April 26, 2026: Jerusalem String Quartet Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827) Quartet in B-flat, Op. 130 (with the Grosse Fuge) April 26, 2026: Jerusalem String Quartet When Prince Nicholas Galitzin ordered “one, two, or three new quartets” from Beethoven in November 1822, he could hardly have realized that he was instigating a series of works by which all later generations would judge profundity. Beethoven had not completely abandoned the quartet medium during the twelve years since the F minor Quartet, op. 95, but the commission gave him the impetus to turn sketches into finished works. Though the prince may have sensed something new in the first of the quartets (E-flat major, op. 127) and might have raised an eyebrow when the second (A minor, op. 132) appeared with an “extra” march and recitative before the finale, he must have been astounded by the third (B-flat major, op. 130). Composed between August and November 1825 in its original version, the B-flat Quartet began with an outwardly normal first movement only to be followed by a suite of four shorter movements and capped by a fugue of incomprehensible scope and difficulty. The prince pronounced himself pleased with the Quartets, but was only able to make one payment before going bankrupt and joining the army. Too late for Beethoven himself, but in the proper spirit, a son of Galitzin paid with interest what was owed into the Beethoven estate. The ever-faithful Schuppanzigh Quartet premiered the B-flat Quartet on March 21, 1826, and the second and fourth movements had to be encored on the spot to satisfy the clamorous applause. The colossal fugue, however, met with some resistance and the usually headstrong Beethoven was somehow persuaded to detach it and compose another concluding movement. When the Grosse Fuge was published separately as Opus 133 in 1827, Beethoven received as much money as he had previously for the entire Quartet. Though it took approximately a century for quartets to begin playing the B-flat Quartet with its original finale, such performances now predominate. The Quartet opens with an Adagio that soon reveals itself to be more than a traditional slow introduction. Its frequent reappearances provide intense contrast, one of the chief features of this sonata-form movement. One is struck by the almost verbal nature of many of the movement’s utterances—sometimes hesitant, sometimes gushing—which many observers have linked to Beethoven’s overwhelming need to “speak” in his late works. The second violin, for example, has something insistent to say in the first Allegro, something that needs saying in various guises throughout. A breathless, diminutive scherzo bursts on the scene in the tonic minor. A brief dance, a major key trio, a delightfully varied reprise, a bit of coda—all are over almost before they’ve begun. Beethoven decided on “Andante con moto ma non troppo” as the tempo marking for the highly original third movement, which incorporates sighing and melancholy along with a bit of jocularity and wit. The sonata-form structure unfolds with a sense of timelessness and grace, basking in some of Beethoven’s most inventive textures. Jolted from the D-flat major of the preceding movement, the Alla danza tedesca (in the manner of a German dance) begins brightly in the far-removed key of G major. Following its more contrapuntally textured trio, the “tedesca” returns in varied guise. Beethoven toyed with the popular style by adding incredibly detailed dynamic nuances, including a plethora of “hairpins” (localized crescendo/diminuendo markings). One of the movement’s most celebrated passages occurs near the close when the melody is parceled out one bar per instrument with the fragments appearing in the “wrong” order! The Cavatina, one of Beethoven’s most introspective and eloquent pieces, borrows its title from the term for an operatic aria—hence another “verbal” movement. The emotional force of this “prayer” never failed to touch the composer himself. His friend, violinist Karl Holz reported that “the Cavatina was composed amid tears of grief; never had [Beethoven’s] music reached such a pitch of expressiveness, and the very memory of this piece used to bring tears to his eyes.” In an outwardly simple three-part form, the movement climaxes with the heartrending sobs of the first violin—Beethoven marks these “beklemmt ” (oppressed, fearful)—before the condensed reprise of the opening. We have heard less than two-thirds of the Quartet when the Grosse