Antonio Estévez

 black and white photograph of composer Antonio Estevez

Cantata Criolla
(Florentino, el que cantó con el Diablo)
El Reto
La Porfia

Composed: 1947-54 


 Estimated length: 35 minutes

Born on January 3, 1916, in Calabozo, Venezuela; Died on November 26, 1988, in Caracas, Venezuela 

First performanceJuly 25, 1954, in Caracas, with Antonio Estévez conducting.

First Nashville Symphony performance: These are the Nashville Symphony's first performances of this work.

 

Cantata Criolla has long been a wildly popular work in Venezuela, where Nashville Symphony music director Giancarlo Guerrero launched his career. “We normally think of choral music as church music, particularly in connection with Europe,” he says. But Cantata Criolla, which Antonio Estévez wrote for the secular concert hall, counts as “one of the greatest choral pieces of the 20th century in Latin America.” The live recording Guerrero and Nashville Symphony will release from these performances marks its first professional recording since the classic (and hitherto only) account on disc by the Simón Bolívar Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela, which Eduardo Mata recorded in 1992.

Estévez’s reputation in his native Venezuela is analogous to that of Copland in the United States as the pioneer of a national musical voice. While Copland absorbed formative inspirations from his travels south of the border, Estévez spent the years 1945 to 1949 studying at Columbia University and Tanglewood, where both Copland and Leonard Bernstein (two years younger than Estévez) were influential teachers. Estévez grew up playing saxophone in a village band and had become an oboist in the Venezuela Symphony Orchestra. 

Not long after he returned to Venezuela—then in the grip of a military dictatorship—he completed Cantata Criolla. Its premiere at the first Latin American music festival held in Caracas in 1954 for an audience some 8,000 strong (among them Copland) gave the 38-year-old Estévez the greatest triumph of his career. Along with winning the Ministry of Culture’s National Music Award, it established a tradition of its own of regular performances among Venezuelan youth orchestras and choruses.

Cantata Criolla—whose subtitle is Florentino, Who Sang with the Devil—sets a text that was initially published in 1940 by the influential, Caracas-based folklorist poet and diplomat Alberto Arvelo Torrealba (1905-71). His poem, itself a Venezuelan cultural icon that has been frequently adapted to various media, depicts the llanero Florentino—comparable to the Argentine gaucho or American cowboy. One of the best-known customs of the llaneros was the practice of poetic duels (contrapunteos), in which the participants (copleros) would combat with words rather than weapons (though it could come to the latter) by improvising verses. The rule is that the contestants must carry on by taking up the last line offered by their opponent and use it to make their point.  

Florentino engages in just such a war of words with an ominous horseman who approaches him in the desolate, dust-filled solitude of the plains, where farmers labor under adverse conditions. Proud of his skill, Florentino is obliged to take up the stranger’s challenge to compete. The stakes of the troubadour’s singing contest become downright Faustian when the mysterious interloper is revealed to be none other than the Devil, “silver tongued with his song.” But when Florentino invokes the name of the Holy Virgin, he forces the Devil to cede and prevails.

 

 

WHAT TO LISTEN FOR

Estévez uses the orchestra and chorus to establish, with almost-cinematic gestures, the scene on the plains where the story unfolds. Richly percussive timbres reinforce powerful rhythmic motifs that recall both Carl Orff and Stravinsky. The chorus plays the role of an omniscient narrator as it prepares for the dramatic challenge (El reto) that the Devil issues.

The contest itself (La porfía) culminates in the showdown between Florentino (solo tenor) and the Devil (solo baritone), whose music derives from the traditional Dies Irae chant from the Requiem Mass. Estévez ingeniously uses the orchestra—particularly, his battery of percussion instruments—to mimic the folk instruments traditionally associated with the copleros.

The intensity of the contest accelerates through the lively, fandango-like, syncopated rhythms of the joropo, which Estévez notates in complex and constantly changing meters such as 17/16. But Florentino plays the winning hand by referencing another medieval chant associated with the Virgin Mary (Ave maris stella), in which the chorus joins in, bringing Cantata Criolla to its exuberant conclusion.

 

Scored for piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets, bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion, bandoneón, piano/celesta, harp, and strings 

 

− Thomas May is the Nashville Symphony's program annotator.

 

 

Cantata Criolla: Florentino, el cantó con el Diablo Libretto

 

El Reto

El coplero Florentino
por el ancho terraplén
caminos del Desamparo
desanda a golpe de seis.

El coplero Florentino…

Puntero en la soledad
que enlutan llamas de ayer,
macolla de tierra errante
le nace bajo el corcel.
Ojo ciego el lagunazo
sin garza, junco ni grey,
dura cuenca enterronada
donde el casco de traspié.
Los escuálidos espinos
desnudan su amarillez,
las chicharras atolondran
el cenizo anochecer.

