| Bach: Major Choral Works Vocal Scores (Version 2.0) Chorale [CD Sheet Music] Subito Music
By Johann Sebastian Bach. For Choral. (Vocal Scores). CD Sheet Music (Version 2....(+)
By Johann Sebastian Bach.
For Choral. (Vocal
Scores). CD Sheet Music
(Version 2.0). PDF file
on CD. 2500 pages.
Published by Subito
Music.
$19.95 - Voir plus => AcheterDélais: 3 to 5 business days | | |
| Acadia Theodore Presser Co.
Band Bass Clarinet, Bassoon 1, Bassoon 2, Clarinet, Clarinet 1, Clarinet 2, Clar...(+)
Band Bass Clarinet,
Bassoon 1, Bassoon 2,
Clarinet, Clarinet 1,
Clarinet 2, Clarinet 3,
Contrabass Clarinet,
Contrabassoon, Double
Bass, English Horn,
Euphonium, Flute 1, Flute
2, Horn 1, Horn 2, Horn
3, Horn 4, Oboe 1, Oboe
2, Percussion 1 and more.
SKU: PR.16500103F
Mvt. 3 from Symphony
No. 6 (Three Places in
the East). Composed
by Dan Welcher. Full
score. 60 pages. Theodore
Presser Company
#165-00103F. Published by
Theodore Presser Company
(PR.16500103F). ISBN
9781491131763. UPC:
680160680290. Ever
since the success of my
series of wind ensemble
works Places in the West,
I've been wanting to
write a companion piece
for national parks on the
other side of the north
American continent. The
earlier work, consisting
of GLACIER, THE
YELLOWSTONE FIRES,
ARCHES, and ZION, spanned
some twenty years of my
composing life, and since
the pieces called for
differing groups of
instruments, and were in
slightly different styles
from each other, I never
considered them to be
connected except in their
subject matter. In their
depiction of both the
scenery and the human
history within these
wondrous places, they had
a common goal: awaking
the listener to the
fragile beauty that is in
them; and calling
attention to the ever
more crucial need for
preservation and
protection of these wild
places, unique in all the
world. With this new
work, commissioned by a
consortium of college and
conservatory wind
ensembles led by the
University of Georgia, I
decided to build upon
that same model---but to
solidify the process. The
result, consisting of
three movements (each
named for a different
national park in the
eastern US), is a
bona-fide symphony. While
the three pieces could be
performed separately,
they share a musical
theme---and also a common
style and
instrumentation. It is a
true symphony, in that
the first movement is
long and expository, the
second is a rather
tightly structured
scherzo-with-trio, and
the finale is a true
culmination of the whole.
The first movement,
Everglades, was the
original inspiration for
the entire symphony.
Conceived over the course
of two trips to that
astonishing place (which
the native Americans
called River of Grass,
the subtitle of this
movement), this movement
not only conveys a sense
of the humid, lush, and
even frightening scenery
there---but also an
overview of the entire
settling-of- Florida
experience. It contains
not one, but two native
American chants, and also
presents a view of the
staggering influence of
modern man on this
fragile part of the
world. Beginning with a
slow unfolding marked
Heavy, humid, the music
soon presents a gentle,
lyrical theme in the solo
alto saxophone. This
theme, which goes through
three expansive phrases
with breaks in between,
will appear in all three
movements of the
symphony. After the mood
has been established, the
music opens up to a rich,
warm setting of a
Cherokee morning song,
with the simple happiness
that this part of Florida
must have had prior to
the nineteenth century.
This music, enveloping
and comforting, gradually
gives way to a more
frenetic, driven section
representative of the
intrusion of the white
man. Since Florida was
populated and developed
largely due to the
introduction of a train
system, there's a
suggestion of the
mechanized iron horse
driving straight into the
heartland. At that point,
the native Americans
become considerably less
gentle, and a second
chant seems to stand in
the way of the intruder;
a kind of warning song.
The second part of this
movement shows us the
great swampy center of
the peninsula, with its
wildlife both in and out
of the water. A new theme
appears, sad but noble,
suggesting that this land
is precious and must be
protected by all the
people who inhabit it. At
length, the morning song
reappears in all its
splendor, until the
sunset---with one last
iteration of the warning
song in the solo piccolo.
Functioning as a scherzo,
the second movement,
Great Smoky Mountains,
describes not just that
huge park itself, but one
brave soul's attempt to
climb a mountain there.
It begins with three
iterations of the
UR-theme (which began the
first movement as well),
but this time as up-tempo
brass fanfares in
octaves. Each time it
begins again, the theme
is a little slower and
less confident than the
previous time---almost as
though the hiker were
becoming aware of the
daunting mountain before
him. But then, a steady,
quick-pulsed ostinato
appears, in a constantly
shifting meter system of
2/4- 3/4 in alteration,
and the hike has begun.
Over this, a slower new
melody appears, as the
trek up the mountain
progresses. It's a big
mountain, and the ascent
seems to take quite
awhile, with little
breaks in the hiker's
stride, until at length
he simply must stop and
rest. An oboe solo, over
several free cadenza-like
measures, allows us (and
our friend the hiker) to
catch our breath, and
also to view in the
distance the rocky peak
before us. The goal is
somehow even more
daunting than at first,
being closer and thus
more frighteningly steep.
When we do push off
again, it's at a slower
pace, and with more
careful attention to our
footholds as we trek over
broken rocks. Tantalizing
little views of the
valley at every
switchback make our
determination even
stronger. Finally, we
burst through a stand of
pines and----we're at the
summit! The immensity of
the view is overwhelming,
and ultimately humbling.
A brief coda, while we
sit dazed on the rocks,
ends the movement in a
feeling of triumph. The
final movement, Acadia,
is also about a trip. In
the summer of 2014, I
took a sailing trip with
a dear friend from North
Haven, Maine, to the
southern coast of Mt.
Desert Island in Acadia
National Park. The
experience left me both
exuberant and exhausted,
with an appreciation for
the ocean that I hadn't
had previously. The
approach to Acadia
National Park by water,
too, was thrilling: like
the difference between
climbing a mountain on
foot with riding up on a
ski-lift, I felt I'd
earned the right to be
there. The music for this
movement is entirely
based on the opening
UR-theme. There's a sense
of the water and the
mysterious, quiet deep
from the very beginning,
with seagulls and bell
buoys setting the scene.
