Symphony No.36 in C major, K.425 (“Linz”)

One of the most remarkable aspects of the “Linz” Symphony is that, although it had to be written in no more than four or five days, it turned out to be Mozart’s longest and greatest symphony so far. As a guest of Count Thun in the Austrian city of Linz, he had undertaken to oblige his host by giving a concert for him. “On Tuesday 4 November,” he wrote to his father on 31 October 1783, “I’m giving a concert in the theatre here and, as I haven’t a single symphony with me, I’m writing a new one at breakneck speed.” To save time, he could have left out the minuet movement – as he was to do in his “Prague” Symphony three years later – but, in fact, he not only supplied the usual minuet but also, for the first time in any of his symphonies, prefaced the first movement with a slow introduction.

Beginning ceremoniously but resorting at an early stage to a mysterious texture of winding counterpoint on strings and woodwind, the Adagio introduction avoids committing itself to any particular key – which is why, when the main theme of the Allegro spiritoso enters in a clear C major on violins, a radiant light is shed on the proceedings. This is not the end of harmonic ambiguity, however. The approach to the second subject, initiated by an unsupported violin line and continued by solo oboe and bassoon, is positively misleading. When the new theme makes its entry on loud strings and woodwind it is surprisingly severe, so much so that it is repeated in more conciliatory phrasing and colouring on oboe and bassoon. A similar kind of harmonic ambiguity haunts the central development section – with the result that when the main theme is eventually recalled in C major it makes almost as radiant an effect as on its first appearance. Although much the same diversions occur before the re-entry of the second subject, the minor harmonies are less surprising this time and, anyway, a short but firm coda confirms the supremacy of C major.

Another unusual feature for Mozart at this time is the presence in the Andante of trumpets and drums, which he normally excluded from slow movements. Although they are silent in the oddly sinister middle section, with its stealthy footsteps in staccato scales and wide leaps on bassoons and basses, they add security as well a touch of ceremony to the outer sections, which are not as uniformly serene as the opening siciliano melody suggests they might be.

The Menuetto, which the hard-pressed Mozart could well have left out, is a sturdy, unhurried example of its kind with some entertaining canonic writing in it, not least in the oboe and bassoon duet in the middle section. There is certainly a sense of urgency in the closing Presto but no suspicion of a composer in a hurry. The ravishing countrapuntal textures applied to the busy quavers of the second subject, like the changes of harmony matched by changes of instrumental colour in the development section, are refinements which, though spontaneous in effect, could not have been achieved without meticulous attention to detail.