followed by a placid calm. But as at the beach, that stasis isn’t unwelcome, nor is its lack of teleology undesirable. It simply, dynamically, is. As Vinetz describes it, “I was experiencing a sensation of surrender to this piece. I had the mental image of actually bending my knee to the ocean because I was feeling this insane gravity. It was this mental image of submitting and surrendering myself to the ocean and honoring it and worshiping it and revering it and getting this very solemn, austere power that just glows.” — © Dan Ruccia
Ralph Vaughan Williams
Tuba Concerto in F minor
Ralph Vaughan Williams was born on October 12, 1872 at Down Ampney, Gloucestershire, England, and died in London on August 26, 1958. He composed his Tuba Concerto for Philip Catelinet, the tubist in the London Symphony Orchestra, in honor of the orchestra’s fiftieth anniversary; it was premiered on June 13, 1954. In addition to the solo instrument, the score calls for two flutes (second doubling piccolo), oboe, two clarinets, bassoon, pairs of horns, trumpets, trombones; timpani; snare drum; triangle; cymbals; bass drum; and strings.
A few composers have relished the challenge of filling the odd corners of the repertory, of composing works for instruments or groups that seem to have been forgotten by others. Late in his life, Ralph Vaughan Williams composed such a work: a concerto for the “underdog” of the orchestra: the tuba. The problem, of course, with any low-pitched instrument is getting it to sound above the rest of the orchestra, and also to compose a melody that goes beyond grumblings down in the cellar of the orchestra. One of the ways the composer helped the tuba to be heard was to write for a small orchestra.
When the work premiered, critics tended not to take it seriously, but rather to consider it a galumphing romp, the eccentric outpouring of an elderly man. Vaughan Williams had consistently stretched the traditions of the instruments that made up the orchestra, most fully in his Sinfonia Antartica, where the reason for a large and highly colorful orchestral palette was programmatic. But even in later, smaller works, he consciously added or omitted instruments in order to produce unique sonorities in each piece.
Certainly it is the tuba providing melodic leadership that characterizes the Tuba Concerto. The composer took pains to ensure that he knew the possibilities of the solo instrument, and this Concerto remains without question the most important work of its genre. (The only other viable tuba concerto that springs to mind is one by John Williams.)
The work is composed in the traditional three movements, and the middle movement is notably slower than the outer two. The composer himself noted that “the music is fairly simple and obvious and can be listened to without much previous explanation.” That said, it is worth noting that in the opening movement, the music from the solo tuba is of a surprisingly light nature for all the possible weight and ponderousness of sound. The slow movement shows off the wonderful lyricism possible with a well-played tuba. The finale puts the soloist through a series of exciting challenges goaded on by rapid dancing strings. — © Steven Ledbetter
Mount Elbrus, 1894 (oil on canvas) by Nikolai Yaroshenko. State Russian Museum.
Pyotr Il’yich Tchaikovsky
Symphony No. 4 in F minor, op. 36
Pyotr Il’yich Tchaikovsky was born in Kamsko-Votkinsk, Russia, on May 7, 1840, and died in St. Petersburg on November 6, 1893. He began the Fourth Symphony in May 1877 and completed the score on January 19, 1878. Nikolai Rubinstein conducted the first performance in Moscow on March 4 of that year. The score calls for two flutes and piccolo, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion, and strings
It is always dangerous to seek reasons for stylistic development in a composer’s biography; musical expression is far more than simply a transcription of emotions. But in the case of Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony, a great deal of evidence documents the connection between this music and the crisis that befell the composer precisely in the period between the Third and Fourth Symphonies.
During this period, Tchaikovsky was wrestling with his homosexuality, always worried about discovery and concerned at the possibility of blackmail. The last thing he needed at this time was a complicated relationship with a woman. Unfortunately, that is exactly what he got. In May of 1877 a young pupil at the Conservatory, Antonina Ivanovna Milyukova, wrote him expressing a passionate and undying devotion. He responded to Antonina’s letter as gently as possible, but she refused to accept dark hints as to the true state of his emotional makeup.
