Weekly SpinOn: Invitations to dance

Invitations to Dance is a playlist of four orchestral works that approach dance from different angles — as narrative, tribute, rhythm, and tradition. All four pieces were composed between 1819 and 1852, and though rooted in different styles and national contexts, each uses dance as a musical form of expression rather than mere entertainment.

The program opens with Carl Maria von Weber’s Invitation to the Dance, originally a piano piece and later orchestrated by Hector Berlioz. It’s one of the first compositions to turn a ballroom waltz into a musical story. Tchaikovsky’s Waltz from the Serenade for Strings follows — restrained, lyrical, and rooted in classical form as a personal homage to Mozart.

In contrast, Chabrier’s España is extroverted and episodic, based on Spanish rhythms and impressions gathered during his travels. The playlist closes with Johann Strauss II’s Annen-Polka, a lighter work that reflects the 19th-century popularity of the polka as a social dance and entertainment form.

Together, these four works show how composers have used dance forms not just for movement, but for structure, style, and character.

 

Track 1: Aufforderung zum Tanz – Op. 65 (Orch. Berlioz), Weber

No piece could open a playlist titled Invitations to Dance more fittingly than Carl Maria von Weber’s Aufforderung zum Tanz – translated quite literally as Invitation to the Dance. Composed in 1819, this elegant solo piano work was one of the first pieces in classical music to portray a social dance not just as music, but as narrative: the gentleman steps forward, bows, extends his hand, and invites the lady to waltz. The dance begins, blossoms, and ends with the partners parting again. It’s an entire ballroom story, told in about ten minutes.

Weber composed it in Ab major, a key often associated with nobility and tenderness. The piece follows a programmatic structure, meaning it tells a story:

1. The Introduction (Andante): A gentleman approaches a lady and invites her to dance. His gesture is musical — polite, expressive, and full of charm.

2. The Waltz proper (Allegro): A sequence of lively, lyrical waltz themes flows seamlessly. It’s not one single waltz but a chain of miniatures, each full of character — some flirtatious, some introspective.

3. The Conclusion: The couple stops dancing. The gentleman bows again. They part.

This story structure was highly influential: later composers like Chopin, Liszt, and even Tchaikovsky wrote waltzes that echo this form — not meant for dancing, but for imagining the dance.

The version in this playlist is not the original piano version but the famously colorful orchestration by Hector Berlioz, created in 1841 for a ballet interlude in Weber’s opera Der Freischütz. Berlioz, a master of instrumental drama, preserved Weber’s structure but turned the piece into a glowing orchestral narrative — with clarinets suggesting conversation, lush string passages evoking elegant turns, and rising crescendos that swirl like dancers crossing a ballroom.

Herbert von Karajan, known for his refined control of orchestral sound, recorded the Berlioz version with the Berliner Philharmoniker. His interpretation emphasizes both the elegance and the clarity of the piece: the gentle rise and fall of the phrasing, the polished rhythmic balance, and the warmth of the waltz itself. Karajan makes this 19th-century salon piece feel timeless — a ceremonial, sophisticated start to a playlist about the joy and art of dance.

 

Track 2: Serenade for Strings – II. Waltz. Moderato, Tchaikovsky

Weber’s Invitation to the Dance imagined a simple waltz as something more: a story, a mood, a moment between two people. That idea — that dance music could be about feeling as much as rhythm — is something Tchaikovsky took and made completely his own.

His Waltz from the Serenade for Strings in C major, Op. 48, isn’t written for the ballroom. It’s quieter, more reflective — like a memory of a dance rather than the dance itself. The Serenade, composed in 1880, was Tchaikovsky’s tribute to the elegance and balance of Mozart’s music, but with his own unmistakable Romantic voice. It’s scored for string orchestra alone and unfolds in four movements:

• I. Pezzo in forma di sonatina – a noble, classically inspired opening

• II. Waltz – the graceful, lyrical heart of the work

• III. Élégie – warm, melancholic, and introspective

• IV. Finale (Tema Russo) – lively and folk-inspired, bringing a burst of energy to the close

Tchaikovsky adored Mozart — he once described his music as “a musical paradise.” But by 1880, he was working through a difficult period personally and creatively, and he turned to Mozart not just for inspiration, but for a kind of spiritual grounding. The Serenade was his way of reconnecting with classical ideals: form, clarity, elegance — things Mozart embodied. In a letter, Tchaikovsky wrote that he had composed the first movement “from inner conviction,” and that he had poured his “whole soul” into it. The waltz that follows reflects that same spirit: it’s not a stylized ballroom number, but a sincere, lovingly crafted homage to the grace of another era. It doesn’t imitate Mozart, but it channels his clarity and charm — refracted through Tchaikovsky’s own deeply lyrical voice.

