Archive for the ‘Mahler symphonies’ Category

« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

Mahler, Symphony No. 4, first movement

Monday, January 18th, 2010

After the enormity of the Third Symphony, Mahler now gives us a much more managable piece, in length and in pallette, as though after two such pieces, another of this scope were simply unnecessary, or rather, it has now become necessary to step back, to reconsider more modest means.

The Fourth has always been, in my mind, the “little one,” lacking low brass and with triple woodwinds instead of quadruple, and missing even Mahler’s trademark in orchestral writing, the section of eight horns.  “Little,” however, is not the right word.  In scope, it is no less than the pieces that precede it, and in breadth, it is still a long piece by the standards of a Brahms or a Dvorak, and uses a much larger orchestra than those composers typically demanded.

The correct word is not “little” but “taut,” at least in this first movement.  Mahler’s timbral materials are somewhat reduced, but more interesting is the fact that there is none of the sprawling motivic or harmonic architecture of the previous pieces.  All of the basic motives of the piece are introduced in the first two key areas, and this economy of means is not surprising, but I haven’t seen Mahler taking it to this degree until now.  In addition, Mahler’s formal construction is very traditional–the closest yet to a sonata-allegro form in the “textbook” sense. 

The piece begins with a very characteristic texture–flutes in fifths doubling sleigh bells, followed by oboe and clarinet figurations.  These three measures set the stage in a very specific, very unique manner.  Mahler does not continue with this music, but brings it back at key locations throughout the piece, and the open fifths become a motor rhythm that gives a propulsive aspect to the “exposition” of this movement. 

The “first theme” begins on the anacrusis to m. 4 in the violins, but most importantly, the down beat of that measure features a falling sixth.  This interval and its rising form are another crucial motive for the movment.  Measure 5 and 6 also contain material that is developed later–six-sixteenth notes leading to the down beat and a rising dotted eighth-sixteenth rhythm. 

In this sonata form, the transition from first to second key area begins in m. 18 with a modified version of the first theme.  A spinning out of the sixteenth-note motive leads to m. 38 and the entrance of the second theme, beginning with a rising sixth–a motivic relation between the two very different themes. 

Following the rising 6th are three repeated notes, which are echoed in rhythmic diminution throughout the rest of the piece (for example, in the clarinets in m. 47ff.  Following a half cadence in m. 57, oboe and bassoon present music that appears to sum up, in a way, the second theme area.  It, too, receives the same sort of developmental treatment upon its repetition in the clarinets in m. 67, this time in the mixolydian mode. 

Measures 72ff see a return of the opening material, at the same pitch level despite the key signature indicating the dominant.  The development section begins at this point, returning to a key signature of G major at m. 77 with a reappearance of the first theme.  This development section moves through G major, then A major, E-flat minor, F minor, and a return to G major.  The development ends not with a “standing on the dominant,” but abruptly, with a caesura after m. 238, followed by the recapitulation without transition.

Oddly enough, the recapitulation begins with neither the sleigh bell motive nor the first theme, but depends heavily on the material from each.  At measure 263, the second theme appears in the tonic key, in the same way we would expect.  Measure 330 is the end of the recapitulation, leading to a very typical coda section, emphasizing the subdominant to indicate “after the ending” sentiment.

Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

Mahler–Symphony No. 3, 6th movement

Tuesday, January 5th, 2010

Less than a week behind schedule now–I’ve been listening and studying the score, but to decide to sit down at the computer and type a bunch of words that maybe no one will ever read takes some fortitude.  Mahler’s 4th Symphony will follow, about two weeks on each movement through January and February.  I’m starting to think about what project will follow this one at the end of the year–let me know if you have ideas.

This movement conjours lots of memories, partly because in college we (that is, my brass player friends and I) were all crazy about it.  I’m hearing it with very different ears now than I had then.  All brass players who want to be more than just brass players have to work through their “louder, higher, longer” phase, and on the other side of that, I can say that I’m not as taken with this movement as I used to be.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve since read Philip Roth’s The Human Stain, in which the book ends (spoiler alert) with the protagonist’s funeral, which service is ended with this very movement.  Is this choice on Roth’s part meant to be ironic?  Who would actually play this entire movement for a church full of mourners?  The Bernstein recording lasts nearly 40 minutes, which I think may be a little bit drawn out.  I’m curious to know what Mahler’s tempi were in this case.

I’ve decided that this piece is musically meaningful because of several features, both internally and in relation to the rest of the piece.  In the overall structure of the piece, it is as much coda as it is finale.  Mahler is continuously bringing in plagal material–the subdominants and supertonics that have always signified the end of a tonal composition.  Just as Handel’s “Hallelujah” Chorus ends its portion of Messiah, this harmonic emphasis serves to signify that this enormous composition, this epic journey, is coming to a close.  This movement, like the epilogue to an expansive novel, celebrates what has come.  Ironically enough, there is no return of earlier thematic material or even the slightest reference to the other movements.  There is only pure, beautiful, very tonal music.

