Notes for program of 1.28.18 from Michael Moore:
Welcome all to our midwinter celebration of the violin & piano duo via a favorite combination of first rate artists: Jill Levy & Margaret Kampmeier playing a first rate program. They will begin with Beethoven, a central figure of high Classicism at the end of 18th Century leading the way into the 19th and on towards the Romantic era. He may be seen as if he were standing on the threshold of the 19th century with his back temporarily to the future, offering his sonata as a loving farewell to his two greatest predecessors, Haydn & Mozart — Mozart had died 11 years before, Old Haydn had finished his last two String Quartets op. 77 when a stroke put an end to his composing career in his 71st year, a ripe old age in those days. After this delightfully rollicking Beethoven sonata, our artists will transport us all the way to the 20th Century with a winter wedding work, crafted by the soon-to-be-groom Olivier Messiaen as a gift for his excellent violinist bride-to-be, Claire Delbos. From this ecstatic moment, we will pass on to an offering of folk rock rhapsodizing by none other than our dear friend Béla Bartók — (well, some of us like think of him that way). And then, after intermission, we will have the deep pleasure of hearing from Edward Lord Elgar (or is it merely Sir Edward Elgar?)… In either case the Violin Sonata in E minor, one of his only three conventional chamber works very few but very choice chamber works, a crown jewel not often heard live. I will be hearing it live for the first time in my three quarters of a century of listening to Classical Music!
Like Bach, Haydn, Mozart and Schubert, Beethoven learned the violin from his father at home, before taking on the klavier [keyboard], which would become his primary instruments. At age 11, his first big gig was to substitute for his teacher Christian Gottlob Neefe, the organist at Bonn Cathedral for Sunday services and other events. Goodman Neefe would be out of town for several months. The doughty lad Beethoven would be on duty every Sunday and whenever otherwise needed for several months while the good man was gone. As a lad, Ludwig, called “Wiggie” by friends, was first a violist and later a violinist in the Bonn Court Orchestra for a salary very small indeed, yet badly needed at home, since his father, whose position was as court tenor, regularly drank up his pay and scolded by his wife thought it only fair to give his son “a good” beating. Meanwhile in 1781 & ’82, Herr Neefe put the lad through all 48 Preludes & Fugues of the Well-tempered Klavier; and boasted about his pupil’s achievement in a prominent music journal. Of course Papa Bach could not have heard of this having died way out East in Leipzig in July 1750, age 65, more than 30 years before. But who can say? Perhaps he may have heard this gratifying news rising up from the Rheinland as he reclined upon a comfortable couch in the clouds. Meanwhile, the gifted lad Ludwig was growing into a life of great achievement and great fame, as well as a hefty portion of suffering such as the one he would communicate in a letter to his close friend Franz Wegener in 1802, the same year as the Violin Sonatas: “How can I, a musician, say to people ‘I am deaf’? I shall, if I can, defy this fate, even though there will be times when I shall be the unhappiest of God’s creatures… I am alive only in music…” from Beethoven (age 31) in letter to friend Franz Wegener, 1802 But eventually, people would remember and write down things he said such as: “Art demands of us that we shall not stand still.” and “The imagination too insists upon its privileges.” Beethoven (age 54&55) 1824 & 25 and nearing the end.
Beethoven’s first three violin sonatas (op.12) appeared on the scene in 1796, but were condemned by the experts, although they were liked by audiences & and sold well. Their composer thought well enough of them to dedicate them to Antonio Salieri, probably the best connected musician in Vienna at the time, and Ludwig’s teacher in the art of setting Italian texts to music. The 4th & 5th of Beethoven’s violin sonatas, the fiery little A minor op. 23 and the expansive serene “Spring” in F major op. 24 (1801), loveliest of his ten, showed great stylistic development. These were dedicated to Count Moritz von Fries, lesser nobility, but a wealthy banker, art collector, music lover and an important patron. (B. later dedicated the Seventh Symphony to him among other works.) Next, the three sonatas of opus 30, #6 in A major, #7 in C minor and #8 in G, were composed in the summer of 1802 and dedicated to Tsar Alexander I of Russia, no less, at a time when Beethoven was considering a move to St. Petersburg. These last five duo sonatas were a source of great satisfaction to their composer at a crucial time in his life — when he badly wanted to compose an opera. He had taken a job as accompanist at the Theater-am-der-Wein because good lodgings and an opera commission came with it. This, called Vestas Feuer was the project of Emmanuel Schikaneder, Mozart’s librettist and first Papageno for the Magic Flute. It stank — not Vesta the Roman goddess of the Hearth, but — Schikaneder’s libretto. Beethoven wasted several months on it and wound up composing his only oratorio, Christus am Oelberg, instead. Also at this time he was preparing his first public concert to be held in April, at which his First & Second Symphonies, Third Piano Concerto (C minor) and the new Oratorio (named above) would be performed — the latter three works would be premieres!).
