On the Road Again: Minneapolis and Rock Island

October 3rd, 2010

It’s been a crazy two weeks, with the bulk of it spent out of town, and too much of it spent away from my family, but it’s also good to get out and share insights and work with colleagues, and both of these trips allowed that.

First was the national conference of the College Music Society in Minneapolis.  I had never been to the Twin Cities before, and I didn’t see a great deal of Minneapolis, but what I saw I liked.  I was there to present a poster session on my research into rhythm–what I call quintuplous meters and their notation.  When I found out that I would be giving a poster of my research instead of a large-group presentation, I was a little disappointed, but in fact, I discovered that the poster format was perfect–instead of giving my talk to everyone at once, I could answer questions one-on-one, tailoring my approach to the individual person.  I probably had about as many one-to-one conversations standing there by my poster as there would have been people at my session, and I think everyone went away with their questions answered.

The other great part of the conference was the informal exchange of ideas.  I feel that I’ve spent mine and the university’s money well if I come away from a conference energized and ready to try something back home that I’ve learned about in a session or discussed with colleagues.  The persistent problem that kept coming up with my music theory and composition colleagues who teach at smaller schools is that more and more music majors arrive as freshmen needing the equivalent of what we call at OPSU “Fundamentals of Music.”  They simply are often not ready for Music Theory I.  At OPSU, we have been offering Music Fundamentals during the summer term, but most students who plan to take Theory I in the fall don’t end up taking Fundamentals in the summer first.  The ones who do are generally more successful in Theory I, and the one’s who don’t, but should hold the class back as I spend more time than is probably necessary “reviewing” (i.e., exposing students for the first time in many cases) scales, key signatures, triads and the notation of rhythm.  It turns out that we are not the only school with this problem, and I have brought the dialogue back to OPSU with the suggestion that all incoming music majors take Fundamentals of Music in the fall semester unless they can pass a test showing that they know the material.  Theory I would then be offered in the Spring, with Theory II as a mandatory summer class for all first-year music majors.  Still in the thinking stages, but with the vast array of subjects (ever-growing) that falls into the music theory sequence, I think students would be better for it.

I went to Minneapolis not really knowing anybody, although I expected to run into a few acquaintances.  Nolan Stolz had the poster next to mine, and it was good to finally meet him in person (and to get his feedback on my poster).  Alex Nohai-Seaman and I met through the Roommate Finder for the conference, and I am glad we did.  It was good to see Jason Bahr again, and to hear his choral piece performed on a stupendous concert.  I played a piece for Bonnie Miksch way back in my Cincinnati days, and it was nice to reconnect.  Jay Batzner gave excellent and insightful advice, and I want to learn more about being a human from him.  Rachel Ware had the poster behind mine, and I think our conversations in Minneapolis will lead to a collaboration down the road, so I’m very excited for that to happen.

Four days in Goodwell, then, and a drive to Garden City to catch the Amtrak, although not before having dinner with Jim McAllister, which is always a pleasure.  At this conference, the Society of Composers Region V Conference at Augustana College, I was able to room with an old friend, Dan Perttu.  As usual, some interesting music, some more difficult to listen to, played well by the Augustana students and faculty, along with invited guests.  The highlight for me was finally hearing a live performance of Starry Wanderers by Dianna Anderson.  Dianna was a master’s student at Cincinnati when I was there, and I was assigned to her studio for private piano lessons.  I wish I’d practiced more, because there was clearly much more for me to learn from her!  Her interpretation, as at the premiere that I missed last year, was the type that takes what I think is a pretty good piece and makes it better.  She brings it to life in a way that makes me proud to have written the piece.  On top of that, she is still the kind and down-to-earth person I remember from the mid-1990s.  If you have a chance to hear her play, do it.  If she is your teacher, learn well.

As always, it was good to see familiar faces, as well as a slew of new ones.  At my paper presentation on Saturday morning, I was thrilled to see flutist Kimberlee Goodman in the audience, whom I haven’t seen since we were at Ohio State.  Her performance of Jennifer Merkowitz’ Phyllotaxis was inspired, and since she asked me to send scores, I hope she can bring her talent to bear on my music in the near future.

A train ride home (I hope Amtrak finds my hat when the train gets to LA), and I’m back, but just as soon, Becky and Noah are off to see off her family at the Amarillo airport.  Perhaps this week, the Saunders’ will actually see some of each other…

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Mahler, Symphony No. 7, movement 5

September 1st, 2010

I used this movement the other day with my freshmen to explain one of the ways that musicians determine tempo–the tempo of the opening is determined by the ability of the timpanist to play clearly the first two measures.  Since the standard timpani technique doesn’t involve the double-bounce stroke, there is a fairly finite speed at which the timpani solo here can be played.

Less literally, I’ve been trying to determine if the title means “Rondo as Finale” or “Rondo, then Finale.”  There is a reasonably clear seven-part rondo structure that dissolves into a long coda.  The first version of the refrain begins in m. 7, with a theme in the brass which includes some daring trumpet writing–D6, approached by a slur of a sixth.  A tricky proposition, and this perhaps accounts for the doubling of this line by the clarinets and oboes.  This refrain appears in C major, in contrast to the E minor of the opening six bars.

