Mahler, Symphony No. 3, 2nd movement

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.

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

Kevin Wale’s Senior Guitar Recital

November 21st, 2009

I wish that every music student I have ever had could have been in the audience at Centennial Theatre at OPSU tonight. Kevin Wale, a senior music major in guitar performance, gave a recital that, at least for our school, raises the bar.

My college girlfriend and I gave our senior recitals about a week apart in 1998, and my parents made it down for both. My mother, who has no formal musical training, hit the nail on the head when she said, “M. had to do a recital, but you got to do a recital.” She was right–I enjoyed every minute of it (although I’m not sure that my audience can say the same thing).

Tonight’s performance, though, is a model that all musicians can aspire to in one way or another. Kevin “got to” give a recital, and from start to finish, it was amazing.

To my current students: this is what happens when you work as hard as you should be working. I’m talking about the technique, the confidence, the joy and passion with which Kevin played, the variety of styles he tackled and the facility of execution. Kevin told me later he was nervous, but it didn’t come off that way, and I wouldn’t have expected it to. As my colleague Matt Howell was fond of saying, “Luck is when preparation meets opportunity.” The battle is not to the swift or to the strong, but to the well-prepared and the well-trained.

Again, to my students–you can do this. It won’t be easy, and it won’t always be fun. In fact, it mostly will not be fun. But like any discipline, practice becomes a habit, and soon you feel uncomfortable without it. You need to make practice familiar, until your instrument becomes as much under your control as a part of your body (or singers, bring your body so fully under your control that you no longer have to consciously control it).

Tonight, I saw a rock guitarist play twenty minutes of classical guitar. It wasn’t Segovia–only Segovia was Segovia–but it was well-practiced, conscientiously prepared, and played in a stylistically aware fashion. To my students–some music will take you out of your comfort zone. Indeed, you may never be comfortable with some music. A rock guitarist playing classical is like a sex change! But Kevin pulled it off, again, with confidence and aplomb, and he is now a better, more complete musician for it. College is about pushing boundaries and expanding ourselves to new and different areas of endeavor. Whether it is within music or not, you need to try things you might not otherwise try, meet people you might not otherwise meet and dare to see what’s out there. You will either reaffirm your understanding of the world or be forced to revise it, and either way, you will be a better, fuller human being for it.

Kevin could not have done tonight’s recital alone. He had a slate of collaborators of all types, but what they had in common was that they could support his work with their own. To my students–choose your coworkers wisely, and treat them with respect. You may think you are more talented than they are, or think you are giving them more than they are giving you, but in the end, we are not in this alone. “No man is an island,” in any sense of the word. But, too, don’t tolerate collaborators who are unreliable or uncommitted any more than absolutely necessary. You can’t build whatever it is you are trying to build when the people you work with are holding you down.

Something that has always impressed me about Kevin, and which was in evidence tonight, is his ability to step back and think about things in context and ponder deeply. “The unexamined life is not worth living,” and the same is true about music. Not a single piece of music was out of place, and each piece fit into a 90-minute tour of the guitar with Kevin Wale as tour guide. I instruct recitalists in our department to choose music of merit, whether it be for its significance in the repertoire of the instrument, or its degree of difficulty or its ability to showcase the performer’s talent. Kevin very much took this to heart for this recital, and added on top a layer of thoughtfulness in programming that made the audience a part of the recital as well.

So, to address my students one more time–don’t just practice to learn music, but to dig deeply enough into the music to learn how to live. These are the real virtues of an education, whether musical or otherwise, and be grateful that you have been granted the time and the opporunity to pursue them. Congratulations again, Kevin.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Closed

Bach, WTC I, Fugue in E minor

November 20th, 2009

This post is for a friend of mine, who is trying to perfect the art of wooing women using his music theory and analysis skills. In the manner of Cyrano de Bergerac, however, he needs a little assistance. But at least he doesn’t have a big nose.

My comments refer to the Kalmus edition of Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier, edited by Carl Czerny.  Not the best edition ever, but fairly readable, as they don’t try to cram too much onto a page like some older editions.  I trust it fairly implicitly.