The internal structure of this movement is interesting, but not particularly surprising.  It seems to be cast in  rondo form, like many of the last movements of many Austro-German symphonies from Mozart on.  The refrain consists of the chorale that thrilled my friends and me back in college–the first forty measures, complete with their own coda (the long tonic pedal beginning in m. 29).

Measure 41, with its key change, presents for the first time a kind of transitional material, or perhaps it represents the first episode.  The music settles not in the written key of F# minor but in C# minor in measure 51.  The material that follows suggests F major, allowing the minor subdominant (g minor) of the home key to make an appearance that brings back D major, in a way, at m. 92.  Even though the tonic chord fails to appear, it is clear that the music is in D major from the presence of the dominant and by the return of the sequential theme from the refrain.  The refrain itself returns in m. 108.

As is typical of rondo form, the second appearance of the refrain is shortened–a mere reminder of the dominating material of the piece.  Measure 132 is the start of the second episode–after transitional material similar to that which appeared before the first episode, and beginning with material that is similar to m. 51ff, but which is now developmental in nature.  The sequential motive from the refrain and the do-sol-le-sol motive of the transitional material provide the fodder for this developmental section, which continues until measure 214, when the chorale theme begins to reappear.  We are back in the home key, but not yet truly home. 

The fullest tutti of the movement so far is in m. 220, and revealingly is a chord of undoubtedly plagal function–a minor subdominant, which further reinforces the coda-ness of this movement. 

The final refrain begins in m. 252 with the chorale theme in the brass.  Despite appearing over a dominant pedal instead of a full harmonization, it is clear that we have arrived at the end of the piece, and the basic structure of the refrain is intact.  From this point forward, any digression from tonic must inevitably lead back. 

The coda to this entire coda movement begins in m. 300, and from here the music speaks for itself.

This is the most extensive, most complex composition I have ever attempted to pull apart like this, and I am frankly still puzzled by it.  It is in many ways almost too large to understand in its entirety–while a painting can always be viewed from afar, I find it difficult to “step back” from this piece.  In many ways, too, it is a prototype for what is to come, for after the relative respite of the Fourth these next two months, the remaining pieces only get more difficult and more expansive in their scope, and four of them lack the tool of a song text to fall back upon.  I should be in awe, and a little bit intimidated, because this is the musical equivalent of hiking the Appalachain Trail.

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

Mahler–Symphony No. 3, 5th movement

Tuesday, January 5th, 2010

After the premiere of my Five Rhythmic Etudes for orchestra in 2007, a person whose opinion I trust came up to me and told me that the first movement was a tiny masterpiece.  I don’t know whether the rest of the world would agree, but it certainly felt good to hear it.  This movement feels much the same.  One reason I’ve chosen to study Mahler’s symphonies is because of their sprawling, rambling scope, similar to novels by Tolstoy.  This movement, though, is focused and concentrated in the manner of a tiny masterpiece.

Mahler’s text is from the venerable Des Knaben Wunderhorn, and as I mentioned in my previous post on the fourth movement, it seems to balance Nietzsche’s text.  The resources are somewhat different–children’s and women’s choruses and an orchestra without violins.  The music is wholly different in mood.  Where the fourth movement is solemn and seems to suggest a deliberate mode of expression, this fifth movement is joyful and exuberant.  The folk poetry of Wunderhorn recieves an simple, folk-like setting, as though we should know this song already.

A first for Mahler (at least in the symphonies) is the use of voices as a timbral resource rather than as pure textual exposition.  Throughout, the words “bimm, bamm,” to be performed “as the sound of a bell,” work in this fashion, but at other moments, the the voices perform similar roles, most strikingly in the highest women’s voices in mm. 96-99, where a melisma on the word “Stadt” contributes to the overall texture.

To break up the folk-like, sing-song approach to the text, Mahler frequently avoids strict hypermeter, with many three-bar phrases, and often constructing four-bar phrases in a 3+1 kind of structure (as in mm.13-16 and 96-99).  Another common hypermetrical structure here is groups of four bars plus two bars.  These asymmetries seem to break up the piece, giving it the same sophistication as other of Mahler’s movements.

Beyond the wonderful use of treble voices, the orchestration is fantastic.  The absence of violins (Brahms did this before, of course) immediately shifts the emphasis to the winds, with wonderful effects.  The bassoons and contrabassoons are featured in a way that hasn’t happened earlier in the piece, and is quite refreshing–by this time, it is necessary to exploit the orchestral palette a little bit to help maintain interest.  Measures 65-83 are an essentially instrumental treatment (the voices are treated timbrally) of the material, and work in the kind of developmental way that vocal writing doesn’t always permit.  While the shape of the movement is relatively small, the scoring isn’t.

