Thus the situation stood when he wrote his First Symphony. Two classical music critics noticed that such a work had been written; one of them wrote a derogatory review while the other did not even admit that he had attended the performance. This, however, daunted the composer not in the least. What pleased him and infused in him an unearned sense of accomplishment was the fact that his name had appeared in the newspapers, even though it had been misspelled.

Just as his First Symphony was completing its inevitable slide into obscurity, he had the temerity to write his Second Symphony, which he called "A Symphony for Orchestra." This event would, doubtlessly, have been totally ignored were it not for the fact that---according to legend--- an enterprising newspaperman thought the symphony so meritless an endeavor that he conceived the idea of submitting the score to a well-known composer for comment.

Thus it happened that one of his works, at last, had found its way into talented hands for an evaluation---so we are told. The story goes that Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf accepted the score hesitantly as though a contagion, rather than a musical score, were being visited upon him. He reviewed the opus and, several days later, returned it to the newspaperman with perhaps the most terse review in recorded memory: "Und zo?"

What is really remarkable about this story is not so much that someone had actually reviewed the work, but, rather, that it took a Professor of Music in St. Ethel's Conservatory in Kowloon to call attention to the fact that, at the time of the alleged incident, von Dittersdorf had been dead for nearly 200 years. Although those who perpetuate the legend cannot be faulted for this minor oversight, it does somehow cast some slight doubt on the authenticity of the story.

His Third Symphony---for, yes indeed, there was a Third---came about two years after the unlamented Second slipped into obscurity. A remarkable metamorphosis had evidently taken place since that time because the Third revealed a heretofore largely unsuspected degree of latent musical talent. It burst into the classical music milieu with an irresistible demand to be heard such as had never attended any of this composer's previous works. Critics throughout the country felt themselves compelled to hear this work, after which they vied with one another for the privilege of writing the first exciting critique. The performance is well worth reviewing and is presented here in translation. The reader's indulgence in errors of translation is earnestly solicited.

The first movement enters the audience like a loud clap of thunder and is felt immediately with a determined harmonic exploration of a scale caused by too much hair tonic (the "tonic scale"). The compelling opening theorem is plagued by the higher strings, flute, piccolo and fife which presents the Major C scale in rapid double time1with a raised and lowered fifth rather than the conventional liter. This interval is the embarkation port.

There ensues a tense chromatic involvement not unlike a vital, but unrelenting, cascade of sound without fury. The countertheme in the tympani, wood blocks and tambourine again yields a waiver of the fast-emptying fifths which had been raised. A frugal package bending before the winds is lowered by the strings, chords and ropes. The rhythms gain great speed, far in excess of the posted limit, and we find ourselves mounted upon the dynamic horizontal harmonica waves trying to etude the police radar.

The first movement, which is quickly concluded by the free capitulation of prisoners leading to a holding cell, is a soft contrapunctual (three-four time)2 duet by the horns and sirens, suggesting that there is probably a serious traffic snarl in the streets outside of the concert hall.

A nervous introduction by the woodwinds presents a fastissimo solo by the marimbas to open the second movement which, quite by oversight, had been left closed by a careless janitor. The idea of an "intervalic connection"- the ascending fifth on the escalator- is also a feature of this bar with the raised pints and the cheerful barkeeper.

The first interval upon meeting one another on the ascending third evokes a response by the accordions in the defensive third quarter and a sharp fight ensues which results in the arrest of the c Minor scale for fragmentation of the harmonics. A pastoral passage passes the past theme by one solo tuba, which is one too many tubas. While the C Major is going upstairs, the ascending French Horns are urging the orchestra on to new heights, but at least one French Horn is afraid of heights and quickly uses the descending scale to the first floor. In the meanwhile, the trombones respond in sequential slides down the banister to avoid a collision with the ascending tom-toms and are not, therefore, ready to carry the melodic theme, or anything else. This results from too many visits to the coda bar.

The contrabassoon or contrabassoons, if the rest of the orchestra can tolerate more than one of them, answers the xylophone although it is not at all clear that the xylophone asked anything in the first place, except, perhaps, how to spell its own name. The full orchestra begins an atonal chromatic section which brings us back for a weigh-in at the scales until the piccolos drown out the double (large mouth) basses which give up and quit for the evening. To conclude the second movement, the French horns stalk off the stage with their bells elevated above the hornet's heads3, followed by a contrapuntal4 oboe solo so low that nobody can hear it anyhow and the viola players sing the well-known passage from Schöenberg's "Der Leiderhosen Esgefallen" as the orchestra sits down again and starts practicing5 for the third movement.

When the orchestra has finished practicing, everyone leaves the stage and the maintenance crew clears everything off the stage so that not even a podium remains. Then three stagehands struggle to bring the two alpenhorns and the harp on stage.

