Program notes by Eric Bromberger

Violin Sonata in A Minor, Opus 23
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
Born December 16, 1770, Bonn
Died March 26, 1827, Vienna

In 1800-01, shortly after completing his First Symphony, Beethoven composed two violin sonatas, and evidence suggests that he intended them as a set: not only were they composed and published together, but he apparently intended that they should be performed together. One of these, in F major, acquired the nickname “Spring” and went on to well-deserved fame. Its companion, a spicy and explosive (and comic) Sonata in A minor, has always languished a little in the shade of the “Spring” Sonata, which is too bad–this is a terrific piece of music. One of the most striking characteristics of this work is the power of its outer movements. Where the gentle “Spring” Sonata spins long melodies, the Sonata in A Minor spits out and develops short phrases full of energy. Yet–curiously–all three movements of this animated sonata end quietly. It is a shame that these two sonatas are not performed together more often–what a piquant contrast they make.

The Presto explodes into being on the motto-like opening subject, with the piano lashing the music forward. Beethoven makes sharp dynamic contrasts here, and the 6/8 meter–which gallops so furiously at the opening–also yields the graceful second theme. There are repeats of both exposition and development, and the end of the movement comes suddenly: massed chords suddenly collapse into a pianissimo close.

By contrast, the Andante scherzoso, piu Allegretto sings playfully, as if Beethoven is content to have fun with the listener (and the performers) after the fury of the opening. The instruments comment, answer, and imitate each other, and throughout the movement runs an ornate little theme that Beethoven treats fugally. After much pleasant interchange, the movement closes very quietly. The Allegro molto begins quietly as well, but here the music surges ahead continuously. The piano has the steady opening idea, while the violin’s line is simplicity itself, built of repeated notes. Some of the imitation-and-answer of the middle movements recurs in the finale, and there are soaring lyric episodes here too. But the principal impression this movement makes is of a barely-restrained energy, and at the close the violin comes soaring suddenly downward and the music is over almost before one knows it, some of its energy still hovering in the air even after the instruments have stopped playing.

Sonata in G Major for Violin and Piano
MAURICE RAVEL
Born March 7, 1875, Ciboure, France
Died December 28, 1937, Paris

Ravel began making sketches for his Violin Sonata in 1923, the year after he completed his orchestration of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. He was composing a number of works for violin during these years, including Tzigane, but the Violin Sonata proved extremely difficult for him, and he did not complete it until 1927. The first performance, by violinist Georges Enesco and the composer, took place on May 30, 1927, in Paris while that city was still in a dither over the landing of Charles Lindbergh the week before.

In the Violin Sonata, Ravel wrestled with a problem that has plagued all who compose violin sonatas–the clash between the resonant, sustained sound of the violin and the percussive sound of the piano–and he chose to accentuate these differences: “It was this independence I was aiming at when I wrote a Sonata for violin and piano, two incompatible instruments whose incompatibility is emphasized here, without any attempt being made to reconcile their contrasted characters.” The most distinctive feature of the sonata, however, is Ravel’s use of jazz elements in the slow movement.

The opening Allegretto is marked by emotional restraint. The piano alone announces the cool first theme, which is quickly picked up by the violin. A sharply rhythmic figure, much like a drum tattoo, contrasts with the rocking, flowing character of the rest of this movement, which closes on a quietly soaring restatement of the main theme.

Ravel called the second movement Blues, but he insisted that this is jazz as seen by a Frenchman. In a lecture during his American tour of 1928, he said of this movement: “while I adopted this popular form of your music, I venture to say that nevertheless it is French music, Ravel’s music that I have written.” He sets out to make violin and piano sound like a saxophone and guitar, specifying that the steady accompanying chords must be played strictly in time so that the melodic line can sound “bluesy” in contrast. The “twang” of this movement is accentuated by Ravel’s setting the violin in G major and the piano in A-flat major at the opening.

Thematic fragments at the very beginning of the finale slowly accelerate to become a virtuoso perpetual motion. Ravel brings back themes from the first two movements before the music rushes to its brilliant close, which features complex string-crossings for the violinist.

