Mozart’s preeminence in the world of music is accepted by perhaps the majority of musicians and a great number of listeners. Despite the great composers who succeeded him, and a few who preceded him, Mozart’s music rivals or exceeds that of all the other composers, both from the point of view of its technical proficiency and its enjoyment to the casual listener. Could it be that Mozart is merely a sentimental favorite who was good for his era but who has been overtaken by those who stood on his shoulders? Some do feel that way. But most do not. The music just works! There is a scene in the movie Amadeus where Salieri asks Costanza if he could borrow the scores. No, she replies, they are the sole copies. Surely there are drafts, he asks—these in his hand are too perfect, too free from erasures, mistakes, etc. She assures him no. The screenplay may have exaggerated a little, but the essence is true. Mozart composed the music complete in his head and just had to write it down.
Given Mozart’s financial constraints, his short life, the fact that he was generally writing for existing court musicians, we can easily appreciate that the magnitude of his output, its innovation, and its wide coverage of genres is nothing short of amazing. And what is truly remarkable is that now in the age of inexpensive recordings of music, we find that Mozart rarely borrowed from his own music, even though it was the normal practice among composers of his day. Even passages that appear at first hearing to be repetitious are usually subtly different, perhaps with different instrumentation or in a different key.
Some of our audience members have been requesting Mozart for some time now. We do not undertake this season lightly. His music can be extremely challenging to play, requiring a combination of rhythmic precision, ensemble, intonation, and expression that is hard for non-professional musicians to achieve. Add to that the fact that, even if a particular listener doesn’t know the piece well, they can easily hear imperfections. That’s not necessarily the case when we perform works that are, at least superficially, more technically demanding.
There is another factor in the choice of programming which might not be readily apparent to our audience. Mozart wrote for a classical orchestra, which was essentially the orchestra of Rococo times with the addition of clarinets, and the substitution of flutes for recorders. Brass was limited to a couple of French horns and usually two trumpets. Percussion would consist, maybe, of a pair of timpani. Because we need our other brass players and percussionists for the 19th and 20th century repertoire, we like to give them something to do in all of our concerts. Much care and dedication in programming is therefore required to keep both audiences and musicians satisfied.
The Paris symphony is the earliest significant symphonic work to employ clarinets. Indeed, today’s clarinetists owe a huge debt of gratitude to Mozart who almost single-handedly established the instrument as a fully-fledged member of the orchestra. He achieved this not so much through the few symphonies and later operas, which had clarinet parts, as through the Clarinet quintet (1789) and the Concerto (1791—one of the last pieces he wrote). However, even then, Mozart wasn’t quite ready to give the clarinet such a prominent and intricate role in this symphony as the flute, oboes, and bassoons. Indeed, the clarinet is used more like an addition to the brass section. It took some time for him to gain sufficient confidence in the clarinet to give it really interesting parts in orchestral works.
This work dates from his six-month sojourn in Paris during 1778 as a young man of 22. It was not a happy visit, indeed after three months his mother, who accompanied him, fell gravely ill and died. Nevertheless, the visit was important in the development of his career. Mozart arrived in Paris as a competent and somewhat innovative young composer. He emerged with a confidence, technique and above all maturity that belied his age. He never looked back.
Samuel Barber stands out as one of the great American composers and, with time, his popularity has increased as classical music audiences have realized that he was, in fact, a great composer—who happened to be American! In some ways, he was overshadowed by his friend and contemporary Aaron Copland. The latter’s output, especially his popular scores for ballet or modern dance, is perhaps more instantly appealing, especially as it draws quite freely on folk elements. Barber’s music, on the other hand, is more lyrical with a greater emphasis on original melodies which he sometimes struggled for days to perfect.
Of course, his best-known work, the ever popular Adagio for Strings, originally written for string quartet, requires no special effort to appreciate. It is immediately captivating. So it is with the Cello Concerto and one of his other most popular works of the same period, Knoxville: Summer of 1915.
The Cello Concerto was written for and first performed by Raya Garbousova, our own Mark Churchill’s teacher, with the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Koussevitsky in April 1946. The solo part makes great technical demands on the performer but is nevertheless always very musical. The concerto is in three movements, the outer two are full of excitement and complex changing rhythms, at times rambunctious and at times lyrical. The last movement owes much to the style of jazz. The middle movement is a beautifully lilting piece with the cello part sometimes echoed high above in the oboe. Here, again, the movement is not in a standard, constant meter. Most of the measures are in 8/8 (3+3+2 eighth notes), but these are interspersed with 5/8, 6/8, 9/8 and 12/8 measures.
