Bach/Mozart Program Notes

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685 - 1750)

Sinfonia from Cantata No. 42, “Am Abend aber desselbigen Sabbats,” BWV 42

8 minutes

Composer: Johann Sebastian Bach (Born in Eisenach, Germany in 1685; Died in Leipzig, Germany in 1750)

Work composed: 1725

World premiere: Bach led the premiere of this Cantata in Leipzig on April 8, 1725

Instrumentation: two oboes, bassoon, strings, (and typically a basso continuo, which could be a harpsichord, or organ, or string basses, or a combination of harpsichord and string basses)

SIG3_Bach
Johann Sebastian Bach

Sinfonia from Cantata No. 42, “Am Abend aber desselbigen Sabbats,” BWV 42

For almost his entire career, Bach was employed to write sacred music, particularly for the Lutheran church. It’s stunning to learn that he wrote over one thousand pieces, many of which are considered the best in Western music, let alone the High Baroque period. His sacred cantatas are among his finest works, which themselves contain his most celebrated movements. Sinfonia, the opening movement of Cantata No. 42, is one of these.
 
From 1723 to 1744, Bach was employed as the Cantor of the Thomasschule at Thomaskirche in Leipzig, and Director of Music of the principal churches in the town, the Nikolaikirche and the Paulinerkirche. These decades may have been the most active composing period of Bach’s life. While there, he wrote three of his most famous sacred choral works: his great Magnificat (BWV 243a) in 1723, his St. John Passion in 1724, and his St. Matthew Passion in 1727. In his first several years in Leipzig, Bach took it upon himself to write a sacred cantata for every Sunday of the year.
Cantatas were originally secular Italian works for a few instruments and voices, but they had evolved by the Baroque period into mainly sacred works for many voices and instruments. In Bach’s Germany, sacred cantatas were highly popular in Lutheran churches. Performed during church services, their content followed a highly scripted, yearly cycle of lessons and texts prescribed by the church. Bach composed his Cantata No. 42 in 1725 for the First Sunday after Easter (Quasimodogeniti) which ended the eight-day period (octave) beginning on Easter Sunday and ending on the following Sunday. A sacred cantata was typically referred to by its first line of sung text, and in the case of Cantata No. 42, it was called “Am Abend aber desselbigen Sabbats,”(“On the evening, however, of the same Sabbath”). The text of the Cantata then describes the first meeting that Christ had with several of his disciples after his resurrection.
 
Sinfonias in Bach’s day were generally an instrumental overture, although the form eventually evolved into two distinct genres: instrumental concertos and the Classical Symphony. It was somewhat  atypical for Bach to start a cantata in this way, but this Sinfonia is particularly exquisite. Bach fashions the instrumental forces into a concerto grosso – comprised of the orchestra of strings, called the ripieno, and is the concertino, a small group of soloists. The two groups trade off phrases and themes, and sometimes play together, with the concertino receiving more of the virtuosic writing. Here, the concertino consists of two oboes, but Bach adds a bassoon as a delightful member to the whole ensemble. The bassoon acts as a sort of mediator between the two groups, often playing with the concertino, sometimes with the ripieno (strings), and occasionally playing its own lines apart from everyone else. Altogether, the Sinfonia’s counterpoint is rich and wonderful, filled with ever-changing combinations.
 
The strings open the Sinfonia in a gentle and joyful manner, matching the spirit of the Cantata’s text, and creating a sense of both joy and trepidation. The violins present the first theme. Running sixteenth notes give the theme an ever-elegant flow, and in typical Baroque fashion, they gracefully roll through sequences and repetitions of lyrical patterns. The concertino of two oboes then enter, soon followed by the bassoon, recreating their reedy version of the strings’ theme. From here, the two groups trade off smaller and larger phrases, often splitting forces within themselves, as well as playing together, in frequently changing pairings between all of the instruments.
 
An especially beautiful moment arrives at just after three minutes into the Sinfonia, when the score is marked cantabile (in a singing manner). Here, the principal oboe sings a longer and lyrical line in duet with the bassoon, while underneath them, the ripieno strings undulate quietly. The principal oboe then passes the melody to the second oboe, and when this occurs, Bach brings us through a magical little chord progression – a sudden and brief change of light that turns everything into a deeper, richer color. Soon after, the opening section is repeated, and this marvelous Sinfonia comes to its close, having led the way beautifully for the Cantata.
 
