Posts Tagged ‘landler’

Mahler, Symphony No. 9, movement 2

Sunday, December 5th, 2010

Im tempo eines gemachlichen Landlers… “in the tempo of a comfortable landler.”  I’m not certain what Mahler means by a “comfortable” landler.  That could be a reflection of my lifelong discomfort with social dance, but I also wonder if Mahler is being somewhat sarcastic, because the music seems anything but comfortable or comforting; more accurately, there is much that is distinctly uncomfortable in this movement–phrases of the “wrong” length, harmonic turns that leave as abrutply as they surface and even scoring that is somewhat atypical of Mahler.

To wit, the opening bars are somewhat confusing.  So many of Mahler’s dance movements revolve around a moto perpetuo sort of texture that what seems to be a straightforward approach using dance rhythms strikes me as odd.  The first two measures, a simple pentachord from do to sol, are answered with a characteristic suspension-like figure in the clarinets.  These two motives will form much of the basis for the music in this “comfortable” section and its reprise.  After eight measures of what seems to be “time”–the dance rhythms in exposition, merely waiting for the melody of the first strain, the second violins enter at the marking Schwerfallig (ponderous or heavy-footed) (I need to learn how to make umlauts!).  This is a fantastic description, and one that strikes close to home, because as much as I might try, I am a heavy-footed dancer, as any of my dance partners through the years will attest.  My heavy-footedness comes, I believe, from simply trying too hard and not yet being comfortable–there’s that word again–with the movement.

At any rate, the ponderousness here comes from repeated downbows, open fifths in the celli and the persisten doubling of violas and bassoons.  More on the role of the bassoon later.  The Schwerfallig indication also marks the confirmation of a metrical motive that is important throughout this piece–it appears in the first four measures, and again here.  Namely, it is the repetition of a measure followed by a new measure and its repetition, a four-bar cell that appears in various guises.  As stated, mm. 1-4 take this form, as do mm. 9-12.  The material often varies greatly (although it is sometimes recalled from earlier), but the metric pattern remains the same, a schema that catches the listener’s ear and grounds the piece with a set of musical expectations that Mahler consistently fails to meet.

I have long wanted to learn the steps to dances that are involved in the music I am passionate about.  I don’t know where one would go to learn the sarabande or the courante, but the minuet or the landler shouldn’t be more difficult.  I feel that knowing how to dance the sarabande would bring Bach’s music, for example, into a whole new light for me, and I think I would better understand the give and take of this movement if I were proficient in the landler, as no doubt many of Mahler’s listeners were.  To me, our widespread ignorance of social dance, beyond, as with much of American life, watching it on television, is a sign of cultural impoverishment.  I may pity my sometime partners in the dance, but I feel more of a person for at least attempting salsa once upon a time.

But I digress!  After the first eighteen bars, Mahler repeats the four-bar cell that appeared at mm. 9-12, following these now with an extension that leads to a subdominant chord over a tonic pedal.  In measure 40, a similar four-bar cell sees the low strings and flutes alternating between tonic and subdominant ideas–not exactly the 2+2 idea stated previously, but a similar plan.

In general, the music here is very diatonic–as is to be expected, I think, in a folk dance, but also perhaps so that Mahler can lull us into a sense that this movement will, in fact, be “comfortable.”  The harmonies have been long-lived, and the C-pedal nearly omnipresent through this section.

All that changes in m. 90, where key and tempo change to begin a new section.  This section is much more harmonically dynamic–more chromaticism and more frequent changes in harmony rather than being dominated by pedal points like the first section.

The melodic material is derived from the original material of the movement and is persistently scalar.   The first measures, mm. 90-92, outline a descending sol-do pentachord, the inversion of the opening motive, and the expression of stepwise motion seems to dominate this section in an important way.

This could be my Schenkerian training coming back out, but the structure of Mahler’s lines in this movement tends much more toward elaborated ascending or descending scales than has necessarily been the case.  An example of this can be found in the melody given to the violins in what seems like a developmental core following m. 130.  In m. 138, the melody has C6 on the downbeat, sequenced to C#6 in m. 140, D6 in m. 142 and Eb6 in m. 144, setting the stage for a cadence in C-minor, which quickly proves to be a pivot to Eb major by measure 154. 

Another important aspect of the melodic material in this section is its continual falling by thirds–in effect, having each measure cover two scale degrees instead of only one.  Beginning in m. 188, the melody outlines a ninth chord, beginning on E6 and falling successively to C6, A5, F#5 and D#5.  Mahler’s usual ambiguities between major and minor emerge in the following measures, as the section  comes to an end and the organization of the dance seems to come apart.

