Atlantic Symphony Orchestra Masterworks After Hours (01/27/18)

PROGRAM NONTES By Steven Ledbetter

J. S. BACH (1685-1750) Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G, BWV 1048 Johann Sebastian Bach was born in Eisenach, Germany, on March 21, 1685, and died in Leipzig on July 28, 1750. The circumstances of composing the six Brandenburg concertos are detailed below. This concerto was composed probably between 1717 and 1719. The date of the first performance is not known. The score cals for violins, violas, and celos, each divided into three parts. Duration is about 10 minutes. The “Brandenburg Concertos” have immortalized the name of the Margrave Christian Ludwig of Brandenburg, to whom on March 24, 1721, Bach sent a lavishly beautiful presentation manuscript containing six splendid concertos representing a variety of different approaches to the concerto idea. The nickname of the set comes from the first great Bach scholar Philipp Spitta, and it has stuck. But the form in which we have these six works certainly owes more to the ensemble that Bach directed in Cöthen than to any possible inspiration from Brandenburg. Bach surely performed all of these works with his own ensemble and conceived the solo parts for musicians he knew well. There is no evidence that any of these magnificently buoyant concertos was ever performed in Brandenburg, nor could the Margrave’s small orchestra have undertaken most of them. The modern notion of concerto as a work for an orchestra with one or more soloists had not yet developed in Bach’s day. It is most likely that he never intended more than one player on a part in any of the Brandenburgs. Despite the presence of prominent and virtuosic solo parts, all of these works fall into the category of “ensemble concertos” rather than “solo concertos,” since the soloists share the glory and the difficulties about equally with the other members of the ensemble. The Third Brandenburg is unusual in being scored for strings only, divided into nine parts (three each of violins, violas, cellos), plus continuo bass. Though it is completely instrumental, the shape of the opening movement corresponds to that of the Da Capo aria that filled Baroque operas: an opening statement (the ritornello) by the full ensemble, then a varied series of treatments of the material, ending in the home key with a restatement of the ritornello. The middle section is in (or at least ends in) a contrasting key. In the opera house this would be followed by a literal repetition of the opening “da capo”—that is, “from the head” of the piece, with elaborate ornamentation on the singer’s part. But in the Brandenburg No. 3, Bach writes out the complete final part because he continues to recast the musical material with different combinations of instruments, and even adds a new countermelody at the beginning of the restatement. Then comes a mystery: two isolated chords that would normally end a movement in E-minor (the expected key of a slow movement for this concerto)—but there is no movement to precede them! It has clearly not been lost, because these two measures appear in Bach’s manuscript right in the middle of a page. Most likely the original performers improvised something over the two sustained harmonies, and something of the sort often happens today, too, for the lack of any more explicit indication from Bach. It leads directly to the finale, a lively, racing dance movement in binary form—which is to say, in two sections, with each part repeated JOSEPH HAYDN Cello Concerto No. 1 in C, Hob. VIIb:5 Franz Joseph Haydn was born in Rohrau, Lower Austria, on March 31, 1732, and died in Vienna on May 31, 1809. The celo concerto in C major was probably composed about 1765, judging fom the relative location of the entry of its main theme in Haydn’s own thematic catalogue of his works. It was most likely written for and performed soon afer its completion by the principal celist at Eszterháza, Joseph Weigl. The concerto is scored for solo celo with an orchestra of two oboes, two horns, and strings. Duration is about 24 minutes. Haydn wrote relatively few concertos compared to most composers of his day, and most of those few survived only by accident, often in a single copy. One dramatic example of this is the C-major cello concerto, which was completely lost and only known through a two-measure entry of its principal theme in Haydn’s personal thematic catalogue of his works, until an old copy turned up in Prague in 1961, one of the most significant and exciting rediscoveries of recent Haydn research. For here was a prime example of Haydn in his early maturity, a work almost certainly written for and played by the principal cellist of the Eszterházy establishment, Joseph Weigl. Cellists all over the world instantly took the piece to their hearts, and it is now one of the most-often performed of Haydn’s works. The concerto was the most popular and successful instrumental form of the Baroque, coming out of Italy, where it had been stamped with the signature of Vivaldi; its very success meant that later composers drew upon its organization—contrast between a large instrumental group and a smaller group or soloist—even as a new approach to harmony, texture, and thematic structure appearing in the symphony. For some time symphony and concerto co-existed, one as a “modern” form, the other somewhat old-fashioned. The elements that made the concerto “old-fashioned” were: rhythms that emphasized every beat of the bar and that chugged along without stopping; melodies built up out of small rhythmic motives repeated and strung together on a thread, as it were; and overall organization based on the Baroque ritornello form, which stated the principal material as a big chunk at the outset, then brought it back in a series of different keys (linked by virtuosic passages for the soloist). Later on the concerto became more “symphonic” in the classical sense, though the ritornello layout kept its hold on the form into the middle of the romantic era. Haydn’s C-major concerto is a splendid example of the approach in this transitional period; we can almost hear Haydn breaking the ties with the Baroque and becoming more “classical” as the work progresses. The first movement grows out of the short rhythmic cells, particularly with a dotted figure that strongly emphasizes the beat. The syncopation figures, too, are characteristic of the late Baroque era. At the same time, it also makes a bow to sonata form with the contrasting mood of a second idea and the way this returns later in the home key. But the last movement comes from the world of Haydn’s contemporary symphonies, with scarcely a backward glance. From the opening bars of the orchestral statement, there is a heady “symphonic” feeling, as we leap forward in time to this brilliant rondo. In between comes the serenade-like Adagio that focuses attention on the graceful lyricism almost throughout even as it makes extraordinary demands on the soloist’s upper register. Hardly any composer would have dared write music like this, even if he knew that his soloist could handle it. Haydn must have had supreme confidence in Weigl to offer him such a challenge. JOSEPH HAYDN Symphony No. 60 in C major, Il distratto Franz Joseph Haydn was born in Rohrau, Lower Austria, on March 31 or April 1, 1732, and died in Vienna on May 31, 1809. He created his Symphony No. 60 out of music that he had originaly written for a theatrical performance at Eszterházy, a French play entitle Le distrait (“The distracted one”), which gives the symphony its Italian title. The play was produced in June 1774. He probably reworked the music (along with other music) into the symphony later in the same year. The score cals for two oboes, two horns, two trumpets, timpani and strings. Duration is about 24 minutes. When we contemplate the hundred-plus symphonies that Haydn wrote over a span of about forty years, it is easy to be so awe-struck by the sheer quantity—not to mention the variety and imagination of these works—that we forget how much other music he wrote, too, including music for the stage. Mozart=s supreme genius in the theater has rather cast Haydn into the shadow in this regard, yet for many years in the 1770s and 1780s, he spent at least as much time writing operas, puppet operas, and incidental music for straight plays as he did with symphonies, string quartets, and other abstract instrumental works. These theatrical works were given at the rural estate of Eszterháza, which is now in Hungary, just a few miles over the border from Austria. There Haydn=s Prince Nicolaus built his own version of the great French palace of Versailles, and there he enjoyed an astonishingly rich cultural life, with his own theatrical troupe, his own opera company, his own puppet theater, and his own orchestra, led by one of the greatest musical geniuses of all time. Apparently whenever the prince was in residence, there was some kind of entertainment—an Italian opera, a German puppet opera, a spoken play, or an occasional orchestral concert—every single night. For the year 1778 a complete summary of the entertainment survives, listing 270 performances! For most of these, Haydn had to direct the music, and for many of them he composed music as well. What does all this have to do with Symphony No. 60? Just this: the music for this work comes almost in its entirety from a score that Haydn composed as incidental music in 1774 to a French comedy by J. F. Regnard. In French, the comedy was called Le distrait. The German translation that would have been performed at Eszterháza was Der Zerstreute. And when he turned the incidental music into a symphony, Haydn gave it the Italian title Il distratto. But the all mean the same thing: AThe distracted one.@ In late June 1774, a group of distinguished Italians visited Eszterháza, where they were treated to a series of entertainments, including Haydn=s newest opera and the play with Haydn=s incidental music. A newspaper in nearby Bratislava mentioned the opera and then continued:

