Emmanuel Ax, piano, with the Knights Chamber Orchestra, conducted by Eric Jacobson, Ozawa Hall Wednesday, August 14: Joseph de Bologne, Overture to L’amant anonyme Mozart, Concerto no. 17 in G, K. 453 Mozart, Concerto no.
20 in D minor, K. 466 Encore: Schubert/Liszt, “Ständchen” Thursday, August 15: Gabriela Ortiz, “La Calaca” (“The Skull”) Mozart, Concerto no. 14 in E-flat, K.
449 Mozart, Concerto no. 15 in C, K. 503 Encore: Chopin, Waltz in A minor, Op.
34 no. 2 Mozart’s mature piano concertos form one of those unique bodies of music that are both an epitome of a composer’s greatness and a game-changing moment in music history. Between 1784 and 1786, Mozart composed eleven works (concertos numbers 15 through 25) that basically established the modern form and significance of the piano concerto.
In writing and performing them, Mozart rose to his peak of popularity in Vienna, composing at a white-hot rate. (In the same three years, he also produced lots of his greatest works of chamber music, a symphony, and the opera “The Marriage of Figaro.”) During this period, he kept reinventing and expanding the concerto form to an unprecedented level of drama and formal complexity.
Miraculously, each work has a highly individual character. Four of Mozart’s unique talents—dramatic power, brilliant piano writing, melodic fertility, and a special affinity for the woodwinds—are fused to shape the new concerto form that would come to serve Beethoven in all of his concerti, and to inspire the efforts of other future composers. But few have matched the balance of musical substance and crowd-pleasing accessibility that Mozart achieved in these works.
Emmanuel Ax and the Knights offered a pair of programs, each featuring two of these concerti, one each from the earlier batch, numbers 15 through 19, and one from the weightier, more dramatic second group, numbers 20 through 25. Wednesday’s program opened with the Overture to L’amant anonyme (1780) by Joseph de Bologne, the composer otherwise known as the Chevalier de Saint Georges. It was in the French version of overture form, equivalent to a short, three-movement symphony, which can also be found in some of Mozart’s earlier symphonic efforts.
In fact, Bologne published it separately as his Symphony no. 2. A pleasantly bustling work, it was overshadowed immediately by the sparkle and lyricism of Mozart, demonstrating the difference between the high level of professional music-making of that era and the innovations of a rare genius.
Ax and the Knights then performed the G major concerto (no. 17, K. 453) which may be the most purely beautiful such work, with a lyrical first movement, a heartbreaking Andante, and a comically giddy final set of variations.
This finale is based on a simple tune that is part of popular Mozartian lore. Apparently, shortly after composing it, Mozart was in a pet store and heard a caged starling singing a melody that was almost identical to it. He immediately bought the bird and notated its song, which differed from his tune by a semi-tone.
(This is the subject of Lynda Lynn Haupt’s book “Mozart’s Starling.”) He kept the bird for two-and-a-half years and wrote a lengthy poetic ode upon its demise. Following intermission, they performed what was to become the most popular of his concertos during the 19th century: no.
20 in D minor. It was his first in a minor key, one which was (and still is) considered Mozart’s “demonic” mode, which he also used for the start to the overture to Don Giovanni and brought back at moment when the Don is dragged down to hell. (It was also used as the opening to the movie “Amadeus”).
Beethoven wrote cadenzas for his performances of this work (Mozart did not leave his own; he improvised them). The D minor Concerto can be heard as one of the links between the mid-18th-century “Sturm und Drang” style and full-blown 19th-century romanticism. This is immediately apparent in the orchestral introduction, which presents a subdued but ominous rumbling that gradually builds in volume and energy into a storm, finally erupting in an outburst that sounds like Don Giovanni drawing his sword in preparation for the murder of the Commendatore (as in Scene One of that opera).
On Thursday night, the opener was Gabriela Ortiz’s “La Calaca” (“The Skull”) of 2021, a celebration of a Mexican national symbol, linked to the Day of the Dead, which, according to the composer, somewhat paradoxically stands for “joy, vitality, and great expressive force.” These qualities aptly describe this short bracing composition for string orchestra, whose original version was part of a larger work for string quartet and indigenous instruments, “Altar de Muertos” (“Altar of the Dead”) composed in 1997. The dynamic rhythms and attractive harmonies, along with a quoted Huichol folk tune, offered an exciting and appropriate way to introduce the two Mozart concertos on this program.
(Ortiz’s music would return on the following Monday’s Tanglewood Music Center concert.) Concerto no. 14 in E flat is the last of a set of three smaller-scale concertos (numbers 12 through 14).
Mozart devised them to be performed in two ways: as chamber music with only a string quartet accompanying the piano and for an orchestra with oboes and horns. But no. 14 was a pivotal work, looking ahead to the great run of 11 concerti that followed.
It was also the first entry that Mozart made in a catalogue that he started in order to keep track of his most significant productions. It is a mellifluous, lyrical work with enough subtle contrapuntal and harmonic ingenuity to keep listeners fully engaged. The finale, in fact, offers a lively conversation among the orchestral voices even before the piano enters with its own ornamented version of the main theme and then takes off on its own flights of fancy (see below).
Concerto no. 25 in C major is another story altogether. Designed from the start for large orchestra including flute, trumpet, and drums, along with oboes and horns, the concerto shares the spirit of the later “Jupiter” Symphony (no.
41). It is a work that is grand in every sense of the word. This applies to the sonority of the orchestra and the piano writing, to the leisurely unfolding of its splendid array of melodic ideas suggesting a ceremonial march, its majestically expansive harmonies, and its generous use of time.
