Anton Webern (1883-1945)
Five Pieces, Op 5 (1929)
Webern composed several significant early works (songs, the orchestral idyll Im Sommerwind, the lovely Langsamer Satz for strings) that suggest little of the spikier manner he would later adopt.
Then in 1904 Webern began studies with Arnold Schoenberg, and his music altered dramatically, as he reduced his material to the barest essentials while - as in the Passacaglia Op 1 (1908) – mastering baroque and medieval techniques.
The Renaissance polyphonist Heinrich Isaac, whose works Webern edited for his thesis in 1909, was a key influence. That year Webern wrote Six Pieces, which while less cryptic than tonight’s work, anticipates it. Despite deploying a Mahler-sized orchestra he successfully compressed his musical argument while illustrating it producing richly varied tone colours. For added clarity he later reduced it to chamber orchestra dimensions.
By contrast tonight’s Five Pieces (1911-13) were originally written for chamber orchestra: Webern later issued this arrangement of them for strings. Again, simpler textures benefit the argument, for although instrumental colouring is lost, the string version helps us appreciate the linear flow and sense the intimate dialogue, giving each miniature piece the focused clarity of chamber music.
This short suite – he chose his five from a collection of almost 20 - make a short suite. It is not serial – strict serialism was only evolved by Schoenberg in 1924. But it heads in that direction: it is atonal, i.e. it avoids a specific key allegiance, but embraces or hints at many. The linear emphasis applies even when the ‘line’ is presented as chords (a device used by Brahms and Schumann).
How can one best to appreciate and enjoy Webern’s music? It is full of devices one associates with earlier composers: canons, inversions, fugue, stretto, such as one finds in Bach’s organ works or The Musical Offering. The compact, ‘pointillist’ style makes one think of other arts: Braque’s Cubism, which pares away colour; Picasso and Matisse, content with a few brushstrokes; or the poetry of Mallarmé and Apollinaire and experimental writing of Joyce or Samuel Beckett.
The Five Pieces have a mourning, fin-de-siecle , farewell feel, akin to many other works of the pre-Great War period (think of Der Rosenkavalier). Webern’s mother had died in 1906, and he felt her loss keenly.
Hence the work’s lonely, wistful, even funereal feel. Yet each piece is exquisitely carved like a small jewel. Three are scarcely half a minute long. The first is quiet and gentle, illumined by small intervals: languid, yearning, almost apologetic, ending suddenly on a slightly ominous triple note (an image of death?) No.2 is breezier: its hectic flurries lead to a rather startling brief climax.
No 3 features an otherworldly ostinato that feels like the eerie passing of time (think of Neptune from Holst’s The Planets). Falling wider intervals in a sad solo line in middle, then lower strings again suggest elusiveness and loss. The concluding whispers have a valedictory feel of finality. Someone perceptively observed ‘the only way to extend any of these pieces would have been with a sigh.’
No 4 - only six bars long - is like a Japanese haiku. It consists of three or four emotive short phrases, alternating wide and narrow intervals. Think of it as a tiny short story or quick-moving film scene. Who is it about? Where are they going? Percussive strings mimic the original’s hushed tympani; just as elsewhere they replace celesta and harp.
No 6 opens delicately, each line patiently arguing its case, before a brief, irritable climax arrives. Tentative calm returns, with yearning short phrases, before Webern cocks a snook with a perky, unexpected parting shot.
© Roderic Dunnett
Ludwig van Beethoven )1770-1827)
Piano Concerto No 3 in C minor, Op 37 (1803)
Allegro con brio
Largo
Rondo: Allegro
With his Third Piano Concerto, it used to be said, Beethoven greeted the birth of the nineteenth century. Among other things, his handwritten “1800” on the manuscript supplied proof of the work’s date of composition. This basic evidence was accepted as ample for a masterpiece which, compared with the two preceding piano concertos, in C major and B flat major, seemed nothing if not epoch-making. As we now know, however, the impressive Piano Concerto No 3 in Beethoven’s famously dramatic key of C minor was not written in 1800 at all, but three years later. The music with which he hailed the new century was his vivacious but rather less vanguard Symphony No 1 in C major.