This is the only two-voice fugue in either book of the WTC.  The structure is more reminiscent of a two-part invention than a fugue, but the line between these is somewhat blurry.  The subject has a strange chromatic feel to it following the rising arpeggio that forms the head motive.  It modulates–once the subject has been played, the music is not in the same key it was when the subject began–the subject always ends on v of the key in which it began.  The first entry of the subject takes the piece from E minor to B minor (note D natural, not D sharp on the downbeat of measure 3).  The answer begins immediately, as expected.  This is a real answer, with the exception of the last note–where the subject always ends with a descending whole-step, the answer always ends with a descending half-step, meaning that after the answer, we may remain in the same key.  The half-step allows the subject to end on V (of the answer) rather than some temporary i.  Measures 1-4 are the first exposition.  A final feature of note is the material beginning on beat 2 of m. 3 in the soprano voice, which represents recurring contrapuntal material and accompanies every subsequent entry of either subject or answer.

The first episode lasts from m. 5 to m. 10, and consists of a descending-fifths sequence, with Bach’s very typical alternation of material between hands, until m. 10, when the sequence breaks down in order to tonicize the next key area, G major.  Between measures 10 and 11, there is almost a cadence–we are denied the stereotypical Baroque cadential 6-4 pattern, but harmonically, most of the pieces are there.  In particular, the last beat of measure 10 is very typical of the approach to a cadence, but the next passage begins on a first inversion chord (because the subject begins on the root of the chord and enters in the soprano). 

The second exposition lasts from m. 11 to m. 14 and presents subject and answer in G major, with both accompanied by the countersubject introduced in mm. 3-4.  This is an excellent example of Bachian use of invertible counterpoint, as the countersubject “works” either above or below the subject or answer.

Measures 15-19 constitute the second episode, again, a falling-fifths sequence until m. 19, which introduces the dominant of the next key area.  Measure 19 is also notable for the use of both hands in octaves, a practice not often seen in Bach.  Bach again uses inversion in this episode–note the alternating first-inversion and root position chords.

The third exposition is in measures 20-23.  This is the first time that the subject and answer have switch places, so that the subject appears in the bass and the answer appears in the soprano.  This exposition is in the key of a minor.  Because the subject always moves to v, the answer is in e minor, ending on V (B major).

The third episode lasts from measure 24 to measure 29.  The first four of these bars are measures 5-9 in inversion, another example of invertible counterpoint.  Like the first episode, they constitute a descending-fifths sequence.  The parallel construction would seem to suggest that C major be the next key area, but this is prevented by a minor change in m. 29.  Between the second and third sixteenth-note of the run in thirds here (inversion of the run in sixths from m. 10), Bach leaps up by a fourth instead of a third, then continues a step higher to tonicize D minor instead of C major.  Like its counterpart, m. 29 is almost a cadence.

D minor is not a closely-related key to E minor, and our arrival here requires explanation; D major or C major would be more harmonically typical.  I would suggest that, given the tight construction of this piece, Bach wished to continue in this manner.  If Bach had continued to C major, as the parallel construction would suggest, he would have found himself nearing the end of the fugue in a poor situation.  To continue the parallelism from C major, would require a move to D minor (following pattern of the second and third expositions in G major and A minor, respectively).  He finds himself moving further and further from home, when it is now necessary to head back toward the tonic.  Thus, C major was not an acceptable choice for the next exposition, as it leads away from rather than back to the home key.  D major, on the other hand, would require an answer in A major, similarly leading away from the home key.  However, since the subject modulates to its own v, a subject in D minor leads to an answer in A minor, the iv chord of the piece.  Thus, by stepping out of the key, Bach brings us back to the key.  This odd entrance of the subject (m. 30) is necessitated by the modulating properties of the subject itself, and the exposition leaves us in a very good position to end the piece.

The final episode, mm. 34-38, is an inverted version of mm. 15-19, complete with the hands in octaves (m. 38).

