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SUNDAY, MARCH 11, 2018 AT 3 PM VIOLIN & PIANO DUOS FROM FOUR CENTURIES BUY TICKETS BENJAMIN BEILMAN, VIOLIN 2017 “He brought dark chocolate sound and lyricism to his rhapsodic playing and compellingly dispatched the breathless, perpetual-motion finale.” — The New York Times ORION WEISS, PIANO “When you’re named after one of the biggest constellations in the night sky, the pressure is on to display a little star power — and the young pianist Orion Weiss did exactly that…” — The Washington Post FEATURING ABOUT THE PERFORMANCE BUY TICKETS Our March 11 event will spotlight two of today’s fastest-rising stars, violinist Benjamin Beilman and pianist Orion Weiss . Their deeply communicative performances go far beyond technical mastery and have won them worldwide acclaim. Their far-flung musical journey will range from the 18th to the 21st centuries, including music by Mozart , Beethoven , Kreisler , and a newly composed work by the renowned American composer Frederic Rzewski . PROGRAM Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Sonata in A K. 526 (1787) Program Notes Frederic Rzewski Demons for violin and piano (2017) Program Notes Ludwig van Beethoven Sonata No. 10 in G, Op. 96 (1812) Program Notes Fritz Kreisler Viennese Rhapsodic Fantasietta (1947) Program Notes Watch Benjamin Bielman perform Kreisler’s Viennese Rhapsodic Fantasietta: See Orion Weiss perform Scarlatti’s Sonata in G, K. 427:

September 18, 2022: WINDS OF THE MET WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791) Serenade No. 10 in B-flat, K. 361/370a (Gran Partita) September 18, 2022: WINDS OF THE MET In March 1784 the Wienerblättchen announced a benefit concert for virtuoso clarinetist and basset-horn player Anton Stadler that would include “a big wind piece of quite an exceptional kind composed by Herr Mozart.” Johann Friedrich Schink, who had attended the concert, later published the following account: I heard music for wind instruments today by Herr Mozart, in four movements, glorious and sublime. It consisted of thirteen instruments; viz. four corni, two oboi, two fagotti, two clarinetti, two basset-corni, a contreviolin, and at each instrument sat a master—Oh what an effect it made—glorious and grand, excellent and sublime. This concert at the National Hoftheater in Vienna had indeed included only four movements of this marvelous work, though the manuscript shows that all seven had been composed at the same time. Perhaps concert or rehearsal time was restricted, necessitating the cuts, or perhaps Mozart was aiming more at symphonic proportions—it was common practice for him to delete movements of typical six- or seven-movement serenades to make four-movement symphonies. The exact date of the Serenade’s composition cannot be pinpointed. Expert Alan Tyson has shown that the paper was a type Mozart used in 1782 and not for any composition thereafter, but circumstances and style suggest late 1783 or early 1784 as a more likely date of composition, and Mozart scholars such as Daniel Leeson and David Whitwell stand by this date. Thorough investigation of the manuscript only became possible beginning in 1942 when it was purchased by the Library of Congress after being passed from one noble family to another for over 175 years. The familiar title “Gran Partita” was not Mozart’s idea—it appears in a hand other than his on the manuscript. The instrumentation was indeed unusual, and Mozart apparently worried that such a piece would not be of much use after the occasion for which it was written. Stadler probably played the first clarinet part as “concertmaster,” though he was equally adept on the basset horn (a customized clarinet with a lower range). There can be no mistaking that Mozart intended a string bass as his lowest instrument, for the manuscript says “contrabasso” and the part contains pizzicato indications. Nevertheless it is often played on contrabassoon. A stately introduction, common to such serenades but less common in his symphonies, features contrasting fanfares and gentle responses. The main Molto allegro proceeds in a wonderfully witty manner that has much in common with Mozart’s comic opera style. Its extended sonata form contains a number of memorable features such as the wandering approach to the right key for the beginning of the recapitulation and the almost wistful moments in the coda before the snappy conclusion. The first of the minuets elegantly contrasts the full group with solo utterances. In the first trio we are treated to the singular sound of the two clarinets and two basset horns, while the second trio in the minor mode contrasts a section of scurrying triplets and sequences with a horn call that is answered by oboes and basset horns. “Sublime” is indeed the word for the Adagio, which Mozart starts out in solemn unison before setting up the pulsing accompaniment that will support the exquisitely poignant solos above it. Sustained notes that blossom into motion and expressive leaps between registers play a wonderful role here. The second minuet swings along merrily, again employing pointed contrasts between the full ensemble and solo instruments, in addition to dynamic contrasts. As in the first minuet Mozart includes two trios, the first a slightly mournful piece in B-flat minor—an extremely rare key in his time—and the