Mahler: Symphony No. 1, third movement

August 15th, 2009

Mahler’s original title for this movement (before he dropped the programmatic titles in favor of tempo descriptions) was “Funeral March After Caillot,” in apparent reference to a satirical painting of a hunter being brought out of the woods on a funeral beir by forest animals.   Does anyone have an image of this painting?  Apparently it was reproduced quite frequently in 19th-century Europe.

To the music, and what I’ve been able to pull from it.  The name of the game in this movement is pedal point, along with the use of very slow harmonic rhythm in general.  There are only a few phrases in the entire ten minute duration that act as functional harmony.

The most famous aspect of this piece is the 4-part canon on a melody that most American’s would think of as Frere Jacques in a minor key; Mahler probably knew it as Bruder Martin, a mere translation (I’ll never forget Mrs. Worth teaching us the German words in third grade general music).  Although the can0nic technique is obvious, Mahler never treats it the way most young composers (including myself at one point with a different melody in the same key) would if they were writing such a piece.  The bassoon doesn’t wait on the bass to present the entire melody, instead jumping in two measures early.  After two measures of bassoons, the ‘celli enter, just after the bass finishes, but it is then another four bars before the third part, the tuba, enters.  This is a skillful use of canonic technique that seems to underscore the surreal nature of the movement–a children’s song turned into a dirge, the hunter borne by the hunted.

A note on the bass solo–perhaps a bassist can clue us in–is Mahler’s bowing (one bow per measure) the accepted bowing for performance?  It doesn’t seem to be what the bassist on my recording (Bernstein with Amsterdam) is doing…

This d-minor section gives us about two minutes on basically one chord.  The interest lies in the clear use of canon, and perhaps in Mahler’s deviation from a completely strict manner of bringing the voices in.  Note the very interesting doubling of horns and harp from m. 29.

More surrealism follows–Mit Parodie–as a klezmer band interrupts the funeral march, in a different key.  The effect is nearly Ivesian, and has antecedents in opera at least back to Mozart (the party scene in Don Giovanni).  We are meant to feel the same sort of rustic or amateurish (in the modern denigrating sense) notion as Mahler gives us in the second movement, and it is interesting to note the hypermetrical shift at measure 50, where a melody that began with the measure now begins in the middle of the measure.  

After this interlude, the canon theme returns (m. 71), but not in its entirety.  This sumary technique is something to look for as we progress through Mahler’s works.  It brings coherence and clarity to the formal structure, along with a sense of closure, but does not overburden the piece in the way that a complete repeat would. 

At more or less the half-way point of the movement, then, comes a contrasting section in G major.  The material has motivic similarities to the first theme, and a very pastoral, blissful feel, all over a G-major pedal point (is pedal point a cue for pastoral settings in other music?).  The music suggests not merely simplicity now, but an idyllic, serene moment.  There is wonderful scoring here–notice the switch from muted 2nd violins to unmuted 1sts at measure 101, for example.  A very telling timbral change at the highlight of a line.

Mahler’s counterpoint is very interesting.  Voices involved in counterpoint are rarely as independent as one would find in a more deliberately contrapuntal texture (a fugato section in a Beethoven development, perhaps).  An example is m. 95, where the violins and oboe engage in a sort of heterophony, and the more complex violin parts reinforce the main melody in the oboe.

This section ends with a fantastic transition to G-minor that darkens the mood.  (A great effect with horns, harp, pizzicato bass and pp percussion in mm. 109-110, by the way).  Instead of returning to D-minor by the same common-tone modulation, we get a direct remote modulation to E-flat minor, and again a summary of the opening section (the initial two minutes of canon is here compressed to about a minute).

Measures 135-137 are an orchestration lesson in themselves.  While the first violins play a line col legno that modulates down a half-step to the home key, the woodwinds (and stopped horns) double that line in an intriguing pontilistic texture.  I need a trumpet player to enlighten me on how you would deal with the instruction gestopft, however… simply use a mute?  Very intersting measures.

As the music accelerates, we get a final complete presentation of the Bruder Martin theme in bassoons, horns and harp.  This is partnered with another klezmer melody.  The D pedal point that begins here is maintained for the remainder of the movement, with the exception of a single measure of F-major (m. 145).  My theory students should take note–the III here is not a functional chord, but a neighbor to the i on either side.  Again, Mahler is not adhering to what we would expect him to do with the theme, for the sake of taste (break up the monotony a little) and mood (the absurdity is heightened). 

One final orchestrational gem–in m. 158, the countermelody to Bruder Martin, begins in the bassoon only to be tantalizingly torn apart two measures later.

A brief note–through Interlibrary Loan, I was able to get my hands on the score to the “lost” movement, Blumine.  This movement deserves a look, if only to figure out why Mahler might have discarded it after two performances.  As my doctoral research dealt with a similar situation, I have an interest in Mahler’s reasoning here.  Look for a post on Blumine in the next few days.  Then, on to the Finale!