Tchaikovsky’s 3rd symphony, written during the summer of 1875, is an undiscovered gem. In fact, Tchaikovsky wrote seven symphonies all told but, by and large, only three are ever played or even much mentioned: the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth (Pathétique). With this performance, Symphony Pro Musica completes its cycle of all of the numbered symphonies.
The third symphony, known as the “Polish”, is a major work by any measure and is unjustly neglected in the standard repertoire. Perhaps it is because audiences have been drawn to Tchaikovsky for the melancholic struggles for which his symphonies are so well known. The Third is unashamedly cheerful, and at its center has one of the most romantic pieces of music that Tchaikovsky ever wrote. Unusually, he wrote it in five movements arranged in a very pleasing symmetric pattern around the central slow movement. The structure can best be likened to a five-course dinner. Immediately surrounding the middle movement (the meat course), the fish and cheese courses are embodied by two delightful balletic movements in a lighter vein. To begin and end, he offers us rather heavier fare: a two-part appetizer, perhaps paté and a thick vegetable soup; and to conclude, a decadently sweet Black Forest cake.
The movements are thematically linked so that there is often a feeling of familiarity as the work progresses. Rhythms are not always straightforward. In particular, the location of the first beat of the measure is often deliberately obscured. Often, a motif is followed immediately by a restatement in other instrument(s), not as in a round, but with the effect of an echo. The string parts make frequent and effective use of pizzicato (plucking), a technique he would employ for a whole movement in his next symphony. More importantly, there is at least a sense of dance rhythm in every movement, and each dance brings with it its own nationality. The “Polish” of the subtitle, bestowed on it by a conductor, is not apt for the work as a whole, as it refers only to the final movement: Tempo di Polacca.
The work begins with perhaps the least cheerful music of the symphony. The introduction is slow and in the tempo of a funeral march, with ominous bone-rattling pizzicati in the lower strings. Even here, however, there is a feeling of a stately dance. Far from being a dirge, the music is actually light and airy with optimistic pizzicati in the violins. Soon, any melancholy thoughts are banished as the music picks up speed via some very Scottish sounding rising figures and launches full steam ahead into an Écossaise (Scottish dance) in 4/4 time. The second subject, starting on the 4th beat of the bar, is introduced by the horns and is interwoven by filigree patterns in the woodwinds and violins. A third subject, a tranquil, plaintive descending figure is first introduced by the oboe. This is followed by yet more themes which combine skillfully as the music develops.
The second movement, Alla Tedesca, in the German style is a kind of inside-out minuet and trio. The flowing, lyrical section more typical for a traditionally Germanic trio section begins the movement as the minuet. In point of fact, over the pizzicato strings, it is a trio of instruments: a flute and clarinet playing in octaves and the bassoon a full bar behind. It wouldn’t be the first time that a composer has made a little fun of the bassoons! Here again, the melody starts in an odd place: on the second beat of the 3/4 bar. In contrast to the lovely suspirational minuet, the trio is more perspirational—lots of staccato triplets. A more melodic figure does emerge—again in the flute and clarinet, this time with a perfect answering phrase in the horns. The coda section combines all themes and finishes with a playful passage in the bassoon.
The third, and central, movement, the Andante Elegiaco, is the most Russian of the movements with its beautiful romantic main theme. It starts with a rather breathy motif in the flutes, accompanied by bassoons. A new theme, more closely related to the previous trio than anything in this movement, is stated somewhat matter-of-factly by bassoon, then horn. The whole introduction goes into a quasi repetition. Finally comes the main subject, begun in unison, molto espressivo, by flutes and violins. Sit back, close your eyes and enjoy!
The Scherzo brings us back to Germany with a very Mendelssohnian minuet and trio. It is a tour de force of orchestral writing, capped off by a rather whimsical ending.
The symphony closes with an inspirational movement whose main subject is a cheery and stately Polonaise. After several variations of this theme, we come to yet another passage of staccato triplets. After this, the clarinets and second violins lead us in a fugal variation of the main theme. The intensity increases as we approach the triumphant final chord, curiously made up entirely of Ds, without any F#s or As.
We hope you’ll agree that this symphony deserves much more attention!
Robin Hillyard