Dvorak Serenade for Strings in E Major, Op. 22

Serenade for Strings in E Major, Op. 22

Antonin Dvorak (1841-1904)

Antonin Dvorak grew up in humble circumstances, the son of an innkeeper/butcher who was also a gifted amateur musician. He found his way to Prague as a teenager, becoming a skilled violinist (also performing as a violist, organist and pianist), living from hand to mouth for a number of years before beginning to win success in his early thirties. His compositions came to the notice of Johannes Brahms, who was instrumental in bringing Dvorak to the attention of publishers and influential figures in the Viennese musical world. The violin remained Dvorak’s principal instrument, and not surprisingly there was to be a large body of compositions written for strings, including concerti for violin and cello, four piano trios, and fifteen splendid string quartets.

The Serenade for Strings was composed in the spring of 1875, and first heard in December, 1876 at a Jubilee concert of the Friendly Society of the Czech Theatre Orchestra---an ensemble in which the young Dvorak had performed in the years before his first success as a composer. The word “serenade” had begun to appear in the work of a number of late-19^th century composers, having largely disappeared from the musical world after the age of Mozart and Beethoven. Perhaps the best-known example of this revival of the term “serenade” is the wonderful Serenade for Strings of Tchaikovsky, but as well there are the two orchestral serenades of Brahms, and others by Max Reger, Hugo Wolf, Edward Elgar, and (in America) Arthur Foote.

As with the Tchaikovsky Serenade for Strings, the Dvorak work is an unabashed audience-pleaser, gracious and warm in its Romantic textures, expressive melodic character and charm.

There are five movements: a rich and sweet-natures opening Moderato (cast in a simple sonataform, with a sprightly secondary theme to form contrast to the melting lyricism of the opening); a Tempo Di Valse” second movement, exhibiting all the suavity and singing qualities so unique to string ensemble music; a Scherzo filled with lithe energy and sprightly melodic figuration; a Larghetto slow movement written with a full heart, brimming with deep feeling and tenderness; a nimble, dashing finale, showing the bright colours and melodic inflection of Czech folkmusic, swinging to a zestful conclusion.

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Mehul Symphony No. 2 in D Major

Symphony No. 2 in D Major (1808/09)

Etienne-Nicolas Mehul (1763-1817)

The French often speak somewhat disparagingly about their musical heritage, often pointing out that much greater respect has traditionally been shown the other arts, such as painting, theatre, the dance. While that is perhaps true, France has nevertheless produced many remarkable creative figures in music, often forced to compete for a place in the national cultural consciousness. At the same time there is also the puzzling historical phenomenon in which foreign musicians have won important positions (and popular success) in the notoriously xenophobic French world, even becoming symbolic of the very essence of French music---for example, Lully, Gluck, Cherubini, Rossini, Meyerbeer, Offenbach! If many wonderful composers seem to have slipped into obscurity over the years, undoubtedly this complicated cultural history may offer an explanation.

A classic case of an important figure who has fallen into near-oblivion is that of Etienne-Nicolas Mehul, who once occupied a central position in French musical life, and today is just beginning to be remembered and restored to his rightful place in the concert repertoire. That Mehul was admired by Beethoven, Weber, and even performed by Mendelssohn and Wagner, might come as a surprise to those who have never heard of him! Part of the problem is that Mehul was active during a period of extraordinary turmoil---the French Revolution and the Napoleonic age---which was followed by the first flowering of intense Romantic expression, exemplified by the towering figure of Hector Berlioz, whose work over-shadowed his immediate predecessors.

Born in the provincial town of Givet, Mehul found his way to Paris in his mid-teens, and by the age of 20 was a published composer, launched upon a career of opera composition. It was during the turbulent years of the Revolution that Mehul came into his own, appointed a founding member of the Institut National De Musique in 1793. In that same year Mehul showed his sympathy with the goals of the new French Republic with his Hymne A La Raison, followed by many other “public” works, perhaps the most lavish being the Chant National Du 14 Juillet 1800, commissioned by Napoleon. Composed for performance in the great church of the Invalides (where 30-odd years later Berlioz’ celebrated Requiem would have its first hearing), Mehul’s commemoration of the fall of the Bastille was decked out in full Napoleonic glory with three choirs and two orchestras, creating a grandiose spatial effect which anticipated Berlioz’ work. The young composer became one of the five inspectors of the Paris Conservatoire, which was established in 1795, and was the only musician appointed to the French Institute. Mehul’;s political dexterity could be seen in his smooth transition from the world of the National Convention (in the time of the “Reign of Terror”), to the age of Napoleon, who showed an interest in the composer early on, even asking him to accompany the Egyptian campaign in 1797. (Mehul declined to go.) After the success of his opera Joseph (1807) Mehul turned increasingly to orchestral composition, writing four symphonies between 1808-1810. In the early years of the 19^th century Mehul became France’s most famous native-born composer, especially acclaimed by the Germans. The final years showed a falling off of activity, the composer increasingly weakened by tuberculosis. The fall of Napoleon, restoration of the monarchy, and politically-motivated closure of the Conservatoire clouded Mehul’;s final days.