The placement of this movement within the symphony is important.  Does the five-movement second part balance the gigantic single-movement first part?  We seem to contrast unity with variety, relatively organic form with a more sectional group of forms–a minuet, a scherzo, a recitative and a chorus, followed by the sixth movement.  Mahler’s world is fully articulated, as rich and as full as the natural world, compunded by the depth and variety of the creative world.

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

Mahler–Symphony No. 3, 4th movement

Monday, December 28th, 2009

If one is creating a world, as Mahler said he intended to do in his symphonies, how does one choose a text to sum up, in words, that world?

In the Second Symphony, the two texts deal with, roughly, death and ressurection, that is, the end of life and the hope for a new life.  Mahler’s texts in the Eighth Symphony also combine ideas of sacred and profane, and seem to suggest that both modes of thought can lead to redemption. 

Mahler was not a composer of opera (at least, not successfully), but he was primarily an opera conductor.  He thought in terms of the blending of music and words, and the idea that music can be about ideas is central to his understanding of music as an art form and his approach to composition.

So, to deal only with the fourth movement of the Third Symphony, why this particular text?  What is Nietzsche saying here that Mahler deems important enough to include in his world?  Not only that, if, as a composer, I wanted to make sure that my audience and musicians took a text seriously, I would set it just this way–slowly, deliberately, with an accompaniment that stays out of the way, and with very little repetition, ironically.  In song, repeated words often shed their meanings, threatening to become mere rhythmic and timbral elements of the composition.

This movement acts like a way station in the overall plan of the piece.  It begins and ends on A, the dominant pitch, as though the music enters the room already in progress and leaves before it is quite finished.  An interesting parallel here with Gregorian chant–some practitioners of chant believe that it is a continuous cycle of worship, always being sounded in either this world or some other dimension, and that when Gregorian chant is performed or perceived, we are only joining worship already in progress, never ending, never diminishing.  Perhaps Mahler means to suggest the eternity (ewigkeit) of Nietszche’s ideas in much the same way.

The music opens with a motive heard in the first movement–again, Mahler’s preview technique in action, just as in the Second Symphony.   The motive always returns to A, much as the music will at the first entrance of the soloist.  The chromatic mediant relationship is again a part of Mahler’s vocabulary here–FM to am, F#m to am to FM, and then a falling third into the tonic key of D major for the bulk of the movement at m. 18.

Once the tonic key is established, much of the music is played out over a pedal D, sometimes suggesting D major, at other times, D minor–again, a Mahler schema.  Measures 20-23 are a palette of orchestral color unto themselves, and they succeed in causing the listener to do what the singer demands: “Attend” (Gib Acht!). 

Perhaps one reason this text appealed to Mahler is the word tief (deep).  When I choose poetry for my vocal compositions, it is first and foremost the sounds of the words that appeal to me–I will read poems aloud while trying to select them–but ultimately, if they lack meaning or have meanings that I don’t wish to pass along, the poem will often fall by the wayside, or the project will fail.  Depth seems to be a very appropriate sentiment to this music–from the middle of this titanic symphony that is about creating a sound world.  By the time one is four movements in, quite a bit of depth has been undertaken, and I can’t help but wonder if Mahler recognizes this.

After a long pedal point, the music becomes more active beginning with m. 57.  The melodic material here seems to be related to many of Mahler’s other melodies.  Versions of it appear in the finale to the Second Symphony.  This interlude leads back to the opening statement, musically and textually, in m. 75.  The music is again centered on A for a recapitulation of earlier material from this point to the end of the movement.  The text is largely parallel, thus the music is as well.  The narrator’s sleep has been deep, and then his suffering, and at last his joy.

In parallel to the Second Symphony, then, this movement would seem to be Mahler’s explication of his belief in the human path to redemption, rather than a godly path.  Joy is possible in this world, of course, but only in balance with sorrow (Herzeleid).

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

Mahler, Symphony No. 3, Movement 3

Sunday, December 20th, 2009

Getting behind means I keep this one short–three more movements to hit by the first of the year, so a few questions for further thought.

The posthorn solo is, of course, the prominent aspect of this movement, although there is enough music here for a symphony in its own right.  Some questions–what is the significance of the most prominent musical element in a texture being placed off-stage–in a position of drastically reduced promienence?  Is the posthorn solo, with interjections from the orchestra, meant in someway to balance the trombone solo in the first movement?

A big question about the overall structure of the piece–do the two parts of this symphony balance each other?  Do five smaller movements hold their own against the enormous first movement?

Can Mahler’s style be addressed using schemata in the same way that, say, the Viennese Classical style can be?  Possible schemata–the alternation between major and minor chord qualities, found here, for example, in mm.57-58 on the small scale, and on a larger scale in the entire first section, alternating between C major and C minor.  Mahler also has a very typical cadence–for example, mm. 338-339.  Can these types of cliches be as important as those found in Haydn and Mozart?

