Our Vision

and don’t tire of turning all day,

the mill wheels!

Even the millstones, as heavy as they are,

The millstones!

They take part in the merry dance

And would go faster if they could,

The millstones!

Oh wandering, wandering, my passion,

Oh wandering!

Master and Mistress Miller,

Give me your leave to go in peace,

And wander!

translated by Celia Sgroi

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“Wandering” from The Lovely Maid of the Mill

4.

Composer: Franz Schubert

Performance: Ian Bostridge and Mitsuko Uchida (2005)

The textual contents, frequent word repetition, and generous use of exclamation points all paint a picture of an enthusiastic (if naive) young man. His outlook is positive and he sees nothing but joy in his future. He also indicates a clear preference for individual liberty. He is not, in other words, the type of young man who is eager to take on the responsibilities of marriage.

Schubert translates all of this enthusiasm and simplistic good nature into his music. He seems to imagine the miller’s words as constituting a folk-type song, which the young man literally sings as he walks through the woods. To do so, Schubert keeps his setting (the music crafted to suit a set of words) very simple.

To begin with, he creates a strophic song, in which each stanza of the text is set to the same music. As a result, we hear the same melody and accompaniment five times in a row. This is a standard form for European and American folk music, which is traditionally learned by ear and memorized. One can easily master the melody, which can then be used to sing a limitless amount of text. This form is also common in the Christian hymn tradition. In all of these cases, the focus is meant to be on the meaning of the words.

Schubert’s strophic melody is simple and catchy. The opening melodic phrase is heard twice, as is the last, while the middle section presents an additional melody in sequence (that is to say, it is repeated at a different pitch level—lower, in this case). In total, therefore, this song contains three short melodic ideas, all of which are repeated either verbatim or with a minor alteration.

Schubert’s melody, however, does not quite imitate a folk song. It is in fact fairly challenging to sing, as it contains a number of difficult leaps in the first and third sections. His piano accompaniment also walks the line between simple and sophisticated. It utilizes a straightforward pattern of arpeggiated harmonies (a technique by which the notes in a triad are played from lowest to highest and/or vice versa), none of which challenge the ear, but it is denser and more varied than one would expect in the folk tradition.

Over the course of the song cycle, however, the listener comes to realize that the piano does more than just support the singer. Schubert encourages us to hear the piano as a second storyteller. Perhaps its arpeggiated accompaniments, which are present in almost every song, represents the gurgling of the brook. When the arpeggiations are absent, it is always for a significant reason. The brook itself turns out to be a very important character. In addition to being present in many of the texts, it actually becomes the narrator for the final poem. We don’t know any of this when we first hear the opening song, but in retrospect we must think twice about what the piano has to contribute.

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“Mine!”

“Mine” from The Lovely Maid of the Mill

Composer: Franz Schubert

Performance: Ian Bostridge and Mitsuko

Uchida (2005)

Time

Form

What to listen for

The arpeggios in the left hand of the

Piano

0’00”

accompaniment suggest the steady

introduction

murmuring of the brook

A

“Brook,

A melodic motif is repeated at progressively

0’10”

stop your

higher pitch levels

murmuring!” . . .

Repetition of another motif culminates in

“Through the

0’28”

the singer’s repetition of the word “mine” on

grove” . . .

a loud, high note

0’49”

Transition

The music shifts to a new key (B flat major)

B

This section, which rests briefly on a minor-

“Spring, are

0’53”

mode harmony, seems more disturbed than

these all your

the A section

flowers?”

The music returns to the original key (D

1’19”

Transition

major)

1’24”

A

The A text and music return

The singer repeats the word “mine;” the

2’01”

Coda

pianist provides a concluding passage

The eleventh song in the cycle is entitled “Mine!” This song marks the moment when the miller wins the heart of the girl (or so he thinks). The poem expresses his exuberance:

Brook, stop your murmuring!

Wheels, stop your thundering!

All you merry woodland birds,

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Large and small,

Stop your singing!

Through the grove,

In and out,

Only one phrase resounds:

The beloved miller’s daughter is mine!

Mine!

Spring, are these all your flowers?

Sun, can’t you shine any brighter?

Alas, then I must stand all alone,

With the blissful word mine,

Misunderstood in this vast universe.

translated by Celia Sgroi

Schubert brings this text to life with equally joyful music. He sets a brisk tempo, and the singer rushes through the words with a sense of youthful excitement. This is most certainly not a folk song. To begin with, it is not strophic, but through-composed—a term used to indicate a song that pairs a unique melody with each line of poetic text instead of repeating the same melody.

This song is also too complex to be perceived as a folk product. Schubert uses a ternary form (A B A), in which the first ten lines of poetry and their accompanying music constitute the A section and are therefore heard at the beginning and end of the song. The A section begins with another sequence. This time, a melodic fragment is heard at higher and higher pitch levels—an indication of the speaker’s excitement.

The A section ends with a rapid passage of notes that rocket to the highest pitch on the word “Mine!” The B section, apart from having a unique character, is in a different key than the A section (B-flat major instead of D major). This gives the song an added sense of wonder and delight. The piano accompaniment provides gurgling arpeggiated harmonies throughout.

“Withered Flowers”

“Withered Flowers” from The Lovely Maid of the

Composer: Franz Schubert

Performance: Ian Bostridge and Mitsuko Uchida

(2005)

Time

Form

What to listen for

A

The piano accompaniment is sparse and

0’00”

“All the

restrained

flowers” . . .

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A’

“Ah, but

The music in this passage is identical to that of

1’08”

tears don’t

the first A section

bring” . . .

B

The mode changes from minor to major and the

2’09”

“And when

piano accompaniment becomes more active

she strolls”

2’44”

B

The text and music of the B section are repeated

B

The closing passage of the B section is repeated

3’18”

“Then all

yet again

your flowers”

The piano accompaniment transitions back to

3’34”

Coda

minor as it moves into the lowest range of the

instrument

Next we will visit the eighteenth song, entitled “Withered Flowers.” At this point, the miller has passed through various stages of suspicion and anger, and he has nearly resigned himself to his tragic fate:

All you flowers

That she gave to me,

They should put you

With me in my grave.

Why do you all look at me

So sorrowfully,

As if you knew,

What was happening to me?

All you flowers,

Why so limp, why so pale?

All you flowers,

What has drenched you so?

Ah, but tears don’t bring

The green of May,

Don’t cause dead love

To bloom again.

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And spring will come,

And winter will go,

And flowers will

Grow in the grass again.

And flowers are lying

In my grave,

All the flowers

That she gave to me.

And when she strolls

Past my burial place

And thinks to herself:

He was true to me!

Then all you flowers

Come out, come out!

May has come,

And winter is gone.

translated by Celia Sgroi

The poem begins in a mournful, self-pitying vein, but the final stanzas introduce a glimmer of hope. The miller imagines a future time when his beloved, passing by his grave, will regret her cruelty. He will be dead, of course, but he will also be vindicated.

The form of this poem—a series of eight stanzas—suggests a strophic setting, but Schubert provides something quite different. He sets the first three stanzas to a slow, minor-mode melody that expresses their tragic sentiment. Then he repeats that melody for the next three stanzas. For the final two stanzas, however, he shifts to the relative major (that is to say, he moves from E minor to E major) and introduces a new melody, all of which is repeated for emphasis. At the climactic phrase “May has come,” the singer soars to the highest notes in his range, and the vocal music concludes on a definitively triumphant note.

Once again, however, we would be remiss to ignore the piano accompaniment, which is particularly striking in this example. After seventeen songs in which the piano has sparkled and bubbled, now it has suddenly gone dead. We hear only dry, sparse chords for most of the song. This accompaniment reinforces the sorrowful mood of the miller, who has given up hope. The piano comes back to life with the final two stanzas, and builds in strength as the miller gains confidence. However, the piano also foreshadows the conclusion to this story, which will not be a happy one. Although the singer ends on a triumphant, major-mode cadence, the closing passage into the piano returns to E minor as it fades away and moves into the lower ranges of the instrument. The careful listener knows that the miller’s hope is false.

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“The Brook’s Lullaby”

The final song in the cycle is entitled “The Brook’s Lullaby.” 5 The narrator is no longer the miller, who has drowned himself, but rather the brook, which promises to protect the disappointed lover and see that no more harm comes to him: Rest well, rest well!

Close your eyes.

Wanderer, you weary one, you are at home.

Fidelity is here,

You’ll lie with me

Until the sea drains the brook dry.

I’ll make you a cool bed

On a soft cushion

In your blue crystalline chamber.

Come closer, come here,

Whatever can soothe,

Lull and rock my boy to sleep.

If a hunting horn sounds

From the green forest,

I’ll rumble and thunder all around you.

Don’t look in here

You blue flowers!

You trouble my sleeper’s dreams.

Go away, depart

From the mill bridge,

Wicked girl, so your shadow won’t wake him!

Throw in to me

Your fine scarf,

So I can cover his eyes.

Good night, good night,

Until everything wakes.

Sleep away your joy, sleep away your pain.

The full moon rises,

The mist departs,

And the sky above, how vast it is!

translated by Celia Sgroi

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“The Brook’s Lullaby” from The Lovely Maid of the Mill 5.

Composer: Franz Schubert

Performance: Ian Bostridge and Mitsuko Uchida (2005)

For this final song, Schubert again provides a strophic setting, full of repeating melodic fragments. This time, however, he is imitating not a folk song but a lullaby.

The melody is gentle and calming. It consists mostly of stepwise motion, and it is free of dramatic leaps and exciting runs. It almost sounds like a real lullaby, but not quite. Once again, Schubert makes things a bit too complicated by moving from E major to A major for the middle section, and by introducing a flatted pitch near the end that suggest E minor. The result is a particularly passionate lullaby with a hint of sadness.

BALLADS

The term ballad has been around for a long time, but it has meant different things in different times and places. The term comes from the French word meaning

“to dance,” for medieval French ballads were in fact dance songs. Today, we think of a ballad as being a slow, romantic song. That meaning of the term, however, dates only from the late 19th century. For most of history, a ballad has been some variety of lengthy song that tells a story. Ballad traditions of this sort are found across Europe and in North Africa, the United States, and Australia.

Here, we will examine three disparate musical examples that all, nonetheless, qualify as ballads in this sense. Our first example will be the most traditional, insofar as it has been passed down by means of oral tradition for many generations and exists in various versions on either side of the Atlantic. Our second example will be an adaptation of the folk ballad tradition by a 19th century European composer, and our third will be a recent ballad

composed by an American singer. All three of

these ballads tell stories, but each uses music

in a different way.

“PRETTY POLLY”

We will begin with a ballad from the

tradition of the British Isles. Discussing

ballads such as “Pretty Polly,” however,

presents unique challenges. While each song Image 5.6: This 18th-century from Beyonce’s Lemonade or Schubert’s The painting by William Hogarth depicts a woman singing ballads

Lovely Maid of the Mill is a specific musical in a crowded street.

object that can be identified and described, Source: Wikimedia Commons such is not the case with traditional ballads. Attribution: William Hogarth License: CC0

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This is because they belong to an oral tradition in which songs are passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth without reliance on written sources.

Oral tradition often works like an enormous game of telephone. Each time a new person learns the song, they make small changes to the text and/or music.

These changes might be intentional or accidental. Some singers consciously decide to “improve” a melody or alter a few words of text, while others simply forget what they had originally been taught. At first, a song will still be recognizable, but over centuries and great distances it can acquire a text and melody that bear little relation to the original. In some cases, only a line of poetry or the name of a character betrays the link between two ballads that otherwise seem to have no connection.

This is the case with “Pretty Polly.” We will be examining two versions of the ballad as it was recorded by American folk artists in the 20th century. Even these contemporary versions are significantly different, although a listener can easily recognize that each is a recording of the same song. These variations, however, only scratch the surface.

British Antecedents

“Pretty Polly” is a modern descendent of a much older British ballad entitled

“The Gosport Tragedy.” Like many ballads, “The Gosport Tragedy” narrated real-life happenings (although with a supernatural twist). Names and details Image 5.7: This English broadside version of “The Gosport Tragedy” was printed in the early 19th century. A broadside is a single-sided sheet of paper that could contain the text of a ballad.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: J.Turner

License: Public Domain

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included in some versions of the ballad tie it

to documented events that took place in 1726.

Ballads were often used to commemorate

tragedies, celebrate victories, eviscerate

politicians, or spread the news of notorious

crimes.”The Gosport Tragedy” falls into

this last category, for it tells the story of a

ship’s carpenter who murdered his pregnant

girlfriend before himself perishing at sea. In

the final stanzas of early versions, the spectre

of the betrayed girl appears on board the ship

to exact her revenge.

As such, “The Gosport Tragedy”—as well

as its New World derivative, “Pretty Polly”—

can be specifically categorized as a murder

Image 5.8: This 18th-century

ballad. Just as television viewers today like

engraving depicts a ballad singer

making use of a visual aid as he

watching shows about crime, so also regular

seeks to captivate the crowd.

folks of previous centuries enjoyed hearing

Source: PxHere

about the salacious misdeeds of condemned

Attribution: Unknown

License: CC0

criminals. As a result, the activities of

notorious murderers provided fodder for

countless ballads. Most murder ballads specifically tell of young women who lost their lives to deceitful lovers.

The purpose of these ballads was not only to thrill and horrify. They also served to instruct and warn. Mothers often sang ballads to their daughters, who received the message that they must withhold sexual favors from suitors until after marriage.

The girls in the songs, after all, put their own lives at risk when they agreed to leave their homes for a young man who had not made a formal commitment. In this way, ballads provided entertainment while also enforcing social norms.

