David Finckel, cello Wu Han, piano - Cal Performances

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CAL PERFORMANCES CAL PERFORMANCES PRESENTS Saturday, May 3, 2014, 8pm First Congregational Church David Finckel, cello Wu Han, piano PROGRAM The Unfolding of Music Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750) Sonata for Viola da Gamba in G major, BWV 1027 (ca. 1736–1741) I. Adagio II. Allegro ma non tanto III. Andante IV. Allegro moderato Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827) Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 4 in C major, Op. 102, No. 1 (1815) I. Andante — Allegro vivace II. Adagio — Tempo d’andante — Allegro vivace Felix Mendelssohn (1809–1847) Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 2 in D major, Op. 58 (1843) I. Allegro assai vivace II. Allegretto scherzando III. Adagio IV. Molto allegro e vivace INTERMISSION

Transcript of David Finckel, cello Wu Han, piano - Cal Performances

CAL PERFORMANCES

CAL PERFORMANCES PRESENTS

Saturday, May 3, 2014, 8pmFirst Congregational Church

David Finckel, celloWu Han, piano

PROGRAM

The Unfolding of Music

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750) Sonata for Viola da Gamba in G major, BWV 1027 (ca. 1736–1741)

I. AdagioII. Allegro ma non tanto

III. AndanteIV. Allegro moderato

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827) Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 4 in C major, Op. 102, No. 1 (1815)

I. Andante — Allegro vivaceII. Adagio — Tempo d’andante — Allegro vivace

Felix Mendelssohn (1809–1847) Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 2 in D major, Op. 58 (1843)

I. Allegro assai vivaceII. Allegretto scherzando

III. AdagioIV. Molto allegro e vivace

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Claude Debussy (1862–1918) Sonata for Cello and Piano (1915)

I. PrologueII. Sérénade

III. Finale

Benjamin Britten (1913–1976) Sonata for Cello and Piano in C major, Op. 65 (1960–1961)

I. DialogoII. Scherzo-pizzicato

III. ElegiaIV. MarciaV. Moto Perpetuo

Cal Performances’ 2013–2014 season is sponsored by Wells Fargo.

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THE UNFOLDING OF MUSIC

Through cello and piano duos spanningnearly a quarter of a millennium, DavidFinckel and Wu Han take listeners throughthe extraordinary evolution of classical music.Beginning with Bach’s vibrant sonata for theviola da gamba and harpsichord—the ances-tors of the cello and piano—the program tran-sitions seamlessly to Beethoven’s experimentalsonata from the twilight of the Classical per -iod, whose opening recollects the music ofBach. Mendelssohn, who paved the way forfull-blown Romanticism, is featured in hissecond sonata, an ebullient, virtuosic workthat pushed the capabilities of the instrumentsto their limits at the time. Debussy, universallyregarded as the inspiration for musical mod-ernism, composed his only cello sonata late inhis life, the short work becoming the most important work for the cello in the Impressioniststyle. The program concludes with the extraor-dinary sonata by the renowned EnglishmanBenjamin Britten, a composer who ranks withthe greatest of the 20th century and whostands shoulder-to-shoulder with England’smost celebrated composers, Henry Purcell andEdward Elgar. Britten’s sonata, the first of fivemasterworks he composed for Rostropovich,employs innovative ideas in each of its fiveshort movements, and is a true delight to hearfrom beginning to end. David Finckel wasprivileged to study the work with Rostro -povich, gaining priceless insight into thesonata’s conception through the intimateknowledge of its dedicatee.

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750)Sonata for Viola da Gamba in G major, BWV 1027 (ca. 1736–1741)

On two occasions in 1723, the rich musical lifeof Leipzig got magnificently richer. On May22, the famous musician Johann SebastianBach arrived to assume the post of cantor andmusic director at St. Thomas’s Church, one ofthe city’s musical epicenters. Bach, now 36years old, had achieved enough celebritythroughout Germany for his élite musical

skill, that not only his appointment, but hisfamily’s very arrival in Leipzig was reported innewspapers as far away as Hamburg, 180miles away (“He himself arrived with his fam-ily on two carriages at two o’clock and movedinto the newly renovated apartment in the St.Thomas School.”).