Only the first two of Mehul’s symphonies were published in his lifetime---Nos. 3 and 4 were only rediscovered in 1979! While the First Symphony is the best-known, the Second Symphony in D Major is, if anything, even more brilliant and inventive in structure and working out of musical ideals. In these symphonies we hear splendid examples of the composer’s single-handed regeneration of French symphonic style, solidly based upon the model of Haydn (whose works had long been known in France), as well as the late symphonies of Mozart and the first two symphonies of Beethoven.

The first movement opens with a slow introduction which is closely linked to the main thematic material, making much use of an ascending scale pattern, repeated a number of times in the strings, with the winds interjecting contrasting figuration. The tonality slips from the home key of D into F Major, then into D Minor, back to the main key and suddenly the ascending scale becomes the primary theme of the main body of the movement: energetic and forceful, with striking use of a repeated note figure. An unusually spacious and densely-packed second theme is heard in A Major, lilting, lyrical and graceful, soon becoming more assertive, shifting into the cool freshness of C Major, then back to A Major for a lively codetta. Mehul’s fondness for exploring a wide range of tonalities is much in evidence in a compact development entirely absorbed by the primary theme. The major components return as before in the recapitulation, rounded out by a brilliant coda.

The slow movement is set in the relative key of B Minor, as a sort of “double variation” structure somewhat akin to that found in the work of Haydn. Led in with a beguiling sustained single note in the horn, the main melody is a gracious, Scherzando affair, remaining snugly in its home key, followed by a contrasting passage which shifts into other tonalities (including C-sharp minor!) The main theme returns, with a rolling, restless figure in the lower strings, again veering into other keys in a contrasting section: starting with a militant D Major, gliding into B-flat, with a wonderful passage for winds (with Pizzicato strong accompaniment), soon bringing back the B Minor theme to conclude the movement in a coda of rich harmonic colours.

The minuet is particularly Haydnesque in tone, opening with a folk-like tune with repeated notes (no fewer than 25 in a row!), following the traditional pattern of repeated sections, with a middle section in which the repeated notes slide into B-flat Major. The Trio (in G Major) is delightfully French in its pastoral coloration, bringing to mind Rameau’s early 18^th century tonal landscapes. A spirited bridge passage carries the music back to a reprise of the main minuet section.

The finale (Allegro Vivace) opens with a drone-like figure, piling up the notes of the D Major tonic chord, bursting into a main theme quite Haydn-like in its bustling energy. There is a gliding second subject – but most of all, a buzzing rhythmic figure heard early on in the movement now heard in a number of variants, giving a zestful air to the proceedings, which move into a development of rich harmonic textures. The opening elements are recapitulated much as before, followed by a coda of surprisingly Beethovenian propulsion, with stentorian unison figures and vivid harmonic twists, pressing on to a resounding finish.

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Telemann Viola Concerto in G Major

Viola Concerto in G Major

George Philipp Telemann (1681-1767)

To those who automatically associate the names of J. S. Bach and George Frideric Handel with the glory years of the late Baroque age in the first half of the 18^th century, it can come as a bit of a shock to discover that while Handel was certainly quite celebrated, Bach was little more than a figure of local importance, although well-known as the finest organist of his day. In the German musical world the composer of supreme fame and influence was Georg Philipp Telemann, whose long life extended right into the age of Haydn and the boyhood of Mozart. Born in a family of remarkable sophistication and culture (nearly all of his ancestors earned university degrees), Telemann traveled widely, received a superb education (including university studies), and from his earliest years held important positions in major German cities, including Leipzig, Frankfurt and Hamburg. His energy and industry were staggering: Telemann composing well over 1000 cantatas, and more than 40 Passion settings for use in the Lutheran church, hundreds of songs, scores of sonatas, hundreds of concerti, hundreds of orchestral suites---perhaps upwards of 3, 000 compositions! There are two surviving concerti for viola, the best-known being the Concerto in G Major.

