First hailed as a virtuoso pianist with remarkable skill in improvisation, Beethoven was enjoying life in the salons of Vienna, where the admiration of his high-born audience fed his ego. With so much adulation showered upon him, lessons with Joseph Haydn seem to have become a bore. Although Beethoven had much to learn, counterpoint sessions with the master did little to alter his style. In later life, so the story goes, Beethoven would tell his pupil, Ferdinand Ries, that he never learned anything from Haydn. On the other hand, Haydn, trained in youth to respect his betters, probably resented the brashness of an opinionated student. When Haydn left in January, 1794 for his second visit to England, Beethoven went to study on a three-timesper- week basis with the noted teacher, Johann Georg Albrechtsberger. Records show that he also took lessons from the violinist, Ignaz Schuppanzigh and, when his course with Albrechtsberger came to an end, there were further lessons with the Imperial Kapellmeister, Antonio Salieri.

Beethoven had not as yet made a public appearance, but was planning to do so. In order to dazzle an audience, it was necessary to have works on hand that would show his virtuosity to advantage. So he composed two concertos, first one in B-flat and, sometime later, another in C. In order to keep the works for his own personal use, he made no effort to have them published. So when they finally came out, the chronological order of composition happened to be reversed: the C Major Concerto became Opus 15 (no. 1), and the B-flat Major work became Opus 19 (No. 2).

On March 29, 1795, Beethoven made his first appearance in public as a composer-virtuoso. Directed by Salieri, the concert took place at the Burgtheater as a benefit for the widows and orphans of musicians. It is recorded that Beethoven played “a concerto of his own composition,” but there is no reference as to which one. There were no critics in Vienna at the time to assess the success or failure of the work or to mention it by name, but it is generally agreed today that the Concerto in C was not yet finished and that it was the Concerto in B-flat that was played. Beethoven performed it again at a December concert, and it is interesting to note that this was a concert under the direction of Joseph Haydn, who was now back from London with three new, and rather experimental symphonies of his own. Beethoven’s place on the program indicates Hayden’s esteem for a rather difficult student.

The Concerto in C opens forcefully, with all the vigor of youthful inspiration, in a nice safe tonic-dominant tonality. This soon shifts to a second theme in E-flat, is then taken through distant keys, but not completed until the solo instrument gives it all its due. The cadenza, which Beethoven wrote out many years later when keyboards were larger, never could have been played on the light wooden-framed instrument of the 1790s with its limited spread of a little more than five octaves. The gentle Largo in A-flat Major comes as a sweet release from the bluster of the first movement. It also shows Beethoven’s fondness for unlikely keys between movements. The last movement, Allegro scherzando, is a vigorous rondo, allowing for many possibilities, with a delectable main theme that romps and frisks and receives a hearty welcome at each looked-for return.

Between the ages of twelve and fourteen, Felix Mendelssohn composed twelve symphonies for strings alone—possibly at the request of his teacher, Carl Friedrich Zelter, who may have intended them as composition exercises. As Mendelssohn biographer R. Larry Todd points out, “The archaic genre of the string symphony, use of the obsolescent continuo, reliance on monothematic sonata form and baroque “spinning out” of the thematic material all reflect Zelter's conservative guidance. And the eighteenth-century antecedents of the sinfonie—admixtures of C. P. E. and J. S. Bach, Mozart, and Haydn—also betray the teacher's taste.” Mendelssohn completed the Symphony No. 1 on March 31, 1824, and the work's premiere took place in November of that same year at a private gathering in honor of his sister Fanny's 19th birthday. While the occasion sounds quaint, these were no ordinary domestic music gatherings. The Mendelssohn family was extremely influential, and as 19th-century theorists A. B. Marx and Heinrich Dorn reported, members of the elite royal orchestra showed up at their home to perform these youthful works. While Mendelssohn’s string symphonies were ultimately forgotten until long after his death, they provide a fascinating window into his musical training and early musical experiences.

Mendelssohn dedicated the Symphony No. 1 to the Philharmonic Society, which gave the London premiere on May 25, 1829, with the composer himself on the podium. (Mendelssohn arranged the scherzo of his famous Octet as an alternative to the Menuetto for the occasion.) Despite Mendelssohn’s youth, his first symphony was well-received, according to The Harmonicon:

... though only about one or two-and twenty years of age, [Mendelssohn] has already produced several works of magnitude, which, if at all to be compared with the present, ought, without such additional claim, to rank him among the first composers of the age…Fertility of invention and novelty of effect, are what first strike the hearers of M. Mendelssohn's symphony; but at the same time, the melodiousness of its subjects, the vigour with which these are supported, the gracefulness of the slow movement, the playfulness of some parts, and the energy of others, are all felt...The author conducted it in person, and it was received with acclamations.

Most Indians will immediately recognize Teen Murti as the name of the New Delhi residence of the first prime minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru. The residence, which now serves as an incredible cultural resource (library, museum, and planetarium) is named for the sculpture that stands in front of it. ‘Teen Murti’ means three statues, figures, or representations in Hindi. Though not directly based on the sculptures, this work shares their title as it is centered around three large musical ‘figures’ that are adjoined by short interludes – similar to the idea behind Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. It lays out three tableauxs: each is rooted in a specific raag and its Hindustani melodic tradition, and those melodies are interwoven using a more Western technique.

At the many concerts of Hindustani musicians I attended while I was in India, I noticed a curious thing that would happen before each performance. The artist would announce the raag to be sung or played that evening, and immediately, many of the cognoscenti in the audience would begin humming the characteristic phrases or ‘pakads’ of that raag quietly to themselves, intoning with the drone that was already sounding on stage. It had a magical feeling – as if that raag was present in the air, and tiny wisps of it were already starting to precipitate into the audible world in anticipation of the performance. I wanted to open this piece in that way, and continue to return to that idea in the interludes.

While I never made it to Teen Murti during the time I lived in Delhi, coincidentally, the first time one of my compositions was premiered in the city was at a concert at Teen Murti, barely a few months after I had returned to the US.

For those familiar with the Hindustani tradition: I hope you will hear in the interludes the strains of Bihag and Bhairav pakads, and in the three murti Malkauns, Bhairav and Jog respectively.

Malkauns, being a madhyam-based raag, is something that sits very differently in the western ear, which continues to percieve S as P (of what would then be a P based raag). I wanted to play with this expectation through the evocation of Malkauns taans that constantly return to this unexpected S from increasingly greater distance and over greater lengths of time.

Basant is one of my favorite raags because it is a beautiful example of the difference of musical aesthetic between Hindustani and Western idioms. When westerners think of the season of spring, this is the classic example that comes to mind. Of course Basant could not be more different in color and mood, and I think hearing both these conceptions of the season of spring allow us to see how multifaceted our aesthetic associations can be.

Jog has been both a source of constant fascination and challenge for me. The use of both shudh and komal G allows for effortless transition between what westerners refer to as the major and minor modes. But both these modes are equally present in Jog, and its complexity allows for such a broad range of expression.