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May 8, 2022: Arnaud Sussmann, violin; Anna Polonsky, piano; Paul Neubauer, viola; Fred Sherry, cello; Michael Parloff, lecturer WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791) Violin Sonata in A major, K. 526 May 8, 2022: Arnaud Sussmann, violin; Anna Polonsky, piano; Paul Neubauer, viola; Fred Sherry, cello; Michael Parloff, lecturer Little is known about the circumstances surrounding the composition of the A major Violin Sonata, K. 526, other than that it was written in August 1787 in Vienna during the composition of Don Giovanni. Mozart himself was an accomplished violinist, but there is no evidence that he wrote it with himself in mind, nor is there evidence that he wrote it for anyone else. It seems unlikely, however, that Mozart would have interrupted work on the opera unless some occasion demanded it. Mozart’s violin sonatas span an interesting time in the history of the genre. His earliest violin sonatas belong to the tradition of keyboard sonatas for the amateur to which ad libitum violin (or flute, and sometimes cello) accompaniment could be added if available. His later violin sonatas, still called piano sonatas with violin accompaniment, exhibit greater equality and independence of the two instruments. In the present Sonata (his last except for “a small piano sonata for beginners, with a violin,” K. 547), the piano and violin are truly equal partners. The contrapuntal textures throughout may suggest the composer’s study of Bach, but the language remains thoroughly Mozartean. The Molto allegro is set in 6/8, an unusual meter for Mozart to use for a first movement. (It is interesting that he also cast the first movement of his other A major Violin Sonata, K. 305, in 6/8, a meter commonly associated with “the hunt,” and indeed the meter he used for the first movement of his Hunt Quartet in B-flat major, K. 458.) The hemiola effects (switching from rhythmic patterns of two groups of three to three groups of two) and extensions of cadential phrase endings constitute some of the delightful features of this sonata-form movement. The Andante, again in sonata form, is remarkable for its spare texture, often achieved by the kind of octave doublings that Brahms later favored. Mozart never ceases to amaze in his ability to create such expressive music with deceptively simple means—fragmented melodic utterances, flowing regular accompaniment, chromatic touches, major-minor shifts—how can these produce such a compelling effect? The finale, though one of Mozart’s longest in a chamber work, races by at a presto tempo. It combines virtuoso tendencies with an almost demonic high-spirited quality. Mozart scholars Derek Carew and Neal Zaslaw have independently reported that the movement is based on the finale of Carl Friedrich Abel’s A major Violin Sonata, op. 5, no. 5, possibly as a memorial tribute since Abel had died on June (Carew mistakenly says January) 20, 1787. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

November 4, 2018: Lucille Chung, piano LOUIS-CLAUDE DAQUIN (1694-1772) Le Coucou November 4, 2018: Lucille Chung, piano Louis-Claude Daquin’s intellectual, artistic family immediately recognized his prodigious talents. He took harpsichord lessons with his talented godmother Elisabeth Jacquet de la Guerre and composition lessons from the illustrious Nicolas Bernier, and at the age of six he performed for Louis XIV. Just two years later he conducted his own Beatus vir at the royal chapel, Sainte-Chapelle, and at twelve he became assistant there to Marin de la Guerre (Elisabeth’s husband). That year he was also hired as organist at Petit St.