second based on a simple folklike melody played by oboe, basset horn, and bassoon. Mozart labeled the fifth movement “Romance,” which typically meant something in a vocal style. Here poised, lyrical outer sections frame a lively minor-mode section. In this center section the bassoon’s continuous fast notes drive the shorter phrases of the upper winds to a major mode conclusion before the solemn singing style resumes. The charming theme-and-variations sixth movement is almost exactly reproduced in the C major Flute Quartet, K. Anh. 171, a work whose pedigree is still under scrutiny. Whether or not that arrangement is genuine, Mozart’s music captivates the listener. The movement follows double variation form, in which two themes are alternately varied, giving rise to myriad instrumental combinations. Most impressive is the great pause that halts the action in preparation for Mozart’s poignant Adagio variation. The sprightly final Allegro variation concludes the movement in high spirits. The last movement is a jolly rondo, which might have inspired Beethoven’s finale in his well-known Wind Octet, op. 103. Mozart’s two contrasting episodes each contain a section in his agitated, minor-mode “alla Turca” style. The second also features the bassoon in a fast-paced solo. Mozart extends the ebullient refrain on its final appearance with a brilliant wind-up to a decisive end. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

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October 18, 2009 – David Chan, violin; Jeewon Park, piano, Rafael Figueroa, cello JOHANNES BRAHMS (1833-1897) Trio in B Major, Op. 8, for violin, cello, and piano October 18, 2009 – David Chan, violin; Jeewon Park, piano, Rafael Figueroa, cello Johannes Brahms’ Piano Trio, Opus 8, is in many respects a paradoxical work. Progressing from a radiant B major to a tragic B minor, the piece juxtaposes passages of luxurious warmth and optimism and music of turbulence and despair. It is also, in the version heard most often today, simultaneously one of Brahms’ earliest and latest works. He had already started composing the trio in 1853, when the great Hungarian violinist Joseph Joachim gave the 20-year-old Brahms a letter of introduction to Robert and Clara Schumann. Brahms’ meeting with the Schumanns at their Düsseldorf home marked an important turning point in his life and career. The Schumanns received him with enormous enthusiasm and generosity. They invited him to stay with them for several weeks, initiating a close friendship that would last for the rest of their lives. Schumann wrote glowingly about the younger composer in his influential journal The New Leipzig Musical Times, and he introduced Brahms to the head of the prominent music publishing firm Breitkopf & Härtel. This greatly enhanced Brahms’ prospects for a successful composing career. The following February, while still working on the trio, Brahms received the distressing news of Robert Schumann’s suicide attempt. He hastened back to Düsseldorf to comfort the Schumann family. It was under those dark circumstances that he completed the piece later that year. Perhaps this brush with tragedy associated with his mentor altered the emotional trajectory of the work, diverting it from its luminous B-major beginning and setting on the course towards its stormy B-minor conclusion. Toward the end of his life Brahms, now the most respected of living composers, changed music publishers. Fritz Simrock bought the rights to all of Brahms’ works from Breitkopf & Härtel for the purpose of publishing them in a new edition. Simrock offered Brahms the opportunity to revise some of his earliest works for the release of the new edition. Brahms, ever the perfectionist – he had burned his first twenty string quartets and postponed composing his first symphony until his mid-40s – decided to revisit his 35-year-old trio, Op. 8. After performing the new version in 1890, Brahms wrote to a friend, saying, “Do you still remember the B major trio from our early days, and wouldn’t you be curious to hear it now, as I have (instead of placing a wig on it!) taken the hair and combed and ordered it a bit…?” This was quite an understatement. In fact, he had shortened the overall length of the work by a third, substantially rewriting the middle sections of the first, third, and fourth movements. Only the Scherzo remained essentially unchanged from its original version. The final work seamlessly blends the impetuosity and passion of his youth with the technical assurance and architectural mastery of his maturity. The first movement begins like a cello sonata, unleashing a glorious cello melody that continues for 23 measures before it is finally joined by the violin. The atmosphere of the movement is wise and reassuring, demonstrating that, even at an early age, his musical sensibilities were already well-formed and recognizably “Brahmsian.” The Scherzo begins in a stealthily portentous B minor. Compressed staccato phrases are interwoven with longer thematic threads that foreshadow surprises ahead. Sudden fortissimo outbursts crash through the texture, dissolving into delicate piano filigree and quiet passagework in the strings. The contrasting trio introduces a melody of expansive warmth and maturity. The third movement alternates between solemn piano and string chorales, eventually blending the two into a sustained, meditative texture. The music then gives way to a long-lined, soulful cello solo. The solemn chorale textures return toward the end of the movement, now accompanied by ethereal ornaments in the right hand of the piano. The final movement is a musical battle between hope and despair. A quietly agitated opening explodes into major-key passages of great exuberance and exultation. Finally, though, the music retreats back into agitation and concern, and the trio concludes in a burst of stormy, B-minor turbulence. By Michael Parloff Return to Parlance Program Notes

