Tonight’s concert presents a fascinating look at the rise of the string quartet, a genre essentially invented by Haydn and perfected by him, together with Mozart. For this reason, Haydn is deservedly considered the “father of the string quartet.” Beethoven and Schubert soon after made important contributions of their own.
The two quartets we offer tonight showcase the beginnings of this great art form with Mozart’s first explorations of it and then the extraordinary heights that it reached almost three decades later with Haydn.
In 1770, Haydn had been devoting serious attention to the string quartet for nearly 20 years. Mozart, in contrast, was just composing his first quartet that year, when he was still just a teenager. In 1772 and 1773, Mozart went on to write his first set of six string quartets (sets of six being a publishing demand at the time). Tonight’s Mozart quartet is the second of those six works (but his third quartet chronologically, since, as noted above, he wrote his first in 1770). It is generally agreed to be among his finest early quartets. Fast forward to 1797 and 1798, after Mozart’s too-short life had ended and Haydn was still going strong. In these years, Haydn wrote his last set of six quartets, of which tonight’s No. 1 in G Major is a part. Together, this last set of quartets constitute Haydn’s Op. 76; in them, the quartet as a genre reaches its ideal form, the model from which all future composers would work.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Born in Salzburg, Austria in 1756; died in Vienna in 1791)
String Quartet No. 3 in G major, K. 156
1. Presto
2. Adagio
3. Tempo di Menuetto
In the early days of string quartets, the prototypes were typically light in character, and Mozart began his first forays into that genre in that general spirit. While he was writing his first set of six quartets (K. 155–160) in 1772 and 1773, he was staying in Milan and also writing an Italian-style opera, Lucio Silla. Thus, these six quartets are nicknamed the Milanese Quartets, and they reflect a typically Italian style: light, breezy and comprising only three movements (in the manner of Italian opera overtures) instead of the four-movement structure that later became standard.
From the perspective of the history of the quartet, we should note that as Mozart was writing these early quartets Haydn had just published his exceptional “Sun” string quartets, Op. 20, the first masterpieces of the genre. It’s clear that Mozart at this point was yet to be influenced by Haydn’s trailblazing. Nevertheless, in only a year, when Mozart was back in Vienna, he had investigated Haydn’s quartets and begun his own trailblazing in earnest.
Nevertheless, Mozart’s early quartets show us solid musical craftsmanship, and they are intimate in nature and slightly exploratory. When we realize he wrote them when he was 16 and 17, they become rather extraordinary. And though the tenor of Quartet No. 3 in G major is indeed light, it has an undercurrent of solemn sentiment, and indeed, pathos, especially in the middle movement. It’s a wonderful look into the beginnings of this important genre, when this brilliant composer had essentially a blank canvas to work with, and seemingly composed simply at his pleasure.
Quartet No. 3 is foremost a work of incredible tenderness. Though fine musicianship is required to perform it, this quartet is not about bravura or virtuosity. The first movement is truly tender: a work of grace and gentle manners.
The second movement is thick with emotion. After the main theme sung by the violin, the rest of the quartet creates a gripping accompaniment with suspended chords, rich with harmonies and sonic depth. It’s clear that Mozart had a mind full of opera here: the songlike main theme, the dramatic feel of the piece, and a wonderful little duet near the movement’s center––as the violin theme yearns, the world calls back to that pining heart with little pitch turns called mordents, evoking the trills of night sounds and rustling breezes.
The third and final movement is in the form of a minuet, a dance of refinement and charm. But Mozart makes it something more involved, allowing the four instruments to begin what will later be called a “a four-part conversation,” which is one of the great hallmarks that makes this genre so desirable and important.Here, the melodies are lyrical and light but bear an unmistakable sobriety, a hint of sadness amidst its dancing. To balance this, the last section comes around bright and cheery, ending this early work of a master with a crystalline lightness.
In all, Mozart wrote 26 string quartets, dedicating six to Haydn. His last string quartets are regarded as masterworks of extraordinary depth and craft.
Joseph Haydn (Born in Rohau, Austria in 1732; died in Vienna in 1809)
String Quartet No. 1 in G major, Op.76
1. Allegro con spirito
2. Adagio sostenuto
3. Menuet. Presto
4. Finale: Allegro ma non troppo
Haydn would complete a total of 68 string quartets since beginning his long relationship with them in the 1750s. Tonight, you’ll hear one of his crowning achievements in this genre that he essentially invented: Quartet No. 1 in G major, which begins his last and inarguably finest set of six, Op. 76, written in 1797 and 1798. Filled with craft, genius, playfulness and inventiveness, Op. 76 would influence Beethoven and Schubert immediately, and many later composers.
The opening to No. 1’s first movement clearly announces Haydn’s intentions for his entire set. The first three forte chords of the introduction serve an important purpose: to call the era’s notoriously noisy audiences to sit and hear and to be prepared for the imaginative bars to come. The first theme begins with the cello, a sure mark of the progression of the quartet as “a four-part conversation.” Haydn here seems to be beginning a fugue: the next instrument to enter is the viola, imitating the cello’s theme in typical fugue style, and so on … almost. But the fugue fails to materialize, and we hear, instead, duets on the theme, then a trio, until at long last we hear all four instruments together for the first time since the introduction. We then realize that Haydn, a master of this kind of playfulness, has called us to attention for what will be many pleasant surprises. Among them, listen for a marvelous moment at about one minute in when the entire quartet begins playing wild arpeggios in unison: another surprise and another high-water mark of this genre, in which ensemble virtuosity is becoming just as necessary as individual musicianship.
