Ludwig van Beethoven - Sonata No. 10 in G, Op. 96 for violin and piano
In 1812, the year Beethoven composed his tenth and final violin sonata, he wrote in his diary, "Everything that is called life should be sacrificed to the sublime and be a sanctuary of art." The sublime tenderness of the G Major Sonata may surprise those expecting the fist-shaking defiance of his Fifth Symphony or the turbulence of the Appassionata piano sonata. Here we encounter a "kinder, gentler" Beethoven, passing from his heroic middle period into a more ruminative, profound late period. In this piece, pain and struggle recede and are replaced by an intimate, pastoral warmth.
Dedicated to his devoted patron Archduke Rudolf, the piece was premiered in December of that year with the Archduke at the piano. The violinist was the Frenchman Pierre Rode, once considered the finest of his time but, in 1812, somewhat past his prime. Rode's advancing age may have dictated a less vigorous work than Beethoven's previous violin sonata, the monumental "Kreutzer" of 1803. But the gentle, musing atmosphere of Op. 96 is more probably an outgrowth of Beethoven's evolving inner life.
The first movement begins with a rustling, feathery trill, establishing the pastoral tone of the sonata. A jauntier second theme does little to disturb the overall serenity of the exposition. Themes unfold in an instinctive, stream-of-consciousness manner. At times the music seems to hover, circle around, and wander down unexpected paths, which become, in turn, the bases for further explorations.
The warm, hymn-like second movement, marked "slow and expressive," is one of Beethoven's most beautiful Adagios. A flowing, tranquil stream of melody is couched in rich, chorale-like harmonies. The peaceful movement concludes with a moment of suspended animation before diving into the more agitated third movement, a minor key Scherzo. Though distinguished by syncopated, end-of-the-bar accents, the music never becomes brusque. The Scherzo alternates with a graceful, waltzing Trio set over a bagpipe drone, again reinforcing the work's pastoral character.
Beethoven wrote to the Archduke, "I have not hurried unduly to compose the last movement, as in view of Rode's playing I have had to give thought to the composition of this movement. In our finales we like to have fairly noisy passages, but R does not care for them - and so I have been rather hampered." Beethoven finally settled on a genial, folk-like melody as the basis for an unconventional set of variations. Four increasingly active variations lead to a prolonged, expressive Adagio, somewhat reminiscent of the atmosphere of the second movement. Eloquent instrumental exchanges are interrupted by dreamy, chromatic piano cadenzas. The initial theme eventually returns, leading to a boisterous section that is interrupted by a quiet, mysterious canon before returning to the original theme. The listener is surprised by a short, final Adagio, after which the violin and piano regain their resolve and sprint to an unbridled, joyous conclusion.
John Novacek - Four Rags for Two Jo(h)ns for clarinet and piano
John Novacek writes:
American music may well force upon us the futility of certain distinctions: "popular" and "serious", "folk" and "culivated". Case in point, ragtime, that complex hybrid of black dance tunes filtered through the procedures of the polka, march, and white minstrel song. Classic ragtime flourished from 1895 to 1915 when a number of talented pianists gathered at Tom Turpin's Rosebud Cafe in St. Louis. The greatest was Scott Joplin (1868-1917), whose infectiously syncopated marches conceal a solid compositional technique. Inspired by the Joplin revival of the 1970s (itself spurred by the soundtrack to the film The Sting), I found playing and composing rags habit-forming, and the habit persists. My own rags show various influences: classic ragtime, the classical showpiece, and stride (the highly embellished, virtuosic offshoot of ragtime practised by Harlem pianists James P. Johnson and Fats Waller).
The Four Rags for Two Jo(h)ns were written at the insistence of clarinetist Jon Manasse and pianist Jon Nakamatsu. I'm mightily grateful to them for the pressure they exerted, for they play the set with virtuosity, panache, and an uncanny feel for the idiom, and I am delighted that they'll be recording the rags for Harmonia Mundi later this year. This afternoon, I'll do my best in filling Mr. Nakamatsu's spot on the piano bench.
Max Bruch - Andante con moto in C# Minor, Op. 83 for clarinet, cello, and piano
A brilliant child prodigy, Max Bruch began composing at the age of nine. By his early teens he had completed his first symphony, and his reputation as a precocious talent had spread across Europe. As an adult, Bruch was renowned as a conductor, teacher, and the composer of major operatic, symphonic, choral and chamber works. At his height, many saw him as destined to be remembered as one of history's greatest composers.
And yet, by the time he died in 1920, Bruch's reputation had receded precipitously. His output had been long overshadowed by his Romantic contemporaries, Brahms, Dvorak, and Tchaikovsky, and he lived to see himself become something of a musical anachronism. His relative obscurity at the end of his life was due largely to his conservative nature. Early in his career Bruch modeled his compositions after those of Mendelssohn and Schumann. As he grew older, he stubbornly refused to embrace the musical language of such revolutionaries as Liszt, Wagner, Strauss, and Schoenberg. Indeed, many of his final works sound as if they could have been composed sixty years before.
