Sunday, October 26, 2025

Kind of Blue: The Making of a Jazz Masterpiece

Cover of the Miles Davis album Kind of Blue

Cover of Kind of Blue (Columbia CS 8163). Photo credit: Jay Maisel. Image source: HMV.com

The Miles Davis sextet's Kind of Blue regularly tops listener's and critic's polls of the greatest jazz albums of all time. It was certainly an ear-opening experience for me when I encountered it for the first time in the record collection of my then-girlfriend and current life partner four decades ago. It became a gateway to further exploration of jazz, especially from the mid-1940s through the mid-1960s. The players on the album were a remarkable and never-to-be-repeated group. Each was a bandleader in his own right: apart from Davis himself on trumpet, they included John Coltrane on tenor sax, Julian "Cannonball" Adderley on alto sax, Bill Evans and Wynton Kelly on piano, Paul Chambers on bass, and Jimmy Cobb on drums. [1]

Ashley Kahn's Kind of Blue: The Making of the Miles Davis Masterpiece (second edition with a new afterword by the author, Da Capo, 2007; originally published in 2000) is a deep dive into the recording sessions, held on March 2 and April 22, 1959. The book is essentially 200 pages of detailed liner notes; if you love this album it's a fascinating read, even if Kahn occasionally lapses into empty critics' shorthand (calling Kind of Blue "the height of hip" (p. 16) in his introduction, for example).

Cover of the Ashley Kahn book Kind of Blue

Cover of Ashley Kahn's Kind of Blue: The Making of the Miles Davis Masterpiece (Da Capo, 2007). Cover photo: Chuck Stewart. Image source: Bookshop.org

The year 1959 was a remarkable moment in the evolution of jazz. Among the albums released that year were the Dave Brubeck Quartet's Time Out, Ornette Coleman's The Shape of Jazz to Come, João Gilberto's Chega de Saudade, Abbey Lincoln's Abbey Is Blue, Charles Mingus's Mingus Ah Um, Thelonious Monk's 5 by Monk by 5, Oliver Nelson's debut Meet Oliver Nelson, and Nina Simone's debut Little Girl Blue. It was also the year John Coltrane recorded Giant Steps, which was released in early 1960; six of its seven tracks were recorded on May 4 & 5, 1959, just two weeks after the second and final Kind of Blue session.

Kind of Blue crystallizes both the artistic ferment of the era and the mastery of the players in the Davis sextet. Its special atmosphere is apparent from the first moments of the opening track, "So What":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ylXk1LBvIqU

Bill Evans played piano on "So What," "Blue in Green," "All Blues," and "Flamenco Sketches." Wynton Kelly replaced Evans on piano for the second track on Side 1, "Freddie Freeloader." The track titles were all added by Davis after the sessions; when they were recorded they were simply assigned project and song numbers by the engineers.

Kind of Blue achieved greatness despite a host of errors, small and large, that marred the original issue of the album. Most consequentially, the first side was mastered at the wrong speed, and so the music sounded a little faster than it was played in the studio and about a quarter-step sharp (something a generation of musicians discovered when they tried to play along). My partner noticed this immediately when I put on the 1997 CD reissue—amazingly, the first issue of this album on which the playback speed was corrected. "It's slower than on the album," she said, perceptively. The running time of the corrected version of "So What" is 9:22, versus the original album's 8:57. [2]

There's also the moment in "Freddie Freeloader" (the second track on Side 1, but the first song to be recorded), where, on Coltrane's emphatic entrance for his solo, you can hear engineer Fred Plaut frantically turning down the volume level on his mic. As Kahn writes, "As precise a balance as Plaut may have achieved by arranging the band in the studio, he was unprepared for the startling power of Coltrane's tenor" (p. 106).

From left: John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley, Miles Davis, and Bill Evans during the Kind of Blue recording sessions. Photo credit: Don Hunstein. Image source: Simon Schreyer

In some versions of the album, the order of the tracks on Side 2 was switched on the back cover, with "Flamenco Sketches" erroneously listed as coming first (in some pressings this is true of the listing on the Side 2 record label as well). Additionally, Adderley's name was misspelled on the cover (the second "e" was dropped); the drummer, who was known professionally as Jimmy Cobb, was credited as James Cobb; Wynton Kelly, who went by his full name professionally, was listed as Wyn Kelly; and the producer Irving Townsend was uncredited. As with the mastering speed of Side 1, the crediting errors were corrected for the first time on the 1997 CD reissue, 38 years after the album was first released.