Symphony No. 1, 2nd movement

July 25th, 2009

I’ve long felt that a hallmark of the German symphonic tradition, beginning with Haydn and Mozart, is a degree of equality between the wind and string sections of the orchestra.  I cannot imagine writing an orchestral piece of any size that doesn’t exploit this split of the orchestra into two relatively equal (in terms of power) groupings.  It isn’t that Austro-German composers never use mixed scoring, it’s just that they seem to prefer block approaches.  This is quite apparent in in Mahler’s second movement here, which fills the role of the scherzo and trio.

The first presentation of the melody (A major), after a rollicking string introduction, is in the winds accompanied by strings.  After a transition, the melody appears a second time in the strings, with the winds as accompaniment.  A second theme then, first in the dominant (E major), then in D major.  The infamous Mahler instruction, “Schalltrichter auf!” makes its appearance.  It makes the oboes and clarinets raucous, and the horns, although stopped (gestopft) more cutting. 

In m. 56 we see a two-sixteenths-eighth rhythm against triplets–again, the roughness that results is part of the charm of this movement.

Rehearsal 11, m. 108 brings the scherzo back to the original key with an interesting “winding down” effect, as though Mahler were imitating a wind-up record player, though I wonder if he had heard such a thing.  Direct repetition, with slight changes in scoring, and then we come to the Trio, in F major, by a common tone modulation (do in A becomes mi in F).

The trio theme is derived from the scherzo theme.  Again, the wonderful economy of material we heard in the first movement.  Then through G major to C major, and a second common-tone modulation to return to the home key (mi in C becomes sol in A). 

The return of the trio material demonstrates, I think, Mahler’s reason for using seven horns in this piece.  If strings and woodwinds constitute two roughly equal groupings, seven horns bring into the realm of possibility a third group, and we see it here at rehearsal 26, where the scherzo melody returns in the horns instead of the woodwinds.  This recapitulation is dominated by the massed horn sound that creates thrilling moments whenever it appears.

The heavy brass is still not used in an independent way, as a massed choir, but does provide a fourth group that could balance the other three; later composers (led by Mahler) would find that percussion could provide a fifth such group.

As is typical of the late Romantics, the return of the Scherzo is shorter than its first appearance, but more intense, mostly through scoring.

What can this movement tell us about larger forms?  It is one of the shortest in Mahler’s symphonies, and built mostly through repetition of swathes of material, not through development–on the whole, quite typical of the designs of minuets, and later scherzi, in German music.  The transition back to the tonic in the first scherzo is wonderful–we can all learn from its simplicity, its humor, its effectiveness.  Building a form not through outright repetition but by changing scoring is a useful device, one I have used.

The introduction of the horns as a “third section” is intriguing as well.  I find that I tend more toward block scoring than mixed in my own writing as well, but it seems more appropriate in the context of this dance movement than it did in the first movement, which is much more developmental in nature.  Does anyone know if Mahler is the first composer to call for massed horns in a symphony?  We see eight horns (if you include the Wagner tubas) in Wagner, of course… but in symphonic writing?

Symphony No. 1, first movement

July 16th, 2009

Since there are four movements in Mahler’s first symphony, I’m giving myself about two weeks on each one.  Truthfully, I’ve been working on the first movement and the scherzo over the last couple of weeks, and I’ll keep coming back to this movement, but I want to get some of my thoughts down right now.

The opening sonority seems to always elicit comments, because it’s just reall interesting–every A on the piano in the strings, mostly using harmonics.  Myorchestration students will be flustered to know that Mahler simply indicates that the notes are to be played as harmonics and lets the players figure out how to produce them.  For shame!   Although, they are all octaves of open strings, so it isn’t as crucial, I suppose.

Then, this falling fourth motive–many of the themes in this movement begin with the falling fourth, and it is like Mahler from the beginning is telling us what to expect in this movement.  The beginning evokes night to me–especially night in August when the cicadas are out making lots of noise.  To what extent is this about a day in the life of the artist?  The fourths become a chain of notes–in bassoons and oboes in m. 7.  The first time, this theme is presented, the double reeds hold the penultimate note, Bb over the multi-octave A while the clarinets give a distant fanfare.  By measure 13, when the Bb resolves deceptively to B-natural, Mahler has given us the bulk of the material he uses in this movement. 

Dr. Russel Mikkelson, the director of bands at Ohio State, likes to say that composers are like bad poker players in that they show us their cards at the beginning of each hand.  I would amend that by saying that *good* composers do this. 

The second statement of the falling fourth theme goes directly to its goal–the A.  Fantastic orchestration–piccolo, oboe, English horn and bass clarinet give a very interesting four-octave spread.