Sonata No. 3 in E Major for Violin and Keyboard, BWV 1016
JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH
Born March 21, 1685, Eisenach, Germany
Died July 28, 1750, Leipzig

Bach’s six surviving sonatas for violin and keyboard have been overshadowed by his magnificent works for solo violin, but the accompanied sonatas are impressive in their own right. Like so much of Bach’s instrumental music, they appear to date from his years as Kapellmeister in Cöthen (1717-1723), though recent scholarship has shown that they may be a little later: Bach did not acquire a harpsichord capable of playing all the notes in this music until several years into his Cöthen tenure, and the final versions of these sonatas did not appear until his first years in Leipzig.

These sonatas show Bach’s characteristic respect for tradition and his willingness to make innovations. The sonatas are in the Italian sonata da chiesa form–four movements in a slow-fast-slow-fast sequence–yet to this form Bach brings his love of polyphony, and this music makes full use of the three separate voices available: the violin and the treble and bass lines in the keyboard. The debate as to whether these sonatas were intended as duo or trio sonatas continues to this day. While the sonatas are sometimes performed with cello or gamba accompaniment, the bassline of the keyboard part is so fully written out that the additional instrument is unnecessary, and in fact the keyboard part is sometimes so complex that it introduces a fourth voice into the contrapuntal proceedings.

The Sonata in E Major has deservedly become one of the most popular of the set. For all the talk of polyphonic richness in this music, the opening Adagio belongs largely to the violin, whose noble melodic line soars above the accompaniment. Piano alone introduces the main subject of the Allegro, and only when it has been completely stated is the violin allowed to take up this cheerful and propulsive idea; the piano’s left hand sometimes becomes an active participant in the counterpoint in this da capo-form movement. The Adagio ma non tanto, which moves to the relative minor (C-sharp minor), bears some resemblance to a chaconne: the pianist’s left hand plays a slow four-bar ostinato over which the right hand and violin spin out a series of variations. The bass-line, however, does not remain the same throughout: its steady 3/4 tread continues, but gradually Bach varies the notes and the harmony. The cheerful concluding Allegro plunges back into E major and rides the energy of its perpetual-motion-like chains of sixteenth-notes. Rather than casting this movement in the expected binary form, Bach instead creates a middle section that sails along triplet rhythms; in one of those wonderful rhythmic touches that Bach could manage so effortlessly, the steady sixteenth-note energy of the opening is allowed to penetrate these triplets as they proceed, and eventually that opening vitality dances this movement to its energetic close. 

Violin Sonata No. 1 in D Minor, Opus 75
CAMILLE SAINT-SAËNS
Born October 9, 1835, Paris
Died December 16, 1921, Algiers

Saint-Saëns wrote his First Violin Sonata in 1885. At age 50, he was at the height of his powers. In that same year he wrote his Wedding Cake Waltz, and the following year he would write two of his most famous works: the “Organ” Symphony and the Carnival of the Animals. Although Saint-Saëns did not play the violin, he clearly understood the instrument–already he had written three violin concertos and the famous Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso; the Havanaise would follow two years later.

The structure of the sonata is unusual. It has four movements, but the first and second are connected, as are the third and fourth, dividing the sonata into two extended parts. Saint-Saëns’ marking for the opening movement–Allegro agitato–is important, for this truly is agitated music. Beneath its quiet surface, the movement feels constantly restless. Its opening theme, a rocking tune for violin, alternates meters, slipping between 6/8 and 9/8; perhaps some of the music’s air of restlessness comes from its failure to settle into a constant meter. The lyric second idea–a long, falling melody for violin–brings some relief, and the dramatic development treats both these themes. While the second movement is marked Adagio, it shares the restless mood of the first. The piano has the quiet main theme, but the music seems to be in continuous motion before coming to a quiet close.

The agreeable Allegretto moderato is the sonata’s scherzo. It dances gracefully, skittering easily between G major and G minor. At the center section, the violin has a haunting chorale tune over quietly-cascading piano arpeggios; as the movement comes to its close, Saint-Saëns skillfully twines together the chorale and the dancing opening theme and presents them simultaneously. Out of this calm, the concluding Allegro molto suddenly explodes–the violin takes off on the flurry of sixteenth-notes that will propel the finale on its dynamic way. This is by far the most extroverted of the movements, and it holds a number of surprises: a declamatory second theme high in the violin’s register and later a brief reminiscence of the lyric second theme of the opening movement. At the end, Saint-Saëns brings back the rush of sixteenth-notes, and the sonata races to a close so brilliant that one almost expects to see sparks flying through the hall.