Tchaikovsky felt himself forced into marriage against his will. Only after he and Antonina had set off on their honeymoon did he fully realize the folly of his actions. “As the train started,” he wrote to his brother two days later, “I was on the point of screaming.” A loan from his loyal patroness and friend—Nadezha von Meck—gave him the opportunity to make a temporary escape to the Caucasus, leaving behind his bride with their marriage still unconsummated. By late September he returned to Moscow to face her, but within a few days he vainly attempted suicide by walking into the Moscow River and standing in the frigid water in hopes of catching a fatal case of pneumonia. In desperation, he escaped to Switzerland and finally to Italy, where the spent the winter composing the Fourth Symphony. Though some sketches go back to the previous spring, the bulk of the work took shape at the end of 1877. The piece bears the dedication “To my best friend,” who, as the composer’s correspondence makes clear, was Madame von Meck.
Tchaikovsky wrote her a long letter describing the meaning of his symphony. There he described the significance of the new work, proceeding from the introductory fanfare, “the seed of the whole symphony,” of which he declared flatly, “This is fate, this is that fateful force which prevents the impulse to happiness from attaining its goal.” The second movement, wrote Tchaikovsky, expresses a weary regret for all that is hopelessly gone, while the third movement “is made up of capricious arabesques, of the elusive images which rush past in the imagination when you have drunk a little wine and experience the first stage of intoxication.” The finale proposes a return to active life, but even here, “the irrepressible fate again appears and reminds you of yourself.”
It is easy to hear “fate” in the opening fanfare (Tchaikovsky himself likened this piece to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony), particularly when it returns later on, interrupting the proceedings more than once with unusual violence. And it is easy to hear “frustration” in the first movement’s waltz-like main theme, which keeps circling around in a limited space, extending itself but never really changing. But the careful listener will also hear in the first movement an almost organic growth of the melodic ideas and an original formal and harmonic shape. Periodically its course is violently interrupted by the “fate” motive. Throughout the course of this extraordinary movement, Tchaikovsky gauges with wonderful finesse the ebb and flow of expressive tension.
The two middle movements function essentially as relief from the power, tension, and complexity of the first. At the same time, they are superb examples of Tchaikovsky’s inventiveness in dressing charming lyrical ideas with striking orchestral color. Both movements are in a simple ternary (A-B-A) form. The slow movement sings its plaintive song, but with progressive, delightful embellishments. The scherzo offers a charming game between the orchestral sections—pizzicato strings, then woodwinds, then brasses.
The finale is a kind of brilliant rondo made up of a fiery outburst that leads to a Russian folk song over which Tchaikovsky effects many transformations. Less passionate in character than the opening, it nonetheless builds a wonderfully sonorous conclusion when the “fate” motive intervenes again—comparable to a similar gesture in Beethoven’s Fifth. Ultimately, though, “fate” is put to rout through a final outburst of high energy and orchestral virtuosity.
— © Steven Ledbetter
Seth Carter is the principal tubist of the Fort Wayne Philharmonic. A native of Paris, Texas, Seth has had prominent success as a soloist, ensemble musician, and chamber artist. Before joining the Philharmonic, Seth was previously the principal tuba of the Las Colinas Symphony Orchestra. Seth has won or placed in numerous solo competitions, including two gold medals at the Leonard Falcone International Euphonium and Tuba Festival. Seth is a graduate of the University of North Texas and the Colburn Conservatory of Music. Seth’s primary teachers include Aaron Tindall, Donald Little, Matthew Good, and Warren Deck. Seth Carter is the winner of the Aspen Brass Concerto Competition and the recipient of a 2025 LLWW Foundation Scholarship.
Tobias Gjedrem Furholt is a Norwegian conductor and percussionist. He started conducting concerts at age fourteen. He has been mentored by Bjarte Engeset since age seventeen. Tobias has conducted orchestras such as Stavanger Symphony Orchestra, Aarhus Symphony Orchestra, and Iceland Symphony Orchestra. Tobias is also a versatile percussionist. He completed his bachelor of percussion at the Stuttgart Hochschule für Musik und Darstellende Kunst (University for Music and Performing Arts) with the highest grade. In addition to appearances as soloist and ensemble musician, he has performed with orchestras such as the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra, Oslo Philharmonic Orchestra, Ensemble Modern, Staatsorchester Stuttgart, and Bachakademie Stuttgart. His summer at Aspen is supported by a Lionel Newman Conducting Fellowship.