Taken on it own terms, though, Max Bruch's music is melodious, masterfully crafted, and fully deserving of being heard. His two most popular works are his G Minor Violin Concerto and Kol Nidrei, a work for cello and orchestra based on Hebrew melodies. The 1910 trio for clarinet, cello (or viola), and piano, Andante con moto in C# Minor, Op. 83, is one of a set of eight pieces for this combination that he dedicated to his son, a professional clarinetist. These pieces were not intended to be performed as a suite; Bruch wrote them to be played separately or in smaller groupings.
The C# Minor trio highlights Bruch's extraordinary melodic and dramatic gifts. Though not specifically programmatic, the piece seems to tell a story. The cello begins with an agitated lament, suggesting the image of a suffering penitent. After a minute or so, the clarinet responds with a soothing hymn, like the voice of a consoling angel. The two protagonists continue to alternate in their contrasting worlds until the clarinet finally prevails, gently drawing the cello into a heavenly resolution.
The C# Minor trio highlights Bruch's extraordinary melodic and dramatic gifts. Though not specifically programmatic, the piece seems to tell a story. The cello begins with an agitated lament, suggesting the image of a suffering penitent. After a minute or so, the clarinet responds with a soothing hymn, like the voice of a consoling angel. The two protagonists continue to alternate in their contrasting worlds until the clarinet finally prevails, gently drawing the cello into a heavenly resolution.
Felix Mendelssohn - Trio No 2 in C Minor, Op. 66 for violin, cello, and piano
Felix Mendelssohn was born 200 years ago into a wealthy, German Jewish family. His grandfather was the celebrated philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, and his father, Abraham, was a successful banker. Raised in Berlin, Felix and his beloved sister Fanny were both formidable child prodigies, brought up in a rich cultural milieu where their talents could flourish. Mendelssohn's remarkable musical abilities were encouraged by his loving parents, who enabled him to hear his early pieces performed at home by a private orchestra for their associates, who included the intellectual elite of Berlin. By his middle teens Mendelssohn was composing works of stunning maturity and originality. His Octet for Strings and Overture to A Midsummer Night's Dream, composed at 16 and 17 respectively, rank among his most celebrated and popular works.
In addition to his compositional talent, Mendelssohn was blessed with a warm, benevolent personality and a wide range of extra-musical enthusiasms. His close friend, the conductor/composer Sir Jules Benedict wrote of him, "In society, apart from musical subjects, nothing could be more entertaining or animated than Mendelssohn's conversation on literary topics. The works of Shakespeare and other eminent British poets were quite as familiar to him as those of his own country; and, although his accent was slightly tinctured by his German origin, he spoke as well as wrote the English language with great facility and purity. He sketched from nature and also painted very well; and, indeed, he might be said to possess every social accomplishment."
Among his many enthusiasms was a lifelong passion for the music of Johann Sebastian Bach. Mendelssohn made history as a conductor when, at the age of 20, he presided over a performance of Bach's St. Matthew Passion, the first major European revival of Bach's long-neglected music. Mendelssohn's love of Bach is reflected in the noble chorale tune that dominates much of the final movement of the Piano Trio in C Minor.
His second piano trio, Op. 66, was completed in 1845, two years before the end of his short life. The piece is laid out on a large scale, featuring soaring, lyrical melodies and intricate, virtuosic passagework for the three instruments. Mendelssohn, who played piano in the first performances, was joined by the famous violinist/composer Louis Spohr, to whom the piece is dedicated.
The first movement starts in a restless, urgent hush, the mysterious atmosphere propelled by rapidly rising and falling figures in the piano. This section eventually gives way to a sunnier, more rhapsodic duet for violin and cello. The atmosphere vacillates between emotional poles, culminating in a stormy, C minor coda.
In contrast to the agitation of the first movement, Mendelssohn offers a warmly reassuring Song Without Words in E-flat major as the basis of the second movement. Throughout his life Mendelssohn composed Lieder ohne Worte for solo piano, often as gifts to his sister Fanny. This movement begins with a glowing piano solo, strongly reminiscent of the style of these intimate works, and continues with a gentle, lilting duet for violin and cello.
The adjective "Mendelssohnian," signifying youthfulness and gossamer, fairyland textures, is well-applied to the third movement, a minor key Scherzo, which Mendelssohn himself described as "a trifle nasty to play." The brisk, sparkling music provides challenges for all of the instrumentalists but particularly the pianist. Like many of Mendelssohn's scherzos, the short movement whizzes along at breakneck speed, finally vanishing down a misty, pizzicato-strewn path.
The spirited finale strings together a series of contrasting themes, beginning with a sweeping cello melody in C minor. The most striking of the themes is the noble, chorale-like third episode. Although the tune is apparently of Mendelssohn's own invention, it is similar in atmosphere and harmonization to many of Bach's chorales. The movement builds to a crowning restatement of the chorale tune in a glorious C major, bringing the piece - and Parlance Chamber Concerts' second season - to a grand, celebratory conclusion.
