BMW Classics

^{Gioachino Rossini}
Overture: Semiramide
_{✒️ 1823 | ⏰ 12 minutes}

Although he was a prolific opera composer, very few of Rossini’s operas are now performed, although there has been some revivals recently. But you can’t keep a good tune down and some of his opera overtures have become popular staples on the concert platform, including William Tell, The Thieving Magpie, The Italian Girl in Algiers and today’s offering from the 1823 opera Semiramide.

An overture is an opening instrumental to an opera. It sets the scene: the music will reflect the style of drama to follow. It’s a clever bit of marketing as overtures are excellent concert performance pieces in their own right, keeping the composer’s music in the minds of audiences. Over time, as in Rossini’s case, some overtures have become better known than the operas from which they are derived. Semiramide’s overture would have been a little bit different to his audience’s ears. Rossini included the themes and melodies from the opera. This was radical in 1823, but over time has become the modus operandi of an overture.

The bright and lively music of the overture belies the opera’s dark themes of a murderous royal wife, revenge, incestuous lust and matricide (albeit the last two are unintentional). The melodies from the opera are beautifully developed, beginning – after a quiet introduction – with a gorgeous horn quartet that is from the end of the first act. One of the main themes is played on sweeping violins and then there is no let up through typical Rossini-type swirls, gallops and canters until its breathless finale.

Gioachino Rossini
_{1792 (Italy) to 1868 (France)}

Born in Pesaro, a small town near Bologna (on 29 February in a leap year), Giacomo Rossini was immediately catapulted into a world of music. His father played the horn and his mother was an opera singer; he had a decent voice too, so it was perhaps inevitable that he would lean towards the stage as his preferred musical outlet. His prodigious talent meant he was coaching singers and playing for an opera company when he was still a teenager and, incredibly, he had written no less than ten operas by the time he was just 21 – even more remarkable considering that he’d written his first one just three years before.

His operas became extremely popular during his lifetime: the public warmed to their (mostly) fun subject matter and rollicking good tunes. His most famous operas are The Barber of Seville and William Tell: the Largo al Factotum from the first is incredibly well-known, featuring the repeated ‘Figaro’ refrain used time and again in pastiches and popular culture, and you’d be hard-pushed to find anyone who can’t hum the galloping diddle-um diddle-um theme from the latter.

Rossini’s prolific opera production, however, came to a sudden halt when he was only 37. After William Tell, he felt that there was nothing more to say on the opera-composing front, combined with some health issues. Perhaps he was happy to live off the fruits of his labour – he loved his food and became a famous gourmand, creating the butter-soaked 'Tournedos Rossini' – but whatever the reason, that was it (apart from the occasional amuse bouche for his friends and two large-scale choral works, the Stabat Mater and Petite messe solennelle).

Despite ailing health, he lived for another 39 years, until his death in 1868 after a short illness. His legacy of transforming the form and content of Italian opera lives on.

^{Giacomo Puccini}
Capriccio sinfonico
_{✒️1883 | ⏰16 minutes}

You may be surprised that today’s Puccini offering is not from any of his operas but an orchestral work, although, for reasons which will be revealed, his Capriccio sinfonico is unmistakably penned from the same young hand.

Capriccio sinfonico was Puccini’s graduation composition from the Milan Conservatory, written in 1883 when he was 25. It was highly praised and sealed his reputation as an up-and-coming young composer. Derived from seven themes, as one critic described like ‘jewels on a necklace’, this sophisticated and beautifully orchestrated work can be heard as a showcase for the opera gems that were to follow.