“The Gosport Tragedy” first appeared in print around 1760, but this should not be considered the “original” or “correct” version. One of the challenges facing those who wish to study the histories of traditional ballads is that there is never a preserved, authoritative work. While a particular ballad might have begun life as the creation of a specific individual, we almost never know the identity of that person.

And, as described above, ballads begin to change immediately upon entering the oral tradition. Most scholars are more interested in examining the many versions of a ballad that proliferate throughout the repertoire than they are in identifying the most authentic version.

The story first told as “The Gosport Tragedy” has appeared under a variety of titles, including “The Cruel Ship’s Carpenter,” “Love and Murder,” “Polly’s Love,” “Molly the Betray’d” and “The Fog-bound Vessel.” Some versions have been published in print, while others have been collected by “ballad hunters,” who visit rural areas to record and preserve products of the oral tradition.

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The version known as “Pretty Polly” emerged in the Appalachian region of the United States. Many immigrants from the British Isles—especially the impoverished Scotch-Irish, who came from a region on the border between England and Scotland—paid for their voyage to the New World by serving as indentured laborers in Pennsylvania. After repaying their debt, they headed into the mountainous regions where land could be obtained for little or no cost. These immigrants had few physical possessions, but they brought in their memories a rich tradition of song.

We will examine two versions of “Pretty Polly” as sung by the traditional Appalachian musicians Dock Boggs (1898-1971) and Jean Ritchie (1922-2015).

Both grew up in the region, and both learned the song as children from older musicians in their families or communities. Although the two versions were recorded in the same year and share many elements in common, they also contain significant differences. These differences reveal the influence of oral tradition and provide insight into the values and practices of folk music culture.

Dock Boggs

Dock Boggs was born in the small town of Norton,

Virginia, the youngest of ten children. Boggs grew up in

a musical household: His father sang and several of his

older siblings played the banjo. However, none of the

children received a formal music education. Instead,

they taught each other or sought guidance from other

musicians in the community. Boggs began playing on

his oldest brother’s banjo, and he learned “Pretty Polly” 6

from his family. He developed a unique playing style

based on his observation of African American banjo

players at dances, and he sought out the guidance of

other black musicians who worked in the area. As a

child, however, he never imagined that he might pursue

a career in music.

“Pretty Polly”

6.

Performance: Dock Boggs (1963)

This changed in the 1920s, when parallel technological Image 5.9: Dock Boggs often played a

developments—radio and field recording—fed a banjo very much like booming market for rural Southern music. Radio revealed this one.

the enormous demand for rural music, especially among Source: Wikimedia Commons Attribution: User “Arent”

those who had moved to northern cities in pursuit of License: CC BY-SA 3.0

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industrial jobs. Many stations began broadcasting regular “barn dance” programs, which eventually provided work to musicians. At the same time, record companies began sending field representatives into rural Southern communities in pursuit of marketable sounds. Before the 1920s, commercial recordings could only be made in studios, most of which were located in New York City. Beginning in 1923, however, Southern musicians were recorded on site using portable equipment.

Boggs had gone to work in the coal mines at the age of twelve, although he continued to play for dances—a source of conflict with his wife, who saw music as a sinful pursuit. During the 1920s, however, he began to see the possibility of a different life. Instead of waiting for a local opportunity, he travelled north to make his first recordings. In 1927 he recorded eight songs for Brunswick in New York City, and in 1929 he recorded a further four songs for Lonesome Ace in Chicago.

Just as Boggs glimpsed a professional music career on the horizon, however, the stock market crash of 1929 inaugurated the Great Depression. Doors closed and he returned to the mines.

Although Boggs did not abandon music altogether, hard times lead him to pawn his banjo in the late 1930s, and he did not perform at all for the next quarter century. He had left the coal mines in 1954, ending a 44 year career during which he had miraculously escaped serious injury. Boggs settled down to a quiet retirement.

In 1963, however, his fortunes shifted yet again. Beginning in the previous decade, an enthusiasm for Appalachian folk music had swept northern college campuses as part of what is known as the folk revival. One of the leading figures in the revival, Mike Seeger, had heard and appreciated Boggs’s early recordings, and he set out to find him. Within weeks of their first meeting, Seeger had booked appearances for Boggs at all of the major folk festivals and begun to record his repertoire of songs. By the time he passed away, Boggs was firmly ensconced as a major figure in American folk music history.

“Pretty Polly” was among the songs that Boggs recorded in 1927, but for the purpose of sound quality we will examine his 1963 recording for Folkways records.

Even these two performances by the same musician are quite different. Boggs does not sing the same set of verses in 1963 that he had sung in his youth, and his timing and inflection have also changed. This is probably not intentional. Folk musicians do not seek to replicate a single ideal performance, and they are prone to forget, discard, alter, and create verses.

Jean Ritchie7

Although she was a generation younger, Jean Ritchie’s childhood was very similar to that of Boggs. She was the youngest of fourteen children born to a farming couple in Perry County, Kentucky. Her family carried on a rich tradition of ballad singing, and two of her older sisters were in fact recorded by the most famous Appalachian ballad hunter, Cecil Sharp, in 1917. Ritchie’s family believed strongly in education, and she graduated from the University of Kentucky with a degree in social work in 1946. She took a job in her field, but also pursued music Page | 148

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seriously, making her first of many recordings in 1952. Ritchie benefited from the folk revival, which provided a large and interested audience for her music.

“Pretty Polly”

7.

Performance: Jean Ritchie (1963)

Ritchie was an accomplished ballad singer, but she is best remembered for her role in popularizing the instrument heard on this recording, the Appalachian dulcimer. The Appalachian dulcimer is a type of fretted zither, examples of which can be found in many traditions around the world. It is descended from a German instrument and was first built by immigrant craftspeople in Pennsylvania. The Appalachian dulcimer became popular in parts of the region because it is easy to build and play. The body is a simple box. Although the melody is only played on the highest string (or pair of strings), all of the strings are strummed at the same time.

The dulcimer can be used to play simple tunes on its own or to accompany singing, although Ritchie in fact preferred to sing her ballads unaccompanied, as she had learned them.

Image 5.10: Jean Ritchie was the principal proponent of the Appalachian dulcimer in the second half of the 20th century.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: Matthew Vanitas

License: CC BY-SA 3.0

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Ritchie’s father played the Appalachian dulcimer, but because he valued the instrument so highly he forbade his children to touch it. Ritchie, however, could not resist, and she taught herself to play in secret. After she had demonstrated a gift for the instrument, her father conceded to teach her. This story is typical of instrumentalists in the Appalachian folk tradition. Children were almost never encouraged to begin playing an instrument or provided with formal instruction.

Instead, those who were interested would figure out how to play independently by listening, watching, and experimenting.

Comparing Two Renditions of “Pretty Polly”

The first difference between the Boggs and Ritchie recordings is the instrumental accompaniment: banjo for Boggs, dulcimer for Ritchie. Both singers, however, provide their own accompaniment, which is typical of ballad performances (when they are accompanied at all). Boggs uses the banjo to provide rhythms while at the same time picking out the melody as he sings it. The dulcimer also provides rhythm, but Ritchie does not play the melody while she sings. Instead, she plays various countermelodies on the dulcimer that are distinct from but compliment the sung melody. Both performers provide instrumental interludes between some of the verses.

The melodies sung by Boggs and Ritchie, however, are not quite the same.

Each follows the same general shape, starting low, moving to a higher range, and returning to the low range, and the beginnings are almost identical. There are differences, however, in pitch, rhythm, and general timing. The two singers start at the same tempo, but Boggs gets considerably faster as he goes.

We might also compare Boggs and Ritchie as singers. Both sing in a plain, straightforward style, almost as if they are speaking. Neither uses vibrato. They also don’t seem to put any particular effort into expressing the meaning of the text or creating an emotional effect. Instead, each simply sings the words, expecting the story to have an impact because of its dramatic contents, not because of the way in which those contents are communicated. All of this is typical of traditional Appalachian ballad singers.

The most obvious distinction between the recordings, perhaps, lies in the text.

Boggs and Ritchie each start the song in quite a different way. Boggs begins with a first person recollection of courting Pretty Polly. This is reasonable, since he is a male singer, but also strange, since he reverts to the third person in the fourth verse. This is perhaps evidence that he learned several versions of the ballad over the years and combined verses from different sources. The first three verses in Ritchie’s version are also in the first person, but this is because she is giving voice to the characters in turn. Her last four verses describe the conclusion of the scene in third person and offer a moralizing final thought. (Other singers, such as David Lindley, have been known to change the end of the story, allowing Polly to turn the knife on her assailant and walk away alive.)

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Although the two recordings are obviously of the same song, they have only four verses in common—and even those are not identical. Boggs sings four verses that Ritchie does not, while Ritchie’s final three verses were not sung by Boggs.

This observation only applies to these specific recordings, of course. Both singers performed different sets of verses on different occasions, depending on either the setting or their ability to remember the words.

“Pretty Polly”

“Pretty Polly”

as sung by Dock Boggs (1963)

as sung by Jean Ritchie (1963)

Oh I used to be a rambler, I stayed

around in town,

I courted Pretty Polly, such beauty

never been found.

Pretty Polly, Pretty Polly, oh yonder

she stands,

With rings on her fingers and lily-

white hands

Pretty Polly, Pretty Polly come take a

Polly, Pretty Polly, come go along with

walk with me

me,

When we get married some pleasure

Before we get married some pleasure

to see

to see.

He led her over hills and valleys so

deep

At last Pretty Polly, she began to weep

Oh Willie, oh Willie, I’m afraid of your Oh Willie, Oh Willie, I’m ‘fraid of your way

ways.

All minding to ramble and lead me

I’m afraid you will lead my poor body

astray

astray.

Pretty Polly, Pretty Polly, you guessin’ Now Polly, Pretty Polly, you’re

‘bout right,

guessin’ about right.

I dug on your grave two-thirds of last

I dug on your grave the best part of

night

last night.

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She went on a piece farther and what

Oh she stepped a few steps farther,

did she spy?

and what did she spy,

A new-dug grave and a spade lying by

But a new dug-in grave, and the spade

lyin’ nigh.

She threw her arms around him and

began for to weep

At last Pretty Polly, sure fell asleep

Oh he stabbed her through the heart

and her heart’s blood did flow,

And into the grave Pretty Polly she did

go.

Now he threw a little dirt over her and

started for home,

Leaving no-one behind but the wild

birds to mourn.

It’s a debt to the devil for Willie must

pay

For killing Pretty Polly and running

away.

FRANZ SCHUBERT, “ELF KING”

For our next example, we will return to the

Viennese composer Franz Schubert. We have

already examined his approach to musical

storytelling using the song cycle as a vehicle.

Now we will see how he tells a complex story

within a single song. Our example will be

perhaps his most famous song, “Elf King” (1815;

German: “Erlkönig”). This ballad was inspired

by centuries of folk tradition, but also exhibits

Schubert’s thorough rejection of folk style.

Seeing as Schubert’s career was addressed

in the previous section, we will start right in

with the ballad itself. Before we can discuss Image 5.11: This lithograph by Josef Kriehuber was completed in

the music, however, we must examine the 1846—nearly two decades after text. And before we can examine the text, Schubert’s death.

we must know something about the famous Source: Wikipedia Attribution: Josef Kriehuber

and influential poet who wrote it, Johann License: Public Domain Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832).

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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

For not being a musician himself,

Goethe had an enormous influence on

German song composers of the era.

To begin with, he wrote hundreds of

poetic texts that were intended to be

set to music—and indeed, countless

composers set his texts thousands of

times. However, Goethe also had very

strong opinions about how his texts

should be set to music. These were

informed by his fascination with folk Image 5.12: This portrait of Goethe was culture, which—following the ideas of completed by Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Herder—he esteemed highly.

Tischbein in 1786.

Goethe desired that composers Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein

setting his texts do their best to imitate License: Public Domain folk style, which we have seen well

represented in the ballad “Pretty Polly.” Specifically, he thought that all such songs should be strophic, that they should be simple and accessible, and that the composer should make no effort to interpret the text through music. The purpose of the musical setting, in Goethe’s mind, was simply to allow the text to be sung. The listener’s focus should be entirely on the words, which the singer would interpret through subtle variations from verse to verse.

Goethe studied folk poetry closely and imitated a number of folk forms in his own song texts. One of these was the ballad. Goethe was particularly influenced by the ballad forms of northern Europe, which had a unique set of characteristics. The stories told in such ballads were preoccupied with supernatural forces and often included dialogue between human and non-human characters. They also ended in disaster. (All of this is true of “The Gosport Tragedy,” which concludes with a ghost taking her revenge, although the supernatural element is absent in “Pretty Polly.”)

“Elf King”

Goethe and other German poets who took their inspiration from European folk traditions often began by translating folk ballads into their own language.

Such was the origin of “Elf King,” which began life as a Danish folk ballad and was first translated by Herder. (The German title of the ballad, “Erlkönig,” in fact represents a mistranslation from the Dutch original; “Erlkönig” means “King of the Alder Trees,” while the original title, “Ellerkonge,” means “King of the Elves.”) Goethe’s version of the ballad tells the same story as the Dutch original, but the specific words are entirely his own.

Here is the text to Goethe’s poem. This literal translation does not capture the meter or rhyme scheme of the original, but it tells the story as Goethe intended: Page | 153

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Who rides so late through night and wind?

It is the father with his child.

He has the little one well in the arm

He holds him secure, he holds him warm.

“My son, why hide your face in fear?”

“See you not, Father, the Elf King?