Image of the back cover of Kind of Blue from 1959

Back cover of a 1959 issue of Kind of Blue, with the reversed Side 2 track listing and misspelled/misnamed credits. Image source: Discogs.com [3]

There are three key legends about Kind of Blue that, although false, continue to cling to it. The truth about how the album was created is miraculous enough to need no embellishment. It has been claimed that the music on Kind of Blue is:

  • Unrehearsed: Bill Evans' original liner notes say that "Miles conceived these settings only hours before the recording dates," and the implication is that none of the musicians had seen any of the music before. However, Kahn reports that drummer Jimmy Cobb remembers of "So What" that "we had played it once or twice on gigs" before the recording sessions, and Miles stated in an interview at the time with jazz critic Ralph Gleason that "All Blues," the opening track on Side 2, had been played live and developed over several months (p. 96). Evans had left the band in November 1958 and had only rejoined them for the recording sessions several months later; he may not have known about music the band had been playing since his departure.

    And in 1991 Miles said of "All Blues" that "it's just 'Milestones' in 3/4" (p. 143); it's a similar chord progression, although the chords in "Milestones" are played staccato, at twice the speed, and with a different time signature (4/4). The title track of Davis' 1958 album Milestones was his first modal composition, a way of basing chord changes on specific scales, or modes, rather than melodies; it's a framework that structures all the tracks on Kind of Blue. Bassist Paul Chambers and saxophonists Cannonball Adderley and John Coltrane had played on Milestones.

    And finally, motifs on two of the tracks seem similar to music that Evans had recorded several months earlier, in one case with Chambers (see below). So both the general musical approach and perhaps elements of specific pieces were familiar to at least some of the musicians when they walked into the studio.
  • First takes: A statement frequently made about the album is that it consists entirely of first takes. However, this isn't quite true even if the statement is modified as "first complete takes": the version of the closing track "Flamenco Sketches" that was selected for the album is the second complete take, and the sixth take overall. (The first take was issued for the first time as a bonus track on the 1997 CD reissue.) "So What" had multiple false starts before the first complete run-through on the fourth take; "Freddie Freeloader"'s first complete take was also Take Four; "Blue in Green"'s first complete take was Take Five; and "All Blues" is the second take after a false start. It's still remarkable that the five tracks on the album were selected from only six complete takes, but it was also how Davis often preferred to record. Keyboardist Herbie Hancock, who was in his band from 1963 to 1968 and continued to record with him for several years afterward, said "Everything was a first take unless we screwed up the melody, so what you hear on the record is the first full take. The five-and-a-half years I was with him that's the way Miles worked" (p. 105).
  • Solely composed by Davis: The album cover states "All compositions by Miles Davis." However, Evans later said that he wrote the opening chords of "Blue in Green" (the closing track of Side 1) in late 1958 based on a suggestion from Davis.



    And indeed the chords can be heard in modified form in Evans' accompaniment to Chet Baker's instrumental version of "Alone Together" (Dietz/Schwartz), recorded in December 1958 and released on the album Chet in early 1959. [4]

    An even closer match with an Evans composition, to my ears, are the opening chords for "Flamenco Sketches," which sound very much as though they are derived from Evans' "Peace Piece" from the album Everybody Digs Bill Evans, also recorded in December 1958. Although Kahn reports that Evans expressed some bitterness about the lack of composing co-credit, he never challenged Davis's copyright to "Blue in Green" or "Flamenco Sketches." Davis repeatedly credited Evans for his contributions to the sound of the album, and in 1986 said in an interview with his biographer Quincy Troupe, "'Blue in Green'—we wrote that together" (quoted in Kahn, p. 98). Nonetheless, the composing credits remain Davis's alone.

Of course, jazz is by its very nature improvisational and collaborative, and Kind of Blue is the sum of all of the contributions of the brilliant musicians who played on it. This is not to take anything from Davis' role as leader: he assembled the band, chose the numbers, sketched the chord progressions, and gave each musician instructions about how and when they should play. But within his conception he left them free to choose what they played; Kahn reports Cannonball Adderley as saying "He never told anyone what to play but would say 'Man, you don't need to do that.' Miles really told everyone what NOT to do" (p. 106). The album these men produced together remains one of the greatest achievements in jazz.


