The Masters and Their Music A series of illustrative programs with biographical, esthetical, and critical annotations — A Closer Reading

Voice and Pedagogical Intent

Mathews writes in a direct, instructional voice, often addressing the reader as a club organizer or individual student. He uses phrases like “the player may substitute” and “it will be quite possible” to maintain a flexible, advisory stance. His language is precise but not overly technical; he explains terms such as “formal variation” versus “character variation” without assuming prior knowledge. The author’s judgments are candid: he calls the Schumann Études Symphoniques “a most astonishing work” and notes that Beethoven’s opus 111 has a “curious peculiarity” of only two movements. These remarks reveal a critic who values originality and structural innovation, yet remains grounded in the practical needs of amateur performers.

Structural Observations and Analytical Approach

Mathews organizes his commentary around specific works, often describing their form, mood, and technical demands. For Beethoven’s Sonata in C minor, opus 111, he notes the “short but very profound and serious introduction” and the two-movement structure, then traces how the arietta’s two strains alternate through variations of the “formal order.” He highlights Beethoven’s ability to build an imposing climax while preserving the peace of the opening. In discussing Schumann’s Études Symphoniques, he points out that the variations are “alleged” because the theme sometimes disappears entirely—a remark that underscores the work’s capricious nature. These observations are grounded in the excerpts and avoid speculation about the composer’s intent.

Shifts in Tempo and Performance Advice

Mathews frequently offers performance guidance tied to tempo and character. He instructs that the scherzo of Beethoven’s Eroica Variations “must not be played too rapidly” and the finale should go “about as fast as possible, and with the greatest possible lightness and delicacy.” For the Funeral March, he notes it “no longer presents material difficulties.” These comments reveal an evolving standard of difficulty: what was once challenging had become accessible by 1898. Mathews also advises on programming, urging an “agreeable succession of keys” and “due contrast of moods.” His practical tips—such as dividing pieces among club members—reflect the book’s intended use as a living document for group study.

Limits of the Excerpts and Inferred Scope

The excerpts cover only the preface and a few later passages about Beethoven and Schumann. The full book likely includes programs for each of the eight masters, with biographical sketches and critical annotations. Mathews’s preface suggests a chronological or stylistic progression, but the excerpts do not reveal the complete sequence. He mentions that Wagner is excluded from instrumental study, but later composers (e.g., Liszt) are included. The tone remains consistently instructive, with occasional flashes of enthusiasm. Without the full text, one cannot assess the depth of biographical coverage or the extent of the critical apparatus, but the excerpts show a methodical, club-friendly approach to music appreciation.

Readers should approach this book as a period document that blends pedagogy with personal taste. Mathews’s judgments—such as calling the Schumann Études “a most delightful example of tone-poetry”—reflect late-nineteenth-century aesthetic values. The programs are meant to be performed, not just read; the annotations serve as spoken commentary. For modern readers, the value lies in observing how a contemporary critic guided amateur musicians through the canon, balancing technical advice with aesthetic appreciation. The book rewards those who read it alongside the scores it discusses.

That rainy afternoon, Mathews’s chapters on Chopin’s nocturnes felt less like analysis than a quiet conversation about touch and timing. I kept thinking about how a single performer’s breath can shift a phrase’s meaning. Later, browsing, I found The Lion of Poland: The Story of Paderewski — A Closer Reading on the shelf, and it answered that unspoken question about whose hands, exactly, first taught those notes to sing.