Program notes by Eric Bromberger

Introduction and Allegro for Strings, Opus 47
Sir Edward ELGAR
Born June 2, 1857, Broadheath, England
Died February 23, 1934, Worcester

The year 1904 was an important one for Elgar–after years of laboring in painful obscurity, he found himself–at age 47–suddenly famous. The international success of his Enigma Variations and The Dream of Gerontius and the overwhelmingpopularity at home of his Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1 brought this son of a provincial piano tuner honors that evena few years earlier would have seemed beyond imagination: in 1904 he was knighted and invited to dine with King Edward VII. In that same year, Elgar was asked to compose a piece for the newly-formed London Symphony Orchestra, and he decided to write only for that orchestra’s string section. Elgar began this music during the fall and completed it the following winter; he led the London Symphony in the première on March 8, 1905.

The Introduction and Allegro for Strings is a very original piece of music. Elgar was a violinist, so the idiomatic writing for strings is no surprise, but what is surprising is Elgar’s deployment of his forces and the form of this music. He divides the strings into two groups–a solo string quartet and the rest of the strings–and then plays the sound of these groups off against each other. But the Introduction and Allegro is not, despite what some have suggested, a consciousrevival of concerto grosso form, for Elgar does not treat the string quartet soloistically. Instead, he creates a much more subtle relationship between the two groups–themes flow between them, evolving as they appear by turn in quartet or orchestra.

The form of the Introduction and Allegro is also noteworthy. Basically a sonata-form movement, it opens with a long introduction and replaces the development section with a brisk fugue. This music is easy to follow (and to enjoy), but listeners should be alert to the ingenious ways Elgar transforms his themes: an idea presented at the beginning

in a quiet, almost fragmentary way by the solo quartet will appear later as a full-blown melody shouted out by the entire orchestra. Or the quiet rocking figure in the lower strings that accompanies the opening measures will later serve as a countermelody to the vigorous fugue.

The Introduction–which alternates a somewhat grandiose opening with wispy bits of theme–soon leads to the Allegro, whose main theme is a variant of one of those wisps of melody. This section is based on several different themes–one of them reportedly an old Welsh tune–and the statement of these ideas are quite vigorous: the dynamic levels range from triple forte to quadruple piano. Second violins introduce the complex fugue subject, which whirls off on its energetic way.

This is very difficult music (in a letter during its composition, Elgar referred to it as “a devil of a fugue”), and at the close themes from the beginning reappear in grand fashion–the composer’s markings in the score suggest the mood here: nobilmente, brillante e con tutta forza, and con fuoco. Thepowerful climax subsides to close on a single pizzicato stroke.

Haydn’s Cello Concerto in C Major is one of those rare things in music: a genuine masterpiece that vanished, only to be discovered years later. In this case, it was many years later, for this music was lost for almost exactly two centuries before it was discovered in 1961 in the Radeňin Castle collection, which had been deposited in the Czech National Library in Prague. Though the manuscript was not in Haydn’s hand, the main theme of the first movement had been listed by the composer in his Entwurf-Katalog, the roster he prepared of his works, and there is no question about this music’s authenticity.

Haydn composed this concerto sometime between 1761 and 1765, during his earliest years with the Esterházy family and at the time he was composing his first symphonies (another cello concerto from these years appears to have been lost–or perhaps is simply awaiting a similar rediscovery). The Concerto in C Major was probably written for Joseph Weigl,first cellist of the Esterházy Orchestra between 1761 and 1769.

It is a measure of the quality of the Esterházy Orchestra that it had such musicians as Weigl in it. Not only was he one of the foremost cellists of the day and a composer in his own right, his son (also named Joseph Weigl) would later write operas admired by Beethoven and many others. The Esterházy family was still living in its palace in Eisenstadt in these years, and this concerto was doubtless first performed in the palace’s music hall, with its handsome painted ceiling, rough plank flooring, and wonderfully clear acoustics.