  1. Kelly, Chambers and Cobb would continue to play live and in the studio as a part of Davis's group until 1963. Coltrane would leave in early 1960 after the release of Giant Steps, and Adderley departed in the fall of 1959 to form his own quintet. The group as it appears on Kind of Blue never recorded together again.
  2. You can hear the difference by listening to the original album version of "So What" and comparing it to the version above.
  3. The variant versions of the early pressings and their matrix numbers are listed on Discogs.com.
  4. Apart from Evans and Baker, the musicians on "Alone Together" are Herbie Mann (alto flute), Pepper Adams (baritone saxophone), Paul Chambers (bass), and Connie Kay (drums).

Sunday, October 19, 2025

Anne Sofie von Otter: Swan Song

Photograph of mezzo-soprano Anne Sofie von Otter

Anne Sofie von Otter, mezzo-soprano. Photo credit: Ewa Marie Rundquist. Image source: Cal Performances

The Swedish mezzo-soprano Anne Sofie von Otter turned 70 this year. She has had a long and illustrious career in concert, in opera, and on recordings. If her concert in Berkeley's Hertz Hall two Sundays ago was her last public appearance in the Bay Area, it was a fitting farewell: a performance of Franz Schubert's Schwanengesang (Swan Song, 1829).

Schwanengesang is a collection of fourteen of the last lieder Schubert wrote before his death at age 31 in November 1828. The songs are settings of texts by two poets, Ludwig Rellstab and Heinrich Heine, plus a final song that sets a poem by Johann Gabriel Seidl. The songs were not intended as a cycle by the composer, but probably instead conceived as two separate collections, each devoted to a single poet. As a result, the collection lacks coherence of subject and tone. Their grouping as a set was the decision of Schubert's publisher Tobias Haslinger, who also provided the title. (Schubert wrote two earlier songs with the title "Schwanengesang"; neither is included in Schwanengesang.) Von Otter performed the songs in their published order without an intermission, accompanied on a period-appropriate fortepiano by Kristian Bezuidenhout. 

With their short metrical lines and regular rhyme schemes, Rellstab's poems work better as song lyrics than they read on the page. Perhaps the best-known of the seven Rellstab songs in Schwanengesang is "Ständchen" (Serenade), here performed by contralto Nathalie Stutzmann accompanied by Inger Södergren:

https://youtu.be/3smT4FX-9fs

Leise flehen meine Lieder
Durch die Nacht zu Dir;
In den stillen Hain hernieder,
Liebchen, komm' zu mir!

Flüsternd schlanke Wipfel rauschen
In des Mondes Licht;
Des Verräthers feindlich Lauschen
Fürchte, Holde, nicht.

Hörst die Nachtigallen schlagen?
Ach! sie flehen Dich,
Mit der Töne süßen Klagen
Flehen sie für mich.

Sie verstehn des Busens Sehnen,
Kennen Liebesschmerz,
Rühren mit den Silbertönen
Jedes weiche Herz.

Laß auch Dir die Brust bewegen,
Liebchen, höre mich!
Bebend harr' ich Dir entgegen;
Komm', beglücke mich!
My melodies plead softly
through the night to you;
down within the silent grove,
beloved, come to me!

Whispering slender treetops rustle
in the moon's pale light;
That a betrayer will eavesdrop
There's no need to fear.

Do you not hear the nightingales calling?
Ah, you they implore;
with their voices sweetly singing
they send my entreaties to you.

They understand the heart’s keen yearning,
they know the pain of love;
with their notes so silvery
they touch every tender heart.

Let your heart, too, be moved,
beloved, hearken to me!
Trembling, I await your coming!
Come, bring me happiness!

To provide von Otter with some respite, Bezuidenhout performed two solos. The first, Schubert's Impromptu in C minor, D 899 No. 1 (1827), came after the first group of six of the seven Rellstab songs, ending with "In der Ferne" (Far Away).

Photograph of Kristian Bezuidenhout

Kristian Bezuidenhout. Image credit: Marco Borggreve. Image source: Festival Ghent

After the second group of four songs, which began with Rellstab's "Abschied: Ade, du muntre, du fröhliche Stadt, Ade!" (Farewell, you lively, you cheerful town!) and ended with Heine's "Das Fischermädchen" (The Fisher-Maiden), Bezuidenhout performed the Andante from Schubert's Sonata No. 13 in A major (1819). The Andante flowed almost imperceptibly into the first song of the final group of four, "Die Stadt" (The City), without a pause for applause.

