Subtilior Music Engraving
  • Home
  • Sample Engravings
  • Clients/Endorsements
  • About
  • Contact
  • Blog

11/25/2014

five musical miracles

   We all have pieces of music that hold a special emotional significance for us; pieces that touch us in ways that nothing else, musical or otherwise, possibly can. We may not necessarily understand why this is the case, because ultimately such matters defy rationalization. It simply remains for us to sit back and to enjoy this unique experience.
   Five pieces, in particular, have this special significance for me. Their durations vary from a few seconds to several minutes. They come from diverse historical periods, are composed by highly different musical personalities, and are scored for varying instrumental and vocal resources. Despite their differences, the one thing they have in common is that these five musical miracles, as I call them, have enthralled me for years and through repeated hearings. Their impact has stood the test of time, and the emotional effects they have on me have never waned. What follows is a brief discussion of each, presented in no specific order.

1. “Andern hat er geholfen und kann sich nicht helfen” (No. 58d) from the St. Matthew Passion, BWV 244 by Johann Sebastian Bach
   Bach’s great Passion offers a number of miraculous moments, but I have always been especially stirred by the concluding portion of the choral movement “Andern hat er geholfen und kann sich nicht helfen” (He has offered salvation to others, but cannot save himself). In this movement Jesus is crucified on the cross and mocked by the Chief Priests, who derisively challenge him to save himself from impending death. The vocal writing, composed for two SATB choirs accompanied by two orchestras, superbly mimics the condescending tone of those who press Jesus to find his own salvation.
   At the movement’s conclusion, the Priests maliciously exclaim that Jesus has declared himself to be the Son of God (“Ich bin Gottes Sohn”), although there is no scriptural evidence that Jesus ever spoke these exact words. What sets this moment apart from the numerous other magical moments in the Passion and thereby emphasizes its significance is its singularity. This is the only instance in the Passion in which the eight parts of the two choirs and the two orchestras are in pitch and rhythmic unison. The four words “Ich bin Gottes Sohn” are set to the pitches C-A-B-B-E in all parts, with metric stress properly placed on “Got-“ and “Sohn”:
Picture
This is an aurally shocking and powerful moment, one that is bound to grab any listener’s attention. Surely, the singularity of this choral and orchestral unison in this massive work is no accident. I can scarcely think of a stronger affirmation that can be found anywhere in the musical literature, a brief and relatively straightforward passage made miraculous by its singularity.

2. Rondo-Finale (Movement 5) from Symphony No. 7 by Gustav Mahler
   Mahler’s Symphony No. 7 is perhaps the most complicated and the most original of the nine completed symphonies in terms of structure, tonality and orchestration. The concluding Rondo, set in a sunny, “Meistersinger” tonality of C major, may have been the composer’s attempt to contrast the dark characters of the preceding four movements with one of celebration and fanfare. Some critics see this movement as a disappointment in the context of the symphony as a whole; specifically, the symphony lacks a concluding apotheosis. However, I have always regarded it as one of Mahler’s greatest compositional triumphs.
   Something wondrous happens in the final two measures of this movement. Racing to the conclusion in a blaze of orchestral fanfare, the music abruptly stops on what Mahler must have intended as a joke, a startling Haydnesque surprise. We expect that this musical rush will conclude on a C-major cadence, but Mahler thwarts our expectations by giving us instead an augmented triad on C that brings the orchestral blaze to a sudden and perplexing halt (all parts in this example are notated at concert pitch):
Picture
This is a marvelously original effect. The augmented triad in m. 589, by nature of its instability, offers no cadential close, no sense of finality. We wonder and wait for a few seconds as this intrusive triad fades away; surely this is not the ending. Indeed, it is not, and Mahler provides the true cadence and the close to the symphony as a whole on a thunderous C-major triad in m. 590. Measure 589 is a joke. It is a miraculous instance of musical humor, and I cannot help but envision Mahler in a paroxysm of laughter as he completed this score.

