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November 20, 2016: Frank Huang, concertmaster; Sheryl Staples, principal associate concertmaster; Cynthia Phelps, viola; Carter Brey; cello ANTONÍN DVOŘÁK (1841-1904) String Quartet No. 12 in F major, B. 179, op. 96, “American” November 20, 2016: Frank Huang, concertmaster; Sheryl Staples, principal associate concertmaster; Cynthia Phelps, viola; Carter Brey; cello Beginning in the fall of 1892 Dvořák served as artistic director and professor of composition at the National Conservatory of Music in America (in New York City) at the urging of the institution’s president, Jeannette Thurber, who offered him twenty-five times the amount he was being paid at the Prague Conservatory. His life in the U.S. was hectic with teaching, public appearances, and engagements as a guest conductor, so he happily accepted an invitation to spend the summer of 1893 relaxing in a small farming community (300 residents) of Czech immigrants in Spillville, Iowa. Overjoyed to be reunited with four of his children who had just arrived from Czechoslovakia with their aunt and a maid, Dvořák traveled to Spillville by train in a party that also included his wife, his two oldest children, and his secretary Josef Jan Kovařík who had grown up there. His delight at being in a rural setting among his countrymen immediately erupted in the composition of his American Quartet, which he sketched in only three days, June 8–10. At the end of the sketch he wrote: “Thanks to the Lord God, I am satisfied, it went quickly. Completed June 10, 1893.” Polishing the score occupied him until June 23, and members of the Kovařík family assisted in trying out the Quartet with the composer himself making his way through the first violin part. The Kneisel Quartet gave the premiere in Boston on New Year’s Day 1894 and in New York on January 12. By far the most popular of Dvořák’s fourteen quartets, the American reflects his aim “to write something really melodious and simple.” As several scholars have pointed out, however, his effortless-sounding result masks remarkable unifying and thematic procedures. The first, second, and fourth movements all begin with an accompanimental backdrop before the main thematic material emerges. The first movement’s viola solo rising confidently over bass pedal and upper-string shimmer specifically brings to mind the opening of another famous Czech string quartet, Smetana’s “From My Life,” which Dvořák knew well. Dvořák chose the “pastoral” key of F major for his work, in which pedals or drones and permeating pentatonic themes (based on five “white-key” notes, F, G, A, C, D) help transmit a rural, “simple” flavor. We should note, too, that these traits relate to American, Slavic, and many other folk traditions. Just one example, however, shows the kind of sophistication at work: the lovely pentatonic melody in the violin that closes the exposition begets the related but altered expressive theme for the cello just after the start of the recapitulation. Many commentators have singled out the nostalgic Lento as the crowning movement of the Quartet, and Dvořák scholar Michael Beckerman has drawn attention to the Schubertian quality of its endless melody. Unfolding in a broad arch that comes to one of chamber music’s most exquisite climaxes, the movement relies primarily on the simple texture of the violin or cello carrying the melody with constant undulating support from the other instruments. Occasionally the second violin joins the first in a melodic role, as at the poignant climax. The final keening of the main theme by the cello against simple repeated chords rather than the former busy accompaniment lends an air of tragedy. Dvořák bases his entire scherzo on the same theme, with a variant serving as the contrasting section, which appears twice. Kovařík suggested that the quiet high violin tune that enters shortly after the opening was inspired by a bird call Dvořák heard outside his home in Spillville. Though the exact species of bird has never been determined beyond question, the most likely candidate is the scarlet tanager. The composer offsets the cheerful main theme of the rondo finale with episodes of more reflective quality. Toward the center, one of these quieter passages suggested to Dvořák scholar John Clapham an occasion when the composer enchanted the St. Wenceslas congregation of Spillville by spontaneously playing the organ during their typically music-less morning mass. The ebullient high spirits cannot be suppressed for long and the movement ends with a plethora of affirmative phrases. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