-Antoine, where crowds flocked to hear him. Daquin won the position of organist at St. Paul in 1727 in competition with a number of fine musicians including the great Jean-Philippe Rameau, and he remained there until his death. Concurrently he held other organist appointments—at Cordeliers from 1732, Chapelle Royale from 1739, and Notre Dame from 1755. He is also known to have mightily impressed his audiences at the Concerts Spirituels at the Palais de Tuileries and the Concerts Français. Contemporary accounts rate Daquin as the finest improviser of his time, but he may have been too busy improvising to commit the extent of his genius to print—just two collections of his compositions were captured for posterity. His Nouveau livre de noëls (New book of Christmas pieces), published in 1757, shows charm, brilliance, and imaginative registrations. But Daquin’s more original side shows in some of the pieces in his Livre de pièces de clavecin (Book of harpsichord pieces), a collection of four suites and a divertissement, for which there was enough demand to be printed twice, in 1735 and again in 1739. In his 1735 preface Daquin points to his use of “new styles of expression” while keeping within true keyboard idioms. He points to Les vents en couroux , in which he says the crossed hands passages represent the fury of the waves and flashes of lightning as the wind whips up a storm on the ocean, and Les trois cadences , which contains the novel technique of the triple trill. He also mentions his attempt to imitate the “appropriate effects and characters” in the publication’s final set of pieces, Les plaisirs de la chasse (The pleasures of the hunt), but other than including it in a list of pieces possible for violins or flutes, he does not mention Le coucou , which has become his most celebrated composition. Le coucou , the first piece in his Third Suite, shows his remarkable use of a stylized bird call in an original way. A cuckoo’s call is generally heard as a descending major or minor third, and Daquin starts with this interval, always placing it in the same rhythmic spot—from the second half of the second beat to the downbeat of the next measure. The call migrates from hand to hand, but more strikingly changes from a third to a second, fourth, fifth, or sixth depending on the harmony, and sometimes ascends rather than descends. It never loses its identity as the cuckoo, however, owing to its rhythmic configuration. In terms of form, Daquin opts for a rondeau in which the opening alternates with two couplets as a refrain in the form A-B-A-C-A. He never alters the texture of running sixteenth-notes against the “cuckoos” except to switch hands and add judicious ornaments, but he keeps the ear engaged with harmonic excursions and the flitting of the cuckoos from place to place. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

HUGO VALVERDE, HORN Hugo Valverde carries an orchestral and solo career in the United States and his native Costa Rica as a French horn player, currently holding the position of Second Horn with the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra since 2017. As an orchestra player he has performed with the Costa Rican National Symphony Orchestra, the Classical Tahoe Festival Orchestra, the Orchestra of the Americas, The Pacific Music Festival Orchestra and The Philadelphia Orchestra. In his role as a soloist he performed Richard Strauss’ Concerto No. 1 with the Lynn Philharmonia Orchestra under Guillermo Figueroa and he premiered the piece “Tributo al Ciudadano Pablo” by Marvin Camacho with the Heredia Symphony Orchestra of Costa Rica under Josué Jiménez. The piece is written and dedicated to him by the composer and it reflects Hugo Valverde’s commitment to Latin American repertoire, having performed and premiered in concert pieces by Manuel Matarrita, and other Latin American composers. He often performs chamber music concerts with his colleagues of the, Metropolitan Opera Orchestra at the Carnegie Hall Concert Series (Met Orchestra Chamber Ensemble) at Weill Recital Hall and also with the woodwind quintet “Quinteto de Luz” in Costa Rica. Mr. Valverde studied at the Shepherd School of Music at Rice University, Lynn University Conservatory of Music and the National Music Institute of Costa Rica. His main teachers are Luis Murillo, Gregory Miller and William VerMeulen. In his spare time, Hugo enjoys cycling in Central Park and his native Barva, in Costa Rica, and is a coffee lover.