The first movement is 64 percent longer than that of no. 14. All of these qualities combine to offer a compellingly resplendent image of benevolent power (perhaps anticipating the character of Sarastro in “The Magic Flute”).
Mozart developed the large-scale form of the piano concerto in all of these works, but there are many special features that give specific character to this first movement of no. 25. The first is a harmonic progress from major to minor and back on the same root (e.
g., C major to C minor to C major), providing strong harmonic stability along with dramatic contrasts of mood. This is particularly exploited in a miniature march theme, one that anticipates the guards’ music from “The Magic Flute.
” Despite its being only one of five themes in the generous exposition, it forms the sole basis for the subsequent development section, where it undergoes the most remarkable series of contrapuntal and harmonic evolutions, to the point where it seems to be the total focus of the work. All the more effective, then, is the return to the opening (recapitulation) with its spectrum of melodic materials. While all this stability might lead to stasis, Mozart gently nudges the music continuously forward using almost the same rhythmic motive as Beethoven’s Fifth: The 15-minute duration of this movement never feels too long.
One more special feature of this first movement worth mentioning is the subtle operatic comedy of the piano entry. The orchestral exposition ends with a grand cadence and stops, seeming to invite the pianist to make a grand entrance. Instead, after waiting for an empty bar, the strings gently repeat their cadence, as if issuing an encouraging invitation to the reluctant pianist, who responds only with what amounts to a one-bar “twiddle.
” The invitation is repeated, and the pianist twiddles again, a bit more ornately. Finally the piano builds an entry out of fanciful variations on the orchestra’s invitation phrase, eventually gaining the confidence to indulge in some virtuosity, and the second exposition finally gets underway. Similar dramatic touches, variations on “normal” formal processes, abound, with the intimate music of the piano serving to humanize the impersonal dignity of the orchestra.
The other two movements possess similar expansiveness. Although marked “Andante” (going), the slow movement has a deliberate pace sounding more like an “Adagio” (slow), allowing the simple melody room for a great variety of ornamentation, including a lot of exquisite filigree. The combination of nobility and grace raises these Mozartian traits to the highest level.
The finale is also leisurely, an Allegretto that is thematically similar to the finale of Concerto no. 14: Concerto no. 25, last movement theme: But the differences are telling: The later tune has greater stability (in the same tempo, it moves half as fast), but it also contains more rhythmic variety.
While the earlier one is set up for contrapuntal development, the later has more potential for dramatic variation, which allows the movement to progress toward increased energy, excitement, and a sparkling ending that joyfully balances out the overall three-movement journey of this great work. I have focused on the greatness of these concertos largely because the performances did them such splendid justice. Of course, Emmanuel Ax approaches them with his own artistic sensibility, but one that places the value of the music front and center.
All four concerti were performed without scores, and it was graphically clear from Ax’s engagement with the orchestra, shown in his body language and especially in the places that he was not playing, that he knew its part as thoroughly as his own. Mozart’s concept of keyboard virtuosity is obviously very different from that of subsequent composers like Beethoven and Liszt, where the emphasis was on strength, athleticism, and sustained lyricism. This is partly due to an aesthetic evolution, but also to the physical evolution of the pianoforte, which grew rapidly in size, weight, and projection, in the course of the generation immediately following Mozart’s.
His own playing emphasized precision and subtle gradation of touch and tone quality, clarity of articulation, and “pearly” detail, less about body and weight, more about digital agility and elegance. To some extent, the evolution toward later concepts of virtuosity can be heard within his sequence of concerti: numbers 20 and 25 both make greater demands on the piano for dynamic range and energetic figuration. But all these concerti remain within the compass of his performing style; after all, he planned to play them himself.
(His role as both composer and performer was responsible for their enormous success at the time.) Among contemporary pianists, there are several who can be called Mozart specialists. Some perform on period pianos whose characteristics help guide the player to adopt something like a Mozartian style.
But whatever instrument is used, performers need to immerse themselves in the historical performance literature to learn as much as possible about how Mozart played. After that, they have to bridge the information gap (we have no way of actually knowing what his playing sounded like) with a kind of personal ESP, which may take a lifetime. There are rare artists who succeed in convincing us that we are hearing the essence of Mozart, and among them Emmanuel Ax rates very high.
While he never sacrifices his own artistic personality, it is clear that he is very comfortable in Mozart’s milieu and can find the tone and touch, as well as the spirit of drama and playfulness, that brings the music fully alive. This was dramatically demonstrated in both of these programs, which paired an earlier and a later concerto. Although the overall time frame for all four was less than two years, (numbers 14 and 17 were from early 1784, number 20 from early 1785, and number 25 from late in 1786) the stylistic changes are dramatic.
(After all, two years for Mozart would be at least twice that time for a composer with a normal rate of production.) These changes were reflected in the actual sound that Ax produced at the keyboard. The earlier works were given an especially “pearly” sound with a subtle and flowing touch that felt magical and delicate.
In the later works, it almost sounded at times like he was playing a different instrument; there could be more weight, bite, and metal in the sound, responding to the more robust orchestrations of numbers 20 and 25. It was fun to observe that the way the audience received these works might have replicated the way audiences reacted 240 years ago, growing more enthusiastic with each one. Ax, of course, responded with characteristic modesty, insisting that Eric and Colin Jacobsen, co-directors of the Knights, share fully in the standing ovations, and he calmed the crowd with magically serene encores: Schubert’s “Serenade” in Liszt’s arrangement on Wednesday, Chopin’s Waltz in A minor on Thursday.
It was almost as if he was telling us that he knew he had done justice to the music, but it was Mozart who most deserved the accolades. And I think the audience got it: They had magically shared in the ESP..
