A Prolific Artist
A Prolific Artist
A Prolific Artist
Synopsis
Born on January 27, 1756, in Salzburg, Austria, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was a musician
capable of playing multiple instruments who started playing in public at the age of 6. Over the
years, Mozart aligned himself with a variety of European venues and patrons, composing
hundreds of works that included sonatas, symphonies, masses, chamber music, concertos and
operas, marked by vivid emotion and sophisticated textures.
Early Life
Central Europe in the mid-18th century was going through a period of transition. The remnants
of the Holy Roman Empire had divided into small semi-self-governing principalities. The result
was competing rivalries between these municipalities for identity and recognition. Political
leadership of small city-states like Salzburg, Vienna, and Prague was in the hands of the
aristocracy and their wealth would commission artists and musicians to amuse, inspire, and
entertain. The music of the Renaissance and Baroque periods was transitioning toward more fullbodied compositions with complex instrumentation. The small city-state of Salzburg would be
the birthplace of one of the most talented and prodigious musical composers of all time.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozarts was the sole-surviving son of Leopold and Maria Pertl Mozart.
Leopold was a successful composer, violinist, and assistant concert master at the Salzburg court.
Wolfgangs mother, Anna Maria Pertl, was born to a middle class family of local community
leaders. His only sister was Maria Anna (nicknamed Nannerl). With their fathers
encouragement and guidance, they both were introduced to music at an early age. Leopold
started Nannerl on keyboard when she was seven, as three-year old Wolfgang looked on.
Mimicking her playing, Wolfgang quickly began to show a strong understanding of chords,
tonality, and tempo. Soon, he too was being tutored by his father.
Leopold was a devoted and task-oriented teacher to both his children. He made the lessons fun,
but also insisted on a strong work ethic and perfection. Fortunately, both children excelled well
in these areas. Recognizing their special talents, Leopold devoted much of his time to their
education in music as well as other subjects. Wolfgang soon showed signs of excelling beyond
his fathers teachings with an early composition at age five and demonstrating outstanding ability
on harpsichord and the violin. He would soon go on to play the piano, organ and viola.
In 1762, Wolfgangs father took Nannerl, now age eleven, and Wolfgang, age six to the court of
Bavaria in Munich in what was to become the first of several European "tours." The siblings
traveled to the courts of Paris, London, The Hague, and Zurich performing as child prodigies.
Wolfgang met a number of accomplished musicians and became familiar with their works.
Particularity important was his meeting with Johann Christian Bach (Johann Sebastian Bach's
youngest son) in London who had a strong influence on Wolfgang. The trips were long and often
arduous, traveling in primitive conditions and waiting for invitations and reimbursements from
the nobility. Frequently, Wolfgang and other members of his family fell seriously ill and had to
limit their performance schedule.
promising, but all eventually fell through. He began to run out of funds and had to pawn several
valuable personal items to pay traveling and living expenses. The lowest point of the trip was
when his mother fell ill and died on July 3, 1778. After hearing the news of his wifes death,
Leopold negotiated a better post for his son as court organist in Salzburg and Wolfgang returned
soon after.
Making it in Vienna
Back in Salzburg in 1779, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart produced a series of church works,
including the Coronation Mass. He also composed another opera for Munich, Ideomeneo in
1781. In March of that year, Mozart was summoned to Vienna by Archbishop von Colloredo,
who was attending the accession of Joseph II to the Austrian throne. The Archbishops cool
reception toward Mozart offended him. He was treated as a mere servant, quartered with the
help, and forbidden from performing before the Emperor for a fee equal to half his yearly salary
in Salzburg. A quarrel ensued and Mozart offered to resign his post. The Archbishop refused at
first, but then relented with an abrupt dismissal and physical removal from the Archbishops
presence. Mozart decided to settle in Vienna as a freelance performer and composer and for a
time lived with friends at the home of Fridolin Weber.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart quickly found work in Vienna, taking on pupils, writing music for
publication, and playing in several concerts. He also began writing an opera Die Entfhrung aus
dem Serail (The Abduction from the Seraglio). In the summer of 1781, it was rumored that
Mozart was contemplating marriage to Fridolin Webers daughter, Constanze. Knowing his
father would disapprove of the marriage and the interruption in his career, young Mozart quickly
wrote his father denying any idea of marriage. But by December, he was asking for his fathers
blessings. While its known that Leopold disapproved, what is not known is the discussion
between father and son as Leopolds letters were said to be destroyed by Constanze. However,
later correspondence from Wolfgang indicated that he and his father disagreed considerably on
this matter. He was in love with Constanze and the marriage was being strongly encouraged by
her mother, so in some sense, he felt committed. The couple was finally married on August 4,
1782. In the meantime, Leopold did finally consent to the marriage. Constanze and Wolfgang
had six children, though only two survived infancy, Karl Thomas and Franz Xaver.