In this spring of 1801, after he had performed two new sonatas — the moody “Moonlight” (#14 in c# minor op. 27) and the sunny & serene “Pastorale” (#15 in D, op.28) — for some musician friends, he made this answer to their enthusiastic praise, “I am little satisfied with my previous works. From today on, I will take a new path.” A flood of varied new compositions coursed over this New Path — first the three op. 30 violin sonatas, then the three op. 31 piano sonatas, the Second Symphony, the C minor Piano Concerto, the Oratorio Christus am Oelberg — all clearly transitional works. At this same time, after he had played two new piano sonatas: the moody “Moonlight” and the sunny, serene “Pastorale” sonata (#15 in D, op.28) for some musician friends, he made this answer to their enthusiastic reception, “I am little satisfied with my previous works. From today on, I will take a new path.” The gusher of varied new compositions coursed over this New Path through the three op. 30 violin sonatas, the three op. 31 piano sonatas, the Second Symphony, the C minor piano concerto #3, past the epochal Eroica Symphony, the Kreutzer Sonata, the Waldstein & the Appassionata piano sonatas the three Razumovsky Quartets, the Violin Concerto, the Heroic Fifth & Pastoral Sixth Symphonies, then on to Fidelio and the Emperor Concerto and out past the Archduke Trio, through the late great String Quartets and beyond! As he grew older, like a kind of reverse Dorian Gray — ever deafer, uglier, isolated, dyspeptic — his achievement grew ever more splendid. Always, he kept on his writing table the momento mori, “Ars longa, vita brevis.” (Art is long lasting; life is short.)
One of the important ways of viewing the history of any art is to see it as a struggle between innovation and tradition. The inventions of the past are either assimilated and become part of the current tradition or are rejected, while ways rejected may be reborn as part the invention of the future. Much great art comes into being along the fault line where the old and the new rub together. Beethoven is the name that leaps out in front of all others when such a view of the subject is broached. No one needs a guide through the rollicking G major Sonata with the lovely & serene slow 2nd movement, the large heart of the work between the two rambunctious outer movements with moments that are downright funny. But since I get paid by the word, here are a few more unnecessary words, as long as you promise not to be reading them when full attention to our artists is indispensable. First, I’ve wanted to say that G major is not a key Beethoven uses a lot, but two of his loveliest works, the 4th Piano Concerto and the 10th & last of the violin sonatas are in G, as is the String Quartet op. 18 #2, actually the first of the 6 opus 18 quartets in order of composition and is the most forgettable of the 17 String Quartets). Jill played this 10th Violin Sonata for us a very long time ago, only the 2nd of the nine she has played for us. It was a performance that has made #10 my favorite of the Violin Sonatas. The first of the sonatas she played for us was the passionate #7 in C minor opus 30 #2 which she played again for us ten years later, the only one she has played twice (different accompanists, which, of course, make a big difference.)
1. Allegro assai means ‘very fast. ’6/8 in G major and the composer means what the Italian
says: opening theme consists of a high pitched rumble in three octaves, like an auto turning over then, good boy, catching and leaping an arpeggio up the staves to high G on the 4th line above the treble clef. Violin, way up the e string where violin gives a little comic yelp: yippee that makes you want to laugh out loud when you hear the process repeated a few seconds later. The two voices complete this first subject with a likable legato melody which, of course, works its way to the second subject in the somewhat astonishing key of D minor. However, this works its way back to a D major conclusion of the exposition and a brief development section, which makes much of the opening figure and of the final recapitulation. 2. Tempo di Menuetto 3/4 in E-flat but then he adds ma molto moderato e grazioso so that the tempo can hardly be high enough for dancing. What ensues is indeed the true warm heart of this work. and the whole of his achievement to date. The Italian word grazioso can accommodate the meanings of English gentle, kind, charming, as well as both graceful & gracious. Sensitive musicians such as our two today can find & bring forth all of these meanings, laying a charm upon us, their congregation. I fully expect to be made this day a better person by Jill, Peggy and the young Beethoven! 3. Allegro vivace , 2/4 in G major: Better look out or you’ll be run over! A little more than three minutes of vivacity and it’ll come charging back into the barn! Thank you Jill! & Thank you Peggy! And thank you Wiggie! [or as the Beatles: “Ludwig Van”!]
