Posts Tagged ‘motivic development’

Mahler, Symphony No. 8, second part

Wednesday, November 3rd, 2010

I spoke too soon about the first movement of this piece, which I still feel is somewhat overblown and lacks the subtlety I’ve grown to love in Mahler’s music.  The truth is that the second movement, the final scene from Faust more than makes up for what I was missing.  Clocking in at about an hour in the recording I use as my reference, the sad truth is that in the month of October, I didn’t get as much listening done as I want to, but I do have some observations.

The piece opens with a wonderful unfolding of a theme introduced pizzicato in the low strings.  In a choral symphony, the first voices don’t enter until for over 160 slow bars, but that isn’t at all strange here–I felt that development was shorted in the first movement, but  here in the second movement, Mahler seems to be trying to make up for it.  This pizzicato theme of the first bars is really put through its paces, and ends up being a major idea of the piece, which, I think, after all, is the point of the symphonic tradition–doing less with more, making a lot out of a little.  Mahler, as is often stated, wanted to create worlds with his symphonies, and he certainly does.  The scene seems very effectively set without staging and without saying a single word.  A lesser composer may have required a narrator here.

An interesting orchestrational moment occurs at m. 214 (rehearsal 32) in the woodwinds–even for Mahler, this is unusual, but the addition of an oboe in m. 215, which then diminuendos as the flutes and clarinets crescendo is an orchestral feat that I might expect of a much younger composer.  Stunning means of highlighting the subtle harmonic changes, as each chord has its own tone color.

In m. 219, then after much setting the scene, the first soloist enters.   I’m uncertain as to whether this is symphony, cantata or opera.  The text, of course, is in its way larger than mere drama, or even opera, and Mahler’s music makes it even more so–it is difficult to imagine a simple dramatic performance after hearing this piece. 

At m. 261, the brass enter with a version of the opening motive, which we now hear to be related to material from the first movement.  Once again, Mahler is being self-referential, or perhaps just unifying the entire piece with a common motive, as with the major-minor motive of the Sixth Symphony.

I doubt that it is possible to unify a 90-minute orchestral piece solely with motive, and there is much music–page after page, really–that does not refer back to earlier events.  Mahler uses the same technique as many composers, i.e., a reliance on conventional material, as William Caplin puts it in his book Classical Form.  The simple truth is that not everything can be characteristic in a large piece like this, and there must be variety as well as unity.  Ironically, the appearance of motives in an otherwise conventional texture is, in the end, what holds this (and all of Mahler’s music) together.  In much the same way, if every face in a crowd were familiar, we wouldn’t know who to talk to first, but every face has a certain familiarity because we know what a human face basically looks like.  We know–whether from hearing his earlier work, or from listening to contemporary works by other composers, or just from hearing the titanic first movement–the basic ideas behind a Mahler symphony.  If Mahler wrote something that was not of himself and not stylistically “correct,” we would prick our ears, dig more deeply into the score and try to understand what that note was doing there.  If he had gone too far beyond some standard of “Mahlerness,” we would accuse him of being stylistically vague.

I want to pursue this line of thinking, because it applies directly to me as a composer, and that is the point of this series of blog posts:  what can I learn from Mahler that will inform my own composition?  At what point do I stop trying to form my compositional style and begin trying to write pieces that stay in my style?  Does a twenty-first century composer have to manage his or her style in the way that, say, Mozart did?  Where are the other composers who write music in styles similar to mine, and am I near the core of their style or somewhere on the edge?

I have written in styles that are not completely mine, I confess.  I have discovered that I have the ability to write fairly good music that relies on more-or-less traditional tonal harmony, and from time to time, I find it necessary to trot out a piece that is a style copy or simply an original tonal composition.  A part of me recognizes that these aren’t, in a full sense, “Matthew Saunders” pieces, but in another very real sense, they are.  I certainly am not the first composer to have two different approaches to the craft, but I’m almost ashamed of writing these ditties that are not me, that are compromises with the music that is more popular, more familiar, more expected.

