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Joshua Bell & Sam Haywood – January 31, 2016
Chaconne in G minor
attrib. Tomaso Antonio Vitali
1663-1745
In 1867, the German violinist and conductor Ferdinand David (1810-1873) published his
edition of a work for violin and figured bass that he attributed to Italian composer and
violinist Tomaso Vitali. David enhanced it with embellishments and key changes into a
virtuoso showpiece that bears little relationship to the original; it is likely that if Vitali were
in the audience he would not recognize it.
As if that weren’t enough, recent research has cast doubt on the attribution of the original to
Vitali since the style does not correspond with other authenticated works by this composer.
The title itself is an anachronism. The original manuscript, currently in the Dresden library, is
headed Partie, which in the 19th century was a term for a set of variations.
Finally, David’s arrangement isn’t even a true chaconne, which demands a variable melodic
line over a repeating ground bass. David’s version is characterized by frequent key changes,
although always accompanied by the ground in its new key. Whatever its pedigree, however,
the technical challenges of the piece have made it popular among violinists, a number of
whom have since made their own transcriptions of the original or some third-generation
transformation. It made history when Jascha Heifetz chose it to open his New York debut at
Carnegie Hall in 1917.
Violin Sonata in A major, Op. 47
“Kreutzer”
Ludwig van Beethoven
1770-1827
The sonata was one of the genres for which Beethoven gradually charted a completely new
course with only the occasional backward glance at his predecessors. In their originality of
form and their emotional intensity, the piano sonatas reflect Beethoven's creative
development throughout his career. But the sonatas for piano and strings broke new ground
as well. Before Beethoven, the Classical duo sonata for keyboard and any other instrument
definitely featured the keyboard in the dominant role. Even Mozart's later violin sonatas,
while they involve dialogue between the two instruments, neither give the violin true
independence nor exploit its unique voice.
Already starting with his first violin sonatas, the three of Op. 12, Beethoven began breaking
loose from the Mozartian model. Grander and more complex, they feature greater technical
demands on the violinist and an increasingly equal role for the two instruments. This
evolution in style became more pronounced with later sonatas, making them more suitable
for the concert hall rather than for amateur private performance in aristocratic salons.
Had it not been for Beethoven’s dedication of his Violin Sonata in A, Op. 47, few people
today would recognize the name of the French composer and violinist Rodolphe Kreutzer.
Beethoven met Kreutzer in 1798, when the latter came to Vienna in the retinue of Napoleon’s
army. Beethoven admired Kreutzer greatly, both as a person and as a musician.
Unfortunately, according to Berlioz, “...the celebrated violinist could never bring himself to
play this outrageously incomprehensible composition.”
Actually, Kreutzer was Beethoven’s second choice as dedicatee, the first being another
violinist, George Polgreen Bridgetower, who ultimately performed it with Beethoven at the
1803 premiere. Apparently, a rivalry over a woman explains why today we are familiar with
Kreutzer but not with Bridgetower.
The final movement of the Sonata was originally composed in 1802 as the finale of the
Sonata Op. 30 No. 1. Beethoven composed a different ending for that sonata and was able to
use the original one for the “Kreutzer.” This was a lucky break, since he had not finished the
first two movements until the morning of the premiere, and poor Bridgetower had to perform
the second movement from Beethoven’s working manuscript (a notoriously and
characteristically messy affair).
The Sonata, in Beethoven’s own words, is “...written in a highly concertante style, just like a
concerto.” By 1835 it was actually being performed in Hamburg as a violin concerto.
The first notes of the introduction make the diversion from tradition quite clear and
deliberate: a violin “recitative” solo begins the introduction, with the piano following
thematically but trying to establish another key. And that’s the last we hear of A major, the
supposed key of the piece, for a long time. Violin and piano continue in a musical discussion
over what key and mode the piece should be in until well into the fiery allegro. The argument
then escalates over who will dominate the thematic material, as the piano firmly puts its
stamp on the second theme, now forcing the violin to follow. This dialogue, however
contentious, illustrates what Beethoven meant by “concertante” in his description of the
work.
The second movement provides much needed rest in a relatively conventional set of
variations in which violin and piano alternately take center stage. The excitement begins
anew in the finale but this time with more speed than musical tension. Violin and piano seem
to have settled their differences, although Beethoven keeps the key unstable until the end of
the piece.
Violin Sonata No. 1 in A major, Op. 13
Gabriel Fauré
1845-1924
The bulk of Gabriel Fauré’s music – whether piano, chamber, vocal or orchestral – conveys
the impression of a personal and private statement, an intimate conversation between the
composer and his muse. All his life Fauré’s ideal was, as he put it, to create musique de
chambre; the larger forms – opera, symphonies or concertos – were not for him. As a result,
his music is admirably suited for performance in private homes or small halls. The elegance
and “ease” of much of his music belies the painstaking effort that went into the composition;
Fauré was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve.
Fauré was no formal innovator. He was a student of Camille Saint-Saëns, the quintessential
French neo-classicist of the late 19th century, who considered form an essential component of
“good” music. Fauré respected Saint-Saëns greatly, and as a result the structure of his
chamber music compositions fits the classical mold. However, within that framework, he
always experimented and surprised audiences with unexpected phrasing and harmonies, and
elegant twists of musical development.
The A-major Violin Sonata, graceful, warm and lyrical, is Fauré’s first published chamber
work. While a guest at an industrialist’s estate in Normandy in the summer of 1875, Fauré
asked for technical advice from another guest, the Belgian violinist Hubert Léonard. The 30year-old composer, largely unknown at the time, succeeded in getting the work published by
the prestigious Breitkopf & Härtel under condition that he receive no royalties or fee. The
premiere in 1877 was a success.
There is a lush Brahmsian quality to this Sonata, both in form and musical content. It is
certainly not a technical showpiece, its charm more in the subtlety of feeling. It is often
compared to the Violin Sonata by César Franck, written eleven years later, but Franck’s
Sonata is lavish and emotional from start to finish.
Fauré opens the first movement with an unusual slightly syncopated theme and a hint of
modal melody and harmony, a characteristic that would soon be exploited and expanded by
all the French composers of the end of the century.
The second movement begins with a brooding figure in the piano, also calls Brahms to mind,
especially the slow movement of the Horn Trio, which he wrote in memory of his mother.
But Fauré’s general reserve avoids any passionate outpouring.
The third movement, a typical scherzo and trio, allows the violin a bit of technical display
with staccato bowing and pizzicato, but the trio returns to Fauré’s more languorous style. At
the premiere this movement was encored. The finale is the most extroverted of the four but
without the bravura so common in last movements.
Program notes by:
Joseph & Elizabeth Kahn
[email protected]
www.wordprosmusic.com