In 1947, Corinne Chochem, a Russian dancer well-known for her promotion of Jewish music, dance, and art in New York, approached Arnold Schoenberg with her idea of a musical work to honor the Jewish victims of Nazi rule during WWII. Schoenberg, born a Jew, had converted to Protestantism in 1898, but returned to his Jewish faith in 1933, moved by “the hideous persecution of Jews at the hands of the Nazis.” (Slonimsky and Kuhn 2001) Schoenberg proposed the piece be between 6 to 9 minutes, the subject would be how Jewish victims sang before they were killed, and the price would be $1,000. Unfortunately for Chochem, $1,000 was a lot of money in 1947, and so she was forced to abandon the project. Fortunately for the world of music, Schoenberg could not part with this picture of the singing Jews.
Soon after his correspondence with Chochem, Schoenberg received word from the Koussevitzky Foundation, informing him they were interested in commissioning an orchestral work. Schoenberg replied, saying he had just the piece, and that although he originally intended it for orchestra with narrator and men’s chorus, he now envisioned it as a symphonic poem. However, Serge Koussevitzky encouraged Schoenberg to use his original orchestration. When finally finished, A Survivor from Warsaw was premiered on November 4, 1948 by the Albuquerque Civic Orchestra, an orchestra of “lawyers, doctors, secretaries, high school and university students, railroad engineers, etc.” (Strasser 1995, 56) It was by no means a major American orchestra, but a work of this magnitude spoke for itself. Since its brilliant premiere, it has remained a musical monument. As historian Michael Strasser describes,
“The emotional impact that A Survivor from Warsaw had on the performers and audience at the Albuquerque premiere has not dimmed with time… for the event to which it bears witness… is a crime unparalleled in the annals of human history… Schoenberg’s composition continues to serve as an eloquent reminder of the enormity of the crime that took place half a century ago.” (Strasser 1995, 57)
The piece, which is divided into two sections, begins with a quirky trumpet reveille building to loud, dissonant chords in the strings and brass. After the introduction, the narrator enters and begins telling the speaker’s story. It is the story of a concentration camp prisoner awakening to the daily horrors of the camp. Nazi guards beat the prisoners after they have emerged from their cells, before the prisoners are sent to the gas chambers. The painfully detailed narration is accompanied by dissonant and mostly athematic elements in the orchestra. The only thematic material presented in this section is in a trumpet reveille and in a snare drum march beat. The athematic music seems almost deconstructed- unorganized musical fragments depict the Jewish prisoners, beaten down under the cruelty, oppression and regimentation of the prison guards.
The turning point in the piece comes, however, with the beginning of the second section. Although it lasts only 19 measures (compared to the 80 measures in the first section), the second section is even more emotionally stirring. The frenzied music and shouting of the narrator builds until the narrator cries “they began singing, ‘Shema Yisroel’!” At this point the men’s chorus begins singing “Shema Yisroel”, a Jewish prayer which, translated from Hebrew says
“Hear Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord, And you shall love the Lord, your God, With all your heart and with all your soul And with all your might. And these words, which I command you today, Shall be in all your heart; And you shall teach them diligently to your children and talk of them When you sit in your house And when you walk along your way, When you lie down and when you rise.” (Auner 2003, 319)
In this glorious section we finally hear thematic material, in the form of this Jewish hymn. The voices of the doomed Jews break free of and rise above the cacophonous violence of their oppressors, even as they are taken to their deaths. Schoenberg shows the spirit of the Jewish people triumphing over their hardships through the emergence of their song and its triumph over the fragmented style of the first section.
I have to wonder how effective this piece would have been as a symphonic poem. Certainly Schoenberg could have still employed the effect of the contrast between sections to show the oppression and ultimate triumph of the spirits of the Jewish people. However, I find the narration in the first section to be indispensable to depicting the horrors of the story and the sounds and words of the men’s voices to be an emotional climax that would otherwise be unattainable.
I do believe this piece should be included in the canon. It is very well orchestrated, has a stirring narration, and expertly makes use of a Jewish hymn using Schoenberg’s 12 tone system. For these reasons I believe this piece is not only a musical masterpiece, but also a fitting honor to those who perished in the genocide.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Response to Hannah's Bachianas Brasileiras
In her journal response to Heitor Villa-Lobos’ Bachianas Brasileiras, Hannah makes certain the reader/listener understands the context in which the piece is a masterpiece. Likening it to a pasta salad, and prompting me to reach for a late-night snack, she tells us that the magic of the piece lies not in the individual ingredients, but in the “synthesis of those individual components.” From looking at the two-faced title of the piece, to the titles of the movements, which take one name from Baroque terminology and another from Brazilian folk terminology, to the makeup of the music itself, which draws on Bachian forms and Brazilian sonorities, it is easy to divide the piece into Baroque noodles and Brazilian salad dressing, rather than seeing it as a delicious pasta salad, as Hannah describes it.