The middle movement is exceptionally lovely: melancholic, but with a soaring spirit, as though age has captured the body, but the mind is still able to frolic. It’s a hymn, in a sense, and explores the capabilities of the string quartet as an almost vocal ensemble.
The third movement’s unique treatment would make an indelible impact on the likes of Beethoven and his successors. Couched as the dance movement minuet (recall Mozart’s last movement, Tempo di Minuetto, heard earlier), Haydn makes the tempo un-danceable at breakneck speed and popping with anything-but-refined-and-charming sonic eruptions. For Beethoven, this phrasing would morph into his own wild scherzos. Haydn’s central section, however, is disarmingly dancelike and dainty––another example of Haydn’s mischievous sense of humor.
The typical finale of a string quartet, as Haydn himself had crafted the genre, is cast solidly in a major key, joyful and meant to resolve all the tensions from the previous movements. Not so here, and deliciously not. Almost the entire movement is in the minor key, and it explores some murky harmonic moments. Along the way, listen for virtuosic showcasing of the first violin and reprises of the virtuosic ensemble unison playing from the first movement. Last, and as if almost an afterthought, Haydn gives us the final bars in the major key that we had been expecting to wrap up everything, but with a theme of an unexpected kind of nonchalance. And for the sake of surprise, the final three bars are the very three forte chords that began the whole quartet. In every way, this is a masterpiece that confirms why the genre, thanks to Haydn and Mozart as its brilliant creators, became a lodestar of Western music.
Edward Elgar
(Born in Lower Broadheath, England in 1857; died in Worcester, England in 1934)
Salut d’Amour, Op. 12
Elgar was the quintessential underdog, and as such, his masterpieces make us all the more glad he finally achieved his rightful praise. He was a self-taught composer, learning his craft by borrowing books on counterpoint and harmony from the library in his small hometown of Broadheath. He was an accomplished violinist but also played the organ, bassoon and viola (as well as other instruments), and he relied upon the latter to make a living for many years as a private music teacher. He also picked up conducting and freelanced as a conductor in obscure English places for many, many years. His beloved wife, Alice, was his greatest champion and brought him through some severe bouts of low self-esteem and depression. Had it not been for her constant support, Elgar almost certainly never would have persevered to write some of Western music’s most beloved pieces, such as his Enigma Variations and his fleet, tender Salut d’Amour.
Salut d’Amour was Elgar’s first published work and fittingly so. While Elgar and Alice were courting, the composer went on holiday in 1888 with an old friend. Alice bid him a happy trip with a poem that she had written called “Love’s Grace.” In short order, Elgar responded with a musical reply dedicated to her and entitled “Liebesgruss” (Love’s Greeting)—and a marriage proposal. They were soon married, and Liebesgruss was soon sold to Elgar’s publisher for virtually pennies. But it was a milestone, and it was the beginning of so many great things to come for Elgar and his soul mate, Alice. Not long after, Elgar’s publisher changed the title to something more French sounding, Salut d’Amour, and the work has been winning hearts ever since. Though the work is simple and direct, one can’t help but hear the joy and devotion for Alice that inspired the young composer. Here is Elgar at the beginning of his great career with a song-poem to his beloved.
When Alice died in Elgar’s arms in 1920, Elgar grieved to a friend:
“Bless her! You, who like some of my work, must thank her for all of it, not me. I should have destroyed it all and joined Job’s wife in the congenial task of cursing God.”
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
(Born in Salzburg, Austria in 1756; died in Vienna in 1791)
Overture to Don Giovanni
Don Giovanni is truly one of the great operas ever written, and its Overture is forever welcome in the Concert Hall. The music and libretto were instantly beloved at their premiere in Prague in October 1787. But then, unbelievably, after the opera’s ecstatic premiere there, this masterpiece found only a lukewarm reception in Mozart’s hometown of Vienna. Indeed, Vienna’s near disdain for this extraordinary opera became another tragedy compounding the difficulties Mozart was facing at this stage of his life, all of which soon led to a serious decline in his health and finances. From these hardships, he would essentially never recover.
The opera is based on the life of the fabled Don Juan (“Don Giovanni” in Italian) who was an unrepentant Spanish playboy and libertine. Don Juan’s conquests and his comical hijinks are recreated in Mozart’s opera but amidst the silliness and scandalous behaviour, Mozart’s Giovanni faces a reckoning of abject terror. As in Greek tragedy, the terror is foreshadowed early, as Mozart at the outset of the Overture deftly builds colossally foreboding chords and sinister murmurings with strings and winds. This is then followed, quite eerily, by a series of ascending and descending scales that evoke an atmosphere of extraordinary dread—presaging the last scene of the opera when one of Giovanni’s victims comes back from the grave to drag him to the fires of Hell. This is strong stuff, but the Overture does not dwell there; instead, it springs back musically into the gaiety of Giovanni’s life before its last judgment, full of his devil-may-care attitude, high society enjoyments and complicated entanglements.
That Mozart began this Overture with foreshadowing of its Opera’s ending is only half of the genius in this great work. Reportedly, the day before Don Giovanni’s premiere in Prague there was no Overture at all, much to the alarm of the opera company. Mozart calmed everyone by pointing to his head, explaining he had already mentally composed it. He committed it to paper the evening before the first performance, and astonishingly, it bore none of the themes from the opera – it was all new music. Nonetheless, it fit perfectly as an Overture to the opera even as it was—and remains—a masterpiece in its own right.