The Elf King with crown and flowing cloak?”

“My son, it is a wisp of fog.”

“You sweet child, come along with me!

Such wonderful games I’ll play with you;

Many lovely flowers are at the shore,

My mother has many golden garments.”

“My father, my father, and do you not hear,

What the Elf King quietly promises to me?”

“Be calm, stay calm, my child;

The wind is rustling the dry leaves.”

“Won’t you come along with me, my fine boy?

My daughters shall attend to you so nicely;

My daughters do their nightly dance,

And they will rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep.”

“My father, my father, do you not see there,

Elf King’s daughters in that dark place?”

“My son, my son, I see it definitely

It is the willow trees looking so grey.”

“I love you; I’m charmed by your beautiful shape;

And if you are not willing, then I will use force.”

“My father, my father, now he has taken hold of me!

Elf King has hurt me!”

The father shudders, he rides swiftly,

He holds in arm the groaning child,

He reaches the farmhouse with effort and urgency;

In his arms, the child was dead.

translation from CPDL

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Image 5.13: Moritz von Schwind painted this scene, entitled Der Erlkönig (The Elf

King), in 1830.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: Moritz von Schwind

License: Public Domain

In writing his version of the ballad, Goethe used simple language that reflected the speech of ordinary Germans. The structure of his poem, however, is fairly sophisticated. The first and last stanzas are spoken in the voice of an unidentified narrator. The first sets the scene, while the last delivers the tragic conclusion.

The internal stanzas consist entirely of speech from the three characters: father, son, and Elf King. The father and son converse in stanzas two, four, and six, the son expressing his fear and the father offering assurances that there is no real danger. The Elf King seeks to tempt the child away in stanzas three and five.

In stanza seven, the Elf King changes strategies and takes the child by force, provoking a frenzied response. The poem can be read literally or as a metaphor for childhood illness and death.

Goethe first created his ballad for use in a play entitled The Fisherwoman (1782). In the first scene of the play, the title character is seen washing dishes and singing a simple folk song (“Elf King”), as befits her lowly social status. The music was composed by the actress herself, Corona Schröter. In setting the poem, Schröter adhered closely to Goethe’s preferences. She created a strophic setting in which every verse of the ballad is sung to the same melody. That melody, in turn, is charming in its simplicity. Schröter makes no effort to capture the drama or terror of the text in her music. In short, it is easy to hear her version8 as being a “real” folk song.

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This first setting of Goethe’s poem is quite unlike Schubert’s 8.

“Elf King.”

“Elf King”

Composer: Franz Schubert

Performance: Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau,

accompanied by Gerald Moore (1988 remaster).

Time

Form

What to listen for

The piano accompaniment seems to echo the

0’00”

Introduction

beating of the horse’s hooves and the blowing of

the wind; use of the minor mode sets a serious tone

This stanza is delivered entirely in the narrator’s

0’23”

Stanza 1

voice, which is in the middle of the singer’s range

This stanza is split between the father’s voice

0’56”

Stanza 2

(low range) and son’s voice (high range)

This stanza is delivered in the Elf King’s voice

1’29”

Stanza 3

(high range); the music changes to the major

mode and the volume decreases

This stanza begins in the son’s voice and

1’52”

Stanza 4

concludes in the father’s voice; the music returns

to the minor mode and the volume increases

This stanza is delivered in the Elf King’s voice

2’14”

Stanza 5

(high range); the music again changes to the

major mode and the volume decreases

This stanza begins in the son’s voice and

2’32”

Stanza 6

concludes in the father’s voice; the music returns

to the minor mode and the volume increases

This stanza begins in the Elf King’s voice and

3’00”

Stanza 7

concludes in the son’s voice; the music begins in

the major mode but quickly returns to minor

3’24”

Stanza 8

This stanza is delivered in the narrator’s voice

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The hoofbeats heard in the piano slow to a halt

3’39”

as the father arrives at his destination

The final line is delivered without

3’47”

accompaniment; the piano provides a

concluding cadence

By the time Schubert took on Goethe’s ballad, the text was well known and had been set to music by many composers. Schubert was unknown at the time, but his innovative and compelling version of “Elf King” would attract a great deal of attention and establish him as an important composer of songs.

Schubert completely ignored Goethe’s instructions. Instead of taking a folk-like approach, he went to great lengths to capture the characters and events depicted in the text. His setting begins with a turbulent piano introduction, in which we hear both the pounding hooves and raging storm. At the end of the song, we hear in the piano the gradual slowing of the horse as it comes to a clattering stop in front of the farmhouse. All of these are examples of text painting, a technique by which composers translate dramatic elements into sound. Text painting, of course, went against the folk tradition, as did using the piano to set a mood. In addition, Schubert’s piano part is much too difficult to be genuine folk music. Only a highly accomplished player could ever hope to execute it well.

Schubert’s disobedience does not stop there. His setting of the ballad is not strophic but through-composed, with each passage of music carefully designed to express the associated text. Schubert creates a sort of miniature, one-man opera with his setting. Although “Elf King” is performed by a solo singer, that singer assumes all four characters (narrator, father, son, and Elf King) and portrays each in their respective dramatic roles. This is done using a variety of means. To begin with, the voice of each character is heard in a unique range. The narrator sings in a neutral, middle range, while the father sings in the low range, with a deep, booming voice. The son sings in a high, childlike range, while the Elf King sings quietly in an even higher range.

Schubert also uses other techniques to distinguish his characters and bring the scene to life. While the father and son repeat the same melodies and rhythms, the Elf King constantly introduces new musical material as he tries various approaches to tempting the child away. The Elf King is also the only character who sings in the major mode—a musical embodiment of his charming speech. He does not shift to the minor mode until his final threatening words: “then I will use force.”

The greatest musical disruption takes place with the final line of text. In order to maximize the impact of the story’s tragic conclusion, Schubert silences the piano and has the singer deliver the news out of time and without accompaniment.

Following the final two words, “was dead,” the piano executes an abrupt cadence and the song is over.

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BOBBIE GENTRY, “ODE TO BILLIE JOE”

By rejecting the norms of folk

song and making an effort to devel-

op nuanced musical characteristics,

Schubert created a compelling ballad

that has remained a popular favorite

in the intervening centuries. That is

not to say, however, that his approach

to setting a ballad text is in any way

superior to that of the folk tradition,

nor that it was destined to replace the

folk-inspired approach. Many later

song composers used simple, strophic

settings to amplify the emotional

power of ballad texts and communi-

cate effectively with listeners.

Image 5.14: Although singer-songwriter

Although there are many excellent Bobbie Gentry maintained a successful career into the 1980s, she never

examples of 20th-century ballads surpassed her early hit “Ode to Billie Joe.”

composed in a folk style, we will Source: Flickr

examine only one: Bobbie Gentry’s Attribution: User “oneredsf1”

License: CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

1967 hit “Ode to Billie Joe.” 9 Gentry was born in rural Mississippi, and many of her songs describe the difficulties of life in the impoverished regions of the South. She taught herself to play a variety of instruments as a child and wrote her first song at the age of seven. Although she later performed at nightclubs, her ambition was always to be a songwriter, not a singer. When she first recorded “Ode to Billie Joe” as a demo for Capitol records, she only sang the song herself to avoid the cost of hiring a performer.

“Ode to Billie Joe”

9.

Performance: Bobbie Gentry (1967)

The producers at Capitol records commissioned arranger Jimmie Haskell to add strings to Gentry’s recording, for which she had accompanied herself on acoustic guitar. Haskell wrote parts for four violins and two cellos, which were then recorded and dubbed on to the existing demo. Gentry’s song also needed to be shortened in length, for the original recording was eight minutes long, containing eleven verses of Billie Joe’s story. The final product, at four minutes and fifteen seconds, was still long for a pop single, but the song struck a popular nerve: It spent four weeks at the top of the charts and finished the year in third place.

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The song’s power lies in its storytelling. The first four verses describe a farming family coming together over the dinner table. In between passing the dishes, they comment on the news that a local boy, Billie Joe MacAllister, had jumped to his death from the Tallahatchie Bridge earlier in the day. Over the course of various dispassionate reminiscences, we learn that the song’s female narrator was friends with Billie Joe, and in the fourth verse we are presented with the information that she was seen with Billie Joe just the day before, throwing something off of the same bridge from which he was soon to jump. The final verse takes us one year into the future, at which point the narrator’s brother has moved away and her father has died. She reports that she spends most of her time dropping flowers off of the bridge.

The ballad’s narrative is bleak throughout, and its portrayal of the characters’

stagnation and hopelessness is compelling. The song’s greatest power, however, has always lain in its mystery. What did the narrator and Billie Joe throw off of the bridge?

Despite being asked throughout her career, Gentry always refused to say. She has also never explained why Billie Joe committed suicide—indeed, she has claimed not to know herself. While the listener is allowed to glimpse the daily life of the song’s characters, we are not offered any insight into their thoughts or motivations.

Like “Pretty Polly,” “Ode to Billie Joe” uses a simple, repetitive melody as a vehicle for a long, complex, and ultimately tragic story. In fact, the melodies are strikingly similar: Each begins with an ascending melodic gesture, and each repeats its opening melodic phrase at a higher pitch level before returning to the original, lower range. Gentry’s melody is just a bit more complex, insofar as it moves to the high range twice and ends with a unique melodic phrase. In both cases, however, the melody serves the same purpose. On the practical side, it provides a vehicle with which the singer can tell the story. On the affective side, it sets an appropriate mood that adds to the story’s impact.

While the minor mode of “Pretty Polly” is generally appropriate to a tragic narrative, Gentry takes a different approach. Although her melody contains blues-

inspired inflections (the third scale degree is sometimes lowered and the seventh scale degree is always lowered), it is accompanied by major-mode harmonies. That, in combination with a lively tempo, produces a sound world that is not necessarily depressing. At the same time, however, the cheerfulness of the tune throws the darkness of the lyrics into sharp relief. According to Gentry, “Ode to Billie Joe”

was a study in “unconscious cruelty” that explored the inability of the characters to communicate and empathize with one another. Each is isolated by their own grief.

The inexpressive music, therefore, seems to emphasize the repressed emotions hidden by the narrator and her mother.

The various sounds of “Ode to Billie Joe” also give depth to the story and contribute to the song’s impact on the listener. We might start with Gentry’s voice, which is natural and unaffected. A touch of roughness adds an expressive character to her singing, while also helping the listener to identify her as a regular person. The fact that she is not overly trained as a performer makes her story and emotions seem more authentic. Her guitar accompaniment is sparse and rhythmic, Page | 159

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propelling the music along with the minimum of effort. The strings were added to make the album commercially viable, but they also have a dramatic effect. The sliding harmonies emphasize the laziness of the scene, while the final spiraling descent illustrates the flowers falling from the bridge into the muddy water below.

EPIC RECITATION

Civilizations around the world have long used song as a vehicle for telling lengthy stories, or epics, many of which concern the founding of an empire. Here, we will consider two examples: an epic of ancient Greece, The Iliad, and an epic of the Mali Empire, The Sunjata Story. These two epics have a great deal in common, for each details the episodic struggles and triumphs of a great hero. The traditions themselves also seem to have elements in common. However, we cannot directly compare the recitation practices associated with these two texts for a simple reason: While the practice of sung epic recitation is alive and well in West Africa, it has not been practiced in Greece for two millenia, and we therefore can only guess at the details.

ANCIENT GREECE: THE ILIAD

In Chapter 4, we explored the origins of European opera and the influence of ancient Greek music on the genre. One of the aspects of ancient Greek music that directly inspired the creation of opera was the notion that ancient Greek poetry and drama were sung in their entirety, not spoken (like what is witnessed when attending a Shakespearean play). Although the lack of surviving musical notation from the period leaves us with little evidence as to how ancient Greek drama actually sounded, the few surviving musical fragments and our theoretical knowledge of both music and poetic recitation in ancient Greece provide us with a good idea as to how Greek poetry and drama might have been sung.

Greek drama grew out of a tradition of community gathering and singing, particularly during festivals and sacrifices in praise of gods such as Dionysus or Apollo. To accompany these celebrations, there would be songs of praise setting dramatic poetry pertaining to the celebrated figures or other mythical beings.

Although the tradition began with the community singing these songs in a chorus setting, eventually solo singers would emerge from the chorus to act out the part of the god or hero, while the chorus acted as a narrator or took part in sung dialogue with the soloist. Thus, the beginnings of Greek theatre emerged, and the solo actor and chorus dynamic became a staple in the Greek theatre tradition.

Poetic Meter and Sung Recitation

Many Greek dramas have been preserved through their texts, and many have become well-known classics in today’s world. However, through further study of some of the fragments of poetry from ancient Greece, it is now believed that Page | 160

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the poetry and dramas were meant to be performed in musical settings. In later Greek dramas, melodic notation has preserved the ancient sung melodies, but there has yet to be found any surviving form of rhythmic notation from this time.

It is understood, however, that the rhythm of the sung words was based off the prosody or meter of the poetry. Poetic meter, similar to musical meter, structures the rhythm of spoken (or in this case, sung) prose. A common example of a poetic meter used in Greek drama is dactylic hexameter. In this type of meter, a poetic phrase is divided into six feet (similar to measures in musical notation). Each foot is divided by what is called a dactyl, a long syllable followed by two short syllables (in this type of meter, a dactyl can also be substituted by a spondee, or two long syllables). When recited, the spoken or sung phrase would follow this pattern of long and short syllables, producing a steady rhythm:

(long-short-short) (long-short-short) (long-short-short) (long-short-short) (long-short-short) (long-short-short)

One famous example of a Greek epic in dactylic hexameter is Homer’s Iliad.