In m. 39, Bach uses the head motive and the characteristic “bariolage” section of the subject to suggest stretto.  Since neither the subject nor the medium of two-voice fugue are really well-suited to stretto, he reverts to the format of the two-part invention and merely reminds us of the subject.  The only true cadence in the piece occurs in the last measure.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Closed

Mahler, Symphony No. 2, 5th movement

November 1st, 2009

Well… two symphonies down, seven to go (unless I decide to add Das Lied von der Erde and the Tenth Symphony… still open for discussion).  Schedule for Symphony No. 3 will be as below:

  • First movement–November 1-15
  • Second movement–November 16-25
  • Third movement–November 25-December 5
  • Fourth movement–December 5-12
  • Fifth movement–Decmeber 12-19
  • Sixth movement–Decemeber 20-31

The Third is a larger piece still than the Second, and we’re coming up on some busy weeks, so we’ll see what actually happens.

To the question at hand, though:

It has been very difficult for me to examine the last movement of this piece objectively, because in listening to it, one is constantly overwhelmed by the grandeur and majesty of the piece.  I feel compelled to compare this movement to the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.

The similarities are quite striking, beginning with the opening of each piece, in both cases a titanic explosion of sound, making full use of the instrumental forces available to the respective composers.  As is beginning to become clear, a trick Mahler uses is to bring back opening material verbatim after a fairly significant development.  This is in evidence here as well, as this material will return, albeit in a slightly different form, more on which later.

One of the salient features of the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth is the catalog or audition section, in which moments from each of the preceding movements are incorporated between recitative-like material from the double basses.  Mahler does not exactly parallel this, but there is material that resembles much of what has come before.  Indeed, a chorale from the opening movement reappears in a meaningful way, and much of the material of the symphony thus far seems to be related to the “Aufersteh’n” melody that forms the spiritual and musical heart of this finale, much as Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” melody is the core of his piece.  Almost immediately after the opening statement, at m. 31, a bass line appears in the cellos and basses that cannot help but recall the scherzo’s moto perpetuo.

As sprawling as this piece is, there is also a tightness to the writing that is integral to its holding together and ability to hold the listener’s attention.  Nearly every theme begins or ends with a rising fifth or a falling fourth, or incorporates this interval significantly.  The two chorale tunes–the “Aufersteh’n” melody and the tune introduced in the first movement–have head motives that are related by inversion.

Measure 62 sees the first entrance of these two chorales in this movement.  They are not in their final form, as though they await perfection, or, perhaps, they are in a state of pre-development.  Mahler hints at this material and dances around it before a full presentation of it (mm. 62-96 are parallel to the more solidified and then more triumphant presentation of the same material beginning with the trombone chorale in m. 143).

This is another Mahler trick–transforming material through orchestration.  I continue to marvel at the masterful approach to orchestration in this piece–the doubling, the clear string writing, the use of just the right parts of a massive orchestra.  It is even as though Mahler knew that certain principal players would be tired in certain places, and allocated parts accordingly to have fresh performers available (this happens frequently in the brass).

The above-mentioned chorale at mm. 143ff is probably the first passage that pricked my ears many years ago.  Trombones, tuba and contrabassoon, and later the rest of the brass, present both chorale tunes.  The first is in Db major, and the second moves from Db major to C major, the overall key of the movement (like Beethoven’s Fifth, although the key of the piece is C minor, the last movement is in the major mode).  Instead of being blended with other ideas, the chorale tunes are finally exposed, naked, without distractions, and we are forced to consider the basic material of the movement–or even of the symphony–in isolation.  If it is true, as Russel Mikkelson has commented, that composers are bad poker players, here is Mahler’s tell, and he shows us all the cards.

The following sections relate to Beethoven’s Ninth in that they are variations on the “Aufersteh’n” chorale.  Measure 220 begins a march-like section.  A difference from Beethoven, though, is there is no hint of parody, as in the Turkish march found most of the way through the last movement of the Ninth.  This music builds to m. 310. 

Again, a reference to martial music–instead of Beethoven’s Janissary orchestra, we have essentially an offstage banda.  Mahler, the opera conductor, seems to have borrowed this from Italian opera… anyone aware of any evidence for this?  And the percussion is essentially Janissary percussion.

Measure 380 sees another theme–only appears once in the piece, but is highly memorable, and then the opening material returns, but this time in 2/2 instead of 3/8 (with some parts in 2/4).  The music quiets itself to a return of what had been a short horn solo before–now a longer, more extensive passage that alternates offstage fanfares  with birdsong material.  The music is now centered on C#/Db.  Mahler frequently seems to make this harmonic move.

