Symphony in B-flat major, K. 45b (1767 or 68)
This long-forgotten childhood work by Mozart was discovered in the early 20th century by the great musicologist Alfred Einstein. Mozart's original manuscript is lost, only a later copy made by another hand has survived. If, as most experts agree, the work was written around or slightly before Mozart's twelfth birthday, that would make it the ninth symphony to flow from the pen of the young genius.
Like most symphonies of the early Classical period, this work is scored for two oboes, two horns, and strings. Though uncharacteristically brief, the first movement contains two well-contrasted melodies. The second of these themes displays, in its bass, the four-note motto best known from the last movement of Mozart's final symphony, the Jupiter (1788), confirming its status as Mozart's personal fingerprint. Nor is this the only indication that Mozart's individual style is already fully in evidence in this early symphony. The rhythmic and dynamic contrasts in the second-movement Andante (in which the horns are silent), the Austrian folk-dance accents in the Trio (middle section) of the minuet, and the high-energy melodic writing of the finale should be enough to convince those who, because of the absence of the autograph, would doubt the work's authenticity. Stern theory professors might find a few imperfections in the voice-leading, but Mozart was clearly on his way to embark on a professional career as a composer—which we did, within a year of the present symphony, with the performances of two operas and several sacred works, and the appointment as an (as-yet-unpaid) concertmaster at the Salzburg court.
Sinfonia Concertante in E-flat major, K. 364 for Violin and Viola (1779)
A sinfonia concertante is essentially a Classical concerto for two or more soloists. It flourished as a genre from about 1770 to 1830, primarily as a vehicle for soloists who were not traveling virtuosos but performed mainly in their hometowns, which gave them an opportunity to form solo groups and work together closely on a regular basis. The main center of the sinfonia concertante (or symphonie concertante) was Paris, where the majority of the repertoire was written. Another center was Mannheim, Germany; this city had one of the most distinguished orchestras in Europe and boasted a local school of composers that influenced musical taste all over the continent.
It is no coincidence, then, that Mozart became particularly interested in the sinfonia concertante when he visited Mannheim and Paris in 1778-79. He used this genre designation in two works composed at this time. The first piece, written for flute, oboe, bassoon, and horn, is lost in its original form, though some of its material survives in an arrangement made by an unknown musician: this is the popular concertante for oboe, clarinet, bassoon and horn (K.297b). Other multiple concertos by Mozart (some written before the Mannheim-Paris trip) include the “Concertone” (or “Big Concerto”) for two violins (K. 190), the Concerto for flute and harp (K. 299), and the Concertos for two and three pianos (K. 365 and 242, respectively). Regardless of their titles, these are all basically the same type of composition, with more than one player sharing the role of the soloist.
One of the most splendid work in this group is the Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola (K. 364). It was written in the summer of 1779, after Mozart had returned to Salzburg from his long journey. Like most works in the genre, K. 364 has a bright and happy overall character. Mozart, however, added a few more dramatic touches as well, especially in the slow movement. Yet on the whole, the piece is characterized by an atmosphere of warmth and serenity from beginning to end.
The two solo instruments are treated as absolute equals throughout the piece. Every theme the violin plays is immediately repeated by the viola, which is likely to take the lead next time with another theme for the violin to continue. The viola part was originally intended to be performed with scordatura: all four strings were to be tuned a half-step higher than usual, and the part was notated a half-step lower (in D major instead of E flat), so that the violist could finger the part the normal way. This procedure had two advantages. First, by playing in D major the musician may make use of the open strings D and A. 18th-century violists rarely had an opportunity to play difficult solo parts and they no doubt found that a more familiar key made their task somewhat easier. The other advantage of tuning the viola higher was to obtain a brighter sonority.
Like almost all Classical concertos, this work begins with an orchestral exposition (in which the original score requires the soloists to play along, though this is not usually done today). The orchestral exposition is followed by the solo exposition, in which the soloists repeat, and vary, the material previously heard on the full orchestra. Note the way the solo begins: both the violin and the viola enter on long-held high notes, played piano, blending in perfectly with the orchestra, and emerging only gradually as solo instruments. Another memorable moment is the movement’s cadenza. Since it would have been difficult for two instruments to improvise simultaneously, Mozart had to write it out fully. Here as elsewhere, the musicians play an equal amount of passagework and neither asserts itself too strongly at the other’s expense.
The second-movement Andante is one of the most profound slow movements Mozart had written to date. Its melancholy tune is played first by the orchestra and then by each soloist in return. The richly ornamented melodies sometimes clash with their accompaniment in delicious, sweet-sounding dissonances. There is another written-out duet-cadenza at the end, whose melodic material is derived from the movement’s main melody.
The third-movement Presto is a rondo with two episodes, both of which happen to use the same melody. The rondo theme is always played by the full orchestra, while the episodes are given to the soloists. There are many exquisite harmonic surprises that contradict conventional expectations. There is no formal cadenza this time; instead, each soloist in turn plays a passage ascending three octaves to the highest register followed by a plunge to the lowest one. The work ends with the closing material of the initial rondo theme, with no coda added.
