San Francisco Classical Voice

Mozart's Idomeneo ballet music is a very odd bird indeed. It has the expected brilliance, but the chaconne isn't a chaconne at all. Actually, it's simply a patrician rondo of about seven minutes' duration. The last of the five sections of the ballet music constitute yet another example of Mozartian insubordination to The Rules: a passacaille, which isn't remotely a passacaglia. (Both the chaconne and passacaglia are basically variations in which the principal melody is in the bass line rather than at the top the texture.)

The catch is that Idomeneo was commissioned to be an opera seria, an already old-fashioned form caked in a heavy dose of expectations. It had to include a French-style ballet with certain obligatory dance forms (such as the chaconne and passacaglia). Mozart used only the title. His audience, and especially his royal commissioners, would not have been likely to know the difference. But he did use French directions and included the gavotte, another French dance form, at that time titled "honest gavotte."

Idomeneo thus turned out to be an opera by an Austrian composer, paid for by the German aristocracy of Munich, set to a libretto in Italian, with ballet directions in French. What a mixture. One finds in the chaconne, for example, headings such as "Pas de deux de Mad. Hartig et Mr. Antonie" (pas de deux by Mrs. Hartig and Mr. Antonie) at bar 26, or "Pas seul de Mad. Falgera" (pas seul by Mrs. Falgera) at bar 80. It's all just a tad daffy, especially considering that none of the dancers appear to have been French. But this mixture does illustrate the kind of artistic straitjacket with which 17th and 18th century composers commonly dealt. Certain traditions were simply expected, and they had to be observed if the work was to succeed. Mozart merely made a show of following such strictures, meanwhile doing as he pleased. The music's better off for that.

The Concerto No. 15 opened a string of five such piano concerts — Nos. 15-19 — that all sound like seedlings for Mozart's major operas, notably Figaro, Così fan tutte, and Don Giovanni. Of the six, No. 15 is easily the most consistently cheerful in mood. Even the slow movement smiles, in contrast, for instance, to the other B-flat major concerto of the set, No. 18, K. 456, whose slow movement is a deeply melancholic set of variations. After those, Mozart would return to the more symphonic type of concerto, such as his No. 9, K. 271, and the famous two-piano concerto usually listed as No. 10, K. 365.

Friday's performance managed to capture all of the lighthearted dignity of the piece, making for a fine contrast with the works to either side of it. Then, too, Hewitt's bravura playing of Bach's gigue continued the concerto's mood, faster but also in B-flat major. A perfect fit was thus achieved, with no major shifting of gears sensed between Bach's and Mozart's keyboard writing.

Then came the whopper, Mozart's largest, most demanding orchestral composition, the Haffner Serenade, in nine movements and running nearly an hour in length. This Haffner — not to be confused with Mozart's "Haffner" Symphony, written for a different occasion — is not the only big Mozart serenade, but it is easily the grandest. No other quite matches the sheer splendor of K. 250, which amounts to a full concert's worth of music in one piece. It is basically a full symphony, with its opening allegro, an andante surrounded by two minuets, and that bravura finale. Nestled within that symphonic bosom sits a full three-movement violin concerto, which I have sometimes heard programmed as a piece unto itself.

That's all just piffle compared to the richness of ideas in K. 250. A serenade is normally a five-movement structure in light music style. But there are elements of deep profundity in this serenade. The first of the three minuets, for instance, shifts into minor mode and would not sound remotely out of place in the G-minor Symphony No. 40, K. 550. Throughout the serenade, Mozart's total mastery of orchestration and harmony are marvelously evident.

Soloist Volkert is known as a composer of merit, quite apart from his excellence as a violinist. His cadenzas should be published, for they are perfect in terms of fitting into the music without any sense of disruption of style. Mozart left no cadenzas to this, so something is needed beyond improvisation on-the-spot during performance. Composing appropriately stylish Mozart without slipping into personal gestures is no small attainment, and Volkert's cadenzas are models of scholarship and dedication. Many others have tried, and the majority have failed.

The overall serenade constitutes an intellectual escapade for its composer, wherein he held back nothing. The wealthy Haffner family who commissioned the piece must have been a sharp group indeed. They clearly were people who listened with care and appreciated the fine details; otherwise I doubt that Mozart would have dared to set so complex a piece before them. As Stravinsky once observed, "To listen is an effort, and just to hear is no merit. A duck hears also."

I can register no quibble against the general excellence of the evening. Labadie, who is a specialist in Baroque and Classical music, set flawless tempos and achieved beautiful balances of both keen articulation and creamy timbre. Not once did attention to detail falter, and he had the orchestra playing at its superb best all evening. The reduced instrumentation filled the hall with sound and yet, seated way down front, I experienced no sensation of being shouted at or hearing a scraping of bow against string. The winds played up to an international level that might have made any European orchestra — and most American ones — jealous.

Hewitt's playing was a match, crisp and never stooping into sentimentality. On the other hand, she added subtle touches to the phrasing, including tasteful bits of rubato to the slow movement and to Mozart's demanding cadenzas, which she played as perfectly as I can imagine. She employed a forthright manner of playing down into the keys — no gliding along for her. Her performance did not even vaguely hint at the "baby powder" school of Mozart playing. Rather, she played with all the class I have enjoyed in her several recordings, which are elegantly forthright.

Interestingly, Hewitt played on a Fazioli concert grand, a beautiful, handcrafted Italian instrument. Fazioli is a small company, with excellent quality control. I had heard of Faziolis, but oddly enough had never heard one in live performance. It's often been said that Austria's Bösendorfer Imperial Grands are the Rolls Royces of pianos. They are also very expensive, but ideal for resonant music such as that of Schumann or Brahms. But if that Rolls comparison is true, which I think it is, then the Fazioli is the piano world's Ferrari: sleek sounding, with hair-trigger reaction time and yet plenty of power in reserve.

In sum, the evening consisted of savvy soloists playing masterful music under an astute conductor. It left nothing to be desired.