PROGRAM NOTES

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)
String Quintet No. 6 in E-flat Major, K. 614

After a childhood spent on almost non-stop 10 yearlong tour of Europe as the wunderkind of the Enlightenment era, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s young adulthood played out in the tension between his capabilities and circumstances. At 17, the adjustment back to living in Salzburg, with its limited musical scene in comparison to the great capitals to which he had become accustomed, was proving difficult. Making matters worse, his new employer, Archbishop Colloredo, at whose court his father also worked, was not interested in indulging the Mozart family with the level of autonomy they had enjoyed under his predecessor. By 1777, this led to a fissure between Mozart and his Salzburg life, instigating his departure on a two year tour to Mannheim, where he was astonished by the best orchestra in Europe, and Paris, where he encountered the newest, most fashionable styles of music performance.

In 1781, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart finally left Salzburg and made a permanent moved to Vienna. At 25 years old he was eager to establish the next phase of his career. Without a court position secured, Mozart had to rely on his own ingenuity to create opportunities as a freelancer, which he accomplished relatively swiftly through self-producing concerts and penning numerous piano concertos that were vehicles to present himself as soloist. Through these tireless efforts, Mozart swiftly cemented his reputation beyond that of a former child prodigy, earning a place among the elite of the city’s musical circle, which included Franz Joseph Haydn. In early 1785 Mozart’s father, Leopold, paid a visit to the city and wrote home describing a conversation in which Haydn offered his endorsement saying, “Before God and as an honest man I tell you that your son is the greatest composer known to me either in person or by name.” This compliment, if it made its way to Mozart’s ears, would have meant the world to him. What he wanted more than anything was a position like Haydn’s, to be Kapellmeister, the role of music director, and what he feared was being pigeon-holed and remembered as only a performer and entertainer.

Ten years after his move to Vienna, in the last year of his life, he was finally appointed as the assistant to Kapellmeister Leopold Hofmann at St. Stephen’s Cathedral with the understanding he would be elevated to Kapellmeister upon Hofmann’s death. He continued to produce astounding works such as his opera The Magic Flute, and the Clarinet Concerto for his friend, the virtuoso Anton Stadler. The last major chamber work was produced earlier in the spring, the String Quintet in E-flat major. Doubling the viola, giving the tone a rich middle range, the music has been observed to exude the mood of a serenade, a light genre traditionally for woodwind ensembles to play outside in the evening, which is particularly pronounced in the opening measure with a hunting horn-like announcement of beginning. An elegant theme and variations comes in the second, slow, movement, followed by a delightful minuet and trio, while Mozart’s love of Bach, re-discovered during a tour to Leipzig in 1789, shines in the fugue he injects into the finale.

Tragically, Mozart’s greatest goal of ascending to Kapellmeister was not achieved during his lifetime, as he became violently ill and died before Hofmann. Ultimately, however, he did get one thing he wanted: he is remembered for his music, which has become a foundational cornerstone of the Western music canon.

Franz Schubert (1797-1828)
String Quintet in C Major, D. 956

Franz Schubert was the son of a schoolmaster who auditioned for Antonio Salieri and gained membership in the imperial Hofkapelle (now the Vienna Boys Choir). Despite training, opportunity, and the support of a music-loving family with whom he played chamber music as a child, his need for income guided him back to the family profession: school teaching. That ultimately proved unsatisfying, and he embarked on a lifetime of composing and wandering, preferring to live with various friends rather than find a permanent home. Schubert was never going to be the kind of person who would schmooze with the aristocracy like his predecessors, Mozart and Beethoven. He preferred the company of his “Bildung circle,” a small group who devotedly pursued intellectual and cultural self-improvement together, and the “Schubertiads” where his works were performed in an intimate setting, enjoyed by friends and colleagues. Temperamentally, he was a man of extremes; cordial and jovial yet haunted by deep melancholy and an occasional snap of ire. Whenever he was flush with money he immediately spent it on things like drinks and concerts with friends. On one occasion he bought tickets to see Paganini in concert.

By age twenty, Schubert had written an astonishing amount of music, including five symphonies, hundreds of songs, and a host of other works (sometimes reaching a volume average of 65 measures per day). The sheer volume astonished Beethoven, who is said to have been shown scores of Schubert’s pieces on his deathbed. In the spring of 1828, deliberately programmed on the one-year anniversary of Beethoven’s death, Schubert presented what would be the one and only public concert entirely of his own compositions that took place in his lifetime. Though his health had been in a state of deterioration for several years, Schubert continued to press forward toward the future. Around September and October, he wrote his monumental String Quintet in C major, a tour de force of emotion and expression unfolding in symphonic proportions (Robert Schumann would later reflect on its “heavenly length”), sonically grounded by the inclusion of an extra cello, an unusual configuration for the time. In early November, 1828, expressed to his friend and fellow composer, Joseph Lanz, an interest in gaining greater proficiency at counterpoint and double fugues. Lanz agreed, and they went for a lesson with theorist Simon Sechter. The following week Lanz went alone, as Schubert was feeling ill. Less than two weeks later, Schubert had died.

In Schubert’s final song cycle, Winterreise, the protagonist sees a lonely, ignored, organ grinder and wonders, “Strange old man, shall I go with you? Will you grind your hurdy-gurdy to my songs?” It begs us to consider that Schubert feared his works would go unrecalled by future generations, his name forgotten. Though he had brushes with notoriety during his own lifetime, his submissions to publishers were sometimes returned with commentary, noting the musical language was “too difficult for trifles,” and that “...the public does not yet sufficiently and generally understand the peculiar, often ingenious, but perhaps now and then somewhat curious procedures of your mind’s creations.” It was this same sentiment that kept the String Quintet in C major unpublished until the 1850s when the work was finally performed and published and over time became one of the most cherished chamber works in the repertoire. As Alfred Brendel, one of the great interpreters of Schubert observed, “In Beethoven’s music we never lose our bearings, we always know where we are; Schubert, on the other hand, puts us into a dream.” For that, among many other reasons, Schubert will never be forgotten.

Kathryn J. Allwine Bacasmot is a pianist/harpsichordist, musicologist, music and cultural critic, and freelance writer. A graduate of New England Conservatory, she writes program annotations for ensembles nationwide.