BY LAURIE SHULMAN, ©2009
FIRST NORTH AMERICAN SERIAL RIGHTS ONLY
In observance of Robert Schumann’s 200th birthday in June 2010, musicians worldwide are honoring the German composer during the 2009–10 season. The NJSO continues its Schumann salute this weekend with his rarely performed violin concerto, a piece that soloist and NJSO concertmaster Eric Wyrick describes as “the perfect ‘Schumann year’ work.”
Flanking the concerto are two late works by Mozart: an opera overture and his last symphony. Both pieces have memorable fugues; although Mozart was a consummate master of classical style, he also had a brilliant command of contrapuntal techniques.
Overture to The Magic Flute
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Born January 27, 1756 in Salzburg, Austria
Died December 5, 1791 in Vienna
Number symbolism
Three majestic chords open the overture to Mozart’s penultimate opera, The Magic Flute. The number three is all-important to this highly symbolic masterwork. From the opera’s opening scene, when three ladies rescue the terrified Tamino from a dragon, it is clear that the idea of three will figure prominently. Three couples dominate the plot: The Queen of the Night and Sarastro, Tamino and Pamina, Papageno and Papagena. Three genii (boys) announce the three ordeals the lovers Tamino and Pamina must undergo before they may be united.
Musical unity
In a conscious gesture of musical unity with this symbolism, Mozart cast his overture in the key of E flat, a key signature with three flats. Formally, the overture is a merger of symphonic sonata form and fugue; its Allegro is comparable to the finale of the “Jupiter” symphony. The three chords announcing the overture herald a slow introduction; the chords resound again—three times each!—at the beginning of the development section, when the Adagio returns for six measures. The entire overture is a marvelous combination of noble sentiment and effervescent spirit, much like the opera that is intended to follow.
The overture is scored for pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, trumpets, three trombones, timpani and strings. Timing: approximately 6 minutes.
Concerto in D Minor for Violin and Orchestra
Robert Schumann
Born June 8, 1810 in Zwickau, Saxony, Germany
Died July 29, 1856 in Endenich, near Bonn
Few compositions have such a spectacular, bizarre history as the Schumann Violin Concerto. Many music lovers are unaware that Schumann even wrote a violin concerto. It was his last major composition, and his progress on it is well documented in contemporary sources. Diary entries indicate that he began work on it on September 21, 1853, completing it barely two weeks later. From his letters, we know that he composed with the violinist Joseph Joachim in mind. Joachim was to play a key role in the work’s history—but not in the way that Schumann had hoped.
In February 1854, Schumann attempted suicide by hurling himself into the Rhine River. Though he survived the incident, his declining mental health forced his confinement to an asylum at Endenich, where he died two years later. The violin concerto, among other works, remained unpublished.
Post mortem judgment of a manuscript
After his death, Clara Schumann came across the manuscript among Robert’s papers. She discussed the piece with Brahms and Joachim. They arranged for the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra to rehearse the concerto in 1858. The effort was unsuccessful. Joachim, the soloist, criticized the finale and persuaded Clara and Brahms to suppress the piece. Three decades later, when the first complete edition of Schumann’s music was published, the Violin Concerto was omitted.
Joachim retained possession of the autograph score until his death in 1907. It then passed to his son, who eventually sold it to the Prussian State Library in Berlin on the condition that it would neither be published nor performed until 1956, the centenary of Schumann’s death.
Psychic revelation
The next episode of this peculiar saga occurred in 1933, when Joachim’s grand-niece, the Hungarian violinist Jelly d’Aranyi, experienced a psychic revelation that directed her to search for an undiscovered and neglected musical masterpiece. She determined to locate the missing score, initially with no knowledge even of its composer.
Piecing together some family lore, she succeeded in tracking down her grand-uncle’s manuscript in the Prussian State Library and undertook the project of presenting the lost work in a first performance—80 years after it was written. As word of the discovery spread, others became interested. In April 1937, the editor-in chief at the German publishing house of Schott sent a photostat copy of Schumann’s score to 21-year-old Yehudi Menuhin, inquiring what the American violinist thought of the work. Menuhin was enchanted, describing the concerto as “sorrowful, romantic, mature and lyrical.” He requested performance rights for one year. By August, Schott had formally invited Menuhin to play the premiere. In London, an indignant d’Aranyi insisted that she should give the first performance, since she had been the catalyst for its rediscovery.
Nazi propaganda
Neither scenario was acceptable to the Nazi cultural authorities, led by the notorious Joseph Goebbels, who were loath to permit performance by any foreigner, and certainly not an American Jew. Only a German violinist of Aryan descent should introduce the Schumann. Their choice was Georg Kulenkampff, a celebrated Bremen-born virtuoso who had studied with Willy Hess at the Berlin Hochschule für Musik. The first performance took place in November 1937, with Karl Böhm leading the Berlin Philharmonic. It was broadcast live. Menuhin heard it on the radio in Virginia, while on tour.
Hindemith doctors the original
What Kulenkampff performed was not precisely what Schumann had written. Objecting to certain passages in the concerto, he had quietly commissioned the German composer Paul Hindemith (himself a violinist and violist) to alter Schumann’s violin part in order to make it more idiomatic and, presumably, flashier. Menuhin resolved to champion Schumann’s authentic text. Ten days after Kulenkampff’s premiere, Menuhin played the first American performance in New York with pianist Ferguson Webster, then with Vladimir Golschmann and the Saint Louis Symphony on December 23, 1937.
