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Rating: Composing according to the tastes imposed by the majority or according to what one's inspiration suggests? Quite a dilemma, today as in 1788. Today, it's more a matter of conscience, especially for already established artists, who, if they wish, can afford to take risks, like Battisti with the "white" Panella records.
In Mozart's time, the matter was a bit more complicated. The role of the musician was not very different from that of a servant or a lackey. The more complacent, like Haydn, even adapted to wearing a livery just to have the security of a "steady job". The proud Mozart, however, had to experience a kind of "flexibility" of the time, as he depended on occasional patrons, most with average or mediocre tastes. While it's true that he always managed to sneak in brilliant ideas even in compositions born without pretension, it's equally true that his aspirations were quite different. In the summer of 1788, once again in financial difficulty, he decided to surrender to a phenomenal creative raptus, or perhaps that raptus was stronger than any concern. The fact is that in a month and a half of feverish genius, three symphonies were born that (together with the No. 38 K 504 "Prague") represent the best that the 1700s had to offer in this genre of music.
When thinking of certain modern artists, even talented ones, who laboriously produce an album every two to three years, it makes one reflect, but indeed those were different times. As sublime as it is, the Symphony No. 39 K 543 has always been overshadowed by the last two, very different from each other (as often happens with Mozart's works) but united by a divine perfection and a balance between 18th-century elegance and pre-Romantic sentiment that is miraculous. It is difficult to find a human being who does not know the initial motif of the first movement ("Molto allegro") of the Symphony No. 40 K 550 in G minor. Ridiculous versions in song form (Valdo de los Trios or something like that), cell phone ringtones, and telephone answering machines have tried in vain to vulgarize an immortal theme by exploiting its singability and apparent lightness. Impossible: just listen to it in its context, this sort of gentle, undulating perpetual motion, to immediately realize its moving depth, accentuated by the contrast with a second theme of lyrical drama. The subsequent "Andante" follows a common Mozart scheme: an initial calm, almost chamber-like dialogue between winds and strings, presenting an idyllic motif, increasingly disturbed by assertive "entries" of the entire orchestra, creating strong tension that only subsides in the finale. And how much remains of the carefree lightness of the dance known as "minuet" in the third movement ("Minuetto-Allegretto. Trio") of the symphony? I would say not much: little more than the triple meter and a small oasis of peace in the Trio. The rest is severe and imposing, and around the corner, one can glimpse Beethoven's nervous "Scherzi", which would soon retire the old minuet.
Opening with a sweet perpetual motion, the symphony ends with an "Allegro assai" even more frenetic and driving, which provides a worthy counterbalance to the first movement, creating perfect symmetry. It's curious that Mozart's most famous symphony doesn't have a name, though this isn't entirely true: some enlightened soul nicknamed it "Orrida" for its (according to them) absurd dissonances. It didn't last long, but probably enough to prevent Mozart from hearing its performance, which might also apply to the "Jupiter", although it's not quite clear. Soon Romanticism would do justice, but by then the author had long been dead. "Jupiter" however, was from its edition, the name of the Symphony No. 41 K 551 in C major, and perfectly represents the almost Beethovenian majesty of the first movement ("Allegro vivace"). Indeed, thunder and lightning, like those (it is said) Jove used to hurl, can be heard several times in the powerful outbursts of trumpets and timpani, but always alternating with phases where the lord of the gods seems to smile at us sweetly, and at times even jest, with fragments of motifs from a comic opera. The following "Andante cantabile" at first tempers the inevitable exaltation we had reached, but the promises of serenity will not be kept. With subsequent variations, the quiet cantabile theme will acquire a profound melancholy, while remaining equally singable.
Now moved, we confront a brief but intense "serious" movement masked as a frivolous minuet ("Minuetto. Allegretto. Trio"), the ideal bridge to the grand finale ("Molto allegro"), a genuine marvel of inexhaustible vitality entirely Mozartian, which by virtue of forces unknown to us (divine?) coexists with contrapuntal rigor worthy of Bach, enhancing rather than stifling it. On this finale, the true expressive center of the Symphony, I've read it all, but I like to compare it to a fountain that continuously jets fragments of notes upwards, creating imaginative forms that last a moment, fall back and immediately give way to other forms, ever higher and more complex, in a play that no finale seems able to interrupt. However, from some dark corner, the magician Mozart brings forth a finale, and the enchantment ends.
It's clear that fishing among the thousands of versions of these two hugely popular masterpieces isn't easy. I just point out the one I listened to while writing these notes, which is by the Wiener Philharmoniker conducted by Leonard Bernstein. It has the merit of emphasizing the pre-Romantic insights of the two symphonies more than certain more faithfully 18th-century interpretations, such as that of the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields by Sir Neville Marriner. I am convinced that Bernstein managed to capture better than others that worm that was gnawing at an independent and rebellious Mozart in the summer of 1788.
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