This is Insane
According to the NY Times for Tuesday, July 31, Katharina Wagner’s new production of Die Meistersinger for the Bayreuth Festival featured topless dancers, complete male nudity, plastic phalluses, and “a bizzare auto da-fe” In the third act. My wife related to me a production (this one?) that had Hans Sachs made up as Hitler. One doesn’t have to have seen the particular production to comment. We’ve all seen eurotrash productions.
For years I’ve vacillated back and forth about the validity of such productions. I’ve been reluctant to condemn this sort of thing outright out of cowardice (just like many, many critics), a reluctance to appear to be a close-minded reactionary. But enough is enough. Opera (unless you specifically set out to make a film, such as H.J. Syberberg’s Parsifal) is not a director’s medium. There is a huge dissonance between 1860s music and 2007 post deconstructionist neurotic infantilism. You don’t have to bring the bearskins, metal brassieres and horned helmets back, but Hans Sachs needs to be a grounded, humane figure, Wotan better be missing an eye (this has deep plot relevance) and Sigmund better pull a weapon from the tree, even if it needs must be a submachine gun rather than a sword.
Some operas may potentially benefit from deconstructionst treatment, and some you should leave strictly alone. Here’s a partial list. Feel free to add to it.
Works that may potentially benefit from radical directors:
1. Die Zauberflote
2. Cosi fan Tutte
3. Tristan und Isolde
4. Parsifal
5. Lulu
6. Any of the Orfeo operas; any opera seria (this stuff is so dramatically inert that any dramatic reconsideration is an improvement)
Works to be left strictly alone:
1. La Traviata
2. Die Meistersinger
3. Tosca
4. Peter Grimes
5. Der Rosenkavalier
6-7 Eugene Onegin and The Queen of Spades
When in doubt, leave it alone. Mozart, Verdi and Wagner knew more than you do. And think long and hard about putting sex and violence in…We’ve had too much of that already. In “City Journal” Heather McDonald has an excellent article on the topic. I know nothing of Ms. McDonald, except that my wife finds her politics unsavory, but the article is indeed an excellent one.
Palate-Cleansing Meistersinger DVDs
Composers' Personal Tempos
One of the pleasures in Robert Bernhardt’s performance of the Haydn 104th yesterday was his adoption of correct tempi. Correct for Haydn, that is. For instance, the slow introduction should not be that slow, it should be only about twice as slow as the allegro. How do we know? Most obviously, the metrical relationship becomes clear, nothing is forced, and there are even audible motivic connections between the intro and the allegro with a tempo that moves along. Less obviously, but equally important, there needs to be a cognizance of the very simple harmonies, which do not invite solemn contemplation. Harmonic rhythm is the rate at which chords change. Haydn’s harmonic rhythm in the intro is reasonably slow, hence a none too dragging alla breve is indicated. There is a similar situation in the Brahms First Symphony, by the way. When Brahms writes “Un poco sostenuto” what does he mean? Is “A little bit sustained” a tempo indication? No. It is in fact a direction for articulation. Then what’s the tempo? You find the tempo by leafing a few pages ahead to the allegro, which is absolutely unproblematical. The allegro is an easy tempo to find. It’s comfortably in an non-subdivided two. Subdivide each beat, and, voila! You have the tempo for the introduction. The harmonic rhythm is faster in Brahms, therefore the whole complex of tempi should be slower than in the Haydn case.
One of the real, honest to goodness difficulties with Schoenberg’s style is the combination of complex chords with fast harmonic rhythm. Works like the First String Quartet and the First Chamber Symphony exemplify this. I advise the sort of person who reflexively associates the difficulties with Schoenberg’s style exclusively with atonality to consider the harmonic rhythm. The first quartet is a tougher nut to crack than the atonal but neoclassic third quartet. Schoenberg’s tempos are often counterintuitive.