D’Aranyi made her own case for the piece in February 1938, as soloist with Sir Adrian Boult and the BBC Symphony. Critical reception in the United States and Britain was divided. While the press applauded Menuhin’s and d’Aranyi’s efforts to bring the urtext of this forgotten work to public attention, not everyone was persuaded by the music. Schumann’s concerto has had to fight for its place in the repertoire ever since.
Soloist’s viewpoint
Nevertheless, it has staunch advocates, including NJSO concertmaster Eric Wyrick, this weekend’s soloist. “The concerto has an intriguing history but has not been universally popular, probably because it is quite challenging for the violinist and the conductor to pull off,” Wyrick says. “My feeling is that a special collaboration is required to make Schumann’s concerto successful. It demands considerable creativity and particular attention to voicing. Few violin soloists have the chance to play it. I feel fortunate to have this opportunity with the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra.”
Because most of us are hearing it for the first time, we can approach the experience with the same kind of excitement that Jelly d’Aranyi must have felt upon her rediscovery of the score more than 70 years ago. The Violin Concerto represents Schumann’s final burst of creativity before his breakdown.
About the music
Like Schumann’s familiar piano concerto (and his lesser-known cello concerto), the violin concerto is in three movements, with the slow movement leading directly into the finale. That transition is one of its more magical moments. The soaring melodies and foursquare phrasing that characterize much of Schumann’s writing are all present. More than any other work, this concerto allows us to glimpse the “what if,” the direction that Schumann’s romantic imagination might have taken had mental illness not afflicted him.
Musically, the slow movement is the richest of the three. Its theme resembles one that Schumann, during the latter stages of his illness, claimed that Schubert and Beethoven had dictated to him in a vision. Schumann’s restatement of the theme at the lower third is one of the concerto’s miraculous moments. Technically, the polonaise finale is the most challenging. Joachim complained bitterly of its demands; perhaps his objections stemmed from an inability to master its difficulty. All told, the Schumann Violin Concerto is a revealing portrait of a man whose broad swings of musical moods are among the most celebrated in the entire Romantic repertoire.
The score calls for woodwinds, horns and trumpets in pairs, timpani, solo violin and strings. Timing: approximately 30 minutes.
Symphony No. 41 in C Major, K. 551 (“Jupiter”)
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
The sublime in 18th-century aesthetics
Jupiter was the sovereign god of the Romans. He held supreme rank and ultimate authority over the other deities. Throughout modern history, his name has been associated with power and might, both in natural phenomena (storms, lightning) and in political supremacy.
In music, the name “Jupiter” brings two works to mind: the fourth movement of Gustav Holst’s orchestral suite, The Planets, and Mozart’s final symphony, which closes this evening’s program. The former is clearly an astronomical reference, though Holst’s music does suggest the character of each god who inspired those seven planetary names. The case of the Mozart is more abstract, linked to the late 18th-century aesthetic of the sublime: the ultimate in artistic achievement, music of an exalted greatness beyond compare.
Genesis of a nickname
For many years the origins of the nickname “Jupiter” for Mozart’s last symphony were unknown. An arrangement of the symphony for one piano, four hands was published in England around 1820 with the sobriquet, but with no explanation. Musicologist H.C. Robbins Landon has found mention of Mozart’s symphony in the diaries of Vincent and Mary Novello, a 19th-century English couple who traveled widely and interviewed the composer’s widow Constanze in 1829. According to them, the work received its name from Johann Peter Salomon, the entrepreneur responsible for Haydn’s two visits to London in the 1790s.
No doubt Salomon was struck, as we must be, by the ceremonial and grand effects of Mozart’s C major symphony. Assertive and forthright from its opening, it is music of majesty and sweep, convincingly bringing to mind the king of the ancient Roman gods. The slow movement is a standout. Ivor Keys calls it:
the apotheosis of the ornate song which bewitched Mozart since his Italian days. To the beauty of sound of the muted violins is added the woodwind counterpoint featured in so many concertos, but added to this is a new rhythmic dimension sometimes highlighted by unexpected harmony.
Mozart’s syncopations and unexpected accents add to the effect.
The ultimate double fugue
“Jupiter” is justly celebrated for its finale. Mozart had developed an interest in the music of Bach and Handel, which manifested itself in the magnificent contrapuntal fabric of this splendid conclusion. While the finale is not, strictly speaking, a double fugue, it incorporates virtually every aspect of contrapuntal technique into a sonata movement: canon, fugato, stretto, invertible counterpoint … even cancrizans, in which a theme is played backwards! The greatest miracle of all is that Mozart makes all this formidable intricacy sound perfectly wonderful. His extraordinary complexity and superb craft reach their peak in the magnificent coda, where all five principal themes are interwoven in one of music’s greatest triumphs.
Mozart’s final three symphonies (No. 39 in E flat, No. 40 in G Minor and “Jupiter”) date from summer 1788. The three autograph scores barely span six weeks. What an astonishing level of productivity, even for Mozart! Ironically, there is no record of any of them being performed during his lifetime.
The score calls for flutes, oboes, bassoons, horns, and trumpets in pairs; timpani and strings. Timing: approximately 26 minutes. |