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Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) – Concerto No. 1 in D minor, BWV 1052 for keyboard and strings
Bach left us seven concertos for keyboard and strings, but two of these are arrangements of his own violin concertos and one is an arrangement of the 4th Brandenburg Concerto. It is now widely believed that several – if not all of the others – were also arrangements of violin concertos by Bach, which have now been lost. (This has led to a whole “reconstruction” industry, yielding numerous recordings of these “virtual” violin concertos by Bach.)
The three movements of this concerto are in a fairly standard format for Baroque concertos, although Bach “works out” his thematic material at some length, making the concerto a little longer than usual for the era. The first movement is essentially monothematic, but Bach seems to be having great fun coming up with new kinds of figuration and passagework for the soloist. Much of this figuration is of a style which at least seems to suggest violin-writing, providing some evidence to support the theory that this was originally a violin concerto. The second movement continues in a serious mood. A short introduction for the strings alone leads to the aria-like entry of the soloist, whose part becomes increasingly florid as the movement proceeds. The final movement is still in D minor, but has a dance-like quality which – the minor key notwithstanding – provides a real sense of rhythmic buoyancy and joy in the music.
As eminent a musician and scholar as Albert Schweitzer thought that these keyboard concerto arrangements (assuming that is what they are) were made with incredible “haste and carelessness,” but their strong themes, lively rhythms, and even opportunities for virtuosic display have endeared them to musicians and audiences. The D minor concerto is, in fact, the earliest solo keyboard concerto to have a won a permanent place in the standard repertoire.
Samuel Coleridge-Taylor (1875-1912) – Ballade in C Minor for violin and piano, Op. 73
Born to a father from Sierra Leone and an English mother, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor rose in prominence through his short life to become one of the most performed composers in Great Britain and elsewhere during the final years of the 19th and early years of the 20th centuries. His father returned to Sierra Leone before Samuel was born and became a prominent administrator in west Africa. Samuel’s parents were not married and he grew up in a working class home which seems to have been loving, supportive of his musical talent and unconcerned by his mixed racial parentage. His mother’s family name was Taylor. She gave him the middle name Coleridge in honor of the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He studied at the Royal College of Music, initially on violin then switching to composition, which he studied with Sir Charles Villiers Stanford. In 1898, Coleridge-Taylor wrote Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast to text from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s The Song of Hiawatha. Premiered that same year at the Royal College under the baton of Stanford, it was an immediate success, earning the praise of Sir Arthur Sullivan and Sir Hubert Parry. Despite the continued success of the work, Coleridge-Taylor had sold the rights to the work outright for a paltry sum, and financial troubles would plague him until his death from pneumonia. The financial injustice he suffered contributed substantially to a growing movement in the early years of the 20th century to protect the financial rights of composers.
The Ballade in C Minor was written in 1907 for Russian-born violinist Michael Zacherewitsch who performed frequently in England and later became a citizen of that country. Some commentators find a Slavic mood in the Ballade – perhaps because of its dedicatee. The opening of the piece, which keeps the violin in its lowest register, certainly has an air of melancholy, but there isn’t any particular Russian “accent” to it. There are, however, aspects of Coleridge-Taylor’s writing in the piece – melodic contours, textures and rhythmic patterns – that are reminiscent of Tchaikovsky, but it would be a mistake to suggest that the music actually sounds like it’s by that composer. The Ballade is freely rhapsodic with a motto-theme heard at the very beginning that recurs throughout the piece, often in rhythmic or tempo transformations. Coleridge-Taylor’s harmonic language isn’t particularly chromatic. Most of his chords are easily analyze-able and on the printed page they look rather unadventurous. However, they support his easy melody-spinning beautifully which, combined with his idiomatic writing for both instruments, gives a real air of freshness to many of the pages of this piece.
Robert Schumann (1810-1856) – Piano Quartet in E-flat Major, Op. 47
In 1839, Robert Schumann and Clara Wieck were married after a lengthy and obstacle-laden courtship. Schumann had completed his major works for piano solo and a number of songs, but he had yet to produce a large-scale orchestral or chamber work. In 1841, with encouragement from Clara, he wrote his First Symphony. He then began to study string quartets by masters of the Classical period: Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. The fruits of this study followed quickly, as three string quartets, the Piano Quintet, and the Piano Quartet tumbled out in less than two years.
The first movement is in sonata-allegro form. Schumann uses a sustained theme to delineate the structural sections. This sostenuto theme is heard at the beginning and again between the exposition and development. At the recapitulation it provides a thrilling climax to the entire movement.
The G minor Scherzo alternates a scurrying staccato theme with two “trio” sections. The first trio is in fluid quarter-notes. The second, using a device surely learned from Beethoven, begins with block chords that suspend the tempo until the scurrying motif sneaks back in. The Scherzo has been likened to those by Mendelssohn, but where a Mendelssohn scherzo sparkles, this one is more mysterious, even sinister. No elves or fairies dance here – only shadows chasing shadows.
The third movement is in simple ABA form. The principal theme is based on rising and falling sevenths, an interval often used to express yearning. The central section’s theme, removed to a distant G-flat major, moves in a more stepwise fashion. The first theme returns with the viola, while the violin traces delicate embroidery around it. The piano provides a simple accompaniment, suggestive of plucked guitar chords. During this passage the cellist re-tunes the lowest string down a whole-tone to permit a low B-flat octave.