As we leave the harbor,
the theme (in a canon
between solo euphonium
and tuba) almost seems as
if large subaquatic
animals are observing our
departure. There are
three themes (call them
A, B and C) in this
seafaring journey---but
they are all based on the
UR theme, in its original
form with octaves
displaced, in an
upside-down form, and in
a backwards version as
well. (The ocean, while
appearing to be
unchanging, is always
changing.) We move out
into the main channel
(A), passing several
islands (B), until we
reach the long draw that
parallels the coastline
called Eggemoggin Reach,
and a sudden burst of new
speed (C). Things
suddenly stop, as if the
wind had died, and we
have a vision: is that
really Mt. Desert Island
we can see off the port
bow, vaguely in the
distance? A chorale of
saxophones seems to
suggest that. We push off
anew as the chorale ends,
and go through all three
themes again---but in
different
instrumentations, and
different keys. At the
final tack-turn, there it
is, for real: Mt. Desert
Island, big as life.
We've made it. As we pull
into the harbor, where
we'll secure the boat for
the night, there's a
feeling of achievement.
Our whale and dolphin
friends return, and we
end our journey with
gratitude and
celebration. I am
profoundly grateful to
Jaclyn Hartenberger,
Professor of Conducting
at the University of
Georgia, for leading the
consortium which provided
the commissioning of this
work. $39.99 - Voir plus => AcheterDélais: 2 to 3 weeks | | |
| Great Smoky Mountains Theodore Presser Co.
Band Bass Clarinet, Bassoon 1, Bassoon 2, Clarinet, Clarinet 1, Clarinet 2, Clar...(+)
Band Bass Clarinet,
Bassoon 1, Bassoon 2,
Clarinet, Clarinet 1,
Clarinet 2, Clarinet 3,
Contrabass Clarinet,
Contrabassoon, Double
Bass, English Horn,
Euphonium, Flute 1, Flute
2, Horn 1, Horn 2, Horn
3, Horn 4, Oboe 1, Oboe
2, Percussion 1 and more.
SKU: PR.16500102F
Mvt. 2 from Symphony
No. 6 (Three Places in
the East). Composed
by Dan Welcher. Full
score. 52 pages. Theodore
Presser Company
#165-00102F. Published by
Theodore Presser Company
(PR.16500102F). ISBN
9781491131749. UPC:
680160680276. Ever
since the success of my
series of wind ensemble
works Places in the West,
I've been wanting to
write a companion piece
for national parks on the
other side of the north
American continent. The
earlier work, consisting
of GLACIER, THE
YELLOWSTONE FIRES,
ARCHES, and ZION, spanned
some twenty years of my
composing life, and since
the pieces called for
differing groups of
instruments, and were in
slightly different styles
from each other, I never
considered them to be
connected except in their
subject matter. In their
depiction of both the
scenery and the human
history within these
wondrous places, they had
a common goal: awaking
the listener to the
fragile beauty that is in
them; and calling
attention to the ever
more crucial need for
preservation and
protection of these wild
places, unique in all the
world. With this new
work, commissioned by a
consortium of college and
conservatory wind
ensembles led by the
University of Georgia, I
decided to build upon
that same model---but to
solidify the process. The
result, consisting of
three movements (each
named for a different
national park in the
eastern US), is a
bona-fide symphony. While
the three pieces could be
performed separately,
they share a musical
theme---and also a common
style and
instrumentation. It is a
true symphony, in that
the first movement is
long and expository, the
second is a rather
tightly structured
scherzo-with-trio, and
the finale is a true
culmination of the whole.
The first movement,
Everglades, was the
original inspiration for
the entire symphony.
Conceived over the course
of two trips to that
astonishing place (which
the native Americans
called River of Grass,
the subtitle of this
movement), this movement
not only conveys a sense
of the humid, lush, and
even frightening scenery
there---but also an
overview of the entire
settling-of- Florida
experience. It contains
not one, but two native
American chants, and also
presents a view of the
staggering influence of
modern man on this
fragile part of the
world. Beginning with a
slow unfolding marked
Heavy, humid, the music
soon presents a gentle,
lyrical theme in the solo
alto saxophone. This
theme, which goes through
three expansive phrases
with breaks in between,
will appear in all three
movements of the
symphony. After the mood
has been established, the
music opens up to a rich,
warm setting of a
Cherokee morning song,
with the simple happiness
that this part of Florida
must have had prior to
the nineteenth century.
This music, enveloping
and comforting, gradually
gives way to a more
frenetic, driven section
representative of the
intrusion of the white
man. Since Florida was
populated and developed
largely due to the
introduction of a train
system, there's a
suggestion of the
mechanized iron horse
driving straight into the
heartland. At that point,
the native Americans
become considerably less
gentle, and a second
chant seems to stand in
the way of the intruder;
a kind of warning song.
The second part of this
movement shows us the
great swampy center of
the peninsula, with its
wildlife both in and out
of the water. A new theme
appears, sad but noble,
suggesting that this land
is precious and must be
protected by all the
people who inhabit it. At
length, the morning song
reappears in all its
splendor, until the
sunset---with one last
iteration of the warning
song in the solo piccolo.
Functioning as a scherzo,
the second movement,
Great Smoky Mountains,
describes not just that
huge park itself, but one
brave soul's attempt to
climb a mountain there.
It begins with three
iterations of the
UR-theme (which began the
first movement as well),
but this time as up-tempo
brass fanfares in
octaves. Each time it
begins again, the theme
is a little slower and
less confident than the
previous time---almost as
though the hiker were
becoming aware of the
daunting mountain before
him. But then, a steady,
quick-pulsed ostinato
appears, in a constantly
shifting meter system of
2/4- 3/4 in alteration,
and the hike has begun.
Over this, a slower new
melody appears, as the
trek up the mountain
progresses. It's a big
mountain, and the ascent
seems to take quite
awhile, with little
breaks in the hiker's
stride, until at length
he simply must stop and
rest. An oboe solo, over
several free cadenza-like
measures, allows us (and
our friend the hiker) to
catch our breath, and
also to view in the
distance the rocky peak
before us. The goal is
somehow even more
daunting than at first,
being closer and thus
more frighteningly steep.
When we do push off
again, it's at a slower
pace, and with more
careful attention to our
footholds as we trek over
broken rocks. Tantalizing
little views of the
valley at every
switchback make our
determination even
stronger. Finally, we
burst through a stand of
pines and----we're at the
summit! The immensity of
the view is overwhelming,
and ultimately humbling.