Parece que para el mundo
la palma sin un vaivén.

El coplero solitario
vive su grave altivez
de ir caminando el erial
como quien pisa vergel.
En el caño de Las Animas
se para muerto de sed
y en las patas del castaño
ve lo claro del jagüey.

El cacho de beber tira,
en agua lo oye caer;
cuando lo va levantando
se le salpican los pies
pero del cuemo vacío
ni gota pudo beber.
Vuelve a tirarlo y salpica
el agua clara otra vez,
mas sólo arena sus ojos
en el turbio fondo ven.

Soplo de quema el suspiro,
paso llano el palafrén,
mirada y rumbo el coplero
pone para su caney,
cuando con trote sombrío
oye un jinete tras él.

Negra se le ve la manta,
negro el caballo también;
bajo el negro pelo-e-guama
la cara no se le ve.
Pasa cantando una copla
sin la mirada volver:

—Amigo, por si se atreve,
aguárdeme en Santa Inés,
que yo lo voy a buscar
para cantar con usté.

Mala sombra del espanto
cruza por el terraplén.
Vaqueros de lejanía
la acompañan en tropel;
la encobijan y la borran
pajas del anochecer.

Florentino taciturno
coge el banco de través.
Puntero en la soledad
que enlutan llamas de ayer
parece que va soñando

con la sabana en la sien.
En un verso largo y hondo
se le estira el tono fiel:

—Sabana, sabana, tierra
que hace sudar y querer,
parada con tanto rumbo
con agua y muerta de sed,
una con mi alma en lo sola,
una con Dios en la fe;
sobre tu pecho desnudo
yo me paro a responder:
sepa el cantador sombrío
que yo cumplo con mi ley
y como canté con todos
tengo que cantar con él.

La Porfía

Noche de fiero chubasco
por la enlutada llanura,
y de encendidas chipolas
que el rancho de peón alumbran.
Adentro suena el capacho,
afuera bate la lluvia;
vena en corazón de cedro
el bordón mana ternura;
no lejos asoma el río
pecho de sabana sucia;
más allá coros errantes,
ventarrón de negra furia;
y mientras teje el joropo
bandoleras amarguras
el rayo a la palmasola
le tira señeras puntas.
Súbito un hombre en la puerta:
indio de grave postura,
ojos negros, pelo negro,
frente de cálida arruga.
Pelo de guama luciente
que con el candil relumbra.

Un golpe de viento guapo
le pone a volar la blusa,
y se le ve jeme y medio
de puñal en la cintura.
Entra callado y se pone
para el lado de la música.
Oiga vale, ese es el Diablo,
—la voz por la sala cruza—

Mírelo como llegó,
con tanto barrial y lluvia,
planchada y seca la ropa
sin cobija ni montura.
Dicen que pasó temprano
como quien viene de Nutrias,
con un oscuro bonquero
por el paso Las Brujas.
Florentino está silbando
sones de añeja bravura
y su diestra echa a volar
ansias que pisa la zurda
cuando el indio pico de oro
con su canto lo saluda.

El Diablo

Catire quita pesares
contéstame esta pregunta:
¿quién es el que bebe arena
en la noche más oscura?

Florentino

En la noche más oscura
lo malo no es el lanzazo
sino quien no lo retruca.
Tiene que beber arena
el que no bebe agua nunca.

El Diablo

El que no bebe agua nunca.
Así cualquiera responde
barajando la pregunta.
¿Quién mata la sed sin agua
en jagüey de arena pura?

Florentino

En jagüey de arena pura,
el médano solitario,
el ánima que lo cruza,
la noche que lo encobija,
el lucero que lo alumbra.
¡Qué culpa tengo señores
si me encuentra el que me busca!

El Diablo

Ya que tienes tantas artes
déjeme que se las vea.
Falta un cuarto pa la una
cuando el candil parpadea,
cuando el espanto sin rumbo
con su dolor sabanea,
cuando Florentino calla

y así perdió la pelea,
cuando canta la pavita,
cuando el gallo menudea.

Florentino

Cuando el gallo menudea
la garganta se me afina
y se me aclara la idea.
Yo soy como el espinito
que en la sabana florea:
le doy aroma al que pasa
y espino al que me menea.

El Diablo

Espino al que me menea:
¡Ah caramba! yo en quedarme
y usted Catire me arrea.
Mire que estoy remolón
con esta noche tan fea.
Vaya poniéndose alante
pa’que en lo oscuro me vea.

Florentino

Pa’que en lo oscuro me vea.
Amigo no arrime tanto
que el bicho se le chacea.
Atrás y alante es lo mismo
pa’el que no carga manea:
el que va atrás ve p’alante
pa’que en lo oscuro me vea.

