Download Artemis 3-19 Notes

Tonight’s program centers on radically different conceptions of musical form. In its purest sense,
the form determines when musical themes are heard and how they are developed throughout the
piece. There are simple forms – popular music often uses a verse/chorus/verse/chorus pattern –
and complex forms – a Mozart symphony uses a sophisticated system of exposition,
development, and recapitulation, in which the primary themes are introduced, led into conflict
through melodic and harmonic changes, and resolved in a grand restatement.
The composers on tonight’s program both hail from Central Europe (Germany and Hungary),
where composers have often been more prone to explorations of form than their French, Italian,
or English counterparts. The first and last works by Johannes Brahms display a late-nineteenth
century sensibility in regards to form. He uses many of the classic forms, such as SonantaAllegro, Da Capo, Theme and Variations. Brahms expands these forms and often plays with the
listeners expectations, but by the end of the movements the form has always been resolved, and
musical questions have been answered.
György Kurtág’s work features a late-twentieth century conception of musical form. Following
after the avant-garde composers of the early twentieth century, in particular Arnold Schoenberg
and Anton Webern, Kurtág’s form is dramatically altered, and indeed it is this change that will
strike one as either brilliant and daring, or obtuse and irritating. The work is divided into fifteen
mini-movements ranging from twenty seconds to two minutes. Each movement has its own
musical statement, but with none of the introductions and context of most Classical music. The
movements contain only brief themes, as if one is flipping through the radio to catch twenty
seconds from the middle of several compositions. They are musical statements without
pretention, without traditional form, challenging our understanding of music’s organization.
Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)
String Quartet in B-flat Major, Op.67 (1875)
Brahms was famously a perfectionist composer following the declaration by Robert Schumann in
the 1850s that Brahms was the next Beethoven. Perhaps feeling the subsequent pressure, Brahms
spent fifteen years working on his first symphony (1861-1876). The String Quartet in B-flat
Major premiered in 1876, and wanting a departure from the weightiness of his symphony,
Brahms described it as “a useless trifle to avoid facing the serious countenance of a symphony.”
Opus 67 can hardly be heard as a “useless trifle,” but is instead a delightful and progressive
composition that explores several classical forms, provides rich rhythmic variety, and presents
thorough developments of musical themes. The beginning of the first movement, with its light
and playful melody, suggests a work that could indeed provide a counterbalance to the
complexity of the symphony; but this opening brilliantly masks a thoroughly academic
composition. The movement includes passages in which two instruments play in groups of two
beats, while the others play in groups of three beats, and there are even moments during which
the instruments play in different time signatures. Perhaps more noticeable is the seemingly
convoluted presentation of the principal melodies. The movement is in the classic SonataAllegro form (exposition: development: recapitulation), but the listener’s expectations are often
defied. Indeed, at first it seems as if we hear the musical themes out of order, but by the end they
have been rearranged into a logical, immensely satisfying resolution.
The gravitas of the first movement is contrasted by the lyrical beauty of the second. It is lush and
provides a respite from the frantic playing of the first and later movements. There are still
dramatic changes of mood, as with most of Brahms’ oeuvre, but it features song-like melodies
and rich harmonies. The third movement is particularly playful and dancelike. Pizzicato
accompaniment, rhythmic syncopation, and especially a rich interplay between the voices stand
out. It has a Da Capo form, in which players return to the beginning of the piece and replay most
of it before closing with a brief coda. The final movement is a theme and variations. A simple
and joyful theme is presented and then morphed through a series of variations until it is hardly
recognizable. Fans of the warm, often underused tones of the viola will especially enjoy the first
few variations. Pizzicato accompaniment in the upper strings foreshadow a later pizzicato
discussion between the cello and viola. The movement’s ending is so sweet it is almost
saccharine, but a four-measure forte coda provides a pleasing sense of finality.
György Kurtág (b. 1926)
Quartet, Op. 28 (Officium breve, In Memoriam Andreae Szervánsky) (1988-89)
Kurtág was born in Romania and received his musical education in Budapest, where he became
close friends with composer György Ligeti. He continued to work primarily in Hungary, except
during the years surrounding the Hungarian uprising of 1956. During this time he studied in Paris
with Olivier Messiaen and Darius Milhaud, and also was exposed to the music of Anton Webern,
which was highly influential to his developing style. In 1959 he returned to Hungary, where he
worked until the early 2000s when he returned to France.
