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Alexander Kerr

& Musicians of the DSO Alexander Kerr, violin
Chamber Music Series
Tuesday, June 30, 2026 at 7pm Donovan Pavilion
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Dallas Symphony Orchestra Concertmaster Alexander Kerr, joined by fellow musicians of the DSO, performs an evening of intimate chamber music at the Donovan Pavilion.

Program Highlights

Members of the Dallas Symphony Orchestra
     Alexander Kerr, violin
     Emmanuelle Boisvert, violin
     Meredith Kufchak, viola
     Theodore Harvey, cello
     Gregory Raden, clarinet

DVOŘÁK Terzetto in C major for Two Violins and Viola 
PROKOFIEV Sonata in C major for Two Violins
MOZART Quintet in A major for Clarinet and Strings 


All artists, programs, and pricing subject to change.

Program Notes

ALEXANDER KERR AND MUSICIANS OF THE DSO

Tuesday, 7 PM

Terzetto in C major for Two Violins and Viola, Op. 74 (1887) ANTONÍN DVOŘÁK (1841-1904)

Antonín Dvořák composed 
his Terzetto for Two Violins 
and Viola in a week and a 
day, from January 7-14, 1887. 
The circumstances of its genesis were 
charming. Lodging in a spare room 
of the composer’s home in Prague 
was a chemistry student, Josef Kruis, 
who also was an enthusiastic amateur 
violinist. Kruis and his violinist-friend 
Jan Pelikán would often play violin 
duets, and Dvořák wrote this piece for 
them to use at their at-home sessions, 
with himself joining as violist. It turned 
out to be too difficult for the students, 
so Dvořák penned a different piece 
for them. Still, when the Terzetto was 
finally premiered, the two violinists 
were amateurs, though highly 
accomplished ones—a physician and 
a judge.


This is a lyrical, sweet-toned 
piece, although Dvořák injects 
passages of emotional and technical 
variety that keep it from becoming 
saccharine—a potential hazard in a 
piece employing only high strings. 
The violins occasionally play in 
canon, while the viola typically 
adheres to what functions as the 
bass line (though in the alto register). 
The Larghetto is a graceful study in 
Victorian harmony; the Scherzo, rich in 
rhythmic surprises, recalls Schubert; 
and the finale unrolls as a folk-like (but 
not actually folk-derived) tune with ten 
short variations, which in turn spotlight 
the capacities of each player.

Sonata in C major for Two Violins, Op. 56 (1932) SERGEI PROKOFIEV (1891-1953)

Sergei Prokofiev and his family 
left their home in Paris to spend the 
late summer and early autumn of 1932 
in the idyllic Riviera setting of Sainte
Maxime, and it is there that his Sonata 
for Two Violins came into being. In 
the so-called “Short Autobiography” 
that he penned in 1941, he recalled 
the circumstances that gave rise to 
this piece: “A society called ‘Triton’ 
had been formed in Paris for the 
performance of new chamber music. 
Honegger, Milhaud, Poulenc, myself, 
and others joined it. Listening to bad 
music sometimes inspires good ideas: 
that’s not the way to do it, one tells 
oneself, it should be done this way. 
That is how I happened to write my 
Sonata for Two Violins. After once 
hearing an unsuccessful piece for two 
violins without piano accompaniment, 
it struck me that in spite of the 
apparent limitations of such a 
duet one could make it interesting 
enough to listen to for ten or fifteen 
minutes without tiring.” Following 
initial performances in Moscow and 
St. Petersburg, the work figured on 
Triton’s inaugural concert in Paris.

It’s a somewhat severe work, its 
four movements focusing more on 
lyrical lines and counterpoint than 
on the violinistic effects one might 
anticipate. Prokofiev described it to his 
friend Nikolai Miaskovsky as being in 
“my ‘Lenten vertical style,’ [with] hardly 
any double stops or chords.” In truth, 
the vigorous second and the dance
like fourth movements do include 
some multiple stopping—quadruple 
stopping, even—but on the whole 
this work is more “about” the simple 
interaction and variation of intriguing 
melodies by violinists whose parts 
have equal weight, all in the interest 
of achieving specific moods, as in the 
soaring, lark-like interweaving of the 
first movement or the muted, dreamy 
introspection of the third

Quintet in A major for Clarinet and Strings, K.581 (1789) W O L F G A N G A M A D È M O Z A R T (1756-91)

Perhaps no piece of chamber 
music sets as autumnal mood as 
Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet—at least 
none before Brahms. Nostalgic longing 
came naturally to Mozart’s musical 
expression, but he rarely vented it 
so freely, and at such uninterrupted 
length, as he did in this quintet, a major
key work with a minor-key aftertaste. In 
fact, Mozart wrote the piece in autumn, 
at the end of September 1789. The 
times were tumultuous. England was 
reeling from the war in America; France 
was in turmoil, the Bastille having fallen 
little more than two months earlier; 
and the rest of Europe was on sharper 
political pins and needles than usual.

One of Mozart’s closest friends at 
that time was the Austrian clarinetist 
Anton Stadler. Though his character 
has been questioned—some have 
suggested that he took advantage of 
the Mozarts’ hospitality, and even that 
he stole the composer’s pawn tickets—
Mozart bestowed on him two of his 
greatest instrumental masterpieces: 
this Clarinet Quintet and the Clarinet 
Concerto (K.622). The themes of the 
Quintet’s unhurried first movement 
tend toward the wistful—or even the 
mournful—and the slow harmonic 
rhythm holds the vigor of the tempo 
marking (Allegro) in check. The clarinet’s 
warm sonority goes hand in hand with 
the elegiac spirit, the more so since 
Mozart spends a great deal of time 
emphasizing the instrument’s rich lower 
range. Having set the mood with an 
Allegro that is hardly an Allegro, Mozart 
turns to the profound soulfulness of the 
Larghetto in which the clarinet offers a 
hushed song supported by the muted 
quartet of strings. The Menuet itself is 
bittersweet: the strings reign over the 
first Trio section, anxiously, in the minor 
key; the clarinet joins to restate the 
opening minuet (without repeats); and 
in the second Trio its upturned phrases 
seem only to laugh with a pathetic, 
forced smile. Classical-era aesthetics 
exerted pressure for a happy ending, 
and Mozart complies with a finale in 
which six variations are derived from 
a foursquare, folk-inflected theme. 
All the same, happiness seems to be 
something of an interloper; Mozart 
allows the viola to inject ominous 
appoggiaturas in the minor-key third 
variation, and the clarinet and violin 
to exchange final nostalgic memories 
in the fifth, before closing with polite 
assurance that the clouds are sure to 
pass

Artist Biographies

Alexander Kerr

Emmanuelle Boisvert

Meredith Kufchak

Theodore Harvey

Gregory Raden