The Year of the Fire Horse Energy and Progress

 by Hermione Lai  February 17th, 2026

I am sure you know this famous line from William Shakespeare’s historical play Richard III. During the Battle of Bosworth Field, the king desperately cries out, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse.”

It’s all about medieval warfare, and unable to flee the Tudor cavalry, he would be captured or killed very soon. No wonder he was desperate enough to hypothetically trade his crown and kingdom for a horse.

There is no such desperation in 2026, when the Horse becomes the zodiac for the Chinese New Year, running from 17 February 2026 to 5 February 2027.

Recent years of the Horse have included 2014, 2002, 1990, 1978, 1966, and 1954. And the next Horse year will be celebrated in 2038. So, let’s have a look at the 7th animal in the cycle of the Chinese zodiac signs.  

Galloping into Greatness

According to Chinese astrology, Horses are confident, agreeable, and responsible, although they also tend to dislike being reined in by others. They are fit and intelligent, adore physical and mental exertion, yet they are also easily swayed and impatient.

Even more significantly, this will be the year of the Fire Horse. This promises a year of positivity because movement is always considered good. This year is for progress, a new start, bold decisions and dramatic shifts.

It’s certainly best to ignore the curse of the Fire Horse, a superstition that holds that women born in that specific year are ill-tempered, headstrong, and fated to bring ruin to their families or cause their husbands’ deaths.   

Finance and Opportunities

In terms of career and finance, there are new opportunities waiting. That may include career shifts; however, be careful with impulsiveness or emotions taking centre stage. This is particularly true around mid-year, as mental and emotional breakdowns may present challenges.

Keep up the constant networking, acquire new skills, and effective time management is a powerful catalyst for overall success. You must be mindful of impulsive financial decisions, however. Avoid overspending on vacations, gifts for yourself and others.

Don’t borrow or lend out large sums of money, otherwise your long-term economic success will be in jeopardy. For 2026, consistent savings and long-term risk-averse investments are your ticket to wealth.   

Love and Lovers

The Year of the Fire Horse may hold surprises and excitement in the romance department. Since Horses are energetic, lively, and generous, they are certainly popular in the romance department. When it comes to love compatibility, their hot temper and stubborn nature means that they tend to gravitate towards romantic partners who are more easy-going and gentle.

Tigers and Horses are temperamental, hot-headed, and often cocky, but in the love department, they bring out the best in each other and allow the other to grow. It’s as if both the Tiger and the Horse finally have someone who can keep up with their own breakneck speed.

Dogs and Goats are also beautiful matches for the passionate Horse. However, you must stay away from the Rat and the Ox. Such relationships result in frequent conflicts that neither will bother to resolve. Horse loves freedom, which makes Ox feel insecure. What started quickly as a passionate love affair is more likely to result in a bitter breakup rather than a happy marriage.  

Wellbeing and Luck

When it comes to health, Horses are very healthy, most likely because they hold a positive attitude towards life. However, heavy responsibility or pressure from their jobs may make them weak. As such, Horses shouldn’t do overtime very often or go home late. They should also refuse some invitations to parties at night.

Lucky numbers in the Year of the Horse are 2, 3, and 7, and numbers that contain them. For your lucky colours, look towards green and yellow, and your lucky flowers are calla lily and jasmine. As for lucky directions, always head east, west, and south.

You should definitely avoid the unlucky colours of blue and white, and your unlucky numbers are 1, 5, and 6. And if you’re on the go, avoid moving north and northwest. And finally, know that you are in good company as famous people born in the Year of the Horse include Isaac Newton, Neil Armstrong, James Cameron, and Max Planck.

To all Interlude readers, we wish you a wonderful Year of the Fire Horse, Gong Hei Fat Choy!

Why Mozart Still Makes Us Laugh

 by Hermione Lai  January 19th, 2026

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is often introduced as a miracle. He was a divine child, and a celestial genius, like a marble statue with a powdered wig. But the moment you actually listen to his music, the statue starts to grin.

Mozart’s music doesn’t stand politely in the corner, but it nudges you in the ribs, rolls its eyes, and occasionally trips over its own feet on purpose.