The offstage trumpets bring the fanfare closer–over the next few pages, the movement gathers steam–cavalry fanfares and cuckoo calls.  The falling fourths theme begins to metastasize, virtually falling all over itself beginning in m. 49.  As we begin to gather strength for the “Hauptzeitmass” (principal tempo), a snaky, chromatic line in the cellos and basses pull the pitch center from A (the dominant) toward D, the tonic key of the piece.

I am amazed at how much of this movement emphasizes the key of A.  I haven’t done a measure-by-measure census, but it feels as though there is more music in A than in D.  Is this harmonic scheme part of what allows Mahler to write a larger scale piece?  When you write in the tonic, you can end at any time, because you are home, but in the dominant, you are always having to get home.

I’m beginning to get a feel for Mahler’s use of repetition as well.  The melody that begins at m. 62 (just before the repeat sign) appears in more or less complete form eight times before the end of the repeated section.

I’ve been struggling to deal with the large repeat here as well.  It performs much the same function as the first division in a binary movement–introduces the tonic key (which we haven’t yet heard), and moves to the dominant (which we’ve heard a lot).  I think I’ve decided that it does a great deal to balance the movement.  Mahler isn’t a composer we associate with formal balance the way we do, say, Hadyn, but I have no doubt that “successful project” (Persichetti’s phrase) has a great deal to do with balance.  In order to balance the fairly extended opening, Mahler needs a fairly long fast section at this point.  However, given the development that is to come, it would be a mistake to simply present theme after theme at the outset.

Fantastic orchestrational moments:

  • the bass clarinet counterline against the first presentation of the song theme (m. 64ff)
  • the very cool unison E5s in measure 88-90 in cello harmonics, harp and solo oboe.  What an amazing effect!
  • the momentary parallel fourths between violins, flute and oboe in measure 98

The developmental section after the repeat is back in the slow tempo (beginning m. 163).  The flute echoes a motive pulled from the song theme, in the manner of yet another bird call. (Messiaen was not the first composer to listen to birds!).  A lovely transition to F major, brought about by the ‘cellos use of a cell from the main theme, first using F# (m. 170), then F-natural ((m. 176).  The octave-As from the beginning are shown to be a common tone to the new key.

Then–I love the use of the lowest strings of the harp in m. 189–I’ve borrowed this effect in my own music.  The horns have a melancholy little tune in D minor, which sets up a return to the home key, although the bass remains F-natural.  The return to D-major is accomplished by an inverted augmented sixth chord, which makes the D-major horn call at 207 that much fresher.  Again, we see a fourth, only this time rising instead of falling.

D-major leads to A major (m. 227), then C# (later enharmonically spelled as Db, at m.243).  Harmonically, this is a development section, but there is also much non-developmental activity–repetition and exposition of new themes.  In addition, we keep expecting the “song theme” from the repeated section, but it keeps getting put off. 

I keep wanting to think that this is a sonata-form movement, but I just can’t find the evidence.  I would like to suggest that there is a sonata principle at work here, but that Mahler has left sonata form behind.  Any takers?

The song theme finally reappears at m. 283.  There is a sort of recapitulation happening, but not in the right key (we are still in F major!).  Nonetheless, one by one, the themes come back, and even the keys.

The climax gives us first the fanfare material and then a glorious forte version of the D major horn melody, both in their original keys.  The crescendo into this moment reminds me greatly of what Beethoven would write just before the triumphant return of the main theme.  However–the preparatory material is tonally ambiguous, instead of the “standing on the dominant” that typically ends Beethoven’s sonata forms.  The fanfare material is in D, but over the octave As again. 

It is as though the movement has come full circle–the fourths motive has carried us through, and the remainder of the piece is a final reminder of the song theme.  The ending always feels abrupt, but of course there is plenty more to come.

July Fourth Thoughts

July 4th, 2009

It looked to be a fairly slow 4th of July around here, since Becky is back in Ohio, and we aren’t even allowed to grill out at our apartment complex.  I’m not a big fan of blowing my fingers off, so that pretty much leaves out the other favorite activity here in Guymon, setting off fireworks.  That seems to happen to me a lot.  Since high school, when I would march with the band in the morning and work at the band concession stand in the evening, I’ve had to work, or had other commitments.  My last year living in Elyria, I was working eight hour days in my apartment on a freelance arranging project that ended up paying for Becky’s and my honeymoon.  I did pull a chair over to the fourth floor window and watched the local fireworks display.  This year, I can hear them, but I can’t see them.  The first time I ever heard Ives’ Variations on America  was on the way home from work at midnight on July 3/4 on the radio.  A life-changing experience.

This year, I heard that former President George W. Bush was going to be speaking in Woodward, the closest town of any size that is still in Oklahoma.  The drive is 120 miles through the Panhandle–land that was mostly once part of the Dust Bowl and still hasn’t been much developed (not that that’s a bad thing).  The road is straight as an arrow, and I’ve done the drive several times–it’s the best way to get to Oklahoma City from where we are.