The strings take over the texture in m. 27, with a dotted rhythm that will reappear later in the piece, and not just in the refrain.  Measure 31 is the final new material of this section, repeated half notes which will prove prominent later on as well.  The remainder of the refrain is devoted to restatement of material so far, and to a fanfare which leads to the tonic chord in m. 51.  There is then a direct modulation to a chromatic mediant–A-flat major, which is the key for the first episode.

The first episode begins with a rising eighth-note figure and a change in tempo.  The material here is reminiscent of Mahler’s more folk-influenced material.  Rather than a “round dance,” we have a much squarer dance that begins hesitantly in the woodwinds, and is answered with the melody in the cello (m. 56ff).  Unlike most classical rondos, this episode is not harmonically closed, and works its way back to the second refrain, visiting C major (m. 79), then to D major, in alternating sections of 3/2 and 2/2.  Beginning at m. 116 (Pesante), the music moves back toward C major by common chord modulation, to prepare the second refrain.

Beginning in m. 120, the second refrain continues until m. 152, making it a somewhat truncated version of this material.  The transition to the second episode is more or less monophonic, following a cadence on C major.  The second episode begins in m. 153 in A minor.  Oddly, it begins with melodic material from the first episode, in the violas in m. 154.  This material based on the earlier section continues until m. 186, when the strings enter with a unison figure reminiscent of some of the “Turkish” music of Mozart.  Three measures later (m. 189), the brass reenter with the chorale which signalled the retransition to the refrain.  Here, however, while much of the transitional material returns, it leads not to the refrain in C major, but to further music in a developmental mode (this is the appropriate place for a development section in a sonata-rondo).  Some lovely music for string quintet in A major follows at m. 220.  An interjection in Db major (m. 241), seems to move even further from a return to the refrain.  This is followed by another unison passage for the strings, alternating between 2/2 and 3/2.

Beginning in m. 268, a version of the refrain melody, reworked for 3/2, appears in the brass in the opening key.  From this point forward, there are several possible candidates for the refrain, but none is explicit.  Perhaps the most convincing is the chorale for the brasses beginning in m. 360.  This is followed by the unison string material from m. 241 (m. 368), only a half-step higher in the key of Bb.

The remainder of the movement is suggestive of coda material, and as usualy for Mahler, builds to the end.  Some interesting moments include a whole-tone passage leading to a cadence on Db major in m. 506.  A final appearance of the refrain chorale appears in m. 539, this time for the full brass section and accompanied by the timpani solo from the opening of the movement.  Measure 568 is a brilliant section for winds and percussion that is reminiscent of English change-ringing.  The last cadence of the piece occurs in m. 580, from which a run of sixteenth notes leads to the end of the piece.

On to the Eighth Symphony, then.  September will be for the sacred-themed first movement, and October will have the profane second movement.  See you there!

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Miscellaneous Thoughts

August 19th, 2010

Anyone remember the homegrown version of the 95 Theses from Garrison Keillor’s novel Lake Wobegon Days?  There aren’t quite 95 of them (yet) but here are some things I’ve been thinking about over the summer.

  • Fatherhood is awesome.  But probably not for everyone with a Y-chromosome.
  • You never finish developing your aural skills.
  • When did celebrities become experts?  I caught some (as much as I could take) of the History Channel’s “America: The Story of Us” series this summer, and it was terrible.  Broad generalizations, and celebrities trying to explain their takes on various events in US history.  I should have expected as much from the network that brought us “Ice Road Truckers.”  Best US history documentary is still Alaistair Cooke’s America.  All-time best documentary mini-series ever is still Carl Sagan’s Cosmos.
  • To the History Channel’s credit, they didn’t start the fire.  Among the many failings of Disney’s Fantasia 2000 was using people like Steve Martin and Bette Midler instead of a musicologist of the caliber of Deems Taylor, who narrated the original.  Don’t get me started.
  • It was really warm for four weeks in Oklahoma this summer.  Really warm.  I didn’t feel cooled-off for the entire month from mid-July to just a couple of weeks ago.  I don’t know how people made it (and still make it) without air conditioning.
  • On that note, I so badly want to be an environmentalist, and do my part, but I’m not doing a very good job at it.  I was most efficient when I lived with my parents, shared rides to school, participated in the community recycling program, didn’t fly anywhere and packed out my trash when I went camping with the Boy Scouts.  Now, I pretty much do nothing to be part of the solution.
  • I am so sick of cell-phone commercials.
  • Oh… and I heard on the radio that the Internet is now moving to the next big thing (or already has).  Great.

Again, not 95, but it’s a start.  There just needed to be more to my blog than Mahler today.

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Mahler, Symphony No. 7, movement 4

August 16th, 2010

Every entry here brings me one step closer to Mahler’s Eighth Symphony, perhaps the most daunting of these works.  Instead of neat little movements, two giant parts, more cantata, or even opera than symphony.  But that is still two weeks away.  For now, a look into a lovely little serenade.

In some works, the choice of orchestra plays as much a role in the character of the piece as does the motivic material, and Mahler’s decision to include guitar and mandolin makes this movement stand out from every other so far.  In addition, Mahler omits all the heavy brass and percussion, giving a light texture rare in Mahler.

The first section is harmonically very conservative–the first 93 measures are very dedicated to the key of F major, with fairly regular cadences and a great deal of melodic repetition.  The theme introduced by the horn beginning in mm. 8-11 is not just the basis for the material to follow, but the starting gate for the melodic structure of the movement.  Each phrase opens with this theme, and its motives pull apart to become the phrase endings. 

