During the Roaring ’20’s one man was the undisputed king of popular music—bandleader Paul Whiteman. And the “man behind the man”—his chief musical arranger and jazz pianist—was a fellow from a long line of family musicians, who had a sharp musical mind for sound and color, named Ferde Grofé (pronounced “fayr-DEE grow-FAY”). He was the Kanye to Whiteman’s Jay-Z.
And in 1924, Whiteman commissioned a piece from a rather famous composer name George Gershwin—you might have heard of him. Gershwin, under the pressure to compete the composition as quickly as possible, hastily put together a rhapsody for two pianos. It was Grofé’s task to then turn that rhapsody into a piece for Whiteman’s orchestra. What he did was nothing short of revolutionary.
He turned this
Into this
And eventually, this.
One of, if not THE, most influential pieces of American musical literature, is what it is because of Ferde Grofé. Literally take a second to think about that opening clarinet run. That’s the “American” sound.
Keeping the Kanye analogy going, this was his Rhapsody in Blue[print]. *groan* (sorry.) But joking aside, this is a very similar situation. Much like Kanye’s success with The Blueprint, Rhapsody in Blue gave Grofé the reassurance he needed to go out and compose on his own. And this record, well this composition, is that effort.
1. Sunrise
2. The Painted Desert
3. On the Trail
4. Sunset
5. Cloudburst
1. Sunrise
Exactly what you expect a desert sunrise to sound like: soft, mysterious, and warming. The added Grieg-like melody passed amongst the woodwind instruments, and eventually carried to the rest of the orchestra, gives it the Disney feel you hear.
2. The Painted Desert
“Painted” is the operative word. Tonal color is what Grofé is going for. Unconventional sounds and timbre (e.g. plucked harped with muted trumpet) on a canvas of impressionistic structure, with curious mysticism. If Debussy had visited the American desert, it would probably have sounded something like this. Maybe with a hint of Holst pastiche.
3. On the Trail
If you’ve heard any of these movements, this is the one. The braying burrow in the violin stubbornly initiates hee-haw’s out a melody and as soon as he’s done, we’re not he trail—hoof clops and all. The imagery is vivid, it would have been impossible for Disney NOT to make a companion piece for it.
4. Sunset
Definitely the most emotional of all the movements, which makes sense. Sunset at the Grand Canyon should be emotional. Swelling strings move back and forth on a theme reminiscent of a Rachmaninoff ballad, and as the harp continually arpeggiates a final chord, a heralding french horn and lone violin slowly fade into the darkness. Taps for the desert.
5. Cloudburst
No good piece of American music is complete without milking the popular theme for all it’s worth. “Bring back that fun donkey jingle you played earlier! But lose the hooves and make it a little prettier.” You got it, toots. Swelling strings and viola solo with grand orchestral underscoring opens the final movement, only to be overtaken with a mysterious darkness. Think “Wonkatania”—it starts off pretty, but something ugly and sinister is lurking. Thunder, lightning, and rain pour from the orchestra. But no piece of American music is complete without a happy ending. The moon triumphantly emerges from the clouds in a vivid brightness that only a trumpet medley could produce. Is the moon as loud as blaring trumpets? Sure, why not. Thats the beauty of music—It’s whatever the fuck you want it be.
Stammering Fog People 
