When I saw the title of Ryan’s blog, it was obvious that the piece he had selected was in some way related to Vivaldi. After listening to it, it also seemed clear that this piece did not fit the mold of twentieth century music. It is true that Malipiero’s Vivaldiana can more easily be compared to the Baroque works of Vivaldi and Monteverdi than to the work of his twentieth century contemporaries. This piece does not sound like the work of Stravinsky or Schoenberg, nor does it fit into the Romantic period with the likes of Schumann or Beethoven. If I were to hear this piece for the first time and be asked to identify the time period, the year 1952 would definitely not come to mind. As Ryan pointed out, Malipiero was an early musicologist well versed in Baroque music. This is clearly stated in any biography about the composer, however why was Malipiero so interested in Vivaldi’s music and what made him compose a piece outside of the realm of the twentieth century? A great influence in his music was his position as President at the Istituto Italiano Antonio Vivaldi. During his time there, he transcribed much of Vivaldi’s work and re-orchestrated excerpts from some of Vivaldi’s concerti. Malipiero himself said, “I took the poor Red Priest and masked him in my own way: in my own way up to a point, that is, because nothing has been changed in the music’s form, harmony or rhythm.” While a detailed history is not needed to study the work, a time and a place certainly provide insight and understanding.
When I read Ryan’s journal, I was under the impression that all of Malipiero’s music was in the early Italian style. I soon found out that this is not the case. If one listens to many of his other works, it becomes clear that Malipiero was indeed a twentieth century composer. After listening to Sette invenzioni for only a short time, I heard complex harmonies and rhythms, modern orchestration, and expanded instrumentation. This sounded like a completely different composer. It is noted that Malipiero was hugely influenced by works like The Rite of Spring and was not solely interested in the Baroque-style. The inclusion of information on Malipiero’s other works and background would have added to the strength of Ryan’s journal.
I agree that the main reason Vivaldiana is not included in the canon is because it is not a revolutionary work with new ideas or techniques. Though the piece is pleasant and stays true to form, it does not fit into what audiences were looking for at the time. What I find to be interesting is that Malipiero’s exploration of early Italian music happened much later in his career. His early works seem to draw more from late and post-romantic ideas. However, as a composer, it is important to be educated in the music of those in the past in order to move forward into the future and it is apparent that Malipiero was well trained.
I do not think that there is an issue of authorship as Ryan suggested. It is very common for composers to transcribe, arrange, and quote music from another time and place. However, it is clear that Malipiero was a talented composer and musicologist, who showed his abilities to write for many different time periods. There is no mistaking his strength or knowledge of music, Baroque or otherwise.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Kodaly's Psalmus Hungaricus
When I first listened to Zoltán Kodály’s Psalmus Hungaricus, I was immediately enraptured even though I could not understand the text. Without knowing the background of the work, I could tell that it was a story of yearning, struggle, and strength. Its unique sound was different from the usual Western European tradition. Indeed, Kodály was born in 1882 in Hungary where he attended grammar school and played in the orchestra and also sang in his church choir. As his interest in music grew, he began composing and entered the Academy of Music at Budapest. It was there that Kodály became friends with Béla Bartók and began to compile a list of folk songs that both composers would become famous for incorporating into their compositions. While Kodály’s oratorio for tenor, chorus, and orchestra does not use direct quotations of folk tunes, it is said to “exude the spirit of Hungarian folk music" (Eosze). It was his knowledge of Hungarian culture and sound that helps us to identify his music as distinctly Hungarian today.
Psalmus Hungaricus was commissioned in 1923 for the fiftieth anniversary of the unification of Buda, Óbuda, and Pest into the capitol city of Budapest. In honor of this momentous occasion, Kodály centered his oratorio on “Psalm 55” from the Old Testament. In this psalm, the author begins by saying, “Listen to my prayer, O God, do not ignore my plea; hear me and answer me” (NIV). The majority of this psalm is indeed a plea for God to punish the wicked and save the righteous. This is clearly evident in Kodály’s musical interpretation of the text.
The tenor soloist is the center of the piece and presents the main ideas of the psalm. There are moments when the solo line sounds like recitative, emphasizing the text in a prayer-like fashion. The contrasting ideas of the wicked and the righteous are stressed through the intensity or peacefulness of the chorus and instrumental sections. In moments of tension, ideas and melodies pass between voices and instruments creating a sense of confusion and fear. This is similar to the “klangfarbenmelodie” technique used by Richard Strauss at the turn of the twentieth century. In the midst of this struggle, a glimpse of light appears. The author of the psalm says, “But I call to God, and the Lord saves me” (NIV). At this point in the music, Kodály creates tranquility by incorporating the a cappella choir, followed by solo harp and violin in an ascending melody. The piece ends similarly as it began, with the chorus singing very softly in quiet prayer.