The piano’s final notes in the Andante are a premonition of the bold rhythm that opens the Finale. This is followed by a rapid fugal passage. The movement builds to two climaxes with fast repeated notes and octaves for the strings, the second climax culminating in a fermata (“pause”) before the final rush homeward in the coda.
SERIES SPONSORS
David and Amy Fulton
TONIGHT’S SPONSORS
Friday, August 6 Cynthia and Sam Coleman
Saturday, August 7 The Driftwood Fund, in honor of the staff of OICMF
Old World, New World
Tuesday, August 10 at 7:30 pm
Wednesday, August 11 at 5:30 pm
George Gershwin (1898-1937) – Three Preludes
For someone who was such a talented pianist, it’s surprising that George Gershwin only wrote a small handful of original pieces for solo piano. In this context, his Three Preludes loom large, despite their brevity. Gershwin originally planned to write a complete set of 24 preludes – presumably covering all the major and minor keys as did Chopin, Scriabin, and many others. Other demands on his time encroached on the planned set of preludes, and in the end only five were written. Two of these weren’t published and the composer later re-utilized their thematic material elsewhere. The remaining three preludes were premiered by the composer in 1926.
The first prelude employs a samba-based rhythm, but the lively syncopations are more reminiscent of “jump blues.” To anyone familiar with Gershwin’s orchestral writing in pieces like An American in Paris and Rhapsody in Blue, it will be immediately apparent that the composer had the sound of the clarinet in mind for the two short, introductory phrases. The second prelude is pure blues, its soulful outer sections enveloping a somewhat bouncier central passage. Gershwin referred to the third prelude as his “Spanish” prelude, but it is the urban bustle and energy of the composer’s beloved New York City that informs the piece. All three preludes are in some version of an ABA form and, their brevity notwithstanding, they are full of attractive musical ideas and gestures. Their popularity has resulted in a wide variety of arrangements for various instrumental resources – a test of the music’s durability which Gershwin passes with flying colors.
Amy Beach (1867-1944) – Quartet for Strings (in one movement), Op. 89
Born in New Hampshire, Amy Cheney showed herself to have a prodigious talent early on – her first piano pieces were written at the age of four. She continued her studies in piano and received some instruction in theory and composition but was largely self-taught in the latter areas. Her parents resisted offers for her to begin a concert career while still in her childhood – a decision she later praised. As a young woman, she did establish a career as a pianist and continued her efforts at composing though with little commercial success. She was married in 1885 to Dr. Henry Beach, a surgeon who was more than two decades her senior. Dr. Beach placed severe strictures on her musical career – no more than two performances a year as a pianist, no teaching of students, and no furthering of her own education with private teachers – but he was fully supportive of her continuing her work as a composer, and their marriage seems to have been fairly happy. After Dr. Beach’s death in 1910, Amy resumed her career as a pianist and began to receive greater acclaim for her compositions. For the remainder of her life, her compositions still received some acclaim (although tempered by changing tastes). She travelled widely, still performing occasionally, and became a champion of musical education in the United States.
She began work on her only string quartet in 1921, continuing work over the next few years and completing it in 1929. The main thematic material of the quartet comes from three Inuit folk songs that Beach found in a book on Inuit culture by anthropologist Franz Boas. To grossly oversimplify, the quartet is in three main sections, but it is a complex tapestry with frequent interweaving of thematic material, and subsidiary musical ideas derived from the folk songs. Beach’s music is usually categorized as “late romantic” in style, and while that is accurate enough here, it doesn’t begin to suggest the intense chromaticism and frequently dark, even disturbing turbulence of the music. Some passages in the quartet – and the opening Grave (“serious”) section is an excellent example – seem to hover on the edge of atonality. This quartet reveals Beach to be a composer of considerable muscle and sinew. Outdated impressions of her as a dilettante (primarily based on the fact that she was a woman composer) can be discarded. Happily, in the last few years more musicians have explored Beach’s music, and it seems to be enjoying something of a renaissance in the concert hall and recordings.
(Any birders who are reading this are encouraged to listen to Beach’s pair of piano pieces “Hermit Thrush at Morning” and “Hermit Thrush at Eve.” In these two pieces she establishes a mood for the respective time of day and adds some of the most accurate musical representations of bird song to be heard before those of Olivier Messiaen. The Hermit Thrush is a common species in the Pacific northwest, so listeners can readily compare the real thing to Beach’s transcription.)
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) – Music, Love and Wine from Scottish Songs, Op 108
Beethoven’s settings of folk songs from the British Isles are one of the least-known corners of his compositional output. They were commissioned by the Scotsman George Thomson who had approached a few other composers for similar settings, and he received at least a few from Joseph Haydn. There was considerable back-and-forth between Beethoven (who never visited Great Britain) and Thomson over what was to be included, what instrumental and vocal resources they would require and, of course, Beethoven’s fee. Remarkably, between 1809 and 1820, Beethoven set more than 150 Scottish, Welsh, and Irish songs for piano trio with variable vocal forces.
The Scottish Songs, Op. 108 come from 1818. Music, Love and Wine is the first in the set, with words by William Smyth. Although Beethoven could have treated these settings as mere hack work, he seems to have lavished a great deal of care over them. An examination of the score shows numerous small felicities in the part-writing. To a pianist at least, these unassuming little arrangements look as if they could have been written by no one but Beethoven, so distinctive are certain characteristics of his writing for the piano. For the listener these pieces are a delight – full of variety of mood, but also variety in the textures and colors Beethoven creates through skillful handling of the vocal and instrumental parts.