El Diablo

El que va alante voltea.
“Catire, usté canta mucho
pero quítese esa idea
de que me puede enseñar
como se canta un corrío.
Los perros está aullando
escúcheles los aullíos,
los gallos están cantando,
recuerde lo convenía.

“Zamuros de la barrosa
del Alcornocal del frío
albricias pido señores
que ya Florentino es mío.”

Florentino

Que ya Florentino es mío.
Si usté dice que soy suyo
será que me le he vendío,
si me le vendí me paga
porue yo a nadie le fío.
Yo no soy pájaro bobo
pa’estar calentando nío.

El Diablo

Pa’estar calentando nío.
No sé si es pájaro bobo
pero va por un tendío…
Con el adiós de los gallos
yo cargo con los rendíos
en el anca e’mi caballo
que sabe un trote sombrío.
Y vuelvo a cambiarle el pie
a ver si topa atajo.

Florentino

A ver si topa atajo.
Cuando se fajan me gusta
porque yo también me fajo.

“Zamuros de la barrosa
del Alcornocal de abajo:
ahora verán señores,
al Diablo pasar trabajo.”

Déjenlo que barajuste
que yo en mi rucio lo atajo
déjenlo que pare suertes,
yo sabré si le barajo,
alante el caballo fino,
atrás el burro marrajo.
Antes que toquen la una
se lo lleva quien lo trajo.
¡Quién ha visto doro-doro
cantando con arrendajo!
Si me cambio el consonante
yo se lo puedo cambiar

El Diablo

Yo se lo puedo cambiar.
Los graves y los agudos
a mí lo mismo me dan.
¡Ay! catire Florentino
arrendajo y turupial,
qué largo y solo el camino
que nunca desandará,
con esta noche tan negra

chaparral y chaparral.
No le valió su baquía,
ni lo salvó su cantar.
“Catire quita pesares,”
arrendajo y turupial.

Florentino

Arrendajo y turupial.
Zamuros de la Barrosa
salgan del Alcornocal
pa’que miren a Mandinga
el brinco que va a pegar:
Sácame de aquí con Dios
Virgen de la Soledá,
Virgen del Carmen bendita,
piadosa Virgen del Real,
tierna Virgen del Socorro,
dulce Virgen de la Paz.
Virgen de la Coromoto,
Virgen de Chiquinquirá,
piadosa Virgen del Valle,
Niño de Atocha bendito,
Santísima Trinidá,
Virgen del Carmen bendita,
Santísima Trinidá.

The Challenge

The singer-poet Florentino
by the wide terraplein
towards El Desamparo
travels round about six.

The singer-poet Florentino…

Riding in the loneliness
blackened by yesterday’s flames,
clusters of flying dust
rise under the horse.
Like a blind eye the pond
without stork, rush or flock,
hard lumped basin
where the hoof stumbles.
The squalid cactus
bares its yellowness,
the harvest fly rattles
the ashy sunset.

It seems to stop the world
the palm tree without its sway.

The lonely poet-singer
carries his deep pride
of walking on unplowed land
as if it were a flower garden.
In the Las Animas ditch
he stops dying of thirst
and by the trunk of the chestnut tree
he sees the glitter of a pond.

He throws the water bottle
and on water he hears it fall;
as he lifts it back towards him
water wets his feet
but from the empty bottle
not one drop could he drink.
He throws it again and splashes
the clear water again,
but only sand his eyes
in the turbid bottom can see.

The breath like a burning gust,
the palfrey at slow pace,
look and bearing the singer-poet
sets toward his cabin,
when with a somber trot
he hears a rider behind him.

Black is his poncho,
black is also his horse;
under his black high-hat
the face cannot be seen.
Rides by singing a couplet
without turning his head:

—Friend, if you dare,
wait for me in Santa Inés,
where I will be looking for you
to sing with you.

Evil shadow of horror
crosses the terraplein.
Remote cowboys
accompany him in a bustle;
he is covered and obscured
by the grass of sunset.

Florentino taciturn
cuts across the plains.
Riding in the loneliness
blackened by yesterday’s flames
he seems to be dreaming

with the savanna at his temple.
In a long and deep verse
his faithful tune stretches:

—Savanna, savanna, land
that makes you sweat and love,
a place with many routes
with water and dying of thirst,
one with my soul in its solitude,
one with God in the Faith;
over your bare chest
I stop to answer:
let the somber singer know
that I abide by my law
and as I have sung with all
I have to sing with him.

The Duel

Night of fiery squall
all over the mourning plain,
and of aroused folk rhythms
that light up the laborer’s hut.
Inside the maracas sounds,
outside the rain pours;
vein in the heart of cedar
the bass string oozes tenderness;
not far the river appears
breast of dirty savanna;
further away wandering choirs,
wind of black fury;
and while the rhythm weaves
sadness with the guitar
the lightning to the palm tree
fires solitary rays.
Suddenly a man at the door:
Indian of grave attitude,
black eyes, black hair,
forehead of fiery wrinkle.
Shiny high hat
that glitters under the oil lamp.