Which brings me to today’s topic. Leaving aside technical stuff as discussed above, do composers have their own allegros, moderatos, adagios, etc.? Yes. Consider Schubert’s “moderatos”. These are slow. I think often slower than Schubert’s andantes. If this seems crazy, just look at the scores, especially of the piano sonatas. Piano sonatas allow for quite a bit of leeway, because you don’t have to accommodate the co-ordination of an ensemble. That’s why there is so much radical divergence in Beethoven’s piano sonatas as opposed to his symphonies. By the way, I honestly believe that some very well known conductors adopt inappropriate tempi in Beethoven’s symphonies just to “make their mark.” I don’t care much about the metronome debate in Beethoven, because an experienced musician can look at these scores and feel the naturalness of the correct tempi. Where one doesn’t feel the natural tempo, you absolutely must consult Beethoven’s metronome marks. He put them in there for a reason.
Medelssohn’s allegros are faster, in general, than the Classical masters. Mozart’s prestos have to move, and fast! Shostakovich’s allegrettos are sometimes exponentially faster than Schubert’s allegrettos. Well written music generally has a natural tempo, and the words allegro, andante, adagio, etc. are mood indicators, rather than firm indicators of so many beats per minute.
Any conductor who has “fast” or “slow” tempos is a bad conductor. A conductor needs tempi appropriate to this or that composer and piece, not according to his own personal marketing angle. Toscanini was a great conductor, not unthinkingly fast. Otto Klemperer was a great conductor, and the slowness of his last recordings is probably due to his health issues, rather than some stylistic agenda.
There is an incredible amount of distortion in the authentic performance movement, in regard to tempi. Consider the crucifixus in Bach’s B-minor Mass in the Jon Eliot Gardiner recording. It’s a joke. You can wave tome after tome of scholarly exegesis in my face, but I prefer to rely on my own essential sanity, which tells me that the crucifixtion should not be a jolly dance.
Chacun a son Gout: Stylistic Plurality in the 20th Century
In Die Fledermaus, Prince Orlovsky makes the taunt that what he permits for himself, he prohibits for a guest. And he goes on to outline goofy punishments for those who don’t play by his rules. And if you ask, “why?” He responds, “each to his own taste…[and that’s mine]”. This is the attitude of many, many 20th century composers and critics.
Prince Orlovsky has an excuse. He’s drunk. And furthermore, he’s charming. I doubt if most 20th century composers and critics are drunk, and I know most of them aren’t charming. In this space I’ve invited readers to contribute ideas as to what the most important work (or really works, the contest inevitably broadens) of the 20th century is (are). This sort of contest works reasonably well for previous centuries, where there is definitely the sense of a stylistic epitome, or perhaps several epitomes, but not so well in the 20th century, where it’s each man (or style) for itself. You like expressionism? Nominate Salome. Serial and post-serial atonality? Nominate something by Webern. The “new tonality”? Nominate Terry Reilly’s “In C”. Are you a critic of the establishment? Nominate John Cage’s “4’33”. An aficionado of central European folk music? Bartok’s your man. Think the 20th century is essentially about the emancipation of rhythm? Go with Stravinsky.
I’m not persuaded that the multiplicity of styles in the 20th century has necessarily given us a greater harvest of masterpieces than, say, the 18th century. I think multiplicity of styles is the reason we don’t have a Mozart, who, to use Whitman’s phrase, “contains multitudes”. Yesterday I made a brief essay of which the central tenent was that composers’ skills in tonal writing has deteriorated. And I think it’s because we don’t have the necessary agreement of stylistic aims that promotes the evolution of a powerful and resourceful technique. Sometimes in dark moments I think that Mozart and Beethoven are better at everything than any subsequent figure. Everything.
Back at college, we had composition seminars, where 20 or so student composers would present their works. Many of these works were appalling. Possibly some of mine, as well! I had a friend who commented, “If a piece really sucks, and everyone knows it sucks, just say ‘I meant it to suck’.” Pretty well put.
Speaking of agreement of aims, I urge you to compare three successive, utterly masterful cycles in the string quartet genre. Haydn’s 6 quartets, op. 33; Mozart’s 6 quartets dedicated to Haydn; and Beethoven’s op. 18 quartets. There is a sobering lesson there, for those who care to make the effort.
