Wolfgang Amadè Mozart

Concerto for Clarinet and Orchestra in A major K. 622

Wolfgang Amadè Mozart (he never used “Amadeus” except when making a joke) was born in Salzburg, Austria in 1756 and died in Vienna in 1791. He composed this concerto in November of 1791, and it was likely performed soon thereafter with Anton Stadler the soloist. The score calls for solo clarinet, 2 flutes, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, and strings.

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Mozart loved the clarinet. It was still a relatively new instrument, as yet rarely used in symphonic or chamber music. Mozart seldom wrote for the clarinet before he moved to Vienna in 1781, but there he met Anton Stadler (1753-1812), and his whole concept of what the clarinet could do changed.

Stadler was not the greatest of clarinet virtuosos, but Mozart appreciated his vocal-like tone and his artful musicianship. He was also a fellow Mason, with a reputation as a gambler and a jokester—in other words, a man after Mozart’s own heart. The two became fast friends, to the extent that the famously impecunious Mozart lent Stadler money when he could least afford it.

In Mozart’s time, clarinet design was not yet settled, and along with the familiar clarinets in A and B-flat, there were basset-horns (a kind of alto clarinet) and other variations. Stadler played all of these, but he preferred a custom-made instrument, sometimes called the basset-clarinet, that was basically an A-clarinet with an extended lower register. Mozart wrote his concerto for this instrument, a fact that has caused problems for clarinetists ever since.

Mozart’s original manuscript has been lost—in fact, Stadler may have pawned it!—and the earliest version we have was revised by the publisher to suit the standard A-clarinet. The publisher wasn’t particularly skillful, and shifting the now-unavailable low notes into different octaves surely changed the character of the music. So the modern clarinetist has difficult choices to make: he may play the published version as written; he may try to improve upon it; or he may use a replica basset-clarinet and guess at which low notes should be restored. This is a fine mess, and one that will remain unsettled unless the score turns up.

No matter what the solution, the concerto is no mere exercise in virtuosity; Mozart gave the work a depth of feeling, a ravishing sonority, and an unceasing good humor that makes it far more than an airy soufflé whipped up for his friend Stadler. The opening Allegro displays the capabilities of the clarinet, particularly the juxtaposition of the various registers, but what lingers in the mind after its passing are its grace and charm. The Adagio is by turns placid, sonorous, and of ineluctable beauty. The relaxed good cheer of the Rondo is infectious, and a good part of the reason why this concerto is so well-loved.

– Mark Rohr

 

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David Krakauer & Kathleen Tagg

The Fretless Clarinet: Concerto for klezmer clarinet and orchestra

Over the past decade, Krakauer & Tagg have created large-scale projects including their duo project Breath & Hammer; The Ties That Bind Us (a multi-media show for clarinet, piano, electronic loops and samples, surround sound audio and live video projections created for the Pierre Boulez Saal in Berlin); Connections (acoustic program combining world music, jazz and original compositions); and an avant-pop/world music project Mazel Tov Cocktail Party. Krakauer & Tagg have also co-composed a klezmer fantasy for concert band as well as an evening-length work for large forces: Keepers of the Flame (commissioned for “The Day of the Bridge Festival” by the Borderlands Foundation in Sejny, Poland) and the score for the film Minyan directed by Eric Steel (1st showing: Berlin Biennale 2020) This program will last approximately 22 minutes and is scored for Clarinet solo & standard size symphony orchestra: strings, double woodwinds, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 2 trombones, bass trombone, tuba and 4 percussion (3 including drum kit) + timpani)

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The Fretless Clarinet: Concerto for Klezmer Clarinet and Orchestra is a natural extension of the past decade of Grammy-nominated clarinet soloist, composer and band-leader David Krakauer and pianist, composer and producer Kathleen Tagg’s collaborative creative work, which has seen them co-create large-scale concert works, multi-media and genre-crossing projects and installations, duo programs and music for film. This co-composition is their first concerto. While conceived as both a vehicle for Krakauer and a reflection of his unique sound world, this piece is also deeply imbued with the immediately recognizable sounds of traditional jewish klezmer music, incorporating numerous klezmer dance rhythms, typical melodic patterns and song forms.

