The Pen Woman, Spring 2023:
Hearing a Rhapsody
By Elizabeth Lauer, Music Editor
And when I hear you call, so softly to me,
I don’t hear a call at all: I hear a rhapsody.
This romantic, evocative lyric initiates a 1940s chart-topping popular song by George Fragos, Jack Baker, and Dick Gasparre: 32 bars of lush music and romance-inspired words. Did listeners and shower-singers of the time wonder about the definition of “rhapsody”? Or was the more important aspect of the song its singability: three clear vowels — ah, oh, ee — and simple consonants?
The rhapsody, originally a poetic designation, became associated with musical works early in the 19th century in the European bailiwick. Rhapsody is one of several terms that came into use at that time as titles for onemovement compositions; there were others, typically in French, the language favored by publishers — Impromptu, Poème, Moment musical, Prélude.
The most important, prominent characteristic of the rhapsody is the free flow of ideas, enhanced by instrumental color, sudden shifts in mood or dynamics (loudness), and tempo (speed). Gradually came the introduction of ethnic sounds: new harmonies, rhythms, scales — generally from Eastern Europe and beyond.
These changes and sidesteps also produced a marked loosening of conventions and structural principles that had been common, the norm, including as mainstays of composing: the sonata, the rondo, the minuet, the passacaglia. Those labels, when printed on a musical score or concert program, told players and listeners what to expect to perform or hear. With the development of the rhapsody — and its one-movement cousins — added to the mix, there were now surprises in store on both sides of the stage.
For Americans, George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” comes readily to mind. The work gained early, worldwide, lasting fame from its first performance 99 years ago. Closer to home is “Rhapsody in E Minor for Cello and Piano” composed by NLAPW music member Grace Joy Reid. Her rhapsody was awarded second place in the Biennial Music Competition in 2022. Reid’s membership in the Washington, D.C., Branch began 14 years ago; since then, she has always held leadership positions: president, treasurer, and currently — since 2016 — secretary. She has been program and membership chair and serves as National fifth vice president.
Her life as a musician is multifaceted, with each facet participating in fueling the self-propelled art of composing. She is active in a range of activities with local church, theatre, and orchestra organizations as composer, arranger, and performer. Most noteworthy is a rare and exceptional part of her studio piano teaching: improvisation, which is on-the-spot composing.
“I incorporate what the student is learning … [by playing] a jazz accompaniment … and he plays his improvisation,” she says.
How did Reid proceed in creating her rhapsody? First, by considering how to handle the ensemble of two essentially disparate instruments. The cello is a member of the string family, constructed of various woods and strings. The piano is percussion, its materials being wood, metal, felt, and more — 88 keys (originally ivory, now, plastic) connected to 88 hammers that strike 230 or so metal and metal-wrapped strings, at a pressure of 30 tons and more. A cellist (the instrument logs in at 80 pounds of pressure) basically produces one note at a time: the left-hand controls pitch, the right draws out (with bow or finger) the sound. A pianist can play over 10 notes at once, using — as is customary — both hands.
The cello has hardly been modified since its development centuries ago; it’s not unusual to hear a 300-year-old instrument in concert. The piano has, since its gradual emergence in the early 1700s, grown in size, range, and power, such that today’s concert grands can successfully vie with a full symphony orchestra. It should be noted that the word concerto means competition. A 9-foot Steinway says: Bring it on.
Two short extracts from the first half of Grace Reid’s rhapsody show the three-staff score, the single-line cello music at the top. Music sounds as it looks: the more black noteheads within vertical barlines, the more activity; the denser the pileup of noteheads, the thicker the sound.
The first excerpt is of the opening bars for the piano alone: dense, repeated chords start in the right-hand upper staff (in the instrument’s midrange), while the left-hand statement originates very low (on the page and the piano) and climbs — practically marches — upward at a moderate speed, stating the basic, stridently rhythmic theme. These bars serve as an introduction, a presentation of the cello, which enters with its version of the foregoing left-hand sturdy declamation. Structurally, the six-minute piece is a diptych. The first half features back-and-forth between the two instruments, often in call-and-response manner, expanding on the original musical materials.
The second score excerpt is an example of that which music does so successfully: presenting two or more disparate ideas at the same time. The result is a pleasure and a fascination to the ear — hardly the musical equivalent of grawlix. The notation in these three measures shows the variety of the composer’s musical thoughts: singing lines, plus chords, scales, arpeggios (arpa means harp in Italian) — all interweaving, interplaying. Both instruments remain within a medium range: the cello’s lines in the tenor/bass; the piano not venturing into its two highest, brilliant octaves. It is in the final measures of the first section that Reid develops change and intensity: The advisory “pesante e furioso”(heavy and furious) is unequivocal for the cello’s restatement of the opening, while the piano steps back to provide simple accompaniment, as the pace slows.
In the second section, Reid fully exploits the no-holds-barred character of the rhapsody. Distinct contrasts with the first section are evident from the start. The opening was in a pulse of 4; the tempo was moderate; the tonality was E Minor. For the second section, the pulse is 3; the tempo is brisk — nearly half again as fast — and the key is G Major (the relative major).
The first half features rapid exchanges, switching of voices, musical commenting; in short, much activity, but not exploiting the instruments’ full range. The second half starts with a tip of the hat to an iconic work for cello: the “Prelude” from Johann Sebastian Bach’s “Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major.” Reid writes her own version of the prelude’s opening bars — not for the expected cello, but for the pianist’s left hand alone, in flowing, almost musing, single notes. When the cello enters, it is not with a quote from Bach, but rather with simple, even-paced, unruffled quasihumming — in the high (tense) soprano register.
Halfway through, Reid finally grants the cello a pared down version of Bach’s first statement: minimalist, smooth, calm, and returned to the rich voice of the tenor register. A tiny coda (endpiece) concludes the rhapsody with a direct quote from the very first bars, plus 20 seconds of whizbang chords and a streaking piano glissando.
The Pen Arts Building was the setting for a presentation of Reid’s “Rhapsody in E Minor for Cello and Piano” during the 2022 Biennial as part of a concert on April 30. The performance that the overflowing audience heard was by the composer and what must be called her muse, cellist Romain-Olivier Gray. Reid fashioned her work with the specific, inspiring sound of this particular artist in her head.
The young cellist has won and placed highly in several international competitions. He studies at the prestigious Curtis Institute in Philadelphia. It should be noted that no student pays fees at this remarkable, highly selective school.
Were you in the audience at the concert in the Pen Arts performance space or are you wondering: When will Grace Joy Reid’s rhapsody call to me?