Program notes by Eric Bromberger

Six Canonic Études, Opus 95 (arr. Debussy)
Robert SCHUMANN
Born June 8, 1810, Zwickau, Germany
Died July 29, 1856, Endenich, Germany

Robert Schumann was subject to bouts of mental instability, and he suffered one of these in 1845 while living in Leipzig. The composer became convinced that a change would do him good, and in December 1845 he and Clara moved their children and household to Dresden. The change proved beneficial. Schumann’s mood improved, and that winter he became interested in counterpoint and began to teach it to Clara; she in turn was delighted to discover that she could compose fugues. Inevitably, their thoughts turned to the organ, and during the winter the couple ordered a pedal attachment for their piano–this set of pedals made the piano duplicate the technique (if not the sound) of the organ, and the Schumann’s spent that spring practicing organ music on the pedal piano. Schumann then became interested in writing for this instrument, and in April 1846 he composed his Six Canonic Études. These six contrapuntal “studies” are essentially organ music written for the pedal piano (and they have often been recorded on the organ). Each is a relatively brief canon, and each presents a performer with different technical challenges: canons in different intervals, canons that move between the hands, and so on. At moments these études are quite reminiscent of the music of Bach.

It may seem a long leap from this “learned” music to Claude Debussy, famous for his dislike of German music and of complex developmental forms. But Debussy had a special affection for the music of Schumann: at fourteen he had won a prize for his performance of the first movement of Schumann’s Piano Sonata in G Minor. In 1891, while he was still relatively unknown (Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun was three years in the future at this point), Debussy arranged Schumann’s canonic études for two pianos. This involved a certain amount of recomposition. The pedal line in Schumann’s études is relatively simple, and Debussy made an effort to redistribute the parts so that they are divided evenly between the two pianos. Both Schumann’s music and Debussy’s arrangement are virtually unknown to audiences today. The Canonic Études should be understood (and enjoyed) as Schumann’s salute to the music of an earlier era and–in turn–Debussy’s affection for that music and his desire to bring it to a wider range of performers and audiences.

Piano Trio in F Major, Opus 80

In the first years of his marriage, which took place on September 12, 1840, Schumann seemed to concentrate on a different genre each year: 1840 was famous “the year of song,” during which he wrote 130 songs. The following year he turned to orchestral music, and in 1842 he took up chamber music, writing three string quartets, piano quintet, and piano quartet and starting several others. And then he seemed to lose interest in chamber music–he set the genre aside altogether for several years. In June 1847, shortly after completing his Second Symphony, Schumann returned to chamber music and wrote his First Piano Trio, and that seemed to interest him in the form–later that summer he wrote a second trio, the Piano Trio in F Major. Schumann completed his revision of this trio in October 1847, just a few days before he would be stunned to learn of the death of his friend Felix Mendelssohn.

A certain quality of restraint marks the Piano Trio in F Major. It has no really fast movement, and the two central movements are both at a relatively slow tempo. Even in the finale, which we expect to bring a spirited conclusion, Schumann takes care to specify Nicht zu rasch: “Not too fast.” Instead, the emphasis in this music is on lyricism, on themes that can be sung. There are no extremes in this music, nor does Schumann show any interest at all in virtuosity–the violin part, in fact, can be played almost entirely in first position. This music charms not through drama or excitement but through a gentle melodiousness.

Schumann was a fine pianist, but he did not play a stringed instrument, and he tends to treat the violin and cello as a unit here: they play together or have similar music, and he will frequently set this music in contrast to the piano’s line. We see this from the first instant, where the strings share the long opening idea over chordal accompaniment from the piano–this beginning, which Schumann marks Sehr lebhaft (“Very lively”) represents some of the fastest music in the entire trio. More themes follow, all of them lyric: the piano’s soft chordal subject and a flowing idea presented in turn by violin and cello that Schumann marks both dolce and ausdruckvoll: “expressive.” There is no exposition repeat, and Schumann rounds the movement off with a coda that presses ahead more and more quickly.

Both middle movements are characterized by restraint. Schumann marks the second Mit innigem Ausdruck (“With inward expression”) and weaves together complex lyric lines in both stringed instruments and from each of the pianist’s hands. The music seems to pulse ahead slightly in the course of the movement but eventually draws to a subdued close. In place of the expected scherzo, Schumann offers another quiet movement. He sets it in what might be a scherzo meter, 3/8, but then asks for a moderate tempo, and the emphasis is on a gentle lyricism; a coda leads to a restrained close on quiet pizzicato stroke.