As always, fascinating orchestration:  mm. 358ff, 437ff, especially.  I have come to feel that a hallmark of the Austrian symphonic tradition–from Mozart on–is the interplay between strings and winds, and Mahler is no exception so far, especially in interior movements.  Motivic material is frequently given to these two groups alternately in Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, and here in Mahler as well, although Mahler now begins to separate the woodwinds and brass (especially the horns, now in an expanded section).  I’ve commented on this before.

So–short but sweet tonight.  With luck, the rest of the symphony will follow in the next two weeks.

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

Mahler, Symphony No. 3, 2nd movement

Sunday, December 13th, 2009

Still playing catch-up… as usual with the project, the music rarely gets the time I would like to put in on it, and especially not the time it deserves.  I wear, perhaps, more hats than would be ideal, but at the same time, it is nice to not have to plug away on the same work all the time, I suppose.

It is, perhaps, the tragedy of Mahler’s shorter, simpler, interior movements to be relegated to a certain level of obscurity.  In this movement, for example, there is no thundering bass drum, no jarring cymbal clash, no solemnly intoning trombone.  Yet, from any other composer, this movement would be a great work, standing out from the background.  I think, again, of Lutoslawski’s complaint (in the introduction to the score of either the 3rd or 4th symphony) that the Romantic composers tried to do too much in their symphonic writing–that three or four “big idea” sort of pieces was too much to handle in a single sitting.

This second movement is a great deal more subtle than the first, and than the corresponding movements in the first two symphonies.  It has a an interesting four-part structure, in which the third and fourth parts are varied repetitions of the first and second parts, respectively.  It suggests, in various ways, rondo and composite ternary without truly being either.

I am strongly considering requiring my students to engage in an in-depth study of this movement when I teach orchestration next fall.  Mahler does not overwhelm the listener with effects but simply writes melodies, develops them and orchestrates them well.  In only the first two systems of music, the transfers of melody from oboe to violins to clarinet are masterful, with changes in the accompaniment that take place accordingly.  For example, in the fourth full measure, where the oboe dips down into a range that requires a fuller sound of most players, the pizzicato accompaniment shifts from violas to celli, with their more resonant pizzicato, and then back to the violas when the second violins take the melody in m. 10, and again into the cello’ when the clarinet takes the lead in m. 13.  None of these shifts is strictly necessary, but each develops the depth of the color of the movement in a very short time, and each is able to be accomplished with barely an acknowledgement from the listener–like subtle changes in lighting in a painting.

Measure 21 gives a contrasting theme in C# minor.  Not only does the key change, but Mahler uses rhythm to set the music apart–instead of a stately minuet, there is  now a triplet rhythm that propels the music in a drastically different direction–I am led to wonder if my reference recording (Bernstein with the NY Philharmonic) may be a somewhat to langourous tempo for this movement; is it intended to be more like the first Scherzo of the Second Symphony?  Just what sort of “Tempo di menuetto” did Mahler have in mind?

The music is quickly back in A major, and the triplet-based theme doesn’t last on its own.  By m. 35, it has given the music back to the original set of motives, and a reprise of the original material (roughly) lasts until m. 50. 

A new section in 3/8 begins at m. 51, an example of Mahler’s use of metric modulation.  The theme here is highly figural, where the material of the minuet section was much more lyrical.  For a composer such as myself who views music through the lens of rhythm, this section is the more intriguing one, because in the answer to the opening theme, Mahler employs polymetrical devices, beginning with 5:4 rhythms in m. 61.  The result is a much more hectic texture–full, and yet not polyphonic, what a conductor I once had used to call a sonic scrim.  No aliquot division of the bar lower than 7 goes unrepresented, and the second violins have a trill to boot.  The mto the stately first section is magnificent.

To complicate matters further, a section in 2/4 follows.  Mahler has essentially exhausted the rhythmic options available to him in twenty bars, and now requires a change of meter (from compound to simple) to keep up this exercise in rhythmic exploration.  In m. 80, this change is reversed–a masterstroke, really.

Mahler wishes to return to the material of the opening of the movement–the minuet music.  In order to do so, he must somehow return to a triple meter to make a smooth transition (intergral to Mahler’s understanding of the requirements of his time, I believe–there can be no cadence and then restarting in the old meter because it would disrupt the coherence of the movement and display the disparate parts for what they are).  Thus, the 3/8 of m. 52 becomes 9/8 in m. 80 and the duration of a full bar becomes the duration of a single beat, then transfered through ritardando and a final meter change to 3/4 at mm. 90-94, with m. 94 being the return of the opening material.  This transition has another masterful orchestrational moment–the composite rhythm between the flutes in m. 91 results in a doubling of the sixteenth-notes in the first violins in the same measure.  The rhythm played by the second and third flutes–dotted-eighth plus sixteenth–then becomes the main rhythm for the next two measures and changes the rhythmic language firmly back to simple meter.

