K364. Many have died scaling its heights. Oh... that's K2.
But K. 364, oh dear. Try googling it. The diehard Mozart loyalists know what that is as soon as you say it. With all the hundreds of K. numbers (the chronological numbering of Mozart's compositions) to choose from, it's interesting that this one work is so easily identified just by its number. When I hear that number, I immediately hear that tear-jerking music in my head.
The longer name, of course, is Sinfonia Concertante in E flat for Violin, Viola, and Orchestra. We'll only focus on the second movement. And I'll try to explain what a sinfonia concertante is. Mozart only composed two. To get you started, here is the second movement of his first sinfonia, the K. 297.
A story about the Sinfonia k. 297, above, and then we'll move on. I bought my first stereo receiver with my own hard-earned dollars about 1974. I didn't have speakers yet, so I had to listen to headphones at first. When I got it home and turned it on, the first thing on the radio, and I couldn't identify it at first, was the piece above, the Sinfonia K. 297. And, ah the beauty of those woodwinds! The lush swelling of the strings. I wasn't a big Mozart fan at that time in my life, preferring the sturm und drang of the megalo-symphony music of Mahler and R. Strauss. But mellow and peaceful as it was (and thus not normally on my radar) the sheer sound melted me. It convinced me that I had made the right purchase.
Assuming you're still listening to the above, and assuming that you're maybe thinking, as I did, in 1974, oh, that's sweet but not very complicated music, not something to wrack your head over... Just listen to the very ending, those bittersweet diminished seventh chords (around 7:45).
... But back to the mighty K. 364! Both of these sinfonias are from the middle section of Mozart's career. They are both concertos, of a type, although Mozart had not yet mastered and made a bitch of the concerto form as he did with his later K.400's piano concertos (one of which we vivisected a few weeks ago).
Wikipedia on the Sinfonia Concertante form:
Sinfonia concertante is a musical form that emerged during the Classical period of Western music. It is essentially a mixture of the symphony and the concerto genres: a concerto in that one or more soloists (in the classical period, usually more than one) are on prominent display, and a symphony in that the soloists are nonetheless discernibly a part of the total ensemble and not preeminent.
That describes K. 297 to a tee. It's almost a hybrid of chamber music and symphony. In its tone and intent, it's more similar to Bach's Brandenburg Concertos, less a piece for a bravura soloist in coattails to show off and steal the applause. The "soloists" here are not so much solo-soloists, more a separate group that interacts with the orchestra to create contrast. In K. 297, those soloists are French horn, bassoon, clarinet, and oboe. It's wind-band versus orchestra!
(If wind-band music interests you, you should check out these two past classical diaries, one by Zenbassoon,, and one (less strictly wind) just this Monday by Proud Tobeliberal.
Of the two sinfonias by Mozart, K. 364 is by far the more well-known and famous. Parts of the first movement were used for Peter Shaffer's film Amadeus.
Mozart's K. 364, in a less musical sense, was also one of the plot elements in William Styron's book, Sophie Choice. When Sophie breaks down from post traumatic stress in New York, the memory of Mozart's K. 364 helps her dissociate away from it.
K. 364 wasn't just important to Sophie; it was also important to auhor Styron, who suffered with crippling episodic depressions.
http://tericarter.wordpress.com/...
On page 225 [of Alexandra Styron’s READING MY FATHER], I found his music. In the midst of his first true bout of depression (circa 1985), Alexandra and her family were so desperate to reach him they made a film of home videos set to his favorite music — Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante — which he listened to while writing.
While searching for the right K. 364 youtube clip to use for today's diary, I was horrified by one very, very beautiful clip with the K. 364 Andante set to pictures of countryside. As I listened and watched it, visually beautiful as it was, a creepy feeling overcame me. Scanning quickly ahead in the comments, then, I read this:
@mmbmbmbmb The photos are taken in a place in Poland where bad things happened. It is laden with history, a past of violence. Thus the pictures speak of a sad past............. but its also a beautiful place.
Poland has many places with histories of bad things happening. With the connection already made to Sophie's Choice, I didn't need to research further before I decided, this music does the photos justice, but the photos do not do the music justice. That's why I'm only including the link, not the embed. Because I'm horrified! I'm trying to avoid hyperboles here, because, as you all know, I'm an over the top Mozart fanatic, but I think there might be nearly universal agreement that Mozart, of all the artists mankind produced, was one of the most life-affirming artists that our species produced. As sad as the Andante is, it's still a life-affirming sadness.
No. If there's any justice in associating the K. 364 Andante with a place like Dachau (which I suspect these photos are of), then it is only in the terrible contradiction it poses, music of a type that enshrines humanity -- I would rather use the word humanness here -- and what humans born from that same culture were capable of. I don't want to taint anyone's first experience of K. 364 with bad places in Poland. The andante is not about that. If it's "about" anything, it's about love. I'll try to provide support for that statement in due course.