3. Region IV from Hymnen, No. 22, by Karlheinz Stockhausen
   Scored for magnetic tape in its original version, Hymnen (“Anthems”) of 1967 is Stockhausen’s supreme compositional achievement, a climactic point in his output to which all prior works point. Regrettably, for reasons that are not altogether clear, much of what followed has represented a gradual decline in quality and originality, perhaps an inevitable result once such a pinnacle has been reached.
   Hymnen is a virtuosic masterpiece in the handling of its materials, namely national anthems and electronic sounds. Featuring, like the St. Matthew Passion, a variety of miraculous moments, the fourth and final movement (or “Region,” as the composer called it), in particular, offers an example of Stockhausen’s heightened compositional prowess at this time in his career. In the opening nine minutes of this Region, a recording of the Swiss national anthem, sung by a four-part chorus, is subjected to a variety of electronic manipulations until it is gradually transformed beyond recognition. Through the sheer patience of these manipulations, the listener experiences not only the compositional process, but also the piecemeal disintegration of the Swiss anthem into the closing part of this Region, the utopian “Hymunion in Harmondy” at 9’17.5”: (This example is taken from p. 45 of the study score prepared by the composer.)
Picture
The final chord of the Swiss anthem (notated on the lower two staves just prior to 9’17.5”) is modified, largely through aggressive filtering, reverberation and tape deceleration, into an undulating mass of low-bass sound that ushers in Stockhausen’s visionary paradigm of a utopian (and thus fictitious) realm. Accompanied for another thirteen minutes by electronically synthesized spirals of sounds (commonly referred to as “Shepard Tones”), the sound mass modulates into the sound of breathing at 20’45”, provided by the composer himself. This, and many others in the piece, is a stunning example of the innate relationships between sounds, a crucial pursuit for the composer throughout his career. It is also a miraculous and exhilarating instance of an artistic originality and a creative joy that is unparalleled in Stockhausen’s output, perhaps in anything composed after World War II.

4. “L’ultima prova dell’amor mio” from Don Giovanni, K. 527 by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
   The concluding scene of Mozart’s exquisite opera is a watershed moment. Here, we finally witness Don Giovanni’s true character, which in virtually all prior instances has been disguised by the personalities of those in his company, a shrewd means for the nobleman to manipulate others. In previous scenes, Don Giovanni assumes the nervous hesitancy of Zerlina as he seduces her, the steadfastness of Masetto as he unsuccessfully challenges him, and even the devoted subservience of Leporello as he faithfully serves him. In this scene Don Giovanni shows his true self.
   This scene is a moment of truth and is composed around Donna Elvira’s implorations to Don Giovanni to redeem himself for his transgressions. Expectedly, he refuses, in fact taunting her by repeatedly singing “Vivan le femmine, viva il buon vino! sostegno e gloria d’umanità” (Long live women and good wine, the substance and glory of humanity). Set in B-flat major, the first unequivocal instance of Don’s own personal tonality (though anticipated in the famous aria “Fin ch’han dal vino”), we realize that the sole ambition of the nobleman is a life devoted to hedonistic pursuits:
Picture
One cannot help but to be struck by his self-assuredness in the face of Donna Elvira’s warnings. The simple, diatonic vocal line in the final four measures of this example, accompanied by the orchestral strings, projects such an air of triumph and assurance that the listener is almost convinced that Don Giovanni is indeed untouchable. Of course, this is not the case. In truth, Don Giovanni is delusional, and his obstinacy ultimately leads to his damnation. This scene, in fact the opera as a whole, is a miraculous example of how music can intensify dramatic action and delineate its characters.

