Posts Tagged ‘Schumann’

Mahler, Symphony No. 7, movement 2

Monday, July 26th, 2010

Once again, I find myself with less time than I would like to write.  Hopefully, brevity will make me make each word count.

This movement has some fascinating aspects.  I begin with Mahler’s use of texture, which is more intricate and highly developed here than in much of his previous music.  Immediately following the horn solo that opens the movement, the woodwinds begin to build a complex sonic scrim more akin to Ravel or Stravinsky than to Mahler (mm. 10-27).  While motives from the horn solo appear throughout this passage, it is really an orchestral crescendo that leads to a climax in m. 28.  In mm. 28-9, the major-minor motive from the Sixth Symphony reappears, here in the home key of C (I should note that this motive doesn’t really “belong” to the Sixth Symphony, as it appears frequently throughout Mahler’s work).

There follows a harmonized repetition of the theme introduced by the horns, with an immediate variation, beginning in m. 37.   In m. 44, there is an example of Mahler’s interesting use of color in the solo oboe and horn.  The oboe colors the repeated horn notes, lending body and renewed interest to the opening theme.

Measure 62 presents the main theme yet again–this is a highly thematic movement.  It is now coupled with a figural countermelody in the woodwinds, a running triplet idea that will reappear frequently in this movment.  In m. 69, Mahler uses a cadential pattern that is somewhat quirky.  Having arrived on a half-cadence, a subdominant chord is inserted before the return of the tonic in m. 70.  The iv chord is highlighted with a dynamic accent, and is somewhat reminiscent of Robert Schumann’s tendency to begin phrases with a subdominant harmony, as though we were joining the music already in progress.

At m. 83, the first significant change in mood appears, with a change in both tempo and key (to Ab major).  The melody here is linked to the main theme by its opening motive, a rising interval from the triad in question, beginning on the anacrusis.  An extension of this initial phrase leads to a half-cadence in m. 81.  Mahler’s frequent use of the half-cadence in this movement suggests a more open, fantasia-like conception.  This dance-like music continues until an authentic cadence in Ab minor in m. 121, followed immediately by a reprise of the opening horn solo, leading into a modulatory passage that brings back the main theme in C major in m. 141.

In m. 144ff, the horn and oboe are again paired, a favorite color choice for Mahler in this movement.  This section is very much a restatement of the first section (up to the key change to Ab).  In m. 161, the fascinating texture from the opening is revisited, culminating with the same CM-Cm chord (more lushly scored this time) in mm. 187-188.

Measure 190 marks the beginning of new material in C minor, roughly based on the inversion of the main theme.  Mahler’s color choice is again interesting–oboe and English horn each doubled by a solo cello and then, when the range becomes excessive, byh solo violas (m. 198ff).  In m. 211ff, there is an interesting diversion to the key of B minor, strikingly remote from each harmonic destination thus far, with a swing back to C major for the return of the main theme in m. 223, now stated by the full orchestra.

The A-flat major theme reappears in m. 262, now with a countermelody in the woodwinds (two flutes, two oboes and two clarinets in unison).  The amount of thematic repetition in this movement is impressive–and highly suggestive of seven-part rondo form, although Mahler chooses not to state this explicity.  This places the A-sections in C major-minor, the B-sections in A-flat major and the C-section in C-minor.

At m. 317, the typical Mahlerian approach to coda begins–the opening theme begins to unravel, with reminders of earlier textures and ideas intertwining.  By the end, all that is left is the triplet accompanimental idea, which dissolves into not the tonic pitch, but rather the dominant of hte movement, G, leaving a sense of incompleteness that the beginning of the next movement fails to resolve.

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Mahler, Symphony No. 5, fifth movement

Saturday, May 1st, 2010

This movement has gone, over the last weeks, from being a piece that I’ve long admired to something of an analytic enigma.  Simply put, I am at odds to determine whether this “Rondo-Finale” is best considered as a rondo, a sonata-allegro or a fugue.

First, to the title, if that can be a clue for the analyst.  Does “Rondo-Finale” suggest “rondo-as-finale” or “rondo-then-finale?”  My hearing suggests that there is indeed a rondo here, and that it is followed by a lengthy coda, so that the second possibility seems stronger.  In this case, the coda could perhaps begin in m. 581, at a key change to A-flat major, far-removed from the home key of D major.  The melodic and motivic material is related to the rondo theme (mm. 24-55), but this late harmonic move away from the home key suggests a coda.

The music up to this point is highly suggestive of rondo technique, specifically of five-part rondo with its three statements of the rondo theme with interspersed refrains.  The second refrain (beginning in m. 167, the “C” of “ABACA”) is the longest, and is heavily reliant on developmental techniques, especially exploration of remote key areas and contrapuntal recombination of motivic material.