At m. 472, the “Aufersteh’n” chorale makes its fourth appearance, as the full chorus enters for the first time.  For the first time, the chorale is complete–the material on the text “Unsterblich Leben” is new to the listener.  Measure 493 is a parallel passage to earlier music–a total of three times these two passages have been paired.

What follows is a cantata, a meditation on death and resurrection.  It is, as I mentioned above, difficult to put into words.  “Bereite dich zu leben!”–Prepare yourself to live.  “Sterben werd’ ich, um to leben!”–I shall die so as to live!  The sentiment is matched in beauty by the music.  A favorite moment of mine is the entrance of the organ at m. 712 (I don’t think I’m alone in this).

In the end, the music is transcendant.  I was discussing Orff’s Carmina Burana with a student a few days ago.  There is wonderful music in that piece, and its popularity is deserved, but it pales in comparison to Mahler’s work.  In a hundred years, which will survive?  I think Mahler appeals to the human need to believe that there is more than this world, that there is something better than earthly struggles.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Closed

Mahler, Symphony No. 2, Movements 3 & 4

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

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

Progress on “Progress”

September 23rd, 2009

We’ve been in rehearsals the last month for “Progress Through Knowledge,” my new band-with-choir piece written for the Centennial of Oklahoma Panhandle State University. I’ve been increasingly gratified with how the piece is coming together, and I’m excited about the premiere on October 8. As I wrote the piece over the summer, not knowing exactly how the two groups would come together, I agonized over the scoring, particularly in its thickness. We’ve made a few changes to the piece as the result of hearing it in the hall, but only in scoring, and generally thinning out, not adding. The real test will come a week from Monday, when the two groups come together.
I never seem to tire of this process. The real payoff is seeming a piece come to life for the first time, helping the performers to realize my vision. I’ve said before that “Music is about people,” and over the last few weeks, I’ve come to see that I still believe this. How does one apply this in the more routine situations we face as musicians and as teachers? Simply, I think it means that in music theory class, we never present only facts… we must remember that a scale or a chord progression has an emotional, human impact on the listener. We must link what we want to know about music to who we are as human beings. It is not simply enough, as I tell my students, to know that a major second comprises two half-steps, but rather we must make the major second a part of our experience… not just understand it, but breathe it, live it. Getting my students to really do this has to be my job, at least in first-year theory. An appealing approach in this regard is found in the book “Harmonic Experience” by W. Mathieu… some of his conclusions are off, but his approach–rooted in Eastern tradition–can’t be denied.
Somewhat of a ramble, but there it is…

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Closed

Mahler, Symphony No. 2, First Movement

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

Mahler, Symphony No. 1, 4th movement

August 29th, 2009

When I was in high school, WOSU-FM, the classical radio station in Columbus, used to broadcast symphony orchestra concerts on weeknight evenings.  One night, slaving away on homework, I heard an incredible sound pouring forth from the speakers of my radio.  I hadn’t realized that such music was possible, and I wasn’t sure what to think.  It was unfamiliar to me, and I remember trying to puzzle out who the composer might be.  After a thunderous ending, applause erupted, and the announcer explained than Daniel Barenboim had led the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 1.  I had heard the music I now write about.

As an experiment, largely hypothetical, I trolled some orchestra websites to see whether, in the next  year or so, I would be able to see in concert, in America, the Mahler symphonies I have yet to hear in live performance, the Seventh, Eighth and Ninth (the answer, financial considerations aside, would appear to be “no”).  What I did find was that the First Symphony is by far the most commonly performed of Mahler’s work in this country.

Why might this be?  Its size, perhaps.  It is Mahler that still fits the second half of a program rather than taking an entire concert by itself.  It requires no voices, yet still has the grand sonorities and climatic utterances that thrill audiences.  It is, in a way, Mahler without the difficulties of Mahler.  Orchestras that would never consider the Sixth or the Seventh happily program the First.