The Iliad was written to be accompanied by a four-stringed lyre, and although there are no surviving fragments of actual melodic notation attached to the poetry, it is believed that this epic was meant to be sung in its entirety. In our example, an interpretation of a passage from the Iliad10 by classicist Stefan Hagel, the consistent “long-short-short” rhythm of the dactylic hexameter is apparent. The sung melody is an improvisation based on the inflection of the text; for instance, if the approximate pitch goes up at the end of the word in natural speech, it likewise ascends to a higher note when sung. As in this example, the melodies of poetic recitations were probably folk-like in nature: that is to say, simple and repetitive.

The tempo is set by the content of the text. In scenes of heightened tension the music may be fast, while the music used in describing a more solemn scene may be slow.

The Iliad

10.

Performance: Stefan Hagel (2017)

Although most of the musical elements of Homer’s dramas are uncertain and therefore must be left up to the performer’s interpretation, which is based on the nature of the text, there are several surviving fragments of poetry and drama written in stone or on papyrus that are accompanied by written musical notation.

The ancient Greeks had a system of musical notation in which a pitch would be associated with a particular symbol, usually a symbol from the Greek alphabet.

This pitch’s symbol would be written above the syllable of the sung word. One of the few surviving fragments of music, written on papyrus, comes from Euripides’s Page | 161

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Image 5.15: This stone tablet found in Delphi

Image 5.16: This fragment of

contains musical notation for a hymn to Apollo. The

papyrus contains a chorus from

consistent line of text represents the poetry. The

Euripides’s drama Orestes.

symbols above the text represent musical notes.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: User “Ziggur”

Attribution: User “Ziggur”

License: Public Domain

License: Public Domain

Orestes. The play tells the story of Orestes, the

son of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon, who kills

his mother to seek revenge for his father’s death.

The fragment is of a song sung by the chorus in

unison. They sing of Orestes being chased by his

mother’s furies, or spirits of revenge.

Unlike the simple, repetitive melody that

Homer’s words would have most likely been

performed to, the melody of the Orestes chorus,11

believed to be composed by Euripides himself,

is through-composed. The melody also differs

from the Homeric poetry in that it doesn’t follow

the natural inflection of the spoken Greek text,

though there are instances in which important

words are sounded at a higher pitch for emphasis.

The rhythm follows the dochmiac poetic meter, a

meter typically used to convey agitation, anxiety, Image 5.17: This piece of or distress. This sense of distress can certainly pottery, which dates to about 480 BCE, depicts a woman

be heard in our example. There, we also see the playing the aulos.

choir accompanied by an aulos, a double pipe Source: Wikimedia Commons instrument. This instrument was often used to Attribution: Marie-Lan Nguyen License: CC BY 2.5

accompany choruses in dramatic productions.

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Ancient Greek epic recitation can be contrasted with this

11.

surviving vocal composition, which does not follow the

natural inflections of Greek text.

As is evident through this performance, with musical translation and a bit of reconstruction this ancient music is now able to be performed with near-perfect historical accuracy. The revival of the music alongside the poetry sheds a new light on the emotional impact of this drama on ancient audiences and allows modern audiences a glimpse of this once-forgotten art that inspired future forms of sung drama.

WEST AFRICA: THE SUNJATA STORY

Perhaps the richest extant tradition of epic

recitation is to be found among the Mandinka

people of West Africa, and their most valued

epic is certainly the story of Sunjata, the

founder of the ancient Mali Empire. A

complete recitation of the Sunjata story can

take between six and eight hours. The telling

of the story is therefore a remarkable feat in

and of itself—all the more so because its words

are maintained entirely in the memories of the

storytellers. The epic is the property of the jali

caste, members of which are responsible for

passing it from generation to generation.

Founded in 1240, the Mali Empire occupied

all or part of half a dozen modern West African

countries. It flourished until 1645, when Image 5.18: Here, a jali in conflict over accession to the throne resulted in Burkina Faso plays a typical the collapse of the empire. Although the Mali instrument, the balafon.

Empire was large and powerful, its history has Source: Wikimedia Commons Attribution: User “PGskot”

largely been told from outside perspectives. License: CC BY-SA 4.0

This is because its inhabitants did not cultivate

written language, instead maintaining knowledge by means of oral transmission—a process that carries into the present day. The Mandinka, who currently number about 32 million, are the descendents of the Mali Empire, and they continue to celebrate their common heritage through story and song.

Mandinkan Social Structure and the Jali

Before we can examine Mandinkan storytelling practices, we need to know something about the people who tell those stories. Traditionally, Mandinkan Page | 163

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Image 5.19: This map indicates the territory governed by the Mali Empire between 1240 and 1645.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: User “Roke~commonswiki”

License: CC BY-SA 3.0

society was organized according to a caste system, meaning that social roles were determined by birth and were strictly defined. Members of the jali caste were musicians and storytellers, and their role was to serve the aristocratic caste. (You might be familiar with the French term “griot,” which is more widely used in the West, but members of the community generally prefer the term “jali.”) Although the caste system is officially defunct today, it still exerts an influence on modern society, and jali continue to pass their knowledge and skills down through family lines.

The jali caste was not high ranking, but its members were considered to have special powers and to occupy a unique place in the community. They were considered ritually impure, and were prohibited from wearing the clothes of the aristocracy or sitting on their beds. When they died, they were buried separately from other members of the community. Jali also could not hold political office. At the same time, jali served as advisors to aristocrats and could therefore be very powerful. If a jali was captured in battle, they could not be killed or enslaved, but were expected to serve their captor as they had served their previous master.

The responsibilities of the jali were many. They were musicians, and as such they provided ceremonial music for naming ceremonies, marriages, and agricultural celebrations. They also entertained at dances and wrestling matches and sang the praises of the aristocrats they served. However, the primary role of the jali was to maintain and transmit the knowledge and traditions of the community, including histories, genealogies, proverbs, and laws. If the jali did not fulfill Page | 164

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their function, therefore, society itself

would disintegrate. Apart from these

weighty tasks, the jali also served as

moralists, counsellors, spokesmen,

public announcers, mediators, mes-

sengers, buffoons, porters, tax collec-

tors, and hairdressers.

The jali enjoyed dominion over

specific musical instruments. These

Image 5.20: The ngoni.

included the ngoni (a small lute

Source: Wikimedia Commons

made from wood and covered with

Attribution: User “Atamari”

License: CC BY-SA 4.0

goat skin), the balafon (a xylophone

in which wood keys are strung over

gourd resonators), and the kora.

The last of these is certainly the

most remarkable, and has retained

the deepest connection with the

jali tradition. The kora is a type of

harp lute, the strings of which are

suspended above a large resonator

made out of a calabash gourd covered

with cow skin. The strings are

plucked with the thumb and index

Image 5.21: The balafon.

finger of each hand. All three of these

Source: Wikimedia Commons

instruments are used to play complex

Attribution: User “Redmedea”

License: CC BY-SA 3.0

melodic patterns constructed out of

complementary interlocking parts—

parts that, at least on the balafon and

kora, are each played with one of the

two hands.

Traditionally, these instruments

were only played by men. Boys would

begin to learn from their fathers or

uncles, and a jali’s musical education

would culminate in the building of his

own instrument. A jali also needed

to master the tuning systems, which

are different for each instrument

and quite unlike anything found in

Europe. A result of this is that West

Image 5.22: The kora.

African music can sound out of tune,

Source: Wikimedia Commons

although in fact each pitch is carefully

Attribution: Pongsapak Kiatpreecha

License: CC BY-SA 4.0

positioned. Female jali were musicians

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too, but they were only trained to sing and play a percussion instrument called the neo. Today, of course, many women excel as performers on all of these instruments.

The Sunjata Story

The Sunjata story is well known, for it has been frequently published in both novel and verse form over the past century and is often included in world literature courses. It constitutes a mythologized retelling of how the historical figure Sunjanta unified the Mali Empire and became its first ruler. According to the epic, Sunjata—

whose glorious conquests had been foretold by a soothsayer—was the son of the Mandinkan king’s second wife. As a child, however, Sunjata could not walk, and when the king died it was his half brother who ascended to the throne. Sunjata and his mother were exiled and found a new home in the Mema kingdom, where Sunjata grew strong and gained such widespread support that he was designated heir to the throne. When the Mandinka kingdom was attacked by a malicious power, Sunjata came to the rescue while his half-brother fled in fear. Sunjata’s coalition of small kingdoms defeated the aggressor and resulted in the founding of the Mali Empire.

There are not many recordings of the Sunjata story in existence, for it is carefully guarded. The epic is often related as part of religious ceremonies, and it is believed to bring blessings to all who hear it. Listeners, however, are prohibited from recording these performances. The recordings that are available have been made at formal concerts or recording sessions, and therefore lack many of the elements that would characterize a more authentic performance. These recordings tend to be brief, both because they often omit episodes from the story and because they lack the participatory embellishments that bring the story to life when it is shared in a communal context. Listeners, for example, might join together in singing hymns at appropriate points, or jali might shout out praise songs dedicated to historical figures as they enter the narrative. Participants will also interrupt the story to donate money in return for blessings.

In considering our recordings, therefore, we must be aware that they offer only a glimpse of Sunjata epic recitation as a living practice. Apart from being brief, they are in no way definitive. There are variations in the words that are used to tell the story and even in the events that are related (sometimes, for example, Sunjata and his mother are exiled from the Mali kingdom, while other times they choose to leave for their own safety). The epic is also not always sung to the same melody, nor is the accompaniment stable. The underlying instrumental music might be supplied by kora, balafon, ngoni, or even guitar, and the pattern played by these instruments—known as the kumbengo—can vary in large and small ways.

Comparing Two Renditions of The Sunjata Story

We will begin with a recording made of a 1987 performance in which jali Djelimady Sissoko recites the epic while Sidiki Diabaté accompanies him on the Page | 166

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kora.12 Like all performances, this begins with an instrumental improvisation.

At first there is no pulse, but gradually the player settles in to the kumbengo. In this case, we hear the most typical kumbengo for a Sunjata epic recitation, that associated with the Sunjata praise song. 13 The praise song is entirely separate from the epic, but it might be sung during a ritual performance of the epic and the two are closely connected.

The Sunjata Story

12.

Performance: Djelimady Sissoko, accompanied by Sidiki

Diabaté (1987)

The Sunjata praise song is musically related to the recitation 13.

of the epic.

The singer enters at the top of his range and then descends down the scale outlined in the accompaniment. This is the typical melodic shape for epic recitation, and it is influenced by the Mandinka language, which is tonal. This means that the inflection of vowel sounds changes the meaning of a word. Because most Mandinka words inflect in a downward direction, setting the words to music naturally produces a descending melody. The vocal ability of a singer is judged in terms of power and confidence. However, the most important quality for a singer to possess is truthfulness. A good singer, therefore, is one whose words are true, regardless of the sound of their voice. The truthfulness of Djelimady Sissoko’s words is confirmed by Sidiki Diabaté, who fulfills the role of witness by chanting naamu, or “indeed,” at the end of every sentence. (If the jali makes a mistake in telling the story, which frequently occurs, the witness must correct it.) The “groove” is an important characteristic of this performance, as is the rhythmic interaction between the singer and kora player. However, these elements are not simple to perceive or explain. While the repetitiveness of the accompaniment makes it obvious that there is a regular pulse, that pulse is constantly shifting. Try tapping your foot along to the music, and you will soon find that you have lost the beat. This is the result of a concept of rhythm that is based on patterns, not European-style meter. West African musicians, for example, do not count beats in the way European musicians do, and they do not recognize a downbeat (the first and strongest pulse in a metrical grouping). Instead, they transform rhythmic patterns in the way that a kaleidoscope transforms images.

This concept of constant transformation is central to the practice of West African instrumentalists. In this recording, the kora player never repeats the kumbengo pattern unchanged for long. Instead, he makes constant alterations to the rhythmic and pitch content, adding syncopations and ornaments of unending Page | 167

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variety. He also interjects virtuosic flourishes in between the phrases of the story.

Periodically, the singer pauses to allow for an extended kora solo.14 While the basic musical contents of the kumbengo are quite simple, therefore, the work of the kora player is complex and sophisticated.

We will briefly examine a second performance of episodes from the Sunjata story for the sake of comparison.15 This rendition, recorded in 2014, is accompanied by the balafon. Although the balafon, which is a percussion instrument, is quite different from the kora in terms of construction, playing technique, and sound, it executes exactly the same function. Again, the performance opens with an extended solo by the balafon player, Fodé Lassana Diabaté, who eventually settles into a kumbengo that is very similar to that played on the kora. Again, the balafon player constantly alters his accompaniment, adding rhythmic and melodic variations. And again, he occasionally takes the opportunity to improvise extended instrumental solos in between sections of the recited text.

This is one of many kora solos that interrupt the jali’s

14.

recitation.

The Sunjata Story

Performance: Hawa Kassé Mady Diabaté, accompanied by

15.

Fodé Lassana Diabaté (2014)

The work of the singer, Hawa Kassé Mady Diabaté, can also be compared to the previous recording. Most of her phrases begin high in her range and descend down the scale. She regularly enters during different parts of the kumbengo and does not align her phrases with the accompaniment. And her vocal production is powerful and commanding. She periodically plays a simple percussion instrument, known as a shekere, that consists of a gourd with a beaded cover.

Although this rendition is excellent, its context—amplified on a stage before a silent audience—is far removed from that in which the Sunjata story has thrived for eight hundred years. Jali storytelling is meant to be highly participatory, and this epic only lives when it is endorsed and enriched by the community.

