He Was/n't a Traveling Man

It is extremely peculiar, the way in which history is followed in a musical setting. The different categories to organize music’s progression and relation to non-musical developments are endless. As with every historical genre though, dates and events are too simple and empty. This is however no way to follow musical development without incorporating the surrounding environment of each composer and performer. The essence of music and its compositional diversity as a map to following history is more complicated than any other genre, but without a doubt most insightful and fulfilling. A composer, as with writers, poets, painters and all artists, produces music as a feflection of their experiences and surrounding atmosphere. Current social, personal, and political climates as a model of composers work is exactly why George Frederic Handel and Franz Joseph Haydn compliment each other perfectly as polar opposites with surprisingly clear musical similarities. The issue in defining their differences and similarities comes from historian’s tendency to compartmentalize, therefore pre-determining an initial reaction to someone’s composition. Put best by historian Reinhard Pauly, “it is the nature of any historical development—especially in the arts—to move now gradually, now suddenly; to show precocious starts but also to contain stubborn lingerings; to produce startling, avant-garde results in one region or country while the status quo still reigns in another” (Music in the Classic Period). Thus, an analysis of theses composers must include those personal, political and social details that mask the lines of dates and categories, in order to get at the true connections between the men and their compositions.

            Born to non-musical parents in what is now Halle, Germany (a North German Protestant environment).  His youth was marked by a rebellious desire to study music despite his father’s disapproval. He was allowed lessons in composition and keyboard where he learned the foundations of analysis and performing, sometimes subbing for his teacher on organ (Deutsch, Handel: A Documentary Biography). His progress traveled from Halle, to a violinist and harpsichordist position in Hamburg, where his first opera (Almira) was written. Then on to Italy, which is arguably the definitive beginning of his compositional career. Here, he further developed his style in composing operatic cantatas , operas (Rodrigo and Agrippina, the most famous), and what would become a niche in his talent, two oratorios (Burrows, Oxford University Press). As a contemporary of Bach, the difference in experience and style is clear; Handel traveled “extensive[ly]” and Bach composed “intensive[ly]” (Oxford Companion to Music). The same can be said of the most defining difference between Handel and Haydn—mobility.

            This detail of travel is a cornerstone in understanding the intricacies of Handel’s life and ultimately, his work.  From Italy (after soaking up all the styles of the Italian writers) Handel made his way to London where he was supported by the patronage of Queen Anne and Richard Boyle (Hanning, A Concise History of Western Music). There, he came to understand the older operatic style of London’s much-loved Purcell. The most unusual characteristic of Handel (for his time) was his widespread popularity and fame. This, no doubt, effected his compositions tremendously in that “for virtually the first time, a composer was working for the public—not just for a church, a court, or a town council—and it is the public that bestows popularity” (Hanning). The combine local and international styles made his work all the more original. His opera Almira contains all the best elements of the French, German, and Italian styles.

      
      As a transitional composer, Handel helped to bridge the gap between an operatic dominated scene to a more encompassing instrumental and vocal domain. His writing contains the clear concepts of what we call the Baroque era, but also the indistinguishable differences that categorize the motion from private to public musical settings. It is in this that Handel’s influence lays. Listen, for example, to his Music for the Royal Fireworks, premiered in a London park as celebration of the Peace of Aix-la-chapelle. Also very typical of Handel’s style, the less famous, Entrance of the Queen of Sheba. These two works underscore some of the innovations Handel mastered in his “cultured” way of composing.

Solitude is foremost in understanding Franz Joseph Haydn and his work. Born in Rohrau, Austria, Haydn (like Handel) had entirely non-musical parents. After observing his potential for the genre, Haydn was sent to study with Johann Frankh, the schoolmaster and choirmaster in Hainburg, at the age of seven (Grove Music online). Not ever traveling much further, Haydn developed from there with a truly independent musical mind. Always left to his own devices, Haydn taught himself the concepts of counterpoint from Fux's text Gradus ad Parnassum. For a short time he had a solid position as musical director under Count Morzin, but was soon offered the job that he is best known for: Kapellmeister to the wealthy Hungarian Esterhazy family.