5. “La course à l’abîme,” Scene 18 from La Damnation de Faust, Op. 24 by Hector Berlioz
   Berlioz’s “dramatic legend,” based on a French translation of Goethe’s Faust, defies easy categorization. What is clear is that Berlioz’s imagination was intensely stimulated by Goethe’s dramatic poem, in a way that was never to be matched in any other work. Its first performance must have bewildered the audience with its sheer originality in terms of harmony and orchestration, for even to this day many passages in this masterpiece astonish us with its novelty. 
   The concluding scene of Part 4, deviating somewhat from Goethe’s original script, depicts Faust’s damnation. Faust is tricked by Mephistopheles to believe that Marguerite, his beloved, is imprisoned, to be hanged on the following day for killing her mother. Mephistopheles offers assistance, if only Faust relinquishes his soul, which he impetuously does. Together, they ride off on a pair of black horses to her aid, although in truth they are riding directly to hell. En route, Faust becomes terrified as he witnesses demonic apparitions and observes that the environs are becoming increasingly bleak and grotesque. Once Faust realizes Mephistopheles’ trickery, he is captured by demonic spirits, who lead him, like Don Giovanni, to eternal damnation.
   Throughout this three-minute scene, Berlioz marvelously paints the ride of damnation through novel orchestral effects and bizarre harmonic progressions to portray the terror that Faust experiences. In the opening of the scene, the strings depict the galloping of the horses with a repeated dactylic rhythmic pattern (long-short-short, no doubt influenced by the infamous gallop rhythm in Rossini’s Guillaume Tell), while an ominous melody in the solo oboe weaves the hopelessness of Faust’s fate:
Picture
What follows is a series of events of startling originality as Faust gradually descends into the underworld. The orchestral density, harmonic dissonance and tempo slowly build to a tremendous climax as Faust is apprehended by Mephistopheles’ demons and put on trial in the superbly original “Pandemonium” scene. Just to have conceived of music of such originality is a miracle in itself.

                                                                           * * * * *

   The word “miracle” is defined as an extraordinary event that exceeds all known human or natural powers or explanation, being attributed to a supernatural cause or being (such as a god). I am not suggesting that any one of these five pieces should be understood precisely in this way, for no supernatural agent is involved. But it is quite the case that these five pieces, for me, are wondrous and far beyond the ordinary course of things in terms of the intensity of their emotional impact. I don’t truly understand why, so in that sense they are indeed miracles.

