TSM House Programme July 13-20

PROGRAMME NOTES
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)
Duo No. 1 in G major for violin and viola, K. 423
In 1782, Mozart hastily married Constanze Weber, much to his
father’s consternation. In an attempt to smooth things over, in the
summer of 1783, he brought Constanze to Salzburg so she and his
father could meet. During that visit it seems that Mozart agreed, as a favour, to help
Michael Haydn, sidelined by illness, finish a commission for six duos for violin
and viola for the Archbishop Colleredo. Mozart wrote two; now identified in his
catalogue as K. 423 and K. 424. As Mozart biographer Maynard Solomon notes wryly,
“we can imagine Mozart’s amusement at the thought of the archbishop unwittingly
enjoying the music of his former concertmaster.”
Their diminutive scoring notwithstanding, Mozart’s duos are perfect specimens of
the Classical style: a fusion of polyphony, homophony, and clearly-etched phrase
structure. The two instruments, treated as equals, imitate and accompany one
another continually, as if competing for the listener’s attention, though, admittedly,
the viola anchors the texture with a solid bass line. Because traditional harmony is
governed by the triad—a chord built with two stacked thirds—simulating three parts
with just two, in a satisfying way, presents a formidable challenge. Mozart manages it
in part by relying on double-stopping, but more significantly by masterful handling
of counterpoint combined with swiftly broken chords; an approach not far removed
from that taken in his thin-textured keyboard sonatas. Nor are these duos lightweight
in sentiment: the otherwise upbeat rondo finale of the first, for instance, takes an
extended, melancholic, minor-inflected detour, replete with Mozart’s trademark
expressive chromaticism and intensified by imitative counterpoint in stretto.
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Sonata No. 7 in C minor for violin and piano, Op. 30 No. 2
In a letter to his friend Franz Wegeler on June 29, 1801, Beethoven
confessed that he was going deaf. It is a long letter that reveals many
facets of his character. Mixed in with the pain, however, is also pride
at his growing success. He reports that six or seven publishers compete hungrily for
his latest compositions. In fact, he is so “pleasantly situated” that he can even afford
to compose for charity: “For instance, I see a friend in need and it so happens that
the state of my purse does not allow me to help him immediately; well then, I have
only to sit down and compose and in a short time I can come to his aid.” The social
implications of his ailment drove him to work ever harder. “I live entirely in my
music,” he explained, “and hardly have I completed one composition when I have
already begun another. At my present rate of composing, I often produce three or
four works at the same time.”
Among his works of that year are the three Op. 30 sonatas for violin and piano
dedicated to Alexander I, Tsar of Russia. To Mozart, Beethoven owed a great debt. In his
violin sonatas, Mozart had perfected the craft of devising thematic material that suited
both instruments equally well, thus permitting motives to be fluidly exchanged. This,
Beethoven readily assimilated. But Mozart’s mastery of the genre forced Beethoven to
break new ground, and with the C minor sonata, Op. 30, No. 2, he did just that.
Noting the “grandeur and symphonic scope” of Op. 30, No. 2, the famous Hungarian-American
violinist Joseph Szigeti observed: “It is the power of the dramatic message
that seems to lead Beethoven to these utterly new instrumental formulae, these
torrential scales, staccato-martellato passages, the superimposition of long, plaintive
lines into subterranean rumblings in the bass.” Indeed, the Allegro con brio begins with
an incisive motive, echoed by the violin and punctuated by bass growls, that is followed
by a sprightly dotted-rhythm second theme. The movement proceeds in brilliant
imitative counterpoint and with grueling intensity. In the Adagio cantabile, this forward
drive finds expression in the increasingly agitated episodes. In the Scherzo, the violin
draws attention to itself with noisy unison double-stops involving the open E string.
Weak-beat accents in the Trio cause a curious rhythmic imbalance. The concluding
Allegro opens with a bass rumble that drives this rousing finale to a triumphant close.
The lightness of the outer movements’ secondary themes recalls Mozart; but the forceful
principal motives, and their stormy development, are pure Beethoven.
Beethoven composed two more sonatas for a total of ten. Of these, the C minor
Op. 30, No. 2, along with the two sonatas that flank the set—Op. 24 “Spring” and
Op. 47 “Kreutzer”—are performed most often. Szigeti recounts an amusing
anecdote concerning a performance of the C minor sonata. One night, on a tour of
Germany in 1853 with the young Johannes Brahms, the famous Hungarian violinist
Eduard Reményi found the piano to be tuned too flat for his violin. And so, with little
fuss, the twenty year-old Brahms, in a typically Mozartean manoeuvre, transposed
the piano part up a semi-tone—on the fly.
Anton Arensky (1861-1906)
Piano Trio No. 1 in D minor, Op. 32
In 1894, Rachmaninov’s former composition teacher, Arensky,
completed his First Piano Trio (he wrote a second in 1905). The
D minor trio, in which comingle his gift for melody, fluid piano
writing and impeccable craft, ranks among the most enduring of his large-scale
works. Its lyrical and romantic first movement is bathed in broken chords in the
piano, a sumptuous texture that recalls Mendelssohn’s trios. The German’s elfin
style even pervades the scherzo, which charms with sprightly ricochet figures, feather-light
harmonics, pizzicato, and dainty piano arabesques. The contrasting inner
section waxes lyrical against a sauntering accompaniment. The Elegy, with strings
muted, pays tribute to the memory of the work’s dedicatee, the cellist Karl Davydov.
More nostalgic than melancholic—and in the central section, more airy than
weighty—Arensky clearly wished to evoke pleasant memories of a great musician.
A sentimental melody, first heard in the cello, tempers the fire with which the
concise finale opens. A pause allows the strings to don mutes whereupon they
revisit that dreamy music from the Elegy, now in D major, rising in sequence by thirds.
Another pause. And now a memory from a still more distant past: a quotation of the
first movement’s ascending theme but slowed down into an Adagio. A brief coda
deftly rekindles the fire.
Copyright © 2017 Robert Rival. Robert Rival is a composer, music writer & teacher. robertrival.com
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