Orchestra's "Popul vuh'

Adam and Eve, as revealed to the Mayans

TOM PURDOM

In the beginning, all was darkness, under the sea. The only beings in the waters were the gods, who lived under the sea, surrounded by brightness. And the gods held council. And ruled that life should be born at dawn.

That’s not the way most of us heard that story, of course. But the story recorded in the Mayan Popul vuh, or “Council Book,” is just as grand as the one about the Earth being created in seven days and the first woman doing something she shouldn’t. In the Mayan version, the Earth is born and the animals are created, just like in the other story. Then the plot takes a turn all its own. The gods ask the birds and animals to speak, and the only response is a chaotic scream. So the gods decide to make creatures that can talk.....

The great creation myths remain relevant and stirring because they capture the grandeur of the natural world and the essential mystery beneath everything. It doesn’t matter whether you believe in Zeus or the Big Bang; the sheer fact that the universe exists is still a mystery and a wonder.

Jungle frenzy

The Argentine composer Alberto Ginastera’s Popul vuh endows the Mayan myth with a musical evocation worthy of its imagery. Ginastera’s tone poem begins darkly and soberly, as you’d expect, but a murmur in the cellos adds an unexpected touch. The actual creation in the second section is a jungle rite, with piccolos singing over the orchestra and an overall mood that suggests labor and frenzy rather than grandeur.

The section on the creation of the animals and birds echoes Haydn’s The Creation, with its sinuous snakes and heavy treads for the large animals. The Ceremony of the Corn— the ritual that creates mankind— is another rhythmic rite, with loud brasses, thundering timpani, and a sparing, effective use of Latin and South American Indian instruments.

The final section is a slow, heavy fanfare, with the trumpets sounding over the whole orchestra. There is nothing celebratory about Ginastera’s response to the creation of our species. His fanfare is massive and ponderous— an announcement that a new force has emerged.

It was Ormandy’s idea

Popul vuh has a creation saga of its own. Eugene Ormandy commissioned it for the Orchestra more than 30 years ago, in 1976. Ormandy had already commissioned several other works by Ginastera, including a harp concerto that has become a pillar of the harp repertoire. Ginastera didn’t settle down to work on the piece until 1982, however, and he died before he could add a final section he had planned. Ormandy himself died soon after, and Popul vuh slipped into limbo until Philadelphia pianist Barbara Nissman brought it to Leonard Slatkin’s attention. Slatkin examined the score and discovered, to his surprise, that it was essentially complete, in spite of the composer’s plans. He premiered it with the Saint Louis Symphony in 1989 and recorded it later.

Philadelphia Orchestra audiences heard Popul vuh last month for the first time, three decades after a Philadelphia conductor commissioned it. If their reaction has any effect on the Orchestra’s management, it will become a permanent addition to the Orchestra’s repertoire. As it should.



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