Bela Bartók (1881-1945), the quintessential modernist, is known for his severe personality and his complex, dissonant, and often wild compositions, which are anything but audience-friendly. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756–1791), the quintessential classicist, is known for his humor and his apparently effortless music, simple in outline and easy on the ear. How can these two composers share a program, if not simply for the sake of maximum contrast?

Well, the most obvious reason is that those are caricatures rather than characterizations. Bartók’s music covers a lot of ground, and although some of ...

Bela Bartók (1881-1945), the quintessential modernist, is known for his severe personality and his complex, dissonant, and often wild compositions, which are anything but audience-friendly. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756–1791), the quintessential classicist, is known for his humor and his apparently effortless music, simple in outline and easy on the ear. How can these two composers share a program, if not simply for the sake of maximum contrast?

Well, the most obvious reason is that those are caricatures rather than characterizations. Bartók’s music covers a lot of ground, and although some of it is challenging, he never abandoned tonality—and the fairly consistent influence of folk-music helps keep it accessible despite its frequent complexity. And for all the superficial clarity of Mozart’s music, it’s often extremely intricate (the Jupiter Symphony ends with a quintuple fugue) and often extremely profound. But beyond that, there are fascinating connections between the composers, two of which are especially relevant this afternoon.

First, Bartók was a concert pianist as well as a composer, and in this role, he was, in fact, a noted Mozartian. The violinist Joseph Szigeti, who often played with him, said that performing Mozart with Bartók was “that kind of unique experience when one starts anew with a clean slate,” praising in particular the “feeling of rightness, of security” that the partnership inspired. (There are some incomplete recordings of Bartók performing Mozart: the Rondo in A for Piano and Orchestra and the two-piano sonata, with Hungarian composer Ernst von Dohnányi.)

Second, this afternoon’s work—the Divertimento for string orchestra—is at least partly based on Mozartian models, and it has a certain Mozartian buoyancy, at least in the outer movements. It was commissioned in 1939 by conductor Paul Sacher for his Basle Chamber Orchestra—one of four pieces by Bartók that he commissioned (not to mention the dozens of other important works by composers from Stravinsky, Honegger, Hindemith, and Strauss on to Boulez and Lutos?awski). And Bartók described the circumstances under which he composed the work to his son in a way that suggests the eighteenth century: “Somehow I feel like a musician of the olden time; the invited guest of a patron of the arts.” Perhaps I should say “an idealization of the eighteenth century,” since, from what we know about Mozart’s and other composers’ problems with patrons, the situation was not always so gracious.

Indeed, for all Sacher’s hospitality, the situation was not entirely gracious for Bartók, either. 1939 was, of course, a year of despair, especially in Eastern Europe as the Second World War was gearing up. The Divertimento turned out to be the last orchestral work that Bartók wrote before emigrating to the US to escape the Nazis. It’s therefore no surprise to hear dark and threatening shadows in the middle movement. But it is a surprise to hear outer movements that are as bubbly as anything we get in any large-scale work Bartók wrote in his maturity.
That doesn’t mean that Bartók has abandoned his Modernism. There are some rough edges and spicy harmonies here and some tricky rhythms. But the severity is moderated, and the outer movements are largely bright and upbeat. Especially in the finale, there’s plenty of folk-inspired dance-like music too—and toward the end, there’s a whimsical imitation of a Viennese polka.

Besides being inspired by Mozart, the Divertimento has plenty of Baroque connections, too. One form often used in the Baroque was the Concerto Grosso (a concerto for multiple instruments)—and this work, too, interweaves solos for section leaders with music for the whole ensemble, often in surprising ways that will make you smile. There’s plenty of counterpoint, too, including easy canonical writing that takes on an innocent follow-the-leader spirit as well as more developed fugal writing. None of the counterpoint, though, has the kind of gravity that can undermine the music’s good humor.

Mozart’s Serenade No. 10—written some time in the early 1780s—might well have been a Divertimento instead: Both terms referred in those days to light music intended as background for social events, and the line between them was blurry. Of course, Mozart’s contributions to these genres, especially in his later years, usually transcended their dinner-music function; and for all its immediate attractions, in sheer musical quality this Serenade stands up to his symphonies and concertos. It’s often thought to have been written for Mozart’s own wedding, and although that’s doubtful, the persistence of the rumor gives some idea of the excellence of the music.

The Serenade No. 10 is colloquially known as the “Gran Partita.” The title is probably not the composer’s. “Partita” is a term used especially in the Baroque period for a suite of dances; this work does not fit that description, and it’s not a term that Mozart used elsewhere in his output. As for “Gran”—it may be a misspelling for “Grande.” Still, in two ways the title—at least the “Gran” part—is appropriate. First, Mozart wrote a lot of music for wind band, most often for six players (pairs of oboes, bassoons, and horns) or eight (adding a pair of clarinets). This work calls for twelve, adding a pair of basset horns (a lower and darker cousin of the clarinet) and a second pair of horns, as well as a single double-bass. Second, this is one of Mozart’s longest instrumental works—longer than any of the symphonies, and outdone, to the best of my knowledge, only by his “Haffner” Serenade.

Because of its betwixt-and-between demands—too big for a chamber music concert, too small for a traditional orchestra concert—you don’t get a chance to hear this work very often. But don’t be misled by its relative unfamiliarity. The work, one of Mozart’s greatest, could well serve as a calling card for the range of his compositional artistry. It shows Mozart at his most chipper (the whirlwind finale, suitable for a Keystone Kops chase scene); it shows him at his most sublime (the operatic third movement, which served, in the film Amadeus, as the trigger that convinced Salieri of Mozart’s greatness). It shows him in any number of moods in between, too, all presented with an impeccable understanding of the colors one could coax out of this collection of instruments. Fortunately, The Syracuse Orchestra has the kind of flexibility to perform everything from chamber music to the Mahler Second, and we’re pleased to be able to offer the “Gran Partita” to you this afternoon.

Peter J. Rabinowitz
Have any comments or questions? Please write to me at prabinowitz@SyracuseOrchestra.org