As 1782 turned to 1783, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart became enthralled with the work of
Johannes Sebastian Bach and George Frederic Handel and this, in turn, resulted in several
compositions in the Baroque style and influenced much of his later compositions, such as
passages in Die Zauberflote (The Magic Flute) and the finale of Symphony Number 41. During
this time, Mozart met Joseph Haydn and the two composers became admiring friends. When
Haydn visited Vienna, they sometimes performed impromptu concerts with string quartets.
Between 1782 and 1785 Mozart wrote six quartets dedicated to Haydn.
European Fame
The opera Die Entfhrung enjoyed immediate and continuing success and bolstered Wolfgang
Amadeus Mozarts name and talent throughout Europe. With the substantial returns from
concerts and publishing, he and Constanze enjoyed a lavish lifestyle. They lived in one of the
more exclusive apartment buildings of Vienna, sent their son, Karl Thomas, to an expensive
boarding school, kept servants, and maintained a busy social life. In 1783, Mozart and Constanze
traveled Salzburg, to visit his father and sister. The visit was somewhat cool, as Leopold was still
a reluctant father-in-law and Nannerl was a dutiful daughter. But the stay promoted Mozart to
begin writing a mass in C Minor, of which only the first two sections, "Kyrie" and "Gloria," were
completed. In 1784, Mozart became a Freemason, a fraternal order focused on charitable work,
moral uprightness, and the development of fraternal friendship. Mozart was well regarded in the
Freemason community, attending meetings and being involved in various functions.
Freemasonry also became a strong influence in Mozarts music.
From 1782 to 1785, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart divided his time between self-produced concerts
as soloist, presenting three to four new piano concertos in each season. Theater space for rent in
Vienna was sometimes hard to come by, so Mozart booked himself in unconventional venues
such as large rooms in apartment buildings and ballrooms of expensive restaurants. The year
1784, proved the most prolific in Mozarts performance life. During one five-week period, he
appeared in 22 concerts, including five he produced and performed as the soloist. In a typical
concert, he would play a selection of existing and improvisational pieces and his various piano
concertos. Other times he would conduct performances of his symphonies. The concerts were
very well attended as Mozart enjoyed a unique connection with his audiences who were, in the
words of Mozart biographer Maynard Solomon, given the opportunity of witnessing the
transformation and perfection of a major musical genre. During this time, Mozart also began to
keep a catalog of his own music, perhaps indicating an awareness of his place in musical history.
By the mid-1780s, Wolfgang and Constanze Mozarts extravagant lifestyle was beginning to take
its toll. Despite his success as a pianist and composer, Mozart was falling into serious financial
difficulties. Mozart associated himself with aristocratic Europeans and felt he should live like
one. He figured that the best way to attain a more stable and lucrative income would be through
court appointment. However, this wouldnt be easy with the courts musical preference bent
toward Italian composers and the influence of Kapellmeister Antonio Salieri. Mozarts
relationship with Salieri has been the subject of speculation and legend. Letters written between
Mozart and his father, Leopold, indicate that the two felt a rivalry for and mistrust of the Italian
musicians in general and Salieri in particular. Decades after Mozarts death, rumors spread that
Salieri had poisoned him. This rumor was made famous in 20th century playwright Peter
Shaffers Amadeus and in the 1984 film of the same name by director Milos Foreman. But in
truth there is no basis for this speculation. Though both composers were often in contention for
the same job and public attention, there is little evidence that their relationship was anything
beyond a typical professional rivalry. Both admired each others work and at one point even
collaborated on a cantata for voice and piano called Per la recuperate salute di Ophelia.
Toward the end of 1785, Mozart met the librettist Lorenzo Da Ponte, a Venetian composer and
poet and together they collaborated on the opera The Marriage of Figaro. It received a successful
premier in Vienna in 1786 and was even more warmly received in Prague later that year. This
triumph led to a second collaboration with Da Ponte on the opera Don Giovanni which
premiered in 1787 to high acclaim in Prague. Noted for their musical complexity, the two operas
are among Mozarts most important works and are mainstays in operatic repertoire today. Both
compositions feature the wicked nobleman, though Figaro is presented more in comedy and
portrays strong social tension. Perhaps the central achievement of both operas lies in their
ensembles with their close link between music and dramatic meaning.