What makes Mozart remarkable is not just that he was brilliant, but that he is very funny. And not accidentally funny, or funny because you know a lot of music, but genuinely and immediately funny in the way human beings recognise across centuries.

As we celebrate Mozart’s 270th birthday on 27 January 2026, it becomes clear that his humour still works because it is rooted in human behaviour. Things like vanity, impatience, swagger, awkwardness, and the joy of seeing someone slightly overdo things.   

The Oldest Joke in the Book

Many Mozart jokes work on surprise, basically the same mechanism as a good punchline. You think you know where something is going, and then it doesn’t go there at all. Take the “Overture” to The Marriage of Figaro.

It hurtles forward at breakneck speed, bubbling with excitement, as if everyone is late and lying about it. There is no grand introduction, no dignified scene-setting. The music bursts in mid-thought, like someone already halfway through a conversation.

It’s funny because it feels completely uncontrolled and is barely containing its own energy. It’s perfect for setting up an opera where plans unravel almost immediately.   

Mockery with a Smile

If Mozart had lived today, he might have loved parody videos. His A Musical Joke K. 522 is exactly that. It’s a straight-faced spoof of bad composers and overconfident amateur performers.

The brilliance of the piece lies in how sincerely it pretends to be respectable. Nothing is signposted as a joke. The music smiles politely and behaves itself, at least at first. The opening sounds harmless enough, but soon, tiny cracks begin to show.

Harmonies arrive where they clearly shouldn’t, and melodies wander off mid-thought, distracted by something more interesting. Instruments appear not to be listening to one another, each cheerfully pursuing its own idea while the others carry on regardless.

By the end, the whole thing unravels into a glorious mess. Everyone tries to finish together and fails spectacularly. What makes the piece genuinely funny is Mozart’s restraint. He doesn’t push the joke too far or turn it into a caricature. Mozart knows exactly how close he has to stay to reality.  

When Seduction Becomes a Spreadsheet

Mozart’s operas are funny because the music refuses to keep secrets. Characters may try to present themselves as noble, innocent, or in control, but the orchestra has other ideas. It whispers, comments, contradicts, and occasionally bursts out laughing.

The result is comic timing of the highest order as people expose themselves not through what they say, but through what the music reveals behind their backs. Nowhere is this clearer than in Don Giovanni, and especially in Leporello’s famous “Catalogue Aria.” On paper, it is a list, but in practice, it becomes one of the most devastating comic portraits in opera.

The tune bounces along with brisk, almost businesslike cheer, as if Leporello were reading out the contents of a ledger or ticking items off a grocery list. The music is jaunty, efficient, and oddly proud of its own organisation. Meanwhile, the content grows more and more outrageous. Seductions blur into compulsions, and charm slides into predation.

The audience is left laughing slightly uncomfortably at the sheer absurdity of treating moral catastrophe as clerical work. That mismatch is the joke. The music sounds far too pleased with itself. Don Giovanni is never defended, never excused, and never directly condemned; he is simply reduced to a spreadsheet.    

Sighs, Schemes, and Smirks

In Così fan tutte, the trio “Soave sia il vento” sounds tender, heartfelt, and almost heartbreakingly sincere. And yet, if you know the story, the audience is in on the joke. Every note of beauty is delivered while the characters are actively deceiving each other, pretending to be someone they are not, and scheming with near-perfect dramatic obliviousness.

The humour here is both cruel and gentle. It’s cruel because the characters’ emotions are on display while they are lying, flirting, and swapping identities in ways that would make any bystander raise an eyebrow.

It’s gentle because Mozart never mocks them harshly but simply allows the gap between intention and reality to become laughably obvious. Think of it as the operatic equivalent of someone sending a perfectly earnest text while their friends know they’re setting up a prank.

The music is flawless and serious, while the characters are recognisably human, full of vanity, desire, and clueless overconfidence. It is a masterclass in operatic comedy. It is heartbreakingly beautiful, meticulously tender, and yet utterly aware of how ridiculous human behaviour can be.  

