DEAR FATHER…

May 18, 2023 | Bohemian National Hall

Stella Chen violin
Brannon Cho cello
Matthew Lipman viola

Illustrated talk by Irina Knaster

Paganini - Caprice No. 24 in A minor
Beethoven - String Trio in G major, Op.9 No.1
Mozart - Divertimento for String Trio

Photographs by Alex Fedorov © 2023

PROGRAM NOTES

Niccolò Paganini

(1782–1840)

Caprice No. 24 in A minor

It’s difficult to come to terms with the scale of Niccolò Paganini’s legacy. This violinist and composer was a sensational success in his own day – so much so that some speculated he’d done a deal with the Devil himself – and his influence on modern violin playing, and on the modern notion of the bewitching, scintillating star performer, is without equal. Paganini’s 24 Caprices for Solo Violin, composed between 1802 and 1817, have become a Bible of virtuoso violin techniques, as well as giving us an invaluable insight into what it must have been like to hear him play – and none more so than the very last of them, No. 24.

Sometime after the Caprices were first published (1820), Paganini whimsically noted in his own copy a set of dedications to twenty-three outstanding violinists of his own day; but the last he saved for himself: ‘Nicolò [sic] Paganini, sepolto pur troppo’ (‘Niccolò Paganini, regrettably buried.’). This underlines the implication that this piece above all is a self-portrait, displaying the dazzling techniques he had mastered – lightning scales and arpeggios (spread chords), double- and triple-stopped chords, parallel octaves and tenths, and pizzicatos with the left hand while the right still bows – but also conveying something of his imperious, devilish charisma. It’s also a superb demonstration of how to write variations: the theme’s outline is so distinctive that one seems to feel it playing in the background, no matter how elaborate the decorations and transformations Paganini works upon it.

The Twenty-Fourth Caprice can also leave one wondering if the theme could go on spawning variations forever, and it’s not surprising that, since Paganini’s death, other composers have taken up the challenge, notably Johannes Brahms in his Variations on a Theme by Paganini (1863), Witold Lutosławski in his very entertaining two-piano work of the same name (1941) and, most famous of all, Sergei Rachmaninoff in his brilliantly Mephistophelian Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini(1934) – perhaps the most remarkable portrait of another musician in all music.

 
Ludwig van Beethoven

(1770–1827)

String Trio in G major, Op. 9 No. 1

Adagio – Allegro con brio

Adagio ma non tanto e cantabile

Scherzo: Allegro

Presto

It’s sometimes said that during the 1790s Beethoven was still ‘finding himself’ as a composer. Actually, it’s arguably the case that Beethoven never stopped finding himself – that right through to his very last works he was uncovering new layers, not only of meaning, but of being. But it is true that even in the major works he wrote in his twenties there’s often a sense of preparation, of trying out ideas that might be more fully developed in other forms later, especially in the symphony.

On one level, certainly, the three string trios of Op. 9 (1798) are a kind of preparatory exercise for the splendid set of six string quartets Beethoven published as Op. 18 three years later; and it’s striking that, after he turned to the quartet, Beethoven composed no more string trios. But writing serious music for three strings is not actually easier than writing for four. Tonal harmony in Western music has been envisaged in four parts since the early Baroque era, and although violins, violas and, to a slightly lesser extent, cellos can comfortably play more than one note at a time, too much of that can sound awkward – perhaps leaving the listener puzzled as to why the composer has chosen to write for just three instruments. So, Beethoven has to make a virtue out of what could be seen as a limitation, and this he does magnificently in Op. 9 No. 1. There are moments where the ensemble does seem to be striving for orchestral grandeur and drama; but there are others where the intimate, almost conversational style developed by Beethoven’s teacher Joseph Haydn in his string quartets is taken to new levels of exuberant playfulness and theatrical intensity. So often the three instruments seem to be talking to one another: sharing a joke, discussing a weighty idea, even displaying physical tenderness.