The Problem With the "New Tonality"
Atonality? The verdict is in. There is not a large enough public for works written in atonal idioms to make the case that there is anything but an esoteric future for atonality (with the partial exception of theatrical works; opera and cinema for instance, where it fares rather better than in works without dramatic distractions). There are enough performers who like this repertory to keep the great atonal masters alive, however, especially on CD. But genuine public enthusiasm for new works in an atonal idiom? Not even in Germany. And another problem: it is perfectly possible to hide technical deficiences in atonal music, unlike with tonal music, where clumsy voice leading, short breathed melodic material, incompetence with cadences, etc. is ruthlessly exposed.
And exposed it is. Neo-Tonality won’t really work in the long run. New tonal works from Glass to Pendereckei to that whiz kid who’s written a million symphonies by the age of 2 at Eastman prove this. And it is not really the fault of composers, many of whom sincerely want to connect with a reasonable sized audience. Furthermore, I find it difficult to respect composers who don’t patently want an audience, even if a narrowly constricted one. And academic colleagues hardly count. I believe it was Jakob Druckman, who opined at a composition seminar at Peabody Conservatory in the ’80s (when I studied there) That there wasn’t a composer alive today as competent as Paul Dukas. If it wasn’t Druckman, it was still somebody prominent. So what’s the problem?
1. The minimalists understood profoundly that new tonal music had to be mostly non-chromatic. Allowing chromaticism in just starts the ball rolling all over again, and we’ve been there, done that. History happened. Chopin, Wagner, Strauss, Schoenberg, Boulez and Babbitt happened. But the minimalists found that their limited harmonic means were, well, limited. But there was good reason to rebel against oversaturated chromaticism, of which atonality was the final expression.
2. Composers are no longer trained in the necessarily rigorous way of the old days. Kids at conservatories don’t know the difference between an augmented 6th chord and an incomplete dominant 9th. They don’t know when to use the first inversion, etc. They just don’t…and I know, I’ve heard a lot of this stuff. And I promise you, you have to know this stuff! It’s not some outdated overly technical stuff that some pompous Poindexter clings to because he’s a pedant, it is the very stuff of which any tonal (that is, traditional Western tonality with the octave divided into 12 parts) music consists. Contemporary tonalists often choose chords willy-nilly according to their limited conception of what “sounds good”. A lot of this stuff ends up sounding like Prokofiev, who may have been a master, but who was not a master of tonal harmony. It sounds attractive, but in the last analysis sounds arbitrary as well.
3. Traditional tonality is limited. It is incredibly resourceful, but not limitlessly so. And it is no more acoustically natural or mandated by nature than atonality, for example. It’s a brilliant system created by the mind of man, not the mandate of nature. This is provable at the piano, for instance. By retuning a piano you get different reverberations, different resonant sympathies, which would result in different but viable tonal systems. How about the overtone series, then? Isn’t it true that the most audible overtones of a given pitch outline the tonal triad? Yes, indeed. But other overtones are there as well. I liken the phenomena to written or verbal expression, with varying degrees of complex expression. Beethoven’s 5th uses the simple words, let’s say the Hemingway words, but Strauss’s Elektra uses more recondite language, like Joyce words, for instance.
What is the solution, then? I’m not sure. By the way, I anticipate that the legions of admirerers for the new tonality will vehemently disagree with this article. I appreciate that, and am certainly open to modifying my viewpoint, and will continue to attentively listen to much new music, both tonal and non-tonal.
Arnold Lunaire: The Sun Never Shines in Schoenberg
One of the most striking aspects of the Central European fin de siecle in music is the dominance of nocturnal imagery. Naturally, you could trace this back to that absolutely fundamental work for the era, Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, with the velvety eroticism of the great second act. In expressionist art generally, the night dominates; consider Klimt, Schnitzler, Kafka. And in music, the night rules.