October 17, 2021: Roman Rabinovich, piano CLAUDE DEBUSSY (1862-1918) Hommage à Haydn October 17, 2021: Roman Rabinovich, piano Debussy composed his Hommage à Haydn at the request of Jules Écorcheville for a special issue of the Revue S.I.M. (Société Internationale de Musique) to celebrate the centennial in May 1909 of Haydn’s death. Five other composers also accepted the commission—Paul Dukas who wrote his Prélude élégiaque, Reynaldo Hahn his Thème varié sur le nom de Haydn, Charles-Marie Widor his Fugue sur le nom d’Haydn, and Vincent d’Indy and Maurice Ravel who both wrote pieces called Meneut sur le nom d’Haydn. The pieces were published in the January 15, 1910, issue of the Revue S.I.M. They were not premiered, however, until March 11, 1911, when nineteen-year-old pianist Ennemond Trillat performed them at a Société concert at the Salle Pleyel. Each composer was given the same assignment: Write a short piano piece using the letters of Haydn’s name as a five-note motive. This was an age-old practice to honor an important person, and in cases where there was no musical equivalent for a letter it could be skipped or be replaced by a substitution note. Here the composers were all given H (B natural in German nomenclature, A, Y (using D as the substitution), D, N (using G as the substitution). The substitution notes, given by the commissioner were obtained by “putting the letter’s alphabetical order over the diatonic series of the sound scale.” As a fascinating historical note, two of the other most important French composers of the day—Camille Saint-Saëns and Gabriel Fauré—declined to participate, presumably because, as Saint-Saëns wrote to Fauré, they would be the laughingstock of Germany for the wrong use of letter-note correspondences. Debussy’s Hommage à Haydn begins with a “soft and expressive” “Valse lent” (slow waltz) in which he presents a bass melody with a distinctive dotted-rhythmic pattern and then highlights his H-A-Y-D-N motive in the upper melody line of the right hand. The second section of the piece shifts to a lively, light character with the motive sped up in the first notes of the right hand. After an even more animated section Debussy concludes with a brief reminder of the expressive opening and a final fast but quiet flourish. This afternoon’s celebration of Haydn makes the perfect occasion to include Ravel’s Menuet sur le nom d’Haydn alongside Debussy’s tribute. Ravel writes a contemplative minuet with Impressionistic harmonies, presenting the motive six times, which he labels in the score. The motive begins the piece as the first five notes in the top line of the pianist’s right hand, migrates to the bass, and appears in inner voices in reverse order and inverted in reverse order (D-G-G-C♯-B). The final utterances appear in the top of the piano’s right hand and in a slow descent from the middle register to the bass. © 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

May 15, 2016: James Morris, bass-baritone; Ken Noda, piano RICHARD STRAUSS (1864–1949) Zueignung, op. 10, no. 1 Traum durch die Dämmerung, op. 29, no. 1 Heimliche Aufforderung, op. 27, no. 1 Allerseelen, op. 10, no. 8 Cäcilie, op. 27, no. 2 May 15, 2016: James Morris, bass-baritone; Ken Noda, piano Strauss wrote songs all his life, from his first song, “Weinachtslied” (Christmas song), at the age of six, to his Four Last Songs, so-named by his publisher, which he composed at the age of eighty-four. Many of his more than 200 songs were written for soprano Pauline de Ahna who became his wife in 1894; the composer himself usually accompanied her on the piano. Some of his songs remain infrequently performed—often because of their difficulty—while others hold a firm place both in recital and in orchestrated versions by Strauss and others on symphonic programs. “Zueignung” (Dedication) opens Strauss’s first set of published songs, entitled Acht Gedichte aus Letzte Blätter von Hermann von Gilm (Eight Poems from Last Leaves by Hermann von Gilm), op. 10. “Zueignung,” however, was the only text by the Tyrolean poet that was not taken from Letzte Blätter but from a collection entitled Frühling (Spring). Strauss came across the poems for Opus 10 in an 1864 volume brought back from Innsbruck by his friend and composer Ludwig Thuille. The songs were composed in 1885 and were soon dedicated to Heinrich Vogl, principal tenor at the Munich Court Opera, who had expressed admiration for them to the young composer. The impulsive, glowing “Zueignung,” so titled by Strauss and not the poet, unfolds in three very similar strophes with the same brief refrain. One of his best-loved songs, “Zueignung” also exists in a version with orchestral accompaniment made by the composer himself in 1940. In 1894 Strauss and his beloved wife Pauline left Weimar soon after they were married to return to the Court Opera in his native Munich. There on June 7, 1895, he set three poems by his friend Otto Julius Bierbaum, which he published as Opus 29, dedicated to Eugen Gura, a leading baritone at the Munich Court Opera. The first of these, the brief, haunting “Traum durch die Dämmerung” (Dreaming through the twilght), poignantly captures the unhurried anticipation of a love tryst through intimate vocal phrases, subtle modulations, and gently rocking accompaniment. Strauss said that his melodies were usually the result of long, painstaking work, but he told a friend that he composed this song in just twenty minutes—the time allotted to him by his notoriously demanding wife before departing on a walk. Strauss composed the four marvelous songs of Opus 27 in 1894 as his wedding present to his wife Pauline. He had become interested in a group of poets—followers of Max Stirner and his socialist ideals—who had