The first movement’s Adagio introduction contrasts the quasi-orchestral and the truly chamber styles right from the start. Sonorous arpeggio harmonies momentarily create the sensation that we’re listening to a string orchestra rather than a modest trio. But it is only for a moment: solo voices emerge, pianissimo, almost immediately. The big-is-bold/small-is-beautiful alternation is resumed, then more quiet discussion amongst the instruments leads – it’s like a sudden inspiration in mid-conversation – into the violin motif that launches the Allegro con brio. There’s plenty of drama and humor in this movement, but the Adagio ma non tanto e cantabile takes us into a new world. In a remote key (E major) the violin sets in motion what turns out to be a rapturous display of shared instrumental song – it was to be several years before Beethoven was to achieve similar heights in an orchestral work. A wonderfully vital, teasing Scherzo follows (this is definitely not a courtly minuet), followed by a wickedly playful Presto finale. Here, as throughout this work, dialogue between the instruments is a crucial ingredient in the musical argument. It’s hard to complain when one knows what came later, but it would have been very interesting to see where the older Beethoven might have taken the string trio.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

(1756–1791)

Divertimento for string trio in E flat major, K563

Allegro

Adagio

Menuetto: Allegretto

Andante

Menuetto: Allegretto

Allegro

The title of this work has puzzled some commentators. ‘Divertimento’ means ‘diversion’ and, in the late eighteenth century, divertimenti belonged firmly to the world of light entertainment – in fact on some occasions their social function was scarcely more obtrusive than that of modern muzak. But Mozart’s K563 is no lightweight throwaway piece, designed to lubricate high-society conversation; in fact the composer’s influential biographer Alfred Einstein called it ‘one of his noblest works’. But divertimenti also typically followed a more-or-less set ground plan: six movements, including two minuets – rather like the old Baroque suite in fact. And in that respect Mozart’s Trio, K563 does conform to type. Still, it isn’t surprising to discover that it was composed soon after the last three symphonies (Nos. 39–41) in September 1788: it has a similar ambitiousness, imagination, and richness of expression, even though the manner of address is far more suited to a smaller room. Mozart wrote it for his friend and fellow freemason Michael von Puchberg – their shared masonic ideals may be one reason why he poured such fine music into his offering, and the fact that Puchberg (a wealthy merchant) had lent him considerable sums of money probably wasn’t uninfluential either.

The Divertimento was first performed in Dresden on 13 April 1789, with Mozart himself on viola, and two other fine musicians of the day – Anton Teyber and Antonín Kraft – on violin and cello respectively. It’s striking how many outstanding composers of chamber music, from Haydn, through Beethoven, Schubert, and Dvořák, to Schoenberg, particularly enjoyed playing viola in such works. Being the ‘middle voice’ can give unique insight into the inner workings of a piece of music. It also heightens one’s sense of how important instrumental dialogue is in true chamber music – a kind of dialogue, that is, in which each instrument is ‘first amongst equals’. This is very much in evidence in K563: while the viola does contribute a certain amount of accompanimental ‘filling’ (repeated non-melodic figurations designed to maintain forward movement and enrich the harmonies), it is soon back in the spotlight. The opening of the first movement is a prime example: all three instruments play in unison, then the violin leads off with a suave melody, imitated by the cello, while the viola noodles pleasantly in the background. But this only lasts a moment or two: a few seconds later the viola seizes the melodic initiative from the violin and sets out a striking song phrase of its own.

After the genial, witty, and constantly inventive first movement comes a beautiful Adagio, at times almost an aria for violin, at others a closely-knit ensemble, but always with the interest carefully shared between the players. The first minuet has a country-dance flavor, with teasing cross-rhythms (ONE-two TWO-two THREE-two/ONE-two-three TWO-two-three), after which the rural touch continues in the Andante: a set of seven variations on a very folk-like theme. (If it is an adaptation of a folksong, no one has managed to identify the original.) For those who like this kind of detail, the intricately contrapuntal, minor-key sixth variation is a unique example in the mature Mozart of a key signature with more than four flats.

Another playful minuet, this time full of short–long, loud–soft surprises, comes next. This one has two subsidiary trio sections, in which the dance character seems far closer to a cozy Viennese beer garden than to the imperial court. The Allegro finale then leads off with another deceptively simple-sounding song theme. As so often with the later Mozart, what seems to be uncomplicatedly sunny music soon reveals more shadowy complexities. But the end is good-humored enough, with all three instruments in robust accord.

Program notes by Stephen Johnson © 2023