Fuge begins. With this tour de force Beethoven produced, not so much his “Art of Fugue” as many have suggested, but his “Art of Thematic Transformation,” ingeniously clothed in fugal raiment. The extraordinary introduction, Overtura, previews the various incarnations of the main subject in reverse order in a key sequence of fifths. The main body of the Fugue is organized in three “movements.” The first, Allegro, presents a double fugue in which Beethoven develops the jagged countersubject as extensively as the main subject. His notation of the sustained notes of the fugue subject—each pitch written as a pair of tied eighth-notes instead of as a quarter note—continues to provoke discussion on what he meant by this rare form of emphasis. The slow middle “movement,” Meno mosso e moderato, shifts to a rich new key, not for a strict fugue but for a fugato (imitative texture) in which the main subject is treated as a cantus firmus (fixed melody) around which the other parts weave their counterpoint. The “finale” (Allegro molto e con brio) begins with a dancelike section in the original key, based on the main subject, but abruptly shifts into a fugue in a remote key. This unpredictable fugue abounds with modulations and contrapuntal complexities. Beethoven delights in treating mere fragments of the subject. He recalls his slow section—and the introduction in an even more condensed style—and closes his “Art of Thematic Transformation” with a brilliant coda, which despite all its seriousness introduces a touch of levity. —©Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

January 31, 2010 – Greg Anderson and Elizabeth Joy Roe, piano JOHN WILLIAMS / ANDERSON & ROE Three Star Wars Fantasies January 31, 2010 – Greg Anderson and Elizabeth Joy Roe, piano In 2006, The Juilliard School celebrated its centennial year, and among its many celebratory events, one concert was devoted to film music. Held in Lincoln Center’s Alice Tully Hall and dubbed “Cinema Serenades,” the concert featured the premieres of original works composed by six famed film scorers. Among the participants The Juilliard School commissioned: Howard Shore (The Lord of the Rings), Marc Shaiman (The Adams Family and Sleepless in Seattle), and Marvin Hamlisch (Sophie’s Choice and The Way We Were). John Williams, a Juilliard alumnus, also agreed to compose a new piece, but he regretfully withdrew from the project just over a month before the event was to take place. The school still wanted to honor this titan of film music, and being in the right place at the right time, we (the Anderson & Roe Piano Duo) were asked-and more importantly, given the legal permission-to compose and perform a piece based on music from the Star Wars trilogies. In composing our Star Wars Fantasy: Four Impressions for Two Pianos, we took motives from John Williams’ iconic score and constructed an entirely new work. At times, we were reverent to our source material; at others, not so much. The first impression is loosely based on the cantina theme heard in “Episode IV: A New Hope.” If you are very perceptive, you may notice other themes hidden within the texture of the music, such as the “force theme,” Darth Vader and Yoda’s themes, and various battle motives. The second impression is a quasi-minimalist, free-flowing treatment of the “force theme” heard throughout all six Star Wars films, while the third impression is a more literal arrangement of the “March of the Ewoks” from “Episode VI: Return of the Jedi.” The fantasy concludes climactically with a final impression combining musical themes from all six movies into a toccata of dramatic cacophony. Although we were strapped for time (we finished the composition on the day of the concert!), we had a blast creating this piece of music. Among our favorite memories: watching all six Star Wars films in three consecutive days while devouring pizza and Chinese food, discussing and debating musical ideas at the most unnatural hours of night, giving the adrenaline-charged premiere in front of a packed house, and of course, joyously revamping music we love into a creation all our own. By Greg Anderson & Elizabeth Joy Roe Return to Parlance Program Notes

