To celebrate my new Smashwords book 104 Great Symphonies You Haven't Heard Yet, in which I list 104 great Symphonies outside the core repertoire of overplayed works and describe them in 104 words or less, I will be presenting in this blog a write-up on each of the first 9 Symphonies listed in the book with far more detail, and oriented more for musicologists and performers than for listeners. Today's installment is #6 in the list of 104, but it also gives me an opportunity to plug another book of mine, The 20 Crucial Compositions of Anton Bruckner, and in fact, the following write-up is taken almost verbatim from that book.
Symphony No. 6 in A major, WAB 106
Repertoire formation is a funny business. Musical merit is one factor, certainly, but often not the only factor or even the most important one. With any composer, there are pieces which are rarely heard, yet when they are heard, people wonder why they have never heard it before, since they are such good pieces of music. And so, with Bruckner, it is somewhat of a puzzlement that the Sixth Symphony is so rarely heard despite being so well-done and so fascinating, whereas the Fourth Symphony, with its various flaws and problems, is one of Bruckner's most popular.
Various reasons are given for this, such as that Bruckner was trying too hard to pare down his conception to a smaller scale, or the predominance of the Bruckner rhythm (2 + 3 or 3 + 2 in the time-space of 2 + 2) in the first movement in overlapping triplets of different note values. The violins use this rhythm for the accompaniment figure high up in their range, while the cellos intone their foreboding theme. The presence (and at other times, absence) of the Bruckner rhythm accompaniment figure helps to create both unity and variety quite seamlessly, almost unnoticed. The overall atmosphere of the work is heroic, and with quite a bit of optimism in the first movement. In fact, the coda of this first movement is the most optimistic music Bruckner ever wrote.
The Adagio, representing the only time Bruckner ever used sonata form for a slow middle movement, feels like a much warmer version of the melancholic Adagio of the Fifth Symphony. Just a few bars in, there is a melancholy oboe theme of profound sadness (a theme that will recur in the finale in a different guise), followed later by some more consoling music for strings. The third subject group feels quite like a funeral march, and in it some commentators, like Erwin Doernberg, hear an anticipation of Mahler.
The Scherzo is somewhat Mendelssohnian in its more fleet-footed moments, but wholly Brucknerian overall, especially in the louder outbursts. (At least to Hans Ferdinand Redlich's ears, this music references the Rhine maidens from Wagner's Götterdämmerung, an assertion Doernberg dismisses as "absurd"). The Trio has some unexpected references to the Fifth Symphony, which quite a few different people do hear.
The finale is broadly heroic with warmly memorable lyric moments, but there is something tentative to the provisional feel of the triumphant coda—perhaps this is another mysterious element that has made Audiences slow to appreciate this particular Symphony. Or perhaps listeners feel that the finale does not deliver on the promise of the first movement.
It seems that the Upper Austrian Jazz Orchestra had similar thoughts about the Sixth Symphony. The sixth track in their Deference to Anton Bruckner album, Der Anton aus Triol, begins with themes from the Adagio, moves on to the finale but concludes with a rendering of the first movement coda.
Given how popular the Fourth Symphony is, with its tragic conclusion coming out of the blue, the "tentative Finale" explanation for the neglect of the Sixth Symphony is quite unsatisfactory. Despite these facts of its reception, with the consequence that the Sixth would probably never be included in a collection of Bruckner's greatest hits, it must nevertheless count as one of his crucial works for its significance in Bruckner's development and for the fact that he remained fond of this piece to his dying day. And also for the fact that it contains one of the best examples of Bruckner's harmonic puns, in the first movement, as the timpanist singlehandedly occasions the return of the tonic (though this last item will be more appreciated by those with perfect pitch and those looking at the score, as they will notice the repeating A-flats suddenly become G-sharp with the timpani's entry—this was mentioned in the Introduction as an example of the smooth, seamless transitions Bruckner hardly ever gets credit for).
There was a wider gap between work on the Fifth and work on the Sixth, but this is because Bruckner also worked on his only significant chamber composition, the String Quintet in F major, after finishing the Fifth. Work on the Sixth was delayed by a revision of the Fourth Symphony (the version more usually heard today of that work), and when he was almost done with the Sixth, he started working on the Te Deum, and soon after the Seventh Symphony.
