Michael Kurek: Symphony No. 3: “English”
Navona Records

On his third symphony, American composer Michael Kurek perpetuates the time-honoured symphonic tradition associated with figures such as Brahms, Tchaikovsky, Sibelius, and others. That this “English” symphony pays tribute to the history and natural beauty of England likewise suggests that some faint echo of Elgar and Vaughn Williams might be present, and there is something to that, even though, again, the work isn't derivative but instead a wholly personal expression. And while there is a pastoral element, certainly, the symphony transcends one-dimensionality through its richness of subject matter. This is a work, after all, that draws for inspiration from the ancient monument Stonehenge, a massive 1000-year-old tree in Nottinghamshire, and the saga associated with Waterhouse's rendering of the Lady of Shalott on her boat.

A passage in Kurek's accompanying notes is key to appreciating the work, specifically his statement that its music exteriorizes interior emotional responses, or, as he puts it, “Monet was not painting water lilies but how he felt about water lilies.” Consistent with that, “Stonehenge” isn't Kurek's attempt to describe the physical structure in musical form; instead, it's one that expresses the myriad inner impressions that accrue from an encounter with the phenomenon. If there is a pastoral movement to the work, it's the scene-setting “Upon a Walk in the English Countryside,” which evokes Kurek's emotional reaction to the lush beauty of the locale. Eloquent, earnest, and exultant, his “English” symphony is a neo-traditional work grounded in tonality without being averse to darker shadings that emerge where appropriate. It's not programmatic in a strict sense, but its four movements do relate to specific subject matter.

“Upon a Walk in the English Countryside” enters stealthily with silken string gestures and with flute, oboe, and harp evoking a verdant setting as one visualizes the protagonist absorbing the spiritually replenishing site. Not every moment's bucolic: intimations of shadowy unease surface to destabilize the mood, such a shift perhaps suggesting inner emotional turbulence induced by the stroller's reflections. Regardless, the music exudes majestic sweep as it advances, with Kurek expertly connecting one episode to the next. Mystery and tenderness go hand-in-hand throughout, the material at moments recalling Mahler's own nature excursions. In the second movement, the enigmatic stone formation that is “Stonehenge” becomes a springboard for creative imagining, its timelessness evoked in fifty repetitions of a slow, three-note ostinato. Emblematic of the composer's conception, the stones aren't mute; instead, they “sing,” some, in his words, “sadly, some tenderly, some cry out increasingly throughout the movement, and, at length, the stones joyfully welcome those sunbursts that, like epiphanies, pierce between certain aligned stones at every solstice.” It's easy to draw a correspondence between the majesty of the stones as shown in a booklet photo and the poetic grandeur of Kurek's tone painting.

The focus shifts to painted matter for “The Lady of Shalott,” with Waterhouse's vivid depiction of the lady on her boat ready to drift to Camelot singing her song of love and death. An animated tempo and radiant orchestral flourishes imbue the scherzo-like movement with a lighter character than the opening two, though melancholy also seeps into the presentation. A subtle rhythmic thrust might be seen as evoking the glide of the boat across the water, and magic, mysticism, and even sadness are in the air too. The peaceful death that ultimately comes to the maiden as the boat bears her body along finds its correlate in the poignancy of Kurek's delicate expression. An epic quality reinstates itself with the advent of the closing movement, “The Major Oak of Sherwood Forest,” the tree thought to be the largest tree in England and a silent witness across the centuries to multiple generations. Songs are in the air again, this time ones extending from ages past to the present day. Horn fanfares arise alongside dramatic declamations powered by brass and timpani. In an interesting move, Kurek alludes to the cyclical nature of time by having the movement's tonality progress around the clock face of music's “circle of fifths,” fifteen pitches in total and each change signified by a chime. Such a gesture is merely one illustration of many that shows the composer's deft marriage of form and content.

February 2025