September 29, 2024:Rafael Figueroa, Edward Arron, and Zvi Plesser, cellos; Jeewon Park, piano David Popper (1843-1913) Requiem for three cellos and piano September 29, 2024:Rafael Figueroa, Edward Arron, and Zvi Plesser, cellos; Jeewon Park, piano David Popper, one of the most influential cellists of the nineteenth century, was greatly respected by Liszt, Wagner, and Brahms. Born in Prague in 1843, he showed musical talent at the age of three by imitating his father’s cantorial chanting. After studying cello with Julius Goltermann at the Prague Conservatory, Popper earned great renown through a series of European tours. On the first of these in 1863 he met the influential conductor Hans von Bülow, who not only performed with him, but obtained an appointment for him at the Löwenberg court chapel. Having become principal cellist of the Vienna Hofoper (Court Opera) in 1868, Popper later joined the renowned Hellmesberger Quartet, which premiered several of Brahms’s works. In 1872 Popper married pianist Sophie Menter, pupil of Liszt, but the marriage dissolved fourteen years later. He moved to Budapest in 1896, where he taught at the Budapest Conservatory for the remainder of his life, serving for a time as cellist of the Hubay Quartet. Popper wrote over eighty compositions, mostly for his own instrument, but also some songs and piano pieces. His cello compositions—four concertos, the three-cello Requiem, and many character pieces—are valued for their idiomatic writing and melodic warmth. He composed the Requiem in 1891 after the death of his publisher Daniel Rahter, and premiered the work in London with Jules Delsart and Edward Howell on November 25 that year. Beloved of cellists, the Requiem has held onto a special niche in the repertoire. The work opens with two of the cellos playing in thirds; with the entrance of the third cello it becomes difficult to imagine a richer sound. The one-movement piece offers expressive solos for each of the cellists and even contains a little interlude featuring the piano (or orchestra). The harmonic language shows the late-nineteenth-century ease of modulating by means of chromatic alterations, deceptive resolutions, and borrowed chords. The piece travels through many keys, but on the most basic level it begins in the minor mode, moves to a remote major key (a major third away), and returns to the home key and opening theme, eventually settling into the major mode at the end. Particularly poignant passages occur with the lush suspensions in the remote key area and the chorale-like writing for the cellos just after the concluding turn to the major. —©Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

March 9, 2025: Ravel’s 150th Birthday Concert, with Erika Baikoff, Soprano; Soohong Park, piano Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) Cinq mélodies populaires grecques for soprano and piano March 9, 2025: Ravel’s 150th Birthday Concert, with Erika Baikoff, Soprano; Soohong Park, piano Early in 1904 French musicologist and philologist Pierre Aubry was preparing a lecture on Greek and Armenian folklore entitled “Songs of the Oppressed,” and he asked Greek-born fellow musicologist and critic Michel-Dimitri Calvocoressi to provide some examples from Greece. Singer Louise Thomasset agreed to perform them on short notice, but only with piano accompaniment, so Calvocoressi enlisted the help of his longtime friend Ravel. They selected five folk songs—four out of Pericles Matsa’s Chansons (Constantinople, 1883) and the fifth, “Les cueilleuses de lentisques,” from a Hubert Pernot collection entitled Chansons populaires de l’le de Chio . Ravel came up with the accompaniments in only thirty-six hours—his first foray into folk settings—and the lecture-demonstration duly took place on February 20 at the Sorbonne. The following year Ravel decided that three of the songs were “too brief,” so he arranged three others from the Pernot collection, which together with two of the originals, “Quel galant” and “Chanson des cueilleuses,” now make up his Cinq mélodies populaires grecques . On April 28, 1906, Calvocoressi presented a recital on popular Greek song, on which Marguerite Babaïan gave the first performance of the set in its new configuration. These songs were the first of Ravel’s pieces to be accepted by prestigious music publisher Durand, who wished to be granted first option on all of his subsequent works. Ravel left his stamp on these accompaniments with their chromatic inflections and reinterpretations of modes, but without destroying their original flavor. “Chanson de la mariée” (Song of the bride) is a lively wake-up call for a bride on her wedding day. Ravel accentuates the modal tune (Phrygian) with his chromatic harmonies and uses rapid-fire repeated notes to generate excitement. “Là-bas, vers l’église” (There