Nonet (1959)

Martinu’s Nonet was written for the Czech Nonet in 1959. Bearing in mind that the Nonet was formed in the early 1920s, what, one might well wonder, did they play before that? In fact, apart from Louis Spohr’s Nonet in F of 1813, which established the standard nonet instrumentation – one each of flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, horn, violin, viola, cello and double bass – there was very little they could play without adapting the ensemble in some way. The obvious answer to the problem was to commission new scores but, beginning with Josef Foerster in 1931, the composers they patronised were almost exclusively Czech, most of them little known outside their own country and none of them commanding the international reputation Martinu had acquired since he left Prague for Paris in 1923.

So Martinu was an inspired choice for a first performance at the 1959 Salzburg. They were not to know that the Nonet would be one of his last works and, while the composer himself must have had a good idea that this would be the case, he refused to be defeated by his illness and completed a score of immense vitality and rare accomplishment. The exhilaration of writing for such a challenging combination of instruments is paralleled by the joy he had in writing for distinguished representatives of a country to which he hadn’t been able to return since before the War. All of this is clearly evident in the first movement. The motivic basis of it is the three-note figure which is part of the opening clarinet theme and which occurs ten times in the first nine bars. There is, however, an abundance of melodic material, remarkable as much for its rhythmic as its linear interest, evenly distributed between wind and strings and brilliantly integrated into an unfailing imaginative contrapuntal texture. If there is an element of creative economy here it is in the uncharacteristic strategy of repeating much of the first half in the second.

Martinu’s structures are usually more instinctive, like that of the slow movement. It begins as a lament for cello accompanied only by strings but then changes direction according, it seems, to individual expressive initiative – except, that is, in two climaxes shared by all nine instruments. Joy is restored in the closing Allegretto, which takes the form of a rondo, more or less, based on the Czech folk-style dance tune introduced by violin in the openng bars. The most life-affirming material of all is the jubilant melody chorused by the woodwind just before the slightly slower middle section and just before the end.

Martinu’s Nonet was written for the Czech Nonet in 1959. Bearing in mind that the Nonet was formed in the early 1920s, what, one might well wonder, did they play before that? In fact, apart from Louis Spohr’s Nonet in F of 1813, which established the standard nonet instrumentation – one each of flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, horn, violin, viola, cello and double bass – there was very little they could play without adapting the ensemble in some way. The obvious answer to the problem was to commission new scores but, beginning with Josef Foerster in 1931, the composers they patronised were almost exclusively Czech, most of them little known outside their own country and none of them commanding the international reputation Martinu had acquired since he left Prague for Paris in 1923.

So Martinu was an inspired choice for a first performance at the 1959 Salzburg Festival. They were not to know that the Nonet would be one of his last works and, while the composer himself must have had a good idea that this would be the case, he refused to be defeated by his illness and completed a score of immense vitality and rare accomplishment. The exhilaration of writing for such a challenging combination of instruments is paralleled by the joy he had in writing for distinguished representatives of a country to which he hadn’t been able to return since before the War. All of this is clearly evident in the first movement. The motivic basis of it is the three-note figure which is part of the opening clarinet theme and which occurs ten times in the first nine bars. There is, however, an abundance of melodic material, remarkable as much for its rhythmic as its linear interest, evenly distributed between wind and strings and brilliantly integrated into an unfailing imaginative contrapuntal texture. If there is an element of creative economy here it is in the uncharacteristic strategy of repeating much of the first half in the second.

Martinu’s structures are usually more instinctive, like that of the slow movement. It begins as a lament for cello accompanied only by strings but then changes direction according, it seems, to individual expressive initiative – except, that is, in two climaxes shared by all nine instruments. Joy is restored in the closing Allegretto, which takes the form of a rondo, more or less, based on the Czech folk-style dance tune introduced by violin in the openng bars. The most life-affirming material of all is the jubilant melody chorused by the woodwind just before the slightly slower middle section and just before the end.