Posts Tagged ‘moto perpetuo’

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. 7, third movement

Sunday, August 8th, 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Mahler, Symphony No. 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. 4, 2nd movement

Saturday, January 30th, 2010

A day-and-a-half of snow days this week means that I can get to this a little bit ahead of schedule.

I’ve chosen to examine Mahler’s work from a purely compositional standpoint, but for a summary of Mahler’s programmatic and spiritual understandings, I would direct the reader to this excellent note by Chicago Symphony program annotator Phillip Huscher.

The tonal center of the movement is C major, but with a contstant yearning toward D, beginning with the opening material.  The overall progression of the movement, from C minor to C major, F major, twice, then to a D major section, finally ending in C again.

Like the first movement, there is a tautness, a motivic clarity that isn’t present in Mahler’s Second or Third Symphonies to the extent it is here.   There is barely a single bar in this movement that doesn’t contain motivic material introduced in the first twenty measures of the piece.  The various motives have differing roles throughout the movement–some thematic, some transitonal.

The movement begins with a horn solo that strangely emphasizes D–re in the key of the movement, and two keys removed from the tonic pitch.  There is a great deal of Mahler’s typical ambiguity between major and minor as the motives that are more thematic in nature begin to be revealed–first in the flutes, then in the strings.  If I had to type-cast the melody here, it would be moto perpetuo, in part because of the importance of the motive composed of six sixteenth-notes and that tends to run into itself. 

This reliance on motives allows Mahler to make extensive use of melodic sequences, just as in a Bach invention.  I’ve often told my students that the key to writing tonal music is to remember that there are basically two techniques–functional phrases and the sequences that connect them.  Mahler here is reinforcing my lesson.

The scordatura violin deserves a mention.  Mahler scores for it in such a way that when it is present, it is always at the orchestrational foreground.  Lesson–if you’re going to use a strange instrument, feature it.

The opening material returns in measure 110, preceded by a sequential modulation that points to the pitch D–the secondary center of the piece.  The recapitulation is largely similar to the first 100 bars, with some textural elaboration and rescoring.  At the end of this section, the sequential passage returns, and again leads to D–but this time to a large D major section.   This section seems to substitute for the C-minor section at the beginning of the piece, leading back to C major at m. 314. 

This brief C-major section leads to a coda a measure 329, substituting for the F-major music that ended the first two large sections.  What most impresses me is that the opening material here beomes the closing material.  The horn solo from the opening bars that acted as the door into this piece is now the door out.  Appropriately for a middle movement, the ending is somewhat abrupt.

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Mahler, Symphony No. 2, Movements 3 & 4

Wednesday, October 21st, 2009

It’s been a busy time here, but I’m squeezing my thoughts on these pieces in so that I can keep on schedule.

Third movement–The name of the game here is “hypermeter,” in this case, every bar of music feeling like a beat in its own right.  The meter is 3/8, but Mahler could have written in 12/8, and the piece would have made (mostly) perfect sense.

And that “mostly” is the rub.  Because while the hypermeter generally dominates the piece and is fairly strict much of the time, there are places where Mahler steps out of the mold.  If he had chosen 12/8, in other words, there would be a few loose measures in 6/8 or 9/8 scattered through the piece.  These hypermetrical shifts tend to occur at boundary points within the piece, and are slightly more prevalent at the beginning of the movement than in the end.

The first six measures suggest, to me, a complete hyperbar, drawn out for dramatic effect.  After two “correct” hyperbars, Mahler introduces a moto perpetuo-type theme in the violins.  This is echoed in the clarinets in a six-measure hyperbar, clearly a “correct” bar with a two measure extension.  The flutes take this up for four bars, following which, at rehearsal 29, Mahler gives a two-bar “make-up” by restating some of the introductory material, and in m. 33, the initial theme returns.  In this section, uneven hyperbars seem to appear just before the return of the moto perpetuo theme. 

Measure 98 begins a long (seven measures) hyperbar, and is also a modulatory passage, albeit a strange one, to F major.  The modulation is effected by descending chromatic scales in major thirds, but is accompanied by bass notes Gb and B, suggesting a key quite remote from the goal.  Mahler approaches the F major (local) tonic again in a strange way prior to m. 125, falling to it from an A minor chord.  This is presumably because F is not the ultimate goal, only a way-station.

The use at m. 68 and m. 149 of lines that appear to quote the second movement of Mahler’s First Symphony is notable.

As we proceed through the movement, Mahler passes through Eb, then D, often repeating material heard before, usually fleshed out with countermelodies.  At m. 257, the descent ends, and Mahler moves the tonal center up to E major.  There is great music here, but not time enough to discuss it in full.  The scoring is flawless, and often seems to reinforce the hypermetrical concept of the piece.  It is difficult to understand how Mahler was able to work so masterfully with the orchestra in an age before recording, but I suppose that countless hours on the podium had acquainted him with the sounds implied by a score.

Toward the end of this movement, the hypermeter seems to become more strict, i.e., there are fewer exceptions to the rule of four-bar hyperbars.  In the final 200 bars, there is only one shift of hypermeter.

Fourth movement–Just a few observations.  In many ways, this brief setting speaks for itself.  Would it have been more appropriate to partner this movement with the last movement?  Perhaps.

The brass chorale beginning in measure 3 is stunning.  I’m fairly sure that the bassoon and contrabassoon, however, would not be able to play a true pianissimo there, although they are scored in powerful ranges.  The low Db in the contrabassoon in m. 13 is a positively religious effect that I will be listening for from now on.

My Theory III students will be studying the enharmonicism found at rehearsal 1.  The key of the pieces is Db major, and to avoid a key signature of eight flats, Mahler chooses to write in C# minor.  As far as I can telll, this is the key reason for enharmonic writing–mere convenience.  There is no surprise in this chord progression–it moves precisely as it would if the key had remained Db major.

At rehearsal 3, the music moves to the other obvious choice for a contrasting minor key.  In fact, as the relative minor, Bb minor is a more likely candidate than C# minor.  The shift, acknowledged in the key signature, to A major is a bit trickier… Bb minor would be enharmonic to A# minor, which would have a relative major of C#.  The dominant of C# is F#.  The relative major of F# minor is A.   Mahler employs a monophonic technique in the solo violin part rather than try to navigate this convoluted path in such a short movement.  He returns to Db major through C# major in a convenient enharmonic move.

My thoughts on the giant, transcendant final movement will appear at the end of the month.

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