Friday 28 March 2014

Three Characters in Sound

The other day I was discussing the first movement of Liszt's Dante Symphony.  At the same time he was composing that work, he was also labouring over an even bigger, more complex creation, which he finally entitled, A Faust Symphony in Three Character Portraits.  To my mind, this is an even more revolutionary work than its partner based on Dante, and the reason lies in that title.

In common with most programmatic music up to this time, the Dante Symphony presents a musical portrait of the events of a story.  This work, though, goes somewhere that no composer (as far as I know) had gone before: a composition which describes character and personality rather than narrating events.

The result is, like the Dante Symphony, a suite of tone poems, but these tone poems are totally unlike any of their predecessors, and most of their successors.

The first movement is a portrait of Faust.  It presents a lengthy pageant of themes which illustrate many different aspects of this most complex character in Goethe's drama.  The first, consisting of four chromatic triads presented in succession as arpeggios, may contain all 12 notes of the octave but its primary function is to illustrate the world-weary scholar.  Other themes present the determined man of action, the would-be lover, the victorious man of power, and so on.  No labels are needed -- each theme has a distinct and different character all its own.  In a long and complex movement lasting 30 minutes, the themes are worked into various orders and combinations.  There is no point in trying to refer this piece to the traditional sonata form of other symphonists; Liszt instead developed a form which suited his material.  The overall symmetry of the work becomes apparent later.

The second movement depicts Gretchen.  It's a long, rhapsodic song for winds and strings which manages to combine the young girl's innocence and the blossoming of the young woman in one.  A short figure repeated over and over, high and low, in various instruments represents the famous "He loves me; he loves me not" episode, but such detail is really not significant.  Into the middle of the movement one of the Faust themes intrudes roughly.  Again, this is not so much a depiction of specific incident as it is the intrusion of Faust into Gretchen's life that matters.  The music ends quietly, restfully, a lovely point of repose before the finale.

The third movement, of course, then has to be the demonic Mephistopheles.  Liszt's greatest achievement is the spectacular way in which he fires up this ferocious scherzo by subjecting each of the main Faust themes to diabolical distortion.  This of course mirrors the way that Mephistopheles, himself the spirit of destruction and negation, distorts everything that Faust tries to accomplish.  Gretchen's song appears briefly in the middle, untouched by the demonic discolouration surrounding it.  But the scherzo returns and works up to a frenzied final climax before sinking down to exhausted silence.

Here the work originally ended with a final reference to Gretchen and an optimistic coda in the major based on two of Faust's themes.  Three years after the first performance, Liszt revised the ending.  Since he never explained why, we have all the fun of trying to guess.  The new ending emerges out of the silence with a male choir chanting the Chorus mysticus which concludes Part II of Goethe's drama.  At the words, "Das Ewig-Weibliche zieht uns hinan" ("The Eternal-Womanly leads us beyond") a tenor solo appears, soaring rhapsodically above the choir in exactly the manner that Mahler would later use with soprano when setting the same text in his Eighth Symphony.  The orchestra bursts out fortissimo and the choir joins in repeating the first six lines of the stanza with full affirmation.  The tenor gently repeats his lines, and eventually the choir joins in a long, slow crescendo to the organ-crowned final cadence.

This amazing work was neglected for years after its first performances, and practically dropped out of sight altogether (along with much of Liszt'ts output) in the first half of the twentieth century.  It remained for such conductors as Sir Thomas Beecham and Leonard Bernstein to resurrect it.  Indeed, Bernstein recorded it twice, and I don't think any other conductor has ever done that.  In programme notes to the LP issue of his second version, he mused about whether the long neglect of Liszt's music was the result of the composer making a Faustian bargain with the devil himself.  If that were so, he added, it was ironic that the one piece saving Liszt from his reputation as a second-rate composer was the Faust Symphony!

Bernstein's second outing, on Deutsche Grammophon with the Boston Symphony, is the one to go for if you can find it.  It's a fine example of DGG's late-analogue recording techniques, the acoustic of Boston's magnificent Symphony Hall comfortably accommodates the loudest passages, and the Hall's famous organ makes a powerful contribution in the finale.  Tenor soloist Kenneth Riegel gives a distinguished account of his high and quiet lines.  Most of all, the conductor pulls the whole huge structure together into a taut, unified whole.  In Bernstein's hands this becomes the kind of work where you may look at your watch after 75 minutes and say, "What?  It's already over?"