As one begins to expect of Mahler, the return of the opening material is more thickly scored and more fully developed.  There can be no mere restatement.  The doubling of clarinets and violas in m.104 and m. 106 in an otherwise strings-only texture is a subtle detail.  The passage would work well enough without it, I believe, but with the clarinets, it sings in a slightly different way–these sustained notes were absent from the first presentation of this material, and reinforcing them orchestrationally reinforces them in the listener’s mind.

The return of the 3/8 and 2/4  material at m. 145 is significantly longer than its earlier counterpart–mostly in the lengthening of the 2/4 section.  Again, Mahler develops very interesting rhythmic textures, as that at m. 193ff.  There is a persistent argument between simple and compound divisions of the beat.

The A material stages a comeback in m. 218.  I am fascinated by the wind accompaniment for the flute and solo violin beginning in m. 234–effective yet completely unobtrusive.  A brief coda.

This movment is simply a study in how to write a good piece of music–there is economy of material without being repetitive; excellent orchestration without being flashy; clarity of design without being overly formal.  A composer would do well to emulate such things.

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

Mahler–Symphony No. 3, 1st mvt.

Sunday, December 6th, 2009

I’m finding myself behind schedule on this piece, but it’s also the end of the semester, so hopefully I will be able to catch up on this piece.

This movement comprises Part I, and roughly half of the total piece.  Lutoslawski commented that there was a tendency of Romantic symphonists to overwhelm the listener with multiple significant statements–a justification for his own later symphonies, perhaps, which are signle movement works.  As in the first movements of his previous two symphonies, Mahler presents us with a “big idea” that could almost stand on its own.  And yet, unlike in previous outings, the overall tonality of the movement is incomplete.  It is literally impossible for this movement to be taken as a complete piece in the harmonic language of the late 19th century, and strange indeed for a piece to end other than where it began.  Despite its weight, despite its musical significance, this movement is incomplete on its own.

Where Mahler’s first two symphonies begin by developing motives, the Third begins with a theme–a wonderfully memorable one scored for eight horns.  What is interesting about this opening is that the theme is stated and then left completely until a later portion of the piece.  The theme is followed by relatively unrelated material that unfolds slowly over the next 200 bars.  This very clear initial statement followed by a “putting together” of new material is somewhat unique.

This part of the movement is very static from a harmonic sense–the music is centered on D minor and A minor chords, and much of the music is about gettingb to A–from a half-step above and a half-step below.  Perhaps for Mahler’s narrative tonal design, it is necessary to firmly establish the home key to make clear that the ending is not in the home key.  The sheer length of the movement may be a reason for this.

Measure 99 has a temporary change to Bb minor–a mere half-step from A minor.  If A minor is expected, we are denied this, as within a few measures we return to D-minor.  Measure 132 introduces new material which will later be expanded.  Mahler’s use of the chromatic mediant relation is striking and clearly divides this music from the rest of the piece.

D-minor returns in m. 164 with what I, as a trombone player, of necessity considered to be the most significant portion of the piece.  The only earlier trombone solo I am aware of that is this expansive and which is more important is the middle movement (“Funeral Oration”) of Berlioz’ Symphonie funebre et triomphale.  The trombone writing also bears a certain resemblance to Rimsky-Korsakov’s Russian Easter Overture.  However, this project has given me a new perspective–most of the material of the solo has been introduced previously in the horns. 

Finally, more than 200 measures into the piece, Mahler begins to head toward a new key area–m. 225 has the return of the chromatic mediant material, leading us to a presentation of thematic material in Db major.  Another ten measures sees the music in C major with the first appearance with music in the strings that continuously is  transitional music–mm. 239-273. 

Measure 273 also finally has the return of the opening theme–transformed into a major mode (F major).  The composer and conductor in me has to snicker at the notation Mahler gives to the first violins in m. 276, which has three anacrusis eighth notes.  Mahler feels the need to write “Keine Triole,” “no triplets.”  In conducting rehearsals, I have often had to clarify what should be obvious from the notation–if three eighth notes are preceded by an eighth note in common time, they are almost certainly not triplets.  But who did Mahler imagine was going to play his music?

Measure 302ff has an interesting orchestral effect–trumpets echoed by woodwinds.

Measure 330 has a change to D major, but the harmony is a long pedal point on A until 351.  A return of the march theme, and then a climactic passage that ends in measure 369 with another key signature change (although the key is G major (or G minor) despite the indication of one flat).  The brightness of the march leads us to a darker place–leading back to the more sublime, more subtle music that appeared just after the opening.

The solo trombone reappears in measure 423, this time in F major instead of D minor.  I always used to practice this solo more delicately than the first, with more lyrical qualities.  It is as though it lies between the frenetic celebration of the martial music and the dark brooding of much of the other material.

There is a fantastic transformation of the initial theme in solo clarinet and bassoon in mm. 478–barely recognizable yet completely familiar; such is the power of developmental technique.  The chromatic mediant material returns in m. 482–this time sequenced so that the resulting key is Gb major for a wodnerful duet between horn and violin–what composer would have considered such a thing?

