March 13, 2022: Kristin Lee, violin; Nicholas Canellakis, cello; Michael Brown, piano MAURICE RAVEL (1875-1937) Sonata (Duo) for Violin and Cello March 13, 2022: Kristin Lee, violin; Nicholas Canellakis, cello; Michael Brown, piano In 1920 Henry Prunières, editor of La Revue Musicale, commissioned pieces by ten prominent composers—Bartók, Dukas, Falla, Eugene Goossens, Malipiero, Ravel, Roussel, Satie, Schmitt, and Stravinsky—to be published in a special issue commemorating Debussy and to be played on a special recital at the Société Musicale Indépendante on January 24, 1921. Ravel’s contribution was the first movement of his Duo for violin and cello. Owing to work on a concurrent commission for the opera L’enfant et les sortilèges and numerous other distractions—including moving into a country villa where he could compose undisturbed—Ravel did not resume work on the Sonata until the summer of 1921, completing it in January 1922. At the time of the premiere on April 6, 1922, by violinist Hélène Jourdan-Morhange and cellist Maurice Maréchal, the work was still titled Duo, perhaps reflecting Kodály’s 1914 work of the same title for the same combination of instruments. Indeed the Hungarian flavor of parts of the finale may indicate more than titular influence. Ravel noted the Sonata (its published title)—as a “turning point” in his career from the lushness of previous works to a more “stripped down” style. The work shows a “restraint from harmonic charm,” wrote the composer, and is “more and more an emphatic reversion to the spirit of melody.” Unintended dissonances marred the first performance—consequences of Ravel’s novel ideas, which proved technically challenging. Naturally some critics complained about the austerity of the new style, but Gustave Samazeuilh wrote of the “supple imagination of the first movement, “the surprising verve” of the second and fourth movements, and the “pure and sustained line” of the slow movement. Ravel met the challenge of composing for reduced forces not only through a new melodic style, but through an incredible variety of textures, articulations, and timbres. In the sonata-form first movement he keeps both instruments in the same register much of the time, thus focusing not on their differences but their pitch content, which shifts between major and minor. By contrast, the scherzo showcases the different ranges of the two instruments and, even more striking, the difference between pizzicato (plucked) and arco (bowed) articulations. A wonderful texture is created by broken chords in harmonics that accompany the violin’s folklike pizzicato theme, which later returns arco with a new accompaniment. Another novel sonority occurs at the conclusion with the cello’s pizzicato, triple-stop glissando (slide). The slow movement begins and ends in calm introspection, rising to a turbulent peak in the middle. Its simple lyricism provides a great foil for the preceding scherzo and the following finale, which by turns can be characterized as agitated, playful, and driven. In this concluding movement Ravel delights in changing meters, Hungarian folk touches, and further pizzicato and arco contrasts as he artfully creates new themes and combines them with ideas that we’ve heard before, including prominent recalls from the first movement. The great swirl of themes, keys, and textures suddenly comes to a halt in a simple C major chord. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

June 2, 2024: Mozart’s Double Concertos WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791) Concerto for Flute and Harp, K. 299 June 2, 2024: Mozart’s Double Concertos Mozart went to Paris in the spring of 1778, and, as the cost of living was high, he presented himself to members of the nobility and the Parisian socialites in hopes of receiving musical commissions, being paid for performances, or giving music lessons. One of his composition pupils was the daughter of Adrien-Louis Bonnière de Souastre, Comte de Guines. (Mozart referred to him as the Duc de Guines, though he was actually a count.) Mozart wrote to his father that the “Duc” played the flute extremely well and his daughter’s harp playing was “magnifique.” In April 1778 he duly composed a flute and harp concerto, for which he fully expected to be paid. The daughter ceased her lessons when she was to be married, and the Duc went off to the country. Mozart went around to the house to collect, not only for the lessons, but for the Concerto, which the Duc had already had for four months. He found only a housekeeper who offered him such a meager sum that he indignantly refused it. Although Mozart eventually had nothing but contempt for this aristocratic family, some gratitude is owed them for eliciting such a delightful work—his only composition for harp. Mozart, incredibly, is said to have disliked both the flute and the harp, yet this Concerto shows both instruments to advantage, and maintains the standard one expects of the master. The Concerto was designed to please eighteenth-century French society, and hence its galant style avoids contrapuntal complexities. The work employs a multitude of engaging melodies, many of which are only given to the soloists. The first movement follows sonata form, with a long exposition and recapitulation, but a short development. About midway into the movement Mozart wrote a low D-flat and C for the flute, which, doubling the harp’s lowest notes, form the bass(!) line. Apparently the “Duc” de Guines had a flute with the D-flat and C holes (and possibly keys), which Mozart may not have been able to count on later, for he never wrote those notes for the flute again. Mozart’s imaginative orchestration in the second movement includes violas divided into two independent parts throughout, providing a lush string texture, while the oboes and horns are left silent. A warm, elegant mood prevails. The third movement suggests a courtly gavotte; the main theme begins with the characteristic upbeat of two quarter notes. The oboes and horns are prominent here after the silence of the previous movement. The rondo-form movement again shows an unusual abundance of melodic material, even for Mozart. —©Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