Music, Love and Wine (words by William Smyth)
O let me Music hear
Night and Day!
Let the voice and let the Lyre
Dissolve my heart, my spirit’s fire;
Music and I ask no more,
Night or Day!
Hence with colder world,
Hence, Adieu!
Give me. Give me but the while,
The brighter heav’n of Ellen’s smile,
Love and then I ask no more,
Oh, would you?
Hence with this world of care
I say too;
Give me but the blissful dream,
That mingles in the goblet’s gleam,
Wine and then I ask no more,
What say you?
Music may gladden Wine,
What say you?
Tendrils of the laughing Vine
Around the Myrtle well may twine,
Both may grace the Lyre divine,
What say you?
What if we all agree,
What say you?
I will list the Lyre with thee,
And he shall dream of Love like me,
Brighter than the wine shall be,
What say you?
Love, Music, wine agree,
True, true, true!
Round then round the glass, the glee,
And Ellen in our toast shall be!
Music, wine and Love agree,
True, true, true
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) – Tema con Variazioni from Clarinet Trio in B-flat Major, Op. 11
Beethoven’s Opus 11trio was written in 1797 on a commission from clarinetist Franz Josef Bähr. It is the composer’s only piano trio to include a wind instrument. With a practical approach to sales and performance, Beethoven authorized its performance with violin instead of clarinet, but also authorized a “no-strings allowed” version for clarinet, bassoon, and piano. It is a relatively large-scale piece, but not a heavy one – not yet “Beethoven the philosopher.” The theme of the final movement – suggested to Beethoven by Bähr – comes from a comic opera by Joseph Weigl. It was a tune that became so popular with the Viennese public that people could be heard singing it in the streets. This gave the trio its nickname Gassenhauer (“street song”). Beethoven’s sets of variations (in almost whatever type of work they occur) are frequently epic, taking the listener on a kind of spiritual journey. Here, in keeping with the theme, Beethoven does not take us as far into “the empyrean” as in other places. He is content to entertain and delight – as is the case with other Beethoven pieces on this year’s Festival, such as the Septet and the Scottish folk song setting.
Franz Schubert (1797-1828) – Andantino (Theme and Variations) from Quintet in A Major, D. 667, The Trout
The Trout Quintet was written in 1819 at the behest of wealthy amateur cellist Sylvester Paumgartner. Its somewhat unusual instrumentation was specified by Paumgartner, who planned to perform it with a quintet by Johann Nepomuk Hummel for the same instrumental combination. The fourth movement – a theme and variations on Schubert’s song Die Forelle (The Trout) – gives the quintet its nickname. The song tells of a sly fisherman and a hapless trout, but is really an allegorical warning to young women about the wiles of casual suitors. A reference to the fisherman’s rod (German “Rute”) is surely an intentional sexual pun. The theme is stated in a stripped-down version for strings only. The variations proceed, using brilliant instrumental writing and processes of rhythmic intensification. The final (6th) variation is a transcription of Schubert’s original song which seems, in context, like a culminating transformation. Stroke of genius or a labor-saving device? You be the judge.
Astor Piazzolla (1921-1992) – Libertango for strings; Michelangelo ’70 for piano four-hands
In the years since his death, Astor Piazzolla has become one of the most revered composers in the far-flung and wildly passionate community of tango lovers. It was not always so. The composer led a peripatetic life – Argentina, the United States, France, and Italy serving as his homes at various times. His development of a new style of tango – which came to be simply known as Tango Nuevo – began in the 1950s after he had studied composition with the doyenne of composition teachers, Nadia Boulanger, in Paris. Influences of (then) modern composers like Stravinsky and Bartók found their way into the Tango Nuevo and Piazzolla began to encounter very strong hostility in his native Argentina. By the 1970s, this had become so strong that Piazzolla moved his family to Italy for a few years, in part to avoid death threats. (I did say that tango lovers were a “passionate community.”) Eventually, support for the Tango Nuevo equaled or outweighed the opposition. By the 1980s, Piazzolla was recognized worldwide as one of the greatest living exponents of the tango and began to be recognized as a composer of considerable talent and originality in the field of classical music.
Both Libertango and Michelangelo ‘70 come from the late 1960s and early 70s. They are excellent examples of (just) two of the moods Piazzolla captured so well in the Tango Nuevo. Libertango is sultry and seductive – about as sexy as music can get. Michelangelo ‘70 (named for a nightclub in Buenos Aires) on the other hand is more tense, capturing a real sense of the menace that lurks in so much of Piazzolla’s music. His tangos are readily transferable from one medium to another – as much (or more) depends on the spirit of the musicians as on the actual instruments used. In this concert though, the arrangements are ideally suited to the different characters of the two pieces: strings for the more lyrical Libertango, piano duet for Michelangelo ’70, which is much more percussive in nature.