The Art of Instant Distraction

Rolando Villazón as Papageno in Mozart’s The Magic Flute at the Metropolitan Opera © Evan Zimmerman / Met Opera

And then there is “Papageno” in The Magic Flute, one of Mozart’s most delightful comic creations. Papageno’s charm lies not in heroism or sophistication but in his stubborn ordinariness. He whistles, he sulks, he panics, and he makes mistakes that are at once ridiculous and utterly relatable.

One of the best examples is his aria “Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen,” in which Papageno fantasises about finding a partner. The melody is simple, almost plodding, bouncing along like a man trying to march confidently while tripping over his own feet.

He repeats the same ideas with childlike insistence, each iteration more desperate and endearing than the last. And then comes the aria’s comic peak. Papageno, in a moment of theatrical despair, threatens suicide only to be instantly distracted by the sound of bells signalling food or the promise of a wife.

Mozart perfectly times the orchestra to underline the absurdity. Papageno’s despair evaporates in a beat, replaced by delight, leaving the audience laughing at his quick flip-flop between panic and pleasure. Papageno is a reminder that life is absurd, chaotic, and sometimes wonderfully silly.  

Not-So-Final Farewells

One of Mozart’s favourite comic tricks is the fake ending. It’s the musical equivalent of saying goodbye three times, waving, and then standing in the doorway like he forgot something important.

It’s a subtle kind of mischief as the music seems to promise closure, only to pull the rug out from under the listener’s expectations. Take the final movement of the “Jupiter Symphony.” Just when you are leaning back, convinced the piece has triumphantly concluded, Mozart nudges the orchestra forward for one more cheeky flourish.

The effect is delightful as the listener is caught between surprise and admiration, laughing along with the composer’s playful audacity. This is comic timing in its purest, non-verbal form. The music is alive, aware of its audience, and utterly confident in its ability to provoke a smile.

Mozart’s genius was never just in the notes he wrote, but in the way he invited us to laugh at life itself. Mozart understood the absurd, unpredictable, and wonderfully human side of existence. Two hundred and seventy years on, his music still grins, nudges, and winks, reminding us that brilliance and humour should live happily together.

Grant Us Peace A New Year’s Journey Through Music and Hope

by Hermione Lai  January 1st, 2026

As we step into 2026, we carry with us the quiet and enduring hope that every new year invites. The hope for peace, for connection, and for renewal. Few words capture this yearning as simply and profoundly as the Latin phrase “Dona nobis pacem,” translated as “Grant us peace.”

Although it first appeared in the “Agnus Dei” of the Roman Catholic Mass, this plea has travelled far beyond the walls of any church, finding its way into music across centuries and styles.

Bach’s writing of “Dona nobis pacem”

From the serene rounds of the medieval era to the soaring polyphony of the Baroque, the impassioned mass settings of the Romantic period, and the stirring cantatas of the twentieth century, composers have returned again and again to this three-word invocation.

It is at once humble and transcendent, a lyrical prayer for our collective hopes, our sorrows, and our longing for a world at rest. As the calendar turns, let us carry “dona nobis pacem” not just as a musical motif, but as a prayer and a promise.

A Single Line

When we look at the diversity of settings, we first look at the dual identities of the text. In fact, it is both a liturgical fragment and a stand-alone musical symbol.

Musically, dona nobis pacem has been composed as a canon, a choral movement within a mass, a large‑scale choral‑orchestral work, and even modern arrangements for handbells and secular choirs.

Through these settings, composers have revealed not only their personal reflections on peace but also the cultural, social, and historical currents that shaped their lives. Each interpretation becomes a mirror of its time. In every era, “Dona nobis pacem” has offered musicians a way to translate human longing into sound.

Statue of Mozart in Salzburg

Maybe the famous “Dona nobis pacem” sound isn’t actually by Mozart, but it captures something people long to associate with Mozart. Clarity without coldness, elegance without effort, and the quiet miracle of voices joining, one after another, to ask for peace.   

Two Visions of Peace

Once we move beyond the intimacy of a simple canon, the Renaissance gave “dona nobis pacem” architectural weight and spiritual depth. The plea for peace, as in the masses of Palestrina, is not whispered but carefully built.