Wikipedia mentions it as the source for the sixties hit pop song, Windmills of Your Mind:
Windmills of Your Mind, Legrand and Bergman. Performed by Jose Feliciano
As wikipedia notes, "The opening two melodic sentences were borrowed from Mozart's second movement from his Sinfonia Concertante for Violin, Viola and Orchestra." The sad, nostalgic lyrics suit it well. This is hardly the only example of Mozart appropriated for pop music. A couple of weeks ago in ChingChongChinaman's Saturday Night Loser's Club diary, we had fun trying to wrap our minds around the idea that Neil Diamond claims that Song Sung Blue is based on Mozart's Elvira Madigan theme. You can hear bits of it in there, if you squint.
It's only a short leap from Windmills to another pop hit of the time, Harry Mancini's theme from Love Story, although we distance ourselves a bit further from K. 364. I've never heard anybody connect this with K. 364, so let me be the first.
What gives it the similar feeling? Well, there are certain chord progressions common to all three works. And we have a rather shameless use of the melodic minor scale. Now, the melodic minor scale is such a basic thing, learned in the first two weeks of any music class, and printed on the back of any cheap guitar chord book, it still can surprise us when we hear it in 20th/21st century pop music. Why? Because the sharp 7th note in the minor scale is out of style for recent generations.
On to the music!
All three movements of K. 364 are gorgeous. The second movement, the Andante, though, is the one that most stands out to me, because it may be the most romantic (in the small-r sense) tearjerker in Mozart's repertoire. Mozart preferred to use sad music as a spice. His attempts at tragic music are sincere, but less frequent, and they're often given a "Hollywood ending." The final movement of K. 364 is a great example of this, when the music returns to the major key with a vibrant sense of confidence and striding power. But today's all about the Andante.
But what is the Andante about?
What is it about? Well, didn't I do a diary saying that Mozart's music is abstract and absolute, that it's about "the music?" Yeah I did. But...
I once heard a radio announcer describe the Andante as being like the dialogue of two lovers, perhaps two lovers parting. I had never voiced it that way to myself, but I immediately felt, that's not just apt. That's right. In fact, without being able to voice, it, that's how I had always heard it.
In fact, in this, the second movement, the violin and the violas take on gender roles, the higher pitched violin as woman, the lower-pitched viola as man. In the wikipedia description of sinfonia concertante form at the top of our diary, we said that the contrast between soloist and orchestra isn't the same in the sinfonia as in a concerto. In this movement, we hear a dialogue between the two soloists, though, each taking turns, changing the melody. The role of the orchestra is only supportive as the focus falls on these two soloists who rise to spotlight position.
And what are they saying to each other? This viola and violin, this man and woman? Well, that's more baffling and we risk going off the deep end of interpretation and projection.
Pointless Dumbo anecdote insertion time.
I gave a CD of this to a girlfriend many years back. She said she liked classical music and wanted to learn more about it. Since I was near the beginning of my Mozart dementia, I tried to think of the perfect FIRST MOZART CD. I gave her K. 364, thinking, this is the one to convert heathens with! She was polite but ultimately unimpressed. Perhaps I'll fail to impress you today, as well. I hope not! I'd love to figure out what the perfect Mozart piece is for missionary work.
When I listen to other works I like, I sometimes imagine how --I-- would conduct it if --I-- were the conductor. When I listen to K. 364, I usually find myself wishing I could be the recording engineer as well. It suffers from one problem in that it doesn't record as easily as many of Mozart's other works. Perhaps it's the lack of contrast between violin, viola, and a mostly string orchestra with no timpani. I've always felt the same way about Bach's Brandenburg Concerto #6, as well, which depends on violas. Violas are a mid-range instrument, lower than violins, higher than most other instruments of the orchestra, and even when they aren't drowned out, they often get lost like a short guy in the back of the class photo jumping up and down.
I chose the clip we're going to use today because it was a basically well-recorded, although not perfect recording (I've never heard anything as good as the live K. 364).
It also includes a violinist I have a serious crush on, SusannaYoko-Henkel, whom you may remember from my slavishly adoring diary on the Schubert Quintet in C last year. Any rumors you may have heard that I flew to Zagreb to stalk her and steal things from her trash to build my own private Yoko-Henkel shrine are TOTALLY UNTRUE. And besides, you can't really steal anything from somebody's trash, because once she throws it away, it's fair game and the police should really mind their own business. But isn't she a statuesque goddess? Admit it! She is. I passed up all the great Oistrakh family recordings (and God, there are many, so many Oistrakhs you need to calculate factorials to know how many permutations there are) of K. 364 for this recording of the lovely Susanna.
Sinfonia Concertante in E flat for Violin, Viola, and Orchestra by Mozart, K. 364, Susanna Yoko-Henkl violin, Maxim Rysanov viola, and the Lithuanian Chamber Orchestra
Introduction (orchestra only) (0:00 to 0:35)
First theme violin (0:35 to 1:05) Here we get our first full statement of the main theme. The other strings back it up with a trudging through the snow kind of rhythm. (What long beautiful talented arms, eh? Sigh.)
