Members of the Amadeus Quartet play Mozart with Britten

Authenticity revived? Mozart and Britten

Bartolomeo Cristofori of Florence invented the pianoforte, in all its essentials, at the beginning of the 18th century. But it was a considerable time before the idea of a keyboard instrument with hammers, capable of dynamic variation, became widely accepted. In the 1770s, as Mozart was reaching maturity, several makers in southern Germany and Austria were developing an instrument whose sound was modelled not on that of the harpsichord, as with Cristofori, but rather the intimate clavichord, with its clear, singing tone. Chief among these was Johann Andreas Stein of Augsburg; visiting his uncle’s family in that city in 1777, Mozart was thrilled by the possibilities of these new instruments. In a letter to his father (17 October 1777) he shows himself full of enthusiasm for their efficient damping mechanism, evenness of touch, and effective escapement action. With his polished keyboard technique and keen focus on music’s expressive potential, Mozart was ideally placed to make the most of the emerging fortepiano, and, after he settled in Vienna in 1781, the fame he quickly built up was based on his prowess as a pianist; we can imagine that a large part of his appeal lay in the novelty of his performance on the newly developed instrument.

When the BBC joined the extensive 1956 celebrations of Mozart’s bicentenary, performances on period instruments were rare, so it came as a surprise to learn of these broadcasts. The performances are not ‘historically informed’ in the present- day sense; the stringed instruments have the Amadeus’s usual 20th-century set-up, and the clarinet is a modern one. The players, however, appear to have no difficulty in adapting to the much quieter 18th-century piano, and their sensitivity in matters of phrasing and articulation ensures there’s little stylistic conflict between strings and piano. It’s true that in the Piano Quartet, where the strings blend together and produce a ‘modern’ sonority, with continuous vibrato, there’s a mismatch between this level of background intensity and the limpid tones of the piano. In the violin sonatas, however, Norbert Brainin finds it possible to blend with his partner, and though his phrasing tends to be smoother than Britten’s, the interaction between them is evidently a creative one, with no sense of incompatibility.

As to Britten, I find it remarkable that he can adapt so easily to an instrument with so much lighter a touch. He’s never tempted to use excessive force, so the tone remains clear and beautiful throughout. And it’s obvious that he enjoys the challenge of bringing Mozart’s notated articulation to life, combining this with subtle dynamic variations that enhance the expressive effect.

For pupils, colleagues, but principally for himself, Mozart composed an astonishing range of music involving the piano. Pride of place goes to the unrivalled series of piano concertos; at the other end of the scale are the sonatas and variations for solo piano. But he also explored very fully the possibilities of chamber music with piano: duo sonatas with violin, trios, quartets with strings, and the great Quintet with wind instruments (K452). This programme gives a fine cross-section of his achievement in this area, and we can hear how perfectly Stein’s craftsmanship and Mozart’s invention fit together.

The Sonata in C, K296, dates from early in 1778. Mozart and his mother, on their extended visit to Mannheim, lodged with the Privy Court Councillor Serrarius, and Wolfgang gave lessons to his 15-year-old daughter, Therese.  Therese, described by Mozart as ‘our house nymph’, was already an accomplished keyboard player – able to perform the Concerto K246 – and it was for her he wrote this Sonata. The first movement, like several of his C major piano works, creates quasi-orchestral textures: not, one would think, the best way to demonstrate the new pianoforte’s expressive qualities. But as the movement progresses, a lively dialogue between the instruments develops and, sharing the violin’s material, the piano demonstrates how it can match the violin’s lively expressive range.

It was a convention in duo sonatas that the keyboard was the dominant partner, and in the Andante sostenuto, a movement in cantabile style, Mozart indeed entrusts the principal singing voice to the piano. We can tell for certain that he’s thinking of pianoforte, not harpsichord, because of the copious expression marks, and it’s these dynamic gradations, beautifully realised by Britten, that demonstrate the Stein instrument’s expressive powers. Its clear, singing tone, along with crisp, precise articulation, similarly allows Britten to create a delicate yet immensely spirited effect with the finale’s rondo theme. Here, too, the constant exchange of roles between violin and piano gives an impression of lively repartee, an idea that only works if the two instruments can match one another in giving individual character to each phrase.

K296 was eventually published in 1781, as one of a set of sonatas that initiated Mozart’s dealings with the Viennese publisher, Artaria. Earlier that year he had left, or been dismissed from, the service of the Archbishop of Salzburg, who he’d been ordered to join on a visit to Vienna. In April, the Archbishop had promoted a concert at which Mozart was obliged to play, giving the first performance of the Sonata in G K379, with the Salzburg violinist Antonio Brunetti. Eventually, the sonata became part of the Artaria set, but at the April concert, as he confessed in a letter (to Leopold, 8 April 1781), Mozart only had time to write out the violin part ‘and retained my own part in my head’. We can’t be certain, of course, that the printed sonata is identical to what Mozart played at the premiere, but K379 does seem like a very well-calculated audition piece for the Viennese public to judge his abilities.