Measure 28 sees the beginning of another notable technique in this movement.  The melody in the first violins is shadowed by a simultaneous variation in the violas, a manner of heterophony.  Measure 38 has a return of the horn theme, now with an F major chord in the fourth measure, instead of the original F minor.  Measure 53 is the beginning of a dominant pedal point that lasts until m. 71, when the bass descends to a G, allowing a half cadence in m. 76, at which point the original horn theme reappears in the oboe, now beginning with a step up instead of down.  The pedal point continues, finally resolving to the tonic in m. 85.

This transitional material is the beginning of a developmental section–this movement cannot be understood as a sonata-allegro because of the lack of a secondary key area, but it follows the basic compositional plan of sonata-allegro.  Sparse material–quarters and halves, with interjections based on the horn theme–lasts until m. 125, when the music changes key for the first time in this movement, to A-flat.

The music moves quickly to F-minor, and in m. 150, the horn theme appears in the bass, in rhythmic augmentation.  The next bars move quickly–to a dominant chord on Eb, which resolves deceptively in m. 162, leading to G-flat major in m. 170.  and beginning in m. 176, the music shifts again to B-flat major.  At measure 187, the horn and cellos begin presenting melodic material in unison, and this unison doubling becomes a contrapuntal treatment in m. 195, another iteration of the heterophony technique noted earlier.

Beginning in m. 211, Mahler presents a developmental core that, strangely enough, doesn’t modulate.  Two seven-measure sections begin with the same four-bar material, but then end with passages that leave them in different keys, the last using a phrase extension to return to F major.  In m. 253, the music seems to arrive in A major, but modulates directly to F major in a recapitulation of the opening section.

In the recapitulation, the same phrase structure, exclusively in F major, is featured, with a very close correspondance to the beginning of the piece.  True to Mahler’s style, there are changes of scoring, and the addition of obligato lines, as at mm. 273ff.  The music moves to a long dominant chord, beginning in m. 308.  This dominant chord has a long neighboring section, beginning in m. 320, and resolves in m. 332.

The remainder of the piece is coda material, built from the horn theme and other material of the movement.  Unlike the previous “Nachtmusik” movement, the music ends on the tonic of the piece.

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Mahler, Symphony No. 7, third movement

August 8th, 2010

The central movement of this five-movement symphony is in the keys of D major and D minor and is structured as a scherzo-trio.  The scherzo material has the feel of something of a moto perpetuo, and this is not Mahler’s first effort in this vein.  It grows from the tiny seed of a half-step (Bb-A) in the timpani and low strings, gathering momentum over the first twelve bars, with each new aspect of the texture–first the horns, then the woodwinds, then a dotted-note flute motive, and finally the arrival of a theme in m. 13–seeming to grow out of the existing material.  If the goal of this study is to unlock some of Mahler’s compositional secrets, I think I have started to find them.  Just as Mahler’s Mahler-ness–his cliches, the predictable aspects of his style–begin to pile up in my mind, I am coming to see how it is that he is able to structure large-scale pieces and more importantly, to maintain the interest of the listener over what may seem an excessive length of time. 

A summary, then, of what I’ve learned thus far:

  • introduce new material sparingly, and base new ideas on old ones.  The first 100 bars of this movement are a fantastic example of this.  The first 24 bars are based on Mahler’s elaboration of the material presented in the introductory passage.  That material is then used to preface a new theme beginning in m. 24, and accompanied by motives that have already been stated.  The suggestions of hemiola made by the opening statement–does it begin on an upbeat or a downbeat–are played out in this theme, as in m. 30ff.
  • Use harmony sparingly.  Mahler extends the horizons of his pieces by avoiding, at all costs, things that I encourage my undergraduate theory students to pursue with a vengeance, in a harmonic sense.  While my students–and admittedly, I myself–tend to write one chord per melody note (chorale style) or one chord per measure (probably an anachronistic reflection of our familiarity with 20th-century popular styles), Mahler tends to have long swathes of music that are based on the same chord.  These aren’t exactly pedal points, but Mahler is thinking in terms of a chord being a key area rather than a single harmonic event.  In some ways, the harmonic rhythm present in much of Mahler is more reminiscent of Mozart or Haydn than it is of composers closer to Mahler in time.  Even Brahms tends toward a more regular harmonic rhythm that I would consider to be a hallmark of the Romantic style.
  • Repetition is not a dirty word for Mahler, even though exact repetition is rare.  When material returns, it is almost always reorchestrated, if not completely reworked.  There is a great deal of repwithout insipidness as a result.  Repetition is welcome in this music.
  • At the same time, Mahler’s music is filled with variety of every type.  Even when he is being his most Mahleristic, there is no sense that we have heard this before.  While I have always perceived the Seventh Symphony as being third in the middle grouping of Mahler’s symphonies, a rehashing of the previous two–the bold Fifth, the cataclysmic Sixth–as I dig deeper, there is less evidence of that.

So, that said, here are some interesting spots in this movement.  I have Schenkerian training, and some might consider me a Schenkerian, but I am always open to other explanations.  However, the passage in mm. 54-62 is so striking an example of an upper neighbor being used to extend a melody that it can’t go without comment.  There is literally nowhere for the G in the violins in m. 58 to go except back to the F# from whence it came, which it does in m. 60.