The third movement is opened with a special key after a half dozen grunts from the alpenhorns with the harp trying unsuccessfully for ascendancy over the horns. An off-stage violin is heard playing a furry ant as the stagehands reenter the stage and haul off the alpenhorns, the alpenhorn players, and the harp and, in puffings and pants, bring back the chairs and music stands. The thoroughly exhausted crew brings on the podium and seventeen of them push and shove to get the grand piano up the stairs and onto the stage.

The orchestra resumes the theme begun by the alpenhorns and harp (which are noted for failing to finish what they have started) in a somber mood and suddenly the brass blasts forth in a crescendo which intimidates the strings and leaves them in tremolo. The violas introduce themselves to the clarinets and a lively conversation ensues which disturbs the conductor who calls for an immediate cessation of the exchange. The flute section takes up the slack with rapid sixteenth notes although the score calls for sixty-fourth notes, but sixty-fourth notes are so small that it is hardly worth playing them at all and, in fact, many instrument companies have stopped making them. In Pakistan, sixty-fourth notes are not even taught in the schools and there is a movement (the third) afoot to outlaw thirty-second notes. There follows an interplay between the bass drum and the triangle, but it wasn't a fair contest because the triangle didn't stand a chance.

This movement emphasizes the alcoholic link between the ascending fifths as a cohesive force and the first eleven measures by a metric yardstick. The principal rhapsodic schemo is restated allegro mafioso . A new episode occurs utilizing pizzicato con pepperoni. The chromatic and diabolic elements alternate with a solo trombone issuing the "um" and the solo sousaphone answering with a D Major "pah." The "ums" and "pahs" continue for a bar or two.

The movement proceeds with a reflexive lentil section, slowly increasing in volume which, if the neighbors don't complain, crashes several times with the bass drum, tympani, cymbals (indicated in the score by a simple cymbal symbol) and flute, giving a noticeable swing to the chandeliers. The theme follows the tone row which is related by the intervals of the rowing crew to the motives of the first movement, if anyone can, or even wants to, remember back that far. The mighty Third movement ends with a moan and whimper uttered by a saxophone, a vibraphone and a sousaphone into a telephone.

The final movement begins with forbidding austerity not unlike the highly suspect motives of the first movement whose introductory phrase is cast in the pluperfect subjunctive. The movement proceeds slowly and quietly in a soothing rondo. Then, emulating Saint-Saëns' Third Symphony, there is a thunderous roar from the pipe organ with all stops out, startling the audience awake, rattling windows and sending the neighbors scurrying to their telephones to call the cops.

There follows an interval which catches an English hornist by surprise and what was written in the score as a five-second pause is transformed into an English horn solo. Dramatic chromatic motives are woven sensitively into a complex tonal fabric which is used for a lap robe to remove the chill which had caused some members of the orchestra to tremolo. This combination of elements and compounds is intended to challenge the ear, but the ears are still ringing from the organ's blast and are ready to surrender to anybody who offers a challenge. An improvisational spontaneity in the viola section subtly reworks delicate transitional material and leaves the audience wondering what the hell is going on.

The fourth movement draws to a close with the woodwinds returning to the forefront in a hearty il penseroso which is soon carried by the harp and piano off the stage. Slowly, the muted winds give way to the muted brass and the muted tuba takes on the appearance of Mr. Peanut, which lends the only suggestion of commercial advertising support. The brass swings into a military march which arouses the audience and warns the second violins that they will be expected to be awake when the climax is reached, which it is, in an abrupt gallop expressed by the snare drums, triangle and tympani.

For the first time, a special instrument is heard solo. This instrument is similar to a conventional viola except that, instead of catgut strings, piggut is used and the strings have come to be known as hamstrings. The melody then lapses into an al tortellini rhythm and the symphony concludes with the familiar four-note theme of Beethoven's Fifth,6 accompanied by skirling bagpipes played by men in skirts.

Notes:
1. So far as is known, there is no such thing as a non-rapid double time, but quick double-timing is reputed to be a frequent occurrence among the lower classes.
2. Contrapunctual is a musicological term connoting a constitutional aversion to being on time. Thus, a three/fourths rhythm would indicate that the composer is generally three to four hours late.
3. Editor's note: That should be "hornists'", not "hornet's." Good translators are not easy to find these days.
4. The listener must exercise extreme caution not to confuse contrapunctual (See footnote 2, supra) with contrapuntal, which is a football player who specializes in returning kicks, and contrapunchual, which is a boxer who is known chiefly for his ability to trade punch for punch.
5. This term is used to describe the cacophony of offensive noises which the orchestra emits when the conductor is not on the stage. It is called "tuning up," but Heaven knows that absolutely nobody is in tune and they all have the good sense to stop when the conductor ascends the podium.
6. Some say that it was a liter, but the composer has offered no opinion on the issue.

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