LIBBY LARSEN: DEEP SUMMER MUSIC, SOLO SYMPHONY, MARIMBA CONCERTO

Libby Larsen is an active composer of works in several genres, including orchestral and solo works. As a female composer, she strongly promotes an increased role for women in music. She has also encouraged composers to have a role outside of academia through her co-founding of the American Composers Forum. In works such as Deep Summer Music, Solo Symphony, and Marimba Concerto: After Hampton, she redefines the role of the musicians as well as that of the listener in addition to specifically exploring the meaning of “soloist.” Her use of lyrical melodies amidst a more modern freedom of tonality along with her compositional philosophy of exploration and redefinition of “solo” certainly warrant a place in the Canon.

Deep Summer Music, written more than ten years before the other pieces on this CD, contains a rather traditional use of the soloist, as the trumpet solo “recalls the presence of the individual amidst the vastness of the landscape” (Program Notes, Libby Larsen). This solo (which is encapsulated neatly in the middle of the piece, evoking a feeling of enclosure) emphasizes the limited scope of a single performer or person when considering the larger ensemble or scene. Larsen’s lyricism is most clearly evident in this piece, opening with a soaring melody in the strings accompanied by varied wind instruments that pop in just to change the color of the melody. One cannot help but imagine the colors of different crops in the landscape as the winds fade in and out. Larsen stays away from a primary tonal center for the most part, letting her melody meander through differing keys unhindered. This programmatic approach to music as well as the “individual in the wilderness” theme is quite reminiscent of the Romantic period, but her free tonal center (formed more by overlapping scalar melodies than triads) and use of scattered color shifts clearly define her work as modern.

Larsen’s exploration of the role of a soloist begins to develop in Marimba Concerto: After Hampton. While the form of the piece takes the standard fast, slow, fast pattern, the use of marimba varies greatly from movement to movement. In the first movement, the marimba and the orchestra to trade increasingly difficult rhythmic motives as they “pass the plate.” The character of the movement is certainly derived from the interaction between the soloist and the orchestra, while the second movement focuses almost entirely on the marimba as a “soloist” by all conventional definitions of the term. The orchestra’s role is consistently muted (as implied by the marking “in muted colors”), leaving the marimba to carry the melody for itself. Larsen restructures the marimba’s role again in the final movement by lessening the pervasive role of the solo marimba, bringing to mind the percussion ensembles that are prevalent in non-Western music. The marimba simply functions within the group of percussionists, playing in unison with other instruments and using tremolos simply as color rather than soloistic ornamentation. As concertos are generally meant to exhibit the talents of a solo performer, her intentions for the movements seem counterintuitive to the listener at times. However, it is this repressing of the conventional definition of “soloist” that Larsen may be after.

This redefinition of “soloist” is particularly evident in Solo Symphony. Larsen specifically points out this definition in her program notes for the premiere: “A solo is a group. The effort of many becomes the effort of one to produce a unified sound, a unified music.” The spirit of this quotation is clearly audible, beginning with the first movement, “Solo solos.” This movement begins with short solos passed among the clarinet, oboe, bassoon, horn, and trumpet. At any given point the listener can hear the soloists passing the melody, and as the density of the piece builds, it moves among larger sections playing as choirs in unison. This growth shows the extension of the definition of solo from that of the individual to that of the group. The second movement, “One dance, many dancers,” transforms a theme introduced by the trombone into several different styles, ranging from a heavy funk beat established by the low brass to a swinging clarinet solo. While this movement does not so blatantly reflect the role of the soloist, it does reflect that a singular dance may comprised of several dancers (and styles), just as a single solo is comprised of several instruments (paralleling her “group” definition).

Preceded by the brief movement “Once around,” which features the orchestra’s instrumental choirs, “The Cocktail Party Effect” (the fourth movement) requires the listener to pick out the designated “solo instrument” from the chaos of background music. The solos in this movement function not as melodies that rise to the fore, but as hidden tidbits for which one must search. This function takes the spotlight off of the soloist and gives more prominence to the orchestra as the whole being the solo group to which the audience listens. This still is not the end of Larsen’s redefining of “solo;” she sums up her program notes with the words: “In fact, the listener is the true soloist.”

Larsen’s identifying the listener as a soloist depicts a trend in the arts to involve and engage the audience to a greater degree. She writes melodies that retain enough lyricism, even in their lack of tonal center, to be aesthetically pleasing to the average audience. Larsen’s willingness to question standard definitions and conventions in music is similar to that of many modern composers. In stretching the definitions of “musician” and “listener” along with writing lyrical melodies, she produces many appealing works. It is her specific explorations of “soloist” in the pieces on this CD that set her apart from some of the others as she places her solo instruments in varying situations. Larsen executes these explorations excellently in her music, which makes her very deserving of a place in the Canon.

HARRY PARTCH: THE BEWITCHED, A DANCE SATIRE

Harry Partch was an American composer perhaps best known for developing and using a temperament other than equal. He even designed new instruments and notational systems in order to use this temperament to invoke passionate emotion in the audience, just as music from ancient societies might have done. The Bewitched, A Dance Satire (1957) exemplifies his idea of “corporeality,” which asserts that the music should be joined with physicality and that separating the two would take away an important aspect of the art. In addition, Partch emphasized that the corporeal nature of his works was related to ancient forms that have since been “mutilated.”[1] In this work, the musicians are freed from the musical pit and released on a stage full of risers where they move and act as well as play Partch’s instruments. Here, the instruments themselves take on physicality as they form the set. This expansion of the role of the performer in addition to Partch’s unique instrumentation makes The Bewitched an intriguing philosophical study. It is quite rhythmically driven, and the vocalizations are all nonsense syllables. While the piece is not an easy listen, perhaps in part because the music in CD form has been ripped from its corporeal aspects, Partch’s innovative ideas regarding music demand study.