A gust of daring wind
blows his shirt open,
and one inch can be seen
of a knife under his belt.
Comes in quietly and goes
to where the music is.
Listen friend, it is the Devil,
—the rumor spreads across the room—

See how he arrived,
with all the mud and rain,
ironed and dry his clothes
without poncho or mount.
They say he went by earlier
like someone coming from Nutrias,
with a dark boatman
by the Las Brujas pass.
Florentino is whistling
tunes of past bravery
and his right hand sets flying
longing pressed down by his left
when the Indian silver-tonged
with his song salutes him.

The Devil

You who makes others forget sorrows
answer me this question:
who is he who drinks sand
in the darkest night?

Florentino

In the darkest night
the bad thing is not the attack of the spear
but not to return it.
It must drink sand
he who never drinks water.

The Devil

He who never drinks water.
Anybody can answer
avoiding the question.
Who satiates the thirst without water
in a pond of pure sand?

Florentino

In a pond of pure sand,
the solitary dune,
the soul that crosses it,
the night that shelters it,
the star that lights it.
It is not my fault, gentlemen,
if he who looks for me finds me!

The Devil

Since you have so many skills
allow me to see them.
It is now quarter to one
when the oil lamp quivers,
when the ghost without direction
with its pain scours the plain,
when Florentino stops singing

and so he lost his fight,
when the pavita bird sings,
when the rooster crows.

Florentino

When the rooster crows
my throat gets in tune
and my ideas become clear.
I am like the cactus
that flowers in the plain:
I give perfume to the passer-by
and thorn to the one that shakes me.

The Devil

Thorn to the one that shakes me:
Well, then! I am wanting to stay
and you drive me on.
Can’t you see I am undecided
with this ugly night.
Put yourself ahead
so you can see me in the dark.

Florentino

So you can see me in the dark.
My friend don’t get so close
or your beast will go out of control.
Behind and ahead is the same
if one doesn’t carry a hobble:
the one behind looks ahead
and the one ahead turns his head.

The Devil

The one ahead turns his head.
“My man, you sing quite well
but forget the idea
that you can teach me
how to sing a corrío [a musical form].”
The dogs are howling
listen to their howls,
the roosters are crowing,
remember our deal.

Vultures of ‘La Barrosa’
from ‘Alcornocal del frío,’
congratulations I ask, gentlemen,
for already Florentino is mine.”

Florentino

For already Florentino is mine.
If you say that I am yours
it must be because I sold myself to you,
if I sold myself pay me
because I give credit to no one.
I am not a silly bird
to be warming up the nest.

The Devil

To be warming up the nest.
I don’t know if you are a silly bird
but you got into a long journey...
With the farewell of the roosters
I take with me the defeated
on the back of my horse
that knows a somber trot.
And I change again the cue
to see if you find the shortcut.

Florentino

To see if you find the shortcut.
When they get involved I like it
for I also get involved.

“Vultures of ‘La Barrosa’
from ‘Alcornocal de abajo’:
now you will see, gentlemen,
the Devil having a hard time.”

Let him try to confuse me
I will catch him with my horse
let him try his luck,
I will see if I deal to him,
ahead the fine horse,
behind the cunning donkey.
Before the clock strikes one
he will leave as he came.
Who has seen a blackbird
singing with a mocking-bird!
If he changed the cue for me
I can change it back for him.

The Devil

I can change it back for him.
The bass and the treble
are the same to me.
“Ay! My Florentino”
mocking-bird and troupial,
what a long and lonely road
that you will never retrace,
in this night so black

chaparral and chaparral.
Your skill didn’t help you
nor did your singing save you.
“You who makes others forget sorrows,”
mocking-bird and troupial.

Florentino

Mocking-bird and troupial.
Vultures of “La Barrosa”
come out of “Alcornocal”
so you can see the Devil
the leap he is going to take:
Get me out of here with God
Virgin of la Soledá,
blessed Virgin del Carmen,
pious Virgin del Real,
tender Virgin del Socorro
sweet Virgin de la Paz.
Virgin de la Coromoto,
Virgin de Chiquinquirá,
pious Virgin del Valle,
blessed Niño de Atocha,
Holy Trinity,
blessed Virgin del Carmen,
Holy Trinity.

Featured on Copland, Piazzolla, and Estévez — November 17 & 18.


Nashville Symphony
Giancarlo Guerrero, conductor
Tucker Biddlecombe, chorus director
Aquiles Machado, tenor
Juan Tomás Martínez, baritone
Daniel Binelli, bandoneon