February 16, 2020: Ying Fang, soprano; Ken Noda, piano FRANZ SCHUBERT (1797-1828) Viola, D. 786 Nacht und Traume, D. 827 February 16, 2020: Ying Fang, soprano; Ken Noda, piano Schubert’s over 600 surviving songs span just seventeen years, from his student days at the Stadtkonvikt to the last weeks of his tragically short life. He raised the genre to one of central importance and his influence has never been surpassed. The present selection offers some of his beloved stand-alone songs—that is, those outside of his song cycles. Schubert composed “Viola” (a flower in the same family as the pansy and violet) in March of 1823 on a poem by his closest friend Franz von Schober, a charismatic dilettante whose lodgings he shared on various occasion after moving out of his parental home in 1817. Schober’s poem, subtitled “A Flower Ballad,” comprises nineteen verses, which Schubert groups in sections as a kind of through-composed mini-cantata. The song tells the metaphorical story of a lovesick, delicate flower, who hurries to greet Spring, the bridegroom, but wastes away before he arrives. Missing his “dearest child,” Spring has the other flowers search for her, but they find her lifeless. “Viola” is unified by Schubert’s musical treatment of the recurring poetic material of verses 1, 5, 14, and 19, in which the snowdrop is successively exhorted to ring in spring, awaken the flowers, send them to find the missing Viola, and finally to ring her requiem. Schubert creates a dramatic arc from beginning to end—from the quiet beginning of the first section that ends with the return of the refrain to a new more active “movement,” that dramatically tells Viola’s story, and from a new section that portrays the confidence of the other flowers, Spring’s arrival, and the bustling search to find Viola to the return of the quiet simplicity of the opening. Along the way Schubert shows his uncanny ability to respond to the nuances of the text through harmonic shifts, rhythmic adjustments, motivic relationships—and a virtuosic, descriptive piano accompaniment. “Nacht und Träume” (Night and dreams) is impossible to date precisely, but this quintessential Romantic song had to have been composed by June of 1823, when Schubert’s friend Josef von Spaun reported hearing it, and most likely stems from the winter of 1822–23 when Schubert made several settings of poems by Matthäus von Collin. It is touching to think that Schubert composed both this and “Viola” just as he was beginning to feel the ill effects of the syphillis that would claim his life several years later. The imagery of night and dreams was as essential to the Romantic aesthetic as yearning, unrequited love, death, and the supernatural. Collin’s brief poem inspired one of Schubert’s most slow-moving, serene contemplations—and one of his most challenging for the singer, who must sustain its lines at a pianissimo dynamic throughout. He creates a fascinating two-part structure in which each part begins with different music but ends with a musical “rhyme”—lines 2, 3, and 4 corresponding musically with lines 7, 8, and repeat of 8. Throughout the piano maintains a soothing rocking motion with a gorgeous harmonic shift at the outset of the second part to set up the image of dreams eavesdropping with pleasure. © Jane Vial Jaffe Texts and Translations Viola Schneeglöcklein, o Schneeglöcklein! In den Auen läutest du, Läutest in dem stillen Hain, Läute immer, läute zu! Denn du kündest frohe Zeit, Frühling naht, der Bräutigam, Kommt mit Sieg vom Winterstreit, Dem er seine Eiswehr nahm. Darum schwingt der goldne Stift, Daß dein Silberhelm erschallt, Und dein liebliches Gedüft Leis’, wie Schmeichelruf entwallt: Daß die Blumen in der Erd Steigen aus dem düstern Nest Und des Bräutigams sich werth Schmücken zu dem Hochzeitfest. Schneeglöcklein, o Schneeglöcklein! In den Auen läutest du, Läutest in dem stillen Hain, Läut’ die Blumen aus der Ruh! Du Viola, zartes Kind, Hörst zuerst den Wonnelaut, Und sie stehet auf geschwind, Schmücket sorglich sich als Braut. Hüllet sich ins grüne Kleid, Nimmt den Mantel sammetblau, Nimmt das güldene Geschmeid, Und den Brilliantenthau. Eilt dann fort mit mächt’gem Schritt, Nur den Freund im treuen Sinn, Ganz von Liebesglut durchglüht, Sieht nicht her und sieht nicht hin. Doch ein ängstliches Gefühl Ihre kleine Brust durchwallt, Denn es ist noch rings so still Und die Lüfte weh’n so kalt. Und sie hemmt den schnellen Lauf, Schon bestrahlt von Sonnenschein, Doch mit Schrecken blickt sie auf,— Denn sie stehet ganz allein. Schwestern nicht—nicht Bräutigam— Zugedrungen! und verschmäht!