Towards a Theory of Early-Romantic First- Movement Concerto Form: A Study of Felix Mendelssohn and His Contemporaries

Item Type text; Electronic Dissertation

Authors Abdalla Abarca, Faez Ismael

Publisher The University of Arizona.

Rights Copyright © is held by the author. Digital access to this material is made possible by the University Libraries, University of Arizona. Further transmission, reproduction, presentation (such as public display or performance) of protected items is prohibited except with permission of the author.

Download date 09/10/2021 20:40:15

Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10150/642103 TOWARDS A THEORY OF EARLY-ROMANTIC FIRST-MOVEMENT CONCERTO

FORM: A STUDY OF FELIX MENDELSSOHN AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES

by

Faez Ismael Abdalla Abarca

______Copyright © Faez Ismael Abdalla Abarca 2020

A Dissertation Submitted to the Faculty of the

FRED FOX SCHOOL OF MUSIC

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

For the Degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

WITH A MAJOR IN MUSIC THEORY

In the Graduate College

THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

2020 May 7, 2020

5/7/2020 3

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I owe my deepest gratitude to my family—in particular my mother Marta, my father Faez, and my sister Gloria—for their encouragement and reassurance. None of my accomplishments would have been possible without them. More than anything, I thank them for their love and for helping me become the person I am today. Special thanks also to my dog Luna for her loving attitude towards me and (perhaps unknowing) emotional support.

I cannot begin to express my appreciation to my professor and advisor, Dr. Boyd

Pomeroy. His kindness, knowledge, patience, and love for beer were valuable sources of encouragement during these years at the University of Arizona. His thorough and constructive feedback helped me improve substantially the quality of this dissertation, as well as inspire me for future projects on concerto form. Thanks to him, I am now a better scholar, a (baby) Schenkerian, and a more proficient “Hep-Cat.”

I would also like to extend my deepest gratitude to my theory professors Dr.

Donald Traut and Dr. John Muniz for their guidance and support. Dr. Traut’s love for rock and pop music is contagious and inspiring. I now want to follow his (analytical) footsteps and approach this repertoire myself in the near future. Dr. Muniz’s philosophical insights proved invaluable. His comments and suggestions helped me

(re)consider several of my positions, particularly on the aesthetic value of music and the circularity of the musical canon. 4

I would also like to express my sincere thanks to the faculty at the Fred Fox

School of Music, in particular Dr. Jay Rosenblatt, Dr. Matthew Mugmon, Dr. John

Brobeck, and Dr. Dawn Corso. Many thanks to the staff at the University of Arizona

Libraries for their uninterrupted assistance (especially during these difficult times) and for bringing me countless books and scores from libraries around the world.

I am grateful to my friend, colleague, theory mentor, and partner in mischief

Gabriel Venegas, his academic (and personal) experience helped me greatly during the last stages of this work. My theory friends and fellow TAs Morgan Block, Miguel

Arango, and Olga Savic, for helping me grow as a theorist and music teacher. To Morgan

I owe special gratitude for all the music discussions (and delicious IPAs) we shared when

I was still in Tucson, and for welcoming me in his home earlier this year. My dear friends

Juancito Mejía and Carlita Fabris for their wonderful hospitality and for all the fun times we had together. My good friends (and former neighbors) José Luis Puerta and Arlene

Islas for inviting to their many barbecues and for helping me through tough times. And of course, my friend and writing advisor Dr. Leslie Dupont for teaching me how to good

English better.

I also want to express my heartfelt gratitude to my dear friends in Arizona: Ingvi

Kallen, Juan Carlos Merello, Marjorie Choque, Natalia Duarte, Diana Yusupov, Spencer

Miller, Jessica Muiseke-Wilkison, Olman Alfaro, Mariana Mevans, Cecilio Novillo,

Jamey Wright, and my “primo” Rolando Coto. As well as my friends in Costa Rica:

Verónica García, José Andrey Morales, David Paris, Gaby Alfaro, Sebastián Ruiz, Lucía

Trejos, Carlos Leitón, Pablo Morales, Valentina “la Mechu” Maurel, Juan Diego Vargas, and Mario Ruiz. 5

Last (but not least), I am indebted to the University of Costa Rica for helping me pursue my master and doctoral studies. In particular, I would like to thank María Clara

Vargas, Fernando Zúñiga, Alonso Canales, Álvaro Artávia, Oscar Cambronero, Daniel

Garrigues, Diana Senior, Sandra Duarte, Alex Murillo, Federico Molina, and the staff at the Office of International Affairs.

6

A mi mamá, Marta por ayudarme a cumplir este y todos mis logros

7

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF EXAMPLES ...... 10

LIST OF FIGURES ...... 13

LIST OF TABLES ...... 15

LIST OF “ANALYTICAL VIGNETTES” ...... 17

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND ACRONYMS ...... 22

ABSTRACT ...... 23

INTRODUCTION ...... 25

CHAPTER ONE — Concerto, Concertos & Konzertlehre ...... 29

I. The Evolution of the Concerto Formenlehre ...... 29

II. The Nineteenth-Century “Concerto Problem” ...... 36

III. The Potential Circularity of the Musical Canon...... 45

IV. The Concerto Problem and the Mendelssohnian Paradox ...... 52

CHAPTER TWO — Concerto Forms ...... 59

I. Mozart, Mendelssohn, and the Concerto Forms in the Late-Eighteenth

Century ...... 59

II. The Multifaceted Manifestations of the Concerto Form ...... 63

Subtypes A and B ...... 64

Subtype C ...... 76 8

Subtype D ...... 81

Subtype E ...... 91

Subtype F ...... 102

CHAPTER THREE — The Non-Mozartian Precedents of the Early-Nineteenth-Century

Concerto Form ...... 114

I. Joseph Haydn ...... 115

Ternary R1: the “Rounded” First Ritornello ...... 117

Monothematic Expositions ...... 123

Continuous Expositions ...... 130

Expanded Caesura Fill ...... 136

II. Johann Christian Bach ...... 138

Ternary S1: the “Trimodular” Solo Exposition ...... 142

The Type 5-Type 3 Concerto Merger ...... 148

Off-tonic Launch of the Recapitulatory Rotation (I) ...... 151

III. Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach ...... 153

The Connecting Link between the First and Second Movements ...... 156

The False-Ritornello Effect ...... 158

Off-tonic Launch of the Recapitulatory Rotation (II) ...... 161

Addendum: A Discussion of C.P.E. Bach’s First “Hamburg” Concerto ... 163 9

CHAPTER FOUR — Mendelssohn’s Concertos and the Concerto Forms at the Turn of

the Nineteenth Century ...... 165

I. Mendelssohn’s Concerto Practice ...... 165

Formal Compression ...... 166

The Rise and Fall of the First Ritornello ...... 175

The Developmental Thematic Episode ...... 188

The Quasi-Thematic Caesura Fill ...... 194

Addendum: Mendelssohn’s Subtype-D Concerto ...... 197

II. Other Non-Mendelssohnian Early-Romantic Concerto Practices ...... 200

The “Concertante” Form ...... 201

The Early-Romantic Type 2 Model ...... 204

Addendum: Spohr’s pre-Mendelssohnian Type 3 Concerto ...... 207

CLOSING REMARKS ...... 210

APPENDIX A — Formal Tables ...... 213

APPENDIX B — Examples ...... 230

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES ...... 274

10

LIST OF EXAMPLES

Example 2.1. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 43 No. 2, beginning of S1

(mm. 48–72) [winds omitted] ...... 230

Example 2.2. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 45, end of S2(.1) to

beginning of S3 (mm. 45–54) ...... 232

Example 2.3a. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in G, Wq. 44, R1 to beginning of S1

(mm. 1–25) ...... 233

Example 2.3b. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in G, Wq. 44, end of S2.1 to

beginning of S3 (mm. 83–100) ...... 236

Example 2.4a. Carl Stamitz – Viola Concerto in D, Op. 1, first ritornello (mm. 1–76) 237

Example 2.4b. Carl Stamitz – Viola Concerto in D, Op. 1, end of developmental space to

tonal resolution (mm. 194–242) ...... 238

Example 2.5. Bennett – Piano Concerto No. 4 in f, op. 19, end of exposition into

beginning of Type 1 recapitulation (mm. 206–264)...... 239

Example 2.6a. Moscheles – Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, Op. 93, “Pathétique,” middle of

R1:\DE to the beginning of Type 1 recapitulatory space (mm. 122–184) ...... 241

Example 2.6b. Moscheles – Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, Op. 93, “Pathétique,” beginning

of S2 (as S3), R1:\P to S1:\S (mm. 197–264 ...... 243

Example 3.1. Haydn – Double Concerto for Violin and Keyboard in F, Hob. XVIII:6

(mm. 1–25) [strings only] ...... 245 11

Example 3.2. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in D, Hob.XVIII:11, R1:\P (mm. 1–6) and

R1:\S (mm. 21–31) [strings only] ...... 246

Example 3.3. Kozeluch – Piano Concerto No. 1 in F, P.IV:1. a) R1:\P (mm. 1–12), b)

R1:\TR (mm. 12–20), c) R1:\S (mm. 34–46), d) R1:“RT” (mm. 46–57), and e) Dev.

(mm. 190–201)...... 247

Example 3.4. Hummel – Piano Concerto in a, Op. 85, R1:\P1.2 (mm. 10–18), R1:\S1.2

(mm. 66–72), and R1:\C (mm. 88–95) [piano reduction] ...... 248

Example 3.5a. Haydn – Trumpet Concerto in E♭, Hob.VIIe:1 (mm. 17–38) [piano

reduction] ...... 249

Example 3.5b. Haydn – Trumpet Concerto in E♭, Hob.VIIe:1 (mm. 54–84) [piano

reduction] ...... 250

Example 3.6. Hummel – Trumpet Concerto in E, S. 49 (mm. 14–44) [piano reduction]

...... 251

Example 3.7. Haydn – Violin Concerto in G, Hob.VIIa:4 (mm. 19–29) ...... 252

Example 3.8. Hummel – Violin Concerto in G (mm. 29–47) [piano reduction] ...... 254

Example 3.9. Haydn – Cello Concerto No. 2 in D, Hob.VIIb:2. S1: expanded caesura-fill

(mm. 33–50) [piano reduction] ...... 255

Example 3.10. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in E♭, Wq. 43 No. 3 (mm. 45–63)

[winds ommited] ...... 256

Example 3.11. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in F, Wq. 43 No. 1 (mm. 119–134)

[winds omitted] ...... 258 12

Example 4.1. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in E, MWV O 5 (S1, mm. 123–

134) ...... 259

Example 4.2a. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Violin and Piano in d, MWV O 4 (R1, mm.

1–78) ...... 260

Example 4.2b. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Violin and Piano in d, MWV O 4 (mm. 143–

158) ...... 263

Example 4.3. Mendelssohn – Piano Concerto in a, MWV O 2, dev. thematic episode

(mm. 253–295) ...... 264

Example 4.4. Ries – Piano Concerto in E♭, op. 42, dev. thematic episode (mm. 206–227)

[two-piano reduction] ...... 266

Example 4.5. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in A♭, MWV O 6 (mm. 35–58)

[two-piano reduction] ...... 268

Example 4.6. Mendelssohn – Violin Concerto in e, Op. 64 (mm. 96–148) [piano

reduction] ...... 269

Example 4.7. Spohr – Violin Concerto No. 6 in g, op. 28 (mm. 189–222) [piano

reduction] ...... 271

Example 4.8. Thalberg – Piano Concerto in f, op. 5 (mm. 212–220) [piano reduction] 272

Example 4.9. Hiller – Piano Concerto No. 1 in f, op. 5 (mm. 232–250) [piano reduction]

...... 273

13

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 2.1. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype A of the Type 5 Sonata: the seven-part (four

ritornello) format. See Elements, p. 437, Table 19.1...... 65

Figure 2.2. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype B of the Type 5 Sonata: the seven-part (four

ritornello) variant of Subtype A. See Elements, p. 437, Table 19.1...... 66

Figure 2.3. Formal models for Type 5 Sonatas with a retransitional R3 (a) and a

recapitulatory R3 (b)...... 67

Figure 2.4. Two-dimensional formal plan of C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto in c,

Wq. 43 No. 4 ...... 71

Figure 2.5. Formal models for Type 5 Sonatas with a pre-developmental R2 (a) and an

R2 within the expositional space (b)...... 74

Figure 2.6. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype C of the Type 5 Sonata: the three ritornello

variant (suppressing or minimizing the tutti-effect at the tonic return). See

Elements, p. 437, Table 19.1...... 76

Figure 2.7. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype D of the Type 5 Sonata: the nine-part (five-

ritornello) format, with an interior ritornello in the “developmental space”; “C.P.E.

Bach’s four-solo plan. See Elements, p. 438, Table 19.1...... 82

Figure 2.8. Formal model of C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 43 No. 2 . 86

Figure 2.9. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype E of the Type 5 Sonata: Type 5 adaptation

of the Type 2 (“binary”) Sonata. See Elements, p. 438, Table 19.1...... 93 14

Figure 2.10. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype F of the Type 5 Sonata: Type 5 adaptation

of the Type 1 Sonata. See Elements, p. 438, Table 19.1...... 102

Figures 3.1a–c. Three formal models for Haydn’s two- and three-part first ritornellos 119

Figure 3.2. Formal Diagram of J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in G, Op. 1 No. 4 ...... 149

Figure 3.3. Formal Diagram of J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in D, Op. 1 No. 6 ...... 150

Figure 4.1. Mendelssohn’s Concerto for Two Pianos in E, MWV O 5, page 55 of the

original manuscript. Deutsche Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz,

Musikabteilung (D-B) Mus. ms. autogr. Mendelssohn Bartholdy, F. 15. [pianos I

and II only] ...... 171

Figures 4.2a–c. Early-Romantic First-Ritornello Formal Models ...... 180

15

LIST OF TABLES

Table 2.1. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in F, Op. 7 No. 2 ...... 214

Table 2.2. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in B♭, Op. 13 No. 4...... 215

Table 3.1. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in D, Hob.XVIII:11 ...... 216

Table 3.2. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in G, Hob.XVIII:4 ...... 217

Table 3.3. Haydn – Cello Concerto No. 2 in D, Hob.VIIb:2 ...... 218

Table 3.4. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in F, Op. 13 No. 3 ...... 219

Table 3.5. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in E♭ ...... 220

Table 3.6. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in E♭, Op. 14 ...... 221

Table 3.7. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in C, Wq. 43 No. 6 ...... 222

Table 3.8. C.P.E. Bach – Double Concerto for Harpsichord and Fortepiano in E♭, Wq. 47

...... 223

Table 4.1. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in E, MWV O 5 ...... 224

Table 4.2. Mozart – Piano Concerto No. 23 in A, K. 488 (mm. 1–66) ...... 225

Table 4.3. Beethoven – Piano Concerto No. 1 in C, Op. 15 (mm. 1–106) ...... 225

Table 4.4. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Violin and Piano in d, MWV O 4 ...... 226

Table 4.5. Mendelssohn – Piano Concerto in a, MWV O 2 ...... 227

Table 4.6. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in A♭, MWV O 6 ...... 228 16

Table 4.7. Mendelssohn – Violin Concerto in d, MWV O 3 ...... 229

17

LIST OF “ANALYTICAL VIGNETTES”

» Analytical Vignette 2.1. Field – Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, H. 58a (1822) ...... 69

» Analytical Vignette 2.2. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in c, Wq. 43 No. 4

(1771–72) ...... 70

» Analytical Vignette 2.3. Cramer – Piano Concerto No. 2 in d, op. 16 (1797)...... 72

» Analytical Vignette 2.4. J.C. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in G, Op. 13 No. 5

(1777) ...... 77

» Analytical Vignette 2.5. Dussek – Piano Concerto in F, op. 17, C. 78 (1792) ...... 78

» Analytical Vignette 2.6. Cramer – Piano Concerto No. 5 in c, op. 48 (1811) ...... 80

» Analytical Vignette 2.7. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 43 No. 2

(1771–72) ...... 84

» Analytical Vignette 2.8. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 45 (1778)

...... 88

» Analytical Vignette 2.9. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in G, Wq. 44 (1778)

...... 89

» Analytical Vignette 2.10. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in F, Op. 7 No. 2 (1770)

...... 94

» Analytical Vignette 2.11. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in B♭, Op. 13 No. 4

(1777) ...... 96

» Analytical Vignette 2.12. Carl Stamitz – Viola Concerto in D, Op. 1 (1774) ...... 99 18

» Analytical Vignette 2.13. Bennett – Piano Concerto No. 4 in f, op. 19 (1836, pub.

1839) ...... 106

» Analytical Vignette 2.14. Moscheles – Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, “Pathétique,”

op. 93 (1835–36, pub. 1838) ...... 109

» Analytical Vignette 3.1. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in C, Hob. XVIII:10 (1771)

...... 120

» Analytical Vignette 3.2. Haydn – Double Concerto for Violin and Harpsichord in

F, Hob. XVIII:6 (1766) ...... 122

» Analytical Vignette 3.3. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in D, Hob.XVIII:11 (1784)

...... 124

» Analytical Vignette 3.4. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in G, Hob.XVIII:4 (1781)

...... 126

» Analytical Vignette 3.5. Kozeluch – Piano Concerto No. 1 in F, P.IV:1 (1784) 126

» Analytical Vignette 3.6. Hummel – Piano Concerto in a, Op. 85 (1819) ...... 129

» Analytical Vignette 3.7. Haydn – Trumpet Concerto in E♭, Hob. VIIe:1 (1796) 131

» Analytical Vignette 3.8. Hummel – Trumpet Concerto in E, S. 49 (1803) ...... 133

» Analytical Vignette 3.9. Haydn – Violin Concerto in G, Hob.VIIa:4 (1769) ..... 134

» Analytical Vignette 3.10. Hummel – Violin Concerto in G (c. 1804) ...... 135

» Analytical Vignette 3.11. Haydn – Cello Concerto No. 2 in D, Hob.VIIb:2 (1783)

...... 137 19

» Analytical Vignette 3.12. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in F, op. 13 no. 3 (1777)

...... 145

» Analytical Vignette 3.13. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in E♭ (c. 1772) ...... 146

» Analytical Vignette 3.14. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in G, Op. 1 No. 4 (1763)

...... 148

» Analytical Vignette 3.15. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in D, Op. 1 No. 6 (1763)

...... 150

» Analytical Vignette 3.16. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in E♭, Op. 14 (c. 1776)

...... 152

» Analytical Vignette 3.17. C.P.E. Bach’s Sei Concerti – Linking Passages between

the First and Second Movements ...... 157

» Analytical Vignette 3.18. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in E♭, Wq. 43 No.

3 (1771–72) ...... 159

» Analytical Vignette 3.19. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in C, Wq. 43 No. 6

(1771–72) ...... 160

» Analytical Vignette 3.20. C.P.E. Bach –Harpsichord Concerto in F, Wq. 43 No. 1

(1771–72) ...... 161

» Analytical Vignette 3.21. C.P.E. Bach – Double Concerto for Harpsichord and

Fortepiano in E♭, Wq. 47 (1788) ...... 162

» Analytical Vignette 3.22. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in E♭, Wq. 41

(1769) ...... 163 20

» Analytical Vignette 4.1. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in E, MWV O 5

(1823) ...... 167

» Analytical Vignette 4.2. Mendelssohn – Piano Concerto in g, Op. 25 (1831) .... 173

» Analytical Vignette 4.3. Mozart – Piano Concerto No. 23 in A, K. 488 (1786) . 180

» Analytical Vignette 4.4. Beethoven – Piano Concerto No. 1 in C, Op. 15 (1795)

...... 184

» Analytical Vignette 4.5. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Violin and Piano in d, MWV

O 4 (1823) ...... 187

» Analytical Vignette 4.6. Mendelssohn – Piano Concerto in a, MWV O 2 (1822)

...... 190

» Analytical Vignette 4.7. Ries, Piano Concerto in E♭, op. 42 (1811) ...... 191

» Analytical Vignette 4.8. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in A♭, MWV O

6 (1824) ...... 195

» Analytical Vignette 4.9. Mendelssohn – Violin Concerto in e, Op. 64 (1845) ... 196

» Analytical Vignette 4.10. Mendelssohn – Violin Concerto in d, MWV O 3 (1822)

...... 198

» Analytical Vignette 4.11. Clara Schumann – Piano Concerto in a, op. 7 (1836) 202

» Analytical Vignette 4.12. Spohr – Violin Concerto No. 6 in g, op. 28 (1808–09)

...... 205

» Analytical Vignette 4.13. Thalberg – Piano Concerto in f, op. 5 (1829–30) ...... 206 21

» Analytical Vignette 4.14. Hiller – Piano Concerto No. 1 in f, op. 5 (1829–1831)

...... 206

» Analytical Vignette 4.15. Spohr – Clarinet Concerto No. 1 in c, op. 26 (1808) . 208

22

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AND ACRONYMS

Ant. Antecedent HC Half cadence

Asc. Ascending IAC Imperfect authentic cadence

C Closing section LEC Late-expositional caesura

Cad. Cadence, cadential m. (pl. mm.) Measure(s)

Cad. Cadenza MC Medial caesura c.f. Caesura fill OMT One more time technique

Cons. Consequent P Primary theme

Cont. Continuation PAC Perfect authentic cadence

DE Display episode Ped. Pedal

Decep. Deceptive cadence Pret P-return

Desc. Descending q-t c.f. Quasi-thematic caesura fill

Dev. Development, developmental R1, R2… Ritornello 1, Ritornello 2…

Dom. Dominant Recap. Recapitulation, recapitulatory d.l. Dominant lock RT Retransition, retransitional

EEC Essential Exp. Closure S Secondary theme

Ep. Episode S1, S2… Solo 1, Solo 2…

ESC Essential Structural Closure Seq. Sequence, sequential

Ev. Evaded cadence Subdom. Subdominant

Exp. Exposition, expositional TMB Trimodular block

Expan. Expansion, expanded TR Transition, transitional

Exten. Extension, extended VA Active Dominant

FS Fortspinnung w.c. “Wild Card”

23

ABSTRACT

Contemporary theories of concerto first-movement form frequently approach their subject matter by setting de facto geographical, cultural, or historical restrictions on the genre. However, whether explicit or not, focusing exclusively on any specific concerto practice entails a biased prioritization of a selected group of works, inevitably resulting in a set of canonized musical norms. A view of the repertoire based on this type of norms is inherently problematic. This approach inexorably (and arbitrarily) excludes an important non-canonical portion of the repertoire, prioritizing a minority of privileged composers— the “Masters”—and their works.

Modern music-theory scholarship has called into question this tendency in concerto Formenlehre (e.g., Horton 2011, Vande Moortele 2013, Taylor 2016, Wingfield

2008), positing that the Viennese influence on early nineteenth-century concerto composition has been overestimated. I echo this position and suggest my own tentative solution to this “concerto problem”: to acknowledge the “risk of circularity” inherent in the musical canon, minimizing its authority as an analytical or aesthetic criterion and opting instead for a context-sensitive approach.

Felix Mendelssohn’s concertos have a particularly relevant role within this discussion. Although influenced by the Viennese compositional tradition, these pieces also exhibit important idiosyncratic characteristics, many of which arose from earlier non-Mozartian formal precedents. Thus, it is possible to explain Mendelssohn’s concertos as elaborations of the Mozartian form, and, at the same time, as direct “descendants” of other late-eighteenth-century concerto practices. Hearing a concerto by Mendelssohn—or 24 any composer—thus implies hearing it with reference to other musical works of the same

(or similar) genre, either from its own time or from before. Understanding a concerto thus requires knowing its specific musical contexts, since the piece “exists” within a large but finite milieu of musical practices; i.e., a plethora of compositional paradigms by different composers, linked by their mutual musical inclinations.

On these grounds, this dissertation aims to explain early-nineteenth-century concerto form from a holistic perspective, focusing on Mendelssohn’s works as well as the compositional practices of various other composers. For this reason, my present theoretical approach relies on a wide-ranging, empirical evaluation of the concerto movements of this time, in order to 1) determine the specific formal features germane to the early-Romantic concerto practice and 2) set them within a theoretical framework that can account for their precedents.

25

INTRODUCTION

[W]hen I asked my friend if he would tell me about his experiences with a concerto he had recently written, I was far from just making conversation. I was attending to his every word. His brow furrowed. “The first problem,” he confided, “is how to start the sucker.” —Joseph Kerman 1

In the spirit of Kerman’s friend, figuring out how to start a dissertation on early-

Romantic concerto form is indeed the first problem. Developing a theory to explain this repertoire as a whole is certainly an overwhelmingly ambitious task. In fact, considering the extreme diversity of this musical corpus—not to mention its inherent analytical complexities—formulating such a theory might not even be desirable. It would also be a mistake to attempt to address this issue by focusing instead on the concertos of a single composer. Such “theory” would, by definition, lack a comprehensive analytical scope and ignore the widespread characteristics of the composer’s musical and historical context.

Thus, placing these works in a “bubble” of analytical isolation inevitably results in an artificial theoretical construct, incapable of explaining them in relation to their “musical surroundings.”

On these grounds, this dissertation aims to explain this musical diversity from a holistic perspective, focusing on the compositional practices of various composers at the turn of the nineteenth century. For this reason, my present theoretical approach relies on a wide-ranging, empirical evaluation of the concerto movements of this time, focusing on two distinct generations of composers: Mozart’s late-Classical contemporaries (such as

1 Joseph Kerman, Concerto Conversations (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), 1– 2. 26

Haydn, and C.P.E. and J.C. Bach), and Mendelssohn’s early-Romantic contemporaries

(Spohr, Hummel, Moscheles, among others).

While pragmatic, my focus on Felix Mendelssohn’s concertos tackles this complex undertaking from a “localized” standpoint, interpreting these works from a dialogical perspective. In other words, rather than simply theorizing these concertos as isolated manifestations of a hypothetical “Mendelssohnian form,” this case study seeks to understand them with respect to other related works, either from their own time or from before. Thus, this epistemological approach views Mendelssohn’s concerto form(s) as part of a massive “universe” of existing forms, in which every work is surrounded by similar pieces with comparable musical characteristics. In this sense, hearing any concerto movement implies recognizing its singular location within this universe, acknowledging the differences and similarities it shares with its neighboring works.

From this perspective, understanding a concerto’s form does not depend exclusively on the piece itself, but rather on the corpus of works with which the listener is already familiar. Mendelssohn’s compositional idiosyncrasies are thus only recognized as such because one can measure them against other contrasting concerto practices. In this sense, whether one hears a specific formal feature as “trivial” or “audacious” depends largely on how typical (normative) or rare (deformational) this feature actually is.

The purpose of dissertation is twofold: 1) determine the specific formal features germane to early-nineteenth century concertos—and Mendelssohn’s in particular—and 2) set them within a theoretical framework that can account for their precedents. For this purpose, the study emphasizes the late-Classical compositional practices that may have 27 ultimately given rise to these formal paradigms, either by converging, departing, or somehow evolving into the various manifestations of early-Romantic concerto form.

The present document addresses these issues in four chapters. The first gives an account of the historical precedents of the form up to the early-nineteenth century, describes the motivations for the study by addressing problems in modern concerto

Formenlehre, and justifies the document’s focus on Mendelssohn’s works. The second chapter describes the different manifestations of the concerto form at the turn of the nineteenth century, focusing on Hepokoski and Darcy’s seven subtypes of the Type 5 model. Chapter 3 addresses the musical precedents of the early-Romantic concerto forms, centering on Mendelssohn’s non-Mozartian predecessors (Joseph Haydn, Johann

Christian Bach, and Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach). Finally, chapter 4 describes

Mendelssohn’s most idiosyncratic formal characteristics, while addressing other non-

Mendelssohnian concerto practices of this time.

From a methodological perspective, my work builds primarily on Hepokoski and

Darcy’s theoretical work on the Mozartian concerto form (Type 5 sonata form), adopting their analytical terminology, taxonomy, and formal labels.2 These can be conveniently adjusted to describe early-nineteenth-century concerto movements written in ritornello- solo form. In addition, I will occasionally refer to William Caplin’s theory of Classical form—as well as Janet Schmalfeldt’s concept of retrospective reinterpretation—to describe the formal function of specific musical passages.3

2 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 430– 602. 3 See William Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), and Janet Schmalfeldt, In 28

In some respects, this dissertation abandons widely-held conventions in academic studies of concerto form. For example, it does not focus exclusively on concertos for a single solo instrument. Although this study acknowledges that every concerto type has its own textural and stylistic peculiarities, it prioritizes a more general, all-inclusive conception of the early-nineteenth-century concerto. In this sense, the present work addresses concertos for any (or multiple) instrument(s), and seeks to interpret them by the same analytical standards.

On a final note, I consistently refer to each concerto by its composer, solo instrument(s), key, and opus number (if available), denoting the first movement only unless otherwise noted. For simplicity, keys are written in an abbreviated form, using upper- or lower-case letters to represent each key’s mode.4 Finally, for the sake of organization, I assign a specific heading—or “Analytical Vignette”—to each analytical discussion of a specific musical work.

the Process of Becoming: Analytic and Philosophical Perspectives on Form in Early Nineteenth-Century Music (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).

4 E.g., A♭ major and F♯ minor are respectively written as A♭ and f♯. 29

CHAPTER ONE

Concerto, Concertos & Konzertlehre

“Defining the concept of ‘musical form’ is a precarious enterprise.” —Pieter Bergé 1

I. The Evolution of the Concerto Formenlehre

The concerto’s popularity is arguably still as vibrant today as it was centuries ago, but it is precisely the genre’s longevity that makes its theorizing such a “precarious enterprise.” Anyone who has dealt with concerto first movements will probably attest to the analytical complexities of the form, which result primarily from the historical context of the pieces themselves.2 The historical evolution of the concerto places on the analyst an ethical and academic responsibility to consider the contextual background of any musical work before attempting to explain it theoretically. In Hepokoski and Darcy’s words: “[n]o one should confront the [first-movement concerto form] without a sufficient historical consciousness of earlier formal patterns.” 3 Thus, this document will begin by

1 William Caplin, James Hepokoski and James Webster, Musical Form, Forms & Formenlehre: Three Methodological Reflections, ed. Pieter Bergé (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2010), 11. 2 Arthur Hutchings, for example, audaciously claims that the concerto form is the “most complex instrumental form yet known in western music.” See A Companion to Mozart’s Piano Concertos (London: Oxford University Press, 1948), 4. 3 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 433. 30 briefly describing the historical evolution of the concerto form, centering on specific theorists and their individual analytical approaches to the form.4

Conceptions on the nature of concertos have changed throughout their history.

The conception of the concerto as a “form”—as opposed to as a “genre”—was virtually non-existent before the 1750s, but arose progressively during the second half of the eighteenth century. The distinction between concerto “genre” and concerto “form” is somewhat elusive, mainly due to the lack of a standardized theoretical account for the concerto form, but also to the obscure historical origins of the concerto’s formal design.

While one would intuitively view it as a derivative of the concerto genre—that is, derived from the concertos themselves—one could also reasonably view it as a derivative of other non-concertante genres, such as the symphony or the operatic aria.5

Regardless, the historical origins of the concerto are peripheral to the fact that, in the decades after 1750, the compositional standardization of the classical concerto

4 Although I will use the term “theorists” throughout this discussion, it is important to point out that a significant number of these authors were also composers in their own right. This entails that they, for better or for worse, based their theoretical conclusions on their own compositional practices as well as those of their contemporaries. 5 The connection between the Classical (mainly Mozartian) concerto and the operatic aria has been formulated several times, and to different extents, since the late eighteenth century. In this respect, it is worth highlighting Martha Feldman’s summary of the theoretical discussions on this subject. See Feldman “Staging the Virtuoso: Ritornello Procedure in Mozart, from Aria to Concerto,” in Neal Zaslaw (ed.), Mozart’s Piano Concertos: Text, Context, Interpretation (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996), 179, n. 5. Alternatively, Jane Stevens challenges this connection by arguing that the “special recourse to other [non-concertante] genres in fact raises unnecessary analytic difficulties and may obscure the significance of individual structural events.” See Stevens “The Importance of C.P.E. Bach for Mozart’s Piano Concertos,” in Zaslaw (ed.), Mozart’s Piano Concertos, 212. A similar objection by the same author is found in “The ‘Piano Climax’ in the Eighteenth-Century Concerto: An Operatic Gesture?,” in Stephen L. Clark (ed.), C.P.E. Bach Studies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), 245–276. James Webster also echoes Stevens’s position by calling into question the “aria-concerto hypothesis”; i.e., the formal (dis)similarities between Mozart’s concertos and his opera arias. See Webster, “Are Mozart’s Concertos ‘Dramatic’? Concerto Ritornellos versus Aria Introductions in the 1780s,” in Zaslaw (ed.), Mozart’s Piano Concertos, 107–137. 31 became widely recognized by both theorists and composers.6 During this time, theorists started to describe the concerto in terms of its overall formal structure, from an increasingly wide variety of perspectives. Their descriptions of the form differed significantly depending on their personal analytical inclinations and, more importantly, on the specific repertoire under consideration.7 The following paragraphs will thus discuss how theorists, up to Mendelssohn’s time, perceived and interpreted the concerto form.

The evolution of concerto Formenlehre is as intricate and diverse as the form itself. However, a brief summary of this theoretical development would probably begin with Johann Adolph Scheibe and Daniel Gottlob Türk, who independently conceived the concerto form as an alternation of contrasting textural sections.8 For these authors, the grounding principle behind the formal organization of the concerto is the juxtaposition of ritornello-solo sections, implying that the essential feature of concerto movements is the artistically organized deployment of tutti and solo sections. The alternation between these two sections creates the impression of a “dramatic dialogue”—the semblance of a conversation between the soloist and the orchestra, two anthropomorphic musical agents.

6 See Jane Stevens, “Theme, Harmony, and Texture in Classic-Romantic Descriptions of Concerto First-Movement Form,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 27 (1974), 26. 7 Compare, for example, Koch’s early (1793) and late (1802) writings of the subject, which show a transition from a C.P.E. Bach-centered to a Mozart-centered description of the concerto form. See Heinrich Christoph Koch, Versuch einer Anleitung zur Composition (Leipzig: A.F. Böhme, 1782–1793); and Musikalisches Lexikon (Frankfurt am Main: August Hermann der Jüngere, 1802). 8 Some historical and theoretical accounts for this conception of the concerto form can be found in Stevens “Theme, Harmony, and Texture,” 26–29, and Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 433–435. For the primary sources, see Johann Adolph Scheibe, Critischer Musikus: Neue vermehrte und unverbesserte Auflage (Leipzig: Breitkopf, 1745); and Daniel Gottlob Türk, Klavierschule oder Anweisung zum Klavierspielen für Lehrer und Lernende (Leipzig & Halle: Schwickert, Hemmerde, and Schwetschke, 1789). 32

Thus, the conversation unfolds as a sequence of organized musical events, guided by the apparent cooperation and/or competition between soloist and orchestra.9

Like Scheibe and Türk, Johann Joachim Quantz also describes concerto movements according to “textural divisions” (i.e., tutti and solo alternations) and their

“dramatic dialogue.” 10 However, Quantz also discusses the particular “melodic” (i.e., thematic) and stylistic features of each of these two sections. For example, his description of the first tutti—or first ritornello (R1) in modern terms—emphasizes the motivic and rhetorical distinctions between the “first section”—the primary (P) theme and the transition (TR)—and the “second section”—the secondary (S) and closing (C) themes.11

For Quantz, the latter should “provide the most beautiful and majestic ideas”; meanwhile, the former may present a motivic idea for the subsequent solo that is “sufficiently singing.” The “best ideas” of these two sections will then be “dismembered and intermingled during or between the solo passages.” 12

Along the same lines, Georg Joseph Vogler’s theoretical description of the form also centers on lower-lever harmonic correspondences. However, his focus on the

9 It is worth noting that this particular way of hearing concerto movements still plays an important role in our modern understanding of the form. See, for example, Simon P. Keefe, Mozart’s Piano Concertos: Dramatic Dialogue in the Age of Enlightenment (Woodbridge, UK: Boydell Press, 2001). 10 See Johann Joachim Quantz, Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte Traversiere zu spielen (Berlin: Johann Friedrich Voß, 1752), trans. Edward R. Reilly as On Playing the Flute (London: Faber and Faber, 1966). 11 The term “first ritornello” (or “opening ritornello”) refers to the tonic-centered tutti section that launches the concerto proper, preceding the first entrance of the soloist. This section is normally constructed as a fully-rotational orchestral Anlage, serving as a rhetorical and referential layout for the rest of the movement. Hepokoski and Darcy (Elements, 449–451) attribute “three structural functions” to the Mozartian first ritornello: 1. introductory/anticipatory, 2. expositional-rhetorical, and 3. referential-layout. As I will argue in the following chapters, other non-Mozartian first-ritornello models do not necessarily fulfill these three structural functions. 12 Quantz quoted by Stevens in “Theme, Harmony, and Texture,” 28–30. 33 construction of short “periods” or phrases extends the reach of his theory by dealing with the form on a larger scale.13 Vogler’s emphasis on harmony allows him to explore other, arguably more consequential features of the form: cadences, modulations, and other important harmonic events. This leads him to note the similarities between the concerto and the symphony, which, at the time, audiences and composers considered the preeminent genre of instrumental composition.14

Modern theoretical writings often discuss Vogler’s description of the concerto form in relation to his instructions on composition, particularly his unusual system for composing concerto movements.15 His recommendation for potential composers is to first conceive an “ordinary” sonata for a solo instrument. Once this is done, there is nothing left for this hypothetical composer to do but to add ritornellos between the “three parts” of this sonata or, in modern terms, the exposition, development, and recapitulation.

Vogler’s concerto “recipe” is telling and says a lot about his conception of the form. He clearly prioritizes the solo sections over the ritornellos, suggesting that he interprets the concerto form as a derivative of the sonata genre.16

Following Vogler, Frederic Christopher Kollmann considers the succession of

“harmonic formulas”—i.e., a standardized deployment of modulations—as the leading

13 See Georg Joseph Vogler, Betrachtungen der Mannheimer Tonschule (Mannheim: Bossler, 1778–1781). 14 Ibid., 31–34. In this context, the term “symphony” refers more to its harmonic (tonal- modulatory) plan, less to its textural attributes. 15 For more in-depth discussions on this topic see Stevens, “Theme, Harmony, and Texture,” 32– 33, and Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 435. 16 While Vogler’s compositional system is of great historical importance, its prescriptive approach makes it inadequate for analyzing concerto movements. Most of the concertos by Vogler’s contemporaries seem to follow different compositional algorithms. 34 principle for formal organization. Like Vogler, he also suggests a basic formal plan that disregards the solo-tutti alternation as the guiding principle of the concerto form, since, for him, the distinction between ritornellos and solos is primarily “harmonic” (tonal), rather than “melodic” (motivic). Instead, he views concerto compositions as a compound

“symphonic sonata,” integrating, within a single movement, formal features of the symphony and the sonata.17

Like his contemporaries, Heinrich Christoph Koch firmly grounded his ideas on musical form in earlier theoretical traditions. In his exhaustive treatise on composition, he first describes (as did Scheibe and Türk) the concerto form as an alternating pattern of four tutti sections—functioning simply as ritornellos—and three solo sections.18 Like

Quantz, he also pays special attention to melodic considerations, noting the motivic correspondences between the first and last “periods” (exposition and recapitulation). He then proceeds, as did Vogler and Kollmann, to explain the concerto as a “symphonic” structure, in which the three solo sections fulfill the same role as the three sections of a symphony.

Koch’s ideas are thus not entirely original. However, his carefully crafted analytical system allowed him to systematize the ideas developed by his contemporaries.

17 See Stevens, “Theme, Harmony, and Texture,” 31–38, as well as Shelley Davis, “H. C. Koch, the Classic Concerto, and the Sonata-Form Retransition,” Journal of Musicology 2, no. 1 (1983): 48–49. Both Stevens and Davis also cite the work of Francesco Galeazzi, who, like Vogler, reconciles the tutti-solo alterations with a “symphonic” sonata plan. For the primary sources, see Augustus Frederic Christopher Kollmann, An Essay on Practical Musical Composition, According to the Nature of that Science and the Principles of the Greatest Musical Authors (London: Kollmann, 1799), and Francesco Galeazzi, Elementi Teorico-Practici de Musica (Rome: Stamperia Pilucchi Cracas, 1791–1796), partially trans. Angelo Frascarelli in “‘Elementi Teorico-Practici di Musica’ by Francesco Galeazzi: An Annotated English Translation and Study of Volume I” (DMA thesis, University of Rochester, 1968). 18 Heinrich Christoph Koch, Versuch einer Anleitung zur Composition, 3 vols. (Leipzig: A.F. Böhme, 1782–1793), trans. Nancy Kovaleff Baker as Introductory Essay on Composition: The Mechanical Rules of Melody, Sections 3 and 4 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983). 35

In the end, Koch’s efforts to integrate harmony, melody, and texture into a single unified system resulted in the first extensive description of the concerto form.19 On the one hand, for Koch, texture (solos and tuttis) is what determines the most basic divisions of the form. On the other, the harmonic plan is what sets a teleological course throughout the movement, conferring a large-scale coherence on the solo-tutti alternation. In the end, however, it is melodic correspondence that grants unity and aesthetic significance to the whole structure.

Koch’s Versuch overshadowed the theoretical writings of his contemporaries, making him arguably the most important figure in the theorizing of the concerto form at the turn of the nineteenth century.20 Koch’s ideas inspired other analytical approaches to concerto form based on sonata-form paradigms, fostering a hermeneutic perspective that would prevail for most of the early nineteenth century. Mendelssohn’s contemporaries, such as Carl Czerny and Adolph Bernhard Marx, would also adopt this perspective, firmly establishing in their writings the hegemony of sonata form as the guiding principle of concerto form.21

19 See Stevens “An 18th-Century Description of Concerto First-Movement Form,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 24, no. 1 (1971): 85–95. 20 In Stevens’s words, Koch “brought together the progressive analytic ideas of his time and built from them a consistent—and imposing—system of analysis which met no serious challenge for over two decades.” See “Theme, Harmony, and Texture,” 26. 21 See Carl Czerny, School of Practical Composition, Vol. 1, trans. John Bishop (London: Robert Cocks, 1848, repr. New York: Da Capo Press, 1979), originally published as Die Schule der praktischen Tonsetzkunst (Bonn: N. Simrock, 1849). Adolph Bernhard Marx, Die Lehre von der musikalischen Komposition, praktisch-theoretisch, Vol. 4 (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1847). 36

II. The Nineteenth-Century “Concerto Problem”

Contemporary studies of concerto first-movement form rely almost exclusively on the formal prototypes exemplified by W.A. Mozart. This tendency goes all the way back to Mozart’s time, when Koch referred to Mozart’s concertos as the ideal models of a

“good concerto.” 22 Koch’s predilection for the Mozartian concerto would eventually be adopted by early nineteenth-century theorists, such as Carl Czerny and A.B. Marx, and later by late-nineteenth and early-twentieth-century theorists such as Ebenezer Prout and

Donald Francis Tovey.23 In fact, Tovey claimed that “now the number of great works in the true concerto form is surprisingly small . . . and [of] this small collection a good two thirds has been attributed to Mozart.” 24

Unsurprisingly, modern scholars also rely on Mozart’s concertos—and, to a lesser extent, Beethoven’s—to provide the corpus of their analytical studies of first-movement concerto form.25 This tendency responds not only to the deep-rooted prioritization of

Mozart’s concertos, but also to the institutionalization of this composer as a canonical figure of the Classical repertoire. For better or for worse, this practice has led to the commonly accepted belief that Mozart established the formal paradigms on which later composers would base their own pieces in the concerto-concertante genre(s).26 Stephan

22 Koch, Musikalisches Lexikon, col. 354. 23 Prout, Applied Forms, §§ 370–382, and Tovey, Essays in Musical Analysis, Vol. 3 (Concertos). 24 Tovey, Essays, 3:1 (my emphasis). 25 Consider, for example, Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, Rev. ed. (New York: Norton, 1988), 71– 97; and Caplin, Classical Form, 243–251. 26 In this respect, Cuthbert Girdlestone—the first scholar to dedicate a study exclusively to Mozart’s piano concertos—begins his monograph by stating the following: Just as Beethoven’s works established the form of the symphony for nearly a century, so Mozart’s piano concertos, owing to their number and the great beauty of most of them, were at the source of the modern concerto and laid down the lines along which it was to develop for 37

Lindeman, for example, stresses Mozart’s influence on the compositional practice of early nineteenth-century composers, claiming that “nearly all these composers continued to exploit the possibilities inherent in the genre as perfected by the great Mozart concertos.” 27

James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy’s Elements of Sonata Theory—the contemporary authority in theoretical approaches to the first-movement concerto form— is also a clear example of the tendency described above. Here, the authors appeal exclusively to Mozart’s concerto models as the basis of their theoretical discussion of the classical concerto form, which they codify as the Type 5 sonata form.28 Although

Hepokoski and Darcy acknowledge the existence of several other concerto practices at the turn of the nineteenth century, they—echoing Tovey, Lindeman, and others—

many years. The structure of most concertos of the last century is fundamentally the same as that of his own and even modern works show proof of his influence. Cuthbert Girdlestone, Mozart & His Piano Concertos, 2nd ed. (1958; repr., Mineola, NY: Dover, 2011), 13. Originally published as Mozart et ses Concertos pour Piano. 2 Vols. (Paris: Fischbacher, 1939). 27 Stephan Lindeman, Structural Novelty and Tradition in the Early Romantic Piano Concerto (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1999), 22. 28 A note on terminology. Historically, theorists have used the expression “double exposition form” to refer to the Type 5 “ritornello-solo” form. This expression was apparently first presented by the late nineteenth-century theorist Ebenezer Prout, but was later adopted by Donald Francis Tovey, popularizing the term in concerto scholarship for most of the 20th-century. During the 1950s, this term was put in question because of its misleading association with classical sonata expositions. In this respect, Edwin Simon mentions how [t]he attempt to carry out the analogy between the double exposition of the concerto and the sonata overlooks the contemporaneous development of the sonata and the concerto; it slights the differences in formal principle expressed by the two forms . . . A definition that accords so ill with the facts that leads to such inconclusive and contradictory results needs to be re- examined. Edwin J. Simon, “The Double Exposition in the Classic Concerto,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 10, no. 2 (1957): 111. In reaction to Simon’s reasonable objection, I will not use the term “double-exposition” throughout this document. Instead, I will adopt the more-neutral terms “ritornello-solo” or “Type 5 sonata” to refer to this specific formal prototype. 38 ultimately argue that “Mozart’s concertos are the richest of their time and probably the most influential for later generations of composers.” 29

Be that as it may, Julian Horton has recently challenged the extent of Mozart’s influence on early nineteenth-century concerto practices, calling into question its primacy for a modern concerto Formenlehre.30 Other authors also echo Horton’s position,31 pointing out that the “Mozart-first” approach—particularly evident in Hepokoski and

Darcy’s Sonata Theory—creates an anachronistic predilection for the music of the

“masters,” neglecting works by other composers who, for one reason or another, are excluded from the musical canon.