Kodály’s oratorio is excluded from the canon, however I would argue that it is a valuable piece of literature. While it does not incorporate folk tunes to the extent that he and Bartók were known for, it does have a uniquely Hungarian quality. For example, in the beginning chorus, he imitates a rhythm from a sixteenth century historical song by Sebestyén Tinódi (Stevens). While he does not use direct quotations of melody in the Psalmus, he still manages to give it Hungarian distinction. Perhaps another reason for its being excluded is that it was written earlier in his compositional career before he had clearly developed the style we know him for today. As Cross points out, Kodály’s “folk music is absorbed into a basically romantic-impressionist style.” When compared to the work of Schoenberg and Webern, it is not as revolutionary. Whether or not it is considered to be a radical composition for the twentieth century, it is indeed a classic representation of Hungarian Nationalism and is worth listening to and performing.
Psalmus Hungaricus was commissioned in 1923 for the fiftieth anniversary of the unification of Buda, Óbuda, and Pest into the capitol city of Budapest. In honor of this momentous occasion, Kodály centered his oratorio on “Psalm 55” from the Old Testament. In this psalm, the author begins by saying, “Listen to my prayer, O God, do not ignore my plea; hear me and answer me” (NIV). The majority of this psalm is indeed a plea for God to punish the wicked and save the righteous. This is clearly evident in Kodály’s musical interpretation of the text.
The tenor soloist is the center of the piece and presents the main ideas of the psalm. There are moments when the solo line sounds like recitative, emphasizing the text in a prayer-like fashion. The contrasting ideas of the wicked and the righteous are stressed through the intensity or peacefulness of the chorus and instrumental sections. In moments of tension, ideas and melodies pass between voices and instruments creating a sense of confusion and fear. This is similar to the “klangfarbenmelodie” technique used by Richard Strauss at the turn of the twentieth century. In the midst of this struggle, a glimpse of light appears. The author of the psalm says, “But I call to God, and the Lord saves me” (NIV). At this point in the music, Kodály creates tranquility by incorporating the a cappella choir, followed by solo harp and violin in an ascending melody. The piece ends similarly as it began, with the chorus singing very softly in quiet prayer.
Kodály’s oratorio is excluded from the canon, however I would argue that it is a valuable piece of literature. While it does not incorporate folk tunes to the extent that he and Bartók were known for, it does have a uniquely Hungarian quality. For example, in the beginning chorus, he imitates a rhythm from a sixteenth century historical song by Sebestyén Tinódi (Stevens). While he does not use direct quotations of melody in the Psalmus, he still manages to give it Hungarian distinction. Perhaps another reason for its being excluded is that it was written earlier in his compositional career before he had clearly developed the style we know him for today. As Cross points out, Kodály’s “folk music is absorbed into a basically romantic-impressionist style.” When compared to the work of Schoenberg and Webern, it is not as revolutionary. Whether or not it is considered to be a radical composition for the twentieth century, it is indeed a classic representation of Hungarian Nationalism and is worth listening to and performing.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Response to Josh Hey's Journal on John Field
As I was listening to John Field’s Sonatas and Nocturnes, I noted the beautiful melodies and the relaxing quality the pieces offered. However, not only were they easy to listen to, they were also easy to forget. The rather uninteresting harmonic movement and lack of development in these works left me feeling disappointed. In Josh Hey’s journal, he says “the nocturne was one of the most evocative forms available to the composer of Romantic piano music.” I would not argue this, however I would point out that Field’s nocturnes are not exactly “evocative.”
John Field is considered a Romantic composer, although his dates suggest otherwise. Field was born in 1782, almost forty years before the Romantic period is considered to have begun. While we know that musical periods cannot be contained in a certain time frame, I would argue that Field was more a Classical composer than Romantic. As a child, Field studied with Muzio Clementi who was known as “father of the pianoforte sonata” (Plantinga). Field dedicated his first and only opus for piano sonata to his teacher, Clementi. Desiring to advance his career in more profitable genres, Field stopped writing Sonatas only to compose one more several years later. However, I do not think he was ever able to get away from the “classical manner” he learned from Clementi (Branson).
