Mozart Clarinet Concerto (together with his Clarinet Quintet) transcends his previous
compositions by default. The adaptation of an impersonal view point is what distinguishes it. Imagine
someone telling you in a detached manner—almost as if from a third party perspective—about his
unhappy and unfulfilled life.
To be sure, there are emotions eloquently expressed, especially in
the profoundly sad Adagio; but those are emotions from the past, emotions one can now look upon
with resignation and perhaps even with wistfulness. Relating a story in Past Perfect tenses often
makes it more poignant.
Then there is this astonishing economy and childlike simplicity in the
construction of most of the subjects used. One can find no better example of how, in the maturity of
his art, Mozart has fully mastered the technique of distilling the very essence from music.
I
cannot agree entirely with Rampal, the famous flautist, who observed that only the French knows how to play the flute,
but I tend to think the English have unique talents with the clarinets and with the oboes. My favorite
recording of this concerto is, without a doubt, Jack Brymer’s. The merits of the Academy of St. Martin-In-The-Fields needs no
introduction, and Neville Marriner’s sympathetic accompaniment added immensely to this marvelous,
somewhat tongue-in-cheek, reading of a piece of music that is truly divine. In my opinion, all the power of Brymer’s musicianship and talent are met in the final four notes by the Clarinet in the Adagio. Listen to how he conjures up the last four notes: tentatively at first and then valiantly proceed onto the inevitable end.