established themselves as a force against sentimental mid-nineteenth-century poets and against folk and mock-ancient poetry. Strauss was little interested in their politics, but latched onto their Romantic outpourings. Third in the set, “Heimliche Aufforderung” (Secret invitation) sets a text by Scottish-born but German-raised Stirner disciple, John Henry Mackay. Far from a political statement, his text is an ardent love song, sung during a tryst amid a crowd of merrymakers. The eager vocal line is accompanied by rippling figurations that change several times to a more static texture to reflect the text. A peaceful postlude follows the ecstatic appeal for night to fall. “Allerseelen” (All Souls’ Day) appears last in the Opus 10 collection of 1885 (see above). November 2 is the day when Western Christians commemorate those dear to them who have died, and the poet of Strauss’s setting is longing for his departed love to return, tenderly wishing for things to be as they once were. Like “Zueignung,” the song shows the twenty-one-year-old’s lyrical and harmonic mastery, in this case unfolding in a through-composed form that becomes progressively more dramatic. “Cäcilie,” which Strauss had placed second in the Opus 27 set, makes a perfect concluding selection here as his most impassioned and ecstatic love song. Dashed off on September 9, the day before his wedding, “Cäcilie” sets a poem that, in a nice parallel, had been written to honor the wife of the poet, Heinrich Hart. (The text is often misattributed to Heinrich’s brother Julius.) Strauss is said to have embellished the already full and virtuosic accompaniment when performing the song, so it comes as no surprise that he decided to orchestrate it in 1897. Together and separately the Opus 27 love songs have been successful with audiences and performers alike ever since they were introduced by the composer and his favorite interpreter, Pauline. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

December 19, 2017: Alessio Bax, piano; Lucille Chung, piano WITOLD LUTOSLAWSKI (1913-1994) Variations on a Theme of Paganini for two pianos December 19, 2017: Alessio Bax, piano; Lucille Chung, piano After Stalin’s death in 1953, Witold Lutosławski, along with Krzysztof Penderecki, led Polish composers in a great renaissance, bringing recognition to Polish music that had been lacking since the days of Chopin. Lutosławski had concurrently studied composition at the Warsaw Conservatory and mathematics at the University of Warsaw. In the 1960s he became internationally known as a conductor of his own works and taught and lectured on composition in Europe and the United States. Lutosławski’s style went through many stages—a folk music stage greatly influenced by Bartók, a twelve-tone phase, and a period in which he developed his own system that permitted him, he said, “to move within the scope of twelve tones, outside both the tonal system and conventional dodecaphony.” In the 1960s he became interested in aleatory techniques to enhance textural effects, not, as he said, “to free myself of part of my responsibility for the work by transferring it to the players,” but to achieve “a particular result in sound.” His exceptional attention to structure and detail and his careful working methods resulted in long periods of revision and polishing for most works—ten years in the case of the Third Symphony. His list of works, therefore, is relatively short, but each is of consistently high quality. During the Second World War, Lutosławski played piano in cafés (kawiarnie ) in order to make a living and as a means of public expression. He sometimes accompanied other artists and often performed together with composer and conductor Andrzej Panufnik in a duo piano team. Their concerts included light and serious music of all periods from Bach to Debussy, in arrangements on which he and Panufnik had collaborated. More than 200 of these arrangements were destroyed in the Warsaw Uprising, but one survived, the Wariacje na temat Paganiniego (Variations on a theme of Paganini), an arrangement by Lutosławski alone, which he published after the war. As in all their arrangements, one part was harder than the other, because Lutosławski was a better pianist than Panufnik; Lutosławski took the first piano part in the present arrangement. The Paganini theme is the famous one from the twenty-fourth Caprice for solo violin, which Paganini himself was the first to vary, and which has since attracted numerous composers, such as Schumann, Liszt, Brahms, Rachmaninoff, Blacher, Ginastera, Rochberg, and popular composers John Dankworth and Andrew Lloyd Webber. But where the most famous of these works—the Brahms and Rachmaninoff—present original variations on the theme, Lutosławski’s follows Paganini’s model closely; that is, Lutosławski “transcribed” Paganini’s variations. That is not to say Lutosławski’s Variations sound like products of the Romantic era—instead he used great imagination and twentieth-century vocabulary in transferring the violinistic passages to two pianos. The rapid string crossings in the second variation, for example, become rapidly alternating chromatically neighboring chords, and the thirds and tenths in the sixth variation are treated in canon and inversion with widely spaced triads in the first piano and octaves a third apart in the second piano. Though Lutosławski keeps the piece grounded in A minor, he introduces striking harmonic deviations, juxtapositions, and superimpositions. The first half of the second half of the theme, for example, begins in A major in the first piano while the second piano begins in E-flat, a tritone away. Lutosławski decided to trade Paganini’s arpeggiated conclusion for a brilliant, elaborate restatement of the theme—amounting to another variation—which is capped by a coda that increases in volume and speed to the end. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

