Mozart Violin Concerto No. 5 in A Major, K. 219
Beethoven Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Op. 36
There may be more popular mythology about Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) than any other classical composer. These stories typically fall along the lines of him being a boy genius at the piano, who wrote his first symphony at eight years old, had a demanding father, and if the Amadeus movie is to be believed, grew into a workaholic businessman with a ridiculous uncontrolled laugh. While most of this is true (not the laugh), it does require some contextualization.
Let’s start with Mozart’s father, Leopold. Leopold Mozart was one of the finest music teachers of his time, even publishing A Treatise on the Fundamental Principles of Violin Playing. When Leopold began giving music lessons to Mozart’s older sister, Nannerl, it was a case of younger sibling monkey-see-monkey-do, and inevitably the child Mozart tried to copy his sister in her musical instruction. Once Leopold realized that he had not one, but two young remarkable talents, he took them on the road for concert tours, playing the part of the stage dad.
Mozart was indeed a virtuoso at the keyboard, and he performed his own original piano sonatas and concertos to much acclaim throughout his lifetime. On top of that he was a fine violinist, although it was clearly his secondary instrument, as he left his violin with his sister when he moved away to Vienna at 25 years old.
What about that first symphony that Mozart wrote at age eight? This symphony is quite an accomplishment for someone that young (most of us can only sit still for cartoons at age eight) but is otherwise quite lousy in comparison to the output of a mature artist. Composing a full symphony is intellectually akin to performing complicated surgery or designing an airplane—would you want an eight-year-old—even a genius one—to do those things for you?
From ages 17-19 the artistic quality of Mozart’s compositions improved dramatically, as evidenced by his last three violin concertos (nos. 3, 4, and 5). Composed in 1775, these works are still to this day considered an essential component of the core literature for violin. Every serious classical violinist has memorized and performed at least one of the Mozart concertos, if not two or all three of them, and has played them in an audition for a professional orchestra or academic program.
Although Mozart’s teenage violin concertos don’t pack the same “heft” as some of his later masterworks, such as the last piano concertos or monumental clarinet concerto, they are so wonderfully refreshing. The fifth violin concerto, for example, features a continuous array of short, whimsical melodies as well as a natural, cheerful, effortless energy. One standout feature to listen for in this piece is the use of a “Turkish march” in the middle of the 3rd movement—you will know it when the orchestra switches to a more serious, minor key, and plays with greater percussive force.
The opening of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 and the “Ode to Joy” of Symphony No. 9 are two of the most iconic classical works, and in comparison, we do not hear much abut the 2nd Symphony. How does this work fit into the pecking order Ludwig van Beethoven’s (1770-1827) output? For starters, Beethoven was much older than Mozart’s eight years when he composed his very first symphony. Completed in 1800 and published in 1801, 30-year-old Beethoven had steadily been making a name for himself in Vienna as a pianist and composer, and in his own words, “my art is winning me friends and respect.”
Scholars are not exactly sure when Beethoven first noticed that he was losing his hearing, but we do know that he began confiding the deteriorating impairment to his closest circle of friends in 1801. And it was during the years of 1801-1802 that he began to contemplate the enormous blow that profound deafness would eventually give to his life and career. To one of his friends, he wrote “I must confess that I am living a miserable life. For almost two years I have ceased to attend any social functions, just because I find it impossible to say to people: I am deaf. If I had any other profession it would be easier, but in my profession it is a terrible handicap. As for my enemies, of whom I have a fair number, what would they say?”
Despite this personal crisis, Beethoven diligently continued to compose and completed the 2nd Symphony in 1802. For him this new work marked significant artistic growth: while the 1st Symphony relies largely on the styles of his predecessors Haydn and Mozart, the 2nd Symphony better displays a craftsmanship that is unique to a great composer ushering in a new musical age.
Like many of Mozart and Haydn’s symphonies (and his own 1st Symphony) the opening Allegro movement begins with a slow introduction. Beethoven uses punctuated signal chords and a sustained melody to create a feeling of drama and power from the get-go. A few minutes into the piece, the musical motor begins to kick in, the excitement builds, and a regal, celebratory theme emerges from the full orchestra.
The second movement, in contrast, has one of the most tuneful, lyrical, and sincere melodies. This beautiful writing feels both effortless and endless: Beethoven demonstrates a gift for sustaining long phrases that seem to cause time to stand still. He also makes clever use of the subito piano: a soft, velvety melody will slowly build, getting louder and louder, and then suddenly it is hushed once again.
Another one of Beethoven’s contributions to symphonic form is the use of the scherzo for the third movement. In the symphonies of Beethoven’s predecessors Haydn and Mozart, the third movement was typically a minuet and trio, an old-fashioned and outdated dance in a medium tempo. The scherzo is anything but old fashioned: in Italian it means “joke,” and there are plenty of “gotchas” throughout this light-hearted movement. (A sports enthusiast might think of the scherzo as a coach calling a series of trick plays.) Beethoven constantly defies the listener’s expectations with sudden louds and softs, quick passes of the musical motif from one instrumental family to another, and with some sneaky key changes thrown in for good measure.
The last movement doesn’t just move: this exultant symphonic ending runs, slyly sneaks, and at times even scurries. But at no point does it ever run out of gas—Beethoven gives the listener an ending befitting a large symphony: nonstop, glorious, celebratory energy…and of course it wouldn’t be Beethoven without a few fake-out moments right before those last grand, final chords.
–David H. Johnson
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