Contemporary Mozart Performance:
A Diverse Landscape
(JCG Volume 2, No. 2, 1981)
By Max Rudolf
Are there guidelines for the performance of Mozart’s
works? If we look for readily applicable universal
rules, accepted and practiced by a majority of
performers and teachers, the response would have to
be negative. If, however, we conduct a survey of
present usage which compares selected readings of
Mozart’s works, live or recorded, two lists would be
created. The first would include characteristics that
most of the readings have in common. The second
would be a list of the divergent or non-conformant
practices. The degree to which the divergent
practices outnumber the similarities would certainly
fluctuate from one work to another. Whatever the
ratio, the lack of unanimity as regards tempo,
expression and other details of interpretation, is a
recognized and accepted fact. Some listeners
welcome the diversity. Others, partial to a favorite
artist whom they regard as a master of the “Mozart
style,” are blithely unconcerned about other Mozart
admirers who may confer the same honor upon a
performer with totally divergent ideas. Obviously,
observations based on comparisons do not proffer
guidelines. Rather, they act as a guide to the
available choices which are derived from prevailing
performance practices, individual taste, or force of
habit.
In order to separate transitory musical customs from
a composer oriented evaluation, musicians, when
searching for the “Mozart style,” ought to seek out
tangible criteria, such as the manner in which a
composition was conceived, notated, and meant to
be performed. This should be done in the light of
what one might call Mozart’s “workshop.” In order
to gain insight into his “workshop,” thorough
knowledge of a score is not sufficient. Each single
composition must be viewed as part of Mozart’s total
creative effort. Moreover, we must attempt, through
the use of biographical data and other pertinent
sources, to formulate a living picture of his
personality as an artist and human being, as well as
of his musical habits, aspirations and tastes. To quote
Goethe’s simple mandate: “Whoever wants to
understand the poet must go in the poet’s land.”
A discussion of this type often raises more questions
than it can possibly answer. For example, is
information available which could inform us as to
how Mozart conceived, notated, and performed his
music? Did he expect performers to comply with his
own interpretations? Is it possible, under present
conditions, to strive for authenticity by emulating
performance practices which have evolved over
nearly two centuries? If so, is it desirable? Finally,
how do we explain the diversity of approach to
Mozart among prominent musicians? Limited space
permits only brief answers.
We do not always know how Mozart conceived a
work. In a number of cases, a comprehensive study
of his letters and contemporary reports allows for
acceptable conclusions, yet more frequently much is
left to the “educated guess.” Specific data should
always therefore be of special interest. One wonders,
then, why Mozart’s own German translation of two
scenes in Don Giovanni (to which he added colorful
stage directions that well illustrate his ideas)
has gone virtually unnoticed. In the recent past the
accuracy of Mozart’s musical notation has been
ascertained through autographs and other important
JCG Vol. 30 16
sources. Although we had long suffered from
unreliable editions, since about 1950 most of the
composer’s output has been made available in
well-researched volumes. They should be consulted.
If a performer fails to do so, he will probably
continue playing (or singing) incorrect notes,
distorted rhythms, “modernized” phrasing, and be
mislead by faulty tempo indications. It is indeed
hard to believe that works such as Mozart’s
Haffner Symphony are still being performed from
bowdlerized scores.
For the performance of orchestral and ensemble
music, Mozart generally expected the players to
adhere to the written text. Solo performers,
however, whether in arias, sonatas, or concertos,
were allowed to alter the melodic line by adding
ornaments, changing the rhythm, and inventing
variations. For musicians who accept the sanctity of
the written note virtually as an act of faith, it seems
almost incredible that Mozart not only permitted,
but expected, tampering with his music. It is
interesting to note that Mozart’s ideas on this subject
were diametrically opposite to those of his older
confrere Gluck, who rejected the time-honored
practice. Mozart believed that the ability to add
embellishments was an essential part of music
education (contradicting the everything-is-in-the-
score theory cherished by some famous 20th
century musicians). However, textbooks of the day
contained the following caveat: performers who lack
a thorough training in composition and have not