RESOURCES FOR FURTHER LEARNING

Print

Church, Michael, ed. The Other Classical Musics: Fifteen Great Traditions. Boydell Press, 2015.

D’Angour, Armand and Tom Phillips. Music, Text, and Culture in Ancient Greece.

Oxford University Press, 2018.

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Fischer-Dieskau, Dietrich. Schubert’s Songs: A Biographical Study. Limelight Editions, 1984.

Gaines, Zeffie. “A Black Girl’s Song: Misogynoir, Love, and Beyoncé’s Lemonade.”

Taboo: The Journal of Culture and Education 16, no. 2 (2017): 96-114.

Gustavson, Kent. Blind But Now I See: The Biography of Music Legend Doc Watson. Blooming Twig Books, 2012.

Stone, Ruth M. Music in West Africa: Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture.

Oxford University Press, 2004.

Taruskin, Richard. Music in the Nineteenth Century: The Oxford History of Western Music. Oxford University Press, 2009.

Online

KET Education, “Mountain Born: The Jean Ritchie Story”: https://www.ket.org/

education/resources/mountain-born-jean-ritchie-story/

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6Stories without Words

Esther M. Morgan-Ellis

INTRODUCTION

Over the course of the past three chapters, we have examined a variety of musical forms and works that communicate narratives. These have included examples that rely on staged action, such as opera and ballet, and examples that incorporate a sung text. In this chapter, we will encounter music that tells a story without that aid of staged action or performed text. This music will use sound alone—perhaps supplemented by a written explanation—to communicate with the listener.

But how can sound tell a story? How can we know what music is about without seeing the story acted out or hearing the story told through words? In many ways, music is handicapped as a storytelling medium, for it cannot be specific. Sound cannot tell us the name of a character, or provide details about a dramatic setting, or convey dialogue, or even communicate a plot of any complexity. At the same time, sound can also be a particularly powerful storytelling medium. Because of its potential to provoke emotions in the listener, it can tell compelling stories on the emotional or psychological level. Music can also incorporate the sounds that would be heard in a specific setting or that might accompany a sequence of events, thereby recreating the aural experience of a story.

In general, music is able to communicate specific content using three techniques.

While these have been primarily exploited in the European concert tradition, they are not unique to Western music. The three techniques are mimesis, quotation, and the use of musical topics. After an introduction to each in turn, we will see them at work in a variety of examples.

Mimesis is the simplest technique, and also the most common across traditions. In cases of mimesis, music imitates real-world sounds in order to call elements of the physical world to mind. These sounds might include birdsong, animal cries, trains, explosions, footsteps—anything that makes noise. Mimesis can be used to create a dramatic scene using sound alone.

In the case of quotation, one piece of music incorporates a passage from another. Quotation can be used in many different ways. Sometimes, the quoted music will have a text that the listener is expected to know. In this way, a composer can include specific dramatic content without employing text directly. Other times, Page | 170

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the quoted music can be understood as part of a scene. For example, the American composer Charles Ives quoted the music of Wagner in his piano composition Concord Sonata. His intent was to recreate the living room of the Alcott family, with Louisa May playing her favorite tunes at the piano.

When a composer employs musical topics, they refer to recognizable musical styles or clichés in order to communicate with the listener. Some musical topics are associated with specific genres or traditions, such as military marches, waltzes, or Christian hymns. Upon hearing one of these styles referenced in a musical work, the listener might think of an army, or a ball, or a church service. In this way, the composer can transport an audience to a specific place.

Other musical topics rely on the use of standardized techniques to portray specific scenes, such as a storm, or a romantic tryst, or shepherds tending their flocks. This approach builds on the tradition of music for the theater. An operatic love scene, for example, is usually accompanied by slow, sweeping gestures in the strings, while shepherds appear to the accompaniment of droning bagpipes (usually imitated by orchestral instruments), flute, and double reeds (usually oboe or English horn). Musical topics often incorporate mimesis, although the technique is more complex. Hunting scenes, for example, were long set to music that used mimetic techniques to imitate the sounds of horses galloping and hunting horns blasting. The imitation of hoofbeats is an example of mimesis, but the hunting topic is associated not only with the sounds of hunting but also with the tradition of writing hunting music. The storm topic provides a similar example. While rapid chromatic scales, dynamic swells, and sudden accents can imitate wind blowing through the trees and lightning striking the ground, we recognize storm music primarily because we are familiar with the long tradition of this type of music being used to accompany storm scenes in opera, films, and cartoons.

In the European tradition, instrumental music that claims to tell a specific story or to otherwise communicate extramusical information is termed program music. This term was first employed in the 19th century, at which point in history a fierce debate took place between various European composers and critics concerning the purpose of music. Some argued in favor of program music, even going so far as to suggest that music could (and should) convey complex philosophical ideas. Wagner belonged to this school of thought. Others advocated on behalf of absolute music, or “music for music’s sake”—that is, music that does not aspire to be more than sound, and that should be judged on the basis of its form and construction, not its power to communicate. Even in the 19th century, however, program music was not a new thing. As we shall see, earlier European composers had already established the various techniques with which music can communicate meaning. Similarly, composers and performers in other parts of the globe had long exploited sound as a storytelling vehicle.

We will begin, however, in 19th century Europe, with perhaps the most famous piece of program music to emerge from the concert tradition.

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HECTOR BERLIOZ, FANTASTICAL SYMPHONY

When the French composer Hector Berlioz

(1803-1869) premiered what was to be his

most famous and influential work, he was

only 27 years old. 1830, however, was a big

year for the young composer. Not only was his

Fantastical Symphony (French: Symphonie

Fantastique) premiered in December at the

Paris Conservatory, but he also won the Rome

Prize (French: Prix de Rome), the top honor

for French composers.

However, Berlioz’s training as a composer

had been largely self-directed. His father had

intended for him to become a physician, and

it was to study medicine at the University Image 6.1: This photograph of of Paris that he had first moved to the city. Berlioz was taken in 1863, many Berlioz completed medical school, despite decades after his success with his disgust at the task of dissecting dead Fantastical Symphony.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

bodies, but he continued to pursue his Attribution: Pierre Petit musical interests throughout the course of his License: Public Domain professional education. He gave up medicine

upon graduating in 1824 and enrolled in the Paris Conservatory two years later.

During the Romantic era (roughly 1815 to 1900), audiences were fascinated by the personal lives of artists. They tended to understand artistic expression as autobiographical, and they perceived works through the lens of an artist’s personal experience. In the case of Fantastical Symphony this was easy to do, for Berlioz was directly inspired by his own real-world experiences. Before discussing the symphony, therefore, we must dedicate some attention to Berlioz’s love life.

The Origins of Berlioz’s Symphony

In 1827, Berlioz attended a series of Shakespearean performances put on in Paris by a company of Irish actors. Over the course of several plays, he became obsessed with the actress Harriet Smithson, whom he saw in the roles of Ophelia ( Hamlet) and Juliet ( Romeo and Juliet). His subsequent behavior, which included moving into an apartment from which he could monitor her own dwelling and subjecting her to a deluge of correspondence, can only be described as stalking.

She ignored his advances, however, and returned to London in 1829 without ever having met the composer.

Despite never so much as speaking to Harriet, Berlioz felt compelled to channel his passion into musical composition. He let it be widely known that Fantastical Symphony, which tells the story of a romantic obsession gone wrong (details later), was about Harriet Smithson.

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Berlioz’s romantic interests were intense

but fleeting. He soon recovered from his

infatuation with Smithson and in 1830

became engaged to Marie Moke. His status

as the winner of the Rome Prize required that

he spend several years studying composition

in Italy, and while he was abroad he received

word from Marie’s mother that she was going

to marry the wealthy piano manufacturer

Camille Pleyel instead. Berlioz flew into a rage.

He purchased guns, poison, and a costume,

and boarded a train for Paris with the intention

of sneaking into the Moke home dressed as a

woman and murdering mother, daughter, and

Image 6.2: Given her fame as an

fiance before taking his own life. During the

actress, Harriet Smithson was

course of the trip, however, his passion cooled,

painted many times. This portrait

is by George Clint.

and he abandoned the plan before arriving in

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Paris. He returned to Italy to complete the

Attribution: George Clint

terms of his award.

License: Public Domain

Then, in 1832, Harriet Smithson found

herself back in Paris. Berlioz saw that she was provided with a ticket to the premiere of his second symphony, entitled The Return to Life and conceived of as a sequel to Fantastical Symphony. She wrote him a letter complimenting the symphony and the two finally met. They began an affair and married in 1833, although it is widely suspected that Smithson only agreed to the union because of her dire financial situation. The two were not happy, and formally separated in 1843.

In the case of another composer, the above personal details might be gratuitous.

In the case of Berlioz, however, they are essential. Not only did his audiences know about his love life, but they relished the opportunity to perceive his music as a window into his most intimate passions. Of course, Fantastical Symphony was not altogether autobiographical. In fact, most of the story, to which we will turn now, was lifted from books that Berlioz was reading at the time.

Berlioz went to great trouble to create, revise, and publicize the story told by his music. He published several versions, the last of which accompanied the 1855

version of the score. It was important to Berlioz that audiences were familiar with the story. For the 1830 premiere, he saw that his narrative was published in Parisian newspapers and distributed to audience members at the performance.

(At this time, it was unusual for concert patrons to be provided with a printed program.) In the 1845 version of the score, Berlioz explained the importance of his narrative: “The following programme must therefore be considered as the spoken text of an opera, which serves to introduce musical movements and to motivate their character and expression.” In short, he did not seem to believe that the music could speak entirely for itself.

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The Structure and Story of Fantastical Symphony

Berlioz subtitled his Fantastical Symphony “An Episode in the Life of an Artist, in Five Parts.” The artist in question was, of course, himself. The five parts were five distinct movements—an unusual design for a symphony. While most symphonies have four movements, Berlioz was self-consciously following in the footsteps of Ludwig van Beethoven, whose only program symphony—his Symphony No. 6

“Pastoral”—also had five movements. Beethoven’s symphony told the story of a visit to the countryside, but it did so in very vague terms. The only texts were the five movement titles, which described the sensation of peace upon arriving in nature, a scene by a brook, a peasant festival, a thunderstorm, and feelings of relief after the storm had passed. To tell his story, Beethoven deployed musical topics associated with the countryside and incorporated mimetic gestures, including orchestral imitations of droning bagpipes and violent lightning strikes. Berlioz used the same techniques, but took the idea of writing a program symphony much further.

Berlioz’s five movements are entitled

“Reveries—Passions,” “A Ball,” “Scene in the

Fields,” “March to the Scaffold,” and “Dream of

a Witches’ Sabbath.” In the first movement, a

young musician catches sight of his ideal woman

and immediately falls in love with her. We learn

from Berlioz’s text that the musician always hears

the same melody in his head when he sees or

thinks of her—a melody “in which he recognizes

a certain quality of passion, but endowed with

the nobility and shyness which he credits to the

object of his love.” Berlioz termed this melody the

“obsession” (French: idée fixe).

The obsession melody returns in each of the

five movements. In the second movement, we

hear it when the protagonist glimpses the object Image 6.3: This French of his affection at a ball. In the third movement, lithograph imagines the the protagonist sits alone in the countryside, scene at a ball captured in the second movement of Berlioz’s

listening to shepherds play their pipes. At first symphony. The protagonist is he feels hopeful about the future, but he is soon clearly Berlioz himself.

overwhelmed with suspicion and foreboding. Source: Wikimedia Commons Attribution: Henri Fantin-Latour

The obsession melody reveals the subject of his License: CC0

disturbed brooding.

Because we will examine the fourth and fifth movement in detail, it is worth reading Berlioz’s original description of each in full. His text to accompany the fourth movement reads as follows:

Convinced that his love is spurned, the artist poisons himself with opium.

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a heavy sleep accompanied by the strangest of visions. He dreams that he has killed his beloved, that he is condemned, led to the scaffold and is witnessing his own execution. The procession advances to the sound of a march that is sometimes sombre and wild, and sometimes brilliant and solemn, in which a dull sound of heavy footsteps follows without transition the loudest outbursts. At the end of the march, the first four bars of the idée fixe reappear like a final thought of love interrupted by the fatal blow.

It is here that we begin to depart notably from reality. Not only did Berlioz never personally have this experience, but it is known with reasonable certainty that he never took drugs of any variety. Instead, he got the idea for this movement from a book he was reading, Thomas De Quincey’s Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (1821).

March to the Scaffold

“March to the Scaffold” from Fantastical Symphony

Composer: Hector Berlioz

Performance: London Symphony Orchestra,

conducted by Sir Eugene Goossens (2013)

Time

Form

What to listen for

“The

procession

A rhythmic pattern played on the timpani sets

0’00”

advances to

the scene for a procession

the sound of

a march. . .”

“. . .that is

sometimes

This theme, on which we hear many variations,

sombre

0’28”

consists of a descending scale with a brief

and wild, .

ascending motif at the end

. .” [March

theme A]

“. . .and

sometimes

This theme, which is considerably louder and

brilliant and

1’40”

more triumphant, features the brass playing

solemn”

dotted rhythms

[March

theme B]

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The A theme returns briefly, played by the

March

2’11”

strings and woodwinds in an interlocking

theme A

texture

March

The B theme returns, this time with an active

2’22”

theme B

string accompaniment

March

2’52”

The A theme returns as it did before

theme A

The low brass play the descending scale of the

3’00”

A theme repeatedly at successively higher pitch

levels, thereby building intensity

The entire orchestra plays the A theme, first

3’14”

in its natural form and then upside down (an

ascending scale)

3’40”

Coda

We hear a new theme at a faster tempo

“. . .the first

four bars of

the idée fixe

We hear the obsession melody in the solo

4’17”

reappear

clarinet

like a final

thought of

love. . .”