Friday 21 March 2014

The Power of the Inferno -- Times Two

In the epic poem  The Divine Comedy by the Italian poet Dante, the first part depicts an imaginary journey through the circles of Hell with the poet guided by the famous Roman epic poet, Virgil.  It is from Dante's version that we inherit the description of the gates of Hell, headed up by the inscription "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here".  In the second of the 9 circles of Hell, the travellers encounter screaming winds and the cries of souls in torment.  Among the souls eternally blown about in the howling whirlwind are Paolo Malatesta and Francesca da Polenta.  This couple are doomed to be swept about for eternity just as they allowed themselves to be swept away by their illicit love affair.  This is only one of the many allegorical descriptions in the poem.


This story has become the backbone of many plays, operas, and other artistic creations.  My subject today is a pair of Romantic tone poems depicting the story with remarkable similarity.


The first is the Dante Symphony by Franz Liszt, first performed in 1857.  Liszt was famed for his work in developing the genre of the symphonic poem, a work which illustrates a literary, descriptive, narrative, or philosophical program.  The Dante Symphony is one of two he wrote which are actually composed of thematically linked symphonic poems (the other one, the Faust Symphony, needs a whole blog post to itself).  Logically, this Dante Symphony should have comprised 3 movements, one for each of the three parts of Dante's Divine Comedy.  However, Richard Wagner persuaded Liszt that no human being could adequately depict the glories of Paradise in music, and thus the work settled into 2 movements, with the "coming attractions" of Heaven appearing as a quiet choral setting of the Magnificat at the end of the Purgatorio movement.


But here, we are concerned with the Inferno.  Liszt begins with a baleful trombone recitative that has the words of Dante's inscription over the Gates of Hell set under it.  He then proceeds with a stormy allegro section that opens with a descending theme obviously meant to describe the downward journey of Dante and Virgil into the Inferno.  The music contains many other themes and features specifically identified with different aspects of Dante's description of Hell.  In the central section the tempo relaxes into a lengthy andante amoroso in the unusual time signature of 7/4, depicting the love of Paolo and Francesca.  After this part concludes the storm erupts afresh, with something of the effect of a classical recapitulation, and the downward journey theme resumes.  Finally a massive coda introduces the trombone theme from the opening one last time, combining it with a slow ascending theme that suggests the emergence of the poets from Hell on the opposite side of the world.


In all of this music, Liszt includes many detailed markings, comments, and quotes of text to show how closely he was following Dante's work in his own creative way.  Yet the music stands well on its own, even if you don't know the details, and is indeed one of the strongest and most gripping symphonic poems Liszt composed.


Twenty years later, Tchaikovsky composed his "symphonic fantasia" Francesca da Rimini, and acknowledged his debt to Wagner for this work in a letter to Sergei Taneyev.  Yet it is the Liszt example (which Tchaikovsky may well have heard) that really hovers over Tchaikovsky's work.  Here again, a trombone fanfare opens the work and there is a long central section depicting the regret for lost love felt by Francesca and Paolo as they are endlessly whirled about the second circle of Hell.  The final section, as in Liszt, is a recapitulation of the opening, but with Tchaikovsky the form is less free.  The recurrence of the whirlwind is in fact an almost literal repeat of the opening, until the coda is reached. 


However, the differences are more notable still.  Tchaikovsky uses chromatic harmonies and scales as Liszt did, but within a stronger structure.  His music overall is less experimental, but more expressive with it.  His whirlwind is sustained in a furious moto perpetuo through several minutes of sheer hyperactivity.  Of course, Tchaikovsky was one of the great masters of long-breathed melodious themes in slow tempi, and the central episode here is one of his finest in that vein.  Also, with Tchaikovsky, there is no hint of the final emergence from hell.  Rather, the concluding pages suggest that we are forever trapped in the howling whirlwinds with Francesca and Paolo.  The hammered final chords are reinforced by multiple fortissimo strokes on the tam-tam (large gong).


Which is the greater piece?  Well, I'm not going to be trapped that easily.  I'm just going to end by saying that they are both powerful, both illustrate their programme very effectively, and both are well worth your time as fine examples of music drama which requires no words to illustrate the action.

Thursday 20 March 2014

A Pageant of Rare Beauty and Power

I'm back to my old familiar turf with Ralph Vaughan Williams again, and a work which the composer counted as a personal favourite that yet has remained largely unknown

One of the paradoxes of RVW's life is the way in which an avowed atheist could compose the most beautiful and soul-enhancing music to overtly Christian texts.  It's a paradox that has puzzled many people, and that's an understatement.  His second wife, Ursula, said that he became a professed atheist but "later drifted into a cheerful agnosticism."  Another author I read once (Hugh Ottaway perhaps?) described him as a first-generation atheist, "which means a disappointed theist."

It's definitely a relevant issue when faced with The Pilgrim's Progress, the monumental opera or "morality" (as RVW called it) which he composed to a libretto adapted from Bunyan's famous allegory.  The earliest beginnings of the work date back to 1903, yet it did not reach its final form or achieve performance until 1951!