The other great development to occur thatyear was the partnership between GottfriedZimmermann’s coffeehouse, Leipzig’s mostprominent such establishment, and theCollegium Musicum. The Collegium was aperforming collective of singers and instru-mentalists (largely comprising students)founded in 1701 by Georg Philipp Telemann,and had since then played a vital role inLeipzig’s musical culture. Zimmermann’s cof-feehouse included a concert hall that could ac-commodate large ensembles and audiences of150 (the neighborhood Starbucks it most cer-tainly was not). A series of weekly concerts—always free of charge—sprung from thispartnership, and would eventually fall underBach’s supervision when he became theCollegium’s music director in 1729.

Though overseeing this series undoubtedlyadded a substantial commitment to Bach’s al-ready demanding church duties, he neverthe-less thrived in his dual position as cantor at St.Thomas’s and concert presenter at Zimmer -man’s coffeehouse. In fact, in addition to offer-ing works by Handel, Locatelli, Scarlatti, andothers, Bach moreover took advantage of theCollegium series as an opportunity to composea good deal of nonliturgical music himself: pri-marily instrumental music, as well as a numberof cantatas known as “moral cantatas,” light-hearted musical dramas dealing with themes ofmoral virtue (including the famous “CoffeeCantata,” which passes tongue-in-cheek judg-ment on the vice of caffeine addiction).

The instrumental works Bach produced forthis series include numerous important works,among them this first of three Sonatas for Violada Gamba, BWV 1027–29. Bach’s Collegiumworks for Zimmermann’s coffeehouse also in-clude the six Sonatas for Violin and KeyboardObbligato, BWV 1014–19; the Violin Concertoin A minor, BWV 1065; and the famousDouble Concerto in D minor, BWV 1043.

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The G major Sonata for Viola da Gamba alsoexists as a trio sonata for two flutes and bassocontinuo, BWV 1039, which is almost cer-tainly the earlier version (probably from Bach’sdays as Cappellmeister at Cöthen). By the late1730s (around the time of Bach’s arrangementfor viola da gamba of his trio sonata), the violada gamba had already begun to fall out of favoras a solo instrument. Marin Marais, the in-strument’s greatest virtuoso, had died in 1728.Bach remained a champion of the instrument,however, as evidenced by his use of it in nu-merous concerti, cantatas, and the St. John andSt. Matthew Passions, in addition to thesesonatas. They remain today as standard reper-toire for both viola and cello; the latter’s moreburnished tone, compared to the delicacy ofthe gamba, demands a heightened sensitivityof the player to the nuances of Bach’s writing.The early Bach biographer Philipp Spitta—who ranked the G major among the threegamba sonatas “the loveliest, the purest idyllconceivable”—also noted that the viola dagamba “afforded a great variety in the produc-tion of tone, but its fundamental character wastender and expressive rather than full and vig-orous. Thus Bach could rearrange a trio orig-inally written for two flutes and bass, for violda gamba, with harpsichord obbligato, with-out destroying its dominant character.”

The sonata does indeed demonstrate triosonata-style writing. Instead of a sparse bassocontinuo accompaniment to the through-composed gamba part, Bach provides a com-plete keyboard accompaniment, which movesin melodic and contrapuntal dialogue withthe soloist. In the opening movement, a dig-nified yet dance-like Adagio, the keyboardand gamba bear equal melodic responsibility,often following each other in canon. Themovement’s latter half features an intricatelyinvolved dialogue between the two, coloredgracefully in turn by florid countermelodiesand ornamental trills.

The work follows the four-movement struc-ture of the Italian sonata da chiesa (“churchsonata”) from the late 17th and early 18th cen-turies. Following a slow introduction, Bachlaunches into the fugal Allegro ma non tanto,whose rollicking, perfectly shaped subject

inches its way upwards before quickly laugh-ing its way back down to its starting point.The third movement is a languishing Andantein the relative minor, which the finale answerswith another jovial fugue.