The phrase, within the polyphonic Mass, becomes the destination. It is the final space where all preceding musical thought comes to rest. Peace is embodied rather than described, as the music suggests that peace arises through balance, restraint, and communal listening.

For Johann Sebastian Bach, the final “Dona nobis pacem” is both culmination and transformation. The chorus unfolds in dense, purposeful imitation, propelled by orchestral energy, and the prayer expands beyond a personal plea into collective affirmation.

This is peace earned through striving, and order forged from complexity. Where the Renaissance offers calm equilibrium, Bach offers radiant conviction. His vision of peace is not stillness, but moral triumph. It is hard-fought, structured, and ultimately luminous.

Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina

Peace as Architecture of Faith

Joseph Haydn

As we move through societal changes and developments, the plea for peace transcends from a communal ritual to an inward, almost existential longing. The words remain the same, but the musical attitude does not. For Joseph Haydn, “dona nobis pacem” belongs to the architecture of faith.

In his late masses, the final Agnus Dei/Dona nobis pacem often begins in gravity or tension and then resolves into buoyant affirmation.

Haydn’s musical language here is public and ceremonial. Rhythmic vitality, clear tonal direction, and bright orchestration suggest peace not as fragile or doubtful, but as something bestowed.

Peace, for Haydn, is communal and stabilising. It belongs to a world where faith, reason, and social order ultimately align. The music reassures, as the pleas for peace have been heard.    

The Fragile Plea for Peace

With Mozart, the plea for peace steps out of ceremony and into lived experience. The plea for peace no longer sounds like a confident conclusion to a ritual already understood, but like a moment of exposure.

Rather than pressing toward emphatic resolution, Mozart allows vulnerability to linger. His lines unfold with a natural, almost conversational lyricism, as if the music itself were breathing alongside the listener.

This is peace understood as a moral and human ideal rather than a guaranteed outcome. Peace in this music is not proclaimed, but carefully and almost shyly, offered. His settings acknowledge that peace is something we long for precisely because it is so easily broken.

Mozart’s Enlightenment spirit comes fully into focus. Faith remains, but it is infused with empathy. Even when he writes for grand forces, the plea for peace feels intimate. It is music that does not assume peace as a conclusion, but asks for it gently and earnestly.   

The Music of Hesitation

Franz Schubert © Hadi Karimi

Once we make it to Franz Schubert, ” Dona nobis pacem ” has crossed a threshold. In his late masses, the plea no longer feels assured of fulfilment. Schubert often avoids emphatic closure, favouring suspended harmonies, unexpected modulations, and an almost questioning tone.

Schubert’s Dona nobis pacem can feel hesitant, inward, and searching. The music does not declare peace so much as hope for it. The sense of consolation is fragile and provisional. A Romantic consciousness is emerging.

Faith exists, but certainty does not. Peace here is not guaranteed by divine order nor resolved through classical balance. It is something yearned for by an individual soul, aware of loss, mortality, and distance from transcendence.

Schubert turns it inward, allowing doubt and longing to remain unresolved. What begins as a liturgical formula becomes, by Schubert’s time, a mirror of changing human self-understanding. The words never change, but the music tells us that we might never fully possess peace.     

A Universal Cry for Peace

E.O. Hoppé: Vaughan Williams, 1920

While settings throughout the 19th century often remained within liturgical boundaries, the 20th century witnessed a dramatic reimagining of this plea for peace as a large-scale artistic statement about war and peace, reaching far beyond liturgical roots.

Probably the most significant example emerges courtesy of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s 1936 cantata Dona nobis pacem. Commissioned for the centenary of the Huddersfield Choral Society, this work blends the Latin Mass text with poetry by Walt Whitman, Biblical passages, and political speech excerpts to produce a sweeping plea for peace during a period of escalating global tension.

Vaughan Williams’ setting opens with the familiar “Agnus Dei” prayer and then moves into movements based on Whitman’s vivid war poetry, which dramatise the intrusion of war into everyday life and explore the emotional and moral complexities of conflict.

Ultimately, the piece returns to the prayer, asserting peace not merely as a liturgical desire but as a deeply human imperative. The work exemplifies how the theme evolved in modern times. Vaughan Williams transforms a liturgical fragment into a political and emotional epic, situating the plea for peace within a universal conversation about war.  