September 14, 2025: “SINGERS” FROM THE MET ORCHESTRA MUSICIANS FROM THE MET ORCHESTRA; MICHAEL PARLOFF, CONDUCTOR JOSEPH HAYDN (1732-1809) Symphony No. 6 in D, Hob. 1/6 (“The Morning”) September 14, 2025: “SINGERS” FROM THE MET ORCHESTRA MUSICIANS FROM THE MET ORCHESTRA; MICHAEL PARLOFF, CONDUCTOR In May 1761 the twenty-nine-year old Haydn was hired in the newly created position of vice-Kapellmeister by Prince Paul Anton Esterházy to serve under the aging, increasingly infirm Gregor Joseph Werner. The prince was in fading health himself, but he saw the opportunity to modernize and upgrade his musical establishment and had already begun to hire top-notch musicians to create a small orchestra. His first order to Haydn was to compose three symphonies, and he suggested the “times of day” as a subject. Despite his myriad duties, Haydn fulfilled the order quickly, producing Symphonies Nos. 6, 7, and 8, which soon earned the nicknames “Le matin” (Morning), “Le midi” (Noon), and “Le soir (Night)—in French, owing to popular taste. Having already begun to help hire musicians in April, a month before the start of his official appointment, Haydn continued to shape the orchestra throughout the decades of his employment at Esterháza. The orchestra expanded considerably under Prince Nicolaus, an even more avid music-lover than his brother Paul Anton, who died only one year after hiring Haydn. At first, however, the orchestra consisted of just thirteen to fifteen players, several of whom performed on more than one instrument: approximately six violins and one each of viola, cello and bass; pairs of oboes and horns but just one bassoon and occasionally one or two flutes. Haydn led this early ensemble as a violinist (second to the virtuoso first violinist) rather than by playing keyboard continuo. Haydn was undoubtedly aware of Baroque precedents for programmatic orchestral works—he may have known Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and certainly Kapellmeister Werner’s twelve instrumental suites titled Der curiose musikalische Instrumentalkalender —and, given his amazing fount of originality, he could easily have made more of Prince Paul Anton’s “times of day.” Instead he limited himself to composing a storm as the fourth movement of Le soir and a “sunrise” introduction to Le matin , because he was far more interested in impressing the prince with his own ingenious approaches to abstract forms. Further, one of Haydn’s principal aims was to display the talents, individually and as a whole, of the ensemble of virtuosos that he now had at his disposal—among them violinist Luigi Tomasini and cellist Joseph Weigl along with flutist and oboist Franz Siegl, oboist brothers Michael and Georg Kapfer, bassoonist Johann Hinterberger, bassoonist and bassist Georg Schwenda (who must have played bass in Symphonies Nos. 6–8), violinists Franciscus Garnier and Georg Hegner (and several other violin and viola players), and horn players Johannes Knoblauch and Thadteus Steinmüller. Consequently these symphonies contain prominent solos for violin, flutes (an additional player must have doubled on flute), oboes, horn, cello, and bass. With this concertante focus Haydn updated the traditional Baroque concerto grosso with an attention to shifting orchestral colors that looks toward the future. Symphonies Nos. 6–8 received their first performance in May or June 1761, not at Esterháza in Eisenstadt, but at the Esterházy palace in the Wallnerstrasse, Vienna. Despite his failing health, Prince Paul Anton had to have been pleased because he continued his plans for musical expansion and requested many more works from Haydn. Slow introductions to symphony first movements were uncommon at the time, but Haydn’s “sunrise”—though only six measures long—makes the perfect opening to the “times of day” trilogy and to “The Morning” Symphony in particular. Beginning with violins alone, it ascends, growing from pianissimo to fortissimo as all the other instruments enter. In the merry exposition that ensues, the flute followed by oboes enter in birdlike solos. Haydn then ingeniously combines Classsic sonata form—exposition, development, and recapitulation—with the Baroque concertante principles of solo and tutti (ensemble) alternation, which must have delighted the prince. Haydn’s renowned wit shows in the solo horn’s imitation of the flute’s “bird” theme as a “false start” of the recap, something that Beethoven famously did in the first movement of his Eroica Symphony four decades later. The slow movement, for strings only, opens with an Adagio in which lovely dissonances create a poignant mood. A violin solo emerges, but this is just a prelude to the central Andante—an extended violin and cello duet in a stately minuet style. Haydn closes with a brief return to the Adagio’s poignant harmonies. The full ensemble returns for the third-movement minuet, which elicits a new sprightlier character in contrast to the Andante of the previous movement. For the central trio section, Haydn must have relished writing the surprising duet for double bass and bassoon, just as his musicians must have relished playing it. The finale barrels along with infectious enthusiasm alternating lively solos for almost every instrument with tutti ensemble passages in a concertante manner. Several times Haydn revels in pronounced dissonances that make their resolution all the more satisfying. —©Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