The not-too-fast finale offers some rhythmic surprises along the way (Schumann syncopates the piano part at length), and there are nice, quick exchanges between the three instruments. But the agreeable manner of the first three movements is much in evidence here as well, and Schumann brings the trio to a spirited close.

Fantasiestücke for Clarinet and Piano, Opus 73

The Fantasiestücke (or Fantasy Pieces, a title denoting short and expressive pieces without specified form) were originally written for clarinet and piano; Schumann later made arrangements for cello and for violin. This music was composed with incredible speed, being completed in two days: February 11-12, 1849. This was the period of revolution throughout Germany and all of Europe, and Schumann was alternately fired with revolutionary passion and appalled by the breakdown in order–in May of 1849, he and his wife fled Dresden to escape the unrest. Perhaps some of the fervor of this period makes itself felt in the Fantasiestücke; perhaps not. In any case, one should be careful of taking the free-form aspect of fantasies too seriously here–as he often did in his chamber works, Schumann makes subtle links (in this case, rhythmic links) between the movements.

The first movement (“Tender and with expression”) features a soaring clarinet melody and comes to a quiet close. In the second (“Lively, happy”), the instruments take turns leading. In the outer sections, the piano leads and is joined in mid-phrase by the clarinet; in the center section the clarinet dominates. The final piece (“Quick and with fire”) opens with a violent outburst from the clarinet, which quickly turns lyric. The gentle middle section–haunting, dark, yearning–is Schumann at his finest.

String Quartet in A Minor, Opus 41, No. 1

Rare is the composer who is not in some way haunted by the past. To a close friend, Beethoven confessed that he felt threatened by the example of Mozart’s piano concertos, and in turn his own symphonies would prove just as daunting to the young Brahms, who complained: “You have no idea how the likes of us feel when we hear the tramp of a giant like him behind us.”

Nor was Schumann deaf to the sound of footsteps from the past. He made his early reputation with short piano pieces and then turned to songs. Both of these were “romantic” forms, but Schumann knew that–inevitably–he would have to try his hand at the forms perfected by the classical composers. In 1841 he was willing to take on the symphony, and the following year he turned to probably the most daunting of challenges, the string quartet. He spent that spring studying the quartets of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, but even then he was still worried, and his language betrays his anxiety–so threatened was Schumann that he could almost not say the word “string quartet.” Instead, he said only that he was having “quartet-ish thoughts” and referred to the music he was composing as “quartet-essays.” Finally he overcame his fears and quickly composed three string quartets that summer, of which the Quartet in A Minor, begun on June 4, 1842, was the first.

These three quartets are Schumann’s only chamber works that do not use piano, and perhaps it is not surprising that–forced away from his own instrument–Schumann responded by writing with great originality. In this music he was willing to take risks, experimenting with polyphonic writing, unusual key relationships, and basing entire movements on variants of the same theme (an idea he may have taken from the Haydn quartets).

The first movement of the Quartet in A Minor opens with a slow introduction marked Andante espressivo; certain critics have claimed to hear the influence of Bach in the long contrapuntal lines of this introduction, but that is for the individual listener to decide. The real surprise comes at the Allegro, where the exposition bursts to life in the “wrong” key of F major; the violin’s opening theme here furnishes all the material for this sonata-form movement, which comes to a very effective close as the first violin holds a high F over quiet pizzicato strokes from the other voices.

The exciting Scherzo, invariably described as “galloping,” flies along on its hammering 6/8 rhythm. Its middle section, which Schumann marks Intermezzo, brings a moment of calm before the return of the pounding opening material. The Adagio is based on the violin’s radiant main theme, a melody whose shape is somewhat reminiscent of the slow movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Schumann presents a series of variations on this theme before the movement comes to a quiet close. The concluding Presto is vigorous, athletic, and angular–and all of its material grows out of the powerful opening theme. The second theme-group is simply an inversion of this theme, and near the end Schumann presents a third variant of this same theme: over a quiet drone, this melody sings gently, briefly becomes a chorale, and suddenly gives way to the opening tempo, which rips this quartet to its exciting conclusion.