January 10, 2010 – Emerson String Quartet ANTONÍN DVOŘÁK (1841-1904) String Quartet No. 14 in A-Flat, Op. 105 January 10, 2010 – Emerson String Quartet Born of rustic peasant stock, Antonín Dvořák began life as an apprentice butcher in a small Bohemian village near Prague. Although he grew to be one of the world’s most celebrated and admired composers, he never forgot his humble roots. For all of his worldliness, sophistication, and inexhaustible gifts, Dvořák remained firmly rooted in the soil of his native Bohemia throughout his life. In 1892, when he was 51 and at the height of his fame, Dvořák was invited by Mrs. Jeannette Thurber to move to New York City to head the newly established National Conservatory of Music. Mrs. Thurber, the wife of a wealthy grocer who had endowed the school, found in Dvořák a world-renowned musical figure to organize the program, attract a highly qualified faculty, and help establish an indigenously American style of music-making. In Dvořák’s own words, Mrs. Thurber brought him to New York to “discover what young Americans had in them, and to help them express it.” The National Conservatory was forward-looking in its admissions policies, welcoming African Americans and other minorities. While in New York and during his summer travels to the Czech community in Spillville, Iowa, Dvořák became acquainted with African American spirituals and Native American folk music. He was impressed by what he heard and incorporated the influence into much of the music that he composed during his three years in America, most famously his ninth symphony (“From the New World”) and his F-Major string quartet (“The American”). Despite his fascination with life in America and the hearty reception that he received, he never stopped feeling homesick for his beloved Bohemia. Finally, in April of 1895, he and his family sailed back to Europe, never to return to America. During his final weeks in New York City, he began to sketch out two string quartets, one in G major and the other in A-flat major. These were completed upon his return to Prague and reflected his joy on returning to his homeland. The Quartet in A-Flat, his last piece for that instrumental combination, is a work of supreme mastery, a life-affirming tour de force. The first movement begins in a deceptively somber mood, perhaps a reflection of Dvořák’s nostalgic state of mind during his final days in America. A portentous, A-flat minor motive is passed sequentially from the cello upward through the ranks to the first violin, only to be interrupted by fierce, dissonant chords. The ominous atmosphere is suddenly ameliorated by the first violin, which whips the motive into a bright A-flat major, immediately transforming the mood into one of jaunty good cheer. One can easily envision Dvořák strolling contentedly down the streets of his beloved Prague. From this point on, the movement sails forth in a dancing, lighthearted mode. The melancholy opening cello motive returns for a moment at the end of the movement but is now transformed teasingly into a subtle musical joke by Dvořák’s sophisticated use of harmony. A lively Scherzo and Trio follows. Again reflecting the joy of homecoming, the Scherzo is cast in the taut, snapping rhythms of a Furiant, a popular Czech folkdance featuring shifting accents and alternating metrical groupings. The contrasting Trio is smooth and lyrical, with long, arching melodic duets between various instrumental combinations played over a gently sustained accompaniment. Dvořák offers in the third movement a tender, deeply felt hymn of thanksgiving. The atmosphere of consolation and religiosity gradually devolves into a disconcerting moment of silence, which is followed by a pensive, chromatic interlude over a pulsing pedal tone in the cello. The intensity and emotional temperature rise until a fortissimo climax has been reached, after which the music gradually returns to the tranquil, prayer-like melody of the first section, now accompanied by gentle pizzicatos in the viola and bass and skittering filigree in the second violin. The movement ends in a moment of transcendent reconciliation, as the unsettled music of the interlude is subtly blended with the consoling hymn of thanksgiving. The last movement begins with a breathless melodic fragment in the cello. The 2nd violin and viola pounce on it in a startling burst of tremolo, but the first violin again corrals the music back into a sunny A-flat major, defusing the tension and transforming the mood into one of pure joy. Dvořák builds an exuberant finale out of humble components, just as he embraces his rustic Bohemian roots and uses them as the basis of a work of unsurpassed sophistication and maturity. At the end he throws the music into the highest gear of intensity and races to an ebullient, virtuosic conclusion. By Michael Parloff Return to Parlance Program Notes