Joaquín Rodrigo (Vidre)
(Born in Sagunto, Valencia, Spain in 1901; died in Madrid in 1999)
Concierto de Aranjuez
1. Allegro con spirito
2. Adagio
3. Allegro gentile
Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez is one of the most popular works written in the 20th Century. And although its 1939 premiere in Barcelona whisked Rodrigo from virtual obscurity to international fame almost overnight, the work’s conception faced considerable challenges.
Rodrigo had been studying with Paul Dukas (the composer of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice) in Paris when the Spanish Civil War broke out. The war delayed his return to Spain, for which he was desperately homesick. However, returning to Franco’s Spain meant being very careful about the music he brought with him: any compositions had to be appealing to the ultra-conservative Franco regime. A prominent Spanish guitarist. Regino Sainz de la Maza (who wound up becoming the dedicatee and performer of the Concierto’s premiere) begged Rodrigo to revive the guitar concerto tradition, but this was problematic for two reasons. First, Rodrigo was not a guitarist, and therefore he was inexperienced in knowing how to project effectually the idiomatic beauty of that quiet instrument in front of a full orchestra. Second, the way Rodrigo composed created special difficulties: having gone almost completely blind at age three, Rodrigo composed using a Braille typewriter. The output of this machine had to be rather painstakingly transcribed, and the nuances of writing for guitar were an especially great challenge in this context. But like many great artists, Rodrigo overcame the obstacles he faced and created one of the most beloved works of the Century.
To pacify Franco’s censors, Rodrigo said his Concierto was based on material from Old Spain and revived “the essence of an 18th century court where the aristocratic blended with the popular element… an epoch at the end of which fandangos transform themselves into fandanguillos, and when the cante and the bulerias vibrate in the Spanish air.” The court to which he referred was the palatial Aranjuez outside of Madrid with its famous Moorish-style gardens (not coincidentally, it was in these gardens that Rodrigo and his wife had fallen in love).
The orchestration of the Concierto shows Rodrigo’s special brilliance. Listen to the ways he makes the solo guitar and orchestra often speak in chamber-like combinations—the Adagio’s breathtaking conversation between the English horn and the guitar is a perfect example of this.
In fact, everything seems right in Rodrigo’s Concierto. From the flamenco-style strumming of the opening, through the searingly beautiful cante hondo (“deep song”) of the Adagio, to the courtly elegance of the finale, this work’s popularity is well deserved. But there is magic in it as well. As Rodrigo put it, “…in its themes there lingers on the fragrance of magnolias, the singing of birds, and the gushing of fountains.”
Georges Bizet
(Born in Paris in 1838; died in Bougival, France in 1875)
Symphony in C
1. Allegro vivo
2. Andante – Adagio
3. Allegro vivace
4. Finale – Allegro vivace
The son of musicians, Bizet gravitated towards a career in music very early. He was a prodigy in the heritage of Mozart and Mendelssohn, and he entered the Paris Conservatoire at the age of 9. By 1855, at the age of 17, he had begun studying with Charles Gounod, France’s most eminent composer (creator of the opera Faust and St. Cecilia’s Mass). Bizet was star-struck by this teacher, it seems, saying some years later to him “You were the beginning of my life as an artist. … You are the cause, I am the consequence.” Bizet’s talents were not lost on Gounod, either. It appears that in order to prepare his talented pupil to compete for the extremely coveted Prix de Rome prize in composition, Gounod assigned Bizet the formidable task of writing a symphony. Bizet finished this work, his Symphony in C, within a month, and with it he did indeed win the Prize, two years later, in 1857.
The Symphony’s first movement is bright and fast-paced, much like an early Mozart or Haydn symphony would have been. But what is clearly Bizet’s is the wonderful main theme featuring the oboe, and later, the flute—two instruments that will dominate Bizet’s music later in life. The movement ends with a feeling of charm and grace.
While the first movement is convincingly charming, we truly begin understanding Bizet’s musical genius in the remarkable second movement, the Adagio. The opening chords set a completely different tone from the frisky first movement, leading to the main theme that features the oboe again, show-casing Bizet’s love of exotic sounding melodies that meander and snake about, charming us into his unique musical world. This early work gives strong hints of the kind of writing that will make his great masterpiece, the opera Carmen, come to life in 1875. When we recall that Bizet was just 17 when he composed his Symphony in C, comparisons to Mozart and Mendelssohn are justified.
The third movement is vigorous yet stately, a two-step dance with some splendidly accented outbursts. The middle portion is rustic but graceful, again featuring oboe and flute, with rich harmonic moments.
The last movement is an “off-to-the-races” kind of finale, bristling with energy and joyfulness. Again, it’s a remarkable culminating movement for a 17-year old—we marvel at the ingenious way Bizet uses the whole array of orchestral colors to imbue this finale with ever-changing hues and exciting effects. It’s a bit of a devil to perform for both strings and winds, but so very delightful for the audience!
Ludwig van Beethoven
(Born in Bonn in 1770; died in Vienna in 1827)
String Quartet No. 1 in F major, Op. 18, No. 1
1. Allegro con brio
2. Adagio affettuoso ed appassionato
3. Scherzo: Allegro molto
4. Allegro
In 1792, when he was 22 years old, Beethoven came to Vienna to study composition with Germany’s greatest living composer, Franz Josef Haydn (Mozart had just died the year before in 1791). After roughly a year and a half, Beethoven grew impatient with the affable and conservative teaching style of Haydn, and by and large the two men parted ways. But this was not a setback for Beethoven. By this time, he had plenty of friends and opportunities for frolic (contrary to the image we now have of him, Beethoven was quite the socialite before his hearing loss made him more reclusive). And musically, he was already becoming known as one of the greatest piano virtuosos of the day and he was making excellent headway as a composer. However, to become known as a composer in his own right, rather than simply as a pianist-composer as so many other virtuosos were, Beethoven had to tackle genres beyond piano works. He did so in earnest: during the period of the 1790s, in addition to his first three piano concertos, he wrote more than a dozen important chamber works, including several violin and cello sonatas, five string trios, his important Piano Quintet (Op. 16) and his great Septet (Op. 20).