In the great wealth of solo and chamber in-strumental works throughout Bach’s œuvre,the Sonatas for Viola da Gamba are amongthose gems that have, though certainly not ig-nored, somewhat taken a back seat to theCello Suites, the Sonatas and Partitas forViolin, Die Kunst der Fuge, and other suchworks. Even 200 years ago, Johann NikolausForkel, Bach’s first biographer, only quaintlymade note of “Several Sonatas forHarpsichord and Violin, Harpsichord andFlute, Harpsichord and Viol da Gamba. Theyare admirably written and most of them arepleasant to listen to even today.” These sonatasare far from second-tier pieces, however, anddemonstrate Bach’s genius in the mature yearsof his career as fully as any other works.

Patrick Castillo

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827)Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 4 in C major, Op. 102, No. 1 (1815)

Beyond the heroic struggles of his middle pe-riod, and by this time almost completely deaf,Beethoven looked to the future in his last twocello sonatas. As in the A major sonata, thecello begins alone, but in an entirely newworld. Whereas the A major theme is solid andfirmly grounded in the cello’s lower register,this one breathes an unearthly air, and the en-tire Andante seems to float somewhere beyondreality. The writing is contrapuntal, with inde-pendent voices of equal importance movinggently against each other. The thematic mater -ial is once again more complex: the decorativeelements Beethoven once applied in his earlyperiod are now fused seamlessly into the largerstructure. Long trills function not merely asornaments but as orchestration, adding innerintensity to the sound.

The demonic and anguished Allegro vivaceshatters the hypnotic serenity, Beethovenusing every possible device to contrast with

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the previous music. Not only dynamics,rhythm and texture are changed but alsotonality: the rest of the movement is no longerin the sonata’s main key of C major but in therelative A minor. (In the Op. 5 sonatas, bothintroductions and subsequent movementswere in the same key). This movement is writ-ten in a style new to Beethoven’s cello works.In his late period, Beethoven drastically variedthe length of his movements. Some of hisshorter movements, while having all the struc-tural requirements, are devoid of transitions—Beethoven simply stops writing one kind ofmusic and begins writing another, as if man-ners and civility had ceased to matter. Thishappens near the outset of the Allegro whereBeethoven uses a surprise F-sharp to stop themotion dead in its tracks.

Out of nowhere the second subject ap-pears—soothing, quiet, but only for a mo-ment. Turmoil returns and the feistymovement is at the double bar before one re-alizes it. A very brief development sectioncontains two ideas: a contrapuntal one fol-lowed by a brief chorale, leading to the stormyrecapitulation. An abrupt “get out and stayout!” ending concludes the movement. (Aninteresting comparison is the first movementof the Op. 95 “Serioso” Quartet.)

Beethoven was fascinated by the stars and isreported to have composed in his head whilecontemplating the mysteries of the universe.Certainly the slow-motion Adagio evokes anotherworldly atmosphere. The movement’stimeless feeling is gently punctuated by fleet-ing scales, as distant as comets. The mysterysoon turns to brooding, with a turbulent mod-ulation moving through several keys beforecoming to an inconclusive halt. At this mo-ment, a different kind of music emerges,deeply tender in a way that is unique toBeethoven. He then proceeds to create some-thing unexpected and of inspired beauty: thesonata’s opening theme reappears, but thistime so warmly that its first incarnation seemsonly a dream. Phrases repeat over and over, asif asking for something in prayer. After thisdeeply confessional episode, the Allegro vivacebegins in a humorous way, and we are off ona frisky and sometimes funny adventure, full

of fantasy and invention. There are inexplica-ble starts and stops which must have soundedvery strange to listeners in Beethoven’s time(as indeed they still do). There is a fugato pas-sage and, at the end, a brilliant coda thatshows he had not lost interest in using virtu-osic feats to create excitement. After a briefunwinding, a surprise finish recalls the end ofthe F major sonata.