MATTHEW LIPMAN, VIOLA As one of the world’s leading young violists, 26-year-old American Matthew Lipman has been hailed by the New York Times for his “rich tone and elegant phrasing” and by the Chicago Tribune for his “splendid technique and musical sensitivity.” The recipient of a prestigious 2015 Avery Fisher Career Grant, he has appeared as soloist with the Minnesota, Illinois Philharmonic, Grand Rapids Symphony, Wisconsin Chamber, Juilliard, Ars Viva Symphony, and Montgomery Symphony orchestras, with the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center in Alice Tully Hall, and in recital at the WQXR Greene Space in New York City and the Phillips Collection in Washington, DC. His debut solo album “Ascent” that includes a world premiere by Brazilian composer Clarice Assad and Waxman’s Carmen Fantasy played for the first time on viola is being released by Cedille Records, coinciding with a Lincoln Center recital debut in Fall 2018. The Telegraph praised Mr. Lipman as “gifted with poise and a warmth of timbre” on his Avie recording of Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante with violinist Rachel Barton Pine and the Academy of St Martin in the Fields with the preeminent Mozart scholar Sir Neville Marriner, which topped the Billboard charts. He was the only violist featured on WFMT Chicago’s list of “30 Under 30” of the world’s top classical musicians and has been profiled by The Strad and BBC Music magazines. Mr. Lipman performs internationally as a chamber musician with the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, and regularly at the prominent Music@Menlo, Marlboro, Ravinia, Bridgehampton, Seattle, Cleveland, and Valery Gergiev’s White Nights festivals. A top prizewinner of the Primrose, Tertis, Washington, Johansen, and Stulberg International Viola Competitions, he received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees as an inaugural Kovner fellow from The Juilliard School as a student of Heidi Castleman, and was further mentored by Tabea Zimmermann at the Kronberg Academy. A native of Chicago, Mr. Lipman is on faculty at Stony Brook University and performs on a fine 1700 Matteo Goffriller viola loaned through the generous efforts of the RBP Foundation.

September 24, 2017: Paul Neubauer, viola; Arnaud Sussman, violin; Rafael Figueroa, cello; Michael Brown, piano FELIX MENDELSSOHN (1809-1847) Octet in E-flat major, op. 20 September 24, 2017: Paul Neubauer, viola; Arnaud Sussman, violin; Rafael Figueroa, cello; Michael Brown, piano The sixteen-year-old Felix Mendelssohn completed one of the ultimate masterpieces of the chamber music literature—the Octet—on October 15, 1825. Even Mozart, with all his well-known precocity, did not create a work of such exquisite perfection by this time in his creative life. Dedicated to Mendelssohn’s violin and viola teacher Eduard Rietz, whose birthday fell on October 17, the Octet is unique not only in its revelation of such consummate skill in so young a composer but also in its instrumental configuration of four violins, two violas, and two cellos. Where did Mendelssohn get the idea for a string octet in which the instruments are not treated in double quartet fashion—as in Louis Spohr’s Double Quartets—but in myriad inventive combinations of the eight instruments? We find no true precedents for his stroke of genius. Though antiphonal effects between two quartets occasionally surface in the Octet, Mendelssohn most often layers the eight parts in an orchestral texture, from which each instrument emerges with solo lines—the first violin most prominently, as befitting a piece in which his teacher probably played the first violin part. Mendelssohn stressed his orchestral intentions in the score: “The Octet must be played by all the instruments in symphonic orchestral style. Pianos and fortes must be strictly observed and more strongly emphasized than is usual in pieces of this character.” No doubt he meant “usual” for chamber music in general, but there really is no other piece quite like the Octet with its combination of orchestral textures and technically virtuosic writing for each player. Since he was thirteen Felix had enjoyed a remarkable friendship with the aging Goethe, Germany’s most venerated writer of the time. The composer’s sister Fanny revealed that in the effervescent Scherzo, Felix had set to music a stanza from the Walpurgis Night Dream from Goethe’s Faust , Part I: “The flight of the clouds and the veil of mist / Are lit from above. / A breeze in the leaves, a wind in the reeds, / And all has vanished.” She continued: To me alone he told this idea: the whole piece is to be played staccato and pianissimo, the tremolos coming in now and then, the trills passing away with quickness of lightning; everything new and