The Bewitched opens and closes with a focus on the musicians as they act under the presence of the Witch. An eighteen minute prologue titled ‘The Lost Musicians Mix Magic” accompanies their discovery of the freedom of the stage. Partch himself related in his notes: “If this evening accomplishes nothing else, it will relieve the beautiful (and) rhythmic movements of the musicians from the inhibitory incubus of tight coats and tight shoes.” In putting the musicians in such a prominent position, he was perhaps “cocking a snook”[2] at the specialization of the fine arts. Rather than limiting the musicians to the role of music-makers, he showed that musicians also have bodies that can perform visually. Additionally, by putting them onstage as part of the drama, Partch supports his idea that music is inseparable from the body and cannot be expressed without the physical, which also emphasizes corporeality and ties music and drama to each other quite tightly. As the musicians exit the stage during the Epilogue (after the exit of the Witch), they are seen on a “stairway to infinity” created from their risers as they continue to push boundaries, perhaps even to infinity (Partch).

Partch’s own synopsis of the work describes the action vividly; his text clearly paints the progression of the state of minds of characters from the beginning to end of each scene. The influence of the Witch as well as the “unwitching” of the characters play a huge role in his written synopsis, but much of his vivid language would probably not be done justice on the stage. The fifth scene, ‘Visions Fill the Eyes of a Defeated Basketball Team in the Shower Room,’ certainly has an audible change in character from the beginning “groove” in percussion and voice to frenetic piccolo and clarinet accompanied by the Witch. However, without Partch’s words that “the basketball team—now unwitched—has fallen completely under the charming belief that reality contains a compound of both experience and imagination,” it would be impossible for the audience to ascertain that they feel “experience and imagination.” Perhaps this synopsis is therefore another part of the de-specialization of the form and intertwining of its roles, as the text is inseparable from the music and action. Even if the text is satirical,[3] as the title of the work implies, the interaction between the words and music remains undividable.

Although Partch created his own instruments in order to capture a tonal system that would better resonate with listeners, he still included piccolo, clarinet, and bass clarinet in the orchestration. Their scales serve as a remarkable juxtaposition to the scales of Partch’s instruments, such as the cloud chamber bowls and kithara. While these “standard” instruments often work in harmony with Partch’s own instruments, in other cases, they are violently attacked because of the harmonies that they traditionally play. Scene 2, titled “Exercises in Harmony and Counterpoint Are Tried in a Court of Ancient Ritual,” serves as a battle between 18^th century harmony and Partch’s more emotionally powerful music. This movement begins with the cello and clarinet playing a melody that sounds harmonically stable (according to old rules of harmony) interrupted by plucked instruments playing in Partch’s tonal system. Later in the scene, the cello and clarinet begin to play a canon only to be interrupted by a new, powerful melody belted out by the Witch. Soon, the 18^th century-influenced cello and clarinet are squashed completely and replaced with Partch’s new sound (which, of course, was influenced by his concept of ancient sound).

Partch’s looking back to the past is evident in several movements. Scenes 8 and 10 as well as the prologue contain a contrapuntal melody derived from the Cahuilla Indians (Synopsis, Partch), which is very fitting for Partch since he so respected the ancient traditions of other cultures. He also mentioned in his synopsis that Scene 1 is a parallel to Greek drama: “The bewitched enter, and the analogy with lyric tragedy is complete: the Chorus, the Perceptive Voice, the Actors.” Partch’s revisiting of the musical traditions of cultures that used music and drama to provoke emotion demonstrate his own desire to move people with his work. Indeed, much of his rhythmically driven work is reminiscent of some type of tribal or ritual music, which certainly was meant to invoke strong passions in people listening and participating. However, although Partch freed the musicians from the pit, the audience was not freed from their seating and was left only to watch the drama without taking part.

This work has probably been omitted from the Canon because it is not easily accessible to members of an average audience; it is not a work that people would likely listen to for fun. In fact, the average person probably would not even watch the production for fun. The vocalizations along with the broken melodies (when melodies even exist) create a jarring effect. While this effect certainly fits the title of The Bewitched, it is not a feeling that many people want to experience. Although the catchy beat and vocalization of “Visions Fill the Eyes of a Defeated Basketball Team in the Shower Room” seems to have been getting stuck in my head lately, the work as a whole quickly becomes too unsettling for comfort. I was much more interested in Partch’s philosophies than I was in the musical fulfillment of these philosophies, and while his tuning system and revisions to the modern staged work may warrant a place in the Canon, that place is probably not best held by The Bewitched.

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[1] “We are reduced to specialties—a theater of dialogue without music, for example—and a concert of music without drama. Basic mutilations of ancient concept! My music is visual—it is corporeal, aural, and visual” (emphasis added, Harry Partch, Liner Notes for The Bewitched 2005:536).

[2]“Cocking a snook” is an old –fashioned British phrase meaning “to show that you do not respect something or someone by doing something that insults them” (Cambridge International Dictionary of Idioms).

[3]The text and situations are certainly meant to be satirical. However, many of Partch’s themes (such as the one found in “Visions Fill the Eyes of a Defeated Basketball Team in the Shower Room) may give difficulty to audiences trying to clearly recognize the satirical elements, especially amidst the rapid changes in each scene due to the “unwitching.” Likewise, rapid changes in musical dynamics, texture, and tempo further obscure what exactly Parch is satirizing.

ALEXANDER ZEMLINSKY: LYRIC SYMPHONY

While Alexander Zemlinsky was strongly linked to the Second Viennese School as a teacher of Berg and strong supporter of modern music, his own compositions’ style seems to neatly combine Romantic compositional styles with a spattering of modern tendencies. Despite Zemlinsky’s strong support of modern music, it seems that he had a fondness for composing his own pieces with mainly techniques that had been popular in the late Romantic. Zemlinsky wrote his Lyric Symphony during his time in Prague, and it is considered one of his “finest works” (Grove Music Online s.v. “Zemlinsky”). The symphony is composed of seven sections with operatic lyrics for two soloists based on the poems of Rabindranath Tagore, an Indian author. Characteristics of Romantic compositions, such as exoticism, large ensemble, and use of literature as a basis for music may be clearly traced in this symphony. However, Zemlinsky also uses more modern techniques, such as lack of strong pulse along with altered scales that contribute to a vague tonal center. In addition, his expression of intense and sometimes frightening human emotion through music reflects a modern trend to show humanity as it truly functions. This piece depicts the transition between Romantic and modern, as Zemlinsky himself was transitioning.[1] It is an enjoyable piece for both listening and analyzing, and there is no reason for its exclusion from the Canon other than it was looking back to the Romantic. Most of the modern works in the Canon are there because they exemplify a particular technique developed in the period, and this piece simply is a beautiful continuation of techniques that were been used before.