A brief coda, while we
sit dazed on the rocks,
ends the movement in a
feeling of triumph. The
final movement, Acadia,
is also about a trip. In
the summer of 2014, I
took a sailing trip with
a dear friend from North
Haven, Maine, to the
southern coast of Mt.
Desert Island in Acadia
National Park. The
experience left me both
exuberant and exhausted,
with an appreciation for
the ocean that I hadn't
had previously. The
approach to Acadia
National Park by water,
too, was thrilling: like
the difference between
climbing a mountain on
foot with riding up on a
ski-lift, I felt I'd
earned the right to be
there. The music for this
movement is entirely
based on the opening
UR-theme. There's a sense
of the water and the
mysterious, quiet deep
from the very beginning,
with seagulls and bell
buoys setting the scene.
As we leave the harbor,
the theme (in a canon
between solo euphonium
and tuba) almost seems as
if large subaquatic
animals are observing our
departure. There are
three themes (call them
A, B and C) in this
seafaring journey---but
they are all based on the
UR theme, in its original
form with octaves
displaced, in an
upside-down form, and in
a backwards version as
well. (The ocean, while
appearing to be
unchanging, is always
changing.) We move out
into the main channel
(A), passing several
islands (B), until we
reach the long draw that
parallels the coastline
called Eggemoggin Reach,
and a sudden burst of new
speed (C). Things
suddenly stop, as if the
wind had died, and we
have a vision: is that
really Mt. Desert Island
we can see off the port
bow, vaguely in the
distance? A chorale of
saxophones seems to
suggest that. We push off
anew as the chorale ends,
and go through all three
themes again---but in
different
instrumentations, and
different keys. At the
final tack-turn, there it
is, for real: Mt. Desert
Island, big as life.
We've made it. As we pull
into the harbor, where
we'll secure the boat for
the night, there's a
feeling of achievement.
Our whale and dolphin
friends return, and we
end our journey with
gratitude and
celebration. I am
profoundly grateful to
Jaclyn Hartenberger,
Professor of Conducting
at the University of
Georgia, for leading the
consortium which provided
the commissioning of this
work. $36.99 - Voir plus => AcheterDélais: 2 to 3 weeks | | |
| Everglades (River of Grass) Theodore Presser Co.
Band Bass Clarinet, Bassoon 1, Bassoon 2, Clarinet, Clarinet 1, Clarinet 2, Clar...(+)
Band Bass Clarinet,
Bassoon 1, Bassoon 2,
Clarinet, Clarinet 1,
Clarinet 2, Clarinet 3,
Contrabass Clarinet,
Contrabassoon, Double
Bass, English Horn,
Euphonium, Flute 1, Flute
2, Horn 1, Horn 2, Horn
3, Horn 4, Oboe 1, Oboe
2, Percussion 1 and more.
SKU: PR.16500101F
Mvt. 1 from Symphony
No. 6 (Three Places in
the East). Composed
by Dan Welcher. Full
score. 52 pages. Theodore
Presser Company
#165-00101F. Published by
Theodore Presser Company
(PR.16500101F). ISBN
9781491131725. UPC:
680160680252. Ever
since the success of my
series of wind ensemble
works Places in the West,
I've been wanting to
write a companion piece
for national parks on the
other side of the north
American continent. The
earlier work, consisting
of GLACIER, THE
YELLOWSTONE FIRES,
ARCHES, and ZION, spanned
some twenty years of my
composing life, and since
the pieces called for
differing groups of
instruments, and were in
slightly different styles
from each other, I never
considered them to be
connected except in their
subject matter. In their
depiction of both the
scenery and the human
history within these
wondrous places, they had
a common goal: awaking
the listener to the
fragile beauty that is in
them; and calling
attention to the ever
more crucial need for
preservation and
protection of these wild
places, unique in all the
world. With this new
work, commissioned by a
consortium of college and
conservatory wind
ensembles led by the
University of Georgia, I
decided to build upon
that same model---but to
solidify the process. The
result, consisting of
three movements (each
named for a different
national park in the
eastern US), is a
bona-fide symphony. While
the three pieces could be
performed separately,
they share a musical
theme---and also a common
style and
instrumentation. It is a
true symphony, in that
the first movement is
long and expository, the
second is a rather
tightly structured
scherzo-with-trio, and
the finale is a true
culmination of the whole.
The first movement,
Everglades, was the
original inspiration for
the entire symphony.
Conceived over the course
of two trips to that
astonishing place (which
the native Americans
called River of Grass,
the subtitle of this
movement), this movement
not only conveys a sense
of the humid, lush, and
even frightening scenery
there---but also an
overview of the entire
settling-of- Florida
experience. It contains
not one, but two native
American chants, and also
presents a view of the
staggering influence of
modern man on this
fragile part of the
world. Beginning with a
slow unfolding marked
Heavy, humid, the music
soon presents a gentle,
lyrical theme in the solo
alto saxophone. This
theme, which goes through
three expansive phrases
with breaks in between,
will appear in all three
movements of the
symphony. After the mood
has been established, the
music opens up to a rich,
warm setting of a
Cherokee morning song,
with the simple happiness
that this part of Florida
must have had prior to
the nineteenth century.
This music, enveloping
and comforting, gradually
gives way to a more
frenetic, driven section
representative of the
intrusion of the white
man. Since Florida was
populated and developed
largely due to the
introduction of a train
system, there's a
suggestion of the
mechanized iron horse
driving straight into the
heartland. At that point,
the native Americans
become considerably less
gentle, and a second
chant seems to stand in
the way of the intruder;
a kind of warning song.
The second part of this
movement shows us the
great swampy center of
the peninsula, with its
wildlife both in and out
of the water. A new theme
appears, sad but noble,
suggesting that this land
is precious and must be
protected by all the
people who inhabit it. At
length, the morning song
reappears in all its
splendor, until the
sunset---with one last
iteration of the warning
song in the solo piccolo.
Functioning as a scherzo,
the second movement,
Great Smoky Mountains,
describes not just that
huge park itself, but one
brave soul's attempt to
climb a mountain there.
It begins with three
iterations of the
UR-theme (which began the
first movement as well),
but this time as up-tempo
brass fanfares in
octaves. Each time it
begins again, the theme
is a little slower and
less confident than the
previous time---almost as
though the hiker were
becoming aware of the
daunting mountain before
him. But then, a steady,
quick-pulsed ostinato
appears, in a constantly
shifting meter system of
2/4- 3/4 in alteration,
and the hike has begun.
