The Music of Springtime (Part 2)

Classical music can seem intimidating. It’s easy to view it as a musical form most suited to the ivory tower, reserved as it often is for concert halls. Not to mention that it is so frerquently treated as sacrosanct in comparison to more popular musical forms. But this often has less to do with the music itself than the atmosphere created around it.

The Silly Symphony series by Disney provide a perfect example of why. The cartoons made use of classical music, stripping the genre of its pretensions and placing it squarely in the world of popular entertainment.

The brainchild of Carl Stalling, the series helped revolutionize animation and is even responsible for rival studio Warner Bros. creating its Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies series.

Springtime was the third film in the Silly Symphony series. Last week, we delved into the music of Edvard Grieg and Franz von Blon that appeared in the short, but they weren’t the only two pieces of classical music featured. Viewers were also treated to Amilcare Ponchielli’s “Dance of the Hours.”

Dance of the Hours

A little over two minutes into the short, a rainstorm explodes on the scene pouring water onto the earth below. A tree bathes and dances in the shower before getting struck by lightning. We then see a pair of mushrooms that are revealed to be serving as umbrellas for two grasshoppers. As the last few drops of rain fall, the grasshoppers close their “umbrellas” and begin to dance. The music continues to accompany the action as the grasshoppers are eventually eaten by a frog, who then begins using cattails to recreate the melody and rhythm on the shells of turtles.

The music accompanying their frolic is a portion of Ponchielli’s “Dance of the Hours.” Those of a certain age will likely instantly recognize the tune as being the melody to Allan Sherman’s 1963 novelty hit “Hello Mudda, Hello Fadduh (A Letter from Camp)” as well as its sequel, “Return to Camp Granada” (released on 1965).

Over the years the piece has been lovingly parodied and referenced in countless works. In 1940, Disney would again make use of it by including its entirety in a segment of the film Fantasia. A few years later, Al Sherman (father of Disney Legends Richard and Robert Sherman) would use segments of the piece for the song “Idle Chatter” which was recorded by the Andrews Sisters.

Disney’s treatment of the song in Fantasia is of particular note because it is simultaneously a parody of classical ballet and a celebration of the art form. Disney animators used ballerinas as reference for their animation, including including Russian prima ballerina Irina Baronova.

The “Dance of the Hours” was written as a short ballet for the Act 3 finale of Ponchielli’s opera La Gioconda, which originally debuted in 1876. It had been commissioned two years prior by Giulio Ricordi of Casa Ricordi, a music publishing firm founded in 1801.

Born in 1834 in Paderno Fasolaro, Italy, Ponchielli earned a scholarship to the Milan Conservatory at the age of 9 and wrote his first symphony by age 10. A few years after leaving the conservatory he would compose his first opera, and would publish his second opera (I Promessi Sposi) when he was only 22. Despite this, he would not find any true musical success until he revised I Promessi Sposi in 1872 at the age of 38.

For La Gioconda, Arrigio Boito was asked to write the libretto with Ponchielli providing the music. However, Boito would write the text using the pseudonym Tobia Gorrio, an anagram of his actal name. The opera’s first performance was held at Teatro alla Scala in Milan, though Ponchielli would continue to revise the piece until 1879, when his fourth and final version debuted.

Cast of the fourth version premiere at the Politeama Genovese, 1879. Ponchielli is seated in the center.

Ponchielli died seven years later at the age of 51, and the majority of his works would go unremembered (despite immense success during his lifetime). However, La Giaconda continues to be regularly performed and “Dance of the Hours” has become instantly recognizable, even to those generally unfamiliar with the opera.

To Offenbach or not to Offenbach?

While researching this blog post, I came across several references that suggested that the short also incorporates music from Offenbach’s Gaîté Parisienne, a classic ballet perhaps best remembered for its lively can-can.

Based on my own personal viewings of the film and consulting with others who have watched it, I was unable to identify any music from the ballet within Springtime. While I could be mistaken, due to an inability to find any specific reference to which piece from Gaîté Parisienne was used, or where in the short it may have appeared, I have decided to leave it out. Should I find any more detail in the future the substantiates the claim, I am happy to revise and include notes on the piece.

The Music of Springtime (Part 1)

One month after the release of El Terrible Toreador, Disney released its third Silly Symphony. Titled Springtime, it received immediate praise with The Film Daily declaring, “This is called a Disney Silly Symphony, and it is a corker. The cartoon work is about the best that has ever been seen in the animated field, the expressions and general antics of the animals being unusually clever as well as true to life.” Variety was equally effusive in its praise, declaring, “In Springtime Disney has sought to express that vernal feeling of animated insect, animal and flower characters in novel dance routines set to intriguing musical numbers. Timing of the dances, the accompanying taps, etc., is so perfect that the rhythm alone imparts rare entertainment value to this new one in the Silly Symphony series. Every opportunity to inject comedy for laughs has also been seized.”