Later Years
In December, 1787, Emperor Joseph II appointed Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart as his "chamber
composer," a post that had opened up with the death of Gluck. The gesture was as much an honor
bestowed on Mozart as it was incentive to keep the esteemed composer from leaving Vienna for
greener pastures. It was a part-time appointment with low pay, but it required Mozart only to
compose dances for the annual balls. The modest income was a welcome windfall for Mozart,
who was struggling with debt, and provided him the freedom to explore more of his personal
musical ambitions.
Toward the end of the 1780s, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozarts fortunes began to grow worse. He
was performing less and his income shrank. Austria was at war and both the affluence of the
nation and the ability of the aristocracy to support the arts had declined. By mid-1788, Mozart
moved his family from central Vienna to the suburb of Alsergrund, for what would seem to be a
way of reducing living costs. But in reality, his family expenses remained high and the new
dwelling only provided more room. Mozart began to borrow money from friends, though he was
almost always able to promptly repay when a commission or concert came his way. During this
time he wrote his last three symphonies and the last of the three Da Ponte operas, Cosi Fan Tutte,
which premiered in 1790. During this time, Mozart ventured long distances from Vienna to
Leipzig, Berlin, and Frankfurt, and other German cities hoping to revive his once great success
and the familys financial situation, but did neither. The two-year period of 1788-1789 was a low
point for Mozart, experiencing in his own words "black thoughts" and deep depression.
Historians believe he may have had some form of bipolar disorder, which might explain the
periods of hysteria coupled with spells of hectic creativity.
Between 1790 and 1791, now in his mid-thirties, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart went through a
period of great music productivity and personal healing. Some of his most admired works -- the
opera The Magic Flute, the final piano concerto in B-flat, the Clarinet Concerto in A major, and
the unfinished Requiem to name a few -- were written during this time. Mozart was able to
revive much of his public notoriety with repeated performances of his works. His financial
situation began to improve as wealthy patrons in Hungary and Amsterdam pledged annuities in
return for occasional compositions. From this turn of fortune, he was able to pay off many of his
debts.
However, during this time both Wolfgang Amadeus Mozarts mental and physical health was
deteriorating. In September, 1791, he was in Prague for the premier of the opera La Clemenza di
Tito, which he was commissioned to produce for the coronation of Leopold II as King of
Bohemia. Mozart recovered briefly to conduct the Prague premier of The Magic Flute, but fell
deeper into illness in November and was confined to bed. Constanze and her sister Sophie came
to his side to help nurse him back to health, but Mozart was mentally preoccupied with finishing
Requiem, and their efforts were in vain.
NEW YORK -- Beethoven is forever contemporary. In his own time, he pushed artistic
boundaries so far that the formidable pianist and composer Muzio Clementi once asked him if he
really considered a set of string quartets to be "music." "Oh," replied the indomitable composer
casually, "they are not for you, but for a later age."
That story appears in Donald Grout's classic, "A History of Western Music." It has been told in
several versions, but the theme rings true. Like Shakespeare, Beethoven continually opens a
curtain on the modern soul: its struggles, dreams, and incongruities.
BEETHOVEN'S OPUS 13
Thus bringing Beethoven's musical vision to life is not a task for the inexperienced. That's why
pianist Andras Schiff, whose stellar reputation was forged on masterly interpretations of Bach,
Scarlatti, Mozart, Schubert, Schumann and others, waited until now, at age 53, to embark on his
complete cycle of all 32 Beethoven sonatas, played chronologically in small groups throughout
the year at recitals planned in Ann Arbor, Mich., San Francisco, Los Angeles and New York. As
the program unfolds, the ECM label is releasing the repertoire on discs.
The recital at Carnegie Hall last Wednesday evening -- which included the three sonatas of Opus
10 and the famous Opus 13 "Pathetique" Sonata -- was truly remarkable. The piano, as it
thundered and whispered and managed endless shades in between, probed to the very heart of
Beethoven: his tenderness, humor, desolation and rage. Naughty rhythmic syncopations stuck
their tongues out at you. Passages that drove onward like pistons in a great transparent engine
were interrupted by frightening silences. The performance was musically stunning.
"It was quite deliberate to leave Beethoven for now," he told me recently. "I find him the most
versatile and complex of the composers I've played. Performing all the sonatas is indeed similar
to an actor taking on all the male roles in Shakespeare. But it goes beyond that. I would include
the sonnets of Shakespeare as well, because there are also very personal, intimate pieces.
"There can be a born Mozart interpreter, or a born Schubert interpreter," he continued. "But in
my mind there is no such thing as a born Beethoven interpreter -- you have to learn how to
approach this work, and much of that comes from life's lessons. Mozart is not really human: He's
superhuman. Beethoven is one of us -- but the best of us."
