Franz Schubert - Winterreise

"The breadth of scholarly approaches to Franz Schubert's song cycle Die Winterreise testifies to the structural and dramatic complexity of the work; assessments range from complicated graphs, complete with interlocking axes and cryptic semantic labels, to outright sighs of resignation over the work's intractability. Perhaps this intrigue is what attracts performers and academics alike to the work; singer and scholar Michael Besack traces the ambiguous dramatic trajectory of Schubert's cycle back to antiquity. 'Epic poetry and the tragic theater never produced a story with a moral,' he pointed out.

"A central question concerning the cycle is whether it really is one. The two dozen poems by Wilhelm Müller that Schubert took as his texts appeared piecemeal in three separate publications between 1822 and the completion of Schubert's setting in 1827; Müller's third publication, finally bearing the title Schubert would adopt, featured the newest poems along with the ones previously published (though the latter were reordered). The chronology of Schubert's setting also calls the idea of a continuous cyclical narrative into question: he set Müller's initial 12 songs early in 1827, then completed the other dozen later that year. Still, while some of the individual songs are frequently performed alone, one can easily read a composite story into the cycle. Literary scholar Cecilia Baumann describes the work as 'a simple story of a rejected lover who leaves the town where his love resides and sets out in winter on an aimless journey.' Schubert biographer Jacques Chailley reads a different kind of journey: 'not simply that of a scorned lover - he is only a phantom - but an image behind which one can discern at each moment the journey of man toward the tomb: 'Die Winterreise' is the sinister voyage of life.' Such existential ideas gain support from the bleakness of 'Auf dem Flusse' ('At the River'), in which the lover's description of the frozen stream seems to shade into one of a physical corpse, and of the melancholy hurdy-gurdy-man's lament that ends the cycle.

"The songs ruminate on, rather than depict, events that have befallen the rejected lover; as the first two lines of the first song indicate ('A stranger I came hither, a stranger hence I go'), the journey has already taken place: the famous fifth song, 'Der Lindenbaum', likewise centers on symbols of remembrance. Schubert's introduction establishes a tranquil major mode with an airy, fluttering accompaniment; it becomes apparent that this figure represents the rustling of the eponymous lime tree. 'Upon its bark when musing, fond words of love I made,' the wanderer tells listeners, 'and joy alike and sorrow still drew me to its shade.' Only briefly do the mode and mood of the music change to minor, in direct correlation to the image of passing the tree in darkness. These pictorial elements lie only on the surface, however. Certain musical elements create a sense of geographical and chronological remove: the rustling figure is constantly interrupted by a leap up to a quaint stepwise descent; the echo of a 'hunting horn' figure suggests distance - spatial and temporal; the wind blows off the wanderer's hat, but he trudges forward without even turning around. The cold wind listeners that it is winter; the presence of leaves is unlikely. The rustling sound is not a real, but an imagined, phenomenon: 'Now many leagues I'm far from/The dear old linden tree/[But still] I ever hear it murmur/'Peace thou wouldst find with me.'' Schubert's song does not evoke images; it evokes the act of remembering images." (Description by Jeremy Grimshaw. From AllMusic. Read here.)

Performers: Christoph Prégardien, Andreas Staier

1. Die Winterreise, D. 911: I. Gute Nacht
2. Die Winterreise, D. 911: II. Die Wetterfahne
3. Die Winterreise, D. 911: III. Gefrorene Tränen
4. Die Winterreise, D. 911: IV. Erstarrung
5. Die Winterreise, D. 911: V. Der Lindenbaum
6. Die Winterreise, D. 911: VI. Wasserflut
7. Die Winterreise, D. 911: VII. Auf Dem Flusse
8. Die Winterreise, D. 911: VIII. Rückblick
9. Die Winterreise, D. 911: IX. Irrlicht
10. Die Winterreise, D. 911: X. Rast
11. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XI. Frühlingstraum
12. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XII. Einsamkeit
13. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XIII. Die Post
14. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XIV. Der Greise Kopf
15. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XV. Die Krähe
16. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XVI. Letzte Hoffnung
17. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XVII. Im Dorfe
18. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XVIII. Der Stürmische Morgen
19. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XIX. Täuschung
20. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XX. Der Wegweiser
21. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XXI. Das Wirtshaus
22. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XXII. Mut!
23. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XXIII. Die Nebensonnen
24. Die Winterreise, D. 911: XXIV. Der Leiermann

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Franz Schubert - Lieder After Mayrhofer

"1817 is the beginning of a period in Schubert’s life, called his 'years of crisis,' when he was forming and asserting his personal and musical autonomy. His songs from this time concentrate on mythology and on the poetry of his friend Johann Mayrhofer. Thirteen mythological Mayrhofer songs sing through the 'I' of a mythological character and address a god for aid. [...]

"Both Mayrhofer’s poems and Schubert’s songs present difficulties. Mayrhofer’s language and treatment of myth occlude his poetry’s meaning. Schubert’s settings obscure what they might communicate to readers or listeners through experimental formal, harmonic, and text-setting strategies. To discover the order and meaning behind the abstruse surfaces of the poems, music, and songs, I turn to four analytical perspectives immanent in Mayrhofer’s poems. Though mythological on the surface, Mayrhofer’s poems tell a gnostic narrative of man’s desire to unite with god. The poems are also masochistic: Mayrhofer’s mythological heroes are all in pain, static, and devoted to a goddess. These two simultaneous subtexts exemplify the ambiguity of Mayrhofer’s poetry, that it both keeps its meaning indistinct and means many things at once. Mayrhofer’s use of mythology and Gnosticism direct us to Carl Jung’s use of the same in his psychoanalytic researches into the self.

