December 15, 2024: THE VIRTUOSO FLUTIST. DENIS BOURIAKOV, FLUTE. A RECITAL FOR FLUTE AND ORCHESTRA, with Erin Bouriakov, Flute. Musicians From The New York Philharmonic. Michael Parloff, Conductor. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) Andante in C, K. 315 for flute and orchestra December 15, 2024: THE VIRTUOSO FLUTIST. DENIS BOURIAKOV, FLUTE. A RECITAL FOR FLUTE AND ORCHESTRA, with Erin Bouriakov, Flute. Musicians From The New York Philharmonic. Michael Parloff, Conductor. The lovely Andante in C major is considered a product of the Ferdinand Dejean commission (see above)—possibly a substitute for the slow movement of the G major Flute Concerto or as the slow movement of a third but abandoned concerto. Based on the paper type of the undated manuscript, scholars suggest a date of 1779 or 1780—just one or two years after Mozart furnished Dejean with the G major Concerto and the D major Concerto (adapted from the Oboe Concerto). However, the suggestion that Mozart composed the Andante because Dejean had requested a simpler movement for the G major Concerto does not stand up to scrutiny, since Dejean has been shown to be a very talented amateur. Further, we have seen that paper types, whose watermarks were sometimes forged, can be misleading in some dating. Whatever Mozart intended with the Andante, we are fortunate to have this lyrical gem, which has won its own place as a stand-alone concert piece. The movement unfolds in three sections, A-B-A, separated by orchestral interludes. In the final section Mozart provides the flutist with the opportunity to improvise a cadenza before the final utterance of the main theme. —©Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

June 19, 2022 – Zukerman Trio LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN (1770–1827) Piano Trio in E-flat (“Archduke”), Op. 97 June 19, 2022 – Zukerman Trio Archduke Rudolph, sixteenth and youngest son of Emperor Leopold II, may have been Beethoven’s most important patron in many ways. A talented musician, he met Beethoven in the winter of 1803–04 and studied piano, theory, and composition with him for over twenty years—at times he was Beethoven’s only pupil. Beethoven dedicated more compositions to him than to any other patron; counted among the most important of these eleven works are the Fourth and Fifth Piano Concertos, Les adieux Piano Sonata, the Hammerklavier Sonata, the Missa solemnis, and the only work that bears an informal reference to Rudolph as its nickname, the Archduke Piano Trio. It was Rudolph who established an annuity for the composer that also involved Prince Kinsky and Prince Lobkowitz, though Rudolph was the only donor able to maintain his financial share for the long term. Rudolph also helped Beethoven over difficult patches in his tumultuous relationship with his nephew Karl and in the related custody litigations. Rudolph produced a constant stream of compositions, many of them variations on themes by Beethoven, who once asked him if he planned on covering all the rooftops in Hietzing (the district where Beethoven lived) with variations. If Beethoven sometimes seemed irked by his “little Archduke,” whom as an orphan and epileptic he pitied on some level, the benefits of his association far outweighed the irritations. Beethoven made sketches for the Archduke Trio in 1810, completing it in March 1811. As it turns out, it was to be his last full-fledged piano trio, though he did compose a one-movement Allegretto in B-flat major in 1812 and made a few sketches for an F minor trio in 1816. The Archduke was not performed, however, until April 11, 1814, at a noontime military charity concert organized by violinist Ignaz Schuppanzigh. Beethoven played the piano part, as he did again several days later—his last appearance as a chamber music performer. Publication was even further delayed, until 1816. One of the supreme masterpieces of the piano trio literature, the Archduke derives its monumental architecture not from heroic motives developed with intense contrasts, but from “the development of broad, moderately paced, and flowing melodies” (Maynard Solomon). “The practice results,” he continues, “in a sense of calm spaciousness, and measured nobility of rhetoric.” This spaciousness begins at the outset with a quiet, singing, chordal theme for the piano—the only opening for piano alone of all his piano trios. The violin and cello enter tenderly and the whole spinning out of ideas sets a scene of calm nobility. The second theme provides contrast with its staccato chords but soon opens out into flowing melody and cascading runs of fast notes. A fanfare motive from the closing theme carries over to begin the development, which nevertheless spends most of its time exploring aspects of the first theme. A lovely sense of anticipation is created in the development’s ultra-quiet section when the strings play an extended pizzicato passage with the piano in trills and delicate rising thirds. Beethoven makes a wonderfully mysterious transition to the recapitulation, which proceeds along regular lines. Out of the grandeur of the main theme’s appearance in the coda Beethoven creates an exciting build-up to the finish. The composer places an imaginative Scherzo as his second movement. Its disarmingly simple main theme gives no hint of its extended structure—scherzo-trio-scherzo-trio-scherzo—a five-part form similar to that of the scherzo in his Seventh Symphony. Most surprising here, however, is the positively eerie chromatic unfolding of the trio. The contrast of the trio’s lusty second theme could not be greater. The coda brings back the sinuous chromaticism yet again only to end forcefully with a bit of the main theme. For his slow movement Beethoven fashioned a rich, hymnlike theme, which he provided with four connected variations. These follow the Classic concept in which the rhythmic pattern of each employs faster and faster note values. The patterns, though highly individual and mingled with inventive thematic variants in the different voices, all impart a lovely serenity. Beethoven reaches a new level of profundity with the return of the theme, which opens out into a poetic coda that leads without pause into the last movement. The finale bursts in on the listener’s revery with an impudent jolt, much as Beethoven was said to do to shake up his audience while improvising. Nor is that the only surprise he has in store. He humorously lets his refrains take off in unexpected directions in this sonata-rondo and then leads us on a merry adventure in his Prestissimo coda, which contains a jolt or two of its own. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