Olivier Messiaen, b Avignon, 10 Dec 1908; d. Paris 1992 began composing at seven, encouraged by his poet mother and Sorbonne professor of English father who translated all of Shakespeare into French. When the boy received for his tenth birthday the complete score of Debussy’s opera Pelléas et Mélisande, he disappeared for the afternoon to read through the many daunting pages, then reappeared to announce that he would be a composer. The next year he entered the Conservatoire de Paris where he remained for the second 11 years of his life, taking first prize in counterpoint and fugue, piano, history of music and composition. In 1930 he became principal organist at La Trinité in Paris, a post he held for more than 40 years. He also began a widely praised teaching career, which also extended more than 40 years, first at École Normale de Musique and then the Schola Cantorum and finally at the Conservatoire de Paris.
Messiaen’s highly eclectic and idiosyncratic harmonic system is based on what he called ‘modes of limited transposition’, i.e. modes which may be transposed by a semitone only a limited number of times, after which the original set of notes reappears. In a totally personal way, Messiaen’s harmonic language combines tonality, atonality, modality and a serialism which enriches his language, but never takes it over. He has learned from everyone, but became partisan of no one system. His best known work is the famous Quattour pour la fin du temps/Quartet for the End of Time, composed when he was a prisoner of war with a long wait for liberation in a Nazi concentration camp, Stalag 8a, in Silesia (now mostly in Southwestern Poland). The work was finished in January of 1941 and performed at Skidmore by our friends the Saratoga Chamber Players 62 years later (July 15 2003) it was the first live performance of it I had ever heard, and I had loved it (and still do!) The phenomenon of Time’s End is seen by the composer as the beginning of Eternity, after which Heaven is established on Earth, a phenomenon or rather a continuing reality much to be desired. If I may intrude again (you can always skip this), this means that there will be no more music as we know it, because there will be no more beginnings and endings, but only a Theme (if even that) with no variations.
Olivier’s Theme & Five Variations for Violin & Piano, written in 1932 as a wedding present for the excellent violinist, Claire Delbos, who was soon to become his first wife, a piece which they might play together for themselves or, as they often did, for others. It is one of very few works the deeply religious composer created that does not have an obvious religious character. The “Theme”is composed in the Third of Messiaen’s “modes of limited transposition”–that is [C-D-Eflat-F][F#-G-(A-Bflat)] [(A-Bflat)-B-C]. This may also be thought of as alternating whole tones with pairs of semitones. Or not.
The first four variations are mostly decorative and constructed “on a rising slope of textural activity & dynamic vehemence so that the process can be felt as a unity. The theme’s simple outlines (a lyric melody, in units of seven bars, and a series of piano chords) are gradually filled in, “until the tension generated leads to a grandiloquent octave-transposed apotheosis in the culminating fifth variation.” (Robert Stowell). Here the violin (and piano) writing anticipates the final section of the Quatour, here not The End, but the beginning of one of the most important 20th Century composing careers.