"Gnosticism, masochism, ambiguity, and the Jungian self are elements of Schubert’s songs just as they are elements of Mayrhofer’s poems. Each of the dissertation’s four main chapters focuses on one of these concepts. In analysis, I give the greatest attention to the music, that is, how the music is Gnostic, masochistic, ambiguous, and psychologically self-expressive. The musical analyses are largely motivic, but also involve musical form, harmony, meter, genre, and vocal style. I understand song as a multiplicity, as an interaction of individual voices. Since each of the four analytical perspectives - as distinct as they are - says something about the relationship between the self and the other, they are means to assess the relationships resulting in song, and how meaning and understanding emerge from the interaction of multiple voices." (The Abstract from Michael Shaw's doctoral thesis 'Schubert's Mythological Mayrhofer-Lieder: Historical, Philosophical, and Psychological Contexts'. Available in full here.)

Performers: Christoph Prégardien, Andreas Staier

1. Fahrt Zum Hades, D. 526
2. Freiwilliges Versinken, D. 700
3. Der Entsühnte Orest, D. 699
4. Der Zürnenden Diana, D. 707 Op. 36 No. 1
5. Lied Eines Schiffers An Die Dioskuren, D. 360 Op .65 No. 1
6. Auf Der Donau, D. 553 Op. 21 No. 1
7. Der Schiffer (Im Winde, Im Sturme Befahr Ich Den Fluß), D. 536 Op. 21 No. 2
8. Die Sternennächte, D. 670 Op. Posth. 165 No. 2
9. Abschied, D. 475
10. Nachtstück, D. 672 Op. 36 No. 2
11. Fragment Aus Dem Aeschylus, D. 450
12. Antigone Und Oedip, D. 542 Op. 6 No. 2
13. Memnon, D. 541 Op. 6 No. 1
14. Philoktet, D. 540
15. Atys, D. 585
16. Der Sieg, D. 805
17. Wie Ulfru Fischt, D. 525 Op. 21 No. 3
18. Der Alpenjäger (Auf Hohem Bergesrücken), D. 524 Op. 13 No. 3
19. Nachtviolen, D. 752
20. Abendstern, D. 806
21. Nach Einem Gewitter, D. 561
22. Gondelfahrer, D. 808
23. Auflösung, D. 807

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Franz Schubert - Schwanengesang & Songs After Seidl

"In January 1829, a good two months after  Schubert's death, the Viennese music  publisher Tobias Haslinger, with whom  Schubert had worked very closely in the final  years of his life, placed an advertisement in  the Viennese press, in which he announced  Franz Schubert's 'Schwanen-Gesang, 14 Lieder', 'the final fruits of his noble power  [...], written in August 1828, shortly before  his decease.' Haslinger had obtained the  rights to the songs in December 1828  from Schubert's brother Ferdinand, who  had been handling the composer's estate,  and had given them the collective title of 'Schwanengesang'. In reality there were two groups of songs: seven songs on texts by Ludwig Rellstab and six on texts by Heinrich Heine. These two groups are contained in a common manuscript of August 1828 and are today collected together as 'Schwanengesang' (D. 957), along with a single Lied, 'Die Taubenpost', on a poem by his friend Gabriel Seidl (D. 965 A). The Lieder do not form a single cycle, for each group appears complete in itself. In the Heine group are collected together all the songs Schubert composed on poems by Heine; the same almost applies for the Rellstab group of Lieder: apart from the Lieder in 'Schwanengesang' the only Rellstab poems on which Schubert wrote songs were the large-scale song for voice, horn and piano 'Auf dem Strom' (D. 943), the strophic Lied 'Herbst' (D. 945), which survives as an album leaf for Heinrich Panofka, and the incomplete 'Lied Lebensmut'. 

"[...] Schubert came across Heine's poems — in particular the cycle 'Heimkehr in the Buch der Lieder', published in 1827 — in January 1828, in a volume in the library that his friend Franz von Schober had furnished for him. In the autumn of 1828 Schubert had bequeathed the volume to the singer Karl von Schonstein, who several years later stated that all the poems in the volume 'that had appeared in the Schwanengesang' were marked by 'Einbucie' - a sign that here too Schubert chose his texts carefully. In his manuscript the texts are in a different order from the one Heine had chosen for his cycle. Since then, several attempts have been made to restore to the songs to the order followed by Heine. However, since the composer chose only six of the 88 'Heimkehr' poems continuously numbered by the poet, there is no unity of content that has to be restored, so Schubert's ordering should be preserved, as is the case in this recording. 