December 5, 2021: Paul Jacobs, organ JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor, BWV 582 December 5, 2021: Paul Jacobs, organ For the last work in this 335th anniversary celebration of Bach, we turn to the earliest work on the program and one of his most famous, the Passacaglia in C minor. Not only has this organ work been arranged numerous times for orchestra, piano, or various chamber groups, but it has made its way into popular culture through films and such diverse renditions as Jimi Hendrix’s Lift Off and the jazz flute version by Hubert Laws, both in 1973. Precise dating of the Passacaglia is educated guesswork, but a range between 1706 and 1713 is typically given. Though no manuscript in Bach’s hand exists, the various sources show enough variants to suggest that the original version was written out in organ tablature (system of notation with numbers, letters, and other signs to indicate keys). The thinking is that Bach may have made such a version during his visit to Lübeck in 1705–06 or perhaps shortly after he got back to Arnstadt, where he soon felt stifled after the stimulation of Lübeck and moved to an organist position at Mühlhausen. Or it could be that a later version spilled over into his early years at Weimar (see the note for BWV 582 for more about Weimar). The form of a passacaglia, often indistinguishable from that of a chaconne, consists of a series of variations based on a repeating pattern in the bass—typically four or eight measures—and relies on traditional chord progressions. Such pieces flourished especially during the Baroque era, when many composers made use of existing passacaglia themes for their own sets of variations. In Bach’s case, his work consists of a theme and twenty variations, the last of which is extended without pause by a fugue, which could also count as Variation 21. Some scholars have conjectured that Bach may have composed the Fugue first, basing it on two main subjects—the first drawn from a mass by French organist André Raison from his Livre d’orgue, published in Paris in 1699, and the second, which he would tweak to become the Passacaglia’s second half, placed as a pulsing countersubject to the first subject. Yet a third fugue subject in faster note values then enters as a countersubject to the combined counterpoint of the first two. The tweaked second half of the Passacaglia has been found to be similar to a passacaille in a different mass by Raison, which some view as just a coincidence. Whether or not the Fugue or the Passacaglia came first, both show added influences of other composers such as Buxtehude and Legrenzi whose works on repeating patterns Bach was studying around that time. Many commentators have proposed theories of what sorts of symbolism or symmetries seem to be at work in the Passacaglia, and there are numerous differences of opinion as to where formal divisions and groupings lie. A general consensus, however, seems to be that there is a break in intensity after Variation 12, followed by an “interlude” of three variations and another group of five that ends with great majesty. The Fugue is the work’s crowning achievement—more complicated than a fugue on a single subject and thus called a double fugue by many, though definitions vary. The upshot is that Bach was thinking about counterpoint in remarkably sophisticated ways and surpassing all of his models in creating an original design. After the first presentation of the subject and countersubject, this pair returns four times, migrating systematically among voices and moving out of and back into the home key—and at the same time incorporating a third subject (countersubject) as well as a layer of freely composed material. All of this leads with dramatic purpose to a resounding conclusion. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

ISABELLA BIGNASCA, VIOLA Isabella, 22, recently completed her Undergraduate Degree at The Juilliard School, under the tutelage of Paul Neubauer. Before she decided to begin her music studies in the US, she was a part of the Sydney Conservatorium Open Academy program with Roger Benedict. Isabella won the Multiple Section of the 2015 NSW KPO Concerto Competition and had several recordings broadcast on Fine Music FM102.5 as part of the Young Performers Award Broadcast Series. She has toured around Europe, playing chamber music, and also performed several times in the Sydney Opera House. Past summer festival participation include the Kneisel Hall Chamber Music Festival, Aspen Music Festival and School, Music Academy of the West and the Heifetz International Music Institute where she also later became a part of the Heifetz on Tour series.