At any rate, somehow, Woodward, Oklahoma was able to get Dub-ya to come speak at their July 4th festival, Let Freedom Ring.  According to NPR, they were expecting the largest crowd since he left office.  His speech was nothing spectacular.  For a while at the beginning, I thought he was just going to do “material” a la Jerry Seinfeld for forty minutes, but he did get down to business after a while with a decent message about patriotism being something we can all take on.  He seemed more relaxed, at ease and, dare I say, happier than I’ve heard him sound in the last eight years, which is to be expected.  He spoke with a “just-folks” mannerism that the “just-folks” in Woodward loved.  I really think the arena was filled with the kind of people that keep him living in Texas.  No foundation office in New York for him.  Still, If he hadn’t been a former president, the highlight would have been the 77th US Army Band from Fort Sill.  I could have stayed for country music and fireworks, but the drive home loomed ahead.

But he is a former president.  So I think that’s why I drove 240 miles today.  Because in the United States of America, you can hear a former president speak.  In a monarchy, there are no former kings, and in a dictatorship there are no former dictators.  Every four or eight years we simply hand power to another person without civil war or executions or “disappearances.”  A former president goes back to private life and does private things.  Presidents Clinton and Carter have tried to leverage their post-presidency appeal with interesting results in one case and Nobel Prize-winning results in another.  Others have simply gone into quiet retirement–Nixon, Ford, Reagan–for personal (or not so personal) reasons.  One likes to jump out of airplanes on his birthday (Bush, Sr.).

But the beauty is that, like George Washington, they leave power behind, and no one has to look over their shoulder wondering if a former president is going to try to come back using elements of the government that have remained loyal.  And no former president has to look over his shoulder for a government assassin.  And I, a person who, admittedly, doesn’t really see eye-to-eye with much about his administration, can go hear the man speak without fear of retribution (except funny looks from people who don’t understand why I would want to go hear the man speak).

So in my own (admittedly, strange) way, it was a very interesting and unique way to observe Independence Day.  There have only been six American presidents during my life, and now I’ve been able to hear two of them speak live (I’ll never get to 100% on that score, since I missed Reagan).  One (Clinton) was at a giant stadium with 50,000 or so people who just wanted him to finish so they could get their diplomas.  And today, I think most of those people were glad to see the former president.  Some of that is politics, and some of it is culture.  I would like to think that any former president would get a similar response in this part of the world.  Perhaps that is naive.  Perhaps it’s part of what makes our country a good place–not perfect, but a fair deal better than a lot of other places.

From Beethoven to Mahler

July 1st, 2009

It’s the new fiscal year in many states, as I was reminded on NPR this morning.  It’s a big day for me in my intellectual life, too.  I have completed my survey of Beethoven’s piano sonatas, and have moved on to the nine Mahler Symphonies.  Hopefully, at least a few people will be taking this journey with me, one symphony every two months, from now until the end of 2010.  I’m writing these entries on my blog, www.martiandances.com/blog, but I’ve also fed the blog to Facebook, where it will appear as a “Note.”  Feel free to comment on either location, although since I’m in charge of the blog, and Facebook is in charge of Facebook…

I dropped my wife off at the airport today, which meant a two-hour drive home from Amarillo by myself.  As I pulled out of town, I dropped my reference recording of Mahler’s Symphony No. 1 (Bernstein with Amsterdam) into the CD player, and I got to thinking about some of the differences between Beethoven and Mahler.

Of course, there is more than half a century between Beethoven’s last sonata (Op. 111 from 1822) and Mahler’s first complete symphony (finished in 1888).  In that period are Schumann, Chopin, Mendelssohn (and his Bach revival), Smetana and the first round of nationalists, Liszt, most of Brahms and (the big one, at least in my received wisdom) Wagner.  I think it might be safe to say that for Mahler, the two most influential figures are Beethoven, the first composer for whom a symphony was always a major artistic statement, and Wagner.

Charles Rosen suggests that the Classical style was informed, at its root, by the dramatic and comic developments in operatic music.  It seems quite possible to me that for Mahler, who earned his daily bread conducting opera, not symphonic music, that we must look in many ways to the developments in opera by Weber (whose final opera Die Feen (or is it Der Drei Pintos?  help!) Mahler attemped to complete) and Wagner (whose operas Mahler helped to introduce in Vienna and which he guarded jealously from his assistant conductors throughout his career).