"[...] The Viennese poet Gabriel Seidl, who was a friend of Schubert, was the source of a whole series of poetic texts that Schubert set to music between 1826 and 1828; some of these were solo Lieder, some were polyphonic songs. This is remarkable, since on 4 August 1828 - at about the time that he was working on one the Rellstab and Heine Lieder - Schubert wrote to the poet: 'Dear Herr Gabriel! [this unusual appellation, using the first name, shows that the two men were on a familiar footing] In this letter I am sending back these poems, in which I can discover nothing poetical or useful for music.' That this verdict applied only to the poems that had presumably had been sent directly to Schubert, and not to Seidl's poetry as a whole, can be seen from the fact that Schubert in the past sent his Seidl settings 'en bloc' to the publisher, in volumes containing only Lieder on texts by Seidl (Op. 80, 95, 105); one of these, Op. 95, was dedicated to the poet. This volume - a Lieder group to which Schubert or his publisher gave the title 'Refrain-Lieder' - plays a particular role in this: Thaddaus Weigl, the publisher, announced the Lieder in an advertisement: 'For a long time the public has cherished the wish to receive [from Schubert] a composition with cheerful, comic content.' This wish had been granted by the composer in the four songs, which are 'in part genuinely comical, in part bear the character of naivety and humour.' In fact the 'comic' Lieder are no. 1 ('Die Unterscheidung') and no. 3 ('Die Manner sind mechant!'), Lieder in which young girls mirror the conventions of society. On the contrary, the two Lieder recorded here are neither 'naive' nor 'humorous' - though both, like the two young girls' songs, are structured with a refrain, 'Bei dir allein' in no. 2 and 'dock gewiss ein Gluck' in no. 4. The groups of songs op. 105 and op. 80 document - as do many others - Schubert's predilection also for endowing a central thematic focus to songs already connected by assignment to a single poet. In op. 105 this theme is 'Sehnsucht' - longing - (indeed the title of the fourth song), which is caught within a contradiction - 'Widerspruch' - (the title of the first song in the group) between an internally directed and an externally directed longing. Thus the singer in 'Am Fenster' ('At the Window') turns to the 'lieben Mauern, hold and traut, die ihr mich kohl umschlielßt' ('you dear walls, sweet and trusted, that cool enclose me'), but then thinks 'Du Mauer wahnst mich trob wie einst, das ist die stille Freud; wenn du vom Mondlicht widerscheinst, wird mir die Brust so weit' ('You walls suppose me as cheerless as before - but this is a tranquil joy; when you shine from moonlight, my heart swells'). In contrast, op. 80 is a series of songs of a wanderer through the night. In the first song the singer (he actually does wander: a continual pacing rhythm moves him forwards) calls on the moon sailing through the endless sky to be his companion. The second song refers to 'Das Zügenglöcklein' ('The Passing Bell') (expressed by the piano in the incessantly struck octaves E flat' — E flat"), the death knell reconciling the 'glad pilgrim to the world' — as so often in Romanticism, 'night' is here a night of death. In the third song the Wanderer recognises at last whither the moon is leading him— it shines on 'the little hut' in which 'my beloved friend' is resting. The Wanderer scarcely moves in this song; he is rapt in the nocturnal vision, and the Piano evokes for us the shimmer of the stars and of the moon, and the trembling of his restless heart. 

"Of the Lieder that Schubert was still able to hand to the publisher himself in the second half of 1828, eight are from Seidl alone. As such, these too may be counted as part of Schubert's 'Schwanengesänge'." (Walther Dürr, tr. James Chater. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Christoph Prégardien, Andreas Staier

1. Herbst, D. 945
2. Schwanengesang, D. 957: I. Liebesbotschaft
3. Schwanengesang, D. 957: II. Kriegers Ahnung
4. Schwanengesang, D. 957: III. Frühlingssehnsucht
5. Schwanengesang, D. 957: IV. Ständchen
6. Schwanengesang, D. 957: V. Aufenthalt
7. Schwanengesang, D. 957: VI. In Der Ferne
8. Schwanengesang, D. 957: VII. Abschied
9. Schwanengesang, D. 957: VIII. Der Atlas
10. Schwanengesang, D. 957: IX. Ihr Bild
11. Schwanengesang, D. 957: X. Das Fischermädchen
12. Schwanengesang, D. 957: XI. Die Stadt
13. Schwanengesang, D. 957: XII. Am Meer
14. Schwanengesang, D. 957: XIII. Der Doppelgänger
15. Die Taubenpost, D. 965a
16. Sehnsucht, D. 879
17. Am Fenster, D. 878
18. Bei Dir Allein, D. 866
19. Der Wanderer An Den Mond, D. 870
20. Das Zügenglöcklein, D. 871
21. Im Freien, D. 880

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Franz Schubert - Piano Trios, Op. 99 & 100

"'One glance at Schubert's trio, and the miserable hustle and bustle of human existence vanishes, the world takes on fresh lustre', wrote an enthusiastic Robert Schumann in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik of 1836, at the end of a long 'critical survey' of various newly published compositions for piano trio. In fact, Franz Schubert's 'Trio in B-flat major, D. 898' had only just been published by Anton Diabelli as 'op. 99', that is, eight years after the composer's death. His other great trio, the 'E-flat major, D. 929' (op. 100), by contrast, had already been printed by the Leipzig firm of Probst during the composer's lifetime – although it is not quite certain whether Schubert had seen a copy of it before he died on 19 November 1828.

"Our knowledge of the genesis of and stimulus for the two works is as disparate as this publication history. With the E-flat Trio we are on firm ground – it was begun in November 1827 and premiered as early as 26 December, when it 'was received with extraordinary applause at my concert in a packed hall', according to Schubert's account to the publisher Schott. About the B-flat major Trio, on the other hand, there is only speculation. This too is certainly a mature work and may have been the earlier of the two (as is suggested by the opus number, which may well stem from Schubert himself ); but the situation is unclear and has given rise to conflicting theories. One thing, however, is incontrovertible: both trios are among the greatest works of the 'late' Schubert.

"Although it is always slightly overshadowed by its more dramatic brother, the 'Trio in B-flat, op. 99' is a work with a beauty all its own. As it happens, the tone of both trios – very unlike that of Schubert's late chamber music for strings – always remains engaging; the music historian Alfred Einstein (a cousin of the physicist) pointed out that they were, 'after the 'Trout' Quintet, the two works in which Schubert achieved the purest blend of the 'sociable' spirit with that of true chamber music'. The 'Trio in B-flat' is characterised by broad, sweeping melodies over what might be called 'organic' pulsating rhythms, as at the very beginning when the exuberant first theme, in spite of its expansive nature, is immediately repeated. After just two bars of transition – a solitary a'' on the cello – the second subject follows on directly: one of Schubert's most beautiful inspirations, which suddenly gives a conventional opening formula a poignant harmonic twist. If Schubert was stimulated here by the 'Romantic' Beethoven of the 'Archduke' Trio, he radicalised the older composer's procedures.

