Cello Sonata in C Op.65 (1960-61)

Marcia: Energico

Moto perpetuo: Presto

The Sonata in C was the first of of the five remarkable works, including also the Cello Symphony and the three solo Suites, that Britten wrote for Mstislav Rostropovich.

Like most of the rest the work, the first movement represents the mercurial rather than the expansive Rostropovich. Entitled Dialogo, it opens with an exchange of single notes or tiny phrases which actually adds up to a theme on two levels – the fragmented line of the cello combined with a rising and falling scale on the piano. The theme is more clearly defined a little later when, against a vigorously buzzing ostinato on the cello, the piano assumes responsibility for both elements. Intentionally or not, the eerily scored Scherzo, in which the cellist plays pizzicato throughout, sounds like a tribute to Bartók. After the expressive Elegia with its passionate central climax, the Marcia pays another tribute – in this case deliberately to the grotesque kind of march familiar in the work of Rostropovich’s compatriots Prokofiev and Shostakovich. There is more mercurial scoring for the cello in the closing Moto Perpetuo, a brilliantly witty invention ending in a rackety fortissimo recall of the main theme.   

Marcia: energico

Moto perpetuo: presto

The Sonata in C was the first of of the five remarkable works, including also the Cello Symphony and the three solo Suites, that Britten wrote for Mstislav Rostropovich. He had known the Russian cellist for only a few a few weeks when he started on the score – they had first met at an early performance of Shostakovich’s First Cello Concerto in the Royal Festival Hall in September 1960 – and, obviously, he didn’t know him as well as he would by the time he wrote the Third Suite, a quintessentially Rostropovich inspiration, ten years later. Even so, in spite of a certain nervousness which is as apparent in the music as it evidently was when ‘Slava’ and ‘Beninka’ first played through the Sonata together, much of the cellist’s personality is reflected here.

Like most of the rest the work, the first movement represents the mercurial rather than the expansive Rostropovich. Entitled Dialogo, it opens with an exchange of single notes or tiny phrases which, although the two instruments seem out of step with each other, actually adds up to a theme on two levels – the fragmented line of the cello combined with a rising and falling scale on the piano. The theme is more clearly defined a little later when, against a vigorously buzzing ostinato on the cello, the piano assumes responsibility for both elements and authoritatively reshapes them as a kind of second subject. It reappears in yet another shape in the recapitulation, again on the piano and again against a cello ostinato but now without the scalic element and in a tranquil mood that survives to the attenuated end.

Intentionally or not, the eerily scored Scherzo, in which the cellist plays pizzicato throughout, is a tribute to Bartók (specifically the Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion). After the expressive Elegia with its passionate central climax, the Marcia pays another tribute – in this case deliberately to the grotesque kind of march familiar in the work of Rostropovich’s compatriots Prokofiev and Shostakovich. There is more mercurial scoring for the cello in the closing Moto Perpetuo, a brilliantly witty invention ending in a rackety fortissimo recall of the main theme in double octaves on the piano and another octave on the cello.

Marcia: Energico

Moto perpetuo: Presto

The Sonata in C was the first of of the five remarkable works, including also the Cello Symphony and the three solo Suites, that Britten wrote for Mstislav Rostropovich. He had known the Russian cellist for only a few a few weeks when he started on the score. They had first met at an early performance of Shostakovich’s First Cello Concerto in the Royal Festival Hall in September 1960 when, obviously, he didn’t know him as well as he would by the time he wrote the Third Suite, a quintessentially Rostropovich inspiration, ten years later. Even so, in spite of a certain nervousness which is as apparent in the music as it evidently was when ‘Slava’ and ‘Beninka’ first played through the Sonata together, much of the cellist’s personality is reflected here.

Like most of the rest the work, the first movement represents the mercurial rather than the expansive Rostropovich. Entitled Dialogo, it opens with an exchange of single notes or tiny phrases which, although the two instruments seem out of step with each other, actually adds up to a theme on two levels – the fragmented line of the cello combined with a rising and falling scale on the piano. The theme is more clearly defined a little later when, against a vigorously buzzing ostinato on the cello, the piano assumes responsibility for both elements and authoritatively reshapes them as a kind of second subject. It reappears in yet another shape in the recapitulation, again on the piano and again against a cello ostinato but now without the scalic element and in a tranquil mood that survives to the attenuated end.

Intentionally or not, the eerily scored Scherzo, in which the cellist plays pizzicato throughout, is a tribute to Bartók in night-music mode (specifically the Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion). After the expressive, virtually monthematic Elegia with its passionate central climax, the Marcia pays another tribute: an intrusion from suite-form on the four-movement pattern of the conventional sonata, it is an aggressively grotesque march of the kind familiar in the work of Rostropovich’s compatriots Prokofiev and, more particularly, Shostakovich. There is more mercurial scoring for the cello in the closing Moto Perpetuo, a brilliantly witty invention ending in a rackety fortissimo recall of the main theme in double octaves on the piano and another octave on the cello.