David Finckel and Michael Feldman

Felix Mendelssohn (1809–1847)Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 2 in D major, Op. 58 (1843)

The turn of the 19th century emancipated thecello from its traditional supporting role, asBeethoven, followed by his heirs in theRomantic period, increasingly contributedsonatas, concerti, and other solo works to thecello literature. Mendelssohn’s Cello Sonata inD major, Op. 58, may rightly be countedamong the most significant of these, andequally as a quintessential statement of the æs-thetic that defined its era.

Mendelssohn penned the Op. 58 Sonata in1843, a year of considerable personal up-heaval. Having at last concluded an unhappyresidency in Berlin, Mendelssohn and hisfamily returned to Leipzig, where they hadpreviously spent the years 1835–1840, duringwhich time, Mendelssohn scholar R. LarryTodd notes, the composer, still in his twenties,“stood at the forefront of German music.”Hence in 1840, as part of a sweeping attemptto install Berlin among Europe’s major cul-tural capitals, the recently ascendant FriedrichWilhelm IV had lured Mendelssohn fromLeipzig. Though compensated handsomely inboth payment and prestige, however,Mendelssohn would not find personal satis-faction in Berlin over the coming three years.His professional responsibilities remainedfrustratingly undefined—besides which, heregarded that city as “one of the most sour ap-ples into which a man can bite”—and, in 1843,Mendelssohn resumed his conducting dutiesat the Leipzig Gewandhaus. Moreover, withhis beloved mother’s death on December 12,

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1842, Felix shared the realization with hisyounger brother, Paul, that “we are childrenno longer.” This sentiment may have partlyimpelled the 34-year-old composer to actupon his longtime ambition of founding aconservatory (now the Felix MendelssohnBartholdy University of Music and Theater),whose charter faculty would include himself,Robert and Clara Schumann, and others ofGermany’s musical élite.

Despite the turbulence surrounding this time,1843 nevertheless represented a solidly pro-ductive year. In addition to the Op. 58 Sonata,Mendelssohn completed his incidental musicto A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the Capricciofor string quartet (later published as Op. 81,No. 3), five Lieder ohne worte for piano, and nu-merous choral pieces, among other works.

Befitting Mendelssohn’s mature composi-tional language, the D major Sonata is firmlyrooted in the tenets of Classicism inheritedfrom Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven, butmeanwhile demonstrates the pathos of theRomantic period. Each of the sonata’s fourmovements portrays a vital dimension ofMendelssohn’s musical identity. The openingAllegro assai vivace is all soaring lyricism andpropulsive rhythmic energy, even at its tendersecond theme. The movement’s ecstatic tonedispels the misguided aphorism that music’semotional content must correlate to biogra-phy—there is nothing in this movement, afterall, to betray Mendelssohn’s grief over hismother’s passing—but, rather, its great emo-tive breadth reflects the Zeitgeist of theRomantic period at large. The second move-ment offers further Romantic cantabile, butcouched in a signature Mendelssohnianscherzo. The cello complements the piano’s slystaccato figures with piquant pizzicati beforeindulging in breathless melody. The homo-phonic, hymn-like piano introduction to theslow movement furtively recalls Bach—one ofMendelssohn’s formative influences—but withan unmistakably 19th-century touch:Mendelssohn’s instruction sempre arpeg-giando col pedale (arpeggiated and with pedal)imbues each chord with a distinctly more lushand immersive sound than would characterizea Baroque organ chorale. The cello answers

with a dramatic recitative, marked appassion-ato ed animato. The spirited dialogue betweencello and piano continues in the finale, nowreturning to the effervescence of the openingmovement. An increased restlessness in thepiano accompaniment matches the virtuosiccello writing measure for measure until thestirring final cadence.

Though the Op. 58 Sonata bears a dedica-tion to the Russian cellist and arts patronCount Mateusz Wielhorski, Felix truly in-tended the work for the aforementioned Paul,the cellist of the Mendelssohn family. It is thesecond of two cello sonatas Mendelssohncomposed: the first, the Sonata in B-flat major,Op. 45 (1838), as well as the earlier Variationsconcertantes for cello and piano (1829), werelikewise composed for Paul.