Measrue 514, still in Gb major has a restatement of the march theme over a subtle scrim effect in violins and harp more French than German.  This leads to material in Bb minor. 

Measure 530 sees the transitional material from earlier in the strings now become developmental in nature.  Mahler builds to a return of the march theme, but with additional counterpoint.  The march transforms from the glorious music of earlier to some sort of nightmare version, swinging through Eb minor and C major to land on Db major.  The march fades into the distance, and the percussion battery retransitions to the opening material at m. 643.

I’ve been teaching Forms and Analysis this semester, and one thing I’ve emphasized to my students is that a restatement of earlier material is rarely verbatim, and is usually truncated in some way.  The same is true here.  While Mahler opens with the same music, he cuts about 100 bars to bring back the solo trombone at measure 681.

This third solo is a combination of material from the first and second solos.  Measure 708 is indicative of Mahler’s frequent decision to score the low register thickly.  This is something I avoid in my own writing–I’ve read the orchestration texts too closely, perhaps, because Mahler’s scoring is very effective.  I resolve to attempt something like this in my next large-ensemble piece.

The solo section ends with a direct modulation to C minor, with material related to the earlier transitional passage.  The march music returns in F major and a repeat and elaboration of earlier material.  A succession of 6-3 chords, first in D-flat major, then in G-flat major, pulls back to F major in measure 867–the transitional material now becomes the coda.

Any piece of this size–nearly 40 minutes and 900 measures of music–has to have an internal structure that is coherent but not repetitive.  Mahler’s approach is to continuously develop a few basic themes and pieces of material.  This is not, of course, unique to Mahler–only a few composers have eschewed repetition to the extent that Schoenberg did in Erwartung.   There is a balance between harmonic stasis and harmonic progression, and of course the large orchestra provides a highly varied timbral pallette.

As a composer, I must now ask myself whether I am capable of the same sustained kind of writing, abandoning, as I usually do, Mahler’s use of a basically functionally tonal idiom.  The truth is that I don’t know–studying Mahler is a way to at least see how it can be done, but my longest single movement is about twelve minutes.  This is the challenge that lies before me.

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

Mahler, Symphony No. 2, Movements 3 & 4

Wednesday, October 21st, 2009

It’s been a busy time here, but I’m squeezing my thoughts on these pieces in so that I can keep on schedule.

Third movement–The name of the game here is “hypermeter,” in this case, every bar of music feeling like a beat in its own right.  The meter is 3/8, but Mahler could have written in 12/8, and the piece would have made (mostly) perfect sense.

And that “mostly” is the rub.  Because while the hypermeter generally dominates the piece and is fairly strict much of the time, there are places where Mahler steps out of the mold.  If he had chosen 12/8, in other words, there would be a few loose measures in 6/8 or 9/8 scattered through the piece.  These hypermetrical shifts tend to occur at boundary points within the piece, and are slightly more prevalent at the beginning of the movement than in the end.

The first six measures suggest, to me, a complete hyperbar, drawn out for dramatic effect.  After two “correct” hyperbars, Mahler introduces a moto perpetuo-type theme in the violins.  This is echoed in the clarinets in a six-measure hyperbar, clearly a “correct” bar with a two measure extension.  The flutes take this up for four bars, following which, at rehearsal 29, Mahler gives a two-bar “make-up” by restating some of the introductory material, and in m. 33, the initial theme returns.  In this section, uneven hyperbars seem to appear just before the return of the moto perpetuo theme. 

Measure 98 begins a long (seven measures) hyperbar, and is also a modulatory passage, albeit a strange one, to F major.  The modulation is effected by descending chromatic scales in major thirds, but is accompanied by bass notes Gb and B, suggesting a key quite remote from the goal.  Mahler approaches the F major (local) tonic again in a strange way prior to m. 125, falling to it from an A minor chord.  This is presumably because F is not the ultimate goal, only a way-station.

The use at m. 68 and m. 149 of lines that appear to quote the second movement of Mahler’s First Symphony is notable.

As we proceed through the movement, Mahler passes through Eb, then D, often repeating material heard before, usually fleshed out with countermelodies.  At m. 257, the descent ends, and Mahler moves the tonal center up to E major.  There is great music here, but not time enough to discuss it in full.  The scoring is flawless, and often seems to reinforce the hypermetrical concept of the piece.  It is difficult to understand how Mahler was able to work so masterfully with the orchestra in an age before recording, but I suppose that countless hours on the podium had acquainted him with the sounds implied by a score.

Toward the end of this movement, the hypermeter seems to become more strict, i.e., there are fewer exceptions to the rule of four-bar hyperbars.  In the final 200 bars, there is only one shift of hypermeter.

Fourth movement–Just a few observations.  In many ways, this brief setting speaks for itself.  Would it have been more appropriate to partner this movement with the last movement?  Perhaps.