April 3, 2016: Sir James Galway, flute; Benjamin Beilman and Danbi Um, violins; Mark Holloway, viola; Nicholas Canellakis, cello; Timothy Cobb, bass; Paolo Bourdignon, harpsichord JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Air on the G String (from Suite in D, BWV 1068) for flute, strings, and continuo April 3, 2016: Sir James Galway, flute; Benjamin Beilman and Danbi Um, violins; Mark Holloway, viola; Nicholas Canellakis, cello; Timothy Cobb, bass; Paolo Bourdignon, harpsichord For background on Bach’s Orchestral Suites, see Orchestral Suite No. 2 in B minor. The Third Suite may be the most famous of the four on account of its meltingly beautiful Air. One of the most popular and arranged pieces of all time, it achieved special notoriety through August Wilhelmj’s version for the violin G string (1871). The Air’s binary form—two halves, each repeated—and its “stepping” bass overlaid with a long, sustained melodic line are standard Baroque procedures, but its poignant effect transcends all formulas. James Galway plays its haunting violin part on the flute. Return to Parlance Program Notes

November 2, 2014 – Sharon Isbin, guitar FRANCISCO TÁRREGA (1852–1909) Recuerdos de la Alhambra November 2, 2014 – Sharon Isbin, guitar At the age of ten Tárrega studied classical guitar with Julian Arcas, followed by training at the Madrid Conservatory, where he also studied theory, harmony, and piano. He soon began to teach and at the same time to establish himself as a guitar virtuoso. His international reputation grew after successful appearances in Paris and London in 1880; he was acclaimed as “the Sarasate of the guitar.” Tárrega did much to promote the guitar at a time when the piano had almost completely overshadowed the instrument. He not only composed some eighty original works for the guitar—Recuerdos de la Alhambra, Capricho árabe, and Danza mora are among his best-known solo pieces—but he transcribed over 140 works by other composers for either solo guitar or two guitars. These include pieces by Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Granados, and Albéniz, who once stated that Tárrega’s transcriptions were better than his own piano originals(!). Recuerdos de la Alhambra, a study in tremolo (quick and continuous reiteration of a single pitch), represents Tárrega’s memories of the Alhambra, the citadel and palace at Granada, built by Moorish kings in the thirteenth century. The Alhambra (“the red castle”) stands on a plateau surrounded by a reddish brick wall and is considered one of the finest examples of Moorish architecture in Spain. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

November 19, 2017: Los Angeles Guitar Quartet PAT METHENY Road to the Sun November 19, 2017: Los Angeles Guitar Quartet Guitar is an interesting instrument. Across virtually all genres, it remains an ongoing research project – in the best possible sense. It is an instrument that in general is somewhat undefined by any single approach. There are seemingly infinite ways to deploy the potential of what it offers. And in multiples, those potentials grow exponentially. A few years back, I was flattered to have one of my compositions included in the LAGQ’s Grammy winning CD Guitar Heroes. Not long after that the idea came up that I might someday write something new for them. The idea of writing a guitar quartet inspired by the talents of the LAGQ has been simmering somewhere in the back of my mind ever since. The thought of really addressing the instrument in a more formal way under the auspices of what this quartet has come to embody, not to mention the sheer, almost overwhelming individual skills of the four players, was something I really wanted to do. It was just a matter of finding the time I knew that I would need to do it. Luckily for me, I am very busy as a bandleader and I feel privileged to be able to record and tour almost constantly with my own groups. But after a particularly active year in 2014 where I did more than 150 concerts around the world, I decided, for the first time, to take a year off from the road in 2015. Hopefully, I thought, I could get caught up with a few things. Kind of on my list was this lingering idea of finally writing something for the LAGQ. Near the end of the year, I saw a window opening up where I would have a few weeks that I might dedicate to this. With the approval of the guys and a few really useful tips from all of them, I jumped in, hoping to write a concert piece of 7 to 9 minutes. Two weeks later, I found myself with a nearly 30 minute, 6 movement treatise on the aforementioned potentials of what can happen in a multi-guitar format, blazingly inspired by the thought of hearing these four incredible guitarists play these notes. The piece just literally poured out. In truth, as much as I am identified as being a guitarist myself, I don’t really spend a whole lot of time thinking about the instrument in a specific way. It has always been an almost inadvertent tool for me to translate ideas into sound, and mostly as an improviser at that. And in fact, when I do compose for various projects or for my bands, I almost always