The transitional section beginning in m. 108 is sublime.   Again, Mahler is being tight with his material, but we see much of the motivic material used thus far in this little passage that also brings the music to D major in m. 116.  The quasi-echo effect of this phrase is a wonderful transitional device.

As mysteriously as it appeared, the scherzo vanishes beginning around m. 155.  Triplets have been replaced by eighths, drifting away into an awkward contrabassoon solo in m. 159.  When the triplets reappear, it is in a muted allusion to the opening material beginning in the following bar.

The Trio material, beginning in m. 179, is a reworking of the woodwind theme first stated in m. 38, only now in the major mode, and in inversion.  As always, Mahler is somewhere between major and minor, and steadfastly refuses to commit to either.

Beginning in m. 210, a persistent call-and-response begins, first between solo viola and celli, then between violins and horns (m. 218ff), then bassoons and brass (m. 226ff), then between trombones and horns (m. 236ff) leading to a climactic moment in m. 243 (marked “Pesante”).  This build-up, however, has not been to some grand release of tension that we would expect of Mahler, but to a prefunctory gesture  that dissolves into a new theme (composed of old motives) in the horns and celli.  This theme, begining in m. 246, is a parody of material from the Third Symphony, as if Mahler is poking himself in the ribs.  A further question–is this self-parody, or self-plagiarism?  Unlike some composers (including me), Mahler was a tireless revisor of his own works, and the Third Symphony was foremost among these, so at any rate, it could not have been accidental.  As a composer who engages in a fair amount of quotation, both of others and myself, I always hope that the listener will catch it–surely an act of parody rather than plagiarism.

The trio ends with the indication Wieder wie am Anfang (“Always as the beginning.”)  Unlike earlier composers (even as late as Brahms and Dvorak), Mahler does not simply indicate a Da Capo and repeat the Scherzo verbatim.    After a transitional section in E-flat minor, which is the perfect setup for preparation for the Bb that begins the scherzo proper, a significantly expanded introduction ensues (m. 293ff).  This allows Mahler to incorporate material from the trio (the call-and-response motive in m. 306ff).

An orchestrational concern–if Mahler could have written a timpani solo in mm. 323ff, would he have done so?  The basses seem to be covering the unavailable timpani notes.

Measure 408 includes the first use I am aware of of the “snap” or “Bartok” pizzicato; certainly the first in Mahler, and an interesting reworking of the introductory material, now being used to introduce a coda.  Trio material appears, now fully voiced, in the form of the Third Symphony quote in m. 417, and from this point, the movement peters out as gradually as it faded in.  If the idea behind this piece is night, then this movement steals in and out in the manner of a dream.  As for myself, I am a night sleeper, and when I remember a dream, it is almost always just before waking.  Perhaps Mahler would have a more receptive audience for this Symphony in my wife, who frequently naps in the evening, only to wake for quite some time around midnight.  I barely know that night happens, but Becky lives a great deal of her life there.

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Mahler, Symphony No. 7, movement 2

July 26th, 2010

Once again, I find myself with less time than I would like to write.  Hopefully, brevity will make me make each word count.

This movement has some fascinating aspects.  I begin with Mahler’s use of texture, which is more intricate and highly developed here than in much of his previous music.  Immediately following the horn solo that opens the movement, the woodwinds begin to build a complex sonic scrim more akin to Ravel or Stravinsky than to Mahler (mm. 10-27).  While motives from the horn solo appear throughout this passage, it is really an orchestral crescendo that leads to a climax in m. 28.  In mm. 28-9, the major-minor motive from the Sixth Symphony reappears, here in the home key of C (I should note that this motive doesn’t really “belong” to the Sixth Symphony, as it appears frequently throughout Mahler’s work).

There follows a harmonized repetition of the theme introduced by the horns, with an immediate variation, beginning in m. 37.   In m. 44, there is an example of Mahler’s interesting use of color in the solo oboe and horn.  The oboe colors the repeated horn notes, lending body and renewed interest to the opening theme.

Measure 62 presents the main theme yet again–this is a highly thematic movement.  It is now coupled with a figural countermelody in the woodwinds, a running triplet idea that will reappear frequently in this movment.  In m. 69, Mahler uses a cadential pattern that is somewhat quirky.  Having arrived on a half-cadence, a subdominant chord is inserted before the return of the tonic in m. 70.  The iv chord is highlighted with a dynamic accent, and is somewhat reminiscent of Robert Schumann’s tendency to begin phrases with a subdominant harmony, as though we were joining the music already in progress.

At m. 83, the first significant change in mood appears, with a change in both tempo and key (to Ab major).  The melody here is linked to the main theme by its opening motive, a rising interval from the triad in question, beginning on the anacrusis.  An extension of this initial phrase leads to a half-cadence in m. 81.  Mahler’s frequent use of the half-cadence in this movement suggests a more open, fantasia-like conception.  This dance-like music continues until an authentic cadence in Ab minor in m. 121, followed immediately by a reprise of the opening horn solo, leading into a modulatory passage that brings back the main theme in C major in m. 141.

In m. 144ff, the horn and oboe are again paired, a favorite color choice for Mahler in this movement.  This section is very much a restatement of the first section (up to the key change to Ab).  In m. 161, the fascinating texture from the opening is revisited, culminating with the same CM-Cm chord (more lushly scored this time) in mm. 187-188.

