Symphonie Concertante, K. 364

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91) was undoubtedly one of the greatest concerto composers of all time. We tend to think only of his solo concertos (27 for piano, 5 for violin, 4 for horn, etc.), since the ensemble concerto of the baroque was largely past its prime. Still, Mozart did write significant concertos for more than one soloist, including works for two (K. 365) and three pianos (K. 242), one for flute and harp (K. 299), and the impressive Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola (K. 364) heard tonight. Interestingly, nearly all of Mozart’s ensemble concertos were written in the span of about 14 months, from April 1778 to July 1779. The Sinfonia Concertante may be the shining example, but it is helpful to not see it in isolation. Work on K. 364 began simultaneously with a two-piano concerto in the same key sometime in spring 1779. Mozart’s adoption of the sinfonia-concertante model stems directly from his recent travels to Mannheim and Paris, where the genre was cultivated by major composers and popular with the public. He used the term on two other occasions, though both of those works—one for wind quartet and orchestra, the other featuring violin, viola, and cello as soloists—have unfortunately been lost.
Mozart and his mother arrived in Paris in late March 1778. This was his third trip to the French capital, having appeared there as a wunderkind in 1763 and again briefly in 1766. He had gone with the highest hopes of securing a permanent position, but these thoughts were quickly dashed as the ex-wunderkind found himself, now mature and relatively old at 22, knocking on the same doors of patronage as so many others. He met and became close friends with J.S. Bach’s youngest son, Johann Christian Bach. However, he composed little of his own music. In fact, the day after the premiere of his only substantive work—the so-called “Paris” Symphony on June 11, 1778—his mother took ill and died within a fortnight. The loss crippled Mozart’s creativity for many months, and by early 1779 he was back in Salzburg grudgingly taking up a post with Archbishop Colloredo.
Despite the sadness of this homecoming, Mozart immediately set down the musical reflections of his time abroad, including the glamorous Parisian concert scene and his stimulating conversations with J.C. Bach.
One feature of the sinfonia-concertante he learned from Bach was that soloists could be given thematic material in their solo episodes that was not heard in the opening orchestral ritornello. Mozart also used the scoring to draw greater attention to the relationship between the soloists rather than between them and the orchestra. At a basic level, the two soloists provide Mozart a chance to present each idea twice in close succession in a dialogue arrangement.
The opening phrase sets the bright, optimistic mood, whereas the second theme features a chromatic “train” motive that becomes gradually louder and higher. The soloists then enter and go off into new material; their first episode theme actually sounds closer to the C-minor material of the second movement than to anything found this movement. Even from the start, the soloists seem intent on forging their own path regardless of the orchestra; note the overlapping entrance of the soloists, as if stepping on the coattails of the larger ensemble before it has even finished. One of the more significant differences between solo and ensemble concertos comes in the cadenza. With two players involved, Mozart was compelled to write out this cadenza (he usually just improvised in his solo concertos).
The slow movement explores the poignant emotional realms. It is here, perhaps, that one might find traces of mourning. Mozart very skillfully manipulates the registers of violin and viola. The former, usually high, now plays low—and vice versa for the viola—in a wonderful bit of crossing identities. Mozart wrote the viola part in D major, which allows greater use of resonant open strings. But he also asks the violist to tune the instrument a half step higher to “sound” in E-flat. This lets the viola attain slightly higher pitch/timbre as well as increasing its volume, all in an attempt to make it a fitting and equal partner to the violin. Why didn’t he just write a two violin concerto? Listen, and I think you’ll discover why.
The Presto conveys unrelenting joy. It is a finale straight out of comic opera, akin to Figaro (1786), with violin as Susanna and viola as the Countess, commenting on life, love, and the fickleness of a man’s heart. Mozart casts off all the gravity of the slow movement. Nearing the end, both viola and violin ascend to the top of their registers, plummet through three or more octaves, and reach back up again. It is a striking gesture of the most daring instrumental idiom and requires a massive, difficult shift in hand position. And given the performance traditions of that era, when string players did not have the help of chin-rests to support the instrument, there would have been a real danger of it falling out of the player’s hand. Such bravado walks side-by-side with wit and beauty in one of Mozart’s most polished concertos.

(c) Jason Stell