"Yet the piece is not all unproblematic euphony. Einstein drew attention to the similarities of the first movement to the song 'Des Sängers Habe' ('The minstrel's possessions'), D. 832, which begins:

Schlagt mein ganzes Glück in Splitter,
Nehmt mir alle Habe gleich,
Lasset mir nur meine Zither,
Und ich bleibe froh und reich!

And one of the characteristic piano figurations that makes the movement flow so smoothly is indeed anticipated in this song written in 1825.

"The 'Andante un poco mosso' is an affecting example of Schubert's 'organic counterpoint'. While the opening cello melody initially has a very simple chordal accompaniment, its recurrences are increasingly decorated with freely invented countermelodies and accompanying voices, which further heighten the melodic intensity: 'a blissful dream, reflecting the ebb and flow of deeply human feelings' (Schumann).

"More low-key, but no less expressive is the central part of the movement, which begins in C minor. The 'Scherzo', with its waltz-like middle section, in which the 'organic counterpoint' blossoms between the strings in similar, albeit more moderate fashion, and more especially the finale are shining examples of Schubert's technique of 'rhythmic-motivic working', in which a four-bar macro-rhythm (long - long - short, short - long) dominates the music over long stretches (and is already anticipated in the accentuation of the rondo theme itself, which plays a lesser role). Here it is not themes or melodies that occupy the foreground, but the actual pulse of the music, an eminently reliable companion, since it never seems to end. 'May his surviving oeuvre be a precious heritage for us!', Schumann concluded his review. 'However numerous and beautiful the progeny of Father Time may be, he will not soon give us a second Schubert.'

"Around the same time as this trio, Schubert also wrote an Adagio for the same forces that poses a conundrum. Was it the discarded first draft of a slow movement for the Trio in B-flat? Or a sketch for a planned 'continuation'? It seems hardly credible that Schubert would have composed such a large-scale movement simply as a freestanding entity. What is certain, in any case, is that when the publisher Anton Diabelli printed the piece in 1846 (long after Schubert's death), he arbitrarily added the title 'Notturno'. This name was probably inspired by the harp-like chords in the piano at the beginning, over which the violin and cello then enter with a slowly swaying, hymn-like melody in thirds. As so often with Schubert, this one-bar motion module (harp music in the piano, semiquaver anacrusis in the strings), once established, is maintained over long stretches, with strings and piano subtly exchanging roles – the last bar of the strings is already the first bar of the reprise of the melody, which is in fact to be entrusted to the piano, and the latter in turn anticipates the first bar of the brief coda, which moves into A-flat minor. Entirely different from this is the contrasting section, which changes not only key (E major) but even time signature (3/4), and strikes up an almost triumphal ascending melody over rushing triplets – as if the struggle were already over. That this is not the case is shown by the very subdued lead-back to the main section, which is decorated on its repetition with dreamy garlands in the high register. Finally – after the return of the contrasting section, now in C major – bright trills in the piano, twittering like birds, sound above the string melody in a short coda.

"Schubert's second great piano trio (op. 100) also adopts a more ingratiating, sociable tone than others among his 'late' works. The first movement is pert, even playful; a recurring turn-like figure developed from the swashbuckling main theme holds its diverse episodes together, but takes on brooding traits in the (pensively extended) closing group and even tends towards grimness in the development. The sad and tender second theme, which begins by modulating erratically into the third-related key of B minor and ends in E-flat major, also demonstrates in its way that in late Schubert there is always but a single step from sociability to solitude.

"The heart of this work, however – preceding the 'Scherzando', whose playfully light tone almost conceals the fact that its main theme is composed as a strict canon between piano and violin – is the slow movement, 'Andante con moto'. This has the paradoxical character of a C minor funeral march, but one that leaves an impression not of statesmanlike solemnity, but of deeply intimate melancholy (Schumann: 'a sigh that rises to shrieking anguish'); even the contrasting major episode seems more nostalgic than liberating.

"This movement is something of a special case. According to Leopold von Sonnleithner, writing thirty years later, a Swedish tenor named Isak Albert Berg gave 'exquisitely lovely' performances of Swedish folksongs while staying in Vienna in the winter of 1827/28. Sonnleithner adds that Schubert was so entranced by this that he used 'the most delightful of them as themes in the E-flat Trio'. This remark long remained puzzling, because scholars searched in vain for Schubertian themes in the folklore of Sweden. Only in 1978 was a manuscript of Swedish songs discovered in a Viennese library that probably contains copies of the repertory sung by Berg – doubtless less those elusive Swedish 'folksongs' than his own compositions 'in folk style'. One of them, 'Se solen sjunker' ('See, the sun sinks'), served as a stimulus for the bewitchingly beautiful theme of the slow movement; a stimulus, no more. The melody of the fine song initially shows little resemblance to Schubert's movement: the most noticeable borrowing is the repeated octave drop on the word 'Farväl' ('Farewell') and the subsequent concluding phrase. The compelling elegiac opening is wholly Schubertian. No one else would have been capable of deriving such a movement from this song.