by the church) takes up the same mode, but in gentle, serious reflection on those buried in the cemetery, replete with softly chiming “bells.” “Quel galant m’est comparable” (What galant compares with me?) begins in a boastful proclamation, takes up a dancelike strut, then indulges in a moment of tenderness, before a brief return to the dance. In “Chanson des cueilleuses de lentisques” (Song of the lentisk gatherers) Ravel keeps his setting simple, with floating harmonies and occasional spun-out elaboration for the voice alone. “Tout gai” (All gay!) cavorts happily in the major mode with no chromatic inflections. Ravel’s alternating-hand patterns provide lively interest to the ebullient “Tra-la-las.” —©Jane Vial Jaffe Texts and Translations Cinq mélodies populaires grecques Chanson de la mariée Réveille-toi, réveilletoi, perdrix mignonne, Ouvre au matin tes ailes. Trois grains de beauté, mon coeur en est brûlé! Vois le ruban d’or que je t’apporte, Pour le nouer autour de tes cheveux. Si tu veux, ma belle, viens nous marier! Dans nos deux familles, tous sont alliés! Làbas, vers l’église Làbas, vers l’église, Vers l’église Ayio Sidéro, L’église, ô Vierge sainte, L’église Ayio Costanndino, Se sont réunis, Rassemblés en nombre infini, Du monde, ô Vierge sainte, Du monde tous les plus braves! Quel galant m’est comparable Quel galant m’est comparable, D’entre ceux qu’on voit passer? Dis, dame Vassiliki? Vois, pendus à ma ceinture, pistolets et sabre aigu . . . Et c’est toi que j’aime! Chanson des cueilleuses de lentisques Ô joie de mon âme, Joie de mon coeur, Trésor qui m’est si cher; Joie de l’âme et du cœur, Toi que j’aime ardemment, Tu es plus beau qu’un ange. Ô lorsque tu parais, Ange si doux Devant nos yeux, Comme un bel ange blond, Sous le clair soleil, Hélas! tous nos pauvres cœurs soupirent! Five Popular Greek Songs Song to the bride Awake, awake, you cute partridge, open your wings to the morning. Three beauty marks, my heart is on fire! See the golden ribbon I bring you, to tie around your hair. If you want, my beauty, we shall marry! In our two families, all are allied! There, by the church There, by the church, by the Ayio Sidero church, the church, o holy Virgin, the church Ayio Costanndino, are gathered, assembled in infinite numbers, of the world, o holy Virgin, of the world, all the most brave folk! What gallant compares with me? What gallant compares with me, among those one sees passing by? Tell me, lady Vassiliki! See, hanging on my belt, pistols and curved sword . . . And it is you whom I love! Song of the lentisk (mastic tree) gatherers O joy of my soul, joy of my heart, treasure that is so dear to me, joy of my soul and heart, you whom I love ardently, you are more beautiful than an angel. O when you appear, angel so sweet, before our eyes, like a beautiful, blond angel, under the bright sun, alas! all our poor hearts sigh! Return to Parlance Program Notes

March 19, 2023 – Rachel Naomi Kudo, piano JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Toccata in C minor, BWV 911 March 19, 2023 – Rachel Naomi Kudo, piano Bach composed seven manualiter toccatas, BWV 910–916, whose designation toccata refers to pieces that display a keyboardist’s dexterity and manualiter means “hands only” as opposed to those requiring pedals. Therefore these pieces were to be played on a keyboard instrument other than organ—such as the harpsichord in the eighteenth century. Bach never collected these toccatas under a single title, but they represent the culmination of the genre, begun in the sixteenth century and in Bach’s case likely influenced by early Baroque German models comprised of several distinct contrasting sections. Precise dating has proved impossible, but scholars typically designate a range of “?before 1708” to “before 1714,” which places them before or during his tenure at the court of Weimar. The date often given for the D major Toccata, BWV 912, is “before 1710,” with an early version possibly dating from c. 1707. That could have been during Bach’s year in Mühlhausen, June 1707–June 1708, or in Arnstadt where he was organist from 1703 to 1707. In June 1708 Bach took up the post of court organist at Weimar, where Duke Wilhelm Ernst is said to have greatly enjoyed Bach’s playing, so it is likely that Bach himself performed his toccatas for his employer. It is equally possible that they could have been played by one or more of his talented students, but there is no specific evidence that he intended them for teaching, as he did