© 2008 Patrick Castillo

Claude Debussy (1862–1918)Sonata for Cello and Piano (1915)

The last years of Debussy’s life were largelyunhappy times. He once wrote: “Try as I may,I can’t regard the sadness of my existence withcaustic detachment. Sometimes my days aredark, dull, and soundless like those of a herofrom Edgar Allan Poe; and my soul is as ro-mantic as a Chopin Ballade.” Though his mar-riage to the singer Emma Bardac wassufficiently content, Debussy neverthelessfound domestic life increasingly stifling. Hismelancholy was compounded in 1909, whenhe was diagnosed with cancer, and the onsetof war in 1914 deeply dismayed the alreadyfragile composer. (He mused in a letter toStravinsky: “Unless one’s directly involved in awar, it makes thought very difficult.”)

In 1915, Debussy underwent an operationto treat his cancer, which took a severe physi-cal toll, leaving him almost unable to com-pose. Nevertheless, feeling that he had littletime left, he continued to work as feverishlyas his strength would allow, planning a set ofsix sonatas for various instruments. A letterfrom October 6 of that year to conductorBernardo Molinari thoroughly illustrates thestate of Debussy’s psyche at the time:

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Mon cher ami,Your kind letter has reached me in a

little spot by the sea where I’ve come totry and forget the war. For the last threemonths I’ve been able to work again.

When I tell you that I spent nearly ayear unable to write music…after thatI’ve almost had to re-learn it. It waslike a rediscovery and it’s seemed tome more beautiful than ever!

Is it because I was deprived of it forso long? I don’t know. What beautiesthere are in music ‘by itself,’ with noaxe to grind or new inventions toamaze the so-called ‘dilettanti’.... Theemotional satisfaction one gets from itcan’t be equaled, can it, in any of theother arts? This power of ‘the rightchord in the right place’ that strikesyou.... We’re still in the age of ‘har-monic progressions’ and people whoare happy just with beauty of soundare hard to find.

…I haven’t written much orchestral

music, but I have finished: DouzeÉtudes for piano, a Cello Sonata, andanother sonata for flute, viola, andharp, in the ancient, flexible mouldwith none of the grandiloquence ofmodern sonatas. There are going to besix of them for different groups of in-struments and the last one will com-bine all those used in the previous five.For many people that won’t be as im-portant as an opera.... But I thought itwas of greater service to music!

In addition to the Cello Sonata and theSonata for Flute, Viola, and Harp, Debussywould two years later complete the thirdsonata of the projected six, for violin andpiano. The fourth sonata was to be for oboe,horn, and harpsichord, and the fifth for trum-pet, clarinet, bassoon, and piano. The ViolinSonata would prove to be his final work, how-ever: Debussy took ill and died in Paris in1918, at the age of 55.

The Cello Sonata utilizes a rich palette of tim-bres, which Debussy achieves with exquisite

subtlety in both the piano and cello. The workfurthermore demonstrates an economy of lan-guage characteristic of the composer’s maturestyle, but also offers a rare example in Debussy’sworks of sonata form, the predominant musicalstructure since the Classical era. Debussy wasmost explicit about his ambivalence towardssuch acknowledged past masters as Beethoven,Tchaikovsky, and Brahms, and their musicalforms; nevertheless, he wrote to his publisherJacques Durand, “It’s not for me to judge [theCello Sonata’s] excellence, but I like its propor-tions and its almost classical form, in the goodsense of the word.”

The Prologue opens with a resolute gesturein the piano, solidly in the key of d minor, butthis conventional harmony yields almost im-mediately to more mysterious, Impressionisticsounds, sung in the cello’s upper register. Thedevelopment section continues to defyClassical harmony, mixing major and minortonalities. Debussy’s musical ideas unfold witha graceful logic throughout, and are set sensi-tively to each instrument’s acoustic strengths:in a turbulent excursion towards atonality, ag-itated rhythms in the lower register of both in-struments create an excited murkiness, beforebuilding into the bright and sweeping repriseof the opening measures (marked largementdeclamé by the composer), soaring tri-umphantly at the top of the cello’s range.