am doing it at the piano, a much more forgiving and logical universe to write in than the odd geometry of guitar-thought. But for this piece, I decided to really embrace the instrument and kind of get under the hood of a bunch of things that I do with the instrument, things that are somewhat identified with what it seems has now become my particular style, while at the same time reach for the narrative element of storytelling that is the imperative and primary function for me always as a musician. And yet, with the piece now complete, as much as those components provided an aspirational environment to work from, the main quality that I think the piece offers is the emotional journey that it takes. Somehow through the challenge of writing for this unique platform and aiming it towards the hands of these especially talented players, I was able to get to a very personal area of what music itself is to me. It feels like a journey to me, almost a road trip in scale and scope. In settling on the title “Road to the Sun”, I thought back to my trip up to Glacier National Park on the famous “Going-to-the-Sun Road”, the day after hearing LAGQ play live for the first time at a festival in Montana. It has been a thrill to get the chance to write for the amazing Los Angeles Guitar Quartet and I am very excited to hear what William, Scott, John and Matt will do on their journey with this work. -Pat Metheny February 2016 Pat Metheny: Road to the Sun (2016) was commissioned through the International Arts Foundation, Inc. for the Los Angeles Guitar Quartet by the lead commissioners: Newman Center for the Performing Arts/University of Denver and Krannert Center for the Performing Arts, College of Fine + Applied Arts, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. Additional support provided by co-commissioners: Lobero Theater Foundation, Hopkins Center at Dartmouth College, 92nd Street Y, Performing Arts Series at Johnson County Community College and Soka University of America/Soka Performing Arts Center. Return to Parlance Program Notes

November 20, 2022: Steven Banks, Saxophonist-Composer Xak Bjerken, Piano, Principal Strings of The Met Orchestra ASTOR PIAZZOLLA (1921-1992) Milonga del ángel for alto saxophone and piano November 20, 2022: Steven Banks, Saxophonist-Composer Xak Bjerken, Piano, Principal Strings of The Met Orchestra The tango, which originated in late nineteenth-century Buenos Aires in brothels and urban courtyards, gained ballroom status through its seductive powers, spreading to Paris and other European centers in the early twentieth century. Tangos traditionally featured not only couples dancing in tight embrace with almost violent leg motions, but also melodramatic poetry sung to the accompaniment of solo guitar; or a trio of flute, violin, and guitar (or bandoneon, a square, button-operated accordion); or larger ensembles of strings, bandoneon, and piano. Piazzolla infused the tango with new life following the Second World War, though he was criticized by traditionalists for adding dissonance and extended rhythmic techniques. His style, called nuevo tango, bears certain similarities to bebop and bossa nova, while largely avoiding the improvisations of jazz. Piazzolla helped bring about the even more recent tango renaissance through his many performances and recordings with his own Quinteto Nuevo Tango, which frequently joined with jazz ensembles, chamber groups, and orchestras across the globe. Piazzolla’s tangos are often soulful, expressive pieces that retain a certain melancholy even in their most lively passages. Along the way, delightful little surprises occur, such as bits of counterpoint, glissandos, harmonics, hesitations, a suddenly sweet sonority, a jaunty rhythm, and bursts of improvisatory-sounding but carefully written out figuration. Piazzolla composed a series of “angel” tangos, memorable for their melodic inspirations, in contrast to his diablo (devil) tangos, which feature brash harmonies and rhythms. One of his first “angel” works, Tango del ángel (1957) had inspired Alberto Rodriguez Muñoz’s 1962 play of the same title, for whose production the playwright asked Piazzolla to compose some additional pieces. One of these, Milonga del ángel, takes its name from the song form that was the prototype for the tango genre. Piazzolla himself and countless others have arranged his tangos for various combinations. The saxophone sound in particular has a clear affinity with the reedy sound of Piazzolla’s own instrument, the bandoneon. A sweet nostalgia pervades the opening and closing sections of Milonga del angel, framing a slightly more agitated middle section. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

January 19, 2020: Paul Lewis, piano LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN (1770–1827) Piano Sonata No. 13 in E-flat major, op. 27, no. 1, “Quasi una fantasia” Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor, op. 27, no. 2, “Quasi una fantasia” (“Moonlight”) January 19, 2020: Paul Lewis, piano Beethoven, like Mozart, was famous for his ability to improvise both in formal and informal settings, and his pieces in fantasia style—free form stringing together of inventive figures, rhythmically unfettered gestures, and “strange effects” (often unusual harmonic progressions)—probably originated as improvisations. Previous to his two Opus 27 Sonatas, he and his predecessors Mozart and Haydn had written one-movement, multisectional fantasias or incorporated fantasia passages into sonata movements, but in 1800–01 Beethoven boldly expanded the fantasia idea into an entire multimovement structure. His label “quasi una fantasia ” for his Opus 27 Sonatas reflects this new outlook. In the first of these, the E-flat major Sonata , Beethoven runs all four movements together, making inner connections between movements. Modeled after Mozart’s celebrated C minor Fantasy, K. 475, the