We can get a precise idea of the genesis of the trio, and this movement in particular, because the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna preserves in its archives a draft score of the first three movements that comes from the estate of Johannes Brahms. It shows both great assurance in the overall design and some fascinating details that deviate from the final version. For example, the second group of the first movement was originally pitched a fifth higher; the 'Scherzando' began without an upbeat; and in the slow movement, before the entry of the melody in the cello, there were initially not two, but three bars in the piano drumming out the march-like rhythm. But in the 'Andante con moto' the differences are even more numerous and striking. The movement seems harsher, more angular, more troubled; many lyrical counterpoints and smooth transitions are absent, and in one passage the violin intones, over a surging chromatic run in the piano, a motif that unmistakably recalls the 'Fate' motto from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Was this movement intended as a funeral march for Beethoven himself, who had died on 26 March 1827, and to whom the music could in this way wordlessly bid 'Farväl'? If so, then Schubert subsequently obscured this reference, because along with many other changes he deleted the 'quotation' in the final version.

Schubert underlined the exceptional status of this movement by – uniquely in his entire instrumental output – quoting it at length in the playful finale, not as a foreign body, but integrated into its structure. In a passage of the first version, the funeral march theme was even combined in counterpoint with the repeated quavers of the finale's cheerful second theme – a not entirely convincing idea that he struck out of the final version. At the end, as if at the last minute, the gloomy march brightens up and emerges in the major key (a dramaturgical device frequently used by Beethoven but seldom by Schubert): Death and Transfiguration, as it were. It may be just a coincidence that this piece was premiered on the actual first anniversary of Beethoven’s death, in the only concert Schubert ever organised himself – but it is a highly symbolic one." (Wolfgang Fuhrman. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Andreas Staier, Daniel Sepec, Roel Dieltiens

1.1. Piano Trio In B-Flat Major, D. 898 Op. 99: I. Allegro Moderato
1.2. Piano Trio In B-Flat Major, D. 898 Op. 99: II. Andante Un Poco Mosso
1.3. Piano Trio In B-Flat Major, D. 898 Op. 99: III. Scherzo - Allegro
1.4. Piano Trio In B-Flat Major, D. 898 Op. 99: IV. Rondo - Allegro Vivace
1.5. Nocturne In E-Flat Major, D. 897 Op. 148: Adagio

2.1. Piano Trio In E-Flat Major, D. 929 Op. 100: I. Allegro
2.2. Piano Trio In E-Flat Major, D. 929 Op. 100: II. Andante Con Moto
2.3. Piano Trio In E-Flat Major, D. 929 Op. 100: III. Scherzando. Allegro Moderato
2.4. Piano Trio In E-Flat Major, D. 929 Op. 100: IV. Allegro Moderato

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Johannes Brahms - Sonatas for Clarinet & Piano; 6 Klavierstücke, Op. 118

"The aspiration of instrumental music to gain its independence by shaking off the influence of vocal music and extra-musical references, a central issue in the aesthetic debates that raged in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, had to struggle against somewhat more conservative listening habits on the part of the public. Those extra-musical elements (deriving in large part from the heritage of eighteenth century rhetoric, from the commedia dell’arte and the theatre in general, from literature, and from opera, which remained extremely popular) were still very present, and emerge clearly when one analyses thereactions of audiences and performers, who continued to associate music with gestures, movements, expressions, characters, images.

"Although Brahms himself did not feel close to the world of opera and did not encourage frequent recourse to such external references, there are many hints to suggest that things did not always go as he would have wished. For example, in his score of the Brahms sonatas, the celebrated English clarinettist Charles Draper (1869-1952) [...] noted his impressions of the character of certain episodes: 'Trouble ahead!', 'Prayer', 'old man grumbling'. The critic and musicologist Alexander Berrsche (1880-1940), a fierce guardian of Brahmsian tradition, nonetheless used expressions like 'the frightened fluttering of a bird' in his reviews of the composer’s symphonies. Again, in her 1905 biography of Brahms, Florence May (1845-1923) has this to say of the 'Quintet, op.115': 'Here "the brooks of life are flowing as at high noon", though the tone of gentle loving regret which pervades the four movements, and holds the heart of the listener in firm grip, suggests the composer’s feeling that evening is not far from him in which no man may work.'

"Is it possible today to adopt a similar viewpoint on the music of Brahms, and to imagine a link between music and moods, feelings, characters, to go so far as actually to reconstruct a virtual dramatic action on the basis of his music? Can today’s musicians and listeners conjure up, from these sounds alone, images drawn from multiple experiences, lodged in our memories from the operas, the literature, the plays we have known? Many of these art forms have over time acquired an expressive, often dramatic dimension, and have become part of a collective imagination which earlier listeners were doubtless capable of calling upon.

"In the examples that follow, the association of musical gestures with concrete personalities, characters and images is totally arbitrary and without direct historical reference. It is merely a personal attempt to make those gestures tangible, as a contemporary musician or listener might have done: trouble ahead, prayers, old men grumbling, frightened birds, but also funeral bells, Orpheus and his lyre, Eurydice, Susanna and Figaro, love duets, tears and smiles, conflicts and reconciliations, farewells and welcomes.

"Op. 120 no. 1, first movement. At 4'28" (tr. 1), the sudden sforzando in the piano and the wide intervals in the clarinet suggest two people weeping and sobbing. Later on (6'37"), one has the impression, as in the second movement of Beethoven’s Fourth Piano Concerto, of hearing Orpheus' lyre and his despairing song. All of a sudden the lyre falls silent, trombones and bassoons announce the end (7'17"), and funeral bells (7'24") accompany the abandonment of all hope, evoked by the final lament on the clarinet (7'30"). Often, around a cadence, a modulation will underline a frustration, or perhaps a surprise, introducing a new mood, a new protagonist, as in this same movement (2'57") or at 3'35" in the finale (tr. 4).

