Duuuh-dum.
duuuuuh-dum.
duh-dum…da-dum…dah-dum
dah-dum dah-dum dah-dum dah-dum.
No. Steven Spielberg’s Jaws is not what coined the infamous two note theme used right before the shark attacks. Despite what many movie lovers claim, the theme is actually of a much older variety, first written by late Romantic composer Antonin Dvorak in 1893––a full 82 years before Jaws hit the theaters!
No matter who composed the original line, those two half steps in reoccurring, accelerating succession have become a staple of modern movie culture. I would even argue that they have become a staple of modern societal culture in general; you would be hard-pressed to find someone who could not sing the Jaws theme back to you. In one way or another, countless people have had exposure to Dvorak’s music––and thereby classical music––without even knowing it.
Now I know, I said the word: Classical Music.
Don’t go running away just yet. Because if you like the Jaws theme, then you are bound to like Dvorak’s other works. Believe it or not, Dvorak pushed the boundaries of what was considered “acceptable” classical music, and has composed some of the most famous cinematic themes to date––including Jaws’.
However, what makes classical music so vastly interesting is not the themes that its composers have produced––while they are, albeit, awe-inspiring. What makes it interesting is the story behind those themes. There a story behind the Jaws theme, just as there is a story behind the topic of my piece today: Dvorak’s Cello Concerto in B minor.
Why this cello concerto and not the New World Symphony where the Jaws theme is from? Well, because I am a cellist. That is the music I know. And Dvorak’s Cello Concerto, as it happens, is the most difficult and one of the most emotionally charged pieces in the cello repertoire.
In 1892, upon receiving a leadership position at the National Conservatory of Music, Dvorak moved from his homeland, Bohemia, to the United States. His intention was not only explore the West, but to engage in the West’s unique forms of music, much as he had done with Czech folk idioms during his time in Europe. Dvorak’s idea of Western music stemmed from traditional African American and Native American tunes. He was adamant that they should be the foundation of all future Western music, including his own.
In this way, Dvorak was one of the first composers to engage with the musical traditions of African and Native Americans. In fact one of the first recognized African American composers, Harry Burleigh, served as his American colleague and mentor. Through this simple effort to understand musical cultures other than his own, Dvorak immediately diversified his music from the rest of Europe. The rhythms, themes, and structural ideas he siphoned from these traditions bulwarked his America-written music and skyrocketed his fame in Europe.
In 1893, Dvorak was commissioned by the New York Philharmonic to compose his infamous 9th symphony. Around the same time, in 1893, he composed his American Quartet and in 1894, he began work on his first, and only, cello concerto.
So it turns out that Dvorak really didn’t like the cello. Despite the fact that the cello parts in most of his symphonies and chamber works highlight the true-to-voice nature of the cello’s middle to high range, Dvorak stated various times that he considered the cello a “fine orchestral instrument,” and noting more. WELL EXCUSE ME THEN DVORAK; let me just set the decade i’ve been playing this overgrown wooden box aside in favor of something more appealing. The violin perhaps? Maybe the piano? It astounds me that one of the greatest works for cello in the history of its repertoire was written purely out of friendship. That’s right, there is little evidence to suggest that Dvorak had reason to compose his cello concerto other than his platonic commitment to Hanus Wihan, the principal cellist of the “New World Symphony”‘s debut orchestra. Now I must admit that that accusation is not entirely true. Some sources point to the correlation in key between Dvorak’s 9th symphony with the cello concerto as evidence of inspiration from the New World Symphony that motivated Dvorak to start a cello concerto. That may be true, but it does not complete the puzzle. A composer with that repugnance for the cello surely shouldn’t be capable of writing some of the most familiar and impressive cellistic themes in history. It makes sense when you consider what happened to Dvorak, and why he ended up leaving the United States shortly after he completed the concerto.
The first movement of the concerto opens with obvious inspiration from the fourth movement, essentially dancing around its opening theme. Although, Dvorak did manage to make a big enough difference between the two melodies such that this correlation was not too obvious. He clearly wanted to subconsciously appeal to appreciators of the 9th symphony while fully intending the concerto to stand on its own. In no way was it to be a copy, but in no way was it not to be derivative. It was meant to showcase Dvorak’s take on Americanism and American music, just as the 9th symphony had. Wether this move to pull audiences in with a familiar melody was intentional or not, it is hard to say. What is not difficult to decipher, however, is Dvorak’s rising homesickness.
The concerto’s initial few lines are an impressive show of the cello’s dynamic range and depth of sound. However the work does not truly feel as if it has begun until the opening theme is played an octave above its original placement at a faster tempo. It is here that Dvorak’s homesickness becomes apparent. For behind the powerful imagery of Americanism (within the cello’s theme), Dvorak places a typical Czech accompaniment. This “boom-chick” line by the orchestra is far from insignificant. It showcases that behind the powerful, Americanized exterior of Dvorak’s music, there was an equally strong and albeit longing sensation from his home country. Almost as if he was trying to hide his Bohemian side with his American themes––as if he didn’t want to face what he had left behind, or what was waiting for him back home. And there was a lot waiting for him. He received word in late 1984 that his first love (and now sister in law) was gravely ill. He felt a duty to return home to Bohemia, yet realized his commitments to and success in America. In just two lines of the opening of his cello concerto, Dvorak had communicated a profoundly complex series of emotions: hardship and heartache, with the inability to make things right again.
Dvorak’s commitment to honoring his sister-in-law truly took foothold in the second and third movements of his concerto. In both he referenced “Leave Me Alone,” one of his sister-in-law’s favorite songs of his. In fact after initial review by Wihan, Dvorak added another section of “Leave Me Alone”‘s themes. In this way he commemorated his sister in law, etching her spirit into the concerto forever. Dvorak was so committed to honoring this memory, that he refused many of Wihan’s edits to the concerto, namely two proposed cadenzas in the third movement. Dvorak wrote the concerto both as a final goodbye, and as a representation of his sister-in-law’s life. He wanted the audience to hear it exactly as he had composed it.
Dvorak wrote to publishers that the concerto’s ending should be “like a breath … then there is a crescendo, and the last measures are taken up by the orchestra, ending stormily. That was my idea, and from it I cannot recede” (Smaczny, 1999, p. 90). Dvorak’s ending was the final breath of life. Quiet, unsubstantiated, but followed by a sudden crescendo of sound. A life had ended, but had not gone unnoticed.
Dvorak moved back to Bohemia in May of 1895, where he mourned the loss of his sister-in-law and edited the cello concerto.
The Big Duck 