“. .

The melody is cut off by a resounding chord,

.interrupted

symbolizing the fall of the guillotine blade;

4’26”

by the fatal

triumphant chords from the brass represent the

blow.”

cheers of the crowd

“March to the Scaffold” exhibits all three of the communication techniques outlined above: mimesis, quotation, and the use of musical topics. For most of the movement, we hear two contrasting march themes, one (according to Berlioz’s description) “sombre and wild” and the other “brilliant and solemn.” These themes exemplify the use of musical topics. We are able to recognize them immediately as marches due to the tempo, the brisk character, and the instrumentation, which features percussion and brass. In the final passage of the movement, the tempo accelerates and the excitement builds. Then, out of nowhere, we hear the obsession melody played on a solo clarinet. This, of course, is an example of quotation. We are familiar with this melody and we know that it represents the protagonist’s beloved.

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conclude, a great noise from the orchestra

represents the guillotine blade crashing down.

This is followed by two pizzicato “bounces”

of the severed head and a series of raucous

“cheers” from the crowd. All of this is mimesis,

for Berlioz uses the orchestra to represent the

sounds of the scene he is portraying.

“March to the Scaffold” was the most

successful of the symphony’s five movements,

and it was frequently programmed as a

standalone work during Berlioz’s lifetime.

However, the final movement, “Dream of a

Witches’ Sabbath,” offers even better examples

of our three communication strategies. It is

also shows off Berlioz’s extraordinary skill at Image 6.4: Berlioz’s large using the orchestra. The music of Berlioz is still orchestras were also loud. This became a frequent subject for

studied today by students of orchestration, humor throughout his lifetime, and his 1843 Treatise on Instrumentation as in this 1846 cartoon that is still in print. He was also responsible for portrays the composer in the midst of brass, string basses, and

growing the orchestra in size. Although he a cannon.

wanted 220 musicians for the premiere of Source: Wikimedia Commons Fantastical Symphony, he had to settle for a Attribution: User “Flopinot2012”

License: CC BY-SA 3.0

mere 130. In addition to increasing the size of

the string sections, Berlioz increased the number of required wind parts. Fantastical Symphony calls for four different types of clarinets, four bassoons, four harps, and an enormous percussion section, in addition to two instruments—the ophicleide (part of the tuba family) and the cornet à pistons (part of the trumpet family)—

that were not typically included in the symphony orchestra. The final movement of Fantastical Symphony makes the most dramatic use of this extensive orchestral palette.

Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath

“Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath” from

Fantastical Symphony

Composer: Hector Berlioz

Performance: London Symphony Orchestra,

conducted by Sir Eugene Goossens (2013)

Time

Form

What to listen for

0’00”

“Strange

Tremolo in the violins and violas

sounds, . . .”

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0’03”

“. . .groans, . . .”

Upward sweeps in the cellos and basses

0’17”

“. . .outbursts

Chromatic descent in the violins and violas

of laughter;. . .”

0’32”

“. . .distant

Call and response between woodwinds and a

shouts which

muted horn

seem to be

answered by

more shouts.”

0’53”

All of the preceding material is repeated, with

some variations

1’37”

“The beloved

We hear the opening of the obsession melody

melody appears in the clarinet; it is played at a fast tempo with once more, but

an uneven, dance-like rhythm

has now lost its

noble and shy

character; it is

now no more

than a vulgar

dance tune,

trivial and

grotesque”

1’46”

“Roar of

The brass enter at top volume

delight at her

arrival”

1’58”

“She joins the

We hear the entire obsession melody in the

diabolical orgy”

high-pitched E-flat clarinet, accompanied

primarily by double reeds

3’11

“The funeral

The orchestra bells sound the tolling of the

knell tolls. . .”

knell

3’39”

“ . . .burlesque

The opening phrase of the “Dies irae” melody

parody of the

is heard, first in the low brass, then in the

Dies irae. . .”

trombones at twice the tempo, and finally in

the woodwinds and pizzicato strings at twice

the tempo again

4’18”

The second phrase of the “Dies irae” melody

undergoes similar treatment

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4’42”

The third phrase of the “Dies irae” melody

undergoes similar treatment

5’20”

“. . . the dance

A new theme emerges in the strings

of the witches.

. .”

5’38”

The new theme, which we recognize as “the

dance of the witches,” is presented first in the

cellos, then the violins, then in the woodwinds

7’28”

A hint of the “Dies irae” melody return in

the cellos and basses; the other strings play

fragments of “the dance of the witches”

8’34”

“The dance of

We hear complete statements of both

the witches

melodies layered atop one another, “Dies irae”

combined with

in the brass and “the dance of the witches” in

the Dies irae.”

the strings

Berlioz explained the action in “Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath” as follows: He sees himself at a witches’ sabbath, in the midst of a hideous gathering of shades, sorcerers and monsters of every kind who have come together for his funeral. Strange sounds, groans, outbursts of laughter; distant shouts which seem to be answered by more shouts. The beloved melody appears once more, but has now lost its noble and shy character; it is now no more than a vulgar dance tune, trivial and grotesque: it is she who is coming to the sabbath… Roar of delight at her arrival… She joins the diabolical orgy…

The funeral knell tolls, burlesque parody of the Dies irae, the dance of the witches. The dance of the witches combined with the Dies irae.

The movement opens exactly as Berlioz describes, with “strange sounds, groans, outbursts of laughter.” Strange sounds are certainly heard in the violins. The players employ a technique known as tremolo, in which the bow is moved back and forth very quickly to produce a shaking effect. The cellos undeniably provide the groans, with their quick upward melodic sweeps. Both the violins and trombones can later be heard as laughing. Next we hear “distant shouts” in the high winds, echoed by

“more shouts” from a muted horn. The opening passage, therefore, is constructed almost exclusively with the use of mimetic techniques.

When the obsession melody returns, it has indeed transformed in character.

It is now a lively, impish dance tune played on the E-flat clarinet—an uncommon, high-pitched version of the instrument with a piercing sound quality. The tune is Page | 179

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at first interrupted by a mimetic “roar of delight” from the orchestra, after which it is heard in full. In this case, quotation is combined with the use of a musical topic.

We recognize the melody and understand what it represents, but the fact that it is presented as a dance tune adds meaning to its appearance.

After the dance dies away we hear the funeral bells. This barely even counts as mimesis, since Berlioz calls for actual bells to be struck. (He uses the tubular orchestra bells that are included in a standard large percussion section.) Next he employs a second quotation. This time he quotes a melody from outside the symphony—indeed, it is a melody that was composed more than 500 years before Berlioz was even born!

The “Dies irae” comes from the body of medieval Catholic church music known as Gregorian chant. This particular chant was composed in the 13th century and was associated with the funeral Mass, or Requiem. It was sung at the graveside and contains a particularly ominous text. The first three lines read as follows: A day of wrath; that day,

it will dissolve the world into glowing ashes,

as attested by David together with the Sibyl.

What trembling will there be,

when the Judge shall come

to examine everything in strict justice.

The trumpet’s wondrous call sounding abroad

in tombs throughout the world

shall drive everybody forward to the throne.

The long text continues on to describe the coming of Judgment Day, when sinners are cast into Hell to endure eternal torment. Berlioz’s audience in Catholic France would have recognized this melody immediately, and would likewise have known the associated text. For them, the “Dies irae” carried connotations of terror and hellishness. By using it in his symphony, therefore, Berlioz was able to take advantage of those connotations without incorporating text directly. The “Dies irae” provided the perfect backdrop for his triumphant witches.

Next Berlioz incorporates another dance topic, named in his synopsis as the

“dance of the witches.” We don’t recognize the melody itself, but we have no trouble acknowledging that it is a dance, and Berlioz’s description helps us to understand exactly what it going on. Finally, before the raucous conclusion, we hear the “Dies irae” and the “dance of the witches” juxtaposed, each sounding at the same time in a different part of the orchestra. The concluding passage also includes more unusual string techniques, including col legno (with wood), for which players turn their bows over and bounce the stick on their strings. This creates an eerie tapping effect.

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Modest Mussorgsky, Pictures at an Exhibition

The Russian composer Modest Mussorgsky

(1839-1881) was just a generation younger

than Berlioz, and their careers overlapped for

several decades. The two composers, however,

lived in different worlds. Berlioz was French

and worked in Paris, a major European cultural

center. He received a formal music education

and was well-connected with leading figures

across the arts. Mussorgsky, on the other hand,

was not even a professional composer, and was

excluded from his country’s growing musical

establishment. His status as an outsider,

however, only inspired Mussorgsky to find a

unique artistic voice, and he emerged as one

of the most important Russian composers of Image 6.5: This portrait of Modest the 19th century.

Mussorgsky was painted by Ilya

Repin in 1881.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Mussorgsky and Russian Identity Attribution: Ilya Repin License: Public Domain

Mussorgsky’s career was split between

military and civil service. He enrolled in Cadet

School at the age of 13 and subsequently accepted a commission in the Russian Imperial Guard. He resigned his commission in 1858 so as to be able to focus more energy on music, but it was not feasible for him to compose for a living, so he instead took a series of administrative posts with the government.

Mussorgsky’s main interest, however, was music. He studied composition with Miliy Alexeyevich Balakirev, who had emerged as the ideological leader of the nationalist movement in Russian music. Mussorgsky also developed close personal relationships with the other young composers in Balakirev’s circle, all of whom saw themselves as anti-establishment figures in search of authentic Russian musical expression. Together, these composers were known as “the mighty handful”—an evocative nickname that has been identified with the progressive strain of late 19th-century Russian music ever since.

Despite their interest in developing a uniquely Russian school of composition, Mussorgsky and his colleagues were primarily influenced by European concert music. They studied the scores of Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Chopin, Liszt, and Berlioz, the last of whom they particularly admired. Because they were largely self-trained and valued experimental approaches, however, these composers succeeded in adapting European forms and techniques to their own creative ends.

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Capturing Visual Art in Music

Mussorgsky composed Pictures at an

Exhibition after attending an art exhibit

in commemoration of his friend Viktor

Hartmann, who had died suddenly of an

aneurism in 1873. Hartmann had belonged

to the progressive school of Russian art,

which sought to develop a uniquely Russian

approach to the visual arts. It is natural

enough, therefore, that Mussorgsky should

have felt a kinship with Hartmann, for he and

“the mighty handful” sought to accomplish the

same thing in the realm of music. Mussorgsky

had acquired a large number of Hartmann’s

paintings, which he allowed to be displayed as

part of the exhibit in St. Petersburg.

After walking through the galleries, Image 6.6: A photograph of Mussorgsky was inspired to compose a piece Russian architect and artist Viktor of music that captured the experience in Hartmann.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

sound. He completed the work in only twenty Attribution: Unknown days. Pictures at an Exhibition was initially License: Public Domain conceived of as a ten-movement suite for

piano. Each movement represents a Hartmann

work, while a “Promenade” interlude between

many of the movements symbolizes the act

Image 6.8: Hartmann’s Plan for a

Image 6.7: Hartmann’s painting of the Paris

City Gate inspired the grandiose

catacombs inspired the eighth movement of

final movement of Mussorgsky’s

Mussorgsky’s suite.

suite.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: Viktor Hartmann

Attribution: Viktor Hartmann

License: Public Domain

License: Public Domain

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of walking from one painting to the next. Unfortunately, many of the paintings themselves have been lost, but Hartmann’s work has lived on in this enormously popular musical composition.

Mussorgsky wrote for piano in part because he was not a skilled orchestrator.

However, a large number of later composers took on that task, and as a result many different versions of Picture at an Exhibition have been performed over the past century. Pictures is heard most frequently as an orchestral work, and the most successful orchestration was created by the French composer Maurice Ravel in 1922. There are also versions for chamber orchestra, band, brass ensemble, and solo guitar. However, the popularity of Pictures has resulted in additional adaptations that live outside the concert hall. It has been performed by numerous rock bands—including Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, who recorded it live in 1971—

and even formed the basis for early experiments in the world of electronic music.

For this reason, Pictures at an Exhibition presents a wonderful opportunity to consider the significance of timbre. We will examine two movements in depth, and for each we will compare four different

versions: Mussorgsky’s 1874 composition

for piano, Ravel’s 1922 orchestration,

Japanese synthesizer artist Isao Tomita’s

1975 interpretation, and German thrash metal

band Mekong Delta’s 1996 recording. All four

versions contain exactly the same pitches

and rhythms, but they sound quite different

from one another due to the divergent sound

qualities available from piano, orchestra,

synthesizer, and rock band. It is impossible to

argue that one version is the “best.” Instead, Image 6.9: Here we see the each brings unique strengths to the task of album cover for Tomita’s 1975

sounding Mussorgsky’s composition and each Pictures at an Exhibition.

connects with different listeners.

Source: Flickr

Attribution: Jacob Whittaker

License: CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

The Gnome

“The Gnome” from Pictures at an Exhibition

Composer: Modest Mussorgsky

Performance: Sergei Oskolkov (2003)

Time

Form

What to listen for

This theme is loud, accented, and angular; it includes

0’00”

A

many descending and ascending leaps

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In this theme, the right hand repeats a descending

0’18”

B

figure that outlines an unusual scale

0’40”

A

This slow, ominous theme is played quietly in the

0’54”

C

low range of the piano; it is periodically interrupted

by loud fragments of A

The left hand descends chromatically while the right

1’47”

D

hand executes descending leaps; then the parts

switch

The B theme returns, but the left hand part is

2’11”

B

reminiscent of the C theme

The movement concludes with a rapid passage in

2’37”

Coda

which the left hand descends and the right hand

ascends

The first movement of Pictures at an Exhibition is entitled “The Gnome.”