Schubert's Heine songs have a darker sound than his Rellstab settings, and are filled with imagery of death and loss. From the final group of Heine songs, "Am Meer" (By the Sea), again performed by Stutzmann and Södergren:

https://youtu.be/Jp4k6hW7W-s

Das Meer erglänzte weit hinaus
Im letzten Abendscheine;
Wir sassen am einsamen Fischerhaus,
Wir sassen stumm und alleine.

Der Nebel stieg, das Wasser schwoll,
Die Möwe flog hin und wieder;
Aus deinen Augen liebevoll
Fielen die Tränen nieder.

Ich sah sie fallen auf deine Hand,
Und bin aufs Knie gesunken;
Ich hab’ von deiner weissen Hand
Die Tränen fortgetrunken.

Seit jener Stunde verzehrt sich mein Leib,
Die Seele stirbt vor Sehnen; –
Mich hat das unglücksel’ge Weib
Vergiftet mit ihren Tränen.
The sea glittered wide before us
in the last rays of the sun;
we sat by the fisherman’s lonely house,
we sat silent and alone.

The mist thickened, the waters surged,
a seagull soared back and forth.
From your eyes, so filled with love,
the tears flowed down.

I watched them fall on your hand.
I sank upon my knee;
I, from your hand so white,
Drank away the tears.

Since that hour my body is yearning,
My soul dies of longing;
I have been poisoned forever
by her disconsolate tears.

With the passage of time von Otter's voice has lost a touch of the purity of tone, perfection of intonation, and sustained breath support so evident in her earlier recordings. However, her communicative power as an artist remains undiminished. As the last chords of the last song in Schwanengesang—the incongruously sprightly "Die Taubenpost" (The Pigeon Post)—faded away, the audience responded with an extended standing ovation.

The artists generously offered an encore: Schubert's "Abschied von der Erde" (Farewell to the world), a poem spoken by the character Mechthild in her death scene from Adolf von Pratobevera's play Der Falke (The Falcon), for which Schubert wrote a keyboard accompaniment. The reading was a powerful reminder of the acting skill that von Otter brought to all of her operatic roles. Many thanks to Cal Performances for bringing her to Berkeley; if Schwanengesang was the last time we'll have the opportunity to see her in concert, she left us wanting more.

Anne Sofie von Otter: Three favorite performances

We first became aware of von Otter as a soloist on the recording of Handel's Messiah performed by the English Concert conducted by Trevor Pinnock. Her performance of "He was despisèd" remains our favorite, which is saying a great deal, since we also own recordings of this aria by Lorraine Hunt and Andreas Scholl.

After hearing her in Handel we sought out her other recordings. The very next one we found became a favorite that we still return to frequently, 30 years on: Opera Arias: Mozart, Haydn, Gluck (Arkiv Produktion, recorded 1995) in which she was again accompanied by The English Concert and Pinnock (themselves a recommendation; Pinnock always seems to choose the right tempo, and The English Concert was and remains among the premier period instrument orchestras).

Cover of Opera Arias

Image source: Presto Music

The selections on the album are not the usual collection of standards. Of course she includes Cherubino's "Voi che sapete" (You who know what love is) from Mozart's Le nozze di Figaro, as an example of her excellence in trouser roles. She also performs arias of Donna Elvira and Zerlina from Don Giovanni. But there's nothing from Dorabella's role in the third Mozart-Da Ponte opera, Cosi fan tutte; instead, Otter and Pinnock include arias from the less-well-known Mozart operas Lucio Silla, La finta Giardiniera, and La clemenza di Tito, as well as from three Gluck and three Haydn operas. By itself this disc is an education in late 18th-century operatic styles, and was our introduction to the operas of Haydn as well as at least two of the three Gluck operas.

"O del mio dolce ardor bramato oggetto" (O beloved object of my sweet passion) from Gluck's rarely-performed opera Paride e Elena (Paris and Helen, 1770):

https://youtu.be/v3E4N2ZLAqk

The film A Late Quartet (2012, directed and co-written by Yaron Zilberman) brought von Otter to the attention of a broader audience. In the film she plays the deceased wife of the fictional Fugue Quartet's cellist Peter (Christopher Walken). To commune with her memory, he puts on her recording of "Mariettas Lied" from Erich Korngold's opera Die Tote Stadt (The Dead City, 1920). Here is a different recording of the aria, performed with a piano quintet (arrangement by pianist Bengt Forsberg) rather than full orchestra:

https://youtu.be/WN_vsAUEE8s

Glück, das mir verblieb,
rück zu mir, mein treues Lieb.
Abend sinkt im Haag
bist mir Licht und Tag.
Bange pochet Herz an Herz
Hoffnung schwingt sich himmelwärts.