arr. for organ by Smith Newell Penfield JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Air on the G String from Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D major, BWV 1068 arr. for organ by Smith Newell Penfield When music scholars began sifting through Bach’s long-forgotten works in the nineteenth century, they came across four orchestral masterpieces that they catalogued as “orchestral suites” because of their similarity to suites for keyboard or individual string instruments—and simply to avoid confusion. Bach, however, had called them “ouvertures” in the tradition of his German contemporaries, who used the term for an orchestral work consisting of an overture and several dance movements in the French style. Bach most likely wrote his Third Orchestral Suite around 1731 in Leipzig. (For a description of his myriad activities there, see the note for the Sinfonia from Cantata 29 above.) Though he may have composed some of the orchestral suites earlier, the earliest existing copies date from Bach’s Leipzig days, so we can assume he performed all of them there with the Collegium Musicum. The Third Suite may be the most famous of the four on account of its meltingly beautiful Air. One of the most popular and arranged pieces of all time, it achieved special notoriety through August Wilhelmj’s version for the violin G string (1871). The Air’s binary form—two halves, each repeated—and its “stepping” bass overlaid with a long, sustained melodic line are standard Baroque procedures, but its poignant effect transcends all formulas. Paul Jacobs plays an arrangement by American composer and organist Smith Newell Penfield (1837–1920), who studied at Oberlin College, with James Flint in New York, and at the Leipzig Conservatory. Penfield taught in Rochester, New York, and in Savannah, Georgia, where he founded a conservatory, and he later served as organist for the Broadway Tabernacle in New York City. He published his arrangement of Bach’s famous Air in 1880 as the fifth installment in his series of arrangements of pieces by Schumann, Chopin, Haydn, Mendelssohn, Donizetti, and Rossini. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

October 14, 2018: Garrick Ohlsson, piano JOHANNES BRAHMS (1833-1897) Variations on an Original Theme, op. 21, no. 1 and Variations on a Hungarian Song, op. 21, no. 2 October 14, 2018: Garrick Ohlsson, piano Brahms wrote to his friend Elisabet von Herzogenberg, “I have a singular affection for the variation form, and I believe that this form still compels our talent and ability.” His fondness stemmed in large part from his training in piano and composition with Eduard Marxsen, who stressed above all the importance of being able to vary a theme and whose own output contains a plethora of pieces in variation form. Brahms’s entire body of work is permeated with variation techniques, but the variation form itself also looms large—eight individual sets of variations and ten movements within larger works. These span four decades, from his Variations on a Theme by R. Schumann Variations of 1854 (or his Variations on a Hungarian Song if he indeed began them in 1853) to the variation movement in his E-flat Clarinet Sonata of 1894. Alongside the musical evidence, Brahms’s verbal statements make it clear that he preferred “strict” variation form over “fantasy” variations that strayed too far from the structure of the theme. Further, he said, within each discrete variation the resemblance to the theme, even if subtle, should be recognizable and not “found only with the eyes.” Nevertheless, he clearly allowed for great leeway within each distinct variation and showed remarkable ingenuity in his overall organization within a set. Brahms composed the two sets of Opus 21 variations in different waves of inspiration—the Variations on an Original Theme by February of 1857, preceded by the Variations on a Hungarian Song by 1856. On the surface they share little beside their form and D major key, yet in both instances Brahms groups together the minor-mode variations as a unit, connects many of the major-mode variations through melodic figuration, and concludes with a grand finale that returns to elements of the first variation. The differences in the two sets have much to do with his choice of themes—in the first case an expressive original theme written with an eye toward its potential for myriad sophisticated variations, and in the second an existing Hungarian song, which lent itself to a more melody-oriented and often extroverted treatment. Both themes, in different ways, show his penchant for metric play. The lovely theme of the Variations on an Original Theme unfolds in two nine-bar halves—each with a regular four-bar phrase plus an irregular five-bar phrase, a configuration he maintains