In 1798 and 1799, Haydn published his six seminal string quartets, often called the “London Quartets.” These works were so extraordinary they almost immediately set a new and lasting standard for the string quartet genre. Beethoven, his ego prodded, responded quickly: he initially composed what has become known as his First String Quartet in 1798. However, sensing that these were risky waters for a young composer to wade into, he did not publish immediately. Instead, he sent the draft to a friend, Karl Amenda, asking him to keep it under wraps. A while later, he told Amenda “… only now have I learned to write quartets.” Finally, with dramatic revisions, Beethoven published the First Quartet in 1801.
From the Quartet’s very first notes there is no doubt that Beethoven was intending to speak in big gestures. This work does not contain the kinds of themes we will hear in his later, ground-breaking symphonies, of course. Instead, it follows the impeccable models of both Haydn and Mozart (to be taken seriously as a composer at this time, Beethoven almost had to do this). In fact, the first movement’s theme is clearly a tip of the hat to Haydn’s Quartet, Op. 50, No. 1. But the urgency and drama that feed this first movement clearly reveal what Beethoven was made of, and they give us a peek at the greatness of his later works. Even more amazing, perhaps, is how mature this Quartet sounds: although this was his first attempt at this genre, the result is so natural and idiomatic it could just as easily be taken as his thirtieth quartet.
The biggest change from the first draft is the second movement, and this is the most progressive step for Beethoven. Here, he re-marked the tempo from simply “Adagio” to “Adagio affettuoso ed appassionato” (“slowly, affectionate and passionate”). This has the effect of expressing grief personally rather than in the abstract, which is a very Romantic perspective. Notice, too, the many silent pauses and tempo changes, all creating a deep, affecting pathos. The third movement’s scherzo is frisky, playful, and at times downright fiery. The finale is a fast-moving current of joyfulness.
Beethoven truly did “learn how to write a quartet” in this piece: listen for the motives passing through the four strings with fleet abandon. And above all, listen to a Beethoven who, at the beginning of a titanic career, shows himself to be full of vigor and good cheer, and taking the music world head on.
Alexander Borodin
(Born in St. Petersburg in 1833; died in St. Petersburg in 1887)
Borodin has written some of Western music’s most beloved pieces, including The Polovtsian Dances (from his opera Prince Igor), In the Steppes of Central Asia, Symphony No. 2, and his String Quartet No. 2. He was also one of the cherished members of the famous “Russian Five,” a group of composers that included Rimsky-Korsakov, Liadov, Cui, and Mussorgsky. The group’s intent was to create a purely Russian classical music inspired by that country’s land and people, part of a nationalistic trend that was sweeping 19th Century Europe.
Despite Borodin’s success as a musician, and his importance to Russian music, it is astonishing to remember that for him music was but an avocation. His full-time profession was as a research chemist, physician and professor. In fact, much of his late career was spent discovering a chemical reaction of variants of formaldehyde, a process so scientifically important that until fairly recently it was still referred to as the “Borodin reaction”. He typically could only find time to compose when he was too ill to teach or go to the lab, or otherwise able to take time away from his scientific work.
Such was the case with his masterful String Quartet No. 2. Borodin wrote this work in 1881, during a vacation to mark the 20th anniversary of his proposal to his wife, the pianist Ekaterina Protopopova. This quartet differs from Borodin’s other compositions in two important ways. First, he wrote it very quickly; usually, he worked on his compositions in snippets over long periods of time (often when he took to his sick bed). Second, the quartet contains no obvious underlying narrative; like the other members of the “Russian Five,” he normally built his compositions around nationalistic stories.
But there is good reason to think that Borodin might have indeed infused his String Quartet No. 2 with a meaning of sorts: he not only wrote it on the 20th anniversary of his proposal to his beloved Ekaterina, he also dedicated it to her. And structurally, much of the work consists of a charming conversational dialogue between the cello (Borodin was an amateur cellist) and the violin (a likely instrument to represent Ekaterina). In any case, whether this wonderful Quartet is music for music’s sake or a love letter from Borodin to his wife, it delights us to this day.
Each movement abounds with riches, but it is the third movement, Nocturne, that may indeed be Borodin’s finest tune, and his finest chamber music accomplishment. Structurally, it is a simple song, where cello and violin share and embellish a terrifically beautiful, and singable, theme between themselves. In between, the second violin and viola pulse like a heartbeat and occasionally echo the lovers’ refrain. Ethereal and tender, the ending floats into the stratosphere. So beloved is this movement that its main theme (along with other Borodin tunes) was used in the 1950s musical “Kismet,” becoming the popular hit song “And This is My Beloved.” In a wonderful quirk of fate, in 1954 near the height of the Cold War, the by-then-long-dead Borodin won a posthumous Tony Award for his contributions to Kismet. Had he still been alive, he probably would have missed the gala and stayed working in the lab.
https://www.friendswv.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/FOM_logo_340x156-300x138.jpg00Jennifer Perrottehttps://www.friendswv.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/FOM_logo_340x156-300x138.jpgJennifer Perrotte2018-10-10 13:28:362018-10-10 13:31:13Bold and Beautiful – October 6, 2018
October 9, 2021 Re-Invention!