Manuel de Falla (1876-1946) – Ritual Fire Dance for solo piano
Manuel de Falla’s one-act ballet El Amor Brujo (translated in a variety of ways, but something like “Bewitched Love” probably comes closest) had its earliest genesis in 1914 as a piece for singers, actors, and orchestra. It was premiered the following year without success. Falla withdrew it and began re-working it – ultimately, in 1924 it became the ballet-pantomime as we know it now. In the ballet, the Ritual Fire Dance is performed by a woman who is trying to stop her dead husband from haunting her. The dance is powerful, full of musical motifs that have a definite Iberian flavor, but which never coalesce into a full tune: this music is more about rhythm and color than melody. Although the early 1914 version of what would become the ballet was not a success, the Ritual Fire Dance was, leading Falla in 1915 to make a chamber version of the dance for piano and strings. In any form, it is Falla’s biggest hit and has been arranged for a wide variety of instruments and ensembles.
Aram Khachaturian (1903-1978) – Sabre Dance
Did Soviet-Armenian composer Aram Khachaturian1 know that his Sabre Dance would become one of the most familiar and widely heard pieces of classical music in western culture? Did the Soviets know? This campy, kitschy, trashy, and utterly delightful piece of music is so familiar as to need little introduction. It has been heard in everything from The Jack Benny Show to The Simpsons. It comes from Act IV of Khachaturian’s ballet Gayaneh2 (1939-1942). The ballet tells a love story in the midst of social and political turmoil but ends happily with three weddings. The Sabre Dance has been arranged for nearly every instrumental combination imaginable and is nearly indestructible, so an arrangement for piano duet is quite conservative in this context, but also extremely effective – a little more exciting and dangerous, even, than on two pianos. (Those who enjoy this piece are urged to explore the whole ballet, which is full of joy, color, and fun. Do not miss the Lezghinka3 about 13 minutes into the ballet.)
1Spelling may vary. 2Spelling may vary. 3Spelling may vary
Jennifer Higdon (b. 1962) – A Gentle Notion for clarinet and piano
Born in Brooklyn, Jennifer Higdon’s initial musical exposure was primarily to rock. In high school band she took up percussion and later the flute. In university she continued her flute studies but was also encouraged to pursue composition. She was lacking in formal training compared to most of her fellow students but worked hard to overcome this deficit. Since then, she has gone on to a distinguished career, earning numerous awards and prizes. Her music is sometimes described as “Neo-romantic,” but she draws on a wide variety of musical influences. In A Gentle Notion, jazz harmonies prevail, but there is a complete absence of obvious or predictable syncopation. This “ironing out” of the rhythm clearly reveals the connections between and influence of the Impressionist composers on jazz harmony.
Morton Gould (1913-1996) – Jaunty from Benny’s Gig
Behind this unassuming miniature lies one of the greatest musical geniuses and most diverse talents in 20th century American music – Morton Gould. Composer, conductor, arranger, and pianist – he composed music in almost every genre, and his discography includes music from Beethoven through to Copland and beyond. Gould had plenty of experience with jazz and jazz styles, so it was nearly inevitable that at some point he and Benny Goodman would cross paths. In 1962 Gould wrote Benny’s Gig for Goodman – a suite of seven short movements for clarinet and double bass. In 1979, Gould added the movement heard here as an eighth and final movement to the suite – a 70th birthday gift to Goodman. The movement lives up to its name but maintains a sense of rhythmic ambiguity throughout. It is a mark of Gould’s genius that rather than simply writing “imitation jazz,” he transforms jazz into something that speaks with his own voice – much as Béla Bartók did with Hungarian folk song, although that is not to suggest that the two composers sound in any way alike.
Dick Hyman (b. 1927) – Allegro from Jazz Sextet for clarinet, piano, and string quartet
A native of New York, Dick Hyman received early instruction in classical music from his uncle Anton Rovinsky, a concert pianist. Chopin was an early and lifelong love for Hyman, but his older brother also introduced him to jazz, which became a major part of his life. His earliest albums were released in the 1950s – solo piano albums – with his name given first as “Knuckles O’Toole” and later “Willie the Rock Knox” and “Slugger Ryan.” From then on he has been almost exclusively associated with jazz, although his love for classical music never waned.
Hyman proclaimed the Jazz Sextet (written in the late 1980s, premiered in 1988) to be at least an attempt to “blur the lines” between classical music and jazz. The final movement, subtitled “Jazz-Samba,” is an unbuttoned, joyous romp – full of bouncy fun – particularly for the clarinet and piano, who are both required to improvise in a few specific places. Although it starts out sounding like nothing but jazz, the classical influences are still evident in this movement, with tricky rhythms for all the instruments and complex polyrhythms that twist the players’ brains while delighting the listeners’ ears.
SERIES SPONSORS
David and Amy Fulton
TONIGHT’S SPONSORS
Tuesday, August 10 Carl de Boor
Wednesday, August 11 Terry Neill, in memory of Carroll Neill
Beethoven, Interrupted
Friday, August 13 at 7:30 pm
Saturday, August 14 at 5:30 pm
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) – Sonata No. 5 in D Major, Op. 102, No.2 for cello and piano
Beethoven’s music is often assigned to his early, middle, and late periods. This division can be both useful and misleading, but in the case of his five sonatas for cello and piano it’s clear, even just from looking at their opus numbers (Op. 2 – two sonatas, Op. 69 – one sonata, Op 102 – two sonatas), that the periodic division is quite distinct. (Opus numbers cannot always be taken as a reliable guide to the relative chronology of a composer’s work, but in this case they are not at all misleading.) In common with many of his other late works, the D Major cello sonata shares an increasingly complex rhythmic language, an interest in counterpoint – especially fugue – and a complete disregard for the technical challenges he sets for his performers. In respect of the latter, many passages in Beethoven’s late works (and in some cases, complete works such as the Hammerklavier Sonata or the Diabelli Variations) can quite reasonably leave even modern listeners and performers wondering “What was he thinking?” To use a modern abbreviation: SMH (shaking my head). Evidently he had future generations in mind, and rightly so: it was only in the 20th century that large numbers of performers began to take up and overcome the hurdles presented in his late works.