In terms of plot, the short has more in common with The Skeleton Dance than its immediate predecessor, which is to say that there’s no real plot to speak of. Though the plot of El Terrible Toreador was fairly thin, it at least hinted at the story of Bizet’s Carmen. In contrast, and like The Skeleton Dance, Springtime was more evocative of a mood and a moment in time than a true story. While The Skeleton Dance suggested the events of a dark October night, Springtime evokes the season it was named after.

Morning Mood

The film opens with an idyllic scene. Trees and flowers are dancing in a field while butterflies flit about. In the background, a waterfall feeds into a stream. In the background, we hear the sound of birds chirping mixed with the opening strains of Edvard Grieg’s “Morning Mood.”

The film marked the second time in three cartoons that Carl Stalling and the Silly Symphony team at Disney had used the music of Grieg. His “The March of the Dwarfs” provided the soundtrack to The Skeleton Dance earlier in the year.

The song “Morning Mood” was written as part of Grieg’s work composing music for his friend Henrik Ibsen’s five-act play Peer Gynt (which was written in verse). While Grieg was honored to take part in the project, he found it particularly challenging, telling a friend, “Peer Gynt progresses slowly and there is no possibility of having it finished by autumn. It is a terribly unmanageable subject.”

The work seemed to affect him deeply, and his wife noted, “the more he saturated his mind with the powerful poem, the more clearly he saw that he was the right man for a work of such witchery and so permeated with the Norwegian spirit.”

“Morning Mood” was written for the fourth scene of act four which finds the play’s titular character stranded in the desert in Morocco. Speaking of the piece, Grieg visualized, “the sun breaking through the clouds at the first forte.” As noted in the liner notes for Naxos’s release of the music, “This produces an unusual musical form: the climax comes early on, and the day then settles down to rest. Towards the end we hear imitations of birdsong. The incessant flowing figures suggest associations with waves on the seashore, or with wind. Or they could be sounds in Peer Gynt’s head. Grieg asked that the piece ‘be treated as pure music’, and as such it has a unique place in the drama.”

The piece is used for no more than a few seconds in Springtime, just long enough to evoke the feeling of a new day before the music gives way to Franz von Blon’s “Whispering Flowers (Blumengeflüster).”

Whispering Flowers

With the idylls of the new day past, the plants and animals set about their daily activities. It starts innocently enough, with a trio of flowers dancing across the screen in unison and a pair of ladybugs dancing together atop an open flower. We then see a caterpillar hopping and dancing along the ground, until he is somewhat unceremoniously eaten piece by piece by a crow in a stovepipe hat.

This dynamic plays out through the remainder of the short, with animals enjoying a peaceful and charming life out in the wild only to be promptly devoured by a predator who then goes about it’s own day, enjoying the beauty and freshness of a spring morning, all while Blon’s jaunty melody plays in the background.

Born in Berlin, Germany in 1861, Blon began playing the violin at a young age and attended Stern’s Conservatory of Music. It was a great testament ot his skill, and he was one of only 6 students accepted out of 123 who applied.

From 1880-1883, he fulfilled his military obligations as part of the 12th Infantry Regiment at Frankfurt. It was during this time that he began composing. He would later become konzertmaster at the Hamburg Municipal Theatre before founding the Berlin Philharmonic Wind Orchestra. The group became quite famous, and he toured with them internationally, including a performance at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair.

While he was primarily known for composing marches, he did create other pieces of music, including “Whispering Flowers (Blumengeflüster).” The piece was first published in 1894 and alternates between moments of slow, serene beauty and an uptempo, playful melody. It’s a perfect compliment for the onscreen action.

Offenbach and Beyond

In addition to the work of von Blon and Grieg, Springtime also features music by Amilcare Ponchielli (who would also be featured in Disney’s 1940 animated masterpiece Fantasia).

Next week, we’ll wrap up our dive into Springtime by taking a look at Ponchielli’s contributions to the piece.

The Music of El Terrible Toreador (Part 2)

It’s hard to believe that you could pack the highlights of an opera, an Italian ballad, an old folk song, and a masterpiece of German classical music into a single cartoon short, but Disney managed to do just that in El Terrible Toreador, not to mention some incidental music composed by Carl Stallings.

Last week, we talked about the music of George Bizet’s Carmen and Alberto Pestolazza’s “Ciribiribin,” both of which are featured in the short (which was Disney’s second Silly Symphony). But the music doesn’t stop there. The short also contains very brief references to two other well-known pieces of music, though they’re such tiny moments in the film that you’d be forgiven for missing them.