strange, and at the same time most insinuating and pleasing, one feels so near the world of spirits, carried away in the air, half inclined to snatch up a broomstick and follow the aerial procession. At the end the first violin takes a flight with a feather-like lightness, and—all has vanished. Mendelssohn scholar R. Larry Todd speculates convincingly that Mendelssohn not only represented additional aspects of Goethe’s dream sequence in the Scherzo—an orchestra of crickets, frogs, flies, mosquitos, and even a bagpipe blowing soap bubbles—but that other movements, too, may contain inspirations from Faust . He cites the first movement’s flamboyant, “Faustian” first violin part, with its bold soaring and tumbling opening, and the grandiose proportions of the movement as a whole. The archaic, lamenting quality of the slow movement perhaps reflects the cathedral scene before the Walpurgis Night, when the guilt-ridden Gretchen attends a church service and faints. And it may be that the fugal finale represents the struggle between Faust and Mephistopheles for Gretchen’s soul, which would also help to explain the reference to “And He shall reign for ever and ever” from the Hallelujah Chorus of Handel’s Messiah . Speculations aside, the first movement shows the kind of mastery of sonata form that enabled the composer to use it flexibly. In the recapitulation he felt free to bring back ideas in a different order and his coda shows the kind of developmental thinking that Beethoven liked to impart to his codas. The soulful Andante, ostensibly in C minor, spends most of its time ingeniously avoiding that key. Mendelssohn’s modulations spin out effortlessly and eventually leave the listener in F minor rather in the home key. The second theme captivates with its slowly cascading chains of thirds, which impart a sense of yearning through beautiful suspensions. Mendelssohn’s inspiration for his celebrated Scherzo has been mentioned, but we should also note that the music poured from his pen as a complete thought. Only this movement of the four shows no crossings-out, revisions, or afterthoughts in the manuscript. Instead of using a traditional scherzo-trio-scherzo form he opted for a miniature sonata form, with the development section breaking out in seven-part imitation that anticipates the fugal finale. Mendelssohn himself noted that the Scherzo almost always elicited an encore. He later bowed to its popularity by adding wind parts and substituting it for the minuet of his First Symphony for a performance in London, a practice that was often repeated. The finale begins with a touch of humor as the second cello in its lowest register presents an energetic solo line, which soon blossoms into a cheerful eight-voice fugue. Mendelssohn offers the perfect foil to this contrapuntal complexity with a powerful second theme in fortissimo octaves. His inspired mix of sonata and rondo form, infused by fugal sections surely had its roots in Mozart’s celebrated Jupiter Symphony finale. Bows to two of his other predecessors occur in the development (middle episode)—first the Handel reference noted above, then a nod to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony as he cleverly recalls the Scherzo just before the recapitulation. Throughout one can only marvel at the deft contrapuntal handling of the eight individual voices by the sixteen-year-old. The Octet, whose inspiration and effectiveness Mendelssohn may have recaptured but never surpassed, retained a lofty place in his affections. He later called it “my favorite of all my compositions,” nostalgically recalling that “I had the most beautiful time writing it.” © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

October 29, 2017: Peter Serkin, piano JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Goldberg Variations BWV 988 October 29, 2017: Peter Serkin, piano A wonderful story, recounted by Bach’s early biographer J. N. Forkel, revealed that the Goldberg Variations were the result of a request by former Russian ambassador and insomniac Count Keyserlingk for some clavier pieces that his young house harpsichordist, Johann Gottlieb Goldberg, could play for him during sleepless nights. A great patron of the arts, the count lived in Dresden but often visited Leipzig, where in 1737 he had introduced the ten-year-old Goldberg to Bach, recommending him as a harpsichord student. Goldberg indeed took lessons from Bach, but also from his oldest son Wilhelm Friedemann, a great keyboard virtuoso who was working in Dresden. It may be, as some scholars claim, that the elder Bach wrote the monumental work for his son rather than for Goldberg, but Forkel’s account cannot be dismissed because some information for his biography came directly from Wilhelm Friedemann and from Bach’s second oldest son, Carl Philipp Emanuel. In any case, Goldberg, too, became an outstanding virtuoso, and seems to have played the Variations frequently. Bach visited Count Keyserlingk in Dresden in November 1741, having published the Variations that fall, and it is entirely likely that he gave him a presentation copy. The count referred to them as “my” variations, but the work cannot have been an official commission