Martha Graham in Appalachian Spring
From Peter Glushanok’s 1958 film version for WQED Pittsburgh. Dancers are Martha Graham as The Bride, Stuart Hodes as The Husbandman, Bertram Ross as The Revivalist, Matt Turney as The Pioneer Woman and Yuriko, Helen McGehee, Ethel Winter and Miriam Cole as The Revivalists’ Flock. The stage design is by Isamu Nogochi.Aaron Copland's original scoring.
Via Orchestra21, the blog of conductor Jason Weinberger
A Final Reckoning: Viktor Ullmann's Last Piece
January 27 is Holocaust Remembrance Day, the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau by Soviet troops. Representing the many victims, especially the doomed artists of Theresienstadt, we’re listening to the Seventh Piano Sonata of Viktor Ullmann. Under the Nazi regime, Ullmann was first silenced as a “degenerate” composer owing to his Jewish ancestry, then deported to the Theresienstadt ghetto/transit camp in September 1942. After contributing to the camp’s poignantly rich artistic life for two years — and composing most of the pieces of his which survive today — he was deported to Auschwitz in mid-October 1944 along with members of his family and many colleagues such as Hans Krasa (composer of the opera Brundibar), Pavel Haas, and Gideon Klein. He’s believed to have been gassed on October 18, 1944.
Here are the Variations and Fugue from Ullmann’s last work, his 7th Piano Sonata. The fugue is on Yehuda Sharret’s Song of Rachel, a popular Zionist anthem. It’s dedicated to Ullmann’s three eldest children and dated August 22, 1944. His youngest son, Pavel, had died in the camp at the age of three and son Max would die in Auschwitz at twelve. Felice and Jean (Johannes) were safe in the England.
As was Ullmann’s habit, this movement is full of other musical quotations, the most audible of which may be “Now Thank We All Our God.”
The seventh sonata is also the short score for a planned Second Symphony, eventually realized by Bernhard Wulff. (Look for the CD and DVD conducted by James Conlon.) Reviewing a performance of the orchestral version, James Reid Baxter offers this chilling description:
Wulff described the final Variations and Fugue on a Hebrew Folksong as a ‘final reckoning with European culture, which allowed things like Terezin to happen’. It is simply the most disturbing music I have ever heard. The little melody is lightly varied several times, then subjected to vehement, superb fugal treatment which sets alarms ringing — the possible symbolism of which is stomach-turning. The horror grows as ‘Now Thank We All Our God’is sonorously declaimed by the brass over a furious counterpoint, which builds to a general pause. Then a single, derisory blare of ‘B-A-C-H’ is heard on trombine, and the father of German music is dismissed in a ferocious stretto using the Hebrew melody, which concludes the Symphony with heartbreaking energy, singing in the face of deliberate murder of so many millions of futures. The sheer strength required to write, in those circumstances, silences all criticism. Never has the idea of ‘music as music’ seemed so small: as Wulff wrote, this is not ‘engaged composition, this is music as the will to survive.
Ullmann kept a diary in Theresienstadt in which he addressed the idea of singing in the face of… (words fail).
I have composed quite a lot of new music here in Theresienstadt, mostly at the request of pianists, singers and conductors for the purpose of the Ghetto’s recreation periods. It would be as irksome to count them, as it would be to remark on the fact that in Theresienstadt, it would be impossible to play a piano if there was none available. In addition, future generations will care little for the lack of music paper that we presently experience. I emphasise only the fact that in my musical work at Theresienstadt, I have bloomed in musical growth and not felt myself at all inhibited: we simply did not sit and lament on the shores of the rivers of Babylon that our will for culture was not sufficient to our will to exist. And I am convinced that all who have worked in life and art to wrestle content into its unyielding form will say that I was right…”
Obama Inauguration Music & Symbolism, Part 2
This post was supposed to be a discussion of the John Williams Inauguration composition Air and Simple Gifts. But the piece itself just wasn’t that interesting! So how about some brief comments and links, and have some more Marian Anderson?