Mr. Schiff had played some of these sonatas all his life. But learning the entire set was an
adventure. Along with the scores, he studied the composer's conversation books, letters,
manuscripts and first editions. "Luckily, we know a lot more about Beethoven than we know
about Bach," he explains. "His life is documented because of his loss of hearing -- so much of it
is actually written down. He was a deeply cultured person who read a lot and was very
passionate about Shakespeare. He respected Goethe and Schiller, and loved Greek and Latin
literature and art. So you have to follow him there. These all offer clues. Yet, each of us still has
to come up with our own solutions when interpreting the music. If the D Minor Sonata is
connected with Shakespeare's 'The Tempest' -- after which it was named -- well, you can read
'The Tempest,' but you still have to figure out what the music really means. I find that Prospero's
monologues give me an inspiration about how to play the recitatives [music that follows the
rhythms of ordinary speech] in the first movement."
In researching this repertoire, the pianist experimented with earlier types of pianos -- the rather
more delicate instruments that Beethoven played on. "The sound of modern instruments is
evened out from top to bottom," he reports. "Early instruments have distinct registers that don't
sound remotely similar to each other. In that era, the composers wrote with this concept in mind.
When Beethoven asks us to play on 'one string,' then on 'two strings,' then on 'three strings,' that
is a change of sound that is totally alien to contemporary instruments. Also, the bass strings on an
18th-century or 19th-century piano are much thinner than the ones we use today, and even if you
play with full force on those earlier versions of the piano, the bass is never going to overpower
the rest. So one has to do a lot of rethinking and retouching to play this music on a modern
instrument.
"Actually, in an ideal world, you would need almost as many pianos as there are Beethoven
sonatas -- that's an exaggeration, but it's wonderful to have variety. As a rule, I protest
vehemently against sameness, whether it is in music, our eating habits or our clothing."
Indeed, having been born in Hungary in 1953, this émigré to the West is acutely
aware of the value of freedom. This may account, in part, for his growing sense of kinship with
Beethoven -- a composer who practically lived to defy limits. "It's interesting that Beethoven,
after the deterioration of his hearing, turned an obstacle into a virtue," says Mr. Schiff. "He was
hearing sonorities in his mind that the instruments of the day -- and even the instruments of today
-- are not able to produce. Over and over again, he asks us to make a crescendo on a sustained
note, which is impossible. And yet he asks for it. His imagination transcends the limitations of
the instrument. He does this in the symphonies and quartets as well. It's characteristic of his
thinking."
One can find a striving to express things in a new way throughout Beethoven's life. This shows
up particularly in the sonatas as they progress over the years, reports Mr. Schiff. That is why he
performs them for audiences in chronological order. Yet, even the most familiar works can hold
surprises.
"Consider the so-called 'Moonlight Sonata,' " he says. "Beethoven never called it that, and the
popularity of this piece actually irritated him. He thought his F Sharp Major Sonata was better,
but it was not embraced in the same way. I hate the name myself -- it's a kitsch name. However,
this is a fantastic sonata. The first movement is playable by amateurs, but they tend to think of
'moonlight' instead of actually reading the score, in which Beethoven asks the player to hold
down the pedal for the entire movement. Most players ignore this, saying it is not practical on
today's instruments. But they never really give it a try. Beethoven was inventing sounds and
sonorities that no one thought of before. Using the pedal -- raising the dampers so that the strings
continue to vibrate -- allows sounds that do not traditionally belong together to blend into a
cloud. He's going against the textbook."
There are other wonderful discoveries to be shared. In one of the last sonatas, Opus 110,
Beethoven quotes a lament from Bach's "St. John Passion" -- sung at the moment when Christ
dies -- as well as two folk songs: "Our Cat Had Kittens" and "I Am Down and Out." Once again,
the composer combines the sacred and the earthly in one artistic statement. And of a famous line
written in the score of this sonata -- "Must it be? It must be!" -- Mr. Schiff comments that it was
not, as is often assumed, a profound existential question being asked by the composer, but rather
a message to his publisher, who owed Beethoven money. "Must it be? Yes, you have to pay!"
Mr. Schiff admires some of the great Beethoven interpreters of the past -- especially Edwin
Fischer, Arthur Schnabel and Rudolf Serkin -- but he is, by now, on a musical path of his own
making, in a continuing process of evolution. "I learn new things all the time," he reveals. "I may
not change something consciously, but life changes it, time changes it. Sometimes I come back to
a piece after a rest and find that something I never noticed before now seems so obvious and
logical." Which is what makes attending a recital by this eloquent, impeccable musician so
endlessly exciting.