The bold opening measures of the animatedSerenade lean even further towards atonality,giving the impression of abandoning westernClassical harmony altogether. Guitar-likepizzicati in the cello, evocative of Spanishmusic, provide the engine for the movement’sforward motion. As in the Prologue, Debussy’sgestures here afford a certain degree of elas-ticity, but consistently remain compact andunderstated. Recurrent whole-tone figureslend the movement an exotic touch. The dar-ing gestures and nuances of this Serenade il-lustrate Debussy the visionary: the movementsounds as fresh and modern today as theworks of any present day composers.

After a static and suspenseful passage,marked by a bowed return to the opening gui-tar-like theme, the music launches attacca intothe lively finale. The cello soars again in its

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expressive upper register, then launches into ajaunty melody. The movement features twonotably distinct interludes: in the first, thepiano offers a lyrical melody in high octaves,again evoking an exotic Spanish flavor; thecello appropriately accompanies with strum-ming pizzicati. Later, the lively theme suddenlydissipates again into a trance-like music, thistime with the stylishly lethargic swagger of fin-de-siècle Paris. Recalling with a vengeance thedeclamatory measures of the entire sonata,Debussy returns to d minor, and punctuatesthe work with a defiant self-assurance.

Benjamin Britten (1913–1976)Sonata for Cello and Piano in C major, Op. 65 (1960–1961)

Benjamin Britten’s Sonata in C is the first offive products—each of them bona fide masterpieces—of a rich artistic relationshipwith the Russian cellist Mstislav Rostropovich,whom the composer first met in 1960. InSeptember of that year, Britten was invited toattend the première, being given in London, ofthe First Cello Concerto of Shostakovich, an-other of the myriad composers for whomRostropovich has served as muse.Rostropovich by that time was already a greatadmirer of Britten’s music; the admirationwould quickly be reciprocated. The cellist oncesurmised in an interview: “He wrote the CelloSonata, then the Cello Symphony, followed bythree Unaccompanied Cello Sonatas. I takethat as a personal compliment. If I had playedthe Cello Sonata poorly, would Britten havewritten his Symphony for me?”

Britten agreed to Rostropovich’s request for anew sonata, which he completed in January ofthe following year and sent to Rostropovich. Thetwo agree to meet for the Sonata’s first rehearsalon the cellist’s next trip to London two monthslater. By Rostropovich’s account, both musicianswere so nervous that they began the session with“four or five very large whiskies.” With Britten atthe piano, the Sonata received its première at theAldeburgh Festival on July 7, 1961; the evening’sprogram also included the Debussy andSchubert Sonatas, as well as the SchumannCello Concerto, conducted by Britten.

While lending testament to a wondrous mu-sical partnership, the Sonata in C carries agreater significance as well, given the politicalcontext of the 1960s. The alienation betweenWestern and Eastern Europe was strong at thetime of Rostropovich’s introduction to Britten,the composer of the War Requiem and an out-spoken pacifist. Such a sympathetic, not tomention high-profile, Anglo-Soviet collabo-ration was not to go unnoticed. During a visitto the Soviet Union in 1963, Britten offeredthe following in an interview with Pravda:

I must own that until my arrival in theU.S.S.R. I was assailed with doubtswhether the Soviet audiences wouldunderstand and accept our musical artwhich had been developing along dif-ferent national lines than the Russian. Iam happy at having had my doubts dis-pelled at the very first concert. TheSoviet public proved not only unusuallymusical—that I knew all along—butshowed an enviable breadth of artisticperception. It is a wonderful public.

This interview appeared internationally and,in its transcendence of political circumstance(Britten also noted, “I disbelieve profoundlyin power and violence.”), can only have bene-fited relations between the two nations.