Hong Kong-born conductor and violinist Enoch Li is a Harvard/New England Conservatory dual degree program candidate pursuing a bachelor’s in mathematics and a master’s in violin performance under Nicholas Kitchen. Enoch’s conducting teachers include Yip Wai Hong, Samuel Pang, and Federico Cortese, and he has been selected for masterclasses with Tim Redmond, Mark Laycock, Joseph Bastian, David Itkin, and Michaelis Economou. He is the conductor of multiple orchestras and opera companies at Harvard, and has also conducted the Cyprus Symphony Orchestra, PKF-Prague Philharmonia, Asian Youth Orchestra, and the University of North Texas Symphony Orchestra. Li is a 2025 recipient of the David A. Karetsky Memorial Fellowship for a Young Conductor.
Mariano García Valladares is a Mexican conductor trained under Iván López Reynoso. He has served as assistant conductor at the Ópera de Bellas Artes in Mexico City and has led concerts with major orchestras in Mexico. Later this year he will make his international debut at the Teatro de la Maestranza in Seville conducting Mozart’s Don Giovanni. He returns to Aspen this summer after receiving the Robert Spano Conducting Prize, an award given by Mrs. Mercedes T. Bass.
Malaysian-born Tengku Irfan has appeared around the world as a conductor, pianist, and composer. A graduate of The Juilliard School, he is now the founder and music director of Ensemble Fantasque in New York City, which promotes twentieth and twenty-first century music. He appeared as a cover conductor with the New York Philharmonic and the National Symphony Orchestra, and as a guest conductor of Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra. In 2023 he was the assistant conductor of the National Youth Orchestra of the U.S. He is also a recipient of the Bayreuth Stipendium and the Robert Craft Igor Stravinsky Grant. Irfan’s work in the Aspen Conducting Academy is supported by the Scott Dunn Scholarship.
Harris Han is assistant conductor of the Palm Beach Symphony. In 2025 he led the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra in Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra on the recommendation of Jaap van Zweden. Harris has worked with the Cayuga Chamber Orchestra, Ypsilanti Symphony Orchestra, and Detroit Symphony Orchestra, and has performed with the Symphony of the Americas, West Virginia Symphony Orchestra, and Bach and Beyond Festival. A 2025 Solti Foundation Career Assistance Award recipient, he trained at the George Enescu Masterclass; the Pierre Monteux School; the University of Miami, where he earned a Master’s in conducting; and Ithaca College. He attends Aspen on a Conducting Academy Fellowship in memory of Albert Tipton.
Giovanni Fanizza will join the Jette Parker Artists Program at the Royal Opera House in London for the 2025–2027 seasons, where he collaborates with the Royal Ballet. He is a 2025 Conducting Fellow at the Aspen Music Festival. He joined the Gstaad Conducting Academy in 2024, working with Johannes Schlaefli and Jaap van Zweden. In 2024–25 he interned at the Grand Théâtre de Genève for the production of Salome under Jukka-Pekka Saraste. He is currently completing a Master of Arts in Orchestral Conducting at the Haute école de musique de Genève with Laurent Gay. Giovanni Fanizza’s work in Aspen is supported by the Aspen Conducting Academy’s Fellowship in honor of Jorge Mester, with additional support from the Luciano and Giancarla Berti Scholarship Fund.
Michelle Di Russo is known for her compelling interpretations, passionate musicality, and championing of contemporary music. Di Russo will begin her tenure as Music Director of the Delaware Symphony in the 2025–26 season while continuing as associate conductor of the Fort Worth Symphony. She is a two-time recipient of the Solti Foundation’s U.S. Career Assistance Award, a former Dudamel Fellow with LA Philharmonic, a Taki Alsop Mentee, and has been a fellow of the Verbier Festival, the Chicago Sinfonietta program, and the Dallas Opera Hart Institute. This summer she is the recipient of a Conducting Academy Fellowship in memory of Jack Strandberg.
Japanese-American conductor Ken Yanagisawa is music director of the Boston Opera Collaborative and the Boston Annex Players, associate conductor of the Boston Civic Symphony, assistant conductor of the New Philharmonia Orchestra, and assistant professor at Berklee College of Music. A 2024 Aspen Conducting Academy Fellow and James Conlon Conductor Prize recipient, Ken has previously served as a conducting apprentice with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra and has assisted/covered at the National Symphony Orchestra, Rhode Island Philharmonic, Berlin Academy of American Music, and Opernfest, among others. Ken holds a Doctor of Musical Arts in Orchestral Conducting from Boston University.