Naht auch Sorge trüb,
rück zu mir, mein treues Lieb.
Neig dein blaß Gesicht
Sterben trennt uns nicht.
Mußt du einmal von mir gehn,
glaub, es gibt ein Auferstehn.
Joy, stay with me.
Come to me, my true love.
Night falls now;
You are my light and day.
Our hearts beat as one;
our hopes rise heavenward.

Though sorrow darkens all,
come to me, my true love.
Bring your pale face close to mine.
Death cannot separate us.
If you must leave me one day,
know that there is a life after this.

After the Berkeley concert, my partner and I wanted to hear more of von Otter. Usually we don't listen to music after a concert, wanting to give ourselves some time to absorb the experience. But in honor of what may have been our last opportunity to see her perform live, that night we watched scenes from the excellent 1994 Vienna production of Richard Strauss's opera Der Rosenkavalier (1911) directed by Otto Schenk and accompanied by the Vienna Philharmonic conducted by Carlos Kleiber. In that production von Otter is a superb Octavian, fully worthy of being mentioned in the company of other great Octavians such as Brigitte Fassbaender and Elina Garanča.

Here is the exquisite final love duet from Der Rosekavalier. Von Otter's Sophie is Barbara Bonney, Sophie's father Faninal is Gottfried Hornik, and the Marschallin is Felicity Lott:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_EolhXNJBbU

Von Otter's recordings and our memories of her concert performances will be among our most treasured. Below I offer a list of posts on E&I that discuss her or that include linked or embedded performances:

Sunday, October 5, 2025

Mozart and the London Bach: Allegro

Cover of Allegro by Ariel Dorfman

Cover of Allegro by Ariel Dorfman, Other Press, 2025. Image source: Bookshop.org

Historical novelists set themselves a doubly difficult task: they must create not only an engaging fictional world, but one that is plausibly of a specific past time and place. This sets up two pitfalls which many historical novels fail to avoid: the first is characters whose function is all too clearly to explain things to the readers that the author assumes they do not know, and the second is jarring anachronism.

Indeed, over-explanatory characters are doubly problematic: they not only stretch our credulity, they are also almost always anachronistic. People take for granted the world in which they are living; they don't bother to explain it in detail to one another, because there's no need. When arranging a meeting with someone we might say "Text me when you arrive"; we wouldn't say "Alert me to your arrival by transmitting a short message from your personal handheld wireless communication device to my own."

Which brings us to some early passages from Ariel Dorfman's Allegro, a novel narrated from the point of view of none other than Wolfgang Mozart.

Portrait of Mozart at age 6, 1763

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, attributed to Pietro Antonio Lorenzoni, ca. 1763. Image credit: Mozarteum, Salzburg. Image source: Wikimedia Commons

Here are the remembered thoughts of the nine-year-old Mozart one February morning during his family's stay in London in 1765:

Today I would hear Maestro Bach present my symphony, the inaugural offering of so many—I could already envisage a long stretch of similar works ahead of me, I was already finishing the second and the third, I would start next week on the fourth symphony—today was the day, tonight the night. Oh, molto allegro my outlook, like the first movement of my first symphony, very joyful and buoyant. . . (p. 12)

But then he learns that his father Leopold is ill and so none of the Mozarts will be able to attend the concert. A letter dictated by his father is dispatched to

my protector, Baron Johann Christian Bach. . .Please ask Concert Master Bach to forgive our absence this evening at Carlisle House and at dinner later at Dean House, King's Square Court, where he and Herr Carl Friedrich Abel reside. . .The Allegro Molto's buoyancy had lapsed into the mournful strains of my Andante, a somber second movement that denied the playfulness of the first one. . . (pp. 13–14)

Would Mozart explain to himself the meaning of molto allegro and andante? Would Leopold inform J.C. Bach of his own address? And finally, the tempo indication of andante is "moderate" or "at a walking pace"; it doesn't necessarily imply "mournful" or "somber." I would call the second movement of Mozart's Symphony No. 1 "stately," "measured," or "reflective" rather than "mournful," but of course, musical affect is in the ear of the auditor:

https://youtu.be/gPDK9IE921Y

The performers are The English Concert conducted by Trevor Pinnock.