almost throughout. The first two variations grow out of a gentle left-hand figuration that draws on the harmonic framework even as it contains references to the melodic outline. Brahms includes a nice hemiola (shift between groups of three pulses and two) toward the end of the first variation, and in the second he subtly introduces new harmonies. The third and fourth bring back the theme’s feature of a repeating bass note (pedal tone) with quiet, fluid chordal patterns above—tied over bar lines in the third and in a spate of little two-chord units in the fourth. Variation 5 introduces a delicate canon in contrary motion and Variation 6 scampers off like quicksilver but in gentle arching phrases. Variation 7 is remarkable for its spare, leaping textures. Brahms forcefully unleashes the minor mode in Variation 8 in a texture that quickly alternates right and left hands—something he would return to many times in his career. Variation 9 brings the set’s tempestuous climax, abetted by ominous left-hand rumbles that derive from the original pedal tones. Variation 10 remains agitated even as it recedes from the previous peak. The major mode returns with Variation 11, which is striking for its insistence on the pedal tone in the form of long trills. Brahms varies the repeats in this variation and adds an expansive coda that recalls earlier variations before subsiding peacefully. Brahms first jotted down the theme of the Variations on a Hungarian Song in January 1853 while concertizing with Hungarian violinist Ede Rémenyi, who provided him with a rich store of his country’s tunes. That April Brahms sent a set of three piano settings of Hungarian tunes to another Hungarian violinist, Joseph Joachim, who was to have a longer and much closer association with Brahms. The second of these settings became the theme for the present set of variations, which Brahms sent to Joachim in July of 1865, following up with a revised version in 1857. What especially attracted Brahms was the theme’s alternating measures of 3/4 and 4/4, a kind of metric play that fascinated him as much as it did Marxsen, whose formal tutelage he had just left to tour with Reményi. Brahms maintains the metric alternation through his first eight variations, returning to it at the conclusion of the extended finale. Following his presentation of the brief eight-measure theme in strong chords, Brahms immediately shifts to the minor mode for Variations 1 through 6. Their brevity allows only a glimpse at some fascinating characters—grandiose, lightly chordal, fleeting, imposing, ruminating (with some cimbalon-like accompaniment), and scampering. The switch to major at Variation 7 brings a supremely delicate variation over “quasi pizzicato” left hand. Throughout Brahms retains a melodic connection to the theme, sometimes altered subtly and sometimes migrating into another voice (Variations 2, 7, and 8 in part). The smoothing out of the meter begins in Variation 8, which is fascinating for its texture of little grace notes in the upper left-hand. Variations 9 through 12 retain the expressive vein with increasingly elaborate figuration building to the capping Variation 13 with its kaleidoscopic further variations, excursions to B-flat major and minor, and triumphant recall of the theme. We would be remiss not to mention that Brahms waited until 1861 to send both sets of variations to his publisher Simrock, who issued them in two volumes under the same opus number in March of the following year. The first public performance of the Variations on an Original Theme did not occur until October 31, 1865, when Clara Schumann presented them in Frankfurt am Main. The English pianist Florence May, Brahms’s student and biographer, gave the first public performance of the Variation on a Hungarian Song in London on March 25, 1874. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

March 6, 2016: The Escher String Quartet WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791) String Quartet in D major, K. 575, “Prussian No. 1” March 6, 2016: The Escher String Quartet The String Quartet in D major, K. 575, is the first of the three Prussian Quartets—the last string quartets Mozart ever wrote. In April of 1789 he had left Vienna for Potsdam with his pupil, Prince Karl Lichnowsky (later Beethoven’s patron), who was to introduce him to King Friedrich Wilhelm II of Prussia. The king, like his flutist/composer uncle, King Friedrich Wilhelm I, and his pianist/composer cousin, Prince Louis Ferdinand, was a great music lover—his instrument was the cello. Mozart hoped the visit would result in some financial gain, but all he received was a small amount of money and a commission to compose “six easy clavier sonatas for Princess Friederike and six quartets for the king.” When Mozart got back to Vienna his situation was no better. He was constantly begging money from friends, who this time did not answer his requests; his wife fell seriously ill; and he himself was suffering from rheumatism, toothaches, headaches, and insomnia. He composed one quartet, K. 575 in D major, but waited almost a year before adding two more, K. 589 in B-flat major and K. 590 in F major. He never wrote the other three, nor did he complete the set of sonatas for the princess. He sold the three quartets to a publisher “for a mockery of a fee, only to lay my hands on some money to keep myself going.” In order to highlight the king’s instrument, Mozart wrote significant cello parts in high register, which he balanced with soloistic