PROGRAM NOTES

In 1941, Woody Guthrie was hired as an influencer of sorts by the Bonneville Power Administration in Portland Oregon to help publicize the construction of dams along the Columbia River. Given a car and driver, he toured the region, writing songs that highlighted both the beauty of the landscape and the promise of public power. Inspired by the places and people he met in the Pacific Northwest, Guthrie composed a twenty-six song “cycle” of sorts within a single month, including Roll On Columbia, Grand Coulee Dam, and Pastures of Plenty.

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The best-known song from Guthrie’s cycle is Roll On, Columbia, Roll On.  Written in 1941, it became the official folk song of Washington State in 1987, despite it’s original lyrics that white-wash native history and ignore the devastating impact of the dams on Native people. Guthrie would later retract those verses, and performances today omit and replace them, focusing entirely on the celebration of the dams and ignoring their cultural and environmental impact on the people who have called the Columbia River home for centuries. 

Guthrie set his words to a familiar tune of the time that, like Müller’s poems for Schubert, binds love and despair to the image of the river: Lead Belly’s Goodnight, Irene. Lead Belly sings of his heartbreak with lines such as: “Sometimes I have a great notion to jump in the river and drown; / If Irene turns her back on me, I’m gonna take morphine and die.” Some trace Goodnight, Irene to English ballad traditions, but its more direct lineage is Irene, Goodnight (1892) by Gussie Lord Davis, one of Tin Pan Alley’s first Black songwriters. Many artists have covered it, including Frank Sinatra, Johnny Cash, and The Weavers, with the most surprising cover by the children’s singer Raffi, who kept the chorus but replaced the verses with gentle images of animals going to sleep. But in the original, the desperation of love scorned echoes that of Schubert’s miller in Die schöne Müllerin. 

In Schubert’s Die schöne Müllerin, Woody Guthrie’s Columbia River Ballads, and Lead Belly's Goodnight Irene, the river is central, a metaphor as well as a source of life, and a symbol of power.  And from within Die schöne Müllerin, Schubert borrowed for his Introduction and Variations for flute and piano. This work is my favorite piece in the flute and piano repertoire (dare I say!)  Performances often focus on the virtuosity required of the players, but I’ve always been more interested in the darkness that dwells within the piece. Based on the eighteenth song from the song cycle Die schöne Müllerin, in Trockne Blumen (Dry Flowers), we find our wandering protagonist devastated and contemplating his own death after the miller’s daughter turns her affections to a hunter in green. The once-bright color green becomes a tormenting reminder of betrayal, and his thoughts spiral toward fantasies of the grave, foreshadowing the final songs of the cycle, where he finds solace in the brook that ultimately claims him. The withered flowers she once gave him will fade with him, yet nature, indifferent to his grief, will bloom again each spring, setting his fragile humanity against the relentless renewal of the natural world.

Composers and musicians have long reused familiar melodies as the foundation for new songs, relying on the recognition of a well-known tune to carry fresh words and meanings. The ballad Pretty Polly, transmitted through oral tradition and popularized through recording by Dock Boggs in 1927, exemplifies the Anglo-American murder ballad’s preoccupation with betrayal, mortality, and moral reckoning. Its melody provided the basis for Woody Guthrie’s Pastures of Plenty (1941) written during his month-long employment by the Bonneville Power Administration in Portland Oregon. Guthrie’s adaptation shifts the focus to collective struggle, amplifying the voices of migrant workers who labored across the American West, enduring harsh climates, instability traveling from harvest to harvest, and economic precarity in hopes of a better life. Here, the ballad form becomes a vehicle for social critique, a collective testimony of displacement and survival within the geography of the Columbia River and Depression-era agriculture.