I know very well that Schoenberg’s Gurrelieder ends with a magnificent sunrise, dispelling the nightmare shroud of cruel fate and uncontrollable eroticism that had pervaded this hymn to lonliness and lunacy. The piece begins with a superlative prelude depicting twilight; an invitation to the world of the night. Consider the spooky, albeit hysterical world of Verklaerte Nacht, and of course don’t forget Pierrot Lunaire, Pierrot of the moon. And indeed, lunar imagery dominates the work. Even when Schoenberg looks to a French artist for inspiration, who does he find? Why, Maurice Maeterlinck, of course. (the most iconic scene in Pelleas et Melisande takes place in the castle catacombs.) And don’t forget that most nightly of nightly works, Erwartung. It seems as if Schoenberg can’t take a step without stumbling over a corpse or something, illuminated by Pierrot’s moon.
The attentive reader will have noticed that all these works, tonal or atonal, predate Schoenberg’s dodecaphonic period. Perhaps more relevant is that they all precede World War One, the “Great War”, and scads of commentators like to find prescience in the artists of this era, as if they were a bunch of Cassandras. Maybe. I prefer to see inevitable stylistic evolution stemming from Wagner’s Tristan, as well as a new attention to interior emotitional and psychological states, as exhibited most noticeably in the writings of Sigmund Freud. Perhaps Darwin’s discoveries play a role in the existential sweepstakes as well. That night functions as a metaphor is obvious, in any case.
Most Important Work of the Twentieth Century? Take a Look at Richard Strauss's "Salome"
I nominate Strauss’s Salome. Take a look at chronology…Salome came out in 1905, a half dozen or so years before Pierrot and Le Sacre, and half a generation before Wozzeck and Varese and a few years before Erwartung, which is immeasurably indebted to it. Pelleas came out in 1902, I know. But was it really that influential outside of France?
It is almost a commonplace idea that the most significant and influential works of the 20th century are by Stravinsky (Le Sacre du Printemps) or Schoenberg (Pierrot Lunaire, or possibly Erwartung). Some might even nominate Debussy (Pelleas et Melsande, or even the piano preludes). Some deliberately eccentric commentators may throw works by Ives or Varese into the ring. Some commentators might nominate the two operas by Alban Berg. Wozzeck and Lulu are merely the greatest works of the century, not the most influential. They defy imitation. A formidable personality like Richard Taruskin might lean toward Shostakovich. I think this latter is problematical in many, many ways.
I nominate Strauss’s Salome. Take a look at chronology…Salome came out in 1905, a half dozen or so years before Pierrot and Le Sacre, and half a generation before Wozzeck and Varese and a few years before Erwartung, which is immeasurably indebted to it. Pelleas came out in 1902, I know. But was it really that influential outside of France?
What is so special about this work that gives a key to its importance to the 20th century specifically?
1. The 20th century is the age of Freud. Of dreams, neuroses, sexuality. No work better epitomises these things than Salome, except perhaps Strauss’s own Elektra (1909), which is not only inconceivable without Salome; in fact, you could even argue that it is a continuation of Salome. I think the music is better, but that’s just one factor.
2. The 20th century is the age of the orchestra. Take a look at the score. Rarely equalled (Elektra, Gurrelieder) never surpassed. Its totally relevant complexity, masterful insight into the instruments, surpassing delicacy and astounding violence remains a model to this day.
3. The 20th century is the age of brevity. (forget Messiaen and Stockhausen, those guys are so mired in the 19th century it isn’t even funny. Vingt Regards is Alkan redux. (I love it though, I assure you. The way I love Liszt!) Licht is pure Richard Wagner. Now take a look at Salome. Strauss gets you out of there in a hour and a half. Rossini and Wagner get you out in 4 hours. Handel, well, he never lets you out.
4. The 20th century is the age of the anti-hero. This seems so obvious, I’m reluctant to say more.
Envoi: I suggest that Strauss’s retreat, his retreat into pompous barons, melancholy countesses, Greek mythic figures, commedia dell’arte, bittersweet poetry shows an awareness of what the century was, in essence, and he fully understood his primary musical function (up to 1911) in defining it.
If It Ain't Unanimous, It Ain't Tragic
There are two tragic symphonies in the standard repertory. They are both 6th symphonies, and they are by Tchaikovsky and Mahler. After class recently, I was apprised of some (prima facie eccentric, albeit by reasonably prominent commentators) interpretations that suggest that the Dvorak 9th and the Sibelius 7th symphonies conceal (and conceal is the thing, you can deduce nothing from the notes themselves, heard innocently) “tragic” programs.
