Paul Robeson: Here I Stand Program Notes

Sometimes I Cry (2019)
by Jasmine Barnes (b. Baltimore, 1991)

Jasmine Barnes came to national attention in 2022 when her choral work Portraits: Douglass and Tubman was released on a CD paired with the Mozart Requiem, performed by the Baltimore Choral Arts Society under the direction of Anthony Blake Clark. The documentary chronicling the genesis and performance of this work won a Capital Emmy Award in 2023.

Barnes, a trained soprano, has a particular affinity for vocal and especially choral music. Sometimes I Cry quickly became a hit with choral groups from coast to coast. It was one of three works on poems by gangsta rapper Tupac Shakur (1971-1996), commissioned by the Harry T. Burleigh Festival at Tennessee State University in 2019.

Shakur’s all-too-brief life was marked by extreme violence; he was murdered in Las Vegas at the age of 25. In the present poem, he showed a tender, vulnerable side of his personality, one that he only expressed in rare private moments–“when I’m alone.” The composer has described her setting of this moving poem as “concert spiritual.” Inspired and nourished by the African-American experience, this is music that addresses itself to everyone. Identifying deeply with the poem and its complex background, Barnes has written a piece that promises to form an integral part of the American choral repertoire for years to come.

Sometimes I Cry
By Tupac Shakur

Sometimes when I’m alone
I Cry,
Cause I am on my own.
The tears I cry R bitter and warm.
They flow with life but take no form
I Cry because my heart is torn.
I find it difficult 2 carry on.

If I had an ear 2 confide in,
I would cry among my treasured friends,
but who do you know, but who do you know, that stops that long,
to help another carry on.

Who do you know? that stops that long to help?
to help u?

The world moves fast and it would rather pass by.
Than 2 stop and c what makes you cry,

It’s painful and sad.
And sometimes…
I Cry
and no one cares
and no one cares
and no one cares about why.
Sometimes I Cry.

Paul Robeson: Here I Stand
Carlos Simon (b. 1986) with libretto by Dan Harder (b. 1952)
(Oakland Symphony Commission)

Here I Stand, a dramatic oratorio, was commissioned by the late Michal Morgan, music director and conductor of the Oakland Symphony.

The main character and focus of attention is the once famous African-American singer, actor, activist, and thinker, Paul Robeson. The oratorio begins with a scene when close to the end of his life, Robeson performs at the construction site of the Sydney Opera House. A vigorous supporter of labor movements, he sings the labor anthem, Joe Hill, to throngs of construction workers. The workers are transfixed with wonder; Who is this man? Robeson’s answer begins at the bedrock of his being, “I am an American Negro…” and with the Chorus intoning the spiritual Go Down Moses, he further describes his convictions ending with the commitment to fight “for the freedom of my people.” But… he falters—as in real life he did—soon after the Sydney Concert. He feels he has failed miserably to do enough for the causes he sought to serve.

The scene shifts back in time; Robeson approaches the pinnacle of his career and influence as a singer, actor, and activist, and the Chorus witnesses and responds.

He now has not only a world of fans but some very powerful enemies, not least of which is the United States government. He is accused of being a communist. The Chorus and Robeson trade lines—many coming directly from the Congressional transcripts— in an exchange that rises to a crescendo of conflict.

Success in a political struggle comes down to a question of power. Unbroken by Congressional restrictions imposed on his ability to travel and perform, Robeson continues to fight in print for “liberty, equality, and justice,” and though he will die without having fully achieved his lofty goals, he will rise with the Chorus to a Spiritual apotheosis.

Here I Stand Text – Libretto by Dan Harder – 8-24-24 – as set

Symphony No. 2 in D major, Op. 73 (1877)
by Johannes Brahms (Hamburg, 1833 – Vienna, 1897)

It took Brahms almost twenty years to complete his First Symphony. After the successful premiere of that work in November 1876, however, the ice was broken, and the Second Symphony was written in a single summer the following year.

