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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 ###