Mozart’s virtuosic, often overlooked Concertone was written during a period when he was finding his voice. It is grounded in an earlier style, with glimpses of the Mozart to come. In 1772, the Salzburg Archbishop Colloredo, himself a violinist, appointed the 16-year-old Mozart as concertmaster in his orchestra. During the following years, Mozart wrote most of the works presented in these concerts, beginning with the Violin Concerto No. 1 and the Concertone for two violins and orchestra in 1774, followed in 1775 by another four violin concertos in rapid succession and finally his Sinfonia concertante for violin and viola, a work where Mozart is fully himself.
The Concertone is Mozart’s fourth original concerto, written between the first and second violin concertos. In the second half of the 18th century, concertos for more than one soloist were all the rage. Concertone is the word “concerto” with an added suffix, suggesting largeness—in this case, not only a second violin soloist, but also frequent contributions from the cello and oboe. Commentors make a great deal of how the piece resembles long-established styles, including concerto grosso and early Haydn symphonies, but it sounds very much like early Mozart.
The exposition in the first movement moves along at a brisk pace, colored by trumpet and winds. The second subject has a sigh in the middle that forecasts later Mozart. The violins weave an elegant tapestry, but the oboe makes it clear right away that it has a great deal to say, and it continues to be an important voice throughout. The lengthy slow movement could only have been written by Mozart. The long, winding melody, which turns melancholy in the middle section, has an unmistakable Mozartian poignance. This stand-out movement is full of elaborate polyphony, elegant trills, and surprising modulations. The brief minuet finale, not as rapid as Mozart’s usual fast movements, is enlivened by solo displays.
Mozart’s Third Violin Concerto was written in 1775, when the composer was only 19. Scholars still dispute whether Mozart wrote these concertos for himself, though we know he played some of them. Also a mystery is why he wrote so many, each substantially different (and argue some critics, more “mature”) than the one preceding it.
The enigma is even more curious given that Mozart had reached a stage where, partly because of his father Leopold’s constant pressure, he was beginning to resist the violin and move increasingly toward his other instrument, the piano. Leopold was the creator of a famous violin method and was continually urging Wolfgang to apply himself more seriously to the instrument.
The rebellious son had other ideas, but he did, for whatever reason, write this remarkable string of violin concertos, which pleased his father greatly. Compared to the Second Concerto, some scholars purport to see great compositional advances in No. 3, especially in the soulfulness of the slow movement and the more elaborate sectional format of the finale. How a teenager wrote so many remarkable concertos, especially given that Mozart was mainly interested in the piano, is anybody’s guess.
The muted strings and dreamy patterns of the Adagio look forward to the slow movements of the mature piano concertos; similarly, the minor-key development section of the opening Allegro imparts an unusual gravity to the galant style that the violin concertos often inhabit.
The Rondeau finale, like the more famous one in No. 5 (with its “Turkish” episode), consists of contrasting sections in different keys and tempos. Most striking is a rustic G-minor section that drastically changes the mood and continuity of the movement, as if we are suddenly in the world of Mozart as folk musicologists. (The tune has recently been identified as Hungarian in origin.) But Mozart doesn’t linger with this idea: It quickly vanishes, as does the entire piece. At the end, the winds lead the way into what looks to be a jaunty coda, then trail off into silence.
Any Mozart slow movement is a gift, even one written under odd and awkward circumstances. The Adagio in E Major, K. 261, like the Rondo in C Major, K. 373, was written for Antonio Brunetti, who performed Mozart’s violin concertos after becoming leader of the Salzburg orchestra in 1776. The Adagio was composed in 1776 as a substitute second movement for Mozart’s Fifth Violin Concerto because Brunetti judged the piece too “artificial” and “studied,” undoubtedly confirming Mozart’s view that Brunetti lacked taste. Mozart, the consummate professional, gave Brunetti a gem. Over muted strings the violin sings two soaring melodies briefly darkened by a minor-key shadow followed by a reprise of both themes. Brunetti may have had vulgar taste, but we have him to thank for engendering a small stand-alone masterpiece, by no means replacing the more harmonically advanced (and yes, more “studied”) original from Concerto No. 5, but nonetheless an exquisite addition to the Mozart violin literature.
The Violin Concerto No. 1, Mozart’s first concerto for any instrument, is one of his most enchanting early works. For years it was assumed that this concerto, like the other four for violin, was written in 1775, when Mozart was 19. Current scholars, however, believe it was written two years earlier. He composed these concertos as part of his duties in his first paid job in Salzburg as concertmaster of the court orchestra. It is not clear whether he wrote them specifically for himself or other violinists in Salzburg (such as Antonio Brunetti), but correspondence reveals that he performed them. “The audience gasped, all of them,” he wrote of one of his performances. “I played as though I were the best violinist in Europe.” Actually, Mozart was mainly a virtuoso pianist who played to sold-out houses. After he completed his five violin concertos, he never wrote another one.
The First Concerto has a youthful freshness but also surprising nuance, sophistication, and structural refinement. Mozart was familiar with popular Italian and Bohemian violin concertos of the day (now largely forgotten), but here he struck out on his own. The first movement, with its combination of sensuality and Classical balance, is instantly recognizable as Mozart, as are the long, soulful lines of the Adagio, which anticipate Mozart’s mature slow movements. The virtuosic Presto finale is in sonata form (as are the other movements) rather than the customary rondo, though Mozart wrote a rondo as an alternative finale at the request of Brunetti, now performed as a separate piece. This finale offers sharply etched melodies, brilliant passagework, a courtly second subject, and a final cadenza before the orchestra gets the last word.
Mozart’s Fourth and Fifth violin concertos mark a subtle advance over the first three in terms of sophistication, nuance, and technical difficulty. The Fourth opens like some of Mozart’s piano concertos, with an aggressive trumpet-like unison fanfare, though the orchestra has no trumpets, followed by a whimsical main theme and a song-like second subject. At its entrance, the violin sings high up in the register, then drops lower for the dusky second melody; the development is full of fast-flying scales and arpeggios. The soulful, aria-like Andante cantabile also has a cadenza. The Rondeau finale alternates a series of dance-like episodes, including an elegant slow dance, a jig-like tune that zips around rambunctiously, and a drone that suggests a hurdy-gurdy. After a teasingly misleading lead-up to a coda, the concerto drifts into a dream-like fade-out.
—Jack Sullivan