or Bach would have included a formal dedication. For posterity the Aria with 30 Variations will always be known as the Goldberg Variations. In the larger scheme of things, Bach, a master organizer, published the work as part of the series he unassumingly titled Clavier-Übung (Keyboard Exercise), which he issued in installments beginning in 1731. This “exercise” represents the pinnacle of Bach’s art and thus an incomparable peak in the whole of music. His six keyboard Partitas make up Part I, followed by the Italian Concerto and the French Overture as Part II, the Prelude and Fugue in E-flat major and various organ chorales as Part III, and, finally, the Goldberg Variations. He may even have included the Art of Fugue as Book V had he lived to see it published. In choosing to compose a large set of variations, Bach stood firmly in the tradition of Corelli, Handel, and Rameau, though he himself had not written a keyboard set since his youth. Aria was also a traditional title for the first movement of such a set—Bach’s Aria is a thirty-two measure theme that also appears in Anna Magdalena Bach’s Clavier-Büchlein of 1725. For the first eight bars the harmony and bass line (the basis for most Baroque variation sets rather than the theme itself) are the same as for Handel’s Chaconne avec 62 variations, which Bach surely knew. Handel’s treatment of the last variation as a simple canon (precise imitation of one line by another) must have sparked Bach’s imagination even before the Goldberg Variations, because he used the underlying progression as the basis for several canons. Versions of these later appeared in his Fourteen Canons (BWV 1087), which he eventually copied into his own print of Part IV of the Clavier-Übung, explicitly connecting these two collections. He probably also knew a set of sarabande variations attributed to the “Eisenach” Bach (1642–1703)—or to J. S. Bach’s older brother—which employ the same progression for the first four measures. Forerunners aside, Bach employed a much longer theme than his predecessors had, giving himself a much fuller range to explore his incomparable canonic and variation techniques. The whole set is carefully organized so that every third variation includes a canon, systematically increasing the pitch interval at which the second line begins its imitation, starting with a canon at the unison for Variation 3 and continuing through the interval of a ninth in Variation 27. (The canons in Nos. 12 and 15 proceed in contrary motion.) In addition Bach sets up a threefold pattern of variation types (beginning with the third variation) of canon, free counterpoint, and duet-style. Before No. 3 he includes two free variations and follows No. 27 with three more free variations before he recalls the Aria. Despite Bach’s organizational and canonic rigors, there is nothing dry and pedantic about the Goldberg variations, which certainly must have kept Count Keyserlingk highly engaged rather than lulled to sleep. Bach juxtaposes variations of contrasting meter, specific rhythmic figuration, or texture, and he makes dramatic or witty variations with equal ingenuity. One of the most striking aspects of his elegant wit appears in the variations with hand-crossings, which appear already in the first variation. Here they require a certain athleticism, since Bach designates this variation to be played on just one of the harpsichord’s two manuals (keyboards). (Because Bach intended the Goldberg Variations for a two-manual harpsichord, transferring them to piano necessitates decisions about how best to distribute the two-manual variations, which pianists solve in many different ways.) Variations 5, 14, 20, and 28 also call for similar leaping hand-crossings rather than the type whose hand-crossings are the result of lines of counterpoint crossing each other—Nos. 8, 11, 17, 23, and 26. Both types require great virtuosity, the latter following in a long line of keyboard pieces known as bicinia or pièces croisées. Bach also includes dance types, such as a gigue for Variation 7 (labeled al tempo di Giga in his manuscript) or, though not so-designated, a highly ornamented sarabande for the slower Variation 13 with its emphasis on second beats. He labels Variation 10 a Fughetta, which though not a strict fugue contains an entrance of the fugue subject in every fourth bar. Variation 24 seems to have roots in the instrumental pastorale, similar to the siciliana in its lilting compound meter and deceptively simple or “rural” atmosphere. Many of the variations focus on a certain keyboard technique or challenge in the manner of the études of much later generations. Variation 8 suggests a study in arpeggios and contrary motion, Variation 23 a variety of virtuosic figures including parallel thirds, and 28, sustained measured trills, often in inner voices. Bach makes a striking gesture with French overture–style dotted rhythms as a kind of grand opening statement for the second half of the set. This variation also serves to bring back the prevailing major mode after No. 15, the first of only three variations in minor, whose canonic unfolding introduces two-note “sighs,” some daring chromaticism, and a curious ending that