In his meticulous study of Beethoven’s concertos, published in time for the millennium in 2000, the American scholar Leon Plantinga convincingly endorsed the later date, explaining how Beethoven’s written “1800” was actually “1803” and saying why the concerto fits the later date far better than the earlier one. Although, to the casual reader, three years in Beethoven’s seething career may not seem a long time, it is upon small details of this sort that our understanding of classical music is often founded. In this case, it seems clear that the C minor Piano Concerto came after, and not before, the dynamic idiosyncracy of the Second Symphony, the sweep of the "Tempest" Piano Sonata in D minor, the 'Eroica' Variations and the heart-rending confession, in his Heiligenstadt Testament of 1802, that he was going deaf.
But he was not yet so deaf that he was unable to play his own music in public, or was in danger of losing his status as the greatest pianist-composer in Europe. This was a work definitely written for himself to play, which he first did in April 1803 as part of the famous Viennese concert in which, after a seven-hour rehearsal, his oratorio Christ on the Mount of Olives and his Second Symphony also had their premieres. The music was no mere “comedy of manners”, as Edinburgh University’s distinguished musical authority Donald Francis Tovey once described the C major concerto. Here, as a more recent Beethoven scholar Maynard Solomon has proclaimed, was the composer’s first concerto to move away from exterior wit and refinement into a world of dramatic oratory.
The starkly stalking theme which launches the first movement unmistakably makes this point, as do the three explosive scales with which the soloist enters. Not even the warmth of the secondary theme in E flat major can dispel the prevailing tension of the music for long, but there is balm in the slow movement, whose opening theme, said Beethoven’s pupil Czerny, should sound like a “holy, distant, and celestial harmony.” The music remains radiantly suspended in the unrelated key of E major until its restless middle section brings fresh drama. If the closing rondo does contain comedy, it is comedy of a sardonic sort, resolved when, in the coda, the pace quickens, the metre changes, and C minor swings gleefully into C major.
© Conrad Wilson
Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828)
Symphony No 6 in C major, D589 'Little' (1817-18)
Adagio - Allegro
Andante
Scherzo: Presto
Allegro moderato
Schubert’s first six symphonies are lovely works, not to be routinely slighted as 'early' Schubert or dismissed as schoolboy precursors of the more mature style of the 'Unfinished' or the 'Great' C major. Each has its own distinct personality, and it is the Sixth Symphony’s hard luck that it is in the same key as the 'Great' C major, thus causing it to be nicknamed the 'Little' C major for identification purposes. In fact it is not little at all, and although Schubert was only 21 when he wrote it, it is a self-confidently original work; emphatic, muscular, creatively alive to musical events of the period, not least the Rossini fever that had recently hit Vienna.
Clearly Schubert was as intoxicated as anyone else by the witty effervescence of the Italian composer, but he reacted to it in his own way. In a work that has been called a “meeting point of manifold influences”, we encounter a near-quote from Haydn at the start of the first movement’s Allegro section, some mock Beethoven in the scherzo, and Rossinian scales for the woodwind in the finale, yet everything sounds so utterly Schubertian that the result never seems merely derivative.
So if the first movement has a slow introduction of a sort Mozart might once have written, it is Schubert's Rosamunde incidental music that is brought first and foremost to mind. Phrases are turned and coloured in a wholly characteristic manner, and the sudden acceleration at the end of the movement is like a dry-run for the equivalent passage in the 'Great' C major. It is also a brilliant coda in its own right.
The slow movement, with its songlike main theme, swinging middle section and pounding drums, keeps veering into genuinely comic Schubert. The racy scherzo, apart from its Beethovenian flashbacks, not only anticipates the 'Great' C major but has a genially lurching trio section in slower tempo that could come from nobody but Schubert. And if the finale is a tribute to Rossini, it is Rossini placed within the sort of rhythmic pulsation which, once again, would be heard in the 'Great' C major.
© Conrad Wilson
Anyone lucky enough to catch Manze and Lewis’s Mozart / Schubert programme last season will need no encouraging to book early for this. This programme sees them in more extrovert mood with Beethoven’s punchy Third Piano Concerto making a fine foil for Schubert’s genial Sixth Symphony – a work of sheer genius by the 21-year old composer.
Artur Pizarro plays the Rondo allegro from Beethoven's Piano Concerto No.3. Sir Charles Mackerras conducts.

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