Puccini obviously had an inkling that more was to be wrung out of his graduation piece. He surreptitiously removed the original score from the Milan Conservatory library, refused its publication and never returned it. He then plundered its themes for his later operas, including self-plagiarising significant chunks for his second opera Edgar (premiered just four years after Capriccio), and ten years later he reused quite a lot from the central scherzoso idea for a theme in La bohème, one of his most famous and beloved operas.  He didn’t even bother to change the orchestration (it is pretty wonderful, so why would he?). You can also hear snippets of Turandot, his final (unfinished) opera. So, if you know your Puccini operas you will recognise some of the tunes. Nevertheless, it is a work to be savoured in its own capricious and lyrical right.

Giacomo Puccini
_{1858 (Italy) to 1924 (Belgium)}

When competition is high, especially amongst your fellow countrymen, it’s the mark of a true genius when your operas have had countless performances, and the tunes you composed are hummed and whistled across the globe (think of Nessun dorma, the 1990 Italia World Cup anthem, to name but one!).

Giacomo Puccini’s musical star was in the ascendancy pretty much from the day he was born, in Lucca, Italy, in 1858. His prodigious musical talent was evident from a young child – perhaps not surprisingly as he came from a long line of musicians. His father had taken over the post of 'maestro di cappella' (choirmaster and organist) of the Cattedrale di San Martino, a job that had been in the family for 125 years and, in nepotistic tradition, was given to Puccini on his father’s death – even though he was then only six years old.

Continuing the family maestro tradition might have been Puccini’s path had he not seen a performance of Verdi’s Aida in 1876, and was hooked. He later said (rather pompously) that ‘God touched me with his little finger and said: 'write for the theatre … only for the theatre' and I have obeyed his supreme command’.

His first opera, Le Villi, premiered in May 1884, was greeted with critical acclaim and a hit with audiences. Others followed: Madame Butterfly, Tosca, Turandot (the Nessun dorma one) and arguably the most loved opera ever written, La bohème, premiered in 1896. Each showcases his talent for choosing a great story with relatable characters and ability to compose a gorgeous lyrical melody. They didn’t come thick and fast, (partly, as Puccini admitted, because he enjoyed the good life), but they were well worth the wait, and eventually led to fame and riches.

^{Isabella Gellis}
Opera for Orchestra
_{(world premiere)
✒️2025 | ⏰10 minutes}

LSO Discovery Young Musicians
Guildhall School Musicians

Composer Isabella Gellis introduces her latest work ...

What I love about opera, is that if often deals with extremes. Emotions are heightened, and the characters who inhabit these stories often find themselves propelled into either the very best or very worst case scenarios in equal measures.  Maybe it’s because I’m prone to going about the world feeling a similar degree of intensity, but experiencing an opera and letting yourself be carried away by these extreme sensations is intoxicating. I spent last year writing my first opera, and in doing so discovered a different way of thinking about writing music – building with emotion and reaction, but also considering how you portray the physical and visual reality of the drama.

Knowing that Sir Antonio Pappano would be conducting this piece, I thought that it would be the perfect opportunity to explore what would happen if you took this operatic way of being, and applied it to the orchestra. In my piece, Opera for Orchestra, the music provides everything, representing not only the characters, but also landscapes and actions: every gesture and voice has a dramatic significance, and the piece tumbles forwards as a series of reactions.

I invite you to form your own interpretation of the story. You might ask yourself: Who are the characters? Where are they? What is their relationship? Is it day or night? What are they feeling? What do the others think? Do they dance? Fight? Laugh? Love? Is it tragic, or triumphant?

Isabella Gellis

Isabella Gellis is a British-Canadian composer of acoustic music. With tactility, play, and manipulation of perception at its core, her work often focuses on imagined and disguised sounds, steeped in the silly, absurd, and surreal.

Recent highlights include: the premiere of her opera The Devil’s Den (Shadwell Opera commission), with libretto also by the composer, at the 2024 Nevill Holt Festival; Valedictions, with the Haydn Orchestra of Bolzano and Trento at Transart Festival (conducted by Finnegan Downie Dear); Four Morris Interludes (AMFS commission) at the Aspen Music Festival; Two Haikus – toured around Japan by countertenor Feargal Mostyn-Williams; and a piece for solo cello premiered by Adrian Brendel at Wigmore Hall (Royal Society of Musicians commission).