Sadly, it flopped.

The opera was performed at the Royal Opera House that year as part of the Festival of Britain, and the performance was given a small budget and inadequate rehearsal time.  It has never been re-staged there.  Vaughan Williams was profoundly hurt, but a successful production at Cambridge University three years later redeemed his life-long inspiration -- and, incidentally, launched the musical career of a physics student named John Noble who played the central role of the Pilgrim.  RVW insisted on calling the character "Pilgrim" instead of "Christian" because he wanted the piece to apply to anyone who aimed at the spiritual life, no matter which creed or belief they espoused.

As completed, the work is structured in a series of tableaux which call to mind the medieval pageant plays.  These are divided into 4 acts, and the flow of music within each act is continuous.

If there's a key reason why The Pilgrim's Progress is so rarely performed, it surely lies in the immense number of distinct roles -- over 40 of them!  Even with double-casting, you need about 25 opera-house-quality solo singers, plus a large chorus and orchestra.  The Pilgrim (baritone) is the only character who appears throughout; all others are heard in only 1 act.

Anyone coming to this wonderful work with previous knowledge of Vaughan Williams' symphonies will find themselves immediately at home with the frequent reminiscences of the Fifth Symphony.  But, in fact, the process actually worked the other way around.  Fearing that the morality would never be completed, the composer used material from it in 3 of the 4 movements of that central work in his symphonic output.  Even then, he adapted the material to its new and different purpose.

The emotional and textural variety of the scenes is almost endless, and far too detailed to describe here.  There are uplifting solos and ensembles, moments of darkness and agitation, sheer terror in the encounter with Apollyon, drama in the trial scene at Vanity Fair, and sparkling comedy with the appearance of Mr. By-Ends -- accompanied by a delightful tuba solo!  

One of the most exquisite passages comes in the scene with the Shepherds of the Delectable Mountains (originally composed as a stand-alone one-act opera in the 1920s), where a soprano Voice of a Bird sings a soaring setting of the 23rd Psalm while the shepherds explain her voice in lyrical counterpoint to the Pilgrim.

In the end the Pilgrim passes through the river of death and reaches the celestial city to the sound of offstage and onstage fanfares, and of offstage and onstage choruses -- a moment of intense visual impact even when simply listening to a recording.  The beginning and end are framed by the character of John Bunyan, reading (actually singing) the opening and closing pages of his book.

When Sir Adrian Boult set out to make the world premiere recording of this piece, he engaged John Noble to sing the central role, and on Boult's recording you can hear Noble's deep affinity for the character, which so endeared him to the composer.  The remainder of the cast are magnificent British singers of that day (1972) and the roster reads like a "Who's Who" of British vocal art.  EMI did a magnificent job of capturing the terraced effects and perspectives of this score, and the vivid Kingsway Hall sound is completely clear and natural in the latest CD reissue.  That reissue also includes an entertaining 20-minute collection of live tracks caught by a microphone near the podium during rehearsals.  These give some insights into the complexities of the music, and also examples of Sir Adrian Boult's famously understated (but still amusing) rehearsal style.

More recently, the other natural team of Richard Hickox and Chandos records gave The Pilgrim's Progress its digital debut, following after a series of concert performances, and again the cast list reveals the depth of British vocal music in more recent times.  This recording, in typically rich Chandos sound, dates from 1997 and features Canadian baritone Gerald Finley in the role of the Pilgrim.  The Chorus and Orchestra of the Royal Opera House completely redeem the catastrophe of the first production.  Hickox shows a preference for more leisurely tempi, and his performance runs 10 minutes longer.

I confess to a slight preference for Boult, because both conductor and leading singer knew the composer, a touch of authenticity that the newer Chandos recording simply can't match.  On the other hand, the rich Chandos digital sound gives this newer release an edge for sheer spectacle.  Either one will allow you to immerse yourself in one of the keystone achievements of Vaughan Williams' long and honourable career.  All I need now is a chance to see this rare and unique opera staged professionally.  Some day....

UPDATE:  October, 2017

It's three and a half years since I first published this article.  In the spring of 2017 I heard of a live staged production coming up in the fall in the small town of Orleans, on Cape Cod (Massachusetts).  I quickly obtained a ticket, made travel plans, and duly went, heard, saw, and marvelled.  You can read my review of this rare live production of The Pilgrim's Progress here:  Pilgrimage to the Celestial City.

Friday 14 March 2014

What Would a "Brahms Opera" Sound Like?

Johannes Brahms was my first favourite among Romantic composers (mainly because my dad was so attached to his music) and remains high on the list.  Many people might say as much.  But if you want a shock, try googling a list of the musical works of Brahms and see how many of them you don't know and have never even heard of.  Then contemplate the sobering truth that Brahms destroyed much of what he wrote because it didn't satisfy him -- according to some sources, more than half of his total output met that fate!