Program NotesTwo Rivers String Quartet
PROGRAM NOTES
Tonight’s concert presents a fascinating look at the rise of the string quartet, a genre essentially invented by Haydn and perfected by him, together with Mozart. For this reason, Haydn is deservedly considered the “father of the string quartet.” Beethoven and Schubert soon after made important contributions of their own.
The two quartets we offer tonight showcase the beginnings of this great art form with Mozart’s first explorations of it and then the extraordinary heights that it reached almost three decades later with Haydn.
In 1770, Haydn had been devoting serious attention to the string quartet for nearly 20 years. Mozart, in contrast, was just composing his first quartet that year, when he was still just a teenager. In 1772 and 1773, Mozart went on to write his first set of six string quartets (sets of six being a publishing demand at the time). Tonight’s Mozart quartet is the second of those six works (but his third quartet chronologically, since, as noted above, he wrote his first in 1770). It is generally agreed to be among his finest early quartets. Fast forward to 1797 and 1798, after Mozart’s too-short life had ended and Haydn was still going strong. In these years, Haydn wrote his last set of six quartets, of which tonight’s No. 1 in G Major is a part. Together, this last set of quartets constitute Haydn’s Op. 76; in them, the quartet as a genre reaches its ideal form, the model from which all future composers would work.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
(Born in Salzburg, Austria in 1756; died in Vienna in 1791)
String Quartet No. 3 in G major, K. 156
1. Presto
2. Adagio
3. Tempo di Menuetto
In the early days of string quartets, the prototypes were typically light in character, and Mozart began his first forays into that genre in that general spirit. While he was writing his first set of six quartets (K. 155–160) in 1772 and 1773, he was staying in Milan and also writing an Italian-style opera, Lucio Silla. Thus, these six quartets are nicknamed the Milanese Quartets, and they reflect a typically Italian style: light, breezy and comprising only three movements (in the manner of Italian opera overtures) instead of the four-movement structure that later became standard.
From the perspective of the history of the quartet, we should note that as Mozart was writing these early quartets Haydn had just published his exceptional “Sun” string quartets, Op. 20, the first masterpieces of the genre. It’s clear that Mozart at this point was yet to be influenced by Haydn’s trailblazing. Nevertheless, in only a year, when Mozart was back in Vienna, he had investigated Haydn’s quartets and begun his own trailblazing in earnest.
Nevertheless, Mozart’s early quartets show us solid musical craftsmanship, and they are intimate in nature and slightly exploratory. When we realize he wrote them when he was 16 and 17, they become rather extraordinary. And though the tenor of Quartet No. 3 in G major is indeed light, it has an undercurrent of solemn sentiment, and indeed, pathos, especially in the middle movement. It’s a wonderful look into the beginnings of this important genre, when this brilliant composer had essentially a blank canvas to work with, and seemingly composed simply at his pleasure.
Quartet No. 3 is foremost a work of incredible tenderness. Though fine musicianship is required to perform it, this quartet is not about bravura or virtuosity. The first movement is truly tender: a work of grace and gentle manners.
The second movement is thick with emotion. After the main theme sung by the violin, the rest of the quartet creates a gripping accompaniment with suspended chords, rich with harmonies and sonic depth. It’s clear that Mozart had a mind full of opera here: the songlike main theme, the dramatic feel of the piece, and a wonderful little duet near the movement’s center––as the violin theme yearns, the world calls back to that pining heart with little pitch turns called mordents, evoking the trills of night sounds and rustling breezes.
The third and final movement is in the form of a minuet, a dance of refinement and charm. But Mozart makes it something more involved, allowing the four instruments to begin what will later be called a “a four-part conversation,” which is one of the great hallmarks that makes this genre so desirable and important. Here, the melodies are lyrical and light but bear an unmistakable sobriety, a hint of sadness amidst its dancing. To balance this, the last section comes around bright and cheery, ending this early work of a master with a crystalline lightness.
In all, Mozart wrote 26 string quartets, dedicating six to Haydn. His last string quartets are regarded as masterworks of extraordinary depth and craft.
Joseph Haydn
(Born in Rohau, Austria in 1732; died in Vienna in 1809)
String Quartet No. 1 in G major, Op.76
1. Allegro con spirito
2. Adagio sostenuto
3. Menuet. Presto
4. Finale: Allegro ma non troppo
Haydn would complete a total of 68 string quartets since beginning his long relationship with them in the 1750s. Tonight, you’ll hear one of his crowning achievements in this genre that he essentially invented: Quartet No. 1 in G major, which begins his last and inarguably finest set of six, Op. 76, written in 1797 and 1798. Filled with craft, genius, playfulness and inventiveness, Op. 76 would influence Beethoven and Schubert immediately, and many later composers.
The opening to No. 1’s first movement clearly announces Haydn’s intentions for his entire set. The first three forte chords of the introduction serve an important purpose: to call the era’s notoriously noisy audiences to sit and hear and to be prepared for the imaginative bars to come. The first theme begins with the cello, a sure mark of the progression of the quartet as “a four-part conversation.” Haydn here seems to be beginning a fugue: the next instrument to enter is the viola, imitating the cello’s theme in typical fugue style, and so on … almost. But the fugue fails to materialize, and we hear, instead, duets on the theme, then a trio, until at long last we hear all four instruments together for the first time since the introduction. We then realize that Haydn, a master of this kind of playfulness, has called us to attention for what will be many pleasant surprises. Among them, listen for a marvelous moment at about one minute in when the entire quartet begins playing wild arpeggios in unison: another surprise and another high-water mark of this genre, in which ensemble virtuosity is becoming just as necessary as individual musicianship.
