Violin Concerto No.1 in D major, Op.6

Paganini himself used to play his D major Violin Concerto a semitone higher in E flat. Few of his contemporaries knew how he did it - passages that were only just possible in D were out of the question in E flat - and they could not understand how he achieved such a peculiarly brilliant sound at the same time. The answer was that he tuned his strings up a semitone, which meant that he could use the D major fingerings while the extra tension in the strings produced the brighter sound.

Scordatura was, of course, only one of several techniques Paganini revived, invented, or developed to previously unheard-of extremes. And it was that kind of thing, rather than classically integrated examples of sonata form, that his admirers looked for in his concertos. The thematic material of the first movement would have interested the Paganini fan largely by virtue of its second subject, a cantabile melody which a violinist can make something of. The soloist makes so much of it, indeed, that the first subject does not reappear until just before the cadenza. Unfortunately, since Paganini did not write his cadenza down , one can only guess at the feats of virtuosity he performed at this point.

According to the composer, one of his slow movements was inspired by a prison scene he had seen performed on the stage. The theatrical orchestral introduction, the soloist’s tearful lament and the nostalgic melody in the relative major in the middle section, all seem to suggest that it was this Adagio he had in mind. The last movement, on the other hand, is innocent of ulterior motives. It is a cheerful rondo with a main theme featuring one of Paganini’s bowing techniques, the bouncing staccato downbow. There are two episodes between the reappearances of the main theme, one with a little tune in precarious double-stopped harmonics, the other contrasting a cantabile melody on the G string with the same theme octaves higher in the stratosphere of harmonics. Not surprisingly, the work ends with what is usually termed a brilliant coda.

It is easy these days to underestimate the genius of Paganini - just as in his own day it was so easy to overestimate it that he was commonly believed to have acquired his instrumental wizardry by means of a pact with the devil. The significant fact is that the most fervent admirers of his technical innovations were not exclusively violinists. Schumann, Liszt, Chopin, Brahms, all of them ambitious piano composers, were inspired by his example to attempt to do for their instrument what he had so sensationally done for the violin. To use Liszt’s terminology, Paganini’s virtuosity “transcended” mere technique, uncovering new facets of the personality of the violin and, at the same time, new aspects of the art of music.

It is clear from the First Violin Concerto in D major, which was written round about 1816, that many of Paganini’s innovations had been developed at an early stage in his career. Just how many of them we will hear in today’s performance will depend on how it is presented. Paganini himself used to play it in E flat - not by transposing it but, so as to achieve a brighter sound, by retuning his strings a semitone higher. The orchestra, of course, played from parts in E flat. Present-day violinists tend to avoid that particular device for fear of breaking a string under the extra tension. If Paganini broke a string he would carry on regardless on three strings: indeed, he could perform wonders on one string. It is also a matter of choice as to whether the first movement is played complete - it lasts twenty minutes or more without the optional cuts - and, since Paganini did not write a cadenza, it is up to the soloist to decide exactly what technical should be displayed at this point.

As presented in the orchestral exposition (assuming it isn’t cut), the first subject of the first movement is little more than a structural necessity. The second subject, on the other hand, is a cantabile melody that Rossini himself might have written. The soloist, however, transforms the first subject into something quite different and introduces a brilliant new theme in parallel thirds before approaching the second subject again. It is presented first on the E string and then, with an enterprising change of colour, on the D string only. The development consists of variants on this melody alternating with dramatic improvisations by the soloist. The orchestra’s first subject is also ousted from its rightful place in the recapitulation and does not reappear until just before the cadenza.

According to the composer, one of his slow movements was inspired by a prison scene he had seen performed by the great actor Giuseppe de Marini. He did not make clear whether it was this present Adagio or that of the Second Violin Concerto in B minor, but the theatrical orchestral introduction, the soloist’s tearful lament and the nostalgic melody in the relative major in the middle section, all seem to suggest that it this was the movement he was referring to.

