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<jats:p>The traditional cuts in Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto include nearly half of a developmental passage in the first movement and a series of shorter cuts in the finale. The first-movement cut comes after the second tutti, a triumphant thematic culmination that rings false on two levels, since it is a "polonaise" in 4/4, and since there has been no first tutti. The developmental passage that follows seems to confirm Tchaikovsky's self-confessed weakness in handling large-scale forms, but may arguably constitute an "anti-development" that sets up a mincing violin variation, which, in falling between two versions of the orchestral tutti and rescuing the larger group from its developmental ineptitude, models a homosexuality closeted within the aristocracy (this structural grouping reappears in the original slow movement). The various instances of "passing" in this movement (the faux polonaise, the "second tutti," the "anti-development," and a gradually emergent octatonic element in the violin climax just before these events) relate to Tchaikovsky's own "passing" dilemma, both as a homosexual and as a Russian nationalist working within Germanic forms; his specific treatment reflects the fact that the concerto was composed between his disastrous marriage and his later affiliation with the imperial court. A particular marker for Tchaikovsky's musical "passing" is the blended octatonic passage in the main theme of the finale—which, however, forms the core of the series of traditional cuts in that movement.</jats:p>

<jats:p>In De l'Amour (1822) Stendhal elaborated his idea of the "crystallization" process in which the distant beloved assumes qualities of ideal beauty in the imagination of the male lover. He also states that "the habit of listening to music and the state of reverie connected with it prepare one for falling in love" and, furthermore, that "perfect music has the same effect on the heart as the presence of the beloved. It gives, in fact, apparently more intense pleasure than anything else on earth." These erotic pleasures he identified most consistently and enthusiastically with the music of Rossini. This article takes Stendhal's related notions of love and the sensual immediacy of musical pleasures as models to develop an analytical and hermeneutic approach to musical examples of amour passion. This allows a new reassessment of Rossini's supposed predicament on the "Other" side of Dahlhaus's "unbridgeable rift" from the music of Beethoven and provides a critique of the relationship between the "heroic" male subject with his inspirational beloved. Examples are drawn from Rossini's Tancredi (1813) and William Tell (1829), and Beethoven's An die ferne Geliebte (1810), Fidelio, and "Les Adieux," Piano Sonata, op. 81a (1807).</jats:p>

<jats:p>A reassessment of the compositional documents and chronology of Arnold Schoenberg's String Quartet No. 2, op. 10, shows that the composer, in an effort to make the work acceptable to the public, at first intended it to be an absolute composition close to the Classical norm. But midway through its period of creation this conception was discarded in favor of a more original formative model that grew from an intense process of self-reflection. The content of hitherto unpublished letters from his wife written during these months suggests that this transformation was driven by an objectification of Schoenberg's private world.</jats:p>

<jats:title>Abstract .</jats:title> <jats:p>Among Beethoven's works are a number that were highly successful in their own time but that became an embarrassment to later critics. In this article I explore the critical strategies used to explain away the success of two such works, Wellingtons Sieg and Der glorreiche Augenblick—works marginalized by the “Beethoven Hero” paradigm that came to regulate critical interpretation of the composer's music as well as underwriting the Beethovenian canon. I also explore ways in which such noncanonic works might be reexperienced, reading Wellingtons Sieg in terms of an aesthetic of hyper-representation and Der glorreiche Augenblick in terms of the enactment of community: such approaches, I argue, give access to aspects of Beethoven's music that the “Beethoven Hero” paradigm suppressed.</jats:p>

<jats:title>Abstract .</jats:title> <jats:p>On 22 June 1829, the legendary French harpist, convicted forger and escaped felon, Robert Nicolas Charles Bochsa performed his most infamous musical offense: a rendition of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony with stage action. Since Grove, this surprisingly early reworking of the Sixth as a ballet-pantomime has not gone down well in the literature. As the twentieth century unfurled, the moment steadily receded into obscurity, losing all cultural and contextual meaning to the point where it is now remembered (if at all) as a lesson in the rogue potential of performance—a pockmark on the historical map. This article will reverse the general slide into amnesia by first excavating this vanished but important moment of the musical past, and then recuperating its seriousness. Enough evidence from the 1820s and 30s suggests that Bochsa's Symphonie (performed at London's King's Theatre) was representative of much more than itself. Far from historically inexplicable, it can be read as an extreme manifestation of a strongly defined ballet-concert exchange that characterized the artistic trends of the late 1820s. By taking on abstract and “musical” forms, dance was becoming more concertlike. Concerts, meanwhile, were developing balletic traits in their increasing use of picturesque effects, and their growing fascination for the visual or bodily aspects of musical performance. A rapprochement took place that reshaped the nature of listening and figured the emerging concept of the musical work in a curiously plastic, objective way—as the case study exemplifies.</jats:p>

<jats:title>Abstract .</jats:title> <jats:p>In April 1892 Jean Sibelius conducted the premiere of his Kullervo Symphony in Helsinki. As the young composer's first symphony and his only choral one and as his first setting of texts from the Finnish epic the Kalevala, Kullervo appeared to be a bolt from the blue. Closer examination, however, shows numerous forces at work, not only in Finland but also across Europe, that formed the essential backdrop to Sibelius's powerful, breakthrough composition. The author explores the literary, artistic, social, and political circumstances that provided the fertile soil from which the explosive Kullervo sprang.</jats:p>