opportunities for the other instruments—a style called “quatuor concertant,” which was particularly popular in Paris. Here in the D major Quartet Mozart featured solo cello writing in all movements, whereas in the second quartet the cello comes to the fore only in the first two movements and in the third primarily in the first movement. It seems the image of the cello-playing king receded as time went on. Mozart chose the relaxed tempo marking “Allegretto” for three of the D major Quartet’s movements. He emphasizes the opening movement’s delicate quality by giving the rare directive “sotto voce” (in an undertone, subdued) at the outset and at the start of the recapitulation. The first violin, then viola, present the main theme, with equal prominence given to the cello when it enters with the second theme in high register. Mozart marks this “dolce” (sweetly), another of his exceptional directives. The Andante, his only non-Allegretto movement, is only moderately slow—a walking tempo—further minimizing the tempo contrast between movements. His lovely melody bears enough similarity to his 1785 song “Das Veilchen” (The violet) to have given that nickname to the Quartet on occasion. The arching phrases in the middle section of this A-B-A form also feature the cello as an equal conversationalist. An introductory ornament and light staccato repeated notes, both essential thematic elements, give verve to this elegant Menuetto. The cello particularly comes to the fore in the middle trio section, presenting a singing melody in response to the violins’ lightly tripping invitation. The cheerful finale combines both sonata and rondo form with a recurring main theme introduced by the cello with viola counterpoint. Many commentators have pointed out the similarity of the main idea to the that of the first movement, suggesting a possible anticipation of Romantic composers’ interest in cyclic unity. Mozart’s astounding but seemingly effortless contrapuntal writing throughout the movement makes refrains, episodes, and development alike a witty and elegant experience. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

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DAVID KRAUSS, TRUMPET David Krauss joined The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra as Principal Trumpet in 2001and occupies theBeth W. and Gary A. Glynn endowed chair. He has has performedwith James Levine in the MET chamber series at Carnegie Hall and has appeared as guest principal trumpet with the Boston Symphony Orchestra and New York Philharmonic. A native of Long Island, New York, he earned both Bachelor andMaster of Music degrees from The Juilliard School and studied Wynton Marsalis,William Vacchiano, Chris Gekker and James Pandolfi. Prior to joining the Met, heperformed with a variety of ensembles in and around New York City including Orchestraof St. Luke’s, The New Jersey Symphony, and on several Broadway shows. He coproduced three recordings, including the Metropolitan Opera Brass’s self titled debut album and the subsequent “Waltzes, Songs & Festive Scenes” and “Sacrae Symphoniae”, as part of which he was praised by the American Record Guide for his “singing tone which is luxurious and inviting.” He is currently trumpet professor at the Mason Gross School of Arts, Rutgers University and teaches trumpet in the pre college division of The Juilliard School. In the summertime, he is the head brass coach and trumpet teacher at the Boston University Tanglewood Institute. David lives in Manhattan with his wife Kristen and their four children Noah, Eli, Margot, and Ava.

Elizabeth Roe, piano The Anderson & Roe mission: To make classical music a relevant and powerful force in society. Known for their adrenalized performances, original compositions, and notorious music videos, GREG ANDERSON and ELIZABETH JOY ROE are revolutionizing the piano duo experience for the 21st century. Described as “the most dynamic duo of this generation” (San Francisco Classical Voice ), “rock stars of the classical music world” (Miami Herald ), and “the very model of complete 21st-century musicians” (The Washington Post ), the Anderson & Roe Piano Duo aims to make classical music a relevant and powerful force around the world. Their five critically acclaimed albums have spent dozens of weeks at the top of the Billboard Classical Charts, while their Emmy-nominated, self-produced music videos have been viewed by millions on YouTube and at international film festivals. 2022 marks the 20th anniversary of Anderson & Roe’s debut. Since forming their dynamic musical partnership as students at The Juilliard School, Anderson & Roe have toured extensively worldwide as recitalists and orchestral soloists; appeared on NPR, MTV, PBS, and the BBC; presented at numerous international leader symposiums; and served as hosts of “From the Top” and the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition. A live performance by Anderson & Roe was handpicked to appear on the Sounds of Juilliard CD celebrating the school’s centenary. While isolating during the COVID-19 pandemic, Anderson & Roe performed several innovative and interactive virtual events, produced over a dozen new music videos, appeared in MasterVoices’ Myths and Hymns (2021 Drama League Nominee for Best Digital Concert Production) alongside luminaries of opera and musical theater, and hosted a year of Two Piano Tuesday livestream conversations on Facebook Live which drew an enthusiastic and devoted global audience each week.