Since Time is such an important subject with Messiaen, perhaps I should report that all of the following can take anywhere from 7 to 12 minutes, depending on the tempo preferences of the performers. Thême, Modéré: A 7 bar phrase–lyrical, relaxed, perhaps a bit sad in 4/4– is repeated 14 bars. Then with heightened tension & dynamic, a not quite symmetrical phrase surges upward, climaxes just before bar 7, then retreats in pitch, dynamic and mood: 14 bars. Variation #1: Modéré: Still leisurely & lyrical in 8th notes (what was 4/4 is now 8/8: diminution doubling the pace of the phrasing as if filling in the spaces. 7 bars piano solo are repeated, as Violin takes the melody; then the long phrase (14mm) that stumbles just a bit at the very end. Variation #2: Un peu moins [less] modéré: From here on the piece will go faster and faster, running attacca until the sudden slow down at variation #5, the apotheosis. The tempo in triplets is “a little less moderate” because we now have three times as many notes as in the Thême. A bit of a jig. Variation #3: Modéré, avec éclat. These next two variations are the shortest. We’re in a fast four, four times the pace of the original Thême; great energy: hence the éclat. With violin trilling and Piano rippling with triplets, we move straight on into Variation #4: Vif et Passionné: lively and passionate as Piano goes on a joyous scamper leaping over violin, sometimes playing both above and below her. Both seem to get onto a circular staircase going dizzily down. At the bottom, they get serious about building a climax appropriate to apotheosis!< Variation #5: Russ Modéré: the tempo slows to a stately processional with Violin riding the sky like a banner or a divine bird in bright aether, proclaiming the melody high above (2 octaves higher than in the Thême). But the soaring doesn’t last: like all things human, it goes into a long solemn descent: in pitch; in tempo; in dynamic. And then the inevitable dying away. Decrescendo, ritardanto e morendo... and the rest is silence... We understand, of course, but, Olivier really! is this an appropriate way for a wedding gift, what, to end? However this may be, I should state that the marriage lasted 30 steady years, with one surviving son Pascal. And their marriage inspired him to both compose works for her to play and to write pieces to celebrate domestic happiness, including the the Song Cycle Poèmes pour Mi in 1936, which he orchestrated in the following year -- Mi was Olivier’s affectionate nickname for his wife. In 1937 their son Pascal was born who grew up to be an admired professor like his grandfather. The marriage turned to tragedy when Claire lost her memory after an operation towards the end of World War II not long before Olivier was released from the concentration camp. After 1948, she spent the last 14 years of her life in a mental institutions and died in 1962 at the age of 56.
During all of this time, the whole span of their marriage, there was another woman who constantly collaborated with Olivier, perhaps (or probably?) seeming to Claire to be closer to Olivier than she was herself. This was the important pianist Yvonne Loriod, who collaborated with Olivier on many or most of his most important compositions even the symphony-concerto Turangilalia and became his number one promoter. And then she married him in 1962 as soon as Claire died, poor thing… and then survived him by many years, ever his publicist…although perhaps “the rest is silence” as Horatio would have it.
Except it’s NOT!! Not for us anyway: we’re off to old Hungaria to join our friend Béla the Bartók for some Folk Dancin’ & Rhapsodisin’!
Béla Viktor János Bartók (25 March 1881 – 26 September 1945) was a Hungarian composer, pianist and ethnomusicologist. He is considered one of the most important composers of the 20th century; he and Liszt are regarded as Hungary’s greatest composers (Gillies 2001). Through his collection and analytical study of folk music, he was one of the founders of comparative musicology, which later became ethnomusicology. Béla’s Bartók’s mother was a piano teacher who noticed remarkable rhythmic gifts in her son almost from infancy and started him at the piano at the age of five. His father was director of a local agricultural school, but was an enthusiastic cellist and pianist who composed songs and dances and was always trying to keep a local orchestra going. Unfortunately, this dear man died in little Béla’s eighth year. When the boy was 12 the pinch of poverty drove the family to a small town where they could live on next to nothing with relatives. According to his mother, Béla was by far the best pianist around and she could find no one to teach him. There was in the town, however, a young professional violinist recovering from a broken leg who needed an accompanist. Young Béla suddenly found a new vocation and discovered a new repertoire as the two ‘exiles’ gave concerts every week to whomever would listen, playing their way though the< Beethoven sonatas and even the then almost new sonatas of Brahms. The maturing Bartók never lost his love for chamber music, and even at the height of his virtuoso career (between the Wars) he lovingly accompanied all the celebrated Hungarian violinists of the day--Waldbauer, Szigeti, Szekely, Gertler and Yehudi Menuin for whom he wrote the great sonata for solo violin, his next to last work in 1944. For all these violinists he wrote original works and arranged folk music for encore pieces. They owed it all to Sándor Schönherr’s broken leg. In his student years, he achieved mythic status among his peers by writing chamber music so idiomatic that his fellows and friends claimed that he understood their instruments better than they did themselves. In 1909, at the age of 28, Bartók married Márta Ziegler (1893–1967), aged 16. Their son, Béla Bartók III, was born on 22 August 1910. After nearly 15 years together, Bartók divorced Márta in June 1923.Two months after his divorce, he married Ditta Pásztory (1903–1982), a piano student, ten days after proposing to her. She was aged 19, he 42. Their son, Péter, was born in 1924, became an excellent recording engineer founded Bartok Records which recorded everything of his father’s that Peter could get his hands on. He also wrote a memoir called My Father.