The Fretless Clarinet is in three movements. The first movement, Sanctuary City, reflects on the fact that New York City has been a kind of oasis of tolerance for people from cultures around the world for many many years. Krakauer drew on material from an improvisation he did a number of years ago that reflects many multi-genre and multi-cultural influences. This section moves through multiple key centers, with each section having its own instrumentation featuring different instruments of the orchestra, each with a free and improvisatory feel. Elements of that material is then incorporated into the body of the rest of the movement, as it explores and alters the material, eventually culminating in a klezmer-style dance: a “Terkisher” which is introduced by the drum kit and embellished by the brass and winds.

The second movement (Mozart on the Judengasse) is based on fragments of the viola solo from the last movement of the Mozart Clarinet Quintet K. 581, which had always struck Krakauer as sounding like a Jewish prayer. Perhaps Mozart heard a similar melody wafting out of the window of a synagogue on the Judengasse inSalzburg when he was a boy. This melody is modified by Krakauer and Tagg and used as the basis for the second movement. The structure of this movement is a traditional klezmer tune in form and proportion, and was also influenced by the famous klezmer tune Der Gasn Nign (The Street Song). The movement builds in intensity, with the clarinet line drawing more and more on klezmer-style improvisations over the orchestral structure until the final introverted recap of the melody, which leads into a highly personalized Krakauer style cadenza bridging the second and third movements. This movement has a reduced instrumentation which is the same as the instrumentation of the Mozart clarinet concerto.

The third movement (Ancestral Grooves) begins with a driven rhythmic figure in the strings that drew original inspiration from a driving rainstorm over Lake Como. The central melodic idea evolved from typical “riffs” found in klezmer doinas (modal, monophonic, melismatic improvisations). These riff fragments are given a high energy, motoric treatment to start off the movement. The middle section breaks down into groove-based material driven by the percussion and brass. An original “bulgar” (klezmer wedding dance) based on the doina material ends the movement in a joyous romp.

The Fretless Clarinet was co-commissioned by the Santa Rosa Symphony (lead commissioner), the Eugene Symphony and The Adele and John Gray Endowment Fund. The world premiere took place in November 2021 in Santa Rosa, California with the Santa Rosa Symphony and Maestro Francesco Lecce-Chong.

 

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David Krakauer

Synagogue Wail for unaccompanied clarinet

“Synagogue Wail” is my own semi-improvised composition for unaccompanied clarinet that’s kind of a portrait of my whole musical world in about five minutes. I take the basic idea of a rhapsodic klezmer improvisation, mix it with influences of jazz, funk and minimalism and pull the whole thing together with crazy extended techniques such as alternate fingerings, natural harmonics, expressive quarter tones and circular breathing. It’s a wild ride!

-David Krakauer

 

Traditional arrangement David Krakauer

Der Heyser Bulgar

Der Heyser Bulgar (The Hot Bulgar) is one of the most iconic standards of all standards from the Eastern European Jewish klezmer repertoire. In creating my arrangement of this traditional  celebration tune for strings (plus myself) I have basically drawn from an old 1920s recording by the klezmer clarinet master Naftule Brandwein as my main source material. In addition I have “thrown in” a few of my own original touches to give the piece a little extra “punch”. By all accounts, Brandwein was an extremely colorful personality, so I endeavored to capture his exuberance and abandon in my arrangement.

-David Krakauer

 

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Ludwig van Beethoven

Symphony No. 7 in A major, Op. 92

Ludwig van Beethoven was born in Bonn in 1770 and died in Vienna in 1827. He composed his Seventh Symphony in 1811-1812 and led the first performance in Vienna in 1813. The symphony calls for 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, and strings.