Haydn attributes much of his writing characteristics to C.P.E. Bach (Hanning). Given the eccentric culmination of Haydn's contributors; Fux, Handel, J.S. Bach, and C.P.E. Bach,  to have these elements brewing together in Haydn's mind-- isolated from any current trends, Haydn grew into an independent composer who's writing "was integrated into a conception of musical form larger and more coherent than any other composer of the 1760's" (Rosen, The Classical Style). Like Bach, Haydn had the intensive habits of consistency mastered. He wrote chamber music on a daily basis and produced concertos or operas weekly. he idd leave the Esterhazy estate from time to time, visiting Vienna and spending time with Mozart. Surprising for traveling so little, Haydn did achieve some fame in his lifetime. His music was very popular in London and Vienna (Hanning). Unlike Handel, Haydn grew to master chamber music like no other composer of his day. He composed an astonishing 68 string quartets in his lifetime. As a foundation for the new classical style, Haydn's Quartet Op. 20 no. 2 transforms the old Baroque technique of "equality and independent voices". Instead, "the opening page of [Op. 20 no. 2] affirms the distinction between melody and accompaniment" (Rosen). Haydn completely reformed the string quartet setting. Not to mention his mastery of the symphonic form, heard best in his "London" Symphony No. 104, his las symphony. Haydn was famous for his light style and humor in writing. The most lighthearted and brilliantly witty quartets are a collection of six, Op. 33. Listen for example to Op. 33 no. 2. Haydn's use of repeats, modulations, and light up-beats really underscore his personality in writing. 

(an example of intentional humor)

A difference to note between Handel and Haydn, is their separate uses of dissonance and harmonic development. It is difficult to separate the style from the time, but the resulting sounds are less attributed to their time and more to their personalities. Handel had a sort of roughness to his character, compatible with the abrupt harmonic changes in his work. Haydn, who had a more peaceful aura, consistent with his alliance to "frivolity and whimsicality" (Rosen). It is equally dangerous to analyze a composer within context and outside of context. Together, Handel and Haydn carried equal weight in bridging the old Baroque style with the new Classical writing and setting it into full swing. More important than an naming their era is the subtle lines drawn between them and tying those connections into the larger "eraless" map. 

"You are the Bass, You are the Treble, and You are the Voices in between", Chaccone from J.S. Bach's Partita in D minor

"On one stave, for a small instrument, the man writes a whole world of the deepest thoughts and most powerful feelings. If I imagined that I could have created, even conceived the piece, I am quite certain that the excess of excitement and earth-shattering experience would have driven me out of my mind".
-Brahms



As a composer of the Baroque style, Johann Sebastian Bach traversed every challenge of the period via his (now) wildly successful masterpieces. Namely, his exquisite design of the Suite. Not unlike the Suite (in fact, definitively interchangeable), the Partita was a particularly high skill of Bach's (Oxford Companion to Music). Written almost entirely in a cheerful tone, his Partita No. 2 in D minor ends with something of a interpretational mystery. The fifth and final movement, Bach's infamous Chaconne is the Everest of performance pyrotechnics and phrase realization.

Originally banned from European churches, a Chaccone's suggestive beat patterns and "lusty" dance characteristics slowed its initiation into Western literature (www.radioopensource.org). A Chaconne's dance roots come from Central and South America and eventually moved their way to Spain. The Sarabande shared a similar fate, both were banned from the church repertoire, and until composition shifted into more private settings, these dances were hard to find. Vital to performance, musicians must feel the triple meter court dance with a strong emphasis on the second beat. First violinist of the Guarneri Quartet, Arnold Steinhardt (in an interview on Open Source Radio with Christopher Lydon), says he didn't understand fully the importance of the Chaconne's meter until an old teacher of his, Arthur Lesser danced the entire Partita for him in his living room (www.radioopensource.org).

Compositionally, a Chaconne is a type of theme and variations where a four-bar (and sometimes coupled with another four-bar) phrase is relentlessly repeated and varied (www.solomonsmusic.net). Similar to a passacaglia (based on a bass ostinato in triple meter), the harmonic progression is persistent throughout the piece. Bach manages to write the same four-bar phrase 64 times, without creating "a colossal bore" (Arthur Steinhardt)-- only flawless transitions and perfectly arranged variations. It is then up to the performer to interpret the stream of Bach's writing and realize the notes, the measures, and the phrases of Bach's idea.