wonderfully imaginative E-flat major Sonata has unfortunately been overshadowed by its ultra-famous companion piece, the Moonlight Sonata. Beethoven composed the E-flat Sonata for his pupil and patron Princess Josephine Sophie von Liechtenstein, née Fürstenburg. The first movement unfolds in an unconventional three-part fantasia form, beginning at a novel slow pace with an unassuming air that gives nothing away about the power to come. The contrast with the fast, dancelike middle section is startling. The figuration here suggests Beethoven improvising in fantasia style. The C minor scherzo shows another kind of fantasia figuration—little three-note groups of broken chords in contrary motion. Beethoven evokes the hunt in the contrasting trio. When the scherzo returns, the three-note groups become ingeniously offset between the two hands. The brief slow movement makes its luminous entrance in a new key that holds over a common tone from the close of the previous movement. The graceful opening melody returns in higher register with elaborated accompaniment after a “middle section” in which much of the tune occurs on afterbeats. Beethoven concentrates the weight of the Sonata in this tour-de-force finale, for which he crafted an inspired quasi-contrapuntal main theme and combined sonata and rondo form. In his surprising conclusion he recalls the slow movement in a subtle variant, before dashing off in a presto coda based on the second two notes of his main theme. A discussion of the Moonlight Sonata no longer necessitates a protest against its nickname, which was not attached by Beethoven, but by music critic H.F.L. Rellstab, who likened the first movement to “a boat passing the scenery of Lake Lucerne in the moonlight.” It has also been clear since chronicler Otto Jahn’s conversations in 1852 with the Sonata’s dedicatee, Countess Giulietta Guicciardi, that Beethoven did not have her in mind when composing the work in 1801. Commentators had come to exaggerate a romantic relationship between the two when it was supposed that he wrote the “moonlight” movement as a love song to her. In fact, Beethoven dedicated the Sonata to her in replacement for a dedication (for the Rondo, op. 51, no. 2) that she had let him “take back” for another dedicatee. As it turned out with Countess Guicciardi, Beethoven seems to have followed his typical pattern of bestowing his affections on a lady of high social station until she married someone else. As to “her” C-sharp minor Sonata, Beethoven became annoyed at its immense popularity, stating to composer Carl Czerny, “Everybody is always talking about the C-sharp minor Sonata! Surely I have written better things.” Beethoven’s designation “fantasia” here refers to the hypnotic effect of the slow first movement, which sounds like a free improvisation in its harmonic plan and continuous figuration, though in fact it combines conventions of ternary and sonata form. The middle movement, which Liszt aptly described as “a flower between two abysses,” makes a bow to Classic grace. Its trio emphasizes a rhythmic idea that Beethoven had already introduced in the first section. The devilishly difficult Presto finale presents another kind of fantasia figuration, which with its savage ferocity surely resulted in broken strings on the pianos of Beethoven’s day. The first theme is fashioned from agitated arpeggios that lead to jabbing repeated chords, and though the second theme provides a slight relaxation, the agitated feeling persists in the accompaniment. What is so remarkable about this movement is that its ties to conventional sonata form are completely overshadowed by its radical gestures and textures, features of Beethoven’s improvisational, fantasia style with which he meant to astonish his listeners. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

March 24, 2019: Gilles Vonsattel, solo piano; Paul Huang, violin; Danbi Um, violin; Wen Qian, violin; Kristin Lee, violin; Sarah Crocker Vonsattel, violin; Ming-Feng Hsin, violin; Dov Scheindlin, viola; Pierre Lapointe, viola; Mihai Marica, cello; Edward Arron, cello; Joel Noyes, cello; Tim Cobb, bass JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Piano Concerto in D Minor for BWV 1052 March 24, 2019: Gilles Vonsattel, solo piano; Paul Huang, violin; Danbi Um, violin; Wen Qian, violin; Kristin Lee, violin; Sarah Crocker Vonsattel, violin; Ming-Feng Hsin, violin; Dov Scheindlin, viola; Pierre Lapointe, viola; Mihai Marica, cello; Edward Arron, cello; Joel Noyes, cello; Tim Cobb, bass As the busiest and most important musician in one of the most active musical centers in Germany in the 1730s and ’40s, how did Bach find time to meet all of his obligations? He was serving as director of church music in Leipzig with all the myriad duties that entailed, and he directed the Collegium Musicum, which presented weekly concerts. (For more about the Collegium see the notes for his Double Violin Concerto.) Like many an enterprising composer before and after him, Bach borrowed from materials he had composed earlier to meet the constant demand. For his keyboard concertos he drew on preexisting violin concertos, cantata movements, and harpsichord and organ pieces. Instead of being frowned upon, such borrowing was considered a practical and artful way of providing a great amount of music. He also tapped concertos by other composers, notably Vivaldi, adopting his three-movement model—fast, slow, fast—together with his ritornello form (in which a refrain alternates with episodic excursions). Was Bach aware that he was creating an entirely new genre with his keyboard concertos? His older sons carried the concept to other German centers, and, though too young to have participated in the Collegium concerts, his son Johann Christian brought the genre to London. Mozart, often considered the father of the modern piano concerto, was profoundly influenced by the