There is an iconic moment in the film Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, in which a young aspiring composer (living with his mother) plays some of his music, which sounds exactly like Beethoven or Chopin.  It is eminently clear–and was clear in the 1960s even to filmmakers–that no composer can really write this way and be treated seriously (although he might make some money).  Style, then, is what separates me, as a composer, from the crowd, for better or for worse, just as it separated Mahler from all the would-be Romantic symphonists of his day (Max Bruch wrote wonderful symphonies that sound just like Brahms did twenty-five years earlier). 

There is so much more to discuss about the Eighth Symphony, but I think that, more than anything else, this is what I’ve learned–more about myself than about Mahler: if the music is true to my style, then it is the music that I should be writing and promoting; music that is true to any other style can be written by someone else.  Only I can write pieces by Matthew Saunders.

The Ninth will divide halfway through the months of November and December–fifteen days for each movement, more or less.

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Mahler, Symphony No. 7, movement 1

Tuesday, July 13th, 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Mahler, Symphony No. 6, third movement

Wednesday, June 16th, 2010

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

Here’s my answer:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Mahler, Symphony No. 5, movement 4

Sunday, April 11th, 2010

This Adagietto captures, to my hearing, a version of Mozart’s Romanza design, appearing, for example, in that composer’s Concerto, K. 466 (D-minor).  Here is Mahler at his most reflective, most concentrated, with each note seemingly imbued with meaning.

Again, I’m somewhat confused by Mahler’s labelling of this symphony in C-sharp minor, as only the first movement is in that key.  This movement is in F major.  The Romanza plan calls for a basically ternary structure, with the outer sections being closely related to each other in the home key and a faster middle section in a contrasting key.  In this case, the sections divide at measures 39 and 72, with the middle section in G-flat major, the lowered second scale-degree.

Mahler’s melodic material in the first section is centered around two ideas, a three eighth-note anacrusis followed by a retardation.  At times, the anacrusis motive is augmented to three quarter-notes, as in the first celli in m. 10.  This second appearance of the theme leads to A minor in m. 19, which then pulls back to F major.  From here, the music builds to a climax on the dominant in m. 30.  The next few measures are “after-the-ending” music for the first section.

The middle section of this Romanza begins with the tempo indication “Fliessender,” in F major.  The introduction of E-flat starts to suggest that F is now the dominant instead of the tonic, and a deceptive resolution in m. 46 establishes the next key of G-flat major.  Where the first theme was centered on the tonic pitch, this second thematic material tends to descend from the dominant in something of an inversion of the original motive.  The register of the melody rises throughout this section, until a written key change to E major in m. 60.  This would appear to be a transposition of convenience, as it lasts only three measures before D major appears in m. 63.  D major is never fully established as the tonic, but the entire nine measures in this key are given over to a long dominant chord.  Instead of D major, the music shifts down another step to give C, the first note of the piece, and the dominant of the home key. 

In m. 72, the original music returns, giving the second “A” section of the Romanza form.  Mahler states this section in abridged form, with only one appearance of the first section theme and no modulation to A minor.  Measure 87 is roughly parallel to measure 23, but the approach to the dominant relies on V/V instead of the Neapolitan, and the climax of the movement in m. 95 employs the highest register of the violin.  I feel that the moment to which the movement has been building comes very late in the overall structure.  An obvious comparison is Samuel Barber’s Adagio (in its various incarnations), which seems to me to have a more proportional denouement.  This is not to say that Mahler’s music is ineffective in any way, but it is intriguing to see to very different approaches to much the same musical idea.

The fortissimo lasts until m. 100, whereupon a final suspension brings the music to the expected tonic chord, strangely, strangely voiced without the middle strings (although in a wondrously sonorous open voicing that would get a good mark from me on on orchestration assignment).

What then is the compositional lesson one can take from this movement?  I hope that I can learn from Mahler’s approach to tension and release, to slow unfolding, to harmonic variety within tonal coherence.

This leaves the rest of the month for the final movement.  I’ve given myself a little extra time, as my wife and I are anticipating the birth of our son–if my posts become less frequent, that may be the reason, but I’m going to try to keep to my schedule.