It is, however, the first refrain (beginning at m. 56, the “B” section) that is most striking.  It suggests a four-part fugal exposition, first with a running eighth-note subject, then with various countersubjects introduced over the eighty bars of this section before the return of the rondo theme.  The second refrain can then be cast as a continuation of the fugue.  At m. 273, the original fugue subject appears in counterpoint with one of the countersubjects.  This countersubject becomes the second subject of a double fugue that dominates much of the rest of the second refrain (development).  Contrapuntal technique abounds, with the inversion of the second subject appearing in the violins at m. 457.

The final entrance of the rondo theme appears in a highly modified form at m. 497, leading not back to the beginning, then, but toward the “finale” section of the movement.

There are also intimations here of sonata-allegro, or at least something along the lines of a hybrid sonata-rondo, as found in another wonderfully contrapuntal work, the finale of Robert Schumann’s Piano Quintet, Op. 44.  The first rondo and first refrain would correspond to a sonata exposition, the second rondo and second refrain to the development, and the last refrain and “finale” to the recapitulation and coda.

It is a fascinating feature of this movement that it not only is a highly compelling piece of music, but that it also embodies these three formal procedures .

A final issue with this symphony is its harmonic plan.  The home keys of the five movements are, in order, C-sharp minor, A minor, D major, F major and D major.  Mahler uses this narrative tonality in other places.  If Mahler had in mind a major-key finale to a minor-key symphony, in the manner of Beethoven’s Fifth and Ninth Symphonies, perhaps he felt that the technical challenges involved in C-sharp major might be too much for his orchestra, given the already stiff demands of the music.  At any rate, it is also simply possible that Mahler is moving away from the single-key concept of a symphony.  The five movements appear appear to be held together from a motivic standpoint, rather than from harmonic consistency, but in a traditional sense, they are no more related than a suite of pieces extracted from an opera or ballet.  It is a testament to Mahler’s compositional technique that the piece feels completely unified without sharing a common key center.

Now on to the Sixth–four large movements, so two weeks each.

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From Beethoven to Mahler

Wednesday, 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?

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Opus 79

Monday, October 27th, 2008

This month, I actually had more of a chance to dig in to the sonata I’ve assigned myself.  I’m finding that the more I can do at the piano with each piece, the more I get to it… of course, we also had fall break, but the trend doesn’t bode well for Opus 106, which will be coming up in short order–March of next year.  Honestly, “Hammerklavier” has been looming on the horizon since the start of this project, but that was sort of the point all along.  I will not avoid the piece just because it is hard.

Back to the topic at hand, though, Opus 79.  What a little gem!  When I teach Forms next fall, we will be interested in this little piece.  Again, I should be reading Beethoven’s biographies along with this project, but it’s very interesting to me that just when much of his music was getting bigger he came up with these two littler sonatas.  Market forces, perhaps?

The first movement starts with a theme that feels like a rondo theme in a way, but the movement has nothing to do with that form.  If each of these sonatas is a different experiment, perhaps that is the idea in this one.  Not that it falls into the category of “sonata-rondo” like, say, the finale of the Schumann piano quintet, but more and more Beethoven seems to be trying to break out of the mold of the sonata, of writing music by formula.  I’ve always been taught that this was what Romantic composition was, but to see it in action is another thing entirely.  I think back–two years ago now!–to the Opus 2 sonatas that seem so much more “by the book,” as though Beethoven had read Caplin’s (amazing) book on Classical form.  At any rate, even though this piece is relatively small, it isn’t the same composer as those littler pieces.

The slow movement is fun, because I can nearly play it!  Again, one that will come up in Forms next year, because it is a wonderful example of a ternary form that also displays interesting motion (within the A sections) to the III chord in minor.

Then the real rondo–those triplets against the eighth-two-sixteenths are unforgettable, and I can again only admire the pianists who pull them off so smoothly.  I’ve been practicing that rhythm all month, and I hear it, but the hands don’t seem interested in playing it.  Too bad.

I’ve talked with some people in person about what set of pieces to tackle next.  Mariah Carrel-Coons, our accompanist at OPSU, jokingly suggested the Scarlatti sonatas.  More within my reach perhaps, as a pianist, but not quite what I had in mind.  Several pieces have suggested themselves to me.  The Mahler symphonies would be a heck of a trip, and I could spend two months on each, doing analysis in my spare time, as usual.  If I were to continue with Beethoven, the quartets would be the next logical direction–a section of his work largely unfamiliar to me, and a direction I would like to take as a composer.  The options are plentiful–the Ligeti Etudes for piano have been calling to me; I could take a tour through the Preludes of Chopin or Debussy, with a little less time for each piece.  Any suggestions?

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