The brass chorale beginning in measure 3 is stunning.  I’m fairly sure that the bassoon and contrabassoon, however, would not be able to play a true pianissimo there, although they are scored in powerful ranges.  The low Db in the contrabassoon in m. 13 is a positively religious effect that I will be listening for from now on.

My Theory III students will be studying the enharmonicism found at rehearsal 1.  The key of the pieces is Db major, and to avoid a key signature of eight flats, Mahler chooses to write in C# minor.  As far as I can telll, this is the key reason for enharmonic writing–mere convenience.  There is no surprise in this chord progression–it moves precisely as it would if the key had remained Db major.

At rehearsal 3, the music moves to the other obvious choice for a contrasting minor key.  In fact, as the relative minor, Bb minor is a more likely candidate than C# minor.  The shift, acknowledged in the key signature, to A major is a bit trickier… Bb minor would be enharmonic to A# minor, which would have a relative major of C#.  The dominant of C# is F#.  The relative major of F# minor is A.   Mahler employs a monophonic technique in the solo violin part rather than try to navigate this convoluted path in such a short movement.  He returns to Db major through C# major in a convenient enharmonic move.

My thoughts on the giant, transcendant final movement will appear at the end of the month.

Tags:, , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

Mahler Symphony No. 2, 2nd movement

Monday, October 5th, 2009

This is one of those pieces that makes my Schenkerian training pop back up… I’m not certain, but this movement seems to be a very nice example of a 5-line.  Any thoughts?  Whether this is true or not, sol plays a conspicuous role in the melodic and harmonic structure of the piece, either as pedal point through much of the movement, or as a very important point of repose for the melody.  I often find that, when in the midst of a melody, sol is easier to find than do, and many portions of this movement seem to hang around sol in a way that allows the music to spin around and around that note.

The string writing is absolute genius–my orchestration students will be studying this piece when next I teach the class.  The main landler theme is somewhat more functional in nature than much of Mahler’s writing–we usually see him building themes around a single chord.  The effect in mm. 13ff of the sustained notes helps to unfuld the theme in a very important way–it keeps it from being a mere parallel period in structure.

The change of key signature at m.39 to five sharps is a mere convenience.  Mahler means us to understand the same tonal center, but the opposite mode… A-flat major becomes G-sharp minor.  The minor-key sections are centered on long dominant pedals–more sol in the piece.  The real breaks in this emphasis on the dominant come at a very charismatic theme in the winds which is also the basis for what little developmental writing we find in this movement.

Then back to the landler of the opening, with Eb/D# as a pivot note between the two modes.  A slight variation on the opening section, but nearly identical in form.  The real meat of this movement seems to lie in the minor-key, compound meter sections of the five-part form.

Mahler seems to make a habit of drifting between major and minor triads built on the same note–here, and in the first movement, and as a motive throughout the Sixth Symphony (looking ahead to next summer).   We see this rarely in earlier composers–although I confess with not being as familiar with Lizst and Wagner as Mahler probably was. 

The second compound meter section, beginning at m. 133 is the least harmonically static music of the movement, briefly visiting B major and F# major, with even a sequence (related to Classical developmental-core technique?) a-building at m. 153ff.  I talked to my students in Forms and Analysis class today about the dangers of always seeing what we want to see in a piece… am I doing that here?

The final section, a wonderful pizzicato version of the opening landler.  Is Mahler charming us, or contrasting the pastoral mood here with a more menacing idea in the minor key sections?  Again, I can’t get over the string writing in this piece… it’s like a primer on how to write charming string textures, both with divisi and without. 

If the piece is a Schenkerian 5-line, it seems to me to descend only on the last two chords–meaning that the piece doesn’t have a coda in a traditional sense.  Yet the entire last page, from m. 285, seems to have an “after-the-ending” function.  Schenker, of course, found Mahler to be decadent, and probably would have dismissed his music out of his anti-Semitism as mere aping of earlier Austro-German greatness.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

Schedule for the rest of this piece–3rd and 4th movements until October 20, 5th movement until the 31st.

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

Mahler, Symphony No. 2, First Movement

Monday, September 14th, 2009

To the next piece, then.

In some ways, the Second feels much more like Mahler than the First–a focus more on motive than on theme, on counterpoint over homophony.  As well as Mahler seems to have opened up a world in the “Titan,” in “Resurrection,” we begin in that world, as though we have lived there all along.  Where the First grew slowly out of stillness, the Second begins on the dominant pitch as well, but begins with an agitated, urgent feeling–brought on by tremolo in the strings instead of harmonics.  Instead of the gently half-floating, half-falling fourths-based line in long notes, we here get an ascending, scale based line in short note values that propels us forward into the first movement.  We are in the thick of the piece before we realize it. 

This outburst in the low strings has something in common with much of the material of the movement–it acts like many a Bach fugal subject in that it outlines an octave which will later be filled by the voice in which it appears.   Again, as in Bach, the motive undergoes a type of fortspinnung, or spinning-out.  In general, a very different treatment than much of the material in the First symphony.