George Frideric Handel ( (1685 - 1759)

Two Arias from the opera Ariodante

Composer: George Frideric Handel (Born in Halle, Germany in 1685; Died in London in 1759)

Work composed:
1735

World premiere: Ariodante was first performed at the Covent Garden Theatre in London on January 8, 1735. The title role of Ariodante was sung by the famous castrati Giovanni Carestini

Instrumentation: two oboes, bassoon, strings, (and typically a basso continuo, which could be a harpsichord, or organ, or string basses, or a combination of harpsichord and string basses)

George Frideric Handel

Ariodante – Its Story and Arias

The story for Handel’s three-Act Ariodante comes from chapters 4, 5, and 6 of “Orlando Furioso”, and takes place in Medieval Scotland. The Scottish King’s daughter, Princess Ginerva, is to be wed to Prince Ariodante. Another Prince, Polinesso of Albany, wants Princess Ginerva for himself, and so he lies to the King and Prince Ariodante that Princess Ginerva has been unfaithful. The distraught Prince Ariodante attempts suicide (Aria: “Scherza, infida, in grembo al drudo”) and Princess Ginerva is condemned, but a dying confession by Prince Polinesso about his deception allows Prince Ariodante and Princess Ginerva to come back into each other’s arms and hearts (Aria: “Dopo notte atra funesta”).

“Dopo notte atra e funesta” (“After a dark and cruel night”)

Near the very end of the opera, this scene takes place at “The dueling ground, [with] the King on his throne.” The conniving Prince Polinesso has just confessed to his ruse about Princess Ginerva, and Prince Ariodante sings this lovely aria.

Handel cast Prince Ariodante to be sung by a castrati but is nowadays well suited for a counter-tenor or by a mezzo- soprano. The role, and this aria, demand an extraordinary vocal range and virtuosity.

The orchestra begins the aria with a bright and lyrical theme, reflecting the ecstatic relief that Prince Ariodante experiences after learning that Princess Ginerva has not been unfaithful. The mezzo-soprano soon joins this musical happiness, and after a few long and  lyrical notes the virtuosity quickly begins. Listen for the soloist’s wide leaps in the melody, as well as launching into those delightful Baroque melodic runs of flurries of fast, rhythmic lines. The true challenge for the soloist is to deliver these dizzying vocal feats with a sense of light tenderness, because Prince Ariodante has realized that he can actually be together with the love of his life – he is not only deliriously happy, but struck with a deep feeling of humble gratitude.

A little after three minutes into the aria, the second verse begins:

“Mentre in orrida tempesta” (“While in a horrible tempest”)

The music takes on hints of a darker, minor key, as the soloist expresses deep resentment. This darker tone doesn’t last long and the first, joyful verse is repeated. Listen now for even more virtuosity, especially as the melodic lines climb into ultra-high notes. Especially at about six-and-a-half minutes, the music slows for dramatic effect, and the soloist hangs briefly on a difficult high pitch on the text

“… gioia empie la terra” (“… earth with joy”)

The aria ends happily with the orchestra reiterating its bright, opening music.

Ariodante

Dopo notte atra e funesta
splende in ciel più vago il sole,
e di gioia empie la terra

Mentre in orrida tempesta
il mio legno è quasi assorto,
giunge in porto e ‘l lido afferra.

 

After a dark and sinister night
the sun shines in the sky more exquisitely,
and fills the earth with joy.

While in a horrible tempest
my boat had almost sunk,
it reaches the port and cleaves to the shore.

“Scherza, infida, in grembo al drudo” (“revel unfaithful one in your lover’s lap”)

Almost at the apex of the opera, in the middle of Act 2, comes what some call one of Handel’s greatest arias: “Scherza infida” (“Revel, unfaithful one”). Prince Ariodante sings this just after the lying Prince Polinesso has accused Prince Ariodante’s fiancée, Princess Ginerva, of having been unfaithful. Bitter and betrayed, Prince Ariodante feels there is little to live for, and sings this moving aria as he attempts to end his life. This scene takes place “By ancient ruins, within sight of Ginevra’s apartments; moonlight.”

Rather than fury at Princess Ginerva’s alleged betrayal, Prince Ariodante’s aria speaks of his anguish. The strings open the aria with a slow, undulating motive – imitating, perhaps, the feelings of loss coursing through Prince Ariodante’s veins. Especially effective here is Handel’s use of the bassoon’s deep, reedy hues as a kind of second voice. Alone, and in the quiet of the moonlight outside of Princess Ginerva’s bedroom, Prince Ariodante begins a beautifully lyrical and touching song. Often featuring long tones, Handel showcases the soloist’s exceptional vocal range with wide leaps in slow motion, cleverly capturing the surging emotions of Prince Ariodante’s first moments of pain.