To support his objection to this tendency in modern concerto Formenlehre,

Horton cites the case of early nineteenth-century England, demonstrating—both empirically and historically—that the Viennese (i.e., Mozartian) paradigms were relatively unknown in England before 1820, and (at best) had a marginal influence on the

29 Although Hepokoski and Darcy’s discussion of the Type 5 sonata form includes examples by composers other than Mozart—such as J.C. Bach, C.P.E. Bach, and others—the authors openly admit that their theory “do[es] not present a full account of concerto structure; [instead, it] focus[es] on the concertos of Mozart, with a few glances forward to Beethoven.” See Elements, 433. 30 Julian Horton, Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 2 Op. 83: Analytical and Contextual Studies (Leuven: Peeters, 2017); “John Field and the Alternative History of Concerto First-Movement Form,” Music & Letters 92 (2011): 43–83; “Formal Type and Formal Function in the Postclassical Piano Concerto,” in Steven Vande Moortele, Julie Pedneault-Deslauriers, and Nathan John Martin (eds.) Formal Functions in Perspective: Essays on Musical Form from Haydn to Adorno (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2015); and Julian Horton and Paul Wingfield, “Norm and Deformation in Mendelssohn’s Sonata Forms,” in Nicole Grimes and Angela R. Mace (eds.) Mendelssohn’s Perspectives (London: Routledge, 2012), 83–112. 31 See, for example, Steven Vande Moortele, “In Search of Romantic Form,” Music Analysis 32, no. 3 (2013): 404–431; Benedict Taylor “Mutual Deformity: Ignaz Moscheles’s Seventh and William Sterndale Bennett’s Fourth Piano Concertos,” Music Analysis 35, no. 1 (2016): 75–109; Paul Wingfield, “Beyond ‘Norms and Deformations’: Towards a Theory of Sonata Form as Reception History,” review of Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata, by James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Music Analysis 27, no. 1 (2008): 137–177; and Matthew Riley, “Sonata Principles,” review of Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late- Eighteenth-Century Sonata, by James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Music & Letters 89, no. 4 (2008): 590–598. 39 compositional practices of British composers.32 This phenomenon also manifests itself

(although arguably to a lesser extent) in the musical output of non-British composers, including important musicians of French, Czech, and even Austro-German origins.

As a case in point, Horton contends that the Viennese paradigm “had a minimal impact on the circumstances of the production [of John Field’s concertos, among those of other British Composers], but which has been elevated ex post facto to the status of a universal principle.” 33 Here, the author states the fundamental premise of what he has elsewhere referred to as the “Concerto Problem”;34 that is, a set of theoretical, historical, and critical complications, arising from the application of analytical approaches commonly associated with the canonical (Viennese) repertoire to other, non-canonical musical corpora.

To this end, Horton argues that “any theory designed to account for early- nineteenth-century practice taking its bearings from Mozart has to deal with the fact that the conventions established in much of this music were consolidated before Mozart’s forms were fully absorbed.” 35 Thus, a theoretical approach to early-nineteenth-century concerto form cannot rely exclusively (or even primarily) on the Mozartian paradigm,

32 Steven Vande Moortele makes a similar objection: Too narrow a focus on the music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven has always been characteristic of Formenlehre in both its original continental and its modern American variants, and textbooks on musical form only exceptionally discuss music written after 1825. Steven Vande Moortele, Two-Dimensional Sonata Form: Form and Cycle in Single-Movement Instrumental Works by Liszt, Strauss, Schoenberg, and Zemlinsky (Leuven University Press, 2009), 2. 33 Horton, “John Field and the Alternative History of Concerto First-Movement Form,” 47. 34 Horton, Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 2, 11. 35 Horton, “Formal Type and Formal Function,” 80. 40 since this would limit the analytical scope of the theory and, in Horton’s words, neglect the “striking cosmopolitanism” of the genre.36

Similarly, Matthew Riley casts doubt on the idea that early-nineteenth-century listeners would have actually considered our modern canon to be an accurate representation of the general musical practice of their time. In this respect, he argues that

“it is most unclear whether [early-nineteenth-century listeners] heard music in terms of dialogues with norms at all [i.e., in Sonata Theory terms].” 37 Although the specific problem Riley raises is beyond the scope of my present discussion,38 his argument puts forward two important issues that are relevant here. On the one hand, his position raises the question of exactly how much of a role compositional conventions should play in our modern conception of musical form (in this case concerto form). On the other, it exposes how the canonization of a relatively small number of benchmark composers limits this conception of the form.

Although internally consistent, theories of form based on such a narrow sample of the repertoire inevitably suffer from their own analytical “inbreeding.” Granted, expecting a theory of form to encompass all of the compositional options available in the repertoire would be unrealistic, given that the concept of normativity in music is, of

36 Ibid., 79. Along the same lines, Horton also points out that “[t]he habit of installing Mozart and Beethoven as a generic ‘centre’ from which later practices ensue in an evolutionary progression conceals the genre’s geographical diversity in the early nineteenth century and produces a highly distorted picture of what is normative and what is exceptional.” See Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 2, 79. 37 Riley, “Sonata Principles,” 593. 38 Karol Berger addresses this issue by proposing an “analytical-critical” theory that seeks to reconstruct “the ways the music of a given period might have been experienced by its most competent listeners.” See “Towards a History of Hearing: The Classic Concerto, A Sample Case,” in Conventions in Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century Music: Essays in Honor of Leonard G Ratner, ed. Wye J. Allanbrook, Janet M. Levy, and William P. Mahrt (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon, 1992), 408. 41 course, subject to historical, cultural, and geographical constraints. However, a theoretical approach based exclusively on a selective group of canonical composers compromises the analytical diversity of the form and creates a historically distorted view of what is (or was) a normative concerto.

Hepokoski and Darcy tackle these issues via an ingenious and innovative alternative approach, devising a method of understanding sonatas—and concertos—based on a dialogic conception of the form. In their words, one can understand this hermeneutic approach as “a temporal process of ongoing dialogue—successive modular decisions that invite us to understand them, one by one . . . according to the guidance of a backdrop of a set of implied norms for the genre.” 39 Thus, for these authors, compositional conventions are the backbone of this system of understanding musical form, since they provide the norms by which listeners interpret the expressive qualities of the work as it unfolds through time.

What is truly important for this discussion, though, is the fact that dialogic form takes place, as it were, at another level of analytical thinking. In dialogic analysis, the musical work is not subject to Mark Evan Bonds’s “conformational” or “generative” approaches to form.40 In other words, the work’s form is neither a reductive representation of a hypothetical model, nor a sui generis manifestation of the work’s

“inner” form—that is, a single expression of composer’s artistic imagination. Instead, the work is the product of an intelligible dialogic “negotiation” between the composer and a

39 See Elements, 616. 40 Mark Evan Bonds, Wordless Rhetoric: Musical Form and the Metaphor of the Oration (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), 13–14. 42 backdrop of generic compositional options, all of which are contingent on a specific historical moment and geographical context.

The present study invites a dialogic interpretation of the repertoire discussed thereupon. However, the devil is in the details. A potential issue with this mode of musical thinking lies on the genesis and scope of musical norms and deformations.41

Dialogic form becomes irrelevant if the listener lacks the personal ability to engage in a historically informed dialogue with the generic expectations of the form. Still, these expectations arise from the listener’s comprehensive acquaintance with the specific musical characteristics of the genre. To put it concisely: the genre sets the musical characteristics from which the listener intuits “norms, guidelines, possibilities, expectations, and limits.” 42

However, going back to Horton’s objection, the concerto genre does not consist of a homogenous set of works. Even at a single historical moment—at, say, the early nineteenth century—the norms and expectations available in the concerto genre are subject to specific geographical and/or cultural constraints. The distance between different compositional “centers” is often significant enough to separate (even isolate) musical works into independent branches of contrasting compositional practices. This chaotically irregular medium is not analytically optimal, since it does not provide the

41 Here, I invoke the concept of “deformation” as used in Sonata Theory by Hepokoski and Darcy, meaning “the stretching of a normative procedure to its maximally expected limits or even beyond them.” See Elements, 614. In an earlier publication, the authors define the term as “a strikingly unusual or strained procedure relying on our knowledge of the typical limits of the norm.” See Hepokoski and Darcy, “The Medial Caesura and Its Role in the Eighteenth-Century Sonata Exposition,” Music Theory Spectrum 19, no. 2 (1997): 131. 42 James Hepokoski, “Sonata Theory and Dialogic Form,” in Pieter Bergé (ed.), Musical Form, Forms & Formenlehre: Three Methodological Reflections (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2010), 71. 43 adequate conditions from which one can extrapolate consistent patterns of normativity or deformation.

To complicate matters further, the notions of normativity and deformation also depend on their specific Zeitgeist. What a group of composers (or listeners) consider deformational at one point may in fact become normative at a later one.43 For example, non-resolving recapitulations were, without a doubt, deformational tonal features in

Mozart and Beethoven’s historical context. However, by the time of Bruckner, Mahler, or

Brahms, they had become a commonplace compositional practice for pieces in sonata form.44 Therefore, normativity and deformation are relative concepts; they may vary depending on the historical, cultural, or geographical context in which the pieces are produced.

This observation leads to an apparent contradiction, given that some musical practices do seem to retain their “normative” status long after they have expired as first- level compositional options.45 Yet, there is a categorical distinction between the time- sensitive, “ephemeral” norms and these “historically unchanging” norms. The former are

(or were), in Monahan’s terms, subject to a linear process of “novelty, normalcy, and finally cliché,” leading eventually to their compositional oblivion.46 Meanwhile, the latter

43 As Seth Monahan points out, this claim may be contentious, since even Hepokoski and Darcy are inconsistent on this point. See “Success and Failure in Mahler's Sonata Recapitulations,” Music Theory Spectrum 33, no. 1 (2011): 40, n. 30. 44 Hepokoski discusses this specific example at length in “Back and Forth from Egmont: Beethoven, Mozart, and the Nonresolving Recapitulation,” 19th-Century Music 25, nos. 2–3 (2001-02): 127–154. 45 In this sense, one could conceive a “para-normative” status: what was once a first-level default stays as such even after it has ceased to be common. 46 Monahan, “Success and Failure,” 40, n. 30. 44 remained in the minds of composers and listeners of later generations, leading to the formation of “ideal formal types.” 47 These formal abstractions continued to exert a significant musical hegemony, irrespective of the composers’s willingness to acknowledge or reject their “authority” as compositional alternatives.

I posit that this is not a contradiction. On the one hand, the aforementioned situation entails that composers and listeners of a given generation can identify norms in the music of their time, which they infer from the empirical frequency with which they occur. On the other, they also recognize that their predecessors would have seen these norms as deformations since, for whatever reason, they did not employ them regularly (or at all). This implies that, as more time passes, listeners become more sophisticated, increasingly acquiring analytical skills to engage in dialogues with musical works, both of their time and those of the past. The reason is simple: the exposure to musical diversity increases with listeners from successive generations, granting them access to a wider range of analytical interpretations.

From this premise, one can posit that norms and deformations do indeed exist as abstract concepts. However, they depend on the listener’s individual knowledge of the repertoire to acquire any analytical significance.48 Although these concepts are not subject to the passage of time (they can manifest in any historical period), they are temporal, in the sense that they evolve and adapt to the stylistic changes of a given

47 Consider, for example, Seth Monahan’s response to Horton’s criticism of the “ideal type” of sonata form, arguing how Strauss and Mahler “refer to sonata form as though it were a single, communally shared constructive principle, one that was both ubiquitous and stable since the time of the Viennese classics.” See Mahler’s Symphonic Sonatas, 18–19. 48 I employ the term “analytical significance” in the context of the individual listening experience, without implying any sort of value judgment on the analytical process as such. 45 generation. Therefore, it is possible to view the innovations in early-nineteenth-century concerto composition from two different perspectives: as deformations of previous musical traditions, but also as forerunners of a new set of compositional norms.

III. The Potential Circularity of the Musical Canon

Different theories of form have addressed the concerto problem by setting de facto geographical, cultural, or historical restrictions on the genre, sometimes quite explicitly.49 However, whether explicit or not, focusing exclusively on, say, Mozart’s concertos—or, for that matter, the concerto practice in late-eighteenth-century Vienna— entails a process of canonization of a selected group of works, which inevitably (but not surprisingly) results in a set of canonized musical norms. A view of the repertoire based on this type of norms is inherently problematic. This approach inevitably (and arbitrarily) excludes an important non-canonical portion of the repertoire, prioritizing a minority of privileged composers—the “Masters”—and their works.

The repertoire itself provides the standard against which normativity or deformation is measured.50 Therefore, canonizing the analytical scope of a specific repertoire would also limit the norms and deformations associated with this repertoire.

49 One of the most straightforward examples is William Caplin’s Classical Form, which, as its title clearly states, centers exclusively on the instrumental music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. 50 In several publications on Bruckner, Julian Horton also suggests that the notions of normativity and deformation were also contingent on theoretical constructs, namely the “textbook” model of sonata form established by A.B. Marx and others. See “Bruckner’s Symphonies and Sonata Deformation Theory,” Journal of the Society for Musicology in Ireland 1 (2005): 7–8; “Recent Developments in Bruckner Scholarship,” Music & Letters 85, no. 1 (2004): 85; and Bruckner's Symphonies: Analysis, Reception and Cultural Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 152–156. James Hepokoski and Seth Monahan have contested Horton’s position, simply arguing for the latter’s misunderstanding of these concepts. See Hepokoski, “Framing Till Eulenspiegel,” in 19th-Century Music 30, no. 1 (2006): 31; and Monahan, Mahler’s Symphonic Sonatas, 18–19. 46

Any musical practice that does not correspond to the norms of this musical canon will be atypical by definition, even if it internally exhibits a coherent musical consistency. In the end, the concept of a canon (whatever that may be) is problematic, precisely because it risks biasing the scope of a theoretical approach to musical form, whether via its geographical arbitrariness or historical anachronism. To put it in William Weber’s terms, canon and canonization “tend to endow music history with a fixity and grandiosity foreign to what-went-on, when it was going on.” 51

Benedict Taylor illustrates an important aspect of this discussion by presenting two possible contrasting scenarios. I include Taylor’s description in full:

[t]here has long been an assumption in modern post-Kantian aesthetics that the works of [the Kleinmeister; i.e., non-canonical composers] must necessarily provide the formal paradigms which great composers of genius break or transcend (or, in Sonata Theory terms, supply the defaults which are overridden). If one of the defining characteristics of great composers in the Romantic era is originality, and since originality is a relational property, some works must be providing the norms, and these will inevitably be those of second-tier figures. The two exist in true master-slave interdependency. Or, considered historically, if works of genius are original but nonetheless exemplary and thus can provide a model to future generations—and . . . if only the strongest artists are equipped with the capacity to misread and transcend the canonical examples of the past—then the definition of lesser artists is that they merely imitate past masters, rather than subvert them. Either way, the works of the Kleinmeister give us copies, whether of the past or of the present; they do not boldly set out the new path that leads to the future.52

Taylor’s scenarios show another obvious and inevitable consequence of the canonization of the repertoire: the distinction between canonical (the “strongest artists”) and non-canonical composers (the “lesser artists”). The process whereby a composer is classified in either of these categories is variable and, depending on the specific canon,

51 William Weber, “Canonicity and Collegiality: ‘Other’ Composers, 1790-1850,” Common Knowledge 14, no. 1 (2008): 106. 52 Taylor, “Mutual Deformity,” 75–76. 47 may change in time depending on the predominant epistemological authority.53 However, whether guided by critical reception, pedagogical convenience, or popular appeal, the process of canonization ultimately asserts judgments of value on composers and their works.54 Therefore, by definition, the canon itself declares its own value judgements, meaning that the works of the artists it is based on (the “Masters”) necessarily have a greater aesthetic value than those of the Kleinmeister.

The idea that composers of genius create musical works that are “better” than those of other composers is intuitively reasonable. However, a deeper philosophical scrutiny reveals its possible contentiousness. From a canonical perspective, the criterion determining the aesthetic value of a given work relies on the musical practice of the composers themselves. If this is the case, then these premises could lead to a logical problem, since appealing to the composers to justify the aesthetic value of their works makes the entire process circular. In a sense, this principle of aesthetic value rests on a tautology: the canon determines what the canon ought to be.

One of the epistemological premises of this study is the avoidance of any unwarranted bias in favor of the “superiority” of canonical composers (Mendelssohn included), since failure to do so would make my theoretical conclusions less representative of the music of this period. In this sense, the present document stands in

53 A case in point is William Weber’s description of the role of empiricism in the process of canon formation in England during the Age of Enlightenment. See “The Intellectual Origins of Musical Canon in Eighteenth-Century England,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 47, no. 3 (1994): 488–520. 54 For an in-depth discussion on the role of critical reception in canon formation, see Joseph Kerman “A Few Canonic Variations,” Critical Inquiry 10, no. 1 (1983): 107–125. See also Mark Everist’s discussion on canonization and musical value in Nicholas Cook and Mark Everist (eds.), “Reception Theories, Canonic Discourses, and Musical Value,” in Rethinking Music (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 378–402. 48 line with William Weber’s critique of the canon as a guiding principle for academic studies in music. The “problem of canon,” as he calls it, still prevails in modern musical academia and, unfortunately, certain academic circles have been unable (or unwilling) to see it as a problem. In Weber’s words, “[i]f we are to understand the canon historically, we must become sceptical of it, and free ourselves from its authority, its ideology, and the whole manner of speech that surrounds it. Only by questioning this tradition can we understand either its musical or its social foundations.” 55

Modern musicological academia (as well as performance practice) firmly places

Mendelssohn’s music within the Viennese-centered, Austro-German canon. However, many of his contemporaries are now excluded from it, some of whom had a significant personal and musical presence in his life.56 There are several academic and historical reasons for this, some of which have already been discussed. However, it is worth noting that nineteenth-century critics played an important role in promoting (or undermining) certain composers. Robert Schumann, for example, influenced the aesthetic conception of the genre during the 1830s, negatively affecting the popular reception of the composers he considered musically “inferior.” 57

55 William Weber, “The History of the Musical Canon,” in Nicholas Cook and Mark Everist (eds.) Rethinking Music (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 337. 56 Ignaz Moscheles is possibly the clearest example of this, being both Mendelssohn’s close friend and a well-respected composer in its own right. Although he had a prominent musical presence in early- nineteenth-century Europe, his works went out of fashion after his death in 1870; by the end of the century, audiences had virtually forgotten them. Fortunately, modern musicological scholarship has recently rekindled the academic interest in his music and persona. See, for example, Mark Kroll, Ignaz Moscheles and the Changing World of Musical Europe (Woodbridge, UK: Boydell Press, 2014). 57 In this respect, Lindeman (Structural Novelty, 146–147) mentions how [a]s the classical concertos of Mozart and Beethoven in Leipzig became popular performance pieces, Schumann’s reviews of his contemporaries’ concertos began to reveal a deepening and a refinement of his artistic values and a general dissatisfaction with the current state of the genre. His essays in the Neue Zeitschrift manifest the value he placed on organicism, textural 49

As my title states, this is as study of “Felix Mendelssohn and his

Contemporaries.” Although I acknowledge that it is not possible to remain aesthetically neutral with respect to every work analyzed here (it would be naïve to pretend otherwise),

I do recognize my ethical responsibility to remain analytically neutral as far as possible.

Thus, one of the essential parameters of this work is to hold the music of all the composers in question to the same critical standards, regardless of my personal (and subjective) position on the quality of their works.

That being said, the present document must now face the difficult task of reconciling the notions of norms and deformations with a view of the repertoire divorced from the canon’s “tyrannical” authority. While still acknowledging the influence of the canon, Steven Vande Moortele proposes a possible solution to this issue. In reference to

Seth Monahan’s “models of historical influence,” the author presents the following analogy to illustrate his “multidimensional model” of nineteenth-century musical form:

This multi-dimensional model might be conceptualised as a set of concentric circles, at the centre of which stand the Classical norms and conventions casting, as a kind of prima prattica, a long shadow across the nineteenth century. The outer circles stand for a multifarious seconda prattica, with every circle representing the normative practice of a different period (including a composer's personal practice). With each new generation of composers, the canon grows, and a new layer is added to the stack of available formal options. For any specific piece, a composer may choose to activate—or, perhaps more accurately, the analyst may choose to emphasise—certain sets of conventions while ignoring others.58

balance between soloist and orchestra, and virtuosity welded to the intrinsic aims of the concerto itself. He strictly criticized the use of pyrotechnics geared merely toward the gaudy display of the shallow and hollow technical abilities of the Parisian virtuosi. Most of the former qualities were the hallmark of the great Mozart and Beethoven concertos, which Schumann believed were solely lacking in the greater part of his contemporaries’ works. 58 Vande Moortele, “In Search of Romantic Form,” 411. 50

Vande Moortele’s analogy is illuminating, but also slightly deceptive. Keeping the “Classical norms and conventions” at the center of this set of concentric circles gives the misleading impression that these norms actually exist as a cohesive whole. Similar to those of the early nineteenth century, the formal paradigms of late-eighteenth-century concerto are too diverse to be grouped in a single “circle.” Thus, the “prima prattica” also merits the specificity of the “seconda prattica,” that is, an acknowledgment of the diversity of composers’ individual practices.

Vande Moortele also adheres to, in Mark Everist term, a “liberal” view of the canonical discourse.59 This view is flexible and inclusive, since it allows the canon to

“grow” with each generation of composers. However, it is not clear what would be the criteria a composer must satisfy to become part of the canon. If one assumes that a specific composer enters the canon because of the artistic merits of his or her works—as in the “conservative” view—then this conception of the canon could also be subject to the problems of arbitrariness or circularity discussed previously. On the contrary, if every composer of every new generation is simply included in the canon “by default,” then the entire notion of canon becomes useless and the concept itself loses any useful meaning.

In an attempt to solve these problems, one can suggest a slight change to Vande

Moortele’s analogy. Instead of a set of concentric circles, one could imagine an elaborate

Euler diagram, in which each circle represents the idiosyncratic compositional practices of a single composer.60 The regions where the circles overlap would represent a practice

59 Everist, “Reception Theories”, 389–390. 60 From a strict mathematical perspective, the correct designation for this type of diagram is actually “Euler” (as opposed to “Venn”). Despite the latter’s greater familiarity, I use the more accurate term to please any mathematician who might be reading this document. 51 shared by two or more works, potentially illustrating all the possible relations between the composer’s specific musical practices. This perspective abandons the concept of a musical canon altogether, but retains the notions of musical norms and deformations as meaningful analytical tools.

Simply put, this perspective infers norms and deformations from the rate at which the circles overlap. A high overlapping frequency points to an agreed-upon compositional practice (norm), while a low—or absent—frequency would represent unique, idiosyncratic practices (deformations). Thus, this perspective does not dictate that a specific musical practice is ipso facto normative or deformational, especially not by comparing it to a central set of (Classical) conventions. Instead, a practice is either normative or deformational because of the empirical and statistical (in)consistency in the formal patterns of its musical works.

Like Vande Moortele’s analogy, my Euler diagram is only conceptual. Rather than creating an actual diagram, this perspective aims to provide a vantage point for interpreting and understanding the otherwise chaotic context in which early-nineteenth- century composers created their concertos. This view places each work in a singular location within the diagram, surrounded by other works that display similar formal characteristics. The farther away one moves from this location, the more diverse

(deformational) the pieces become.

Still, this diagram lacks a center and rejects any concept of priority or periphery— or, in a musical context, any notion of the existence of “greater or lesser artists.” Like our expanding physical universe, every point within this diagram is a potential center, but only because the observer (or, in this case, listener) positions him or herself within it. The 52 listener-analyst has the complete freedom to pick a different location—work or composer—within the diagram, and examine its surroundings to determine what is normative or deformational in that specific context. In the words of Lawrence Krauss,

“[d]epending on your perspective, then, either every place is the center . . . or no place is.

It doesn’t matter.” 61

The present study does not place Felix Mendelssohn’s music at the “center” because of its aesthetic “superiority.” Instead, the focus on this composer is based entirely on pragmatic criteria. Whether canonical or not, Mendelssohn’s musical influence and historical relevance is uncontroversial, and his concertos remain a milestone in the evolution of the genre during the early nineteenth century. Given modern musicology’s increasing interest in exploring the music of this composer, I propose that the time is ripe for a comprehensive study of Mendelssohn’s concertos in the light of the early-nineteenth century’s compositional practices.

IV. The Concerto Problem and the Mendelssohnian Paradox

Felix Mendelssohn’s compositions in the concerto-concertante genre have an unusual and seemingly contradictory place within early-nineteenth-century concerto practice. On the one hand, Mendelssohn is generally considered one of Mozart’s most faithful “successors”: his compositional practice is ingrained in the Germanic musical tradition and his work has been assimilated into the Austro-German canon.62 On the

61 Lawrence Krauss, A Universe from Nothing: Why There Is Something Rather than Nothing (New York: Atria, 2012), 14. 62 Worth mentioning here is Robert Schumann’s conception of Felix Mendelssohn as “the Mozart of the nineteenth century.” See Robert Schumann, “Trios für Pianoforte, Violine und Violoncello,” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 13 (1840), 197–198. See also Peter Mercer-Taylor, “Mendelssohn and the 53 other, Mendelssohn’s late works—in particular his mature concertos—are known for their original approach to form, as well as their dramatic, deeply introspective qualities, placing him on a par with later Romantic composers rather than his Classical predecessors. In fact, Tovey went so far as to claim that “the best works of Mendelssohn have all in their respective ways been the starting-points of some musical revolution.

Mendelssohn may truthfully be said to have destroyed the classical concerto form.” 63

However, one should take Tovey’s remarks with a grain of salt. As noted before, he views the Mozartian model as the basis of the concerto Formenlehre. Thus, Tovey’s idea of Mendelssohn as the “destroyer” of the classical concerto form only makes sense if one views his concertos in light of the Mozartian concerto prototypes. An analytical approach to Mendelssohn’s music based exclusively on these principles ignores other non-canonical influences, and preserves the widespread but unwarranted conception of early Mendelssohn as a conservative, even archaic composer.64

This apparent paradox—i.e., Mendelssohn as a progressive-conservative composer—remains prevalent in Mendelssohn scholarship. Lindeman, for example, indirectly alludes to this contradiction in his description of the composer’s late concerto

Institution(s) of German Art Music,” in The Cambridge Companion to Mendelssohn, ed. Peter Mercer- Taylor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 11–25; as well as Franz Brendel, “Robert Schumann with Reference to Mendelssohn-Bartholdy and the Development of Modern Music in General,” in Mendelssohn and His World, ed. R. Larry Todd and trans. Susan Gillespie (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 341–363. 63 Tovey, Essays in Musical Analysis, 3:178. 64 Consider, for example, William Newman’s description of Mendelssohn’s musical persona: . . . he was much too firmly established in his own artistic directions to submit to further strong influences. Chopin and Schumann marked the limit of his conservative sympathies, while Berlioz and Liszt were generally beyond or outside the pale. . . . Mendelssohn remained in his late works more the “Romantic Classicist” than the Classicistic Romanticist. See William S. Newman, The Sonata since Beethoven: The Third and Final Volume of A History of the Sonata Idea, 2nd ed. (New York: Norton, 1972), 298. 54 practice, observing how these pieces manifest “the most radical, progressive, and ultimately highly influential tendencies of the early Romantic movement—attributes not typically associated with Mendelssohn.” 65 This notion remains largely unquestioned, and unfortunately still pervades the modern perception of his music and persona.66

Although the progressive-conservative paradox can be observed throughout

Mendelssohn’s compositional corpus, it is particularly evident in his concerto-concertante compositions. Mendelssohn did not compose concertos consistently throughout his career; instead, they appeared in two “generations,” that is, two distinct compositional periods separated by a seven-year hiatus. The first-generation concertos (1822–1824) are generally viewed as compositional exercises on the ritornello-solo model, i.e., early experiments in the Mozartian concerto prototype (Hepokoski and Darcy’s Type 5 sonata form).67 In this respect, Lindeman describes these pieces as follows:

Mendelssohn cast the first movements of all five of these [early] concertos in double-exposition [i.e., Type 5 sonata] form, albeit they introduce many novel features. As a group, they display a somewhat curious admixture of stylistic influences. At times, this amalgamation involves a combination of rather incongruent elements. While the first ritornello, solo exposition, and recapitulation of each of the five concertos are relatively straightforward and even conservative in their respective dispositions, the development sections of several of the early works reveal the young composer’s awareness of the latest harmonic

65 Stephan [Steve] Lindeman, “The Works for Solo Instrument(s) and Orchestra,” in Peter Mercer- Taylor (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Mendelssohn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 112. 66 A noteworthy exception to this trend in Mendelssohn scholarship can be found in Greg Vitercik, “Mendelssohn as Progressive,” in ibid., 71–88. 67 The first generation includes the following concertos: the Concerto for Piano and String Orchestra in a, MWV O 2 (1822); the Concerto for Violin and String Orchestra in d, MWV O 3 (1822); the Concerto for Violin, Piano and Orchestra in d, MWV O 4 (1823); the Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra in E, MWV O 5 (1823); and the Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra in A♭, MWV O 6 (1824). Dates and MWV numbers are drawn from Ralph Wehner, ed., Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy: Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis der musikalischen Werke (MWV) (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 2009), 229–233. 55

trends of his contemporaries and seem to manifest his desire to push the boundaries of convention by creating a fresh conception of the form.68

As I will argue, Mendelssohn’s “desire to push the boundaries of convention” responds to a tendency not associated exclusively with this composer. Instead, my empiric analytical survey of the early nineteenth-century concerto repertoire reveals a generalized inclination among composers to experiment with virtually every feature of the form. Each of these composer’s efforts to renew the concerto form are as unique as the composers themselves, and the present document aims to respect their individual musical idiosyncrasies. However, the following discussion will center on Mendelssohn’s specific practice and its relation to that of his contemporaries. Thus, I will discuss

Mendelssohn’s concertos as “descendants” of the Mozartian practice, but also as a

“circle” in my hypothetical Euler diagram, that is, as a part of this alternative early- nineteenth-century tradition.

Moreover, the second-generation concertos (1831–1844) abandon the ritornello- solo model and adopt a formal organization that resembles—albeit in modified form—the

“textbook” sonata form (Hepokoski and Darcy’s Type 3 sonata form) commonly used in first-movement symphonic pieces.69 Although the ritornello-solo model can still be found in later nineteenth-century concerto compositions—particularly in pieces by Brahms and

68 Lindeman, Structural Novelty, 79. 69 The second generation includes the following pieces: the Concerto for Piano and Orchestra “No.1” in g, Op. 25, MWV O 7 (1831); the Concerto for Piano and Orchestra “No.2” in d, Op. 40, MWV O 11 (1837); the Concerto for Piano and Orchestra in e, MWV O 13 (unfinished, 1842–1844); and the Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in e, Op. 64, MWV O 14 (1845). The Recitativo for Piano and Orchestra in D, MWV O 1 (1820); the Capriccio Brillant for Piano and Orchestra in b, Op. 22, MWV O 8 (1832); the Fantasy and Variations on Weber’s “Preciosa” for Two Pianos and Orchestra in c, MWV O 9 (composed in collaboration with Ignaz Moscheles, 1833); the Rondo Brillant for Piano and Orchestra in E♭, Op. 29, MWV O 10 (1834); and the Serenade und Allegro Giojoso for Piano and Orchestra in b/D, Op. 43, MWV O 12 (1838), will be excluded from this study since they are not written in dialogue with the concerto form (as it is typically understood). See Wehner, Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis, 233–238. 56

Dvořák—the Type 3 choice for concerto first movements would eventually become the standard compositional practice for most Romantic composers, including Schumann,

Liszt, Tchaikovsky, and many others.70

While Horton’s “concerto problem” carries significant weight in this discussion, it is also likely that some of Mendelssohn’s compositional idiosyncrasies were handed down to him from Mozart through Beethoven, since his concertos—certainly more than

Mozart’s—were well known at the time.71 Mozart’s influence on Beethoven is uncontroversial,72 and it is highly probable that some of Mendelssohn’s “un-Mozartian” concerto formulas were actually based on Beethoven’s reinterpretations—or, more accurately, deformations—of the Mozartian models. Along the same lines, other non-

Mozartian practices are similarly present in Mendelssohn’s concertos, handed down by other influential figures in the composer’s life. Thus, it is possible to explain

Mendelssohn’s concertos as elaborations of Beethoven’s experiments with the Mozartian

70 This is true for a Schumann’s Piano Concerto in a, op. 54 (1845), and the Cello Concerto in a, op. 129 (1850), but not his Violin Concerto in d, WoO 23 (1853), which is written as a Type 5 Sonata. This concerto portrays several formal characteristics that were already outdated at the time it was composed, such as a ternary R1 (the standard R1 form of Mendelssohn’s early concertos), and a pre-developmental R2 (see Chapter 2, Subtypes A and B). However, it also portrays more modern features, such as an open-ended S-theme (merged with the display episode), and a final cadenza that becomes the movement’s coda. 71 Simon P. Keefe, for example, mentions how “[H.C. Koch, A.F.C. Kollmann, and several volumes from the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung] firmly established Mozart and Beethoven as the supreme concerto composers of their era during the first two decades of the nineteenth century and bequeathed a powerful legacy to generations of performers, critics and composers.” (Note how Keefe’s description of the influence of Mozart’s music in early nineteenth-century Europe conflicts with Horton’s discussion of the same phenomenon.) See Simon P. Keefe, “The Concerto from Mozart to Beethoven: Aesthetic and Stylistic Perspectives,” in Simon P. Keefe (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Concerto (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 70. 72 Several sources confirm this claim, including some of Beethoven’s personal letters. See, for example, Emily Anderson, Letters of Beethoven (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1961), 1:75. See also Owen Jander, “‘Cramer, Cramer! We shall Never Be Able to do Anything Like That!’: Understanding a Favorite Quotation about Mozart’s Concerto in C Minor, K. 491, and Mozart’s Influence on Beethoven’s Concertos,” The Beethoven Journal 15, no. 2 (2000): 57–63; and Keefe, “The Concerto from Mozart to Beethoven,” 83–84. 57 form, and, at the same time, as direct “descendants” of other late-eighteenth-century concerto practices.

Hepokoski and Darcy describe this tendency by noting that “Mozart’s concerto- sonata syntheses were continued by Beethoven and others. Eventually, with Mendelssohn especially, the initial ritornello of the Type 5 concerto came to seem redundant, old fashioned, something that had outworn its original raison d’être.” 73 This observation is factually correct, since composers did in fact progressively abandon the Type 5 concerto as a formal model during the second half of the nineteenth-century. However, this understates the importance of the ritornello-solo paradigm, which was still a relevant compositional choice well into the “Romantic era.” More importantly, it neglects the ways in which composers in Mendelssohn’s time experimented with this formal section, resulting in varied manifestations of the formal type that display abundant versatility and originality.

I regard Mendelssohn’s early concertos as emergent manifestations of a modern conception of the ritornello-solo form. Although influenced by the Viennese paradigms, these Type 5 concertos still had the potential to expand and play innovatively with the concerto paradigms that Mozart (et al.) had experimented with some decades earlier.

Mendelssohn’s first-generation concertos are thus drops in an ocean of early-nineteenth- century ritornello-solo models, most of which remain neglected by modern concerto

Formenlehre. More importantly, they attest to these composers’ desire to push forward, and eventually transform, the formal boundaries of the eighteenth-century concerto.

73 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 434–435. 58

My intent in the following chapters is to reconcile the Mozartian origins of

Mendelssohn’s concertos with the widespread compositional practices of his contemporaries. To this end, I will first provide an analytical-hermeneutic account of the concerto form by some of Mozart’s contemporaries. This will allow me to examine

Mendelssohn’s concertos in the light of both the Mozartian and non-Mozartian traditions.

Then, I will proceed to examine these works from the perspective of the musical practices of his non-canonical contemporaries.74 Given their diversity, these practices resist a cohesive theoretical systematization. However, some occur with significant frequency and consistency, making them worthy of commentary even while laying outside

Mendelssohn’s own compositional habits. With these goals in mind, the following chapters explore these alternate manifestations of the form.

74 This survey of the repertoire is empirical in nature and systematically examines a comprehensive cross-section of relevant works. 59

CHAPTER TWO

Concerto Forms

“The spirit of a composition will not become clear to you until you understand the form.” —Robert Schumann 1

I. Mozart, Mendelssohn, and the Concerto Forms in the Late- Eighteenth Century

In spite of belonging to opposite social strata, Mozart and Mendelssohn shared some of the same artistic qualities and opinions about music. Mendelssohn’s contemporaries often compare him to the young Mozart:2 they both displayed the same precocious musical talents, had close relationships with their musically gifted older sisters, and had parents that showed unconditional support for their artistic pursuits. They also had the opportunity to travel extensively. From an early age, both composers visited the most important musical centers in Europe, and met some of the most influential musicians of their time.

Throughout their travels, Mozart and Mendelssohn became acquainted with foreign national styles and compositional practices. For Mozart, however, one of these international experiences took a turn for the worse. In March 1778, his father Leopold

1 Steven Isserlis (ed.), Robert Schumann’s Advice to Young Musicians (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2016), 55. 2 Goethe, for example, witnessed the seven-year-old Mozart give one of his famous performances in Frankfurt in 1763. He later compared him to the young Mendelssohn after seeing the latter perform in 1821. See Karl Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Goethe and Mendelssohn (London: Macmillan, 1872), 17. 60 ordered him to travel to Paris with the hopes of securing a job at the Court of Versailles.

Mozart had visited the city for the first time in 1763, as part of his European “Grand

Tour.” The city’s aristocracy—amazed by the young Wunderkind’s extraordinary musical abilities—welcomed the Mozart family warmly, turning their first Paris sojourn into a success.3 Some fifteen years later, however, the city received him poorly; he struggled finding work and found Parisians coarse and unwelcoming. Disappointed, he wrote to his father, who had remained in Salzburg:

If this were a place where people had ears to hear, hearts to feel and some measure of understanding of and taste for music, I could laugh heartily over all these things, but (as regard to music) I am living among mere brute beasts. How can it be otherwise? It is the same with all their dealings, passions and affections—there is, I am sure, no place in the world like Paris. Do not think I exaggerate when I speak thus of the condition of music here—ask anyone (not born a Frenchman), and if he knows anything at all of the matter he will say the same. Well, I am here. I must support it for your sake, but I shall thank Almighty God if I scape with taste unvitiated.4

Curiously, in March 1825—exactly forty-seven years later—the young Felix

Mendelssohn also arrived in Paris. Like Mozart, this was not the first time he visited the city, for he had travelled there with his family in 1816 and 1817. Before leaving for Paris, his mother Lea—who spoke French fluently and was well acquainted with Parisian culture—shared with her son her personal unflattering impressions of the French capital.

3 See Cliff Eisen and Stanley Sadie’s entry on “Mozart, (Johann Chrysostom) Wolfgang Amadeus,” in Grove Music Online, 2001 (accessed on July 2, 2018). See section 2, “Travels, 1763–73.” For a more detailed account of Mozart’s musical experiences in Paris see Rudolph Angermüller, “Mozarts Pariser Umwelt (1778),” Mozart-Jahrbuch (1978-1979): 122–132. 4 Dated May 1st, 1778, in Hans Mersmann (ed.), Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, trans. M.M. Bozman (New York: Dover, 1972), 99. 61

Like Mozart’s letter to his father, Mendelssohn’s correspondence with his mother shows his disdain for the city’s musical atmosphere:5

That the state of music here is not quite to my liking is partly my fault, since it really isn’t too good, and partly because of you, Mother, told me altogether too much about it. I had hoped to find in this city the hometown of music itself, of musicians and musical taste, but in truth it isn’t so. The salons (although I hadn’t expected too much from them) are ennuyant [tedious], and care for nothing besides frivolous music and coquetteries, nothing serious and solid. The orchestras . . . are quite good, but in no way outstanding, and finally, some of the musicians themselves have withered somewhat, while others complain constantly about Paris and Parisians, cursing up a storm.6

Although born more than one generation apart, Mozart and Mendelssohn’s accounts of the state of music in Paris are remarkably similar. Their views are rather harsh, though, given that the city was one of the most important musical hubs in Europe, attracting distinguished musicians from all over the continent.7 It seems clear today that

Mozart’s and Mendelssohn’s low opinions of French music were not as widely held as they would have us believe. In fact, composers of other nationalities often reciprocated with similar dismissive views of German music.8 However, whether or not these views are historically or aesthetically justifiable is beside the point. The purpose here is not to criticize any musical style, but to demonstrate how important national identity was for composers at the turn of the nineteenth century.

5 See Todd, A Life in Music, 17, 34–36, and 139–145. 6 Dated April 6, 1825, in Rudolf Elvers, Felix Mendelssohn: A Life in Letters, trans. Craig Tomlinson (New York: Fromm, 1986), 34. For an in-depth description of Mendelssohn’s Paris sojourn, see Todd, A Life in Music, 139–144. Like Mendelssohn’s mother, Mozart’s father also heavily influenced his son’s opinions on Parisian musical life. See Eisen and Sadie, “Mozart, Wolfgang,” section 2: “Travels, 1763–73.” 7 Todd, A Life in Music, 143. 8 For example, Katherine Kolb points out that “for [Hector] Berlioz, [Haydn and Mozart] were old-regime, frivolous note jugglers.” See Katherine Kolb (ed.), Berlioz on Music: Selected Criticism 1824– 1837, trans. Samuel N. Rosenberg (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 20–21. 62

Although it seems surprising today, Mendelssohn had not yet settled on the career choice of composer before his trip to Paris. Actually, one of the purposes of this visit was to seek Luigi Cherubini’s—at the time director of the Paris Conservatoire—advice on this.9 Given Mendelssohn’s opinions on French music, this seems rather ironic in retrospect. Cherubini’s appraisal helped him make the decision to become a professional composer, but only because his distaste towards French music strengthened his conviction to become a “German artist.” 10 Like Mozart five decades earlier,

Mendelssohn placed himself within a long tradition of German musicians and—like many other artists and intellectuals—wasted no opportunity to elevate the status of

German art.11

Paradoxically, the large-scale formal features of Mozart and Mendelssohn’s concertos—and those of their contemporaries—do not overtly reflect the national identity these composers openly claimed. While their concertos are indeed unique in many respects, one can also find similar formal features in other concertos of diverse geographical origins. In fact, ignoring superficial stylistic features, aspects of form are rarely exclusive to a single geographical location. This is not surprising, given the increasing cosmopolitanism of late-eighteenth-century Europe, and the migratory professional life of the composers of that time.

9 Todd, A Life in Music, 141. 10 Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Goethe and Mendelssohn, 41. 11 Mozart also considered himself a champion of German art and openly flouted his pride as a German composer. See Friedrich Kerst, Mozart: the Man and the Artist Revealed in his Own Words, ed. and trans. Henry Krehbiel (New York: Dover, 1965), 45–48. 63

Thus, it seems geographic multiplicity played a minor role in the formal diversity of late-eighteenth century concertos. This does not mean, however, that these pieces follow the same basic formal patterns. In spite of certain predominant tendencies of formal uniformity, late-Classical concertos also portray multifaceted manifestations of the form, arising from the composers’ thoughtful attempts to exploit the expressive potential of the music. Therefore, the next section of this dissertation is devoted to explaining the various ways in which the concerto form developed during the last decades of the eighteenth century.

II. The Multifaceted Manifestations of the Concerto Form

In recent decades, academic studies of concerto form have developed a variety of theoretical models to explain the various forms of late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth- century concertos.12 Rather than focusing on distinct geographical practices, these models reflect the diversity of the form by relying on the idiosyncratic musical practices of select groups of composers.13 As discussed in the previous chapter, this approach is potentially problematic, since it might be subject to the inherent biases of the “concerto problem.”

To be clear, my purpose is not to describe late-eighteenth-century concerto form as a single, pan-European construct, ignoring individual compositional practices. Instead, it

12 See Stevens, “Theme, Harmony, and Texture”; Shelley Davis, “C.P.E. Bach and the Early History of the Recapitulatory Tutti in North Germany,” in Stephen L. Clark (ed.), C.P.E. Bach Studies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988); and Joel Galand, “The Large Scale Formal Role of the Solo Entry Theme in the Eighteenth-Century Concerto,” Journal of Music Theory 44 (2000): 381–450. 13 Joel Galand, for example, associates his “Type III” model (analogous to Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype D) with the personal practice of C.P.E. Bach. See Galand, “The Large Scale Formal Role,” 400. 64 seeks to recognize the compositional idiosyncrasies of specific individuals, while acknowledging their shared influences and mutual approaches to musical form.

Hepokoski and Darcy organize these models in six different subtypes (A–F), synthesizing previous theoretical work by Stevens, Davis, and Galand.14 Following the late-eighteenth-century theoretical tradition of Koch and others, these subtypes prioritize tonal areas and ritornello-solo alternations over sonata-form paradigms. However, as previously discussed, analytical and theoretical accounts of concerto form became progressively more grounded in sonata-formal principles throughout the eighteenth century, inviting a “dialogical” interpretation of this genre in the light of sonata form and its generic expectations. Therefore, in the following paragraphs I will provide an empirical explanation of these subtypes, emphasizing the ways in which they exhibit the principles of sonata form.

Subtypes A and B

Subtypes A and B are arguably the most conspicuous concerto prototypes of the mid-to late eighteenth century. Subtype A (reproduced in Figure 2.1), is one the first comprehensive theoretical models of concerto form, having been formulated by Koch in

1793 after Vogler’s five-part, three-ritornello plan.15 As Shelley Davis points out, one can frequently find it in C.P.E. Bach’s early “Berlin” concertos,16 although other composers

14 Elements, 435–440. 15 See Koch (trans. Baker), Introductory Essay on Composition, 207–213. For Vogler’s formal plan, see chapter 1 (section I) of this dissertation. 16 Davis, “C.P.E. Bach and the Early History of the Recapitulatory Tutti,” 65–66. I use the term “Berlin concertos” to refer to C.P.E. Bach’s early keyboard concertos (composed before his move to Hamburg in 1768) and to distinguish them from his later “Hamburg” concertos. The latter exhibit a different array of formal models, to be discussed later in this chapter. 65 occasionally employed it as well.17 Its most salient characteristic is arguably the role of

R3 as a retransitional section—thus falling exclusively within the developmental space— connecting the ending of the developmental S2 with the return of the tonic in S3. Its ultimate goal is to attain a home-key structural dominant, inviting the return of the tonic and the arrival of the recapitulation.

Figure 2.1. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype A of the Type 5 Sonata: the seven-part (four ritornello) format. See Elements, p. 437, Table 19.1.

In this case, the role of R3 as an “actual” ritornello is contentious, since it lacks some of its defining characteristics.18 For example, R3 rarely begins with—or even introduces later, after beginning with something else—a clear cut R1:\P module, given its customary role as a thematically-neutral RT passage between the off-tonic S2 and the home-key S3. There is a strong historical association of ritornello sections with R1:\P material, going back to the compositional practices of late-baroque composers. This problematizes the classification of R3 within the ritornello category, even while ignoring

17 See, for example, Haydn’s Violin Concertos in C, Hob.VIIa:1 (1769) and in G, Hob.VIIa:4 (1769), the Cello Concertos nos. 1 in C, Hob.VIIb:1 (1761–65) and 2 in D, Hob.VIIb:2 (1783), and J.C. Bach’s Harpsichord Concertos op. 1 nos. 1 in B♭, 2 in A, 3 in F, and 5 in C (1763). 18 Daniel Leeson and Robert Levin, for example, do not acknowledge Hepokoski and Darcy’s R3 as an actual ritornello. Interestingly, they do interpret R4 as two separate ritornellos, the “ritornello to cadenza” and the “final ritornello.” See Leeson and Levin, “On the Authenticity of K. Anh. C 14.01 (297 b), a Symphonia Concertante for Four Winds and Orchestra,” Mozart-Jahrbuch (1976–77): 70–96. 66 the etymological implication of the word “ritornello” as a return (It. ritorno) to the section introduced at the beginning of the movement.