11/5/2014 2 Comments

the joys of recitative

   Some of the most well-known and cherished operas in the standard repertoire follow a simple, yet effective format based on an alteration between sections that convey narrative (recitative) and sections that convey expression (aria). This format, the so-called “number opera,” thrived in Europe for nearly two centuries. Although opera in its original form in the early seventeenth century was largely organized around recitative alone (the stile rappresentativo), the aria gradually became the more dominant element in the course of the seventeenth century, perhaps because of the increased rise of public opera houses and the corresponding rise in the stature of solo singers. By the century’s end, recitatives became vehicles for dramatic action and dialogue, while arias became points of focus on a significant aspect of the narrative in the preceding recitative. However, through the course of the eighteenth century, the appeal of the aria dramatically came to outweigh that of the recitative. Tens of thousands of operas followed this fundamental scheme, until irrevocable changes in the nineteenth century put an end to it all.
   Opera is dramatic narrative in music. A story is being told, and thus the role of the recitative in opera is crucial. Without it, we miss a fundamental part of the narrative, yet few listeners of opera truly appreciate its importance. Opera lovers can readily identify, even sing arias from the standard operas, yet most would be hard pressed to name one recitative. Vocal recitals commonly feature aria excerpts from operas, yet I have yet to know of a recital that has featured recitatives, the exception being a recitative that precedes the featured aria. Singers may feel that recitatives are inadequate means for exhibiting their skills, despite the fact that a recitative can be as musically and technically demanding as an aria.
   Ultimately, recitatives have never enjoyed the popularity of arias, and this is most likely because their function demands a unique musical design. Arias are melodic, “tuneful,” and memorable. They are varied and diverse from a musical standpoint and often feature passages that showcase a singer’s abilities. Recitatives, whose main function is storytelling, place less emphasis on musical interest. The music is often speech-like, neither tuneful, nor melodic, and thus far less memorable. The words are generally prosaic, conversational or even colloquial, lacking a poetic meter or a rhyme scheme. The accompaniment tends to be keyboard alone (harpsichord, organ or piano) and thus from a timbral standpoint lacks the diversity of color that is so characteristic of many an aria. In certain instances, especially in the interests of meeting pressing deadlines, recitatives have been composed by a composer’s assistants, as was the case with Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia.
   Nonetheless, some especially sensitive composers have been attentive to providing as much musical worth in their recitatives as in their arias. Johann Sebastian Bach, for example, exquisitely painted the horrors of Jesus’ crucifixion in the recitative “Ach, Golgotha, unsel’ges Golgotha” (“O Golgotha, unhappy Golgotha”) from the St. Matthew Passion by means of a fluctuating tonality. The unstable tonality, wandering from A-flat major through D-flat, G-flat, C-flat and finally back to A-flat major, vividly portrays how “the Lord of majesty must scornfully perish here.” This recitative also features an unusual accompaniment of two oboes d’caccia as well as continuo:
Picture
Concluding with an atypically unresolved augmented fourth, the vocalist is given no opportunity to cadence, which is undoubtedly a reference to the text. Moments later a recitative featuring Jesus’ climactic outburst “Eli, Eli, lama asabthani?” (My God, why hast thou forsaken me?”) comprises startling harmonic progressions in B-flat minor (an uncommon key in the eighteenth century) and a disjunct vocal line that depict Jesus’ agony on the cross. The accompaniment is unexpectedly continuo alone, rather than the strings that have accompanied Jesus’ recitations throughout the passion (the tempo marking is Bach’s own):
Picture
Recitatives in the St. Matthew Passion, sung predominantly by the evangelist and Jesus, are markedly similar to those from contemporary opera. And like opera, the difficulty of these vocal parts demands first-class singers.
   All of Mozart’s operas adopt the number-opera format, although Mozart’s heightened sensitivity to dramatic and musical flow could not ignore the significance of recitatives. His recitatives often feature harmonic progressions whose bass lines move in semitones or a circle of fifths. Non-functional harmonic progressions are common, and the harmonic rhythms tend to be quite slow. Harmony and harmonic changes in the accompaniment can be agents for underscoring a significant word or phrase in the vocal part, as in Don Octavio’s recitative from Act 1 of Don Giovanni (notes marked with an encircled “X” represent instances in which appoggiaturas would be added by the singer):
Picture
In this recitative (preceding the famous aria “Dalla sua pace”) Don Octavio learns from Donna Anna how Don Giovanni seduced her and callously killed her father. Stunned, he resolves to avenge his beloved. Note how Mozart emphasizes the word “nero” (black) in the second measure by harmonizing it with a diminished seventh chord, thereby using harmonic dissonance to stress the darkness of Don Giovanni’s character. The word “petto” (in my heart) is harmonized against a first-inversion dominant ninth chord, another point of emphasis as Don Octavio firmly resolves to take action. Clearly, this is not a perfunctorily composed recitative that acts simply to introduce an aria, but rather a keen representation of a character’s emotional state.
   By the nineteenth century, composers (and presumably listeners as well) grew tired of the centuries-old format of the number opera, and thus sought ways to build a seamless, continuous flow into the drama’s music. Wagner, we know, was instrumental and highly influential in blurring the boundaries between aria and recitative, yet he could not completely disregard the significance of recitatives in providing vital information. Act 2, Scene 2 of Die Walkyrie, for example, features a lengthy recitative between Wotan and Brunnhilde (accompanied by the orchestra), in which Wotan explains to her (and thus the audience) the origins of the gods' afflictions. Examples may also be found in twentieth-century opera. Strauss prefaced the 1916 version of Ariadne auf Naxos with an extensive recitative (“Mein Herr Haushofmeister!”), which is instrumental in explaining the opera’s intricate plot, and Debussy brilliantly recaptured the stile rappresentativo in Pelléas et Mélisande, whose five acts are predominantly recitative-like. Even Alban Berg could not dispense with an occasional recitative in his 1922 opera Wozzeck. The opening scene of Act 2 is one example, in which Wozzeck submissively surrenders his hard-earned money to his common-law wife Marie:
Picture
What sets this brief moment in relief is the starkness of the accompaniment, comprising a simple C-major triad held for eight measures. In an Expressionist harmonic framework this triad, perhaps the most fundamental harmonic unit in Western music, is alarmingly out of context, a marvelous nuance to portray the ordinariness of the couple’s existence.
   George Bernard Shaw, certainly no stranger to the world of opera, once dismissed the recitative passages of a Handel opera as “unnecessary tedium.” In certain instances, Shaw’s criticisms are justified. However, there are many other instances in which recitatives not only relay critical information, but also capture and project a character’s emotional condition. Perhaps one day, a bold singer will program a recital with some of these extraordinary recitatives. I look forward to that.

2 Comments

    Archives

    March 2016
    February 2016
    August 2015
    March 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014

    Categories

    All

    RSS Feed

Proudly powered by Weebly