A little after five minutes into the song, a pause occurs, and the mood turns to spite. The strings pick up the tempo slightly and play a series of repeated, short notes – as though Prince Ariodante’s heart has begun to race in rage. He sings “Ma a spezzar l’indegno laccio” (“But to break the unworthy bond” [of Princess Ginerva and her alleged lover]) with rage, vowing to return as a ghost to haunt and torment Princess Ginerva. But this anger is short-lived, ebbs away, and comes to a full stop.

The music returns to the beginning, where Prince Ariodante wrestles with his broken heart and fragile psyche. As a matter of performance practice, the tempo often slows here, and the soloist is allowed to sing with even more pathos, giving emphasis for dramatic effect, sometimes singing in a near-whisper, and changing octaves when possible – so effectively mixing devastating sadness with both anger and the desire for revenge. Particularly deeply moving is Prince Ariodante’s last line, as it dramatically drifts melodically downwards: “per tua colpa ora men vo” (I now go [to die] because of you”). The orchestra brings this gripping aria to a close with a repeat of the opening motive while the bassoon takes a slightly more prominent role, descending into the depths.

Ariodante
Scherza, infida, in grembo al drudo,
io tradito a morte in braccio
per tua colpa ora men vo.

Ma a spezzar l’indegno laccio,
ombra mesta, e spirto ignudo,
per tua pena io tornerò.

(English translation by Veronika Anissimova)


Revel, unfaithful one, in your lover’s lap,
betrayed, in the arms of death
I now go, because of you.

But to break the unworthy bond,
As a sad specter, a ghostly spirit,
I will return to torment you.

George Frideric Handel ( (1685 - 1759)

Aria from the opera Alcina

5 minutes

Composer: George Frideric Handel (Born in Halle, Germany in 1685; Died in London in 1759)

Work composed:
1735

World premiere: The first performance took place at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden in London on April 16, 1735. The title role of Ruggiero was sung by the famous castrati Giovanni Carestini

Instrumentation: solo mezzo-soprano, 2 oboes, 2 horns, strings, (and typically a basso continuo, which could be a harpsichord, or organ, or string basses, or a combination of harpsichord and string basses)

Alcina – Its Story and Aria

Alcina adapts Orlando furioso, but is indirectly based on the libretto from Italian composer Riccardo Broschi’s 1728 L’isola di Alcina. Handel refashioned his Alcina to be more dramatic and to allow for dance sequences, creating a three-act opera revolving around the heroic but not-so-very chivalric, Ruggiero, and infusing a bit of comedy into this opera seria. Though engaged to marry his much more heroic fiancée, Bradamante, Ruggiero is constantly having misadventures. In escapades prior to the Alcina story, Bradamante had rescued Ruggiero from an enchanted castle, but just when all seemed well, her hippogriff (a magical winged horse) became suddenly besotted with Ruggiero and stole away with him to a mystical island in the middle of the ocean. There, Ruggiero is put under a spell by the sorceress, Alcina, who has the annoying habit of luring lovers to her island, enjoying their company, but when she tires of them, she turns them into animals, or plants, or the elements, at her whim.

Handel’s Alcina begins as Bradamante arrives on the island to rescue her hippogriff and Ruggiero from his newest predicament. Disguised in armor and possessing a magic ring that allows her to dispel illusions, Bradamante sets the scene aright and rescues Ruggiero yet again. Seeing things clearly now, thanks to Bradamante, Ruggiero returns to his “heroic, knightly self” and breaks the source of Alcina’s magical spells, thus destroying her and allowing all her former lovers to return to their natural forms, each astounded that they had been a lion, a myrtle tree (that the hippogriff had been eating earlier), and a wave on the ocean. Although all’s well that ends well in this opera, the two lovers will presumably be embroiled again in more heroic misadventures.

“Sta nell’ircana” (“In a story, Hycanion lair”)

This aria is from Act 3, Scene 3, in Alcina’s lavish island palace. Ruggiero and his fiancée, Bradamante, will soon break Alcina’s spells and curses on her many past lovers. Then, the two heroes, and their hippogriff, will escape by boat back to their home. Just before, in Scene 2, Ruggiero has told Alcina of his plans to leave her, but she, ironically, has fallen in love with him. Alcina urges Ruggiero to stay, telling him that they were indeed in love with each other, and threatens that if he actually does leave her she will avenge his abandonment without remorse … and yet, still smitten with Ruggiero, Alcina pauses for a moment and tries again to persuade him to stay with her in perpetual love.