Wolfgang's fears of missing the première of his symphony turn out to be groundless: Johann Christian Bach comes in his carriage to take Mozart to the concert. Afterwards, Wolfgang is approached by a stranger:

. . .in a voice so squat that only he and I could harken to it, he scooted a question at me: "Can you keep a secret, Master Mozart?. . .You must swear that you will tell no one of this conversation," the man continued. "Save for one man, save for the London Bach, Johann Christian Bach, son of the incomparable Johann Sebastian, deceased these fifteen years," and his eyes scurried in the direction of the Kapellmeister, still standing close to the podium receiving congratulations for his own newest Sinfonia Concertante, written exclusively for this subscription series. (p. 9)

As you may have noticed, this passage is discordant in several ways:

  • it's over-explanatory: Wolfgang knows perfectly well who "the London Bach" is and who his father was, and so doesn't need to be told by the stranger. And the information that J.C. Bach wrote music for the subscription concert series that he and Abel organized is extraneous.
  • it's anachronistic: Johann Sebastian Bach would not be generally thought of as "incomparable" until the 19th century revival of his music. At this time he would more likely have been considered a somewhat old-fashioned, "learned" composer. Wolfgang's six sonatas for clavier and violin or flute had been dedicated the previous fall to Queen Charlotte with the words (probably written by Leopold), "With your help, I shall become as famous as any of my great countrymen; I shall become immortal like Handel and Hasse, and my name will be as famous as that of Bach." As Heinz Gärtner writes in his biography of Johann Christian, "less than a decade after Johann Sebastian Bach's death, when people talked about 'the famous Bach,' they did not mean the cantor of St. Thomas Church in Leipzig; he had been virtually forgotten by then." There was only one famous Bach in London in the 1760s, and it was Johann Christian, not his father. [1]
  • it includes some odd word choices. "A voice so squat": one meaning of "squat," according to the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, is "hidden from sight; quiet, still." It's a stretch to use a term referring to someone trying to avoid being seen to describe a soft voice, and especially so since the meaning "quiet, still" dates from a dialect first recorded in the mid-19th century, a hundred years or so after this scene is supposed to take place. "Scooted a question" is also strange: all the meanings of "scoot" in the Shorter Oxford refer to physical movement, not to rapid or sudden speech. And "his eyes scurried in the direction of the Kapellmeister" again applies a metaphor of displacement in space to something that happens while both Wolfgang and his interlocuter are rooted to the spot, not to mention the disturbing mental images that are conjured if we take the metaphor literally.

A few pages later we witness Wolfgang waking up: "With one bound I was out of bed, jerked upright and in motion before my eyes draped themselves open. . ." (p. 12). To drape something, of course, is to cover it, not reveal it. Dorfman published the novel in Spanish a decade ago, and since no translator is credited, presumably he is the one who rendered it into occasionally awkward English.

Portait of J.C. Bach by Thomas Gainsborough

Johann Christian Bach by Thomas Gainsborough, ca. 1776. Image source: National Portrait Gallery, London. Creative Commons license CC BY-NC-ND 3.0.

Oh, and one more thing. At the very beginning of the novel Dorfman offers an Author's Note: "In Allegro all musical offerings, dates, characters, and public events, with some minor exceptions, are factually true. Their existence may be consulted in the historical record." Well, I consulted the historical record about the very first scene of the first chapter, the première of Wolfgang's Symphony No. 1 at a Bach-Abel concert on 2 February 1765. I found that "there is no evidence that Wolfgang Amadeus appeared at the Bach-Abel concerts." [2]

The first performance of his first symphony likely took place at a concert organized by Leopold on 21 February 1765 at the Little Theatre in the Haymarket. A notice in the Public Advertiser announcing a "Concert for the Benefit of Miss and Master Mozart" stated that "all the Overtures will be from the Composition of these astonishing Composers, only eight years old." [3] (Wolfgang's sister Nannerl was 13, and he was 9.) Stanley Sadie notes that "the term [overtures] is interchangeable at this date, in England, with 'symphonies.'" [4] It seems unlikely that Wolfgang's first symphony would have been given to J.C. Bach to perform three weeks earlier. And J.C. Bach would not have been present at the Mozart's 21 February concert, as he and Abel were giving another concert in their series on the same evening.