Schubert’s Auf dem Flusse (On the river) (1827), from Winterreise, represents yet another mode of testimonial song. Setting Wilhelm Müller’s poetry, Schubert turns a frozen river into a metaphor of grief, the protagonist engraving his sorrow onto the ice that harbours turbulence beneath the surface. His wanderer becomes an “everyman,” embodying inner loss and disorientation that resonate beyond his own narrative. Where Pretty Polly tells of love turned violent and Guthrie recasts the same melody to voice displacement and labor, Schubert combines the two with a focus on the inner life of a solitary wanderer.

The sense of displacement that marks Schubert’s wanderers in his songs also haunts one of his most famous instrumental pieces, the Apeggione Sonata. Schubert wrote the Sonata shortly after completing Die schöne Müllerin and  theTrockne Blumen Variations. Heard in this light, the piece can feel like a prelude or reflection of the cycle, foreshadowing the landscapes of yearning, loss, and fragile beauty. Its three movements unfold like a compressed drama of pastoral visions, nocturnal reverie, and folk dance, always shadowed by melancholy and instability. Nature is everywhere in this work, sunlight, shadow, folk dances, night songs, as though the entire sonata a landscape traversed in song.

Composed at the request of another friend and virtuoso, Vincenz Schuster, the leading (and perhaps only) virtuoso of a brand-new instrument called the arpeggione, Schubert’s Arpeggione Sonata is both a curiosity of instrumental history and one of the composer’s most haunting, and problematic works of chamber music. The arpeggione, essentially a hybrid of guitar and cello with six strings, frets, and guitar tuning but played between the knees like a bowed instrument, was part of an early 19th-century wave of experimentation in instrument design (and would make a killer folk instrument!) Spurred by the Romantic appetite for new timbres and a growing bourgeois culture eager for music-making at home, this era led us to the modern piano, the saxophone, redesigned woodwinds, and fleeting inventions like the arpeggione. Contemporary accounts often compared its sound not to strings, but to winds, basset horn and english horn, emphasizing its vocal quality which is at the fore in Schubert's writing.

The instrument itself enjoyed only the briefest of fads and had already slipped into obscurity when Schubert’s Sonata was rediscovered and published in 1871. Today it survives through adaptation: violinists, violists, cellists, double bassists, flute players, and clarinetists have all taken up the piece, each gaining and losing something in translation. The original is notoriously difficult and unique as the arpeggione has a range that spans the low cello register and the extreme upper reaches of the violin, making it a fun challenge to adapt to other melodic instruments with smaller ranges. 

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Folks who know me though, know that I love the challenge of adapting a piece of music that I love for my instrument. And when you've got a really good song, it's no challenge at all.

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Harry Burleigh, a key figure in American musical preservation, is often celebrated for his arrangements of spirituals, but his Five Songs of Laurence Hope (1915) show his deep engagement with late-Romantic song traditions. I fell in love with this work and though I can’t sing them, they sound fantastic on the flute. Set against Hope’s evocative text, Burleigh’s writing is lush and romantic with rich and vivid imagery that comes through even without the text. He creates a series of intensely expressive miniatures that reveal his acute sensitivity to text and his ability to shape melody as emotional speech. Voice and accompaniment move together as equal storytellers, creating songs of longing, sensuality, and introspective beauty.

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Though rarely heard on the same stage, these works share a deep kinship. Burleigh, encouraged by Antonín Dvořák during his years at the National Conservatory, pioneered the presentation of African American spirituals as art song, carrying forward generations of memory and struggle through a language both personal and collective. Schubert’s songs trace the intimate journeys of everyday figures searching for love, belonging, and meaning, often through vivid natural imagery of rivers, forests, and storms that blur the boundaries between outer world and inner life. Like Schubert and Burleigh, Guthrie drew inspiration from the landscapes and people around him as he traveled across the United States. Together, they remind us that song has long been a vessel for human experience. For reflecting the beauty of nature, for voicing the hardships of migration, and for illuminating the universal search for belonging and meaning, whether alongside a riverbank, in the shadow of mountains, or beneath the trees.