A third landler tempo appears in m. 218, and while the key is different (F major) the material is derived from the original landler melody, with the four-bar cell brought back to bring a semblance of cohesion to the music after the faster dance seems to have fallen apart.  Once again, the woodwinds echo the strings with a repetition of the opening material of this section beginning in m. 230.  In m. 233ff, the flute, an instrument somewhat neglected until now, is assigned the melody, which again descends by emphasizing successive scale-degrees on the downbeat of each measure.  After a ritard, the opening of this section reappears in mm. 252 with the four-bar cell.  This is then followed by a fascinating spot that features a bass line descending by fifths, covering half the circle of fifths in three measures to set up the new key of D major in m. 261.

From this point foward, the material of the three sections is partly developed and partly recapitulated, beginning with the second section and its quick tempo.  The key is “wrong,” of course, but this matters little, as the first statement of the melody is not diatonic at all, but highly suggestive of the whole-tone scale (WT 0) in mm. 261-268.  The metrical structure is somewhat more regular, with cadences happening in more-or-less eight-bar phrases and an ornamented repetition beginning in m. 291.  The glockenspiel part here is reminiscent of that in the Jupiter movement of Holst’s The Planets, highlighting as it does certain notes rather than playing the complete melody.

Beginning in m. 313, this second-section material, having modulated to C major, begins to pull apart, with a transition back to F major and the slowest of the three tempi in m. 333.  Only 30 bars later, the first tempo reappears with a rescored restatement of the opening material.  The descending fifths lead this time to C major instead of the D major that brought back the fastest tempo.  The movement, then, takes the following tempo plan:

I    II    III   II   III   I

Can the middle four sections be understood as a development?  Or perhaps more accurately as the B-section of a ternary form?  This second possibility strikes me as more likely, given the traditional forms for middle movements in Austro-German symphonic writing.

In the measures preceding m. 423, the tempo returns to the faster second tempo, which seems to me a sort of coda.  Finally, after 100 bars, the opening tempo and material return in the home key to be deconstructed in the same way as the second section twice gave way to the slow third-section tempo.  This final coda-to-the-coda has some of the most interesting scoring in the movement, namely in m. 566-68, with a moment of mystery, the extensive use of solo viola from m. 583 forward and a stunning bassoon ensemble passage–very rare in Mahler–beginning in m. 590.  The movement ends with a restatement of the opening motive, closing on C rather than G, in the piccolo and contrabassoon, a supremely uncomfortable combination for a “comfortable” landler.

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Mahler–Symphony No. 4, mvt. 3

Saturday, February 20th, 2010

Since I’m a trombone player by training, and this is the only Mahler symphony that doesn’t include my instrument, I have always felt that Mahler’s Fourth was the “little” Mahler symphony, the runt of the litter.  If any of the music disproves that, it would be this movement.  There is a lightness to this music that doesn’t require three trombones and a tuba, or an entire regiment of percussionists.

After the second movment’s digression to the key of C minor, this movement is firmly rooted in the key of the symphony.  The narrative tonal scheme from the Third Symphony has been abandoned, and the piece opens in an explicit G major, with some wonderful string writing.  My Instrumentation students would do well to study how the cello is often the preferred melodic instrument in lines that would be perfectly playable by the viola.  The lower instrument simply has greater resonance and by placing the melody on the higher-pitched strings, Mahler achieves greater expressive power.  I am frustrated by most orchestration texts that include several pages of paean to the violin and then give shorter shrift to the viola, but there is something to it, I’m afraid.

Mahler has structured this opening section in very clear phrases with very clear cadences, which is not always his habit.  In m. 37, after an imperfect authentic cadence on the home key, there is a long extension and transition to the next key.  Mahler signals that the section is nearly over in the same way that Bach often did, by introducing the subdominant.  In this instance, it sounds oddly fresh, even though every first-year music theory student knows that the subdominant (or IV chord) is not at all a rare bird.  It’s just that Mahler has done an effective job of holding it in reserve and now (m. 47), lands on it in a significant way.

The transitional passage that follows is masterful.  The pizzicato bass line from the first few measures gives continuity while the horns and oboe sound the notes that pivot us into the new key, e minor.  Mahler’s use of musical material is tightly controlled–even though he introduces new themes here, they are built over a structure that is related to the accompaniment of the G-major section.    One also can’t help but admire the way that, for Mahler, the orchestra itself is an instrument, rather than being a collection of instruments.  A great example is the dovetailing of the melody in m. 66 from oboe to the first violins.  Those three overlapping notes allow a smooth transition of timbre–more like a pianist coloring notes by managing flow of wrist and hand than an organist pulling stops.  Throughout this passage, the oboe and violins seem to be doing this trading off–the effect is like an impossible instrument.

