Negro Folk Symphony

The music of the “common folk” has long been a source of inspiration for composers. As far back as the 1700s, Baroque composers like J. S. Bach composed music based on the rhythms of German folk dances. Chopin and Liszt continued that tradition into the 19th century, composing mazurkas, polonaises, and rhapsodies based on the rhythms and spirit of Polish and Hungarian folk music. Tchaikovsky and Mussorgsky evoked the sounds of Slavic folk music in their compositions, while Bartók traveled extensively throughout Eastern Europe, researching and recording folk tunes, then using them as inspiration for his own compositions. Antonín Dvořák, whose Slavonic Dances were among his earliest and most successful publications, famously advised American composers to look to the music of the “new world” for inspiration. His “New World” Symphony, composed in 1893 during his stint as the director of a newly established National Conservatory of Music in New York, was heavily influenced by both Native American and African American folk music.

It was not unusual, therefore, that early-20th-century composer William L. Dawson turned to the folk music of Black Americans for inspiration for his first symphony. What was unusual was that Dawson himself was a Black American, composing in an era where the color of his skin would have disqualified him from consideration as a “serious composer” by all but the most progressive members of the art music community. Fortunately, famed conductor Leopold Stokowski was such a member, and it was through his advocacy that Dawson’s Negro Folk Symphony was premiered by the New York Philharmonic in 1934. Dawson thereby became the third Black composer to have their music performed by a major American Orchestra in only a few short years, following William Grant Still, whose Afro-American Symphony was premiered by the Rochester Philharmonic in 1931, and Florence B. Price, whose Symphony in E Minor was performed by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in 1933.

Born in 1899 in Anniston, Alabama, Dawson was the first of seven children and showed an early aptitude for music and academics. He was educated at Booker T. Washington’s famed Tuskegee Institute, graduating in 1921. He went on to become the first Black student to receive a bachelor’s degree from the Horner Institute of Fine Arts in Kansas City, Missouri, and then earned a master’s degree in composition from the American Conservatory of Music in Chicago. He returned to the Tuskegee Institute in 1930 as a faculty member, where he served for 35 years. Under Dawson’s leadership, the Tuskegee Institute Choir quickly achieved national acclaim, and in 1932, the choir spent six weeks in New York City, performing in gala concerts marking the opening of Radio City Music Hall. It was there that Dawson met Stokowski, who expressed an interest in performing Dawson’s music. The symphony that he had begun during his time in Chicago in the 1920s was completed, and in 1934, Stokowski conducted four performances of the work, three at Philadelphia’s Academy of Music and one at Carnegie Hall, with one concert broadcast nationwide on the radio. At each performance, the reception was extraordinary, with audiences breaking protocol to applaud at the end of movements and giving a standing ovation at the conclusion of each performance. Black and white critics alike gave the work glowing reviews, and it seemed as if the symphony would quickly find a home among the standard orchestral repertoire. Unfortunately, that was not to happen. The excitement over the work faded, it lapsed into obscurity, and Dawson never composed another symphony, despite living to age 91. It is only in the 21st century that the work has been resurrected, finding new and equally enthusiastic audiences.

Giving each of its three movements a descriptive title, Dawson wrote that his symphony was “symbolic of the link uniting Africa and her rich heritage with her descendants in America.” In his own program note, he wrote, “The themes are taken from what are popularly known as Negro Spirituals. In this composition, the composer has employed three themes taken from typical melodies over which he has brooded since childhood, having learned them at his mother’s knee.” Interestingly, the spirituals he chose are not among today’s most well-known: “Oh, My Little Soul Gwine Shine Like a Star,” “O Le’Me Shine,” and “Hallelujah, Lord, I Been Down into the Sea.” Yet, they were clearly dear to Dawson’s heart and infuse the symphony with the musical DNA of 1930s Black America. They are not the whole story, however, as the extraordinary work is primarily original material that paints a vivid and often searing portrait of the African American experience.

The powerful first movement, The Bond of Africa, opens with a solemn horn solo. Despite utilizing syncopated rhythms commonly found in spirituals, there is a somewhat ominous tone to the introduction. Dawson wrote, “a link was taken out of a human chain when the first African was taken from the shores of his native land and sent to slavery.” The tragedy of this “missing link” is front and center in this searing music. The solo horn returns to introduce the main body of the movement, upbeat music that vacillates between agitation and jubilation with nods to the rhythms of ragtime. Chattering woodwinds trade tunes, punctuated by lively brass and percussion, until the brass section shuts down the party with the opening “missing link” music, as if to remind us of the tragedy of slavery. The solemn music and the upbeat music trade off as the movement continues, constantly interrupting each other and culminating in a ferocious, full-orchestra statement of the “missing link” theme. A final burst of full-orchestra energy brings the fierce movement to a stunning close.

Opening with ominous harp and percussion, the second movement, Hope in the Night, features plodding strings underpinning a plaintive solo for the English horn. Dawson wrote that he intended to depict the “atmosphere of the humdrum life of a people whose bodies were baked by the sun and lashed with the whip for two hundred and fifty years; whose lives were proscribed before they were born,” adding that “the English horn sings a melody that describes the characteristics, hopes, and longings of a Folk held in darkness.” The heartbreaking melody builds to a searing climax, before, as in the first movement, a contrasting, carefree section begins. Dawson wrote, “The children, unmindful of the heavy cadences of despair, sing and play; but even in their world of innocence, there is a little wail, a brief note of sorrow.” If this is the “hope” in the movement’s title, the respite is short-lived, as the remainder of the powerful movement is devoted to the enormous weight of “the night,” with closing moments that are positively shattering.

The final movement, O Le’Me Shine, Shine Like a Morning Star!, offers a rebirth of sorts. Introduced by solo oboe, bassoon, and clarinet, the music quickly grows agitated, as if we are being propelled upward from the darkness of the previous movement toward a lighter place. Snippets of melody are tossed back and forth in a complex rhythmic texture that is constantly gaining momentum. Dawson revised this movement substantially after a trip to West Africa in 1952, and the intricate rhythms of African percussion inspired the highly virtuosic writing. The restless movement careens relentlessly forward, culminating in a thunderous finale.

Today, as this powerful work is finally garnering the attention it deserves, we can acknowledge not only Dawson’s extraordinary gifts as a composer but also the unique impact of his Black American experience on the music. Prior to its premiere in 1932, Dawson was interviewed about the work, noting, “I’ve not tried to imitate Beethoven or Brahms, Franck, or Ravel—but to be just myself, a Negro. To me, the finest compliment that could be paid my symphony when it has its premiere is that it unmistakably is not the work of a white man. I want the audience to say: ‘Only a Negro could have written that.’”

Indeed—and 21st-century audiences are grateful for the opportunity to hear it at last.