Kurtág has won several Hungarian and international awards in composition. Officium breve, In
Memoriam Andreae Szervánsky is a requiem in memory of Hungarian composer Szervánsky
(1911-77). It is a synthesis of musical styles, utilizing quotations of two works, Szervánsky’s Six
Orchestral Pieces (1959) and the last movement of Webern’s final composition, Cantata No. 2,
Op. 31 (1941-43). In setting his last work, Kurtág’s Officium breve is symbolically also a
requiem in honor of Webern. In addition to these models, several movements of the work include
dedications to specific Hungarian musicians and feature a musical element inspired by that
musician. (For an in-depth discussion of these dedications, see Benjamin Frandzel’s analysis of
this work in Studia Musicologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 2002).
Officium breve is divided into fifteen short movements, each averaging around forty seconds.
The movements can be thought of as interrelated musical pictures; as discussed above, there is
no form in the traditional sense, but instead brief statements of musical ideas ranging from the
sounds of tuning (mvt. 1) to imitative duets (mvt. 7). Influenced by Webern, most of the
movements are atonal, that is without a tonal center. Put another way, the movements do not
have a key in the traditional sense, but instead each pitch is of equal importance.
Listening to atonal pieces can be difficult for those unfamiliar with the avant-garde of the
twentieth century. Instead of listening for common elements such as melody, rhythmic variation,
or harmonic tension and release, listen instead to the sounds themselves. Like a painting by
Picasso or Kandinsky, the interest lies in the interplay between colors and shapes, or in the case
of music, harmonic dissonance and timbre (tonal color). In the 11th movement of Officium breve,
for example, the pitch C is repeated constantly while the other notes are mostly B, Db, and D, the
pitches closest to C. These close chords are called “tone clusters” and produce harmonies rarely
heard before the twentieth century. Exploring these types of unusual sounds is indeed a purpose
of the composition as a whole.
Johannes Brahms
String Quartet in C Minor, Op. 51, No.1 (1873)
Brahms published two string quartets in 1873 under the same opus number, No. 1 in C minor,
and No. 2 in A minor. True to Brahms’ fastidiousness, work began on the pair in 1865 and they
took several years to write. Practice runs of the quartets took place in 1869 but Brahms remained
unsatisfied and continued to work on the pair. When his first string quartets premiered Brahms
was forty years old.
The C minor quartet is known for its tragic, nearly orchestral character. The movements are
linked by a similar mood, and the first and last share many rhythmic and harmonic
commonalities. Throughout this work we hear driving, almost mechanical rhythms that churn to
create dramatic tensions. These are heard clearly in the first movement surrounding brief
plaintive passages. Also heard throughout this movement and later in the quartet are loping
dotted rhythms in a long-short-long pattern. Used in specific ways the long-short-long pattern
can sound dancelike (as in the work of many French composers), but here it sounds more like a
rattling train. At the end of the movement the gradual slowing down of this rhythmic drive
creates the sound of a train coming to a stop.
The second movement offers much-needed relief. It is more intimate than the almost symphonic
first movement, and sounds much like a lullaby. Eventually the lush, beautiful harmonies give
way to darker moments of tension: like any good lullaby (and especially a Germany one), there
are periods of darkness and confusion, before a peaceful conclusion. The third movement brings
a return of rolling syncopated rhythms and lengthy explorations of the lower registers. Highlights
include pizzicato passages moving between the viola and cello, later answered in the upper
strings. After a pause the score is notated “un poco più animato” (a little more animated), which
leads to a sprightly section in triple time before a return to the beginning of the composition. The
fourth movement opens with a theatrical unison melody that breaks the introspective drone
pattern of the previous movement. Dotted rhythms return, accompanied now by rich harmonic
writing. The piece drive to an end as increased rhythmic activity creates an illusion of
acceleration to a dramatic conclusion.
Nicholas Johnson
Butler University