One other striking fact emerges from those lists -- Brahms never composed an opera.  That sets him apart from so many of his contemporaries who did, or at least tried!  But there is one work, and a rather large one, that can give us a bit of an idea of how a Brahms opera might have sounded.


Rinaldo, Op. 50, is a cantata for tenor soloist, male chorus, and orchestra that lasts about 35 minutes in performance.  This may seem odd to us today, but male-voice choral societies abounded in 19th-century Germany and Austria almost as much as mixed-voice choirs in Britain.  Nearly every major German Romantic composer wrote music for male voice choirs, from Schubert and Schumann through Liszt and even Wagner, right up to Bruckner who counted a cantata for male chorus as one of his last completed compositions.  And Brahms was right there with them.


Rinaldo is a setting of a poem by Goethe which was entitled Cantata Rinaldo, showing that a musical setting was planned or desired.  Indeed, Goethe went so far as to specify that the last section of his poem should be the Schlusschor or "final chorus", a division which Brahms respected.  The poem imposes an odd problem, though, in that it includes no speaking part for the sorceress Armida, the other principal character in the story.


The outline of the story comes from the epic poem Gerusalemme liberata by Torquato Tasso, and tells how the crusader knight Rinaldo lands on the magic island of Armida and becomes infatuated with her beauty.  He is recalled to his path of duty when his companion knights force him to gaze into a magic diamond shield which shows him what he has become.  With renewed resolve he embarks once again for Palestine while Armida in a fury is transformed into a raging demon and destroys her own magic domain.


Goethe's poem tells this story in the words of the knights and of Rinaldo himself.  Brahms created a continuous musical structure centred on three arias for Rinaldo (tenor): an extended love rhapsody, a sad song of farewell, and a horror-struck description of Armida's transformation.  The chorus comments before and between these arias.  The dramatic highlight of the work is the massive fugal passage in which the chorus divided into 4 parts sings: "No, there is no time for delay, show the magic diamond shield!"  The music then shifts suddenly to a remote key and drops dramatically to pianissimo wind chords of mysterious, almost "tarnhelmish" quality as Rinaldo sings, "Woe!  What do I see?"  The other climactic moment is Rinaldo's third aria and the orchestral interlude growing out of it which depicts the collapse of Armida's magic castle.


This quite striking and dramatic composition has been rarely performed.  Indeed, I have never heard tell of a live performance and know of only two recordings.  The premiere recording was made for Decca records back in the 1960s by a very young Claudio Abbado.  In the later 1970s, an equally young Giuseppe Sinopoli recorded the score for Deutsche Grammophon as part of a multi-disc set of choral music of Brahms.  I have both recordings in CD reissues.


It's striking that both conductors used noted Wagnerian heldentenor voices for the part of Rinaldo.  The orchestration is not nearly so heavy as in Wagner, but the solo part is dramatic and wide-ranging, so the choices are apt.  Abbado worked with James King, and Sinopoli with Rene Kollo.  To some extent, preference for one of these two fine singers might dictate your choice if you want to hunt these recordings down.  The performances on the whole are equally fine at capturing the work, and at convincing you that it merits rehearing and more frequent performance.


Another factor might be the choice of couplings.  Both were reissued on CD as part of multi-disc sets of Brahms' other choral music.  Both sets include the shorter works Schicksalslied, Alto Rhapsody, Nänie, and Gesang der Parzen.  The 3-CD DGG set included Sinopoli's reading of the renowned German Requiem, but for me that was not one of the better versions available and suffered from really ridiculous balance issues such as were common in early digital recordings.  The engineers were unable to resist the urge to fool around with their new technological toys (the most egregious example is the harp ringing out over the mass of chorus and orchestra at the climax of Denn alles Fleisch est ist wie Gras!)  But the prize of Sinopoli's set is the extremely rare Triumphlied, a vigorous 3-movement cantata in which the Brahms of the German Requiem and Rinaldo shakes hands with the Handel of Israel in Egypt to stunning effect.


Abbado's recording has lost its original coupling of the Schicksalslied, and instead comes coupled in a 2-CD set with Herbert Blomstedt's more recent San Francisco recordings of those 4 shorter works and a group of Brahms' motets for unaccompanied choir.  The prize rarity of this set is the early Begräbnisgesang, which opens on a solemn funeral march that builds to a climactic cry of almost terror from the chorus.


On the whole, I'm glad to have both sets in my collection.  Either way will get you some fine performances of rarely heard Brahms, and Rinaldo is well worth the investment in the other works if you can find either version.