The first movement has two sections; the major-key Adagio, with its opening piano solo demonstrating the instrument’s fullest, richest, tone, leads directly to a G minor Allegro that shows the composer’s ability to turn what was generally seen as a polite, undemanding genre into a tense, compelling musical drama. The following variations, back in the major, demonstrate a wide range of pianistic techniques and sonorities, as well as including a violin part that, in the second, third and fourth variations, becomes an equal voice in dialogue with the piano. For the fifth and final variation, however, the violin is confined to accompanying pizzicati as the piano, in an Adagio tempo, decorates the theme in the most elaborate and imaginative way. Here again, by careful attention to Mozart’s indicated articulation, Britten shows how closely musical substance and instrumental character are matched. And by taking the subsequent Allegretto return of the theme briskly, he prepares for an exhilarating coda – it’s easy to imagine the composer, in his head, adding these final flourishes in a bid to set the seal on a brilliant showing.

Five years later, in 1786, Mozart had established himself as a force in Viennese musical life. His fame rested on his pianism – he’d composed 14 new piano concertos – but his wider ambitions had been signalled by the set of six string quartets dedicated to Joseph Haydn (published in 1785) and by two remarkable operatic ventures, Die Entführung aus dem Serail (1782) and Le nozze di Figaro, which had received its first performance on 1 May 1786. A month later, he completed the second of his two piano quartets. He had originally planned to write three quartets, to be published by his friend Franz Anton Hoffmeister, but the sales of the First Quartet (in G minor, K478) were apparently disappointing – Mozart’s music was often considered to be excessively difficult and complex – and the Second Quartet was published later by Artaria.

K493 has a more mellow emotional character than its predecessor, but demonstrates a very similar approach to writing for the four instruments. In the same way that, in his violin and piano sonatas, Mozart shows dissatisfaction with the conventional accompanying role of the violin, and pushes the form towards one of equal partnership, he’s assiduous here in achieving a balance between concerto- like passages where the piano dominates, and places where the strings take the lead, individually or as a group. In the first movement, the singing melodic quality of much of the writing allows the instrumentalists to come to the fore either singly or in dialogue. Dialogue appears in the Larghetto, too, but its structure, for the most part in distinct, separated phrases, permits exchanges between piano and the string group as a whole. The finale’s rondo form gives Mozart the opportunity to alternate all these ways of writing, with group alternation in the two presentations of the main theme, some passages in dialogue – especially animated and witty between violin and piano – and places where the piano takes centre stage with ambitious virtuoso displays.

This quartet seems equally apt for the concert hall or a domestic setting, but the Trio K498 can be classed as a more informal, intimate work, even though, in the finale, it opens out to include grand gestures and showy passagework. It was completed two months after the quartet. Its nickname, Kegelstatt-Trio, derives from an anecdote that Mozart composed it whilst engaged in a game of skittles; on the autograph of another work composed at the same time, the Twelve Duets for wind instruments (K 487/496a) he inscribed ‘Vienna, 27th July 1786 whilst playing skittles’, so there may be some truth in the story. It was first played at the house of Nicolaus Joseph von Jacquin, a renowned botanist. Two of his children, Gottfried and Franziska, were Mozart’s pupils, and the 17-year-old Franziska played the piano part, with Anton Stadler, clarinet, and the composer taking the viola. Mozart’s chamber-music ideal, of giving each instrument an individual, characteristic voice, is perfectly realised here, but he also gives opportunities for their distinctive timbres to blend together. Motifs – such as the one at the start of the opening Andante – are shared in dialogue, and, when a more expansive idea results in one instrument taking a solo role, as happens with the first movement’s second theme, so beautifully designed for the clarinet’s upper register, it’s immediately taken up by another voice. The viola, whose tessitura falls too low for it to take the initial statements of treble-range themes, finds compensation in episodes of a contrasting, darker hue – the shadowy passages in the trio section of the Minuet, and the dramatic C minor excursion in the finale. And, every now and then, the three disparate voices are made to blend into a collective statement, at the start of the stately Minuet, and in the mellifluous final A flat episode in the rondo finale.

These are live performances, with an infectious sense of exploration. There are some imperfections – occasional fluffs in the piano passagework, most noticeable in K498, and near the end of the Quartet an unexpected moment of chaotic ensemble. But the playing gives us a priceless, extraordinary instance of one composer-pianist’s imagination in re-creating the sound-world of an illustrious forbear. Here, Paul Hamburger’s observation of Britten – ‘He plays a Mozart concerto…not merely as if he had written it, but as if he had written it last night’ – seems especially true.

© Duncan Druce, 2014

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756 – 1791)

Track 1:

The Piano Quartet and the Kegelstatt Trio were recorded from a relay of a concert given at the Aldeburgh Festival on 23 June 1957.

The Violin Sonatas were recorded in the BBC Studios in 1956.  They formed part of a recital, also with Peter Pears, to mark the bicentenary of Mozart’s death.  The items with Pears in this concert can be heard on the recording ‘Peter Pears off-track’ in this collection.

The recordings are from the Harewood Collection at Music Preserved.

Remastering by Paul Baily.

• Benjamin Britten
  Fortepiano
• Norbert Bainin
  Violin
• Peter Schidlof
  Viola
• Martin Lovett
  Cello
• Stephen Waters
  Clarinet