Beginning in bar 18, the woodwinds enter with another octave-filling melody, this also exposing the half-plus-dotted-quarter-plus-eighth rhythm that dominates much of the melodic material of the movement. 

At the first climax of the movement, bar 38-41, we see the third crucial motive of this movement, a contrapuntal device, if such can be a motive.  Two scales are placed in contrary motion.  To any student of tonal theory or 16th-century counterpoint, this compositional device may seem completely obvious–or simply correct writing–but compared to the language of the First Symphony, Mahler’s emphasis on scalar contrary motion is a defining characteristic.  The extensive use of pedal point in the earlier work is replaced here generally by a greater contrapuntal awareness and specifically by this device.

Rehearsal 3 has the music in B major, by direct modulation, with yet another octave-filling melody.  I have been pressuring myself to be more sparing–nay, frugal–with motivic and thematic material, where Mahler seems profligate in his introduction of new themes.  However, they are often at least partly related to each other, and, additionally, to craft a movement lasting nearly half an hour (in my Bernstein-NY Phil recording), much raw material is required. 

With the material exposed, at rehearsal 4, we have a return to the opening of the piece, but, curiously, without the very first C-B-C-D-Eb.  Rather, we hear the second “lick,” following which Mahler gets more quickly to business.  The end of a group of themes, then, now followed by a transition?  Or the repeat of an “exposition?”  A major question, since I am teaching Forms and Analysis this semester, is how well, if at all, Mahler conforms to the classical forms, sonata-allegro, in particular.  I have long felt that sonata-allegro form is but one way to achieve  the exposition-development-recapitulation plan of a musical composition; for the untrained listener, the satisfaction lies less in the return of the tonic than in the restatement of the beginning in some way; a melodic affirmation that the piece has come full circle.

At m. 97, the basses give an ostinato motive that bears striking resemblance to a similar moment in the First (the first movement).  While that melody had a rising contour, this one falls.  Mahler characterized this movement as being a funeral march for the hero of the “Titan,” and here is a very specific link between the two. 

A few measures earlier is the motive of the scales by contrary motion, appearing here in a transitional passage, but more often used in the run-up to a climactic moment.  The hero descends to the grave, and ascends to heaven simultaneously.  As Oscar Hammerstein wrote, “passions that thrill…are the passions that kill.”  Schopenauer, Wagner, Mahler, and fifty years later, Broadway.

Rehearsal 8, measure 129, gives a subsidiary motive, again filling an octave, but, rarely for this piece, from the top down instead of from the bottom up.   It feels a borrowing from Wagner’s Ring.  It creates a particularly Wagnerian moment later in the piece (before rehearsal 23, in a “recapitultion” or coda–I’m not sure which). 

The first (and only) time I heard this piece in concert, I was startled by Mahler’s use of doubled English horn and bass clarinet (m. 151ff), and have since stolen that scoring in my own piece for orchestra, Five Rhythmic Etudes.  What I did not remember is the return of the same material for trumpet and trombone, (mm. 262ff).  Again, one is struck by repetition.  A few years later, Schoenberg would attempt to banish repetition from his work, and we have been living to an extent under this stricture ever since (his one-act opera Erwartung contains almost no motivic repetition in more than forty-five minutes of music).  Is a large-scale work such as this dependent on repetition to be successful?  It is everywhere–on the beat level, the measure level, the phrase level and the sectional level, both exact and varied.

On a related matter, I’m fascinated by Mahler’s “preview technique.”  In the First Symphony, a large swath of the first movement reappears in the finale.  I’m fairly sure that the first movement is not previewing the last movement.  But in m. 270 of the present movement, the horns give a chorale melody that reappears nearly half an hour later in the finale.  It leads here to one of the very characteristic (in both rhythm and melody) themes of the first movement, where in the finale, it leads to the key melody of that movement.  This is not simply a compositional technique–mark that there is none of the craft here of a Bach contrapunctus–but rather a psychological device and a feeling of having been given a taste of things to come, a look into the ultimate direction of the piece, and since the subject of the first movement is death, and the subject of the last is, unabashedly, resurrection, we are here meant to understand that even in death there is life.

Measure 329 sees a final eruption of the opening material–more fully-scored, more determined than ever.  This leads to what feels like a recapitulation, and the major-key theme–first heard at rehearsal 3 in E major, now in A major (the key relation hearkens to sonata-allegro)–almost evaporates into the end of the movement.   Beginning in measure 384, Mahler introduces a shifting major-minor feeling that brings to mind the key motive of the Sixth Symphony–the instrumental piece most associated with death in Mahler’s catalog.  The piece could have ended with a whimper on a major note, but this rocking back and forth allows the funeral march to fade into the distance.  Are we left standing at the hero’s grave?  The music unravels amid reminders of the material it was made of, last tastes of the world we knew.

Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Mahler symphonies | Comments Closed

« Older Entries
Newer Entries »