JAVS Spring 2023

Gardens, who is incapable of playing the correct notes, are two excellent lesser-known examples. Even Variation V of Elgar’s Enigma Variations , sweet and charming as it is, also pokes fun at violists because it was inspired by a string crossing exercise that presumably troubled many a Victorian violist. Perhaps more of the cleverness on the part of the viola is perhaps to be found in Haydn and Mozart’s quartets. The last movement of Mozart’s final quartet, K. 590, and some hilarious shenanigans in his late viola quintets particularly come to mind. And I would be remiss to let Weber’s Andante and Rondo Ungarese go unmentioned. Loki is a demi-god, half god and half giant. As such he is never fully accepted by the gods, nor does he really wish to join their ranks. He looks askance on them, and secretly lords his superior intelligence over them, know ing that despite their pretenses of strength and nobility they are a deeply flawed and sorry lot. No matter how much abuse he gets, he will in the end have the last laugh at Ragnarok. He is not against the gods either, and has a tremendous amount of fun on their behalf. He relishes when they have to grovel to him to fix their problems. Loki also relishes power, not as a king would, but rather as a majordomo, trusted adviser, or the “mastermind behind.” To secretly wield power and see a job well done is enough for Loki. So it is with the viola, especially in chamber music. The viola is something of an outcast because unlike the violin and cello, its proportions are not ideal for the tuning of the strings. Because the viola is an octave higher than the cello it should be half as big, or roughly 21 inches (mea suring just the body of the instrument). But violas are usually 15-17 inches to account for the size of humans. This disproportion creates the beguiling timbre of the viola. Though somewhat outcast, we are, just like Loki, also pack animals. We always seek to join with others for music making. This is why viola sections are typically so much better than violin sections; we thrive in the pack, and they are all annoyed to be stuck in one. Even though we play chamber music with violinists and cellists, we look askance on them, and secretly lord our intelligence over them.

Intelligence? Indeed. Violists are the masterminds of string quartets. A great violist understands harmony, voice leading, textures, and the large-scale structure of a piece of chamber music in a way that the other mem bers, generally, do not. We wield that power, shining a light from within and secretly influencing the fate of the quartet. We have the power to make everyone else sound good or bad, and either way go unnoticed and under appreciated. And that is fine by us. We bide our time, relishing our power and pleased with the success of our pack. Until Ragnarok! —when we turn out for a viola solo. Yes, this is the finale of doom. A dramatic moment, as much theater as music, that is part of every great quartet performance. All the attention and honor that the audience had been bestowing on the other members of the quartet is now ours. The other three members are left behind, struck dumb by the ascendance of the violist whom they had once mocked. The solo concluded, we don the cloak of humility and turn back in to secretly mastermind the quartet once again. Loki permeates the attributes and roles of the instrument and its tribe. Like the demi-god, the viola and violists by nature do not quite fit in with their peers, but nonethe less thrive in a section or chamber ensemble. Viola parts, when played well, secretly influence and illuminate the entire ensemble, just as Loki’s clever scheming gets the Norse gods in and out of all sorts of trouble. May we all better appreciate the viola for its complementary identi ties of impish prankster and the macabre and melancholy sound of death.

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Journal of the American Viola Society / Vol. 39, No. 1, Spring 2023