In the following aria, Ruggiero fancies that he is now involved in a “hunting trip” to take down the evil Alcina. He warns Bradamante that Alcina is angry and a formidable foe, but that she is feeling in a vulnerable position. The aria begins with a robust, almost swashbuckling, tempo. Ruggiero sings vigorously with virtuosic runs and fast ornamentations. There’s a hurried feeling and a sense of warning in this aria, as if Ruggiero and Bradamante are racing against time. Ruggiero’s song is accompanied by horns playing in their high registers, signaling his knightly authority and his almost naïve confidence in his victory. Only once, at just a little after two-and-a-half minutes into the aria, does Ruggiero pause to reflect on Alcina, as the tempo changes suddenly to Adagio (slowly) as Ruggiero sings
“pietà del figlio, poi vince amor” (“pity for her son; love wins after all”).

After this brief pause, the musical verve returns and the two heroes get back to their escape plans. The first part of the aria now repeats, and it’s not uncommon in Baroque practice for the soloist to add even more vocal pyrotechnics to the melody, and a brief cadenza could even be thrown in. But even if the soloist does not do these things, listen for what is clearly a tour de force for the singer, as Handel demands a huge vocal range and spot-on technique to master this aria. Indeed, a great performance of “Sta nell’ircana” is absolutely breathtaking.

Ruggiero

Sta nell’ircana pietrosa tana
tigre sdegnosa e incerta pende,
se parte o attende il cacciator.

Dal teso strale guardarsi vuole
ma poi la prole lascia in periglio.

Freme e l’assale desio di sangue,
pietà del figlio, poi vince amor.

(English translation by Veronika Anissimova)

 

In a stony Hyrcanian lair there is a disdainful
tigress, and she lingers irresolute, whether
to leave or to await the hunter.

From the drawn arrow she wants to protect
herself; but that would leave her offspring in danger.

She shudders and is assailed by thirst for
blood, pity for her son; love wins after all.

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685 - 1750)

Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major, BMV 1068

24 minutes

Composer: : Johann Sebastian Bach (Born in Eisenach, Germany in 1685; Died in Leipzig, Germany in 1750)

Work composed:
Likely before 1723

World premiere: Bach led the premiere of this Cantata in Leipzig on April 8, 1725.

Instrumentation: 2 oboes, 3 trumpets, timpani, strings (and typically a basso continuo, which could be a harpsichord, or organ, or string basses, or a combination of harpsichord and string basses)

Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major, BMV 1068

             I. Overture
            II. Air
           III. Gavotte I & II
           IV. Bourrée
            V. Gigue

Of all of Bach’s music, his extant Four Orchestral Suites contain some of his most beloved music. Their origins, however, remain unclear; it is presumed that Bach created these Suites during his days as Kapellmeister for Prince Leopold of Köthen but their only surviving copies date to 1729-1731, while Bach was in Leipzig as Cantor at Thomaskirche, and where he was also the director of the Collegium musicum, a weekly public concert series of mostly secular music founded in 1704 by composer Georg Phillip Telemann (1681–1767). Mystery surrounds the orchestration of Suite No. 3 as well. Its only known original manuscript has just the first violin and continuo (harpsichord) parts in Bach’s own hand; whereas, the wonderfully colorful trumpets, oboe, and timpani parts are written in the hand of Bach’s son, C. P. E. Bach. The additional violin and viola parts are written out by Bach’s student, Johann Ludwig Krebs. Despite their mysterious origins, the music world is lucky to have these much beloved four Suites, filled as they are with such exceptional music.

With regard to the four Orchestral Suites, of which the Third will be performed, Bach emulated the “French Overture” form which originated in the court of Louis XIV. The “French Overture,” as it was known in Bach’s time, was a kind of musical collection of French courtly dances that followed a fairly specific formal structure: It always began with a movement that itself was called an Overture – a slow-fast-slow movement, beginning and ending with regal musical sections that book-ended a spirited fugal middle section. Following this Overture, there were several French courtly dances (called galanteries) which could include some or even all of the following dance forms: minuets, courantes, sarabandes, bourrées, gavottes, gigues, passepieds, and others.