The first movement begins with a slow but intense instrumental introduction featuring the full ensemble with timpani playing sustained, forte chords in dotted rhythms. This introduction sounds much like Mahler, who expanded the size of the orchestra in the Romantic and wrote intense, brooding themes such as these. The movement calms beginning with a second section that sounds more like a chamber group, during which the baritone begins to sing. His stanzas are interrupted by large orchestral sections, but despite the interjecting nature of the orchestral parts, the instruments often reflect the lyrics. The baritone’s words, “Oh the keen call of thy flute,” are accompanied by a flute struggling to be heard over the heavy brass texture. This flute theme reappears in the second movement as a plaintive flute melody enters the orchestration as the soprano realizes that her love will leave her, so she sings that “only the vanishing strain of the flute will come sobbing to me from afar.” This mirroring of the text also calls the listener to remember techniques of text painting from works of earlier periods.

Color plays a central role in this symphony, as the texts of Tagore are reflected in the music. The lyrics are full of references to red and blue linked to exotic themes like chariots, face veils, and rubies. Movements that contain reds (II., III., V.) tend to be louder and full of rhythmic themes in the brasses or full string sections. In the second movement, exoticism is emphasized through the use of a harmonic minor melody in the brass counter to the soprano as she sings of a ruby she tosses to the ground. Tagore’s lyrics in conjunction with the melodic content of this section clearly bring to mind the Indian ethnicity. The “blue” movement (IV.) has a sparser orchestral part, often featuring winds or solo strings on a flowing melody. The violin executes a particularly haunting solo in this section. Movements I. and VII. deal mainly with light, but since daylight is closely associated with a blue sky (which is actually mentioned in I.), these may also be grouped as blue movements, thus closing the piece with a serene aesthetic. The first movement begins with a prelude that seems musically more “red” than “blue” because of the strong brass sections. However, the lyrical melodies that take over the rhythmic introduction firmly establish the symphony in this milder “blue” style. These two movements thus frame a passionate symphony of reds with quieter moments for reflection.

Movement VI. deserves its own discussion in reference to color since it has no colorful mention in its lyrics. Color’s conspicuous absence along with scant instrumentation again reflects the feelings and words of the soloist: “My eager hands press emptiness to my heart and it bruises my breast.” The soprano’s lyrics are framed by a solo clarinet, erupting from the still orchestra in an upward run in the beginning and falling back down in a more lyrical phrase to set up the final movement. This contrast between limited orchestration and bursts of intense yearning perfectly emulates the emptiness the soprano is trying to possess and the intensity of feeling that bruises her. While no color is specifically mentioned, this juxtaposition seems to combine aspects of the other movements, perhaps making the section about “emptiness” the fullest moment of the piece.

Thus far, it seems that Zemlinsky was simply living in the past, neglecting more modern techniques. However, this is not the case. It is through the discussion of dreams[2] that his modernity begins to become evident. The baritone soloist first mentions the topic of dreams in the third movement: “You are my own, my own, Dweller in my deathless dreams” (emphasis added). This line, tenderly wrapped within the orchestral texture, leads to the fourth movement, in which a dream-like aesthetic is evoked through the free rhythm of the violin soloist. The steady pulse that had pervaded the symphony suddenly disappears into a Debussian atmosphere. The colorless sixth movement again mentions dreams which “can never be made captive.” All of these dream statements culminate in the final movement, in which the baritone asserts, “Let it not be death, but completeness.”[3] Here the instrumentation is again limited with a distant horn call sounding before the symphony concludes with a whole-tone melody. This use of the whole-tone scale is used to represent the dream state of the soloists, as they have no beginning or end, just like the deathless dream. While these may be stretched to fit the definition of modern, it is really the passion of the “red” movements that reflects the psychological trends of modern composers; raw human emotion is shown bluntly within love scenes without fear of showing the darker side of human nature.

While it is clear that Zemlinsky drew perhaps more heavily from composers of the past than from techniques of his own time, this influence does not diminish the beauty of his Lyric Symphony. His lyricism paired with powerful climaxes yields a beautiful piece of music that is perhaps best described as a transition between Romanticism and Modernism (though much more influence is to be found on the Romantic side). In addition, the interweaving of Tagore’s text and Zemlinsky’s music is breathtaking. This work has certainly been overlooked and deserves some Canonic attention despite its strong attachment to ideas of Romanticism during the Modern era. Its forthright passion is enough to link it to modern psychology, and Zemlinsky’s understanding of Romantic forms and techniques combined with this created an outstanding symphony.

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[1]Zemlinsky’s early works, such as Trio for Clarinet, Cello, and Piano, op. 3 are heavily reminiscent of Brahms, using few, if any, “Modern” techniques.

[2]Sigmund Freud published many fascinating papers concerning dreams in the years prior to the composition of this piece. The essay “Creative Writers and Day-Dreaming” (1908) is strikingly similar to the use of dreams in this work.

[3]This statement seems to reflect Strauss and Wagner’s theme of death and transfiguration.

WILLIAM WALTON: FAÇADE

William Walton was a well-known English composer in the 19^th century. In his early career, he gained many of his musical contacts through the patronage and support of the Sitwell family, and it was a collaboration with Edith Sitwell that created Façade. Walton was only nineteen when he wrote this piece, a chamber work to accompany the poetry of Sitwell. However, the work has undergone several decades of revision to reach the form in which it is currently recorded, and perhaps it is this evolving time that has kept it from being noticed in the Canon. While the music is intriguing, it is really the amalgamation of several art forms in the creation of Façade that makes it a captivating study.