Nevertheless, it is nearly impossible to listen to the piece without picking the elements of the music apart and assigning them to either of Villa-Lobos’ foundations for the piece, as Hannah goes on to do in her reactions to the movements. Similar to what Hannah describes, I had difficulty hearing Bachian influences in the first two movements of No. 1. Aside from being in ABA form, I could not look past the singing melodies, pulsating syncopations, and modal sonorities that placed them clearly in the “Brazilian salad dressing” category. This is especially true of the rhythmic complexity of the first movement and the beautiful songlike melodies of the second- which Hannah aptly described as giving the “impression of evening serenades, balcony scenes, and street bands.” Parts of the latter movement certainly sounded to me like they could be underscoring a hopelessly cheesy love scene in an old movie- an emotion I wouldn’t often think of while listening to Bach. The third movement, however finally gives the feeling of Baroque melody and imitative forms, while retaining the syncopations of Brazilian rhythms.
No. 6 is sonically very different, in that the two voices, flute and bassoon, are much farther apart, as opposed to the similar voices of the cellos in No. 1. The first movement moves between sections that sound very much Brazilian in melody and very much Baroque in counterpoint. In the second movement, the movement of the bass, as heard in the bassoon, part is clearly Baroque and evokes the sounds of Bachian walking bass. Meanwhile, the flute is given virtuosic melody in constant motion.
While not always equal in representation in each movement, Villa-Lobos’ successfully melds Bach’s Baroque styles with those of his own native Brazilian folk music. However, I would like to hear more from Hannah as to why this dichotomy needed to exist in the first place. When Villa-Lobos composed these pieces between 1930 and 1945 he was actually taking part in a revolution. Getulio Vargas overtook the Old Republic regime in Brazil and sought to unite his people under his own authoritarian rule. Of course, as in similar situations around the world, a fledgling government in a fledgling country looked to music as a way to establish an individual identity in the world. Heitor Villa-Lobos was handed control of the music education system in the country, and became the musical emblem of Brazil through his compositions. But it seems strange that he would use European elements to create a nationalistic style. Why not create a style uniquely Brazilian, as did Ives in the United States? Shouldn’t he have taken his music away from reliance on Europe? In Hannah’s response, she mentions that Villa-Lobos saw Bach as a “universal folkloric source” however, when asked “what is folklore?” Villa-Lobos is known to have exclaimed “I am folklore!” This is, in essence, the conflict I see in this piece. Although Villa-Lobos is trying to create something entirely his own, he is still reliant on his idol, Bach.
Despite the problems I see in this piece from a political perspective, I do still agree with Hannah in that it should be included in the canon. Even if it doesn’t create something wholly Brazilian, it is a masterpiece in the realm of neoclassicism of the twentieth century.
Nevertheless, it is nearly impossible to listen to the piece without picking the elements of the music apart and assigning them to either of Villa-Lobos’ foundations for the piece, as Hannah goes on to do in her reactions to the movements. Similar to what Hannah describes, I had difficulty hearing Bachian influences in the first two movements of No. 1. Aside from being in ABA form, I could not look past the singing melodies, pulsating syncopations, and modal sonorities that placed them clearly in the “Brazilian salad dressing” category. This is especially true of the rhythmic complexity of the first movement and the beautiful songlike melodies of the second- which Hannah aptly described as giving the “impression of evening serenades, balcony scenes, and street bands.” Parts of the latter movement certainly sounded to me like they could be underscoring a hopelessly cheesy love scene in an old movie- an emotion I wouldn’t often think of while listening to Bach. The third movement, however finally gives the feeling of Baroque melody and imitative forms, while retaining the syncopations of Brazilian rhythms.
No. 6 is sonically very different, in that the two voices, flute and bassoon, are much farther apart, as opposed to the similar voices of the cellos in No. 1. The first movement moves between sections that sound very much Brazilian in melody and very much Baroque in counterpoint. In the second movement, the movement of the bass, as heard in the bassoon, part is clearly Baroque and evokes the sounds of Bachian walking bass. Meanwhile, the flute is given virtuosic melody in constant motion.
