Program Notes
Program Notes by
Barbara A. Renton
JOHANNES BRAHMS
Schicksalslied (Song of Destiny), Op. 54, for chorus and orchestra
Johannes Brahms was born in Hamburg, Germany in 1833 and began his
musical career early as a young piano prodigy.
For many years, in addition to composing and performing, he held various
posts as a choral conductor.
Eventually he located permanently in Vienna, devoting most of his time to his
burgeoning career as a composer of international repute.
He died there in 1897.
The great musicologist, Karl Geiringer, observed that both Brahms'
Schicksalslied and the spirit of
much of Beethoven's music “struggles from darkness to light, from fear and
sorrow to redemption and joy.” But
the text of the Schicksalslied, by the German poet, Friedrich Hölderlin, doesn't
follow this pattern, rather it does the reverse, opening with an extended
description of the blessed immortals and closing with the uncertainty and
despair of humankind. Although the
poem attracted Brahms because of its literary beauty, he could not agree with
its bleak conclusion. And so,
although he had basically completed the piece beginning in 1868, following his
famous Requiem, he vacillated about what the ending should be.
Should it reflect the bliss of the immortal gods, with which Hölderlin's
poem begins, and thus give a satisfying three-part solution, or should he end
with the alienation of humanity as the text indicates?
His friend, Hermann Levi, who conducted the first performance in 1871 at
Karlsruhe, persuaded him to close with a reprise of the introduction, a thought
that had been one of Brahms' considerations. In the completed work, Brahms makes
a deeply personal statement, as he remarked in a letter to another conductor
friend, “I do say something that the poet does not say.”
The original audience was spellbound.
Brahms divided the three-stanza poem into two parts: the first part,
depicting the heavenly life of the gods (two stanzas) and the second part
depicting the tragic plight of humanity (one stanza, repeated).An orchestral
introduction to the first part also closes the second part – but in a different
key and with a richer texture.
The first movement begins with an graceful, ethereal evocation of the
heavenly home of the gods, a place
of everlasting peace and beauty – but with a hint of the struggle “below”
depicted by the timpani sounding an all-too-earthly funeral march rhythm.
Some commentators describe this rhythm as Brahms' “fate“
motive. The altos begin the
first stanza, joined by the sopranos and then the men's voices, evoking the
higher realms in a hymn-like texture
– seeming to float in beautiful tone colors
provided by the orchestra. A
short interlude introduces the second stanza, “Schicksallos” (Fateless), at
times the voices soar unanchored by the orchestra.
Brahms puts special emphasis on the words “ewig”(eternal), “seelige”
(blissful), “blicken” (gazes).
Throughout, the tones, textures and melodic shapes depict a clear, calm state of
bliss. At the end, there is a muted
return of the funeral dirge by the timpani, leading to an orchestral interlude.
Suddenly, the mood changes, ushering in the third stanza.
Dissonant chords, reinforced by the brass section and jagged, raging
strings plunge the listener into the turmoil of earthly life.
We experience in sound the tumbling of water from crag to crag, “von
Klippe zu Klippe.” An orchestral
interlude temporarily quiets the wild despair leading to the second statement of
the first two lines of text, “Doch
uns...” this time more meditative, with an emphasis on “ruhn” – until the
rushing restlessness returns, only to fade at the end into the softly insistent
beat of the timpani. Is this all we are left with?
Brahms' conclusion, expressing his
personal hope, says, in effect,
“No.” The listener is left
with the thought: “Amen. May it be
so.”
LUDWIG VAN
BEETHOVEN
Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125
“Choral”
Ludwig Beethoven (not the noble “van” which was conferred later in
life), was born in Bonn, Germany, in 1770.
He first earned a reputation as a child keyboard prodigy but his creative
compositional talents were also recognized fairly early.
After some years of itinerant concertizing, he settled in Vienna, where
he gained increasing respect and fame until his death in 1827.
He is the first composer in Western culture to have earned his living by
his compositions, through no-strings-attached subventions from aristocrats and
strongly-negotiated payments from publishers. For more than a hundred years
after his death, composers still looked back on his compositions and were
intimidated as well as instructed.
His Ninth (and last) Symphony was regarded as a guidebook of symphonic,
structural, orchestral, and harmonic possibilities by Berlioz, Wagner, Mahler,
Dvořák, and others.
When the Berlin Wall came down, it was Beethoven's Ninth Symphony that
was played, and it is still performed whenever national rejoicing is celebrated.
The Symphony was premiered in Vienna, May 7, 1824 to a packed hall.
Although Beethoven himself wielded the baton, the functional conductor
was Michael Umlauf, who had, prior to the performance, instructed the performers
not to follow the now totally-deaf Beethoven's signals.
Reports differ as to Beethoven's responses to the audience, considering
his inability to hear, but whatever the truth, he was oblivious until physically
turned around to face a standing, applauding throng.
In the Ninth Symphony we meet a composer at the peak of his ability, who
also wants to make a statement about music and (although many in the audience
might not have been aware of it) about the current political system.
Beethoven was a democrat – believing in the brotherhood of humankind
(feminism was unknown then). He had
been an ardent supporter of the ideals of the French Revolution, and had been
bitterly disappointed by the later decisions of Napoleon.
Nevertheless, he avidly followed and read all of the literature that
spoke of freedom. In our day and
age, we Americans cannot fully identify with the longing that millions of
Europeans had under a system that had begun a thousand years before for their
protection but was now an immense economic and social burden.
Beethoven turned to the words of the oft-banned German poet, Friedrich
Schiller, to express his life-creed.
Schiller gave voice to the sentiments of millions, echoed in the
Declaration of Independence. In the
word “Freude” (joy) many heard the forbidden word “Freiheit”(freedom), which
Leonard Bernstein incorporated at the celebration of the Berlin Wall's
destruction.