I’m particularly interested in how Mahler creates the scale of these works.  As a composer, I don’t feel confident about writing long movements, and I want to develop this ability.  Some observations based on my re-hearing of the “Titan:”

  • Mahler sometimes employs sectional forms, which allows (nay, demands) the repetition of vast swathes of music.  The second and third movements of the present piece are indicative of this.
  • Where Beethoven is more prone to repetition (and sequential writing) on the motivic level, Mahler seems more likely to repeat thematically.  Again, repeating long(er) passages is the result.  By comparison, my music repeats much less frequently than either of these two composers, although much more often than, say, Schoenberg in his Erwartung period.  The trick isn’t repetition–it is meaningful repetition.
  • In general, Mahler’s music is much more melody-driven than Beethoven’s (and mine).  This will be an excellent study for me, as it will give me a chance to see whether in the face of additional evidence I still truly believe that rhythm is of greater importance than melody or harmony.
  • It would be apples and oranges to compare the orchestration of Beethoven’s piano sonatas to Mahler’s symphonies.  That said, even over the noise from the “loud” pavement on US 287, I have begun to make notes of effects I want to look at more closely.  We are so fortunate to have recordings right at our fingertips… I heard a string passage this afternoon that I can’t wait to dig into, and the beginning of the fourth movement is a perfect illustration of when and why to use unmeasured tremolo in the strings.
  • Again… loud pavement makes for bad listening, but are Mahler’s harmonies in this piece a great deal simpler than Beethoven’s?  This is why I’m doing this project.  As many times as I’ve listened to this piece, I haven’t even begun to hear it.

I want to throw a question out there that was inspired by a liner note I once read about this piece:  Is Mahler, in writing this symphony, actually using collage (or even pastiche) techniques?  Many of the melodies (especially in the first movement) are derived from Mahler’s earlier works (particularly, Des Knabben Wunderhorn).  Other melodies are folk tunes, and still others bear resemblances to canonical works.  Is Mahler’s intent to somehow document a sonic realm of the imagination?  Is this a viable way to understand this piece?

Opus 111

June 28th, 2009

Here it is… the last one. 

Two big, beefy substantial movements.  Lutoslawski justified writing one-movement symphonies by saying that Brahms’ and Beethovens’ symphonies tended toward two big-idea statements per piece, presumably the first and last movements, although it is often possible that Beethoven is trying for three or four (perhaps in the Eroica).  It would be impossible to accuse Beethoven of overreaching his grasp in this case.  The two movements are well-balanced–a muscular, decisive sonata-allegro paired with an expansive set of variations. 

First things first–the proportions of the first movement are not especially large or striking–in my (G.Schirmer) edition, the development section scarcely lasts a page.  Once again, Beethoven is not the composer of long, overwhelming development sections the way we were all taught.  A glance at the score suggests that the proportional model for sonata-allegro is largely intact.   Why do we teach undergraduates that Beethoven’s development sections are overgrown?  My experience with the piano sonatas suggests that they are not.  On the other hand, motivic development technique often appears in unexpected places–codas, transitional sections, and within themes–places that in Haydn or Mozart would be simple or sequential repetition in Beethoven are more fully ornamented.  An example is the second theme of this movement.

I have to admire Beethoven’s approach to the start of the Allegro con brio.  It is almost as though it takes three (or more) attempts to get the theme going, and the full theme doesn’t appear until after a fairly extended attempt.   There is wonderful invertible counterpoint in the transitional thematic area, and the ubiquitous fugato in the development.  Beethoven struggled in his counterpoint lessons with Albrechtsberger, but they seem to have paid off in the end, as his command of these devices is perfect.  I taught 16th-century counterpoint last semester, and we didn’t make it to invertible counterpoint.  I think that the next time around, I will take the option in our textbook (Peter Schubert’s Modal Counterpoint, Renaissance Style) to introduce it from the beginning, because of its power as a developmental tool in any style.

Stylistically, I’m a bit at odds with this movement–it doesn’t reek of Beethoven’s “late” style in the way that other pieces do.  Admittedly, I haven’t read up on current musicological ideas about this piece, but it seems as though it would fit fairly well with the Waldstein, and lacks the scope of Hammerklavier.  Note–this in no way detracts from my astonishment with this piece and my awe at its compositional greatness.

The theme and variations is masterful as well, despite some very interesting notational choices.  The tone called for by the first few notes is wonderfully dark and rich.  Finally, Beethoven has stopped writing full triads in the bass staff, an activity I am constantly telling my students to avoid.  The more open chord positions he chooses in the theme are dark but not muddy.  Has this composer finally come to terms with the more resonant instruments that were starting to become available to him?  What does it mean that, despite his deafness, he was able to figure this out?  More importantly, what does it tell the contemporary composer who must assimilate much greater and more frequent changes in technology that Beethoven could have imagined?

There is a wonderful sort of rhythmic accelerando amongst these variations.  The theme gives a basic compound-triple approach with homophonic chords.   Variation 1 now has an event on every division of the beat, and events are happening (roughly) two to three times as often.  Variation 2 is simply not in the correct meter.  6/16 implies two beats to the measure, and there are clearly three.  3/8 would make sense, if it weren’t for the marked metric modulation (eighth=dotted eighth) and/or the alternating 16th-32nd-note pattern that makes up the highest rhythmic level (highest in the Schenkerian sense of “most-complex”).  What appear as accompanying 16ths or eighths should be dotted notes… or the alternating 16th-32nd patterns should be under sextuplets… or the patterns should be dotted-32nd-64th!  What a mess!  I can only assume that in later editions to which I don’t have access, some wise editor has made a decision that clears this up.  On my reference recording, Ashkenazy plays the first and second options, at least to my ear.  The editors of my edition, Hans von Bulow and Sigmund Lebert chose to only comment on the situation rather than rectify it.

