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Program Notes for Mozart and Mendelssohn
Richard Rodney Bennett
Partita
Richard Rodney Bennett was born in Broadstairs, Kent, England in 1936 and died
in New York City in 2012. He composed this work in 1995 on a commission from British
Telecommunications and the Associations of British Orchestras, and it was first
performed by seventeen British orchestras in 1995 and 1996. The score calls for 2 flutes,
piccolo, 2 oboes, English horn, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, timpani, harp, and
strings.
*****
Richard Rodney Bennett was sometimes called a “polymath” for having
demonstrable skill—and artistic success—with so many different kinds of music. Equally
at home in the jazz club and the concert hall, he produced over 200 concert works and 50
film and television scores. In the field of jazz he collaborated with singers Karin Krog,
Marian Montgomery, and Mary Cleere Haran, and performed widely as a pianist and
singer in that world. Studies with Pierre Boulez gave him the tools to compose in an
abstract, almost avant-garde idiom, while at the same time he seemed to be just as happy
to compose tuneful and utterly tonal music as well. Bennett said that he kept the many
diverse styles of his music “in different rooms, albeit in the same house.”
Of this work, Bennett wrote: “My ‘Partita’ for orchestra was commissioned by
British Telecommunications in co-operation with the Association of British Orchestras,
to be performed by seventeen different orchestras between October 1995 and July 1996. I
responded to this exciting but rather daunting commission by writing a lively and I hope
very accessible piece, which, I decided before I started composing, should be full of
tunes. I write it in memory of a dear friend of mine, Sheila MacCrindle, who died in
1993. Sheila was a distinguished figure in music publishing, with whom I worked for
years, and who later was much involved with the music of Maxwell Davies and
Lutoslawski. She was a hilariously funny and eccentric person: although this Partita is in
her memory, it never occurred to me to make it gloomy or dirge-like; that is not how I
remember her. When I am writing programme notes for my concert music, I like to write
briefly about the circumstances of the composition, but then to let the music speak for
itself. All I need to say about the Partita is that it is basically in D major, it features the
front desk players, is written for medium size orchestra with no heavy brass or
percussion, apart from timpani, and lasts about 17 minutes. There are three movements:
Intrada, Lullaby and Finale.”
*****
Wolfgang Amadè Mozart
Concerto for 2 Pianos & Orchestra in E-flat major, K. 365
Wolfgang Amadè Mozart (he never used “Amadeus” except when making a joke)
was born in Salzburg, Austria in 1756 and died in Vienna in 1791. He composed this
concerto largely in 1779, though he seems to have experimented with some of its themes
a few years before. It is likely that the first performance featured the composer and his
sister Nannerl as soloists in Salzburg, probably also in 1779. The score calls for 2 solo
pianos, 2 oboes, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, and strings.
*****
We don’t know why, exactly, Mozart composed this piece. It’s always been
assumed that he wrote it for himself and his sister Nannerl, who by many accounts was as
gifted at the keyboard as her brother Wolfgang. But the days of the siblings touring the
cities of Europe—with their father presenting them much as he might trained seals—were
over. Now it was just Wolfgang doing the touring with his father or mother, with the
object of finding a post.
No post was forthcoming, but the young Mozart was exposed to the latest music
from around Europe, and in particular the current fad for concertos with multiple soloists.
He tried his hand at several of these and came up with two real gems: the Sinfonia
Concertante for Violin and Viola and his Concerto for Two Pianos.
The Concerto is different from his one-piano concertos because it had to be: the
expected dialog between the soloist and orchestra now had to include dialog between the
two soloists as well. The solution was to reduce the influence of the orchestra. Here the
orchestra is more of an accompanist, while the two soloists advance most of the musical
plot-lines.
The two soloists are equal partners: both piano parts are equally difficult, and both
are equally important. Sometimes the pianos answer each other, while other times their
dialog overlaps—brothers and sisters, of course, know each other so well that they can
finish each other’s sentences. Mozart slyly varies the phrase lengths for each, keeping the
audience guessing as to who will speak when.
Mozart poured so many engaging tunes into the work that a lesser composer
might have made several concertos out of them. The opening melody of the first
movement is a typically Mozartean two-sided theme, with the first half martial and triadic
and the second half lyrical. But when the two pianos enter the focus is squarely on their
interplay: sometimes noisy and bumptious, at other times sweet and affectionate. When
we expect a recapitulation of the opening themes, Mozart gives us a surprising diversion
into a minor key episode. The shared cadenza is equally stunning.
The Andante reminds us that Mozart considered himself to be, above all things, a
composer of opera: the movement is a seamless aria of great depth and even greater
beauty. The Finale is essentially a rondo, but its theme-and-variations style and its
symphonic level of development make it a wonder. Mozart’s amazing generosity with his
lively and joyous tunes make it a delight.
*****
Felix Mendelssohn
Symphony No. 4 in A Major, Op. 90, Italian
Felix Mendelssohn was born in Hamburg in 1809 and died in Leipzig in 1847. He
completed his Italian Symphony in 1833 and led the first performance with the
Philharmonic Society in London the same year. He revised the work multiple times. The
score calls for 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, and
strings.
*****
After five months in Italy the twenty-two year old Mendelssohn wrote home to
his sisters: “The Italian Symphony is making great progress. It will be the jolliest piece I
have ever done, especially the last movement. For the slow movement I have not yet
found anything, and I think I will keep that for Naples.” The young man was clearly
enjoying himself: “What I have been looking forward to all my life as the greatest
happiness is now begun, and I am basking in it.”
Mendelssohn was on the grand tour of Europe, and everywhere he went brought
exposure to the latest musical styles and ideas for his own compositions. Several works
would take their inspiration from these travels (some not completed until years later),
including the Hebrides Overture, the Scottish Symphony and the Italian Symphony.
Mendelssohn wasn’t trying to paint sound-pictures in these works, cataloging the
countryside in the notes, but left his listeners to hear in them what they will.
Despite his early enthusiasm, Mendelssohn was never satisfied with the
symphony. After its London performance Mendelssohn revised it several times but never
issued it in his lifetime. He thought that the formal design of the symphony was flawed;
ironically, it is this very structural spontaneity that helps to make the work so delightful.
We can hear the composer’s cheerful first encounter with Italy in the dashing
themes of the first movement. As he predicted in his letter, it was in Naples that the
inspiration for his slow movement came. A religious procession he witnessed there
inspired him to compose what some call a “Pilgrim's March.” The image of monks
chanting their litanies even extends down to the opening unison, which serves as the
chant’s intonation. The third movement is flowing and lyrical, reminiscent of the nowpassé minuet. Mendelssohn makes the last movement the symphony’s scherzo. This is a
vivacious imitation of the Italian saltarello, whirling about like the dance that it is. By the
end it has evolved into a wild tarantella.
Some sourpuss critics have had a hard time concealing their resentment of
Mendelssohn; after all, he was born to wealth, was immensely talented at a very early
age, wrote cheerful music, and seemed able to succeed without really trying. The less
curmudgeonly among us can ignore such foolishness and gladly enjoy the sunny
excursion Mendelssohn gave us in the Italian Symphony.
—Mark Rohr
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