Over this, a slower new
melody appears, as the
trek up the mountain
progresses. It's a big
mountain, and the ascent
seems to take quite
awhile, with little
breaks in the hiker's
stride, until at length
he simply must stop and
rest. An oboe solo, over
several free cadenza-like
measures, allows us (and
our friend the hiker) to
catch our breath, and
also to view in the
distance the rocky peak
before us. The goal is
somehow even more
daunting than at first,
being closer and thus
more frighteningly steep.
When we do push off
again, it's at a slower
pace, and with more
careful attention to our
footholds as we trek over
broken rocks. Tantalizing
little views of the
valley at every
switchback make our
determination even
stronger. Finally, we
burst through a stand of
pines and----we're at the
summit! The immensity of
the view is overwhelming,
and ultimately humbling.
A brief coda, while we
sit dazed on the rocks,
ends the movement in a
feeling of triumph. The
final movement, Acadia,
is also about a trip. In
the summer of 2014, I
took a sailing trip with
a dear friend from North
Haven, Maine, to the
southern coast of Mt.
Desert Island in Acadia
National Park. The
experience left me both
exuberant and exhausted,
with an appreciation for
the ocean that I hadn't
had previously. The
approach to Acadia
National Park by water,
too, was thrilling: like
the difference between
climbing a mountain on
foot with riding up on a
ski-lift, I felt I'd
earned the right to be
there. The music for this
movement is entirely
based on the opening
UR-theme. There's a sense
of the water and the
mysterious, quiet deep
from the very beginning,
with seagulls and bell
buoys setting the scene.
As we leave the harbor,
the theme (in a canon
between solo euphonium
and tuba) almost seems as
if large subaquatic
animals are observing our
departure. There are
three themes (call them
A, B and C) in this
seafaring journey---but
they are all based on the
UR theme, in its original
form with octaves
displaced, in an
upside-down form, and in
a backwards version as
well. (The ocean, while
appearing to be
unchanging, is always
changing.) We move out
into the main channel
(A), passing several
islands (B), until we
reach the long draw that
parallels the coastline
called Eggemoggin Reach,
and a sudden burst of new
speed (C). Things
suddenly stop, as if the
wind had died, and we
have a vision: is that
really Mt. Desert Island
we can see off the port
bow, vaguely in the
distance? A chorale of
saxophones seems to
suggest that. We push off
anew as the chorale ends,
and go through all three
themes again---but in
different
instrumentations, and
different keys. At the
final tack-turn, there it
is, for real: Mt. Desert
Island, big as life.
We've made it. As we pull
into the harbor, where
we'll secure the boat for
the night, there's a
feeling of achievement.
Our whale and dolphin
friends return, and we
end our journey with
gratitude and
celebration. I am
profoundly grateful to
Jaclyn Hartenberger,
Professor of Conducting
at the University of
Georgia, for leading the
consortium which provided
the commissioning of this
work. $36.99 - Voir plus => AcheterDélais: 2 to 3 weeks | | |
| Symphony No. 6 Theodore Presser Co.
Band SKU: PR.16500104F Three Places in the East. Composed by Dan W...(+)
Band SKU:
PR.16500104F Three
Places in the East.
Composed by Dan Welcher.
Full score. Theodore
Presser Company
#165-00104F. Published by
Theodore Presser Company
(PR.16500104F). ISBN
9781491132159. UPC:
680160681082. Ever
since the success of my
series of wind ensemble
works Places in the West,
I've been wanting to
write a companion piece
for national parks on the
other side of the north
American continent. The
earlier work, consisting
of GLACIER, THE
YELLOWSTONE FIRES,
ARCHES, and ZION, spanned
some twenty years of my
composing life, and since
the pieces called for
differing groups of
instruments, and were in
slightly different styles
from each other, I never
considered them to be
connected except in their
subject matter. In their
depiction of both the
scenery and the human
history within these
wondrous places, they had
a common goal: awaking
the listener to the
fragile beauty that is in
them; and calling
attention to the ever
more crucial need for
preservation and
protection of these wild
places, unique in all the
world. With this new
work, commissioned by a
consortium of college and
conservatory wind
ensembles led by the
University of Georgia, I
decided to build upon
that same model---but to
solidify the process. The
result, consisting of
three movements (each
named for a different
national park in the
eastern US), is a
bona-fide symphony. While
the three pieces could be
performed separately,
they share a musical
theme---and also a common
style and
instrumentation. It is a
true symphony, in that
the first movement is
long and expository, the
second is a rather
tightly structured
scherzo-with-trio, and
the finale is a true
culmination of the whole.
The first movement,
Everglades, was the
original inspiration for
the entire symphony.
Conceived over the course
of two trips to that
astonishing place (which
the native Americans
called River of Grass,
the subtitle of this
movement), this movement
not only conveys a sense
of the humid, lush, and
even frightening scenery
there---but also an
overview of the entire
settling-of- Florida
experience. It contains
not one, but two native
American chants, and also
presents a view of the
staggering influence of
modern man on this
fragile part of the
world. Beginning with a
slow unfolding marked
Heavy, humid, the music
soon presents a gentle,
lyrical theme in the solo
alto saxophone. This
theme, which goes through
three expansive phrases
with breaks in between,
will appear in all three
movements of the
symphony. After the mood
has been established, the
music opens up to a rich,
warm setting of a
Cherokee morning song,
with the simple happiness
that this part of Florida
must have had prior to
the nineteenth century.
This music, enveloping
and comforting, gradually
gives way to a more
frenetic, driven section
representative of the
intrusion of the white
man. Since Florida was
populated and developed
largely due to the
introduction of a train
system, there's a
suggestion of the
mechanized iron horse
driving straight into the
heartland. At that point,
the native Americans
become considerably less
gentle, and a second
chant seems to stand in
the way of the intruder;
a kind of warning song.
The second part of this
movement shows us the
great swampy center of
the peninsula, with its
wildlife both in and out
of the water. A new theme
appears, sad but noble,
suggesting that this land
is precious and must be
protected by all the
people who inhabit it. At
length, the morning song
reappears in all its
splendor, until the
sunset---with one last
iteration of the warning
song in the solo piccolo.
Functioning as a scherzo,
the second movement,
Great Smoky Mountains,
describes not just that
huge park itself, but one
brave soul's attempt to
climb a mountain there.