— Da durchschauert sie die Schaam, Fliehet wie vom Sturm geweht, Fliehet an den fernsten Ort, Wo sie Gras und Schatten deckt, Späht und lauschet immerfort: Ob was rauschet und sich regt. Und gekränket und getäuscht Sitzet sie und schluchzt und weint; Von der tiefsten Angst zerfleischt, Ob kein Nahender sich zeigt.— Schneeglöcklein, o Schneeglöcklein! In den Auen läutest du, Läutest in dem stillen Hain, Läut die Schwestern ihr herzu!— Rose nahet, Lilie schwankt, Tulp und Hyacinthe schwellt, Windling kommt daher gerankt, Und Narciß hat sich gesellt. Da der Frühling nun erscheint Und das frohe Fest beginnt, Sieht er alle die vereint, Und vermißt sein liebstes Kind. Alle schickt er suchend fort Um die Eine, die ihm werth. Und sie kommen an den Ort, Wo sie einsam sich verzehrt.— Doch es sitzt das liebe Kind Stumm und bleich, das Haupt gebückt— Ach! der Lieb und Sehnsucht Schmerz Hat die Zärtliche erdrückt. Schneeglöcklein, o Schneeglöcklein! In den Auen läutest du, Läutest in dem stillen Hain, Läut, Viola, sanfte Ruh! —Franz von Schober Viola Snowdrop, O snowdrop! you ring in the meadows, you ring in the quiet grove, ring always, ring out! For you herald a happy time, spring, the bridegroom, nears, comes victorious from the battle with winter, whose icy weapons he took away. So your golden clapper swings, so that your silvery helmet resounds, and your lovely scent quietly, like a flattering call flows forth: That the flowers in the earth rise from their dark nest and worthy of the bridegroom dress for the wedding feast. Snowdrop, O snowdrop! you ring in the meadows, you ring in the quiet grove, ring the flowers out of their sleep! You field pansy, tender child, hear the blissful sound first, and she gets up quickly, and dresses carefully as a bride. She wraps herself in a green dress, dons a velvety blue coat, dons her golden jewelry and dewy diamonds. She hurries forth with mighty step, only to her friend in the true sense, completely glowing with love’s warmth, she looks neither to one side nor the other. But an anxious feeling flows through her little breast, for it is so quiet all around and the breezes blow so coldly. And she halts her fast running, already shone upon by the sun, but with terror she looks up, for she is standing all alone. No sisters, no bridegroom, she has been too forward! and been spurned! Then shame shudders through her, she flees as if blown by a storm. She flees to the most distant place, where grass and shadows cover her, she always looks and listens: to see whether anything rustles or moves. And hurt and deceived she sits and sobs and weeps; torn apart by the deepest fear, that nobody will appear. Snowdrop, O snowdrop! you ring in the meadows, you ring in the quiet grove, ring so that her sisters come to her! The rose nears, the lily sways, the tulip and the hyacinth swell, the bindweed comes twining around, and the narcissus has joined in. Now that spring appears and the happy festival begins, he sees all who are united, and he misses his dearest child. He sends everyone off to search for the one who is dear to him, and they come to the place where she pines away alone. But the dear child sits mute and pale, her head bowed. Ah! the pain of love and longing has crushed the tender one. Snowdrop, O snowdrop! you ring in the meadows, you ring in the quiet grove, ring, for the field pansy, gentle rest! Nacht und Träume Heil’ge Nacht, du sinkest nieder; Nieder wallen auch die Träume, Wie dein Mondlicht durch die Räume, Durch der Menschen stille Brust. Die belauschen sie mit Lust; Rufen, wenn der Tag erwacht: Kehre wieder, heil’ge Nacht! Holde Träume, kehret wieder! —Matthäus von Collin Night and Dreams Holy night, you sink down; dreams also float down, like moonlight through spaces, through the silent breasts of men. They eavesdrop on them with pleasure; they call when day awakes: Come back, holy night! Sweet dreams, come back! Return to Parlance Program Notes

