The work Bloch first envisaged as a setting for voice and orchestra of passages from Ecclesiastes evolved into this rhapsody for solo cello and orchestra after a visit to Geneva, in late 1915, of the Russian cellist Alexander Barjansky and his wife.With this purely instrumental ensemble, they reasoned, the issue of which language to use could be avoided altogether, and the composer would enjoy more freedom to dwell on his keen feeling for Solomonic lore.Schelomo, in fact, comes at the apex of Bloch’s interest in “the Jewish Soul,” as he put it, “the emotion of the race.” The perplexities and puzzlements of the solo part, restrained and not a little tragic, are clearly to be heard as the voice of the lone and lonely Solomon, pondering the lessons of life and overwhelmed by the unpredictable, sometimes violent forces that surround our experience. Bloch’s fatalistic conception of the Old Testament focused on despair, wrath, and the certain justice of destiny. Solomon, the Preacher of Jerusalem, begins Ecclesiastes with the cosmic resignation of “Vanity of vanities! All is Vanity.” Bloch wrote, “All this is in us. All this is in me.”

That pessimism of attitude, however close it is to the heart of the work, is less apparent to my ear than the vivid, masterly technique Bloch brings to his scoring for the bold post-Romantic orchestra. The cello’s motives are woven into the orchestral fabric, gently at first, over such delicate textures as that of the two harps and celesta, and with soft articulation from the deceptively large battery of percussion instruments. Brass and full strings are unleashed in due course, yet such extravagance is always balanced by subtle and often fleeting detail: the hint of a royal march here, the odd quarter-tone there. The themes are few enough and the motives closely enough related –many of them retain their identities throughout the work—that the melodic framework is easily retained by the listener.

Likewise the three-part formal structure is easy to grasp, clearly delineated by the tutti statements with which each section concludes and by the solo cadenzas afterward that effect the transitions. After the opening solo, the cellist and orchestra offer a gentle dance-based section in prevailing triple meter, with strong emphasis on the sixteenth-plus-eighth rhythm commonly called the “Scotch snap.” Great scales begin to surge forth and recede back into the depths of the accompaniment: the dance becomes pompous and military, and soon the broad, fateful main theme is given its grandest statement by the full orchestra. This unravels into a terrifying orchestral dispersion, marked in the score quasi una cadenza. Dominating the second section are figurations, both thematic and accompanimental, of rapidly reiterated pitches surely meant to suggest a cantor’s intonations; the melody in the oboe here is a traditional Jewish tune. Again a full orchestral statement blossoms and concludes with another conspicuous downward tumble; the last section opens with reminiscences of the chant motive in the timpani and a sharp dissonance in the clarinets and violas. Note, in the closing bars, the subdued, restless interplay of the solo part and contrabassoon.

There is strong reliance here on such “oriental” devices as the constantly shifting chromatic inflection of the various motives, and on intervalas and contours that derive from traditional Jewish music. But Block’s spiritual affinity with French impressionism is equally clear—notably in he interplay of the motives and the rich textures and colours. Schelomo is thus as western European a work as it is Jewish, and in that respect bears comparison to the descriptive works of Falla, Ravel, and even Respighi.