Anton Kuerti, Pianist Sunday, April 25, 2004 3:00 p.m. NAS Auditorium entrance at 2100 C Street, NW FREE – No tickets or reservations are required

NOTE: The concert by Anton Kuerti WILL GO ON AS SCHEDULED this Sunday, April 25, at 3:00. Due to street closures in downtown Washington, please allow extra time to arrive at the concert hall.

Click here for recommended routes to bring you here!

Program:

Felix Mendelssohn (1809 – 1847)
Fantaisie in F# minor, Opus 28
Con moto agitato
Andante
Allegro con moto
Presto

Johannes Brahams (1833 – 1897)
4 Pieces from Op. 76
No. 1 Capriccio in  F# minor: Un poco agitato
No. 2 Capriccio in B minor: Allegretto non troppo
No. 4 Intermezzo in Bb Major: Allegretto grazioso
No. 5 Capricccio in C# minor: Agitato, ma non troppo presto

Carl Czerny (1791 – 1857)
Scherzo from Sonata No. 1 in A flat Major, Op. 7
Prestissimo Agitato

Frédéric Chopin (1810 – 1849)
Scherzo No. 2, in B flat minor

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Sonata No. 30 in E Major, Op. 109
Vivace ma non troppo
Adagio espressivo
Prestissimo
Gesangvoll, mit innigster Empfindung

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Sonata No. 14 in C Sharp minor Op. 27 No. 2
(Sonata Quasi una Fantasia) ("Moonlight Sonata")
Adagio sostenuto
Allegretto
Presto


Anton Kuerti's CD's will be available for purchase at the concert; 25% of the sales price will go to his favourite third world charity, Oxfam USA,

Mr. Kuerti is represented by Jonathan Wentworth Associates Ltd., NY


Program Notes (in progress)

Fantaisie in F# minor, Opus 28 Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)

Scotland made a deep impression on Mendelssohn, and a number of his works are related to that country, such as the "Scottish" Symphony and the "Hebrides" Overture.  Though I am not aware of any direct connection with the Fantaisie Op. 28 except that it was written soon after his visit to Scotland, it seems to me to that its spiritual home is there.  The hollow, folk-melodic simplicity of the main theme, framed by rumbled pre-monitions, storms and a few gleaming rays of sunlight, belongs in the celebrated moors.  The gentle, short middle movement fits in the more bucolic highlands, while the tumultuously virtuosic waves of the finale must evoke the sea on the rugged northern coast. 

Two unifying features could be singled out for the listener's attention: in the first movement, the haunting arpeggios that launch the piece are utilized in the middle to propel the storm, and again, ephemerally changed from minor to major, to bring it to a quiet, though still dour conclusion. 

In the finale, Mendlessohn cribs a device from Beethoven (whom he often emulated in his early works).  He picks up an apparent discard, the last 4 notes of the exposition; though their "V" (as in Beethoven's "5th" ) rhythm had already been used for the closing theme, their shape had not yet been heard.  But this little motive, picked up off the floor, nearly dominates the rest of the work; it is used as the accompaniment for the whispering runs of the development; then takes over entirely, as it is thrown back and forth canonically between the hands; and even more stunningly, it is combined with the main theme in the coda, to dramatically heighten its already feverish excitement. 

Though not frequently heard, this Fantaisie is probably the finest of Mendelssohn's few larger scale piano works.    –Anton Kuerti           

To this day, nearly 200 years after they were created, the late works of Beethoven, like the Sphinx, retain a touch of the enigmatic, the unfathomable, which shrouds them in mystery and holds us in awe even when our understanding falls short.  Universally acknowledged as supreme masterpieces, studied with humility and reverence by all serious musicians, they remain a challenge to listener and performer alike.

Our entire concept of Beethoven would be incomparably different had he stopped composing in 1817.  The greatness and the daring originality of his middle period would remain, but the extra dimension would be missing, the knowledge that this man was not searching for success but for an unreachable artistic truth.  It is this will to go beyond, to tackle the transcendental and to stretch his enormous powers and even risk shattering them in battle with the unattainable, that makes such a decisive difference in our view of Beethoven, like the difference between viewing a mountain whose grandeur is visible, and a neighbouring pinnacle whose summit iis hidden by clouds and whose upper reaches are created by our fantasy. 

It is easier to speculate poetically about the late style than to define it more tangibly, partly because of the inherent unpredictability of the late works.  Indeed, the tension between the expected and the unexpected is crucially important to music.  The further a composer can pull us in the direction of unpredictability, without losing the sense of coherence and continuity, the greater his achievement. 

Nothing is so boring as endless, mindless variety, with no end or goal in sight - no doubt even Don Juan himself could testify to this.  Where there is nothing expected, there cannot be anything unexpected either.  A failure to understand this - or at least to make it perceivable - is what renders much 20th century music unpalatable; variety is meaningful in art only when balanced by strong bonds of continuity. 

In the late works Beethoven achieved the ideal mixture in this respect, freeing himself to change moods, tempos, textures etc. in a manner which often quite defies explanation.  Like a master chef who needs no recipe, Beethoven trusts his inner sense of form and proportion to the point where he can mix the most outrageous things and still convince us that they belong together.  Conventionality is pushed aside in favour of the most personal, individualistic creations.  The composer who had always gone to physical extremes is now also seeking comparable spiritual extremes.