The Enduring Human Plea

In our time, Dona nobis pacem continues to appear in countless settings beyond traditional choral liturgy or large orchestral works. Composers and arrangers have crafted versions for smaller ensembles, educational choirs, and instrumental groups.

Even in secular popular culture, the phrase often appears in contexts divorced from strict liturgy. Its presence in hymnals, children’s choir pieces, and recordings of Christmas and peace songs suggests that Dona nobis pacem has entered the broader cultural imagination as a universal symbol of hope.

Across the centuries, Dona nobis pacem has never belonged to a single style or moment. It has lived as a simple round sung together, as intricate polyphony, as a radiant mass finale, and as an urgent modern cry. Each setting reflects its time, yet all return to the same fragile truth. Peace is never assumed, only asked for.

Perhaps that is why these words continue to move us. In singing “grant us peace”, we hear generations before us voicing the same hope we carry today. Music gives us the hope, if only for a moment, to believe that by listening together, and by singing together, we might edge a little closer to the harmony we so deeply desire.

The 10 Most Exciting Double Concertos

 by Hermione Lai  

There is an old saying that “two heads are better than one” when it comes to reasoning and perceptual decision-making. That might well be true, but are two soloists in classical music better than one? This seems a tricky question as the word “concerto” can mean both to contend, dispute, and debate, but also “to work together with someone.” And there is lots of musical and interpretive cooperation needed when it comes to the “Double Concerto.” The definition of that genre is straightforward, as it simply reads “a composition for two solo instruments with orchestra.” The kinds of instruments are left to the imagination of the composers, and while we are primarily used to hearing solo concertos these days, double concertos used to be very popular with composers and performers alike.

C.P.E. Bach: Concerto in E-flat Major for Harpsichord and Fortepiano, H. 479

C.P.E. Bach’s Double Concerto

So I decided to write a little blog featuring 10 of the most exciting double concertos in the repertoire. And my starting point is Johann Sebastian Bach’s eldest son Carl Philipp Emanuel. As a keyboard composer, he was a true pioneer, “imitating the cantabile melody of applied music,” and incorporating improvisatory passages of dazzling virtuosity. Just have a listen to his Concerto for Harpsichord and Fortepiano, which dates from 1788.   

Elliott Carter: Double Concerto for harpsichord, piano and two chamber orchestras

Elliott Carter: Double Concerto for harpsichord, piano and two chamber orchestras

Personally, I think that the C.P.E. Bach Double concerto is a masterpiece, and the same has been said of the double concerto for the same basic setup by American composer Elliott Carter. Mind you, that particular double concerto dates from 1961. And while the musical language is certainly very different, Carter’s double concerto strives for the same delicate balance between the two different keyboard instruments. Of course, the percussion is an added 20th-century bonus. But you don’t have to take my word for it, as Igor Stravinsky regarded the Carter double concerto as a masterpiece. The composer Harrison Birtwistle wrote of the piece, “I love the Double Concerto for piano, harpsichord and two chamber orchestras. There’s nothing like it in music: the concept, the way it makes time and rhythm move, the instrumentation, and that bloody harpsichord!” Pianist Charles Rosen first performed the piano solo part, and he called it “the most brilliantly attractive and apparently most complex work.” And he adds, “The absence of a central pulse adds to the liberating excitement.”   

Felix Mendelssohn: Concerto for Two Pianos in E Major

Fanny and Felix Mendelssohn

Lots of double concertos were composed between C.P.E Bach and Elliott Carter, and it’s time to turn to the music of Felix Mendelssohn. He clearly was one of the rare universal geniuses, and by the age of 15 he had already composed 12 string sinfonias, various sonatas for viola and for violin, religious choral pieces, numerous piano compositions, and was busily working on his fourth opera. One of his early compositions is the Concerto for 2 pianos in E Major. It was composed as a birthday gift for his equally talented sister Fanny Mendelssohn. The work unfolds in 3 movements, and the opening “Allegro” starts with an extended orchestral introduction, which could easily have been written by Mozart. After the pianos enter, one at the time, we hear a delightful musical dialogue between two equal partners. But it’s not all Mozart imitation, as we also hear sudden chromatic shifts, surprise cadences, and almost instantaneous shifts in atmosphere—all features we clearly associate with the music of Mendelssohn.  

