ALL IN GOOD HUMOR

Composed 1775, by W.A. Mozart (1756-1791).

A teenaged Mozart composed all five of his violin concertos while employed as concertmaster in the service of the Salzburg Prince-Archbishop Hieronymus Colloredo. These early works came years before his more famous later symphonies, piano concerti, chamber music, and operas. We do not know for whom or for what occasions these pieces were written, though it is possible that he wrote them for himself to be performed with his employer’s court orchestra. Through them we can trace Mozart’s development in the concerto form from the apprentice-like assimilation and increasing mastery of the styles common at the time, eventually pushing boundaries and transcending the genre.

The Violin Concerto No. 5 in A major “Turkish”, K. 219, was written in December 1775, capping a six-month period that saw the creation of four of his five violin concertos. It follows the standard Italian three-movement form like the rest of his violin concertos. However, Mozart doesn’t take long to subvert expectations. He opens with a cheerful Allegro aperto, featuring rising arpeggiated figures in the violins. At the end of this introductory section, rather than handing off the established material to the solo violin part, a brief and ethereal Adagio occurs. In mood, this tender music prefigures the beautiful aria “Porgi, amor, qualche ristoro” that opens Act 2 of The Marriage of Figaro, K. 492, the solo violin, much like Figaro’s Countess, singing high above a murmuring accompaniment. A dreamlike spell is cast before the music launches into the Allegro again. It is here that we realize that the opening music was merely an undecorated accompaniment, now slyly paired with the actual theme being introduced by the solo violin. The movement proceeds playfully, the solo violin leaping high and low, gesturing operatically with mock laughter and parodied military rhythms, the mood only darkening slightly in the melodramatic development section. After a joyful recapitulation, the music proceeds to a virtuosic cadenza before the movement’s graceful conclusion.

The middle movement is a gentle Adagio in E major. The initial theme recalls a melodic shape found in flashier 16th-note passages from the previous movement, but is now tuneful and contemplative in character. The solo violin sings easily throughout, and the music flows full of quiet beauty and poignant yearning, spiced with occasional bittersweet dissonances. Glowing sonorities in E major, B major, and F-sharp major abound, treating listeners to the rare air of the remote sharp keys. This radiant music leads to a peaceful cadenza before a quiet ending.

Turkish culture was popular across Europe in Mozart’s time for its “exotic” qualities. The source of this concerto’s nickname is found in the center of this movement marked Rondeau (Tempo di Menuetto). At first, we hear a sunny and danceable minuet, music which returns several times with slight variations across the movement. Interspersed between the recurring minuets are various contrasting interludes, most notably the Trio section, in which Mozart switches to the minor mode, the meter changes from 3/4 to 2/4, and the tempo kicks up to Allegro. The music is suddenly restless, perhaps even defiant and menacing. This is the evocative Turkish section. At one point, the low strings are instructed to strike their strings with the wood of their bows, imitating a a foreign percussion instrument. The good-natured minuet soon returns, a couple more cadenzas are sprinkled in, and the music draws amicably to a close, ending on an upward arpeggio, like the concerto’s beginning.

Program note by Jacob Klock.

Composed by Maximilian Friedrich von Droste–Hülshoff (1764 – 1840)

Maximilian Friedrich von Droste-Hülshoff was born to a very old and prominent family near Münster, Germany. His family occupied important positions in city leadership and governance, but were also exceptionally active in the area’s musical and artistic circles: his grandfather was renowned as a master of the flute, his younger brother was a composer, and his niece Annette von Droste-Hülshoff would become a well-known poet and violinist.

Maximilian pursued theological studies, and joined the clergy as a teenager. His tenure with the church was short-lived, however; in 1787, after five years of service, he left his position in order to marry. In a whirlwind of scandal and drama, he and his beloved burst into the bedroom of the parish priest in the middle of the night and demanded to be married at once. Though his bride was wealthy and well-educated, she was of common birth, and so the couple was forced to flee immediately and live in exile until secularization ended the Prince-Bishopric of Münster. Maximilian returned to the city with his wife and children in 1810, using funds inherited from his wife’s family.

Though he always considered himself a dilettante, Maximilian dedicated his life after the clergy to the study of music. He composed chamber music, symphonies, operas, and church music, conducted, and worked as a church organist. Despite his lack of formal training in music, his compositions attracted the attention of Joseph Haydn, who became a friend and advocate. Haydn himself premiered several of Maximilian’s works.

Maximilian Friedrich von Droste-Hülshoff lived a life of passion, and his delight in music shines especially brightly in his Symphonie Concertante for Three Flutes and Orchestra. Our three soloists sparkle in this lighthearted display of friendship, virtuosity, and joy.

Note by Allison Gioscia.

Composed 1791, by Franz Joseph Haydn (1732 - 1809)

As a cellist, it is hard not to love Haydn’s Symphony no. 95 in C minor. From its dramatic opening to the moments when the cello steals the spotlight, the symphony feels personal to anyone who loves or lives in the lower strings.

Haydn is often called the “Father of the Symphony,” and while he did not invent the genre, he shaped and defined it in ways that transformed music history. Over the course of more than one hundred symphonies, he pushed the boundaries of what a symphony could do, creating a foundation for the symphonic writing of generations of composers who followed.

Toward the later years of his career, Haydn received permission from the Esterházy family to travel to London, where he composed his final masterpieces, the twelve London Symphonies Nos. 93–104. Symphony No. 95, composed in 1791, the same year Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart tragically died, stands out within the set, though it bears no special descriptive title like “Military” (which will be performed during the 2026–2027 Chamber Orchestra season), “Drum Roll,” “Miracle,” “Clock,” “Surprise”. What makes it special? It is the only London symphony to begin without a slow introduction, plunging us immediately into its tense world of C minor. And of course, the cello.

After the first movement’s tension between minor and major, the second movement is all charm, a cellist’s dream in the relative key E-flat major. Cast as a set of variations, it is the first of two great cello moments in the symphony. In the opening variation, the cello rises above with a singing, vocal line, a rarity in an 18th-century symphony. Next is a traditional minuet and trio, but again, the trio belongs entirely to the cello, featuring a virtuosic solo that is arguably one of the most celebrated in Haydn’s symphonies. Haydn’s affection for the cello went back decades to his friendship with the Esterházy court’s principal cellist, Joseph Franz Weigl, for whom he probably composed the C Major Cello Concerto. Wrapping up the symphony, the finale is full of contrapuntal fun. While lighter than Mozart’s “Jupiter” Symphony finale, it hints at the sophisticated counterpoint that both composers mastered, and its C minor drama foreshadows the intensity Beethoven would later explore in his Fifth Symphony. However, the final joke is Haydn’s, ending in a joyful C major.

Although the symphony predates Mozart’s death, the memory of their friendship adds a layer of bittersweetness as we hear echoes of Mozart’s expressive C minor works, particularly his Piano Concerto No. 24. It is difficult to tell the story of one without acknowledging the influence of the other. Symphony No. 95 shows Haydn at full maturity, dramatist and entertainer, giving the cello a voice that truly shines. I think we should nickname it "Cello".

Note by Pamela Chaddon.