drifts upward. The last minor-mode variation, the soulful, chromatic No. 25, achieves the greatest weight and depth of the free variations, part of Bach’s scheme of increasing drama as well as technical brilliance as the set progresses. Most of the variations exhibit a two- or three-voice texture, though Bach intersperses four-voice variations at judicious intervals. Of these, two make specific reference to older polyphonic styles: Variation 22, marked Alla breve, employs Renaissance-style counterpoint as in a motet, and Variation 30 shows Bach having some fun in a quodlibet. Literally “as you like it,” the term had been used since the mid-fourteenth century to designate a humorous piece that combined two or more independent melodies, often folk tunes, in contrapuntal style. The Bach family reportedly improvised such pieces at family gatherings. Scholars have found at least six snippets in Variation 30 that appear to be folk quotations, of which the most obvious are phrases from “Ich bin so lang nicht bei dir g’west” (I’ve been away from you so long) and “Kraut und Rüben haben mich vertrieben” (Cabbage and turnips have driven me away). Bach’s witty combination of these phrases seems to refer to this “hodge-podge” (another meaning of Kraut und Rüben) having driven the main theme away, necessitating the recall of the Aria. Without any knowledge of quotations or elegant witticisms, however, Variation 30’s old-fashioned demeanor has the musical effect of halting the intensifying brilliance built up by the preceding variations, preparing for the Aria’s return to bring the work full circle. It is unlikely that Bach, his sons, or Goldberg played the set of variations straight through at a single performance. Nevertheless, its organization, carefully considered contrasts, cohesion, and technical challenges have made performances of the entire Goldberg Variations the lofty goal of many keyboard virtuosos—to the delight of the listening public. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

CLARA NEUBAUER, VIOLIN 16-year-old violinist Clara Neubauer attends The Dalton School and The Juilliard Pre-College as a student of Li Lin, and she studies with Itzhak Perlman, Catherine Cho, and Sean Lee at the Perlman Music Program and PMP Suncoast. Clara made her concerto debut with the National Repertory Orchestra in 2012, and her Lincoln Center debut at the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center’s Young Ensembles Concert in 2013. This past season, Clara performed as soloist with The Little Orchestra Society, the Dalton Orchestra, the New York Concerti Sinfonietta, and in performances at Alice Tully Hall, Weill Recital Hall, Juilliard ChamberFest, and Goddard Riverside. A winner of the 2017 Young Musicians Competition at the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, Clara was a Young Performer at the Music@Menlo Chamber Music Institute for five years. Clara was also a Musical Ambassador for the Doublestop Foundation and won first place in the 2017 Adelphi Competition. Born on 9/11/2001, Clara shared the stage with Bernadette Peters and Robert DeNiro hosting a 9/11 Memorial benefit and performing violin duos with her brother. She also can be heard leading the audio tour guide “for children and families” at the 9/11 Memorial Museum, available as a free app at the App Store. She is currently filming a documentary about 9/11 and will be featured in Faces of Hope: Babies Born on 9/11. In her free time, she loves reading, singing, playing chess, and musical theater. In October, 2013, she made her acting debut with the New York Philharmonic at a Young People’s concert at Avery Fisher Hall. At The Dalton School, she loves mathematics and chemistry, and she currently teaches a fifth grade violin class.

EILEEN MOON-MYERS, CELLO Eileen Moon-Myers joined the cello section of the New York Philharmonic in 1998, and in 2007 was named Associate Principal Cello, The Paul and Diane Guenther Chair. Born and raised in Los Altos, California, she studied piano and cello, eventually continuing her cello studies with Irene Sharp in the Pre-College Division of the San Francisco Conservatory. As a member of the Palo Alto Chamber Orchestra (PACO), Ms. Moon-Myers experienced years of immersion in the comprehensive arts community of the Bay Area and toured Europe and the West Coast, often as a featured soloist. She continued her studies at The Juilliard School, where she earned her bachelor of music degree, and then moved to Vienna to study with Valentin Erben of the Alban Berg Quartet. She was a top prize winner in numerous competitions, including YoungArts (Florida) in 1987, Irving Klein (California) in 1988, Geneva International Competition (Switzerland) in 1991, and Tchaikovsky International Competition (Moscow) in 1994. She has performed in prestigious festivals, and is the founder of the Warwick Music Series in Warwick, New York. Ms. Moon-Myers’s biggest passions are music presentation, cooking, running, and animal advocacy. She co-founded Friends of Warwick Valley Humane Society and aims to open a sanctuary for injured, abandoned and “retired” animals and wildlife.

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