Monday August 18

A Recital by Scott Dunn piano

A Recital by Scott Dunn, piano

by James Deaville

The art of musical arrangement—reworking musical materials for a different medium—is a historical practice dating back at least to the Renaissance (c. 1450–1600), when instruments would often assume parts originally intended for voice. Since then, arrangement has become a firmly established part of Western musical life, whether driven by the need to substitute one instrument for another in concert, the personal satisfaction of playing an orchestral or operatic score at home, or the desire to publicly pay tribute to the music of another artist. From chamber music reductions of symphonic works to high school band arrangements of film scores, musicians like to use such adaptations to make works in other genres available to a broader public through performances and sheet music. In his tours of the 1830s and ’40s, for example, composer/virtuoso Franz Liszt made the symphonies of Beethoven and operas of his time known throughout Europe via his piano arrangements.

Liszt’s multifarious musical activities highlight one of the fundamental tensions among composers of the nineteenth century: whether to create wholly original works or to use existing music as the basis for other compositions. It was a delicate balance, since the new work satisfied aesthetic sensibilities of originality while the transcription/arrangement catered to the audience’s fondness for older music. An introspective composer like Chopin tended to produce works rooted in his own imagination, whereas the more extroverted Liszt cultivated both sides of the divide in his public appearances. At one and the same concert the audience might hear Liszt’s own Transcendental Études for piano next to his keyboard transcriptions of Schubert’s songs or arrangements of selections from Wagner. Copyright laws were still nascent at this time, and intellectual property was not tightly regulated. Hence a composer-pianist like Liszt could arrange the work of others with relative impunity, in order to: 1) honor the music’s creator, 2) give the audience a current (or historical) composition they should recognize, and 3) display his brilliance in reworking that music.

Today’s program fulfills all of these artistic aims, and does so in application to music from the cinema: Scott Dunn has chosen a program for solo piano that draws on orchestral scores from over twenty years of film, from 1940 to 1961. This was a time of diversification and divestment for Hollywood cinema, away from the glossy production values and escapism of the later 1930s toward the darker, more introspective themes of the war years and beyond. Only one of the source films was shot in color (East of Eden), and several of them exhibit elements of film noir style, characterized by psychologically complex dramas involving dark themes and flawed characters (A Streetcar Named Desire, Rebel without a Cause, and Psycho).

The music that supports these films also reflects a change in the style of composition and orchestration established during Hollywood’s Golden Age from the 1930s and early 1940s. Max Steiner pioneered a sound that called for full orchestra, prominent use of brass, and dramatic musical gestures, which John Williams revived in the mid-1970s with his music for Jaws (1975) and the original Star Wars (1977). The soundtracks of the cinematic originals for Scott Dunn’s selections stand in stark contrast to the pre-1940 full symphonic style through their smaller ensembles, more somber tone, and incorporation of Jazz elements to match the grittier moods of the films. Still, the era generated some of the more memorable tunes of film music, including the theme from Laura (1944) and the ballad of High Noon (1952).

Of the composers on the program, Aaron Copland is the only one who had a major career away from the silver screen—indeed, along with Leonard Bernstein, Copland belongs to the small circle of classical composers who successfully wrote for both screen and concert stage, with his scores for Of Mice and Men (1939), Our Town (1940), The Red Pony (1949), and The Heiress (1949). He won an Oscar for The Heiress, and was nominated for Of Mice and Men and Our Town. Copland himself arranged the orchestral score of Our Town for solo piano, which stands out on tonight’s program for its melodic naturalness, harmonic simplicity, and textural clarity. The story he narrates in the three excerpts leads us through the heart of the film, from the description of the peaceful town to the female protagonist’s brush with death. Copland composed this music in his Americana style, which we might recognize from ballets like Rodeo (1942) and Appalachian Spring (1944).

With his theme from the classic film noir Laura (1944), American composer David Raksin also plumbs the depths of his national heritage—in this case drawing on Jazz idioms, particularly in its rich, chromatic chord changes and the clashing, non-diatonic tones of its haunting melody. The tune figures in different guises throughout the film, but typically in connection with the lead protagonist, Laura Hunt, who has disappeared and is presumed murdered. With lyrics added by Johnny Mercer after the movie was released, the song became a Jazz standard and has been recorded over 400 times. Its Jazz-based sound reflects the shift in film scoring away from the symphonic ideal of a few years earlier and helped pave the way for the use of popular music in cinema, which includes Raksin’s blues A Song After Sundown in the score for Too Late Blues (1961). According to Mr. Dunn, who has promoted the song in recital, it was based on an earlier piece by Raksin called “That’s Loneliness,” which the composer reworked in several arrangements, including a version for Stan Getz and the Boston Pops under Arthur Fiedler.

