John Philip Sousa (1854–1932), the son of a Spanish-born father of Portuguese heritage and Bavarian mother, grew up in a lively blend of immigrant traditions — a background that helped shape the broad, inclusive musical outlook of the composer who now seems to pulse through the American musical bloodstream. 

His marches have become part of the national soundscape — woven into parades, celebrations, halftime shows, and the enormous marching-band tradition that thrives in schools and communities across the country.  

“Sousa is a truly important component of the American sound,” says Music Director Valentina Peleggi. “The Richmond Symphony’s Sousa program is part of our celebration in 2026 of the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.” This concert pays tribute not only to Sousa the composer, but to Sousa the touring conductor. The first half presents popular orchestral pieces he loved to include, while after intermission we hear music by Sousa himself — all presented in arrangements for symphony orchestra. 

A Sousa concert in its prime was a curated whirlwind: grand opera to fire the imagination, orchestral blockbusters to show off the ensemble, a star soloist to wow the crowd, and then a parade of marches to send everyone home humming. He knew exactly how to shape a program — no surprise from the man who became known as the “March King.” 

Sousa knew how effective it was to kick off with operatic overtures, often presented in band arrangements on his own tours. Verdi’s irresistible Overture to La Forza del Destino, composed in 1869 for a revised version of his sweeping tragic saga, fits the bill perfectly. The fateful opening motif, lyrical middle section, and electrifying finale condense an entire world of operatic drama into a tightly crafted curtain-raiser. Many listeners in Sousa’s day knew Verdi’s tunes by heart; hearing them delivered with orchestral sweep set the tone for a night of high spirits. 

Sousa also understood the appeal of transporting audiences somewhere beyond their everyday surroundings: hence the Polovtsian Dances from Alexander Borodin’s Prince Igor. Drawn from one of the great landmarks of 19th-century Russian opera, the dances — with their sinuous melodies and rhythmic swagger — satisfied an era’s appetite for exotic color.  

Another hallmark of Sousa’s concerts was the star instrumentalist. His bands featured dazzling cornet players, and the great Herbert L. Clarke — still a legend to brass players — made theme-and-variations showpieces his calling card. That tradition is represented by The Carnival of Venice, a cornet showcase that takes an old Neapolitan folk song and launches it into increasingly hair-raising feats of technique — part virtuosity, part theater. 

Though outside Sousa’s historical period, Harlequin (2004) by the British composer Philip Sparke nods to the modern tradition of brilliant solo writing for brass and winds — a tradition Sousa helped propel. Named for the mischievous trickster of old Italian stage comedy, Harlequin flips easily from lyricism to nimble playfulness. 

As for orchestral blockbusters, few overtures deliver the high-voltage charge of Rossini’s William Tell Overture (1829). Its atmospheric opening for a group of solo cellos, followed by pastoral calm, stormy frenzy, and a famously galloping finale, made it a 19th-century sensation long before Hollywood turned it into shorthand for heroics. Sousa loved pieces that told a story in sound. Rossini’s overture is pure musical theater — providing a guaranteed jolt of energy just before intermission. 

Next, we enter the sound world that made Sousa a household name: the buoyant, brassy, rhythmically infectious realm of his own marches. Each one has its own personality, and hearing them with full symphonic heft reveals just how artful — and how varied — these pieces can be. The Washington Post March, written in 1889 for an awards ceremony commissioned by the newspaper, became an overnight hit and helped popularize the two-step; its upbeat elegance still makes it one of Sousa’s breeziest creations.  

By contrast, Hands Across the Sea carries a broader, more outward-looking message. Composed in 1899, in the wake of the Spanish-American War, the march reflects a moment when Americans were newly aware of their country’s presence on the international stage. Sousa introduced the score with a line about “eternal friendship,” and the music itself feels both confident and welcoming —  patriotic in spirit, yet tinged with a sense of goodwill that reaches beyond national borders. 

If you want Sousa at his most bold, The Thunderer (1889) delivers with swagger, its crisp rhythms and triumphant phrases leaving no doubt about its title’s intent. El Capitan, drawn from Sousa’s 1896 operetta of the same name, shows a lighter, more extroverted side, full of catchy tunes and dramatic flair. The earlier march The Gladiator takes a more formal approach. Published in 1886, it was one of Sousa’s first breakout hits and helped codify the musical vocabulary we now instantly recognize as “Sousa style.” 

Audience members of a certain generation may instantly think of British comedy rather than American patriotism when they hear the elegant strains of The Liberty Bell March — Monty Python famously adopted it as their theme — but its charm predates that comedic afterlife. The piece is one of Sousa’s most melodic, teeming with warm, ringing sonorities.  

A different kind of surprise awaits in Humoresque on Gershwin’s “Swanee,” a playful miniature in which the March King tips his cap to George Gershwin’s early hit song. Strictly speaking, this isn’t a march at all but one of Sousa’s later comic character pieces, delighting with its sly twists and rhythmic bounce. Written in 1921 — long after his early parade-ground classics — it shows a composer who relished cleverness when the occasion allowed. 

To conclude, we hear Sousa’s crown jewel. The Stars and Stripes Forever is more than a march; it’s a cultural touchstone. From its stirring opening to the piccolo’s high-flying obbligato — practically a rite of passage for flutists — this march has become a musical shorthand for celebration, optimism, and national pride. As we look toward the nation’s 250th anniversary, it’s hard to imagine a more fitting finale.

Program notes (c) 2026 Thomas May