Subtype-A concertos became increasingly rare through the eighteenth century and virtually obsolete by the early nineteenth century.19 By this time, the Reprisentutti—that is, the orchestral charge that sets in motion the recapitulation (see Subtype B, Figure

2.2)—had become the most prevalent compositional choice for recapitulatory beginnings.

Undoubtedly, this R3 alternative prevails in most concertos at the turn of the nineteenth century, including those by Mozart, Beethoven, and many of their contemporaries. In contrast, in Subtype A concertos the recapitulatory beginning is taken by the soloist, bringing back the R1:\P material in the home key (S3) and relaunching a new tonic- centered rotation. Since R1 and S1 normally begin with nearly identical utterances of

R1:\P, maintaining this thematic correspondence between R3 and S3 as well would be redundant and cast doubt on the “real” moment of thematic recapitulation.

Figure 2.2. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype B of the Type 5 Sonata: the seven-part (four ritornello) variant of Subtype A. See Elements, p. 437, Table 19.1.

19 Although quite rare, one can find a few early-nineteenth-century concertos that do portray this type of R3. See, for example, Johann Baptist Cramer’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in C, op. 38 (1806), and John Field’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in E♭, H. 27 (1799). 67

Mozart’s late concerto practice is, for the most part, consistent with Subtype B. In these cases, the role of R3 changes substantially, since it no longer functions as an RT at the end of the development (see Figure 2.3a). Instead, R3 launches the thematic and tonal

“double return,” mirroring the beginning of R1 (Figure 2.3b). The section now acquires a more important status within the movement; it is now responsible for the emphatic marking of the recapitulatory beginning, resolving the tonal and thematic conflicts presented by the soloist during the development. However, the proportions of this type of

R3 are significantly smaller than those of R1, since a repetition of the entire formal layout of R1 would be redundant and unnecessary at this point in the movement.

Figure 2.3. Formal models for Type 5 Sonatas with a retransitional R3 (a) and a recapitulatory R3 (b).

The R3 in Subtype B is rarely employed as an independent, self-sufficient section.

Its primary function is to launch the recapitulatory rotation with a strong R1:\P tutti affirmation in the tonic. However, shortly after R3 has fulfilled this role and the recapitulation is underway, the soloist (S3) will inevitably take the stage (normally at P or

TR) and engage in a “reconciliatory dialogue” with the orchestra. This moment—the merging of R3 with S3—is one of the earliest steps composers took to transform older 68 ritornello-solo paradigms into a sonata-form movement. The R3–S3 merger (or R3⇒S3) became a staple of early-Romantic concerto composition, allowing for the later development of an analogous procedure at the beginning of the movement: the R1–S1 merger (or R1⇒S1).

The R1–S1 merger—an innovation commonly attributed to Mendelssohn’s late concertos—marks the culmination of the transition from the Type 5 concerto to the

“standard” Type 3 paradigm. However, it would be misleading to assume that this transformation occurred spontaneously or, even more so, that composers simply ceased employing ritornello sections altogether. The Type 3 concertos of Mendelssohn and his successors are a consequence of a long process of formal transformation in which ritornello and solo sections combined into a coherent whole, a process that had its origins in the late eighteenth century with the R3–S3 merger and progressively further developed over the subsequent decades. Chapter 4 will address in more detail the different ways in which composers achieved this integration.

Concerning R2, in older Subtype A and B concertos this section usually begins with the same thematic gesture as R1, effectively mirroring the “launching effect” of a new expositional rotation in the subordinate key. Launching R2 with a subordinate-key

R1:\P-theme is de rigueur in many mid-eighteenth-century concertos,20 although it progressively fell out of fashion in the following decades. Starting the R2 in this manner affects the way in which the rest of the movement may unfold, since it usually delays the

20 See, for example, J.C. Bach’s concertos. With few exceptions (to be discussed later in this chapter), virtually all of these pieces employ this type of R2. 69 developmental activity normally expected at this point in the movement, either postponing it until S2 or even avoiding it altogether.

The practice of avoiding an explicitly development section in the middle of a concerto movement became progressively more common through the early nineteenth century, especially in concertos by English (or England-based) composers such as John

Field and Johann Baptist Cramer. Rather than confining the developmental activity to a single section between the exposition and recapitulation, these composers divide it into smaller “pockets” and distribute it between several sections throughout the movement.21

The section that would normally be allotted to “development” in the traditional sense is thus replaced by one featuring new, non-developmental material in a contrasting key, usually a module that is rhetorically (although not thematically) analogous to R1 or

S1:\P. In some cases, this module can even attain the status of an independent mid- movement episode, not significantly related to the other sections of the movement.

» Analytical Vignette 2.1. Field – Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, H. 58a (1822)

For example, in John Field’s Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, the space that would normally be devoted to the development section is replaced by two self-contained nocturne-like interludes (mm. 304–327 and 374–440), thematically unrelated to the rest of the movement. Field limits the developmental rhetoric to two short “pockets” of activity: the first functioning as a transition between the two “nocturnes” (mm. 328–

373)—connecting their respective keys of G and A—and the second assuming the

21 In these cases, developmental activity is usually reserved for transitional sections and display episodes (DE). As I will argue in chapter 4 (“The Developmental Thematic Episode”), these two formal- sectional types have analogous functions within rhetorical rotations. 70 normative role of end-of-development retransition (mm. 440–469), preparing the beginning of the recapitulation. These two “nocturnes” are categorically independent from the rest of the movement, so much so that the first one was in fact published separately as a solo work for piano.22

» Analytical Vignette 2.2. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in c, Wq. 43 No. 4 (1771–72)

Replacing the developmental space with internal, thematically unrelated episodes is one of Field’s most idiosyncratic concerto practices. However, one can trace this unusual procedure back to a single concerto of the early 1770s: C.P.E. Bach’s

Harpsichord Concerto in c, Wq. 42 No. 4. The movement begins as a normative— although already slightly outdated—mid-eighteenth century concerto, deploying a tonic- centered R1 with particularly Haydnesque formal plan.23 After a relatively unproblematic

S1 (mm. 31–70), R2 introduces the R1:\P theme in the mediant key (E♭), launching the customary subordinate-key rotation (mm. 70–77). The soloist then proceeds to engage in developmental activity—normative for S2 spaces—leading to a tonicization of the submediant (A♭) in m. 93. This leads in turn to a long dominant prolongation in the key of the subdominant (f, mm. 104–112), which it then resolves as a iv:PAC in m. 113.

This cadential resolution coincides with the beginning of a new R1:\P-based ritornello section (R2.2, mm. 113–121), implying that a retransitional passage may be starting to unfold. At this point in the movement, a listener acquainted with Bach’s

22 See the Nocturne No. 12 in G, H. 58. For an in-depth discussion of Field’s concertos, and this one in particular, see Horton, “John Field and the Alternative History,” 70–79. 23 I refer to the continuous-exposition R1 plan, to be discussed in detail in chapter 3 (see section I, “Continuous Expositions”). 71 concerto practice could reasonably expect another ritornello-solo section in the subdominant key, following a standard nine-part (five-ritornello) formal plan (see

Subtype D below). However, the orchestra instead comes to a halt on a whole-note unison A♮ (m. 121), a surprisingly abrupt and premature ending for the movement.

What follows are two discrete sections that exist—borrowing Vande Moortele’s term—in two separate (but simultaneous) musical “dimensions.” 24 On a local scale, these episodes function as two independent sonata movements—a slow movement in B♭ and a minuet in E♭—connected by brief, solo-dominated transitional passages (see Figure 2.4).

However, one can also hear them—on a larger scale—as two contrasting interludes still unfolding within the first movement’s formal space. In a sense, the latter interpretation turns the entire concerto into a single “multidimensional” movement. From this perspective, the developmental space of the first movement can be interpreted as being taken over by two thematically unrelated episodes. As in Field’s concerto in c, these exist, as it were, as external, quasi-independent rêveries outside the thematic boundaries of the first movement.

Figure 2.4. Two-dimensional formal plan of C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto in c, Wq. 43 No. 4

24 See Vande Moortele, Two-Dimensional Sonata Form, 11–33. 72

The “fourth movement” begins with the orchestra, mimicking the same

Hauptmotiv of the first movement (R1:\P) but presenting it in the “wrong” key of iv (f). It would appear that Bach is bringing the piece back into the developmental space, resuming the previously-abandoned Subtype D formal plan. This subdominant iteration of the R1:\P-theme implies a return to the ritornello section at the end of the first movement (R2.2), continuing to unfold its original sonata plan. After a retransitional solo section (S2.2, mm. 9–28), the orchestra launches the recapitulation (R3, m. 29), setting this concerto “movement” back on its normative formal trajectory. Finally, in a surprising manifestation of cyclic form, the soloist reintroduces thematic material from the minuet in the (written-out) cadenza.

Cases such as these as extremely rare. However, composers at the turn of the nineteenth century started to exploit other, less complex ways of creating non- developmental mid-movement sections, without invoking independent episodic modules.

A relatively widespread way of achieving this was to introduce the S2 section with new thematic material in the subordinate key, imitating the rhetoric of the movement’s R1 or

S1:\P themes. Instead of an actual development, the mid-movement section unfolds as an independent “secondary exposition,” following the normative sonata layout (P TR’ S/C).

This module launches what I will call a rhetoric rotation (see below), mimicking the standard Anlage of, as it were, a new solo exposition.

» Analytical Vignette 2.3. Cramer – Piano Concerto No. 2 in d, op. 16 (1797).

A clear example of a development employing the rhetoric-rotation procedure may be found in Cramer’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in d. In this case, the S2 section introduces a 73 new, motivically stable module in the mediant key of F (mm. 194–213), thematically unrelated to the previous sections of the movement. After closing on a III:PAC (m. 213), the soloist proceeds to unfold a new, rhythmically active module. Charged with strong

TR rhetoric, this section functions as a new “TR” for this mid-movement “secondary exposition.” The section also provides a localized “pocket” of developmental activity, which—in pieces such as this—is released in “small doses” throughout the movement, including the exposition and recapitulation.

In the spirit of a normative TR, the section eventually articulates a III:HC, igniting a dominant lock (mm. 242–247) and creating a III:HC MC-effect at m. 247. The appearance of a thematically stable R1:\S-theme in m. 248 clarifies the function of the original F-major mid-movement module as a marker for a rotational relaunch. This ordered deployment of themes follows a path that is rhetorically reminiscent of the standard sonata layout, in spite of not being thematically related to either R1 or S1. As in a normative S1 exposition, the ending of this cantabile R1:\S-theme (m. 262) coincides with the beginning of a virtuosic DE—another small “pocket” of developmental activity.

Normally, this DE would rush towards a bravura trill, closing the solo section with a climactic cadence reinforced by the orchestra. However, the DE instead tonally

“collapses,” bringing back the tonic key while expressing the pathos associated with it.

After a dark dominant prolongation in the tonic (mm. 270–281), the orchestra finally launches the recapitulation in m. 282.

Going back to R2 paradigms, the older model—that is, the launch of the subordinate-key R1 rotation after the end of S1—creates an unusual, sonata-neutral space between the exposition and development sections. Although this type of R2 is 74 unambiguously outside of the expositional space, I suggest that it is not yet within the developmental space either (see Figure 2.5a). There is thus a prominent “non-sonata” aspect of this R2 that looks back to older, more archaic ritornello models. Its rhetoric and thematic symmetry with R1 makes this R2 sound as a faithful “ritorno” of the R1 material—mimicking the refrain-like role of late-baroque ritornellos—rather than a vehicle for transitioning to the developmental activity.

Figure 2.5. Formal models for Type 5 Sonatas with a pre-developmental R2 (a) and an R2 within the expositional space (b).

This R2 is emphatically “non-developmental”; it rarely exhibits typically developmental qualities such as sequential activity, tonal ambiguity and/or frequent key changes, and virtuosic display. Instead, these qualities are normally deferred to the soloist during the S2 section. Given its placement between the expositional (S1) and developmental (S2) spaces, I posit it is more appropriate to describe it as “pre- developmental,” reserving the term “development” for the section that actually fulfils this formal function. 75

The pre-developmental R2 normally consists of a single half rotation (P–TR or just P), but it is possible to find full rotations as well.25 Although already outdated by that time, composers of the early nineteenth century occasionally still designed R2s in this way. In these cases, however, the section eventually dissolves into developmental activity after a few measures.26 By the time of Mozart’s late piano concertos, this type of R2 was already in decline, probably because the concerto was already ongoing the processes of compression and merging that would eventually result in the Type 3 formal plan.

The pre-developmental R2 is problematic from the point of view of a standard sonata organization. Rather than conceiving R2 as a para-generic module, composers probably found it more convenient to merge the section with one of its adjacent modules—or, in modern terms, treating it as either the beginning of the developmental space or as the ending of the larger exposition. This is symptomatic of a larger trend in early-Romantic concerto composition—one for which Mendelssohn is particularly well- known for—that is, progressively turning Type 5 concertos into Type 3 Sonata movements.

Mozart and his contemporaries altered the role of R2 substantially, replacing its pre-developmental role as a subordinate-key R1:\P with one of a post-S1 closing zone.

R2 was thus “removed” from the (pre)developmental space and “reintroduced” into the expositional space (see Figure 2.5b). This more modern version of R2 now works as a kind of “victory lap” after S1, usually consisting of new or rotationally inert TR-based

25 A case in point is J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in E♭, op. 14 (c. 1776). 26 See, for example, Louis Spohr’s Violin Concerto No. 6 in g, op. 28 (other aspects of this piece are further discussed in Analytical Vignette 4.12). 76 material. The purpose of this “expositional” R2 is to provide an orchestral closing section to the exposition, releasing the tension accumulated by the soloist during the last module of S1—normally a virtuosic display episode—and building expectation for the reentrance of the soloist in S2.

Subtype C

With respect to sonata form, Subtype C (Figure 2.6) is functionally analogous to the previous two subtypes. The main difference between these subtypes and Subtype C is the latter’s suppression of a tutti R3 effect between the S2 and S3 sections. Since most of the developmental space is dominated by the soloist (S2), completely omitting R3 diminishes the emphatic re-beginning effect the orchestra would create at the start of the recapitulation. Given its rarity, Subtype C is best interpreted as a deformation of the previous two subtypes, usually arising from the soloist’s “problematization” in some way of the end-of-development portion of S2 space. Therefore, the musical processes that lead to a Type C require case-specific hermeneutic assessments.

Figure 2.6. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype C of the Type 5 Sonata: the three ritornello variant (suppressing or minimizing the tutti-effect at the tonic return). See Elements, p. 437, Table 19.1.

In most late-eighteenth-century concertos, the normative goal of S2 is to conclude, in most cases, with an emphatic cadence in the submediant. Once this cadence 77 has been stated, the orchestra may deploy a retransitional R3 and allow the soloist (S3) to launch the recapitulation (Subtype A). Alternatively, the soloist could “choose” to stay in

S2 space, deferring to the orchestra (R3) the task of launching the recapitulation (Subtype

B). However, if for some reason the composer decides to alter or evade this customary cadence, the deployment of R3—either retransitional or recapitulatory—becomes problematized as well. In such situations, the orchestra may opt not to reenter the stage at that point and, so to speak, let the soloist “fix his/her own mess.”

» Analytical Vignette 2.4. J.C. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in G, Op. 13 No. 5 (1777)

An example of the situation described above can be found in J.C. Bach’s

Harpsichord Concerto in G, Op. 13 No. 5. In this piece, a descending-fifth sequence (mm.

204–207) closes the developmental core by reintroducing the submediant key (e), preparing an imminent vi:PAC. However, the soloist “decides” to evade this cadence (m.

210) and remain in S2 space, giving the impression (s)he will now fulfill the retransitional role and let R3 launch the recapitulatory space (Subtype B). Instead, the soloist presents a descending thirds sequence (mm. 211–216), extending further the developmental territory.

The soloist eventually articulates a home-key dominant (m. 217), suggesting the imminent arrival of the recapitulation. The orchestra would normally come in at this point, compensating for the soloist-heavy development by launching the recapitulation.

Instead, the soloist enters a melodic “loop” (mm. 217–220), postponing the orchestral R3.

Putting pressure on the soloist, the orchestra casually introduces a brief iteration of the

R1:\P motive over the soloist dominant lock (mm. 221–223). Trying to keep control of 78 the music, the soloist halts the orchestra’s attempt to state an R3 and singlehandedly launches the recapitulatory R1:\P in m. 224, effectively merging S2 with S3. The orchestra finally responds with a tutti statement of R1:\P in m. 232, functioning as the consequent phrase of a larger compound period. Although the R3 effect is not completely lost, its status as an actual ritornello is considerably diminished. This “R3” is now just a tutti afterthought to the soloist’s recapitulatory statement, rather than a decisive marker for the rotational rebeginning.

» Analytical Vignette 2.5. Dussek – Piano Concerto in F, op. 17, C. 78 (1792)

An analogous situation can be found in Jan Ladislav Dussek’s Piano Concerto in

F, op. 17. In this case, the developmental core concludes with the articulation of a strong cadence in the key of the submediant (a vi:HC in m. 189). The standard orchestral response to this type of developmental vi:HC is to immediately engage in retransitional rhetoric (Subtype A) in preparation for the recapitulatory S3. However, the soloist instead reopens the developmental space by taking a harmonic “detour,” prominently grounded in S1:\DE-based thematic material (mm. 191–202). At this point, returning to a DE-based module implies a formal regression—or, in Hepokoski and Darcy’s terms, “turning back the sonata clock”—impeding a normative conclusion for the S2 space and thus suggesting a deformation of the Subtype A paradigm.27

This “regression” problematizes the end of the developmental space, since the soloist in effect “refuses to surrender” his/her control of the post-cadential section. At that point, the retransitional role must be assumed by the soloist, so (s)he proceeds to

27 See Elements, 150. 79 articulate a home-key dominant (mm. 203–207) in preparation for the recapitulatory arrival. Still in command, the soloist suddenly introduces a home-key R1:\P in m. 208, preempting the orchestra’s opportunity to launch a recapitulatory R3 (Subtype B). As in the J.C. Bach concerto, the orchestra responds with an R1:\P “afterthought” in m. 212.

However, this gesture has more of the effect of an echo of the recapitulatory S3, rather than an “actual” recapitulatory ritornello.

Since Subtype C requires S3 to launch the recapitulation, the soloist’s opening gesture needs to be analogous—or, at least, similar—to R1:\P so it may sound as a rotational rebeginning. This can only occur if there is a strong thematic correspondence between the opening gestures of R1 and S1. In most late-eighteenth-century concertos this is not an issue, since both sections begin with an almost identical statement of R1:\P.

Thanks to this thematic correspondence, the effect of recapitulatory (re-)beginning can easily be transferred from the orchestra (R3) to the soloist (S3)—and vice versa—even if doing so eliminates the opportunity for orchestral emphasis on rotational relaunch.

Notwithstanding, the effect of rotational rebeginning began to change when composers at the turn of the nineteenth century started to distinguish between the opening thematic gestures of R1 and S1, by crafting R1:\P and S1:\P as contrasting themes, rather than two texturally distinct statements of the same thematic unit. In these situations,

Subtype C designs are problematic, since omitting the R3 effect between S2 and S3 would also imply omitting the orchestral R1:\P theme at the beginning of the recapitulation. This also has implications for the rotational organization of the movement, since R1:\P may no longer function as the normative thematic indicator for rotational rebeginning. 80

Still, having distinct R1:\P and S1:\P themes allowed composers to experiment with a more sophisticated set of recapitulatory choices. Diversifying the opening themes of R1 and S1 opened up the possibility for the recapitulation to begin with either R1:\P

(in R3) or S1:\P (in S3), thus expanding the number of potential formal expectations at the onset of the recapitulatory rotation. This also obscures the boundary between an actual thematic rebeginning—that is, R1:\P as the thematic marker for rotational rebeginning—and a rhetorical rebeginning—S1:\P as a conceptual substitute for the normative rotational relaunch. As I will expand on chapter 3, composers of the early nineteenth century exploited this ambiguity to transform the phenomenon of rotation itself, relying on thematically independent rhetorical cycles as means of formal organization.

» Analytical Vignette 2.6. Cramer – Piano Concerto No. 5 in c, op. 48 (1811)

In this regard, Johann Baptist Cramer had an idiosyncratic tendency to distinguish the R1:\P and S1:\P themes in most of his concerto movements.28 In particular, his Piano

Concerto No. 5 in c, op. 48, illustrates his ingenious treatment of the recapitulatory rotation, exploiting the potential for both R1:\P and S1:\P to serve as agents of rotational relaunch. Cramer begins by clearly differentiating the opening thematic gestures of R1 and S1 (mm. 1–16 and 86–104). Towards the end of the S2 section, the soloist establishes the minor dominant (g) as the main “developmental key,” by presenting a G-minor

28 This is true for all of Cramer’s concertos, except for the Piano Concerto No. 4 in C, op. 38 (1806). See his Piano Concertos Nos. 1 in E♭, op. 10 (1795); 2 in d, op. 16 (1797); 3 in D, op. 26 (1801); 5 in c, op. 48 (1811); 6 in E♭, op. 51 (1811); 7 in E, op. 56 (1816), 8 in d, op. 70 (1825); and the Concerto da Camera in B♭ (1813). 81 version of the R1:\S theme (mm. 273–285). The soloist concludes this module with a v:PAC, elided with the onset of R3 (m. 285).

At this point, the orchestra presents the R1:\P theme in g, suggesting a false

(“wrong-key”) recapitulation in this key. However, a few measures later (~m. 290), the

R1:\P theme dissolves into TR rhetoric, retrospectively clarifying the role of R3 as a retransitional link between S2 and S3 (Subtype A). After a home-key dominant prolongation (mm. 296–303), the soloist launches the S3 section, beginning the recapitulation with the S1:\P theme in the tonic (m. 304). With this procedure, Cramer is able to simultaneously exploit both qualities of R1:\P and S1:\P, presenting first R1:\P as the thematic rotational relaunch, but then confirming S1:\P as the rhetorical and tonal marker for the recapitulation.

Subtype D

Commonly associated with C.P.E. Bach’s concerto practice—and North-German concertos in general—Subtype D (Figure 2.7) harks back to a more archaic conception of the concerto form.29 In the spirit of older, late-baroque concertos, this subtype highlights the role of ritornello sections as structural “pillars” within the form.30 In these cases, all five ritornellos begin with analogous thematic gestures in the form of a statement of

R1:\P, allowing them to function as markers for rotational launch.31 For this reason, other

29 See Davis, “C.P.E. Bach and the Early History,” 67–69; and Galand, “The Large Scale Formal Role,” 402. For a detailed account of C.P.E. Bach’s concerto form(s), see Jane Stevens, “Formal Design in C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concertos,” Studi Musicali 15 (1986): 257–297. 30 For example, the form of Antonio Vivaldi’s concertos corresponds closely to this subtype. See Simon McVeigh, “Concerto of the Individual,” in The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-Century Music, ed. Simon P. Keefe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 587. 31 I consider beginning with R1:\P an essential feature of the Subtype-D ritornello design. If any of the five ritornellos does not begin with R1:\P, then, strictly speaking, one could not consider the piece a real Subtype D. Instead, this hypothetical piece would necessarily be a member of one of the previous three 82 ritornello types—such as the retransitional R3 (Subtype A) and the exposition-closing

R2—are not commonly employed in the Subtype-D model.

Figure 2.7. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype D of the Type 5 Sonata: the nine-part (five- ritornello) format, with an interior ritornello in the “developmental space”; “C.P.E. Bach’s four-solo plan. See Elements, p. 438, Table 19.1.

The keys in which these ritornellos launch the R1:\P-theme depend on their specific location within the form. As one would expect, the first and last ritornellos (R1 and R4) are firmly grounded in the tonic key. R1 fulfills its normative role as the referential Anlage, while R4 brings the movement to a close, releasing the residual tension of S3. Since bringing back the R1:\P-theme is an essential condition of Subtype-

D ritornellos, the R3 section must necessarily function as a Reprisentutti—not a retransitional link between the development and the recapitulation. As in the Subtype B concerto, this ritornello frequently undergoes an R3–S3 merger as well.

Subtype-D concertos contain relatively unproblematic expositional and recapitulatory spaces. However, the region between these two sections—which would normally be allotted to the developmental space—includes the unusual deployment of an

subtypes (A–C) but in dialogue with Subtype D. See my discussions below of C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concertos in D, Wq. 45 (in dialogue with Subtype A), and in G, Wq. 44 (in dialogue with Subtype C). 83 additional ritornello-solo section in a contrasting key (R2.2–S2.2).32 From the perspective of sonata form, this unusual addition problematizes the “developmental” aspect of this part of the movement. In the other concerto subtypes, the soloist introduces the developmental activity as a single, cohesive unit within the S2 space. This is not possible in Subtype D concertos, though, since the developmental activity needs to be “divided” into two distinct solo sections (S2.1 and S2.2), leaving a relatively stable orchestral passage in the middle (R2.2).

Following the standard formal and tonal trajectories of the previous three subtypes, the first ritornello-solo section (R2.1–S2.1) introduces the normative pre- developmental R2 in the subordinate key (R2.1). This R2 has a formal organization similar to R1, following (often verbatim) the same thematic pathway. What follows is an

S2 (S2.1) section, normally beginning in the same key as R2 but quickly moving to developmental activity. In a normative four-ritornello concerto, this section would generally lead to a retransitional R3 (Subtype A), a Reprisentutti (Subtype B), or merge with a recapitulatory S3 (Subtype C). However, Subtype-D concertos introduce instead another “developmental ritornello” (R2.2), in which the orchestra launches R1:\P in a different, non-tonic key.

In a sense, R2.2 overturns the expected beginning of a recapitulatory tutti (R3), introducing instead another non-tonic rotation, thereby creating a “wrong-key”

32 Hepokoski and Darcy’s labels for ritornello-solo sections (R and S) are not connotationally neutral; each label refers to a specific formal role within the Type 5 Sonata. The label “R3” is functionally associated with either a retransitional post-developmental section or a recapitulatory tutti. Therefore, in the context of the Subtype D, I will employ the labels “R2.2” and “S2.2” to refer to this “additional” ritornello- solo section, reserving the label “R3” for the recapitulatory tutti. See Elements, 442. 84 recapitulation effect.33 R2.2 divides the “development” section into two separate ritornello-solo regions, interrupting the developmental activity that normally unfolds at this point in the movement. This problematizes the sonata aspect of the form, downplaying the aspect of a “proper” development section in favor of a more archaic emphasis on ritornello-solo alternations. In addition, this “extra” rotation introduces a greater emphasis on the new key, disturbing the tonal balance of the section.

This “development problem” of the Subtype-D concerto throws into question the suitability of the term “development” as an accurate descriptor of this section’s formal function. In this sense, the so-called “developmental ritornellos” (R2.1 and R2.2) are particularly problematic, given that they rarely exhibit—at least in themselves—any clear

“developmental” activity. Instead, as in the Subtype-C examples discussed above, this activity is dispersed throughout the movement in relatively short passages of virtuosic solo display, including conventionally “non-developmental” sections like S1 and S3. For these reasons, I will refer to these sections as mid-movement rotations, avoiding completely the term “developmental.”

» Analytical Vignette 2.7. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 43 No. 2 (1771–72)

The “Hamburg” Concerto in D, Wq. 43 No. 2, is (arguably) C.P.E. Bach’s last

Subtype-D concerto movement. As with other pieces of this type, this concerto exhibits several features that conflict with normative sonata principles. In particular, the R1:\P-

33 According to Hepokoski and Darcy, this section is normally in the key of vi, iii, or ii (Elements, 442). However, one can also occasionally find R2.2 sections in the key of IV (or iv) as well (see examples below). 85 theme pervades the movement as an insistent, almost obstinate tutti interjection.34 Aside from serving as a marker for rotational beginning, the R1:\P-theme also functions as the launching gesture of the S-theme (Example 2.1), creating a “monothematic-exposition” effect in both the solo and ritornello sections—a procedure reminiscent of Haydn’s personal concerto practice (see my next chapter).

The composer also includes an unusual Andante passage before S1 (mm. 38–47).

This “solo-prefix,” as I call it, works as a kind of internal slow introduction for the solo section,35 returning at the onset of the recapitulation right before the R3–S3 merger (mm.

197–209; see Figure 2.8). Given the excessive use of the R1:\P-theme, this solo-prefix also helps in clarifying the rotational organization of the piece.36 In a sense, this passage puts the movement back into “sonata mode,” since the two previous mid-movement rotations (R2.1–S.2.1; and R2.2–S2.2) had the effect of “disrupting” the unfolding of a normative sonata development.

34 Cf. Leopold Kozeluch’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in F, P.IV:1 (1784) and my discussion on this work in chapter 3 (Analytical Vignette 3.5). 35 In his Violin Concerto No. 5 in A, K. 219, Mozart employs a similar Adagio passage after R1, serving as a soloist-led introduction to S1. In this piece, however, the section does not return before the recapitulation.

36 Cf. Carl Friedrich Zelter’s Viola Concerto in E♭ (1779). In this case, the soloist first presents an in-tempo Eingang to introduce S1 (mm. 33–40), and brings it back later in the movement to introduce S3 (mm. 127–135). As in C.P.E. Bach’s Wq. 43 No. 2, this solo Eingang also serves as a marker for rotational relaunch. 86

Figure 2.8. Formal model of C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 43 No. 2

In this concerto, the first mid-movement rotation begins with a normative pre- developmental R2.1 in the dominant key (mm. 89–117), following precisely the same thematic layout as R1. In the spirit of a monothematic sonata, S2.1 (mm. 117–136) also begins with R1:\P in the dominant (A)—emphasized by a tutti interjection—thus introducing the developmental activity expected at this point in the movement. The large- scale tonal trajectory of this section follows a descending-fifth progression (A–D–G), bringing the music momentarily back into the tonic key (D). The return of this key coincides with another R1:\P tutti interjection, creating an awkward “early recapitulation” effect.37

The return to the home key is ephemeral, since its purpose here is to connect—via descending fifths—the keys of the two mid-movement rotations (dominant– subdominant). The soloist thus promptly resumes developmental activity, “rejecting” the early recapitulation effect. When the subdominant key (G) is reached, the orchestra again introduces the R1:\P-theme, launching the next ritornello (R2.2, mm. 137–141) and

37 Another example of the “early recapitulation” effect can be found in Wq. 43 no. 1 in F (m. 88). 87 producing a “wrong-key” recapitulation effect. While common in Subtype-D concertos, the untimely entrance of the soloist in m. 141 emphasizes this effect by creating an R2.2–

S2.2 merger (R2.2 ⇒ S2.2), which, in this context, can be interpreted as a non-tonic version of the standard Subtype-B recapitulatory procedure.

What follows is a long soloist-led section overflowing with sequential patterns and virtuosic display (mm. 141–196). In a sense, the premature entrance of the soloist in m. 141 disrupts the stability of the orchestral ritornello. It is as if the soloist’s eagerness to introduce developmental activity conflicts with the orchestra’s determination to follow another ordered deployment of the R1 thematic layout (now, of course, in the subdominant key). Both parties unwilling to relinquish their hegemony then engage in a

“dramatic dialogue” of coercion and concession.

The soloist first charges onward with virtuosic, highly developmental rhetoric

(mm. 141–158). The orchestra—as though wishing to maintain the standard ordered sonata layout—intervenes in mm. 159–162 with R1:\TR material in G, “reminding” the soloist that the modular organization of the section is still unfolding as a normative rotation, firmly grounded in the “correct” subdominant key. As though unwilling to concede just yet, the soloist resumes developmental activity (mm. 163–175), now with an almost redundant display-episode qualia. The IV:PAC in m. 175 brings this developmental passage to an end, presenting the orchestra with the opportunity to take over with the R1:\P-theme in G—now working, as in R1, as a monothematic S-theme.

After finishing this rotation with another IV:PAC (m. 183), the orchestra partakes of a kind of “victory lap,” leading to the soloist’s reintroduction of the Andante solo-prefix and bringing this mid-movement section to a close. 88

» Analytical Vignette 2.8. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 45 (1778)

At first glance, C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 45, fulfills (for the most part) the formal expectations of a normative Subtype-D concerto. Following his standard post-expositional R2 procedure, the composer introduces an orchestral R1:\P- theme in the key of the dominant (A) working as a pre-developmental ritornello (R2.2, mm. 25–32) and imitating the thematic layout presented by R1.38 The soloist then proceeds, as one would expect, to launch S2.1 by presenting the R1:\P-theme again, in the dominant key (m. 33).

The soloist first deploys a descending-fifth sequence (mm. 35–36), introducing developmental activity and reaching a vi:HC in m. 36. Before fully confirming the submediant key, the music rapidly moves on to the subdominant (G, mm. 41–45), leading to a IV:PAC in m. 46 (Example 2.2). At this point, the orchestra brings back the R1:\P- theme in that key (m. 47), suggesting the beginning of another mid-movement rotation

(R2.2). However, it soon becomes apparent that this ritornello is functioning instead as a retransitional R3, reactivating the home-key dominant in m. 51. When the music introduces the R1:\P-theme in the tonic (m. 52), it becomes clear that the recapitulation has begun.39

38 While R2 follows the thematic layout of R1 fairly closely, the section does omit a relatively problematic passage (mm. 6–9). After a I:HC MC in m. 5, the R1:\S-theme is introduced in the “wrong” key of the subdominant (G). Highly unstable, the theme quickly “collapses” into TR-rhetoric, leading to a restatement of the I:HC in m. 9. At this point, one could retrospectively reinterpret this passage as a two- part transition (or, potentially, a TMB). However, what follows is not an S-theme proper but a short closing passage (R1:\C?) in mm. 10–11, preceding the beginning of S1 in m. 12. The soloist will later “restore” this R1:\S-theme in S1 and S3, presenting it as a stable S-theme in the “correct” keys. 39 An analogous example may be found in Carl Friedrich Zelter’s Viola Concerto in E♭ (1779). Here, an R1:\P-based module in the submediant (c, mm. 122–127) at first sounds like a plausible R2.2 89

In retrospect, the movement is not a “real” Subtype D. Instead, the active dominant in m. 51 retrospectively clarifies the role of the preceding ritornello (mm. 47–

51) as a retransitional passage, preparing the recapitulatory S3 and clarifying the form of the movement as a Subtype A. However, since this ritornello manifests two different successive levels—first as a R2.2 in the subdominant, and then as a retransitional R3—it is possible to hear this concerto as a Subtype A in dialogue with Subtype D.40

» Analytical Vignette 2.9. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in G, Wq. 44 (1778)

C.P.E. Bach’s late concerto practice is filled with formal contradictions. His faithful reliance on (already outdated) refrain-like ritornellos comes into conflict with his original approach to sonata form. For example, his Harpsichord Concerto in G, Wq. 44, exhibits an unusual mixture of archaic ritornello designs with audacious recapitulatory procedures. Bach constructs the R1 section as a continuous exposition, disrupting the

(two-part expositional) layout that would have been expected in concertos of that period.41 The section begins with an oddly unbalanced six-measure R1:\P-theme

(Example 2.3a). An R1:\TR follows, quickly reaching a I:HC (m. 10). But the promise of a normative MC is soon abandoned when—after a short dominant lock (mm. 10–14)—

before its reinterpretation as a retransitional R3. This interpretation is confirmed by the entrance of the soloist in m. 127, reintroducing the S1:\P-material in the tonic (and functioning as a solo Eingang). 40 Cf. C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto in E♭, Wq. 43 No. 3 (1771–1772). As in Wq. 45, this piece presents a Subtype-D R.2.2 in the key of the submediant (c, mm. 114–117), which is then retrospectively reinterpreted as a Subtype-A retransitional R3 after the entrance of the soloist in the tonic (m. 117). 41 Also an idiosyncratic feature of Haydn’s concerto practice (see below), the continuous exposition was a quite unusual compositional option for first ritornellos in concertos of the late 1770s. At that time, the overwhelming majority of concerto movements followed the two-part exposition model. Of course, caveats and nuances abound. 90 the music dissolves into thematically unstable Fortspinnung (FS) that ends with a I:PAC in m. 18. At this point, any opportunity to present a suitable S-theme has been lost. The only thing left for the orchestra to do now is to let R1:\C (mm. 18–21) bring the section to a close, giving way to the soloist at the beginning of the S1 section (m. 22).

After relatively unproblematic S1 and R2.1 sections, the soloist surprisingly introduces S2.1 with an unusual modulation to the key of the supertonic (a, m. 55). This key sets in motion a barrage of soloist-led developmental activity (mm. 56–85), eventually articulating a vi:PAC (m. 85) that restores stability to the section (Example

2.3b). This PAC coincides with the orchestral launch of R1:\P in the same key (R2.2), suggesting the beginning of a second mid-movement rotation (Subtype D). As in Wq. 43

No. 2, the entrance of the soloist in m. 89 creates a R2.2–S2.2 merger, producing a “false recapitulation” effect.

So far, all of the conditions for a Subtype D have been met, with the expectation of a recapitulatory R3 to follow. However, the soloist’s home-key dominant lock (mm.

92–95)—replicating the thematic design of R1:\TR—is in turn followed by a R1:\FS tutti interjection (mm. 96–99). Surprisingly, this ordered deployment of R1:\P (mm. 85–89),

R1:\TR (mm. 92–95), and R1:\FS (mm. 96–99) has set the music back on track with the first-ritornello’s thematic pathway. What all this implies is that the recapitulation could already be unfolding—at least from a purely thematic perspective—and that the previous

R2.2 may not have been a Subtype-D mid-movement ritornello after all.

Instead, one could retrospectively reinterpret the submediant R2.2 in two contrasting, seemingly contradicting ways. On the one hand, it may indeed function as a genuine R2.2. Rather than presenting an actual recapitulatory R3, the soloist merges the 91 retransitional S2.2 (mm. 89–98) with the recapitulatory S3 (m. 99). In this interpretation, this piece would actually be a Subtype C in dialogue with Subtype D. On the other hand, this submediant R2.2 could be understood as R3 from the beginning. From this perspective, this R3 functions as a Subtype-B ritornello, launching the recapitulation in a

“wrong key” until the soloist finally brings back the tonic in m. 99.

Subtype E

Ritornello sections are a central feature of the late-eighteenth and early- nineteenth-century concerto form. In James Webster’s term, they are the “pillars” that support the entire movement, as a framework for the sonata structure that the soloist mostly controls.42 Paradoxically, ritornellos manifest two contrasting, seemingly contradictory “conceptual forces.” 43 On the one hand, one may perceive them as orchestral “monoliths,” rigid vestiges of the archaic late-baroque concerto. On the other, they are surprisingly (and unpredictably) malleable. As described above, more “modern” ritornellos reject their traditional refrain-like role.44 Instead, they effectively tend to merge with their adjacent solo sections, participating more actively in the sonata process.

Ritornellos are, by definition, dominated by the orchestra. This grants them a

“collective individuality” that distinguish them—both texturally and conceptually—from the soloist’s distinctive musical persona. Because of this, they are capable of

“organizing,” so to speak, the succession of musical events, enabling the listener to create

42 See Webster, “Are Mozart’s Concertos ‘Dramatic’?,” 111. 43 For a deeper discussion of this topic, see Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 470–471 (“The Paradox of Mozart’s Concertos”). 44 Compare, for example, the older pre-developmental role of R2 and the (for that time) more modern exposition-closing R2. Similarly, cf. the recapitulatory vs. retransitional R3. 92 a mental “blueprint” of the movement’s form. One may think of them as orchestral

“landmarks,” serving as reference points for a systematic hearing of the form. Ritornellos not only help in tracing an analytic “map” of the music; their interaction with the soloist allows the listener to experience the movement as an expressive narrative, or the unfolding of a dramatic dialogue.

Given all this, it should come as no surprise that Subtypes E and F are extremely rare in Classical and Romantic concerto first-movements. Their ostensible absence from the repertoire is arguably a consequence of their avoidance of inner-movement ritornellos. In these two subtypes, the textural balance between ritornello and solo sections is disturbed. They grant the soloist a degree of greater control over the movement’s form, diminishing—albeit in different ways—the normative formal

“jurisdiction” of the orchestral ritornellos. Therefore, Subtype E and F concertos should be interpreted as deformations of the standard turn-of-the-nineteenth-century concerto norms, demanding hermeneutic scrutiny and a more nuanced analytical outlook.

Subtypes E and F are variants of the Type 5 sonata, existing in dialogue with other sonata types. Subtype E (Figure 2.9) takes its cue from the Type 2 (“binary”) sonata plan, rejecting the standard home-key, P-based R3 as a marker for recapitulatory beginning. Instead, Subtype E concertos launch the “recapitulation” with a home-key statement of the R1:\S-theme,45 ostensibly bypassing the recapitulatory R1:\P (or S1:\P).

In such cases, the ending of movement’s third rotation—which normally begins at the

45 Given the inappropriateness of the term “recapitulation” in the context of Type 2 sonatas, I will instead use Hepokoski and Darcy’s concept of “tonal resolution” to refer to this section of the Subtype E concerto. See Elements, 353–355. 93 onset of R2 or S2—does not coincide with the end of the development. Instead, the rotation is taken over by the soloist in S3, and continues until the end of the movement.

Figure 2.9. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype E of the Type 5 Sonata: Type 5 adaptation of the Type 2 (“binary”) Sonata. See Elements, p. 438, Table 19.1.

Subtype E concertos normally “exhaust” the thematic potential of the R1:\P- theme during S2, saturating the developmental space with frequent interjections of P- based rhetoric. By the time the soloist reintroduces the structural home-key dominant at the end of S2—i.e., the harmonic indicator of the end of the development—the R1:\P theme has become so redundant that it is no longer appropriate for the recapitulatory launch. Thus, the soloist overrides the normative recapitulatory R1:\P-based R3, leading—as in the Subtype C—directly into S3 space. Unlike the Subtype C, however, S3 proceeds directly to the R1 (or S1):\S-theme it the tonic, reaching the “tonal resolution” while still within the “developmental” rotation. 94

» Analytical Vignette 2.10. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in F, Op. 7 No. 2 (1770)

Although slightly more prevalent in early-Romantic concerto practice,46 one can still find a few examples of Subtype E concertos in the Classical repertoire.47 The locus classicus is arguably J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in F, op. 7 no. 2 (see Table 3.1,

Appendix A), since it unambiguously exhibits the necessary characteristics of a Type 5-

Type 2 concerto hybrid. In this piece, the orchestra first presents a normative R1, organized as a non-modulatory sonata layout (P TR’ S/C)—Mozart’s standard formal practice for first ritornellos. The soloist then restates—as one would expect—the R1:\P and R1:\TR themes in the tonic (respectively, mm. 35–44 and 44–49), adhering closely to the thematic organization of the first ritornello.

After a I:HC MC, the soloist introduces a new S1:\S-theme in the dominant (C),

“writing over”—at least momentarily—the arrival of a dominant-key R1:\S.48 The soloist eventually brings back the latter in m. 70, merging into a display episode around m. 76 before concluding with a bravura V:PAC (m. 80). At this point, the orchestra deploys the

46 For examples, see my discussion of Type 2 concertos in chapter 4 (“The Early-Romantic Type 2 Model”). 47 Hepokoski and Darcy (Elements, 431, n. 5) provide a few examples from the Classical repertoire: J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in F, op. 7 no.2 (see my discussion below), Mozart’s pastiche Piano Concerto in G, K. 107 no. 2 (adapted from J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Sonata in G, op. 5 no. 3, which is also a Type 2), Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 4 in D, K. 218 (an unusual Type 2, since the “recapitulation” begins with S1:\TR [mm. 145–149], rather than S1:\S), and the Andante moderato of Mozart’s Serenade in D, K. 204. The latter is beyond the scope of this study since, strictly speaking, it is neither a first movement nor technically a concerto. In addition, Galand (“The Large-Scale Formal Role,” 401), cites other examples in concertos by Johann Samuel Schröter (op. 3, nos. 2, 3, 4, and 5). Without providing any additional commentary, Hepokoski and Darcy casually mention that Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 24 in c, K. 491, “also features some Type 2 aspects.” I find this rather curious, since I do not hear any blatant indicators of a Type 2 sonata. Moreover, the recapitulation begins with an unambiguous R1:\P theme in the tonic (m. 362), clearly indicating that this concerto is not a Subtype E. 48 For the sake of simplicity, I will refer to this module as S1:\S even though it can be interpreted as the first part of a “failed TMB” (TM1–TM2). See my explanation in chapter 3, section II (“J.C. Bach”). 95 customary pre-developmental R2, launching a new rotation with a dominant-grounded

R1:\P-theme (mm. 80–89). After a few R1:\C-based codettas (mm. 89–93), the soloist

(S2) reintroduces the R1:\P-theme in the dominant key (m. 94), creating an almost redundant “double-start” effect.

Bringing back the R1:\P-theme yet again at the onset of S2 has significant implications for the rest of the movement. From one perspective, the soloist’s “stubborn” insistence on R1:\P might be thought to make a Subtype E inevitable in that, by this point, R1:\P has exceeded its “quota” of thematic utility. The “superfluous” plethora of P- based material quickly dissolves into a thematically neutral D-minor module, which has the effect of finally providing counterbalance to this P “overflow.” The arrival of a V-of- vi dominant (m. 104) coincides with the launch of a quasi-display episode, seemingly

“refusing” to carry on with the standard rotational trajectory.

The music is now firmly grounded in the submediant key. Both soloist and orchestra conspicuously avoid standard features of developmental activity—e.g. sequences or harmonic digressions—remaining in the same key until its cadential confirmation (vi:PAC) in m. 122. At this moment, the soloist overrides the now- redundant P-based recapitulation, assuming instead a retransitional role. After restoring the home key with the structural dominant (mm. 126–130), the soloist finally confirms the movement’s Subtype-E status by presenting the S1:\S-theme in the tonic (m. 131).

From that point onward, the S3 section unfolds as a parallel (but abbreviated) replica of

S1. As in S1, the R1:\S-theme in the tonic (m. 143) dissolves into a DE (around m. 147), thus continuing the developmental rotation and eventually ending with an R1:\C-based

R4. 96

» Analytical Vignette 2.11. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in B♭, Op. 13 No. 4 (1777)

Although not technically a Subtype E, J.C: Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in B♭, Op.

13 No. 4 (see Table 3.2), does feature some Type 2 aspects. This is a consequence of a distinctive harmonic effect that composers of this time occasionally employed in non- modulatory first ritornellos. In normative major-mode Type 3 sonatas, the expectation following the exposition’s MC is, of course, a new S-theme in the key of the dominant.

This expectation is so resilient that it still colors the listening experience with a Type 5 sonata, even though one consciously knows that, in this context, the S-theme is likely to remain in the tonic.

In J.C. Bach’s op. 13 no. 4, the R1:\S-theme—here labeled R1:\S1.1—enters over an F-pedal. This creates a tonal ambiguity, since it is not immediately clear whether the theme is starting in the tonic (B♭, over a dominant pedal) or the dominant (F, over a tonic pedal).49 Although briefly conflicting with the “urge” to hear a subordinate-key S-theme, one instinctively realizes it must necessarily be the former, given the tonal “obligation” of first ritornellos to remain in the tonic. Inevitably, the theme must collapse back into the home key—as occurs here in m. 22—coinciding with the beginning of the “proper”

R1:\S1.2 theme (mm. 22–33) that confirms the B♭-major tonic.