Nannerl, by the way, is virtually absent from the novel, although she performed along with Wolfgang, and was the copyist for his compositions. She even may have played a role in the structure of the first symphony. She later remembered,

In London, when our father lay ill and close to death [in the summer of 1764], we were not allowed to touch the clavier. So, to occupy himself, Mozart composed his first symphony with all the instruments, above all with trumpets and drums. I had to sit by him and copy it out. As he composed, and I copied, he said to me: 'Remind me to give the horns something worthwhile to do'. . . [5]

Portrait of Nannerl Mozart from 1763

Maria Anna (Nannerl) Mozart, attributed to Pietro Antonio Lorenzoni, ca. 1763. Image credit: Mozarteum, Salzburg. Image source: Wikimedia Commons

In his description of Symphony No. 1 (we don't actually know in which order Mozart composed his early symphonies), Sadie observes that "there are no trumpets and drums as specified by Nannerl—unless, as is not uncommon, the parts for those instruments were separately written out [and have been lost]. . .Conceivably, the four-note horn phrase beginning on bar 14 [of the second movement] could be a consequence of the reminder from Nannerl; this pattern (in C major, C–D–F–E) is heavy with significance for the later Mozart, most famously in his last symphony but elsewhere as well." [6] (The horn phrase begins around 0:24 in the YouTube recording by The English Concert linked above, and recurs at least twice more in the first 2:45.)

Allegro is framed as a mystery. A man's reputation is at stake, and Wolfgang is asked to effect a reconciliation, or at least a meeting, between J.C. Bach and the son of the oculist John Taylor. Taylor, whom Samuel Johnson is reported to have called "an instance [of] how far impudence could carry ignorance," operated on the eyes of both J.S. Bach and Handel. [7] In both cases, Taylor's treatment resulted in his patients' partial blindness becoming total; in Bach's case, it likely contributed to his death a few months later.

Engraving of John Taylor in 1756

Mezzotint of John Taylor by John Faber Jr, after Paul Ryche (Riche), 1756. Image source: National Portrait Gallery NPG  D40851. Creative Commons license CC BY-NC-ND 3.0.

The choice of Bach and Handel (and hundreds of other unfortunates) to undergo an agonizingly painful procedure that they must have known would almost certainly fail is the "mystery" which Allegro attempts to solve. But is any reason other than their utter desperation needed? In proffering an unconvincing explanation for these tragic real-life events, Allegro reminded me too often of Peter Shaffer's Amadeus—a comparison which from me does not constitute praise.

Ultimately Allegro leaves us with Wolfgang's homily: "'I think the answer is always music. I think we must seek answers there when we are most lost, most bereft'" (p. 201). But for me music does not provide answers, but rather poses insoluble questions.

Perhaps the best thing about the novel is its concluding "Playlist Companion to Allegro" of the music that "inspired the author as he wrote and that accompanied the characters as they lived their real and fictional lives" (Author's Note). Any opportunity to explore (or renew acquaintance with) the music of Mozart, Handel, J.S. Bach, J.C. Bach, and Carl Friedrich Abel is recommendable; if only Dorfman's novel were more so.

From the playlist, the first movement, andante, of J.C. Bach's Sinfonia Concertante in C major, C 36a, performed by The Hanover Band conducted by Anthony Halstead. The cello solos may have been played originally by Abel:

https://youtu.be/dHYBns6DtYI [the first movement ends at 10:55].


  1. Heinz Gärtner, John Christian Bach: Mozart's Friend and Mentor, translated by Reinhard G. Pauly, Amadeus Press, 1994, p. ix. 
  2. Christoph Wolff and Stephen Roe, "Bach, Johann [John] Christian," Grove Music Online, https://doi.org/10.1093/gmo/9781561592630.article.6002278196 (subscription required).
  3. Otto Erich Deutsch, Mozart, A Documentary Biography, Stanford University Press, 1965, pp. 41–42.
  4. Stanley Sadie, Mozart: The Early Years, 1756–1781, W.W. Norton, 2006, p. 69.
  5. Quoted in Sadie, p. 65. After Nannerl produced a clean copy of the full score, Leopold later wrote out the orchestral parts.
  6. Sadie, pp. 82-83.
  7. James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson, Second Edition, Revised and Augmented, Vol. 3, 1793, p. 184. https://archive.org/details/lifeofsamueljoh03boswuoft/page/184/mode/1up