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RICHARD FREDRICKSON, DOUBLE BASS Hailed as a “…virtuoso…” by Donal Henahan of The New York Times, “…an extraordinary musician…” by The Washington Post and “…stupefying…” by L’Est Vaudois (Switzerland), Richard Fredrickson made his Carnegie Recital Hall debut at the age of 24 after winning the Concert Artists Guild award. This marked the first time the award had ever been presented to a double bassist. Mr. Fredrickson has been a guest artist with such orchestras as the Seattle, Omaha and Baton Rouge Symphonies, the Slovak Radio Orchestra, the New York Chamber Symphony and the Washington Chamber Symphony. He has toured twice in Italy as soloist with the Orchestra of the North Carolina School of the Arts, where he also taught in the summer program. He has toured in Europe and appeared several times at the Kennedy Center, to great critical acclaim, with the Handel Festival Orchestra (now known as the Washington Chamber Symphony). He has also toured in the United States with Mitch Miller and his orchestra performing the Paganini Moses Fantasy. In recital, he has been heard in such venues and cities as the 92nd Street Y in New York, both the National Gallery of Art and the Corcoran Gallery in Washington, DC; Winston-Salem, North Carolina; Seattle, Washington; and in Italy. For several seasons he was a member of Newman and Friends with harpsichordist/organist Anthony Newman at Alice Tully Hall and with whom he also recorded the Bach Brandenburg Concerti. His festival engagements include the New Hampshire White Mountain Festival, Aspen, the Seattle Chamber Music Festival and the Fredericksburg Festival of the Arts. Chamber music has always been a special passion for Mr. Fredrickson. He has appeared with such groups and artists as the Philadelphia String Quartet, “For the Love of Music”, the Copenhagen String Trio, the Muir String Quartet, the Lyric Piano Quartet, Bargemusic, Yo-Yo Ma, Carol Wincenc, Heidi Lehwalder, Christopher O’Riley, Anton Nel, Anne-Marie McDermott and Michelle Levin. Ever seeking to expand the solo double bass repertoire, he has been the inspiration for such compositions as a Sonata and a Suite by Kenneth Benshoof, sonatas by Paul Tufts and Jan Bach and a Concerto by Alvin Brehm. Recently, he commissioned both John Carbon and William Thomas McKinley to write works for him. With the Slovak Radio Orchestra, Kirk Trevor conducting, Fredrickson recorded the Carbon Endangered Species, McKinley Passacaglia and the Vittorio Giannini Psalm 130. The CD was released in 2005 on the MMC (Master Musicians Collective) label. In May, 2005 Fredrickson also performed and recorded a new work written for him by McKinley for clarinet, double bass and orchestra, as well as the Bottesini Duetto with clarinetist Richard Stolzman and the Slovak Radio Orchestra. The Bottesini Duetto was released in October 2009 on the Navona Records label.