Once in S1, the soloist rejects the orchestra’s entire R1:\S-theme, replacing it with two new themes: S1:\S1.1 (mm. 51–72),50 and S1:\S1.2 (mm. 73–81). This thematic

49 J.C. Bach employs this feature frequently but it may also be found in several of Mozart’s early- Viennese piano concertos. See, for example, the concertos nos. 11 in F, K. 413, and 16 in D, K. 451. 50 As in the previous example (op. 7 no. 2), this S1:\S1.1-theme may be interpreted instead as the first part of a “failed TMB” (TM1–TM2). 97 substitution is not only unusual, it also sets up the conditions for a dramatic clash between soloist and orchestra. In a sense, the soloist asserts its authority by negating one of the orchestra’s most important themes, calling the thematic “worthiness” of R1:\S into question. In addition, the fact that the “original” R1:\S-theme is conspicuously absent from the solo exposition creates an expectation for its potential return. The “how” and

“where,” however, remain uncertain.

The soloist’s potential acceptance of the R1:\S-theme is now an increasingly pressing question. At R2, the orchestra surprisingly overrides the customary launch of a pre-developmental R1:\P1, in favor of a dominant version of the R1:\S1.2-theme.51 This might be heard as the orchestra’s attempt to “lure” the soloist into R1:\S space, and convince her to accept the theme for the impending development. Instead, the soloist rejects the theme yet again, taunting the orchestra with yet another new theme in the dominant (mm. 105–112). To connect this key with the upcoming supertonic—and to

“tease” the orchestra even more—the soloist immediately presents a repetition of this new theme (mm. 113–121) in the tonic. A half cadence in c (m. 121) finally concludes this unrelenting mockery, igniting the following developmental activity.

The quasi-display-episode that follows is, at first, charged with sequential activity

(mm. 122–131), but finally stabilizes with the arrival of the structural home key dominant

(mm. 134–139). The end of the development is now in sight, with two possible ways for the rest of the movement to unfold. The soloist could proceed directly into S3, seamlessly moving into the recapitulatory space (Subtype C). Alternatively, an orchestral R3 could

51 To be clear, the orchestra does present the R1:\P0 declamatory tutti first, launching a new rotation before proceeding to R1:\S1.2. 98 step in, launching the recapitulation with an emphatic home-key statement of R1:\P

(Subtype B). Curiously, both protagonists seem to wait for the other to react and assume the recapitulatory role.

The orchestra declines to launch the recapitulation—as if still resentful of the soloist’s “hostilities”—leaving it drifting aimlessly over the dominant harmony.

However, in a surprising turn of events, the soloist presents the R1:\ S1.1-theme in the tonic (mm. 140–144)—a peace offering that the orchestra, for now, declines to accept.

While still “floating” over the same unabated F-pedal, the soloist waves another white flag, presenting again the same “apologetic” R1:\ S1.1-theme (mm. 145–152). The orchestra finally accepts this détente des hostilités by stating the R1:\ P0-theme in the tonic, launching the recapitulation (m. 153). The R3–S3 merger that immediately follows

(m. 157) finally confirms that the orchestra and the soloist have achieved reconciliation.

The appearance of R1:\ S—rather than R1:\ P—after the final developmental dominant creates an ephemeral sense of formal ambiguity, a “false Type 2” effect. Here, the soloist ingeniously maintains the structural dominant, while still hinting at a Subtype

E tonal resolution. Therefore, in rare cases such as this,52 it is possible to hear the region between the development and the recapitulation as a thematic “bait-and-switch,” in which the “flawed” Subtype E is suddenly replaced by a “correct” Subtype B. This moment of

52 One could speculate that Mozart was probably well acquainted with this concerto, given that his Concerto (No. 10) for Two Pianos in E♭, K. 365 (1780), also employs this “false Type-2” effect in an almost exactly analogous way. Also, there is another curious correspondence between J.C. Bach’s op. 13 no. 4 and another concerto by Mozart. Although it might be coincidental, the beginning of the R1:\P1-theme (mm. 5–8) in J.C. Bach’s concerto also sounds suspiciously similar to the beginning of the R1:\P-theme in Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 18 in the same key, K. 456 (1784). Carl Stamitz’s Clarinet Concerto No. 3 in B♭ (ca. 1777) employs a similar formal procedure. As in the J.C. Bach example, the soloist “rejects” the R1:\S2-theme in S1. At the end of the development, the orchestra then reintroduces the theme over a dominant pedal (mm. 173–180), producing a “false Type 2” effect before the soloist launches the “real” recapitulation with S1:\P in the tonic. 99 uncertainty can be heard as unfolding a dramatic trajectory from obfuscation to clarity or—as in my previous expressive narrative—from belligerence to reconciliation.

» Analytical Vignette 2.12. Carl Stamitz – Viola Concerto in D, Op. 1 (1774)

From a formal perspective, the connection between the end of the developmental space and the beginning of the recapitulation is, for the most part, reasonably predictable.

The expectation is quite straight forward: the structural dominant at the end of the development signals the imminent arrival of the recapitulation, achieved by the predictable statement of either R1:\P of S1:\P in the tonic—a first-level default par excellence. Countless concertos fulfil this expectation, making it extremely pervasive and resilient. However, the exceptionally deformational cases that defy it inevitably produce an audacious—even bewildering—aural experience.

Carl Stamitz’s Viola Concerto in D is one such case. In this piece, both the tonal and thematic expectations are thwarted, resulting in an extremely deformational recapitulatory space. To achieve this effect, the composer first lays out a relatively unproblematic expositional space (Example 2.4a), establishing a clear referential Anlage for the rest of the movement. As normally occurs in modulatory R1s, the first R1:\S1- theme (mm. 27–31) is deployed in the key of the dominant (A). This theme is, in a sense, both tonally and thematically “unsatisfactory.” On the one hand, it is in the “wrong” key, violating the first ritornello’s strong first-level default to remain in the tonic. On the other, it is thematically weak, consisting of a short sequential pattern that dissolves rapidly into a cadential formula. 100

To fix these “problems,” the section is immediately followed by an R1:\RT that re-activates the home-key dominant (mm. 31–45), putting the music back on the

“correct” tonal track. A short linking passage (mm. 45–47) then reshapes the I:PAC in m.

45 as a I:HC, creating a “second MC” effect. This allows the “real” home-key R1:\S2- theme to begin (mm. 48–66). From a form-functional perspective, this is now a satisfactory (fully-fledged in the Caplinian sense) theme-type: a period with an expanded consequent. Finally, R1:\C closes R1 space, enabling the soloist to launch S1 with the original R1:\P-theme.

What merits particular attention here are the two R1:\S-themes—R1:\S1 and

R1:\S2—that form the second and third sections of this ternary ritornello. Retracing the rhetorical trajectory of the post-MC space, one first notices a short, thematically

“unsatisfactory” module in the “wrong” key (R1:\S1), followed by a retransitional module

(R1:\RT) that corrects the tonal path and confirms the home key with a I:PAC. One then hears the deployment of a “satisfactory” periodic S-theme (R1:\S2), expanding significantly its consequent phrase.

Moving ahead to the end of S2 (Example 2.4b), the soloist reaches the structural dominant in m. 197, signaling the imminent conclusion of the development. The orchestra reinforces this dominant via a brief tutti interjection (mm. 198–200), almost sounding like a short retransitional R3. Given the expectation of an ensuing tonic recapitulatory launch, the D-major chord in m. 201 momentarily seems to confirm this.

Instead, however, the soloist defies this expectation by taking the chord as a dominant, introducing a new, exceptionally brief theme in the key of the subdominant (G, mm. 201– 101

206). The expected tonic R1:\P is thus replaced by a surprising new theme in the “wrong” key.

In a sense, this new G-major theme occupies a formal “limbo,” trapped between the end of the developmental space and the uncertain beginning of the recapitulatory space. Like R1:\S1, it is thematically “unsatisfactory”: two stagnating whole notes that quickly dissolve into a repetitive melodic “noodle,” circling aimlessly around V7 and I. It is so awkwardly unstable that—after a IV:IAC in m. 206—it soon collapses into a retransition (mm. 207–216), finally restoring the “correct” D-major tonic. However, rather than reigniting the normative rotational course, the soloist now introduces another entirely new theme in the tonic (mm. 217–230). Like the previous R1:\S2, this theme is another period with expanded consequent. R1:\S2 itself finally emerges in m. 230, signaling that we are now definitely within recapitulation territory.

This long, post-developmental section is a clear example of the composer’s extreme thematic freedom. From this perspective, the section sounds haphazardly put together, without regard for any sense of rotational coherence. However, from a rhetorical perspective, it is actually closely akin to the first ritornello’s post-MC space.

Although they are not thematically related, the “bizarre” G-major theme and the R1:\S1- theme are rhetorically equivalent: they are both thematically “unsatisfactory” and tonally

“out of place.” They are also both followed by retransitional passages that “correct” the previous tonal mishap, leading to new “suitable” themes—both periods with expanded consequent phrases—that effectively restore the thematic balance of the section.

In light of the above, the post-developmental themes evoke the same rhetorical qualia of those found in the first ritornello’s post-MC region. They are, in this sense, 102 analogous, and are capable of replacing—or, in Hepokoski and Darcy’s term, “writing over”—each other.53 Thus, the strange, seemingly incoherent passage that emerges after the development section can be interpreted as a rhetorical—but not thematic— substitution for the R1:\S space. From this premise, it is possible to hear this piece as in dialogue with Type 2; that is, as a rhetorical version of the Subtype E.

Subtype F

As mentioned above, Subtype F (Figure 2.10) is also a variant of the Type 5 concerto, taking its cue from the Type 1 “sonatina” model. Although Subtype-F concertos do have full-fledged expositional and recapitulatory spaces (including the tonic-grounded

R1), they suppress the developmental space. To compensate for this suppression, these concertos elaborate—expand, extend, or somehow alter—another section of the movement. While late-Classical concertos might normally employ this Subtype simply as a means to shorten the movement, early-Romantic composers deployed this elaboration to an expressive end, thwarting the normative expectations for post-expositional space.

Figure 2.10. Hepokoski and Darcy’s Subtype F of the Type 5 Sonata: Type 5 adaptation of the Type 1 Sonata. See Elements, p. 438, Table 19.1.

53 See Elements, 212–215. 103

On the one hand, late-eighteenth-century concertos employ the Type 1 model exclusively in the second (slow) movement.54 In these cases, the purpose of the Subtype

F is to abbreviate the form, balancing its size—i.e., duration—with respect to the other two movements. With this goal in mind, these concertos normally deploy a brief retransitional passage in lieu of the developmental space, connecting the end of the exposition with beginning of the recapitulation.

On the other hand, early-nineteenth-century concertos employ the Subtype E to expand the exposition and recapitulation, potentially (and paradoxically) increasing the developmental activity. These concertos normally problematize the region around the end of the exposition, bringing back the tonic key while expanding considerably the display episode. In most cases, this tonal “collapse” is accompanied by a series of thematic conflicts. As I will soon show, the display episode may experience occasional

“flashbacks” to S-based material, suggesting a thematic regression to the previous rotational area.

My characterization of early-Romantic concertos as lacking a developmental space (Subtype F) will perhaps seem contentious. In these cases, it is possible to interpret the developmental activity at the end of the exposition—or the beginning of the recapitulation—as the development section proper, rather than, as I argue, a

“problematized” expansion of the display episode. This distinction can be subtle, and, of course, individual cases will vary significantly. Therefore, to clarify this distinction, I posit two necessary requirements for classifying an early-nineteenth century concerto

54 See, for example, Hepokoski and Darcy’s list of Mozart’s Subtype-F slow movements in Elements, 431, n. 3. 104 within the Subtype-F category: a “collapse” back to the tonic key towards the end of the exposition, followed eventually by a statement—usually in the orchestra—of the R1:\P- theme.55

In both Classical and Romantic Subtype F concertos, the expositional R2 and the end-of-development R3 are functionally analogous. In late-eighteenth-century concerto movements, R2 normally starts as an orchestral closing section for the expositional space, sounding as a “victory lap” that decelerates the momentum accumulated during the soloist’s bravura cadence. This R2 rapidly begins to destabilize the subordinate key,

“collapsing” into retransitional activity and, in the process, merging with R3 (R2 ⇒ R3).

After becoming a retransitional R3, the section eventually reaches a structural dominant in the home key, allowing the soloist to launch the recapitulation (cf. Subtype A).

Alternatively, the role of R2 changes considerably in early-Romantic concertos.

Towards the end of S1—usually within the display episode—the soloist progressively begins to digress, expanding the section with such persistence that it eventually overrides its normative ending. Failing to articulate the customary cadential dominant, the soloist problematizes the section further by bringing the music back into the home key, and postponing—or even omitting—the arrival of the bravura trill. This allows the orchestra

55 Although not a Subtype F, Clara Schumann’s Konzertsatz for Piano and Orchestra in f (1846) fulfills both of these requirements. Here, the soloist “collapses” the display episode back into F minor (ca. m. 161) and the orchestra launches the R1:\P-theme in the tonic (m. 167), creating a Type 1 (early recapitulation) effect. However, this theme rapidly dissolves into developmental rhetoric, suggesting its actual role as a development section. The movement’s form is later clarified as a Type 3 after the orchestra introduces again the R1:\P-theme in the tonic (m. 256), followed by the soloist’s presentation of the S1:\P Eingang in m. 261 (R3–S3 merger). At this point, one unambiguously hears this as the launch of the “real” (Type 3) recapitulation. 105 to introduce R1:\P in the tonic, effectively launching the recapitulation and thus assuming the role of R3 (cf. Subtype B).

Since Subtype F concertos suppress the development section, they by definition lack the developmental activity that is normally expected at that point in the movement.

In order to “salvage” some of this developmental rhetoric, the composer may opt to displace it within the recapitulatory space. In such cases, a “quasi-development” is inserted into the recapitulation, recomposing it in a dynamically developmental way. This expansion normally affects the P and (especially) TR modules.56 However, as I will soon show, it may infiltrate further into the recapitulation, including the S and DE spaces.

Without a doubt, Subtype F is the most unusual and, by extension, the most deformational of the six subtypes. Although it is found with relative frequency in

Classical slow movements, to the best of my knowledge there is not a single first movement modeled as a Subtype F in the late-eighteenth-century concerto repertoire.

However, few examples can be found in early-Romantic concertos, such as William

Sterndale Bennett’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in f, op. 19, and Ignaz Moscheles’ Piano

Concerto No. 7 in c (“Pathétique”), op. 93.

From a formal perspective, these two concertos are particularly intriguing. Their unusual deployment of ritornello-solo sections—as well as their strange tonal organization—has attracted some attention in recent studies of nineteenth-century concerto form. For example, Benedict Taylor has argued that these two pieces are closely

56 See Hepokoski and Darcy’s discussion of the “Expanded Type 1 Sonata” in Elements, 349–350. 106 related, challenging the Type 5 model in similar ways.57 His descriptions of the form accurately describe how these pieces exhibit “features that complicate and problematise type 5 and type 3 sonata forms—and potentially types 1 (sonatina, or sonata without development), 2 (binary) and 4 (sonata-rondo).”58 However, while I agree that these pieces are formally problematic, my analytical interpretation differs significantly.59

Keeping Taylor’s analyses in mind, the following paragraphs make a case for hearing these pieces as possible manifestations of the Subtype F; that is, in dialogue with the expanded Type 1 sonata.

» Analytical Vignette 2.13. Bennett – Piano Concerto No. 4 in f, op. 19 (1836, pub. 1839)

Bennett’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in f, op. 19, exhibits a remarkably problematic post-expositional section. Here, the Subtype F model emerges as a consequence of the movement’s extreme character of pathos, exacerbated by a series of textural and thematic conflicts between soloist and orchestra. After a cheerful, seemingly optimistic R1:\S in the mediant key (A♭), the soloist launches, as expected, the display episode in m. 166. At first, the section proceeds as a fairly normative DE, beginning with two hypermetrically accented four-measure compound basic ideas (mm. 166–169 and 170–173), followed by

57 The author also convincingly argues that Moscheles’ concerto op. 93 probably influenced Bennett’s op. 19 directly. See Taylor, “Mutual Deformity,” 77. 58 Ibid., 77. 59 I thank Professor Taylor for a productive discussion of these examples during the 20th Biennial International Conference on Nineteenth-Century Music (University of Huddersfield, July 2, 2018). Although our analyses differ—he hears proper developmental sections, while I do not—we both agree that the pieces exhibit problematic, functionally ambiguous post-expositional spaces. 107 a long sentential continuation phrase that dissolves into a rhythmically active transition- like rhetoric.

So far, so good. At this point, the most likely expectation would be the soloist’s articulation of a structural dominant in the local tonic, leading eventually to a bravura cadence. Instead, an orchestral intervention begins to disrupt the DE by reintroducing the

R1:\S-theme in the mediant (mm. 194–202). The orchestra’s “stubborn” insistence on this theme may be interpreted as a deliberate effort to bring the music back into S-space, thus grounding the section within the exposition. Despite this, the soloist persists with the DE, continuing the movement’s standard rotational trajectory. The first conflict has thus begun: the orchestra attempts to push the form backwards, while the soloist tries to keep the momentum going.

With the articulation of the structural dominant in m. 207 (Example 2.5), the soloist would seem to have taken back control of the section. Now the bravura cadence seems imminent, explicitly announced by the trill in m. 211—the generic indicator for the pending conclusion of the DE. However, as if with a change of mind, the soloist promptly abandons the trill (m. 212), “shaking it off” with rapid scalar figuration in the right hand.

After a second attempt (m. 213), the soloist now seems to realize that the trill is somehow

“tainted,” and abandons it again in m. 214. The orchestra’s previous intrusion has disrupted the normative unfolding of the display episode, postponing its normative ending by retreating back into S-space.

The soloist now decisively abandons the trill—and any aspiration to cadential closure—by falling into a descending-fifths sequence (mm. 217–219). This is the beginning of the tonal “collapse”: the point at which the strength of subordinate key 108 finally crumbles, succumbing to the tonic’s hegemonic authority. Now back in the dismal world of F minor—that is, “the point of no return”—the soloist nevertheless refuses to abandon her generic role and hopelessly attempts to resume the DE. This quickly ignites a dominant prolongation (mm. 221–234), suggesting that the music is—at least rhetorically—still within expositional space.

At this point, the orchestra disrupts the soloist’s efforts to proceed with the DE, intruding again with a home-key version of the R1:\S-theme. By now, it is clear that the soloist and orchestra have reached an impasse. Their individual musical interests are in conflict: the soloist still strives to reach the end of the DE, but the orchestra struggles to remain in the exposition, forcing the music back into S-space. By m. 231, the soloist— now reduced to a shadow of its former self—overrides the bravura trill entirely, collapsing the dominant prolongation (mm. 231–234) and finally resolving to an F-minor tonic (m. 235).

The orchestra immediately launches the R1:\P-theme in the tonic, working first as a closing section for expositional space (R2), but rapidly becoming the thematic indicator of a new rotational beginning (R3). The previous struggle within the DE has effectively

“written over” developmental space, forcing the music to proceed directly into the recapitulation. After a i:PAC in m. 247, TR begins as before (m. 16) but quickly undergoes an R3–S3 merger in m. 252, letting the soloist take the music into the key of the submediant (D♭).

The recapitulatory rotation then continues in its correct thematic track, moving into R1:\S in m. 258. However, the key is (again) peculiarly out of place. Although one may perceive this R1:\S-theme in VI (D♭) as a marker of a “failed” recapitulation, one 109

may also hear it as a tonal “counterweight” to the expositional III (A♭)—a tonal “mirror image” of the exposition. Presenting the R1:\S-theme in VI—rather than the usual tonic—allows the orchestra to bring back the home key later within the recapitulatory

DE. In so doing, the recapitulation more closely reproduces the tonal trajectory of the exposition.

» Analytical Vignette 2.14. Moscheles – Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, “Pathétique,” op. 93 (1835–36, pub. 1838)

Moscheles’ Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, op. 93 (Example 2.6a), is also in dialogue with the Type 1 model, yet its post-expositional space is arguably more complex than that of the previous example. In Moscheles’ concerto, the S1 section introduces an R1:\S- theme in the “correct” mediant key (E♭), although in this case the theme fails to reach a conclusive III:PAC. Instead, it dissolves into DE rhetoric (ca. m. 114), eventually igniting a dominant prolongation in in the subordinate key (m. 119). As in the previous example, the soloist seems to change its mind (m. 122), abandoning the subordinate-key dominant in favor of a local tonic.

Abandoning this dominant prolongation is the first indication that the soloist is beginning to problematize the DE, making its conclusion (as well as its duration) uncertain. Bypassing the bravura trill has apparently gotten the soloist “stuck in a loop” of cadential formulas, presenting twice the same closing harmonic progression (I–IV–V7–

I). The conflict begins when the music suddenly “collapses” back into the tonic, reintroducing the home-key dominant in m. 133. Unlike the Bennett example, the music here is not dealing with a conflict of textures (i.e., the ritornello-solo alternation), but one of keys. 110

While the soloist and the orchestra seem to remain on amicable terms, their respective keys struggle to retain their control of the section. The tonal collapse of m. 133 is ephemeral, rapidly turning back into the mediant key via a brief tonicization of iv (f).

The soloist brings back the correct subordinate key, attempting to proceed with the normative DE trajectory. Engaged in a cadential dominant (mm. 140–144), it seems that now it will successfully reach the expected bravura cadence. However, the soloist never introduces the required cadential trill, causing the music to fall back into the local tonic

(m. 145).

Trying to restore the normative tonal path, the soloist reintroduces the subordinate-key dominant in m. 152, managing to maintain it for several measures.

However, it soon introduces an unexpected reference to the R1:\P-theme (m. 158), severely disturbing the rotational organization of the exposition. This forces the music to collapse (again) into the home key (m. 160), bringing with it its “dismal” C-minor qualia.

Firmly in the tonic, the soloist again reaches a structural dominant (m. 166), suggesting the intention to resume the display episode and finally conclude the exposition.

This long C-minor dominant is but an “evil twin” of the previous dominant prolongation in E♭. It progressively stretches the limits of expositional space, foreshadowing its imminent conclusion. Seemingly exhausted, the soloist begins to

“stumble” (mm. 176–177), forcing the orchestra to launch a home-key R1:\P and, with it, the beginning of the recapitulation (m. 178). Having bypassed the developmental space, the music has no choice but to proceed with the recapitulatory rotation, effectively turning the expected R2 into a recapitulatory R3. 111

The orchestra first launches the recapitulation into a destructive whirlpool of fatalistic C minor. However, the music begins to modulate, and by the end of the transition reaches the unusual key of ♭II (D♭). At this point, the soloist reintroduces the

R1:\P-theme in this key (m. 200), resetting the rotational trajectory of the recapitulation by taking the music back to the previous P-space (Example 2.6b). In a sense, this audacious tonal digression brightens the mood of this region of the recapitulation, the optimistic major-mode version of the R1:\P-theme compensates the “pathetic” gravitas of the tonic C minor.

The motion from C minor to D♭ major is so chromatically unstable that it heightens the tonal momentum, building up an impetuous—but ephemeral—energetic drive. Although this unusual tonal shift might sound as, in Charles Rosen’s terms, a

“secondary development section,”60 I posit it is possible to hear this unusual passage in

D♭ as a displacement of the previous tonic or, in Richard Bass’s terms, a “chromatic shadow” of the diatonic C minor.61 From this perspective, this “wrong” key supplants the normative tonic, while the R1:\P-theme functions as a “tonally heightened” version of the rotational launch.

The recapitulatory rotation continues to unfold, leading to an S1:\TR (m. 208) that begins—as in the exposition—as a “dissolving” restatement of the P-theme.62 Here, however, the section’s tonal organization is taken to its limit, transforming—via

60 Taylor, for example, hears this R1:\P-theme in D♭ as the beginning of a development section merged with the recapitulation. See “Mutual Deformity,” 78. See also Rosen, Sonata Forms, 289. 61 See Richard Bass, “Prokofiev's Technique of Chromatic Displacement,” Music Analysis 7, no. 2 (1988): 197–214. 62 For the “dissolving restatement” and other “dissolving” transition types see Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 101–113. 112

enharmonic reinterpretation—–an innocuous passing chord in D♭ major (m. 210) into an applied leading-tone chord in D major: vii°6 of V (m. 211). The transformation of this 5 chord into the dominant of this key (m. 212) lays the groundwork for the II♯:PAC in m.

218, which, in turn, allows the soloist to launch the S1:\S1-theme in that key (m. 219).63

This surprising tonal shift is yet another manifestation of the unexpected modulation described above. At this point, the music is apparently engaged in an ascending tonal trajectory, heightening, with each modulation, the tonal momentum of the recapitulatory space. In a sense, this semitonal rise counterbalance the frequent C minor intrusions into the exposition’s DE. Moreover, the music now seems determined to disrupt the section’s normative home-key gravitational pull, the tonally adventurous recapitulation compensating for the “tonic-heavy” exposition. However, this chromatic ascension becomes progressively more unstable and, as the keys move farther away from the tonic, the expectation of a tonal “collapse” begins to grow.

For a few measures, the S1:\S1-theme unfolds firmly in D major, reaching a

II♯:IAC in m. 224. What follows is a repetition of the theme (m. 226), which for a brief moment sounds like the beginning of a consequent phrase of a large-scale compound period. This “consequent” quickly begins to expand the S-region of the recapitulation, dissolving into a rapid succession of tonicizations and introducing some of the developmental activity that would have been present in a standard Type 5 concerto. Not

63 Since the exposition presents two distinct S-themes, I use the superscript 1 to distinguish this theme (S1:\S1, mm. 80–99) from the theme that follows (S1:\S2, mm. 100~115), despite the absence in of a clear PAC between them. 113 coincidentally, the first tonicization introduces the key of E minor (mm. 228–231), continuing the previous “tonal rise.”

Before E minor is fully established, the music repeats the same tonicization pattern to the V7 of F♯ minor (mm. 232–233). Rather than resolving into its local tonic, however, this V7 chord is enharmonically reinterpreted as a Ger+6 in F minor, resolving to a cadential 6 in this key. In a surprising turn of events, the music has opted for F instead 4 of F♯, prioritizing the diatonic IV over the tritone-related ♯IV.

In roughly thirty measures, this bold process of chromatic dexterity has taken the music through four ascending key changes (or five, including the implied F♯ minor). The chromatic tension accumulated by this point of the recapitulation is enormous, suggesting a prompt—and inevitable—collapse back into the “dismal” tonic C minor. The music holds on to the unstable F minor for a brief moment, but soon returns to the home key via another enharmonic reinterpretation, when a ♭VI6 in F minor is reinterpreted as the

Neapolitan sixth in C minor; perhaps ironically, D♭ major is now responsible for putting the recapitulation back in its normative tonal path.

This predominant rapidly moves to V (m. 242), igniting a dominant lock that firmly solidifies the return of the tonic key. Having been missing for most of the recapitulation, C minor now returns as a long dominant prolongation (mm. 242–252).

The home key now securely in place, the soloist can finally subside its momentum, introducing a brief transitional passage (mm. 254–527). At this point, the S1:\S1-theme reappears now tonally restored, correcting the previous tonal digression. From this moment on, the recapitulation can proceed on its right rotational track, both tonally and thematically. 114

CHAPTER THREE

The Non-Mozartian Precedents of the Early-Nineteenth-Century Concerto Form

Mozart’s adaptations of the Type 5 sonata represent personally customized illustrations of a more generalized framework of background possibilities. Even while his preferences are instructive and provide a basis for investigation outside of the Mozart canon, they should not be elevated into pan-European norms for the decades around 1800. Any study that also included examinations of other composers’ concerto practices would introduce other possibilities, other realizations of the more broadly based network of choices. —James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy 1

We now know that Mendelssohn had a penchant for reevaluating the formal prototypes of the early-nineteenth-century concerto. This raises the question, though, of what were the specific characteristics of these prototypes. It would be erroneous to assume they were analogous to the formal paradigms exhibited by the Mozartian concertos, since this would prejudice any subsequent musical analysis. Ignoring the other, non-Mozartian practices would compromise the main goal of this study, providing a textbook illustration of the “concerto problem.”

Studies of Mozart’s concertos are abundant, and there is no necessity to repeat their findings here.2 Instead, the purpose of the following paragraphs is to describe other, non-Mozartian precedents for early-nineteenth-century concerto form; that is, works by

1 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 469 (my italics). 2 Besides the aforementioned studies by Hepokoski and Darcy (Elements, 430–602), and Keefe (Mozart’s Piano Concertos), one should also mention John Irving’s Mozart’s Piano Concertos (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2003), Marius Flothuis’s Mozart’s Piano Concertos (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2001), and Denis Forman’s Mozart’s Concerto Form: The First Movements of the Piano Concertos (New York: Praeger, 1971).

115 composers that were influential during the late eighteenth century but, for one reason or another, are now usually neglected in theoretical discussions of the subject. Concerto practices during Mozart’s time are as diverse as they are numerous, and it would be unfeasible to attempt to discuss them all here. For convenience, my following discussion will focus on late-eighteenth-century composers that likely influenced early-Romantic compositional practices, and Mendelssohn’s in particular: Joseph Haydn, Johann

Christian Bach, and Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach.

I. Joseph Haydn

The status of Haydn’s concertos is, to say the least, problematic. The monumental prestige of Haydn’s symphonies and string quartets often obscure the relevance of his concertos in the late-eighteenth-century musical environment. Moreover, an important portion of his output in the concerto genre has unfortunately been lost, and a significant number of the surviving works have been found to be either spurious or doubtful.3 Most of the works whose authenticity has been verified were composed on the 1760s and 70s, and include—omitting divertimentos, concertinos, and sinfonia concertantes—three violin concertos, two concertos for cello, one for trumpet, seven for harpsichord, and one for violin and harpsichord.4

3 See Georg Feder’s catalogue of Haydn’s works in his entry on “Haydn, (Franz) Joseph,” in Grove Music Online, 2001 (accessed March 18, 2019). 4 Specifically, these concertos are Hob. VIIa nos. 1 in C, 3 in A (Melker Konzert) and 4 in G for violin; Hob. VIIb nos. 1 in C and 2 in D for cello; Hob. VIIe:1 in E♭ for trumpet; a double concerto for violin and harpsichord in F, Hob. XVIII:6; and, for harpsichord, Hob. XVIII nos. 1 in C, 2 in D, 3 in F, 4 in G, 8 in C, 10 in C, and 11 in D. See Feder’s catalogue in “Haydn, (Franz) Joseph,” Grove Music Online. 116

The aforementioned issues with Haydn’s concertos have had an impact on the way modern scholars and critics have assessed these pieces. To make matters worse, they are often interpreted in the light of Mozart’s concertos and thus judged by the latter’s musical standards. Abraham Veinus, for example, opines that Haydn’s contribution to the development of the concerto “is slight in comparison with the variety, scope, and power of Mozart’s achievement.” 5 Similarly, John Culshaw mentions how “Haydn’s concertos .

. . can hardly be classed as milestones in the history of the form.” 6 The pièce de résistance, however, is Robert Layton’s discussion of Haydn’s Harpsichord Concerto in

D, Hob.XVIII:11, which he describes as lacking “the complexity and richness of interplay between soloist and orchestra of Mozart’s great concertos.” 7 Ironically, Layton also considers this piece—after the Trumpet Concerto in E♭—“Haydn’s finest work in the form.”

One would be correct in assuming this unfavorable critical predisposition is also a symptom of the “concerto problem” described above. The idealization of Mozart’s concertos has taken its toll on the historical reception of Haydn’s concertos and, more importantly, has significantly prejudiced our modern understanding of late eighteenth- century concerto practice. However, viewing Haydn’s concertos by their own standards reveals how these pieces are neither compositionally inferior to Mozart’s, nor “flawed” in any musical way. In fact, Haydn’s concertos exhibit unique formal characteristics, typically associated with the composer’s personal idiosyncrasies.

5 See Abraham Veinus, The Concerto (1945, repr.; New York: Dover, 1963), 71. 6 John Culshaw, The Concerto, Vol. 10 of The World of Music, ed. George Franckenstein and Otto Erich Deutsch (London: Max Parrish, 1949), 26. 7 Robert Layton, A Guide to the Concerto (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 62. 117

Specifically, I refer to Haydn’s predilection for monothematic expositional designs, his occasional proclivity for continuous expositions, and his early preference for ternary first ritornellos.8 These compositional techniques are rarely found in Mozart’s concertos, but are present to varying degrees in Haydn’s late concertos and those of subsequent composers. Similarly, Haydn’s ingenious way of handling sonata form in concerto movements likely influenced the generation of composers of the early- nineteenth century. His unusual admixture of innovative sonata treatments—such as the extended caesura fill and the late-expositional caesura—and older ritornello-solo models resulted in some original manifestations of the Type 5 paradigm.

Ternary R1: the “Rounded” First Ritornello 9

In some ways, Haydn’s concertos are openly in dialogue with the standard formal patterns of concertos à la Mozart. Broadly speaking, their large-scale form coincides with the Subtype B variant of the Type 5 model, including (in most cases) the following sections:

1. a tonic-centered R1,

2. an S1 that functions as a sonata exposition,

8 Markus Neuwirth points out that monothematic expositional designs are a “feature for which Haydn is particularly well known.” See “Does a ‘Monothematic’ Expositional Design have Tautological Implications for the Recapitulation? An Alternative Approach to ‘Altered recapitulations’ in Haydn,” in Studia Musicologica 51, nos. 3/4 (2010): 369–385. His Table 1 (p. 373) deserves particular attention, since it summarizes the composer’s non-concertante works—keyboard sonatas, trios, symphonies and string quartets—with “primary theme-based” secondary themes. Along the same lines, Hepokoski and Darcy mention how one can encounter the continuous exposition in “several of the works of Haydn, who employed it throughout his career.” See Elements, 52. 9 Here, my use of the term “rounded” is analogous to the sense of “rounded binary” form. For more information on this form (and the use of the term “rounded”) see, for example, Douglass Green, Form in Tonal Music: An Introduction to Analysis (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1979), 73–97; and Ellis Kohs, Musical Form: Studies in Analysis and Synthesis (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1973), 107–110. Cf. Caplin (Classical Form, 71–86), who refers to it as a “small ternary form.” 118

3. a pre-developmental R2 that launches the R1:\P in the subordinate key,

4. a developmental middle section (controlled by S2),

5. an R3⇒S3 recapitulatory merger,

6. a recapitulation that retraces the expositional layout, and

7. a final home-key R4 with a cadenza de rigueur.10

On a local level, however, Haydn’s particular treatment of some of these sections departs from the sonata model employed by his immediate contemporaries, and by

Mozart in particular. For example, while Mozart’s R1s typically follows a non- modulatory, two-part sonata Anlage, close to one third of Haydn’s exhibit some sort of ternary design.11 The “ternary” aspect of Haydn’s first ritornellos arguably arises from two contrasting, seemingly contradictory formal procedures: the tendency to follow a standard modulatory sonata layout, and the section’s necessary condition to remain in the tonic.

Figures 3.11a–c illustrate three possible formal models for Haydn’s two- or three-part

(non-continuous) first ritornellos.12 Keeping these sections in dialogue with a sonata- based conception of the form, these figures retain, for the most part, the standard notation for R1 modules in Type 5 sonatas. However, they do include some features that are not

10 To the best of my knowledge, the Keyboard Concerto in C, Hob. XVIII:10 (1771) is the only concerto by Haydn that does not include a cadenza. 11 See chapter 4 (“The Rise and Fall of the First Ritornello”) for a more detailed explanation of the Mozartian first-ritornello model. For Haydn’s ternary R1s, see my discussion below.

12 Haydn’s continuous first ritornellos can be found in the Trumpet Concerto in E♭, Hob. VIIe:1 (1796); the Double Concerto for Violin and Harpsichord in F, Hob. XVIII:6 (1766); and in the Keyboard Concertos in C, Hob. XVIII:1 (c. 1756), and in G, Hob. XVIII:4 (1781). These pieces fall into a different category, to be explained later in this section. 119 normally found in normative Mozartian R1s: the “RT” (retransition), the “Pret” (P-return), and the concept of tonal “collapse.”

Figures 3.1a–c. Three formal models for Haydn’s two- and three-part first ritornellos

Most of Haydn’s first ritornellos exhibit a blatantly un-Mozartian propensity to introduce S-themes in the subordinate key. Given its generic necessity to remain in the tonic, R1 normally brings the section back to the home key by means of an “RT” module, which can fulfill the retransitional role in two possible ways. First, RT may unfold as a

“quasi-TR,” replicating the previous transitional rhetoric. In these cases, RT eventually reaches an HC in the tonic, producing a “second MC-effect” and thus resulting in a ternary R1 (see Figure 3.1a).13 This “second MC” typically leads to a new closing module in the tonic but, in some cases, R1 may also conclude with a return of the original home-

13 The two vertical lines divide this figure into three distinct sections, representing the ternary divisions of the form. 120 key P-theme (Pret).14 As in the “rounded binary” form, this section “rounds up” the section’s main thematic material, conferring on it a clear A–B–A’ design.15

Alternatively, RT may lead to a PAC or IAC instead of an HC in the tonic (see

Figure 3.1b).16 As in the previous category, RT does fulfill a retransitional role. In this case, however, the module does not present any rhetorical indication of a second TR- function and, more importantly, it does not produce a second MC-effect. Instead, the module remains within S-space, functioning as a retransitional version of an otherwise normative second S-theme. Because of this, the section exhibits a more common two-part layout rather than a ternary design. To reinforce the return of the tonic, this module normally leads to a home-key R1:\C-theme to conclude the section.

» Analytical Vignette 3.1. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in C, Hob. XVIII:10 (1771)

So far as I am aware, the Keyboard Concerto in C, Hob. XVIII:10 is the only concerto by Haydn with an R1 that follows the formal model illustrated in Figure 3.1.c.

Although it might seem far-fetched to create an entire category for a single piece, it reflects this model’s relative popularity among some of Haydn’s younger contemporaries.

14 The Pret label is based on Hepokoski and Darcy’s label for P-refrains (Prf), following the standard notational system for P-themes in Type 4 Sonata Forms. See Elements, 404–405. One may find examples of the Pret module in the Cello Concerto No. 2 in D, Hob. VIIb:2 (1783), and the Keyboard Concerto in F, Hob. XVIII:3 (1771). 15 Besides the two aforementioned concertos, this category includes the Violin Concerto in G, Hob. VIIa:4 (1769), and the Keyboard Concertos in C, Hob. XVIII:5 (1763), and in D, Hob. XVIII:11 (1784). As I will elaborate in chapter 4, this R1 prototype probably influenced Mendelssohn the most, since one may find variations of this model in several of his early concertos. 16 This category includes the Cello Concerto No. 1 in C, Hob. VIIb:1 (c. 1761–1765); and the Violin Concertos in C, Hob. VIIa:1 (1869), and in A, Hob. VIIa:3 (1771). Although extremely rare in Mozart’s concertos, he did employ this formal model in his Piano Concerto No. 14 in E♭, K. 449. 121

Mozart, for example, employed it in his Piano Concerto in d, K. 466, and Beethoven also adopted it—albeit with much larger proportions—in some of his modulatory R1s.17

In this last category the R1:\S-theme begins—as in the previous two models—in the subordinate key, implying the music will eventually return to the tonic. Here, however, the retransitional role is not fulfilled by an RT section per se, but by a process of tonal “collapse.” In these cases, the R1:\S-theme fails to articulate an authentic cadence in the subordinate key. Instead, the rapid intrusion of sequential activity and/or thematic liquidation progressively destabilizes the theme in medias res, causing it to

“break down” (or “collapse”) into a cadential progression in the tonic. This cadence almost invariably leads to a closing module, meaning the subordinate key only appears as an ephemeral “mirage” at the onset of the R1:\S-theme.

In this formal prototype, the lack of cadential confirmation in the subordinate key usually comes accompanied by a decrease in thematic variety and formal size. This is arguably the reason why the first ritornello in Haydn’s concerto Hob. XVIII:10 is only twenty measures long. In this case, the I:HC MC in m. 8 is followed by a fleeting, heavily sequential passage that rapidly collapses back to the tonic (mm. 9–13). Because of its sequential design, this “R1:\S” lacks a clear thematic identity, prompting the soloist to later compensate with a satisfactory S-theme in S1 (m. 29). This “flawed” R1:\S-theme is absent from most of the movement, and is only brought back in R4 as a brief closing

“afterthought.”

17 See my discussion in chapter 4 and, in particular, of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in C, op. 15. 122

Given their formal design, Haydn’s continuous R1s cannot be accommodated to any of the three previous categories. While they all lack a satisfactory MC, these R1s are otherwise not consistent enough to merit a single category of their own. Although the processes by which these R1s bypass the expected MC are variable, they generally take advantage of this cadential “deficiency” to place the section in dialogue with a variety of different formal types. For example, given their structural similarities, it is possible to conflate the formal layout of a modulatory-continuous R1 with the formal design of different two- or three-part theme-types, namely Caplin’s “small ternary” and “small binary” forms.18

» Analytical Vignette 3.2. Haydn – Double Concerto for Violin and Harpsichord in F, Hob. XVIII:6 (1766)

Example 3.1 illustrates the two possible analytical interpretations for the first ritornello in Haydn’s Concerto for Violin and Harpsichord in F. From a sonata-formal perspective, R1:\TR (m. 6) bypasses the MC altogether, dissolving instead into FS activity (ca. m. 11) and leading to a PAC in the dominant (m. 15). Alternatively, this passage can also be interpreted as the exposition (A) of a small ternary form, consisting of a modulatory hybrid theme-type (c.b.i. + cont.) with an expanded continuation phrase.

The following section (mm. 15–20) can be interpreted either as an R1:\RT or as a small ternary contrasting middle (B). Although the piece lacks a clear MC, the I:HC in m.

20 sounds like a delayed MC-effect in the “wrong” key. In a sense, this harmonic event is analogous to the “second MC-effect” of the first non-continuous R1 formal model

18 See Caplin, Classical Form, 71–93. 123

(Figure 3.1a). From this perspective, the return of the P-theme in m. 21 can function as a

Pret as well as a small ternary recapitulation (A’).

Although this R1 is clearly in dialogue with the small-ternary form, there is also a strong inclination to hear the section as a sonata Anlage, given the generic expectation for a sonata-based first ritornello. In this sense, this R1 is particularly “Haydnesque,” since it simultaneously exhibits three of the composer’s most idiosyncratic formal procedures.

On the one hand, the small-ternary design bestows on the sonata interpretation both continuous and ternary features, two seemingly incompatible characteristics. On the other, the reappearance of the main theme as a Pret allows the listener also to hear a monothematic quality in the section, in that this Pret compensates, at some level, for the absence of a satisfactory S-theme.19

Monothematic Expositions

Monothematic concerto first movements are rare outside of Haydn’s oeuvre and virtually nonexistent in solo expositions (S1). Interestingly, this technique occurs sporadically in first ritornellos by some of Haydn’s contemporaries, including Mozart and

Beethoven.20 It is important to clarify that the thematic correspondences between P and S

19 Cf. Haydn’s Keyboard Concerto in C, Hob. VIII:1 (c. 1756). Here, the R1 is largely analogous to that of the Double Concerto in F. However, in this case the “recapitulation” (A’, m. 32) introduces new thematic material, rather than bringing back the same material as the exposition (A). See also J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in C, Op. 13 No. 1 (1777). This considerably more complex example begins as a standard non-modulatory R1 until the I:HC MC (m. 27). Rather than continuing the normative sonata Anlage, R1:\S eventually reaches a I:HC (m. 45), “shifting” suddenly its formal function to a contrasting middle. From this perspective, the reappearance of R1:\P1.2 in m. 46 can be interpreted as the recapitulation section of a small ternary form.

20 See, for example, Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in B♭, op. 19. In this piece, a P-based theme launches R1:\S in the key of ♭III (D♭, mm. 43–50). The theme is heard again in in E♭ in R2 (mm. 232–236) but, curiously, is never taken over by the soloist, making it an exclusively orchestral feature. Along the same lines, Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A, K. 622, introduces a monothematic R1:\S in the tonic key (mm. 28–31), which later reappears in S1 as TM3 in the key of the dominant (mm. 128–134). In 124 may be subtle, and one should hear them with relative flexibility. In these cases, the thematic affinity is accomplished by presenting the P-theme’s Hauptmotiv as a motivic gesture within the S-theme, typically as its opening motive.

» Analytical Vignette 3.3. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in D, Hob.XVIII:11 (1784)

Haydn makes use of this procedure in his Keyboard Concerto in D,

Hob.XVIII:11, presenting the same basic motive in both R1:\P and R1:\S (see Example

3.2). Although both themes remain for the most part fairly distinct, this motivic correspondence grants them a functional “duality.” The motive manifests simultaneously in both P and S spaces, creating a sense of thematic concord. Paradoxically, this motivic relation also makes the S theme slightly “inappropriate,” compromising its individuality and independence from the P-theme.

For this reason, the S-space in S1 becomes rather problematic (see Table 3.1).

Although the orchestra presents the monothematic S-theme in the same way it did before, the soloist rapidly deviates from its harmonic trajectory, replacing the expected V:PAC with a V:HC in m. 76. In doing so, the soloist effectively extends the boundaries of the transition, turning this “S-theme” into a continuation of the previous TR—creating a two- part transition—and thus postponing the “real” S-space until later in the exposition. At first, this V:HC sounds like a second MC, anticipating the arrival of a satisfactory S- theme. But instead, the music proceeds to avoid an MC gap, invoking R1:\RT-based material, thus extending the TR-region even further.

both cases, the P-based R1:\S is thematically unstable—almost as a thematic “mishap”—forcing it to transition to a more stable module. 125

This relentless TR extension results in the music missing its opportunity to articulate a clear MC. Instead, the soloist progressively turns this R1:\RT-based “TR extension” into the display episode (ca. m. 84), suggesting the music has bypassed the S- space altogether. At this point, it appears that S1 has abandoned the ternary design of R1, replacing it with a continuous exposition. The soloist’s trill in m. 90 and V:PAC in m. 91 tentatively supports this conclusion, signaling the end of the DE and thus a potential

EEC. However, this possibility is negated when the cadence coincides with a “lights-out effect.” 21

This post-DE module (mm. 91–102) is now apparently in a functional “limbo.”

Although, strictly speaking, this module has not yet reached C space, it is not in S-space either—recalling that there was no S-space in the first place! Curiously, the “dim” modal and textural quality of this new, heavily syncopated theme contrasts significantly with the previous DE rhetoric, suggesting it is somehow compensating for the lack of an adequate

S-theme. However, the “S-ness” of this theme is questionable, in its dark character and strange (mis)location within the form. To complicate matters further, rather than articulating a conclusive V:PAC, this “S1:\S” reaches instead a prominent V:HC in m.

102, emphasized conspicuously with a fermata.

Such a bizarre HC so late in the exposition sets this S1 strongly at odds with some basic principles of sonata form. However, keeping the previous R1 formal models in mind, it is possible to reconcile this unusual HC with a more Haydnesque conception of concerto form. I posit that this “late-expositional caesura” (LEC) fulfills a similar role to

21 On “lights-out effect,” see Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 25–26. 126 the second RT-caesura in a ternary R1 (cf. Figure 3.1a). This “late MC-effect” bestows on the section an analogous “three-part” aspect. Rather than anticipating S-space—as a normative MC—the LEC anticipates the exposition’s closing space, whether it consists of a C-theme or, as in this concerto, a Pret module (mm. 103–113).