"In the Andante of op. 120 no. 1 (tr. 2), at what is perhaps one of the most moving moments in the First Sonata, two characters exchange roles: the clarinet takes over the piano line, plays the bass (2'03"), then abruptly falls silent (2'15"), leaving the piano alone, in search of its companion; the piano then hesitates among several keys, and is finally reunited with the clarinet in a consolatory A-flat major, a meeting indicated by the return of the main theme, now presented in an intimate, murmuring tone, embraced by warm arpeggios. At the very end of the movement (3'59"), the clarinet evokes the resigned attitude of someone departing into the distance – perhaps Eurydice's gentle farewell to Orpheus?

"The wide intervals in the clarinet, comical and arrogant, which boldly interrupt the piano’s attempt to start up a fugue at the beginning of the finale (tr. 4, 0'06") and the rapid detached notes that follow, as if in mockery (0'13"), are gestures typical of commedia dell'arte and opera buffa. Shortly after this the wild 'Hungarian' section (2'11") reminds us of the cafés of Budapest and Vienna and their Gypsy musicians.

"The appoggiaturas of the clarinet theme that opens op. 120 no. 2 (tr. 11) emphasise its feminine, sensual character, notably the spectacular leap at 0'12", which may remind us of the vocal virtuosity of Susanna or Fiordiligi. The second theme, a tight-knit canon, seems more evocative of the badinage of two lovers than the art of counterpoint (0'56"). Towards the end of the movement (6'42"), the touching interrupted cadence leads us into a calm, exotic E major, but the protagonists’ disquiet suddenly increases (6'48") until we reach the surprising piano subito at 6'54". This inaugurates a change of character with the wistful plaint of the clarinet, which, exhausted, is struck dumb (7'01"), followed by the piano, which also has its moment of doubt and hesitation (7'03").

"After a brief silence charged with expectation, release comes with the grandiose, even pompous coda (7'05"), built entirely from repeated elements (here again are the characteristic topoi of opera buffa), seemingly leading up to a reconciliation. But this is to some extent thwarted by the final gesture: an improbable intruder (7'39"), a comic A natural that is quite out of place in E-flat major; a smile, a nod before the door closes once and for all." (Lorenzo Coppola, tr. Charles Johnston. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Lorenzo Coppola, Andreas Staier

1. Sonata, Op. 120 No. 1 In F Minor: I. Allegro Appassionato

2. Sonata, Op. 120 No. 1 In F Minor: II. Andante Un Poco Adagio

3. Sonata, Op. 120 No. 1 In F Minor: III. Allegro Grazioso

4. Sonata, Op. 120 No. 1 In F Minor: IV. Vivace

5. Sechs Klavierstucke, Op. 118: I. Intermezzo. Allegro Non Assai, Ma Molto Appassionato

6. Sechs Klavierstucke, Op. 118: II. Intermezzo. Andante Teneramente

7. Sechs Klavierstucke, Op. 118: III. Ballade. Allegro Energico

8. Sechs Klavierstucke, Op. 118: IV. Intermezzo. Allegretto Un Poco Agitato

9. Sechs Klavierstucke, Op. 118: V. Romanze. Andante

10. Sechs Klavierstucke, Op. 118: VI. Intermezzo. Andante, Largo E Mesto

11. Sonata, Op. 120 No. 2 In E-Flat Major: I. Allegro Amabile

12. Sonata, Op. 120 No. 2 In E-Flat Major: II. Allegro Appassionato

13. Sonata, Op. 120 No. 2 In E-Flat Major: III. Andante Con Moto - Allegro - Piu Tranquillo

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Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Piano Sonatas K. 330, 331 'Alla Turca', 332

"Mozart scholars long took it for granted that the three piano sonatas K. 330-332 were written in Paris in the year 1778. However, some twenty years ago, detailed research on the only partly extant autographs made it necessary to revise this dating: both Mozart’s handwriting and the type of paper used point to 1783 as the year of composition. But it is still unclear whether Mozart composed the sonatas in Vienna, where he had been living as a freelance musician since the spring of 1781, or on a trip to Salzburg in the summer and autumn of 1783. The musicologist Alan Tyson, who also undertook the paper research, thought it more likely that they were written during his stay in Salzburg.

"Mozart set out for Salzburg in July 1783, along with his wife Constanze, whom he had married in Vienna on 4 August 1782. Since the wedding had taken place in the absence of both his father and his sister, he was obliged to introduce his wife to his closest relatives at some stage – it is probable that this 'presentation' of Constanze was his main reason for travelling to the city for which he had so little affection. Later commentators have surmised that Mozart’s father and sister gave his wife none too warm a welcome. Yet there can be little truth in this, for during their time there the whole family went to call on acquaintances in Salzburg, and passed the time with excursions, visits to the theatre, and making music together. In the three months or so that he spent in Salzburg, Mozart seems to have composed little, to judge from the fairly solid information we have. It was during this time that he wrote the two Duos for violin and viola K. 423 and K. 424, with which he is supposed to have helped Michael Haydn out of a tight corner. But the 'Mass in C minor, K. 427', specifically intended for performance in Salzburg, remained unfinished. Mozart had already made a start on the composition in the winter of 1782/83, but he wrote only two of the movements that were still lacking while in Salzburg. Perhaps he spent his time there on these three piano sonatas instead. But if he really did compose them in Salzburg, they were apparently not yet finished when he returned to Vienna in November. So much is indicated by the letter he wrote to his father from Vienna on 9 and 12 June 1784 (which incidentally is the only document in the Mozart correspondence in which these sonatas are mentioned): 'Now I have given Artaria for printing the three sonatas for solo keyboard which I once sent my sister, the first in C, the second in A, and the third in F.' If Mozart had already completed the sonatas in Salzburg, he would hardly have had to send them to his sister from Vienna.