March 26, 2017: Jerusalem String Quartet Ludwig van Beethoven Quartet No. 11 in F minor, Op. 95 (“Serioso”) March 26, 2017: Jerusalem String Quartet Beethoven’s F minor String Quartet of 1810, the last of his “middle” quartets, is one of a select group of works for which he provided his own descriptive title—other famous instances being his Pathétique Sonata and Eroica and Pastoral Symphonies. He marked his manuscript “Quartett Serioso,” a curious mix of German and quasi-Italian, which apparently meant a work devoid of ostentation whose inner conflicts were expressed by pared-down harmonic, motivic, and formal structures. Unfortunately it could imply that his Harp Quartet, op. 74, written just a year before—and any of his other quartets for that matter—were not “serious,” though surely he meant it as a way to separate his quartet production apart from the proliferation of showy and less weighty quartets by other composers that had begun populating the concert scene. On another front, the work’s “seriousness” has to do with his having written it without a commission because of a personal compulsion, and dedicating it to a friend, cello-player Nikolaus Zmeskall von Domanovecz, rather than to a highborn patron. This resonates with his late quartets, which, though instigated by a patron, ended up being composed out of sheer inner necessity. Beethoven had already begun using quartet-writing as the place for exploring his most forward-thinking ideas—which had led to such disappointing critical reception of his Razumovsky Quartets, op. 59—but now this testing ground took a turn toward privacy. He waited an unusually long time before having the Serioso Quartet performed and published. The work received its first performance by the Schuppanzigh Quartet in May of 1814, for which occasion Beethoven apparently revised it. The Serioso was one of several pieces that Beethoven sold to publisher Anton Sigmund Steiner in 1815 in repayment of a debt. The debt must have been substantial because the batch also included the Opus 96 Violin Sonata, the Archduke Trio, the Seventh and Eighth Symphonies, and several smaller works. A pivotal work, the Serioso takes a look back to the Razumovsky and Harp Quartets but just as clearly points to the late quartets, though it would be fourteen years before he took up the genre again. Concision and new harmonic relationships are paramount here, and often his compression of both boils down to single notes or pairs of notes. The first movement’s dark, furious unison opening suddenly breaks off, followed by a leaping response characterized by dotted rhythms. The ensuing lyrical elaboration of the opening now pointedly highlights the remote Neapolitan harmony (based on the flatted second scale degree). A prominent pair of half steps in the lyrical passage sets up the somewhat unusual key of D-flat for the lovely second theme. Twice, once at the end of the second theme and once in the midst of the closing theme, explosive ascending scales and daring excursions to remote keys command our attention. It stands to reason that in such a terse movement Beethoven would not repeat his exposition. Instead he shocks the listener again with a crashing major chord that seems to signal a development. Yet this turns out not to be a thorough “working-out” in the classical sense, rather a brief revisiting of the furious opening and the leaping dotted-rhythmic idea, followed by a suspenseful buildup. Beethoven then begins his drastically shortened recapitulation with the fortissimo unison of the transition to the second theme. A coda of the same length as the development balances out this remarkable rethinking of sonata form. The Allegretto ma non troppo begins softly and mysteriously, with a melodic shape similar to the first movement’s opening. Any idea of relaxed, lyrical contrast becomes entangled in a wavering between major and minor and an increasing influx of chromaticism that peaks in the middle section’s fugue. This remarkable interior piece unfolds in two sections before the opening music returns in shortened form. Beethoven continues with a serene coda, but instead of ending peacefully makes a directs link to the ensuing tempestuous scherzo. Beethoven asked that his third movement, a typical place for an irreverent scherzo, be played Allegro assai vivace ma serioso. Propulsive sections with an obsessive dotted rhythm alternate with two trio sections of more lyrical demeanor, which still transmit a restless sense with the first violin’s figurations and unusual harmonic juxtapositions of distantly related keys. A truly slow, reflective introduction prefaces the agitated sonata-rondo finale. Compact once again, the movement features a dancelike but disquieting main theme that Beethoven varies ingeniously on every recurrence. Its last appearance comes to a halt on a hushed major chord that unleashes one of the most talked about endings ever. A lightening quick coda in the major mode rockets forth in unimaginable contrast to the rest of the movement and to the entire piece. In this Beethoven parallels his own Egmont Overture, written just months before, also in a serious F minor with an F major coda, but whereas that ending represents a hard-won victory corroborated by the story, here Beethoven seems simply to be letting go, albeit in breathtaking style. © 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