This sonata opens with a pair of aspirational gestures from the piano, which provide important thematic material in this generally extroverted movement. Storm clouds appear briefly in the short development before the opening gestures (this time in the cello with the piano echoing them across four octaves) mark the beginning of the recapitulation. The first motif – finally played in unison by both instruments – ushers in a short coda, which builds to a brisk conclusion. The second movement begins with a simple dirge-like melody for the cello. Thereafter, the emotional intensity and rhythmic complexity increase, leading to a gorgeous central major key section. This modulates through several keys back to the minor mode for a recapitulation of the first theme – this time given to the piano with the cello accompanying in skipping (also known as “dotted” because of their notation involving dots) rhythms. The movement ends on an incomplete cadence with only the briefest of pauses before the concluding fugue. This starts innocently enough with a rising scale. However, it builds in complexity to one of Beethoven’s most technically challenging fugues. He walks a fine line here, somehow managing to write a movement which sounds learned, courtly, joyous, and heroic – all at the same time.
Johan Halvorsen (1864-1935) – Sarabande con Variazioni, for Violin and Viola
It’s not Edvard Grieg’s fault that most Norwegian composers after him have had to live more or less in his shadow. Although some of these composers and their music are well-known in Scandinavia, orchestras and recording companies elsewhere still have a lot of exploring to do. In Johan Halvorsen’s case, he is inextricably linked to Grieg. The latter – 20 years Halvorsen’s senior – was a friend and mentor, and Halvorsen married Grieg’s niece. Halvorsen had a long and successful career. Before the age of 30, he variously worked as a concertmaster in Bergen and Aberdeen, played in the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra, taught music in Helsinki, and continued his own musical studies in St. Petersburg, Leipzig, Berlin, and Liège. Much of his later career was as a conductor, particularly with the Oslo (then known as “Kristiania”) Philharmonic.
In the Sarabande con Variazioni, Halvorsen uses the sarabande (a slow dance in triple-meter) from one of Handel’s keyboard suites. The variations pursue the usual course of gradual intensification of rhythm and tempo. At the center of the whole piece lies a variation in the form of a very leisurely, sentimental waltz. After this the process of intensification begins again, culminating in the final sequence of variations, which elevate the music to a level of quasi-orchestral brilliance and sonority.
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) – Septet in E-flat Major, Op. 20 for winds and strings
The Septet is written on a grand symphonic scale. Mozart had written chamber pieces for mixed winds and strings, but they usually received the name Divertimento or Serenade and were essentially used as background music (some background!) at social functions. Beethoven was loath for his music to be anyone’s aural wallpaper. He intended this as concert music.
The 1st, 2nd, 5th, and 6th movements of the septet function as the four movements of a classical symphony. This “virtual symphony” (i.e., just those four movements) is a little longer than Beethoven’s own First Symphony, suggesting the importance he attached to this composition. Nevertheless, the Septet finds Beethoven in very good humor. The 3rd movement is an old friend of many an amateur pianist: a reworking of the modest minuet from Beethoven’s G Major piano sonata, Op. 49 no. 2. Minor key passages occur in some movements, but episodically or in the course of modulation. The sole exception to this is the minor-key fourth variation in the 4th movement. This theme and variations entertains more and philosophizes less than usual for Beethoven, but that fourth variation hovers on the edge of a shadowy and slightly terrifying world. The Scherzo restores not only Beethoven’s good humor, but is full of his special kind of musical laughter – the tone set by the jolly hunting calls passed between horn and bassoon at the outset.
All the instruments except the double bass have their moments in the foreground, but the clarinet and violin carry the bulk of the thematic presentation, with a virtuosic cadenza for the latter, before the recapitulation of the finale. While exploring instrumental color was never Beethoven’s primary interest, he was too good a composer not to have used the instrumentation to create the many rich sonorities which this combination of instruments is capable of. From its premiere in 1801 (on a concert that included the contemporaneous First Symphony), the Septet has remained one of Beethoven’s most endearing and enduring works – a fact which rather irked the composer during his lifetime – he thought he had done much better work after he had written it.
SERIES SPONSORS
David and Amy Fulton
TONIGHT’S SPONSORS
Friday, August 13 Gail and Harvey Glasser
Saturday, August 14 Janet Ketcham
Montrose Trio
Tuesday, August 17 at 7:30 pm
Wednesday, August 18 at 5:30 pm
Joseph Haydn (1732-1809) – Piano Trio in E Major, hob. XV:28
Soon after Haydn’s death, his more than 40 piano trios fell by the wayside. The main reason for this simply lies with the way in which he wrote them. Although they contain some of his finest music (and that’s saying a lot when speaking about this master of the symphony and string quartet) they are, to a large extent, accompanied piano sonatas. In most of them, the violin has sufficient independence to engage in dialogues with the piano, but the cellist is relegated primarily to doubling the piano’s bass line. Haydn (with two very fine cello concertos to his name) certainly could have written cello parts with greater independence, but this music – in its published form – was largely aimed at an amateur market where capable pianists and decent violinists were relatively easy to find, but cellists were a little “thinner on the ground.” So it made perfect sense to write music that was aimed at the skill levels of the performers involved. About 50 years ago, the celebrated Beaux Arts Trio undertook the quixotic (or so it seemed at the time) project of recording all of Haydn’s trios. Since then musicians have come to appreciate the high quality of the music and its level of sophistication.