One instrument that is used sparingly in this movement is the bass clarinet.  I’m intrigued by Mahler’s approach to this instrument in all of his music, but in a twenty-minute movement (by Bernstein’s baton), there are barely ten notes, all within the texture.  Mahler calls for the third clarinetist to “double” on bass, but many of the changes seem very quick for that.

The e-minor moment doesn’t last long–it is developmental in nature and doesn’t have the cleanly defined phrase structure of the G-major section, and in fact shortly (by measure 91) lands on a pedal D to prepare for the G-major material which follows.  The sense of contrast, though, in tempo, scoring, tonality and formal construction is crucial to building a movement of this size and scope. 

Measures 97-99 again show a transition in melodic responsbility that struck me first as an interesting heterophonic approach to changing orchestral color, but on closer inspection reveal that Mahler is using canonic technique, a relatively rare tool for him and for his era.

The next G-major section, beginning in m. 107, is, according to Mahler’s score, a variation.  It is developmental in nature, but also shares constructive elements with the first section in that it is composed of discrete phrases with clear cadences.  Mahler indicates a faster tempo, and so we move quickly through this section, which isn’t as developmental as it might be–perhaps because there is more of a tonal plan reminiscent of rondo form, where the tonic key returns several times rather than a rounded binary in which the tonic is always the goal of the music.  Strangely enough, the tonic is not the ultimate goal!

Orchestrationally, mm. 179-191 are fascinating.  A trio between oboe, English horn (another instrument used sparingly here in this movement) and horn moves between key centers, implying (but not comfirming) g-minor.  A fantastic color follows this trio as four flutes in their weakest register take on the melody for a moment before passing it on to the cellos, reinforcing the crucial intervals.

A conductor from years ago used to state that small intervals create tension, but large intervals create drama.  To that, I would add another function, suggested in Peter Schubert’s book on 16th-century counterpoint–a leap establishes a musical space which steps must then fill in.  In this instance (mm. 188-190), the flutes emphasize these space-defining leaps and the cellos fill them in without assistance.

The goal of this transition has been C-sharp-minor, and on arriving there, Mahler writes a passage that could have come directly from the music of Jean Sibelius–mm. 195 to 200–but immediately after, he is back to Mahler.   C-sharp-minor morphs to one of Mahler’s major-minor moments in mm. 214-221, this time on F-sharp.  This would seem to be yet another common-tone modulation, as the ambiguity of chord quality allows the pitch F-sharp to become the aural focus.  Mahler takes advantage of this by shifting F-sharps role from fa to ti, and making it the leading-tone of the home key, G major.

Here begins a truly fascinating passage from a compositional standpoint.  To be successful, any slow movement must build to some sort of climax that instead of quiet and mediative is full-bodied, energetic and provides the necessary contrast to make a complete statement.  For Mozart, the technique was often the Romanza structure, as in the D-minor Piano Concerto or the Grand Partita serenade.  For Beethoven and Brahms, the technique is often rhythmic diminution combined with fugato, as in the Eroica symphony or the Brahms’ Second Symphony. 

Mahler approaches this moment through the dance, by reference to folk and popular idioms.  A 3/4 version of the opening theme morphs into a landler in m. 237.  This landler becomes a polka in m. 263, barely before we have understood the first dance.  Very quickly, this polka comes off the rails with the instruction to bump the tempo up another notch in m. 278, where the dance seems to lose control completely. 

Measure 283 is a return to the opening material, and this section would seem to suggest a calm recapitulation that will cadence nicely in the home key, buy Mahler has two more surpises in store.

The first is an ending to this abbreviated G-major section (suggestive again of rondo form) that moves toward a tonic note of E, just as it did the first time.  The music should be wrapping up, but clearly Mahler is on his way out again.  Instead of e-minor, however, in m. 315 there is an explosion in E-major, the fullest, strongest texture of the symphony so far.  The brass are in full force, and take the lead.  G-major to E-major is a remote modulation, and the E-major section leads (with a note from the bass clarinet darkening the texture wonderfully in mm. 330-331) to C major, the subdominant.  

From here, it should be a quick move to a cadence on the home key.  The dominant, D, appears, but when the music moves to G major, in m. 340, we realize that D isn’t the dominant, but a temporary tonic.  G feels like a subdominant, then, which means that the movement can’t be over.  Over the last few bars, though, there is no move to a dominant-seventh on D and G-major has appeared for the last time in this movment.  Mahler ends the movement on a dominant chord, a half cadence.  A peek ahead to the last movement reveals that it, too, is in G-major and begins on the tonic chord.  The last two movements are, thus, inseparable.  The third movement is incomplete without the fourth, and the fourth movement has a twenty-minute introduction.

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Mahler Symphony No. 2, 2nd movement

Monday, October 5th, 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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