Measure 190 marks the beginning of new material in C minor, roughly based on the inversion of the main theme.  Mahler’s color choice is again interesting–oboe and English horn each doubled by a solo cello and then, when the range becomes excessive, byh solo violas (m. 198ff).  In m. 211ff, there is an interesting diversion to the key of B minor, strikingly remote from each harmonic destination thus far, with a swing back to C major for the return of the main theme in m. 223, now stated by the full orchestra.

The A-flat major theme reappears in m. 262, now with a countermelody in the woodwinds (two flutes, two oboes and two clarinets in unison).  The amount of thematic repetition in this movement is impressive–and highly suggestive of seven-part rondo form, although Mahler chooses not to state this explicity.  This places the A-sections in C major-minor, the B-sections in A-flat major and the C-section in C-minor.

At m. 317, the typical Mahlerian approach to coda begins–the opening theme begins to unravel, with reminders of earlier textures and ideas intertwining.  By the end, all that is left is the triplet accompanimental idea, which dissolves into not the tonic pitch, but rather the dominant of hte movement, G, leaving a sense of incompleteness that the beginning of the next movement fails to resolve.

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Mahler, Symphony No. 7, movement 1

July 13th, 2010

I’ve done the listening and score study this time around, but I simply am short on time this morning, so here are my big ideas, and I will leave the close reading for another time.

How long can one go as a composer before beginning to sound like oneself?  I find the opening of this movement to be similar in mood and material to parts of the first movement of the Fifth Symphony.  Mahler has been Mahler from the beginning, of course.  There are always Mahlerisms, and I have been seeking them out through the course of this exercise, but self-quotation is another matter entirely.  And again, this is not the outright recycling that composers have frequently used when time or energy ran short.  In some ways, this is the third symphony in a row that has begun with music that seems to resemble a funeral march.

A harmonic analysis reveals many “wrong way” progressions–I teach my theory students to favor the falling fifth, falling third and rising second root motions, but Mahler frequently moves in the opposite direction.  From a harmonic standpoint, sequential patterns are important here.  There are many instances of slow harmonic rhythm (and pedal point) punctuated by sequences that change chords twice in each bar.  The pedal point tendency is not new, but this use of sequence happens to an extent that seems relatively unique to this movement.

Mahler’s melodic material is highly cohesive–as usual, there is a great deal of motivic development.  At the same time, Mahler very rarely uses “simple” melody-with-accompaniment textures in this movement, which is something of a contrast with the Sixth Symphony.  Even in expository passages, melody is almost always combined with another melody, and in developmental sections, it is difficult to know what the main melodic idea is at some points.

Scoring is drastically different from the two previous pieces.  Mahler had been tending to a mixed scoring, with blending of instrumental colors, and, especially in the Sixth Symphony, most of the orchestra playing a good deal of the time.  Here, instruments seem more likely to play as sections without reinforcement from other sections, although there is still a good deal of flutes-doubling-violins to add penetration to their high register.  Instead of the eight horns customary to Mahler, there are only four, plus a tenorhorn in Bb (my assumption is that this is something like the British bore baritone I remember from my brass band days).  Color has become more of a concern for Mahler.  If memory serves from some undergraduate research into Mahler’s compositional practices, it was around this time that he rejected the piano reduction as a first draft, worried that it made his music too pianistic.  Instead, he began to work with a short score of four to five staves.  I have found this technique to be extremely helpful in creating band and orchestra pieces.

In some ways there is also a variation technique at work here.  Material presented as a funeral march reappears as a strange, wobbly dance, and then again as a triumphal fanfare.  Mahler never explicitly wrote a “theme and variations,” but he certainly appears capable of employing that strategy.

Onward then–I refer myself to my copy of the score.

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Mahler, Symphony No. 6, movement 4

June 30th, 2010

I will be the first to admit that I have not done my homework to the extent I would ideally like to over the past two weeks.  Perhaps I should have allotted more time to the 822 measures of this movement, but truthfully other things have got in the way.  To allow myself an extension would simply impinge on the three remaining pieces, and since by the time I am ready to write the next blog entry, we will also be on the cusp of moving, it seems better to summarize my observations and move forward today.

With this movement, it seems very difficult to get past Mahler’s symbolism–the hammer blows, the major-minor motive and the rest.  Tony Duggan, in his excellent summary of recent recordings of this piece, deals with some of the many performance issues, such as the ordering of the movements (which differs from my edition, the Dover miniature score and from many recent recordings), and the precise number of hammer blows (Mahler’s final decision appears to have been two, while my score, a reprint of the 1906 Nachfolger edition, calls for three).  He also suggests that this piece is the most classically ordered of all of Mahler’s symphonies, and I find myself tending to agree with that statement.

In an interesting way, the two hammer blows that Mahler retained seem to delineate the exposition, development and recapitulation of a sonata-allegro form, with the third (missing) blow indicating the coda.

Mahler opens this movement with an interesting texture and harmony–a German augmented-sixth chord that resolves deceptively to the tonic in m. 9, the first appearance of the major-minor motive in this movement.  The motive is presented as it appeared in the first movement, in the brass, and accompanied by timpani and drums, but with the strings offering a countermelody that contains material of motivic importance for the rest of the movement.