Where Weber painted a formal ballroom scene, Tchaikovsky gives us something more private. His waltz is less about the dance itself and more about the feeling of it — the way a moment stays with you after it’s gone. It doesn’t sparkle; it glows.

The recording featured here is one of the most graceful on record. Herbert von Karajan recorded the Serenade for Strings with the Berliner Philharmoniker in 1970 for Deutsche Grammophon. His interpretation is all about elegance and balance. The tempo breathes naturally, the tone is warm and unified, and there’s a quiet intimacy to the phrasing that draws the listener in. Karajan doesn’t overplay the emotion — he lets it unfold gently, and that’s exactly what makes it so moving.

This track continues the invitation in a more introspective way — a waltz that lives not on a dance floor, but somewhere inside.

Track 3: España, Chabrier

After Tchaikovsky’s inward-facing waltz, it’s time to step outside — into sunlight, movement, and irresistible rhythm. Emmanuel Chabrier’s España explodes with energy, charm, and color. It’s a piece that doesn’t just invite you to dance — it practically dares you to stay seated.

Composed in 1883 after a long trip through Spain, España is a Frenchman’s wide-eyed, joyful response to the music he encountered there. Chabrier wasn’t interested in ethnographic precision — this isn’t a study in folk music. Instead, it’s a brilliant fantasy: a love letter to a culture that seduced him with its rhythm, boldness, and warmth. He wrote it with genuine enthusiasm and humor — and you can hear that in every bar.

The piece is structured as a kind of free rhapsody. There’s no rigid form, just a series of vivid musical episodes, all built around driving dance rhythms, sudden contrasts, and bright, extroverted orchestration. You’ll hear castanets, high-spirited flourishes in the woodwinds, glittering percussion, and melodies that sway, leap, and tease. The whole thing feels like a festival — full of swagger and sun-drenched momentum.

Chabrier himself was a late bloomer in the music world. For years, he worked as a civil servant in the French Ministry of the Interior while composing in his spare time. It wasn’t until his early 40s that he quit his job to devote himself fully to music — and España was his first major triumph. Though often seen as a light composer, his influence on later French music was real: Ravel, Poulenc, and even Stravinsky admired his flair for orchestration and wit.

The recording featured here was made in 1953, with Herbert von Karajan conducting the Philharmonia Orchestra in London. It’s a leaner sound than his later Berlin recordings, but no less exciting. The performance captures the spirit of the piece perfectly: crisp rhythms, vivid detail, and a sense of joyful forward motion. There’s elegance, but also just enough fire.

For a playlist called Invitations to Dance, España is perfect because it flips the perspective. Where Weber and Tchaikovsky explored the emotional and poetic side of dance, Chabrier brings out the physical joy — the spark that makes your foot tap or your shoulders move. It’s music that celebrates dance as celebration.

With España, the invitation becomes more than polite — it becomes irresistible.

 

Track 4: Annen-Polka – Op. 117 (Arr. Schönherr), Johann Strauss II

After the sunlit flair of España, we return to the heart of the dance tradition — Vienna. And who better to guide us there than Johann Strauss II, the “Waltz King” himself. But instead of a sweeping waltz, this playlist closes with something lighter, quicker on its feet, and full of sparkle: the Annen-Polka, Op. 117 — a charming slice of 19th-century dance culture, heard here in a colorful orchestral arrangement by Max Schönherr.

Composed in 1852 and dedicated to Maria Anna, the younger daughter of Emperor Franz Joseph I, the Annen-Polka is typical of Strauss’s gift for writing music that’s both elegant and irresistibly fun. The polka — a fast dance in 2/4 time with origins in Bohemia — had become a sensation across Europe by the mid-19th century. It was lighter and more casual than the waltz, often danced in village inns as much as in courtly salons. Its defining feature is a quick, skipping step that gives the impression of joy bouncing through the body — and Strauss captured that spirit perfectly. His polkas aren’t heavy-footed; they’re agile, playful, and always full of Viennese charm.

What makes this track especially fitting to close the playlist is its shift in scale. After three more expansive works, this one is intimate and light-footed — a tip of the hat rather than a grand finale. It reminds us that not every dance has to be dramatic or emotional. Some are just joyful. And sometimes, that’s enough.

The recording featured here was made by Herbert von Karajan with the Berliner Philharmoniker in the late 1970s, drawing on Schönherr’s lively, idiomatic arrangement. Karajan, who is often associated with larger-scale symphonic works, shows here just how well he could handle light music — with crisp articulation, buoyant rhythm, and affectionate detail.

In a way, this piece brings us full circle: from Weber’s elegant invitation, through Tchaikovsky’s memory, Chabrier’s celebration, and now back to a simple, shared pleasure. It’s a farewell — but one with a wink.

—  Pia Bernauer (Karajan Institute, Salzburg)