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Mahler, Symphony No. 5, third movement

Wednesday, March 31st, 2010

Here is another enormous movement–ironically, lying at the heart of this symphony, defying the traditional conception of the scherzo as a light-hearted respite.  Of course, there is nothing small, and very little that is light-hearted about Mahler’s music in general or this piece in particular.

Another puzzling aspect of this symphony is that only the first movement of this symphony conforms to the stated key of the piece–a riddle for a later post, perhaps.  The movement begins in D major with a horn call that introduces, as is Mahler’s way, some of the most important motivic material of the music that follows.  The first three measures emphasize beat two of the three-to-a-bar meter.  Clarinets and bassoons answer with continuing material that employs hemiola–a second important idea here.  At the beginning of the second phrase, in m. 16, the horn again takes the lead with a figure that emphasizes the second beat of the measure. 

The music moves to f-sharp minor in m. 40, with the first appearance of music that suggests a moto perpetuo approach.  These two ideas–the waltz-like material and the moto perpetuo alternate through the rest of the movement.  Imitation plays a role as well, with a motive introduced in the clarinets in mm. 43ff.  This imitative figure appears at times with entrances spaced by a single measure, but at other times with a displacement of two or three bars, as in m. 84, between trumpets and bassoons. 

The harmonic plan of this movement is highly complex, with key changes happening very frequently.  By measure 150, the music is in B-flat major, a highly remote key, with melodic material derived from the original motives and a more relaxed melodic idea centered around sol.  At m. 174, a direct modulation to D major is followed by a trio of trumpet, horn and trombone.  The material is the opening themes.  The moto perpetuo material returns, and leads quickly to F minor, and then to Ab major, keys as remote from D major as most composers would dare to go.

The relaxed sol-centered theme is combined with a motive derived from the opening notes in m. 252.  This leads to a fascinating moment in m. 270 in which harmonic motion pauses on D minor with an interesting orchestral effect–horns on F, entering at two beat intervals, creating timbral interest in an otherwise static moment.  This is followed by a low-voiced passage in the strings and woodwinds, interrupted by the solo horn, with the ultimate goal of D minor, which is reach in m. 308.

Slowly, the music returns to the tempo and textures of the opening, leading to the moto perpetuo material.  In m. 402, there is an intriguing ensemble of flutes, clarinets and trombone.   The full momentum of the music is reached by m. 448, with its key of G-flat major.  The formal function of this section remains developmental, and the harmonic basis shifts quickly.  Measure 486 shows the moto perpetuo material turned into thematic material that in its registral and motivic characteristics resembles the material that characterized the second movement (see second movement, mm. 9-11 in the violins, for example).  The resemblance is more in character than otherwise, but the two themes play similar roles, and are somewhat spasmodic in nature–throwing listener expectations into sharp relief against the composer’s actual choices. 

The music breaks off after this material to return again–for the third time– to the material of the opening in m. 490.  This repetition is precise, not simply implied like the earlier return. 

The moto perpetuo material brings the music now by m. 614 to a minor, in a section that had been in the more remote key of F-minor previously.  This allows the music to return to the original tonic pitch, D, by m. 763, employing the same tightly-wrought construction of the two previous movements.  A bass-drum solo begins the drive to the end of the movement, a coda of sorts, but more the final statement.  D, only just established as the tonic, becomes the third of a diminished-seventh chord that opens up the moto perpetuo, combined with rhythmic motives from the more thematic ideas of the opening of the movement.  The high point of this section is reached at m. 799, with the full orchestra presenting no fewer than five of the motivic ideas of the movement in a swirling, relentless assualt that leads to a final horn melody in m. 813, which strangely, abruptly, ends in D major, as though Mahler is in some hurry to get back to where he started.

Why the title “Scherzo” for this movement?  The translation “joke” is not altogether accurate, as there seem to be few moments of outright humor.  Perhaps a better idea would be “tall tale,” or “riddle,” both of which do a better job of describing the sprawling, playful-but-not-humourous nature of the piece.

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Mahler–Symphony No. 3, 1st mvt.

Sunday, December 6th, 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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