The Cello Concerto in C Major is not a classical concerto as that form would be refined two decades later by Mozart, when it depended on the contrast of thematic material and the collision and resolution of different tonalities. Instead, Haydn’s concertos are still rooted in baroque concerto form, with orchestral ritornellos and (more or less) monothematic movements. The Cello Concerto in C Major is one of the most successful of Haydn’s concertos, perhaps because it breaks through the limits of the baroque concerto, enriching the ritornello with themes that are so full of subordinate ideas that they allow a greater variety of material than was customary in the early eighteenth-century concerto.

This concerto opens not with a fast movement of the classical concerto but with a Moderato. The orchestra presents the spirited, almost florid, ritornello theme at length before the cello makes its entrance with this same idea, and soloist and orchestra take turns elaborating this, often seizing on subordinate phrases as they proceed. Haydn asks for some virtuoso playing from his soloist here and offers the opportunity for a cadenza before the final ritornello.

The Adagio moves to F major, and here Haydn has his wind players (pairs of oboes and horns) sit out, for the soloist is accompanied only by the strings. They lay out the movement’s elegant main idea, with the soloist almost sneaking in on a quiet sustained C as the strings begin their second statement of the theme; together, soloist and orchestra extend this theme through varied re-statements. Violins launch the dashing Allegro molto with a brief but snappy idea that will recur in many forms. Again the cello slips in almost unnoticed, but this low profile does not last long, for this is the most brilliant and demanding of the movements, full of bravura writing and brilliant runs throughout the range of the instrument. Haydn provides some nice minor-key episodes along the way and offers the soloist another cadenza before the movement rushes to its energetic close.

Requiem for Three Cellos and String Orchestra, Opus 66 (arr. Fung Lam)
David POPPER
Born December 9, 1843, Prague
Died August 7, 1913, Baden

David Popper was part of a tradition that has virtually vanished, the virtuoso performer who wrote music for his own instrument. One of the finest cellists of the nineteenth century, Popper toured throughout Europe, played chamber music with Brahms and von Bülow, served as principal cellist of the Vienna Court Opera and Vienna Philharmonic, and after 1896 taught at the Royal Conservatory in Budapest. And while doing all these things, he composed a number of brief pieces for his instrument, designed to show off his skill and to please audiences. Most of these have been forgotten. A few show up now as encores at recitals or as fillers on recordings, but a century ago they were an accepted (and expected) part of recitals and figured in the repertory of many cellists.

Not all Popper’s compositions are display pieces, and in fact his most famous composition is a serious work written for a virtually unique combination of instruments: the Requiem for Three Cellos and Orchestra dates from 1891, during a period when the composer was touring as a performer. Composed in memory of Popper’s publisher Daniel Rahter, the Requiem projects an appropriately somber and consoling mood. The brief piece is distinctive for the rich sonority of the three solo cellos and in its serious and dark sound the Requiem is often reminiscent of the music of Popper’s friend Johannes Brahms. Heard at this concert in a new arrangement by Fung Lam for three cellos and string orchestra, the Requiem opens with the three cellos alone, laying out the dotted main idea, which soon passes between the three soloists. While it rises to a full-throated climax, this is not extroverted or virtuosic music; it remains lyric and expressive throughout, and Popper constantly reminds his performers: dolce, espressivo, and calando (lowering, restrained). The middle section is moreflowing, and the Requiemcloses on a return of the opening material, now muted.

Popper himself was one of the soloists–along with Howell and Delsart–at the première in London in 1891. The Requiem enjoyed some popularity a century ago, but hasalmost disappeared since then. Performances may be rare (how often do three cellists perform on the same program?), but one of the pleasures of a concert like this is the chance to discover music as lovely as the Requiem for Three Cellos.

