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The music of Wolfgang Amadeus
Mozart is as canonical as Shakespeare, no longer a matter of taste but a
statement of musical fact. However, as
with Shakespeare, this is a double-edged sword, since once anything becomes a
museum piece we begin to lose our connection to it. The nervous, mercurial energy of Symphony No.
40 becomes background music in Panera Bread, and the bitersweet lamentations of
the Requiem floats through a car commercial.
It’s a sad fact that even the most inspired music, if played too often—and
in the wrong context—can become a cliche.
So how do we rediscover the Mozart that his contemporaries heard, the
one that made Haydn (arguably the greatest composer of his age) to exclaim, “I
tell you before God and the world, he is the greatest composer known to me”? In the end, you have to “unhear” every
musical cliche and start from scratch, listening to the music of his
contemporaries and work your way forward to the musical masterpieces. Or, perhaps more simply, you could listen to
the lesser-known works of Mozart which, for one reason or another, have escaped the broad brush of cliche. Here are 5 works which I think represent
every facet of Mozart’s genius: his melody, his harmony, his orchestration, his
eccentricity (especially his penchant for the minor mode), and his
forward-thinking appeal to modern audiences (at times you really think Mozart
is a Romantic). There is no good reason
these works have not passed into the public domain, so to speak, but I’m glad
they haven’t. When you listen to them,
you almost go, “my God, what music—who composed it?” and then remember, right, it’s
Mozart. Then you start to realize why
great composers become great; not just because your teachers said so, but
because you, too, can hear this greatness.
Just don’t tell the people who supply music to on-hold services and
Panera Bread!
#1. Concerto for Flute and Harp in
C (1778): This piece isn’t exactly unknown, since it’s used in the film Amadeus
and pops up on classical radio stations (the few that remain) because of its “easy
listening” nature. But never mind that,
it’s a true, evergreen creation, where Mozart simply lets his love of melody
run away with him. I’ve never heard a
work that is so joyously untroubled, full of happiness and love, and so
endlessly consoling. The flute and harp
combination is a Classical composer’s dream, since it promises an endless
stream of pastel-colored textures so an audience could gossip, write letters,
or spy on other people without interruption.
Yet Mozart manages to make what should be rather vapid music beautiful
and at times, truly touching. The
opening movement is gently operatic as the instruments toss phrases back and
forth, yet there are quiet arias of exquisite lyricism. The heart of the piece is the slow movement
which is a true inspiration: here we get true yearning, the Mozart of the piano
concertos and the inspired later works.
It’s strange to find something so mature—and Romantic!—in such an early
Mozart work. The finale is a jolly romp,
again in the manner of a comic opera. Music of the classical period (Haydn aside) is
rarely funny, but this movement is; it makes me laugh with its zaniness and its
complete lack of pretension. Mozart isn’t
trying to impress anyone—it’s just fun music that remembers to be beautiful at
the same time.
#2. Piano Concerto No.16 in D
(1784): Mozart’s 27 Piano Concertos are more or less part of the
established musical canon, though we really need to revise that number to 23,
as the first four are re-workings of other composers’ music made by the preteen
composer. But even fewer are played that
often, typically Nos. 20-27, along with the famous (and miraculous) No.9, and
the lyrical No.12. The others make
occasional outings on disc, and are rarely heard and often dismissed as “lesser”
Mozart. There’s not a bad piece in the
lot, and even the gentler early works such as Nos.5-11 are staggering Rococo
masterpieces. Yet No.16 is one of my
very favorites, as it epitomizes everything we love about these concertos:
marching rhythms, gorgeous melodies, interplay between orchestra and piano, and beneath it all, a sense of longing,
of music that can never bridge the gap between mind and heart. The piece opens stridently, almost like one
of Beethoven’s early concertos, but quickly dissolves into gorgeous flights of
Mozartian lyricism. Indeed, the entire
movement is a push and pull between “stiff upper lip” sensibility and
aristocratic despair. Listen as the
music slides into a minor mode, the music wanting to spill a love letter at
some noblewoman’s feet—but is then whisked away to the dance.