with other works (mentioned above in connection with the French Suites). The D major Toccata, like the other six, closes with a fugue and like all but one (G major, BWV 916) opens with an improvisatory prelude. This brief lively opening is striking for its similarity to the D major organ Prelude and Fugue, BWV 532, which may date from around the same time, especially as to its to ascending scales, which Bach extends locally and employs in dramatic descents in the extended Adagio transition to the first fugue. Prior to that, however, the prelude brings on a captivating Allegro that unfolds with rondo-like recurring passages. Modulatory excursions into the minor mode and similar journeys in the ensuing recitative-like Adagio prepare for the first fugue in F-sharp minor. This fugue offers a somewhat introspective exploration of that key with three expositions of the simultaneous subject/countersubject pair, seamlessly connected by two brief episodes. Following another dramatic declamatory transition, the final fugue gallops along in 6/16 meter much like a perpetual-motion gigue until its final arresting bars. For the C minor Toccata, BWV 911, scholars suggest a date of “before 1714,” which was the year Bach added the title and rank of Konzertmeister to the post of court organist that he had begun at Weimar in 1708. Thus its earliest performers were likely the same as for the D major Toccata above and the other manualiter toccatas, that is, Bach himself or possibly his sons or students. The C minor Toccata begins with an improvisatory, ornate-style introduction, followed by a relatively short Adagio, maintaining a lamenting mood. The main portion of the piece consists of a massive fugue, interrupted by a recitative-like passage, after which Bach introduces a second subject and launches into a double fugue (treatment of his two subjects in contrapuntal combination). A majestic adagio passage brings Bach’s mighty work to a close. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

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September 27, 2009 – Stephen Williamson, clarinet; Ken Noda, piano ROBERT SCHUMANN (1810-1856) Fairy Tales, Op. 120, for clarinet, viola, and piano September 27, 2009 – Stephen Williamson, clarinet; Ken Noda, piano Robert Schumann, the son of a bookseller, publisher, and novelist, grew up equally passionate about literature and music. Gifted both as a writer and a musician, he founded and edited the enormously influential journal The New Leipzig Musical Times, which became a driving force behind German musical Romanticism. Always a generous colleague, Schumann campaigned vigorously in support of the composers who he felt were producing music of substance. He also sought to bolster the reputations of underappreciated composers of the past, while criticizing contemporary musicians who he felt catered to prevailing “Philistine” tastes for flashy technical display. Schumann’s passion for Romantic novels and poetry informed his musicianship at every level. From his earliest years the deeply emotional Schumann viewed music primarily as a way of expressing his kaleidoscopically shifting, often dreamy, inner states of mind. Throughout his life he aimed at finding ways to fuse literary and musical imagery, giving many of his pieces evocative titles such as Arabesque, Butterflies, Carnival, Fantasy Pieces, and Scenes from Childhood. These titles were often applied only after he had completed the music in trancelike states of creativity. They were meant to draw the listener into his subtle world of color, mood, texture, and poetic allusion. Fairy Tales, Robert Schumann’s final piece of chamber music, was composed in 1853, shortly after meeting the 20-year-old Johannes Brahms. Schumann was in the midst of a fevered burst of creativity when Brahms first came to play for him. So inspired was he by Brahms’ artistry that he wrote an effusive article in The New Leipzig Musical Times, praising Brahms’ genius and describing him as music’s great hope for the future. The article was written in mid-October, at the same time that he composed Fairy Tales. Perhaps this accounts for the rather Brahmsian flavor that permeates the second and, especially, fourth movements of the piece. Schumann scored Fairy Tales for the mellow combination of clarinet, viola, and piano. His declining health at the time included auditory hallucinations and hypersensitivity to extreme high and low register sounds. These afflictions may have led him to choose