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SUNDAY, JANUARY 19, 2020 AT 3 PM PAUL LEWIS, PIANO BEETHOVEN AND SCHUBERT BUY TICKETS PAUL LEWIS, PIANO “Lewis’ deep insights into the emotional complications of this music were matched by his firm grasp of classical structure and the ways in which Schubert’s lyrical gift illuminates that structure. This was Schubert playing of a very high order.” – Chicago Tribune FEATURING ABOUT THE PERFORMANCE BUY TICKETS The English pianist Paul Lewis is internationally regarded as one of the most poetic artists of his generation. His performances of the core piano works of Beethoven and Schubert have received unanimous critical and public acclaim worldwide. His program will include Beethoven’s cherished “Moonlight” Sonata in C# minor and Schubert’s sublime Sonata in G Major, which Robert Schumann called “Schubert’s most perfect sonata in form and conception.” PROGRAM Beethoven Sonata No. 13 in E-flat major, Op. 27, no. 1, “Quasi una fantasia” Program Notes Beethoven Fantasia in G minor, Op. 77 Program Notes Beethoven Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor, Op. 27, no. 2, “Quasi una fantasia” (“Moonlight”) Program Notes Schubert Sonata in G major, D. 894, op. 78 (“Fantasie”) Program Notes Watch Paul Lewis perform Schubert’s final piano sonata in G major:

BRYAN WAGORN, PIANO Canadian pianist Bryan Wagorn serves as Assistant Conductor at The Metropolitan Opera and regularly performs throughout North America, Europe, and Asia as chamber musician and recital accompanist to the world’s leading singers and instrumentalists. Recent engagements include the Met Chamber Ensemble at Carnegie Hall, and recitals with Angel Blue, Anthony Roth Costanzo, Lise Davidsen, and Nadine Sierra. Mr. Wagorn has appeared at festivals including Tanglewood, Marlboro, Ravinia and Glyndebourne, and served on the faculty of the National Arts Centre of Canada’s Orchestra’s Summer Music Institute, and Carnegie Hall’s National Youth Orchestra. He has been a guest coach at the Royal Academy of Music in London, the Metropolitan Opera’s Lindemann Young Artist Program and at the Glyndebourne Festival’s Jerwood Young Artist Program, and serves on the faculty of Mannes College and Manhattan School of Music.

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February 18, 2024: Anthony McGill, clarinet; Stefan Jackiw, violin; Nicholas Canellakis, cello; Michael Stephen Brown, piano Olivier Messiaen Quartet for the End of Time February 18, 2024: Anthony McGill, clarinet; Stefan Jackiw, violin; Nicholas Canellakis, cello; Michael Stephen Brown, piano The outbreak of the Second World War occurred one week after Messiaen had finished his organ work Les corps glorieux on August 25, 1939. Messiaen was called into service but was found unfit for active duty because of his poor eyesight. When the Germans invaded in May 1940 Messiaen was serving as a medical auxiliary at Verdun. He and three other musicians made it on foot to Nancy, but there they were captured. Messiaen was taken to a prison camp at Görlitz, Silesia (now Poland), where he remained until the spring of 1941, staunchly guarding “a haversack containing all my treasures, i.e., a little library of scores . . . going from the Brandenburg Concertos of Bach to the Lyric Suite of Berg [also including scores by Beethoven, Ravel, and Stravinsky].” Messiaen composed in order to help himself survive “the cruelties and horrors of the camp”—first a short trio for a violinist, clarinetist, and cellist whom he met in the camp, which they performed in the washrooms. (The former two had their instruments with them; the Germans supplied the cellist with a cello with only three strings.) He then embarked on a full-scale chamber work for these musicians with himself as pianist, the Quatuor pour la fin du temps, which included the trio as the fourth movement. For the first performance of the Quartet on the savagely cold night of January 15, 1941, a rickety, out-of-tune old upright piano with many non-functional keys was brought into the Stalag, and the piece was played in the unheated Barrack 27 before an audience of 5,000 inmates. “Never,” said Messiaen later, “have I been heard with as much attention and understanding.” The title Quartet for the End of Time, asserted Messiaen, was not to be interpreted as a response to his imprisonment; rather he wished to pay homage to “the Angel of the Apocalypse, who raises his hand heavenward saying: ‘There will be no more Time’” (Revelation of St. John). The composer also pointed out that the title has another meaning: his wish for an end of musical time based on the equal durational divisions of traditional music. The Quartet for the End of Time exhibits the polyrhythmic structures that he employed to achieve this aim, and