Façade was first performed in the Sitwell home in order to enhance the poetry that was rhythmically entwined in the piece. Sitwell’s short poems are know for word-rhythms and onomatopoeia and are sometimes defined as “nonsense verse.” Most times it seems that Sitwell cared more for the sound and rhythm of the words that she strang together than for the meaning of the poems. Perhaps this placement of priorities reflects the musical trend for using harmonies as color rather than in traditionally functional ways. Regardless, her poems are quite modern in this respect, making it fitting that they were performed along with modern music and artwork. She convinced Walton to write the accompaniment and is said to have spent hours reading them to him so that he could understand the exact rhythm and nuance she intended. Each poem is no longer than three minutes in length, the songs’ used as well as their order varied from performance to performance. When Façade premiered in Sitwell’s home, she hid the musicians and herself behind an enormous curtain on which a grotesque head was painted (the original by Gino Severini). In addition to all this, in place of the mouth, a Sengerphone[1] (through which she recited her poems) was affixed to the curtain. The result of this was a satirical chamber piece featuring the nonsense poetry of a disembodied voice behind a Cubist painting.

Reception of Façade has been mixed since its premiere. At the actual premiere in Sitwell’s parlor, Michael Kennedy, author of Portrait of Walton, found that the audience was “naturally enthusiastic in their reception of Façade, for it was essentially an entertainment for artists and people of imagination” (28). Despite this enthusiasm, Walton would later point out that the audience talked through the entire performance and thought that he and Edith were crazy. The short pieces that make up Façade would seem very characteristic of the period, including lively and individualistic parts for the instrumentalists and several catchy tunes amidst increasing chromaticism along with some ambiguity of meter and tonal center. However, the intoned recitation of the speaker (in addition to the spectacle of the curtain and Sengerphone) pushed the limits of many audiences of the time. This poetry was not the beautiful verse of the German Romantics that composers had set to music in the past; it was “drivel they paid to hear” (headline of newspapers after the Aeolian Hall performance in 1923). Façade certainly is not a piece that most people would listen to for its catchy tunes—it can be most appreciated for its innovation in integrating poetic and musical rhythm.

By the time Façade evolved to its current published form, the instrumentation was for flute/piccolo, clarinet/bass clarinet, alto saxophone, trumpet, percussion (side drum, cymbal, triangle, Chinese block castanets, tambourine, jingles), and cello (two cellos if the part for single cello was “too arduous”). This evolution, while fascinating to study, makes it difficult for the listener to realize what the original melodic intent of the pieces was. As Walton revised and added more pieces to Façade, they became increasingly satirical and were based on dances, while his original works more closely resembled “atonal” works. In fact, only six of the original eighteen works in Façade made it to the current publication. By listening to the works in Façade 2 (which were re-added to the work as part of 75^th birthday celebration for Walton), one notices that the parts were more frugal and do not have nearly so defined a rhythm as pieces like “Old Sir Faulk” (a fox trot), “Scotch Rhapsody” (a Highland reel), and more obviously, “Valse,” “Tango,” and “Polka.” This makes one think that perhaps Walton had originally been going for a more atonal aesthetic to accompany the poetry and later conformed more to what the listening public wanted to hear—music with catchy pulses.

A large number of Walton’s songs from Façade include traditional forms that he contorts to fulfill his own purposes. For example, his “Valse” clearly was influenced by the waltz form dating back to the 18^th century. Walton certainly takes the waltz in a new direction. One would expect the first beat of each measure to be accented, but instead, the movement begins with a rest followed a trumpet playing a syncopated rhythm with grace notes followed by falls in the cello. The waltz thus begins with an uncertain meter but settles definitively into triple meter by the time the reciter enters. Walton also used a traditional compositional form, ABA, though he used a jazz accompaniment along with the standard waltz, including broken figures in the bass and misplaced accents. As if these references to both the old and the new were not enough, he added in the leaping octaves and trills of Strauss (though now heavily articulated for his own purposes).

Perhaps the most “catchy” of the songs in Façade is one aptly named “Popular Song.” An educated listener can pick up references to Sousa march form again with a heavy jazz influence (diminished intervals on strong beats, side drum and cymbals filling gaps, diminished thirds abounding, etc.). Walton still manages to contort the standard four bar phrases, adding “hiccups” on occasion.” In addition, this is one of the many songs in which he uses an odd tempo marking (quarter=138).[2] Nevertheless, it actually became “popular” like the forms it is satirizing and was actually used as the theme song for the British television show Face the Music.[3]

Façade is certainly an extremely creative project about which dozens of people have found worth studying and writing books.[4] Walton composed for a long period of time in several genres, and his impact on music has been well-chronicled. However, I do not think that I can give a strong endorsement for the inclusion of Façade in the Canon simply for its musical merit. It cannot be separated for the poetry and artwork of which it was comprised. This considered, Façade cannot be truly appreciated through CD—its value as a composition seems very reliant on its public performance aspects. It was created to be performed in a parlor, among friends, and this aesthetic cannot be recreated well in the concert halls (as evidenced by its poor reception in the concert hall) or through a simple sound recording. It is because the music does not stand alone (with the possible exception of “Popular Song”) that I believe it has not made the Canon. When listening to the pieces as a cycle, the novelty of the compositional ideas wears off quickly, leaving one bored by the time one reaches the half-way mark on the CD. That said, Façade is certainly worth a listen to consider the integration of the arts as well as the progression of poems set to music from the Romantic Goethe to the modern Sitwell.

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[1]The Sengerphone was invented to magnify the voice of Fafner the dragon in Richard Wagner’s Siegfried.

[2]Perhaps the oddest of Walton’s tempo markings is the quarter=63 for “A Man from a Far Contree”

[3] Face the Music was a popular quiz show, running from 1966 to 1979, about classical music. Oddly enough, it did not award points for correct answers and had no winner. Walton appeared on the show as a guest twice (Humphrey Burton, William Walton: The Romantic Loner, 162).

[4]These are startlingly similar books at that, most of them referencing each other to a great extent.

