Program Notes: May 20, 2001
Mozart’s Symphony No. 39 in E-flat has been overshadowed by the "twin towers" of his final set of symphonies, Nos. 40 in G minor and 41 in C (the "Jupiter"); all three were composed in 1788, although little is known about the circumstances. Without denying the deserved prestige of the latter two, one may nevertheless wonder why such a fine work as No. 39 remains relatively obscure. Among its many virtues is Mozart’s deft handling of musical styles that suggest opposite ends of societal hierarchies. Thus, the majestic introduction to the first movement evokes the exalted style of the French Overture, while the moto perpetuo of the finale is based on a simple country-dance tune. In both features, coincidentally, Mozart recalls his older colleague, Joseph Haydn–especially in the finale, with its good-humored application of high drama to a rather simple little ditty. Likewise, the courtly minuet of the third movement is nicely set off, in its middle section (the "Trio"), by a charming Ländler, another token of the less sophisticated countryside. The dramatic contrasts of the slow movement are even more sharply defined; through them, Mozart demonstrates a rare art we tend to take for granted in his and Haydn’s music, whereby much finery is made of relatively plain cloth.
Behind Bartók’s characteristic blend of folk elements and modernism lies one of the fundamental paradoxes of the twentieth century, which places, side by side, a tendency to cling desperately to an irretrievable past and a resolute desire to carry forward the banner of progress. In Bartók’s case, as for many European composers in his generation, that paradox acquires particular pathos, as he found himself emotionally and professionally stranded in America during his final years, while his Hungarian homeland was ruthlessly overrun by Europe’s most grotesque and deadly species of modernism. His Concerto for Orchestra (1943) resulted from a commission from the Boston Symphony that was arranged by his friends (behind his back) to alleviate his financial and spiritual condition, which had suffered from three years of comparative neglect. The work is arranged with Bartókian symmetry around its passionate middle movement, Elegia, recalling the intensely moody musical gestures of his youthful Duke Bluebeard’s Castle. Flanking this are two much more playful movements, each borrowing from folk idioms. In the first of these, Giuocco Delle Coppie ("Play of Couples"), he borrows the Dalmatian folk practice of doubling melodies at sometimes dissonant intervals, with great effect. This movement, like the piece itself, is roughly symmetrical in design, centered around a brass chorale. The chorale is preceded by extended passages for paired bassoons, oboes, clarinets, flutes, and trumpets, playing (respectively) in parallel sixths, thirds, sevenths, fifths, and seconds; then, with delightful carnality, Bartók reveals the blessed event that the chorale commemorates: in the return, the bassoons have produced an offspring, cheerfully running rings around its "parents." In Intermezzo Interrotto, which follows the Elegia, a tender central episode is "interrupted" by drunken revelry, an exchange that has (probably wrongly!) been interpreted as a sly dig at Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony. Bartók described the Concerto as "a gradual transition from the sternness of the first movement and the lugubrious death-song of the third to the life-assertion of the last." In terms of raw energy, the finale surely delivers on this promise, so emphatically and exuberantly that we may well miss the ultra-sophistication he also brings into play, particularly in his treatment of fugue.
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