Well, I think the word “tragic” is overused. And even if the programs are “proven” by documentary evidence doesn’t mean that what a composer thinks he has created is what a composer has created in actuality. Even great composers… maybe especially great composers prove this theory. Hence my new theory: to be tragic, you have to be unmistakeably tragic. So that every intelligent listener knows he’s heard a tragic symphony.
That brings us to Mozart 40, Schubert 4 (subtitled “tragic”, I know), Haydn 44 (“Mourning” symphony) and 49 (La Passione, written before 44) and maybe some others. Are these tragic? For my money, no. And the reason why is that they are contained by Classical symphonic formula, which is essentially optimistic, affirmative. You have to break something to be tragic. Hence Tchaik 6th and Mahler 6th, which break your heart, but also break convention, they break tradition, they defy expectations.
In the modern era, there are quite a few “tragic” symphonies…oh, let’s see. Hmm. Shostakovich 4, 8, and 14, Vaughan Williams 6 (but not 4, that reasserts convention!) Honeggar 5, etc. These symphonies are self aware, as are the Tchaik and Mahler exemplars. There are quite a few works that are mostly tragic, but don’t end tragically, pieces by Beethoven and Nielsen, for example. Some people consider the Sibelius 4 tragic, possibly seduced by its bleakness and his personal circumstances (throat cancer) at the time. By the ground rules my theory lays down, this is inadmissable…bleak is not a synonym for tragic, and the purely personal is ultimately ephemeral. I don’t find the Sib 4 tragic. Dark, of course. Sad? frequently. Melancholy? not really. That’s a rather self indulgent type of feeling not associated with Sibelius. What is tragic? Something definitive. Ambiguity itself isn’t tragic. Tragic is a definitive, culminatory thing. Show me any intelligent and sober listener who doesn’t find Mahler 6 tragic, and I’ll throw my theory out the window.
A purely personal note: Recently in class, for sentimental and irrelevant historical reasons, I termed the epilogue in Vaughan Williams 5 tragic. Well, this is a gaffe that I corrected in class the next week. By the way, just try giving 2 and 1/2 hour lectures 3 times a week and not produce some howlers. It probably can be done, but only by boring teachers. Well, that’s my defense, your honor. But it goes to prove my thesis: there is an inappropriate amelioration of the concept of the tragic in symphony.
By the way, in class, I regret not sticking to my guns in my, I think, tenable criticism of the Mahler 5th. In the Leinsdorf book I’ve written about, the maestro puts it well: “Mahler, then, was not even attempting to continue the traditions of symphonic writing, whereas Bruckner certainly was. Mahler became an icon for the Second Viennese School. His angst-filled works were the direct inspiration for Schoenberg’s Erwartung and for the greatest masterpiece of twentieth century music-theatre, Alban Berg’s Wozzeck. Mahler’s Sixth has the power to leave the most optimistic listener weak and depressed, while the Fifth is weakened by the composer’s attempt to introduce false and unconvincing optimism into four otherwise quite neurotic movements.” I had said the piece was a collection of tone poems, which I continue to think it is, but I forgot the big Chorale recap in the finale. I’m probably losing my memory, but I think there’s a reason I forgot the biggest “hoehe punkte” in the symphony; I remain unconvinced by it. But that’s just opinion. The Mahler 5th is greater than me, and probably greater than Erich Leinsdorf. I guess we should just be grateful to the master, and try to learn more.
Composers' "Personal" Keys
In the excellent dvd set, “Haydn, The String Quartets”, the first violinist of the Lindsays (string quartet) comments that f-minor was Haydn’s “personal” key; this in reference to the Quartet op. 20, Nr. 5. He goes on to suggest that c-minor and g-minor were Beethoven’s and Mozart’s “personal” keys, respectively.