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Concerto for 2 pianos in E-flat Major, K. 365

Wolfgang and Nannerl Mozart

You heard me mention Mozart in connection with the Mendelsohn double concerto. Mendelssohn had a ferocious musical mind, and he devoured any and all kinds of music, basically everything he could get his hands on. And that surely included the glorious Concerto for 2 pianos in E-flat Major, K. 365 by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Mozart composed the work in the late 1770s, around the same time as another great double concerto, the Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola. It has been suggested that Mozart wrote the concerto for two pianos to perform with his sister Nannerl, but there is no record of them playing the work. However, we do know that Mozart performed the work with his student Josepha Auernhammer in Vienna in 1781 and 1782. Mozart was trying to make an impression on the city of Vienna, and he selected this concerto to show some of his best work. It is possible that Mozart enlarged the orchestra, adding clarinets, trumpets, and timpani for these performances, to make an even more brilliant impression. We still don’t know to this day, however, if these orchestral additions are in fact by Mozart or not.   

Johann Sebastian Bach: Concerto for two violins in D minor, BWV 1043

Collegium Musicum in Leipzig, 1790

Pianos are fun, but double concertos have been written for other instruments as well. Did you really think that I would not feature my favorite composer of all time, Johann Sebastian Bach? And we are lucky indeed that Bach left us with the Concerto for Two Violins in D minor, BWV 1043, one of the most magnificent double concertos in the repertoire. It really is surprising that a substantial number of Bach’s compositions cannot be dated with certainty. And that is certainly true for many of his concertos, as many are arrangements of previous versions. There is lots of scholarly squabbling going on, and it all depends on which argument you would like to believe. Some say that the work originated during Bach’s tenure at the court of Cöthen between 1717 and 1723. Others have argued that it comes from Bach’s appointment as the director of the Collegium Musicum in Leipzig after 1730. And we also know that Bach himself produced a transposed arrangement of this concerto for two harpsichords in 1739. While we might not be sure of the exact date, we certainly hear a work of remarkably expressive intensity. The themes are full-bodied and highly irregular and presented with Bach’s tremendous and glorious urgency.

Johannes Brahms: Concerto for Violin, Cello and Orchestra in A minor, Op. 102

Joseph Joachim and Johannes Brahms, 1855

From “B” for Bach, let’s move next to “B” for Brahms. Life works in mysterious ways, and the Brahms Concerto for Violin, Cello and Orchestra in A minor, Op. 102, owes its existence to a divorce, at least partially. One of his best friends, the violinist Joseph Joachim accused his wife Amalie Weiss of infidelity with Brahms’ music publisher. Brahms did not believe Joachim’s accusation, and he wrote a sympathetic letter to Amalie. Unfortunately, when Joachim filed for divorce, that letter ended up as evidence. Brahms had written, “With no thought have I ever acknowledged that your husband might be in the right. At this point, I perhaps hardly need to say that, even earlier than you did, I became aware of the unfortunate character trait with which Joachim so inexcusably tortures himself and others… The simplest matter is so exaggerated, so complicated, that one scarcely knows where to begin with it and how to bring it to an end.” The judge was certainly convinced and quickly ruled in Amalie’s favor. Always professional, Joachim continued to perform and promote the music of Brahms, but the two did not speak again for four long years. In 1887, Brahms remembered that he had promised to write a piece for the cellist Robert Hausmann, and so he decided to kill two birds with one stone by also including Joachim. Without doubt, the friendship was in need of patching up, and Joachim enthusiastically agreed.  

