More mennin. Brothers Ory and Vry. Since mennin are born magically these two aren’t biological brothers but they both were born with similiar masks and are around the same age so they decided to be brothers.

Both of them dealed with magical items, gathering them, making them, selling them. But one day they found an item that was cursed. When Ory picked it up, he became corrupted and his body started to mutate, when Vry tried to reach over and help his brother, his left arm was consumed by the magical energy of the item. The item then vanished, leaving their lives changed.

Symphony No.5 Peter Mennin (1923-1983)

American symphonists are becoming a particular point of obsession for me. As such, at the end of this week of blogs, I think I'm going to be looking to do a week or two devoted exclusively to music from European (or other non-American) composers.

But this is not that week, and my rabbit-trail research wandering has led me to today's symphony from a composer who shares a musical pedigree with several other composers featured here in previous posts, a man who would go on to lead two of America's (and the world's) finest conservatories.

The Composer

Peter Mennin was born Peter Mennini in Erie, Pennsylvania, in 1923. He studied at Oberlin under norman Lockwood, and at the Eastman School under Howard Hanson and Bernard Rogers, where he received his Bachelors, Masters, and PhD). In addition to his 9 symphonies, he composed numerous works for orchestra, wind band, and chorus.

He was awarded the inaugural Gershwin Memorial Award for his Symphony No.2 (a work later withdrawn by the composer), and the Bearns Prize at Columbia.

Mennin was appointed director of the Peabody Conservatory at Johns Hopkins University, and later succeeded William Schuman as president of the Juilliard School, where an award bearing his name is given to students showing exceptional leadership and achievement in the arts.

Notable students included Richard Danielpour, Jack Behrens, and Jacob Druckman.

  Symphony No.5

The first movement of Mennin's 1950 Symphony No.5 ("quarter note = 126") clocks in at a brisk 4:30ish, and presents a bouncy, rhythmic introduction that would have been at home in Disney's Fantasia. The two rhythmic themes I was able to grab on to were 1 + 2 e +... and 1 2 a 3 + 4 +, and both appear in augmented form later in the movement. To the extent that it makes any sense to say so, this movement was very clearly written by someone who wrote for wind band--it's brassy and punchy, with syncopated passages that brass players love to tear into.

The second movement is labeled "Canto", which in addition so being Italian for "song" or "singing", is a division of an epic poem, such as Dante's The Divine Comedy. I suppose he meant the former, but the latter is an interesting way to frame this movement. If I think about the piece in the latter sense, there is a sort of heroic sensibility to this slow movement: an abling with conviction (with the introductory oboe solo), further moments of introspection and wonder (the string section from 2:30 to a little after 3:00), and a persistent forward momentum--jolted at one point by a stray timpani flourish--no lingering allowed, it seems... then again, this piece has no program as far as we know, and so these are merely projections of mine.

There is a lightness (almost frustrating) to the second movement that almost jeopardizes the whole piece while simultaneously moving it forward in apparently the only manner it can possibly go.

The opening of the third movement (Allegro tempestuoso--a promising marking for a finale) is a nice, aggressive reminder of the composers affinity for brass and percussion, a sort of rhythmic reassurance that he hasn't forgotten us while we were sauntering through the Canto.

(Incidentally, my 6th grade teacher taught me the word "saunter" when she playfully teased me that I sauntered everywhere. Eighteen or so years later, the warehouse manager at Naxos jokes around with me about the same thing. It's apparently one of my defining characteristics: I'm a saunterer. This has never bothered me as much as it seems to amuse others.)

There's a bit of a horn/trombone fugue that pops up toward the end of the movement (but we just got here! more brass!), followed by a furious string pad undergirded by a stout melodic phrase in the low brass. Then, as suddenly as we began, we're through, and there's only the reverberation in the room left. Mennin, I hardly knew ye.

I am left with a general sense of indifference to this piece. It was neither challenging nor particularly inspiring. There were only a few short moments when I felt I wanted to pay close attention, and I'm left with nary a memorable passage to hang my hat upon.

From a programming standpoint, I suppose I would have a hard time justifying programming this piece, when there is so much in the American symphonic realm that would inspire some feeling of any sort. The last thing you want, if you're trying to build a sustainable audience for anything, is to present something to which all but a few of them are completely indifferent. Get them fighting in the aisles, calling each other's mothers names... but don't walk away saying "wasn't that... nice...?"

  Recordings Used