Overture Magazine: 2016-2017 Season May-June 2017 | Page 37

program notes {
and joyful in spirit while soaring to the
highest realms of artistic expression.
The period from 1806, when the Violin
Concerto was composed, through 1808,
when he introduced his Fifth and Sixth
symphonies, was one of the most prolific
in Beethoven’s career and brought forth
a number of works that share the Violin
Concerto’s world of sublime happiness
— notably the Fourth Symphony and
the “Pastoral” Symphony. The composer
had recently completed two years of labor
birthing his only opera, Fidelio, and the
temporary conclusion of this project
seemed to release a torrent of creativity
for other musical forms. Moreover, he
was enjoying a period of relative personal
happiness and had made a provisional
peace with his growing deafness. A note
found in his sketches from the summer of
1806 proclaimed: “Your deafness shall be a
secret no more, even where art is involved!”
The Violin Concerto was a gift to Franz
Clement, the concertmaster of Vienna’s
Theater an der Wien, to be performed
at the violinist’s benefit concert there on
December 23, 1806. Then 26, Clement
must have been an artist of remarkable
gifts. A description of his playing comes
down to us in The Grove Dictionary of
Music and Musicians: “His style was not
vigorous, nor his tone very powerful;
gracefulness and tenderness of expression
were its main characteristics. His technical
skill appears to have been extraordinary.”
Clement’s ease in playing the higher notes
of the instrument’s range encouraged
Beethoven to write a concerto in which,
as Jan Swafford comments, the soloist
becomes “a kind of ethereal presence
floating through and above the orchestra.”
Exploiting these qualities, the soloist
begins with a demanding, cadenza-like
passage, which whips through a thicket
of fast figurations before vaulting to
an exposed high note, perhaps the
most hazardous solo entrance in the
repertoire. Even Clement found this
concerto, written for him, a tough nut
— especially si nce Beethoven, writing
on a tight deadline, finished it so close
to the concert there was no time for a
complete rehearsal. For years afterward, it
languished, considered to be “unplayable.”
In 1844, the great Joseph Joachim (then
a 12-year-old prodigy, later to be the
inspiration for Brahms’ Violin Concerto)
gave it a brilliant performance in London
under the baton of Felix Mendelssohn.
Championing the work throughout
his career, Joachim established it in the
repertoire, where it is now considered to
be the pinnacle of the violinist’s art.
The opening movement is immense
in length and scope. It opens arrestingly
with the timpani tapping out a five-note
Championing the work
throughout his career,
Joachim established it in the
repertoire, where it is now
considered to be the pinnacle
of the violinist’s art.
rhythm on the home note of D; this
motive will pervade the entire movement.
Between the taps, woodwinds sing a gently
undulating theme. The orchestral violins
then add spice by tapping on a D-sharp
foreign to the key. All subsequent themes
follow an optimistic ascending shape.
Prominent among them is the woodwinds’
serenely rising melody over the tapping
motive, which, though technically the
second theme, actually becomes the
movement’s most memorable.
The violin makes its belated but
unforgettable entrance described earlier.
When the serene second theme reappears,
Beethoven won’t let the soloist appropriate
it— he has a better idea up his sleeve.
The orchestra then reprises most of its
exposition and the soloist repeats his
grand entrance cadenza before sliding
off to a quiet, mysterious development
over the tapping motive in various
instruments. Here the soloist introduces a
tenderly wistful new episode in G Minor.
The recapitulation is emphatic, as the
full orchestra hammers out the tapping
motive. After a solo cadenza, Beethoven
plays his trump card: at last letting the
violin sing the serene second theme in its
softest, sweetest tones.
Donald Francis Tovey calls the
Largo second movement an example
of Beethoven’s “sublime inaction.” A
religious, exalted atmosphere reigns as
muted strings sing a hymn-like theme,
to which the soloist gives soaring, speech-
like commentary. This theme, which
never leaves the key of G, then progresses
through several variations, interrupted
briefly by a new solo melody, less exalted
and more human. A solo cadenza bridges
directly into the finale.
The dancing rondo finale is light,
but not lightweight. It transports the
lofty serenity of the previous movements
into a mood of rejoicing akin to the
“Pastoral” Symphony. Following the last
solo cadenza, Beethoven leads the music
astray into the key of A-flat. Holding its
own against rowdy Beethovenian cross-
rhythms in the orchestra, the violin soars
fleetly to a bold conclusion.
Instrumentation: Flute, two oboes,
two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns,
two trumpets, timpani, strings.
Symphony No. 3 in C minor,
“Organ”
Camille Saint-Saëns
Born in Paris, France, October 9, 1835; died in
Algiers, Algeria, December 16, 1921
In 1886, Camille Saint-Saëns wrote
more or less simultaneously the two
concert works for which he is most
famous today — although he originally
never intended to publish the delicious
Carnival of the Animals, a private joke
created for a musical party. The other
work, however, was a most serious and
substantial effort, his Third Symphony
in C Minor, commissioned by London’s
Royal Philharmonic Society. Into it he
poured all his formidable craft, suavity
and penchant for the grand gesture. That
both pieces are still perennial audience
favorites would probably have tickled his
Gallic sense of irony.
Saint-Saëns dominated French
musical life for the last 40 years of the
19 th century. As dazzling a prodigy as
Mozart, he began composing at 3; at 10,
May– June 2017 |
O v ertur e
35