It begins with three
iterations of the
UR-theme (which began the
first movement as well),
but this time as up-tempo
brass fanfares in
octaves. Each time it
begins again, the theme
is a little slower and
less confident than the
previous time---almost as
though the hiker were
becoming aware of the
daunting mountain before
him. But then, a steady,
quick-pulsed ostinato
appears, in a constantly
shifting meter system of
2/4- 3/4 in alteration,
and the hike has begun.
Over this, a slower new
melody appears, as the
trek up the mountain
progresses. It's a big
mountain, and the ascent
seems to take quite
awhile, with little
breaks in the hiker's
stride, until at length
he simply must stop and
rest. An oboe solo, over
several free cadenza-like
measures, allows us (and
our friend the hiker) to
catch our breath, and
also to view in the
distance the rocky peak
before us. The goal is
somehow even more
daunting than at first,
being closer and thus
more frighteningly steep.
When we do push off
again, it's at a slower
pace, and with more
careful attention to our
footholds as we trek over
broken rocks. Tantalizing
little views of the
valley at every
switchback make our
determination even
stronger. Finally, we
burst through a stand of
pines and----we're at the
summit! The immensity of
the view is overwhelming,
and ultimately humbling.
A brief coda, while we
sit dazed on the rocks,
ends the movement in a
feeling of triumph. The
final movement, Acadia,
is also about a trip. In
the summer of 2014, I
took a sailing trip with
a dear friend from North
Haven, Maine, to the
southern coast of Mt.
Desert Island in Acadia
National Park. The
experience left me both
exuberant and exhausted,
with an appreciation for
the ocean that I hadn't
had previously. The
approach to Acadia
National Park by water,
too, was thrilling: like
the difference between
climbing a mountain on
foot with riding up on a
ski-lift, I felt I'd
earned the right to be
there. The music for this
movement is entirely
based on the opening
UR-theme. There's a sense
of the water and the
mysterious, quiet deep
from the very beginning,
with seagulls and bell
buoys setting the scene.
As we leave the harbor,
the theme (in a canon
between solo euphonium
and tuba) almost seems as
if large subaquatic
animals are observing our
departure. There are
three themes (call them
A, B and C) in this
seafaring journey---but
they are all based on the
UR theme, in its original
form with octaves
displaced, in an
upside-down form, and in
a backwards version as
well. (The ocean, while
appearing to be
unchanging, is always
changing.) We move out
into the main channel
(A), passing several
islands (B), until we
reach the long draw that
parallels the coastline
called Eggemoggin Reach,
and a sudden burst of new
speed (C). Things
suddenly stop, as if the
wind had died, and we
have a vision: is that
really Mt. Desert Island
we can see off the port
bow, vaguely in the
distance? A chorale of
saxophones seems to
suggest that. We push off
anew as the chorale ends,
and go through all three
themes again---but in
different
instrumentations, and
different keys. At the
final tack-turn, there it
is, for real: Mt. Desert
Island, big as life.
We've made it. As we pull
into the harbor, where
we'll secure the boat for
the night, there's a
feeling of achievement.
Our whale and dolphin
friends return, and we
end our journey with
gratitude and
celebration. I am
profoundly grateful to
Jaclyn Hartenberger,
Professor of Conducting
at the University of
Georgia, for leading the
consortium which provided
the commissioning of this
work. $90.00 - Voir plus => AcheterDélais: 2 to 3 weeks | | |
| Quintet in F Major, K. 497 Carl Fischer
Chamber Music Cello, Flute, Viola 1, Viola 2, Violin SKU: CF.MXE219 Compo...(+)
Chamber Music Cello,
Flute, Viola 1, Viola 2,
Violin SKU:
CF.MXE219 Composed by
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
Arranged by Robert
Stallman. Sws.
56+16+16+16+16+12 pages.
Carl Fischer Music
#MXE219. Published by
Carl Fischer Music
(CF.MXE219). ISBN
9781491157794. UPC:
680160916399. 9 x 12
inches. Preface In
1990, during an intense
rehearsal of a Mozart
Quartet transcription for
flute and strings by
Franz Anton Hoffmeister,
at the Marblehead Summer
Music Festival, a
disgruntled violist
friend complained about
HoffmeisterAs awkward
string writing, suddenly
daring me to create my
own arrangement. I
balked. But the following
winterA3despite scruples
about treading on
hallowed groundA3I grew
curious and began to
experiment. Soon I was
hooked on the challenge
of learning to speak
MozartAs language with
conviction. This
fascination, encouraged
by pianist Richard Goode
and other Mozarteans,
would eventually generate
a total of thirty-nine
recreations of Mozart
piano sonatas as works
for flute and strings.
With zero tolerance for
alteration of melodic or
harmonic
materialA3MozartAs friend
Hoffmeister had
regrettably attempted
such
A!improvementsA(r)A3I
always tried to envision
what Mozart himself would
have desired. Many of the
sonatas can be heard as
if they were MozartAs
A!blueprintsA(r) of
imagined chamber works.
Hence my task was to
A!flesh outA(r) the
keyboard versions as
Mozart might have done,
had a commission or
performance opportunity
arisen. I spent hours
pondering how Mozart
might have set these
sonatas in four- or
five-part form, providing
the needed textural or
contrapuntal
enhancements. With
immersion in the
composerAs dialect,
various apt solutions
presented themselves. The
search for the
A!rightA(r) one then
became a most absorbing
study. On the eve of
releasing my BognerAs
CafA recording of
Mozart-Stallman New
Quintets (2006), I
discovered to my delight
that a prominent scholar
had long before endorsed
such an effort. Eric Blom
(1888A+-1959), author of
Mozart (1935), had taken
note of the four-hand
piano works as A!a kind
of keyboard chamber
music.A(r) Regarding
Sonata, K. 497, Mr. Blom
had observed that Mozart
is often dealing with,
not the expected four
voices (one to a hand),
but five. Blom states:
A!The F major Sonata (K.
497) removes us to
another worldA3the world
of the great chamber
music, especially of the
string quintets. Indeed
an arrangement of some
sort for a combination of
instruments would make a
magnificent concert work
of this almost
uncomfortably great piece
of domestic music.A(r)
That Mozart was in 1786
writing for piano duo
from a quintet
perspective makes sense,
as we find him returning
to the quintet form with
keen interest in his last
years, writing four
String Quintets, the
Clarinet Quintet,
rearranging a wind
serenade for String
Quintet, and leaving
several other quintets
incomplete. My
arrangement presented
here is made for flute
and strings but is also
intended for string
quintet. Quintet in F
Major for Flute and
Strings, K. 497, was
completed in 1999 and
performed with the Martin
Quartet in the Czech
Republic prior to
recording it in 2004.