If David Raksin brought the sounds of Jazz to film scoring in Laura, Alex North immersed the cinematic audience in the Jazz experience and beyond with his music for Elia Kazan’s A Streetcar Named Desire (1951). Mr. Dunn has called music for the silver screen after 1950 the Second Golden Age of Film Scoring and its practitioners the Hollywood Modernists, who encompass such notables as Bernard Herrmann, Elmer Bernstein, Leonard Rosenman, and Alex North. No longer tied to the symphonic ideal of the first Golden Age, their sounds embrace principles of American and European Modernism not only by incorporating popular music (i.e. Jazz) into soundtracks, but also by using dissonance, unusual instrumental ensembles, and striking musical gestures. In the case of A Streetcar Named Desire, Hollywood newcomer North was influenced by the music of Duke Ellington in creating a score that captured the hothouse seediness of New Orleans after dark as portrayed by playwright Tennessee Williams.

Possibly the most radical of the Hollywood Modernists was Leonard Rosenman, who most famously scored the two James Dean vehicles from 1955, Nicholas Ray’s Rebel Without a Cause and Elia Kazan’s East of Eden. As Mr. Dunn notes, Rosenman was a protégé of Modernist composers Arnold Schoenberg and Roger Sessions as well as Copland, and had given piano lessons to James Dean, who recommended Rosenman to Kazan. These scores feature some of the most dissonant music heard to date in Hollywood films, reflecting the turmoils of youth. Thus for the famous “Chicken Run” car race sequence in Rebel, Rosenman deploys increasing dissonance to highlight the rising tension while allowing the character-associated motives to sound. In contrast, the slow and reflective “Cal’s Redemption and Finale” of East of Eden affords the return of themes within a consonant setting, yet it ends on a dissonant chord. Mr. Dunn’s arrangements of selections from those two films not only bring to light one of the neglected composers of the age, but also represent a personal tribute to a composer whose friendship the pianist enjoyed.

The compositional career of Hollywood Modernist Bernard Herrmann began just as the first Golden Age of Hollywood film was ending. During the late 1950s, he became Alfred Hitchcock’s go-to composer for soundtracks like The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956), Vertigo (1958), and North by Northwest (1959), which may be less memorable for their tunes than for their musical gestures. Thus it is hard for us to think of Psycho (1960) without recalling the string shrieks of the shower scene (no electronics involved!). Even though the score only uses string instruments, Mr. Dunn’s job is not any easier in arranging the Prelude—playing in the film titles against Saul Bass’s graphics—which presents the frenetic motive associated with Marion as well as a contrasting arched theme linked with flight. Transferring those diverse musical ideas from Herrmann’s string ensemble to piano requires considerable flexibility from the performer, not unlike Liszt’s concert adaptations.

The chronologically final selection from this era of film scoring is the suite from To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) by Elmer Bernstein (no relation to Leonard). Here we return to the gentle musical style of Copland in the hands of a composer who tended to avoid the modernisms of Rosenman or Herrmann in favor of a greater lyricism supported by consonant harmonies that evoke simplicity. This style is particularly apt for Harper Lee’s tale of childhood innocence, yet Bernstein also shows his ability to underscore the harsh realities of life. As Mr. Dunn has noted, the American Film Institute considers it one of the ten greatest scores of all time. His arrangement brings this touching and memorable score by an unsung master of film composition to today’s audience.

On reflection, we must recognize the hard work of Scott Dunn in promoting and arranging the film scores of this era of musical diversity, from Ellingtonian Jazz to dissonant Modernism. The period from 1940 to 1960 tends to be overlooked in concert in favor of the symphonic sound of Max Steiner and John Williams. Yet as Mr. Dunn has pointed out, such figures as Raksin, North, Rosenman, and Elmer Bernstein deserve not only to be heard, but also to occupy places of honor alongside the films they so imaginatively and powerfully shaped. — © James Deaville