LOUIS SPOHR: SYMPHONY NO. 6 (“HISTORICAL”)

Louis Spohr has sadly become one of the most underrated composers of the Romantic Period. While he was immensely popular in the period, his works did not seem to make the cut for today’s Canon. Spohr put forth a large number of pieces of various genres, including fifteen violin concerti (Spohr himself was a violinist), four clarinet concerti, and ten symphonies. In his early symphonies, Spohr adhered closely to Classical style, while in later symphonies such as no.6, the “Historical,” he began to take more chances and experiment with the growing endorsement of historical works (although this particular work would not be well-received). Completed in 1839, this symphony was perhaps his most adventurous, as each movement is orchestrated in a different style—‘Bach-Handel (1720),’ ‘Haydn-Mozart (1780),’ ‘Beethoven (1810),’ and ‘Most Recent (1840).’

Perhaps this retrospective was inspired in part by Mendelssohn’s promotion of pieces of the past in his Historical Concerts at the Leipzig Gewandhaus. Regardless of his reasoning, Spohr’s ability to recreate the traits and feel of time periods other than his own is quite remarkable. If I had just been listening to the symphony not knowing the title, I would never have guessed that it was one of Spohr’s works. Spohr’s first three movements, while imitating the styles of the period, are not exact stylistic copies as he uses traits of the Romantic throughout the piece. Each movement sounds as he intends it, though with some passages that feel like quotations. While the first three movements reflect the “backward-looking” of the Romantic, the last movement was viewed by many as ridicule of the direction modern music was going as it jabbed at quotations by another composer of the period. Therefore, none of the movements of this symphony truly reflect the style of Spohr, but are rather Spohr’s interpretations of the music around him.

The “Bach-Handel” movement is introduced by a Largo and contains fugal passages similar to what might have been found in the Well Tempered Clavier, followed by a Grave reminiscent of a pastorale and with several melodic similarities to Messiah, particularly in the duet "He shall feed his flock like a shepherd." The Largo is dominated by string and double reed textures and the melodies are filled with lower neighbor notes and trills. The fugue is rather widely spaced in time, giving the movement a majestic, stately feel. When the piece transitions to the Grave section, the flutes and oboes begin to play a more prominent role, transitioning away from the fugue of Bach to the melody of Handel. Contrasts are obvious in this movement through the transition between weighted, separated melodies and more lyrical, flowing ones, but the texture rarely shifts, nor does the regular phrase structure with the main theme repeated ad nauseum.

The “Haydn-Mozart” movement seems more heavily laden with references to Mozart than Haydn. The tempo indicates Larghetto, and the theme seems to have been drawn from the second movement of Mozart’s Symphony no. 39. The instrumental texture is close to identical, as are certain rhythmic and melodic motifs. For example, a dotted quarter/sixteenth pattern rising a third and then dropping a step pervades both of these movements. Instruments begin to have more exposed parts, with the clarinet (one of Mozart’s favorite instruments[1]) even having a lengthy solo before being joined by the rest of the orchestra. During the development the basses carry a particularly driving series of pedal tone quarter notes under the melody. I would have expected some sort of “Haydn surprise” in a movement including his name, but sadly there were none.

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[1] Mozart wrote to his father, upon first hearing the instrument in 1778 in the Mannheim orchestra, “Alas, if only we too had clarinets!”

The “Beethoven” movement, set during his “heroic” period and the only one which the composer of honor does not have to share the title of the movement, is a Scherzo that begins with three solo timpani, one more than in Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. This enlargement of the performing force seems to fit well with Spohr’s Romantic background but is not exactly faithful to what Beethoven would have done (even being a Romantic composer himself), an excellent example of how Spohr follows the styles of these composers but is not an exact copy. The theme of this movement is most often carried by strings, with staccato winds interjecting. This melody meanders a little outside of the diatonic, reminiscent of the melody of Beethoven’s Third Symphony and ends abruptly with a short, forte chord.

The last movement of this symphony seems tongue-in-cheek. Sprightly melodies are immediately followed by large chords and running scales that seem to not musically approach anything. This certainly shows off the desire for large, flashy music in the Romantic, yet it does not promote any musical effect aside from tawdry attempts to flaunt a large ensemble. The introduction to this movement was evidently a lampoon of the overture to Daniel Auber's new opera La Muette de Portici, which Spohr had conducted fifty times, complete with diminished seventh chord opening (Naxos “About this Recording”). In addition, Spohr’s orchestration adds many distracting percussion instruments, including cymbals, triangle, and side drum. The music critic of the Musical World on April 6, 1840 noted that “we presume Spohr intended to satirize the present French and Italian schools of instrumental writing; and if so, he has succeeded admirably. The audience, however, did not see the joke.” Despite the poor reception of the piece, Spohr remained a relatively popular composer, though this and other failures might have contributed to his rather low-profile status in today’s performances.

This symphony was not truly evocative of a piece by Spohr. While he hides his style within all of the movements and uses his compositional freedom to interpret what those before him have done, none of them truly represent him as a composer. In addition, this piece was not even well-received by audiences since none of the movements showed off Spohr’s talents, but rather was a serious take on the past capped with a joke that was not even appreciated. While Symphony No. 6 may not deserve to be in the Canon, it is certainly an excellent mimicry of the styles of many famous composers and fascinating to listen to just to hear the progression of music. This mimicry excellently reflects the growing desire for historicism in the Romantic period, but the musical effect of the piece as a whole is minimal, despite the historical intentions. While the audience of the period might have enjoyed the first three movements because of these intentions, the fourth movement, which moved away from historical study and into the realm of satire, pushed them too far. Surely, Spohr deserves to have at least a few of his pieces in the ‘Western Music Canon’ instead of being limited to the ‘Clarinet Concerti Canon,’ but the Sixth Symphony is not one of those pieces.

MARIA SZYMANOWSKA: ETUDES AND NOCTURNE

Maria Szymanowska was a middle-class Polish composer in the early 19^th century. Well known as a lyrical player with excellent technique, she toured across the Western world as a concert pianist and became the Court Pianist to successive Tsarinas of Russia beginning in 1822, which is quite impressive considering that she was Jewish woman performing in a rather anti-Semitic area Many composers of the period admired Szymanowska, dedicating pieces to her. Critics also wrote that she “defined Romanticism” through both her performances and compositions. However, while these performances and compositions may reflect the period, they are not as enjoyable to listen to as one might expect, and perhaps it is the positive attributes of Szymanowska’s concert tours that should be studied intensely rather than her musical writing.