The middle movement is exceptionally lovely: melancholic, but with a soaring spirit, as though age has captured the body, but the mind is still able to frolic. It’s a hymn, in a sense, and explores the capabilities of the string quartet as an almost vocal ensemble.
The third movement’s unique treatment would make an indelible impact on the likes of Beethoven and his successors. Couched as the dance movement minuet (recall Mozart’s last movement, Tempo di Minuetto, heard earlier), Haydn makes the tempo un-danceable at breakneck speed and popping with anything-but-refined-and-charming sonic eruptions. For Beethoven, this phrasing would morph into his own wild scherzos. Haydn’s central section, however, is disarmingly dancelike and dainty––another example of Haydn’s mischievous sense of humor.
The typical finale of a string quartet, as Haydn himself had crafted the genre, is cast solidly in a major key, joyful and meant to resolve all the tensions from the previous movements. Not so here, and deliciously not. Almost the entire movement is in the minor key, and it explores some murky harmonic moments. Along the way, listen for virtuosic showcasing of the first violin and reprises of the virtuosic ensemble unison playing from the first movement. Last, and as if almost an afterthought, Haydn gives us the final bars in the major key that we had been expecting to wrap up everything, but with a theme of an unexpected kind of nonchalance. And for the sake of surprise, the final three bars are the very three forte chords that began the whole quartet. In every way, this is a masterpiece that confirms why the genre, thanks to Haydn and Mozart as its brilliant creators, became a lodestar of Western music.
–– Program notes © Max Derrickson
November 17, 2018 “Nostalgia and Longing”
Program NotesPROGRAM NOTES
Edward Elgar
(Born in Lower Broadheath, England in 1857; died in Worcester, England in 1934)
Salut d’Amour, Op. 12
Elgar was the quintessential underdog, and as such, his masterpieces make us all the more glad he finally achieved his rightful praise. He was a self-taught composer, learning his craft by borrowing books on counterpoint and harmony from the library in his small hometown of Broadheath. He was an accomplished violinist but also played the organ, bassoon and viola (as well as other instruments), and he relied upon the latter to make a living for many years as a private music teacher. He also picked up conducting and freelanced as a conductor in obscure English places for many, many years. His beloved wife, Alice, was his greatest champion and brought him through some severe bouts of low self-esteem and depression. Had it not been for her constant support, Elgar almost certainly never would have persevered to write some of Western music’s most beloved pieces, such as his Enigma Variations and his fleet, tender Salut d’Amour.
Salut d’Amour was Elgar’s first published work and fittingly so. While Elgar and Alice were courting, the composer went on holiday in 1888 with an old friend. Alice bid him a happy trip with a poem that she had written called “Love’s Grace.” In short order, Elgar responded with a musical reply dedicated to her and entitled “Liebesgruss” (Love’s Greeting)—and a marriage proposal. They were soon married, and Liebesgruss was soon sold to Elgar’s publisher for virtually pennies. But it was a milestone, and it was the beginning of so many great things to come for Elgar and his soul mate, Alice. Not long after, Elgar’s publisher changed the title to something more French sounding, Salut d’Amour, and the work has been winning hearts ever since. Though the work is simple and direct, one can’t help but hear the joy and devotion for Alice that inspired the young composer. Here is Elgar at the beginning of his great career with a song-poem to his beloved.
When Alice died in Elgar’s arms in 1920, Elgar grieved to a friend:
“Bless her! You, who like some of my work, must thank her for all of it, not me. I should have destroyed it all and joined Job’s wife in the congenial task of cursing God.”
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
(Born in Salzburg, Austria in 1756; died in Vienna in 1791)
Overture to Don Giovanni
Don Giovanni is truly one of the great operas ever written, and its Overture is forever welcome in the Concert Hall. The music and libretto were instantly beloved at their premiere in Prague in October 1787. But then, unbelievably, after the opera’s ecstatic premiere there, this masterpiece found only a lukewarm reception in Mozart’s hometown of Vienna. Indeed, Vienna’s near disdain for this extraordinary opera became another tragedy compounding the difficulties Mozart was facing at this stage of his life, all of which soon led to a serious decline in his health and finances. From these hardships, he would essentially never recover.
The opera is based on the life of the fabled Don Juan (“Don Giovanni” in Italian) who was an unrepentant Spanish playboy and libertine. Don Juan’s conquests and his comical hijinks are recreated in Mozart’s opera but amidst the silliness and scandalous behaviour, Mozart’s Giovanni faces a reckoning of abject terror. As in Greek tragedy, the terror is foreshadowed early, as Mozart at the outset of the Overture deftly builds colossally foreboding chords and sinister murmurings with strings and winds. This is then followed, quite eerily, by a series of ascending and descending scales that evoke an atmosphere of extraordinary dread—presaging the last scene of the opera when one of Giovanni’s victims comes back from the grave to drag him to the fires of Hell. This is strong stuff, but the Overture does not dwell there; instead, it springs back musically into the gaiety of Giovanni’s life before its last judgment, full of his devil-may-care attitude, high society enjoyments and complicated entanglements.
That Mozart began this Overture with foreshadowing of its Opera’s ending is only half of the genius in this great work. Reportedly, the day before Don Giovanni’s premiere in Prague there was no Overture at all, much to the alarm of the opera company. Mozart calmed everyone by pointing to his head, explaining he had already mentally composed it. He committed it to paper the evening before the first performance, and astonishingly, it bore none of the themes from the opera – it was all new music. Nonetheless, it fit perfectly as an Overture to the opera even as it was—and remains—a masterpiece in its own right.