which became very important in his later works. Messiaen also wanted the rhythmic structure to be independent of the harmony and melody, “in the manner of Guillaume de Machaut [c.1300–1377] whose work I did not know at the time.” The first movement, Liturgy of crystal, serves to illustrate Messiaen’s complex musical language. Two independent rhythmic ostinatos, one for the piano and a non-retrogradable (palindromic) one for the cello, are colored by the repeating patterns of twenty-nine different chords (showing Messiaen’s fondness of prime numbers). The melodic and harmonic patterns are not congruent with the rhythmic patterns, bringing to mind medieval isorhythmic motets, such as those by Machaut. Messiaen’s pitches are derived from his own system of modes. These combined structures are superimposed on two independent bird songs, played by the violin and clarinet. Here in a nutshell can be found some of the most important features in Messiaen’s development as a composer: complex polyrhythms, harmonic modes, his “banishment of temporalities,” and above all, the introduction of bird song. It is important to note, however, that Messiaen’s manufactured structures do not dictate the form of the movement or its duration—they are cut off abruptly; it is the bird song that shapes the movement. Otherwise Messiaen would have been exchanging one kind of tyranny for another. Interesting relationships exist between the movements of the Quartet. The second shows thematic links with the seventh, both the third and sixth movements are monodies (clarinet alone, and all four instruments in octaves, respectively), and the fourth movement (the former trio) is related thematically to both the third and the sixth. The fifth and eighth movements are related in style, slow tempo, E major tonality, solo stringed instrument with piano, and theological basis. The Quartet for the End of Time remains one of the most important chamber music compositions of the twentieth century, in part because of Messiaen’s techniques, but also because it speaks to those who are totally unaware of them, as it did to the inmates that cold winter. In the preface to the score, Messiaen provided the following description, which is worth quoting in full: “Conceived and written in the course of my captivity, the Quartet for the End of Time was performed for the first time in Stalag 8-A on January 15, 1941, by Jean Le Boulaire, violinist; Henri Akoka, clarinetist; Etienne Pasquier, cellist; and myself at the piano. It is directly inspired by this excerpt from ‘The Revelation of St. John.’ Its musical language is essentially transcendental, spiritual, catholic. Certain modes, realizing melodically and harmonically a kind of tonal ubiquity, draw the listener into a sense of the eternity of space or time. Particular rhythms existing outside the measure contribute importantly toward the banishment of temporalities. (All this is mere striving and childish stammering if one compares it to the overwhelming grandeur of the subject!) “This Quartet contains eight movements. Why? Seven is the perfect number, the creation of six days made holy by the divine Sabbath; the seventh in its repose prolongs itself into eternity and becomes the eighth, of unfailing light, of immutable peace. “I. Liturgy of crystal. Between the morning hour of three and four, the awakening of the birds: a thrush or a nightingale soloist improvises, amid notes of shining sound and a halo of trills that lose themselves high in the trees. Transpose this to the religious plane: you will have the harmonious silence of heaven. “II. Vocalise, for the angel who announces the end of Time. The first and third parts (very short) evoke the power of that mighty angel, his hair a rainbow and his clothing mist, who places one foot on the sea and one foot on the earth. Between these sections are the ineffable harmonies of Heaven. From the piano, soft cascades of blue-orange chords, encircling with their distant carillon the plainchant-like recitativo of the violin and cello. “III. Abyss of the birds. Clarinet solo. The abyss is Time, with its sadness and tediums. The birds are the opposite of Time; they are our desire for light, for stars, for rainbows, and for jubilant outpourings of song! “IV. Interlude. Scherzo. Of a more outgoing character than the other movements but related to them, nonetheless, by various melodic references. “V. Praise to the eternity of Jesus. Jesus is here considered as one with the Word. A long phrase, infinitely slow, by the cello expatiates with love and reverence the everlastingness of the Word, mighty and dulcet, ‘which the years can in no way exhaust.’ Majestically the melody unfolds itself at a distance both intimate and awesome. ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’ “VI. Dance of fury, for the seven trumpets. Rhythmically the most idiosyncratic movement of the set. The four instruments in unison give the effect of gongs and trumpets (the first six trumpets of the Apocalypse attend various catastrophes, the trumpet of the seventh angel announces the consummation of the mystery of God). Use of extended note values, augmented or diminished rhythmic patterns, non-retrogradable rhythms—a systematic use of values which, read from left to right or from right to left, remain the same. Music of stone, formidable sonority; movement as irresistible as steel, as huge blocks of livid fury or ice-like frenzy. Listen particularly to the terrifying fortissimo of the theme in augmentation and with change of register of its different notes, toward the end of the piece. “VII. Cluster of rainbows, for the angel who announces the end of Time. Here certain passages from the second movement return. The mighty angel appears, and in particular the rainbow that envelops him (the rainbow, symbol of peace, of wisdom, of every quiver of luminosity and sound). In my dreamings I hear and see ordered melodies and chords, familiar hues and forms; then, following this transitory stage I pass into the unreal and submit ecstatically to a vortex, a dizzying interpenetration of super-human sounds and colors. These fiery swords, these rivers of blue-orange lava, these sudden stars: Behold the cluster, behold the rainbows! “VIII. Praise to the immortality of Jesus. Expansive violin solo balancing the cello solo of the fifth movement. Why this second glorification? It addresses itself more specifically to the second aspect of Jesus—to Jesus the man, to the Word made flesh, raised up immortal from the dead so as to communicate His life to us. It is total love. Its slow rising to a supreme point is the ascension of man toward his God, of the son of God toward his Father, of the mortal newly made divine toward paradise. “And I repeat anew what I said above: All this is mere striving and childish stammering if one compares it to the overwhelming grandeur of the subject!” —historical background ©Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

February 26, 2017: Emanuel Ax, piano FREDERIC CHOPIN (1810-1849) Four Impromptus, Opp. 29, 36, 51, & 66 February 26, 2017: Emanuel Ax, piano Between 1834 and 1842 Chopin composed four impromptus (opp. 66, 29, 36, and 51 in that order), which, though conceived as separate pieces, share certain thematic material and a basic ternary shape (ABA). For Chopin, imprompt u did not mean a piece of an improvisatory nature but rather a character piece—a common if vague nineteenth-century designation—and his impromptus show evidence that he revised his materials more than once before arriving at their final form. Chopin composed his so-called Fantasy-Impromptu in C-sharp minor c. 1834 , but decided not to publish it for unknown reasons. He himself called the piece an “impromptu,” but his friend Julian Fontana added “fantasy” to the title when he published it in 1855, six years after Chopin’s death. (An alternate version was also published from a presentation manuscript Chopin made for dedicatee Baroness d’Este.) In 1834 Chopin had not yet solidified what “impromptu” meant for him personally as a genre. He had recently published his Etudes, op. 10, and this first Impromptu belongs to that world. It also shows indebtedness to the Impromptu in E-flat major, op. 89, by Ignaz Moscheles and to Schubert’s Impromptu, op. 90, no. 2. (It has been suggested that similarities to the Moscheles Impromptu may have been a reason for withholding it from publication, but that notion is contradicted by the fact that he published other pieces modeled on those by Moscheles.) The C-sharp minor Impromptu continues to be one of Chopin’s most popular pieces. It unfolds in a simple ternary form whose outer sections feature rippling figuration from which a melody in longer notes emerges. The slower middle section offers an expansive, lyrical melody (later appropriated for the pop song “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows”), which