Duett-Concertino

Richard Strauss (1864-1949)

Duett-Concertino

for clarinet, bassoon, strings and harp

Allegro moderato –

Andante    –

Rondo: allegro non troppo

Strauss’s last work for orchestra is a lovely example of the serene and apparently effortless creativity characteristic of the “Indian Summer” of his eighties. In exile in Switzerland – life in Germany in the first years after the end of the war was very difficult for him – he wrote the Duett-Concertino for the chamber orchestra of the Italian-Swiss Radio in Lugano, where it was first performed in April 1948. The soloists on that occasion were the principal clarinet and bassoon of the Swiss ensemble, although the score is actually dedicated to Hugo Burghauser, a Vienna Philharmonic bassoonist who had emigrated to New York. Writing to Burghauser with the dedication, Strauss revealed that there is a story behind the work: a dancing princess is alarmed by the grotesque attentions of a bear who however, when she dances with him, turns out to be a prince. “So you too, Burghauser,” the composer added, “become a prince at last and everything ends happily.”

Constructed in three movements performed without a break, the Concertino makes complete musical sense without reference to any beauty-and-the-beast kind of scenario – not least because it is so firmly held together by the little five-note flourish introduced by a sextet of solo strings in the opening bars. Even so, since the story-line is so clearly and at the same time so poetically presented, it is tempting to follow the interaction of the two principal characters through at least the first two movements. After the string-sextet introduction with the all-important five-note flourish, the clarinet-princess makes a beautifully poised entry    on an exquisitely supple line. The bassoon-bear on its first appearance, though far from beastly, is certainly gruff enough to cause alarm, as is clear from the distressed gestures of the clarinet and the agitatation of the strings. The bassoon is not lacking in plaintive eloquence, however, and the following exchanges, while by no means amorous, are animatedly conversational. This episode ends with the clarinet recalling its first melody, now doubled by a solo violin, while the bassoon adds its comments below.

If there is a moment when the bear is transformed into a prince, it is in the transition to the second movement, where the magical sounds of high tremolando strings and splashing harp precede one of the most expressive soliloquies ever written for bassoon. The clarinet cannot resist it, first adding a pretty counterpoint then joining in close harmony before the two soloists swap cadenzas and decide that the five-note flourish (which has never been absent for very long) will be the thematic basis of their life together in the next movement.

That theme – re-introduced upside down by the basssoon and the right way up by the clarinet – is the thread that guides the ear through the maze-like design of a finale described by even the most enthusiastic of commentators as “sprawling” or “rambling.” Amid all the sparkling repartee, the constant variations on the main theme and the allusions to earlier movements, however, there are two particularly significant events – the entry of a new, lyrical melody introduced by the clarinet and bassoon in unison and a recall of the same melody now rapturously supported by violins – which both give the movement a clear shape and confirm the compatibility of the two protagonists.

Gerald Larner ©1997