The Second Symphony is usually considered an “idyllic” work (musicologist Reinhold Brinkmann even wrote a book-length study of the symphony under the title Late Idyll). Yet the usual cliché about the Second Symphony, that it is Brahms’s “Pastorale,” is just as misleading as the one about his First, which was called “Beethoven’s Tenth” (suggesting some kind of continuation of the Ninth, on account of the last movement’s main theme, which is reminiscent of the “Ode to Joy” melody). It is true that the Second is the happiest of the four Brahms symphonies, but there is no programmatic intent as in Beethoven’s Sixth. Also, the rhythm of the first movement’s opening theme recalls, if anything, the first theme of Beethoven’s Eroica, and the triumphant trumpet fanfares of the closing measures resemble the end of the Egmont Overture, one of the most glorious examples of Beethoven’s heroic style.

In fact, the Second Symphony describes a rather unique emotional curve, from a soft- spoken and lyrical, indeed somewhat pastoral-like first movement to this exuberant ending, with a melancholy Adagio and a graceful Allegretto in between. In addition, each movement departs from its basic character to encompass others that are sometimes very different from the initial ones; so it would be hard to attach a single descriptive label to the symphony.

The first movement is mostly gentle and sweet, and contains some of Brahms’s warmest melodic thoughts. But there are some “dim and spectral effects,” as Karl Geiringer calls them, right at the beginning of the symphony, as the trombones and tuba (the latter not used in any of

the other Brahms symphonies) make their presence felt by their somber chordal progressions, punctuated by soft timpani rolls. And Brahms soon “rocks the boat” as he introduces the first of many subtle rhythmical irregularities. Before long, we hear some martial dotted rhythms—a typical Brahmsian moment, made special in this case by the asymmetry between the two halves of the phrase. In the development section there are moments of intense drama, but then the recapitulation eases these tensions, and the coda even adds a gentle smile as the melody is given a new accompaniment by pizzicato (plucked) strings.

The second movement Adagio non troppo (the only full-fledged Adagio in the Brahms symphonies) begins with an expansive cello theme that does not obey any Classical rules of articulation; the listener may never be sure when the phrase will come to a rest. After the melody has been repeated in a fuller instrumentation, a haunting horn solo leads into a more animated middle section, culminating in a dense forte passage. The recapitulation that follows still seems to be under the spell of the excitement that has not completely passed and includes a second outburst of emotions after which the movement dies away with a brief clarinet solo and a soft orchestral chord.

The third movement is a lyrical intermezzo, similar to the corresponding movement in Brahms’s First Symphony. The alternation of two contrasting thematic materials (ABABA) is an idea borrowed from scherzo form. The “B” section (or trio) is in a faster tempo than the opening Allegretto, and its theme is a variant of the latter. The second time, the 2/4 meter of the Trio is changed to 3/8. The final repeat of the Allegretto theme is somewhat extended, with a digression to a remote key; a beautiful, bittersweet new idea appears in the violins just before the end.

The finale begins in a subdued piano as a unison melody; harmonies and counterpoint are added later as the full orchestra enters and the volume increases to forte. The broad second theme is played by violins and violas in sweet-sounding parallel sixths. The development section opens with the main theme in its original form, giving the impression for a moment that we are going back to the beginning of the movement. Soon, however, the music takes a new turn and a true development section follows. Instead of working up to a climactic high point, the music gets slower and softer and finally reaches a mysterious moment with the theme disintegrating into mere fragments, played by winds over the tremolos of the strings. The recapitulation is much abridged, but it still brings back all the important thematic material. The symphony concludes with the rousing trumpet fanfare mentioned above.

After hearing the symphony, Brahms’s longtime friend, the eminent surgeon and accomplished amateur musician Theodor Billroth exclaimed: “How beautiful it must be at Pörtschach!” Billroth knew that the symphony had been written at that resort on the Wörthersee (Lake of Wörth) in the Austrian province of Carinthia; Brahms spent three consecutive summers there between 1877 and 1879. There is no doubt that the beauty of the lake surrounded by mountains exerted a strong influence on Brahms, and some have speculated that the similarity in tone between the Second Symphony and the Violin Concerto, completed at Pörtschach the following year, has something to do with the genius loci.

The premiere, conducted by Hans Richter on December 30, 1877, was one of Brahms’s great triumphs; the third movement had to be repeated. The following year, the Philharmonic Society of Hamburg celebrated its 50th anniversary, and Brahms, a native of Hamburg, was invited to conduct his own works. Brahms at first declined; he had never forgiven the Society for passing him over as conductor fifteen years earlier. But in the end, he decided to go after all; and the enthusiastic reception of the Second Symphony marked the beginning of Brahms’s reconciliation with his native city.