keyboard concertos of the “London Bach,” whom he greatly admired. Probably the best known of Bach’s keyboard concertos, the D minor Concerto borrowed its first and second movements from Cantata 146: “Wir müssen durch viel Trübsal” (1726–28); the third movement had also been employed as the sinfonia of Cantata 188: “Ich habe meine Zuversicht” (c. 1728). The cantata movements in turn had probably been transcribed from a violin concerto that no longer exists, but which has been reconstructed. The D minor Concerto presents an earnest and dark-hued world. The Allegro opens with a driven theme, played by soloist and tutti (ensemble) strings in unison and octaves, which returns in a developmental episode and then closes with the theme’s final statement in the original key, again in unison and octaves. Bach’s use of a minor key (G minor) for the slow movement further emphasizes the Concerto’s dark color—in his other minor-mode concertos and sonatas the slow movement is usually in a major key. The Adagio is structured on a repeating pattern in the bass (basso ostinato or ground bass) of thirteen measures, which is played in unison and octaves at the opening and again at the close of the movement. The soloist plays a poignant cantilena (lyrical melody) over the intervening presentations of the ground bass. Short passages are introduced between patterns for the purposes of changing from one key to another. A driving rhythmic motive launches and pervades the closing movement. Brief respite from the prevailing relentless quality comes in the form of a cadenza (improvisatory passage for the soloist alone) just before the final statement of the main theme. Bach is said to have liked a very brisk tempo for such movements. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

October 30, 2016: Wu Han, piano; Philip Setzer, violin; David Finckel, cello Ludwig van Beethoven Trio in E-flat, Op. 1, No. 1 October 30, 2016: Wu Han, piano; Philip Setzer, violin; David Finckel, cello Beethoven carefully considered his presentation to the musical world of Vienna. Though he had composed quite a few works by 1795, he chose the three Trios that form Opus 1 as his first publication. He had been sponsored by Elector Maximilian Franz to move from his hometown of Bonn to Vienna at the end of 1792, to study with the great Joseph Haydn and to make his name in a musically more active world. Haydn was writing piano trios at that time, and though Beethoven probably had started work on his trios before he left Bonn, it was natural for him to work on them under the influence of his new teacher. When Haydn left for a sojourn in London in January 1794, Beethoven immediately began studies with Johann Albrechtsberger, which continued for fourteen months until Haydn’s return. A sketch for one of the movements of the G major Trio, op. 1, no. 2, was found among lessons Beethoven had done for Albrechtsberger. The Trios were performed privately in 1794 at the house of Prince Lichnowsky, the dedicatee of the Opus 1 Trios. Ferdinand Ries, later Beethoven’s pupil, reported many years after the fact that Haydn was among the distinguished guests in the audience and that the older composer had many nice things to say about the works, but advised against publishing the Third in C minor, saying the public would have difficulty understanding it. Ries also reported that Beethoven took this to be a sign of jealousy on Haydn’s part. It has been shown more recently that Ries’s account mixed up the chronology and that possible qualms Haydn may have had about the C minor Trio were raised upon his second return from London in 1795, after the Trios had already been published. In response to this and other accounts that Haydn was envious of the younger composer, esteemed musicologist James Webster wrote, “[I]t is inconceivable that the powerful and original genius of Haydn at the height of his powers should have had any difficulty with this work . . . or indeed any of Beethoven’s music of the 1790s, unless for reasons that reflect on Beethoven’s limitations rather than his own.” Furthermore, Webster demonstrated that no irreparable falling out between the two composers occurred in the 1790s, though they did experience a period of distrust between 1800 and 1804. Beethoven may have worked more on the Trios after the 1794 performance and perhaps other performances of them at Prince Lichnowsky’s. But his most likely reason for delaying their publication until 1795 was to build up a following—meaning a sufficient number of subscribers. Like the other Opus 1 Trios and the Opus 2 Piano Sonatas, Beethoven conceived of the E-flat major Trio in four movements, despite the custom of the day to compose chamber works with piano in three movements. Beethoven’s first public utterance, the first theme of the first movement, takes simple repeated chords and upward-rushing arpeggios and makes distinct motives out of them—short “building-block” kinds of motives that remained central to his mature style. Three quiet repeated chords begin the second theme, which stays within a narrow range in contrast to the more ebullient first theme. His sonata-form movement concludes with an extended coda, showing even in his early work the tendency toward substantial codas that begin almost as second development sections. The Adagio cantabile gently follows a rondo scheme as three presentations of the graceful main theme alternate with two contrasting episodes. Beethoven adds ornamental variants with each recurrence of the main theme and subtracts from its total length in the second appearance to make a more concise form. Beethoven wrote a scherzo instead of a minuet for the third movement of his Trio. Haydn had written minuets in fast enough tempos to be considered scherzos and even used the term Scherzo in his Opus 33 Quartets of 1781, but he was not writing scherzos in his piano trios or for that matter giving