Frederick Delius: Concerto for Violin, Cello and Orchestra

Cellists May and Beatrice Harrison, c. 1920s

The idea of featuring a violin and cello soloist in a double concerto also appealed to Frederick Delius (1862-1934). In fact, hearing the sisters May and Beatrice Harrison in a Hallé Orchestra concert performing Brahms’s Double Concerto in 1914, certainly kindled his interest. The Harrison sisters were celebrated figures in British music, and both became closely associated with Delius’ music. Shortly after the Brahms performance, Delius apparently said to Beatrice, “Your performance was superb, so much so that I am inspired to write a double concerto and dedicate it to you and your sister.” The composer frequently consulted the Harrison sisters, and May reports, “When Delius began the Double Concerto at our house in Cornwall Gardens he wrote a lot of it in unison. We both said, ‘you can’t do that, it doesn’t sound right.’ And when we played bits he said, ‘No, you are quite right. I see what you mean.’ Delius used to come over with two pages, sit at the piano and then say, ‘This is what I want.’ He then bring two more pages and so in this way it was built up.” In the end, Delius built his double concerto in 5 undulating and entwined movements.

Joseph Haydn: Double Concerto for Harpsichord, Violin and Strings in F Major

Maria Anna Keller

It is called Haydn’s “only surviving concerto for two solo instruments,” but it was probably originally intended for the organ. I am talking about the Concerto in F Major for Harpsichord, Violin and Strings, Hob.XVIII:6. It appears to have been written for Therese Keller, his future sister-in-law, who decided to become a nun in 1756. However, there is a backstory to this double concerto. Therese Keller was the daughter of a wigmaker, and a student of Haydn. He taught her to play the piano and fell head over heels in love with her. Therese, as it turns out, had been earmarked by her family for religious life, and she eventually did join a nunnery. Haydn, however, was considered a good catch as he was already earning money from the aristocracy and he had recently composed his first symphony. So the Keller family came up with the glorious idea that Therese’s older sister Maria Anna might be a suitable replacement. Haydn wasn’t thrilled and it took him almost five years to settle on a wedding day. That relationship, as we know, was an unmitigated disaster.

Johann Nepomuk Hummel: Concerto for Violin and Piano in G Major, Op. 17

Johann Nepomuk Hummel: Concerto for Violin and Piano in G Major, Op. 17 © Artaria Editions

The combination of the solo piano and solo violin also held some fascination for Johann Nepomuk Hummel (1778-1837). And there is even a closer connection to Haydn himself. Both composers worked for the Esterhazy family in the castle of Eisenstadt. Haydn would stay there for nearly thirty years, while Hummel managed to get himself fired for neglecting his duties after only seven years. Both composers greatly enjoyed the local wine, but Hummel wanted to see the world and eventually became a pianist famous for his technical skills. In fact, only his fellow pianist Ludwig van Beethoven could rival his technical prowess. Hummel’s double concerto dates from 1804, and it is scored in the traditional three concerto movements. Hummel dishes out a delightful interplay between the two solo instruments, maybe slightly less virtuosic than in many solo concertos, but the music flows with consuming ease and beauty. Also noteworthy is the fact that Hummel fully composed his own cadenza for the opening movement. And we can hear an additional Hummel cadenza in the concluding playful Rondo.   

Francis Poulenc: Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra in D minor

Francis Poulenc: Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra in D minor © Sheet Music Plus

With so many great double concertos to choose from, it is very difficult to decide on a good closer. In the end, I decided on a work of childlike exuberance, filled with teasing, innocence, caricature, and the sounds of the Parisian street café. I am talking about the Concerto for Two Pianos by Francis Poulenc. Premiered on 5 September 1932, Poulenc literally found his inspirations around every corner. The opening figuration is thought to have been inspired by Poulenc’s encounter with a Balinese gamelan at the 1931 Exposition Coloniale de Paris. The instrumentation and jazzy effects come from Ravel’s G major Concerto, which premiered in Paris just a couple of months earlier. However, the composer admitted that the opening theme goes all the way back to Mozart because, “I have a veneration for the melodic line and because I prefer Mozart to all other composers.” However, there was one more influence at play. Poulenc wrote in a letter to the Russian-born composer and conductor Igor Markevitch, “Would you like to know what I had on my piano during the two months gestation of the Concerto? The concertos of Mozart, those of Liszt, that of Ravel, and your Partita.” What a fabulous and fun...