Yankee Doodle Went to Town

The melody to the classic folk tune “Yankee Doodle” somewhat inexplicably appears in the cartoon as the toreador and the soldier bicker over the affections of Carmencita. After the toreador blows foam from a stein of beer into the soldier’s face, the soldier grows so angry that his shirt and pants burst open, revealing his underwear. The bullfighter and Carmen begin laughing at the soldier, and the tune of their laughter is the song “Yankee Doodle.”

It’s hard to think of a reason why this particular tune is included in the short, which is set in Spain. The traditionally accepted origins of the song date back to the days of Colonial America. The melody was already well known, but the words that are known today were penned by a doctor named Richard Shuckberg. The term “Yankee Doodle” was meant to be derisive. As the Kennedy Center notes in a piece about the songs history, “In the song, Schuckberg referred to the American fighter as both a ‘doodle’—a country hick, and a ‘dandy’—a conceited jerk. No one has ever figured out exactly where the term “Yankee” comes from. One guess is that “Yankee” started as the nickname “Little Jan” used by Dutch settlers at the time. But the Brits used it to mock all American colonists.”

The song was played by British soldiers as they marched along the colonial countryside during the American Revolutionary War. As the story goes, after repelling one attack by the British, American militiamen sang the song as the British soldiers retreated, even calling out “ “How do you like us Yankee doodles and dandies, now?”

All of which is great history, but does very little to clear up why it was included in a short set in Spain. Unfortunately, a deeper dig into the song doesn’t yield many answers.

While the lyrics were written around 1755, the melody is said to be much older. Some musical scholars have asserted that it stems from an Irish tune known as “All the Way to Galway,” whose history is said to be Jacobite in origin (a political movement that lasted from the late 17th century through the mid-18th).

This still doesn’t capture the whole story, as the earliest known lyrics date all the way back to a Middle Dutch harvest song that traces its origins all the way back to Holland in the 15th century. None of which tells us how it ended up being used as a taunt in a 20th century cartoon set in Spain.

Songs Without Words

The next musical inclusion in the film is Felix Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song” or “Song Without Words, Op. 62 No. 6.” Its appearance in the short may take up even less screen time than the brief reference to “Yankee Doodle,” lasting only a few seconds near the very end of the film.

It happens during the bull fight scene. The character of Carmen has just tossed the toreador a bouquet of flowers, unaware that the soldier has spiked the flowers with black pepper. The bullfighter and the bull both take a deep whiff of the flowers, which causes the bull to sneeze so hard that his teeth fall out of his mouth. As the pair inhale, the opening notes Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song” play.

Born Jakob Ludwig Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy in 1809, Mendelssohn was the grandson of Jewish philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, and the brother of composer and pianist Fanny Mendelssohn.

He began studying music at the age of six, and at seven entered the tutelage of pianist and composer Marie Bigot. He would later study under Ludwig Berger and Carl Friederich Zelter. His first public performance came at the age of nine, and he was already composing with great regularity by the time he was a teen. Between the ages of 12-14, he wrote 13 string symphonies. A few years later, he composed his “String Octet in E Flat major” and an overture inspired by Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

“Songs Without Words” was a series of short, lyrical piano pieces which Mendelssohn wrote between 1829 and 1845. “Spring Song” was part of Book 5, Opus 62 which was published between 1842-1844. It was also known as “Camberwell Green” for a location in London where he stayed while writing the piece.

Sadly, his life would be almost as brief as George Bizet’s, living a mere two years longer. Mendelssohn died at age 38 after a series of strokes.

It seems odd to end our trip into the second Silly Symphony on such a grim note, but for a cartoon that ends with the evisceration of a bull, maybe it’s just as well. A dark ending for a surprisingly dark cartoon.

Next week, we’ll jump into the music of the third Silly Symphony simply titled Springtime, which the Film Daily referred to as, “ …about the best that has ever been seen in the animated field.”

The Music of El Terrible Toreador (Part 1)

The Music of El Terrible Toreador (Part 1)

Disney’s second Silly Symphony, the six minute short El Terrible Toreador debuted in September of 1929, just one month after the release of the ground breaking film The Skeleton Dance. It’s a peculiar piece of cinema with a particularly gruesome ending, but it’s still an entertaining watch with some interesting musical moments.

As with The Skeleton Dance, Carl Stalling worked on the film’s music. He had joined the company in 1928 as its first music director. Stalling created the score, blending music penned by composers Georges Bizet, Alberto Pestalozza, and Felix Mendelssohn, as well as the brief use of a classic folk melody. The soundtrack was then recorded in Los Angeles, a change from the first Silly Symphony, whose soundtrack had been recorded in New York.

