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.