Bartók’s music for the violin occupies an important position in his creative output. The instrument attracted him at intervals throughout his career, from the early Violin Sonata of 1903 — a work in post Lisztian style… to the magnificently disciplined Sonata for Violin Solo written for Yehudi Menuhin in 1944, the composer’s last year on earth. In between these two, there were two very difficult Violin & Piano sonatas in the 1920’s, two violin concertos, important violin parts for the Six String Quartets (two of which may be heard in Zankel Hall in the Spring Semester) the trio “Contrasts,” the 44 Duos for two violins (!) and finally the two Rhapsodies, the 1st of which we hear here today. It’s clear that Bartók, keyboardist that he was, had a real feel for the violin and entrusted it with some of his most important thoughts. He also had a great many friendships with career violinists. The composer created his two Rhapsodies in 1928. These are more approachable and certainly more traditional pieces which hark back to the Lisztian form of “Hungarian Rhapsodies.” They exploit the rich vein of Hungarian folk-music which Bartók had explored in so many other works — though NB: in fact the melodies are all original inspirations demonstrating Bartók’s hard won fluency in folk style. Each possesses two movements, a slow dance (Lassú) giving scope to much bittersweet lyricism, followed by a quick one (Friss — the native form of the gypsy Csárdás) which provide the soloist with plenty of opportunities for displays of bravura. Though they are comparatively minor works in his total output, he is clearly fond of the rhapsodies and returned to them several times: producing versions of both for violin & orchestra and arranging his favorite #1 for cello & piano. Shortly before his death in 1945, he revised the Rhapsody no. 2 with the help of the violinist André Gertier, who took his dictations. Needless to say, we’re gonna love the one we hear! It’s not only the 1st of 2, but truly numbuh ONE!!
By 1918 and the end of the Great War, Sir Edward William Elgar had turned 61 that June — much older in those days than 61 is today– and he was deeply disturbed by the tragic events that had befallen Europe, depressed by the senseless slaughter of European manhood on both sides… Lady Elgar was determined to find a ‘cottage’ in the country where she felt her husband might benefit from the remoteness. [I should add here that she was from a wealthy family and they had lived on the income from her dowry. Although certainly bourgeois, she had a gift for literature, and a taste for other arts, especially music.] After a search she found just what she was looking for and they rented a beautiful cottage called Brinkwells near Fittleworth in Sussex. In these wonderful surroundings he wrote the Violin Sonata op. 82 in E minor the String Quartet op.83 in E minor, and the Piano Quintet in A minor op.84 and started sketches for the Cello Concerto (finished in 1919, to be also in E minor! All, all at this Brinkwells, where Elgar enjoyed what was to become his last major creative period. The great Violin Concerto of 1909-10 is in b minor, partly because a lot of it is in the relative major, G, one of the violin’s open strings: G, D, A, E, tuned in fifths,
like all viol-family members.
By the way, the County Sussex is about as far South as you can go in England and not get your feet wet in France. D’you remember the movie Mrs. Miniver ? In which her (Greer Garson’s) menfolk participated in the great evacuation crossing the channel in their small yacht to pick up English troops stranded at Dunkerque (the English spell it Dunkirk) the town farthest North in France on the Channel and due East of Dover, with its famous White Cliffs.