What to listen for in this immense work?
Is there any way to comprehend what Beethoven was trying to tell his
audience? (Remember, in Beethoven's
time, the only audience was the present one; there were no CDs.)
Nicholas Cook has written, “It is hard to describe the Ninth Symphony
without resorting to images of mountains.”
First, there is Beethoven's expectation that the audience knows what to
expect from a symphony: that the first movement would be in the so-called
”sonata form,” that is, a statement of three themes, then a “development” in
which each or all of these themes
are broken up and played with, but still recognizable, and then brought back
together in the same order in a “recapitulation.”
But in this symphony, Beethoven says, “Think outside the box.”
Here, every part of the movement can be subject to development,
much as a painting, by some artists, can exceed the limits of the frame – and so
the listener must pay careful attention to the first few minutes of music, for
they will serve as the subject matter for what happens next.
From the very first notes, which give an air of mystery, or even evoking
the waters of chaos, the listener is uncertain as to where the guideposts are.
Is this an introduction? Or
the first theme? And then the
dynamic, plunging assertive theme that captures the attention.
There is a second theme (light and lyrical) and a final theme (more
martial and deliberative). One of
the first critics described how the music struck him: “Like a volcano,
Beethoven's power of imagination tears the earth asunder when it tries to check
his fiery progress; with marvelous persistence, it develops figures which at
first sight seem almost bizarre but which the master, through his skill,
transforms into a stream of graceful elaborations that refuse to end... [He]
transforms the entire mass of his figures into a transfigured, blue fire, like a
scene painter.”
The second movement appears in the form of a “scherzo”, that is,
something playful. As
Beethoven knew, his audience would expect a movement in ¾ time, that is, like a
waltz. And so it is, but incredibly
fast, an impish, at times almost demonic pace.
Again, the audience would have expected a three-part form: A (consisting
of one part, repeated and a second part, repeated) and B a Trio – completely
different, often given to woodwinds, as a bucolic, pastoral sound in two parts,
each repeated. Then a return to A.
And so the movement does, except that the first “A” part includes a surprising
“development” section. Themes and motives appear, expand, contract, reach upward
and downward, finally settling into the formal structure.
And then, without warning, finally, the Trio – a section dominated by the
woodwinds and French horns, without bass, just as a Trio is supposed to be but
way beyond what was expected. After
the return to A at the end of the movement, the Trio emerges once again as if to
say, “one more time” before it is quickly shut down.
The Third movement, in contrast to the previous movements and earthy,
even rambunctious concerns, moves to the heavenly spheres, where
serenely-measured movement and lighter sounds predominate.
In format, the movement is a
double theme and variation: the first theme, A, being one of spaciousness and
timelessness, and the second, B,
being one of gentle and rhythmic lyricism.
Each theme appears in sequence and is varied in sequence by the addition
of an embroidery-like melody or countermelody, or changes in instrumentation,
until the third variation of theme A which is interrupted by a fanfare –
temporarily interrupting the heavenly discourse - and then a second fanfare
which disorients the heavens until a cautious balance emerges.
All this beauty of sound is from a composer who, for some years, no
longer had heard any instrument but remembered their sonic capacities in his
inner ear.
Finally, the Fourth movement – which is why all those chorus members and
soloists are there – no surprise, and yet a surprise.
No composer ever had included soloists and chorus with a symphony until
now. Why?
Was there something that the instruments could not express?
For Beethoven, there was that something: the voice exulting in freedom.
The cry “Freude” (Joy) was understood by the initiated as “Freedom” –
although it had been repressed severely by the Austrian Empire.
So Beethoven, to express his democratic sentiments at the closing part of
his life set Schiller's slyly subversive text in a format reminiscent of the
Revolutionary French cantata (the French Revolution being anathema to the
aristocratic circles), but still in the well-known “rondo” form in which the
first section returns each time after a “departure”section. The Fourth movement
opens with a huge dissonance and then with the orchestra in a quasi-operatic
discussion, led by the double basses.
In a recitative format, the double basses query the orchestra as to what
the orchestra should be expressing.
The orchestra responds with each of the main themes of each of the first three
movements, all of which are rejected in turn by the basses.
Finally, the woodwinds venture a theme which is enthusiastically endorsed
by the basses and then taken up them and by the other instrument sections in
turn in paeans of joy - the “Ode to Joy,” known to many Christians in their
hymnals. Instead of an exact repeat of
this first section of the movement, a bass soloists gives voice to the the
instruments had only inferred: “O
friends, not these sounds, but... “ Then a quartet of soloists sings a
variation, echoed by the chorus.
In the middle of the celebration there is an interruption – another
surprise: a rag-tag march led by the
bassoons, bass drum, cymbals, and woodwinds – a replica of the so-called (in
that time) “Turkish Janissary” march – adapted
wholeheartedly by the Austrian Empire military bands and even the British
Empire, to signify a heroic victory entry.
Here, Beethoven celebrates the entry of Freedom in heroic, victorious
style. This is not an interruption,
this is an invitation to the masses by the tenor,
“Come, run your race as a hero going to victory!”
The chorus responds with enthusiasm.
Then the rondo form plays out, beginning with a polyphonic instrumental
section, followed by the soloists contrasted with the chorus (straining the
limits of vocal capacities) - the main “Ode to Joy” contrasted with other
material, culminating in Beethoven's final insistence, “Alle Menschen werden
Brüder! Freude, schöner
Götterfunken!“ (All men are
brothers! Joy, beautiful spark of the gods!)
©Barbara A. Renton, Domus Musicae Slavicae, 2009