As Hey pointed out, every one of Field’s sonatas have only two movements, most of which are relatively upbeat. Some of the high points in these Sonatas are in his rondo sections, where he incorporates playful ornamentations (often grace notes are used) on top of dance like accompaniment. Of the four Sonatas I gravitate toward op. 1, no. 3, in part due to Field’s use of C minor. The drastic shift in mood and greater development helped to catch my attention. Of all of the selections I listened to, this was the only piece in a minor key. In my opinion, the lack of contrast in these pieces is a large reason for their exclusion from the canon. It seems that Field had a fear of both slow tempos and minor keys, which could be attributed to the gradual development of the pianoforte and his understanding of the instrument’s capabilities at the time (Piggott).
Most famous for his nocturnes, I can see that he helped initiate a more revolutionary approach to the genre. The great Romantic Liszt said, “Field did not so much play his own nocturnes but dreamed them at the piano” (Dubal). I agree that his pieces and melodies are lovely, as he imitated the “bel canto” popular in Italian singing. However, as Patrick Piggott points out “The preference for decoration rather than development, the lack of contrast and modulation, and the extremely simple formal scheme of the piece [Nocturne no. 1 in E flat major] are all typical of Field’s mature style.” Interestingly enough, Hey quotes Field as having despised Chopin’s nocturnes, for which Chopin is also most famous. In comparison, I hear the two composers as light years away. While credit is due to Field for looking at the term nocturne in a different light, I fully support Hey’s statement that Chopin was the genius who pushed the nocturne beyond its limits. On the one hand, Field’s nocturnes are pretty melodies that are fitting for evening music. However, when placed side-by-side with any one of Chopin’s nocturnes, it is obvious that Field’s music is lacking in those things that define Romantic music: chromaticism, passionate themes, and unique individuality.
In my readiness to criticize Field, I do not intend to undermine his work. While I do not feel he is as revolutionary as some may think, I do believe he made an impact on the world of music and began the groundwork for what was to become Chopin’s nocturnes.
John Field is considered a Romantic composer, although his dates suggest otherwise. Field was born in 1782, almost forty years before the Romantic period is considered to have begun. While we know that musical periods cannot be contained in a certain time frame, I would argue that Field was more a Classical composer than Romantic. As a child, Field studied with Muzio Clementi who was known as “father of the pianoforte sonata” (Plantinga). Field dedicated his first and only opus for piano sonata to his teacher, Clementi. Desiring to advance his career in more profitable genres, Field stopped writing Sonatas only to compose one more several years later. However, I do not think he was ever able to get away from the “classical manner” he learned from Clementi (Branson).
As Hey pointed out, every one of Field’s sonatas have only two movements, most of which are relatively upbeat. Some of the high points in these Sonatas are in his rondo sections, where he incorporates playful ornamentations (often grace notes are used) on top of dance like accompaniment. Of the four Sonatas I gravitate toward op. 1, no. 3, in part due to Field’s use of C minor. The drastic shift in mood and greater development helped to catch my attention. Of all of the selections I listened to, this was the only piece in a minor key. In my opinion, the lack of contrast in these pieces is a large reason for their exclusion from the canon. It seems that Field had a fear of both slow tempos and minor keys, which could be attributed to the gradual development of the pianoforte and his understanding of the instrument’s capabilities at the time (Piggott).
Most famous for his nocturnes, I can see that he helped initiate a more revolutionary approach to the genre. The great Romantic Liszt said, “Field did not so much play his own nocturnes but dreamed them at the piano” (Dubal). I agree that his pieces and melodies are lovely, as he imitated the “bel canto” popular in Italian singing. However, as Patrick Piggott points out “The preference for decoration rather than development, the lack of contrast and modulation, and the extremely simple formal scheme of the piece [Nocturne no. 1 in E flat major] are all typical of Field’s mature style.” Interestingly enough, Hey quotes Field as having despised Chopin’s nocturnes, for which Chopin is also most famous. In comparison, I hear the two composers as light years away. While credit is due to Field for looking at the term nocturne in a different light, I fully support Hey’s statement that Chopin was the genius who pushed the nocturne beyond its limits. On the one hand, Field’s nocturnes are pretty melodies that are fitting for evening music. However, when placed side-by-side with any one of Chopin’s nocturnes, it is obvious that Field’s music is lacking in those things that define Romantic music: chromaticism, passionate themes, and unique individuality.
In my readiness to criticize Field, I do not intend to undermine his work. While I do not feel he is as revolutionary as some may think, I do believe he made an impact on the world of music and began the groundwork for what was to become Chopin’s nocturnes.
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