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ProgrAm notes
Sonata No. 8 for Violin and Piano in G Major, Op. 30, No. 3 (1802)
Ludwig van Beethoven
(Born December 16, 1770, in Bonn; died March 26, 1827, in Vienna)
In the summer of 1802, Beethoven’s physician ordered him to leave
Vienna and take rooms in Heiligenstadt, today a friendly suburb at
the northern terminus of the city’s subway system, but two centuries
ago a quiet village with a view of the Danube across the river’s rich
flood plain. It was three years earlier, in 1799, that Beethoven first
noticed a disturbing ringing and buzzing in his ears, and he sought
medical attention for the problem soon thereafter. On the advice of
his doctor, Beethoven left the noisy city for the quiet countryside
with the assurance that the lack of stimulation would be beneficial
to his hearing and his general health. On October 6, 1802, following
several months of wrestling with his diminishing hearing (and
a constant digestive distress), Beethoven penned the so-called
“Heiligenstadt Testament.”
Intended as a will written to his brothers (it was never sent, though
he kept it in his papers to be found after his death), it is a cry of
despair over his fate. “O Providence—grant me at last but one day
of pure joy,” he lamented. But—and this is the miracle—he not only
poured his energy into self-pity, he also channeled it into music.
The Symphonies Nos. 2-5, a dozen piano sonatas, the Fourth Piano
Concerto and Triple Concerto, Fidelio, three violin and piano sonatas
(Op. 30), many songs, chamber works and keyboard compositions
were all composed between 1802 and 1806.
Beethoven had completed the three Op. 30 Sonatas for Piano and
Violin by the time he returned from Heiligenstadt to Vienna in the
middle of October 1802. The Sonata No. 3, in G major, is the most
compact and cheerful such piece in his creative output. The main
theme of the opening sonata-form movement balances a frisky
motive in rolling scale steps with a more lyrical idea. The second
theme is full of incident, with mercurial shifts of harmony, a halfdozen
thematic fragments, sudden changes of dynamics and sharply
accented notes. The trills and bustling rhythmic activity that close
the exposition are carried into the development section, which
provides only a brief formal deflection before a full recapitulation
of the exposition’s materials rounds out the movement. The second
movement is music grown from song rather than dance, sweet
and lyrical and gracious, then returns to its lovely opening strain
throughout in the manner of a refrain. The finale is a genial rondo
filled with sunny vivacity and sparkling passagework.
Sonata for Violin and Piano (1916–17)
Claude Debussy
(Born August 2, 1862, in St. Germain-en-Laye, near Paris; died
March 25, 1918, in Paris)
For the Violin Sonata’s inspiration, style and temperament, Debussy
looked back far beyond the Impressionism of his earlier works to
the elegance, emotional reserve and textural clarity of the music of
the French Baroque. The form of the Sonata’s first movement is tied
together by the iterations of the simple falling triadic motive given
by the violin at its initial entrance. Various episodes separate the
motive’s returns, some passionate, some exotically evocative in their
16 | Mondavi Center Presents Program issue 3: nov 2012
sliding intervals, some deliberately archaic in their open-interval
harmonies. The spirit and wit of the Italian commedia dell’arte are
evoked in the Intermède, which is instructed to be played “with
fantasy and lightness.” The finale begins with a ghost of the first
movement’s opening theme before proceeding to a modern mutation
of the traditional rondo form, which takes as its subject a violin
melody in flying triplets that Debussy borrowed from his Ibéria. The
composer noted that this theme “is subjected to the most curious
deformations, and ultimately leaves the impression of an idea turning
back upon itself, like a snake biting its own tail.” The music exudes
energy bordering on enervation and seems almost to have expended
its strength as the final measures approach but finds sufficient
reserve to mount a quick but brilliant close.
Valse-Scherzo for Violin and Piano, Op. 34 (1877)
Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky
(Born May 7, 1840, in Votkinsk, Russia; died November 6, 1893, in
St. Petersburg)
Tchaikovsky composed his tuneful and brilliant Valse-Scherzo early
in 1877 for Joseph Kotek, a recent violin graduate of the Moscow
Conservatory who had taken a composition class with Tchaikovsky
at the school and developed a strong affection for both the man and
his music. There is more waltz than scherzo in the Valse-Scherzo, one
of Tchaikovsky’s many splendid examples of the most popular and
elegant dance form of his day. The piece takes as its main theme a
lilting strain given by the violin after a few preludial gestures from
the orchestra. A complementary episode of considerable technical
challenge for the soloist intervenes before the main theme returns
to round out the work’s first section. The center of the piece (the
“trio” of Tchaikovsky’s scherzo form) is occupied by music of a
more thoughtful nature and culminates in a cadenza that serves as a
bridge to the recall of the opening music which closes this delightful
composition.
Sonata No. 1 for Violin and Piano in A Minor, Op. 105 (1851)
Robert Schumann
(Born June 8, 1810, in Zwickau, Germany; died July 29, 1856, in
Endenich, near Bonn)
In September 1850, the Schumanns left Dresden to take up residence
in Düsseldorf, where Robert assumed the post of municipal music
director. He was welcomed to the city with a serenade, a concert
of his works, a supper and a ball. Though he had been cautioned
a few years before by his friend Felix Mendelssohn that the local
musicians were a shoddy bunch, he was eager to take on the variety
of duties that awaited him in the Rhenish city, including conducting
the orchestra’s subscription concerts, leading performances of
church music, giving private music lessons, organizing a chamber
music society and composing as time allowed. Despite Schumann’s
promising entry into the musical life of Düsseldorf, it was not long
before things turned sour. His fragile mental health, his ineptitude
as a conductor and his frequent irritability created a rift with the
musicians, and the orchestra’s governing body presented him with
the suggestion that, perhaps, his time would be better devoted
entirely to composition. Schumann, increasingly unstable though
at first determined to stay, complained to his wife, Clara, that he
was being cruelly treated. Proceedings were begun by the orchestra