Broken Wings — Mozart’s Late Music, Part 3 —　　English translation of #40 For Non Japanese readers

Hello everyone.
This is the third installment of my modest series of essays on Mozart.
Buffeted by the hardships of life—poverty, illness, and mounting anxiety—Mozart finally reached the end of his earthly journey. Yet, astonishingly, the body of works he left behind during this final period includes pieces so extraordinary that they may rightly be called miraculous. In this chapter, I would like to follow several representative works from that period and reflect on how they relate not only to Mozart himself, but also to Suno and, more broadly, to contemporary AI as a creative tool.
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A. Piano Concerto No. 27 in B-flat major, K.591
— Longing for the Other Shore —
Among Mozart’s many piano concertos—nearly all of them masterpieces—this work occupies a place apart. On the surface, it is calm, lucid, and immediately comprehensible. Yet what strikes the listener above all is the extraordinary, almost abnormal transparency that permeates the entire piece. Gone are the overt romanticism and kinetic vitality found in many earlier works.
Every note seems prepared not to express conventional emotion, but to point toward something altogether different. The kinds of “romantic feelings” or “human vitality” that we often associate with music are virtually absent here, as if they had been deliberately stripped away. What remains is a world already halfway beyond this life, imbued with an unmistakable sense of the other shore.
Musically as well, there is little overt drama. Across all movements, the music proceeds with remarkable restraint and composure. The forms are orthodox, the melodies often disarmingly simple.
And yet, within these unassuming melodic lines reside unfulfilled longing, inextinguishable sorrow and suffering, resignation born of those emotions, and ultimately a yearning for something forever beyond reach. What we hear is a purified world, quietly continuing its existence beyond passion and struggle.
Seen in this light, one cannot help but feel that Mozart already perceived, with startling clarity, a world no longer of this earth.
This concerto was completed in early January of 1791—almost at the very beginning of the year. History tells us nothing explicit, but one wonders whether some profound inner transformation had already taken place within Mozart at that moment.
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B. Clarinet Concerto in A major, K.622
— A Song of the Other Shore, Sung by the Clarinet —
This work may well be described as the culmination of Mozart’s concerto writing. According to commonly available chronologies, it was composed between September and November of 1791, shortly after The Magic Flute—which, in hindsight, places it merely one or two months before Mozart’s death.
Originally written for the basset clarinet, an instrument different from the modern clarinet, this concerto takes full advantage of its extended range. Performances on reconstructed instruments reveal a sonority capable of reaching both deeper and higher than today’s standard clarinet.
The clarinet’s tone—soft, transparent, warmly expressive of human emotion, yet at times seemingly transcendent—aligns miraculously with the musical ideas of this work. Here, Mozart allows that otherworldly timbre to speak naturally and effortlessly. As in the Piano Concerto No. 27, he does not dramatize or exaggerate; he simply sings, quietly and with crystalline clarity.
Mozart’s late music is often described as having an “autumnal” quality. Like an autumn evening—calm, faintly lonely, yet deeply comforting—it seems to embrace all joy and sorrow, all suffering, and gently enfold them. There is something in this music that resembles a serene smile maintained even in the presence of profound resignation.
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C. The Opera The Magic Flute
— A Dream World Blossoming in Popular Musical Theatre —
Strictly speaking, The Magic Flute is not an opera in the traditional sense, but a Singspiel—a form closer to musical theatre with spoken dialogue. Today it is generally classified as an opera, but historically the distinction is worth noting.
Several scenes from this work appear in the film Amadeus, along with evocative depictions of the theater in which it was performed. The film contrasts the glittering, authoritative court opera house with the more popular, even coarse suburban theater catering to common people, skillfully interweaving differences in audience character. Mozart’s presence in this latter space is portrayed symbolically, encapsulating much of his life in a single image.
The Theater auf der Wieden, where The Magic Flute premiered, closed in 1801 and no longer exists. While its exact atmosphere remains a matter of imagination, it was located outside Vienna’s city walls, in what we would now call the suburbs. In those days, such areas were explicitly associated with the lower classes, and the film’s depiction appears to be largely accurate.
But is that the whole story?
Did Mozart truly compose this work merely because economic hardship forced him to accept commissions for a popular suburban theater?
There is, in fact, an intriguing context. About a year earlier, the same impresario, Emanuel Schikaneder, staged a Singspiel at the same theater entitled The Philosopher’s Stone, or The Magic Island. Five composers—including Mozart—contributed music. Its plot structure and musical design bear striking similarities to The Magic Flute, with certain duets sounding unmistakably close.
It is therefore almost certain that The Magic Flute functioned as a sequel. In that sense, it may well have been the equivalent of a large-scale fantasy entertainment series—something akin to a modern “Harry Potter” franchise. Dragons, bird-catchers, the Queen of the Night, magical instruments—these accessible, crowd-pleasing elements combine to create a dreamlike theatrical world. It is entirely plausible that The Magic Flute was conceived as one installment within a continuing series.
Crucially, Schikaneder himself was a remarkably gifted figure: theater manager, librettist, composer, performer—a true creator-producer hybrid. To confine his work to a narrow historical frame and compare it simplistically with modern spectacles would be a grave misunderstanding.
Faithful to Schikaneder’s vision, Mozart here produced music of extraordinary purity and clarity—music that is immediately enjoyable and beautiful, yet rich in depth. The world depicted in The Magic Flute may well represent one earthly manifestation of the otherworld Mozart longed for, or perhaps dreamed of.
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D. Generating Mozart’s Late Style on Suno
Finally, we arrive at the question: is it possible to recreate something akin to Mozart’s late music using Suno?
I regret that I cannot offer a definitive answer. At present, I feel as though I can glimpse a narrow path—but have not yet succeeded in fully realizing it in sound.
When attempting to generate music inspired by Mozart’s final works—particularly the piano and clarinet concertos—the choice of descriptive language is critical. In my experience, including some of the following vocabulary (or variations thereof) in the prompt is essential:
• forgiveness, sorrow, resignation, profound
• complex harmony, complex modulation
• transparent orchestration
• profound and noble melodic style, with forgiveness and sorrow
• moderate dynamics, soft dynamics, medium piano dynamic range
• refined crescendos and decrescendos
• bright and agile touch
• no fast scale runs or broken chords
These are not prompts in themselves, but fragments of vocabulary. Authors should of course modify and adapt them freely. Still, I believe that at least some of these terms are worth using—especially those that constrain piano technique. Such constraints help prevent excessive agitation or noise, making them particularly effective for Mozartian textures.
Interestingly, using these terms sometimes yields surprising results: the generation of music resembling pop or New Age styles. This may seem unexpected, but it is likely because Mozart’s music is stored within the model in close proximity to the musical contexts of pop and New Age genres.
This is especially evident in the piano concertos, which share several features with modern idioms:
• clear, accessible harmony
• beautiful, lucid melodic lines
• faithful adherence to Western tonal harmony
• the now-standard combination of strings and piano
These shared traits increase the probability of such outcomes. This is not a prompt error; rather, it suggests that we are approaching the intended destination.
At this point, we can finally view Mozart not merely through abstract impressions, but through the concrete lens of “how music is made.” Seen this way, his works appear to stand perilously close to modern pop or New Age music—yet it is precisely through his extraordinary sensitivity in selection, limitation, and combination that he produced works that shine brilliantly across human history.
In the end, what remains may be the human heart itself—or humanity in its entirety. And perhaps that is what Mozart ultimately represents.
With this, my “spiritual journey” through Mozart comes to a close.
Thank you sincerely for accompanying me through this long reflection.