» Analytical Vignette 3.4. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in G, Hob.XVIII:4 (1781)

The “late-expositional caesura” is a particularly idiosyncratic harmonic feature that Haydn seemed to briefly entertain during the early 1780s.22 Interestingly, the

Keyboard Concerto in G, Hob.XVIII:4, employs this technique in a surprisingly similar way (see Table 3.2). In this case, an expanded S1:\S-theme (mm. 44–61) concludes with a V:PAC, at first suggesting the arrival of the EEC. As in the previous example, a “lights- out” effect cancels this suggestion, coinciding with the beginning of a new “S1:\S2- theme” in m. 62. Rather than correcting this modal “mishap,” this minor-mode theme articulates instead a V:HC in m. 68, producing an LEC. This caesura is followed by the

R1:\C module (mm. 69–78), creating a “three-part” exposition reminiscent of the ternary

R1 model.

» Analytical Vignette 3.5. Kozeluch – Piano Concerto No. 1 in F, P.IV:1 (1784)

At the same time Haydn was composing his Keyboard Concerto in D,

Hob.XVIII:11, his direct contemporary Leopold Kozeluch was also experimenting with monothematic concerto expositions. However, Kozeluch’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in F

22 Cf. the Cello Concerto No. 2 in D, Hob. VIIb:2 (1783). Here the expositional LEC occurs in m. 64, although subject to significant caesura-fill expansion. The LEC in the recapitulation (m. 167) is more straightforward. As in the Keyboard Concerto in D, this LEC is emphasized with a fermata. Curiously, in this case the caesura-fill expansion introduces R1:\P-based thematic material, creating a Pret effect. 127 exploits this technique to a far greater extent, presenting it in virtually every module of the exposition except R1:\C (see Example 3.3). Unlike the Haydn example, the monothematic P-motive is accepted by both orchestra and soloist, making it extremely memorable but also potentially redundant.

Monothematic expositions are paradoxically both utilitarian and problematic. One the one hand, their thematic correspondences provide a sense of thematic consistency and formal unity, conferring on the movement a greater degree of coherence. On the other hand, their obstinate insistence on the same motive risks over-exploiting it, exhausting more rapidly its thematic capabilities. Since the Kozeluch’s P, TR, S, and “RT” modules begin with the same basic motive (Examples 3.3a–d),23 it is not always possible to identify the module’s specific formal role at the outset. This means that every theme, regardless of its position within the form, at first expresses a sense of formal-functional ambiguity, requiring the unfolding of the entire theme to make rotational sense.

Kozeluch compensates for the extreme monothematicism by composing contrasting “continuations” to each theme. Although the same Hauptmotiv launches every module, what follows is consistently new thematic material. This unusual modular design grants each theme a simultaneous (and contradictory) impression of redundancy and unpredictability. As a consequence, the normative perception of rotational

23 “RT” because, from a purely tonal perspective, this module does not play a retransitional role in a strict sense. Since R1 does not modulate, there is no necessity for an RT at all. However, the section’s design corresponds closely to Haydn’s ternary R1s, making it a non-modulatory version of the formal model illustrated in Figure 3.1a. In this sense, this “non-retransitional RT” does fulfill the same rhetorical function of a standard RT. 128 organization is significantly disrupted, forcing the listener to rely on rhetorical, rather than thematic, cues for rotational orientation.24

The composer achieves this effect by clearly associating each module with a specific theme-type. For example, the P-theme repeats the main motive (basic idea) at the outset, suggesting its function as the presentation phrase of a sentence. Alternatively, the

S-theme introduces the motive only once, followed by a two-measure contrasting idea, creating the antecedent of a period.

Kozeluch takes advantage of this technique of formal organization to create a rotationally ordered development section of considerable tonal audacity. The soloist first launches S2 with a dominant version the P-theme (m. 147), which is easily recognizable as such for its sentential organization. After engaging in some developmental activity, the soloist eventually ignites a long dominant in C major (m. 173), sending—albeit in the

“wrong” key—the generic signal for the end of the development. After a caesura gap, the soloist introduces the Hauptmotiv in the bizarre key of E♭ major (see Example 3.3), creating a surprising effect of bifocal resolution.25

The reappearance of the main motive after this prominent HC briefly has the potential for a false recapitulation and associated rotational rebeginning. However, the continuation of this mid-developmental theme quickly clarifies its status as an E♭-major

24 Cf. my previous discussion of Carl Stamitz’s Viola Concerto in D, op. 1 25 In the sense of Jan La Rue’s “bifocal” cadence in Baroque music, in which a movement ending with a half-cadence is immediately followed by another movement in a third-related key. Not to be confused with Robert Winter’s use of the term “bifocal close.” See La Rue, “Bifocal Tonality: An Explanation for Ambiguous Baroque Cadences,” The Journal of Musicology 18, no. 2 (2001): 283; and Robert Winter, “The Bifocal Close and the Evolution of the Viennese Classical Style,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 42, no. 2 (1989): 275–337. 129 version of R1:\S, extending the developmental rotation rather than starting a new one.

After a few measures, the theme dissolves again into developmental activity (ca. m. 205), reinterpreting E♭ major tonic as the Neapolitan of the submediant (d).

» Analytical Vignette 3.6. Hummel – Piano Concerto in a, Op. 85 (1819)

The historical connection between Haydn and Johann Nepomuk Hummel is well known. It is highly probable that they met during the mid-to-late 1780s at the Mozart household in Vienna, while Hummel was a young composition student living with the

Mozart family. It is also known that they met again in London in 1790—when Hummel was as a promising young pianist—and yet again in Vienna in 1795.26

Mozart’s influence on Hummel is certainly not in question. However, from a purely formal perspective, it seems probable that Haydn’s concertos exercised a deep influence on Hummel’s concerto practice. Although there is no direct historical evidence for this, stylistic analysis shows Hummel’s concertos to be unique in exhibiting very specific Haydnesque formal features. Although these mostly concern continuous expositions (see below), there are also significant correspondences with regard to monothematic expositions.

As in the monothematic concertos discussed above, Hummel’s Piano Concerto in a, op. 85, includes a single motive that is conspicuously present in multiple modular spaces (Example 3.4). As in Kozeluch’s concerto, the recurrent motive is consistently followed by contrasting “continuations,” helping differentiate the specific formal function

26 See Joel Sachs’s entry on “Hummel, Johann Nepomuk” (rev. Mark Kroll) in Grove Music Online, 2001 (accessed on July 14, 2019). 130 of each theme. However, with the exception of R1:\C, the recurrent motive does not in this case appear as an opening thematic gesture. Instead, it takes the form of P1.2 and S1.2, inserted within the P and S spaces.

Since this concerto is in the minor mode, modal adjustment is required from P- space (minor) to S-space (major). This modal alternation confers on it a “dual property,” displaying two different qualia depending on its location within the form. This unique condition solves the formal-functional ambiguity, since the role of each module is differentiated from the beginning. Still, the motive’s effect of constantly “sneaking into” each theme enhances the impression of thematic unity.

Continuous Expositions

Given their enormous potential for formal experimentation, it is curious that continuous expositions were not a more widespread compositional choice at the turn of the nineteenth century. Aside from a handful of concertos by Haydn and a couple by

Hummel, continuous expositions are virtually absent from the late-eighteenth and early- nineteenth-century concerto repertoire. However, the fundamental premise behind this procedure—that is, the avoidance or minimizing of the articulation of a clear MC— became progressively more popular by the time of Mendelssohn’s late concertos. Perhaps illustrating the maxim “better late than never,” composers in the 1830s began to experiment with different manifestations of the continuous-exposition paradigm, delaying, truncating, or even entirely bypassing the MC.

Haydn’s continuous expositions thus serve as important precedents for some of the most distinctive features of early-Romantic concerto form. In particular, given

Haydn’s strong influence on Hummel, it is likely that the latter was responsible for 131 handing down—whether directly or not—some of the former’s original concerto contributions to a younger generation of composers. The following analyses will compare two of Hummel’s concertos with precedents in Haydn, with the emphasis on his adaptations of the older composer’s formal innovations.

» Analytical Vignette 3.7. Haydn – Trumpet Concerto in E♭, Hob. VIIe:1 (1796)

Praised by Robert Layton for its “mellow lyricism and chromatic subtlety of

Haydn’s ripest style,” 27 the Trumpet Concerto in E♭, Hob. VIIe:1, remains one of the composer’s most frequently performed and best-known works in the concerto genre. As his last concerto,28 it is probably also his most radical example of the continuous- exposition technique, occurring—albeit in slightly different ways—in both R1 and S1.

Example 3.5a illustrates the portion of R1 (mm. 17–32) in which a two-part exposition is decisively abandoned in favor of a continuous model. By m. 17 the transition is coming to an end, the half cadence in m. 19 suggesting the onset of a I:HC

MC. Since the most likely expectation at this point is one of an actual caesura, mm. 20 ff. give the initial impression of caesura-fill, bridging the gap between the HC-dominant and the onset of an S-theme. However, this passage rapidly “detours” towards a I:PAC in m.

25, “nullifying” the previous MC-effect.

What follows is not an S-theme proper but a series of cadential modules, eventually leading to the end of R1 (m. 36). In retrospect, one can hear how this short

27 Layton, A Guide to the Concerto, 74. 28 The Oboe Concerto in C, Hob. VIIg: C1, might be later (c. 1800). However, its authenticity is doubtful. See Feder’s catalogue in “Haydn, Joseph,” Grove Music Online. 132 closing passage was not a “real caesura-fill,” but rather a brief cadential progression in the tonic that “writes over” the S-theme entirely, leading directly to R1:\C (mm. 25–35).

Although it might seem far-fetched, it is still possible to hear this closing section as a series of codettas to a “non-existent” theme! In this sense, the codettas can be heard to draw attention to the absence of this module, more than to any other formal feature of R1.

Example 3.5b illustrates a similar situation, now occurring in S1 (mm. 54–84). In this case, a V:HC MC is stated in m. 59, leading to what initially sounds like a proper S- theme in the dominant key. At first, this “S-theme” seems satisfactory, unfolding as an apparent sentence with a two-measure thematic introduction. However, rather than reaching clear cadential closure, the continuation phrase becomes progressively less stable, reengaging TR rhetoric around m. 67. What follows is another V:HC in m. 71, retrospectively suggesting that the previous passage was not an a S-theme proper, but rather the second part of a two-part TR.29

At this point, one would now expect to hear the beginning of a new satisfactory S- theme in the dominant key. Instead, Haydn reintroduces the brief cadential passage first presented in R1 (mm. 20–25). As in the previous ritornello, this “false caesura-fill” collapses into a V:PAC in m. 77, marking the rhetorical and structural end of the exposition. At this point, it becomes clear that the music has, once again, completely bypassed the MC and the S-theme. Moreover, the trill in m. 82—the generic marker for the end of the display episode—suggests that most of the DE was also skipped, leaving only its final cadence (mm. 78–83).

29 Alternatively, one could hear it as the first part of Caplin’s two-part subordinate theme. See Classical Form, 117–119. 133

Haydn’s original treatment of R1 and S1 significantly challenges the generic formal expectations for a late-eighteenth-century concerto movement. The absence of important formal sections is, in a sense, just as significant as those that are present.

Haydn omits not just the entire S-theme, but also the display episode, both of which are a staple of late-eighteenth century concerto movements. Interestingly, one again finds some of these unusual formal procedures in Hummel’s own Trumpet Concerto.

» Analytical Vignette 3.8. Hummel – Trumpet Concerto in E, S. 49 (1803)

Given Haydn and Hummel’s musical (and personal) proximity, it is not surprising to find some formal correspondences between their works. Haydn’s Trumpet Concerto most likely influenced Hummel’s directly, both having been written for the same intended soloist and performance venue.30 The most striking formal correspondence occurs in R1, which Hummel cleverly constructs as a continuous exposition while simultaneously (and paradoxically) maintaining a relatively clear two-part design.

In Hummel’s work the onset of a conventional R1:\TR in m. 14, initially suggests conformity to a two-part exposition (see Example 3.6). The introduction and brief expansion of the dominant of B major (mm. 18–21) confirms the motion to the subordinate key. However, rather than articulating a V:HC MC, the music simply carries on to a cadential progression in B major, bypassing the MC.

After an evaded cadence in m. 27, the section finally articulates a V:PAC in m.

31, confirming that the previous passage has effectively omitted the S-theme altogether.

30 The dedicatee was Anton Weidinger, who also invented the keyed trumpet. Both works were premiered at the Esterházy Palace in Vienna. See Sachs, “Hummel,” Grove Music Online. 134

As in Haydn’s concerto, this PAC effectively deprives the ritornello of a satisfactory S- theme. Nevertheless, the section must now make its way back to the tonic, which it does via a destabilizing E-minor chord in mm. 32–35. This minor tonic prepares the return of the home-key dominant (mm. 36–42), launching a TR-based R1:\RT that eventually articulates a I:HC in m. 42.

By this point, R1 has followed closely the continuous-ternary model described above, clearly observable in Haydn’s Double Concerto in F, Hob. XVIII:6 (cf. Analytical

Vignette 3.2). As in that piece, the I:HC in m. 42 produces an MC effect, anticipating either the return of the original P-theme (Pret) or a closing theme in the tonic. Either option would thus produce a straight forward continuous R1, a Haydnesque feature par excellence. However, as though still seeking to compensate for the previous thematic

“deficiency,” Hummel’s concerto instead introduces a new theme in the tonic (m. 43). In retrospect, one can hear this as the beginning of the “missing” S-theme, reinterpreting the previous MC-effect as the “real” MC rather than the end of RT. In doing so, Hummel’s

Concerto is able to “have its cake and eat it,” that is, maintain both a continuous exposition and the semblance of an S-theme.

» Analytical Vignette 3.9. Haydn – Violin Concerto in G, Hob.VIIa:4 (1769)

One of Haydn’s earliest examples of the continuous-exposition technique can be found in his Violin Concerto in G, Hob. VIIa:4 (see Example 3.7). As in most concertos of the time, the soloist opens S1 space by bringing back an unusually short R1:\P-theme in the tonic (m. 21), giving way to the transition in m. 25. After just three measures, 135

R1:\TR gestures towards a I:HC MC (see the tonicized root-position dominant chord, m.

27).

However, rather than accepting the MC gesture, the soloist negates it by simply carrying on, now in the key of the dominant. The new key ignites a distinctive harmonic progression in that key (m. 28), in which the chromatic bass line (4–♯4–5) serves as a conspicuous melodic marker signaling a new V:HC MC. But again, the soloist does not articulate a satisfactory MC-effect, sinking instead into a vortex of thematically-weak

Fortspinnung rhetoric (mm. 29–32).

In retrospect, one can hear two HC attempts in quick succession—first in the tonic

(m. 27), then the dominant (m. 28)—both of which fail to articulate a proper MC. Despite this, the soloist brings the FS module to a standstill, introducing a quasi-thematic melody that seems to seek to compensate for the lack of a suitable S-theme (mm. 33–36). Still, this melody is only a mirage of what the S-theme could have been. “Flawed” from the outset, it rests over a prolonged local subdominant (G), looking back to a long-gone G- major tonic. The music has no choice but to finally articulate a V:PAC (m. 37), leading to a closing section that finally brings this continuous exposition to an end.

» Analytical Vignette 3.10. Hummel – Violin Concerto in G (c. 1804)

Hummel’s Violin Concerto in G is an intriguing piece. Despite being one of the composer’s earliest concertos, it exhibits an extraordinarily audacious formal design, on a par with his more mature concertos. In particular, the Violin Concerto in G is one of the first nineteenth-century concertos written as a Type 2 (Subtype E), making it one of the 136 earliest examples of what would later become a relatively popular compositional trend.31

However, what is relevant to the present discussion is the way in which R1—in the same spirit as Haydn’s concertos—abandons a two-part design in favor of a continuous- exposition model.

As in Haydn’s Trumpet Concerto, a fairly unproblematic transition articulates a

V:HC in m. 26, launching a dominant lock in D major that extends until m. 31 (Example

3.8). At this point, a convincing V:HC MC gives way to caesura-fill, suddenly de- energizing the impetus build up by the transition. Still over a dominant pedal, the orchestra expands this caesura fill with short fragments of TR-based material. However, by m. 35 this caesura fill has begun to regain its momentum, becoming a Fortspinnung module that extends the dominant pedal even further.

By m. 40, the section is decidedly no longer caesura fill, having completely dissolved into FS rhetoric. The expected caesura gap is no longer in sight, and with the onward motion of the FS, the chances of a plausible S-theme progressively diminish. The music eventually abandons the dominant lock (m. 44), resolving it into a local D-major tonic that prepares a cadential progression in that key. The V:PAC in m. 46 confirms that the section has completely bypassed the S-theme, leading instead to a retransitional passage (m. 54) and a brief closing section (mm. 54–58).

Expanded Caesura Fill

Although used sporadically by Haydn and his contemporaries, the process of expanding the caesura fill was still fairly deformational during the late eighteenth

31 See my discussion of Type 2 concertos in chapter 4 (“The Early Romantic Type 2 Model”). 137 century. However, composers at the turn of the nineteenth century adopted this procedure with increasing frequency, gradually transforming it to a standard compositional resource.32 By the time of Mendelssohn’s early concertos, expanding the caesura fill had become considerably more normative,33 with composers often using it to fill in the

“caesura gap” with quasi-thematic material. Like the continuous-exposition technique, the expanded caesura fill obscures the thematic boundary between the transition and the

S-theme, further problematizing the region around the middle of the exposition.

» Analytical Vignette 3.11. Haydn – Cello Concerto No. 2 in D, Hob.VIIb:2 (1783)

Although Mozart and his contemporaries rarely employed this compositional resource in their concerto movements, Haydn did make use of it in his Cello Concerto

No. 2 in D (see Table 3.3). Remarkably, this piece takes this procedure to its limit, including it in four separate locations: the MC at the end of TR (mm. 41–47), the LEC towards the end of the exposition (mm. 65–70), and their corresponding passages in the recapitulation (mm. 146–152 and 168–179). For expediency, my discussion will only focus on the first case.

Example 3.9 illustrates the end of the R1:\P-theme and the beginning of R1:\TR

(m. 35) in S1 space. This section eventually reaches an HC in the dominant key (m. 39) that clearly functions as a V:HC MC. After a brief one-measure pause, the soloist suddenly steps back in, taking control of the HC-dominant and beginning the caesura-fill

32 See Hepokoski and Darcy, “The Medial Caesura,” 131.

33 See, for example, my discussion of Mendelssohn’s Concerto for Two Pianos in A♭, MWV O 6, in chapter 4 (Analytical Vignette 4.8). See also the expanded caesura fill in the Hummel Piano Concerto in a op. 85 (mm. 174–184), discussed above in the context of monothematic expositions. 138 expansion. In a surprising turn of events, the soloist introduces what could perhaps be described as a quasi-DE, engaging in virtuosic solo display.

This “pseudo-DE” finally ends with an emphatic trill cadence in m. 47 (V:PAC).

At this point, the orchestra takes back control of the section, as if acknowledging that this cadence was decidedly out of place. In an attempt to fix this faux pas, the orchestra singlehandedly relaunches a cadential progression in A major, articulating a V:HC in m.

49. The appearance of the R1:\S-theme in m. 50 suggests this latter V:HC in fact works as the actual MC. I posit that the V:HC in m. 39 and this later cadence in m. 49 are independent manifestations of a single MC-effect, expanded considerably by this extraneous solo display.

II. Johann Christian Bach

From an early age, Mendelssohn had significant exposure to the music of the

Bach family, primarily through his lessons with Carl Friedrich Zelter. Beginning in 1819,

Zelter took charge of Felix and Fanny Mendelssohn’s musical education by special request of their mother Lea. He remained the leading figure in the young Mendelssohns’ early musical life, until Felix’s artistic “emancipation” in the late 1820s.34 His pedagogical methods in composition—as well as his own music—reveal a strong inclination to the learned style of Bachian counterpoint.35 Zelter’s musical aesthetics—

34 Larry Todd refers to Mendelssohn’s 1829 revival of J.S. Bach’s St. Matthew Passion as “the culminating event in Felix’s youth.” See Mendelssohn: A Life in Music, 198. 35 See, for example, the “Zelter-Mendelssohn Exercise Book,” in R. Larry Todd, Mendelssohn’s Musical Education: A Study and Edition of his Exercises in Composition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 105ff. 139 particularly his rejection of the “excesses” of musical Romanticism—are reflected in

Mendelssohn’s earliest compositions, despite being already considered archaic.

Mendelssohn set of String Symphonies, or Sinfonias, are an invaluable record of the composer’s early musical development.36 Their extreme stylistic diversity recalls their purpose as compositional exercises, while simultaneously illustrating the young composer’s most prominent musical influences. The Sinfonia No. 1 in C betrays the influence of J.S. Bach with its conspicuous use of imitative counterpoint. Similarly, the

Sinfonias Nos. 2 in D and 6 in E♭—with their abrupt dynamic changes and prominent unison arpeggios—evoke the style of Carl Stamitz and the second-generation Mannheim school. With the exception of No. 12 in g—a Baroque-style piece with a prominent fugue in the first movement—the last group of Sinfonias (Nos. 8–11) become progressively more grounded in the Classical style of the Viennese school.37

The Sinfonias also exhibit musical characteristics germane to Northern

Germany—from Hamburg in particular—making them stylistically (and geographically) closer to Mendelssohn. No. 5 in B♭, with its early-Classical mannerisms, is reminiscent of the galant style typically associated with J.C. Bach, while the “pathetic” No. 7 in d is suggestive of C.P.E. Bach’s empfindsamer Stil. These musical styles—and the composers themselves—were already considered archaic by the early 1820s. However, they are so conspicuous in Mendelssohn’s compositional exercises that it is likely they influenced

36 The Sinfonias are a set of thirteen pieces for string orchestra—consisting of twelve pieces in three or four movements and a Sinfoniesatz—composed between 1821 and 1823 under Zelter’s tutelage. Mendelssohn did not publish them during his lifetime, probably because he considered them only compositional exercises. 37 According to Larry Todd, the Sinfonias exhibit “Bachian counterpoint and graceful Viennese classicism.” See Todd, A Life in Music, 110. 140 the development of the Mendelssohnian style and, by extension, the young composer’s early conceptions of musical form.

Mendelssohn’s first-generation concertos and J.C. Bach’s late concertos have many formal features in common. The problem—if one can say there is one—is that many of these features are also clearly present in some of Mozart’s works. It is therefore difficult to determine whether J.C. Bach influenced Mendelssohn directly or the latter learned these features through Mozart’s concertos. In any case, it is possible to trace some of Mozart’s most distinctive compositional choices back to J.C. Bach’s concerto prototypes of the 1770s, particularly his keyboard concertos op. 13 nos. 1–6 (1777).

The connection between these two composers is historically uncontroversial. The young Mozart first became acquainted with J.C. Bach in 1763, when his family arrived in

London as part of their first tour throughout Europe. Mozart upheld the “London Bach” as a model composer throughout his life, and was significantly influenced by him. In particular, J.C. Bach played an important role in the young composer’s early experiments with concerto form. The clearest evidence of this are Mozart’s early pastiche concertos,

K. 107 (c. 1772), which are actually arrangements of three sonatas by J.C. Bach (op. 5 nos. 2–4).38

From a formal perspective, J.C. Bach’s first ritornellos are extremely consistent— at least compared to Haydn’s concertos—adhering much more closely to a sonata-based conception of concerto form. With few exceptions, they follow a standard sonata Anlage

38 See Neal Zaslaw, “Context for Mozart’s Piano Concertos,” in Mozart’s Piano Concertos: Text, Context, Interpretation, ed. Neal Zaslaw (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996), 8. See also Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 453–462. 141

(P TR’ S/C), stating clearly differentiated P and S themes. All of Bach’s R1s follow the generic principle of ending in the tonic; however, a few of them do explore the subordinate key somewhere within the S-space, contrasting significantly with Mozart’s usual practice of presenting R1 entirely in the tonic.39

Bach’s tonal treatment of the R1:\S-theme is variable. However, one can classify each case in one of three categories. In the first, the theme is introduced in the home key from the beginning, keeping—as in Mozart’s non-modulatory first ritornellos—the entire section firmly grounded in the tonic.40 In the second category, R1:\S starts in the subordinate key and eventually confirms it with a PAC. As in Haydn’s ternary R1s, an

RT then brings the section back to the tonic.41 The last category is, paradoxically, a combination of the first two.42 In these situations, the S-theme starts over a bass pedal that momentarily could sound like an initial tonic expansion in the subordinate key.43

39 Among Mozart’s concertos, there are only three exceptions to the non-modulatory R1 paradigm: the Piano Concertos Nos. 11 in F, K. 413; 14 in E♭, K. 449; and 20 in d, K. 466. K. 449 introduces the R1:\S-theme in the dominant (B♭), confirming that key with a PAC (m. 54) before transitioning back to the tonic. Alternatively, K. 413 and 466 begin the S theme in the subordinate key (albeit briefly) before “correcting” it en route to the home-key R1:\EEC. A similar modulatory procedure can also be found in most of Beethoven’s concertos. See his Triple Concerto in C, op. 56, and the Piano Concertos nos. 1 in C, op. 15; 2 in B♭, op. 19; 3 in c, op. 37; and 4 in G, op. 58. The Violin Concerto in D, op. 61, and the Piano Concerto No. 5 in E♭ “Emperor,” op. 73, follow the standard non-modulatory Mozartian practice. 40 The pieces in this category are the Oboe Concerto No. 1 in F, the Flute Concerto in G, and the Keyboard Concertos op. 7 nos. 4 in B♭ and 6 in G (although in this piece the S-theme’s initial tonic has a lowered chordal seventh, transforming it to V7/IV for the first eight measures), and op. 13 no. 3 in F. 41 The modulatory R1s can be found in the Bassoon Concertos in E♭ and B♭, the Oboe Concerto No. 2 in F, and the Keyboard Concertos op. 1 no. 1 in B♭, op. 7 no. 1 in C, and op. 13 nos. 5 in G and 6 in E♭ (although in this piece the S-theme is immediately repeated in the tonic). 42 This category includes the Keyboard Concertos op. 1 nos. 2 in A, 3 in F, and 5 in C; op. 7 nos. 2 in F, 3 in D, and 5 in E♭; op. 13 nos. 1 in C, 2 in D, and 4 in B♭; and op. 14 in E♭. 43 Leon Plantiga describes this phenomenon as “a delicate balance that epitomizes the idea of the ‘bifocal close’: the music hovers between dominant and tonic, and the ear accepts it as either.” See Beethoven’s Concertos: History, Style, Performance (New York: Norton, 1999), 164; as well as Winter, “The Bifocal Close,” 275–337. 142

However, the theme invariably “collapses” back to the home key, retrospectively reinterpreting the previous “tonic” as a dominant pedal. 44

Although this feature in particular might have not influenced early-nineteenth- century composers directly, some of Bach’s other experiments with the form certainly did. In this respect, I will center my following discussion on three of his contributions to the late-eighteenth century concerto form: the use of the trimodular block in solo expositions, the Type 5-Type 3 concerto merger, and the off-tonic launch of the recapitulatory rotation.

Ternary S1: the “Trimodular” Solo Exposition

The Trimodular Block (TMB) is a formal-harmonic procedure in which a sonata exposition articulates an additional MC within the S-space, producing an impression of double medial caesuras. This procedure is found with relative frequency in late- eighteenth-century solo expositions,45 and has the effect of preparing and launching two non-tonic “S-themes.” In these cases, the first “S” module (TM1) becomes progressively unstable before it can reach a PAC, conceptually reverting, as it were, to TR space (TM2).

This “secondary TR” prepares the second MC, allowing the introduction of a new S- theme in the subordinate key (TM3).

44 Cf. my discussion of J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in B♭, op. 13 no. 4 (Analytical Vignette 2.11). 45 See Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 170–177 (and particularly 537–540 for Mozart’s trimodular concertos). TMBs are rarely found in first ritornellos, but one can find a few examples in pieces such as Leopold Kozeluch’s Clarinet Concertos in E♭ Nos. 1 and 2 (bef. 1790); Giovanni Battista Viotti’s Violin Concerto No. 19 in g, IGV 42 (1791); Daniel Steibelt’s Piano No. 3 in E, “L’Orage,” op. 33 (1799); and Carl Stamitz’s Concertos for Clarinet (No. 3) in B♭ (c. 1777) and for Viola in D (1774)—see my discussion of the latter example in Analytical Vignette 2.12. 143

A majority of Bach’s concerto movements have some kind of trimodular exposition. 46 In most of these pieces, S1 retains the original S-theme from R1, introducing it after either the first or second MC. By doing so, the exposition can keep the original S-theme while still presenting a new solo-exclusive S-theme. A slight majority of

Bach’s trimodular S1s introduce the R1:\S-theme as TM3, meaning that the exposition first presents a new “S1:\S-theme”—working as TM1⇒TM2—after the first MC.47

Alternatively, R1:\S can also function as TM1, postponing the new theme (TM3) until after the second MC has been stated.48 In a few pieces, R1:\S may not appear in S1 at all, resulting in a trimodular exposition with completely new thematic material.49 In all cases, however, the last thematic module will normally turn into a display episode (TM3⇒DE) in medias res, shortly before stating the bravura trill that closes S1.

Trimodular solo expositions are a staple of Mozart’s concerto practice, appearing in almost half of his concerto first movements.50 However, as Bach started composing trimodular concertos decades before Mozart, the latter likely learned this formal practice—whether consciously or not—from J.C. Bach’s concertos. Trimodular S1s

46 J.C. Bach’s trimodular solo expositions can be found in the Flute Concerto in G, the Oboe Concerto No. 1 in F, the Bassoon Concertos in B♭ and E♭, and the Keyboard Concertos op. 1 nos. 1 in B♭, 2 in A, 3 in F, 5 in C, and 6 in D (discussed below); op. 7 nos. 3 in D, 4 in B♭, 5 in E♭, and 6 in G. Although they do exhibit some trimodular features, the Oboe Concerto No. 2 in F, the Keyboard Concertos op. 7 no. 2 in F, op. 13 nos. 3 in F, 4 in B♭, 5 in G, and 6 in E♭, and the Keyboard Concerto in E♭ without opus number have problematic TMBs, and are thus classified in a different category (see below). 47 The pieces in which R1:\S appears as TM3 in S1 are the Oboe Concerto No. 1 in F, the Bassoon Concerto in E♭ (although in this piece TM3 is actually R1:\RT, not R1:\S), the Keyboard Concertos op. 7 nos. 2 in F, 3 in D, 4 in B♭, and 5 in E♭, and op. 13 no. 3 in F. 48 The pieces in which R1:\S appears as TM1 in S1 are the Bassoon Concerto in B♭ and the Keyboard Concertos op. 1 nos. 1 in B♭ and 2 in A. 49 The trimodular S1s with completely new material—that is, without reintroducing R1:\S in S1— can be found in the Flute Concerto in G and the Keyboard Concertos op. 1 no. 5 in C, op. 7 no. 6 in G, and op. 13 no. 4 in B♭. 50 See Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 537, in particular n. 37. 144 became progressively less popular during the first decades of the nineteenth century, and by the time of Mendelssohn’s early concertos, composers had mostly abandoned them as a formal resource. It is possible that TMBs conflicted with one of the fundamental

“principles” of Mendelssohn’s late concertos: prioritizing conciseness and brevity over formal extension.

Although TMBs are commonly associated with Mozart’s Viennese concertos, J.C.

Bach devised this formal procedure years before the former arranged his first pastiche concertos.51 Bach first began constructing trimodular expositions in the early 1760s, as evidenced by his two oboe concertos in F and four of his first set of six keyboard concertos.52 This rapidly became one of his most idiosyncratic formal choices, employed consistently throughout his career.

Without exception, J.C. Bach’s trimodular expositions—like Mozart’s—follow the standard sequence of MC deployment: the first MC is always stated in the tonic (I:HC

MC), while the second articulates the MC in the dominant (V:HC MC). Bach follows this procedure in most of his early concertos, making this a pervasive feature of his trimodular concertos up to 1770.53 By this time, this specific sequence of MC deployment had become the norm, establishing a clear formal expectation for trimodular expositions.

51 Mozart’s early pastiche concertos—all from 1767—are the Piano Concertos K. 37 in F, 39 in B♭, 40 in D, and 41 in G. Like K. 107, these concertos are arrangements of keyboard pieces by other composers. 52 Although both oboe concertos are undated, they were likely composed in the early 1760s. The four keyboard concertos I am referring to are op. 1 nos. 1 in B♭, 2 in A, 3 in F, and 5 in C, all published in the same set (op. 1) in 1763. The other two concertos in this set—op. 1 nos. 4 in G and 6 in in D—will be discussed in the section below. See Christoph Wolff and Stephen Roe’s entry on “Bach, Johann [John] Christian,” in Grove Music Online, 2001 (accessed on July 12, 2019). 53 The exceptions are the Oboe Concerto No. 2 in F and the Keyboard Concerto in F, op. 7 no. 2. 145

However, by the late 1770s Bach was already experimenting with alternatives to this procedure, finding new ways of problematizing the deployment of the second MC.54

As evidenced by his last set of keyboard concertos, he came up with a relatively consistent solution. In all of these cases, S1 first articulates a normative I:HC MC, leading to an S-theme—either R1:\S or a new S1:\S-theme—in the subordinate key. This

“S-theme” would then reach a V:HC, igniting a dominant lock and thus creating the expectation for a standard TMB. The dominant lock eventually “collapses”—either by falling into a sequence or by resolving into its local tonic—bypassing the second MC effect. This “false TM2” eventually reaches a V:PAC, retrospectively discarding the previous TMB interpretation and clarifying the section as a two-part exposition.

» Analytical Vignette 3.12. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in F, op. 13 no. 3 (1777)

Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in F, op. 13 no. 3, provides a straight forward example of this “deformation.” The piece first presents a normative I:HC MC in m. 78, leading to a new S1:\S-theme in the dominant key (see Table 3.4). After a few measures, this theme surprisingly articulates a V:HC (m. 76), launching a dominant lock and thus igniting the expectation of a second MC effect. At this point, it would be reasonable to assume that the previous S1:\S-theme was actually functioning as TM1—becoming TM2 after the HC in m. 76—and that the music should now be approaching an imminent TM3.

However, rather than launching this TM3, the section abandons the dominant lock, resolving the V chord into its local C-major tonic (m. 79), thus negating the second MC

54 See the Keyboard Concertos op. 13 nos. 3 in F, 4 in B♭, 5 in G, and 6 in E♭, as well as the concertos in the previous footnote. 146 effect. After the section reaches a V:PAC in m. 84 it becomes retrospectively clear that this was never actually a TMB. Instead, one can retrospectively hear it as an S-theme all along, in dialogue with (but ultimately rejecting) a possible TMB design. The resulting phenomenological experience intriguingly involves a sequence of two retrospective reinterpretations that combine to cancel each other out. In other words, the second MC effect first creates the expectation for a TMB (S⇒TM1–TM2), but the PAC in the subordinate key eventually negates this expectation, belatedly confirming the original formal impression (TM1–TM2⇒S).

» Analytical Vignette 3.13. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in E♭ (c. 1772)

The “trimodular” design of J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in E♭ (without opus number) is unusual by any standard (see Table 3.5).55 Although not a trimodular concerto per se, this highly deformational solo exposition can be interpreted as formal hybrid between the standard TMB and the form of a modulatory R1. As discussed above, modulatory R1s introduce the S-theme in the subordinate key, creating a generic obligation to return to the home key. Generally speaking, R1s can achieve this tonal return either by presenting an RT module, or by “collapsing” the theme back into the tonic. If an RT arises, it will normally articulate a second MC effect, preceding either a closing theme in the tonic or a return of the main theme (Pret).

Given than solo expositions are expected to modulate to the subordinate key— and, of course, remain in that key—neither the RT module nor the “collapse” procedure

55 This work is listed as C75 in Ernest Warburton’s thematic catalogue of J.C. Bach’s works. See Warburton, The Collected Works of Johann Christian Bach, vol. 48, part 1 (New York: Garland, 1999). Alternatively, see Wolff and Roe’s entry on J.C. Bach in Grove Music Online. 147

are appropriate to S1. However, the Keyboard Concerto in E♭ is extraordinary in this respect. In this piece, the post TR-space first suggests a standard TMB, dissolving into

TR rhetoric (as TM2) and igniting a dominant lock in the key of dominant (mm. 83–88).

At this point, one would expect to hear a second MC in that key, leading to a TM3 that will eventually attain the EEC in the subordinate key. Instead, the dominant lock resolves into its local tonic (m. 89), seemingly bypassing the second MC effect.

However, a conspicuous chordal seventh (A♭) immediately “reactivates” this B♭- major chord as a V7 of E♭, igniting another dominant lock in the home key. After a few measures, the passage finally brings back the tonic with a clear I:PAC in m. 95, mimicking the “collapse” procedure of modulatory R1s. This extraordinary return to the home key conflicts with one of the most basic principles of sonata expositions, introducing a tonal “problem” that will need to be resolved later in S1.

By now, it is clear that S1 has abandoned the TMB design in favor of a formal model reminiscent of Haydn’s modulatory R1s (cf. Figure 3.1c). Since this is obviously not an R1, the music begins to “correct” the unwarranted tonal collapse by introducing a new section with a transitional function. This section now works as a “new S1:\TR,” bringing the music back into the dominant key and reaching a V:HC MC in m. 107. One can think of this section as analogous to the “RT” module of a ternary R1 (cf. Figure

3.1a), articulating a second MC in the correct local key. However, one can alternatively interpret this as the belated second MC of a (highly irregular) TMB. The following module (mm. 108–119) could thus be interpreted as supplying the “missing” TM3, finally reaching the EEC in m. 118. 148

The Type 5-Type 3 Concerto Merger

Mendelssohn is often credited with standardizing the Type 3 sonata as the de facto formal design for concerto first movements, popularizing the form through his well- known second-generation concertos. While this is true, previous composers had already conceived other alternatives to the “ritornello-solo” design.56 An entire generation before

Mendelssohn, J.C. Bach was already experimenting with new ways of challenging the limits of the Type 5 prototype, merging, as it were, its sections into a more compact unit.

The resulting form is, in several ways, reminiscent of the Type 3 sonata, and one can find it in the following two concertos for keyboard.

» Analytical Vignette 3.14. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in G, Op. 1 No. 4 (1763)

Since they still rely on ritornello-solo alternations, at a first glance the Keyboard

Concertos op. 1 nos. 4 and 6 seem to conform to the Type 5 concerto model. However, at a larger scale, one can see how these movements are actually variants of the Type 3 sonata, “merging” the sections of the Type 5 concerto into a standard sonata movement.

Figure 3.2 illustrates the form of Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in G, op. 1 no. 4, in relation to the sections of a Type 3 sonata. The orchestra launches the movement with what initially sounds like a normative R1: the P-theme in the tonic (mm. 1–14), followed by a transition that eventually articulates a I:HC MC in m. 24.

56 In this connection, see chapter 4 for my discussion of “The ‘Concertante’ Form,” as well as the addendum (“Spohr’s pre-Mendelssohnian Type 3 Concerto”). 149

Figure 3.2. Formal Diagram of J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in G, Op. 1 No. 4

Following this MC, one would expect the orchestra to unfold the rest of R1, presenting either a caesura fill or the S-theme in the tonic. Instead, the soloist steps in, introducing a two-measure arpeggio in the right hand (mm. 24–25), followed by the S- theme in the dominant key (m. 26). Although still technically in the middle of R1, the soloist’s entrance signals the functional beginning of S1-space, continuing the section as a normative sonata exposition. In this context, the two-measure arpeggio takes on an otherwise incompatible formal-functional duality, expressing at the same time both caesura fill and solo Eingang.

Following the conclusion of the exposition, the orchestra introduces the customary pre-developmental R2 (m. 69), presenting the R1:\P-theme in the dominant and thus launching a second rotation. Shortly thereafter, the soloist again makes use of the two-measure Eingang—this time in the dominant key (mm. 78–79)—to step in and continue the developmental rotation, leading eventually to the structural VA in the tonic

(mm. 103–107). As one would expect, the recapitulation then begins with an orchestral restatement of the home-key R1:\P, launching the third and final rotation.

This recapitulation, however, will follow a slightly different formal path. Rather than waiting until the articulation of the MC, the soloist steps in prematurely, during the orchestra’s presentation of the P-theme, the end of which (m. 121) is then elided directly with the beginning of the S-theme—in the process omitting the two-measure solo 150

Eingang and completely bypassing TR. The result is an even more compressed recapitulation, taking the R3–S3 recapitulatory merger to a new extreme.

» Analytical Vignette 3.15. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in D, Op. 1 No. 6 (1763)

The formal design of J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in D, op. 1 no. 6, is virtually identical to that of op. 1 no. 4. In both pieces the soloist steps in “prematurely,” launching

S1 in the middle of R1. In this case, however, the “S-theme” that the soloist introduces in m. 14 does not attain clear cadential closure. Instead, it reactivates TR-rhetoric, leading to a V:HC MC in m. 28. Retrospectively, this MC clarifies the previous passage as the first two modules of a TMB, reinterpreting the original “S-theme” as TM1 ⇒ TM2 (see Figure

3.3). From this perspective, the new module that begins in m. 29 would then function as

TM3, introducing—in Bach’s typical manner—a contrasting theme that becomes the DE.

Figure 3.3. Formal Diagram of J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in D, Op. 1 No. 6

As in op. 1 no. 4, Bach takes advantage of this “compressed” design to abbreviate the recapitulation still further, now omitting the entire TR and TM1 modules. In their place, the soloist introduces TM2 directly following the orchestral P-theme (I:PAC, m.

74). As in the exposition, this module launches a dominant lock (mm. 78–80) that articulates a I:HC MC, preparing the home-key TM3 in m. 85. The recapitulation thus

“loses” one of the exposition’s two MCs, reshaping the anticipated TMB into a two-part design. 151

Off-tonic Launch of the Recapitulatory Rotation (I)

Hearing an off-tonic P around the development-recapitulation juncture generally implies a series of hermeneutic challenges. An off-tonic P-idea at this location can potentially have several different aural effects, disturbing the normal expectation for a home-key recapitulatory P. While relatively versatile, one can still classify these instances in two broad formal-tonal categories. On the one hand, the appearance of an off-tonic P-theme towards the end of the development generally signals a false start of the recapitulation, postponing the beginning of the real recapitulation until the arrival the home-key P.57

On the other hand, rather than anticipating a home-key P-theme, an off-tonic P can in fact begin the recapitulatory rotation proper. In some cases, one could initially interpret the appearance of the off-tonic P as a false recapitulation, raising expectations for the arrival of the “real” home-key P-theme. However, if this “wrong-key” P continues to unfold the ongoing rotation with correspondence measures, it may eventually bypass the arrival of the expected home-key P-theme. In such situations, the recapitulatory P- theme sounds entirely in a non-tonic key, entrusting TR with the task of bringing back the home key.

Since off-tonic recapitulations normally reinstate the tonic somewhere within TR, the arrival of the structural dominant—instead of normatively emerging at the end of the development—is now moved later within the recapitulation, with the articulation of the

57 See Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 260–280, for more on off-tonic recapitulatory beginnings and other non-normative openings of the recapitulatory rotation. See also L. Poundie Burstein, “The Off- Tonic Return in Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major, Op. 58, and Other Works,” Music Analysis 24, no. 3 (2005). 152

I:HC MC. Because of this, one could retrospectively reinterpret the previous P and TR modules as part of the development, obscuring the boundary between the end of the development and the beginning of the recapitulation. In this sense, there is only a subtle distinction between off-tonic recapitulatory openings and the Type 2 (Subtype E) concerto model.

» Analytical Vignette 3.16. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in E♭, Op. 14 (c. 1776)

Although not as common as the Type 2 prototype, one can find off-tonic recapitulatory openings in a few pieces by early-Romantic composers, particularly in some of Louis Spohr’s violin concertos.58 A rare Classical-period precedent is Bach’s

Keyboard Concerto in E♭, op. 14, one of only two late-eighteenth century concertos to employ this procedure.59 For this reason, one can think of op. 14—as well as his brother’s

Wq. 47—as exceptional precedents to an otherwise exclusively Romantic concerto practice.

J.C. Bach’s concerto is also unusual in other respects. For example, the R2 section

(mm. 96–129) is fully rotational, following closely the same modular organization as R1

(see Table 3.6). This unusual formal choice—already archaic by Bach’s time—extends the pre-developmental space considerably, postponing the arrival of the development proper. To compensate, S2 immediately launches into developmental activity, replacing

58 Spohr favored the key of the (diatonic or chromatically altered) submediant for his off-tonic recapitulations, employing it in his Violin Concertos Nos. 2 in d, op. 2 (vi, b); 6 in g, op. 28 (♮vi, e); and 7 in e, op. 38 (VI, C). He also employed the key of the subdominant in his Violin Concerto No. 10 in A, op. 62 (IV, D). So far as I am aware, outside of Spohr’s oeuvre the only piece to employ this procedure is Ferdinand Ries’s Piano Concerto in A♭, op. 151 (1826), in which the recapitulation begins in the unusual key of ♭III (C♭). 59 The other is C.P.E. Bach’s Double Concerto for Harpsichord and Fortepiano in E♭, Wq. 47 (1788). See my discussion below (Analytical Vignette 3.21). 153 the more usual “episodic” beginning with two sequential modules: a descending-thirds progression (mm. 130–141) and a brief descending-fifths sequence (mm. 142–145).

The soloist finally reaches a dominant in the key of the mediant (g, mm. 149–

154), preparing the presentation of a new theme in that key (m. 155). At this point the most likely expectation is to hear this theme reach a iii:PAC followed by a retransition, introducing the home-key dominant and thus preparing the arrival of the recapitulation.

However, the theme is extended by persistent avoidance of cadential closure, and—when the iii:PAC finally arrives—the orchestra immediately launches the recapitulatory rotation (R3), omitting the retransition altogether.

Retrospectively, one can understand these previous cadential evasions as motivating the orchestra to skip the retransition entirely, forcing it, as it were, to launch

R1:\P in the “wrong” key of G minor. Initially, it is not clear whether this is already the recapitulatory space or an extension of the development. The role of R3 as the actual recapitulatory launch is retrospectively clarified when the soloist proceeds to introduce the R1:\S-theme in the tonic (m. 196), rather than restate R1:\P in home key.

III. Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach

Mendelssohn’s connection with the music of C.P.E. Bach is also a consequence of his affiliation with Sarah Levy (née Itzig, 1761–1854), his great aunt on his mother’s side. An accomplished keyboardist—having studied with Wilhelm Friedemann Bach during the 1770s—and an avid supporter of the arts, she actively promoted the music of 154 the Bach family, which was regularly performed in her musical salons.60 In particular, she became a patron of C.P.E. Bach, commissioning and performing his works, and organizing his Nachlass after his death in 1788.61

For my present purposes, however, the most relevant connection between Levy and C.P.E. Bach is the fact that she purchased subscriptions to published editions of his music.62 It is a well-documented fact that Levy subscribed to the first edition of C.P.E.

Bach’s Sei concerti per il cembalo concertato, Wq. 43 nos. 1–6.63 The Sei Concerti are a series of six “Hamburg” concertos for harpsichord, composed between 1770 and 1772 and published as a single set in 1772.64 These concertos are particularly significant for their exhibiting of formal and stylistic features that contrast with C.P.E. Bach’s earlier concerto practices. The Sei Concerti’s unusual musical characteristics reappear in some of Mendelssohn’s concertos, making them a probable influence on his compositional style.