While not always equal in representation in each movement, Villa-Lobos’ successfully melds Bach’s Baroque styles with those of his own native Brazilian folk music. However, I would like to hear more from Hannah as to why this dichotomy needed to exist in the first place. When Villa-Lobos composed these pieces between 1930 and 1945 he was actually taking part in a revolution. Getulio Vargas overtook the Old Republic regime in Brazil and sought to unite his people under his own authoritarian rule. Of course, as in similar situations around the world, a fledgling government in a fledgling country looked to music as a way to establish an individual identity in the world. Heitor Villa-Lobos was handed control of the music education system in the country, and became the musical emblem of Brazil through his compositions. But it seems strange that he would use European elements to create a nationalistic style. Why not create a style uniquely Brazilian, as did Ives in the United States? Shouldn’t he have taken his music away from reliance on Europe? In Hannah’s response, she mentions that Villa-Lobos saw Bach as a “universal folkloric source” however, when asked “what is folklore?” Villa-Lobos is known to have exclaimed “I am folklore!” This is, in essence, the conflict I see in this piece. Although Villa-Lobos is trying to create something entirely his own, he is still reliant on his idol, Bach.
Despite the problems I see in this piece from a political perspective, I do still agree with Hannah in that it should be included in the canon. Even if it doesn’t create something wholly Brazilian, it is a masterpiece in the realm of neoclassicism of the twentieth century.
Gian Francesco Malipiero "Vivaldiana"
Gian Francesco Malipiero, born in 1882, made the goal of his compositional career to end the reign of opera, in the vein of Rossini and even his own grandfather Francesco Malipiero, as the dominant Italian musical style. With this in mind, Malipiero’s musical education and upbringing put him on just such a path. As a child, his father Luigi, a pianist and composer, took Gian to Vienna where he attended the conservatory before returning to Venice to study with Marco Enrico Bossi at the Liceo Musicale. However, Malipiero’s greatest discovery and compositional advancement came during his own personal study. In 1902, he frequented the Biblioteca Marciana and began transcribing the work of the early Italian composers such as Monteverdi and Frescobaldi. Soon after, he got a job writing down music, and thus learning about orchestration, from Antonio Smareglia, a follower of Wagner. Also around this time, he was a student of Max Bruch, became friends with Alfredo Casella, and became infatuated with the music of Debussy, Strauss, and Stravinsky, of whom he attended the premieres of Elektra and The Rite of Spring. In later years, as head of the Istituto Italiano Antonio Vivaldi, he edited much of a collection of Vivaldi’s works. With such a cosmopolitan and era-spanning education, with in-depth study ranging from Monteverdi and Vivaldi to Wagner, Debussy, and Stravinsky, Malipiero exemplifies the idea of the neoclassical composer.
Such should be the case in listening to his Vivaldiana. Before listening to this piece I had ideas of what it might sound like - thinking along the lines of Stravinsky’s modern re-workings of classical style in Pulcinella Suite and Symphony of Psalms – I thought I might hear twelve-tone compositions based on Vivaldi themes or even simply Vivaldi pieces with newly-composed atonal harmonies. However, I was surprised by what I heard. The piece is clearly not composed serially, nor are the harmonic elements remotely atonal, but completely the opposite – it sounds exactly like Vivaldi. The first movement, labeled Adagio-Allegro begins with a steadily moving ground bass with the melody soaring slowly overhead in the violins and upper winds before moving abruptly to the Allegro section, marked by a sixteenth-note figure that is passed through each string section in canonic fashion. The second movement is labeled Andante piu lento un poco, and demonstrates Vivaldi’s ability to take a small amount of material and stretch it over a number of bars in a slow piece. At the beginning we hear the lower strings echoing the violin melody, which seems to be drawn out throughout the movement in some voice, whether it is violins, lower strings, or winds. Finally, the third movement, labeled Allegro-Allegro molto, is bright and upbeat and kept my attention much better, probably due to the contrasting use of woodwinds (which seem to finally have their own parts in this movement, rather than doubling the strings), broader dynamic range, and gradual tempo change, in contrast to the abrupt break to accommodate the sections of different tempi in the first movement. Malipiero sets up this work as a pseudo- Vivaldi sinfonia, with three movements in the fast-slow-fast order, and it truly does work fine as just that. But Malipiero “wrote” the piece in 1952, after over 200 years of musical progress since the Baroque days of Vivaldi and early Classicism. It would have benefited Malipiero to include some of this progress into a re-working of Vivaldi’s music for the neo-classical era, rather than re-presenting the seemingly unchanged work of one of his idols. For this reason I think it is very obvious why this piece is not included in the canon- it is simply not a representation of the neoclassical style of composition, but rather musical plagiarism, note-for-note. Had Malipiero looked to the example of Stravinsky for ways to re-work the classics, he may have been more successful.
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