them a fourth movement. Beethoven’s sense of humor surfaces in the present Scherzo as it merrily begins in a key twice removed from the home key (the dominant of the dominant). The recurring little three-note motive with a grace note contributes to the section’s cheerful character. The Trio certainly changes character and texture, with long sustained notes in the strings supporting quiet legato figures in the piano. A striking leap of a tenth, heard three times, initiates the exuberant Presto Finale, which contains elements of both sonata and rondo form. The second theme, with its arpeggiated then stepwise descent, enters in each instrument in turn—violin, cello, piano, and again in the violin. Beethoven shows a little harmonic ingenuity late in the movement when this theme appears in E major before returning dramatically to the home key of E-flat. Just before the affirmative closing measures he has a bit of fun with his leaping motive. All in all the Trio makes a very assured as well as promising first opus. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

arr. Emilio Pujol/Miguel Llobet November 2, 2014 – Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano; Sharon Isbin, guitar MANUEL DE FALLA (1876-1946) Siete canciones populares españolas arr. Emilio Pujol/Miguel Llobet November 2, 2014 – Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano; Sharon Isbin, guitar In 1907 Spanish composer Manuel de Falla went to Paris, where he formed friendships with Debussy, Dukas, and Ravel that greatly influenced his career. At the time of the Paris production of his opera La vida breve in the winter of 1913–14, a Spanish singer in the cast asked Falla for advice about which Spanish songs she should include on a Paris recital. He decided to arrange some Spanish songs himself using his own system of harmony, which he had just tried out for the harmonization of a Greek folk song that had been requested by a Greek singing teacher. This system stemmed from Falla’s study of Louis Lucas’s L’acoustique nouvelle , a mid-nineteenth-century treatise that he had picked up as a young man in Madrid at an open-air book stall, and which was to influence his later style profoundly. It consisted of deriving harmonies from the natural resonance of a fundamental tone, that is, its harmonics, then using these harmonics as new fundamental tones. Though Falla never lost sight of traditional harmony he claimed that this system, which anticipated harmonic theories of the twentieth century, revolutionized his entire conception of harmony. He completed the Siete canciones (from which various instrumental arrangements were made, often titled Suite populaire espagnole ) in Paris before the outbreak of World War I forced him to return to Madrid in 1914. He did not permit the singer who had sought his advice to perform them on a Spanish-themed program in Paris because of a bad experience he himself had had performing on a similar Spanish program. They were first performed by Luisa Vela (who had just sung in the Madrid premiere of La vida breve ) accompanied by the composer in Madrid on January 14, 1915. The first Paris performance was delayed until May 1920. The songs are dedicated to Madame Ida Godebski, a great friend of Falla; Cipa and Ida Godebski’s famous salon in Paris was a gathering place for many other composers and writers including Roussel, Stravinsky, Ravel, Gide, Valéry, and Cocteau. Falla chose to set seven folk songs from various regions of Spain. García Matos, in his detailed study of Falla’s sources in the Madrid periodical Música in 1953, found that the first and third songs closely follow the folk sources as to the tunes and texts, the second and sixth songs were retouched slightly, the seventh was modified slightly and expanded, the fifth reworked considerably, and the fourth was probably created from a combination of sources. The plaintive “El paño moruno” (The Moorish Cloth) comes from the province of Murcia; Falla later characterized the Murcian miller in Three-Cornered Hat by employing the first fours bars of the song’s bass line. The lively “Seguidilla murciana” takes up a popular Murcian dance form. Its original piano accompaniment imitates a guitar playing in punteado (plucked-sting) style—returned in this arrangement to the instrument of its inspiration. “Asturiana” moves the listener to the North of Spain for a peaceful lament. The passionate “Jota” takes the name of one of the most widely known Spanish song and dance forms, associated with the region of Aragon. Falla employs the characteristic alternation of sections of rapid accompaniment in 3/8 meter with those in a slower tempo for the voice. “Nana” is a lullaby, which Falla said he heard as a child from “his mother’s lips before he was old enough to think.” The tune stems from Andalusia, and as such differs from other Spanish cradle songs because, according to the composer, much Andalusian vocal music originated in India. The geographical origin of the “Canción” is uncertain, although Falla followed the popular theme fairly faithfully according to Matos. At the end a canon between the voice and the accompaniment provides textural interest. The last song, “Polo,” of Andalusian origin, reflects the flamenco or Gypsy world. The original piano accompaniment again evokes the guitar’s punteado style—again returned to its source of inspiration—and the accents represent palmadas (hand-clapping) of the spectators. The songs have been performed far and wide in all manner of arrangements. Ernesto Halffter, student and friend of Falla, orchestrated the accompaniment, and subsequent adaptations have appeared for various instruments taking the vocal part, as well as transcriptions of the piano accompaniment for guitar—here adapted by Miguel Llobet from the version by Emilio Pujol. © Jane Vial Jaffe Texts and Translations Siete canciones populares españolas El paño moruno