Survey
* Your assessment is very important for improving the workof artificial intelligence, which forms the content of this project
* Your assessment is very important for improving the workof artificial intelligence, which forms the content of this project
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