Whereas Bruckner's Fifth is usually thought of as being too long and complex for those new to Bruckner, maybe the Sixth might serve as a better introduction to this composer. Not quite as long and austere as the Fifth Symphony, the Sixth is a wonderful precursor to the serene luminance of the Seventh, though perhaps without requiring quite the same level of concentration. And given the Sixth's more assured mastery of form, it should be considered a preferable introduction to Bruckner over the Third and Fourth Symphonies.
I have never heard the Sixth Symphony live in concert. Indeed it should come as no surprise that anyone who has heard the last three in concert has not heard the Sixth, but I have even managed to hear the First in concert. Bruckner himself at least got to hear Wilhelm Jahn conduct the middle movements. While a paucity of complete early performances can certainly hinder a work's acceptance into the core repertoire, the (relative) facility earlier Symphonies have enjoyed discredits that theory for the Sixth's rarity in concert.
You would be justified in assuming that in recordings, the Sixth is generally tackled by conductors who do complete cycles (notwithstanding whether the Zeroeth is included or not). Leonard Bernstein's recording with the New York Philharmonic is a surprising contradiction to that pattern, given that the only other Bruckner Symphony he's recorded is the Ninth (though not surprisingly, the Sixth just once but the Ninth four times).
Nevertheless, once again I am recommending Herbert von Karajan with the Berlin Philharmonic as the definitive recording. Sir Colin Davis with the London Symphony Orchestra and Sir Roger Norrington with the SWR Stuttgart Radio Symphony Orchestra are also worthwhile recordings, though with the latter beware that although it is on modern instruments, Norrington has the strings withhold their now expected vibrato, something that is not to everyone's taste. The New Philharmonia Orchestra conducted by Otto Klemperer is another nice recording.
I am not bothering to distinguish between those conductors who choose the Nowak or Haas edition. Since Bruckner did not revise this Symphony (except possibly for some rather minor details), only performers who have used both editions and the most devoted Bruckner fans are really aware of the differences between the two editions. Karajan and Furtwängler both predictably use Haas, while younger conductors like Baremboim and Pletnev opt for Nowak, though there are a few older conductors who choose Nowak, such as Rafael Kubelik.
There is one potentially significant difference among editions: the musicians might see a repeat for the second part of the Trio, Jose Marques points out. Whether or not they take that repeat is another matter. If the repeat is ignored, listeners might not notice the changes in dynamics nor the slight re-orchestrations.
Most of these recordings, clocking in at about 60 minutes, though some as little as 50 minutes, leave enough room for filler, though it is generally for remastered recordings that this option is taken. For example, Horst Stein's recording with the Vienna Philharmonic also includes Weber's Overtures to Der Beherrscher der Geister and Abu Hassan. Depending on which remastering of Klemperer's recording you get, you might also get Gluck's Overture to Iphigénie en Aulide as arranged by Wagner, and Humperdinck's Overture to Hansel und Gretel.
The 1899 edition by Cyrill Hynais was recorded once in 1952 by Charles Adler and only once after, more recently, by Ira Levin in 2008. I have not heard either of these recordings so I will not comment any further on them. It is also worth mentioning that Erwin Horn recorded a transcription of the Adagio for organ in Nuremberg.
As with the Fourth, I will also be recommending film music to start off the concert. Specifically, the Superman March by John Williams. Then can follow some pieces from Schindler's List as a kind of violin concerto. And, with permission from John Williams, after the Bruckner Sixth, the Superman March should be repeated with some of the rhythmic patterns changed to the Bruckner rhythm.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Friday, May 2, 2014
2 of 9 out of 104: Michael Haydn's Symphony No. 2 in C major
To celebrate my new Smashwords book 104 Great Symphonies You Haven't Heard Yet, in which I list 104 great Symphonies outside the core repertoire of overplayed works and describe them in 104 words or less, I will be presenting in this blog a write-up on each of the first 9 Symphonies listed in the book with far more detail, and oriented more for musicologists and performers than for listeners. Today's installment is #2 in the list of 104.