December 5, 2021: Paul Jacobs, organ JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685-1750) Prelude and Fugue in C Major, BWV 547 December 5, 2021: Paul Jacobs, organ Dating has proved extremely elusive for this remarkably masterful, surprisingly underperformed work. Scholars have proposed dates as early as c. 1719, which would mean post-Weimar (see note for BWV 532 for more about Weimar) when Bach was in Cöthen serving Prince Leopold as Kapellmeister, and as late as the 1740s in Leipzig (see note for Sinfonia from Cantata 29 for more about Leipzig), with some middle ground as “by 1725” (early Leipzig). The complexity of both movements and the parallels between them argue for Leipzig, but Bach’s mixture of originality, tradition, and scattered similarities to various works surely account for the differing opinions. Both the Prelude and the Fugue employ short pithy motives that give no hint of the spontaneous excursions that Bach spins out nor what scholar Peter Williams calls their “carefully planned finality.” Each of the first three bars of the Prelude offers a distinct shape that proves recognizable in many variations throughout. The leaping jagged middle idea provides the basis for the leaping pedal, which never takes up the other two shapes. Bach creates the finality that will have its parallel in the Fugue with dramatic chords and a final sustained low pedal note that all point to home. The Fugue subject also operates in one-bar segments, seemingly unfolding as a four-voice fugue with each manual responsible for two of the voices and a palpable absence of pedal. Unusual for Bach, he presents five slightly varied expositions with imaginative ways of linking them and the sheer number of times we hear the subject in myriad ways is stunning. Suddenly, two-thirds of the way into the fugue, the pedal thunders out in a fifth voice with the subject in longer note values (augmentation) while the other four voices perform miraculous strettos and inversions of the subject—pure contrapuntal wizardry. The coda takes place over the same low home pedal that Bach employed in the Prelude, now providing even grander finality by sustaining to the very end. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes

April 23, 2017: Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano; Warren Jones, piano GIOACHINO ROSSINI (1792–1868) Canzonetta spagnuola April 23, 2017: Isabel Leonard, mezzo-soprano; Warren Jones, piano By 1815 Rossini’s operas were being performed all over Italy, except in Naples, which had its own traditions. The shrewd impresario Domenica Barbaia, however, invited Rossini to compose for him and then to serve as artistic director of the San Carlo opera house in Naples, where he became a favored son, “reigning” from 1815 to 1822. Probably in 1821, toward the end of his time there, he composed his virtuosic Canzonetta spagnuiola (Little Spanish song), “En medio a mis colores” (Surrounded by my colors). He set three verses, separated by a refrain, with colorful Spanish/Gypsy flair. His oscillating ornaments are challenging to the singer and thrilling for the audience, and his Spanish/Gypsy style sounds prophetic of Bizet, whose “Gypsy Song” in Carmen with its similar after-beat accompaniment, ornaments, and acceleration bears a striking resemblance to Rossini’s dashing work. © Jane Vial Jaffe Texts and Translations Canzonetta spagnuola En medio a mis colores, ay, Pintando estaba un día, ay, Cuando la musa mía, ay, Me vino a tormentar, ay. Ay, con dolor pues dejo Empresa tan feliz Cual es de bella Nice Las prendas celebrar, ay. Quiso que yo pintase, ay, Objeto sobrehumano, ay, Pero lo quiso en vano, ay, Lo tuvo que dejar, ay. Ay, con dolor pues dejo, etc. Conoce la hermosura, ay, Un corazón vagado, ay, Mas su destin malvado, ay, Ie impide de cantar, ay. Ay, con dolor pues dejo, etc. —Anonymous Little Spanish Song Surrounded by my colors, ay, I was painting one day, ay, when my muse, ay, came to torment me, ay. With sorrow then I left my happy task of celebrating the charms of the beautiful Nice, ay. My muse asked me to paint, ay, a more spiritual subject, ay, but he asked in vain, ay, and he had to leave, ay. With sorrow then I left, etc. An inconstant heart, ay, may know beauty, ay, but its cruel destiny, ay prevents it from singing, ay. With sorrow then I left, etc. Return to Parlance Program Notes

Development Director Inmo Parloff Leadership Council Thomas and Heidi Ahlborn Anne Bosch William and Zitta Chapman Catherine Coo ke Christina Hembree Adrian and Christina Jones Ronald and Mollie Ledwith Youngick and Joyce Lee Carol Martin Dorothy Neff Suzanne Taranto Donald and Gigo Taylor Richard and Michelle Vaccaro