Here’s how Elgar biographer Diana McVeagh begins her article about him for the New Grove dictionary: “English composer. His abundant invention, largeness of vision and strength & singularity of musical character place him high among European Romantic artists and at the peak of British music of his time. He drew inspiration from the culture & landscape of his own country, resourcefulness from his study of his continental colleagues. He worked in all the major forms except opera, creating a significant body of symphonic literature, the finest oratorio by an Englishman, and in his popular music, a style of direct national appeal.” His father, William Henry Elgar, was a Dover man apprenticed to a London firm, but at age 19, bailed out of that and established a music shop in Worcester [up towards Wales] but buttressed that with his own native ability as a piano tuner, a violinist and a keyboard whiz who by the age of 24 (1846) secured the job as organist in Worcester’s big Catholic Church (although he was himself a Protestant!) and got himself a country woman of unlikely good taste and inclination for the arts. The boy Edward was born the fourth, thus the exact middle of his parents 7 children, showed by far the greatest ability in things musical, learning from his father both violin & piano and sitting next at the organ and singing in the church choir prepared himself to have a multi-faceted musical career. At the age of ten, to his Mama’s delight, he composed music for a family play which much later he drew upon for his Wand of Youth suites (1907-8!) and Starlight Express (1915). By imitating his father by playing with others in pretty much any and every opportunity that came along, Edward had by the time he was 20, had made himself a pretty good violinist, and so at the other end of is life (1918) he was able to draft the sonata within a month, helped along by the fact that he had a living performer in mind, a frequent collaborator who was visiting the Elgars while Edward finished each movement. This was W.H. (Billy) Reed, probably his closest friend whom he had long known as a leader of the London Symphony Orchestra, but a decade earlier ‘Billy’ had been the soloist in Elgar’s great Violin Concerto (1909-10) with the composer conducting that orchestra as he usually did for his own major orchestral works, e.g. the ultra famous Enigma Variations (1899), the big broad shouldered
Symphony #1 in A-flat (1908) & equally large Symphony #2 in E-flat (1910), the Richard Straussian tone poem Falstaff (1913) and a draft of what would become the widely beloved Cello Concerto in E minor (1919). This same Billy (William H. Reed) would later write an important memoir entitled Elgar as I Knew Him, published in 1936, less than two years after the composer’s death. But now, the composer dedicated the Sonata to a dear family friend, Marie Joshua, and wrote in a letter to her during its composition “I fear it does not carry us any further but it is full of golden sounds and I like it, but you must not expect anything violently chromatic or cubist”. Tragically, Marie Joshua died just days after receiving the letter and Elgar quoted the melancholic theme from the slow movement at the end of the piece as a tribute to her memory.
The first movement begins in a whirlwind of anger and frustration; the music surges from one extreme of register to the other, and does not firmly establish the home key of E minor until the first grand piano statement. This violent outpouring of emotion is set against a beautifully simple contrasting theme in the related key of G major which first appears in meandering arpeggios in the violin part. Each statement of this tranquil theme is echoed by pianissimo chords in the piano before the storm clouds regather in another outpouring of grief. The movement clearly portrays moments of anger, resignation, sadness, frustration and desperation.
The slow movement Romance offers some respite from such turmoil. It is full of Edwardian gestures with the two instruments flirting and teasing each other in a coquettish dance with constant manipulation of tempo. An abrupt shift from the bright key of A major to the more reflective tonality of F major breaks away from this scene, perhaps suggesting it was a wonderful memory of life before the war changed the course of society for good. The central section is crafted around a poignant, forlorn melody first stated in the violin which becomes ever more overcome with grief, sorrow and regret. After a huge outpouring of devastating, dissonant chords the theme ascends ethereally, paving the way for a muted restatement of the opening dance – this time more clearly defined as a bitter-sweet memory. Elgar refuses to wallow in such dark colours and the last movement offers warmth and hope for the future. The bright key of E major and meandering, pastoral melodies predominate. As before, Elgar uses extremes of register with both instruments often moving in contrary motion to give the music space and grandeur. Reflective and playful themes alternate with the occasional pause for further reflection. After one last outburst during the development the music gives the impression of settling down for a peaceful end. It is here that Elgar breaks off from the themes of the movement to quote a more impassioned version of the central theme from the Romance, in memory of his friend Marie. The coda emerges peacefully before gathering both strength and warmth for one last outburst of emotion with the firm affirmation of the E major tonality ending things on a more hopeful note.
A REVIEW of the CONCERT
I am able now to write not only about this finest of all his chamber works, but about the performance by Jill and Peggy given on Sunday the 28th of January in Filene Hall on the Skidmore campus. The performances of all four works on the program were first rate. But the two sonatas — the Beethoven G Major and the Elgar E minor were inspired and inspiring, but memorable to a degree that they reached the other-worldly, and for me at least, something I intend to carry with me as a blessing to the end and into whatever hereafter there may be.
Postscript: I strongly recommend that all who have access to Wikipedia look up Caroline Alice Roberts, a.k.a. Caroline Alice Elgar, thus the composer’s wife and mother of their only child, a daughter Carice. The article is only one page, and it’s worth more than all my many put together,
Jill Levy & Margaret Kampmeier play Beethoven #8; Messiaen; Bartok Rhap1; Elgar Sonata