The slow movement is typical of
Mozart’s more “public” music, a Rococo daydream, much like a Watteau
painting. Wistful, still, pastoral: the
piano gently traces out the theme in the beginning, like a lover reading over a
love letter twenty years old, the emotion faint, but still enjoyable. However, as the letter goes on, hidden depths
are plumbed at the reader recalls his/her lost youth...and it almost (almost!)
veers into a Chopin slow movement.
Indeed, the line between Mozart and Chopin is perilously thin and I
often mistake one composer for the other in their slower music. In
the end, the music regains its poise and the letter is tucked away with
countless others, the piano reflecting on its contents as the reader shuffles
off to the demands of duty.
The finale is classic
high-spirits Mozart, just like the Concerto for Harp and Flute: it’s humorous
because it should (and could!) accompany a comic opera. The piano dashes in a few seconds after the
beginning with a scurrying, shuffling music, dancing all over in an attempt to
ingratiate itself. About two minutes in
or so, the music takes a quick minor key turn, become more reflective; Mozart
is a genius and making these sudden detours, and when the comic theme returns,
it’s gorgeous—in a flute, followed by an oboe, and then a bassoon before
everyone takes it up. But Mozart has
little time for pathos in this movement, and it cavorts comically to the very
end, striking the perfect balance between piano display and orchestral
power.
#3. Symphony No. 34 in C (1780):
A curious work, coming just before the canonical “Great” symphonies
(Nos.35-41), and in only three movements.
In some way this sounds like a throwback to an earlier style with its
portentous, dramatic opening. Mozart was
still quite young when he wrote this (well, he was always quite young,
even when he died!), but this sounds very much like a young man showing his
maturity. “I can be damn serious when I
need to be,” he seems to say, and the music sounds a bit like an opera on a
tragic subject. Yet a lighter spirit
soon intrudes and the music assumes a more dashing appearance, not quite humorous,
but brisk and exciting. About three
minutes in, however, something striking occurs: a whisk of the macabre, a truly
Gothic moment. The music gets dark, and
by dark I mean “Requiem” dark, not just a parody of darkness as featured in
many a classical opera. We even get a
foreshadowing of the “Dinner Guest” music from Don Giovanni in its
unsettled harmonies. Mozart doesn’t
linger here for long, but quickly whisks it aside with the dashing music. It’s a strange movement of light and dark,
serious and unsettled, and sounds like nothing he composed before and nothing
since until Symphony No.40.
The slow
movement is almost the “dreamy” pastoral Rococo we find throughout his output,
but the melody strikes too deep for that.
It goes beyond “ah, what a pleasant day” to “ah, that was a pleasant
day...now gone forever.” Mozart keeps
the reigns on this, but it walks the edge between quiet music and heartfelt
music. I always imagine Mozart writing
this with an eye as to how far he could push his audience: would they hear what
he heard himself? Or would they simply
hear quiet, soft music and think nothing else?
This is what makes Mozart a genius to me: his ability to tow the line of
convention while utterly transforming it beneath our eyes. The finale is a quick, bustling movement,
again more serious than comic, and reminding us of the end of a traditional
18th century opera overture. Indeed,
this entire symphony screams the theater to me, and was perhaps an attempt for
Mozart to keep these impulses at bay when no opera commission was
forthcoming. Note around the fourth
minute how a dark energy springs into the music, hinting at a drama too big for
a conventional symphony to compass. An
eccentric symphony that probably confused its first audiences and found little
place for centuries to come, yet can now be enjoyed for showing the manic
depressive tendencies of Mozart’s muse.