acquired a refined taste should keep their hands off!
On one point Mozart was extremely strict: the
choice of tempo. In his words, tempo was “The
most necessary, the most difficult, and the most
important thing in music...” This attitude is
readily understandable, since the pacing of a
composition determines its intrinsic character.
Consequently, Mozart devoted considerable care to
marking the speed. In his manuscripts he would
cross out one indication only to replace it by
another, more appropriate, tempo marking. He went
so far as to eliminate the word “cantabile” in an
“Andante cantabile” to prevent too slow a pace. It is
only by acquiring such special knowledge, that
17 JCG Vol. 30
performers can hope to understand the composer’s
ideas.
Since Mozart’s days drastic changes have taken
place in musical performance. Not only the pitch,
but also the sound quality and mechanics of all our
instruments, have been substantially altered. Even
more importantly, musical habits, tastes, and modes
of expressions change continually. Although
directions as to how to “read behind the notes” were
well explained in books of the time, Mozart
performances have steadily yielded to performance
devices typical of the Romantic era. To assume that
the great master would have welcomed all these
changes would be a rather tenuous speculation.
Those who disapprove of efforts to revive former
performance practices point to the impossibility of
restoring the physical and mental environment
which is inseparable from each era’s artistic
creations. They also direct our attention to changes
in the public’s receptivity. Modern man, they say,
lives and feels differently. Therefore, new
approaches are needed to infuse life into musical
masterworks of the past, even if this practice causes
a disregard of former concepts of sound, phrasing
and emotional expression. Trusting their intuition
and the “feeling” for style (based perhaps on recent
traditions rather than on factual knowledge) they
remain convinced that they are serving the great
masters of music in the best possible way.
Those taking an opposite position claim to serve a
master like Mozart better by trying to stay close to
his own intentions. They also insist that art created
in former days should be understood and enjoyed
with the help of an imagination that leads the
listener back to the spirit of an era, to the driving
force that produced its works of art. Although aware
of the inherent limitations of their efforts, they
advocate a quest for authenticity, an attitude
reflected in the words of Henry James: “Admitting
that ultimate truth is unobtainable is one thing,
another is trying to avoid errors.”
These differences in attitude are not related to
musical questions alone. They reflect divergent
views on the theory and philosophy of art. Where does this leave the performer? Stravinsky, in his Poetics
of Music, dealt at length with the problem. He spoke of the “loving care to which performers should be com-
mitted. Genuine love for a composer, just as for any love object, must contain an overt demonstration of intel-
lectual curiosity which is, for such a project, the sine qua non! Stravinsky also maintained that, while every
musical performance is unavoidably a sort of translation, performers had to make sure that the original would
not, gradually, over a period of time and unnoticed by the public, take on the character of a free arrangement.

*****

Max Rudolf (June 15, 1902 — February 28, 1995) was a German conductor who spent most of his career in
the United States.

Rudolf was born in Frankfurt am Main where he studied cello, piano, organ, trumpet, and composition (with
Bernhard Sekles) at the Hoch Conservatory in Frankfurt.[1] He held positions in Freiburg, Darmstadt, and
Prague, before moving to the United States in 1940. In 1945, he became a naturalized citizen. He served on
the conducting staff of the Metropolitan Opera between 1946 and 1958, when he became music director of
the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra for 13 years. During this period he became a noted orchestra builder and
teacher, serving on the staff of the Tanglewood Institute. He wrote The Grammar of Conducting, the most
widely used text for orchestral conducting. First appearing in 1950, it was republished with significant
revisions in 1980 and again in 1995.

After his tenure in Cincinnati, he served as conductor of the Dallas Symphony for a season (1973-74), artis-
tic advisor of the New Jersey Symphony (1976-77), as well as regular engagements with major American
orchestras and opera houses. In between this time, he was head of the opera and conducting department at
the Curtis Institute of Music (1970-73 and 1983-89), which is perhaps what he is best remembered for, since
many of the leading conductors of this day studied under him.

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