the soothing sonority of the two middle-range instruments for this charming evocation of childhood. While Schumann never identified the particular tales or narratives that inspired these four lyrical character pieces, they evoke the atmosphere of favorite stories of youth. The first piece is tender, playful and lyrical, suggesting the beginning of pleasant outdoor journey. The minor-key second movement is more robust and march-like, with a more nonchalant middle section. The third movement is nostalgic and poignant, while the swaggering final movement suggests a hunting scene with lusty horn calls and galloping rhythms. By Michael Parloff Return to Parlance Program Notes

MILAN MILISAVLJEVIĆ, VIOLA Milan Milisavljević is Principal Viola with the MET Orchestra, having served as Assistant Principal of the MET for twelve seasons. He has also performed as guest Principal Viola of orchestras worldwide, such as the Toronto Symphony. Milan’s solo album Sonata-Song, published by Delos Music, has been reviewed by the Strad magazine as “most recommendable” and “tonally alluring”, with the recording of A. Khatchaturian’s sonata on the album hailed as “definitive”. He has won prizes at competitions such as ARD, Lionel Tertis and Aspen Lower Strings and has performed at Marlboro, Cascade Head and Aspen music festivals. Milan has appeared as soloist throughout the world, with orchestras such as the Munich Chamber Orchestra, the Belgrade Philharmonic, Aspen Sinfonia, Classical Tahoe, Orquesta Filarmónica de Boca del Río and many others. His teachers include James Dunham, Nobuko Imai and Atar Arad. In addition to his activities as a violist, Milan is increasingly in demand as a conductor and teacher worlwide.

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December 13, 2015 – Kristin Lee, violin; Gilles Vonsattel, piano LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN (1770–1827) Violin Sonata in A major, op. 47, “Kreutzer” December 13, 2015 – Kristin Lee, violin; Gilles Vonsattel, piano In March 1803 Beethoven’s patron Prince Lichnowsky introduced him to the twenty-four-year-old violin virtuoso George Polgreen Bridgetower. Fresh from wildly successful concerts in Dresden, the violinist was visiting Vienna, having lived in London since his West Indian father had showed him off there as a child prodigy. After including the young violin virtuoso in a quartet reading at the home of the famous violinist Ignaz Schuppanzigh, Beethoven arranged to give a public concert with Bridgetower on May 22—postponed to the 24th—and immediately set to work on a violin sonata for the occasion. Because time was short Beethoven drew on sketches for two movements begun earlier that year, and added a finale that he had originally written in 1802 for the A major Violin Sonata, op. 31, no.3, but had discarded and replaced because he thought it too brilliant. Even with these short cuts, Beethoven was scrambling to finish the piece in time, and summoned his student Ferdinand Ries at 4:30 one morning to copy out the violin part of the first movement. Poor Bridgetower had to read the middle variation movement from Beethoven’s messy manuscript at the concert, while the composer played from sketches. Luckily the last movement, because of its earlier origin, was in decent shape. Bridgetower later wrote that Beethoven was pleased with his playing, especially his improvisation on a “flight” in the piano part during the repeat of the fast part of the first movement. For his part Beethoven highly recommended Bridgetower as “a capable virtuoso who has a complete command of his instrument.” The composer wrote in his typical punning style on a draft score in quasi-Italian—untranslatable since “mulattica” and “mulattico” are made-up words—“Sonata mulattica composta per il mulatto Brischdauer, gran pazzo e compositore mulattico ,” meaning something like “A sonata of mixed colors, for the mulatto Bridgetower, big crazy person and mixed-up composer.” So why did Beethoven dedicate the Sonata to French violinist Rodolphe Kreutzer instead of Bridgetower? Late in his life Bridgetower reported that he and Beethoven had been constant companions at the time the Sonata was composed and that the first copy bore a dedication to him. Before he left Vienna, however, they had a quarrel “about a girl” and when Beethoven published the work he dedicated it to Kreutzer. Beethoven may have been trying to help pave the way for a projected visit to France with this dedication, but there seems to be no