"The quotation from this letter also shows that Mozart sent the three works to press together. They were published by the Viennese firm of Artaria in the summer of 1784 as 'Trois Sonates pour le Clavecin ou Pianoforte composèes par W. A. Mozart. Oeuvre. VI.'; the edition was advertised in the 'Wiener Zeitung' of 25 August as a 'novelty'. Mozart certainly conceived the sonatas from the beginning as a homogeneous group of three, that is to say as an 'opus'. Not only did he give the Sonatas K. 330 and K. 332 the respective headings 'Sonate I.' and 'Sonate III.', as can be seen on the extant pages of the autographs, he also coordinated the three works with regard to formal design and characteristics. The tonic keys of the three sonatas stand in a relationship of falling thirds to one another, and each sonata presents a different combination of tempo directions and time signatures in its individual movements. One need go no further than a comparison between the opening movements of the Sonatas K. 330 and K. 332 to realise Mozart’s concern with diversity of artistic resources: whereas K. 330's 'Allegro moderato' in 2/4 begins with a capricious-seeming, diatonic descending phrase, the 3/4 'Allegro' of K.332 starts with a rising melody built on a broken tonic triad, whose cantabile character makes it seem like the second subject of a sonata allegro, rather than the first. The respective themes of the slow movements of these two sonatas offer a similar contrast in design. What is more, the movements' formal layout is quite different: the ternary form of the first sonata's 'Andante cantabile' is answered, in the 'Adagio' of the third, by a sonata form without development. The only thing the two movements have in common is their great wealth of expression.

"At the centre of this trilogy stands K. 331, the most unusual of the sonatas. Not only do its three movements – theme and variations, minuet, rondo finale – represent types that occur in neither of the other two sonatas, but a sonata that opened with a variation movement was at that time something quite new in Vienna. Another special feature is the finale with its flavour of janissary music, the celebrated 'Alla Turca'. Here Mozart takes up once more the Turkish style he had already exploited in his 'Singspiel Die Entführung aus dem Serail, K.384', yet at the same time seems almost to caricature it through stylistic exaggeration. It is interesting to note that, in the first three impressions of the Artaria edition, the Alla Turca bore the unusual tempo marking 'All[e]grino', which was later changed to 'Allegretto'. Without this alteration, not a single tempo indication would have been repeated in the course of the three sonatas' total of nine movements – which was clearly Mozart’s intention.

"With the ingenious layout, sophisticated details and rich substance of his three sonatas K. 330-332, Mozart provided enough to satisfy any connoisseur (Kenner). But above all, he could use this opus 6 as a forceful reminder to the well-off Viennese amateur pianists (Liebhaber), from whom he earned his living as a teacher and performer, that he was also a composer of piano sonatas. Just why these sonatas might be attractive to potential buyers is summed up in a nutshell by an announcement in the 'Staats- und Gelehrten Zeitung des Hamburgischen unpartheyischen Correspondenten' from the year 1785: 'Three splendid sonatas which, if properly played, make an excellent effect.'" (Andreas Friesenhagen, tr. Charles Johnston. From the liner notes.)

Performer: Andreas Staier

1. Piano Sonata In C Major, K. 330: I. Allegro Moderato
2. Piano Sonata In C Major, K. 330: II. Andante Cantabile
3. Piano Sonata In C Major, K. 330: III. Allegretto
4. Piano Sonata In A Major,  K. 331 'Alla Turca': I. Andante Grazioso (Thème Et Variations)
5. Piano Sonata In A Major,  K. 331 'Alla Turca': II. Menuetto - Trio
6. Piano Sonata In A Major,  K. 331 'Alla Turca': III. Alla Turca. Allegretto
7. Piano Sonata In F Major, K. 332: I. Allegro
8. Piano Sonata In F Major, K. 332: II. Adagio
9. Piano Sonata In F Major, K. 332: III. Allegro Assai

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Jan Ladislav Dussek - Sonatas; Fantasia and Fugue

"Dussek settled in two places in turn, both capital cities and major cultural centres: Paris and London. He arrived in Paris in 1786 and remained there till 1789, when he left in the midst of the turmoil produced by the Revolution, his departure motivated by a justified fear that his close contact with Marie Antoinette could have fatal consequences. Like so many fugitives from the political upheaval in France, he headed for London - but returned to Paris again for the last five years of his life. Dussek spent a full ten years in London, making it the longest period he stayed in any one place. And it didn't take him long to become established as one of the city's most prominent musical personalities. It was here that the four piano sonatas on this disc were written. Dussek's op. 31 consisting of a single sonata framed by two piano trios - appeared in 1795 while op. 35 was published in 1797. 