The opening movement, aptly subtitledDialogo, shows off Britten’s impeccable compo-sitional technique. The entire movement is ameditation on the wide expressive potential ofwhole steps and half steps. In the conversationalintroduction, the piano’s fragmentary scale fig-ures underscore sighing stepwise gestures in thecello, which Britten directs to be played lusin-gando (“coaxingly”). The animated first themeemerges, extending the subdued whole step andhalf step figures into a turbulent ride. Followinga boisterous transitional passage in whichtriplets are bowed across the second string (fin-gered) and first (open)—still a succession ofmajor and minor seconds—a lyrical secondtheme appears. The ascending whole steps inthe cello are interrupted by a striking slide up aminor seventh (or, more fittingly, an invertedwhole step), which Rostropovich so described

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to his student, and the cellist on this program,David Finckel: “It should be as if the devil comesalong and grabs your cello from you” (at whichpoint Rostropovich himself, in the devil’s ab-sence, pulled the instrument upward from be-hind his student’s chair to produce the requiredabruptness of the melodic leap).

The second movement offers further evi-dence of Britten’s complete technique as a com-poser: though not a cellist himself, he spins acello part ingeniously suited to the instrument.Furthermore, the Scherzo-pizzicato—so desig-nated because the entire movement is playedwith plucked rather than bowed strings—demonstrates the most virtuosic use of thistechnique in the entire cello literature.Pizzicati are played by both the right and lefthand, often in rapid alternation; full chordsare strummed across all four strings; and inaddition to conventional pizzicato technique,Britten also calls for the cellist to hammernotes out directly on the fingerboard. Theseliberties speak not only to the composer’s abil-ity, but to his deep trust in the instrumentalwizadry of his Sonata’s dedicatee.

The Elegia sets a mournful melody in thecello against morose, atmospheric chords in thepiano. The accompaniment simultaneouslydrives the music’s harmonic motion and estab-lishes the movement’s plaintive character.Perhaps recalling the first movement, majorand minor seconds predominate throughout,and continue when the piano’s low chords yieldto sparse high notes. Harsh triple- and quadru-ple-stops herald an impassioned variation of

the opening melody, an anguished cry in theupper register of the cello.

An energetic Marcia follows, evoking thesounds of a full marching band. The celloopens with a low, trombone-like quintupletfigure, answered rhythmically by drums andflutes. Over the course of the movement, themarching band seems to pass before the lis-tener’s eyes and ears, eventually dying away inthe cello’s high harmonics. The menacing toneof Britten’s march also calls to mind, whetherconsciously or not, the more sardonic worksof Shostakovich.

In the Moto Perpetuo, Britten fashions a vig-orous finale, full of short-tempered moodswings and fierce syncopations. A constanteighth- and 16th-note rhythm provides therhythmic engine throughout the entire move-ment. The music is written in triple meter,though the listener would be challenged to clapout a waltz. This rhythmic ambiguity sits along-side Britten’s ironic designation of the entirework as a “Sonata in C” (all white keys after all,right?), given its tonal ambiguity throughout.The cello part is directed to be played saltando(“jumping”), a technique in which the bow isthrown against the cello and made to ricochetoff the strings. Midway through the movement,Britten transforms the central saltando figureinto a singing, dolce melody: a short-livedrespite before a tremendous unison passage be-tween the cello and piano hurl forward into thework’s forceful close.

Patrick Castillo

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ABOUT THE ARTISTS

MUSICAL AMERICA’s 2012 Musicians ofthe Year, cellist David Finckel and pi-

anist Wu Han rank among the most esteemedand influential classical musicians in the worldtoday. The talent, energy, imagination, anddedication they bring to their multifaceted en-deavors as concert performers, recordingartists, educators, artistic administrators, andcultural entrepreneurs go unmatched. Theirduo performances have garnered superlativesfrom the press, public, and presenters alike.