Joaquín Rodrigo (Vidre)
(Born in Sagunto, Valencia, Spain in 1901; died in Madrid in 1999)
Concierto de Aranjuez
1. Allegro con spirito
2. Adagio
3. Allegro gentile
Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez is one of the most popular works written in the 20th Century. And although its 1939 premiere in Barcelona whisked Rodrigo from virtual obscurity to international fame almost overnight, the work’s conception faced considerable challenges.
Rodrigo had been studying with Paul Dukas (the composer of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice) in Paris when the Spanish Civil War broke out. The war delayed his return to Spain, for which he was desperately homesick. However, returning to Franco’s Spain meant being very careful about the music he brought with him: any compositions had to be appealing to the ultra-conservative Franco regime. A prominent Spanish guitarist. Regino Sainz de la Maza (who wound up becoming the dedicatee and performer of the Concierto’s premiere) begged Rodrigo to revive the guitar concerto tradition, but this was problematic for two reasons. First, Rodrigo was not a guitarist, and therefore he was inexperienced in knowing how to project effectually the idiomatic beauty of that quiet instrument in front of a full orchestra. Second, the way Rodrigo composed created special difficulties: having gone almost completely blind at age three, Rodrigo composed using a Braille typewriter. The output of this machine had to be rather painstakingly transcribed, and the nuances of writing for guitar were an especially great challenge in this context. But like many great artists, Rodrigo overcame the obstacles he faced and created one of the most beloved works of the Century.
To pacify Franco’s censors, Rodrigo said his Concierto was based on material from Old Spain and revived “the essence of an 18th century court where the aristocratic blended with the popular element… an epoch at the end of which fandangos transform themselves into fandanguillos, and when the cante and the bulerias vibrate in the Spanish air.” The court to which he referred was the palatial Aranjuez outside of Madrid with its famous Moorish-style gardens (not coincidentally, it was in these gardens that Rodrigo and his wife had fallen in love).
The orchestration of the Concierto shows Rodrigo’s special brilliance. Listen to the ways he makes the solo guitar and orchestra often speak in chamber-like combinations—the Adagio’s breathtaking conversation between the English horn and the guitar is a perfect example of this.
In fact, everything seems right in Rodrigo’s Concierto. From the flamenco-style strumming of the opening, through the searingly beautiful cante hondo (“deep song”) of the Adagio, to the courtly elegance of the finale, this work’s popularity is well deserved. But there is magic in it as well. As Rodrigo put it, “…in its themes there lingers on the fragrance of magnolias, the singing of birds, and the gushing of fountains.”
Georges Bizet
(Born in Paris in 1838; died in Bougival, France in 1875)
Symphony in C
1. Allegro vivo
2. Andante – Adagio
3. Allegro vivace
4. Finale – Allegro vivace
The son of musicians, Bizet gravitated towards a career in music very early. He was a prodigy in the heritage of Mozart and Mendelssohn, and he entered the Paris Conservatoire at the age of 9. By 1855, at the age of 17, he had begun studying with Charles Gounod, France’s most eminent composer (creator of the opera Faust and St. Cecilia’s Mass). Bizet was star-struck by this teacher, it seems, saying some years later to him “You were the beginning of my life as an artist. … You are the cause, I am the consequence.” Bizet’s talents were not lost on Gounod, either. It appears that in order to prepare his talented pupil to compete for the extremely coveted Prix de Rome prize in composition, Gounod assigned Bizet the formidable task of writing a symphony. Bizet finished this work, his Symphony in C, within a month, and with it he did indeed win the Prize, two years later, in 1857.
The Symphony’s first movement is bright and fast-paced, much like an early Mozart or Haydn symphony would have been. But what is clearly Bizet’s is the wonderful main theme featuring the oboe, and later, the flute—two instruments that will dominate Bizet’s music later in life. The movement ends with a feeling of charm and grace.
While the first movement is convincingly charming, we truly begin understanding Bizet’s musical genius in the remarkable second movement, the Adagio. The opening chords set a completely different tone from the frisky first movement, leading to the main theme that features the oboe again, show-casing Bizet’s love of exotic sounding melodies that meander and snake about, charming us into his unique musical world. This early work gives strong hints of the kind of writing that will make his great masterpiece, the opera Carmen, come to life in 1875. When we recall that Bizet was just 17 when he composed his Symphony in C, comparisons to Mozart and Mendelssohn are justified.
The third movement is vigorous yet stately, a two-step dance with some splendidly accented outbursts. The middle portion is rustic but graceful, again featuring oboe and flute, with rich harmonic moments.
The last movement is an “off-to-the-races” kind of finale, bristling with energy and joyfulness. Again, it’s a remarkable culminating movement for a 17-year old—we marvel at the ingenious way Bizet uses the whole array of orchestral colors to imbue this finale with ever-changing hues and exciting effects. It’s a bit of a devil to perform for both strings and winds, but so very delightful for the audience!
––Program notes © Max Derrickson
Bold and Beautiful – October 6, 2018
Program NotesLudwig van Beethoven
(Born in Bonn in 1770; died in Vienna in 1827)
String Quartet No. 1 in F major, Op. 18, No. 1
1. Allegro con brio
2. Adagio affettuoso ed appassionato
3. Scherzo: Allegro molto
4. Allegro
In 1792, when he was 22 years old, Beethoven came to Vienna to study composition with Germany’s greatest living composer, Franz Josef Haydn (Mozart had just died the year before in 1791). After roughly a year and a half, Beethoven grew impatient with the affable and conservative teaching style of Haydn, and by and large the two men parted ways. But this was not a setback for Beethoven. By this time, he had plenty of friends and opportunities for frolic (contrary to the image we now have of him, Beethoven was quite the socialite before his hearing loss made him more reclusive). And musically, he was already becoming known as one of the greatest piano virtuosos of the day and he was making excellent headway as a composer. However, to become known as a composer in his own right, rather than simply as a pianist-composer as so many other virtuosos were, Beethoven had to tackle genres beyond piano works. He did so in earnest: during the period of the 1790s, in addition to his first three piano concertos, he wrote more than a dozen important chamber works, including several violin and cello sonatas, five string trios, his important Piano Quintet (Op. 16) and his great Septet (Op. 20).
