Third Concert of the 54th Season

I. Allegro
II. Larghetto
III. Allegretto

I. Allegro moderato
II. Andante con moto

According to Mozart's own records, he completed this piano concerto on the 24th of March, 1786. His last previous entry recorded the completion of the duet and aria of Idomeneo on March 10. We may reasonably assume, therefore, that the concerto was written in two weeks, a feat remarkable enough, even if we didn't know that he was composing The Marriage of Figaro at the same time!

Many critics tell us that this concerto is the greatest of all his piano concerti, and ranks with his greatest symphonies, like the fortieth and the forty-first. It is, indeed, a dramatic and inventive piece. It's interesting that twentieth-century critics lavish special praise on those works by Mozart and Haydn which are written in the minor key. Although it was the twentieth-century that spawned atonal music, our critics seem to be closet Romantics. They believe the minor key to be more soul-stirring. It is especially interesting when one considers that Mozart rarely used the minor key. Of his twenty-seven piano concerti, only two were in the minor mode. In his own time, the ones in the major key appear to have been the most popular.

The twenty-fourth concerto has been described (by Alfred Einstein) as "Beethovenish," not only for its obvious robustness, and (for the period) large orchestral forces, but also because Beethoven, himself, expressed admiration for it, and alluded to it in his own C Minor Concerto, Op. 37.

The first movement is a marvel or architecture, encompassing as it does a Dionysian emotional power, confined within an Apollonian formal design. This accommodation of opposites was not achieved without struggle. Unlike Beethoven, who sketched out his compositions, and worked them over repeatedly until he was satisfied, Mozart is famous for composing in his head, and once satisfied, simply writing it out. But in this case, as is apparent in the autograph of the score, he worried over this movement, writing it and rewriting it.

In this period it was common to begin a concerto with an orchestral introduction, but not so common to wait almost one hundred measures before the entry of the solo instrument. The seriousness of the work is signaled from the start by the somber C minor key. The drama unfolds with some surprising key shifts, and the movement ends with a solution already tried twelve years before in Mozart's Piano Sonata in C minor.

The second movement provides a distinct contrast to the first. Some critics seem to be embarrassed by the theme of the second movement which starts all right, but has a whimpy finish. Mozart rubs our nosees in it by repeating it not fewer than five times. The four Ds and an E-flat that finish the phrase seem to cheapen it and remind me of an Eric Satie parody. But Mozart had an impish sense of humor, and often stuck his neck out and then saved himself by his genius. The first three bars of the phrase sound delicate, but those five notes tacked on the end shock one into an I-can't-believe-he-did-that reaction. And then Mozart seems to say, "Calm yourselves, I'll fix it," and he proceeds to do so.

The final movement is a set of variations on a theme. There are eight variations in all, with many changes of key, and much chromaticism. The eighth variation begins with a long stretch of solo piano, now in six-eight time, suggesting a lively Viennese dance.

Schubert, like Beethoven, is considered by many to be a "transitional" figure, bridging the Classical and Romantic periods. The first six symphonies, written before Schubert was twenty-one, are in the Classical style, while the 8th and 9th are much more Romantic. It is the Romantic Schubert that is most admired by the musical public.

Interestingly, it is not simply that at a certain age he developed into a Romantic composer, because his "Classical" symphonies were still being written at a time when he had long since perfected the Romantic song cycle. A likely explanation is that he virtually originated the German art song, better known as a Lied (Lieder in the plural), and had no models to emulate. The symphony, on the other hand, had been developed as a classical form by Mozart and Haydn, and the youthful Schubert must have been hesitant about risking innovation in a form so well established by the masters. By the 1820s, Schubert had gained the confidence to composer more than "charming" symphonies, and produced the marvelous Eighth (Unfinished) and Ninth (The Great).

"Symphonies" are customarily in four movements. Schubert completed only two movements of this symphony, and began a third, which he abandoned. A great deal of speculation has gone into the question of why he didn't finish the Eighth. He had just been honored by a musical society, and as a token of his gratitude, offered to send them a symphony. It took him five months to reply to the honor, and it was at a time of great personal despair. Apparently, he finally sent what he had, two movements and part of a third, to the music director of the society, who was a friend of his, and (rather than risk insulting the society) the friend tactfully put the incomplete work in a drawer and forgot about it. The work wasn't performed until over forty years later. Even in its incomplete form, it is considered a masterpiece of dramatic invention.

Don Gillis was born in Cameron, Missouri. He was trained mostly in Texas, at Texas Christian University, and at North Texas State University. He worked in Chicago for NBC radio, and then for a number of years at NBC in New York. When Toscanini retired, Gillis headed efforts to save the orchestra, forming the Symphony of the Air, which continued to broadcast for several more years from Toscanini's favorite studio, 8-A.

Gillis was greatly involved in music education. From 1958 to 1961 he was vice-president of the National Music Camp at Interlochen, Michigan. During his tenure as chairman of the music department at Southern Methodist, and later at Dallas Baptist Colleges, he worked hard to promote student composition, partucarly operas.

Gillis' music is eclectic and conservative. It sounds very American, bearing a strong resemblance to that of Aaron Copland, and incorporating elements of popular and American folk music. Unlike Copland, who wrote serious music with a touch of humor, Gillis wrote humorous music with a touch of seriousness. A light touch!

"Whimsical" is the word for Gillis. He wrote such pieces as The Woolyworm, and Thoughts Provoked on Becoming a Prospective Papa. His sense of whimsy is perhaps most clearly expressed in the Symphony No. 5 1/2, subtitled "A Symphony for Fun," which has movements with such designations as "Scherzophrenia," and "Perpetual Emotion." He was a great punster, and might be amused to know that some of his listeners consider his January February March engaging, but rather dated.