#4. Piano Sonata No.12 in F (1781-83):
Speaking of manic depressive, this is one of his supreme statements of light
and dark, a work shot through with gaiety and despair. In the Classical period “minor key” works are
rare, since following a minor key scheme seems to denote a tragedy, which makes
sense for an operatic work, but proved unsettling—or simply confusing—in purely
instrumental terms. Such works were
rarely popular and often not published, though Haydn occasionally slipped in
the odd minor key sonata or symphony, even writing a stretch of them in his
so-called “storm and stress” period. Yet
Mozart was much more subtle in his use of pathos: largely avoiding minor keys,
he slipped in moments of introspection and outright melancholy into the middle
of even the sunniest works. His Piano
Sonatas began as relatively public affairs, either music for salons or for
budding piano students (often, his own).
Yet in No.12 we find the most mercurial portrait of Mozart, a work that
is hard to pin down, but which predicts the greatest rhetoric of the Romantics
to come. The opening movement starts
off in a robust, carefree manner, but
then a storm bursts—full of the minor key pyrotechnics of his Piano Concerto
No.20. This is short-lived, and the
music becomes calm and carefree once more...but the presence of something unsettled
is just off the horizon.
Now to the slow movement, one
of the greatest pieces he ever wrote: to call it sad, or beautiful, or
bittersweet, or even despairing is to focus on one window of a tremendous
Gothic mansion, which would require an entire book of photographs to properly document. The theme opens up in a resigned, wistful
manner, and takes an introspective byway before reaching its emotional
core. The theme is repeated twice more,
each time a touch more reckless and insistent.
For some reason, letter reading always comes to mind when I listen to
Mozart, perhaps because he was such an amazing correspondent. This piece reminds me of someone reading and
rereading a letter, lingering on a phrase which is too painful to take in all
at once. Each repetition of the theme is
an attempt to take it in, to wrap one’s brain around the absolute finality of
the sentence. Once grasped, the letter
is put aside, as the reader attempts to write his or her own letter...but
inevitably he/she must return to the letter.
Sadly, the music cuts off before we get the response. The finale is a madcap dash to the finish,
though as usual with Mozart, we get a few minor key detours, one of which is a
transformed reminiscence of the theme from the slow movement. It’s darker now, less consoling and almost threatening—or
perhaps merely annoyed (as in, “how could I have cared for such a scoundrel?”). However, this is immediately tossed aside for
the madcap music. The lover no longer
cares about his or her broken heart; love is spent, revenge is nigh!
#5. Wind Serenade No. 12 (again,
12!) in C minor (also transcribed for string quintet as String Quintet No.2/1782/83):
Mozart loved writing for wind ensemble, and all of his wind writing is
remarkably pungent and usually bright and spirited. Though this work has all those qualities, it
is also dark and brooding. Here we have
our first bona-fide minor key work, though even here, Mozart is carefully to
balance light and dark. The first
movement starts ominously, with a theme that recalls the opening to his early
Symphony No.25. Night, rain, thunder,
racing horses—all of this is evoked in a few quick notes. The interplay of instruments is magnificent
and it sounds for the world like a group of players on stage—an intimate,
tragic drama. Mozart dispels this with a
warm, almost comic melody which quickly—if temporarily—dissolves their
disagreement. The slow movement which
follows is the most tender love song imaginable. Not so much a passionate song as one of
passion fulfilled, lovers asleep in each other’s arms, the drama of the world
behind them. It comes close to being a
lullaby, and if you have to choose, get the wind serenade version, which is
infinitely more sweet and “human” than the quintet. No minor key violence intrudes on this song,
though it does get lighter as it goes along.
A stormier menuetto follows, though this, too, dissolves into dancing
and song. The finale, however, is the
true highlight of the piece, a theme and variations on a slightly sinister
subject. The variations grow agitated
and dramatic as they go along, and sweep the listener right off his or her feet. There are, as always, strange and quiet
detours in this music, but it always comes back to the driving tempest—as if
the coach must reach the city gates by midnight, yet the storm is slowing it
down hour by hour...
These are obviously just a few
works that are lesser known (that is, they aren’t played to death) and remind
us what an inventive, original, and at times, eccentric composer Mozart really
was. Find your own forgotten
masterpieces in his oeuvre, for they are many, and most of the belie the common
consensus that they are “lesser” Mozart.
In the case of Mozart, even lesser is greater than most!
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