Symphony No. 2 in C major, “The Baroque,” MH 37, Perger 2, Sherman 2
Scored for 2 oboes, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, strings. Written in Großwardein in 1761.
This is the very first Symphony of Michael Haydn’s that I studied. In some ways it’s more Baroque than Classical. The score puts the bassoons, cellos, basses and continuo (left hand) all on the same bass clef staff. I made my own figured bass realization of it, though I wouldn’t call it original composition by any stretch. For the unison passages that occur in the first and last movements, I simply have the right hand play those passages in octaves.
The way this Symphony starts it could very well be a Concerto Grosso: all at once all the instruments start off with a bang, with the brass presenting a dotted rhythm, the violins with their emphatic triple stops and the bass instruments engaged in a motor rhythm in eighth notes. This headlong rush, without any loss of momentum is an introduction to the first real melody, at measure 8. After scale passages for the violins and high soloistic passages for the brass, at measure 15 we get what will be a characteristic feature in most of Haydn’s later Symphonies: a unison passage for all or most of the orchestra. Here the unison passage arpeggiates the tonic chord for two measures before settling on the note G, at which point the oboes by themselves (assuming no figured bass) harmonize the dominant triad and the orchestra comes to rest on the first significant cadence and pause, giving the music more of a Classical (rather than Baroque) flavor. Continuing in the Classical vein, a graceful arpeggiation of the dominant triad soon leads to trouble with the suggestion of G minor. The augmented sixth chords at measures 25 – 26 (these should be realized by the harpsichordist as German sixth chords at each occurrence) leads to a hollow cadence on D (which the harpsichordist could realize as a V of G major chord) and so the transition from C major to G major has been executed. The second subject group begins with a mostly stepwise theme. Things gets excited with the violins playing patterns of sixteenths derived from measure 3. This has the character of a codetta, and at measures 45 and 47 the brass section gets another group solo, these times answered by a unison melody in the next measure for the rest of the orchestra. The exposition is then concluded and marked for repeat.
In those days, before the codification of sonata form, there was no prescription for the proportion of the development. Here in this first movement the development is just ten measures, scored for the violins alone, a bareness of texture unthinkable in a Baroque Concerto Grosso. The material those violins develop comes from the end of the exposition’s transition from the first subject group to the second subject group. It makes for a strong contrast to mark the beginning of the recapitulation, when the rest of the orchestra suddenly comes back in all at once.
The odd thing about this recapitulation is how quickly it veers off to F major. This makes sense, however, given how short the development was and how little time has been allotted to keys besides C major and G major. C major is reasserted for the beginning of the transition, but even now the recapitulation is not going to be a verbatim transposition: measures 27 – 35 in the exposition are collapsed to just measure 106 in the recapitulation. But after recapitulating in modified form the last few measures of the exposition, the second subject group makes an unexpected appearance prior to the lively coda.
For the slow movement, the winds are dismissed entirely, but continuo is presumably still expected. Interestingly, the violas double the first violins at the octave, while the second violins are the ones to whom the running semiquaver figuration is given.
The Minuet starts on a downbeat and is full of regal pomp, and in the Trio the trumpets get a real chance to shine.
For the concluding Presto I recommend a somewhat faster tempo than you’ll hear in the Warchal recording. Other than this one particular case, I tend to choose slower tempos for Haydn’s music.
This one and nineteen other Symphonies are available on a boxed set of the Slovak Philharmonic conducted by Bodhan Warchal on the CPO label. Warchal observes the development-recap repeat and has a harpsichordist realize the figured bass. Pál Németh conducting the Savaria Baroque Orchestra also has a figured bass realization but he dispenses with the development-recap repeat. Németh, however, takes the slow movement slower than Warchal so their recordings clock in at about the same time.
Symphony No. 2 in C major, “The Baroque,” MH 37, Perger 2, Sherman 2
Scored for 2 oboes, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, strings. Written in Großwardein in 1761.
This is the very first Symphony of Michael Haydn’s that I studied. In some ways it’s more Baroque than Classical. The score puts the bassoons, cellos, basses and continuo (left hand) all on the same bass clef staff. I made my own figured bass realization of it, though I wouldn’t call it original composition by any stretch. For the unison passages that occur in the first and last movements, I simply have the right hand play those passages in octaves.