Telemann’s best-known instrumental music tends to reveal the strong influence of the French style, which is as much to be found in German music of the early 18^th century as the influence of the lively Italian style, which music-lovers today most of all associate with the works of Antonio Vivaldi. But Italian instrumental music was an equally important factor in the development of Telemann’s own individual style, as can be heard in the G Major Viola Concerto. Unlike the solo concertos of Telemann’s friend and contemporary, J. S. Bach, which are almost always laid out in the three-movement (fast/slow/fast) format exemplified by the works of Vivaldi, Telemann here follows an earlier Italian model, one closely resembling the old “trio sonata” pattern found in the concertos of Arcangelo Corelli and other Italian composers working at the end of the 17^th century. This calls for a sequence of four movements (slow/fast/slow/fast), fairly short in duration, and somewhat less lavish in virtuosic display than the later examples written by Vivaldi and Bach. The opening Largo leads off with a dignified, lilting Ritornello (played by the strings), then taken up by the solo viola. This introductory material then glides through several related keys, with a cadenza (a modern interpolation not customarily found in Telemann’s day), and a quiet close in the home key of G. The Allegro second movement is filled with rhythmic vigour, surprisingly suggestive of Vivaldi in its brilliant character. As with the first movement, here again the Ritornello, that characteristic Baroque device so characteristic of Italian string writing, is employed to give a structural clarity to the music: heard at the outset, again at midpoint, and in the final bars of the movement. The third movement, an Andante, is set in E Minor, with a delicately-inflected melodic line heard over a restless bassline, always moving forward with quiet determination. (Once again, modern editors have introduced a cadenza toward the end of this movement.) The Presto finale has a dance-like character, emphasised by the use of “binary” form (a movement in two section, each repeated.) The mood is brisk, cheerful and eager.

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Mozart Overture to Idomeneo

Overture to Idomeneo

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is unique among even the greatest composers in his unsurpassed versatility; composing important compositions in every single category or genre of music known to the 18^th century. Because the 20^th century musical world gives prime attention to the concert hall, it is easy to forget that Mozart pursued success as a composer of opera above all else. For a man who died just short of his 36^th birthday, it is amazing to consider that Mozart was occupied with operatic projects for fully 25 years, ranging from Apollo Et Hyacinthus (composed at the age of eleven) to La Clemenza Di Tito (written twelve weeks before his death.)

The very first operas written as a child were charming apprentice pieces, followed by a succession of increasingly mature and elegantly crafted works, culminating in the remarkable La Finta Giardiniera (composed at age 18), which seems to look ahead to the Marriage Of Figaro, which would appear a dozen years later. It was with Idomeneo, Re Di Creta [“Idomeneo, King of Crete”] that Mozart made his boldest step into full maturity, creating an opera which, even viewed from the perspective of the great works of his last years, could be regarded as his grandest, most ambitious work for the stage.

Mozart had composed several works which could be described as Opera Seria----works of a serious, lofty tone, following operatic traditions which had been in place for a century, and which were soon to be displaced by the more relaxed dramatic elements and varied musical elements which Mozart himself helped to establish in operas such as Figaro, Don Giovanni and Magic Flute. For many years (from the time of Beethoven to the mid-20^th century) writers on opera puzzled over Mozart’s fervent desire to compose a type of opera which clearly was becoming obsolete in its own age. Complicating any clear understanding of Mozart’s ambitions was the basic fact that the music itself was hardly known, and it was assumed that the conventions of Opera Seria were a barrier which would automatically dismiss Idomeneo out of hand. When the work finally began to be given serious attention (in the 1950s), there was widespread surprise to discover how imaginative and flexible was Mozart’s manipulation of those Opera Seria elements, and, above all, the astounding energy and emotional impact of the music itself. Finally, at the end of the 20^th century, Idomeneo has come into its own, and is now becoming a part of the repertoire along-side the later, popular Mozart operas.

A major factor in Mozart’s approach to composing Idomeneo was that the opera was to be introduced in Munich by a company of singers and instrumentalists whom Mozart had known from their earlier home, the court in Mannheim. The famous Mannheim orchestra was widely hailed as the finest in Europe, especially notable for its splendid wind players. The Mannheim orchestra included clarinets, which particularly attracted Mozart’s attention. This accounts for the remarkably rich orchestral element in the opera, with wonderfully inventive and vivid writing for the winds. In the end, Idomeneo never quite won a secure place for itself, and was revived only once in Mozart’s lifetime, although the composer loved the work perhaps more than any of his other operas.

The Overture is brief and remarkably concise, setting out with a bold ceremonial flourish in a brilliant, fanfare-like D Major, followed by a lyrical secondary theme. There is no real development, instead a prompt return to the introductory material, recapitulated very much as before. As though eager for the drama to begin, the overture unexpectedly winds down into a quiet conclusion, smoothly linking up with the opening scene of the opera.

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