PROGRAM NOTES UNDERWRITTEN BY THOMAS WARD

When Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) left his childhood home in Bonn and arrived in Vienna, he was 21 years old and ready to conquer the world. He was also hoping to study with Mozart, who sadly died months earlier. Changing gears, he spent an important but tense period studying with Joseph Haydn. “Papa Haydn” (not exactly the nickname Beethoven would have used for his elder) had long dominated two important genres: the symphony and the string quartet. Before Beethoven felt confident enough to step onto the public stage with a first symphony, he dutifully cut his teeth with smaller chamber works. These pieces usually featured prominent piano parts; Beethoven was already an accomplished pianist, noted for his powerful technique and brilliant improvisations.

Around the exact time he brought his Symphony No. 1 (a work heard at today’s noon concert) to the public in April 1800, Beethoven composed his one and only Sonata for Horn and Piano, Op. 17. True virtuosi of the natural horn were not to be found around every street corner, despite the high level of musicianship in Vienna during Beethoven’s time. But when Giovanni Punto (1746-1803) passed through, his ability motivated Beethoven to compose a dazzling sonata for the two of them to perform. According to Beethoven’s secretary, Ferdinand Ries, his boss only wrote the music in the 24 hours leading up to their scheduled per-formance.

A few words must be shared about Giovanni Punto. He was born in Bohemia as Jan Václav Stich, son of a bonded serf but given a first-rate musical education. After serving for several years under the Bohemian duke who funded his training, Stich fled the region to seek his fortunes elsewhere. The duke did not endorse this move, and Stich was forced to hide out in Italy and change his name. From there he went on to tour widely across Europe, met all the most important people (including the English and French kings as well as Mozart). Only a few years before his death, Stich/Punto traveled through Vienna on his way to a triumphant homecoming in Bohemia. On that journey he met Beethoven and the pair performed the sonata written, in a matter of hours, in Punto’s honor.

Perhaps in deference to Punto, Beethoven gives the horn a short solo to open the work before launching into a dazzling conversation, quite often led by the boisterous piano. Punto made significant advances in horn technique, particularly in hand stopping, a way to access pitches not “naturally” available on the natural, valveless horn. That aspect becomes very important in Beethoven’s wide-ranging development section. The middle movement is incredibly short; blink and you will miss it. Like the famous “Waldstein” Piano Sonata, this brief Adagio merely freshens our palate for a delicious Rondo finale to come.

The Horn Sonata in D Major is not Beethoven’s most profound utterance, but the personal style of the budding master seems already set. And if we needed further evidence, consider that their next gig had to be cancelled: Punto showed up, but Beethoven – miffed by an argument with the elder man – had already headed back to Vienna in a huff. It must be said that when this sonata was first performed, Punto was far more famous than the young man at the piano accompanying him. In fact, after the second performance a month later, given in Budapest, a reviewer noted the appearance of “Herr Bethover [sic] and Herr Punto . . . Who is this Bethover? We have no record of any such composer? Punto is of course very well known . . . .” How times have changed!

The organist and composer Georg Muffat (1653-1704) was born in France and trained in Paris, supposedly under the great Lully himself in the 1660s. Leaving home, he bounced around from post to post, taking work in Prague, Salzburg, Italy and Vienna, before settling as Kapellmeister to the Bishop of Passau. His compositions include sonatas, concerti grossi, orchestral suites, operas and toccatas for organ. Overall, Muffat’s style draws influences from French Baroque masters and Italian instrumental traditions. However, the Italian influence becomes more pronounced in Muffat’s later works, following his direct exposure to the music of Corelli and Vivaldi in the 1680s. Thus his Sonata in D Major, published in Prague in 1677, reveals stronger ties to the older Baroque sonata tradition.

The piece is cast as a single continuous movement with five sections delineated by tempo changes. One finds a fundamental sonata da chiesa form, four sections alternating slow-fast-slow-fast. The fifth and final section is nothing more than a literal recycling of the opening Adagio. My summary description is not meant to belittle the very real artistic merit of Muffat’s work. Its form may not show an adventurous spirit, but the actual notes – the chord progressions, rhythmic vitality, and stag-gering violin virtuosity – combine to produce a brilliant effect. The central Adagio is clearly a highlight, marked by intense chromaticism and beauty. The faster fourth section delights by virtue of scintillating scale runs. Such skillful violin writing would be expected from Corelli, Locatelli, or Tartini. But from a rather unknown court organist, it suggests a second look at Muffat is long overdue.

Because of his prominent position at the Austrian court, Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809) was called upon to create music in nearly every genre. We know he composed 104 symphonies, over 80 string quartets, dozens of sacred masses, several puppet operas, and whatever Prince Nikolaus Esterházy required for the occasion. Haydn also wrote nearly 60 solo piano sonatas and 45 piano trios – not to mention dozens of works for baryton, a kind of cello or bass viol that Nikolaus himself played. Haydn lived through the flowering of the keyboard as a solo instrument. And after 1760 or so, a keyboard meant the newer, hammer-mechanism fortepianos that were gradually supplanting the older harpsichords.

One genre Haydn did not cultivate extensively is solo of multi-voice songs. To be sure, he wrote a large amount of vocal music across his entire career, including operas, masses, and grand oratorios. But Haydn’s limited output of songs – modest-scale pieces, often with secular texts in German, with piano accompaniment – belongs to his later years. Noted biographer Karl Geiringer believes Haydn’s interest in song arose from his time in England, where the tradition of domestic singing in four parts was alive and thriving. To this period (i.e., the 1790s) date Haydn’s many Scottish and English folksong settings, as well as all of his part-songs for four voices. The latter may be sober, devotional pieces like Der Augenblick, in which heavily punctuated phrasing mirrors the text and its tone of dramatic hesitancy. But just as easily, Haydn could yield to quite humorous moments, as in Die Beredsamkeit. This boisterous drinking song pokes fun at our foibles when “in the cups” through polyphonic phrases that bark out their erudition a bit too loudly. At the end, quite the opposite is the case, as Haydn takes the keyword “stumm” (mute) to the logical, comical conclusion.

Johann David Heinichen (1683-1729) may be better known today as a theorist than a composer, though I expect that this state of affairs will soon change. There is resurgence of interest in Heinichen’s music given his close relations with other towering figures of the Baroque. Born into a musical family, Heinichen studied law in Leipzig while he continued to compose operas and instrumental works. He had been a student of Johann Kuhnau years earlier, and after an important period traveling in northern Italy (Venice, primarily), Heinichen took a post in 1717 alongside J. S. Bach at Cöthen. There he helped introduce the wonders of Venetian string composition to Bach and others.

Heinichen’s Concerto Grosso in D major for winds and string orchestra follows the standard three-movement Italian model. The opening Allegro is wonderfully active, a true perpetual motion movement punctuated by numerous solo episodes. These cast their light successively on violin, oboe, flute and even theorbo. (The theorbo had been a staple in the basso continuo section of Baroque ensembles for decades but was rarely given specified solo material in such a context.) Toward the end of the movement, Heinichen gives the violinist a clear moment to shine. The gentle, lyrical Adagio is built entirely on a simple falling triad theme. During the finale, the repetitive harmonic progressions become almost hypnotic. The effect is to shift attention entirely to the brilliant performances of the players.

More than one listener will be thinking, after hearing Heinichen for perhaps the first time, how similar this Concerto Grosso sounds to the Brandenburgs by Bach. Indeed, the similarities are strong, and that is all the more reason to broaden our awareness of the many “stars” that illuminate the Baroque heavens.


Jason Stell, © 2026