The way this Symphony starts it could very well be a Concerto Grosso: all at once all the instruments start off with a bang, with the brass presenting a dotted rhythm, the violins with their emphatic triple stops and the bass instruments engaged in a motor rhythm in eighth notes. This headlong rush, without any loss of momentum is an introduction to the first real melody, at measure 8. After scale passages for the violins and high soloistic passages for the brass, at measure 15 we get what will be a characteristic feature in most of Haydn’s later Symphonies: a unison passage for all or most of the orchestra. Here the unison passage arpeggiates the tonic chord for two measures before settling on the note G, at which point the oboes by themselves (assuming no figured bass) harmonize the dominant triad and the orchestra comes to rest on the first significant cadence and pause, giving the music more of a Classical (rather than Baroque) flavor. Continuing in the Classical vein, a graceful arpeggiation of the dominant triad soon leads to trouble with the suggestion of G minor. The augmented sixth chords at measures 25 – 26 (these should be realized by the harpsichordist as German sixth chords at each occurrence) leads to a hollow cadence on D (which the harpsichordist could realize as a V of G major chord) and so the transition from C major to G major has been executed. The second subject group begins with a mostly stepwise theme. Things gets excited with the violins playing patterns of sixteenths derived from measure 3. This has the character of a codetta, and at measures 45 and 47 the brass section gets another group solo, these times answered by a unison melody in the next measure for the rest of the orchestra. The exposition is then concluded and marked for repeat.
In those days, before the codification of sonata form, there was no prescription for the proportion of the development. Here in this first movement the development is just ten measures, scored for the violins alone, a bareness of texture unthinkable in a Baroque Concerto Grosso. The material those violins develop comes from the end of the exposition’s transition from the first subject group to the second subject group. It makes for a strong contrast to mark the beginning of the recapitulation, when the rest of the orchestra suddenly comes back in all at once.
The odd thing about this recapitulation is how quickly it veers off to F major. This makes sense, however, given how short the development was and how little time has been allotted to keys besides C major and G major. C major is reasserted for the beginning of the transition, but even now the recapitulation is not going to be a verbatim transposition: measures 27 – 35 in the exposition are collapsed to just measure 106 in the recapitulation. But after recapitulating in modified form the last few measures of the exposition, the second subject group makes an unexpected appearance prior to the lively coda.
For the slow movement, the winds are dismissed entirely, but continuo is presumably still expected. Interestingly, the violas double the first violins at the octave, while the second violins are the ones to whom the running semiquaver figuration is given.
The Minuet starts on a downbeat and is full of regal pomp, and in the Trio the trumpets get a real chance to shine.
For the concluding Presto I recommend a somewhat faster tempo than you’ll hear in the Warchal recording. Other than this one particular case, I tend to choose slower tempos for Haydn’s music.
This one and nineteen other Symphonies are available on a boxed set of the Slovak Philharmonic conducted by Bodhan Warchal on the CPO label. Warchal observes the development-recap repeat and has a harpsichordist realize the figured bass. Pál Németh conducting the Savaria Baroque Orchestra also has a figured bass realization but he dispenses with the development-recap repeat. Németh, however, takes the slow movement slower than Warchal so their recordings clock in at about the same time.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
1 of 9 out of 104: Salmanov's Symphony No. 1 in D minor
To celebrate my new Smashwords book 104 Great Symphonies You Haven't Heard Yet, in which I list 104 great Symphonies outside the core repertoire of overplayed works and describe them in 104 words or less, I will be presenting in this blog a write-up on each of the first 9 Symphonies listed in the book with far more detail, and oriented more for musicologists and performers than for listeners. Today's installment is #1 in the list of 104.
Vadim Salmanov, Symphony No. 1 in D minor
Salmanov wrote three more Symphonies after his first, of which the Second seems to have achieved at least a small degree of popularity at one point.
In the Soviet Union, there was an expectation on symphonists to deliver "social realism," though graduation pieces (such as First Symphonies), were exempt. It may not be too difficult to nevertheless read social realism into Salmanov's First Symphony.