The film’s story is, at least loosely, inspired by George Bizet’s opera Carmen. That said, it only has the vague hint of a plot. It features a voracious soldier and a bull fighter (whose physical depiction is said to have been inspired by Walt Disney) duking it out over the affections of a woman. There is also a bull fight. Unlike the opera, our female protagonist does not end up dead. The bull is not so lucky. Though he isn’t struck by the sword, as is the tradition in bullfighting, he ends up being pulled completely inside out. It’s a shockingly gory end and serves as the film’s final image.

Motion Picture News reviewed the film stating, “O.K. For Laughs. This is a cartoon burlesque of Carmen in tabloid form. The music of the opera is used for the accompaniment. Filled with laughs, the bull wrestling and throwing which is the final touch is sure to get over. Go to it on this one.” Heaping higher praise on El Terrible Toreador, The Film Daily referred to it as, “almost a continuous riot from start to finish.”

The Composer

Born in 1838 in Paris, France, Bizet was a Romantic composer of middling success until the release of Carmen. That all changed when it was suggested that Bizet work with librettists Henri Meilhac and Ludovic Halévy.

Bizet suggested that they create an opera built around the novella Carmen by Prosper Mérimée (which itself may have been inspired by Alexander Pushkin’s poem “The Gypsies”). Right away, he realized that he had created something special, stating, “They make out that I am obscure, complicated, tedious, more fettered by technical skill than lit by inspiration. Well, this time I have written a work that is full of clarity and vivacity, full of colour and melody.”

Unfortunately, critics hated the piece, referring to it as vulgar, and Bizet died a few months after its debut believing the piece to be a failure. Little did he know that within a few years, the piece would be appearing in almost every opera house of note throughout the continent. To this day, it remains of the most popular and oft performed operas ever written.

Disney Goes to the Opera

The cartoon opens with the melody of “Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre” or the “Toreador Song,” one of the most popular pieces from Bizet’s Carmen. Tunes from the opera are peppered throughout the short, but this seems a fitting introduction with its jaunty, up-tempo praise of the classic opera’s bullfighter. The piece appears again in the cartoon during the introduction of the bullfighter.

As the film moves from its title screen to its opening sequence, a waitress carryies a tray with a stein of beer while the music transitions into “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle,” more commonly known as the “Habanera.” Fans of classic cartoons have likely heard the song countless times, even if they didn’t know it by name.

The common name “Habanera” refers to a popular type of music (also known as the contradanza or country danse) popular in the 18th century. Though it is one of Bizet’s best known pieces, the melody is not actually his. He adopted the tune from the piece “El Arreglito ou la Promesse de mariage” by Spanish composer Sebastián Yradier.

At the time of composition, Bizet believed the melody to be a folk tune, only to later learn that it had been originally published in 1863. Yradier had only died a mere decade before the debut of Carmen. Upon learning this, Bizet added a note to his publication of the vocal score indicating the tunes origins.

Later in the short, we also hear pieces of Carmen’s “Overture,” another recognizable piece that is used to introduce the bullfight in the cartoon.

A Merry Piedmontese Ballad

The next piece of music featured in the short is the Italian song “Ciribiribin.” It is used briefly as our waitress character, Carmencita, begins dancing for the soldier. She hums the song’s melody while hitting herself on the head and posterior with her drink tray. When she’s finished, the soldier bursts out with applause before tossing her a coin.

Originally written in 1898, the song was composed by Alberto Pestalozza with lyrics by Carlo Tiochet. Its original language was Piedmontese from the Piedmont region in Italy. Despite occasionally being mistaken for an Italian dialect, linguists actually consider it a unique language of its own.

Tiochet (born Carlo Alfredo Occhetti) was born January 1, 1863 and moved to Turin (the capital of the Piedmont region). He learned the language and began writing in it. He became so comfortable in it that he jokingly referred to himself as, “Tuscan by mistake.”

He founded a weekly known as “La birichina” while also writing comedies and song lyrics, including collaborations with Alberto Pestalozza.

For his part, Pestalozza was born in Turin in 1851. He studied at the Music Institute of the City of Turin and then began writing musical comedies and operettas.

Both men would be primarily remembered for “Ciribiribin,” which was published by Edizioni musicali Carisch, an Italian music publishing company. The song was an immediate success, particularly due to a performance by Austrian soubrette Mitzi Kirchner.

Over the years, the song has been recorded by Italian artists like Renato Carosone and Mario Lanza, as well as international musicians such as Duke Ellington, Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters, Frank Sinatra, and many more.

It’s a bit of a curious inclusion in the cartoon, given that the cartoon is ostensibly set in Spain. But two of the remaining musical selections in the piece were even more unusual. In next week’s blog post, we’ll take a look at how a German composer and a centuries old folk tune from Ireland entered the picture as well.