The thing about chamber music is that it was written for a “chamber”: a modest-sized space that could accommodate only a moderate number of players and a moderate number of listeners. Indeed, a fair amount of chamber music probably never had any listeners other than its performers. So when we discuss chamber music as being “more intimate” than symphonies and operas or towering masses and Magnificats, the description applies to both the number of players and the number of hearers. Today’s concert offers a chance to partially recapture that spirit. The chamber works of Haydn and Mozart would have been written with a space of this size in mind: a large salon at court perhaps, or a community hall in some public building or theater. And while Torroba’s solo guitar works may eventually have appeared in large concert halls, their creation stems from a very intimate, hands-on appreciation for music up close and personal.

Sometimes music makes good background “noise” to our work, exercise, and play. And sometimes we go to a concert to relax and let the cares of the day wash away. But sometimes – like this afternoon – we gather in a resonant space, in close proximity to other attentive music lovers and to the performers themselves, to revel in pure sound, to feel the vibrations, see the communication, and commune with the magic of this mysterious, ephemeral art form.

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.

The Piano Trio in D Minor is considered the 37th Haydn wrote in chronological order, though it appears as No. 23 in the catalog prepared by Dutch musicologist and Haydn scholar Anthony van Hoboken. It was written in 1794 at a time when Haydn was at the very pinnacle of his fame. His longtime employer, Prince Nikolaus, had died in 1790. Under that man’s son Anton, Haydn was not needed as often: many of the court musicians were let go, and Haydn had ample time to travel and compose according to his whims. This is the period of two successful London journeys that brought Haydn’s name to wider attention. His second trip, in 1794-1795, may also help explain a burst of chamber music penned in those years. A second clear cause is the emergence of the piano as a household staple, causing a huge market for moderately-demanding piano music.

The D-Minor Trio includes three movements, as was conventional. However, Haydn opens with a curious multi-part movement featuring the main D-minor material followed by a series of short variations in major and minor. Throughout, the piano often doubles the strings; the cello in particular has not yet found its independent voice as it will in Beethoven. But the music is charming and perfectly aimed at talented amateurs seeking a bit of Papa Haydn’s art for domestic consumption. Several variations call for fast scales and arpeggios from the pianist, but each section is short and repeated – giving the player ample chances to get it just right! The slow movement offers a decorated song in B-flat major. The Adagio pace allows each gesture to unfold without any urgency. Haydn captures the concept of Gemütlichkeit, a German word used to convey coziness, good cheer, and being completely at ease in one’s element. The jaunty finale, sprinting by at Vivace tempo, definitely moves us out of our comfort zone. Here a flurry of fast notes and syncopated accents call to mind the infectious allure of folk dance. Haydn often wrote Hungarian or peasant tunes into his finales, and this is a case in point. While playable by those same “talented amateurs” mentioned above, this dynamic finale certainly benefits from the higher technical and artistic skills of seasoned professionals.

The Spanish or classical guitar is not a loud instrument. When heard in large concert settings, it often must be amplified. But in the right space, its distinctive resonance provides one of the most attractive sounds. Most of the outstanding composers of guitar music were themselves players: Gaspar Sanz, Robert de Visée, Fernando Sor, Francisco Tarréga, Matteo Carcassi, and Leo Brouwer for instance. Federico Torroba (1891-1982) was not trained on the instrument himself. Rather he became a leading conductor and impresario, in addition to his compositional activity. He began studies with his father at home in Madrid and eventually attended the National Conservatory where his father taught. Torroba’s first works featured symphony orchestra, but he quickly developed a novel form of light comic opera (zarzuela), of which he is still the recognized master.

Torroba’s attention to guitar music arose from a “commission” of sorts made by the legendary Andres Segovia. Segovia was an exact contemporary of Torroba, though the two did not work together until Segovia was already internationally famous. Having dazzled audiences with Bach, Sor, and Tarréga, Segovia requested new works for the guitar from living composers – and Torroba responded. Beginning with the Suite Castellana (1926) and ending 100 works later, Torroba earned his place as the leading composer of guitar music in the 20th century.

The Suite Castellana takes its name from the historic Castile region of north-central Spain. Torroba likely uses this music to express his strongly patriotic feelings toward his homeland, and the three contrasting movements provide an exhilarating panorama of images and sounds. It begins with a Fandanguilloor Fandango, a traditional lively dance that appears in classical contexts from Rameau to Mozart and Saint-Saëns. Torroba organizes the movement in ternary design, in which a mysterious mood frames the brighter triple-meter dance at the center. The second movement, titled Arada, favors harmonic color over rhythmic drive. Here Torroba embraces the lush, extended chords of the French Impressionists to produce a song of touching poignancy. His finale, as expected, will return to the powerful rhythm of dance. Indeed, titled simply Danza,this movement captures all the fervent emotions of young Torroba, who wrote this music years earlier. Its three-part shape again nurtures a lyrical episode between statements of vivacious good cheer.

Without a doubt, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) has earned his place among the greatest composers of opera – arguably, the greatest active in Europe during the latter half of the 18th century. He also composed very important sacred choral works, including numerous masses and the titanic Requiem. However, less attention is paid to his Lieder (solo songs with piano accompaniment), though he wrote several dozen. In these works, all of Mozart’s pure lyricism, familiar from his finest arias, is here on display. They span his entire career, from a youthful venture written at age 12 to the two late songs heard this afternoon, composed in 1787 at the same time as Don Giovanni.

Abendempfindung (Evening Sensations) captures Mozart in a particularly rich vein. It explores a style based on aria and recitative but which unfolds lyrically above an undulating piano accompaniment. The declamation inherent in recitative is usually kept distinct from the indulgent, lyrical manner of aria, but Mozart intentionally blurs the distinction. The result is an improvisatory style that ebbs and flows in response to the text. At no point does Mozart need to abandon the melody and accompaniment texture, though he is careful to inflect individual pitches and phrases in response to key words like entfliehn (flying) and Träne (tears). The shape of vocal line in this song is superlative, not only for Mozart but for anything within the lieder genre.

By contrast, the contemporaneous song An Chlöe (To Chlöe) is both much shorter and more consistent throughout. The source poem, by Johann Georg Jacobi, discusses at some length the joys and sorrows that come from intense infatuation. Mozart judiciously only set the first four of Jacobi’s thirteen stanzas, exploring no further than the first blissful raptures of love. The song was very popular in Mozart’s lifetime and appeared in several published editions. The form unfolds as a mini Rondo, with the primary material recurring three times in conjunction with two contrasting passages. One can only accomplish so much in two-and-a-half minutes, of course, but we should all be so lucky to experience such creative ease once in our lives.

Jason Stell, © 2025