Mendelssohn participated in musical performances at his family’s Berlin home as early as age 9, and in his 13th year he composed a charming concerto for violin and string orchestra. That work, in D minor, was not intended for his own performance but rather for his slightly older teacher, Eduard Rietz—later a founder of the Berlin Philharmonic Society and concertmaster for Mendelssohn’s epochal 1829 revival of Bach’s St. Matthew Passion.

If the D-minor Concerto is the handiwork of a precocious youth, betraying its indebtedness to earlier models, this evening’s work—the Concerto in E minor—is not only the creation of a mature master but also sui generis, brimming with lyric inspiration and structural inventiveness. It was written for another violinist friend of the composer, Ferdinand David, whom Mendelssohn appointed concertmaster upon becoming conductor of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra in 1835.

“I would like to write a concerto for you,” Mendelssohn wrote to David in 1838, “one with an E-minor theme that keeps running through my head, preventing me from thinking about anything else.” The work was begun shortly thereafter, but its completion was delayed by other projects and by Mendelssohn’s frequent bouts of ill health. He never abandoned the score for long, however, and at intervals shared sketches with David, soliciting practical advice from its eventual dedicatee at every stage.

The composer was particularly interested in David’s opinion of the cadenza—not only whether it would be too difficult to play, but also whether its unusual placement would prove detrimental to the whole. As it turns out, the cadenza is the work’s pivotal episode and one of Mendelssohn’s greatest inspirations—one that distinguishes it from earlier concertos and sets a course for future composers.

In earlier concertos, the cadenza often constituted an unwelcome break in continuity at the end of the first movement, with the orchestra falling silent to allow the soloist an opportunity for—more often than not—mindless display. In his two earlier major concertos for piano, Mendelssohn solved this problem by omitting cadenzas altogether.

Here, instead of placing the cadenza at the end of the first movement, Mendelssohn introduces it just beyond the midpoint, allowing it to serve an integral structural role. It grows organically out of the development and enriches everything that follows in a score that is seamless, both literally and figuratively. The three movements are performed without pause and may be understood as variations on a single, evolving musical idea.

—Herbert Glass