Al paño fino en la tienda una mancha le cayó por menos precio se vende, porque perdió su valor ¡Ay! Seguidilla murciana Cualquiera que el tejado tenga de vidrio no debe tirar piedras al del vecino. Arrieros semos; ¡puede que en el camino nos encontremos! Por tu mucha inconstancia yo te comparo con peseta que corre de mano en mano; que al fin se borra y creyéndola falsa ¡nadie la toma Asturiana Por ver si me consolaba, arriméme a un pino verde; por verme llorar lloraba. ¡Y el pino, como era verde, por verme llorar lloraba! Jota Dicen que no nos’queremos porque no nos ven hablar; a tu corazón y al mío se lo pueden preguntar. Ya me despido de ti, de tu casa y tu ventana; y aunque no quiera tu madre, adiós, niña, hasta mañana. Aunque no quiera tu madre . . . Nana Duérmete, niño, duerme, duerme, mi alma, duérmete, lucerito de la mañana. Nanita, nana, duémete, lucerito de la mañana. Canción Por triadores, tus ojos, voy a enterrarlos; no sabes lo que cuesta (“Del aire . .”), niña, el mirarlos. (“Madre, a la orilla . . .”) Dicen que no me quieres, ya me has querido . . . váyase lo ganado (“Del aire . . .”) por lo perdido. (“Madre, a la orilla . . .”) Polo Guardo un “ay” Guardo una pena en mi pecho Ay! Que a nadie se la diré! Malhaya el amor, malhaya! Ay! Y quien me lo dió a entender! Ay! Seven Popular Spanish Songs The Moorish Cloth On the fine cloth in the shop there fell a stain; it sells at a cheaper price, for it has lost its worth. Ay! Seguidilla from Murcia Whoever has a roof that is made of glass ought not to throw stones at that of his neighbor. We are the muleteers; perhaps on the road we’ll meet! For your great inconstancy I would compare you to a peseta that passes from hand to hand; which finally gets worn down and, believing it false, no one will take it! From Asturia To see if it would console me I lay under a green pine; it wept to see me weeping. And the pine, because it was green wept to see me weeping! Jota They say we’re not in love because they don’t see us speak; they ought to question instead both your heart and mine. I take my leave of you, of your house and your window; and though your mother forbids it, farewell, sweetheart, till tomorrow. Though your mother forbids it . . Lullaby Go to sleep, child, to sleep, to sleep, my dearest, go to sleep, little star of the morning. Lullay, lullaby, go to sleep, little star of the morning. Song Since your eyes are traitors I’ll bury them; you know not what it costs (“Del aire . . .”), my child, to look at them. (“Madre, a la orilla . . .”) They say you don’t love me, but you loved me once . . . you are the winner (“Del aire . . .”) for having lost me. Polo Ah! I keep a…Ah! I hold a pain in my breast, Ah! that to no one will I tell! Wretched is love, wretched, Ah! And he who gave it to me to understand! Ah! Return to Parlance Program Notes

May 17, 2026: Chee-Yun, violin; Henry Kramer, piano Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) Violin Sonata No. 3 in D minor, Op. 108 May 17, 2026: Chee-Yun, violin; Henry Kramer, piano In 1886 Brahms spent the first of three idyllic summers in the village of Hofstetten in the Swiss mountains where the Aare flows into Lake Thun. He wrote to his publisher Simrock of the wonderful view from his lodging—on one hand the ancient town and castle and on the other the amazing array of mountains of the Bernese Oberland. These inspiring surroundings contributed to his immense productivity that summer: he composed his F major Cello Sonata, his C minor Piano Trio, two of his most beloved songs (“Immer leiser” and “Wie Melodien zieht es mir”), his A major Violin Sonata, and all but the finishing touches of the present D minor Sonata. Unlike that summer’s other three chamber works, which Simrock published the following year, the D minor Sonata remained in manuscript until Brahms completed it during his third Hofstetten summer. In October 1888 he sent the Sonata and over twenty new vocal works to his good friend Elisabet von Herzogenberg, who wrote back in ecstatic terms about the Sonata. To Clara Schumann, another of his closest circle, he wrote that he then felt confident enough to have the work sent on to her—thus braving Clara’s disapproval at not receiving it first—saying she might try it out with Naret Koning and with celebrated violinist Joseph Joachim, their longtime mutual friend. With typical self-doubt he added that if she did not like it, not to bother trying it with Joachim, but send it back. Clara often had rheumatic pains at the time, so she first let her daughter Elise play it through with Koning, pronouncing it “magnificent” and “ravishing” in her diary. Clara played the work privately with Koning in Frankfurt on December 8, 1888, and Brahms tried it out himself at the home of his physician friend Theodor Billroth in Vienna four days later. The composer then gave the first public performance with violinist Jenö Hubay on December 21 in Budapest, where he had gone to conduct his Fourth Symphony. After playing the Sonata again with Hugo Heermann in Frankfurt on January 11, 1889, Brahms performed the work with Joachim in Vienna on February 13. When the Sonata appeared in print that spring, Brahms dedicated it to conductor Hans von Bülow, champion of Brahms’s orchestral works. Thirty-five years earlier Bülow had been the first person, aside from Brahms himself, to perform one of the composer’s works publicly (his Opus 1 Piano Sonata). The D minor Violin Sonata, Brahms’s third and last, shows remarkable scope but also great concision. He cast the work in four movements rather than the three of his G major and A major Sonatas, but so concentrated are his methods that it lasts just over twenty minutes, making it shorter than the G major and the shortest of his four-movement chamber works, except, perhaps, for the C minor Trio. The sense of breadth arises out of his invoking such a wide dramatic range, from intimacy