Chopin treats several times at leisure before returning the scurrying opening section. He also recalls the tune in his ruminating coda. By 1837, when Chopin wrote his second Impromptu in A-flat major , he demonstrated his clear personal definition of the genre by modeling the piece on his own unpublished C-sharp minor Impromptu. Many commentators have pointed out similarities between the two in regard to formal design, texture, and details of phrase structure and motives. That this was a time of despair for Chopin, when his hopes of marrying Maria Wodziński were crushed, contrasts markedly with the effervescent atmosphere of this piece’s outer sections. The middle section becomes more ruminative but hardly brooding. Especially memorable are the cascading chromatics of the “A” sections and the harmonic digressions and melodic embellishments of the “B” section. Chopin composed the third Impromptu in F-sharp minor in 1839 at Nohant, the country estate of writer George Sand (pseudonym of Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin), with whom he had by now become romantically involved. Chopin scholar Jim Samson has argued persuasively that “this piece was the single most important harbinger of Chopin’s later style” in its variation style that is built on an ostinato (repeating pattern), its march-like middle section, and the threefold variation of the reprise. The manuscript reveals that the form of this prophetic composition caused Chopin a great struggle. Some of the most striking features of the piece are the astonishing tonal wrench to the unexpected key of F major for the return of the opening theme and the amazing figuration as the theme is varied—finger exercises transformed into magical effects. The delicate, harmonically adventurous fourth Impromptu in G-flat major , Chopin’s personal favorite, dates from the summer of 1842 at Nohant, polished the following autumn/winter. It exists in two versions, one transmitted through his onetime pupil Carl Filtsch, who copied it out either by ear or from a manuscript in 1841. If by ear, he hadn’t remembered how Chopin exquisitely varied the main theme in thirds and sixths on its later appearances, and, if copying from a manuscript, he must have been looking at a version from before Chopin arrived at this imaginative stroke. Chopin likely modeled his G-flat major Impromptu, especially the figuration of the outer sections, on his A-flat major Impromptu. The fourth Impromptu’s outer sections are striking for their ethereal rising scales before certain phrase endings, the adventurous harmonies of their transition passage, and a new second theme. In the slower middle section Chopin features a singing, contemplative melody in the cello register. The sophistication of his harmonies and intricately interconnected flow of ideas make it clear why Chopin favored this Impromptu and regrettable that it has often been overlooked. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

MIDGE WOOLSEY, NARRATOR Midge Woolsey has proudly served the tristate community as a broadcaster for over 30 years. Since joining WQXR in 1993, she has been the Weekend Music host and more recently the Weekday Evening host. As a host on public television’s flagship station Thirteen/WNET she has introduced such specials as Andrea Bocelli’s Emmy nominated Statue of Liberty Concert, The Three Tenors with James Levine live from Paris, and the landmark twenty-four hour event, PBS Millennium 2000. She has also hosted numerous fundraising events, including Josh Groban in Concert and Pavarotti in Central Park. Behind the scenes, Woolsey worked with Jac Venza on Great Performances, the award-winning PBS series of international music, dance and drama programs. She also served as production executive for award-winning producer David Grubin, working with him on several acclaimed historical documentaries for the PBS series American Experience and on the poetry series The Language of Life with Bill Moyers. Woolsey has degrees in theater and music, and has served as a director, performer and choreographer in more than 100 productions with various regional opera and musical theater companies.

LOCATION & DIRECTIONS All concerts take place at: West Side Presbyterian Church 6 South Monroe Street Ridgewood, NJ 07450 West Side Presby terian Church is Wheelchair Accessible Free Childcare (ages 3 – 6) is provided at all concerts For directions, click here .