Upcoming works include a piece for 12 Ensemble to be premiered at Wigmore Hall in July, and an orchestral work commissioned by the Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal, to be conducted by Rafael Payare in January 2026

Gellis has been awarded the Jacob Druckman Prize from the Aspen Music Festival (2023), Bicentenary Prize and Postgraduate Composition Prize from the Royal Academy of Music (2022), the Musician’s Company  Priaulx Rainier Prize (2022) and was a participant on the LSO Helen Hamlyn Panufnik Composers’ Scheme (2023–24).

^{Giuseppe Verdi}
Triumphal March & Dance from ‘Aida’
_{✒️1871 | ⏰11 minutes}

Who doesn’t love a march, especially a triumphal march? And this one is particularly grand – and famous! You may even recognise it as a stand-alone piece perhaps played at graduation or even heard it as a football chant.

It represents a resplendent moment in Verdi’s 1871 opera, Aida, set in Ancient Egypt that tells a tragic love story of an Egyptian General, Radames, and Aida, an Ethiopian slave who is secretly the daughter of the Ethiopian king, and is servant to the Egyptian princess, Amneris who is, of course, also in love with the General. The background to this fated love triangle is a war between the two countries. The Grand March (or Triumphal March) takes place at the start of Act 2. Ethiopia is conquered and the Egyptians celebrate with an awe-inspiring parade.

It’s a glittering work befitting of such a moment. Bright trumpets feature heavily (Verdi specified six) heralding the victorious Egyptians – a spectacle of huge pomp, ceremony and the biggest opera chorus that can be afforded, with fabulous costumes – while Aida secretly mourns her motherland and imprisoned father. 

The opera was commissioned to celebrate the opening of Cairo’s Opera House but things didn’t go to plan and after various mishaps it was finally premiered there two years later than planned in 1871. In a letter from Verdi in 1870, he wrote that the March ‘should not be funerial’ and vividly describes how it should be staged:

'I have only done the march, which is, however, very long and detailed. The entrance of the King with the court, Amneris, and the priests; the chorus of the people and of the women; another chorus for the priests (to be added); the entrance of the troops, fully armed for war; dancers who carry sacred vessels, treasures, etc.; Egyptian girls who dance; finally, Radames with the whole shebang — all form but one piece, the march'

It's no wonder that such a spectacle sealed the opera’s success.

Giuseppe Verdi
_{1813 to 1901 (Italy)}

It is arguably irrefutable proof that, with a list of opera top hits as long as your arm, Giuseppe Verdi is the greatest composers of the dramatic art form ever (although fellow Italian Puccini might have something to say about that). Rattling off roughly one a year, starting with Oberto, conte di San Bonifacio, he kept them coming right up to his death, with his final operas based on Shakespeare plays, Otello and Falstaff, his 28^th opera, still regularly produced today. An extraordinary feat of successful creative longevity.

His professional life garnered fame and wealth in his lifetime although his personal life suffered a rollercoaster of fortunes.  From rather humble beginnings, his early immense musical talent – he was the local organist at aged seven and conducting by the age of thirteen – brought him to the attention of a rich benefactor. Always useful! He paid for his education even though he managed to fail the Milan Conservatoire entrance exam. Not to worry, his first opera, Oberto, was accepted by La Scala, although tragedy struck and he sadly lost his wife and two young children to illness in a short space of time. (He would go on to love again, having a 50-year relationship with a soprano, Giuseppina Strepponi.)

But the wheel of fortune grinds round: Verdi’s operas are well-known because of their dramatic power but his works also became part of the national identity. Following the unification of Italy, the 'Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves' from Verdi’s third opera, Nabucco (1841), spoke to a nation who had longed for an independent country, just as Nabucco’s slaves had yearned for their country ‘so beautiful and lost’. It became an unofficial national anthem and Verdi’s fame was sealed.