This outstanding musician [Haydn] recently composed...original music to the comedy Der Zerstreute; connoisseurs consider it a masterpiece. One notices, this time in music intended for a comedy, the same spirit that elevates all of Haydn=s work. His masterful variety excites the admiration of experts and is nothing short of delightful for the listener.

The comedy was given in Bratislava with Haydn=s music, and the review referred to a comical eﬀect in the music that Haydn kept in the symphony. The principal character is so absent-minded that he has to tie a knot in his handkerchief to remind him that he is the bridegroom in the wedding. And the absent-mindedness seems to spread to the musicians of the orchestra, who begin playing the ﬁnale Amost pompously,@ only gradually realizing that they have forgotten to tune their instruments. This number brought so much applause that it had to be repeated.

It is worth remembering, then, that when Haydn presented this music as a symphony, surely most of his audience knew most of the music already. But he is full of surprises nonetheless. For one thing, he writes two Aextra@ movements. And there are many places in the piece where the idea that the musicians are somehow very absent- minded appears with humorous effect. The first movement begins with a pompous, and evidently very serious, opening passage; this soon yields to a very rapid Allegro di molto. But after a first energetic theme, the musicians seem to forget what they are doing and repeat a phrase, and then a note, slower and slower, threatening to come to a complete stop before a sudden loud passageBa metaphorical kick in the pantsBawakens them to duty. Many of the tunes in the score are traditional, and in the play they were connected with different characters. The opening of the second movement alternates between the delicate string phrases evoking a young lady and the answering loud, even vulgar fanfares representing a self-important nobleman. Similarly the Trio in the middle of the third movement sounds quite exotic in context; it was apparently connected with a specific character in the play. The fourth movement starts out as if it might be one of those racing, rollicking Haydn finales, but it becomes quite bizarre as Haydn piles up Balkan folk tunes one after another with peasant character and fast-changing moods, which, in the play, reflected that madcap goings-on during a frenzied finale to one of the acts. And then comes the biggest surprise—the finale is not a finale. We go on to another slow movement with the title Adagio di lamentatione, the last phrase hinting at the use of a Gregorian chant melody from the Lamentations of Holy Week, though no actual chant tune has been identifiedBand there are odd interruptions that clearly reflect actions on stage. Now comes the real finale, which starts with a rapid fanfare figure—but suddenly stops as the musicians realize they must tune their instruments. Then the headlong race begins again—only to be interrupted for a dark folk tune, AThe Night Watchman@--but this unsettling change lasts only a moment before the brilliant ending looms ahead. A remarkable symphony, full of surprises: six movements; unsettling changes of tone and mood ranging from the somber to the comic; imaginative and colorful orchestral treatment. If this description was given to a student of music history who was asked who the composer might be, the immediate choice would be Mahler. But no, more than a century before Mahler composed his newly imagined treatments of the symphonic form, genial Haydn is there before him.