Virtuoso Jascha Heifitz's (1901-1987) violin technique is regarded (by most) as immaculate. To the pleasure of the listener, his tone has a driving aspect that, when coupled with his steady performance demeanor, cuts directly to the center of every note. For Bach, this kind of sound is essential. Bach himself was a master violinist and his own son said of Bach's playing, "my father played with a clean and penetrating sound". A seemingly perfect style with which to interpret this Chaconne, however, it lacks something. Heifitz's interpretation just borders the line of too cool. Some of the mystery of this Chaconne is in its compositional history, believed by most to have been written as a lament for Bach's late wife, Maria Barbara Bach. It can be heard at the bottom of each chord. Not necessarily because of the time spent on those notes, but the pull of the bow and its contact with the string. This is Baroque, and just like his contemporaries, Bach set his target on some aspect o human affection. Along with whatever personal motivation that fueled this composition, Bach's special version of Baroque is clear if the performer really invests their interpretation with the same intention. Listen carefully at the 3:00 mark of the posted Heifitz recording. This section of the Chaconne can be incredibly revealing. Perhaps he was going for some effect and simply missed the target, but that in itself is a flaw. In this section, he moves too quickly. The double stops feel stopped, and this disrupts the stream of the theme and its sounds cold. Likewise, following that variation, his staccato up-bows sound too mechanical for the characteristic of the piece. Immediately after, he looses another aspect of the Baroque effect to his hurried style. The trill-- essential to Baroque interpretation-- Heifitz just lets them pass by with minimal consideration. That kind of relationship to such a defining element is inconsiderate.


Compare now, the same spot on Hilary Hahn's recording. At 3:50, Hahn taks the phrase and melts each chord into itself with such a clear idea of the intent behind the phrase, the result is far more "clean and penetrating" than immaculate technique. Which, arguably, she may also have. Hahn's American prodigy story is well known. She grew up in Virginia and was admitted to the Curtis Institute of Music (one of the most prestigious conservatories in the world) at age ten. Where her interpretations of Bach are rooted, I'm unsure, but as her recording tells, she understands the intimate emotion of Bach's writing.

Setting up the movement with a string of tonally centered chords, she moves through the piece with a perfect balance of phraseology and affect provoking sound. Back to the 3:50 mark, just following this variation, as opposed to Heifitz's strange staccatos, she hits and releases each note so that this section's effect of speed is clear, yet the kind of thick rounded accent given doesn't change the character so drastically. I must mention, it is a little heavy on the romantic side at this point, but perhaps this is the brand of romance that coexisted with Baroque. Most compelling is her treatment of the trills at 4:40, where they get the time and speed they deserve. As well as the soft section at 5:10, where she styles each arpegiated chord with the necessary shape and volume so as to play this "autobiographical meditation" directly from Bach's hand (www.radioopensource.org).


For further study, take a look at Arnold Steinhardt's book, "Violin Dreams", featuring the Chaconne. Also, there are many arrangements of the movement; for piano, guitar, organ and orchestra (no free recordings of organ or orchestra). These of course are only supplements, as Bach wrote the Partita for violin. For a live performance, perhaps ask Steinhardt locals Josh Henderson or Molly Fletcher-- they'd probably perform for food.

Monteverdi: The Revolutionary

Second to no one in his boundary shattering compositions, Claudio Monteverdi can safely be named the most essential link from one era to the next in western classical music. This is not revolution as in who can deviate the furthest from the standard template. Monteverdi's genius in path-marking came from his flawless transition from the old Renaissance style to natural next, Baroque. His perfection was not in the direction of change, but the manner in which he executed it, creating new styles via exploration of combination. His theories of progression opened for his hands "harmonic invention, the freedom and richness of orchestral accompaniments, and the increased effectiveness of recitative" giving his name "a place of the highest importance in the history of music" (The Oxford Companion to Music).