His operas were and still are much loved, in particular Don Carlos, Aida, Rigoletto, La Traviata, Otello … the list goes on. He died in early 1901 from a stroke: mourning was on a massive scale. Verdi’s wishes that his send-off ‘be extremely modest, and without song or music’ were ignored; you can’t stop Italians singing: a spontaneous rendition of the Hebrew Slaves’ Chorus was a poignant moment in the funeral.

^{Victor de Sabata}
Juventus
_{✒️1919 | ⏰20 minutes}

Mostly known for his conducting prowess, the Italian Victor de Sabata was also a talented composer. Juventus is one of his more well-known works and is quite typical of the late Romantic style that he leaned towards.

It’s also a tone poem – a symphonic work in one movement that weaves in strong themes and motifs throughout – with a rich and lush orchestral sound. They tend to be very emotive and were popular in the late Romantic period: the German Richard Strauss (1864–1949) was a big exponent of the genre and, in fact, if you listen to some of his tone poems such as Till Eulenspiegel, Ein Heldenleben and, in particular, Don Juan, you will hear similarities with de Sabata’s Juventus, although it is still a unique work. Coincidentally, Strauss also conducted Juventus on several occasions – mutual appreciation!

The title, aptly, considering de Sabata’s age at the time of writing, literally means ‘youth’. Although he suffered ill health he would still be in the prime of life at 27. He wrote that his tone poem portrays:

‘youth’s enthusiasm and impetuosity, its ambition, its search for joy and power … then, all too soon comes the inevitable confrontation with the realities of everyday life. The songs of hope are transformed into mocking laughter and toiling of funeral bells … But suddenly youth revives … it spreads it swings and soars again into the empyrean to the conquest of life.’

From its opening upward scurry on strings and affirmative blasts on the brass, the first section certainly conjures up the exuberance of youth, full of energy, confidence and the joys of life. It moves into a more contemplative mood on sweeping violins, perhaps youth’s first love. A simple tune underpinned with ominous timpani (kettle drums) warn of youth’s inevitable aging, and angst-ridden cellos question youth’s ignorance, then listen out for those tolling bells and cackling laughs! But all that is forgotten at the final section’s spirited evocation of youthful hope.

Victor de Sabata
_{1892 to 1967 (Italy)}

Victor de Sabata was lucky enough to mix and match his first love of composing with a glittering career on the podium (a path well-trodden by illustrious musicians before him such as Beethoven and Mahler, and he was swiftly followed by Leonard Bernstein).

But growing up it seemed that composition would be the likely victor over conducting: he wrote piano pieces from the tender age of six and produced his first orchestral piece aged twelve. Performance was also thrown into the career-possibilities mix as he became a virtuosic violinist and pianist, annoyingly good at everything! But it was during a performance under the auspices of the renowned Italian conductor Arturo Toscanini that he was inspired to really focus on conducting.

It stood him in good stead. He quickly rose through the ranks, becoming Chief Conductor at Monte Carlo Opera and then La Scala for over 20 years until he was forced to retire early due to ill health. He gained a reputation for being intense, unbelievably well-prepared and a musician’s musician, and while he could be fiery on the podium expecting high standards from others, he was a complete gent off-stage.

Unlike his conducting career, his compositions have had more mixed success but there are several notable highlights. His 1910 graduation piece Suite for Orchestra was performed at La Scala (this is on a par with having your composition performed at the Royal Albert Hall – or in Trafalgar Square!). His opera Il Macigno was produced several times during his lifetime as were his symphonic poems, Juventus (1919), La notte di Plàton (1923) and Gethsemani, and were often favoured by leading conductors such as Richard Strauss (another renowned conductor/composer, with whose works de Sabata’s have been compared). Undeterred by any criticism, de Sabata continued to compose right up to his death in 1967.