ARTISTRY IN STRINGS

January 1776. Mozart turns 20 years old and composes his Serenade No. 6 for Orchestra in D major, K. 239, better known as his Serenata notturna, a redundant title scribbled on the original manuscript in his father’s hand. The terms serenade, divertimento, nocturne (no relation to the later Romantic nocturne) and others were largely synonymous in the late 18th-century, describing lighthearted background music written for an evening’s entertainment, usually to accompany gatherings or celebrations.

Listening to his Serenata notturna, it’s obvious that Mozart was incapable of writing even lousy party music. This is a work that looks both forward and backwards – forward as his independent, sensitive, and imaginative compositional voice is heard loud and clear (and yes, cheeky as well); and backwards to the baroque concerto grosso. This is not in form or content, but in instrumentation, with strings divided into two groups - a 'concertino' of two violins, viola and violone (or double bass) set against a ‘ripieno’ of two violins, violas, and cellos with timpani.

With three movements - Marcia (maestoso), Menuetto (trio) and Rondeau (allegretto, adagio, allegro) - Mozart teases us with mischievous variety, ranging from timpani solos to the solo group alone, to witty exchanges between the soloists and his little ensemble. Serenades and divertimenti were often grand affairs, sometimes one hour in length, with 5, 6, or 7 movements and involving as large an orchestra as possible. A few months later in his Haffner Serenade, Mozart assembled flutes, oboes, bassoons, horns, and trumpets for a friend’s wedding; a grand affair indeed! Why Mozart chose the unlikely, intimate combination here is a mystery of which we can only speculate. But with timpani, solo bass, and humorous interpolations in the last movement, perhaps to Mozart it was nothing more than a musical joke run riot for a private party, maybe even a birthday party.

No matter the reason, in 15 short minutes, with a tonal palette of wildly diverse colors, Mozart paints an enchanted evening with his earlier, ‘other’ little night music. Cheers, Wolfgang, and happy belated birthday!

Alan Shulman's Theme and Variations for Viola and Orchestra was first sketched on a bustling subway commute between Brooklyn and Manhattan in 1940. The viola, gaining prominence as a solo instrument, found an advocate in Shulman, who frequently composed for viola and chamber orchestra due to the balance and textural difficulties that often accompanied viola in front of a full orchestra.

Encouraged by his friend and colleague Emanuel Vardi, Shulman completed the composition first for viola and piano. With Vardi as the soloist and the eminent Toscanini in attendance, the piece immediately captured the attention of Dr. Frank Black, the music director of the NBC radio network.

NBC's interest prompted a full orchestration of the work, and its orchestral debut occurred in March 1941 on a radio series spotlighting emerging American composers. The audience's enthusiastic response led to multiple broadcasts, establishing the work's success. Vardi's numerous performances, and positive reviews, further propelled the composition into the limelight.

In 1943, principal violist Milton Preves of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra requested the music, resulting in performances that extended beyond Chicago. The enduring friendship between Shulman and Preves was commemorated when Shulman dedicated his 1953 composition, "Suite for Solo Viola," to Preves.

Shulman's creative journey continued as he re-orchestrated the piece for viola and chamber orchestra - the version you will hear today - with the Zimbler Sinfonietta in 1954.

The theme in Theme & Variations takes an AA’BA’ form - that is to say, a four-measure phrase (A), which gets repeated (A’), is followed by a middle B-section in a different time signature, then goes back to the repeated section (A’ again). Shulman presents seven variations on this theme, which stick closely to the original in terms of harmony and overall contour, but which play with the rhythms and phrasing in increasingly virtuosic ways. The tell-tale sign of the end of a variation is the Picardy third chord - a compositional practice in which a phrase in a minor key finishes on a sudden major chord. The name “Picardy third” comes from how the third of the chord must be raised up one note (e.g. - turning an A-flat into an A-natural) in order to achieve this major harmony.

Georg Philipp Telemann, though somewhat lesser known today, was an absolute titan in the musical world during his lifetime. Producing more than 3000 compositions during the course of his career, his output tripled that of his contemporary J.S. Bach and quintupled that of the future W.A. Mozart. Ever forward-looking, Telemann effortlessly adapted to the various German, French, Italian, and Polish musical idioms that were en vogue throughout the continent. His compositional style anticipates the light, airy textures of the rococo that would later be associated with his godson, C.P.E. Bach, but is still grounded in the intricate counterpoint of his day.

