Ugh, the stress, the confusion, the emotional rollercoaster of paying taxes. Well, it’s over now – how about something uplifting to get us out of the grave?

On one hand, I feel bad for Johann Nepomuk Hummel, because he is only remembered for one piece – his Trumpet Concerto. On the other hand, it’s not so bad to have your name forever engraved in the annals of history, even if it’s for a single composition. Anyway, despite a large output of music, he is a classical one-hit wonder.

Perhaps what makes this concerto so popular is its place in history. Before Hummel’s time, trumpets didn’t have keys, and tended to play either extremely difficult, sky-high parts, or dull notes that merely added “punctuation” to orchestral music. The 19th century saw an outpouring of new and improved instruments, one of which was the keyed trumpet (holes in the trumpet, like a clarinet or flute – very different from valves, which is what we consider normal for a trumpet these days.) Hummel’s concerto could not have been played on an instrument without valves or keys, so in a sense, it’s the earliest piece of its kind, and the closest thing to Beethoven or Mozart that trumpet players can play. Eventually the keyed trumpet disappeared because the valved trumpet was far superior. The concerto is brilliant and virtuosic, and began a new chapter in the history of the instrument (and the whole brass family, for that matter).

Say the words “abstract art”, and what comes to mind? Scribbly canvases, urinals turned upside down, music that sounds like nails scraping across a chalkboard?

Abstractism isn’t a 20th century novelty, though – it comes and goes. Mosaic patterns on an ancient church floor may not have any specific meaning, but you can still enjoy looking at them. Likewise, a piece of music doesn’t have to tell a story (by words, or without words) to be beautiful. On one hand, we have Till Eulenspiegel, which, without words, tells a story; and then there’s the fabulous symphonies of Mozart, which say so much without telling any sort of story.

It’s easy for us to swallow the idea of Ludwig van Beethoven‘s “Pastorale Symphony“. What could be more natural than a musical painting of a city boy’s refreshing trip to the country? When it was written, though, it was quite contrary to popular style of the classical era, which favored abstract instrumental pieces with solid, predictable forms (even sacred music of the classical era favored compositional form over the meaning of the sacred texts – one of the reasons you’ll hear Mozart’s Solemn Vespers in concerts but rarely in a liturgical setting).

Beethoven closed the door on the classical era and ushered in the romantic; his 1st and 5th symphonies do this by breaking the typical classical forms. The revolution might be subtle to our modern ears, but the Pastorale Symphony crushes the classical era by tossing convention aside and reviving a passion for programmatic music – music that is charged with a story, meaning, and even purpose.

“Nimrod” from Elgar‘s Enigma Variations is supposedly inspired by an all-night conversation about the slow movements of Beethoven symphonies. I’ve always imagined this movement to be the core of that conversation.

And then there’s this Jupiter.

The last symphony Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart composed stands as a monument to his compositional genius, and as a pillar of regret to the fact that he died so young. This symphony looks ahead to Beethoven and the romantic era in general. With its scope, complexity, size, and orchestration, we hear a Mozart who was maturing; many might even mistake this symphony for one of Beethoven’s. But unlike Beethoven, Mozart never gets “lost” in his composition; he’s always completely in control, whereas Beethoven had to occasionally resort to cheap tricks to get him out of a tough spot.

But back to Jupiter. So is this about the planet, the Roman god, or both?

Neither. It was just “Symphony No. 41 in C major” when Mozart wrote it. Like Haydn‘s “Clock Symphony” and Beethoven‘s “Moonlight Sonata“, it was named long after it was composed, and not by the composer.

This is the fourth and final movement of the symphony, which contains some incredible fugue writing – enough so that even Bach would blush!