Mozart had finished the
original Sonata in F
Major for Piano,
Four-Hands, K. 497, on
August 1, 1786. It shows
the unmistakable
influence of Figaro,
completed and premiered
exactly three months
prior. As signaled by the
imposing introductory
Adagio, the conception is
on a grand symphonic
scale, all three
movements being richly
developed with
contrapuntal episodes and
an abundance of
marvelously contrasting
textures and themes
throughout. Called A!the
crowning work of its
kindA(r) by Alfred
Einstein, the Sonata is
laden with examples of
MozartAs mercurial
originality. Here we have
a perfect synthesis of
concertante brilliance,
operatic intensity and
intimate dialogue. The
work opens in unison with
a probing, minor-tinged
Adagio, whose question
comes to a pause on the
dominant, before being
answered with jaunty
certainty by the opening
theme of the Allegro di
moltoA3an F-major tune as
sunny and confident as an
aria from Figaro itself.
This movementAs
declamatory A!opera
chorusA(r) persistently
intones its rhythmic
motto over a swirling
scale figure. The amorous
second theme (initially
presented in the first
viola) also seems to be
plucked from Figaro. The
Andante opens with a
heavenly melody, which
takes as its springboard
the Romanza theme from
the Horn Concerto in E
Major, K. 495, written
only five weeks before.
The A!love duetA(r)
between flute and first
viola seems to anticipate
the impassioned
A!duettingA(r) between
violin and viola in the
Andante of the String
Quintet in C Major, K.
515, written about nine
months later. The
ingenious stretto canon
of the AndanteAs middle
section requires the
precision of a Swiss
clock (which its chiming
thirds recall). Affecting
bucolic codettas close
each of the main sections
of the movement. In the
final Allegro, a rondo in
6/8a time, the puckish,
yet aristocratic
character of the opening
theme contrasts with the
bumptious, popular tune
used for the second theme
(heard first in the
violin and then the
flute, over pizzicato
cello). Lilting hymn-like
episodes in three, four-
and finally five-part
counterpoint are
repeatedly interrupted by
startling scale figures
that rise up in furioso
episodes throughout the
movement. As in the
A!Swiss clockA(r) section
of the Andante, Mozart
uses a stretto imitation
treatment with this
tempest theme, thereby
heightening both
intensity and sense of
instability. I am most
grateful to the
adventuresome Martin
Quartet for their warm
support and collaboration
over the years with
several of my
arrangements, and to my
friend Edwin Swanborn for
the original typesetting
of this score. Gratitude
is also due Weekend
Edition, Performance
Today and innumerable
classical stations across
the United States for
their enthusiastic and
repeated airings of my
A!newA(r) Mozart Quintet
endeavorsA3and most of
all, to violist Katherine
Murdock for that dare in
1990. A3Compiled from the
writings of Robert
Stallman by Hannah Woods
Stallman, February 2,
2020. Preface In 1990,
during an intense
rehearsal of a Mozart
Quartet transcription for
flute and strings by
Franz Anton Hoffmeister,
at the Marblehead Summer
Music Festival, a
disgruntled violist
friend complained about
Hoffmeisteris awkward
string writing, suddenly
daring me to create my
own arrangement. I
balked. But the following
winterodespite scruples
about treading on
hallowed groundoI grew
curious and began to
experiment. Soon I was
hooked on the challenge
of learning to speak
Mozartis language with
conviction. This
fascination, encouraged
by pianist Richard Goode
and other Mozarteans,
would eventually generate
a total of thirty-nine
recreations of Mozart
piano sonatas as works
for flute and strings.
With zero tolerance for
alteration of melodic or
harmonic
materialoMozartis friend
Hoffmeister had
regrettably attempted
such iimprovementsioI
always tried to envision
what Mozart himself would
have desired. Many of the
sonatas can be heard as
if they were Mozartis
iblueprintsi of imagined
chamber works. Hence my
task was to iflesh outi
the keyboard versions as
Mozart might have done,
had a commission or
performance opportunity
arisen. I spent hours
pondering how Mozart
might have set these
sonatas in four- or
five-part form, providing
the needed textural or
contrapuntal
enhancements. With
immersion in the
composeris dialect,
various apt solutions
presented themselves. The
search for the irighti
one then became a most
absorbing study. On the
eve of releasing my
Bogneris CafE recording
of Mozart-Stallman New
Quintets (2006), I
discovered to my delight
that a prominent scholar
had long before endorsed
such an effort. Eric Blom
(1888n1959), author of
Mozart (1935), had taken
note of the four-hand
piano works as ia kind of
keyboard chamber music.i
Regarding Sonata, K. 497,
Mr. Blom had observed
that Mozart is often
dealing with, not the
expected four voices (one
to a hand), but five.
Blom states: iThe F major
Sonata (K. 497) removes
us to another worldothe
world of the great
chamber music, especially
of the string quintets.
Indeed an arrangement of
some sort for a
combination of
instruments would make a
magnificent concert work
of this almost
uncomfortably great piece
of domestic music.i That
Mozart was in 1786
writing for piano duo
from a quintet
perspective makes sense,
as we find him returning
to the quintet form with
keen interest in his last
years, writing four
String Quintets, the
Clarinet Quintet,
rearranging a wind
serenade for String
Quintet, and leaving
several other quintets
incomplete. My
arrangement presented
here is made for flute
and strings but is also
intended for string
quintet. Quintet in F
Major for Flute and
Strings, K. 497, was
completed in 1999 and
performed with the Martin
Quartet in the Czech
Republic prior to
recording it in 2004.
Mozart had finished the
original Sonata in F
Major for Piano,
Four-Hands, K. 497, on
August 1, 1786. It shows
the unmistakable
influence of Figaro,
completed and premiered
exactly three months
prior. As signaled by the
imposing introductory
Adagio, the conception is
on a grand symphonic
scale, all three
movements being richly
developed with
contrapuntal episodes and
an abundance of
marvelously contrasting
textures and themes
throughout. Called ithe
crowning work of its
kindi by Alfred Einstein,
the Sonata is laden with
examples of Mozartis
mercurial originality.
Here we have a perfect
synthesis of concertante
brilliance, operatic
intensity and intimate
dialogue. The work opens
in unison with a probing,
minor-tinged Adagio,
whose question comes to a
pause on the dominant,
before being answered
with jaunty certainty by
the opening theme of the
Allegro di moltooan
F-major tune as sunny and
confident as an aria from
Figaro itself. This
movementis declamatory
iopera chorusi
persistently intones its
rhythmic motto over a
swirling scale figure.