Symphony No. 40 in G minor, K. 550 (1788)
Several things went seriously wrong in Mozart's life around 1788, the year the last three symphonies were written. The concert series where the composer had presented his great piano concertos had been discontinued; Mozart seemed to have lost much of the audience support he had previously enjoyed. In 1786-87, he had had an immense success in Prague with his operas The Marriage of Figaro and Don Giovanni, but back home in Vienna, things were going downhill financially. Mozart's appointment to the relatively minor position of "Kammer-Kompositeur" at the imperial court did little to improve matters. The composer's family life was also extremely difficult: four of his children died in infancy, three of them between 1786 and 1788. This left Mozart and his wife Constanze with only one surviving child, Karl Thomas, born in 1784; a second son, Franz Xaver Wolfgang, who would become a composer, was born in 1791, a few months before Mozart's death. Among the further reasons that may have contributed to the deterioration of Mozart's situation, researchers have cited the composer's gambling habit, household mismanagement by Constanze, and a general tendency of the Mozarts to live beyond their means.
What is certain is that during the summer of 1788 Mozart started writing heart-rending letters to his friend and fellow Freemason, Michael Puchberg, imploring him for rather large sums of money. In one of these, he was asking Puchberg for "a hundred gulden until next week, when my concerts in the Casino are to begin." Since the letter was written at the time Mozart was working on what would prove to be his last three symphonies, there is reason to believe that they intended them for some concerts that were being planned; yet we don't know whether these concerts ever took place. But at least the prospect of a performance, from which the composer expected an improvement in his situation, inspired three of Mozart's greatest symphonic masterworks. (There is at least one documented performance of the G-minor symphony from April 1791, a few months before Mozart's death.)
The opening of Symphony No. 40—the second in this famous set of three—is, in its quiet way, nothing short of a revolution. In the 18th century, symphonies usually started with a forceful downbeat whose function was somewhat similar to that of the rising curtain in the theatre: "Ladies and gentlemen, stop talking, the piece has begun!" The French had a special name for this downbeat: premier coup d'archet ("first bowstroke"). More than a simple custom, this way of opening a work became one of the defining elements of symphonic style.
Dispensing with the premier coup d'archet, Mozart started this symphony with a lyrical melody. What is even more unusual is that this lyrical melody is preceded by almost a full measure of accompanying eighth-notes in the divided violas, something quite unheard of in the 18th century. Later, such accompaniment figures without melody became more frequent: one may think of the openings of Schubert's Gretchen at the Spinning-Wheel or his String Quartet in A minor, the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto or many opera arias by Italian composers. The example they all followed was Mozart's G-minor symphony which may be seen as the symbolic point of origin of musical Romanticism.
Many writers have felt this symphony—not only its first measure—to be Romantic in spirit. The symphony contains dissonances, modulations and chromatic progressions that were extremely bold for their time, and revealed new worlds of expressivity that had not previously been known to musicians. Individuality, bold innovations and heightened expressivity—all three concepts were to become central to the Romantic aesthetics. At the same time, the symphony preserves a clarity of form and a balance among its constituent elements that is entirely Classical. We could not find better examples for sonata form than the first and the last movements; Classical rules and symmetries are respected throughout.
One of the most exciting parts in the first movement is the development section, where the famous opening melody undergoes dramatic transformations and its segments taken apart, a technique later adopted by Beethoven. In the course of about 90 seconds, there is ample counterpoint, a great deal of contrast in dynamics and orchestration, and key changes every four bars or so. The section begins and ends with a short descending scale scored for woodwinds only, making for seamless yet noticeable transitions.
The theme of the second-movement Andante is played by the string instruments in successive entries (almost, though not quite, like in a fugue). At the repeat of this theme, the woodwinds add a descending scale motif in thirty-second notes separated by rests: this particular masterstroke was quoted almost literally by Haydn in the "Winter" section of his oratorio The Seasons. But Mozart develops the idea differently, using it for another great buildup of tension in the middle of the movement, before the recapitulation brings back the initial feelings of peace and serenity.
The third movement is one of the most metrically irregular minuets ever written. (You could conceivably choreograph it but certainly not to the steps of the minuet!) Intricacies such as the hemiola (two 3/4 measures rearranged in three 2/4 units) are combined with dissonant clashes in the harmony and a pungent chromaticism in the melodic motion. The Trio, in which the tonality changes from G minor to G major, is more relaxed, although the musical articulation remains complex. The woodwind (with the exception of the clarinets) and the two horns all enjoy some great soloistic opportunities in the Trio.
Unlike many symphonies written in minor keys, Mozart's Symphony No. 40 does not switch to the major mode for the finale but remains in the minor to the end. This movement has no equals in the Classical literature for sheer dramatic power and intensity. It contains a passage that, astonishingly, uses eleven of the twelve chromatic pitches in close proximity to an almost ‟atonal” effect, and ends with three strong G-minor chords that almost sound like cries of despair.
Peter Laki