60 See Peter Wollny, “Sarah Levy and the Making of Musical Taste in Berlin,” The Musical Quarterly 77, no. 4 (1993): 651–652; and Todd, A Life in Music, 10–11. The Mendelssohn household also hosted musical salons frequently, first by Mendelssohn’s mother Lea and later by his sister Fanny. See Ralph Wehner, “Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdys Verhältnis zum musikalischen Salon seiner Zeit,” in Hans- Günter Klein (ed.), Die Musikveranstaltungen bei den Mendelssohns – Ein ‘musikalischer Salon’?: die Referate des Symposions am 2. September 2006 in Leipzig (Leipzig: Mendelssohn-Haus, 2006). 61 Todd, A Life in Music, 10–11. 62 At the time, this was a common means of acquiring musical scores. For a list of her subscriptions, see Wollny, “Sarah Levy,” 670. Notice how these reflect her musical interests, particularly in the works of C.P.E. and J.C. Bach. 63 See Douglass Lee (ed.), “Sei concerti per il cembalo concertato,” in Robert D. Levin (ed.), Carl Phillip Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works, Series III, Vol. 8 (Los Altos, CA: Packard Humanities Institute, 2005), xii–xiii. Following this edition, I will refer to C.P.E. Bach’s concertos by the older Wotquenne (Wq.) numbers, rather than those of the Helm (H.) catalogue.

64 The Hamburg concertos include the Concerto in E♭, Wq. 41 (1769), the Concerto in F, Wq. 42 (1770), the Sei concerti, Wq. 43 nos. 1–6 (1770–1772), the Concerto in G, Wq. 44 (1778), the Concerto in D, Wq. 45 (1778), and the Double Concerto in E♭ for Harpsichord and Fortepiano, Wq. 47 (1788). 155

So far as I am aware, there is no historical evidence of the young Mendelssohn ever having studied or performed the Sei Concerti. However, it seems probable that he had access to his great aunt’s copy of the score. I posit that the “missing link” between

C.P.E. Bach’s “Hamburg” concertos and Mendelssohn’s own lies precisely in Sarah

Levy. The nature of her relationship with her grandnephew—as well as her personal connection with C.P.E. Bach—seems to support this hypothesis.

Levy’s relationship with Mendelssohn was sufficiently close for her to pass on to him the autograph of Haydn’s Heiligmesse, Hob. XXII:10, which she had owned since

1796.65 Levy also commissioned C.P.E. Bach’s last concerto—the Double Concerto in E♭ for Harpsichord and Fortepiano, Wq. 47 (1788)—which she performed with one of her sisters right before the composer’s death in 1788.66 Likewise, she owned several other manuscripts of his music (including several concertos),67 some of which she obtained through Mendelssohn’s father Abraham.68 All of this suggests that the young

Mendelssohn had significant exposure and easy access to the music of C.P.E. Bach.

65 See Todd, A life in Music, 10. Levy may also have given Mendelssohn the handwritten score of J.S. Bach’s St. Matthew Passion in 1823. This is, however, still subject to debate, since some sources cite Mendelssohn’s grandmother Bella Salomon (Sarah Levy’s sister) as the donor of a copy (not an autograph) of Bach’s Passion in February 1824. See Nancy B. Reich, “The Power of Class: Fanny Hensel,” in R. Larry Todd (ed.), Mendelssohn and his World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 89–90. See also Todd, “Die Matthäuspassion: Widerhall und Wirkung in Mendelsohns Musik,” in Anselm Hartinger, Christop Wolff, and Peter Wollny (eds.), “Zu groß, zu unerreichbar”: Bach-Rezeption im Zeitalter Mendelssohns und Schumanns (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 2007), 79ff. 66 Todd, A Life in Music, 11. 67 For a list of the musical scores owned by Sarah Levy, see the “Zelter Catalog” in Wollny, “Sarah Levy,” 666–669. 68 See Rachel Wade, “The Keyboard Concertos of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: Sources and Style” (PhD diss., New York University, 1979), 110–111, reprinted as The Keyboard Concertos of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1981). 156

More relevant to this discussion, though, are the musical correspondences that suggest Mendelssohn studied the Sei Concerti, incorporating some of their features into his own music.69 The following section will explore some formal features of the Sei

Concerti—as well as some of the other “Hamburg” concertos—that may have influenced

Mendelssohn and his contemporaries. I will focus on three features in particular: the connecting link between the first and second movements, the false ritornello effect, and— as in my above discussion of J.C. Bach—the off-tonic opening of the recapitulatory rotation.

The Connecting Link between the First and Second Movements

The most obviously unique feature of the Sei Concerti is the way in which their first movements end. Rather than closing with an authentic cadence, they lead into the following movement by a continuous musical flow. This innovative compositional practice is frequently attributed to Mendelssohn, commonly believed to have been employed for the first time in his three late concertos—the Piano Concertos Nos. 1 in g, op. 25, and 2 in d, op. 40, and the Violin Concerto in e, op. 64.70

69 In this connection, William Henry Hadow has also suggested a formal connection between Mendelssohn’s Elijah, Op. 70 (1846), and C.P.E. Bach’s oratorio Die Israeliten in der Wüste, Wq. 238 (1769), arguing for “the resemblance of [their] plan[s].” See William Henry Hadow, “Bach, Karl Philipp Emanuel,” in Hugh Chisholm (ed.), Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th ed. Vol. 3 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911), 130–131. 70 Lindeman, for example, considers these “transitions between movements” one of the “ground- breaking and influential characteristics” of Mendelssohn’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in g, op. 25. See Structural Novelty, 84. 157

» Analytical Vignette 3.17. C.P.E. Bach’s Sei Concerti – Linking Passages between the First and Second Movements

In Mendelssohn’s late piano concertos, the end of the first movement prepares the arrival of the second by introducing the dominant-seventh chord of the new key.

Meanwhile, the Violin Concerto op. 64 prepares the second movement via a common tone, holding the pitch G in the bassoon (e: 3 becomes C: 5). For the most part, the Sei

Concerti follow the same connecting strategies as Mendelssohn’s late piano concertos, introducing the dominant chord of the next movement.71

With respect to the keys of the second movements, the Sei Concerti are slightly more variable than Mendelssohn’s late concertos, all of which use the diatonic (as in op.

40 and op. 64) or chromatically altered (op. 25) submediant. While Bach also uses the submediant in the second movement of Wq. 43 no. 3 in E♭, he replaced the diatonic C minor with its parallel major (VI♮). So far as I am aware, Bach’s Double Concerto in E♭,

Wq. 47, is the only other piece that employs this unusual modal alteration, making this an exclusive feature of his personal concerto practice.

Bach employs an even more unusual key choice in the second movements of Wq.

43 nos. 2 in D and 6 in C, opting for the key of the supertonic (respectively e and d). In the latter—as in Wq. 43 no. 3—the first movement brings back the soloist after the last ritornello (R4), introducing a short linking passage that concludes with an HC in the following key. The former, on the other hand, replaces the complete dominant chord with the single pitch D♯ as leading tone of the following key.

71 An exception is Wq. 42 no. 4 in c. See the relevant discussion in Analytical Vignette 2.2. 158

Since the second movement of Wq. 43 no. 1 in F is in the tonic minor, Bach simply elides the final cadence of the Allegro’s R4 (I:PAC) with the beginning of the

Adagio, resulting in a seamless transition between these two movements. The case of

Wq. 43 no. 5 in G, on the contrary, is considerably more intricate. The first-movement

Presto is preceded by a six-measure Adagio introduction.72 The movement ends with an arpeggiation of the G-major tonic. This breaks off abruptly, however, in medias res on 5

(D), suggesting that the movement is still ongoing. At this point, the Adagio surprisingly reintroduces the first movement’s slow introduction—a formal non sequitur—that briefly suggests circularity, or rebeginning.

The False-Ritornello Effect

A listener acquainted with Bach’s concertos will probably be familiar with some of his preferred strategies for recapitulatory “deception,” such as the “early” or “false” recapitulations discussed above.73 Along the same lines, the “false-ritornello effect” refers to the apparent (but in the end deceptive) beginning of a ritornello section. The orchestra creates this effect by launching the R1:\P-theme somewhere within a solo section—either S1, S2, or S3—giving the impression a new ritornello has begun. In these

72 Although quite rare, eighteenth-century composers sporadically employed slow introductions in some of their concerto movements. Besides Wq. 43 No. 5, one can mention other examples such as C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto in E♭, Wq. 41 (see addendum below), and Jan Ladislav Dussek’s Piano Concerto in C, op. 29 (1795). Along the same lines, in W.A. Mozart’s “Turkish” Violin Concerto, No. 5 in A, K. 219 (1775), the slow introduction (marked adagio) comes after the orchestra has finished presenting the first ritornello (allegro aperto), “introducing” only S1, rather than the whole allegro. Slow introductions became more common in the early-nineteenth century, particularly in the concertos of Louis Spohr. See his Violin Concertos No. 3 in C, op. 7 (1806), No. 10 in A, op. 62 (1810); No. 11 in G, op. 70 (1825); No. 12 in A, op. 79 (1828, also known as Violin Concertino No. 1); and No. 13 in E, op. 92 (1835, a.k.a. Violin Concertino No. 2). See also Ferdinand Ries’s Piano Concerto No. 7 in a, op. 132 (1823). 73 See my previous discussions of C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concertos in D, Wq. 43 No. 2 and in G, W. 44 (Analytical Vignettes 2.7–9) for examples of early and false recapitulations. 159 cases, the soloist steps in and halts the progress of the ritornello, bringing the music back to the previous solo section.

Hypothetically speaking, the false-ritornello effect could occur at any point within the form. However, not every intrusion of the R1:\P-theme creates a false-ritornello effect. The orchestral interjection must be substantial enough to convey the impression of a new ritornello starting to unfold. This is distinct form an R1:\P as idée fixe or “Wild

Card,”74 which will not “deceive” the listener into hearing the beginning of a “real” ritornello.

» Analytical Vignette 3.18. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in E♭, Wq. 43 No. 3 (1771–72)

In Wq. 43 no. 3 in E♭, Bach employs the false-ritornello effect towards the end of

S1, suggesting the launch of a “false” pre-developmental R2. The orchestra introduces the R1:\P-theme in the dominant (B♭) half way through S1:\S-space (m. 47), creating the impression that the R2 section is starting prematurely; that is, before the soloist has had the opportunity to articulate a clear V:PAC (see Example 3.10). For this reason, the soloist seems to “reject” the orchestra’s intrusion, stepping back in before the orchestra can state the entire R1:\P-theme.

For a few measures the orchestra and the soloist seem to compete for control of the section. The former attempts to state the rest of R1:\P, while the latter simply remains in S1, deploying what one could reasonably interpret as a display episode. By m. 53, the soloist regains complete control of the section and proceeds with the DE until the V:PAC

74 See Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 482–483. 160 in m. 54. Still, rather than letting the orchestra launch R2, the soloist simply continues playing, reaching a second V:PAC in m. 59. In retrospect, one can understand this five- measure passage as compensating for the orchestra’s premature intrusion, letting the soloist articulate two unambiguous V:PACs before opportunely proceeding with the

“real” R2.

» Analytical Vignette 3.19. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in C, Wq. 43 No. 6 (1771–72)

Like most of C.P.E. Bach’s concertos, Wq. 43 no. 6 in C is unusual in many respects. As far as I am aware, this piece’s first ritornello is the only example of a modulating R1 that does not transition back to the home key. 75 Additionally, the soloist introduces, in S1, a new S1:\S-theme and a DE within the R1:\S-theme (see Table 3.7).

Put differently, the bulk of the new post-MC material ends up sandwiched, as it were, within R1:\S1.1 and R1:\S1.2.

More relevant to this discussion, though, is the false-ritornello effect that occurs at the beginning of the recapitulation. This section begins with a standard R1:\P in the tonic—as part of an R3–S3 merger—leading to a TR that articulates a I:HC MC in m.

134. Rather than moving on to the expected S-theme, the soloist extends TR space for an additional sixteen measures, reaching another I:HC MC in m. 150. But Bach frustrates this expectation still further by following this MC not with the S-theme proper but another orchestral reiteration of the R1:\P-theme in the tonic (m. 151).

75 The first ritornello’s four-measure R1:\C—an arpeggiation of the local G-major tonic (mm. 24– 27)—closes the section firmly in the dominant key. The soloist then introduces S1 directly via the normative home-key R1:\P, omitting any sort of retransitional link. 161

This tutti restatement of the R1:\P-theme produces a rare “double-recapitulation” effect, throwing into question the previous R3–S3 merger as the actual recapitulatory launch (m. 123–130). But the false ritornello rapidly breaks down into sequential fragments of the original P-idea, before finally dissolving into the long-awaited R1:\S- theme (m. 159). This entire passage (mm. 123–158) is thus an unusual example of a false recapitulatory R3—paradoxically occurring within the already ongoing R3 space— producing a sort of “echo” of the previous recapitulatory launch.

Off-tonic Launch of the Recapitulatory Rotation (II)

This concept is discussed above in connection with J.C. Bach. However, given

C.P.E. Bach’s penchant for designing concerto movements following the Subtype-D prototype, it is worth further exploration in the context of this idiosyncratic formal model.

In Subtype D concertos, the second “developmental” ritornello (R2.2) can easily be mistaken for an off-tonic recapitulation. In fact, in a first hearing of a concerto movement it is impossible to distinguish an R2.2 from an off-tonic R3. The difference only becomes clear if the orchestra later introduces the R1:\P-theme in the tonic.

» Analytical Vignette 3.20. C.P.E. Bach –Harpsichord Concerto in F, Wq. 43 No. 1 (1771–72)

With hindsight, one can see Wq. 43 no. 1 in F as clearly a Subtype-D concerto.

However, when the R1:\P-theme first appears in the orchestra (m. 123), one can momentarily hear it as the beginning of the “wrong key” submediant recapitulation (see

Example 3.11). At first, this R2.2 is indistinguishable from an off-tonic R3, and even the entrance of the soloist in m. 127 does not shed light on this distinction. It is not until the 162 orchestra launches the R1:\P-theme in the tonic (m. 131) that the real recapitulatory R3 begins, thus clarifying the role of the previous section as an R2.2–S2.2 merger.

» Analytical Vignette 3.21. C.P.E. Bach – Double Concerto for Harpsichord and Fortepiano in E♭, Wq. 47 (1788)

Like the previous example, Bach’s Double Concerto in E♭, Wq. 47, presents a tutti R1:\P in the submediant (m. 140) that, at first glance, could be functioning as either

R2.2 or an off-tonic R3 (see Table 3.8). However, in this case the R1:\S-theme follows the I:HC in m. 157, clarifying the role of the previous section as an off-tonic R3–S3 merger and the cadence as a I:HC MC. Strangely enough, this S-theme is presented in the key of the dominant (B♭), as it first appeared in R1, requiring the movement to transition back to the tonic.

To achieve this, the music reopens the TR space (mm. 165–173), before dissolving into sequential material. Remarkably, this section is not entirely new, since it was first introduced in the development section as one of as the two “cores” (one for each soloist). Having reopened the developmental space, both soloists restate their respective

“cores” (mm. 173–181 and 182–190) before reaching a dominant lock in the home key

(mm. 191–201). Rather than articulating an MC effect, the dominant lock simply dissolves into the home-key S1:\S-theme (mm. 202–218), allowing the recapitulation to resume its normal rotational course. In retrospect, one can hear how this section results, in Rosen’s terms, in a “secondary development section.” 76

76 See Rosen, Sonata Forms, 289. 163

Addendum: A Discussion of C.P.E. Bach’s First “Hamburg” Concerto

Although not one of the Sei Concerti, C.P.E. Bach’s first “Hamburg” concerto in

E♭, Wq. 41, is still worthy of consideration. At first glance, this piece seems archaic, stylistically less aligned with Bach’s “Hamburg” concertos than with his older “Berlin” concertos. From a formal perspective, however, one could say this concerto was ahead of its time. For this reason, I conclude this chapter by exploring the features that make this work so exceptional.

» Analytical Vignette 3.22. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in E♭, Wq. 41 (1769)

The concerto’s most notable formal feature is its slow introduction. As mentioned above, this is extremely rare in concerto movements, in contrast to its frequency in symphonic movements.77 This section also features a substantial solo intervention— considerably more elaborate than the customary basso continuo—upstaging the standard entrance of the soloist after the end of R1. As far as I am aware, this type of solo intervention would not occur again until 1777, when Mozart employed it—in the same key—in his Piano Concerto “Jeunehomme,” K. 271.

Another significant feature of Wq. 41 is the unusual TMB design of the first solo section. As mentioned above, the TMB was a staple of both J.C. Bach’s and Mozart’s concerto practices. Yet, in this piece the TMB occurs in a particularly “un-Mozartian” fashion. The beginning of S1 follows the referential plan established by R1, almost

77 See my previous discussion on C.P.E. Bach’s Wq. 43 no. 5 in G (Analytical Vignette 3.17). 164 verbatim, articulating a I:HC MC in m. 75 and leading into the R1:\S-theme in the dominant key (B♭). A few measures later (c. m. 81), the music becomes unstable and progressively dissolves into TR rhetoric, motivating another MC (now in the dominant key) in m. 87. At this point, it seems that the exposition is employing a TMB strategy, in which the R1:\S-theme functions as TM1 and the unstable TR passage as TM2. However, what follows is not a thematically new TM3 module, but the restatement of the R1:\S- theme, now introduced in the dominant of the dominant (F).

This apparently redundant repetition has two noteworthy tonal and formal effects.

First, it suggests the exposition’s entrance into a “modular loop,” in which the process just described could—hypothetically speaking—repeat indefinitely in an uninterrupted motion of ascending fifths. Second, the ascending-fifth relation between TM1 and TM3— i.e., between the first and second R1:\S-themes—is analogous to the P- and S-themes of a normative modulatory (in this context “monothematic”) exposition.

This bizarre “monothematic-TMB effect” makes this a truly unique solo exposition, combining contrasting formal features not normally found in the composer’s other concertos. On the one hand, it features a unique manifestation of the monothematic- exposition technique, quite different from Haydn’s normal practice—which is monothematic between P and S, but rarely within S. On the other, it incorporates J.C.

Bach’s (and Mozart’s) TMB procedure, producing one of the earliest examples of this

(soon-to-be) widespread formal design. In this sense, this work is adventurous and forward-looking, and one of C.P.E. Bach’s most remarkable concertos. 165

CHAPTER FOUR

Mendelssohn’s Concertos and the Concerto Forms at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century

Composers in the nineteenth century were cognizant of their colleagues’ efforts in the genre, and a great deal of cross-fertilization occurred. While maintaining certain aspects of the Mozartian approach on the one hand (particularly in the early part of the century), the composers also began to expand a number of the basic parameters of the form. This expansion . . . precipitated a renegotiation of the terms of the engagement between the soloist and the orchestra. Their responses to these challenges are manifested in the changing approaches to the concerto throughout the century. —Stephan Lindeman 1

I. Mendelssohn’s Concerto Practice

The previous two chapters addressed the status quo of concerto forms in the late- eighteenth century, focusing on the various manifestations of the form and the non-

Mozartian innovations that likely influenced early-nineteenth-century composers. This chapter will now discuss Mendelssohn’s concertos as a case study of early-Romantic form, centering on his idiosyncratic treatment of the Type 5 (and Type 3) concerto. The chapter will also focus on the connection between Mendelssohn’s innovations and their eighteenth-century precedents, as well as describing other formal procedures conceived and developed by his contemporaries.

For this purpose, I organize the chapter in two main sections. The first describes some of the standard formal procedures of early-Romantic concerto composition, all of

1 Stephan Lindeman, “The Nineteenth-Century Piano Concerto,” in Simon P. Keefe (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Concerto (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 93–94. 166 which Mendelssohn either developed or refined in his concertos. These are formal compression, evolution of the nineteenth-century first ritornello, the developmental thematic episode, and the quasi-thematic caesura fill. The second addresses some procedures that, while not present in Mendelssohn’s concertos, were still representative of the concerto form at the turn of the nineteenth century. I refer to the “concertante” form and the early-Romantic Type 2 model. Finally, a brief addendum will discuss

Spohr’s Clarinet Concerto No. 1 in c, op. 26, a likely precedent for Mendelssohn’s Type

3 concertos.

Formal Compression

Felix Mendelssohn’s musical persona is as intriguing as it is impressive. By the time he was a teenager, he had already consolidated his reputation as a first-class composer and, by 1825, completed and/or published several large-scale works.2 His first attempts at the concerto genre—his “first-generation concertos”—show Mendelssohn’s exceptional compositional proficiency at the genre. Apart from being extraordinary achievements for a juvenile composer, his early concertos reveal his thorough awareness of the generic formal patterns of his time. It is therefore surprising that he did not publish any original works in the concerto-concertante genre until 1833, when he revised and published his Piano Concerto “No. 1” in g, op. 25. 3

2 See, for example, his early Singspiele and his Symphony No. 1 in c, op. 11 (1824). For an in- depth description of Mendelssohn’s early compositional idiosyncrasies, see Peter Ward Jones, “Mendelssohn’s First Composition,” in The Mendelssohns: Their Music in History, ed. John Michael Cooper and Julie D. Prandi (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002). For a detailed description of his compositional process, see John Michael Cooper, Mendelssohn’s ‘Italian’ Symphony (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003). 3 See Marian Wilson, “Felix Mendelssohn’s Works for Solo Piano and Orchestra: Sources and Composition” (PhD diss., Florida State University, 1993), 113. Although commonly referred to as the 167

One can view Mendelssohn’s reluctance to publish his early concertos as a symptom of his dissatisfaction with the standardized paradigms of early-nineteenth- century concerto form. This dissatisfaction may explain why the composer considered it necessary to reexamine, and eventually renovate, his approach to concerto form. Like many of his contemporaries, Mendelssohn made active efforts to accomplish this goal.

The period between 1824 and 1831, for example, mark a phase of compositional revision and exploration that gave rise to his Piano Concerto op 25 and the rest of his groundbreaking “second-generation” concertos. 4

» Analytical Vignette 4.1. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in E, MWV O 5 (1823)

The case of his Concerto for Two Pianos in E, MWV O 5, is particularly elucidating in this respect. Even though he composed this piece in 1823 as birthday gift for his sister Fanny, he kept revising the work until 1829.5 This series of revisions demonstrates that he was never fully satisfied with the work, despite his continuing to perform and work towards improving it. Although he never “reached the point of

“Piano Concerto No. 1,” this is not Mendelssohn’s first concerto for piano and orchestra. The Concerto for Piano and String Orchestra in a, MWV O 2, predates op. 25 by nine years. 4 In this connection, see Marian Wilson Kimber’s discussions of Mendelssohn’s Piano Concerto “No. 2” in d, op. 40, in which she explores the composer’s compositional process and the relationship between this concerto and another late concertante piece, his Serenade and Allegro Giojoso, op. 43. See “Mendelssohn’s Second Piano Concerto, Op. 40, and the Origins of His Serenade and Allegro Giojoso, Op. 43,” Journal of Musicology 20, no. 3 (2003): 358–387; and “Mendelssohn’s Other Concerto: The Changing Reception of the Piano Concerto No. 2, Op. 40, in D Minor,” Journal of Musicological Research 29, nos. 2–3 (2010): 119–147. 5 See Stephan Lindeman, “Mendelssohn and Moscheles: Two Composers, Two Pianos, Two Scores, One Concerto,” The Musical Quarterly 83, no. 1 (1999): 51–74. 168 salvaging” it for publication, his habit of revising his concertos and exploring different compositional possibilities remained constant throughout his life.6

This piece exists today in two different primary sources: Mendelssohn’s original

(and revised) manuscript and Ignaz Moscheles’s hand-copied version of the score.7

Mendelssohn first wrote the former between September and October, 1823, with the intention of performing it with Fanny at one of his family’s soirées musicales. He performed the piece again six years later—alongside Moscheles—at a concert in London.

By this time, however, he had revised the piece significantly, removing and recomposing several passages.

Moscheles’s copy dates back to the piece’s original genesis and—as Lindeman posits—he likely copied it 1824 when he first met the young composer in Berlin. Except for some minor discrepancies, this copy shows the piece in its original version, predating

Mendelssohn’s revisions. For this reason, Moscheles’s copy has immense historical and musical value, enabling comparison with Mendelssohn’s revised manuscript and shedding light on his more mature compositional inclinations. In particular, the comparison shows how the composer’s approach to concerto form changed over time.

A significant revision can be found at the beginning of S1, where the composer removes all references to the R1:\P-theme, leaving only the florid, quasi-improvisatory

S1:\P (see Table 4.1). As a result, the R1:\P and S1:\P themes are clearly differentiated,

6 In this conection, see R. Larry Todd’s description of Mendelssohn’s unfinished Piano Concerto in E minor and its relation to other late concertante works, in “An Unfinished Piano Concerto by Mendelssohn,” Musical Quarterly 68, no. 1 (1982): 80–101. 7 Lindeman, “Mendelssohn and Moscheles,” 58. All other historical references to this piece are drawn from the same source, unless otherwise noted. 169 emphasizing the thematic independence of the soloists from the orchestra. As mentioned in chapter 2, this was originally an emblematic characteristic of concerto practice in

England, conspicuously present in works by early-Romantic British composers such as

Cramer and Field.8 It is possible that Mendelssohn learned this categorically non-

Mozartian feature from English musicians, or perhaps modified the piece in this way to could adjust it to the particular musical taste of London audiences.

By the time of Mendelssohn’s early concertos, Mozart’s first-ritornello formula had become obsolete. It was replaced by the modulatory three-part model, which— despite its origins in Haydn’s concertos—had become the first-level default for the first ritornello.9 Like his other first-generation concertos, Mendelssohn’s Two-Piano Concerto in E exhibits this “novel” R1 design. The piece also abandons the archaic pre- recapitulatory R2, in favor of the exposition-closing tutti. In addition, S2 works as a development section proper, lacking the “episodic” modules often found in other concertos of the time, including his Piano Concerto in a, MWV O 2, and the Double

Concerto for Violin and Piano in d, MWV O 4 (see below).

8 Nicholas Temperley takes the connection between Mendelssohn and English composers even further, arguing that the style which is generally known as ‘Mendelssohnian’ might more truly be called ‘English’. It was certainly no more than a common language, partly English in origin, shared by Mendelssohn and many of his English contemporaries. To this language Mendelssohn added many individual peculiarities, and it is only when these were imitated that we can point to his direct influence. See “Mendelssohn’s Influence on English Music,” Music & Letters 43, no. 3 (1962): 227–228. Also, cf. my discussion of Cramer’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in d, op. 16 (Analytical Vignette 2.3). 9 See my discussion of the early-nineteenth-century R1 models later in this chapter, as well as Haydn’s ternary R1s in chapter 2 (“Ternary R1: the ‘Rounded’ First Ritornello”). 170

Mendelssohn’s revised manuscript shows multiple crossed-out passages.10 In a few places, he provides—now in his more mature hand—newly composed musical ideas, as brief substitutions for removed sections. These substitutions do not increase the length of the piece. On the contrary, they are always shorter than the passages they replace.

They do not introduce any new thematic ideas, rather simply filling-in gaps to link the adjacent sections.

This practice shows how Mendelssohn’s concerto “ideals” and compositional priorities changed over time. While his early works show a growing interest in increasing the dimensions of his concerto movements, his revisions of this piece—as well as the evidence of his more mature works—shows his starting to prioritize formal compression over length. 11 In this respect, Mendelssohn may have been taking his cue from J.C.

Bach’s concertos, which consistently leave out substantial sections of the recapitulation.

Such recapitulatory compression became progressively more common during the first decades of the nineteenth century,12 and it is likely that the relatively small dimensions of

Mendelssohn’s late concertos are a direct result of the changing formal aesthetics of his time.

10 See Lindeman’s summary of these deletions in “Mendelssohn and Moscheles,” 64–65. 11 Mendelssohn progressively increased the length of his first-generation concerto movements, reaching no less than 601 measures in the first movement of his Concerto for Two Pianos in A♭, MWV O 6. By comparison, the Piano Concerto in g, op. 25, is only a modest 270 measures long. 12 Compressed recapitulations are frequent in early-nineteenth-century concerto first-movements, especially in several works by Carl Maria von Weber. Many of his concertos employ it in some way, from moderate to extreme in scope. See his Bassoon Concerto in F, op. 75 (1811), the Piano Concertos Nos. 1 in C, op. 11 (1810), and 2 in E♭, op. 32 (1812), and (in particular) the Clarinet Concertos Nos. 1 in f, op. 73 (1811), and 2 in E♭, op. 74 (1811). Along the same lines, Horton points out that John Field’s seven piano concertos also “tend towards recapitulatory truncation.” See Horton, “John Field and the Alternative History,” 61. 171

The Concerto for Two Pianos in E illustrates a clear instance of the tendency described above. In the original version, the recapitulation follows the same formal layout as the exposition, retracing each of its modules in the same order. However, the revised recapitulation omits various passages, making it considerable more concise than its expositional counterpart. A notable example of this tendency can be found on p. 55 of the original manuscript (see Figure 4.1), which includes ten of the twenty-six measures removed from the recapitulation. 13 Here, the twenty-year-old composer crosses out this unusual passage, replacing the entire TR with a six-measure link.

Figure 4.1. Mendelssohn’s Concerto for Two Pianos in E, MWV O 5, page 55 of the original manuscript. Deutsche Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Musikabteilung (D-B) Mus. ms. autogr. Mendelssohn Bartholdy, F. 15. [pianos I and II only]

In both the original and revised versions, the passage can be found in the exposition—both R1 and S1—between the end of the caesura fill (m. 123) and the beginning of S-theme (m. 133). Although the transition ends with a standard dominant lock in the subordinate key, the brief caesura fill introduces an unexpected tonicization of

13 This manuscript is now held by the Deutsche Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz. Karl-Heinz Köhler’s edition of the score is based on neither the original nor revised versions of the score, but rather an incongruous combination of the two. See Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Felix, “Konzert für zwei Klaviere und Orchester E-Dur,” ed. Karl-Heinz Köhler (Leipzig: Deutscher Verlag für Musik, 1961). 172

the lowered mediant (G♮), leading to a stable periodic passage that brings back the

“correct” dominant key (se Example 4.1).

Rather than functioning as the real S-theme, this passage functions as a bridge between the two main keys, introducing a fleeting third divider (G♮) that connects the tonic (E) with the subordinate key (B). Rather than possessing genuine thematic status, I posit that this passage is better interpreted as a “quasi-thematic” thematic expansion of the caesura fill. As discussed below, the “quasi-thematic caesura fill” is a staple of the early-Romantic concerto practice, and often found in Mendelssohn’s concertos. This practice could may have originated in similar caesura-fill expansions of the Classical practice, and specifically in Haydn’s concertos.14

Mendelssohn’s revision is substantial, removing—as J.C. Bach did decades earlier—the entire middle section of the recapitulation. Unmediated by TR, P and S now appear as two adjacent themes in the tonic, intertwined into a seamlessly unified composite theme. Since removing TR entails eliminating the MC, it results a continuous recapitulation. In this sense, the revised recapitulation is reminiscent of Haydn’s experiments with the continuous-exposition technique, a precedent for the growing inclination of early-Romantic composers to delay, truncate, or otherwise bypass the MC.

I see no evident rationale, specific to this piece, as to why Mendelssohn decided to remove such a substantial portion of the recapitulation. However, removing redundant, non-essential, or even problematic recapitulatory material had become typical of

Mendelssohn’s music in all genres. Thus, conjecturally one can posit that he was trying to

14 See my above discussion of Haydn’s “expanded caesura-fill,” as well as my discussion below of the “quasi-thematic caesura fill.” 173 develop a new musical convention that would reflect his own personal style, contrasting with the established compositional practices of his musical Zeitgeist. Mendelssohn would exploit this practice again, in much more extreme fashion, two years later in his Piano

Concerto No. 1 in g, op. 25.

» Analytical Vignette 4.2. Mendelssohn – Piano Concerto in g, Op. 25 (1831)

Mendelssohn’s op. 25 is often considered the first concerto movement to abandon the Type 5 model in favor of a Type 3 design. Ignoring the fact that this piece might not actually be the first to exhibit this transformation,15 one can reasonably argue that it is not actually a Type 3 concerto, but rather an expanded Type 1. This extraordinarily unusual concerto design epitomizes the concept of formal compression, taking it to an unprecedented level. Likewise, the absence of ritornello-solo alternations creates a seamless musical continuum, evading, postponing, or otherwise obscuring the normative boundaries between the sections of the form.

As Benedict Taylor points out, Moscheles’s op. 93 and Bennett’s op. 19 are likely based on the Type 1 design of Mendelssohn’s “first” piano concerto.16 His assertion that

“Mendelssohn’s Concerto No. 1 has no R2 but further lacks any distinction between solo and ritornello sections in its exposition”17 hints at the essential Type 1 feature of this piece. The fact that it lacks a clear R2—that is, a prominent orchestral closing section at

15 See my discussion below of Spohr’s Clarinet Concerto No. 1 in c, op. 26. 16 See my discussion of these concertos in chapter 2 (“Subtype F”). 17 Taylor, “Mutual Deformity,” 81. 174 the end of the exposition—makes it difficult to pinpoint where the exposition (S1) ends and the development (S2) begins.

The boundary between these two sections is doubly obscure, in the absence of a clear cadential confirmation of the subordinate key. The soloist evades the expected S- theme cadence (mm. 118–121), leading seamlessly into the display episode. Although the soloist engages in DE-activity, the orchestra reopens S-space by introducing repeated fragments of the main S-idea in the mediant key (B♭). Like Bennett’s Piano Concerto in f, op. 19, soloist and orchestra have now reached an impasse. As if they were “competing” for control of the space, the soloist pushes forward towards the DE, while the orchestra attempts to keep it within S-space.

The overlap between S and DE begins to disappear when the orchestra gradually abandons its persistent allusions to the S-idea. Having retaken control of DE, the soloist introduces a cadential dominant (m. 146) in preparation for the bravura PAC that will presumably bring S1 to an end. Although the soloist articulates an unequivocal bravura trill (m. 156), the orchestra disrupts it by interjecting rotationally inappropriate repeated references to the P0 Hauptmotiv, and the soloist is “forced” to bypass the expected PAC in the mediant, moving back into the tonic (157–164).

It would be reasonable to infer that, despite the lack of cadential closure, the end of the exposition (S1) has seamlessly transitioned into the development (S2). However, the orchestra continues to emphatically insist on expositional space, by bringing back (yet again) the thematic references to the main S-idea, now in the home key (mm. 169–172).

Having extended the DE space well beyond its usual boundaries, the soloist finally 175 concedes, letting the orchestra take control of the section and launch the recapitulation with a statement of the original P-prefix (m. 179).

The conspicuous absence of a development section is a clear indication of the

Type 1 status of this movement, demonstrating the composer’s recently acquired penchant for more concise formal units. The recapitulation also reflects this preference for concision, compressing the P, TR, and S modules into a continuous 24-measure unit.

This suggests that the normative retracing of the expositional rotation’s steps has now become undesirable, perhaps because the modulation to the subordinate key is no longer relevant. One can thus think of this passage as an extreme manifestation of the standard recapitulatory merger (R3⇒S3), avoiding the potential redundancy of a complete final rotation.

The Rise and Fall of the First Ritornello

On October 17, 1831, at the Odeon Hall in Munich, the then twenty-two-year-old

Felix Mendelssohn premiered his Piano Concerto No.1 in g, op. 25.18 Viewed in the light of the concertos of its time, op. 25 is revolutionary on many accounts. Its first movement begins as if in medias res, with a strenuous rising orchestral passage. Growing from silence, this short introductory gesture expands the tonic triad and reaches an emphatic half cadence in mm. 6–7. After this brief seven-measure crescendo, the soloist swiftly takes over and, unaccompanied, introduces a fast and markedly athematic new passage, concluding with the restatement of the previous half cadence in m. 19. The non-thematic

18 See Todd, A Life in Music, 249. 176 character of this passage—as well as its quasi-sequential quality—makes it seem somewhat out of place, even inappropriate, at this point in the movement.

From m. 20, the soloist introduces what I identify as the concerto’s primary theme

(mm. 20–37),19 declaring explicitly that the sonata process is now underway and thus implying that the piece has “omitted” the first ritornello. This seemingly trivial omission has important repercussions for the remainder of the movement. It implies that the normative Type-5 formal plan has been replaced by—or, more accurately, condensed into—a manifestation of the Type-3 sonata plan. Did Mendelssohn’s decision to omit this section of the form register with the audience at the Odeon Hall? Little did they know that it foreshadowed a significant transformation in the compositional design of first- movement concerto form.20

This “non-ritornello” paradigm sets a new compositional option for first- movement concerto form. Although the procedure was extremely rare in the 1830s, it became progressively more common in the following decades. In fact, Mendelssohn employed it again—albeit not in precisely the same manner—in his Piano Concerto “No.

2” in d, op. 40 (1837), and once more in his last concerto, the Violin Concerto in e, op. 64

(1845).

19 My interpretation of this section differs slightly from those of other analysts. Stephan Lindeman, for example, hears mm. 7–20 as P1 (the first module of the P-theme) and mm. 20–30 as P2, whereas I hear the former it as P0 (a preparatory gesture preceding the “real” P-theme) and the latter as P1 (see Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 86–87). See Lindeman, Structural Novelty, 88–92; and idem., “An Insular World of Romantic Isolation: Harmonic Digressions in the Early Nineteenth-Century Piano Concerto,” Ad Parnassum 4, no. 8 (2006). 20 Mendelssohn performed this concerto again in Berlin on November 15th, 1832. After this performance, the Berliner Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung published a review that referred to op. 25 as “a piano concerto in a wholly new form.” We can thus say that at least one contemporary critic noticed this extraordinary formal innovation. See Wilson, “Felix Mendelssohn’s Works for Solo Piano and Orchestra,” 109. 177

Shortly after the premiere of op. 25, Mendelssohn’s contemporaries also began to explore the Type 3 formal option in their own concertos, with a wide variety of outcomes. With few exceptions, Mendelssohn’s successors would later adopt this practice, to the extent that, by the mid-1850s, it had become the most prevalent formal procedure for concerto first-movements. This “fresh, provocative, and ultimately highly- influential new paradigm,” as Lindeman puts it,21 would pervade well into the twentieth century, as long as composers continued to write in sonata form.

This, however, raises an important question: why was this simple omission so revolutionary? Anyone well acquainted with the formal expectations of the time would have expected to hear a first ritornello at the beginning of the first movement, preceding the proper entrance of the soloist. This claim is justified by the fact that, until this moment, the first ritornello was, with virtually no exceptions, always present in concerto first-movements.22 This is equally true for Mendelssohn’s early “first-generation concertos” (1822–1824), as well as those of his predecessors and immediate contemporaries. The presence of R1 can still be viewed as a sine qua non of concerto movements of this period, remaining so until the “next generation” of Romantic composers gradually excised it from their compositional practices.

However, at the time Mendelssohn and his contemporaries composed their Type 5 concertos, the formal paradigms for R1 were far from uniform. Composers at the turn of the nineteenth century explored several contrasting manifestations of the first-movement concerto paradigm and, from a theoretical perspective, the idea of the concerto as a form

21 Lindeman, “An Insular World of Romantic Isolation,” 21. 22 For rare exceptions see section II of this chapter (“The ‘Concertante’ Form”). 178 was still undergoing constant revision and reinterpretation. Despite their obvious surface similarities, these pieces show a dramatic dialogue with—and, sometimes, radical deviation from—the generic expectations of late-eighteenth-century concerto form.

To be sure, one can mention certain borderline examples that seem to challenge the notion that R1 must necessarily precede the entrance of the soloist in late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century concerto movements. In a few cases—namely Mozart’s

Piano Concerto No. 9 in E♭, K. 271 (“Jeunehomme” 1777) and Beethoven’s Piano

Concerto No. 4 in G, op. 58 (1806)—the soloist briefly infiltrates the first ritornello to participate in the first statement of the R1:\P theme. The soloist has a somewhat more active role in Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5 in E♭, op. 73 (“Emperor” 1810), in which it plays a quasi-improvisatory passage during the concerto’s introduction.23

However, unlike Mendelssohn’s op. 25, these examples do have a distinct fully-fledged first ritornello, completely independent from the first solo section.

The reasons composers progressively abandoned the ritornello-solo model in favor of the Type 3 prototype are complex and depend significantly on the composer in question. However, the modern consensus among scholars follows Lindeman’s explanation that “one of the late-eighteenth-century concerto form’s most critical issues in the early nineteenth century” was the “problem of redundancy.”24 This hypothesis

23 As in the late Classical period, early-Romantic concertos with slow (or even “in-tempo”) introductions are extremely rare. However, as mentioned in chapter 3 (n. 72), Louis Spohr explored several contrasting ways to begin movements with a slow-tempo section. See his Violin Concertos No. 3 in C, op. 7, No. 10 in A, op. 62; No. 11 in G, op. 70; No. 12 in A, op. 79; and No. 13 in E, op. 92. See also Ferdinand Ries’s Piano Concerto No. 7 in a, op. 132 (1823). 24 See Stephan Lindeman, “The Works for Solo Instrument(s) and Orchestra,” in The Cambridge Companion to Mendelssohn, ed. Peter Mercer-Taylor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 118. 179 suggests that Mendelssohn and his contemporaries abandoned the Type 5 model because of its inherent thematic redundancy, given that both tutti and soloist “run over the same ground twice.” Thus, the logical (and perhaps predictable) solution to this problem was to

“cast aside the redundant aspect of double exposition form, providing a cogent, closely argued, single presentation of unified solo/tutti thematic material.”25

Mendelssohn’s decision to dispose of the first ritornello in his late concertos contrasts with his early compositional practices, given that his “first-generation concertos” (1822–1824) were all written in ritornello-solo form. However, it is worth noting that even his early first ritornellos differ significantly, both in their formal and tonal layouts, from the normative Mozartian Type 5 model. Although the form of the R1s at the turn of the nineteenth century admitted of considerable diversity, it tended to fall into one of three broad categories: the typically Mozartian non-modulatory binary model, the modulatory ternary model (particularly favored by Beethoven and others), and the modulatory ternary model, the standard form for Mendelssohn’s early R1s.

The non-modulatory ternary (or two-part) model is rhetorically identical to that of a symphonic sonata exposition, meaning that the four modules (P, TR, S, and C) are deployed in their regular order (see Figure 4.2a). Unlike a normative symphonic sonata exposition, however, this R1 remains in the tonic key throughout. The customary modulation to a secondary key is avoided, postponing the sonata process proper until the first solo section (S1), where the soloist will eventually state an S-theme in the “correct” subordinate key. This formal-tonal paradigm—present in virtually all of Mozart’s

25 Ibid. 180 concertos—serves as a rhetorical frame of reference (Anlage) for the rest of the movement, and particularly for the “larger exposition” (S1 + R2).26

Figures 4.2a–c. Early-Romantic First-Ritornello Formal Models

» Analytical Vignette 4.3. Mozart – Piano Concerto No. 23 in A, K. 488 (1786)

To illustrate this principle, Table 4.2 provides a formal-tonal analysis of one of

Mozart’s mature piano concertos, No. 23 in A major, K. 488 (i, R1 only). In this movement, an initial P-theme (a compound period, mm. 1–18) is followed by an independent TR that articulates a I:HC MC in m. 30. This non-modulatory transition, preparing the expected S-theme, concludes the first part of an orchestral exposition which, until this point, is indistinguishable from a normative symphonic sonata exposition.

26 As mentioned in chapter 3 (n. 39), among Mozart’s concertos, there are only three exceptions to the non-modulatory R1 paradigm: the Piano Concertos Nos. 11 in F, K. 413; 14 in E♭, K. 449; and 20 in d, K. 466. 181

The themes that follow (S1, mm. 31–46; and S2, mm. 47–62), however, are stated in the home key throughout, confirming the non-modulatory tonal layout of R1 and distinguishing it from that of a symphony. Here, as in all of Mozart’s concertos, the S- themes are followed by the Essential Expositional Closure (R1:\EEC, m. 62) in the tonic key, leading into a short C-theme (mm. 63–66) that anticipates the entrance of the soloist and the beginning of the S1 section (m. 67).

The Mozartian R1 model was by no means the only available formal option for opening ritornellos at the end of the eighteenth century. In fact, one can even interpret the

Mozartian model as a deformation of a much more prevalent compositional paradigm: the modulatory two-part R1 and its derivations. Most of Beethoven’s concertos, for example, have R1s that follow this model, in which the S-theme is launched in a key other than the tonic (usually unexpectedly). This was arguably his preferred formal option for R1s, employed in five of his seven concertos.27

From a generic perspective, the modulation in R1 creates a conflict of tonal expectations. As mentioned previously, the expectation for R1 is to accomplish an

R1:\EEC in the home key. However, launching the R1:\S-theme in a subordinate key deceptively suggests that the first ritornello will follow a normative (i.e., modulatory) sonata process (that is, accomplishing an R1:\EEC in a subordinate key). Although the subordinate-key R1:\S became progressively more frequent in post-Mozartian concertos,

27 This is true of the Triple Concerto in C (op. 56) and the Piano Concertos Nos. 1 in C (op. 15), 2 in B♭ (op. 19), 3 in c (op. 37), and 4 in G (op. 58). The Violin Concerto in D (op. 61) and the Piano Concerto No. 5 in E♭ “Emperor” (op. 73) follow the normative Mozartian practice, since their R1 S-themes remain entirely in the tonic. In these two cases, however, Beethoven compensates for the lack of tonal digression by using the “lights-out” effect (a sudden change to the minor mode, see Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 258–259). 182 the expectation for R1 to end in the tonic was still firmly established as a sine qua non of the concerto genre.28 Therefore, a modulating R1 downplayed this important generic expectation, undermining the “concerto-ness” of the movement by emphasizing instead its symphonic aspect. 29

The inclination to launch the S-theme in a secondary key can be understood as an ingrained predisposition to pursue a normative sonata process. In other words, this tonal choice can be interpreted as a tendency to imitate the generic expectations of a symphonic exposition, downplaying the non-modulatory aspect of the Mozartian first ritornello. As illustrated in Figure 4.2b, the customary solution to this generic conflict is to correct this tonal “misstep” en route—i.e., without an RT passage—either by repeating the same theme or by moving on to a contrasting S-theme (S2) in the home key.

I refer to this process as a “collapse,” alluding to the sense of tonal and thematic instability that causes the theme to “break down” at this point in the section.30 In these cases, the misdirected tonal trajectory destabilizes the theme, forcing it to get back on its right tonal track. The onset of the R1:\S-theme thus presents a problematic situation that

28 Examples of first ritornellos that end in a key other than the tonic are extremely rare. However, as I mentioned earlier, the R1 of C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto in C, Wq. 43 no. 6 (the last of his Sei Concerti) does end in the subordinate key. 29 The prioritization of the “concertante” over the “symphonic” remained an essential feature of concerto compositional practice throughout the early nineteenth century, and is prominent in Mendelssohn’s early experiments with the genre. This would remain virtually unchanged until Mendelssohn’s late practice—evidenced in his second-generation concertos—where he began to prioritize symphonic attributes in his concerto compositions. Many factors probably influenced this transformation— including the tendency to over-exploitation of virtuosic passage-work, and ever-expanding formal dimensions—which may have “threatened to collapse the form under its own weight.” See Thomas Grey, “Orchestral Music,” in The Mendelssohn Companion, ed. Douglass Seaton (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2001), 509. 30 Although the “collapse” process normally occurs in modulatory R1s, it sometimes occurs within solo sections. One can find such situations in J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto without opus number in E♭ (see Analytical Vignette 3.13) and in Clara (Wieck) Schumann’s Konzertsatz in f (1846). In this case, the subordinate key (A♭) collapses back to the home key towards the end of the display episode. 183 needs to be, as it were, put back together. The customary solution is to reestablish the home key, and then confirm it with one or more PACs in subsequent modules.