The last movement, on the other hand, is innocent of ulterior motives. It is a cheerful rondo with a main theme featuring one of Paganini’s bowing techniques, the bouncing staccato downbow. When the orchestra plays that theme the staccato is simplified to legato. There are two episodes between the reappearances of the main theme, one with a little tune in precarious double-stopped harmonics, the other contrasting a cantabile melody on the G string with the same theme octaves higher in the stratosphere of harmonics. Not surprisingly, the work ends with a brilliant coda.

Paganini himself used to play his D major Violin Concerto a semitone higher in E flat. Few of his contemporaries knew how he did it - passages that were only just possible in D were out of the question in E flat - and they could not understand how he achieved such a peculiarly brilliant sound at the same time. The answer was that he tuned his strings up a semitone, which meant that he could use the D major fingerings while the extra tension in the strings produced the brighter sound (the orchestral parts would have been transposed to E flat of course). Far from being a cheap trick, it was a very legitimate and enterprising use of one of the natural properties of the violin. Present-day violinists avoid playing the work in E flat, however, for fear of breaking a string under the extra tension. If Paganini broke a string he would carry on regardless on three strings: indeed, he could perform wonders on one string.

The device of scordatura (or abnormal tuning) was one of several techniques Paganini revived, invented, or developed to previously unheard-of extremes. His false harmonics, double-stopped harmonics, left-hand pizzicato, complex multi-stopped chords, flying staccato, among other techniques, provided future violinists with virtuoso temptations, it is true, but also with vastly more expressive potential.

It is an indication of Paganini’s importance in the development of music that his greatest admirers were not exclusively violinists. Schumann, Liszt, Chopin, Brahms, all were inspired by his example to attempt to do for the piano what he had so sensationally done for the violin. His virtuosity “transcended” (to use Liszt’s terminology) mere technique and uncovered new facets of the personality of the violin and, therefore, new facets of the art of music.

It is as well to remember this when listening to the First Violin Concerto, a work which in comparison with Beethoven’s (written about fourteen years earlier) or Mendelssohn’s (written about twenty-five years later) is not the greatest of its kind. Paganini’s admirers did not listen to his concertos for an imaginatively scored orchestral exposition or a classically integrated example of sonata form. The beginning of the first movement - assuming that the orchestral exposition was not cut down from its full 98 bars to a minimum of 19, as it usually was and sometimes still is - would have interested the Paganini fan largely by virtue of its second subject, a Rossini-like aria for woodwind in octaves. The first subject material is little more than a structural necessity but here in the second subject is a cantabile melody which a violinist can make something of. Indeed, when the soloist enters he transforms the first subject into something quite different and introduces a brilliant new theme in parallel thirds before approaching the second subject again. The approach is made by way of a clever transition which combines elements of the first subject with a distinct anticipation of the second. The melody itself he presents first on the E string and then, with an enterprising change of colour, on the D string only. Apart from a busy episode in B minor, the development consists of variants on this melody alternating with dramatic improvisations by the soloist. The orchestra’s first subject is also ousted from its rightful place in the recapitulation and does not reappear until just before the cadenza. Unfortunately, since Paganini did not write down his cadenza, one can only guess at the feats of virtuosity he performed at this point.

According to the composer, one of his slow movements was inspired by a prison scene he had seen performed by the great actor Giuseppe de Marini. He did not make clear whether it was this present Adagio or that of the second concerto, but the theatrical orchestral introduction, the soloist’s tearful lament and the nostalgic melody in the relative major in the middle section, all seem to suggest that it was this B minor movement he was referring to.

The last movement, on the other hand, is innocent of ulterior motives. It is a cheerful rondo with a main theme featuring one of Paganini’s bowing techniques, the bouncing staccato downbow. When the orchestra plays that theme the staccato is simplified to legato. There are two episodes between the reappearances of the main theme, one in the dominant with a little tune in precarious double-stopped harmonics, the other in the subdominant contrasting a cantabile melody on the G string with the same theme octaves higher in the stratosphere of harmonics. Not surprisingly, the work ends with what is usually termed a brilliant coda.

Gerald Larner