To my mind, the beginning is a cold winter day in Russia. The mood is not so much tragedy nor Sturm und Drang as it is an almost elemental determination to survive. The slow movement is a kind of slow march. The finale arrives at a well done, triumphant but not over the top conclusion. Note the motivic integration throughout.
A concert ending with this Symphony would do well to start out with Antonio Salieri's Les Danaïdes Overture and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto in D minor, K. 466, in the first half. Or maybe Salmanov in the first half, Salieri and Mozart in the second half.
Vadim Salmanov, Symphony No. 1 in D minor
Salmanov wrote three more Symphonies after his first, of which the Second seems to have achieved at least a small degree of popularity at one point.
In the Soviet Union, there was an expectation on symphonists to deliver "social realism," though graduation pieces (such as First Symphonies), were exempt. It may not be too difficult to nevertheless read social realism into Salmanov's First Symphony.
To my mind, the beginning is a cold winter day in Russia. The mood is not so much tragedy nor Sturm und Drang as it is an almost elemental determination to survive. The slow movement is a kind of slow march. The finale arrives at a well done, triumphant but not over the top conclusion. Note the motivic integration throughout.
A concert ending with this Symphony would do well to start out with Antonio Salieri's Les Danaïdes Overture and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto in D minor, K. 466, in the first half. Or maybe Salmanov in the first half, Salieri and Mozart in the second half.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
What the play button on the score is for
Today, any music notation software meant to be a serious challenge to the dominance of Finale and Sibelius must have computer playback capabilities (and some other features beyond the scope of this post). Computer playback can be an extremely useful tool, provided one understands its limitations.
One of the dismaying things about the music composition program at a local university is the over-reliance on Finale's computer playback. A comp lesson seems to consist of the instructor and student sitting down in front of a computer and listening to Finale play back the latest draft of the student's piece. The teacher asks a few questions and offers some advice based on what they just heard. The instructor is of course someone whose chamber music has been played many, many times by actual musicians (and maybe his orchestral music once or twice), so he's aware of the ways in which computer playback falls short, but he might not always successfully impart this awareness to his pupils. One of the problems with this heavy emphasis on computer playback leads to is a uniform badness to performances of student compositions by student musicians who at best rehearsed the piece thrice.
At the other extreme we have composers who avoid computer playback like the plague. If you can perfectly hear in your mind what the actual raw notes are saying, that's great. But I think even the most innately musical mind can be led astray. Let me tell you a little story. Many years ago, I wrote a keyboard piece, by hand. I had three different pianists read it through. Each time I heard what I expected to hear. But then this fourth pianist also read it through, but he stopped not that far into it. "Do you really mean a sixth here?" he asked.
It was a passage in octaves. But at one point, I needed one more ledger line than I had actually written. The first three pianists must have automatically assumed the whole passage is in octaves. Would I have caught my mistake if I had entered the music into Finale prior to showing it to the pianists? Maybe, maybe not. It is unlikely, though possible, that I would have carried the mistake over into the Finale file (especially if for whatever reason the piano keyboard interface was unavailable and I was forced to use the mouse to enter the music). But, as soon as I listened to the playback, I would have noticed the wrong note.
Here's a list of things computer playback is good for, in order from very good to not so much:
One of the dismaying things about the music composition program at a local university is the over-reliance on Finale's computer playback. A comp lesson seems to consist of the instructor and student sitting down in front of a computer and listening to Finale play back the latest draft of the student's piece. The teacher asks a few questions and offers some advice based on what they just heard. The instructor is of course someone whose chamber music has been played many, many times by actual musicians (and maybe his orchestral music once or twice), so he's aware of the ways in which computer playback falls short, but he might not always successfully impart this awareness to his pupils. One of the problems with this heavy emphasis on computer playback leads to is a uniform badness to performances of student compositions by student musicians who at best rehearsed the piece thrice.