Song of the Birds for Cello and String Orchestra
Pablo CASALS
Born December 29, 1876, Vendrell, Catalonia
Died October 22, 1973, Puerto Rico

Song of the Birds is not really by Casals, but it has become famous in his arrangement for cello and piano, and the music has become so closely identified with him that its title has been used as the title of one of his biographies. First, a word about Casals. He was born in Catalonia and learned to play the violin and piano as a boy–it was not until he was eleven that he saw his first cello and chose that as his instrument. After studies in Barcelona, Casals launched an international career as a cellist, a career that would last until he was well into his nineties–a measure of the span of that career is that Casals played before both Queen Victoria in London and John F. Kennedy in the White House. He also performed with such composers as Edvard Grieg and Richard

Strauss, and he played for many years as a member of a piano trio that included Alfred Cortot and Jacques Thibaud. An ardent Catalonian, Casals strongly supported the Spanish Republic and opposed Franco’s fascists; when the latter won the Spanish Civil War, Casals vowed not to return to Spain until they were out of power. He made his home in Prades, a small town in France near the Spanish border, and for many years he put on a major international music festival there; he was later active in the musical life of Puerto Rico. Casals refused to perform in any country that recognized Franco’s government, though he made an exception for President Kennedy, and his concert at the White House on November 13, 1961, was recorded and became a best-seller.

Song of the Birds is a seventeenth-century Catalonian Christmas song. In Casals’ arrangement, the cello sings the haunting and somber main melody, then extends it very briefly before the piece comes to its quiet conclusion. For Casals, Song of the Birds was a bond with his homeland, from whichhe found himself forever exiled, and he often used this music as an encore piece. The music became virtually synonymous with him, and he may be heard playing it on several recordings: it is on his recording made at the White House (when he was 85!), and there is also a performance captured on grainy black and white film that was probably made at his home in Prades. Song of the Birds is heard at this concert in an arrangement for cello and string orchestra.

Sinfonia Concertante for Violin and Viola in E-flat Major, K. 364
Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART
Born January 27, 1756, Salzburg
Died December 5, 1791, Vienna

A sinfonia concertante is similar to a concerto, but instead of setting an individual soloist with virtuoso display passages in opposition to the orchestra, a sinfonia concertante integrates its soloists–usually two or more–more fully into the orchestral texture: the soloists rise from the orchestra and then return to it. Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante for Violin and Viola dates from the autumn of 1779, when the composer, then 23, was in his final years of service to the Archbishop of Salzburg. Little is known about its composition, but what is clear is that this is one of Mozart’s greatest works, noble in conception and content, utterly assured in technique, and–in the slow movement–charged with a dark, romantic intensity.

Mozart was–like Beethoven, Schubert, and Dvořák–a violinist who preferred to play the viola, and the writing for both instruments is at every moment idiomatic and grateful. The relation between the two solo instruments is particularly interesting. Only rarely do they play together. Mozart usually keeps them separate: they exchange material, answer one another, take up a phrase the other has just left off, and sometimes the flow of phrases between them is quite brilliant.

The opening Allegro maestoso is well-named, for this truly is majestic music, and it unfolds with sovereign ease. An orchestral introduction leads to the masterful entrance of the soloists: Mozart slips them in almost unnoticed–one suddenly becomes aware that they are playing. This long opening movement is based on six different themes. There is a particular quality to this music that is almost impossible to define–the mood may be relaxed, but throughout this movement one feels the breadth, ease, and strength of Mozart’s musical imagination at its most powerful. Just before the close, the two instruments share a cadenza, and Mozart writes it out himself rather than leaving it to the soloists.

Great as the first movement is, it finds its equal in the Andante, which shifts to C minor. The orchestra announces the dark, almost grieving main idea, and the soloists quickly take it up. Their development of this yearning, lamenting music is one of the glories of Mozart’s music, and among the most impressive things is this music’s rhythmic imagination: there are turns, trills, dotted rhythms, and decorations in nearly every measure. Once again, Mozart writes out a cadenza just before the close.

The concluding rondo-finale, marked Presto, zips along happily, powered by the trills that decorate its main theme. This is the most brilliant of the movements, with the interplay between violin and viola particularly crisp. There is no cadenza, but each instrument gets the chance to say farewell just before the orchestra brings this noble music to its close.