The first movement of the Third Suite, the Overture, follows the traditional slow-fast-slow structure – a rather slow first section, followed by a brisk fugue and counterpoint-filled middle section, and then concluding with a brief return to the music of the first section. The opening section gives a sense of courtly regality and high spirits as the three trumpets, timpani and two oboes are heard. The middle section then sets off at twice the speed in a bracing fugue, beginning with a galloping figure in the oboe and first violins, which is then answered by the additional oboe and violins, and so on, in a traditional fugue. When the trumpets and timpani are added, the vivacity is infectious. The slower regal music of the first section returns to bring the Overture to a very bright close.

The second movement, Air, is one of Bach’s most famous melodies. The origin of this form is not from dance, but rather, from song, and indeed, the Air was a predecessor to what became known as the aria in Italian. Certainly here, its song like essence is this movement’s most exquisite quality. As the cellos, basses, and continuo sweetly saunter quietly forward in a lazy walking bass line, the strings sing above – first by holding a very long note as though a feather is floating on a summer zephyr, while the walking bass progresses through several arpeggiated chords. The Air is ingeniously written only for strings and continuo, without winds trumpets or drums; the contrast with the preceding Overture, therefore, makes this movement all the more breathtaking in its lyrical calmness. So catching is this Air that the German violinist August Wilhelmj (1845–1908) arranged it in 1871 for solo violin and accompaniment (of strings, piano or organ), scored so that the entire melody could be played entirely on the sultry and rich G string on a solo violin, thus becoming known forevermore in both Bach’s and Wilhelmj’s versions, as “Air on the G String.”

The third movement is comprised of two distinct dances classified as Gavottes. These forms originated as folk dances in southern France – including Provence and French Basque country – and they became especially popular dances in Louis XIV’s court. Bach’s Gavotte is perhaps as popular as the preceding Air. It’s a stately dance, but filled with energy, alive with singable charm. The very first notes ring out joyfully from the three trumpets followed by the rest of the orchestra completing their phrase. After about one minute, a second gavotte counters the first, beginning with a descending repeated rhythm in the oboes and strings. Particularly lovely is the way Bach interweaves the instruments – the oboes blending into the strings, blending into the trumpets, and so forth, creating a transient kaleidoscope of sound. The movement ends with a reprise of the first gavotte, filled with trumpet calls and zestful timpani rolls.

The fourth movement is a dance called the Bourrée. Originating in the south-central area of Auvergne in France, bourrées were first known as “clog dances,” but by Bach’s time the dance had migrated to the courtly world, shucking the clogs for fancy shoes, and becoming more lively and elegant. Bach wrote several bourrées as movements for other works, such as the very beloved bourrée movement in his Lute Suite in E Minor (BWV 996) – and he particularly loved imbuing them with sophisticated harmonic invention, as he did in this bourrée. The central theme is led mainly by the oboes, with the trumpets and strings and timpani adding a graceful power to the ends of each phrase. The theme, then, begins to change and skirt around the orchestra, as well as flirt with the minor key, making the melody take on a bit of mystery and contrast. This bourrée is quite brief, however – lasting hardly one minute – and often in performance it blends without pause into the final movement.

The final movement is a Gigue, a dance form that may have not been danced in Louis XIV’s court, but was extremely popular in societal gatherings, especially with the lower nobility; in that form it became one of the delightful galanteries dance options in “French Overture” suites. Nearly always written in a lively and quick rhythm of three notes to a beat (such as 6/8 – here comprised of two triplets for each measure), the gigue reveals its English heritage as a jig, where the dance originated before migrating into the French court in the mid-1600’s. Bach’s finale Gigue is indeed high spirited and lilting. The energy is motorific, with every beat having a triplet played by at least one of the orchestral voices. Especially fun to hear is how Bach creates a magical counterpoint in the orchestral writing. Each set of instruments has their own lines and rhythms, but as fit together by Bach, they collectively create a musical tapestry that sparkles with colorful complexity.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart 1756 - 1791)

Symphony No. 36 in C Major, “Linz,” K. 425

26 minutes (depending on how many repeats are taken)

Composer: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Born in Salzburg, Austria in 1756; Died in Vienna in 1791)

Work composed: November 1783 (4-5 days before its premiere)

World premiere: The premiere occurred on November 4, 1783, at the palace of the Count and Countess von Thun und Hohenstein in Linz, Austria. Mozart was likely conducting. 