The “collapse” moment puts the music back onto its standard pathway, allowing the exposition to proceed as a Mozartian R1. Furthermore, this shift becomes an important referential feature later in the piece, especially in the larger exposition (S1 +

R2). Since the motion into a secondary key is expected in the first solo section, the composer can make use here of the absence of the collapse. In other words, since the S- theme was tonally and thematically unstable in R1, omitting the collapse in the first solo section contributes to consolidating the stability of the theme. The piece can also bring back the collapse later—especially in the recapitulatory complex (R3 ⇒ S3)—to be exploited as an expressive rhetorical device.31

Another noteworthy aspect of this R1 model is the customary—though not obligatory—tendency to bring back P-based material in at least one of the C modules.

This procedure was particularly relevant for Beethoven, and one can arguably consider this one of the main features that distinguish his piano concertos from Mozart’s.32 The appearance of a P-based C-theme at the end of the first ritornello gives the section a

31 See, for example, C.P.E. Bach’s Double Concerto for Harpsichord and Fortepiano in E♭. In this piece, the collapse event in R1 returns at the end of the movement to end the “second development” effect and help reestablish the normative rotational trajectory (cf. my discussion in Analytical Vignette 3.22). In particular, Beethoven employed this technique in other genres besides concertos, presumably considering it a dramatic device in its own right. See his Symphonies Nos. 1 in C, op. 21 (iv), and 8 in F, op. 93 (i and iv). 32 Although Beethoven did not employ this procedure in either his Triple Concerto in C, op. 56, or his Violin Concerto in D, op. 61, he did employ it in all his five piano concertos. Mozart, on the other hand, used it only twice, in Piano Concertos, Nos. 21 in C, K. 467, and 24 in c, K. 491. As Hepokoski and Darcy point out, in both of these cases the closing modules “are unusually shot through with regular, idée fixe recurrences of their P-based mottos” (see Elements, 494). 184

“rounded” design; this serves to counterbalance the tonal digression and formal instability of the previous S-theme.

» Analytical Vignette 4.4. Beethoven – Piano Concerto No. 1 in C, Op. 15 (1795)

The P-theme (mm. 1–16; see Table 4.3) is structured as a compound sentence, followed by a dissolving TR (mm. 16–48) that restates the original P-material and eventually articulates a I:HC MC in m. 46. Until this point, the P and TR modules are analogous to those of a standard Mozartian concerto. However, after a brief caesura fill

(mm. 47–48), Beethoven introduces an S-theme (S1.1) that starts in the “wrong” key of E♭ major (♭III). This theme is constructed as a hybrid (ant. + cont.) and is stated three times, each time following a modulatory tonal motion that delineates an ascending-fifths sequence.33

A “collapse” event in mm. 67–72 interrupts the repetitions of S1.1, as well as its ascending-fifths motion. This allows the emergence of a new sentential S module (S1.2, mm. 73–86), in which the continuation phrase finally confirms the return of the tonic key with a I:PAC in m. 86. From this point on, the exposition will function again as a normative Mozartian R1, presenting a new S-theme (S2, mm. 86–99) firmly in the tonic key and articulating the R1:\EEC in m. 95. A P-based C-theme finally concludes R1 and prepares the entrance of the soloist.

33 For more on Caplin’s hybrid themes, see Classical Form, 59. In the first solo section, the continuation phrase of this hybrid S-theme is “written over” by a new phrase. In this section, the now-modified S-theme is tonally stable. Its formal role also changes, since it is now functioning at a higher level as the antecedent phrase of a compound period. 185

Unlike Mozart and Beethoven, Mendelssohn always employs modulatory R1:\TR sections, meaning that—depending on the mode of the movement—the section always ends with either a V:HC or III:HC MC. In addition, the S-themes are always analogous to those in a normative symphonic exposition—both tonally and rhetorically—concluding with a cadential confirmation of the subordinate key. Because of this, the section requires a return to the home key before the start of S1.

As mentioned above, Beethoven normally presents the S-theme in the “wrong” key as well, but immediately corrects it via the “collapse” procedure. In contrast,

Mendelssohn embraces the sonata process fully, maintaining the secondary key through the entire R1:\S. Although both modulations conflict with the generic expectations of the concerto first-ritornello—i.e., to remain in the tonic throughout—in Mendelssohn’s case the subordinate key is so firmly established that a return to the tonic necessitates a substantial retransitional passage. Thus, in order to bring the S-theme back to the tonic,

Mendelssohn renews transitional activity towards the end of the theme. This RT is analogous to the first TR, articulating a second MC effect, now in the home key, and leading to a closing module in that key.

Although these apparent double medial caesuras can, on the surface, give the impression of a trimodular block (TMB), this is not the case for two important reasons.

First, these two MCs are not deployed following the standard sequence of MC options, but in reverse order. Second, the second MC is followed by a closing section in the tonic and not a new TM3 module in a non-tonic key. Sometimes this second MC can be followed by a restatement of the original P-theme, reminiscent of Beethoven’s penchant 186 for presenting P-based closing modules. This P-reiteration is responsible for articulating the R1:\EEC in the tonic key and, simultaneously, launching the second rotation.

As discussed in chapter 3, I use the label P-return (Pret) to refer to this second iteration of the P-theme. Although Pret serves as a closing module to the rhetorical layout of R1, it also signals the onset of the second rotation, given that R1:\P necessarily serves as a normative marker of a rotational re-beginning. 34 This creates an apparent contradiction: the “closing” rhetorical role of Pret seems to come into conflict with its role as a rotational “beginning.” It is possible, however, to reconcile its opposing “dual function” by considering Pret a manifestation of a rhetorical-rotational elision. In this sense, the module lies in a formal middle ground, rhetorically belonging to R1, but grouping rotationally with S1.

As mentioned above, composers at the turn of the nineteenth century— particularly in England—started to distinguish between the thematic beginnings of R1 and S1. The initial gesture of S1 progressively replaced the thematically stable R1:\P with a virtuosic, thematically weak solo-prefix. The most noticeable consequence of this change is the absence of thematic symmetry between R1 and S1, which, paradoxically, enhances the relation between them. Since S1 no longer begins with R1:\P, the effect of rotational re-beginning is lost. Therefore, the launch of S1 can be elided with the end of

R1 without any rotational redundancy, merging those two sections into a seamless structural unit.

34 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 498. 187

» Analytical Vignette 4.5. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Violin and Piano in d, MWV O 4 (1823)

The rhetorical-rotational elision—as well as the increasing differentiation between the R1:\P and S1:\P themes—opened up the possibility for restructuring the standard organization of the larger exposition. Although this likely contributed to the one- rotational expositions of Mendelssohn’s late concertos, his first-generation concertos–– such as the Double Concerto for Violin and Piano in d—all employ the more conventional modulatory ternary model (Figure 4.2c). This R1 is particularly representative of Mendelssohn’s early practice, with its clear ternary design and its use of

Pret as a closing module (see Example 4.2a).35

At first, this R1 seem to follow the normative modulatory process of a symphonic exposition, articulating a III:HC MC (m. 29) and launching the S theme in the mediant

(m. 36). After confirming this key with a PAC (m. 47), an RT then reestablishes the home key, igniting a dominant lock in m. 51 and producing a second MC effect. This gives rise to the final Pret module, bringing back the original expanded P-theme (mm. 59–75). As illustrated in Table 4.4, the ternary design of this R1 arises (as in a TMB) from these two

MC effects.

On a related note, this piece also exhibits the false-ritornello effect mentioned in chapter 2, suggesting another potential connection with C.P.E. Bach (see Example 4.2b).

Like Bach’s Wq. 43 no. 3 in E♭,36 Mendelssohn’s Double Concerto in d introduces,

35 Several of Mendelssohn’s contemporaries also employed the Pret module in their concertos. See, for example, Hummel’s Piano Concerto in F, op. posth. 1 (1833), as well as Moscheles’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in F, op. 45 (1819). 36 See Analytical Vignette 3.18. 188 within S1 space, an orchestral statement of the R1:\P-theme in the subordinate key (m.

149). In this case, however, the “premature” intrusion coincides with the end of S1:\S, the place where the compulsory display episode would normally begin. The false R2 eventually begins to subside, allowing both soloists to launch the DE in m. 157.

The Developmental Thematic Episode

Concerto movements occasionally contain brief episodic interpolations within the development, interrupting or postponing the normative developmental activity and/or rotational trajectory.37 This practice goes back to Mozart’s concertos, which have a tendency to be more “episodic” than his non-concertante works. 38 In these cases, the development sometimes begins with a brief insertion of contrasting thematic material, loosely or not at all related to the expositional modules. These insertions participate within the developmental rotation, sometimes “writing over” one of its modules.

The developmental thematic episodes of the early-nineteenth century are direct descendants of such Classical practices. However, Mendelssohn and his contemporaries exploited this procedure to an extraordinary extent. These episodic insertions tend to be much more formally “disruptive” than their Mozartian counterparts. In some rare cases— specilly Field’s piano concertos—they even substitute the entire development section with one (or more) self-contained thematic digressions.39

37 See Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements, 218–221. 38 Ibid., 563–564. Mozart’s more radical examples of episodic development tend to be found more often in the finale than the first movement. See, for example, the Piano Concerto No. 9 in E♭, K. 291, and the Violin Concerto No. 3 in G, K. 216. 39 See, for example, Field’s Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, H. 58a (Analytical Vignette 2.1). 189

Early-Romantic composers employ episodic developments in a variety of ways.

Louis Spohr, for example, consistently introduces the S2 section with a new theme in a non-tonic key.40 In these cases, the developmental episode functions as a rhetorical marker for rotational launch, substituting for the customary reference to the P-theme at the beginning of the development. The ending of these episodes normally coincides with the beginning of a quasi-display episode, taking the section back into “real” developmental space.

This “developmental display episode” is, to all intents and purposes, analogous to its expositional counterpart. They share a similar design: 1) a hypermetrically-accented four-measure c.b.i.; 2) a repetition of this c.b.i. (as in a compound presentation); 3) a pseudo-developmental extended continuation (introducing sequences, tonal digressions, etc.); 4) a long prolongation of the cadential dominant; and 5) a bravura trill.41 There is thus a close formal correspondence between the end of S1 (S–DE) and S2 as a whole

(dev. episode–dev. DE), rendering the rhetorical effect of the development as a while less

“developmental,” and more resembling a rhetorical restatement of the end of the exposition. From this perspective, this aspect of concerto design relies on a rhetorical— rather than thematic—rotational organization.

Mendelssohn, on the other hand, employs developmental thematic episodes in a more audacious, arguably more evocative way. In contrast to Spohr’s, Mendelssohn’s S2s

40 While ubiquitous in Spohr’s concerto movements, one can also find examples in the works of other early-Romantic composers. See, for example, J.N. Hummel’s Piano Concertos in G, op. 73, in a, op. 85, and in F, op. posth. 1; and his Violin Concerto in G. This practice is also common with English composers, such as John Cramer. 41 See Cramer’s Piano Concerto in E, op. 56 (1816; mm. 165–194) for a straightforward example of this procedure. 190 as a whole are more truly “developmental,” in a normatively symphonic sense. However, rather than participating in the unfolding of the developmental process as such, his episodic intrusions have the effect of diversion into an “external” musical dimension. In the spirit of C.P.E. Bach’s multi-dimensional concertos,42 one can hear Mendelssohn’s developmental episodes as rêveries, quasi-independent musical units that conceptually exist, as it were, outside the piece itself.

This kind of developmental thematic episode can be found in two of

Mendelssohn’s first-generation concertos,43 the Double Concerto in d, MWV O 4 (see above), and the Piano Concerto in a, MWV O 2. In both cases, the composer introduces the episodes in the distant key of ♭I—D♭ and A♭, respectively—creating a contradictory effect of “distant proximity” with the tonic. Like Moscheles’s Piano Concerto in c, op.

93, one can interpret this unusual key choice as a tonal displacement of the tonic or, in

Richard Bass’s term, its “chromatic shadow.”

» Analytical Vignette 4.6. Mendelssohn – Piano Concerto in a, MWV O 2 (1822)

In the case of the Piano Concerto in a, Mendelssohn prepares the arrival of S2 by tonicizing the key of ♭V (E♭) at the end of R2 (m. 253). After reinterpreting this local tonic as the dominant of A♭, the soloist abruptly launches the developmental episode with an emphatic descending scale (see Example 4.3). This “breakout” seemingly propels the

42 See the Harpsichord Concerto in c, Wq. 43 no. 4 (Analytical Vignette 2.2). 43 Although, strictly speaking, not a developmental thematic episode, the mid-development cadenza of his Violin Concerto in e, op. 64, could also be interpreted along these lines (see below). 191 episode outside of the developmental realm, 44 allowing it to unfold, as it were, in an external musical reality.

This sense of the developmental episode as a contradictory musical entity, existing in a “parallel dimension” with different musical “laws” is reinforced by an exchange of roles. Solo strings take control of the episode, relegating the soloist to a supporting role. The soloist does not regain control of S2 until re-entrance into development space, or the sonata process proper.

As a compound period, the episode consists of an antecedent and in the keys of ♭I

(A♭) and II♯ (B), respectively. These two keys clash with the somber quality of the A- minor tonic; however, despite being distantly related to this key, they both surround it as a chromatic double neighbor.45 In this sense, the episode is in “distant proximity” to the rest of the concerto. While lying thematically and texturally “outside” its boundaries, this independent musical entity still interacts with the global tonal structure of the overall movement.

» Analytical Vignette 4.7. Ries, Piano Concerto in E♭, op. 42 (1811)

Ferdinand Ries’s Piano Concerto in E♭, op. 42, is remarkably ahead of its time, exhibiting several innovative formal features that may have influenced Mendelssohn and his generation. One of the concerto’s most original characteristics is its cadenza, which

44 The concept of “breakout” in this context should not be confused with Hepokoski and Darcy’s use of the term, which refers to “an escape from the loop-pattern and the onset of a drive toward a differing goal.” See Elements, 84. In the context of the developmental thematic episode, the breakout is usually accomplished via a drastic change in texture and key, interrupting the expected trajectory of the developmental space.

45 Of course, interpreting A♭ as an enharmonic G♯. 192 appears in a very unusual place within the form. By Ries’s time, cadenzas were already in decline, and no longer essential—as in Mozart’s time—to the closing ritornello. Now optional, composers could choose to place the cadenza in a different location, or simply omit it altogether.

Ries’s cadenza is strangely “inserted” between the exposition’s TR and S modules, functioning as a sort of substitute for the expanded caesura fill. This cadenza ends with the customary bravura trill over a dominant chord, signaling to the orchestra that a PAC is approaching. However, before the soloist can resolve it, the orchestra introduces a somber R1:\S-theme in the minor dominant (m. 129), effectively eliding the end of the cadenza with the beginning of the S-theme. Except for a brief tonicization of the local lowered submediant (G♭), the pessimistic quality of the minor dominant persists for the entire S-theme. As explained below, this tonicization foreshadows a significant event later in the movement.

The composer replicates this formal-functional elision at the end of the development, now in the context of the submediant (c). As if reaching the end of another cadenza, the soloist states a prominent double trill over the local dominant (V of vi), announcing the end of S2. Following the same strategy as the exposition, the orchestra introduces the R1:\S-theme in the tonic while the trill is still ongoing, implying that the 193 soloist and orchestra are in different sonata spaces,46 with the trill’s closing function and the S-theme’s opening function occurring at the same time.47

As in Mendelssohn’s Piano Concerto in a, S2 postpones the development proper by diverting into a self-contained developmental thematic episode.48 Also like

Mendelssohn, Ries has the soloist anticipate this impending detour via a two-measure

“breakout,” suddenly superposing a G♭-major chord over the orchestra’s B♭ pedal (see

Example 4.4). Now in the key of ♭III, the episode—a compound sentence with expanded continuation—is a tonally and formally stable theme, contrasting with the exposition’s unpredictable organization.

From this perspective, the movement encapsulates two complementary musical dimensions. On the one hand, the somber minor-mode expression of the exposition’s S- space disrupts the stylistic expectations of a major-mode concerto. This is balanced by the optimistic character of the developmental thematic episode, as if compensating for the exposition’s “failure” to present a satisfactory S-theme. In this sense, the episode can be heard to function as an idealistic “fiction”—a sort of Träumerei—outside the movement’s grim musical “reality.” However, the episode inexorably collapses back into the minor mode (m. 226), reawakened in the development space.

46 Launching the “recapitulation” with R1:\S—rather than a home-key R1:\P—also results in a Subtype E, i.e., in dialogue with the Type 2 Sonata. 47 Cf. Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in e, op. 64, in which the composer also “inserts” an entire cadenza towards the end of the development (mm. 299–334). In this case, however, the hypermetrical structure of the P-theme prohibits the overlapping of sonata spaces. 48 Cf. similar examples in other works by Ries, such as his Violin Concerto in e, op. 24 (1810), as well as his Piano Concertos in c♯, op. 55 (1812), in a, op. 132 (1823), and in A♭, op. 151 (1826). 194

The Quasi-Thematic Caesura Fill

As its name implies, the purpose of “quasi-thematic caesura fill” (q-t c.f.) is to fill in the gap between the MC and the beginning of the S-theme, via an independent thematic module. As mentioned above, the q-t c.f. functions as a bridge between the end of the transition and the beginning of S, at first normally over a dominant pedal—as a standard c.f.—but progressively solidifying into a more thematically substantial idea.

Thus, the q-t c.f. is subject to two “becoming” processes. First, a thematic unit—a potential S-theme—progressively emerges from what was initially a normative c.f. (c.f.

⇒ S). However, the arrival of the “real” S-theme retrospectively clarifies this “false S” as a thematic expansion of the c.f. (S ⇒ q-t c.f.)

The q-t c.f. is a particularly idiosyncratic Mendelssohnian feature, appearing—to varying degrees—in both his first- and second-generation concertos.49 While innovative, this technique seems to have evolved from simpler late-eighteenth century procedures. It may have arisen from two independent sources, integrating elements of both into a cohesive mid-expositional procedure.

On the one hand, the technique likely a descendant of late-Classical caesura expansions, particularly those in Haydn’s concertos. In these cases, the post-TR dominant is progressively expanded, eventually bypassing the threshold for plausible MC expansion and thus obscuring the thematic boundary between the transition and the S-

49 Mendelssohn makes use of the q-t c.f. in both of his concertos for two pianos and in all of his second-generation concertos (his other first-generation concertos exhibit shorter, more typical caesura fills). One can also occasionally find examples of this procedure in works by other composers. See, for example, Hummel’s Piano Concerto in A♭, op. 113 (1827). 195 theme. These caesura expansions are rarely thematic, relying instead on virtuosic solo display, to which Mendelssohn could have added a more robust thematic outline.

On the other hand, they could have also been influenced by J.C. Bach’s concertos, which sometimes exhibit unusual treatments of post-TR space. Specifically, I refer to his penchant for tonally ambiguous beginnings of the R1:\S-theme. As mentioned in chapter

3, some of Bach’s R1:\S-themes begin over a dominant pedal, allowing them to be interpreted—at least initially—as extensions of the MC dominant. Their apparent beginning as c.f. extensions—as well as their unstable thematic design—makes them possible precedents for Mendelssohn’s quasi-thematic caesura fills.

» Analytical Vignette 4.8. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in A♭, MWV O 6 (1824)

The Mendelssohnian q-t c.f. possibly originated as a combination of late-Classical caesura expansion and J.C. Bach’s tonally ambiguous beginnings of the R1:\S-theme.

The Concerto for Two Pianos in A♭, MWV O 6, exhibits both features. After a brief dominant lock, TR articulates a V:HC MC in m. 42, giving rise to what sounds like a normative caesura fill (see Example 4.5). This c.f. progressively becomes more thematic, though still supported by a dominant pedal. Nevertheless, the unfolding c.f. sounds progressively more theme-like, in the form of a fully-fledged compound sentence.

Like Haydn’s caesura expansions, this long c.f. exceeds the normative dimensions of the MC dominant, thus obscuring the point at which the S-theme begins. After a few measures, the theme’s continuation phrase finally abandons the dominant prolongation to 196 initiate a cadential progression in the local key (mm. 51–54), 50 suggesting that the previous c.f. was actually the S-theme (presentation) all along. From this perspective, the compound sentence would be akin to Bach’s ambiguous R1:\S-themes, with the difference that the latter eventually “collapses” back into the tonic.

The cadence (m. 54) elides with the beginning of a new theme—a hybrid (c.b.i. + cont.)—clearly functioning as the “real” S-theme. In retrospect, one can reinterpret the previous passage as an extended anacrusis to the S-theme, unfolding within c.f. space.

Retracing the entire passage, one can distinguish two separate processes of becoming.

First, the normative c.f. progressively transforms to an apparent fully-fledged S-theme

(c.f. ⇒ S). Then the arrival of the “real” S clarifies the previous passage as still within the c.f. (S ⇒ q-t c.f.).

» Analytical Vignette 4.9. Mendelssohn – Violin Concerto in e, Op. 64 (1845)

Mendelssohn’s late concertos exhibit considerably longer and more tonally audacious quasi-thematic caesura fills than the previous examples. While this is true for all of the composer’s late concertos, his Violin Concerto in e, op. 64, is particularly adventurous in this respect. Despite lacking a proper R1, the exposition presents an extensive tutti affirmation of the main P-module, extending P-space until m. 72. At this

50 As a side note, the melody of this continuation phrase might have been inspired by Mendelssohn’s 1822 sojourn in the Swiss Alps. There, the composer was exposed to yodeling and Swiss folksongs, which he later used in two of his String Symphonies. I speculate that he might have done something similar in this concerto, since it appears that he tried to give this caesura fill a “yodeling effect.” See Todd, Mendelssohn: A Life in Music, 100. Alternative, he might have “paraphrased” this passage from Beethoven’s Triple Concerto in C, op. 56, particularly from mm. 53–59 where the composer introduces a theme strikingly similar to the “yodeling” reference in Mendelssohn’s concerto. Antony Hopkins also noticed this peculiar effect in Beethoven’s concerto, noting that the composer “almost certainly had memories of a yodel in mind, and the Viennese audience may have responded to this touch of local colour.” See The Seven Concertos of Beethoven (Brookfield, VT: Ashgate, 1996), 90. 197 point, the P-theme’s closing section progressively dissolves into TR, eventually articulating a III:HC in m. 98 (see Example 4.6).

The dominant lock that follows finally reaches an apparent MC in m. 105, giving way—still over a dominant pedal—to the caesura fill. Although at first unfolding normatively, the c.f. suddenly abandons the dominant prolongation to take a detour into the unexpected key of E♭ (mm. 108–112), the lowered submediant in the local key of G.

As mentioned above, the tonicization of ♭VI within a dominant prolongation is typical in early-Romantic concertos, particularly in the context of display episodes, where its purpose is to highlight the “dominant-ness” of the passage, enhancing its unresolved tension and the drive to the bravura trill.

Normally, the tonicized ♭VI tonic would return to the “correct” key via transformation to Ger+6 chord, thus reigniting the previous dominant lock. However,

Mendelssohn instead takes another detour to the dominant of B♭ (mm. 113–118). In the spirit of a developmental thematic episode, this significant tonal deviation allows the soloist to momentarily ignore the generic requirements of a normative c.f. The music can thus be diverted into a series of quasi-thematic arpeggios, before gently returning to G major for the orchestral launch of the long-overdue S-theme.

Addendum: Mendelssohn’s Subtype-D Concerto

As mentioned in chapter 2, the Subtype D model harks back to a more archaic concerto design, emphasizing the role of ritornello sections as the “pillars” of the form.

This prototype is a direct descendant of the late-baroque concerto, modelled on the five- 198 ritornello plan of the “Vivaldian” concerto.51 Although this model continued to prevail between the 1750s and '70s—particularly championed by C.P.E. Bach—it progressively went out fashion and, by the end of the century, had been completely abandoned as a compositional option.

» Analytical Vignette 4.10. Mendelssohn – Violin Concerto in d, MWV O 3 (1822)

Mendelssohn’s early Violin Concerto in d, MWV O 3—modelled as a Subtype

D—contrasts with the more progressive concerto practices discussed above. Although formally archaic, this concerto sheds light on the composer’s early musical development, taking its cue from the formal innovations of the Bach brothers and some of their contemporaries. In fact, the concerto’s design suggests that Mendelssohn at this time was less indebted to Mozart than to C.P.E. Bach (with respect to the form of the movement as a whole) and J.C. Bach (with respect to S1 in particular).52

Although overshadowed by his more famous Violin Concerto in e, op. 64, the

Violin Concerto in d stands out among Mendelssohn’s concertos for its distinctive design. Larry Todd accurately notes that the piece is rooted, from a stylistic perspective, in the North German keyboard concerto and the French violin concerto of the late eighteenth century.53 However, from a formal perspective, it seems to have been

51 Davis, “C.P.E. Bach and the Early History,” 68. 52 This is at odds with Robert Layton’s (erroneous) assertion that Mendelssohn “composed a Violin Concerto in D minor (with string orchestra) for which the model was evidently Mozart.” See A Guide to the Concerto, 136. 53 See Todd, Mendelssohn: A Life in Music, 95–96. 199 influenced by the former only, the influence of the latter being restricted to stylistic features and violin technique.

Unlike the Subtype-D concertos described in chapter 2, Mendelssohn’s early violin concerto exhibits many of the standard features of the form at the turn of the nineteenth century, cleverly integrating the Subtype-D model into a large-scale sonata framework (see Table 4.7). The first ritornello reflects his early penchant for the modulatory ternary model, featuring a motion to the subordinate key, a tonal “collapse”

(ca. m. 30), and a Pret (mm. 36–46)—de rigueur in Mendelssohn’s early concertos.

Meanwhile, the first solo section is peculiarly evocative of J.C. Bach’s ternary solo expositions, exhibiting a formal organization that is arguably in dialogue with a TMB.

The S1 section surprisingly remains in the tonic after the i:HC MC in m. 60, denying the expected arrival of the subordinate-key S-theme.54 Failing to fulfill the role of S, the new theme beginning in m. 61 can be interpreted as an unusual home-key variant of the TM1 module. The “real” S1:\S-theme (or TM3?) does not come about until m. 75, after a “second TR” (or TM2?) has modulated to the mediant and articulated a

III:HC MC in m. 71. Even well into the S1:\S-theme, the music continues to remember the tonic, briefly tonicizing D minor in m. 82.

The piece launches its third rotation with the archaic pre-developmental R2(.1), recalling the standard practice of Haydn, the Bachs, and many of their contemporaries.

However, S2.1 compensates for this anachronistic feature with an unconventional tonal

54 This case thus falls within Hepokoski and Darcy’s category of “medial caesura declined,” which they define as “[t]he impression . . . of offering a potential MC but brusquely declining to accept it as such, preferring instead to remain within pre-MC space and defer the real MC . . . until later.” See Elements, 45. 200 deviation, clouding the local key of III (F) before settling on the minor dominant (a), arrived at via a developmental quasi-display episode (mm. 139–146). This key anticipates the entrance of R2.2 (m. 177), launching the piece’s fourth rotation while confirming the

Subtype-D aspect. The soloist reaffirms this by introducing the S1:\P-theme in the subdominant key (S2.2; m. 197), momentarily re-engaging developmental rhetoric before continuing the rotation with S1:\S (or S1:\TM3?).

After an R3–S3 merger, the recapitulatory R1–S1:\P-themes reach a i:PAC in m.

260. In extraordinary fashion, this PAC is elided with the launch of the display episode, effectively bypassing the entire TR and S sections. This extreme recapitulatory compression is yet another sign of Mendelssohn’s increasing interest in formal conciseness and brevity. As with the form of the solo exposition, this feature points to

J.C. Bach’s influence on the young composer, foreshadowing his later merging of the

Type 5 format with a unified Type 3 (or 1) concerto design.

II. Other Non-Mendelssohnian Early-Romantic Concerto Practices

The first part of this chapter dealt with several noteworthy features of

Mendelssohn’s concerto practice, tracing them back to their possible origins in Haydn, the Bach brothers, and some of their contemporaries. However, there are other important concerto procedures that Mendelssohn did not explore, but were nevertheless significant for other composers of the early-nineteenth century. The final section of this chapter will describe some of these procedures, and two in particular: the “concertante” form and the early-Romantic Type 2 model. 201

The “Concertante” Form

As mentioned in the previous chapter, early-Romantic composers explored different ways to compress, abbreviate, or otherwise truncate the Type 5 concerto model, of which Mendelssohn’s second-generation concertos are certainly the most well-known examples. However, a popular alternative to the Type 3 design was also developed for other smaller-scale concertante pieces, such as concertinos or Konzertstücke. The form of these pieces—which I provisionally refer to as the “concertante form”—is also an abbreviation of the Type 5 model, but accomplished in different way from

Mendelssohn’s Type 3 concertos.

In the early 1800s, the terms Konzertstück and concertino were mostly interchangeable—their usage depending on language rather than musical criteria—and could be used to describe a variety of different formal designs. The “cavalier manner,” as

Lindeman puts it, 55 in which composers employed these terms makes it difficult to extrapolate any generic formal expectations for pieces written in the “concertante” genre.

However, many of these works do in fact display a relative consistency of formal procedure. While their surface characteristics differ significantly from those of real concertos, their form derives from the ritornello-solo model and can thus be explained as an independent manifestation of the same formal abstraction.

In most cases, “concertante” pieces begin in the manner of a normative Type 5 concerto, with a complete exposition, but go on to “omit” the development and recapitulation. Instead, these sections are replaced by two or more independent

55 Lindeman, Structural Novelty, 53. 202

“movements,”56 effectively transforming a multi-movement concertante piece into a single-movement “two-dimensional” concerto.57 The first part of this concerto

“movement” is thus essentially “incomplete,” since it ends in a key other than the tonic.

The middle part works as an independent slow movement, replacing the development section with a cantabile episodic substitution. Meanwhile, the last section is normally a rondo finale. Although this section could present brief references to the original P-idea, it generally works as a fully independent movement.

In addition, the first ritornello may be identical to that of a standard Type 5 concerto—as in Pixis’s Piano Concertino in E♭, op. 68—but it could also be considerably shorter—as Weber’s Konzertstück in f, op. 79. In such cases, the form is radically compressed, synthetizing—as in J.C. Bach’s Type 5-Type 3 concerto merger—the R1 and S1 sections into a unified whole. The entire first “movement” is thus a single sonata exposition, dependent on the following “movements” to attain formal and tonal completeness.

» Analytical Vignette 4.11. Clara Schumann – Piano Concerto in a, op. 7 (1836)

Despite its name, Clara (Wieck) Schumann’s Piano Concerto in a, op. 7, is formally closer to a “concertante” piece than to a real concerto. Its highly compressed, sixteen-measure first ritornello consists of a single compound period. The section is so

56 Some examples—broadly interpreted—include Carl Maria von Weber’s Konzerstück in f, op. 79 (1821); Clara Schumann’s Piano Concerto in a, op. 7 (1836–7); Louis Spohr’s Violin Concerto No. 8 in a, “In Form einer Gesangs-szene,” op. 47 (1816); Johann Peter Pixis’s Piano Concertino in E♭, op. 68 (1824); Johann Baptist Cramer’s Piano Concerto No. 8 in d, op. 70 (1825); Ignaz Moscheles’s Piano Concerto No. 8 in D, “Pastoral,” op. 96 (1838); and Charles-Valentin Alkan’s Concerti da Camera Nos. 1 in a, Op. 10 (c. 1832), and 2 in c♯ (bef. 1834). 57 Cf. my above discussion of C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto in c, Wq. 43 No. 4 (Analytical Vignette 2.2), as well as Vande Moortele, Two-Dimensional Sonata Form, 11–33. 203 short that it sacrifices its standard fully-rotational layout and, by extension, its function as a referential Anlage. Seemingly too impatient to wait for R1 to end, the soloist first enters in m. 17, introducing what could be interpreted as a “premature” Eingang. After sharing this pseudo-Eingang with the orchestra, the soloist finally takes full control of the music by m. 38, in a solo P-based TR.

The eventual goal of this “movement” is to confirm the key of the minor dominant (e) at the end of the display episode (m. 129), before the orchestra’s closing P- based R2 (m. 129ff.). The route to this tonal goal takes a series of adventurous tonal and thematic “detours.” Although the S-theme starts in the expected mediant (C), it modulates to the submediant (F) and articulates its final PAC in that key (m. 74), from which

“wrong” key the display episode begins, requiring another modulation en route to the bravura trill.58

Rather than immediately “correcting” this tonal wrong turn, the soloist interrupts the progress of the DE with further deviation into an apparently new episode in A♭, anticipating the key of the following Romanze. Although this rapidly collapses—via a descending-fifths sequence—back into DE space, one might briefly hear it as a “false beginning” of the second movement. Having reestablished DE, the section can proceed to the cadential dominant in the “acceptable” key of v (e; m. 111), eventually reaching cadential closure in m. 189. As in Mendelssohn’s late concertos, the soloist concludes

58 C.f. the S1:\S-theme in Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in f, op. 21 (1829), with its seemingly endless vacillations between III (A♭) and v (c), before finally cadencing in v (m. 181). See also later examples, such as Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in b♭, op. 23 (1874–75), where S1:\S oscillates between VII (A♭) and ii (c), cadencing strongly in the latter (m. 204 and 263) but then re-establishing the former in the closing section (mm. 267–291). 204 this “first movement” with dominant preparation of the key of the next, in this case reintroducing V7 of the recently anticipated A♭.

The Early-Romantic Type 2 Model

As mentioned in chapter 3, off-tonic openings of the recapitulatory rotation and the Type 2 concerto prototype are two closely-related formal procedures. Although they were first employed exclusively by J.C. and C.P.E. Bach, they became considerably more popular during the first decades of the nineteenth century. In particular, they were favored by composers as diverse as Spohr, Thalberg, Hiller, Ries, Czerny, Moscheles, and Hummel.59

As discussed above, J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto in F, Op. 7 No. 2 is an unusual but noteworthy precedent for the Type 2 concertos of the early nineteenth century,60 even if it did not influence early-Romantic composers directly. For whatever reason, the Type 2 concerto paradigm did become slightly more common during the first three decades of the nineteenth century. In the spirit of Mendelssohn’s Type 3 (and Type

1) concertos, one can think of the Type 2 as another alternative to the Type 5 model, an

59 As mentioned in chapter 2, Spohr employed off-tonic recapitulations in his Violin Concertos Nos. 2 in d, op. 2 (vi, b); 6 in g, op, 28 (♮vi, e); 7 in e, op. 38 (VI, C); and 10 in A, op. 62 (IV, D), as well as Ferdinand Ries, who employed it in his Piano Concerto in A♭, op. 151 (♭III, C♭). In contrast, the Type 2 model was even more popular. One may find examples in Sigismond Thalberg’s Piano Concerto in f, op. 5 (1829–30); Ferdinand Hiller’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in f, op. 5 (1829–31); Carl Czerny’s Piano Concerto in F, op. 28 (1820); Ferdinand Ries’s Piano Concerto in E♭, op. 42 (1811); Ignaz Moscheles’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in E, op. 64 (1823); and J.N. Hummel’s Violin Concerto in G (c. 1804). Although not a Type 2 concerto movement per se, Hummel’s Bassoon Concerto in F (c. 1811) does include a “false Type-2” effect. Cf. my discussion of J.C. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto B♭, Op. 13 No. 4 (Analytical Vignette 2.11), as well as Mozart’s Concerto (No. 10) for Two Pianos in E♭, K. 365 (ch. 2, n. 52). 60 See my relevant discussion in chapter 2, Subtype E (Analytical Vignette 2.10). 205 original—if ultimately less prevalent—way to achieve greater formal concision and avoid formal redundancy.

» Analytical Vignette 4.12. Spohr – Violin Concerto No. 6 in g, op. 28 (1808–09)

Spohr’s concertos epitomize the potential ambiguity between the Type 2 procedure and the off-tonic recapitulatory beginning. His Violin Concerto No. 6 illustrates this subtle distinction by presenting an off-tonic opening of the recapitulatory rotation well back in the developmental space (see Example 4.7). This occurs after a dominant lock firmly stablishes the key of E minor (♮vi), allowing the soloist to present the R1:\P-theme in that key (m. 193). Although this moment is in fact the beginning of the recapitulatory rotation, we only know this in retrospect.

Since the E-minor R1:\P is introduced in mid-development, one can reasonably hear it as tantamount to a P-based “wild card.” In this sense, one could interpret the following home-key R1:\S as the “tonal resolution” of a Type 2 concerto. Alternatively, one might interpret the E-minor R1:\P as an off-tonic launch of the recapitulatory rotation. From this perspective, Spohr’s choice of key (♮vi) is not arbitrary. Launching the

“recapitulatory” R1:\P in this key allows the following TR to replicate the expositional modulatory process (i–III) without any significant compositional alteration.61

61 This procedure is often found in Schubert’s off-tonic recapitulatory beginnings, particularly in major-mode pieces with subdominant recapitulations—the locus classicus being the Symphony No. 2 in B♭, D. 125 (i). See, for example, Daniel Coren, “Ambiguity in Schubert’s Recapitulations,” Musical Quarterly 60, no. 4 (1974): 570–573. 206

» Analytical Vignette 4.13. Thalberg – Piano Concerto in f, op. 5 (1829–30)

Unlike Spohr’s example, Sigismond Thalberg’s Piano Concerto in f, op. 5, is unambiguously a Type 2. Towards the end of S2, the soloist introduces dominant preparation of the raised submediant (♮vi), in seeming anticipation of the same recapitulatory procedure found in the Spohr (see Example 4.9, dominant lock, mm. 209–

216). However, in this case the composer avoids any obvious reference to the R1:\P- theme and hence any suggestion of an off-tonic recapitulation.

Spohr’s dominant lock is TR-based, corresponding to its expositional counterpart and ending with the same two-measure caesura fill. But it resolves, not to its implied tonic of d, but to the home key F, in which R1:\S now sounds as a Type 2 “tonal resolution.” The effect is one of the tonally resolved S-theme, coming “out of nowhere.”

» Analytical Vignette 4.14. Hiller – Piano Concerto No. 1 in f, op. 5 (1829–1831)

Although similar in nature, the Type-2 procedure in Ferdinand Hiller’s Piano

Concerto No. 1 in f, op. 5, is considerably more subtle than Thalberg’s example.62 The development section follows Spohr’s typical episode–DE formula, launching S2 with a new episodic theme in the minor dominant (c; mm. 190–209), followed by a DE-like module that returns the music to developmental rhetoric (m. 209). Hiller then launches a second developmental DE (m. 221) in the key of D♭, preparing a home-key dominant lock (mm. 233–243) that suggests that the end of the development is now approaching

(see Example 4.9).

62 The fact that this concerto is in the same key and has the same opus number as Thalberg’s piano concerto is indeed an amazing coincidence. 207

Interestingly, this last DE also incorporates some brief R1:\P-references in the orchestra, preceding the entrance of the R1:\S-theme in the tonic (m. 244). This clarifies the form as a Type 2, omitting any unambiguous statements of the P and TR modules.

While one first hears the previous references to the P-theme as rotationally inert idée fixes, it is possible to retrospectively interpret them as rotationally significant. In this sense, Hiller’s concerto can be seen to exhibit a significant degree of formal compression, the developmental references to P standing in for the recapitulation.

Addendum: Spohr’s pre-Mendelssohnian Type 3 Concerto

Without question, Mendelssohn’s last three concertos gave rise to an entirely new trend in concerto composition, popularizing the Type 3 model for the rest of the nineteenth century. However, despite some claims to the contrary,63 Mendelssohn was not the first to adapt this model to a concerto first-movement. Other composers also explored different alternatives for abbreviating, compressing, or otherwise truncating the ritornello-solo alternation. Louis Spohr, for example, developed a formal design reminiscent of the Type 3 paradigm, foreshadowing Mendelssohn’s innovations by more than two decades.

63 Lindeman, for example, argues that “[t]he first movement of Mendelssohn’s Op. 25 features a salient amalgamation of the traditional separate Tutti and Solo expositions into a single, organic whole. Mendelssohn’s G minor concerto is the first essay in the genre to manifest this procedure, which essentially shatters the Mozartian paradigm of concerto form.” See Lindeman, “An Insular World of Romantic Isolation,” 21–22. 208

» Analytical Vignette 4.15. Spohr – Clarinet Concerto No. 1 in c, op. 26 (1808)

Spohr explored this creative formal design in some of his violin concertos. 64 One of his earliest examples is the Clarinet Concerto No. 1 in c, op. 26. Although not as revolutionary as Mendelssohn’s Piano Concerto in g, op. 25, Spohr’s concerto is still highly innovative on other counts. First, it begins with a slow (adagio) introduction (see chapter 3). Second, the movement features the surprising introduction—or, more accurately, attempted introduction—of an apparent S-theme in the “wrong” key of G♭ (m.

67).

The end of the transition seems to suggest the imminent arrival of the S-theme, prepared by a dominant lock in the “correct” key of III (mm. 55–60). However, the music instead progressively destabilizes this E♭ dominant (mm. 61–66), leading to an apparent

“wrong-key” S-theme in the local key of ♭III (m. 67). However, this failed theme in G♭ major rapidly “collapses” back into the home-key mediant (m. 75), reintroducing the previously abandoned dominant lock and allowing the “real” S-theme to launch in m. 88.

This unusual tonal procedure foreshadows Mendelssohn’s deployment of the S-theme in his concerto op. 25.65 In this case, the S-theme first appears over a dominant pedal in the key of III (B♭; mm. 76–82). However, as in the Spohr, the theme suddenly introduces the local key of ♭III (D♭; m. 83), before bringing back the correct home-key mediant a few measures later. In the context of both concertos, the inclination for exploring ♭III of III

64 See, for example, his Violin Concertos Nos. 10 in A, op. 62 (1810), and 11 in G, op. 70 (1825). 65 It is not clear if Mendelssohn knew this piece, and the connection may be coincidental. However, we can be sure Spohr’s concerto influenced C.M.v. Weber, given the latter’s clear reference to Spohr’s P-theme in his own Clarinet Concerto No. 1 in f, op. 75 (1811; mm. 48–73). 209 within the S-space reflects Romantic composers’ increasing penchant for (chromatic) third-relations.

Rather than fulfilling the role of a normative R1, the 14-measure slow introduction presents brief melodic anticipations of the P-theme, hence opening P-space and launching the movement’s first rotation. Therefore, the first ritornello functions not as a sonata-based expositional Anlage,66 instead merging with S1 to form a unified one- rotation exposition.

The orchestra and soloist share in the first statement of the P-theme proper—a compound period—respectively launching the antecedent and consequent phrases. This

“premature” beginning of the S1 section can be interpreted as an “expositional merger”

(or R1⇒S1), analogous to the standard recapitulatory merger (R3⇒S3), but taking that technique’s tendency to formal compression much farther.

66 In this sense, this type of R1 fulfils only one of the “three structural functions” Hepokoski and Darcy attribute to the Mozartian R1. Its “introductory/anticipatory” function remains, but it lacks the “expositional-rhetorical” and the “referential-layout” functions. See Elements, 449–451. 210

CLOSING REMARKS

LE SOLISTE L’ORCHESTRE (pause) Comment osez-vous? Vous nous Permettez-moi une explication. avez tellement outrés. Honteux S’il vous plaît, me permettez- révisionniste! Pourquoi toutes ces vous une explication? Plus que nouvelles catégories, dont personne vous ne pouvez l’imaginer, je sais n’a entendu parler? Et surtout reconnaître mes difficultés. Ma pas par de savants de la nouvelle nouvelle terminologie ne jouit pas musicologie. Ces catégories ne encore d’un appui… nous ressemblent pas… disciplinaire… Se discipliner! Le concerto est un amas de… Ciel! Ramassis de non-sens!

L’AUDITEUR AVERTI (à part) L’orchestre a tort: elles vous ressembleront. —John Rea 1

In the spirit of Platonic dialogues, John Rea writes his article “Machina ex

Musico” as the unfolding of an actual concerto. Here, two anthropomorphic musical agents—“le soliste” and “l’orchestre”—engage in a conversation that gradually turns into an intense debate. Sitting in the audience is an informed listener (“l’auditeur averti”), attentively witnessing the exchange. A musicologist (“le musicologue”) overhears the discussion, perusing a glossary and occasionally interrupting to “enlighten” everyone with his erudite remarks (in various languages, of course).

The soloist wants to theorize the evolution of the concerto form after Mozart, and suggests new categories to classify some of the various concerto practices of the nineteenth century. However, the orchestra scolds her for being a “shameful revisionist,”

1 John Rea, “Machina ex Musico; le Compositeur, le Concerto, sa Forme et son Amas de Son,” Géométries Durables 23, no. 3 (2013): 13. 211 adding, “why [make] all of these new categories no one has ever heard of?” The soloist tries without success to explain her decision. Their argument is suddenly halted when the informed listener—the “voice of reason”—steps in to point out that the orchestra is wrong. These categories, in the end, will serve their purpose in advancing our understanding of concerto form at the turn of the nineteenth century.

Like Rea’s “informed listener,” I advocate a different way (or ways) to understand the concerto form(s) of Mendelssohn and his contemporaries. As Horton and others rightly point out, a theory of the early-nineteenth-century concerto that relies exclusively on Mozart’s concertos—or, for that matter, on any other isolated corpus of works—creates an anachronistic bias in favor of the formal paradigms of this composer, neglecting the works of others who are excluded from the musical canon. My tentative solution to this “concerto problem” is to acknowledge the “risk of circularity” inherent in the musical canon, minimizing its authority as an analytical or aesthetic criterion and opting instead for a context-sensitive approach.

An analysis of a particular concerto benefits if one, from the start, sets the piece in dialogue with its immediate context, recognizing all of its possible musical influences.

Hearing a concerto by Mendelssohn—or any composer—thus implies hearing it with reference to other musical works of the same (or similar) genre, either from its own time or from before. Understanding a concerto thus requires knowing its specific musical contexts, since the piece “exists” within a large but finite milieu of musical practices; i.e., a plethora of compositional paradigms by different composers, linked by their mutual musical inclinations. 212

As an analogy, one could thus imagine an elaborate Euler diagram, in which each circle represents a specific concerto movement by different composers. Here, norms and deformations are inferred from the degree of overlap between circles, and not from any canonical authority. This perspective provides a vantage point for interpreting and understanding the otherwise seemingly chaotic context of early-Romantic concerto practice. While lacking both a center and any concept of priority or periphery, the diagram places each work in a singular location within it, allowing the listener-analyst to examine the piece’s “surroundings” and determine what is normative or deformational in that specific context.