An easily identifiable characteristic is his avoidance of the obvious, the frequent rejection of the traditional cadence patterns and of the smoothest, most natural sequence of harmonies.  But he also pursues his quest for logical continuity, for the ultimate clarity in relationship of every note with every other note in a composition.  This is embodied by his frequent use of variations and fugues, one or both of which appear in almost every important late work. 

In exquisite contradiction to this tendency toward structural integrity is the ever-increasing utilization of passages in his improvisatory mode, sometimes extending to entire movements.  The significance of improvisation to Beethoven cannot be over-estimated, for it provided his most direct and immediate contact with other people. Any number of ear-witnesses testify that no more profound musical impact was conceivable than hearing the Master invent something on the spot, perhaps trying out ideas even more daring than those he eventually wrote down.  Such improvisatory passages must retain their living spontaneity, and should seem to compose themselves under the fingers of the performer, each musical instant giving the illusion of not yet knowing what is to follow.

His exploratory extension of musical possibilities made some of Beethoven's contemporaries fear he had gone mad or that deafness had rendered his music incoherent.  Deafness of course did have its effect, but certainly not because of any impairment of the Master's inner ear.  The existence of some movements in the late works which are free of the radical new tendencies, and could at least in their outer characteristics fit into the middle period, proves that in his deafness he could still hear better than most mortals.  Its significant effect lies in its psychological repercussions, isolating him so totally from other people.  His deafness influenced his personality enormously, and thereby affected his music, which he could now only contact within his head; it forced him to place the emotions which otherwise might have gone into normal human relationships entirely into his art.

Certainly Beethoven never intended these five sonatas to be played in quick succession, and it could almost be seen as "Lése Majesté" to offer them en masse like this.  Such a surfeit of jewels strewn together, while displaying opulence, could also degrade the reverence due to each individual gem.

On the other hand, we do know that concerts of this length were given in Beethoven's day; the famous concert of Dec. 1808 included the first performances of the 5th and 6th symphonies and the Choral Fantasia, plus the 4th piano concerto, a fantasy for solo piano, the aria "Ah Perfido" and excerpts from the Mass in C.  Like an exhibition devoted to a single painter, it is my hope that such a concentrated immersion in these masterpieces could enhance their enjoyment and create a remarkable cumulative effect.  It has certainly done that for me.

Few works make such a powerful impact in such a short space of time as the Sonata in E Major, Op. 109.  Each movement is like a haiku, beautifully formed, not wasting a word, yet making a very significant point.  The first movement gives us perhaps the finest integration of Beethoven's formal and improvisatory styles, molded into a very tightly-compressed, yet smooth sonata form.  This results in an uncanny sensation of the utmost freedom superimposed on absolute order and organization - something which one fervently wishes could also be achieved in the political sphere.

The first theme radiates an easy-going warmth and leads immediately into the second theme, where the tempo abruptly changes and it is here that we witness the Master improvising with very simple materials, mainly arpeggios.  The development is based entirely on the first subject and consists of one glorious crescendo leading to one of the most electrifying transformations in all of Beethoven's music: the friendly, unpretentious, smooth main theme is pounded out white-hot, now two octaves higher, each note piercing us with its extraordinary expressive power.  As in most of his late works, Beethoven introduces one wisp of a new theme in the coda.  It is like a commentary by another voice, sounded from the distance.

The wild and tumultuous Prestissimo is a précis of sonata form, with every element reduced to a stark minimum.  The stern bass line from the opening theme is the main component of the development section.  Here, its original furor dissipated, it is used in a flowing lyrical vein, but still retains a dark and threatening countenance.

After this storm, what a beautiful sensation it is as the last movement sings out the heavenly theme for its variations.  All turmoil is gone, and we are engulfed by serene yet powerful expression.  The treatment of the variations is quite free, using fragments of the theme's melody, harmony, and rhythm interchangeably. 

Variation 2 is really a combination of two distinct variations.  First we hear a transparent, delicate skeleton of the theme, atomized and dispersed into tiny mysterious droplets.  Instead of repeating this, it alternates with the other part of the variation, which develops the theme's seminal descending third.

An unexpected lively change of mood ushers in the short third variation, with the descending third so dominant in the theme inverted so that ascending thirds now vault over each other, followed by a hammered, compressed version of the second half of the theme.

The flowing lines of the next variation are of incomparable elegance, bubbling gently through each other, entwining themselves gracefully and contentedly.  This pure and idyllic flow leaves us unprepared for the delightfully esoteric colours and the ecstatic outburst of passion that rocks the second half.

Variation 5 is a vibrant and insistent fugato, relentlessly piling up entries of its motive (also based on the descending third), and storming from one end of the keyboard to the other. 

It would be hard to find a more stirring and noble moment in all of music than the climax of the final variation.  Slowly and inexorably, the volume, the motion and the tension all increase, heightened by incessant trilling, until we reach a magic moment when all restraints are unleashed in a heaven-storming passage that roars up and down with excruciating poignancy.  This could be interpreted either as a cadenza or as a free variation on the second half of the theme; probably it is both.

The whole meaning of the sonata seems to be brilliantly illuminated during these extraordinary moments; and when the light gradually dims the meaning remains and even gains in intensity, as the theme is repeated.  How stunningly different the exact same notes seem when we hear them again after the variations have been experienced.  It is like the difference between the opening and the closing of a door - a door through which, in the meantime, Beethoven has transported us.

These notes are abridged from the notes in Anton Kuerti's recording of the complete Beethoven Sonatas.

For more information: 202.334.2436, or arts@nas.edu