The amorous second theme
(initially presented in
the first viola) also
seems to be plucked from
Figaro. The Andante opens
with a heavenly melody,
which takes as its
springboard the Romanza
theme from the Horn
Concerto in E Major, K.
495, written only five
weeks before. The ilove
dueti between flute and
first viola seems to
anticipate the
impassioned iduettingi
between violin and viola
in the Andante of the
String Quintet in C
Major, K. 515, written
about nine months later.
The ingenious stretto
canon of the Andanteis
middle section requires
the precision of a Swiss
clock (which its chiming
thirds recall). Affecting
bucolic codettas close
each of the main sections
of the movement. In the
final Allegro, a rondo in
6/8+time, the puckish,
yet aristocratic
character of the opening
theme contrasts with the
bumptious, popular tune
used for the second theme
(heard first in the
violin and then the
flute, over pizzicato
cello). Lilting hymn-like
episodes in three, four-
and finally five-part
counterpoint are
repeatedly interrupted by
startling scale figures
that rise up in furioso
episodes throughout the
movement. As in the
iSwiss clocki section of
the Andante, Mozart uses
a stretto imitation
treatment with this
tempest theme, thereby
heightening both
intensity and sense of
instability. I am most
grateful to the
adventuresome Martin
Quartet for their warm
support and collaboration
over the years with
several of my
arrangements, and to my
friend Edwin Swanborn for
the original typesetting
of this score. Gratitude
is also due Weekend
Edition, Performance
Today and innumerable
classical stations across
the United States for
their enthusiastic and
repeated airings of my
inewi Mozart Quintet
endeavorsoand most of
all, to violist Katherine
Murdock for that dare in
1990. oCompiled from the
writings of Robert
Stallman by Hannah Woods
Stallman, February 2,
2020. Preface In 1990,
during an intense
rehearsal of a Mozart
Quartet transcription for
flute and strings by
Franz Anton Hoffmeister,
at the Marblehead Summer
Music Festival, a
disgruntled violist
friend complained about
Hoffmeister's awkward
string writing, suddenly
daring me to create my
own arrangement. I
balked. But the following
winter--despite scruples
about treading on
hallowed ground--I grew
curious and began to
experiment. Soon I was
hooked on the challenge
of learning to speak
Mozart's language with
conviction. This
fascination, encouraged
by pianist Richard Goode
and other Mozarteans,
would eventually generate
a total of thirty-nine
recreations of Mozart
piano sonatas as works
for flute and strings.
With zero tolerance for
alteration of melodic or
harmonic
material--Mozart's friend
Hoffmeister had
regrettably attempted
such improvements--I
always tried to envision
what Mozart himself would
have desired. Many of the
sonatas can be heard as
if they were Mozart's
blueprints of imagined
chamber works. Hence my
task was to flesh out the
keyboard versions as
Mozart might have done,
had a commission or
performance opportunity
arisen. I spent hours
pondering how Mozart
might have set these
sonatas in four- or
five-part form, providing
the needed textural or
contrapuntal
enhancements. With
immersion in the
composer's dialect,
various apt solutions
presented themselves. The
search for the right one
then became a most
absorbing study. On the
eve of releasing my
Bogner's Cafe recording
of Mozart-Stallman New
Quintets (2006), I
discovered to my delight
that a prominent scholar
had long before endorsed
such an effort. Eric Blom
(1888-1959), author of
Mozart (1935), had taken
note of the four-hand
piano works as a kind of
keyboard chamber music.
Regarding Sonata, K. 497,
Mr. Blom had observed
that Mozart is often
dealing with, not the
expected four voices (one
to a hand), but five.
Blom states: The F major
Sonata (K. 497) removes
us to another world--the
world of the great
chamber music, especially
of the string quintets.
Indeed an arrangement of
some sort for a
combination of
instruments would make a
magnificent concert work
of this almost
uncomfortably great piece
of domestic music. That
Mozart was in 1786
writing for piano duo
from a quintet
perspective makes sense,
as we find him returning
to the quintet form with
keen interest in his last
years, writing four
String Quintets, the
Clarinet Quintet,
rearranging a wind
serenade for String
Quintet, and leaving
several other quintets
incomplete. My
arrangement presented
here is made for flute
and strings but is also
intended for string
quintet. Quintet in F
Major for Flute and
Strings, K. 497, was
completed in 1999 and
performed with the
Martinu Quartet in the
Czech Republic prior to
recording it in 2004.
Mozart had finished the
original Sonata in F
Major for Piano,
Four-Hands, K. 497, on
August 1, 1786. It shows
the unmistakable
influence of Figaro,
completed and premiered
exactly three months
prior. As signaled by the
imposing introductory
Adagio, the conception is
on a grand symphonic
scale, all three
movements being richly
developed with
contrapuntal episodes and
an abundance of
marvelously contrasting
textures and themes
throughout. Called the
crowning work of its kind
by Alfred Einstein, the
Sonata is laden with
examples of Mozart's
mercurial originality.
Here we have a perfect
synthesis of concertante
brilliance, operatic
intensity and intimate
dialogue. The work opens
in unison with a probing,
minor-tinged Adagio,
whose question comes to a
pause on the dominant,
before being answered
with jaunty certainty by
the opening theme of the
Allegro di molto--an
F-major tune as sunny and
confident as an aria from
Figaro itself. This
movement's declamatory
opera chorus persistently
intones its rhythmic
motto over a swirling
scale figure. The amorous
second theme (initially
presented in the first
viola) also seems to be
plucked from Figaro. The
Andante opens with a
heavenly melody, which
takes as its springboard
the Romanza theme from
the Horn Concerto in E<=
Major, K. 495, written
only five weeks before.
The love duet between
flute and first viola
seems to anticipate the
impassioned duetting
between violin and viola
in the Andante of the
String Quintet in C
Major, K. 515, written
about nine months later.