Although the original Hartmann painting has been lost, it is known to have depicted a grotesque nutcracker with large teeth. It was undoubtedly disturbing.

Mussorgsky captured the image in sound using a variety of techniques. “The Gnome” begins with a sequence of abrupt, angular melodic fragments. They are unpredictable and unpleasing, lurching about in a way that mimetically capture the motions of the creature they portray. A second, contrasting section contains an uneven descending melody with a dissonant, oscillating accompaniment. A third section vacillates ominously between low and high pitches, while a final section is loud and threatening. Fragments of the first section interrupt when least expected. Throughout, “The Gnome” is characterized by contrast and surprise, and it concludes with a frightening rush to the final cadence. The listener never knows what is going to happen next and is not given the opportunity to relax.

The piano version contains the unpredictable rhythms and rapid mood changes that are central to Mussorgsky’s vision, but the instrument imposes several limitations. To begin with, striking the keys of a piano always produces essentially the same type of sound. While a piano can execute a large range of pitch and dynamic levels, its ability to do so does not compare to an orchestra, which can play higher, lower, louder, and softer. An orchestra, however, lacks the spontaneity and responsiveness of a solo pianist, who only has to coordinate with herself.

Ravel’s orchestration1 has emerged as the most common because, like Berlioz, he knew how to take full advantage of the ensemble’s potential. He puts the opening melodic gesture in the low strings with an echo in the low brass, thereby Page | 184

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creating a darker and more ominous sound quality than is available from the piano.

Punctuations from the percussion section further heighten the tension. The next passage features the warm sounds of flute and celeste, with an accompaniment by the string section using pizzicato (a technique for which players pluck the strings instead of bowing them) and glissando (a technique for which players slide their fingers down the length of the string). Just as Berlioz used the low brass to make his “Dies irae” quotation sound threatening, Ravel uses them to increase the sense of danger and violence in his orchestration. Throughout, he never uses the same combination of instruments twice, thereby introducing an element of variety and surprise that was not available to Mussorgsky.

In his synthesizer version,2 Tomita takes a similar approach, although of course he has a completely different set of sonic tools at his disposal. Like Ravel, Tomita explores a wide variety of sound qualities—some dark and muted, some percussive, some bright and zingy. He also applies modulatory techniques that transform those sounds, including low-frequency oscillation, glissandi, and panning. The end result is yet another gloomy sound world, full of contrast and surprise.

Mekong Delta3 have a more limited sound palette with which to work, but it is well-suited to the task. They differentiate the sections of the piece primarily by changing the role of the drum set. In the first and second sections, the drummer mirrors the rhythms of the melody. In the third and fourth sections, however, the drummer sets up a steady rock beat, which lends the arrangement a sense of growing strength and determination. Other minor variations in instrumentation keep this version interesting throughout.

“The Gnome” from Pictures at an Exhibition

Composer: Modest Mussorgsky, orchestrated by Maurice

1.

Ravel

Performance: Wiener Philharmoniker, conducted by Valery

Gergiev (2002)

“The Gnome” from Pictures at an Exhibition

2.

Composer: Modest Mussorgsky

Performance: Isao Tomita (1975)

“The Gnome” from Pictures at an Exhibition

3.

Composer: Modest Mussorgsky

Performance: Mekong Delta (1996)

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Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks

“Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks” from Pictures at an

Exhibition

Composer: Modest Mussorgsky

Performance: Byron Janis (1962)

Time

Form

What to listen for

Discordant sounds are produced when the pianist

0’00”

A

plays two keys that are next to one another; this

humorous effect calls to mind the chirping of chicks

0’15”

A

In this section, almost every note has a trill, meaning

0’30”

B

that the player oscillates quickly between two

adjacent keys

Although the right hand plays a new melody, the

left hand remains stable, indicating that this is a

0’41”

B’

variation of B; this time, quick passages of notes

resemble clucking

0’52”

A

1’08”

Coda

The very brief coda provides a final cadence

The fifth movement of Pictures at an Exhibition,

“Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks,” is quite different.

In this case, we still have the artwork that inspired

the music. It is not a finished painting, but rather a

sketch for a costume that Hartmann had designed

for an 1871 production of the ballet Trilby at the Bolshoi Theater. The cast members were to portray

unhatched baby chickens dancing in their shells.

Mussorgsky clearly saw the humor in this image,

as well as in the dancing that one might imagine to

have been performed in such a costume. His brief

musical depiction, therefore, is highly comical. He Image 6.10: Viktor employs a simple ternary form (A B A). Although Hartmann’s costume design the A and B sections of the form feature different for the 1871 ballet Trilby.

melodies, we hear the chicks chirping and hopping Source: Wikimedia Commons Attribution: Viktor Hartmann

throughout. While Mussorgsky used dissonance to License: Public Domain Page | 186

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signal fear and danger in “The Gnome,” here he uses it to indicate the ridiculous nature of the scene. Occasionally, a lone, sustained note interrupts the dance—the voice of the mother hen, perhaps? An abrupt ending completes the comic effect.

For his orchestrated version,4 Ravel chose to feature the high-pitched instruments whose voices most closely match those of the chicks being portrayed: violin, flute, clarinet, oboe, and bassoon. While he used percussion in “The Gnome”

to accentuate the moments of greatest terror, here he uses percussion—cymbals in the A section, snare in the B section—to add comic touches.

Tomita5 takes the idea of comedy the furthest. The same can be said concerning the idea of chickens, for—in an extreme case of mimesis—he uses a variety of simulated clucks and chirps to perform the melody. In the middle section of the form, he pans his chickens between audio channels and fades their voices in and out. Additional comic noises round out the scene.

The members of Mekong Delta6 use rounded timbres in place of distorted ones to create a sound world for “Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks” that is surprisingly far removed from that of “The Gnome.” The regular, energetic rhythmic underpinning from the drummer provides a sense of liveliness. Mekong Delta does not attempt to imitate the sounds of chickens in any way, but instead captures the lighthearted enthusiasm of the Mussorgsky composition.

“Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks” from Pictures at an

Exhibition

Composer: Modest Mussorgsky, orchestrated by Maurice

4.

Ravel

Performance: Wiener Philharmoniker, conducted by

Gustavo Dudamel (2016)

“Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks” from Pictures at an

Exhibition

5.

Composer: Modest Mussorgsky

Performance: Isao Tomita (1975)

“Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks” from Pictures at an

Exhibition

6.

Composer: Modest Mussorgsky

Performance: Mekong Delta (1996)

ANTONIO VIVALDI, THE FOUR SEASONS, “SPRING”

Composers were writing program music long before Berlioz or Mussorgsky.

In earlier periods, however, such compositions were generally perceived as entertaining novelties, not the future of concert art. The Italian violinist and composer Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741) was particularly fond of program music, and he produced a great deal. His set of violin concertos known as The Four Page | 187

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Seasons (Italian: Le quattro stagioni, 1725) are the most famous. Indeed, they rank among the

best known pieces of music from the European

concert tradition.

Vivaldi’s Career

Vivaldi spent his life in the city of Venice,

which at the time was a wealthy and independent

Republic. He initially trained as a Catholic priest,

but ill health prevented him from performing

many of his duties. However, he became highly

skilled as a violinist and composer, and in 1703 he

took the position of violin master at a local

orphanage, the Devout Hospital of Mercy (Italian: Image 6.11: This portrait of Ospedale della Pietà; note that Hospital at this Antonio Vivaldi was completed time does not indicate a center for medical care).

by Pier Leone Ghezzi in 1723.

The text refers to Vivaldi as “The

Venetian orphanages were not the squalid Red Priest,” a nickname he was workhouses we know from Victorian literature. given due to his curly red hair.

Indeed, quite the opposite. It was common—

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: Pier Leone Ghezzi

even acceptable—for Venetian aristocrats License: Public Domain to keep mistresses, but the children of these

relationships could not be brought up in the marital home. Instead, unwanted infants were deposited at orphanages via the scaffetta, which was an opening just large enough to fit a newborn. While not all of the surrendered infants were of high birth, the city’s noblemen took an interest in the welfare of their illegitimate children, which meant that the orphanages were always well-funded. The children Image 6.13: This 19th-century engraving depicts

Image 6.12: This painting captures Venice in the time

the orphanage at which

of Vivaldi. The coastal city is interwoven with canals

Vivaldi was employed. The

and therefore largely navigable by boat.

building no longer stands.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: Canaletto

Attribution: Unknown

License: Public Domain

License: Public Domain

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were brought up with all of the advantages (except parents), and were prepared for comfortable lives.

The Devout Hospital of Mercy, at which Vivaldi took a position, was an orphanage for girls. His job was to teach them the musical skills that would allow them to secure desirable husbands. Vivaldi was exceptionally good at his job, and soon the girls at the orphanage became the best musicians in the city. He not only taught them how to play their instruments but wrote music for them to play. His primary vehicle was the concerto, which is a work for an instrumental soloist accompanied by an orchestra. Over the course of his career, Vivaldi wrote 500 concertos. About half were for violin, including 37 for his most successful protege, a virtuoso known as Anna Maria dal Violin. The other were mostly for bassoon, flute, oboe, and cello—all instruments played by girls at the Hospital.

Naturally enough, the citizens of Venice wanted to hear the girls perform.

This, however, presented a serious problem. Women in Venetian society were generally prohibited from performing publicly. Some women took to the opera stage, but in doing so they were confirming their sexual availability and precluding the possibility of marriage. Most of the girls at the orphanage were destined for either husbands or a lifetime of service to the church, so they could not become soiled in this way. Those who did desire a career in music were likely to stay at the orphanage into adulthood, where they were provided with an opportunity to teach and perform. At least two girls who studied at the orphanage, Anna Bon and Vincenta Da Ponte, went on to become composers.

The orphanage developed a clever means by which to facilitate public performances without upsetting social convention. Each Sunday night, a public Vespers service was held for which the orchestra and choir provided music.

Although this weekly church service was, for all intents and purposes, a public concert, the simple act of retitling protected the girls’ honor. Members of high society came from across the region to hear the girls, who were physically isolated from the visitors to further ensure their chastity.

Vivaldi was promoted to music director in 1716, and he continued to teach at the orphanage even as he became quite famous outside of Venice. In addition to writing instrumental music, he wrote operas that were staged across Europe and provided choral music for Catholic church services. His long tenure at the orphanage was noteworthy, for male teachers at girls’ orphanages usually got into trouble with one of their charges and eventually had to be dismissed. Vivaldi, on the other hand, developed a reputation for his ethical behavior.

For Vivaldi, the concerto was a relatively new genre. The first concertos had been written by Italian composers in the middle of the 17th century. At first, soloists were used primarily to add variation in volume to an orchestral performance—after all, a few players make less noise than many, and individual string instruments of the time did not have a large dynamic range. Vivaldi still valued the potential for concertos to include a great deal of variety, but he also used them as a vehicle for Page | 189

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Image 6.14: This 1720 depiction of a concert at the Devout Hospital of Mercy shows how the girls performed from high balconies, out of reach from visitors. Not well represented are the ornate grates that hid the girls from view.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: Gabriele Bella, photographer Didier Descouens License: CC BY-SA 4.0

virtuosic display. The solo parts, therefore, were often quite difficult, and allowed the player to show off her capabilities.

An early 18th-century concerto always followed the same basic form. It would contain three movements in the order fast-slow-fast. The outer movements would both be in ritornello form. “Ritornello” is an Italian term that roughly translates to “the little thing that returns,” and it refers to a passage of music that is heard repeatedly. In a concerto, the ritornello is played by the orchestra. It is heard at the beginning and at the end of a movement, but also frequently throughout, although often not in its entirety. In between statements of the ritornello, the soloist plays.

Although the ritornello always remains basically the same, the material played by the soloist can vary widely. The slow movement of a concerto would consist of an expressive melody in the solo instrument backed up by a repetitive accompaniment in the orchestra.

Spring

We will see an example of these forms in Vivaldi’s “Spring” concerto. However, form is certainly not what makes this composition interesting. Vivaldi published his Page | 190

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Four Seasons concertos in a 1725 collection

entitled The Contest Between Harmony

and Invention. This evocative title was

supposed to draw attention to novel aspects

of Vivaldi’s latest work. While eight of the

twelve concertos contained in the collection

were adventurous in purely musical terms,

the first four were unusual for programmatic

reasons.

Each of the Four Seasons concertos—

one each for Spring, Summer, Autumn, and

Winter—was accompanied by a sonnet. The

poetry described the dramatic content of the

Image 6.15: This 1723 portrait

music, and Vivaldi went to great trouble to

shows Vivaldi with his violin.

indicate exactly how the music reflected the

Source: Wikimedia Commons

text. To do so, he inserted letter names beside

Attribution: Unknown

License: Public Domain

each line of poetry and then placed the same

letter at the appropriate place in the score.

The correlation between musical and poetic passages, however, is easy to hear.

This, in combination with the fact that no author is indicated, has led most scholars to believe that Vivaldi wrote the sonnets himself.

The sonnet for the “Spring” concerto reads as follows. The lines of poetry are broken up between the three movements, each of which is titled with an Italian tempo marking:

I. Allegro

Springtime is upon us.

The birds celebrate her return with festive song,

and murmuring streams are

softly caressed by the breezes.