The piece (see video below) consisted of an air that felt primarily soothing, rather like a sunbeam that comes through the window warms part of your carpet on an otherwise chilly day. The “Simple Gifts” portion was an obvious nod to Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring, which is perhaps the quintessential American classical composition. So quintessential, probably, that it’s unnecessary to point out that Anthony McGill’s gorgeously played clarinet entrance on the “Simple Gifts” melody is a verbatim quote from the Copland version. (Listen to that on YouTube, with some Ansel Adams photographs.)
Here’s the video from the Inauguration:
Alex Ross gathers some reviews, and offers some hopes for what an Obama administration might do for classical music and the arts. He also links to a brief video of Obama narrating Copland’s Lincoln Portait.
By now the “scandal” has broken that the musicians, due to the cold temperature, were marking along to a recording they’d made — the instrumental equivalent of lip-synching. There have been a few “Milli Vanilli” quips, but it’s not like they hired, well, better musicians to do the playing behind the scenes. My favorites were the attempts to tie this “scandal” to the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics, where the “cuter” girl lip-synched for the girl with the better voice. Whether they could have found “cuter musicians” than Ma, Perlman, McGill and Gabriela Montero is pretty subjective, but believe me when I say the use of a prerecording was the right call. Musical instruments are made of wood, metal, fabric and glue. Know what happens to those materials in cold weather? They contract. Strings, inparticular, get brittle. The brass band hit several clunkers in those fanfares they played as people were walked in.
So, let’s get back to Marian Anderson and why she was such a big deal. Some of my favorite clips:
Handel’s “He Shall Feed His Flock” in a very slow performance that would certainly never be allowed in today’s era of “early music authenticity.”
Schubert’s “Erlkoenig” — listen to how successfuly Marian differentiates the voices.
“Sometimes I fee Like a Motherless Child”
For those reading this on a feed - this is Bonnie Gibbons talking, not John. It’s come to my attention that author names aren’t being included on the feed, which I’ll try to get fixed. Generally, if the post discusses a piece of music in detail it’s John, because that’s what he does for a living. With a day job in web site development, I’m generally the one with the digital music industry news, or the “around the web” stuff. Due to my respect for this day job, I rarely have an opportunity to discuss music in detail, and never did get the chops to, say, discuss the music of George Perle, who passed last week.
Obama Inauguration Music and Symbolism, Part 1
View at Britannica.comWhatever your political persuasion in the 2008 election, it’s beyond dispute that the inauguration of an American president of African descent is historic. Given that Obama has lived so long in, and represented, the Land of Lincoln, it was inevitable that he’d tap into the Lincoln mythology with gestures such as his train trip into DC and his taking of the oath of office using the same bible that Lincoln used in 1861.
A piece of symbolism missed by the TV commentators, not to mention me at the time, was the backstory of Aretha Franklin’s performance of “My Country Tis of Thee.” As a lover of true contralto voices and a history buff, I’m a little sheepish that it took a belated visit to The Rest is Noise to remind me that Marian Anderson sang the same song on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1939. Anderson, an internationally successful opera singer, had been denied permission to perform to an integrated audience in venues owned by the Daughters of the American Revolution and a local white public school.
These YouTube video show Anderson’s performance along with Franklin’s. The Anderson performance includes an introductory speech by Harold Ickes, who had authorized the performance in his capacity as Secretary of the Interior.
Martin Luther King, Jr. may have been referencing Anderson’s performance in his 1963 “I Have a Dream” speech:
This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My country, ‘tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.”
At least one TV commentator quoted this excerpt as Aretha stepped up to the podium Tuesday, but in none of the network videos I’ve seen did they mention Marian Anderson at that moment.
Anderson was celebrated by by Queen Latifah (paying homage through words and a similar style of fur coat) at Sunday’s Lincoln Memorial concert. But not during the inauguration TV coverage in conjunction with Franklin’s performance of the same song, seven decades later, in such vastly different circumstances.
Part 2 of this post will discuss the John Williams chamber piece premiered at the ceremony.