The ingenious stretto
canon of the Andante's
middle section requires
the precision of a Swiss
clock (which its chiming
thirds recall). Affecting
bucolic codettas close
each of the main sections
of the movement. In the
final Allegro, a rondo in
6/8 time, the puckish,
yet aristocratic
character of the opening
theme contrasts with the
bumptious, popular tune
used for the second theme
(heard first in the
violin and then the
flute, over pizzicato
cello). Lilting hymn-like
episodes in three, four-
and finally five-part
counterpoint are
repeatedly interrupted by
startling scale figures
that rise up in furioso
episodes throughout the
movement. As in the Swiss
clock section of the
Andante, Mozart uses a
stretto imitation
treatment with this
tempest theme, thereby
heightening both
intensity and sense of
instability. I am most
grateful to the
adventuresome Martinu
Quartet for their warm
support and collaboration
over the years with
several of my
arrangements, and to my
friend Edwin Swanborn for
the original typesetting
of this score. Gratitude
is also due Weekend
Edition, Performance
Today and innumerable
classical stations across
the United States for
their enthusiastic and
repeated airings of my
new Mozart Quintet
endeavors--and most of
all, to violist Katherine
Murdock for that dare in
1990. --Compiled from the
writings of Robert
Stallman by Hannah Woods
Stallman, February 2,
2020. PrefaceIn 1990,
during an intense
rehearsal of a Mozart
Quartet transcription for
flute and strings by
Franz Anton Hoffmeister,
at the Marblehead Summer
Music Festival, a
disgruntled violist
friend complained about
Hoffmeister’s
awkward string writing,
suddenly daring me to
create my own
arrangement. I balked.
But the following
winter—despite
scruples about treading
on hallowed
ground—I grew
curious and began to
experiment. Soon I was
hooked on the challenge
of learning to speak
Mozart’s language
with conviction. This
fascination, encouraged
by pianist Richard Goode
and other Mozarteans,
would eventually generate
a total of thirty-nine
recreations of Mozart
piano sonatas as works
for flute and
strings.With zero
tolerance for alteration
of melodic or harmonic
material—Mozartâ
™s friend Hoffmeister
had regrettably attempted
such
“improvementsâ€
—I always tried
to envision what Mozart
himself would have
desired. Many of the
sonatas can be heard as
if they were
Mozart’s
“blueprintsâ€
of imagined chamber
works. Hence my task was
to “flesh
out†the keyboard
versions as Mozart might
have done, had a
commission or performance
opportunity arisen. I
spent hours pondering how
Mozart might have set
these sonatas in four- or
five-part form, providing
the needed textural or
contrapuntal
enhancements. With
immersion in the
composer’s
dialect, various apt
solutions presented
themselves. The search
for the
“right†one
then became a most
absorbing study.On the
eve of releasing my
Bogner’s Café
recording of
Mozart-Stallman New
Quintets (2006), I
discovered to my delight
that a prominent scholar
had long before endorsed
such an effort. Eric Blom
(1888–1959),
author of Mozart (1935),
had taken note of the
four-hand piano works as
“a kind of keyboard
chamber music.â€
Regarding Sonata, K. 497,
Mr. Blom had observed
that Mozart is often
dealing with, not the
expected four voices (one
to a hand), but five.
Blom states: “The F
major Sonata (K. 497)
removes us to another
world—the world of
the great chamber music,
especially of the string
quintets. Indeed an
arrangement of some sort
for a combination of
instruments would make a
magnificent concert work
of this almost
uncomfortably great piece
of domestic music.â€
That Mozart was in 1786
writing for piano duo
from a quintet
perspective makes sense,
as we find him returning
to the quintet form with
keen interest in his last
years, writing four
String Quintets, the
Clarinet Quintet,
rearranging a wind
serenade for String
Quintet, and leaving
several other quintets
incomplete. My
arrangement presented
here is made for flute
and strings but is also
intended for string
quintet.Quintet in F
Major for Flute and
Strings, K. 497, was
completed in 1999 and
performed with the
Martinů Quartet in the
Czech Republic prior to
recording it in 2004.
Mozart had finished the
original Sonata in F
Major for Piano,
Four-Hands, K. 497, on
August 1, 1786. It shows
the unmistakable
influence of Figaro,
completed and premiered
exactly three months
prior. As signaled by the
imposing introductory
Adagio, the conception is
on a grand symphonic
scale, all three
movements being richly
developed with
contrapuntal episodes and
an abundance of
marvelously contrasting
textures and themes
throughout. Called
“the crowning work
of its kind†by
Alfred Einstein, the
Sonata is laden with
examples of
Mozart’s mercurial
originality. Here we have
a perfect synthesis of
concertante brilliance,
operatic intensity and
intimate dialogue.The
work opens in unison with
a probing, minor-tinged
Adagio, whose question
comes to a pause on the
dominant, before being
answered with jaunty
certainty by the opening
theme of the Allegro di
molto—an F-major
tune as sunny and
confident as an aria from
Figaro itself. This
movement’s
declamatory “opera
chorusâ€
persistently intones its
rhythmic motto over a
swirling scale figure.
The amorous second theme
(initially presented in
the first viola) also
seems to be plucked from
Figaro.The Andante opens
with a heavenly melody,
which takes as its
springboard the Romanza
theme from the Horn
Concerto in E≤
Major, K. 495, written
only five weeks before.
The “love
duet†between flute
and first viola seems to
anticipate the
impassioned
“duettingâ€
between violin and viola
in the Andante of the
String Quintet in C
Major, K. 515, written
about nine months later.
The ingenious stretto
canon of the
Andante’s middle
section requires the
precision of a Swiss
clock (which its chiming
thirds recall). Affecting
bucolic codettas close
each of the main sections
of the movement.In the
final Allegro, a rondo in
6/8Â time, the puckish,
yet aristocratic
character of the opening
theme contrasts with the
bumptious, popular tune
used for the second theme
(heard first in the
violin and then the
flute, over pizzicato
cello). Lilting hymn-like
episodes in three, four-
and finally five-part
counterpoint are
repeatedly interrupted by
startling scale figures
that rise up in furioso
episodes throughout the
movement. As in the
“Swiss clockâ€
section of the Andante,
Mozart uses a stretto
imitation treatment with
this tempest theme,
thereby heightening both
intensity and sense of
instability.I am most
grateful to the
adventuresome Martinů
Quartet for their warm
support and collaboration
over the years with
several of my
arrangements, and to my
friend Edwin Swanborn for
the original typesetting
of this score. Gratitude
is also due Weekend
Edition, Performance
Today and innumerable
classical stations across
the United States for
their enthusiastic and
repeated airings of my
“new†Mozart
Quintet
endeavors—and most
of all, to violist
Katherine Murdock for
that dare in
1990.—Compiled
from the writings of
Robert Stallmanby Hannah
Woods Stallman,February
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