This E-major trio is one of the better-known of the bunch. The opening movement begins with plucked strings and quasi-plucked piano, sounding a little like a guitar, but soon the movement explodes with brilliance – virtuosity, even – for the pianist. It proceeds in high spirits with plenty of Haydn’s wit in evidence. The Allegretto second movement is somewhat unsettling. A rather sinister “walking bass” accompanies a jumpy main theme. The movement is begun by the piano alone then joined by the strings. The unsettling nature of this movement becomes even stronger when Haydn moves the “walking bass” into the treble range and the jumpy theme to the bass. Although this movement functions as the “slow” movement of the trio, its tempo, intensity of mood, and complete lack of sentimentality make it one of the strangest “slow” movements he ever wrote. Where one might expect the mood of the first movement to return for the finale, Haydn gives it a distinctly different character of its own. The brilliance and humor are replaced by elegant amiability.
As a final thought, words of praise are due to those string players – and particularly cellists – who recognize that Haydn’s piano trios are great music and who set aside their own egos to provide this music the exposure it deserves.
Frédéric Chopin (1810-1849) – Ballade No. 4 in F minor, Op. 52 for solo piano
By the age of 18 or so, Chopin had found his musical voice. Thereafter, almost everything he wrote sounds like no one but Chopin – so much so that even many non-musicians can quickly recognize his music when they hear it. As a result, it can seem like his language didn’t change all that much, but a close examination of his music shows a gradual increase in the complexity of his use of harmony and texture over the 20 or so years of his mature career. Ballade No. 4 comes from 1842, by which time the complexity was much greater than is found in, for example, his early nocturnes. A few clearly identifiable themes are presented, either in semi-discrete “panels” or flowing smoothly from one to the next. Chopin varies and transforms his themes with a general movement from serenity to extreme agitation over the Ballade’s twelve-minute duration, until a series of quiet, organ-like chords bring the momentum to a halt. It proves to be a brief respite, though, before Chopin plunges into the coruscating rain of fire that brings this Ballade – widely considered to be one of his greatest pieces – to its tragic conclusion.
Franz Schubert (1797-1828) – Piano Trio No. 1 in B-flat Major, D. 898
Franz Schubert must have been one of the most lovable composers in the history of music. He was of low social status, perpetually impoverished and an unprepossessing figure (affectionately known among his acquaintances as Schwammerl, i.e., “little mushroom”). Nevertheless, such was his genius that he spontaneously gathered a circle of friends for whom he was the emotional and creative “glue.” The frequent social gatherings of Schubert’s circle often centered on first readings of his latest compositions, and so, naturally came to be known as “Schubertiades.” It was at the last Schubertiade before the composer’s death that the Piano Trio in B-flat was first played.
In the last two years of Schubert’s life his inspiration and craftsmanship reached new heights, resulting in a string of masterpieces including this trio – which is just one among many large-scale pieces from these two years. The first movement unfolds its opposing major and minor key themes on a leisurely scale, with a lengthy development and a recapitulation that begins in the wrong key before finding its way home. The second movement, beginning innocently enough, evolves into one of Schubert’s fantastic and far-ranging movements – on a par with those of the C Major string quintet and the A Major piano sonata – works that also come from the Schubert’s last two years. The Scherzo features gentle contrapuntal dialogue between all three instruments and a central section where humor is added by the piano’s oom-pah-pah accompaniment – the catch being that the “oom” is silent. The finale is a joyous Rondo with a skipping theme first heard from the violin. Two episodes in the movement create the illusion of a slower tempo before a Presto coda brings the trio to a lively conclusion.
One could disagree with Robert Schumann’s assessment of this trio as “passive, feminine, lyrical,” both for its musical inaccuracy and a kind of gender-profiling which we are still trying to evolve beyond. However, he came nearer the mark when he wrote “One glance at it and the troubles of our human existence disappear and the whole world is fresh and bright again.” It is astonishing that Schubert – in dire financial straits and his health already entering its final decline – could still produce such life-affirming music.
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Tuesday, August 17 The Daniel and Margaret Carper Foundation
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A Montrose Foray
Friday, August 20 at 7:30 pm
Saturday, August 21 at 5:30 pm
Fanny Mendelssohn (1805-1847) – Allegro molto vivace from Piano Trio in D minor, Op. 11
Fanny Mendelssohn was born, raised, and educated in the same comfortable, cultured household as her brother Felix. They received the same musical education and Fanny showed considerable talent both as a pianist and composer early on. Her musical talent was encouraged by her family, but any musical ambitions she may have had were not – nor by society in general. When some of Felix’s fairly early songs were published, Fanny – with her brother’s connivance – slipped a few of her own songs into the set under Felix’s name. No one questioned their quality or inclusion. In 1829 she married artist Wilhelm Hensel, who not only appreciated her talent, but supported her desire to compose professionally. In 1846 Fanny finally had her Opus 1 – a group of songs – published. Just a few months later she died of a stroke. Felix was devastated by her death and died himself just a few months after his beloved sister.