For someone so well respected in the Romantic Period, Szymanowska’s etudes and nocturne found on the album Premiere are surprisingly lackluster. These piano solos were recorded by Nancy Fierro in 1974, and as this was the American premiere recording, one can see that these etudes were neglected for many years, probably for a reason. Most of Szymanowska’s pieces are varied miniatures for piano, and while her nocturnes (though she only wrote two) may be considered an important link between John Field and Frederic Chopin (Grove Music Online S.v. “Szymanowska, Maria”), her etudes are not likely to be affixed in the popular Canon because they are simply not memorable.

Szymanowska was well known for a large dynamic range in her performances, made possible by new innovations of the piano. While certain etudes of hers do not utilize the sustain pedal to the extent that other composers of the time did, her written dynamics reflect that strength found in her own performances. Etude in F Major is filled with alternating passages of piano and forte. Sometimes she writes abrupt dynamic changes in these passages, while in other areas she places a controlled (poco a poco) diminuendo or crescendo. Sforzandi are scattered across the solid sixteenth note rhythms. This accentuation of non-downbeats would likely cause metrical uncertainty in a listener had the downbeats not been so clearly recognizable. Many of the downbeats are emphasized by either rolled chords or grace notes. Szymanowska also utilizes a large range of notes on the piano in her Etude in F, reaching all the way to C6 and repeating that passage several times, descending an octave in each iteration.

Perhaps Szymanowska’s clearest link to Romantic ideals is her emphasis on the role of the individual. Most of her output was written for virtuoso piano. She was an empowered woman herself, winning the Court Pianist position in Russia, despite her Jewish heritage. Her own soloistic nature can be seen clearly in these etudes, and one can imagine how she must have played them with such flair. Her Etude in C Major seems particularly virtuosic as it requires that a flowing 8^th note melody and a 32^nd note accompaniment be played by the right hand simultaneously as the left hand plays dotted quarter notes along with the 8^th notes. The melody must not be swallowed by the accompaniment, but they both must be played with the same hand. The 32^nd note accompaniment therefore has a small range so that the notes are reachable, and this makes the piece sound oddly contained, particularly after listening to the wide-reaching Etude in F Major.

Szymanowska’s left hand writing seems to be much simpler than one might have expected based on improvements to the sustain pedal of which other composers were taking advantage. Rather, her writing seems to take advantage of the light style of Viennese mechanisms of the period that facilitated her stile brillant performances and compositional habits. These mechanisms gave the piano a lightness that allowed virtuosic playing without the use excessive finger strength or athleticism. In fact, many female performers avoided keyboards with English mechanisms, which required a firmer touch, though in her later tours, Szymanowska became proficient on these pianos as well (Slawomir Dobrzanski Maria Szymanowska 53). Also, stile brillant compositions such as hers generally avoid the “darker” side of the piano (low range, dense chords, etc.). Because of this, many of Szymanowska’s etudes avoid intense left hand usage. By the middle of Etude in C Major, the left hand joins in with the right hand’s 32^nd notes, but they are simply an Alberti bass. Etude in F Major had an even simpler bass part as described previously. While this may just indicate Szymanowska’s emphasis on lyricism and lightness, it is a bit of a disappointment to a listener expecting to hear virtuosity in both hands.

Szymanowska’s middle-class heritage really began to shine through her compositions in her Etude in E Major, in which she created a notably more chordal texture along with more varied rhythms and chromaticism not found in either Etude in F Major or Etude in C Major. While the other etudes had been full of lighter, running fast notes, this etude feels heavier. Despite this, the melody comes through just as strong, if not stronger than the other two etudes because of the constant reinforcement of the melodic rhythm. The texture of this etude sets it apart from the others on this recording. It is comprised of a folk texture evident through the rhythm and accents as well as the 2/4 meter, which supplies a strong dance beat. Often the second 16^th note of each beat is emphasized, giving a “hobbling” feel common in Jewish folk music of the era. Szymanowska used folk music profusely in her mazurkas (Grove Music Online), so it is logical to assert that her etudes might also show some of that influence. This also reflects a catering to the musical preferences of the middle class rather than only that of the bourgeoisie, a prominent characteristic of the Romantic period.

Her Nocturne in B-flat Major was the star piece of the recording, containing musical depth that was missing from the etudes. One would expect it to be the most musically pleasing of the group since etudes were generally for study (although etudes of this period were increasingly becoming “musical statements” of their own rather than practice pieces and would continue to grow in popularity as performance pieces (Slawomir Dobrzanski Maria Szymanowska 74)) while nocturnes would have been more likely to be performed in concert. Also, this piece was written near the end of Szymanowska’s life and perhaps reflects the culmination of her talents. She actually introduced the nocturne to Poland and is well known as a “stepping stone” from the nocturne technique Field to that of Chopin. One immediately notices her use of four measure phrases, a doubling of the two measure phrases preferred by Field in his nocturnes, thus expanding the lyrical possibilities of the line. This lyrical expansion suits her strengths as a performer quite well. Again, this piece contains a less active left hand part than one would expect, especially considering the nocturnes of Chopin that this piece immediately preceded.

However, Szymanowska’s developmental sections in this nocturne are what incite the most interest in a listener and truly set it apart from the etudes. She adds more texture to the themes as the piece progresses, adding ornamentation such as turns and trills as well as virtuosic embellishments on the theme. The B section begins with the left hand switching to a more chordal texture as the right hand exploits the upper reaches of the piano’s range. This exploration of range is limited to the high reaches of the piano and not the low, again reminiscent of the stile brillant in which Szymanowska performed. The form is clearly audible in this piece, consisting of variations, transitions, and a coda. Finally, in this nocturne, the listener can hear some of the left-hand arpeggiation that had been lacking in the etudes. Despite all this, rhythmic variety was lacking, and the ending of the piece (a trill with a partial scale to do) seemed forced and trite.