In variation 3 is another meter signature that would make my students cringe–12/32, again, not reflective of the triple-meter feel of the music.  What a mess, but the musical intent is clear enough.  The final four measures of this variation are wonderful.

In my own work, I need to accomplish what Beethoven does in the fourth and fifth variations–that is, build larger sections of single textures.  I feel like I accomplished this in several recent pieces, notably in South Africa.  It is, again, the old adage I’ve often told myself of letting the music breathe.  I have great admiration for my friend David Morneau and his cultivation of the miniature, especially in his project 60×365, but I feel that I need to cultivate a different approach.  Yes, brevity is the soul of wit, but our world is deprived of the long view, the long term and patience to understand them.  Film may be our best hope–I know so few people who really listen to music, but nearly all Americans shell out for multi-hour long movies.  All the same, music that is longer than three minutes and that doesn’t make its meaning purely through language is, I am discovering now more than ever, my big project for the time being.  As a composer, I need to be able to write a single movement that lasts 20 minutes while still saying something.  I don’t know where the commission, or even the performers will come from for this, because for the time being I’m not in the class of composers who get that type of work.  When I entered graduate school in 2004, I was writing movements of one-to-two minutes’ length on a regular basis, and a five-minute one-movement instrumental piece was a stretch.  I discovered the tactic of creating larger pieces by writing transitions–my Martian Dances is a fantastic example of this, and my Homo sapiens trombonensis has a fantastia-like form that is exciting, but lacks rigor and cohesiveness.  Nothing ever comes back.  I learned how to let a piece breathe and expand to its true length rather than simply become a rush of ideas.  Beethoven’s sonatas–indeed, the sonata principle–require that I build on this even more.  I need, simply, the right commission now, because a twenty-minute unaccompanied trombone piece just doesn’t seem like a good idea.  A string quartet, or a piano sonata.  My latest completed piece, my Piano Trio that I just shipped off to its commissioner, runs almost ten minutes in a single movement.  I’m getting there… I’m getting there.

I began my journey through Beethoven’s 32 piano sonatas in November 2006 as a way to start a project that looked beyong the end of my graduate work, and I feel that I have done myself a great service–so much so that July 2009 marks the beginning of a new project on the Mahler symphonies.  I kicked around some different possibilities–Bach, Chopin, a single large work like the St. Matthew Passion or a Mozart opera, but it seems that Mahler is calling to me the most, so it will be half of a Mahler symphony each month until the end of 2010 (yes, I may decide to include other Mahler such as the 10th symphony or Das Lied von der Erde, but I’ll think about that later).   Please feel free to join me on that trip.

Library Matters, Part Deux

June 24th, 2009

Summer is a great time for big projects, right?  Especially if they’re a little bit tedious and time-consuming, and therefore much easier to accomplish when there aren’t as many students around.

So I’ve been getting a vast number of scores in our band library into protective envelopes, numbering and labelling the envelopes with the needed information, etc.  I’m now out of envelopes, after filling 809 of them (yes, if you order 800 envelopes, you might get 809 envelopes… how about that?).  I need about 1000 more to finish the job, but we were short on funds last spring when I made the order (but–the new fiscal year starts July 1, and I know what one of my first P.O.s will be…).  The pause gives me time to reflect, and to update the catalog we have on the computer.

If I were a librarian, I would have just done the deed, but since I’m the conductor who will be choosing repertoire from this library, it was only natural to make an assessment of each piece’s Wertung, as they say.  Overall, the Wertung was pretty low.  The story is that one of my predecessors bought out a music store that was going out of business, so there is a lot of, well, junk in there.  I’m a pack rat, like my father before me, so nothing’s getting thrown out, but if I were sifting and not just cataloging, the library would end up a lot smaller.

Don’t get me wrong–there is also a fair amount of usable music, and a good selection of great music, including several winners of the ABA/Ostwald Award, original band music and transcriptions of orchestra music by some great composers and even some very interesting looking pieces by completely obscure composers who may deserve to be better known, but got lost in the process of building the canon.

But the amount of schlock (from the German schlag, for mine-tailings, according to Neal Stephenson’s excellent book Quicksilver) is just amazing.  A medley of songs by New Kids on the Block.  Arrangement after arrangement of Christmas music (all you really need is Leroy Anderson).  How many versions of “Ode to Joy” do there need to be?  Cookie-cutter Grade 2 and 3 band pieces that are clearly written with no purpose in mind other than to provide something that will score well at contest.