The D-minor piano trio was written in the last year of her life. It is a powerful work with the same sense of urgent forward momentum found in so much of Felix’s instrumental music. The first movement surges with tempestuous passion, but is blended with tender lyricism as well. The second theme of this sonata-allegro movement is particularly charming. Towards the end of the movement, without ever changing the tempo, she creates a greater sense of urgency, with nearly perpetual octaves from the piano and fast scale-based patterns for the strings bringing it to an exciting conclusion.
In her lifetime, few appreciated the high quality of her music. Within a few years of her death several more of her compositions were published, and over the decades since, her name has been remembered but her work has had only a small handful of champions. From the late 20th century onward this has changed, and now there are numerous recordings of her songs and chamber music.
David Baker (1931-2016) – Boogie Woogie from Roots II
Born in Indianapolis, David Baker was a jazz musician through and through. He worked as a trombone player until a car accident in the 1950s that affected his embouchure (positioning of the mouth on the mouthpiece of a wind or brass instrument), at which point he switched to the cello. Later in life he continued performing and composing, and increasingly turned to music education, founding the jazz school at the University of Indiana in Bloomington. He received numerous commissions, honors, and awards throughout his life.
Two of the commissions he received were from the Beaux Arts Trio. In 1978 he wrote a piano trio for them simply called Roots, and in 1992 the five-movement suite Roots II. Boogie-woogie only provides a starting point for the fourth movement of the suite. Like several other composers in this year’s Festival, Baker derives thematic and motivic material from an external source (not in this case an actual song, but simply a musical style) and creates something all his own. There is a kind of “openness” – suggestive of vast expanses of uninhabited land – in some of the string writing, which links to a similar quality found in the music of Copland, Roy Harris, and a number of other American composers. There are still moments where jazz “breaks out,” though, and elements of boogie-woogie piano style lurk in the piano part – especially the bass.
Rebecca Clarke (1886-1979) – Andante molto semplice from Piano Trio in E-flat minor
Rebecca Clarke was born in Harrow, England, to an American father and a German mother. She began studying violin at an early age, later switching to the viola. She was the first woman to become a student of composer Charles Villiers Stanford. She had to leave her studies at the Royal College of Music when her father cut off her funds. (She had confronted him about his extra-marital affairs.) Thereafter, she supported herself and her composing career for many years by working as a violist – one of the first women to regularly work in England as an orchestral musician. She later spent several years living in the United States. In 1921 her piano trio in E-flat minor was well-received in a competition sponsored by Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge, but failed to receive top prize. (Two years earlier, a similar result in another competition sponsored by Coolidge demonstrated at least some of the forces at work. The earlier competition was won by Ernest Bloch. Some listeners seem to have suspected that Clarke’s viola sonata – her entry in the 1919 competition – was also by Bloch. In other words, they liked the music, but didn’t want it to have been written by a woman.) At the outbreak of World War II, Clarke was in the United States. Unable to get back to England, she made the United States her home for the rest of her life, marrying pianist and composer James Friskin.
The second movement of her Piano Trio in E-flat minor is a splendid example of both the skill and appeal of her music. All three instruments play in hushed tones throughout the movement – literally so in the case of the strings, which are muted. There is a calm, somewhat elegiac mood about the opening of the movement. The center of the movement is a nocturnal, moonlit scene after which the elegiac mood returns but with a touch of sourness. At the end of the movement the violin intones a brief solo – rather like a sad version of a children’s song – before the concluding major chords provide some relief from a feeling of quiet desolation.
Mieczyslaw Weinberg (1919-1996) – Toccata from Piano Trio in A minor, Op. 24
Mieczyslaw Weinberg’s music remains little-known to a wider classical music audience in the West. It simply can’t be described as “easy listening” in any way, and it’s understandable that even larger orchestras (for instance) might be hesitant to risk it. Nevertheless, attention to his music has slowly grown over the last few decades. Born in Poland, Weinberg moved to the Soviet Union at the age of twenty and lived there for the rest of his life. For much of his life there, his music was ignored by musical officials and performing ensembles, although he did not escape condemnation in the “Zhdanov Decree” (it’s a long story) of 1948. In 1953 he was arrested for suspicion in “The Doctor’s Plot.” This was a conspiracy theory concocted by Stalin and his cronies as a way of pursuing their anti-Semitic policies (another long story). Stalin’s death a month later almost certainly saved Weinberg from a prison term in a gulag, if not worse.
Similarities in the music of Weinberg and Shostakovich have been often noted – justifiably so. But Weinberg employs a more extended use of tonality even than the senior composer (who was Weinberg’s friend, mentor and defender) and is less given to musical irony (or much musical humor at all). The Toccata from the 1945 Piano Trio is a hard-driving moto perpetuo that never lets up in intensity. Is it pretty? Probably not. Will you get an adrenaline rush? You bet.
Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924) – Piano Quartet No. 1 in C minor, Op. 15
This quartet was written in the wake of the collapse of Gabriel Fauré’s engagement to Marianne Viardot, daughter of the famous singer Pauline Viardot. There are none of the pastel colors of, say, the incidental music to Pelleas et Mélisande or the celebrated Pavane. This is hot-blooded music in a rich, romantic vein. The quartet opens with a splendid orchestral texture – strings stating the main theme with punctuating chords from the piano. Throughout the movement, the strings stay in close harmony or unison, frequently in their lower ranges. Contrasting with this is the inventive piano writing – particularly Fauré’s use of arpeggiated figures – a lifelong characteristic of his piano writing. The sparkling Scherzo follows. (Fauré might be offended, but I can never hear this movement without the image of one or more kittens playing with a ball of yarn coming to mind.) The Adagio slow movement begins in a mood of subdued grief, but builds in eloquence and power before subsiding to a quiet close. The final movement opens in the home key of C minor but is full of lively skipping rhythms and more rippling arpeggios from the piano. Eventually, the piano begins what sounds like a cadenza but is soon joined by the strings for a lengthy modulation to C major. The movement ends in a brilliant burst of virtuosity – a relative rarity for Fauré.
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Chamber Music on Lopez Island: From Bach to Beethoven
Sunday, August 15 at 3:00 pm
Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) – Concerto No. 1 in D minor, BWV 1052 for keyboard and strings
Bach left us seven concertos for keyboard and strings, but two of these are arrangements of his own violin concertos and one is an arrangement of the 4th Brandenburg Concerto. It is now widely believed that several – if not all of the others – were also arrangements of violin concertos by Bach, which have now been lost. (This has led to a whole “reconstruction” industry, yielding numerous recordings of these “virtual” violin concertos by Bach.)
The three movements of this concerto are in a fairly standard format for Baroque concertos, although Bach “works out” his thematic material at some length, making the concerto a little longer than usual for the era. The first movement is essentially monothematic, but Bach seems to be having great fun coming up with new kinds of figuration and passagework for the soloist. Much of this figuration is of a style which at least seems to suggest violin-writing, providing some evidence to support the theory that this was originally a violin concerto. The second movement continues in a serious mood. A short introduction for the strings alone leads to the aria-like entry of the soloist, whose part becomes increasingly florid as the movement proceeds. The final movement is still in D minor, but has a dance-like quality which – the minor key notwithstanding – provides a real sense of rhythmic buoyancy and joy in the music.
As eminent a musician and scholar as Albert Schweitzer thought that these keyboard concerto arrangements (assuming that is what they are) were made with incredible “haste and carelessness,” but their strong themes, lively rhythms, and even opportunities for virtuosic display have endeared them to musicians and audiences. The D minor concerto is, in fact, the earliest solo keyboard concerto to have a won a permanent place in the standard repertoire.
Johan Halvorsen (1864-1935) – Sarabande con Variazioni, for Violin and Viola
It’s not Edvard Grieg’s fault that most Norwegian composers after him have had to live more or less in his shadow. Although some of these composers and their music are well-known in Scandinavia, orchestras and recording companies elsewhere still have a lot of exploring to do. In Johan Halvorsen’s case, he is inextricably linked to Grieg. The latter – 20 years Halvorsen’s senior – was a friend and mentor, and Halvorsen married Grieg’s niece. Halvorsen had a long and successful career. Before the age of 30, he variously worked as a concertmaster in Bergen and Aberdeen, played in the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra, taught music in Helsinki, and continued his own musical studies in St. Petersburg, Leipzig, Berlin, and Liège. Much of his later career was as a conductor, particularly with the Oslo (then known as “Kristiania”) Philharmonic.
In the Sarabande con Variazioni, Halvorsen uses the sarabande (a slow dance in triple-meter) from one of Handel’s keyboard suites. The variations pursue the usual course of gradual intensification of rhythm and tempo. At the center of the whole piece lies a variation in the form of a very leisurely, sentimental waltz. After this the process of intensification begins again, culminating in the final sequence of variations, which elevate the music to a level of quasi-orchestral brilliance and sonority.
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) – Septet in E-flat Major, Op. 20 for winds and strings
The Septet is written on a grand symphonic scale. Mozart had written chamber pieces for mixed winds and strings, but they usually received the name Divertimento or Serenade and were essentially used as background music (some background!) at social functions. Beethoven was loath for his music to be anyone’s aural wallpaper. He intended this as concert music.
The 1st, 2nd, 5th, and 6th movements of the septet function as the four movements of a classical symphony. This “virtual symphony” (i.e., just those four movements) is a little longer than Beethoven’s own First Symphony, suggesting the importance he attached to this composition. Nevertheless, the Septet finds Beethoven in very good humor. The 3rd movement is an old friend of many an amateur pianist: a reworking of the modest minuet from Beethoven’s G Major piano sonata, Op. 49 no. 2. Minor key passages occur in some movements, but episodically or in the course of modulation. The sole exception to this is the minor-key fourth variation in the 4th movement. This theme and variations entertains more and philosophizes less than usual for Beethoven, but that fourth variation hovers on the edge of a shadowy and slightly terrifying world. The Scherzo restores not only Beethoven’s good humor, but is full of his special kind of musical laughter – the tone set by the jolly hunting calls passed between horn and bassoon at the outset.
All the instruments except the double bass have their moments in the foreground, but the clarinet and violin carry the bulk of the thematic presentation, with a virtuosic cadenza for the latter, before the recapitulation of the finale. While exploring instrumental color was never Beethoven’s primary interest, he was too good a composer not to have used the instrumentation to create the many rich sonorities which this combination of instruments is capable of. From its premiere in 1801 (on a concert that included the contemporaneous First Symphony), the Septet has remained one of Beethoven’s most endearing and enduring works – a fact which rather irked the composer during his lifetime – he thought he had done much better work after he had written it.
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