Telemann’s friend George Frideric Handel once wrote that Telemann could write a composition in 8 voices as quickly and easily as others could write a letter, and we see this contrapuntal brilliance on full display in his Violin Concerto in A Major, “The Frogs.” Featuring four separate violin parts, an unusually active viola part, and a cello part that is largely independent from the continuo, the work somehow never feels crowded, always maintaining the floating ease that is the hallmark of Telemann’s writing. The titular frog croak is achieved on the violin by playing the open A string along with a fingered A on the D string, producing a humorous, almost fiddle-like twang. This effect is not confined to the soloist’s part, but is passed throughout the orchestra, echoing through the hall like an army of frogs in the trees. In an unusual twist, Telemann chooses to end this work not with a showstopping finale, but with an approachable menuet.

Telemann was by all accounts an easygoing and likable personality, and an avid lover of gardening, nature, and botany. As we listen to this concerto, perhaps we would do well to imagine ourselves as guests in Telemann’s garden, dancing and laughing with friends as a chorus of frogs croaks away into the twilight.

Paul (Pál) Hermann was born on March 27, 1902, in Budapest. The amusing story goes that young Paul only would practice the piano if he received a penny for each etude he played. It is unknown who gave him his first cello lessons, but at the age of thirteen he attended the Franz Liszt Academy. He became friends with violinist Zoltán Székely, pianist Géza Frid, and their teachers Zoltán Kodály and Béla Bartók. He studied cello with Adolf Schiffer and composition and chamber music with Leo Weiner. On a spring afternoon in 1918, Hermann was on the same tram back home as Zoltán Kodály. Paul carried a string trio composed by his friend Zoltán Székely. Hanging out through the open window he spoke with Kodály, and when they came to a stop, Hermann started to whistle a section from the piece. Just before getting off the tram, he impulsively handed Kodály the score.

This must have made an impression; shortly thereafter, Székely and Hermann were invited to Kodály’s home and began studies with him. It was the beginning of a mutual friendship. Hermann performed for the first time outside Hungary playing Kodály’s Sonata for Solo Cello during a private concert at Arnold Schönberg’s home. This sonata became Hermann’s international breakthrough as an interpreter of contemporary music when he performed it at a concert of the International Society for Contemporary Music.

Hermann’s career was well underway by the spring of 1930, when he was booked for a series of concerts in England. In December of the same year, he premiered Kodály’s Duo for Violin and Cello at the Concertgebouw, performing with Székely. The daily Algemeen Handelsblad praised their superior performance: “Two artists with the purest approach and mastery … two rhapsodists who seemed to improvise in their perfect, subtle interaction.” Hermann also premiered his own work, the Grand Duo for Violin and Cello with Székely.

Hermann moved on to Brussels from 1934 to 1937, and Paris from 1937 to 1939 (where he worked under an assumed name), before moving to the south of France where he was hidden in a farmhouse near Toulouse owned by the French branch of the Weevers family. There he composed three melodies for voice and piano (Ophélie, La Centure, and Dormeuse) and a sonata for violin and cello. He found the solitude of his hidden life on the farm hard to cope with, having lost his wife and being separated from his daughter; he went to Toulouse from time to time to teach and socialize, accepting the risk of being discovered. On one such visit, he was indeed picked up during a street razzia and transported to the Drancy concentration camp in the spring of 1944, before being shipped onward to the Baltic States as part of Drancy Convoy 73 on May 15, 1944, after which further traces of Hermann are missing.

Arranger’s Note: Like so many Jewish composers in Europe during the rise of fascism, Paul Hermann struggled to get his works played. Jewish works were forbidden in many concert halls, and Jewish composers were often denied performances, work, and teaching posts. They had to write for the forces available to them, so many of these composers are identified through their chamber music, which they often played themselves.

The Grand Duo No. 1 for Violin and Cello (1939-40) has all the makings of a double concerto. The structure, with the exception of a double-exposition typical of a concerto, is a full concert work with three movements—fast, slow, fast—and astonishing technical demands. Hermann uses so many double-, triple-, and even quadruple-stops that it feels like he is trying to fit an entire orchestra into the two parts. The result is a virtuoso piece that is a profound experience, but an endurance challenge for the duo.

Revisioning this piece into a double concerto would require an introduction (i.e., that missing double-exposition, though abbreviated), orchestrating some sections to allow the soloists to rest, supporting the challenging harmonies in the solo parts, and creating a dialogue between the soloists and the orchestra that makes the flow of the piece even more exciting. The goal is to extend the presence of this piece beyond the recital hall and into the concert hall in a way that is accessible to audiences, so they can experience Hermann’s amazing music and understand the tremendous price that music paid in World War II, from which the arts have not fully recovered (and perhaps never will).

The version being heard today is for the two soloists and strings, though a version with additional winds, brass and percussion is in development.