Viola restatement (1:05 to 1:35) More of a variation on the same theme, because the violin, starting out in the same C minor, quickly moves to E flat, putting a more positive spin on the anxious violin first theme. Perhaps this is Maxim's way of saying, "Darling Yoko, you of the lovely arms, do not worry; we will get through this sinfonia just fine and then go to Denny's and have pancakes."
Violin (1:35 to 1:46) "Really? Pancakes?"
Viola (1:46 to 1:58) "Yup. With hot blueberries." And let's not be so silly we don't notice the beautiful chord change smack in the middle of these two parts, one of the wonderful details of this work that stand-out, that briefly hint at something profound.
Violin(1:58) then Viola(2:01) The dialogue continues. The orchestra still merely supports. I'm trying hard not to add my own dialogue.
Violin and viola (taking turns) from (2:05 to 2:26) The dialogue continues, but gradually rising in pitch.
Orchestra (2:26 to 2:43) The dialogue briefly ends here, as the orchestra steps in and says something sober, like a narrator. The result of this and the previous part is that we are in a comfortable but rather tender emotional zone. The situation has become both musically and emotionally stable, ending on a comforting E-flat major cadence.
Violin and viola together (2:43 to 3:00) The two instruments intertwine their part, restating the previous orchestra part but elaborating on it and decorating it.
At 3:00, it abruptly comes to a point of tension. Moments of silence. (Musical rests). The musicians look at each other. To stay in sync, of course. But musically, if we continue to interpret and project, it's a "But what do we do now?" moment.
I've heard this work a gazillion times. Even now, if I'm perhaps driving, this is the moment when I'm likely to be distracted, my attention brought back to the music. "What now?"
(3:12) The orchestra returns, tentatively, to support the two soloists. The violin begins a new theme. The viola comes in atop, echoing the theme. And as they begin to ornament the theme together, the orchestra enters too. The soloists drop out. The orchestra brings us to a happy major key climax. As the climax settles, though, at 3:53, it starts to slide to a very gentle ending. You may not catch it at first, but there are little chromaticisms here, i.e., notes out of key, that help give it that sliding sensation but also create a slightly anxious sense as if not ALL is well.
We will call all the preceding music "The A-section." (Or you can call it the exposition if you want to treat the Andante as Sonata-allegro form, which this is very close to.)
B section
(Or you can call this development.)
Violin (4:20 to 4:35) The violin returns, again in a major key, sounding very blissful, with a variation on the main theme.
Viola (4:35 to 4:52) The violin restates but varies the previous theme, shifting it away, almost yanking it away from its blissful mood, modulating to an alien minor key. (And it's very slickly done, too).
Violin and viola(4:52 to 5:08) The violin varies a fragment of the viola's part. The tone is becoming anxious. At the flip end, she yanks us to another alien key. The viola enters and does the same, again.
Violin and viola (5:08 to 5:30) The trudging accompaniment of the orchestra drops out as the two soloists cradle the music down to a point of semi-stability.
(5:30) The violin and viola here repeat the music of 1:41 but transposed minor key, and the mood is drastically changed, with more dissonances.
At this point, the music is basically recapitulating all the A-section music. But what is Mozart's gameplan here? Where the first time we heard the A section it, it was minor first, then major key, in the repeat, the second time around, it is major THEN minor. All previous sense of optimism is dashed.
(8:11) Repeating the music of 3:12 now, minor key now rather than major. And as the orchestra rejoins the soloists, the same music that was ebullient before is just devastatingly tragic. The anguished diminished chord at 8:19 especially so, like a stab wound.
At 8:35, we feel like the music is coming to a conclusion. Not quite yet, though. The orchestra tees up what is obviously going to be a cadenza part. Cadenza? In a concerto, that's the place where the virtuoso soloists are given a chance to really show-off their talent with difficult virtuoso playing without orchestra. As the orchestra suddenly drops out, here, the sense of tension grows enormously.
(8:40) The violin and viola begin a long private conversation, the two parts, based on the previous melodies (especially the first one) intertwining. That sense of conversation here is very strong, and very intentional. And these two performers actually do a great job of bringing that to the fore.
At 9:40, they begin what sounds like it's working towards a cadence (see last week's diary on cadences). And then another terrible wounded and awesome chord change at 9:51 to F minor.
And as the voices break, become almost whispers, it settles down to a final C minor cadence at 10:14.
And now the orchestra reenters, to end the work, repeating the same opening bars.
I wrote most of the preceding diary a few weeks ago and lost about 2/3 of it because of a Firefox glitch. (And a Dumbo glitch). It was so disappointed I almost ditched the whole diary. Here you go!
Next week: The best and most awesome Thursday Classical Music diary of them all will be next week. That might not even be hyperbole. I'm going to round off our survey of Mozart with Mozart's last composed work, the Mozart Requiem, a work I had thought I would skip because it has so many morbid associations and because everybody knows it so well already from the film Amadeus. But I think I have a couple of new angles on it that will make it a very, very interesting diary.
Also, please be sure to check out ProudtobeLiberal's Monday companion series, Monday Musical Meditations, which this last Monday went into the music of Rennaissance composer Tomas Luis de Victoria.