After complimenting her as being the most remarkable female composer, Robert Schumann added that “we also find the woman full of feeling, who has more to say, if only she knew how” (Premiere RD 77:524). Perhaps this best sums up my feelings on Szymanowska’s works. While beautiful, lyrical melodies fill the works (and based on texts describing her performances, these lyrical melodies and virtuosity would have been highly obvious in Szymanowska’s playing), their settings seem a bit drab. The bass lines are surprisingly simple given the improvements to the piano (such as the sustain pedal) that other piano composers were utilizing to the maximum in their nocturnes, and variety outside of dynamics was lacking when present at all. If someone wanted to do a study on women’s works, she would certainly be at the top of the list, but in the grand scheme of compositions, I do not think she quite makes it to the Canon based on these samples of her work.

JOHN BRAY: THE INDIAN PRINCESS

John Bray was born in England and would later move to America. He was strongly influenced by the English ballad opera as well as other conventions of his time. His The Indian Princess (1808) is perhaps better known in the field of drama than that of music because of its classification as an “operatic melo-drame.” The musical parts are rather simple in many ways, which adds to the charm of the light-hearted work. A performance of about thirty minutes recorded to CD by the Federal Music Society Opera Company under conductor John Baldon allows the modern listener to hear what may have been the first Indian play by an American and perhaps the first surviving play about Pocahontas’ romance. Other American themes such as a focus on the common man saturate the opera.

The work begins with a cheery overture (in C minor) that does not seem to modulate at all. Little bursts of flute are reminiscent of birds chirping in a Virginia forest, which emphasizes from the beginning of the opera that the subject is not like the typical European aristocracy. While one might have expected an early American work such as this to be in some type of folk style (accompanying the movement to please the common audience rather than the aristocracy), the overture seems very much like a standard classical overture. It is evenly balanced by forte and piano sections and also boasts beautifully arpeggiating strings, features not likely to be offensive to any common listener and familiar in pieces of the Classical Era.

In addition, The Indian Princess was clearly influenced by the ballad opera of the English. Bray had lived in England for twenty-three years before immigrating to America and would have been exposed to the ballad opera, which developed in England in 1728. “Och! Hubbaboo!,” one of the first arias, displays spoken text in the midst of sung text, a trait characteristic of the ballad opera. Despite the European influence, the casual language present in this aria emphasizes the language of the common man. In addition, there is a good deal of unity between songs and acts of the play, as a theme or two was snatched from one place and reinserted for the audience’s recognition later in the action, much like the recapitulation in the developing symphony would work.

Luckily, later pieces of the work become a bit more interesting than this standard overture and typical ballad style singing. Syncopations and mis-accented words create a provoking rhythmic feel to many of the songs. For example, “Without a Penny of Money” features ungainly accents on two syllable words such as “country” and “money.” These syncopations are particularly interesting when one considers the major role it will play in American music over a hundred years later in the music of composers like George Gershwin, who experimented with rhythm in many of his works. Additionally, this song stresses that theme of the common man, as the subject concerns living in poverty.

Another area of this opera that seems to focus on the common person is the fact that none of the main characters are historical characters that an audience would recognize. This might be one of the effects of the humanist movement, as the actions of even the most common people are empowered. Alice, Larry, Walter, Robin, and Katy form the main singing groups for the play. These are all common names, and they sing about ordinary events more often than the actions of Captain Smith and John Rolfe. For example, the “Dialogue Quartetto” focuses upon Robin’s attempt to steal a kiss (and “bliss”) from a married woman. In fact, love stories play a key roll in The Indian Princess, since by the final curtain there are five pairs of happy couples in the cast, reminiscent of opera buffa, which may have also influenced Bray’s writing. Captain Smith, John Rolfe, and Powhaten (the closest characters to aristocracy in the opera) never play a singing roll. In fact, even Pocahontas, the title character only has one aria, which is oddly sung in a very standard operatic style, despite the fact that she is the princess of the Indians.

Bray seemed to have focused intently on making music programmatic and took that standard a step further by publishing his complete instrumental backgrounds, which was uncommon in the period (Grove Music Online S.v. “John Bray”). From the very beginning, the audience gets an idea of the flutes representing some birds twittering about C minor melody line. Although Captain Smith never sings an aria, one is sung about him that seems to be orchestrated so as to emphasize his position and power. A good deal more timpani and trumpet is used in “Captain Smith” than in any other song, highlighting his militaristic association.

With the amount of attention that Bray gave to programmatic music, the Indian sequences are strangely lacking in exoticism. Sequences in which the Indian characters take part are no more rhythmically or melodically complex than anything in the opera. One could interpret this as putting the white and Indian characters on the same ground since a key aspect of the Romantic Movement that is developing at the time is that of the “noble savage.” This development makes it acceptable for the audience to ascribe white qualities to Native Americans, as is evident in writing and art of the period. Native Americans of the period were particularly likely to have these qualities ascribed to them since they readily learned white musical traditions when exposed, though they continued to maintain their own style separate from the white influence (Grove Music Online S.v. “Amerindian music”).

Another instance of emphasizing the nobility of Pocahontas is seen in the incidental music to Act I. In a very short section called “She Supplicated the King for his Pardon,” Bray wrote a particularly plaintive oboe duo. This section is slow, and the oboes play with unison rhythm, rising and falling. The act of Pocahontas saving Captain Smith is characteristic of the “noble savage” theme without the music, but this short (maybe a minute long) excerpt underscores the idea to a degree that is not evident in any of the other songs or orchestral sections.

In sum, The Indian Princess was a pleasant (and brief) opera that was engaging and funny. Its history as the first surviving play about Pocahontas seems to give it good reason to be in the Canon, but the music itself is not as exciting as other operas. This is probably why it does appear in the dramatic canon but not in the musical one. That said, the action of the play would not be nearly so compelling without the programmatic music that Bray wrote. It is fascinating to hear the story of Pocahontas told with her not carrying a lead singing roll. The focus on the common man is striking, as is the role of the “noble savage.” While the music for the opera sounds distinctly Classical, the beginnings of Romantic Style ideas such as this that are included make it a interesting turn of the century piece that is worth a listen.