At the other extreme we have composers who avoid computer playback like the plague. If you can perfectly hear in your mind what the actual raw notes are saying, that's great. But I think even the most innately musical mind can be led astray. Let me tell you a little story. Many years ago, I wrote a keyboard piece, by hand. I had three different pianists read it through. Each time I heard what I expected to hear. But then this fourth pianist also read it through, but he stopped not that far into it. "Do you really mean a sixth here?" he asked.
It was a passage in octaves. But at one point, I needed one more ledger line than I had actually written. The first three pianists must have automatically assumed the whole passage is in octaves. Would I have caught my mistake if I had entered the music into Finale prior to showing it to the pianists? Maybe, maybe not. It is unlikely, though possible, that I would have carried the mistake over into the Finale file (especially if for whatever reason the piano keyboard interface was unavailable and I was forced to use the mouse to enter the music). But, as soon as I listened to the playback, I would have noticed the wrong note.
Here's a list of things computer playback is good for, in order from very good to not so much:
- Spotting wrong pitches. (Especially in tonal music; unintended sevenths should stick out like sore thumbs).
- Spotting wrong rhythms. (But keep in mind the computer is capable of greater rhythmic precision).
- Spotting missing staccato and accent articulations.
- Getting some idea of the correct metronome marking. (Some composers get way too finicky about metronome markings. I suggest rounding off in 5s or 10s: if, for example, quarter note equals 74 sounds perfect in computer playback, it might be best to write 75 or 70 for the human performers).
- Spotting missing tenuto articulations, legato. (In the absence of articulations, computer playback tends to be legato).
- Spotting missing dynamics markings.
- Deciding dynamics markings (forte, piano, etc.) to achieve the desired balance of voices (e.g., in computer playback, a violin can be heard regardless of which other instruments are playing).
- Predicting how an Audience will react to a live performance.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Korg nanoKEY: It can outlast the USB cable it came with
On the Internet, you can find lots of stories of people with brand new Korg nanoKEYs who just can't get the damn thing to work with their system. Those were of no help to me for the problem I was having: after five years of using a nanoKEY with Finale 2010 under Mac OS X and later Windows 8.0 (long story that), it just wasn't working anymore. I was putting nothing but rests in Finale.
I tried restarting my computer. I tried restarting my computer with all USB ports clear (except for QWERTY keyboard and mouse). Nothing. The Korg logo would light up but the octave up/down indicators would not. Maybe after five years it was time to buy a new nanoKEY. I started weighing my options: I'm not flat broke, but I'm not rolling in dough either. Would the hassle of note entry with the mouse be enough to justify the cost?
And then I noticed a cryptic message in the notification pane about a failure of a USB device to properly initialize. What if the problem was the USB cable, not the nanoKEY? I thought it was a long shot, but it wouldn't cost me anything to try a different cable, since I have a few extra USB cables lying around, some of which I don't even remember what equipment they came from.
What do you know, it worked. I plugged in, my computer made that sound that lets you know something USB has been plugged in and recognized. The Korg logo lit up. I pressed the octave up key and the corresponding light turned green. I started a default document in Finale and entered a few triads and a couple of sevenths.
These days, things aren't built to last. But sometimes, it's a relatively inexpensive component that breaks down and needs replacing, rather than the whole kit and kaboodle.
I tried restarting my computer. I tried restarting my computer with all USB ports clear (except for QWERTY keyboard and mouse). Nothing. The Korg logo would light up but the octave up/down indicators would not. Maybe after five years it was time to buy a new nanoKEY. I started weighing my options: I'm not flat broke, but I'm not rolling in dough either. Would the hassle of note entry with the mouse be enough to justify the cost?
And then I noticed a cryptic message in the notification pane about a failure of a USB device to properly initialize. What if the problem was the USB cable, not the nanoKEY? I thought it was a long shot, but it wouldn't cost me anything to try a different cable, since I have a few extra USB cables lying around, some of which I don't even remember what equipment they came from.
What do you know, it worked. I plugged in, my computer made that sound that lets you know something USB has been plugged in and recognized. The Korg logo lit up. I pressed the octave up key and the corresponding light turned green. I started a default document in Finale and entered a few triads and a couple of sevenths.
These days, things aren't built to last. But sometimes, it's a relatively inexpensive component that breaks down and needs replacing, rather than the whole kit and kaboodle.
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