Monteverdi was equal parts passion and business: this man knew who wanted what and held the genius to produce the old and modern styles simultaneously-- a formula for success. The differences being: the "polyphonic ideal" of the Renaissance with its "flowing strict counterpoint, prepared dissonance, and equality of voices" and the "freer counterpoint with an increasing hierarchy of voices" (Monteverdi: Creator of Modern Music). These styles have names, as Monteverdi published in his Fifth Book of Madrigals (there were nine in total, describing the delicate shift from Renaissance to Baroque), Prima prattica and Seconda prattica, respectively. His juxtaposition of the two styles was practiced both within the same piece and in separate works written at the same time. He composed for the Venetians  and their radical developments in religious and social freedom, filling their public opera houses with his works: Il ritorno d'ulisse (The Return of Ulysses, 1640) and L'incoronazione di Poppea (The Coronation of Poppea, 1642) (Norton Concise History of Western Music). All the while, he was generating sacred Mass's in the old style for conservatives back in Rome. 

Monteverdi's revolution in opera also came from his classic "I'm one step ahead of you" thinking. As Jacopo Peri and Jacopo Corsi were perfecting the modern operatic interpretations of ancient Greek tragedies upon the theories of their elders in the Florentine Camerata, Monteverdi tore through their debates on oral tradition and dove head first into the new genre. The result: L'Orfeo. A clear parallel to Peri's Euridice, but with the added expanse of interspersed "solo airs, duets, madrigalesque ensembles, and dances", leaving Peri's "new" recitative in the dust. 

A common example of Monteverdi's mastery of drama and "monodic experiements" is the emotional passage of Orfeo's lament upon Euridice's death. It begins, "Tu se' morta" (You are dead), and each time the text returns in a new phrase, the drama increases through "rising pitches, chromatic alterations, and rhythmic changes" (Norton Anthology of Western Music).

His breadth of psychological openness allowed him to move with ease into the humanness of opera. He was the first to create "opera out of characters who live, breathe, love, and hate" (www.npr.org/programs/specials).

A prime example of Monteverdi's ancient and modern amalgamations is in his Vespro della Beata Vergine 1610 (Vespers for the Blessed Virgin 1610). This excerpt of the Catholic liturgy follows the necessary Gregorian guidelines for sacred service, and yet employs the variety of new instrumentation and numerous musical forms. The abrupt dissonances are most revolutionary. They foreshadow the depth and beauty of Bach's later motets. The clearest portrayal of this technique is the opening of Magnificat, of the Vespers of 1610. It is this talent that allows Monteverdi to explore the borderless aspects of styles, where old meets new and genre no longer exists.

This type of interweaving reminds me of Anton Webern's take on Bach's Fuga (Ricercata). The Schoenberg influenced composer took the harmonic perfection of J.S. Bach and contorted the melody and chordal foundations with his new organization of tonal structure.

Reasoning Chopin

“In Chopin’s compositions, boldness is always justified; richness, even exuberance, never interferes with clearness; singularity never degenerates into uncouth fantasticalness; the sculpturing is never disorderly; the luxury of ornament never overloads the chaste eloquence of the principal lines. His best works abound in combinations which may be said to form an epoch in the handling of musical style. Daring, brilliant and attractive, they disguise their profundity under so much grace, their science under so many charms, that it is with difficulty we free ourselves sufficiently from their magical enthrallment, to judge coldly of their theoretical value.”

-Franz Liszt



Context

The theme that opens Chopin’s Etude in E major is a perfect melody. Too declarative of a statement? There is room for interpretation one might say—fine, but perfect does not mean best (a topic where opinion does matters). Perfect has “all the required elements, qualities, [and] characteristics” (oxford.com) and exists in a form that is essentially flawless. Place the value of this melody in any realm you’d like—but one plus one always equals two.
Chopin wrote two complete sets of etudes: Opus 25 and Opus 10, the latter written earlier than Opus 25. Completion dates for Opus 10 span from 1829 to 1832; number 3 was finished sometime in 1832 (chopinmusic.net), one of the last in the set (just for reference, this makes Chopin twenty-two years old). Although his style and compositional technique were close to impeccable at this point, 1832 is still considered early in his career. Where does his eloquent style come from? Chopin studies composition at the Warsaw conservatory under the instruction of Jozef Elsner. Although his education there was focused around the traditional styles of figured bass and counterpoint from the perspective of the classic composers (Beethoven, Haydn, and Mozart, for example), Chopin showed an early inclination toward incredible talent in improvisation and harmonic perfection (chopin.pl/biografia). His time at the conservatory was no doubt influential to his compositional style; to see further into his poetic genius though, one must note the time he spent abroad in Paris (where he eventually settled) and Vienna (chopin.pl/biografia). Essential to understanding the contextual depth of Chopin’s melodies was his love for Poland. The thematic material of his work was saturated with emotional ties to his homeland. Musicologist Arthur Hedley states that Chopin “found within himself and in the tragic story of Poland the chief sources of his inspiration. The theme of Poland's glories and sufferings was constantly before him, and he transmuted the primitive rhythms and melodies of his youth into enduring art forms” (Encyclopedia Britannica). Many of Chopin’s etudes were given names, corresponding either to their structure or some external reference; this Etude in E major is called “Tristesse” (French for “sorrow”).


