Though Bernstein originally conceived of the piece as a typical fanfare to open a concert, his playful imagination developed it into a substantial eight-part suite demonstrating his tendency to keep tongue firmly planted in cheek. Retaining the character of the original idea, the first section, “Sennets and Tuckets,” is an arresting fanfare with jagged melodies and herky-jerky rhythms. The mood then changes dramatically with a hushed, smiling waltz in the strings that features the lyrical main melody passed from one soloist to another. But, with a humorous Bernstein twist, the waltz is hardly danceable since the meter contains an awkward combination of seven beats. 

Overturning another dance convention, the third movement (“Mazurka”) is a dreary, melancholic number for winds and harp in lieu of the lively, improvisatory character we expect of Chopin’s mazurkas for solo piano. Breaking the fourth wall with a gesture in keeping with the context but droll all the same, this section includes a quotation of the famous oboe cadenza from the first movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. The fourth movement, a brief but lively samba, exhibits the instrumental coloration of the score to West Side Story, particularly with distinctive Latin percussion.  

The fifth movement (“Turkey Trot”), a moderately paced dance brimming with Americana, is at times reminiscent of the middle section of the “Buckaroo Holiday” from Aaron Copland’s 1942 ballet Rodeo, with its evocation of the dusty plains, loping horses, and a “y’all come now” attitude. In sharp contrast, “Sphinxes” is Bernstein’s thumb of the nose toward his intellectual enemies: the highly intellectualized 12-tone serialists, with whom he had a fraught relationship throughout his career over his preference for accessible music. As if to say, “I can do this too but I reject it,” the movement features a 12-tone row that fades almost imperceptibly into the bluesy seventh. 

The seventh and final movements form Bernstein’s most direct nod to Boston, his childhood home. After a rehearsal before the premiere, he said, “I began to remember all of my early years here. The first symphony music I heard was played here by Arthur Fiedler. That accounts for a lot of the lightheartedness of this piece.” The slow seventh section, with sinewy melodies of muted brass, evokes the smoky nightclubs that would have attracted a young Bernstein, while the two-part eighth section pays more direct respect to the orchestra. The slow opening, subtitled “In Memoriam,” laments the passing of deceased orchestra members before transitioning to a rollicking Sousa-like march appropriate for the Boston Pops on the Fourth of July. And, apparently, the piece hit home: At the premiere, the audience interrupted several movements with applause and gave it a standing ovation at the end. —D.S.