Overture to A Midsummer Night's Dream

Chances are very good that you have heard at least part of the opening piece on tonight’s program, even if you have never attended a classical music concert. Mendelssohn’s Overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a landmark in the symphony repertory, celebrated as much for the quality of the music itself as for the circumstances of its creation. To call Mendelssohn precocious is to grossly understate the matter. A gifted sketch artist with a deep sense for literature and history, Mendelssohn had also been raised with an appreciation for Shakespeare and, particularly, the Bard’s comic masterpiece here in question. The Overture, written in 1826 at the ripe age of 17, forever established Mendelssohn’s status as a true musical prodigy. A full complement of incidental music to Shakespeare’s play was eventually added in 1843, much of it wonderfully touching and deserving a more frequent place on symphony programs. Most impressive is the composer’s ability to rekindle—after seventeen years!—the youthful flair that runs through every bar of the Overture. One might have thought this Overture something of a miraculous fluke had not Mendelssohn been able to attain the same perfection in other works.
The Overture’s structure follows the basic form of a rondo, whose main motive—the gradually expanding progression of four chords—recurs at several interior points, in addition to being both the very first and very last music heard. Onto this motivic head Mendelssohn appends rapid string figuration in muted strings, a mysterious passage that may fairly be called the definitive music of the fairy realm. Evocative, too, are the written-in braying of donkeys (recall how Bottom the Weaver is “translated”). Mendelssohn, with a maturity and self-assuredness beyond his years, moves effortlessly between light and shadow, between the understated tones of the sprite’s music and the full-blown grandeur of Oberon and Titania. The sheer exuberance of the work takes an active effort to resist, and the occasional moments of introspection and minor-mode color reinforce how clearly Mendelssohn has his finger on the dramatic pulse. My favorite moment arrives just a minute before the end, when Mendelssohn pulls up the reins on this scherzo and ushers in a hushed, reverential scene: soft woodwind chords, a low plucked bass note, and an ethereal high violin line that falls slowly by step. I know he placed this melodic episode where he did for dramatic effect, and I admit that it still gets to me every time.
Since the overture is presented tonight in the composer’s own arrangement for two pianos, the color of his orchestration is not as palpable. But an experienced listener and skilled performers—such as we have tonight—can perhaps imagine themselves into the full splendor of Mendelssohn’s vision. As a further side note, in the years before sound recording and modern transportation, piano arrangements like this were the main way you heard symphonic music. Mendelssohn certainly understood the relative inaccessibility of major orchestras to most people, and he made this arrangement as a way to spread the music into every home of modest means.

(c) Jason Stell