I can’t even begin to fathom why some of the things I’ve seen were even published.  Calling your medley Great Sounds from Today’s Movies is just asking for irrelevance within a decade (this is of mid-1970s vintage).  And what is with medleys anyway?  Why aren’t arrangers creative enough to come up with at least a variation on a pop tune or (heaven forbid) a development section?  Music of the Special Olympics?  Really?  I mean, I have no problem with the Special Olympics–it’s wonderful.  But really?

And marches–the marches!  Composers–there are enough marches now.  The shortage is past.  We don’t need to write anymore marches in the traditional style.  We don’t need to go dig up anymore marches from 100 years ago and give them new “editions.”  It’s done.  Write something else.  Again, don’t get me wrong–the march style is one of the major heritages of the band world, and I program a march on every band concert.  But seriously… stop writing them!

The era of historical development in this chunk of the library spans (from what I can tell) about 40 years, from around 1950 to around 1990.  In that time, there seem to have been two major eras.  The 1950s and 1960s were the glory years for bands, but composition hadn’t caught up, so publishers were just putting out everything they could get their hands on.  Lots of marches, lots of orchestral transcriptions, and some absolutely fantastic original pieces for band.  Plenty of garbage, as well.  This is the raw material of the canon that we don’t see when we look at the Classical and Romantic periods.  The sort has been completed.  I would say that even up to about 1945 or so, in that band world, we have a fairly well-established canon or original works for band.

The second era is the real problem here.  In the 1970s and 1980s, we start to see the beginnings of the “synergy” model.  Most blatant, I think, are the very large media companies of this era such as Warner Brothers and Columbia Pictures (owned by Coca-Cola at that time).  It is here that we begin to see piles and piles of pop song arrangements, movie tie-ins and TV show themes.  Adorno’s Culture Industry at work.  The result–original band composition largely stagnates (yes, there are still composers like Michael Colgrass and Joseph Schwantner doing incredible work in this era–more on that below).  As middle schools and high schools give their students a steady diet of tie-in music, serious composition shifts to the Grade 6 level, aimed at college wind ensembles (and the occasional amazing high school band).  Where is the Michael Colgrass or Joseph Schwantner of Grade 3?  (Truthfully, they are out there… it just takes some digging).

If I see one more piece that begins with trumpets playing an open fifth…

It’s early to make a verdict on the 2000s, but it seems like it has been another sort of mediocre decade for bands.  Lots of good pieces; nearly infinite bad pieces; but where is the 21st-century equivalent of Grainger’s Lincolnshire Posy, Husa’s Music for Prague 1968, Colgrass’s Winds of Nagual?  Where is the music that not only is wonderful to listen to but also makes musicians think?  In the end, it probably doesn’t matter whether my students can play.  It really doesn’t matter what score a band gets at contest.  Have we used music to make musicians and audiences think?

I’ll leave you with a sobering link–C.L. Barnhouse is a major publisher of music for band, one of the three or four largest in the country.  They publish band music almost exclusively, and should be a leader in the field.  They also have a large recording arm, Walking Frog Records.  These are their Editorial/Submissions Policies.  I will be having nightmares about this for years.

Library Matters

June 15th, 2009

One of my summer projects is getting the band library here at OPSU into a little better shape.  At  some point in the past (so I’m told), a band director here more or less bought out a sheet music store that was going out of business.  As far as I can tell, this happened about 1993 or so, judging by the vintage of much of the music involved.  This music has been shelved alphabetically and cataloged, but it doesn’t have nice storage envelopes like the older parts of the library.  So, last spring, I bought 1000 envelopes and now, summertime, I’m numbering and re-enveloping much of this stuff for the first time.

I’ve completed about 200 titles, and I can tell that the number of envelopes I was able to afford won’t be enough… this may turn out to be a multi-year project.  But I’ve discovered some things:

  • It turns out that Ohio, my home state, was at one time a hotbed of band commissions from both colleges and public schools.  Capital University, Walnut Hills High School, Oberlin High School, Carrolton High School, various honor bands.  It’s kind of cool.
  • In addition, I’m amazed at how many works I’m coming across by certain composers and arrangers:  John Tatgenhorst (another composer with Ohio connections), John Cacavas, Leland Forsblad, Warren Barker.  A funny story about Warren Barker, a very, very prolific composer and arranger who somehow never registered on my radar screen in middle school, high school, undergrad or my first few years of teaching.  Then, in about 2001, I noticed that my dad’s folder from the Greater Columbus Concert Band was just stuffed with arrangements by Warren Barker.  Then, like a new word, I started seeing Warren Barker everywhere.  For the longest time, I only saw his name on arrangements, especially of pop tunes and movie music.  I concluded that there was no Warren Barker–the type of arrangement involved suggested to me that he was just a house name, and that maybe new arrangers had their first few arrangements assigned to “Warren Barker.”  Then, I hit on the idea of searching for him on the internet.  Turns out, he’s done all kinds of Hollywood stuff–remember the xylophone thing in Bewitched?  That was his.
  • One of my predecessors here thought it was alright to take all the scores but leave the parts.  Darn it!
  • I found a piece by a man, James Jurrens, who was the director of bands at Southwestern Oklahoma State Universty–not the next closest state school, but the one after that.  The piece was actually published in Weatherford, Oklahoma, by a company which I am sure is defunct.  I need to find a concert to program this piece on, or perhaps push it toward the Oklahoma Intercollegiate Honor Band.