Thunderstorms, those heralds of Spring, roar,

casting their dark mantle over heaven,

Then they die away to silence,

and the birds take up their charming songs once more.

II. Largo

On the flower-strewn meadow, with leafy branches

rustling overhead, the goat-herd sleeps,

his faithful dog beside him.

III. Allegro

Led by the festive sound of rustic bagpipes,

nymphs and shepherds lightly dance

beneath the brilliant canopy of spring.

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“Spring,” Movement I

Composer: Antonio Vivaldi

Performance: Anne-Sophie Mutter with the

Wiener Philharmoniker, conducted by

Herbert Von Karajan (2003)

Time

Form

What to listen for

0’00”

Ritornello -

The ritornello has an internal form of aabb;

“Springtime is

its simplicity and repetition suggest a folk

upon us.”

dance

0’29”

A - “The birds

The solo violinist and two violinists from

celebrate her

the orchestra join together in imitation of

return with festive birdsong

song, . . .”

1’03”

Ritornello

The ritornello is slightly abbreviated in this

and all future appearances

1’10”

B - “. . .and

The entire orchestra plays repetitive figures

murmuring

that rise and fall, imitating the murmur of

streams are softly

the stream

caressed by the

breezes.”

1’33”

Ritornello

1’40”

C -

The orchestra imitates thunder with low-

“Thunderstorms,

range tremolo and lightning with quick

those heralds

ascending scales; the solo violinist shows

of Spring, roar,

off their virtuosity with rapid arpeggios

casting their

dark mantle over

heaven, . . .”

2’08”

Ritornello

This ritornello is in the minor mode

2’16”

D - “Then they die

The solo violinist slowly ascends using

away to silence,

repeated notes, suggesting calmness; the

and the birds take

section ends with trills in the the violins,

up their charming

another imitation of birdsong

songs once more.”

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2’32”

Ritornello

This ritornello is the least stable, as it

moves from one key to another

2’42”

E

This solo does not correspond with a

passage of poetry; its sole function is to

prepare the final ritornello

2’56”

Ritornello

The last thing we hear is the bb section of

the ritornello

The opening ritornello in the first movement captures the spirit of the first line of poetry. It is joyful and exuberant. It is also simple and repetitive, giving the impression that it might really be folk music—the kind of tune one might hear at a country dance. The birds appear with the first solo episode, which requires two violinists from the orchestra to join with the soloist in imitating avian calls. After an orchestral ritornello, we hear some new music from the orchestra that captures the sounds of murmuring streams and caressing breezes. Another ritornello is followed by the thunderstorm. Rapid notes, sudden accents, and violent ascending scales in the orchestra are interrupted by energetic arpeggios in the solo violin, while shifts to the minor mode darken the mood of the passage. After another ritornello, the bird songs gradually reemerge, gaining strength as the storm clears for good. One more solo passage and a final ritornello close out the movement.

The second movement7 is considerably simpler. The solo violin plays a beautiful, calm melody—suitable for the portrayal of a sleeping goat-herd. Underneath, the leafy branches rustle in the violins, who play undulating, uneven rhythms throughout, while the faithful dog barks in the violas. (This last touch is a little strange, for a barking dog would certainly wake the sleeper, but Vivaldi did not have any other tools with which to represent the animal.) The fact that no low strings or harpsichord are present in this movement gives it an ethereal feeling.

“Spring,” Movement II

Composer: Antonio Vivaldi

7.

Performance: Takako Nishizaki with the Shanghai

Conservatory Symphony Orchestra, conducted by

Cheng-wu Fan (2000)

The last movement8 has the same form as the first, although the storytelling is considerably less intricate. In the opening ritornello, Vivaldi imitates a bagpipe by having the violas, cellos, and basses sustain long notes outlining the interval of a fifth. The sound is meant to remind the listener of a bagpipe’s drone. The rhythms of the melody are appropriate for dancing, while the lively mood sets the scene for a celebration of spring. The soloist—other than momentarily imitating a bagpipe Page | 193

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herself—does not contribute anything in particular to the storytelling. She seems content to interject lively, virtuosic passagework at the appropriate points.

“Spring,” Movement III

Composer: Antonio Vivaldi

8.

Performance: David Nolan with the London Philharmonic

Orchestra (2014)

CHINESE SOLO REPERTOIRE, ATTACK ON ALL

SIDES AND SPRING RIVER IN THE FLOWER MOON

NIGHT

At the same time that European composers were producing vivid programmatic works, a parallel tradition of program music was flourishing in China. We will consider two examples from the literature for solo instruments, which is predominantly programmatic. One piece will portray a historical battle, while the other will reflect on the contents of a famous poem. Although Chinese music follows different rules than European music, is it not difficult for a Western listener to understand what this music is about. This is due both to the use of mimesis and to a cross-cultural agreement about the representation of calm and energetic moods in sound.

Image 6.16: Music has long been important in Chinese culture. Here, we see musicians in a 6th-century tomb painting.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: Unknown

License: Public Domain

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When we discuss this music, however, we will have to do so in slightly different terms than we have so far. Although Chinese musicians have developed a variety of notational systems that have allowed musical compositions to be preserved, they have not always prioritized notation or valued the authority of the composer.

Individual pieces are usually passed down directly from performer to performer by means of oral tradition, while the names of composers are seldom recorded. As a result, we are not always able to identify the authors of this repertoire or determine when the pieces were written.

The history of music in China extends back for thousands of years, and some of the instruments date to antiquity. This is not to say, however, that the music has remained unchanged, or that all of the repertoire items are old. As we saw in Chapter 4, Beijing opera dates only to the late 18th century, and alternative opera traditions have continued to emerge and change. In the sphere of instrumental music, the use of individual instruments—as well as their physical structure—

transformed with the passage of time. We will encounter two instruments, the pipa and the guqin. In doing so, we will consider their history, construction, and use in the performance of program music.

Pipa: Attack on All Sides

The pipa is a type of lute used in a variety of Chinese musical traditions. It dates back to at least the 3rd century, although it did not acquire its modern form until the 20th century. Like most of the instruments commonly used in Chinese music, the pipa was probably imported from

Central Asia or India along the Silk Road trade

route. At first, it was used only to accompany

singing and dancing, but during the Tang

dynasty (618-907) a repertoire of solo pipa

music emerged. As such, the pipa repertoire

is among the oldest in the Chinese tradition.

The instrument was historically favored by

both aristocrats and working musicians, and

was long associated with women—specifically,

courtesans.

The pipa has a distinctive, pear-shaped

body and is played in an upright position.

Modern instruments have twenty-four frets

spaced according to the Western chromatic

scale. The frets on the neck have a unique

wedge shape, such that a player’s finger does Image 6.17: This 897 painting portrays the planet Venus,

not in fact touch the neck when the string embodied as an elegant lady, is depressed. The pipa’s four strings can be playing the pipa.

tuned to a variety of pitches. Although they Source: Wikimedia Commons Attribution: Chang Huai-hsing

used to be silk, the fact that pipa strings have License: Public Domain Page | 195

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been manufactured out of steel since the 1950s gives the modern instrument a powerful sound. This is further accentuated by the fact that the player wears picks on the fingers of her right hand.

A great deal of the traditional pipa repertoire has survived into the present day due to the publication of four collections in the 19th century. The notation used in these collections, known as gongche, is completely unrelated to Western staff notation. Instead of mapping pitches and rhythms onto a graph, as staff notation does, it represents pitches with numbers and rhythms with dots and lines. In the context of a tradition that is primarily aural, however, such notation was used only to document music for preservation or reference. It was not used to learn unfamiliar music or in performance.

Image 6.18: An example of gongche notation from an 1864 collection.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Attribution: Cheung Hok

License: Public Domain

Attack on All Sides9 is the most popular piece in the pipa repertoire. It is also very difficult, however, and is usually only performed by the most accomplished players. The earliest notated version appears in an 1818 collection, but it is impossible to say when (or by whom) it was in fact composed. Attack on All Sides is an example of a “large” composition, containing many distinct sections. (The pipa repertoire also includes “small” compositions, which are shorter and have a single section.) While Attack on All Sides can always be recognized and identified, some Page | 196

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published versions omit sections that are included elsewhere. Therefore, not every performance is identical. No single version can be identified as “correct.” This can be contrasted with most music in the European concert tradition, for which there is generally understood to exist a single authoritative version.

Attack on All Sides

9.

Performance: Jiaju Shen

As with Beijing opera, pipa solos are divided into “civil” and “martial,” the latter having to do with military themes. Attack on All Sides is most certainly a martial composition. It portrays a famous battle that took place in 202 BC between the armies of two Chinese provinces, Western Chu and Han, who were fighting for dominion over China. The conflict ended with the Battle of Gaixia, in which the Han troops kidnapped the Chu general’s wife and used her to lure the enemy troops into a canyon. There, they fell victim to the “ambush from ten sides”—another common title for this piece. The battle itself hinged on musical warfare, for the Han sought to defeat their enemy by psychological means. To this end, they sang Chu folk songs throughout the night, with the effect of making the demoralized enemy homesick and inspiring soldiers to desert. The Chu general, Xiang Yu, is said to have composed a song of his own that same night. His lament, The Song of Gaixia, is still performed today. Tradition holds that he first sang the verses in alternation with his wife, who, feeling that she was at fault for the defeat, subsequently killed herself with his sword. The battle ended with Xiang Yu’s suicide on the banks of the Wu river.

All of this is captured in Attack on All Sides. The fact that this composition is made up of many sections allows the performer to explore the various emotions and activities of the battle scene. In the first sections, we bear witness to the assembling Han troops. The energy of the music communicates their vitality and resolution, but we also hear the drums and bugles of battle. The battle itself is captured by a variety of virtuosic pipa techniques that produce rapid sequences of notes. After the battle, however, the music becomes mournful—a reflection of Xiang Yu’s sorrow at his loss. The final word goes to the victor, however, and the piece concludes with a representation of the Han general’s triumph.

Guzheng: Peng Xiuwen, Spring River in the Flower Moon

Night

The oldest extant guzheng dates to about 500 BC. The guzheng is a type of zither, and its plucked strings run along the face of a resonant wood box. Each string passes over an individual wooden bridge, which can be moved to adjust the pitch. Players use picks on the fingers of the right hand to pluck the strings to Page | 197

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Image 6.19: A player uses finger picks to pluck the strings of the guzheng.

Source: Hanscom Air Force Base

Attribution: Mark Wyatt

License: Public Domain

one side of the bridges, while using the left hand either to pluck strings on the right-hand side or to press or pull the strings on the other side. This causes pitch fluxuations, which are carefully controlled and used to ornament the melody. As with the pipa, the strings of the guzheng, once silk, have been made of steel since the 1950s. They increased in number from thirteen to twenty-one around the same time. The strings are tuned to the pitches of the pentatonic scale, which is common in Chinese music. We might think of these as the first, second, third, fifth, and sixth notes of the major scale.

Because the modern guzheng is so different from the ancient instrument, performers tend to favor recently-composed pieces that make use of its full range.

Such is the case with our example, Spring River in the Flower Moon Night, which is the work of Peng Xiuwen (1931-1996). Following the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, Peng became a leading figure in the development of post-revolution Chinese music. In particular, he contributed to the development of the Chinese orchestra—an ensemble type that dates only to the 1930s. In most traditional forms of Chinese ensemble music, only one of each instrument is included, and the performers are granted the freedom to embellish their individual parts. In a Chinese orchestra, on the other hand, instruments of the same type are gathered into sections, and they use notated music to play in unison under the leadership of a conductor. This approach is obviously modelled on the European orchestra, and its popularity at first reflected Chinese admiration for Western technological achievements.

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Peng became director of the China Broadcasting Chinese Orchestra, one of the most important ensembles of its type, in 1956, when he was only twenty-four years old. In addition to improving the tuning and balance of the orchestra, he arranged a large number of pieces from the European repertoire for Chinese orchestra and composed original pieces. One of these was Spring River in the Flower Moon Nigh t, 10 which soon became even more popular with solo guzheng players. As we will see, its pentatonic pitch content and meditative mood suit the instrument well.

Spring River in a Flower Moon Night

10.

Composer: Peng Xiuwen

Performance: Bei Bei He (2016)

The title Spring River in the Flower Moon Night refers to a famous poem written by Zhang Ruoxu around the turn of the 8th century. The poem has inspired countless artistic interpretations over the centuries, including paintings and musical compositions. As the title might suggest, Zhang’s poem describes the moonlit Yangtze river. After several evocative passages that conjure the beauty of the scene, however, he turns to themes of longing and loss, meditating on the ephemerality of life and the sorrows of travellers who leave their loved ones behind.

In his composition, Peng strives to evoke the full range of emotions contained in the poem. The guzheng version of Spring River in the Flower Moon Night requires a variety of techniques, including rapid tremolo picking on a single string, strums (both delicate and energetic), left-hand bends that add notes to the melody, and left-hand bends that are merely ornamental. Peng’s ultimate goal is to leave the listener in the same state of sorrowful tranquility that they would experience upon reading the poem.

CATHERINE LIKHUTA,

LESIONS

Although program music in the

European tradition flourished most

notably in the 19th century, many

composers still conceive of their

instrumental music in narrative terms.

Composers continue to be inspired by

stories and images from the physical

world, and they continue to communicate Image 6.20: Catherine Likhuta was those stories through sound. One such born in Ukraine. She currently lives in composer is Catherine Likhuta (b. 1981), Australia.

who exclusively writes program music. Source: Catherine Likhuta Attribution: Catherine Likhuta