The National and the Confessional in Smetana and Dvorak
Is music universal? Maybe, but I have my doubts. Just as there are individual people who have no use for or response to music (consider the famous cases of Sigmund Freud and Vladimir Nabokov, for instance), I rather suspect that there are probably nations or cultures that have no use for music. Nations of Ullyses Grants (“I know two tunes: one of ‘em’s “Yankee Doodle” and the other one ain’t.”). This mildly amusing Grant anecdote may be apocryphal for all I know, and it may be that a learned anthropologist would tell me that they’ve never encountered an amusical cuture. But this I know: if amusical cultures exist, the Czechs ain’t one of them.
How should we feel about avowedly “national” music? Remember, if you value “patriotism”, for instance, as all the presidential candidates are required to avow every hour, on the hour, you must respect patriotism in nations other than your own. Otherwise it’s not patriotism per se you value, but some kind of hegemony, cultural or political.
A few years ago I had an annoying incident at O’Hare airport, returning from Europe. I think it may have been from France or Germany, but let’s just say it was from Prague. I somehow got in the wrong line for passport control and an exasperated agent called me over to the appropriate line, the one for American citizens. (For better or worse, I’m always immediately recognizable as an American… hmm, maybe it’s due to the loud Hawaiian shirts, the loud voice, and the chic ensemble of plaid shorts with socks and sandals. On the other hand, if I tried to wear a leather jacket and an earring, I would be immediately perceived as an “ugly American” trying to be an “ugly European”)…
Anyway, the agent berated me thusly: “You shouldn’t have to wait in line, you belong here, not like those other people.” And his tone dripped contempt for “those other people”. Maybe he meant to show comraderie with me, or whatnot. But I didn’t like it, it stuck in my craw. Before the death of the dollar I went to Europe quite frequently, and I promise you, I sure wouldn’t want that jackass on the reception committee at the other end.
Which brings us to the case of Smetana, a composer who explicitly stated that he valued the “national” more than the “universal”; this view even caused a rift with a friend. Now, Smetana’s experience abroad, in Sweden primarily, but Germany as well, cemented his narrowly Czech outlook… he had a rough time getting his career going as well as he wanted it to go, he was homesick and estranged from his family. Also, the fate of the Czech lands for much of its history has been to be a victim of Austrian and German control, and of course this pattern continued in the generations after Smetana’s death, with the Soviet Union added to the list of offenders against Czech sovereignty most recently.
So Smetana’s view is understandable, to say the least. But does it limit his appeal? Does knowing that a composer isn’t writing for you cause you any qualms? Do you prefer Beethoven, who is writing for you? In his aspirations Smetana is more Czech than Schubert is Viennese, more Czech than Tchaikovsky is Russian, more Czech than Ives is American. Is this a problem?
No, because music is abstract, and a composer cannot control the intrinsic meaning of an abstraction, only its outward semblance. It’s out of his hands. Case in point, “From Bohemia’s Woods and Valleys” uses a polka as the symbol of nationhood, the people, which is then combined with music representing nature in a mystical epiphany. If Gershwin were to use a fox-trot in “From America’s Woods and Valleys” should polka dancers feel left out? Nietzsche had it right, it’s neither the best nor the worst that is lost in translation. And don’t ever let a Russian tell you that you can’t “really understand” Mussorgsky, or a Norwegian tell you that you can’t “really understand” Grieg. But when it comes to non-Western cultures, I’m mute. I just don’t know enough.
Dvorak was a staunch Catholic as well as a staunch nationalist. His frustration with the publisher Simrock ignoring his pleas to publish his name in the Czech manner, as well as providing Czech texts in his scores is well known. And I’d go so far to say that a fair minded person would be almost obliged to respect the nationalism of a Czech vis a vis. the dominant and foreign German influence and control, politically and culturally, in the Czech lands at the time.
Dvorak’s confessionalism might be more palateable than the nationalism of Smetana for non-Czechs, partly because Dvorak didn’t hesitate to include Hussite themes in for instance, his “The Hussites” overture, although the Hussites were completely opposed to Catholocism. Dvorak thought that the Hussites nevertheless represented important and admirable traits. And confessionalism is often trans-national; Catholocism certainly is. But is confessional exclusivity any better than national exclusivity, especially since typically in the former case those left out are thought to be denied salvation?