In high demand year after year amongchamber music audiences worldwide, the duohas appeared each season at the most presti-gious venues and concert series across theUnited States, Mexico, Canada, the Far East,and Europe to unanimous critical acclaim.Recent highlights include performances atLincoln Center, the Kennedy Center, andAspen’s Harris Concert Hall, recitals in Koreaand at Germany’s Mecklenburg Festival, andtheir presentation of the Britten Concerto atAspen Music Festival. They have also beenfrequent guests on American Public Media’sPerformance Today, Saint Paul Sunday, andother popular classical radio programs. For 34years, Mr. Finckel served as cellist of theEmerson String Quartet in addition to his duowork, during which he garnered eight

Grammy Awards including two honors for“Best Classical Album,” three GramophoneAwards, and the prestigious Avery FisherPrize, awarded in 2004 for the first time to achamber ensemble.

In addition to their distinction as world-class performers, the duo has established areputation for their dynamic and innovativeapproach to the recording studio. In 1997, Mr. Finckel and Ms. Wu launched ArtistLed,classical music’s first musician-directed andInternet-based recording company, which hasserved as a model for numerous independentlabels. All 16 ArtistLed recordings, includingthe most recent Dvořák Piano Trios, have metwith critical acclaim and are available via thecompany’s website at ArtistLed.com.

Mr. Finckel and Ms. Wu have served asArtistic Directors of the Chamber MusicSociety of Lincoln Center since 2004. They arealso the founders and Artistic Directors ofMusic@Menlo, a chamber music festival andinstitute in Silicon Valley now celebrating itseleventh season. In these capacities, they haveoverseen the establishment and design of theChamber Music Society’s CMS StudioRecordings label, as well as the Society’s record-ing partnership with Deutsche Grammophon(which includes CMS concert downloads made

Lisa-Marie Mazzucco

CAL PERFORMANCES

ABOUT THE ARTISTS

available through the Digital DG ConcertsSeries); and Music@Menlo LIVE, Music@Menlo’s exclusive recording label, which hasbeen praised as a “breakthrough” (Billboard)and “probably the most ambitious recordingproject of any classical music festival in theworld” (San Jose Mercury News). In 2011, Mr. Finckel and Ms. Wu were named ArtisticDirectors of Chamber Music Today, an annualfestival held in Korea.

The duo’s repertoire spans virtually the en-tire literature for cello and piano, with anequal emphasis on the classics and the con-temporaries. Their modern repertoire in-cludes all the significant works, fromProkofiev and Britten to Alfred Schnittke andAndré Previn. Their commitment to newmusic has brought commissioned works byBruce Adolphe, Lera Auerbach, Gabriela LenaFrank, Pierre Jalbert, Augusta Read Thomas,and George Tsontakis to audiences around theworld. In 2010, the duo released For Davidand Wu Han (ArtistLed), an album of fourcontemporary works for cello and piano ex-pressly composed for them. In 2011, SummitRecords released a recording of the duo per-forming Gabriela Lena Frank’s concerto,Compadrazgo, with the ProMusica ColumbusChamber Orchestra.

Mr. Finckel and Ms. Wu have achieved uni-versal renown for their passionate commitment

to nurturing the careers of countless youngartists through a wide array of education ini-tiatives. For many years, the duo taughtalongside the late Isaac Stern at Carnegie Halland the Jerusalem Music Center. They ap-peared annually on the Aspen MusicFestival’s Distinguished Artist Master Classseries and in various educational outreachprograms across the country. This season,Mr. Finckel and Ms. Wu will launch a cham-ber music studio at Aspen Music Festival.Under the auspices of the Chamber MusicSociety of Lincoln Center, Mr. Finckel andMs. Wu have established the LG ChamberMusic School, which provides workshops toyoung artists in Korea and Taiwan. Mr. Finckel was named honoree and ArtisticDirector of the Mendelssohn Fellowship in2012, a program established to identify youngKorean musicians and promote chambermusic in South Korea. Mr. Finckel and Ms. Wu reside in New York with their 19-year-old daughter, Lilian. To learn more, visitwww.davidfinckelandwuhan.com.

David Finckel and Wu Han appear byarrangement with David Rowe Artists(davidroweartists.com). Their public relationsand press representative is Milina Barry PR.David Finckel and Wu Han’s recordings areavailable exclusively on ArtistLed. Wu Hanperforms on the Steinway Piano.