To the movement at hand.  I have a feeling that the opening sonorities–a cymbal crash, followed by a diminished seventh chord scored piercingly in the winds, with a low bang in the timpani and strings–has been shocking audience members out of their slow-movement-reveries since the premiere.  The upper strings answer with a rhythmically treacherous lick from high to low and back, so that the brass can introduce a motive that appears throughout the movement, answered duly by sinister descending chromatic triplets.  Two more times, taking longer each time, the upper strings give this cadenza-like material, each time becoming more winded.  It is the bass solo from Beethoven’s Ninth gone horribly wrong, or inverted.  My Forms students could cite this as an example of phrase extension by interpolation.  The final violin soliloquy overlaps the winds’ chromatic motives and leads to the countermelody at rehearsal 6, the entrance of the main theme for this movement (do-re-fa-sol).

Despite the sprawling, multi-faceted nature of this movement, like any good Austro-German composer, Mahler is sparing in his use of motivic material.  The other important motives in the material introduced in this (for Bernstein) twenty-minute span are all derived from the theme at rehearsal 6, either by inversion or by multiple transformations.  At rehersal 8, where Bernstein slows the tempo despite no indication for it, we reach a developmental section (rehearsal 9 instructs “zuruckhalten” or roughly, “ritard,” however).

The music so far has been in the rather remote key of F minor; Mahler touched on this key in earlier movements, but never dignifying it with a key signature.  This third-relationship between keys is something to look for in Mahler’s subsequent work.  The inclusion of “Blumine,” by the way, brings yet another key center to the piece (C major).  Perhaps we see another possible reason for its eventual omission.

The melody at rehersal 11 is related to the rehearsal 6 motive by inversion (although not precise).  Measure 149 begins a fascinating transitional section–as though the movement has run out of steam, but for a few last gasps.  One wonders more about Mahler’s program for this piece.  We relax into the still-more-remote key of D-flat major.  A brilliant orchestrational moment at rehearsal 17 sees the oboe taking over the melody from the strings, which step into the middleground, only to step back a few measures later.  The handoff here is sublime.

Rehearsal 18-19 is a study in effective string doubling, with the violas saving the day (with this and another passage down the road, I think the violas here demonstrate their usefulness and become the orchestrational heroes of the piece).

At rehearsal 21, Mahler begins to bring back large swathes of material from the first movement, beginning with the spooky chromatic melody from rehearsal 3 in that movement.  Almost a third of this movement is material recalled from the first movement, making this piece cyclical in a way that dwarves the use of motto themes by Berlioz and Tchaikovsky.  Over the next few decades, some last movements become recapitulations in their own right–the first examples I can think of are Janacek’s Sinfonietta and Orff’s Carmina Burana.  In both these cases, the first movement isn’t merely repeated, but augmented, and it seems possible that this movement was the inspiration.

Note the fantastic dovetailing at rehearsal 24.  This is the kind of technique that makes this piece treacherous for the less-experienced player.

At rehearsal 26, the music presents a tiny chorale for trumpets and trombones in C major, and then continues in C major.  This chorale returns on two other occasions, more forcefully each time, and also moving the music into D major, the key of the symphony. 

Between the second and third “attempts” to bring the movement to an end, another large chunk of the first movement reappears–the portion that leads to the climax of that movement.  Perhaps the most memorable moment in the first movement is the tutti fanfare, and that is what is brought back here.  Instead of the rousing horn melody from the first movement, we are given the brass chorale, fully-voiced and leading us to the home stretch.  The music stays firmly in D major this time, and we are brought to the triumpant conclusion.  Compositionally, there is more repetition here than I would consider appropriate, but it has been, afterall, nearly an hour since we started into Mahler’s paracosm.

Strangely enough, while as a teenaged I at first was thrilled by the bigness of this ending, I now find the little moments most fascinating–I leave you with two of them.  The measure before rehearsal 40 gives us a preview of coming attractions–a string moment that sounds like it stepped out of Copland’s Appalachian Spring.  Then, before rehearsal 45, the violas, my heroes for this movement, lead a transition to the final energetic music that is just perfect.

So–on to another, much bigger piece this month.  I am gratified that I have demonstrated that I can pull ideas and compositional techniques from a piece on this scale.  With one exception, they only get bigger from here, but I entreat all of you to come with me on this trip.  Now, for two months of the Second, beginning, as Mahler said, with the Titan’s funeral march.

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

« Older Entries
Newer Entries »