He’s right. But a “personal” key is by no means the most ubiquitous key in a composer’s output; if it were, just about all classical composers would have personal keys of C or D major. The key word is indeed “personal”…in Haydn’s case, consider the piano variations in f-minor and the symphony “La Passione” in addition to the quartet. In Mozart’s case, the 40th symphony, g-minor quintet and Papageno’s suicide music. In Beethoven, you can start with the 5th symphony and go from there.
More interesting is the pschological mood these keys denote, not just their technical character. For Haydn, you might say “passion”, for Mozart “despair”, and for Beethoven, “struggle”.
I suggest other personal keys: for Chopin, B-major, (and, by the way, Chopin insisted that B major was the easiset and most natural scale on the piano); for Liszt, F#-major, for Tchaikovsky, b-minor, for Janacek, D flat-major. For starters. You will notice that all of these keys are relatively exceptional keys compared to the general ubiquity of keys in the repertory. For those who need persuading about the above designations, consider the following:
Chopin: 3rd sonata, numerous nocturnes, waltzes, and mazurkas, as well as sthe still heart of such pieces as the Fantasy and Poloniase-Fantasy.
Lizst: The “Lucifer” music in the “Dante Sonata”; the “Mephistopheles” music in the b-minor sonata, the Mephisto waltz, etc.
Tchaikovsky: Swan Lake, “Manfred” symphony, and especially the 6th symphony.
Janacek: Sinfonietta and the great epiphany from The Cunning Little Vixen.
But one can make their own list. Mahler doesn’t have a personal key, possibly because all of his music is so personal, so egregiously autobiographical.
In assigning “personal” keys, one should keep in mind that it is a sort of parlor game, and different assignments and disputations are inevitable and welcome; neither is choice of key the most important element even in those works for which a strong identification is present. But it can guide us to certain discoveries, and provide a shorthand for describing the aesthetic predispositions of certain composers. Cross comparison is interesting as well. I suspect most experienced musicians would regard b-minor as moody, even apart from Tchaikovsky…that F#-major is ecstatic, or Promethean…by the way let’s absolutely put Scriabin in the F#-major camp, he belongs with Liszt. It seems like every other piece by Scriabin has the totemic 6 sharps.
A final comment: it is no coincidence that for the classical masters, Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, their characteristic keys are minor keys. In the Classical era, minor keys were already exceptional, and therefore potentially “personal”.
A Provocative Conductor's Provocative Book
Among the many interesting points of view in Erich Leinsdorf on Music (pub. posthumously in 1997 after Leinsdorf’s death in 1993) are these:
1. The art of the daily music critic is undermined, and finally destroyed, by the “media machine”, hype and boosterism replacing authority. This leads to…
2. Poor and irrelevant music criticism because nobody likes to feel that their job is irrelevant, so the most potentially able critics find something else to do with their lives, and…
3. There is a continually shrinking repertory of symphonic and operatic works because nobody can read a score without a recording anymore, and you can’t promote what you don’t know.
An interjection and partial objection: New works are played all the time, in all sorts of places. But wait a minute! Each work is played only once, or in one sequence, because a premiere has cache, not a second performance. So we have Brahms Symphony Nr. 1 with commissioned concerto or overture x, Brahms Symphony Nr. 1 with commissioned overture y; or by way of contrast, Brahms Symphony Nr. 1 with commissioned concerto or overture z. (Caveat: a few ordained “stars” such as John Adams get the sort of exposure otherwise only enjoyed by the canonic masters.) In fact, I suspect that some of the imprimaturred stars of today have a wider appeal among the general public than, say, the Viennese masters who wrote so much of their repertory for the elite. Maybe the only person who loses is is that lonely individual who is tired of bing inundated with the core repertory, but whose taste in new works are precisely for elitist sorts of styles which seek a non-general audience. But then, there are always CDs. The sudden relative inexpensiveness of cd production coupled with the proliferation of small recording companies, and the enduring commitment of fine musicians to the really tough works is some solace to that “lonely individual”.