AMALIE, PRINCESS OF PRUSSIA: FOUR REGIMENTAL MARCHES

Amalie, Princess of Prussia, lived from 1723 to 1787. Youngest sister of King Frederick II (“The Great”), she enjoyed dabbling in composition as well as playing several instruments. Her works make a particularly interesting study since she was a member of the aristocracy (not a musician hired to compose by the aristocracy) and because she is one of a minority of female composers from her era. While her history makes her appealing, her works themselves are nothing out of the ordinary. A recording released by the Musical Heritage Society by the Austrian Tonkuenstler Orchestra and conducted by Dietfried Bernet includes a collection of some of Amalie’s short regimental marches, written for four Berlin regiments. In general, these pieces are in binary form.

The first of these regimental marches was written for Count Lottum in 1767. While other composers of the period would have been writing specifically to the tastes of the general of the regiment in order to obtain commissions, Amalie may have had a bit more artistic freedom since it was an honor to the regiment to have a piece composed by such an elite member of the aristocracy. The dotted rhythms utilized in this piece bring to mind the dotted rhythms utilized in French overtures to represent the aristocracy. Also, this piece is one of two of Amalie’s marches on this record to include an anacrusis, although the use of the anacrusis was standard in most marches of the time (Grove Music Online S.v. “The Military March to the 1820s”).

Amalie relied heavily on reed consorts, as is evident in “Count Lottum,” including parts for two clarinets, which were still in their youth as an instrument. Four years earlier, Frederick II “stipulated that Prussian army bands should consist of two oboes, two clarinets, two horns and two bassoons” (Grove Music Online S.v. “Band”), (adding clarinets to an instrumentation in which they had not been standard) and thus perhaps contributing to Amalie’s vast use of the clarinet timbre. Melodies for pairs of winds are predominant, which is standard for Austrian marches of the period. Her writings for pairs of oboes and clarinets are close to identical, set off from each other only by timbre.

The reed consort dominates the high pitches with clarinet being the prevailing character. Voices in the middle are scarce if present at all, and the low brass and timpani round out the voicing at the bottom. These bottom voices play a limited bass line allowing a great deal of focus on the melody line, which is characteristic of much writing in this period regardless of genre. Also, there is a great deal of contrast in the melody line between legato and staccato, sometimes even alternating between them at every measure. Amalie made limited use of trills in the clarinet voices. She did not use trills on any of the other four marches, but this one for Count Lottum seems a bit more extravagant than the others which were written for “mere” generals.

The second regimental march was dedicated to General Buelow and was also written in 1767. This march utilizes a triangle, which is an interesting choice of percussion instrument as the modern ear expects to “heavier” percussion in a march. This use of the triangle might be attributed to the rise of janissary music, which had been introduced to Europe in the 17^th century and was growing in popularity. In fact, by the 18^th century, composers such as Amalie were adding janissary instruments (bass drum, kettledrums, cymbals, and triangle) to their Western instrumentation for use in the march (Grove Music Online S.v “Janissary music”). The snare drum is also briefly used to add some rhythmic emphasis.

In “General Buelow,” the pairings of reed instruments are even more evident since each pair gets a short two-part soli section. Again, the clarinets play a prominent role in the melodic line, exemplifying the fact that they were becoming more accepted in military music by most composers by mid-century (Grove Music Online S.v. “Band”). The bass line in this march is a bit more active than the bass line from “Count Lottum,” but it does not feature instruments of such a low range. The bass even plays “filler” lines linking cadences to the next phrase. Legato and staccato melodic content reappears. Interestingly, in this melody, the pickup notes to each phrase are legato while the following bar is distinctly articulated, making balanced, contrasting lines as one would expect in the Classical Period.

The third march in this collection was written a year later, in 1768, and was in honor of General von Saldern’s regiment. While the previous march emphasized pairings of reed instruments against each other, this march juxtaposes the double reed instruments with the horns. This pairing of wind and horn had been present in military music as early as 1711, but this is the first example of Amalie utilizing the grouping (Grove Music Online S.v. “Band”). This is the first march of the collection that truly utilized a brass section to carry melodic content. Horns blend well with both reed instruments and other brasses, making them ideal for this use. Again, Amalie used janissary kettledrums to reinforce her bass lines. While her bass lines and cadences were strong in her other marches, these cadences had particular force. In fact, each major cadence put a complete stop on the forward flow of this march, leaving it to restart from silence at each new section.

The final march included on this record was written in 1777, almost ten years later. This piece was dedicated to General von Moellendorf. In it, the cymbals make their appearance as another of those added janissary instruments. The low voices are more present in this piece than in the previous march, and the trumpets are actually given some melodic material. In addition, the lowest voices respond to melodic material in the reeds instead of simply playing a “bass line.” Again, the reeds spend all of their time playing in two-part pairings, although the clarinets briefly hold a chord underneath the melody. This sound is new and exciting as in the other marches, and chords were often just held for a beat in the brass instead of being held for longer periods. In this piece, Amalie finally began to make use of the versatility of the instruments that her brother had stipulated by included in “band music.”

While Amalie’s other marches seemed to draw their main internal contrast from articulation (legato vs. staccato), this one includes clear dynamic contrasts. A phrase may be played the first time at forte and then repeated as an echo at piano, which certainly characteristic of the period. Lastly, the voicings are twenty times fuller in “General von Moellendorf” than in “Count Lottum,” which had been lacking in middle pitches. Because the pitches are evenly spread out in this march, it has a much darker, richer sound than works by the same composer written ten years earlier.

I quite enjoyed listening to this recording. It was fascinating to listen to how a young (aristocratic female!) composer’s technique improved over the span of ten years through increased understanding of contrast and voicing. These marches may also be found interesting to modern listeners who are most familiar with John Phillip Sousa as they depict a good deal of the history of the march in Prussia. There is certainly a strong link to be seen between the military to whom these marches are dedicated and the very function of marching. However, while it is interesting to know that the composer was an aristocratic woman, the actual content of her works is much like what would have been written by most composers in the period. While there may not be anything particularly original or special about these pieces, they may spark a captivating look into music history and provide the basis of an interesting study of the progress of a Classical writer, but their absence from the Canon will probably not be missed.