In 1798 and 1799, Haydn published his six seminal string quartets, often called the “London Quartets.” These works were so extraordinary they almost immediately set a new and lasting standard for the string quartet genre. Beethoven, his ego prodded, responded quickly: he initially composed what has become known as his First String Quartet in 1798. However, sensing that these were risky waters for a young composer to wade into, he did not publish immediately. Instead, he sent the draft to a friend, Karl Amenda, asking him to keep it under wraps. A while later, he told Amenda “… only now have I learned to write quartets.” Finally, with dramatic revisions, Beethoven published the First Quartet in 1801.
From the Quartet’s very first notes there is no doubt that Beethoven was intending to speak in big gestures. This work does not contain the kinds of themes we will hear in his later, ground-breaking symphonies, of course. Instead, it follows the impeccable models of both Haydn and Mozart (to be taken seriously as a composer at this time, Beethoven almost had to do this). In fact, the first movement’s theme is clearly a tip of the hat to Haydn’s Quartet, Op. 50, No. 1. But the urgency and drama that feed this first movement clearly reveal what Beethoven was made of, and they give us a peek at the greatness of his later works. Even more amazing, perhaps, is how mature this Quartet sounds: although this was his first attempt at this genre, the result is so natural and idiomatic it could just as easily be taken as his thirtieth quartet.
The biggest change from the first draft is the second movement, and this is the most progressive step for Beethoven. Here, he re-marked the tempo from simply “Adagio” to “Adagio affettuoso ed appassionato” (“slowly, affectionate and passionate”). This has the effect of expressing grief personally rather than in the abstract, which is a very Romantic perspective. Notice, too, the many silent pauses and tempo changes, all creating a deep, affecting pathos. The third movement’s scherzo is frisky, playful, and at times downright fiery. The finale is a fast-moving current of joyfulness.
Beethoven truly did “learn how to write a quartet” in this piece: listen for the motives passing through the four strings with fleet abandon. And above all, listen to a Beethoven who, at the beginning of a titanic career, shows himself to be full of vigor and good cheer, and taking the music world head on.
Alexander Borodin
(Born in St. Petersburg in 1833; died in St. Petersburg in 1887)
String Quartet No. 2 in D Major, Op.
1. Allegro moderato
2. Scherzo. Allegro
3. Notturno (Nocturne): Andante
4. Finale: Andante — Vivace
Borodin has written some of Western music’s most beloved pieces, including The Polovtsian Dances (from his opera Prince Igor), In the Steppes of Central Asia, Symphony No. 2, and his String Quartet No. 2. He was also one of the cherished members of the famous “Russian Five,” a group of composers that included Rimsky-Korsakov, Liadov, Cui, and Mussorgsky. The group’s intent was to create a purely Russian classical music inspired by that country’s land and people, part of a nationalistic trend that was sweeping 19th Century Europe.
Despite Borodin’s success as a musician, and his importance to Russian music, it is astonishing to remember that for him music was but an avocation. His full-time profession was as a research chemist, physician and professor. In fact, much of his late career was spent discovering a chemical reaction of variants of formaldehyde, a process so scientifically important that until fairly recently it was still referred to as the “Borodin reaction”. He typically could only find time to compose when he was too ill to teach or go to the lab, or otherwise able to take time away from his scientific work.
Such was the case with his masterful String Quartet No. 2. Borodin wrote this work in 1881, during a vacation to mark the 20th anniversary of his proposal to his wife, the pianist Ekaterina Protopopova. This quartet differs from Borodin’s other compositions in two important ways. First, he wrote it very quickly; usually, he worked on his compositions in snippets over long periods of time (often when he took to his sick bed). Second, the quartet contains no obvious underlying narrative; like the other members of the “Russian Five,” he normally built his compositions around nationalistic stories.
But there is good reason to think that Borodin might have indeed infused his String Quartet No. 2 with a meaning of sorts: he not only wrote it on the 20th anniversary of his proposal to his beloved Ekaterina, he also dedicated it to her. And structurally, much of the work consists of a charming conversational dialogue between the cello (Borodin was an amateur cellist) and the violin (a likely instrument to represent Ekaterina). In any case, whether this wonderful Quartet is music for music’s sake or a love letter from Borodin to his wife, it delights us to this day.
Each movement abounds with riches, but it is the third movement, Nocturne, that may indeed be Borodin’s finest tune, and his finest chamber music accomplishment. Structurally, it is a simple song, where cello and violin share and embellish a terrifically beautiful, and singable, theme between themselves. In between, the second violin and viola pulse like a heartbeat and occasionally echo the lovers’ refrain. Ethereal and tender, the ending floats into the stratosphere. So beloved is this movement that its main theme (along with other Borodin tunes) was used in the 1950s musical “Kismet,” becoming the popular hit song “And This is My Beloved.” In a wonderful quirk of fate, in 1954 near the height of the Cold War, the by-then-long-dead Borodin won a posthumous Tony Award for his contributions to Kismet. Had he still been alive, he probably would have missed the gala and stayed working in the lab.