Violin Concerto, Op. 14

Program notes

About the Work

Barber’s Violin Concerto, written in 1939–40 when the composer was not yet thirty, is one of the most popular American concertos, and the subject of a famous (if disputed) story. It was commissioned by a wealthy Philadelphia industrialist for his ward, the young violinist Iso Briselli. According to the often-told tale, Briselli loved the lyrical first two movements but complained that the brilliant, fast finale was too lightweight and didn’t match them; Barber declined to change it, and the first performance eventually went to another violinist, Albert Spalding, with the Philadelphia Orchestra under Ormandy in 1941. (Briselli’s own account was more nuanced, but the contrast between the movements is real.)

That contrast is precisely the concerto’s character. The first two movements are gloriously lyrical (long-breathed, romantic, songful), showing Barber’s melodic gift at its most ravishing. Then the finale erupts as a brief, headlong perpetual-motion tour de force, the soloist rocketing through relentless fast figuration. The result is a concerto of two halves: heart-on-sleeve beauty followed by sheer virtuoso dazzle. Barber began it in Switzerland and Paris in the summer of 1939 and, with war looming, returned home to finish it in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania, and something of both the lyrical longing and the nervous energy of that moment seems to live in the music.

What to Listen For

The first movement opens immediately with the solo violin singing one of Barber’s most beautiful long melodies, warm, lyrical and unhurried, with no orchestral preamble. Listen for the sheer songfulness of the writing, and for the way the music unfolds with romantic generosity, building to passionate climaxes.

The slow movement (Andante) is introduced by a plaintive solo oboe, before the violin enters with music of deep, elegiac tenderness, close in spirit to Barber’s famous Adagio. This is the emotional heart of the concerto, rapt and song-like. Then comes the surprise: the finale (Presto in moto perpetuo) is a brief, furious whirlwind: a few minutes of relentless, rapid figuration for the soloist, glittering and breathless, dancing to a sudden, abrupt end. Listen for the dramatic gear-change from the lyrical warmth of the first two movements to this dazzling burst of pure motion, the ‘two halves’ that once caused such trouble, and that make the concerto so satisfying to hear.