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Stravinsky got himself into a bit of hot water when he said, “In general, I consider that music is only able to solve musical problems and nothing else; neither the literary nor picturesque can be in music of any real interest. The play of the musical elements is the thing.” He didn’t mean that music was incapable of expression, but he was complaining that many listeners find things in music that aren’t really there. To Stravinsky music had its own inner life, its own “entity” that existed in spite of any narrative attached to it or the emotions felt by its listeners. He later attempted to clarify what he was saying: “Today, I would put it the other way ’round: music expresses itself.”

Nonetheless, listeners often hear things in the music that the composer never imagined, for good music evokes and provokes. Though it seems unlikely, Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony has inspired an enormous—and sometimes preposterous—range of “meanings” heard by its listeners, and pretty sophisticated listeners at that. Wagner called it “the apotheosis of the dance.” Vincent D’Indy disagreed, saying, “The rhythm of the piece has truly nothing of the dance about it. It is nothing other than a pastoral symphony.” Meanwhile, various commentators over the years have heard in it a political revolution, a bacchic orgy, a rustic wedding, even a story of Moorish knights!

They can’t all be true, but all are correct as far as those listeners are concerned; in the end it is the individual who gets to decide. But in the Seventh Symphony, as much as in any of Beethoven’s works, “the play of the musical elements is the thing.” And the element at play here is the drive, dynamism, and drama of rhythm.

The long, slow introduction to the first movement’s sonata is a throwback for Beethoven; after all, he himself had reduced this traditional section to two jolting chords in his Third Symphony and eliminated it altogether in the Fifth. Here it is nearly a movement unto itself. It has two themes, its own development, and a heavy air of anticipation. All this winds down to an innocent dotted-rhythm figure that slips almost casually into the sonata proper. As we listen we find this rhythm to be the fundamental building-block of the entire movement—so much so that when Beethoven slyly inserts a silence at the end of the exposition, we tend to “hear” this pervasive rhythm filling the gap.

The Allegretto also has a pervasive rhythm, beginning after the opening chord. While the melody stays within a very narrow range, this rhythm can be heard constantly; it even shows up during the contrasting lyrical sections. Beethoven controls the form of the movement—its rhythm on a large scale—in an unusual way. The music builds to the big central fugue, then recedes in reverse order, like a mirror-image of itself.

After the somber second movement, the Scherzo is a headlong rush of trilling, whirling figures, all rhythmically alive. Listen for the single, sustained note that seems to hover over the Trio: what’s that doing there? Enjoy also how the Trio winds down to a few long, slow chords. It’s all a setup: we know the scherzo will come exploding back, but it still comes as a surprise. Now, classical music is deadly serious stuff, of course, but Beethoven decides that this would be a good place for a joke: as the movement heads to its close, the Trio—having made its customary two appearances—tries to sneak back in for a third. Beethoven dismisses it with five sharp chords.

The Finale is a tornado of rhythm, wheeling from one climax to the next. Even its abrupt pauses seem to imply motion rather than repose. By the end of the electrifying coda the symphony’s anticipations and tensions are settled, all the way back to the first movement’s long introduction.

Throughout the Seventh Symphony Beethoven deliberately subjugates the role of melody. While there are a few moments that one could call lyrical, there aren’t really any “big tunes.” For the most part the melodies of the symphony are confined to a narrow range and sometimes they get stuck on a single note for what seems like forever. As listeners we rarely focus on rhythm exclusively. But by narrowing the scope of the melodic interest Beethoven is saying: Music takes place in the temporal realm as well as the melodic and harmonic, and I’d like to have some fun with that. When he does he unleashes all the energy, power, and propulsion that rhythm can bring.

Is that why the Seventh is so evocative? Perhaps. Listeners will hear in the music what they will, be it a peasant dance or a horde of Moorish knights. Still others will simply have a toe-tapping good time. In any event, “the play of the musical elements is the thing,” and never has it come so close to perfection.

-Mark Rohr

 

Mark Rohr was the Portland Symphony Orchestra’s Bass Trombonist from the mid-1980’s and program annotator from 1991 until his passing in 2019. We are privileged to continue publishing his program notes at his bequest.