Jupiter & Ying Quartets
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The Jupiter and Ying Quartets reunite for a joint concert alongside bassist Anthony Manzo.
RICHARD STRAUSS
Sextet from “Capriccio,” Op. 85
Nelson Lee, Meg Freivogel, violin • Liz Freivogel, Phillip Ying, viola • Daniel McDonough, David Ying, cello
ARNOLD SCHOENBERG
Verklärte Nacht, Op. 4
Nelson Lee, Meg Freivogel, violin • Liz Freivogel, Phillip Ying, viola • Daniel McDonough, David Ying, cello
ANTONÍN DVOŘÁK
String Quintet No. 2 in G Major, Op. 77
Robin Scott, Janet Ying, violin • Phillip Ying, viola • David Ying, cello • Anthony Manzo, bass
program notes
RICHARD STRAUSS
Sextet from “Capriccio,” Op. 85 (1941)
Strauss completed Capriccio in 1942. He had hatched the idea for it, along with his friend, the writer Stefan Zweig, in the previous decade; however, the Nazi government made a formal collaboration with Zweig, who was Jewish, impossible, and Strauss had to find a series of alternative librettists. With Capriccio, Strauss, then in his late seventies and with an illustrious career behind him, sought to cap off his operatic legacy with a fitting culmination of a life spent in the theater: he aimed, as he put it, “to do something unusual, a treatise on dramaturgy, a theatrical fugue.”
The resulting work is a complex, meta-theatrical opera-within-an-opera, filled with fun and philosophy. At her château in eighteenth-century France, the Countess Madeleine is courted by two rivals: the composer, Flamand, and the poet, Antoine. The ensuing conflict between the two suitors mirrors the age-old operatic debate: which is greater — poetry, or music? Over the course of the opera, theater directors, actors, and even a prompter, each make the case for their own essential role, while the countess remains thoroughly torn. As the opera commences, the curtain rises to reveal the characters listening to this string sextet, “newly composed” by Flamand for the occasion of Madeleine’s birthday, in what is actually Strauss’s recreation of an aristocratic chamber music setting in his own rich harmonic idiom.
The Sextet is frequently heard as a standalone work; and it was in fact performed that way before the premiere of the opera itself, as a personal courtesy from Strauss to Baldur von Schirach, the governor of Vienna, who promised to protect Strauss’s family (in particular, his Jewish daughter-in-law) — provided that Strauss not speak out publicly against the Nazis.
ARNOLD SCHOENBERG
Verklärte Nacht, Op. 4 (1899)
Schönberg was twenty-five when he composed Verklärte Nacht, considered an epitome of the Austro-German late Romantic idiom that characterizes Schönberg’s early compositions. The idiom is built upon a self-conscious maximization of the formal and harmonic styles of Brahms and Wagner; consequently, the resulting music features dense and contrapuntal chromaticism, motivic development and manipulation, and prolonged periods of breathless tension.
In light of Schönberg’s future developments, it may be tempting to read Verklärte Nacht as a pivotal moment, a farewell to the lush tonality of the nineteenth century before Schönberg’s expressionist and serial turns. However, it was not received, or conceived, in that way. For one, audiences initially reacted hostilely to its premiere in 1902: the harmonic language was still challenging, and it was perceived as too dramatic and complex for intimate chamber music. Nevertheless, Schönberg stayed his course, pursuing the same compositional paths in the same maximalist spirit throughout his career. Reflecting on Verklärte Nacht in 1937, Schönberg remarked: “Nobody has heard it as often as I have heard this complaint: ‘If only he had continued to compose in this style!’ The answer I give is perhaps surprising. I said: ‘I have not discontinued composing in the same style and in the same way as at the very beginning. The difference is only that I do it better now than before; it is more concentrated, more mature.’” Indeed, Schönberg saw not a break but a continuity between the counterpoint, texture, and development of Verklärte Nacht and the techniques of his later works.
The title of Verklärte Nacht came to Schönberg from a poem by Richard Dehmel (1863-1920), published in his 1896 collection Weib und Welt (Women and the World) and reproduced in translation below. Despite the work’s poetic inspiration, Schönberg did not consider it “program music” in the traditional sense, in that it does not portray action or drama, but rather is “limited to drawing nature and expressing human feelings.” Dehmel himself, having been present for the premiere, conveyed his impression to Schönberg: “I had intended to follow the motives of my text in your composition, but soon forgot to do so, I was so enthralled by the music.”
Transfigured Night
Two figures pass through the bare, cold grove;
the moon accompanies them, they gaze into it.
The moon races above some tall oaks;
No trace of a cloud filters the sky’s light,
into which the dark treetops stretch.
A female voice speaks:
I am carrying a child, and not yours;
I walk in sin beside you.
I have deeply sinned against myself.
I no longer believed in happiness
And yet was full of longing
For a life with meaning, for the joy
And duty of maternity; so I dared
And, quaking, let my sex
Be taken by a stranger,
And was blessed by it.
Now life has taken its revenge,
For now I have met you, yes you.
She takes an awkward step.
She looks up: the moon races alongside her.
Her dark glance is saturated with light.
A male voice speaks:
Let the child you have conceived
Be no trouble to your soul.
How brilliantly the universe shines!
It casts a luminosity on everything;
you float with me upon a cold sea,
but a peculiar warmth glimmers
from you to me, and then from me to you.
Thus is transfigured the child of another man;
You will bear it for me, as my own;
You have brought your luminosity to me,
You have made me a child myself.
He clasps her round her strong hips.
Their kisses mingle breath in the night air.
Two humans pass through the high, clear night.
Translation: Scott Horton.
ANTONÍN DVOŘÁK
String Quintet No. 2 in G Major, Op. 77 (1875)
The first page of the manuscript for Dvořák’s String Quintet No. 2 reads in large lettering, “Svému národu” – “For my nation”. Nationhood was famously important to Dvořák, whose incorporation of elements of Czech folk music in his composition had earned him the admiration of the Austrian musical establishment; Dvořák never abandoned his national allegiance even as his career and fame grew internationally.
Dvořák composed his String Quintet No. 2 in 1875 and submitted it to a competition organised by Umělecká beseda, a Prague-based artists’ forum, in which he won first prize. However, a more pivotal milestone came that same year when Dvořák was for the first time awarded an Austrian State Stipendium. This award opened new professional doors for Dvořák, not least because Johannes Brahms was among the panelists. Brahms became a powerful advocate for the younger composer, putting in a good word with his publisher, Fritz Simrock, who in turn helped to popularise Dvořák’s work abroad.
Although Dvořák was thirty-two years old when he composed the Quintet, it is a relatively early work in his career, originally designated Op. 18. Despite the accolades the work received when it was written – particularly with respect to its unusual and rich instrumentation – he left it unpublished. It was over a decade later that Dvořák, having become internationally famous, found himself under pressure to meet publishing demands. He polished a number of earlier compositions, including the Quintet – which he tightened up by cutting one of its original five movements – and sent them off to Simrock, who published them the following year.
Program Notes by Peter Asimov