In m. 16, a tuba solo introduces further new material, including an octave leap.  Throughout this symphony, the octave leap has been an important element, and part of the cohesiveness of the work as a whole is Mahler’s use of the octave (and sometimes larger intervals) to create a sense of drama and pathos.  Rodney Winther teaches that small intervals build tension, while large intervals build drama, and Mahler employs both, but the drama of this movement is the aspect that wins out, I think.

The tuba solo is accompanied by a descending chromatic bass, which is highly typical of Mahler.  In mm. 19 and 22, the clarinets and horns have an interesting effect that I typically associate more with later composers, such as Stravinsky.  The clarinets articulate the beginning of a phrase, but the horns sustain the final note, as though the echo has a different timbre than the initial attack.  In the end, it is this sort of synthesis and blending that makes for fantastic orchestral writing, and Mahler is transcending the German orchestrational style in this instance.  A comparison with the scoring techniques used by composers of a generation earlier–Brahms, Wagner, Bruckner–reveals a much more conservative approach, with much greater use of simple block and mixed scoring techniques.  Composers of the same generation and younger, however, start to show this sort of adventurous approach to orchestration–Richard Strauss and Schoenberg, for example.  Strauss would seem to be the first of these new orchestrators to achieve notoriety–before Mahler, perhaps?

I don’t often wish that I were a trumpet player, but m. 46 has an absolutely fantastic line that makes me a little bit envious.  This is followed by another typical descent to the cadence, as the music shifts to C-minor in m. 49 for a chorale setting, first in a very dark woodwind and horn timbre, then in a lighter timbre that uses the middle, relaxed registor of the horns.  Again, Mahler is being expository here, and this material reappears later in the movement in a drastically transformed body.

From this point, the tempo and scoring become faster and fuller, and by m. 114, the written tempo is Allegro energico, the tempo of the first movement.  The martial, mechanistic feel of that movement is carried forward here in a section that, if not quotation, is at least style-copy.

In m. 182, marked pesante, the low brass state a theme that begins with a decsending octave, here on A.  This theme reappears after both of the hammer blows, and as the dark coda, which would have followed the third hammer blow in Mahler’s sometime plan for this movment. 

Measure 228 sees the harmony move from D major to D minor, with both the descending octave idea and a texture that is reminiscent of the material in the first few measures of this movement.  This portion of the piece is developmental in nature, and as it builds to the first hammer blow (m. 336) the music becomes more an more rhythmically compelx, particularly around m. 290, where Mahler juxtaposes several divisions of the beat as the music leads to a cadence in G major in m. 296.

A trend that I have detected in Mahler’s work is a growing concern with counterpoint.  Almost nowhere in this movement does Mahler use a simple “melody with accompaniment” texture.  Whether imitation or inversion or augmentation, Mahler seems to have come to a more “crafty” approach to his art.  At the same time, Mahler’s counterpoint does not adhere strictly to the traditional “rules,” and dissonance is often freely introduced without preparation.   For an example of this tendency, see mm. 302ff, wherein a two-measure motive is passed around imitatively, often with strikingly dissonant results.

I find myself shorter on time than on ideas about this piece–again, I refer myself to my notes on it.  The last three canonical symphonies remain–I am undecided about the Tenth, Das Lied von der Erde or some of the other pieces I might work with.  The Seventh, Eighth and Ninth are enormous compositions with which I am somewhat less familiar with than the first six symphonies, and come December, I will have to see where my thinking about Mahler lies.  If I have learned what I need to from this master, I may move on (to what, I am not certain).

Schedule for the Seventh will be as follows:

  • July 1-12: Movement 1
  • July 13-24: Movement 2
  • July 25-August 5: Movement 3
  • August 6-17:  Movement 4
  • August 18-31:  Movement 5

Hope to have you with me!

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Mahler, Symphony No. 6, third movement

June 16th, 2010

Eric Knechtges, a colleague at Northern Kentucky University, recently sent out a survery to university composers.  One of the questions was,  “3) Any advice for potential composition students concerning the college application process, and/or constructing a portfolio?”

Here’s my answer:

In our portfolios, I like to see three compositions which demonstrate the student’s stylistic preferences, ability to pursue a project to completion, and interest in various media.  In general, it is not necessary to include a large-ensemble piece, especially if performance recordings are available of smaller-scale works.  MIDI realizations can do more harm than good.  I would rather hear or see short-to-medium length pieces that demonstrate technical mastery of compositional skills such as motivic development, phrase and phrase group organization, variation technique, harmonic and rhythmic coherence and ability to pursue an idea to its conclusion in a fully-formed piece (with beginning, middle and end).  Submitted scores should have a professional appearance, with attention to the details and standard practices of manuscript or digital score preparation–dynamics, tempi, articulation.  There should be a clear sense that I am not looking at a “first draft,” and that significant effort has been put into revision and the “polishing” phase of work.

Perhaps these are merely my personal prejudices (particularly about making a score look good), but some of these traits are evident to me in the great music of the past.  One of these, motivic development, is the main idea behind the third movement of Mahler’s Sixth, and I want to explore that today.

When I’m teaching basic composition to my students, I always stress economy of material, because emphasizing a single motive or a small group of motives throughout a piece builds unity while also providing opportunities for variety.  Unity is essential because it makes the piece sound like itself and not like a string of melodies or harmonies.  Variety, however, is very important in most styles, because very few listeners want to hear a great deal of exact repetition.