Once again, music itself provides an elegant rebuttal to the exclusiveness crowd. Consider the case of William Byrd, or Bach himself, who signed some document condemning the beliefs of the prince of Anhalt-Coethen, and then memorably eulogized him with movements from a (Catholic!) mass setting. Consider the poignant and instructive case of Shostakovich, who wrote thrilling and moving music for the Soviet ideology, that so many people insist on appropriating for very different ideologies! Consider the anti-ecclesiast Verdi in his “Four Sacred Pieces” and Requiem.
Great composers have often expressed ugly jingoistic credos. But their own works as often as not belie their ideological intentions. Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. This applies to Wagner as well, by the way, although you need several strong men to dump out the unusually deep tubs of bathwater.
Greatest Tone Poem? Don't Forget to Consider Smetana's "From Bohemia's Woods and Valleys"
Smetana’s Ma Vlast (Read Wikipedia | Play recording) constitutes the greatest orchestral score between Berlioz and Brahms. I don’t raise an eyebrow if you would like to correct that to “between Beethoven and Mahler”. And the jewel in the crown is “From Bohemia’s Woods and Valleys”. (Czech: Z českých luhů a hájů)
Ma Vlast as a whole has more coherence than most symphonies; not only that, “The Moldau”, “Sarka”, and “From Bohemia’s Woods and Valleys” constitute miniature symphonies of their own; “The Moldau” is a four movement symphony, where the scherzo is the peasant wedding and the slow movement the wood nymphs…although I prefer to think of that exquisite A-flat major passage as amorous lovers floating by, probably because A-flat was Beethoven’s “amorous” key, and because Beethoven generally represents the standard against which other composers are measured…his conceptions have assumed a sort of central position. Consider for instance Mozart’s great c minor piano fantasy. How often have you heard it described as “Beethovenian”, for instance? Anyway, leaving Beethoven aside, “Sarka” is a miniature five movement program symphony (ever notice how often program symphonies have five movements? “Pastoral”, “Fantastique”, etc.).
“From Bohemia’s Woods and Valleys” is a symphony as well, but not as obvious a construction as “Moldau” and “Sarka”, although it is in fact more deeply motivically integrated. The awsome wall of sound representing mighty nature that engulfs the listener at the very beginning generates most of the material for the rest of the composition. Unlike “Moldau”, the movements in “Woods and Valleys” are not easily separable; Nature is constantly re-inventing itself, from terrible majesty to warm beauty to proliferative, burgeoning life to a great epiphany when nature collides with humankind. The shepherd girl’s pastoral piping echoes nature’s sounds; she is a sort of emanation of nature herself. As such, she doesn’t provide dramatic conflict. The institution of social, communal life of the people is necessary to provide dynamic contrast, the people being represently by a strangely fierce polka in nature’s key of g minor. And g minor is Smetana’s “intense” key, consider for instance his great requiem trio for his daughter Bedriska.
The structure of the piece is essentially 1. Mighty nature 2. Nature in its benignant aspect, the Shepherdess. 3. Nature as a continual process of renewal; proliferative nature, represented as a fugue, which is both fitting and ironic. Fitting, because no musical strategy is as much about growth, variation, replication, and proliferativeness as the fugue, ironic becasue fugue is the most intellectual and learned musical device. Nature is many things, but it is not intellectual! Apropos this irony, I’d like to quote Arnold Schoenberg: “The most beautiful birdsong is never music, but the simplest modulation, accomplished correctly, is already music.” 4. The intrusion of human institutions, represented by a polka, the musical symbol of the Czech people. 5. Humans and nature transcend their inherent limitations and spiritually unite in a oneness. Does my description sound “artsy-fartsy”? I assure you, the music is not.
The piece is sublime in both the scarifying real meaning of the word, and also in the casual meaning which loosely means transcendant. By the way, Ma Vlast isn’t so much six loosely connected masterpieces as it is one masterpiece in six necessary and dependant parts. Play the whole thing, in order, please.
Listening
Smetana: Má Vlast
Supraphon
Rafael Kubelik’s triumphant return to the 1990 Prague Spring festival. This performance is briefly featured at the end of the Oscar-winning Czech film Kolya as the film’s protagonist resumes his rightful place in the cello section of the Czech phil.