As for the critics: we need better daily critics, more generally cultured, who write in a literary manner, not a journalistic manner, who are primarily musicians and therefore know what they are talking about, and who don’t try to promote the hand that feeds them. Of course it is a case of “go along to get along”, and telling the truth ruffles many feathers. I’ve been to many Chicago Symphony performances that were routine or even sub-par, and which were rewarded with standing ovations. I’ve also been to magnificent performances (last year’s Shosty 4 from CSO, or the Lyric Opera’s Dialogues of the Carmelites come to mind) which were similarly rewarded. This equivalent response isn’t good manners, it’s lack of proper discrimination, and one of the roles of a critic is to help inculcate the proper discrimination, a role that can only be acquitted by a critic who knows the scores. The scores! Not just the recordings of and commentaries on the scores. There Leinsdorf has it right.
The Worst Symphony in the World
The 1915 version of Sibelius 5 (more familiar in its 1919 version) is the worst symphony in the world. Just kidding. But it would be the worst symphony in Sib’s oeuvre if he had let it stand. Never has a work benefited more from revision. Not Tannhauser, not Boris Godunov, not anything.
In an essay in the New Yorker recently, Alex Ross quotes a member of the Schoenberg circle as calling Sibelius “the worst composer in the world”. I don’t know where this quote comes from, Ross mentions “a pamphlet”. (See postscript below.) Patently, this gross defamation is the product of envy and frustration, although in many respects I sympathise with the predicament of composers who feel a sincere and dedicated obligation to the cause of modernity and are suspicious of perorations in E-flat major, which the Sibelius 5th patently features.
I doubt if the atonalists understood the ingenious and innovative ways Sibelius used tonality, or could appreciate the necessity of a hierachical tonal system in the composition of a symphony. I dislike the presumption of a monopoly of truth exhibited by some of the atonalists, but also exhibited from thousands of concertgoers who a priori rejected the new or difficult; when I was a kid, I went around foolishly proclaiming the poverty of atonality…and I was wrong. Not necessarily wrong about atonality, although now I am sure I was wrong about atonality, but wrong because I was a wet behind the ears tenderfoot who should have been listening, not telling. If there is one thing that infuriates me today, its the smiling, indulgent way some people (friends, as well) think I’m putting them on when I mention how moved I am by a work like Moses und Aron, or almost anything from Anton Webern’s maturity. That’s like saying I’m a liar, or lack integrity.
The 1915 version (the familar version is from 1919) of Sibelius 5 is the worst symphony in the world.
Just kidding. But it would be the worst symphony in Sib’s oeuvre if he had let it stand, and never has a work benefitted more from revision. Not Tannhauser, not Boris, not anything. I bring this up because I just heard the 1915 version on CD from an orchestra based in Lahti. My understanding is that it’s the first performance since the time of its premiere. Loosely constructed, with a pastel scoring style that turns it into a Sib “pastoral” symphony (and he has an utterly exemplary pastoral symphony, his sixth, composed after, of course), with mistiming of the climaxes, over abruptness at the end of the first movement, repetitious phrase lengths, and a “Thor’s Hammer” wielded by the prolix and effeminate Thor (Donner) of Wagner’s Rheingold rather than the mighty Thor of the final version (this is caused not by orchestration, but by timing) the first 5th is not a winner. It was very popular at its premiere, but Sibelius, with uncanny instinct, knew better than his audience. He fixed it.
Update:
I just re-read the excellent Ross article. The Schoenbergian he mentioned is Rene Leibowitz, conductor, teacher, author, and reasonably prolific composer. Most famous for his book, Schoenbergand His School, which was translated by Dika Newlin, who wrote an especially charming book about studying with Schoenberg. Ross mentions a pamphlet, not the dodecaphonic house organ, Die Reihe, which somehow I associated with Leibowitz’s quote. Apparently Leibowitz didn’t contribute to that magazine.I don’t know this pamphlet. Speaking of Die Reihe, according to one of Robert Craft’s books, Sravinsky made a mildly humorous joke about having his (pretendedly authentic) subscription to Mad magazine confused with the very much unwanted periodical, Die Reihe. Die Reihe has articles about all sorts of modernist topics from Ernst Krenek to electronic music. Its contributors are quite distinguished.