to brilliance. The first movement opens sotto voce (in a hushed voice) with the violin singing high above a restless accompaniment. His quiet, extended theme provides a great foil for the passionate eruption that ensues before the gentle second theme. But the movement’s most striking feature is its development section, which takes place over an insistent pulsing low note in the piano—his longest pedal point since the celebrated one in the third movement fugue of his Requiem. This harmonic anchoring of what would traditionally be a harmonically unstable section led to his ingenious transfer of that adventurousness into the recapitulation. The gorgeous slow movement owes its economy to one of Brahms’s simplest forms—basically a melody and its elaborated restatement. Yet the spacious, lyrical line and the luxurious harmonic flow leave no impression of terseness. Brahms sweetens the intensity of each section’s peak with the violin playing parallel thirds, a sonority he loved, with the added phrase of descending thirds in the second section casting a glow that subsides like a musical sunset. The scherzo begins with a quintessentially Brahmsian combination of playfulness and mystery. An impassioned outburst midway through the movement suggests a contrasting trio, which instead turns out to develop ideas from the first section. The return of the playful opening contains some charming variants and a “puff-of smoke” ending. Brahms’s finale is the most impassioned and vehement movement of any of his violin sonatas, despite his contrasting of the turbulent main theme with a more subdued chorale-like idea begun by the piano alone. The movement’s dramatic qualities have led some to speculate that it may have roots in one of the destroyed sonatas of his youth, written around the time his friendship with Joachim began. The most striking structural feature is the entrance of what seems to be a restatement of the dramatic opening in the home key but which soon turns into development, boasting some of Brahms’s most persistent syncopation. When the recapitulation proper begins, Brahms cleverly picks up just where that earlier restatement left off. His fiery coda demands virtuosity and all-out sound from both players. —©Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

BENJAMIN BEILMAN, VIOLIN Benjamin Beilman is one of the leading violinists of his generation. He has won international praise for his passionate performances and deep rich tone which The New York Times described as “muscular with a glint of violence”, and the Strad described as “pure poetry.“ Le Monde has described him as “a prodigious artist, who combines the gift of utmost sound perfection and a deep, delicate, intense, simmering sensitivity”. Benjamin's 2024/25 season included his debut with the Berlin Philharmonic and Kirill Petrenko on tour in the US, as well as returns to the Chicago Symphony, Cincinnati Symphony, and Antwerp Symphony. He also makes his debut with the Belgian National Orchestra in a performance of Stravinsky’s concerto, and with the Tokyo Metropolitain Symphony performing Korngold. In the US, he also embarked on a recital tour with pianist Steven Osborne. Last season included Benjamin's subscription debut with the Chicago Symphony with Semyon Bychkov, and six weeks of performances in Europe, including concerts with the SWR Symphonieorchester Stuttgart alongside Elim Chan, a return to the Kölner Philharmonie with the Deutsche Radio Philharmonie Saarbrücken, and appearances at the Grafenegg Festival, Festpielhaus St. Pölten, and the Musikverein in Vienna with the Tonkünstler Orchester and Tabita Berglund. He also returned to play-direct the London Chamber Orchestra, and re-united with Ryan Bancroft for his debut with BBC National Orchestra of Wales. Meanwhile, performances in the US included his debut with the St Louis Symphony under Cristian Macelaru, as well as returns to the Minnesota Orchestra with Elim Chan. In past seasons, Benjamin has performed with many major orchestras worldwide including the Chicago Symphony, Philadelphia Orchestra, San Francisco Symphony, Rotterdam Philharmonic, London Philharmonic, Trondheim Symphony, Oslo Philharmonic, Taipei Symphony, Frankfurt Radio Symphony, Zurich Tonhalle, Sydney Symphony, and Houston Symphony. He has also extensively toured Australia in recital under Musica Aviva, and in 2022, became one of the youngest artists to be appointed to the faculty of the Curtis Institute of Music. In recent seasons Beilman’s commitment to and passion for contemporary music has led to new works written for him by Frederic Rzewski (commissioned by Music Accord), and Gabriella Smith (commissioned by the Schubert Club in St. Paul, and the San Francisco Conservatory of Music). He has also given multiple performances of Jennifer Higdon’s violin concerto, and recorded Thomas Larcher’s concerto with Hannu Lintu and the Tonkünstler Orchester, as well as premiered Chris Rogerson’s Violin Concerto (“The Little Prince”) with the Kansas City Symphony and Gemma New. Conductors with whom he works include Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Cristian Măcelaru, Lahav Shani, Krzysztof Urbański, Ryan Bancroft, Matthias Pintscher, Gemma New, Karina Canellakis, Jonathon Heyward, Juraj Valčuha, Han-Na Chang, Elim Chan, Roderick Cox, Rafael Payare, Osmo Vänskä, and Giancarlo Guerrero. Beilman studied at the Curtis Institute of Music with Ida Kavafian and Pamela Frank, and with Christian Tetzlaff at the Kronberg Academy, and has received many prestigious accolades including a Borletti-Buitoni Trust Fellowship, an Avery Fisher Career Grant and a London Music Masters Award. He has also recorded works by Stravinsky, Janáček and Schubert for Warner Classics. He performs with the ex-Balaković F. X. Tourte bow (c. 1820), and plays the “Ysaÿe” Guarneri del Gesù from 1740, generously on loan from the Nippon Music Foundation.