May 19, 2019: Calidore String Quartet; Matthew Lipman, viola WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791) String Quintet in E-flat, K. 614 May 19, 2019: Calidore String Quartet; Matthew Lipman, viola Mozart’s five string quintets (six with the addition of the quintet version of the Serenade for wind octet, K. 516b), show a certain connection with the Haydn brothers, Michael and Joseph. The first, K. 174, an early work from his Salzburg days, no doubt grew out of Mozart’s interest in the quintets of his colleague Michael. Already at this date Mozart was eager to try his hand at the fuller sonorities made possible by the additional of a second viola to the standard string quartet configuration. The later quintets—the glorious C major and G minor, written in Vienna within a month of one another in the spring of 1787, and the last two, in D major and E-flat major, written four months apart in the winter and spring of 1790–91—show a distinct connection with Joseph Haydn. The older composer was reported to have played Mozart’s quintets with him frequently—including the first private reading of the D major, K. 593—and no doubt would have done the same with the E-flat major, K. 614, had Haydn’s career not taken him to London. The music of this last Quintet shows the definite stamp of Haydn’s influence. Dated “April 12, 1791” in Mozart’s own catalog of his works, this E-flat Quintet turned out to be his last major chamber work. The first edition, published posthumously in 1793 with K. 593, bore the inscription “Composto per un Amatore Ongarese” (Composed for a Hungarian Enthusiast), and the publisher, Artaria, was reported by the Wiener Zeitung to have said that both quintets were written in response to “the very active encouragement of a music lover.” Scholar Ernst Franz Schmid suggested in the mid-twentieth century that the commissioner of the two quintets may have been Johann Tost—who had been a second violin player in Haydn’s orchestra at Esterháza and later became a wealthy businessman—though Tost was actually born in Moravia rather than Hungary. Mozart’s widow had mentioned in a letter to publisher André in 1800 that Mozart had done work for Tost, who said he possessed some of her husband’s manuscripts and had promised to identify them for her by their themes, but whether he did so and whether the two quintets were among them remains unknown. Eminent scholars Otto Eric Deutsch and H. C. Robbins Landon took up Schmid’s supposition, but Tost’s involvement remains speculation. Suffice it to say that Mozart seldom composed works without some financial gain in mind, and Tost as commissioner is a likely candidate. Mozart often played viola in the readings of his chamber music with Haydn and others, but he rarely led off boldly with a viola theme which is how the E-flat major Quintet begins. The two violas play a “hunting horn” call in lively 6/8 meter—typical for “hunt” themes but atypical for a Mozart first movement. Robbins Landon suggests that he may have borrowed the idea for a 6/8 first movement from Haydn’s Symphony No. 67 in F major, but an even closer model might be his own “Hunt” Quartet, K. 458. Mozart ingeniously explores this theme with counterpoint, trills, and cello interjections, even transforming it into a lyrical second theme. Another “viola moment” occurs in the recapitulation when the first viola gets to lead off the second theme. The slow movement unfolds as a stately theme with four free variations. Scholar Charles Rosen points to the slow movement in Haydn’s Symphony No. 85, “La Reine,” as a possible influence. Mozart interjects a remarkable chromatically inflected interlude before the first variation begins. The minuet skips along merrily, its playful simplicity masking some sophisticated touches, such as making his main motive rise in the violas instead of making its usual descent. The charming trio section draws on the pastoral device of a rustic drone. Mozart’s finale perhaps pays the greatest tribute to Haydn. As Rosen points out, its jolly main theme bears a remarkable similarity to the finale of one of the quartets that Haydn dedicated to Tost in 1790, op. 64, no. 6, but even more, Mozart’s style throughout reminds us of Haydn’s mischievous wit. The exuberant movement unfolds in masterful sonata-rondo form, with one of its most delicious surprises coming in the form of a fugato section in the development. We can only hope that Haydn got to experience this captivating piece of chamber music even though Mozart’s tragically early death prevented them from ever playing it together. © Jane Vial Jaffe Return to Parlance Program Notes