Mahler has set this movement in the key of E-flat major, a key that is somewhat removed from the symphony’s key of A minor.  On closer inspection, though, it is the relative major of the parallel minor of the relative major of the home key (a minor to C major to C minor to E-flat major), so there is a relation here, although it’s somewhat tenuous.

The music begins with a theme, stated in the violins, that introduces much of the material with which Mahler concerns himself throughout the movement.  As Russell Mikkelson frequently states, composers are like bad poker players, because they show you their cards at the beginning of each hand.  In addition to the head-motive of this theme, with its distinctive sol-mi-sol rising and falling sixth, there are motives in the second half of the first full measure (motive a, four eighth-notes, descending by third, then by seconds) and the second half of measure 3 (motive b, a written-out “turn”).  In measure 8, the oboe presents a final important motive, motive c, a figure which alternatively rises falls and rises, with sixteenth-notes on the second half of each beat to give the impression of hesitancy.

The a motive reappears in the violin melody in m. 13, first implying a IV triad, then a borrowed iv on its repetition.  Immediately thereafter, the c motive appears in the violins and woodwinds, again as part of the melody.  In m. 16, the a motive reverses its earlier trick, outlining iv and then IV (the entire passage is constructed over a tonic pedal point).   Measures 20-27 present a fascinating woodwind accompaniment texture, based on the c motive and its inversion.  The melody is assigned to the English horn, and begins in m. 22 with an inversion of the head-motive of the first theme–a falling and rising fifth instead of the sixth from before.  The key of g minor is suggested here, but it does not last, with a return to E-flat major in the next section of music, beginning in m. 28 with a horn melody that incorporates all the important motive material so far.  In m. 31, Mahler extends the dissonant Db5 in the solo horn by two beats, requiring a 2/4 bar (m. 34) to put the next cadence on the downbeat.

There follows a chromatic passage (mm. 36-41) that appears to lead toward C major, but then at the last moment returns to E-flat.  The next passage is based solely on the motives (a and c) from the first theme, with the c motive dominating the music in mm. 42-52, with a making its appearances in mm. 45-46, again highlighting an alternating major-minor chord.  While the overt major-triad-turning-minor motive that has characterized the previous movements of the symphony does not appear in this third movement, there seem to be more sublte, buried echoes of it in this particular use of the a motive, which occurs several times.

Measures 53-56 present a fascinating common-tone modulation, where the pitch G changes from mi in E-flat major to me in E minor.  First the c motive and then the a motive introduce the “second theme,” this time in the horn.  As this theme dissolves (it never really becomes a full-fledged theme, but its certainly too long to be simply a motive), Mahler begins to expand upon the a motive–first in the clarinets by inversion and rhythmic displacement, then in the bass instruments by expanding the third into a fourth, allowing two repetitions of the motive to cover an octave (in m. 65).  In mm. 68-70, a chromatic sequence that maintains the contour of the a motive is heard against the c motive (modified) in the trumpet and oboe.

In mm. 76-77, an almost Baroque-sounding descending-fifths sequence appears–extremely familiar in Common Practice styles, but realtively rare in Mahler, who simply doesn’t seem to have harmonic rhythms that move this quickly.  In the following measure (m. 78) is an early appearance (although not the first, but the first significant one) of the a motive transformed by both retrograde motion (the third at the end instead of the beginning) and the displacement of the third note up an octave, putting dramatic leaps of a seventh and a tenth into the texture.  The c and then the a motives pull the music to the next key, E major, at m. 84.

A note to my students, a spectacular example of the technique known as “horn fifths” appears in m. 85, introducing a trumpet melody that relies on the c motive.  It seems that the tendency is for the c motive to be spun out into some variation of the a motive at many points in this piece, such as in mm. 89-92.  In mm. 95-99, the c motive, and then the a motive create a monophonic modulation (based on the diminished seventh chord) to return to the main theme and the home key.

Measure 100 and the following passage suggest a recapitulation, but Mahler has other plans in mind.  The last chord in m. 114 acts as an augmented sixth chord which points to C major (an interesting use of the augmented sixth to point to a tonic function instead of the dominant, in this case to a key a minor third below the original key).  All three motives (a, b and c) appear in this C-major section, which ends in an unprepared modulation to A major  (mm. 124-145, again, down a minor third).  In this section, Mahler employs the a motive in the bass with the c motive in the horns against a violin melody that reaches higher and higher, to a C#7.  In m. 137, A major turns to A minor, without a key signature, as the oboe gives the “second theme” material. 

A slightly less abrupt key change leads to C-sharp minor in m. 146, as the full orchestra begins to enter with with climactic material based on the a motive (at first, to m. 156 or so), then on a chromatic version of the c  motive, this time in eighth notes instead of the alternating eighth-sixteenth-sixteenth-rest pattern.  By m. 160, the music has abated, leaving music in B major based on the b motive, followed by the c motive to set up an entrance of the a motive on the Neapolitan chord (C major, m. 164).  The major-minor motive is impled by the a motive in mm. 167-8, again extending the phrase by two beats, which are then rectified by the other 2/4 bar in the movement, m. 171.