Instrumentation: 2 oboes, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, strings 

Symphony No. 36 in C Major, “Linz,” K. 425 

           I. Adagio – Allegro spiritoso
          II. Poco Adagio
         III. Menuetto
         IV. Finale: Presto

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

In 1781, Mozart had, at last, parted with his nemesis employer, the Archbishop Colloredo of Salzburg, and left his hometown to make his fortune in Vienna. As he was busy finding opportunities to perform, compose, and to teach, he also found time to get married in 1782. His over-protective father, Leopold, however, had objections to the marriage. And so, in Autumn of 1783, Mozart brought his new wife, Constanze, home to Salzburg to meet the parents. The visit was predictably awkward, and the newlyweds left in a bit of a hurry. On their way home to Vienna, they traveled through Linz, Austria, where the Count and Countess Thun und Hohenstein, old family friends, graciously invited the young Mozarts to take a stopover at their estate. The Count casually mentioned to Mozart that he was going to present a concert of Mozart’s music in a few days, which was to include one of his symphonies. As Mozart wrote to his father that,

“as I have not a single symphony with me, I am writing a
new one at head-over-heels speed… Well, I must close,
because I really must set to work.”

Indeed, in about four or five days of breakneck speed, Mozart had fully composed, had copied out parts for the instrumentalists, and rehearsed, and performed in time, his new Symphony No. 36, which forever after has been nicknamed the “Linz,” in honor of its circumstances. Despite the extraordinary speed with which he wrote it, the Linz is an absolute Mozartian wonder – a bright and often breathless testament to the youthful Mozart’s talents, that even includes musical innovations.

The first of these innovations is that it begins with a slow introduction, Adagio – the first of his symphonies to do so. The ultra-short, dotted rhythms that climb up the scale at the very opening feel like a proclamation, perhaps even a declaration of thanks to the Count. Soon after, the bassoon, cellos and basses begin a pulsing motive of slowly repeated notes, above which the violins begin a meltingly beautiful theme. In short order, the Allegro spiritoso (fast and spirited) begins with a light yet infectious verve. The first theme is presented by the strings, and when the winds come in shortly afterwards to complete the end of the theme, Mozart clearly quotes Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” from his oratorio Messiah (1742). It’s unclear why Mozart did this – Handel’s great oratorio had only just begun making its way around Europe beyond London – possibly, the Countess herself, a keen lover of music, may have heard a performance of it, and Mozart’s reference was an inside joke between the two. The movement races through its paces, brisk and breezily = moving until the ending bars.

The second movement, Poco Adagio (somewhat slowly), is gracefully sweet. The first rhythm heard in the violins, and which occurs regularly throughout, is a triplet with a dotted rhythm – like a little skip. This is a trademark rhythm for a typical Italian dance called a Siciliana, which had remained popular since the Baroque period and which often evokes a pastoral mood. An innovation here for Mozart is the very unusual addition of the horns and timpani which often wend their way into the musical fabric. Despite all of its gracefulness, however, Mozart ingeniously inserts many moments of intrigue and mystery, sliding into the minor modes, and strewing a few clouds upon this otherwise sunny musical landscape.

The third movement, Menuetto, is another dance form, this one originating from royal courts and that would have been expected in a symphony in the early Classical era of 1783. Especially lovely is Mozart’s scoring here in the main theme of the Trio (middle) section, beginning at about two minutes into the movement, where the oboe plays an octave higher than the first violins, and then, adding the bassoon playing an octave below the violins, creating a lovely, rustic effect. The Trio even migrates ingeniously into a canon (when the theme is repeated by the other instrument(s) a few beats later, playing simultaneously and in harmony).

The final movement, Presto, was marked by Mozart to be played “as fast as possible” and the movement is truly a quicksilver romp. Notice, too, Mozart’s masterful use of bassoon, which is particularly wonderful in this movement. Before he fell in love with the clarinet, Mozart’s affinity for the lower reed instruments rested squarely on the bassoons, and this movement indeed highlights this instrument with taste and lyricism. The movement quickly races into high energy – one exhilarating movement happens at about one-and-a-half minutes, when the violins shoot off with a flurry of sixteenth notes, beginning a fugato (like a fugue, but incomplete and brief) with the rest of the strings. These string flurries then lead into almost a carnivalesque frenzy of energy in no time. After various moments of relative calm for balance, the finale eventually gathers steam until its exuberantly robust ending chords.

© Max Derrickson