My findings rely on a robust empirical survey of the concerto repertoire at the turn of the nineteenth century. For various reasons, some important composers have had to be excluded—for instance, of the Italian concerto tradition (such as Niccolò Paganini) and the French school (such as Friedrich Kalkbrenner and Henri Herz). An examination of their works—and more—could draw additional valuable conclusions and enrich my current results. This endeavor, however, must be the subject of a future study. 213

APPENDIX A — Formal Tables

Semiotic Key

Repeated once  Repeated multiple times  – From measure to exact measure

~ From measure to approximate measure

→ Leading to

⇒ Becoming

— Extended chord

HC? » PAC! Apparent HC-dominant that leads to a PAC

[ ] “Writing over” x Multiple, ephemeral, or undetermined key areas

Rotational grouping

New and/or rotationally inert material

Modules separated by cadences

Single module with internal, non-cadential divisions

Large-scale ternary division

214

Ritornello 1

Modules P TR S C1. C1.2

Tonal layout I I VA→I I I Cadences PAC I:HC MC PAC PAC PAC mm. 1–10 10–15 16–24 24–32 32–34

Solo 1 Modules P TR TM1 ⇒ TM2 S (TM3) ⇒ DE Tonal layout I I V V V V

Expositional Space Cadences PAC I:HC MC HC? » PAC! PAC mm. 35–44 44–49 50~56 56–69 70~76 76–80

Ritornello 2

Modules P C1.2 Tonal layout V V Cadences PAC PAC

Pre-Dev. mm. 80–89 89–93 ⇒ Solo 3

Solo 2 Tonal Resolution Rit. 4 Modules P [Dev. Core] RT TM1 ⇒ TM2 S (TM3) ⇒ DE C1.1 C1.2

Tonal layout V→ →vi vi → I I I I I I I

Dev. Cadences PAC VA HC? » PAC! PAC PAC PAC mm. 94–103 104–122 122–130 131~139 139–142 143~147 147–153 154–165 165ff. Table 2.1. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in F, Op. 7 No. 2 215

Ritornello 1

Modules P1.0 P1.1 TR S1.1 S1.2

Tonal layout I I I VA→ I Cadences IAC I:HC MC PAC mm. 1–4 5–12 13–17 18–22 22–33

Solo 1 Modules P1.0 P1.1 TR TM1 ⇒ TM2 TM3 DE Tonal layout I I I V V V V

Expositional Space Cadences IAC I.HC MC V:PAC MC PAC PAC mm. 34–37 38–45 46–50 51– –72 73–81 81–94

Ritornello 2 Solo 2

Modules P1.0 [R1:\S1.2] [New Theme] Dev. core Struct. V S1.1

ths Tonal layout V V V→ I → vi desc. 5 VA→ →VA Cadences PAC vi:HC “Type 2” Dev.

Pre-Dev. mm. 94–97 98–104 105–121 121–134 134–139 139–152

Ritornello 3 ⇒ Solo 3 Rit. 4

Modules P1.0 P1.1 TR TM1 ⇒ TM2 TM3 DE P1.0 Tonal layout I I I v I I I I Cadences IAC I:HC MC V:PAC MC PAC PAC PAC Recap. mm. 153–156 157–164 165–169 170– –195 196–204 204–217 217ff. Table 2.2. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in B♭, Op. 13 No. 4 216

Ritornello 1

Modules P1.1 P1.1 TR S RT1.1 RT1.2 C

 Tonal layout I I I V V → I:VA I I Cadences PAC PAC I:HC MC PAC HC? » PAC! PAC mm. 1–6 7–12 12–20 21–31 31– –38– –44 44–48

Solo 1 Modules P1.1 P1.1 TR “S” (as two-part TR) RT1.2 ⇒ DE S1:\S? Pret Tonal layout I I  I V V V V V

Expositional Space Cadences PAC PAC I:HC MC HC? » PAC LEC PAC mm. 49–54 55–60 60–68 69–76 76~84 84–91 91–102 103–113

Ritornello 2 1.1 1.1 Modules P RT Tonal layout V vi Cadences PAC HC mm. 113–118 118–126 Pre-Dev. Solo 2 dev. core Modules P1.1 P1.1 ⇒ RT1.2 ⇒ S1:\S?  (P-based)

Dev. Dev. Tonal layout vi I i → iii → I I Cadences PAC PAC VA ⇒ VA PAC mm. 127–132 133–138 138–149 150~ ~156– –175

Ritornello 3 ⇒ Solo 3 Rit. 4

Modules P1.1 P1.1 TR “S” (as two-part TR) RT1.2 ⇒ DE S1:\S? Pret C Tonal layout I I  I I I I i I I Cadences PAC PAC I.HC MC HC? » PAC LEC HC PAC Recap. mm. 175–180 181–186 186–194 195–202 202~218 218–224 224–234 235–240 Cadenza 241ff. Table 3.1. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in D, Hob.XVIII:11 217

Ritornello 1

Modules P1.1 P1.1 P1.2 S RT C

 Tonal layout I I I I → V V → I I Cadences IAC PAC HC PAC mm. 1–3 4–6 7–9 10–14 15–17 18–25

Solo 1 Modules P1.1 P1.1 [S1:\P] TR [S1:\S1.1] ⇒ S1:\S1.2 S2 C Tonal layout I I  I I → V V V v V

Expositional Space Expositional Cadences IAC I:HC MC PAC LEC PAC mm. 26–28 29–31 32–35 36–43 44~47 47–61 62–68 69–78

Ritornello 2 1.1 1.1 Modules P P S Tonal layout V → → x→ V V Cadences PAC PAC mm. 78–80 81–91 92–96 Pre-Dev. Solo 2 Modules P1.1 → dev. core [S1:\P] C (as RT) Tonal layout V → seq. → vi vi vi → I Dev. Dev. Cadences HC PAC PAC mm. 97–99 100–119 120–129 130–138

Ritornello 3 ⇒ Solo 3 Rit. 4

Modules P1.1 P1.1 ⇒ TR S ⇒ S1:\S1.2 S2 C C Tonal layout I I  I I I i I I Cadences I:HC MC PAC LEC HC PAC Recap. mm. 138–140 141–143 144–157 158~161 161–173 174–180 181–191 Cadenza 192ff. Table 3.2. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in G, Hob.XVIII:4 218

Ritornello 1

Modules P TR S1 RT S2 Pret

Tonal layout I I → V V I I I

Cadences PAC V:HC MC PAC ⇒ VA PAC PAC mm. 1–6 7–12 13–16 17–18 19–26 26–28

Solo 1 Modules P TR (expan.) TR S1 DE (expan.) S1:\S Tonal layout I I → V V V V V V V

Expositional Space Cadences PAC V:HC? » » PAC! V:HC MC PAC LEC PAC mm. 29–34 35–40 41–47 47–49 50–58 59–64 65–70 71–77

Ritornello 2 2 Modules P ⇒ TR S1:\S S Tonal layout V V V V Cadences HC PAC PAC mm. 77– –84 85–89 89–92 Pre-Dev. Solo 2 Ritornello 3 Modules P Pre-core Core S2 Tonal layout V vi desc. 5ths → vi vi → I Dev. Cadences PAC HC PAC HC mm. 92–97 98–106 107–128 128–135

Ritornello

Solo 3 41 42 (expan.)

1 2 2 ret Modules P TR (expan.) S DE S S P (Pret effect) Tonal layout I I I I I I I I I

PAC HC? » » PAC! PAC LEC » » PAC! HC cadenza PAC PAC Recap. Cadences mm. 136–141 142–145 146–152 153–161 162–167 168–179 180– –187 187ff. Table 3.3. Haydn – Cello Concerto No. 2 in D, Hob.VIIb:2 219

Ritornello 1

Modules P TR S1.1 S1.2 C

Tonal layout I I I I I Cadences PAC I:HC (MC ev.) PAC PAC PAC mm. 1–12 13–20 21–25 25–40 41–48

Solo 1 Modules P TR TM1 ⇒ TM2 S1.1 (TM3) S1.2 C Tonal layout I I → V V V V V V

Expositional Space Cadences PAC V:HC MC V:HC » PAC MC PAC PAC PAC mm. 49–60 60–68 69– –84 85–90 90–104 104–109

Ritornello 2 Solo 2

Modules P TR [New Theme] Dev. core (TR-based) S1.2 Tonal layout V V V → desc. 5ths → vi desc. 5ths I Cadences PAC PAC vi: HC VA Dev.

Pre-Dev. mm. 109–116 117–122 123–137 137–155 155–162

Ritornello 3 ⇒ Solo 3 Rit. 4

Modules P TR ⇒ TM2 S1.1 (TM3) S1.2 C Tonal layout I I I I I I Cadences PAC I:HC » » PAC MC PAC PAC PAC Recap. mm. 163–174 174– –197 198—202 202–228 229ff. Table 3.4. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in F, Op. 13 No. 3 220

Ritornello 1

Modules P TR S1 RT S2 C

Tonal layout I I I → V V → I I I Cadences PAC I:HC MC PAC I:HC (MC) PAC PAC mm. 1–8 9–18 19–33 33–44 45–52 52–54

Solo 1 As TM1? As TM2? As TM3? Modules S1:\P TR S1:\S1 S1:\“RT” S1:\S2 S2 Tonal layout I I V → I! I → V V V

Expositional Space Cadences PAC I:HC MC PAC V:HC (MC) PAC PAC mm. 55–65 66–75 76–95 95–107 108–119 120–131

Ritornello 2 ⇒ Solo 2 Modules P P P S2

  vi → asc. Tonal layout V V I → vi 5ths → I Cadences PAC HC VA 131– 148– 154–

Pre-Dev. mm. 162–193 147 153 161

Solo 3 Modules S1:\P TR S1:\S2 S2 Tonal layout I I Dev. Dev. Cadences PAC PAC mm. 193–204 205–216 216–227 228–238 cadenza

Ritornello 4

Modules RT S2 C Tonal layout I I I Cadences PAC PAC PAC Recap. mm. 239–246 247–254 254ff. Table 3.5. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in E♭ 221

Ritornello 1

Modules P TR S1.1 S1.2 C

Tonal layout I I I I I

Cadences HC I:HC MC VA → PAC PAC mm. 1–8 9–17 18–21 22–29 29–41

Solo 1 Modules P TR [S1:\S] ⇒ S1.2 “OMT” Tonal layout I I V V V

ExpositionalSpace Cadences HC I:HC MC PAC PAC mm. 42–49 50–60 60– –88 88–96

Ritornello 2 1.1 1.2 Modules P TR S S C Tonal layout V V V V V Cadences HC V:HC MC VA→ PAC PAC mm. 96–103 104–112 113–116 117–120 120–129 Pre-Dev. Solo 2 Modules DE [New Theme] Tonal layout V → desc. 3rds, 5ths → iii iii Dev. Dev. Cadences iii:HC PAC mm. 130–154 155–176

Ritornello 3 Solo 3 Ritornello

“Wrong-key” recap. Tonal Resolution 41 42

1.2 Modules P TR [S1:\S] ⇒ S DE “OMT” C Tonal layout iii iii → I I I I I I I Cadences HC I:HC MC PAC PAC PAC cadenza Recap. mm. 176–183 184–195 196– –225 222– –246 246–248 249ff. Table 3.6. J.C. Bach – Keyboard Concerto in E♭, Op. 14 222

Ritornello 1

Modules P ⇒ TR S1.1 S1.2 C Tonal layout I I V V I Cadences I:HC MC PAC PAC mm. 1–8 9–12 13–16 17–24 24–27

Solo 1 S1:\ S1:\ Modules P ⇒ TR S1.1 S1.1 S1.2 DE P (w.c.) S1.2 Tonal layout I I V V V V V V

Expositional Space Expositional Space Cadences I:HC MC PAC PAC mm. 28–35 36–39 40–43 44–47 48–51 52–59 59–64 64–74

Solo Ritornello 2 S1:\ 2 Modules P ⇒ TR S1.1 S1.1 DE P (w.c.) S1.2 Asc. 5-6 → Tonal layout V V V vi desc. 5ths vi vi → vi Cadences HC Dev. PAC PAC 116– Pre-Dev. Pre-Dev. 74–81 82–85 86–89 90–93 94–111 111–115 mm. 122 Rit. 3 ⇒ Ritornello Solo 3 S1:\ 41 42 Modules P ⇒ TR TR P S1.1 DE S1.1 DE P (w.c.) S1.2 C P  Tonal layout I I I I I I I I II I I → vi HC

Cadences I:HC MC PAC PAC PAC cadenza HC MC! Recap. Recap. 135– 151– 163– 171– 197– 207– 211– 123–130 131–134 159–162 175–192 192–196 228ff. mm. 150 158 170 174 207 210 227 Table 3.7. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in C, Wq. 43 No. 6

223

Ritornello 1

Modules P TR S ⇒ “collapse” Pret Tonal layout I I V V → I I Cadences HC I:HC MC PAC PAC mm. 1–4 5–14 15–22 23–30 30–36

Solo 1 Modules P TR [S1:\S] Tonal layout I I V

Expositional Space Expositional Space Cadences HC I:HC MC PAC mm. 37–40 41–50 51–74

Ritornello 2 Solo 2 Modules P ⇒ TR “New theme” dev. core core dom. lock

 Tonal layout V V V x x → vi

Cadences HC PAC Dev. HC vi:VA mm. 75–78 79–88 89–100 101–115 116–129 130 Pre-Dev. Pre-Dev.

Rit. 3 ⇒ Solo 3 Modules P TR S ⇒ TR core core dom. lock [S1:\S] ⇒ “collapse” Pret  Tonal layout vi vi → I V V→ I x x→ I I I I I

Cadences HC I:HC MC Decep. I:VA ev. PAC PAC Recap. Recap. mm. 140–143 144–157 158–165 166–173 173–181 182–190 191–201 202–218 219–229 229ff. Table 3.8. C.P.E. Bach – Double Concerto for Harpsichord and Fortepiano in E♭, Wq. 47 224

Ritornello 1

Quasi- Modules P TR c.f. S ⇒ RT Pret thematic c.f

Tonal layout I I → V ♮III? V V V → I I Cadences PAC V:HC MC IAC PAC I:HC PAC mm. 1–16 16–28 29–36 36–44 44~62 62–76 76–83

Solo 1 Rit. 2 Quasi- Modules P0 [S1:\P] [S1:\TR] c.f. S DE [R1:\TR] thematic c.f

Expositional Space Tonal layout I I I ♮III? V V V V Cadences HC PAC I.HC MC IAC PAC PAC PAC decep. mm. 83–92 93–103 104–120 121–124 124–132 132–155 155–195 195–207

Solo 2 Modules P0 [S1:\P] [S1:\TR] S Tonal layout ♮III ♮III → v v → I I Cadences HC PAC HC VA Dev. mm. 207–211 212–225 225–248 249–263

Ritornello 3 Rit. 4 Solo (5)

Modules P0 [S1:\P] ⇒ TR ⇒ removed S DE [R1:\TR] Coda Tonal layout I I I I I I I Cadences HC PAC PAC PAC OAC Recap. mm. 264–267 268–275 276–291 292–311 311–362 362–368 368ff. Table 4.1. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in E, MWV O 5 225

Modules P TR S1 S2 C Independent, Compound Period Compound Period Sentence sentential Form Cod. “one more time” Ant. Cons. Pres. Cont. Ant. Cons. Pres. Cont. (cont. rep. 2x) i Tonal layout I I (VA) I I I “lights out” Dec. Ev. I:PAC Cadences i:HC i:PAC I:HC MC I:HC I:PAC I:PAC cad. Cad. EEC mm. 1–8 9–18 19–26 26–30 31–38 39–46 47–48 49–52 52–59 59–62 63–66 Table 4.2. Mozart – Piano Concerto No. 23 in A, K. 488 (mm. 1–66)

Modules P TR S1.1 → S1.2 S2 C Compound Dissolving restatement Hybrid Sentential Period Sentence P- Form Dom. Ant. + Cont. Cons. based Pres. Cont. Pres. Cont. c.f. Pres. Cont. Ant. Cod. lock (rep. 2x) (exp.) collapse ths Tonal layout I I (VA) ♭III (→asc. 5 ) I I I I:PAC Cadences I:PAC I:HC MC I:PAC I:HC I:PAC I:PAC EEC 16– 24– 47– 67– 73– 80– 86– 99– mm. 1–8 9–16 36–46 49–66 90–95 95–99 23 36 48 72 79 86 89 106 Table 4.3. Beethoven – Piano Concerto No. 1 in C, Op. 15 (mm. 1–106) 226

Ritornello 1

Modules P TR c.f. S RT Pret Tonal layout i i → III III III III → i i

Cadences PAC III:HC MC PAC I:HC MC 1 – 33– mm. 19–33 36–47 48–58 59–75 19 35

Solo 1 Rit. 2 False Rit. Modules S1:\P [S1:\TR] c.f. S [S1:\S] DE DE P Pre. dev. ep. effect (P)  III → Tonal layout i i → III III v → III III III III III ♭I → III Expositional Space v Cadences PAC III:HC MC PAC PAC PAC PAC PAC Decep. 120– 125– 201– mm. 75–92 92–120 136–148 148–157 157–171 171–201 219–243 124 136 219

Solo 2 Modules [S1:\S] DE Tonal layout ♭I → III iii → iv → Core (asc. 5ths – ths ths Cadences PAC desc. 5 – asc. 5 ) → I:VA Dev. mm. 244–279 279–340 Ritornello

Ritornello 3 ⇒ Solo 3 41 42 Modules P S1:\P ⇒ S1:\TR c.f. S DE P P

I → Tonal layout i i I I ♯iii → I I I I ♯iii cadenza cadenza Cadences PAC I:HC MC PAC PAC PAC VA PAC Recap. 341– 353– 395– 399– 462– 466– mm. 367–395 410–428 428–462 521ff. 353 367 398 410 466 520 Table 4.4. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Violin and Piano in d, MWV O 4 227

Ritornello 1

S ⇒ RT Modules P TR Pret Ant. Cons.

Tonal layout i i → III III III → i I Cadences PAC III:HC MC HC i:HC MC PAC mm. 1–16 16–33 34–41 42–56 57–71

Solo 1 Rit. 2 Modules S1:\P [S1:\TR]? [S1:\TR] S [S1:\TR] DE [R1:\TR] → i i i → III III III III III

Expositional Space Tonal layout Cadences PAC PAC III:HC MC PAC PAC PAC HC mm. 72–96 96–104 104–135 135–156 156–168 168–210 210–226

Rit. 2 Solo 2

New Mod. (period) Modules P Dev. core Ant. Cons. ii–III–♭IV → Tonal layout VII → VI → ♭V ♭I II → ♭V vi–VII–i Cadences PAC HC PAC i:VA

Development mm. 227–253 254–270 271–293 293–356

Ritornello 3

Modules P S1:\P TR S DE [R1:\TR] Tonal layout i I I i i Cadences PAC PAC i:HC MC PAC PAC PAC Recap. mm. 357–374 375–388 389–420 421–444 444–489 489ff. Table 4.5. Mendelssohn – Piano Concerto in a, MWV O 2 228

Ritornello 1

Modules P TR c.f. S RT Pret C Tonal layout I I → V V V vi → I I I

Cadences PAC V:HC MC VA— Ev. vi:VA → I: VA PAC I:I— mm. 1–20 20–42 43–53 54–69 69–93 93–104 104–109

Solo 1 Rit. 2 Modules [S1:\P] S1:\P [S1:\TR] c.f. S DE [R1:\TR] C  Tonal layout I I I → V V V V V V

Expositional Space Cadences PAC PAC V:HC MC VA— PAC PAC PAC V:I— mm. 110–123 123–140 140–173 174–184 185–212 212–277 277–297 298–308

Solo 2 Modules [S1:\P] [S1:\TR] ⇒ ⇒ DE

ths Tonal layout ♭III → ♭VII (→ i → ii) → ♭III X → desc. 5 → I:VA Cadences PAC Dev. mm. 309–339 340–380 380–425

⇒ Solo 3 Rit. 4

Modules S1:\P S1:\TR c.f. S DE [R1:\TR] Tonal layout I I I I I I Cadences PAC I:HC MC VA— PAC PAC PAC Recap. mm. 426–450 451–468 469–480 481–508 508–591 591ff. Table 4.6. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in A♭, MWV O 6

229

Ritornello 1

Modules P TR S ⇒ RT Pret Tonal layout i i → III III → i i Cadences HC III:HC MC HC PAC mm. 1–12 13–25 26– –35 36–46

Solo 1 TM1? TM2? TM3? Modules S1:\P TR S1:\S? S1:\TR S1:\S1.1 S1:\S1.2 DE Tonal layout I i:HC MC i → III III III III ExpositionalSpace Cadences PAC I:HC MC III:HC MC PAC PAC mm. 46–53 53–70 61– –74 75–82 83–90 90–108

Ritornello 2.1 Solo 2.1 Modules P S1:\P DE Pret Tonal layout III III → v v 5ths → v Cadences PAC PAC HC PAC

Dev. Rot. 1 mm. 108–125 125–139 139–146 147–177

Ritornello 2.2 Solo 2.2 Modules P P S1:\S1.1 S1:\S1.2 v → iv  Tonal layout desc. 5ths → iv iv → VI → iii → i → Cadences HC HC i:VA Dev. Rot. 2 mm. 177–197 197–211 212–223 224–244

Ritornello 3 Solo 3

Modules P ⇒ S1:\P DE Pret Tonal layout i i i I Cadences PAC PAC PAC Recap. mm. 245–248 248–260 260–276 276ff. Table 4.7. Mendelssohn – Violin Concerto in d, MWV O 3 230

APPENDIX B — Examples

Example 2.1. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 43 No. 2, beginning of S1 (mm. 48–72) [winds omitted]

231

Example 2.1. Continued

232

Example 2.2. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in D, Wq. 45, end of S2(.1) to beginning of S3 (mm. 45–54)

233

Example 2.3a. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in G, Wq. 44, R1 to beginning of S1 (mm. 1–25)

234

Example 2.3a. Continued

235

Example 2.3a. Continued

236

Example 2.3b. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in G, Wq. 44, end of S2.1 to beginning of S3 (mm. 83–100)

237

Example 2.4a. Carl Stamitz – Viola Concerto in D, Op. 1, first ritornello (mm. 1–76)

238

Example 2.4b. Carl Stamitz – Viola Concerto in D, Op. 1, end of developmental space to tonal resolution (mm. 194–242)

239

Example 2.5. Bennett – Piano Concerto No. 4 in f, op. 19, end of exposition into beginning of Type 1 recapitulation (mm. 206–264)

240

Example 2.5. Continued

241

Example 2.6a. Moscheles – Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, Op. 93, “Pathétique,” middle of R1:\DE to the beginning of Type 1 recapitulatory space (mm. 122–184)

242

Example 2.6a. Continued

243

Example 2.6b. Moscheles – Piano Concerto No. 7 in c, Op. 93, “Pathétique,” beginning of S2 (as S3), R1:\P to S1:\S (mm. 197–264)

244

Example. 2.6b. Continued

245

Example 3.1. Haydn – Double Concerto for Violin and Keyboard in F, Hob. XVIII:6 (mm. 1–25) [strings only]

246

Example 3.2. Haydn – Keyboard Concerto in D, Hob.XVIII:11, R1:\P (mm. 1–6) and R1:\S (mm. 21–31) [strings only]

247

Example 3.3. Kozeluch – Piano Concerto No. 1 in F, P.IV:1. a) R1:\P (mm. 1–12), b) R1:\TR (mm. 12–20), c) R1:\S (mm. 34–46), d) R1:\“RT” (mm. 46–57), and e) Dev. (mm. 190–201).

248

Example 3.4. Hummel – Piano Concerto in a, Op. 85, R1:\P1.2 (mm. 10–18), R1:\S1.2 (mm. 66–72), and R1:\C (mm. 88–95) [piano reduction]

249

Example 3.5a. Haydn – Trumpet Concerto in E♭, Hob.VIIe:1 (mm. 17–38) [piano reduction]

250

Example 3.5b. Haydn – Trumpet Concerto in E♭, Hob.VIIe:1 (mm. 54–84) [piano reduction]

251

Example 3.6. Hummel – Trumpet Concerto in E, S. 49 (mm. 14–44) [piano reduction]

252

Example 3.7. Haydn – Violin Concerto in G, Hob.VIIa:4 (mm. 19–29)

253

Example 3.7. Continued

254

Example 3.8. Hummel – Violin Concerto in G (mm. 29–47) [piano reduction]

255

Example 3.9. Haydn – Cello Concerto No. 2 in D, Hob.VIIb:2. S1: expanded caesura-fill (mm. 33–50) [piano reduction]

256

Example 3.10. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in E♭, Wq. 43 No. 3 (mm. 45–63) [winds ommited]

257

Example 3.10. Continued

258

Example 3.11. C.P.E. Bach – Harpsichord Concerto in F, Wq. 43 No. 1 (mm. 119–134) [winds omitted]

259

Example 4.1. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in E, MWV O 5 (S1, mm. 123– 134)

260

Example 4.2a. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Violin and Piano in d, MWV O 4 (R1, mm. 1–78)

261

Example 4.2a. Continued

262

Example 4.2a. Continued

263

Example 4.2b. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Violin and Piano in d, MWV O 4 (mm. 143–158)

264

Example 4.3. Mendelssohn – Piano Concerto in a, MWV O 2, dev. thematic episode (mm. 253–295)

265

Example 4.3. Continued

266

Example 4.4. Ries – Piano Concerto in E♭, op. 42, dev. thematic episode (mm. 206–227) [two-piano reduction]

267

Example 4.4. Continued

268

Example 4.5. Mendelssohn – Concerto for Two Pianos in A♭, MWV O 6 (mm. 35–58) [two-piano reduction]

269

Example 4.6. Mendelssohn – Violin Concerto in e, Op. 64 (mm. 96–148) [piano reduction]

270

Example 4.6. Continued

271

Example 4.7. Spohr – Violin Concerto No. 6 in g, op. 28 (mm. 189–222) [piano reduction]

272

Example 4.8. Thalberg – Piano Concerto in f, op. 5 (mm. 212–220) [piano reduction]

273

Example 4.9. Hiller – Piano Concerto No. 1 in f, op. 5 (mm. 232–250) [piano reduction]

274

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES

Allanbrook, Wye J., Janet M. Levy, and William P. Mahrt, eds. Conventions in Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century Music: Essays in Honor of Leonard G Ratner. Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon, 1992.

Anderson, Emily. Letters of Beethoven. Vol. 1. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1961.

Angermüller, Rudolph. “Mozarts Pariser Umwelt (1778).” Mozart-Jahrbuch (1978- 1979): 122–132.

Baker, Nancy Kovaleff. Introductory Essay on Composition: The Mechanical Rules of Melody, Sections 3 and 4. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983.

Baker, Nancy Kovaleff, and Barbara Russano Hanning, eds. Musical Humanism and its Legacy: Essays in Honor of Claude V. Palisca. Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1992.

Bass, Richard. “Prokofiev's Technique of Chromatic Displacement.” Music Analysis 7, no. 2 (1988): 197–214.

Berger, Karol. “Towards a History of Hearing: The Classic Concerto, A Sample Case.” In Conventions in Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century Music: Essays in Honor of Leonard G Ratner. Edited by Wye J. Allanbrook, Janet M. Levy, and William P. Mahrt, 405–429. Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon, 1992.

Bonds, Mark Evan. Wordless Rhetoric: Musical Form and the Metaphor of the Oration. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991.

Brendel, Franz. “Robert Schumann with Reference to Mendelssohn-Bartholdy and the Development of Modern Music in General.” In Mendelssohn and His World. Edited by R. Larry Todd. Translated by Susan Gillespie, 341–363. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991.

Burstein, Poundie L. “The Off-Tonic Return in Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major, Op. 58, and Other Works.” Music Analysis 24, no. 3 (2005): 305–347.

Caplin, William. Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Caplin, William, James Hepokoski and James Webster. Musical Form, Forms & Formenlehre: Three Methodological Reflections. Edited by Pieter Bergé. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2010. 275

Christ, Stephen A., and Roberta Montemorra Martin, eds. Historical Musicology: Sources, Methods, Interpretations. Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 2004.

Clark, Stephen L., ed. C.P.E. Bach Studies. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988.

Cook, Nicholas, and Mark Everist, eds. Rethinking Music. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.

Cooper, John Michael. Mendelssohn’s ‘Italian’ Symphony. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.

Cooper, John Michael, and Julie D. Prandi. The Mendelssohns: Their Music in History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.

Coren, Daniel. “Ambiguity in Schubert’s Recapitulations.” Musical Quarterly 60, no. 4 (1974): 568–582.

Culshaw, John. The Concerto. Vol. 10 of The World of Music. Edited by Sir George Franckenstein and Otto Erich Deutsch. London: Max Parrish, 1949.

Czerny, Carl. School of Practical Composition. Vol. 1. Translated by John Bishop. London: Robert Cocks, 1848, repr. New York: Da Capo Press, 1979. Originally published as Die Schule der praktischen Tonsetzkunst. Bonn: N. Simrock, 1849.

Davis, Shelley. “H. C. Koch, the Classic Concerto, and the Sonata-Form Retransition.” Journal of Musicology 2, no. 1 (1983): 45–61.

———. “C.P.E. Bach and the Early History of the Recapitulatory Tutti in North Germany.” In C.P.E. Bach Studies. Edited by Stephen L. Clark, 65–82. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988.

Dibble, Jeremy. “Context, Form and Style in Sterndale Bennett’s Piano Concertos.” Nineteenth-Century Music Review 13 (2016): 195–219.

Eisen, Cliff, and Stanley Sadie. “Mozart, (Johann Chrysostom) Wolfgang Amadeus.” Grove Music Online. 2001.

Elvers, Rudolf. Felix Mendelssohn: A Life in Letters. Translated by Craig Tomlinson. New York: Fromm, 1986.

Everist, Mark. “Reception Theories, Canonic Discourses, and Musical Value.” In Rethinking Music. Edited by Nicholas Cook and Mark Everist, 378–402. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.

Feder, Georg, and James Webster. “Haydn, (Franz) Joseph.” Grove Music Online, 2001. 276

Feldman, Martha. “Staging the Virtuoso: Ritornello Procedure in Mozart, from Aria to Concerto.” In Mozart’s Piano Concertos: Text, Context, Interpretation. Edited by Neal Zaslaw, 149–186. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996.

Flothuis, Marius. Mozart’s Piano Concertos. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2001.

Forman, Denis. Mozart’s Concerto Form: The First Movements of the Piano Concertos. New York: Praeger, 1971.

Galand, Joel. “The Large Scale Formal Role of the Solo Entry Theme in the Eighteenth- Century Concerto.” Journal of Music Theory 44 (2000): 381–450.

Galeazzi, Francesco. Elementi Teorico-Practici de Musica. Rome: Stamperia Pilucchi Cracas, 1791–1796. Partially translated by Angelo Frascarelli in “‘Elementi Teorico-Practici di Musica’ by Francesco Galeazzi: An Annotated English Translation and Study of Volume I.” DMA thesis, University of Rochester, 1968.

Girdlestone, Cuthbert. Mozart & His Piano Concertos. 2nd ed. 1958. Reprint, Mineola, NY: Dover, 2011. Originally published as Mozart et ses Concertos pour Piano. 2 Vols. Paris: Fischbacher, 1939.

Green, Douglass. Form in Tonal Music: An Introduction to Analysis. 2nd ed. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1979.

Grey, Thomas. “Orchestral Music.” In The Mendelssohn Companion. Edited by Douglass Seaton, 395–533. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2001.

Grimes, Nicole, and Angela Mace, eds. Mendelssohn Perspectives. London: Routledge, 2012.

Hadow, William Henry. “Bach, Karl Philipp Emanuel.” In Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th ed., vol. 3. Edited by Hugh Chisholm. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911.

Hartinger, Anselm, Christoph Wolff, and Peter Wollny, eds. “Zu groß, zu unerreichbar”: Bach-Rezeption im Zeitalter Mendelssohns und Schumanns. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 2007.

Hepokoski, James. “Back and Forth from Egmont: Beethoven, Mozart, and the Nonresolving Recapitulation.” 19th-Century Music 25, nos. 2–3 (2001-02): 127– 154.

———. “Framing Till Eulenspiegel.” 19th-Century Music 30, no. 1 (2006): 4–43.

———. “Sonata Theory and Dialogic Form.” In Musical Form, Forms & Formenlehre: Three Methodological Reflections. Edited by Pieter Bergé, 71–89. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2010. 277

Hepokoski, James, and Warren Darcy. “The Medial Caesura and Its Role in the Eighteenth-Century Sonata Exposition.” Music Theory Spectrum 19, no. 2 (1997): 115–154.

———. Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late- Eighteenth-Century Sonata. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006.

Hopkins, Antony. The Seven Concertos of Beethoven. Brookfield, VT: Ashgate, 1996.

Horton, Julian. “Recent Developments in Bruckner Scholarship.” In Music & Letters 85, no. 1 (2004): 83–94.

———. Bruckner's Symphonies: Analysis, Reception and Cultural Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

———. “Bruckner’s Symphonies and Sonata Deformation Theory.” Journal of the Society for Musicology in Ireland 1 (2005): 5–17.

———. “John Field and the Alternative History of Concerto First-Movement Form.” Music & Letters 92 (2011): 43–83.

———. “Formal Type and Formal Function in the Postclassical Piano Concerto.” In Formal Functions in Perspective: Essays on Musical Form from Haydn to Adorno. Edited by Steven Vande Moortele, Julie Pedneault-Deslauriers, and Nathan John Martin, 77–122. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2015.

———. Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 2 Op. 83: Analytical and Contextual Studies. Leuven: Peeters, 2017.

Hutchings, Arthur. A Companion to Mozart’s Piano Concertos. London: Oxford University Press, 1948.

Irving, John. Mozart’s Piano Concertos. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2003.

———. “The Invention of Tradition.” In The Cambridge History of Nineteenth-Century Music. Edited by Jim Samson, 178–212. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

Isserlis, Steven, ed. Robert Schumann’s Advice to Young Musicians. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2016.

Jander, Owen. “‘Cramer, Cramer! We Shall Never Be Able to do Anything Like That!’: Understanding a Favorite Quotation about Mozart’s Concerto in C Minor, K. 491, and Mozart’s Influence on Beethoven’s Concertos.” Beethoven Journal 15, no. 2 (2000): 57–63. 278

Jones, Peter Ward. “Mendelssohn’s First Composition.” In The Mendelssohns: Their Music in History. Edited by John Michael Cooper and Julie D. Prandi, 101–113. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.

Keefe, Simon P. Mozart’s Piano Concertos: Dramatic Dialogue in the Age of Enlightenment. Woodbridge, UK: The Boydell Press, 2001.

———. “The Concerto from Mozart to Beethoven: Aesthetic and Stylistic Perspectives.” In The Cambridge Companion to the Concerto. Edited by Simon P. Keefe, 70–92. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

———, ed. The Cambridge Companion to the Concerto. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

———, ed. The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-Century Music. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009.

Kerman, Joseph. “A Few Canonic Variations.” Critical Inquiry 10, no. 1 (1983): 107– 125.

———. Concerto Conversations. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999.

Kerst, Friedrich. Mozart: the Man and the Artist Revealed in his Own Words. Edited and translated by Henry Krehbiel. New York: Dover, 1965.

Klein, Hans-Günter, ed. Die Musikveranstaltungen bei den Mendelssohns – Ein ‘musikalischer Salon’?: die Referate des Symposions am 2. September 2006 in Leipzig. Leipzig: Mendelssohn-Haus, 2006.

Koch, Heinrich Christoph. Versuch einer Anleitung zur Composition. Leipzig: A.F. Böhme, 1782–1793.

———. Musikalisches Lexikon. Frankfurt am Main: August Hermann der Jüngere, 1802.

Kohs, Ellis. Musical Form: Studies in Analysis and Synthesis. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1973.

Kolb, Katherine, ed., Berlioz on Music: Selected Criticism 1824–1837. Translated by Samuel N. Rosenberg. New York: Oxford University Press, 2015.

Kollmann, Augustus Frederic Christopher. An Essay on Practical Musical Composition, According to the Nature of that Science and the Principles of the Greatest Musical Authors. London: Kollmann, 1799. Reprint, New York: Da Capo Press, 1973.

Krauss, Lawrence. A Universe from Nothing: Why There Is Something Rather than Nothing. New York: Atria, 2012. 279

Kroll, Mark. Ignaz Moscheles and the Changing World of Musical Europe. Woodbridge, UK: The Boydell Press, 2014.

La Rue, Jan. “Bifocal Tonality: An Explanation for Ambiguous Baroque Cadences.” The Journal of Musicology 18, no. 2 (2001): 283–294.

Layton, Robert. A Guide to the Concerto. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996.

Lee, Douglass, ed. “Sei concerti per il cembalo concertato.” In Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works. Series III, Vol. 8. Edited by Robert D. Levin (edition chair, 2014–). Los Altos, CA: Packard Humanities Institute, and the Bach-Archiv Leipzig, 2005.

Leeson, Daniel, and Robert Levin. “On the Authenticity of K. Anh. C 14.01 (297 b), a Symphonia Concertante for Four Winds and Orchestra.” Mozart-Jahrbuch (1976– 77): 70–96.

Levin, Robert D. (edition chair, 2014–). Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: The Complete Works. Los Altos, CA: Packard Humanities Institute, and the Bach-Archiv Leipzig, 1999–.

Lindeman, Stephan [Steve]. “Formal Novelty and Tradition in the Early Romantic Piano Concerto.” PhD diss., Rutgers University, 1995. Reprinted as Structural Novelty and Tradition in the Early Romantic Piano Concerto. Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1999.

———. “Mendelssohn and Moscheles: Two Composers, Two Pianos, Two Scores, One Concerto.” Musical Quarterly 83, no. 1 (1999): 51–74.

———. “The Works for Solo Instrument(s) and Orchestra.” In The Cambridge Companion to Mendelssohn. Edited by Peter Mercer-Taylor, 112–129. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

———. “The Nineteenth-Century Piano Concerto.” In The Cambridge Companion to the Concerto. Edited by Simon P. Keefe, 93–117. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

———. “An Insular World of Romantic Isolation: Harmonic Digressions in the Early Nineteenth-Century Piano Concerto.” Ad Parnassum 4, no. 8 (2006): 21–80.

Macdonald, Claudia. “Mozart’s Piano Concertos and the Romantic Generation.” In Historical Musicology: Sources, Methods, Interpretations. Edited by Stephen A. Christ and Roberta Montemorra Martin, 302–329. Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 2004.

Mace, Angela R. “Improvisation, Elaboration, Composition: The Mendelssohns and the Classical Cadenza.” In Mendelssohn’s Perspectives. Edited by Nicole Grimes and Angela R. Mace, 223–247. London: Routledge, 2012. 280

———. “Fanny Hensel, Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, and the Formation of the Mendelssohnian Style.” PhD diss., Duke University, 2013.

Marx, Adolph Bernhard. Die Lehre von der musikalischen Komposition, praktisch- theoretisch. Vol. 4. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1847.

McVeigh, Simon. “Concerto of the Individual.” In The Cambridge History of Eighteenth- Century Music. Edited by Simon P. Keefe, 583–612. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009.

Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Karl. Goethe and Mendelssohn. London: Macmillan, 1872.

Mercer-Taylor, Peter. “Mendelssohn and the Institution(s) of German Art Music.” In The Cambridge Companion to Mendelssohn. Edited by Peter Mercer-Taylor, 11–25. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

———, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Mendelssohn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

Mersmann, Hans, ed. Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Translated by M.M. Bozman. New York: Dover, 1972.

Mintz, Donald. “Mendelssohn as Performer and Teacher.” In The Cambridge Companion to Mendelssohn. Edited by Peter Mercer-Taylor, 87–142. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

Monahan, Seth. “Success and Failure in Mahler's Sonata Recapitulations.” Music Theory Spectrum 33, no. 1 (2011): 37–58.

———. Mahler’s Symphonic Sonatas. New York: Oxford University Press, 2015.

Neuwirth, Markus. “Does a ‘Monothematic’ Expositional Design have Tautological Implications for the Recapitulation? An Alternative Approach to ‘Altered Recapitulations’ in Haydn.” Studia Musicologica 51, nos. 3/4 (2010): 369–385.

Newman, William S. The Sonata since Beethoven: The Third and Final Volume of A History of the Sonata Idea. 2nd ed. 1969. Reprint, New York: Norton, 1972.

Plantinga, Leon. Beethoven’s Concertos: History, Style, Performance. New York: Norton, 1999.

Prout, Ebenezer. Applied Forms: A Sequel to ‘Musical Form.’ London: Augener, 1895.

Quantz, Johann Joachim. Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte Traversiere zu spielen. Berlin: Johann Friedrich Voß, 1752. Translated by Edward R. Reilly as On Playing the Flute. London: Faber and Faber, 1966. 281

Rea, John. “Machina ex Musico; le Compositeur, le Concerto, sa Forme et son Amas de Son.” Géométries Durables 23, no. 3 (2013): 9–27.

Reich, Nancy B. “The Power of Class: Fanny Hensel.” In Mendelssohn and His World. Edited by R. Larry Todd, 86–99. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991.

Riley, Matthew. “Sonata Principles,” review of Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata, by James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy. Music & Letters 89, no. 4 (2008): 590–598.

Rosen, Charles. Sonata Forms. Rev. ed. New York: Norton, 1988.

Sachs, Joel. “Hummel, Johann Nepomuk.” Revised by Mark Kroll. Grove Music Online, 2001.

Samson, Jim, ed. The Cambridge History of Nineteenth-Century Music. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

Scheibe, Johann Adolph. Critischer Musikus: Neue vermehrte und unverbesserte Auflage. Leipzig: Breitkopf, 1745.

Schmalfeldt, Janet. In the Process of Becoming: Analytic and Philosophical Perspectives on Form in Early Nineteenth-Century Music. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011.

Schumann, Robert. “Trios für Pianoforte, Violine und Violoncello.” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 13 (1840): 197–198.

Seaton, Douglass. The Mendelssohn Companion. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2001.

Simon, Edwin J. “The Double Exposition in the Classic Concerto.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 10, no. 2 (1957): 111–118.

Stevens, Jane. “An 18th-Century Description of Concerto First-Movement Form.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 24, no. 1 (1971): 85–95.

———. “Theme, Harmony, and Texture in Classic-Romantic Descriptions of Concerto First-Movement Form.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 27, no. 1 (1974): 25–60.

———. “Formal Design in C.P.E. Bach’s Harpsichord Concertos.” Studi Musicali 15 (1986): 257–297.

———. “The ‘Piano Climax’ in the Eighteenth-Century Concerto: An Operatic Gesture?” C.P.E. Bach Studies. Edited by Stephen L. Clark, 245–276. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988. 282

———. “Patterns of Recapitulation in the First Movements of Mozart’s Piano Concertos.” In Musical Humanism and its Legacy: Essays in Honor of Claude V. Palisca. Edited by Nancy Kovaleff Baker and Barbara Russano Hanning, 397– 418. Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1992.

———. “The Importance of C.P.E. Bach for Mozart’s Piano Concertos.” In Mozart’s Piano Concertos: Text, Context, Interpretation. Edited by Neal Zaslaw, 211–236. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996.

Taylor, Benedict. “Mutual Deformity: Ignaz Moscheles’s Seventh and William Sterndale Bennett’s Fourth Piano Concertos.” Music Analysis 35, no. 1 (2016): 75–109.

Temperley, Nicholas. “Mendelssohn’s Influence on English Music.” Music & Letters 43, no. 3 (1962): 224–233.

Todd, R. Larry. “The Instrumental Music of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy: Selected Studies Based on Primary Sources.” PhD diss., Yale University, 1979.

———. “An Unfinished Piano Concerto by Mendelssohn.” The Musical Quarterly 68, no. 1 (1982): 80–101.

———. Mendelssohn’s Musical Education: A Study and Edition of his Exercises in Composition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983.

———, ed. Mendelssohn and His World. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991.

———. Mendelssohn: A Life in Music. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.

———. “Die Matthäuspassion: Widerhall und Wirkung in Mendelsohns Musik.” In “Zu groß, zu unerreichbar”: Bach-Rezeption im Zeitalter Mendelssohns und Schumanns. Edited by Anselm Hartinger, Christoph Wolff, and Peter Wollny, 79– 97. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 2007.

Tovey, Donald Francis. Essays in Musical Analysis. Vol. 3 “Concertos”. London: Oxford University Press, 1948.

Türk, Daniel Gottlob. Klavierschule oder Anweisung zum Klavierspielen für Lehrer und Lernende. Leipzig & Halle: Schwickert, Hemmerde, and Schwetschke, 1789.

Vande Moortele, Steven. Two-Dimensional Sonata Form: Form and Cycle in Single- Movement Instrumental Works by Liszt, Strauss, Schoenberg, and Zemlinsky. Leuven University Press, 2009.

———. “In Search of Romantic Form.” Music Analysis 32, no. 3 (2013): 404–431.

Vande Moortele, Steven, Julie Pedneault-Deslauriers, and Nathan John Martin, eds. Formal Functions in Perspective: Essays on Musical Form from Haydn to Adorno. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2015. 283

Veinus, Abraham. The Concerto. 1945. Reprint, New York: Dover, 1963.

Vitercik, Greg. “Mendelssohn as Progressive.” In The Cambridge Companion to Mendelssohn. Edited by Peter Mercer-Taylor, 71–88. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

Vogler, Georg Joseph. Betrachtungen der Mannheimer Tonschule. Mannheim: Bossler, 1778–1781.

Wade, Rachel. “The Keyboard Concertos of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: Sources and Style.” PhD diss., New York University, 1979. Reprinted as The Keyboard Concertos of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1981.

Warburton, Ernest. The Collected Works of Johann Christian Bach. Vol. 48. New York: Garland, 1999.

Weber, William. “The Intellectual Origins of Musical Canon in Eighteenth-Century England.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 47, no. 3 (1994): 488– 520.

———. “The History of the Musical Canon.” In Rethinking Music. Edited by Nicholas Cook and Mark Everist, 336–355. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.

———. “Canonicity and Collegiality: ‘Other’ Composers, 1790-1850.” Common Knowledge 14, no. 1 (2008): 105–123.

Webster, James. “Are Mozart’s Concertos ‘Dramatic’? Concerto Ritornellos versus Aria Introductions in the 1780s.” In Mozart’s Piano Concertos: Text, Context, Interpretation. Edited by Neal Zaslaw, 107–137. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1996.

Wehner, Ralph. “Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdys Verhältnis zum musikalischen Salon seiner Zeit.” In Die Musikveranstaltungen bei den Mendelssohns – Ein ‘musikalischer Salon’?: die Referate des Symposions am 2. September 2006 in Leipzig. Edited by Hans-Günter Klein, 61–93. Leipzig: Mendelssohn-Haus, 2006.

———, ed. Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy: Thematisch-systematisches Verzeichnis der musikalischen Werke (MWV). Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 2009.

Wilson, Marian. “Felix Mendelssohn’s Works for Solo Piano and Orchestra: Sources and Composition.” PhD diss., Florida State University, 1993.

———. “Mendelssohn’s Second Piano Concerto, Op. 40, and the Origins of His Serenade and Allegro Giojoso, Op. 43.” Journal of Musicology 20, no. 3 (2003): 358–387. 284

———. “Mendelssohn’s Other Concerto: The Changing Reception of the Piano Concerto No. 2, Op. 40, in D Minor.” Journal of Musicological Research 29, nos. 2–3 (2010): 119–147.

Wingfield, Paul. “Beyond ‘Norms and Deformations’: Towards a Theory of Sonata Form as Reception History,” review of Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata, by James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy. Music Analysis 27, no. 1 (2008): 137–177.

Wingfield, Paul, and Julian Horton. “Norm and Deformation in Mendelssohn’s Sonata Forms.” In Mendelssohn’s Perspectives. Edited by Nicole Grimes and Angela R. Mace, 83–112. London: Routledge, 2012.

Winter, Robert. “The Bifocal Close and the Evolution of the Viennese Classical Style.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 42, no. 2 (1989): 275–337.

Wolff, Christoph, and Stephen Roe. “Bach, Johann [John] Christian.” Grove Music Online, 2001

Wollny, Peter. “Sarah Levy and the Making of Musical Taste in Berlin.” Musical Quarterly 77, no. 4 (1993): 651–688.

Zaslaw, Neal. “Context for Mozart’s Piano Concertos.” In Mozart’s Piano Concertos: Text, Context, Interpretation. Edited by Neal Zaslaw, 7–16. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996.

———, ed. Mozart’s Piano Concertos: Text, Context, Interpretation. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996.