evidence that Kreutzer ever played the Sonata. This powerful Violin Sonata, associated with two violin virtuosos, is Beethoven’s most popular and brilliant. The composer acknowledged this quality when he labeled it: “written in a highly concertante style, almost in the manner of a concerto.” Russian author Leo Tolstoy also recognized its power when he used the first movement of the Kreutzer Sonata in his short story of the same name to incite his tragic hero to a crime of passion. Leoš Janáček, in turn, based his First String Quartet on Tolstoy’s story. The Kreutzer Sonata is Beethoven’s only violin sonata to open with a slow introduction. He presents the violin alone at first, in regal A major, but the demonic, tempestuous main part of the movement occurs in A minor . A momentary halt of the driving momentum allows the chorale-like second theme to illuminate the scene briefly. It bears a certain relationship to the slow introduction, which Beethoven also recalls in the coda. In the second movement a rich theme begets four variations—the first playful, the second with repeated notes in perpetual motion, the third with an air of tragedy, the fourth ethereally florid—followed by an extended introspective coda. Bridgetower recalled about the premiere: “Beethoven’s expression in the Andante was so chaste, which always characterized the performance of all his slow movements, that it was unanimously hailed to be repeated twice.” The transplanted finale caps the Sonata brilliantly. A crashing A major chord cancels the remote key of the variation movement and launches a whirling movement based on the rhythm of the fast Italian dance known as the tarantella. Leading a merry chase through quasi-fugal terrain, “hunting” calls, breakneck “spinning” passages, and witty restarts, Beethoven ingeniously unfurls a sonata-rondo that pauses only to regain momentum. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

January 29, 2023: Danish String Quartet WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791) Divertimento in F, K. 138 January 29, 2023: Danish String Quartet Mozart’s Divertimento in F major, K. 125c, is one of a set of three written in Salzburg during the winter months of 1772, after Mozart had returned from his second journey to Italy. The Italian influence certainly seems present in these works, for they all use the three-movement structure then popular in Italian symphonies, direct descendants of the three-part opera overtures. Clear echoes can also be perceived of the young Mozart’s most admired composers, Joseph Haydn and Johann Christian Bach. The F major Divertimento’s first movement follows sonata form, as do most of the movements in these Divertimentos. The interplay between the two violin parts is especially striking. The lovely slow movement, also in sonata form, contains a truly melting second theme: long held notes in the two violins, reached each time by leap in a dotted rhythm, culminating in suspensions against contrasting figuration in the lower voices. The sparkling Presto finale, a rondo, is all too brief. The presence and character of the minor episode in the finale is particularly reminiscent of J. C. Bach. These three Divertimentos, K. 125a, b, and c (K. 136–138), present interesting questions similar to those surrounding the famous Eine kleine Nachtmusik: it is not clear whether these works were meant to be performed as string quartets or by larger string ensembles. Though they sound equally compelling in both settings, historical evidence suggests that Mozart envisioned them being played with one on a part—not, though, by the typical string quartet, but the “divertimento quartet” comprised of two violins, viola, and bass. The illustration on the title page of Mozart’s Musical Joke shows such a quartet with the addition of two horns. The matter was not of great importance to Mozart, and the great Mozart scholar Alfred Einstein suggested that Mozart and his father might have taken the Divertimentos along to Milan, and if asked for a new symphony could have simply added oboe and horn parts. Scholars even differ as to the correct title of the Divertimentos—the alternate names of “Quartett-Divertimenti” and “Salzburg-Symphonies” have been used; the title “Divertimento” on the original autograph was not written in Mozart’s hand. If, however, one takes the broadest definition of the word divertimento, namely entertainment or amusement, these works provide just that. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes