Read on to discover why Mendelssohn may have written his greatest work, his wonderful Octet, as a teenager...
Early choices can set our course for life...
We’ve all had a Robert Frost moment. I mean the experience described in probably his most famous poem, The Road Not Taken. Frost recalls coming to a fork in a road, not knowing where either path will lead. The choice is symbolic, of course. In the American poet’s famous last line: ‘I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.’
I encountered my first fork in the road when I was seven and my dad offered me piano lessons or violin lessons. We couldn’t afford both. I chose piano – and, as the man wrote, that has made all the difference. The piano led to the organ, and that sent me in a completely different direction – musically, socially, even psychologically – from if I had taken up the fiddle and started playing in youth orchestras.
Mendelssohn Octet... a genuine masterpiece
I don’t often have pangs of regret. But I did recently when, skimming idly through YouTube, I came across a stonking performance of Mendelssohn’s String Octet led by that magnificent Dutch violinist Janine Jansen. Simply listening to it is exhilarating, like rushing into the surf on a hot day.
But even as I listened, I couldn’t help thinking of an even better way to experience this music – from the inside, as you would if you were a string instrument player with enough talent and training to get your fingers round those scampering lines. To be part of that whirling web of counterpoint, especially in the final two movements, must be one of humanity’s most intense highs, all the more so for being attainable only by a very small minority of people – and then only after a lot of rehearsal.
Mendelssohn Octet... written at the age of just 16
Mendelssohn’s Octet is on my mind because this year is the 200th anniversary of its creation. Had it been written by a great composer at the height of his or her powers, it would still be a miracle of creativity. That it was written by a 16-year-old boy is almost beyond belief.
Of course, Mendelssohn was no beginner in 1825. He already had a dozen symphonies (albeit small ones) under his belt. But they sound ‘youthful’: full of zest and promise but not the finished article.
Heresy though it may be to say so, but the same is also true of pretty well everything Mozart wrote before he was 16. Mendelssohn’s Octet is different. It’s as if the teenager had internalised every trick and technique of classical counterpoint and then forged it into a joyous language all his own.
The weight of expectation... Did Mendelssohn peak with his Octet?
The question is, did he ever write anything better? I’m a big fan of his mature symphonies, concertos and (much underrated) chamber music, and a moderate fan of Elijah and that beautiful anthem Hear My Prayer. But none of Mendelssohn’s later pieces has the same effect on me as the Octet.
And that raises an even bigger question. If you create something wonderful in your teens, does it set up sky-high expectations – in your own mind as well as the minds of your supporters – that are very hard to fulfil? Especially because with adulthood come responsibilities, distractions and complications. The pure, white-hot muse you accessed so easily as a kid becomes more elusive. You may become more dutiful, diligent and dependable, but perhaps also more dull.
I think that happened to Mendelssohn to some extent. The weight of expectation – not least from Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, and all those mustard-keen choral societies eager to devour his latest oratorio – wore him down. And then, at 38, he died.
Genius is not enough on its own
There’s a lesson here. Genius by itself is never enough. To develop, to fulfil your youthful promise either as composer or performer, to produce your best work in your middle or old age rather than at 16, you need a lot of other attributes. The violinist Jascha Heifetz once declared that a top musician should have ‘the nerves of a bullfighter, the vitality of a brothel madam and the concentration of a Buddhist monk’. To that I would add the stamina of an ox and the hide of a rhino. Beethoven, Wagner, JS Bach, Stravinsky: they all had those attributes in bucketfuls. Mendelssohn, I suspect, not so much.
Which, in a way, should make us treasure the Octet even more. If it’s not the finest example of youthful genius in classical music, please tell me what is. And if you happen to be rather good on a stringed instrument, do yourself a favour and give this 30-minute masterpiece a birthday outing this year.