At any rate, that’s after four-and-a-half shelves (and I’m now through the Christmas music!).  Can’t wait to see what else is there.

International Horn Symposium

June 6th, 2009

Don’t ever forget that classical music folks live in a small world.  I was at the International Horn Symposium at Western Illinois University this week for the premiere of my piece South Africa, (about which more later) and got renew acquaintances with several people I hadn’t seen in years.  First, I was delighted to see David Amram’s name featuring prominently on the day I actually got to spend at the conference.  When I was a senior in high school and at the MENC National Conference as part of the Ohio All-State Orchestra, Renee Goubbeaux and I were wandering the exhibits.  We stopped at the C.F. Peters booth to admire the score to John Cage’s 4’33”  (yes, it’s actually available for sale), when I noticed that manning the booth was the composer of the score next to it, who happened to be David Amram.  I had been composing for all of about two years at that point, and he had some very encouraging words.  I have always carried with me his good-natured approach and good humor and genuine kindness to a stranger.  He was the first “real,” “live” composer I ever met, and it was a good experience.  (The second was Libby Larsen, the same day, and the experience was just as positive.  It was just as great to get to talk to her a few years ago.)  I of course invited David to come hear my piece later that day, and he seemed to enjoy it.

Finding my seat for the concert featuring Amram’s music for horn (who would think a piece for horn, tenor sax and bassoon could work so well?), I noticed a man who looked familiar from the back.  It was indeed Colvin Bear, who plays in the Springfield (Ohio) Symphony Orchestra.  When I knew Colvin about eight years ago, his day job was teaching at South Vienna School, where I was the band director.  We played in Northeastern High School’s musical together, and I taught his son during his senior year.

At some point, I may delve into my feelings about that job, but I know that Colvin and I agree about many things about that position, and always did.  It is easy to admire someone who does the best possible work within a flawed system, continuing to excel despite unfavorable changes.

It turns out, as well, that Colvin was one of the first horn teachers of the wonderful player who commissioned the piece I was there to hear, Nancy Joy.

Nancy and I ran into each other on a plane from Columbus, Ohio to Albuquerque, New Mexico on New Years Eve 2007.  My wife saw her horn case, and struck up a conversation.  We traded ipods, and as I was thinking that I needed to write a piece for Nancy, she was thinking that she needed to commission me to write a piece.  Eighteen months later, the result was the piece she premiered fantastically with Fred Bugbee, her colleague at New Mexico State. 

It is always a pleasure to sit and listen to good musicians perform my music.  After the rehearsal in Las Cruces last week, I knew that this would be the case in Macomb, and it was just wonderful.  I’ve learned so much from these two performers that I will carry ahead with me as I write future pieces, and the feedback I got at the conference was overwhelming.  Just a fantastic experience.

Other highlights–I got to try an alphorn, and listened to most of a session about natural horn; Richard Todd gave some fantastic jazz horn performances–who knew horn was a jazz instrument?  I had some time in Chicago, and visited the Federal Reserve Bank and my new favorite sheet music store, Performers Sheet Music in the Fine Arts Building on Michigan Avenue.  I only wish my wife had been along!  The next trip I have planned for composition is to MInot State University in North Dakota in November, and hopefully Becky will be able to come then.

Revenge of Crackpot Theories

June 1st, 2009

Yes, I am a sucker for a good crackpot theory (plate tectonics, Schenker, Julian Jaynes…), and I revisited one of my favorites over the last week.  I was in high school when I first read Generations by Neil Strauss and William Howe, which posits a fantastic theory that social history can, in large part, be explained through an examination of 20-year cohorts of the people in a society.  They identify my “generation” as Generation X, born between 1962 and 1982, and my parents as Boomers, born between 1943 and 1961.  They suggest that there is a cyclic aspect to the preferences, parenting styles, approaches to authority and values of these generations.  Here is the website for their think-tank, LifeCourse Associates, where you can read up  their theories and buy their books.  Frankly, while I’ve remembered their theories over the years, I had forgotten how compelling they are in making their case.

The best part is when a crackpot theory turns out to be true.  Over the last week, I’ve finished Strauss and Howe’s latest book, Millennials Go to College, about the shift from my generation to the next in the undergraduate population.  This book will change the way I teach, beginning with this semester.  I recognize exactly the trends they describe in my students, and their suggestions make perfect sense.  Probably only the student evaluations will tell, but I recommend that anyone associated with collegiate education get their hands on this book, now in its second edition.