The a motive takes over the texture in m. 173, as the music returns to E-flat.  Then in m. 176, the descending fifths sequence appears in a moment that is reminiscent of nearly every Hollywood love theme.  A note on the scoring here–one of the interlocking voices here is given to the 1st and 2nd violins, and the other to the violas with the oboes and clarinets, and the effect is very strong (of course, it seems to require seven woodwinds to allow the violas to balance.

The remainder of the movement is coda material, dependent mostly on the a motive and some of its modifications.  Mahler’s use of dynamics in m. 188 allows an effective color change, and there is an itneresting use of rhythmic augmentation of the a motive (with octave displacement, and modified to suggest harmonic closure) in the flute in m. 196ff.  Overall, the tautness of this piece seems to outdo everything Mahler has presented so far.  Despite the sprawling length and scoring of this symphony, the motivic clarity allows it to be highly managable in a way that hasn’t always been the case in these works.

On, then, to the highly-charged, tense finale.  I hope to be able to concentrate on aspects of compositional structure rather than any supposed autobiographical content (a study of how much of this is authentic and how much simply mythological would be very interesting; one day, I hope to tackle Henri-Louis de la Grange’s massive biography of Mahler.  Until then, my biographical understanding of these pieces comes largely from Kurt Blaukopf’s shorter work).

A final note, I’ve recently become aware of a similar project to my own, done much better, I must say, and by a composer of vastly greater experience than myself.  Anyone reading this blog should head over to YouTube to see Don Freund’s videos analyzing Book I of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier.  Great stuff!

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Mahler, Symphony No. 6, 2nd movement

June 1st, 2010

I keep thinking of non-Mahler topics I would like to tackle here, but things have been busy.  I have some time over the next few weeks, so perhaps they will pop up, but for now, here are some observations on the Scherzo from the Sixth Symphony.

The  first time I ever heard this piece, in April 1995, as performed by the Cincinnati Symphony, I heard the Scherzo as a sort of reimagining of the first movement.  I feel less and less that this is true, but the opening bars of each bear a striking similarity with their pedal A and melodic figures that rise toward the meat of the piece–a Schenkerian inital ascent, as it were.

What is really interesting about the first section of the Scherzo is that it seems to be related to a device that Mozart and Hadyn used from time to time in their menuetto movements–the spot that later composers used for the Scherzo.  In a few of their minuets, Mozart and Hadyn employ a strict canonic construction, and if Mahler’s use of canon isn’t strict, it is at least suggested–very clearly in places like mm. 7-9, in which motives are repeated directly, and in Mahler’s use of invertible counterpoint.  It is, really, the same old trick that Zarlino teaches–using invertible counterpoint, write two sections of music at the same time.  Again, Mahler isn’t strict, but his motivic choices allow him to layer and relayer his material.

Orchestrationally, there is a great deal of sort of “standard” writing, with mixed scoring that is effective, but not particularly colorful.  Lutoslawski, with his single movement symphonic plans, criticized the Romantic composers for making two large statements in their symphonies–typically the first and last movements.  He had Brahms in mind, but surely Mahler is no less guilty, if not more so.  In the Sixth, the last movement is by far the most significant, with the first movement probably next so, if not least for beign the most memorable.  Where, then, does that leave this piece, the middle child?

In constructing a piece of this length, is it possible to fully engage the audience for the complete duration of the symphony?  It is difficult to imagine the audience not becoming slightly fidgety at some point.   In Shakespeare, there is frequently a pause in the dramatic arc at the beginning of the last act–some ceremony, or comic relief.  In the same way, Mahler has moments of intense drama that are contrasted with moments of thoughtfulness and repose–even, moments that are simply “vamp” that have us waiting patiently for a scene change or to let us relax.  Is it lazy to think of Mahler in this way?  He was a man, not a god.

This movement spends a great deal of time on the subdominant of its various keys, for example, in m. 44ff.  There is also a fair amount of sequential motion, although generally up or down by second.  This aids in getting to more remote keys, as at m. 62, which sees a modulation to C-minor.

The concept of key is beginning to feel a little stretched in some places, as in the long “D-major” section beginning in m. 273, which never arrives at a tonic chord (although, characteristically for this movement, it lands on the subdominant in m. 299).  At the same time, there are more meter changes in this movement than in any of Mahler’s work so far.  While the outer sections are somewhat canonic in structure, the frequent meter changes disrupt this by throwing a simple-meter wrench into a compound-meter machine.

The major-minor motto of this piece makes its appearance at some of the crucial formal junctures, but most importantly in the coda, beginning at m. 419.  The harmony moves down by step, with AM-am, GM-gm, FM-fm in the trumpets and flutes.  The motto returns again in A, and is repeated several times against motivic material from this movement. 

Berlioz and Tchaikovsky brought such motives into their symphonic writing; in a way, Mahler’s concept of the symphony owes a great deal to Symphonie Fantastique.  Mahler has been self-referential before, but this is the first instance of a “motto” in any of his symphonies, and so there can be little wonder about the attachment of such importance to it by musicologists.  As a composer, though, I am more interested in the musical effect–what does the listener with no knowledge of Mahler’s biography or any explicit or implicit “program” to the symphony make of this device?  It is a unifying element, certainly, but its application seems slightly ham-handed at times.  The motive itself, as I mentioned in my previous post, is clear and direct, and distinctly unconventional–a relatively rare occurence in tonal music.  Could Mahler have dealt with it in a way that is not so obvious?

Another month with this symphony, then, so another month to ponder such questions.

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