"If Dussek's biography seems to belong more in the 19th century than the 18th, the same is true of his music in many respects. Permeated as they are by heroism and triumphant antitheses, don't the first movements of the C minor and G major sonatas recall the music of Beethoven's middle period? Yet Beethoven had only just published his earliest piano sonatas, op. 2, in 1796, so Dussek can scarcely have been familiar with them. And isn't the first movement of the B-flat sonata reminiscent of Schubert in its rhapsodic approach to sonata form and its fondness for colourful modulations instead of thematic development? Yet 1797 was the year of Schubert's birth! Other features of Dussek's music point even farther into the future: a specific 'salon tone' especially evident in the last movements of op. 31/2, op. 35/1 and op. 34/2 with their hint of Bohemian folk music, takes us into the world of John Field and Chopin, both of whom were to delight Parisian high society with their Polish mazurkas some decades hence. Incidentally, one cannot help but wonder at this stage whether the Paris correspondent of the Leipzig 'Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung,' whose obituary on Dussek is quoted at the beginning of this text, was right to claim Dussek as a German composer without elaborating. For the fact is that the above-mentioned 'salon tone' actually originated in Paris or London rather than in Vienna; and moreover, surprising as it may seem, Vienna was the only major European music centre that the widely traveled virtuoso never visited. We also find a certain casualness about Dussek's compositions which is by no means typically German: consecutive fifths that could easily have been avoided are left as they are, and thematic recapitulations are often robbed of some of their clarity by minor inconsistencies that one can assume to be accidental. I have taken the liberty of doing a little retouching here and there, as I am obviously more pedantic about such matters than the composer... I am also to blame for another alteration to the original: the two movements of the B-flat sonata seem to me to have such a similar rhythm that I have been so bold as to add a brief improvised introduction before the second movement for the sake of variety. Dussek's piano writing is creative in the extreme. In comparison with the clear transparency of pre-1800 Viennese Piano music, Dussek seems altogether modern in the expansive virtuosity and full-voiced character of his writing. We have here a good example of the mutual influence of instrument and perform-er/composer on one another: the pianos of English manufacture that Dussek expressly preferred do indeed allow a much more 'modern' and expansive manner of playing than their Viennese counterparts. Both Dussek's and Clementi's music show clearly the deliberate exploitation of the potential of English pianos. Thus I was particularly fortunate to have the chance to use Jérôme Hantaï's wonderful Broadwood grand for this recording. I should like to offer special thanks to him and also to Christopher Clarke, who restored the instrument and looked after tuning etc. during the recording sessions. I very much hope that the attractive sound of the historic piano will more than compensate the listener for one or two mechanical noises that can be heard in the background. 

"Dussek left London in a hurry in 1800, as much to flee his creditors as to abandon his conjugal obligations. He made a provisional home in Hamburg, from where he undertook several concert tours to enable him to live in the extravagant style to which he was accustomed. But he was no longer a youngster, and longed for a regular, comfortable position. In 1804 he got to know Louis Ferdinand, Prince of Prussia, who engaged him both as music teacher and as musical director. The two of them evidently got on famously, with colleague Louis Spohr shaking his head over nightly bacchanalian 'orgies' (sic!)... This indulgent idyll came to an abrupt end, however, when the Prince fell in the Battle of Saalfeld in 1806. Dussek gave him a moving memorial in his 'Élegie Harmonique', the first notes of which quote the 'Consummatum est' from Haydn's 'Seven Last Words.' - Once again compelled to look elsewhere, Dussek eventually made his way to Paris, in the service of Talleyrand. He knew the city well, having spent several years there when younger, although he had moved to London ahead of the Revolution. That explains 'Le Retour À Paris' - though there is another title too. Joseph Woelfl had written a 'Ne Plus Ultra' sonata, which he saw as the last word in technical difficulty. Dussek accepted the challenge and came back with a twinkle in his eye and 'Plus Ultra.' True enough, I had to do quite a bit of practising on the outer movements... But the work has high musical ambitions too: it must be one of the earliest examples of the great romantic sonata. To end at the beginning: recitals began at that time with free prelude playing. Written down after the event, the result is something like the 'Fantasia and Fugue' in F minor, dedicated to his friend J. B. Cramer. The Fugue should be perceived more as an improvisational essay in free-ranging modulation (like most of his contemporaries' piano fugues) rather than polyphonic exaltation. Father Bach would have been amused by it at best..." (Andreas Staier, tr. Clive R. Williams; J. & M. Berridge. From the liner notes.)

Performer: Andreas Staier

1.1. Piano Sonata In B-Flat Major, Op. 35 No. 1: I. Allegro Moderato E Maestoso

1.2. Piano Sonata In B-Flat Major, Op. 35 No. 1: II. Introduzione

1.3. Piano Sonata In B-Flat Major, Op. 35 No. 1: III. Finale. Allegro Non Troppo Con Spirito

1.4. Piano Sonata In G Major, Op. 35 No. 2: I. Allegro

1.5. Piano Sonata In G Major, Op. 35 No. 2: II. Rondo. Molto Allegro Con Espressione

1.6. Piano Sonata In C Minor, Op. 35 No. 3: I. Allegro Agitato Assai

1.7. Piano Sonata In C Minor, Op. 35 No. 3: II. Adagio Patetico Ed Espressivo

1.8. Piano Sonata In C Minor, Op. 35 No. 3: III. Intermezzo. Presto

1.9. Piano Sonata In C Minor, Op. 35 No. 3: IV. Finale. Allegro Molto

1.10. Piano Sonata In D Major, Op. 31 No. 2: I. Allegro Non Tanto

1.11. Piano Sonata In D Major, Op. 31 No. 2: II. Adagio Con Espressione

1.12. Piano Sonata In D Major, Op. 31 No. 2: III. Pastorale. Allegro Non Troppo

2.1. Fantasia & Fugue, Op. 55: Fantasia

2.2. Fantasia & Fugue, Op. 55: Fugue

2.3. Piano Sonata, Op. 64 'Le Retour À Paris': Allegro Non Troppo Ed Espressivo

2.4. Piano Sonata, Op. 64 'Le Retour À Paris': Molto Adagio Con Anima Ed Espressione

2.5. Piano Sonata, Op. 64 'Le Retour À Paris': Tempo Di Minuetto - Scherzo Quasi Allegro - Trio

2.6. Piano Sonata, Op. 64 'Le Retour À Paris': Finale - Scherzo (Allegro Con Spirito)

2.7. Piano Sonata In F-Sharp Minor, Op. 61 'Elégie Harmonique': Lento Patetico - Tempo Agitato

2.8. Piano Sonata In F-Sharp Minor, Op. 61 'Elégie Harmonique': Tempo Vivace E Con Fuoco Quasi Presto

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