Open Listening

For analysis purposes, it is important to begin at the beginning. Thus, this description of the piece is the rudimentary reaction to a “once over” open listening (from Vladimir Horowitz, Chopin: Ballades, Preludes, and Etudes, Vol. 2). Click HERE for the Horowitz performance.
• Obvious first statement of the thematic melody in the right hand accompanied by constant 16th notes in the left hand (Alberti bass)
• This theme repeats itself (as far as can tell at this point), 0:33
• Chromaticism for dramatic effect building to some climax at 1:00
• Descending melody to follow
• At 1:16, tempo change, character change
• The original set mood by the opening melody juxtaposed with upbeat right hand 16th notes and staccato in left hand
• Some kind of chromaticism (or modulation) at 1:34, this then repeats
• At 1:44, chromatic descending left hand to retard and chromatic everywhere
• 2:12, some varied form of the second, more upbeat theme.
• Huge rallentando, repeat opening melody
• For lack of a better term, let us call that unexplainable musical moment that happens every-so-often in genius compositions, “it”. Ones ear (in an open listening) first thinks that “it” (within the melody) happens at 2:48, but then the progression pushes to 2:54 where “it” seems to be—until 2:59, and then you know that this is “it”—for real this time.

Even in an open listening, the effect of performance is vital. Horowitz has mastered the content of this etude; both as a work of technical intensity and emotionally charged fluidity. John Rusnak is, unlike Horowitz, musically idiotic. He destroys the melody with his constant rubato. The tempo is thus unidentifiable and without it, emotion is irrelevant. His performance is in fact emotionally and theoretically useless. Listening to his recording is the physical equivalent of riding with an immature driver who has an uncontrollable love for both the gas and brake pedals (John Rusnak, Chopin Etudes). Click HERE for the Rusnak recording.


Analysis

The approach to this analysis will be in a traditional style overview with an emphasis on performance and psychology of hearing.
For the purpose it serves, an etude does not follow a typical or necessarily recognizable form. The purpose being, as defined by the Oxford Dictionary of Music, “a basis for the improvement of the performer's technique. In performance music the term is especially applied to a short piece restricted to the exploitation of one kind of passage” (oxfordmusiconline.com). What Chopin has done though, is combined his genius for seamless melodies with this purpose of technical improvement. This third etude of Opus 10 stays true to the nature of an etude in opening with the melodic theme (A), all the while, demanding the performers attention in the constant 16th note undercurrent (which never ceases throughout the entire work). In a sweeping glance, the form progresses from the opening melody (A), through a series of developments (B), and back to the original theme (A). This is however, merely surface.
The melody can be seen in three different subdivisions: First, as an overarching sixteen bar phrase landing on the down beat of the seventeenth bar, and closing into bar twenty-one. Second, the phrases are two, nearly identical eight bar lines. Third, and most in depth, is to see each eight bar progression as a set of five and three. The first set of five bars building to a peak in bar three and closing at the end of bar five. This then is picked up by the down beat of bar six, and added three bar “extra” to support the first five. This cycle then repeats until the fortissimo at bar seventeen. The end of this opening theme can be seen as the beginning of a new key, the transitional period into B major, unless of course you see it as more sudden, making the key change only four 16th notes before the down beat of bar twenty-two (the beginning of the B section).
This new section is clear as both a visual change in the style notations (staccato in the left hand), and audibly in its new tempo and key. An “agitated contrast”, Charles Rosen calls it (The Romantic Generation). The B section is an eight bar phrase which is subdivided into two four bar patterns; the first in B major, and the second in c-sharp minor. As Chopin progresses away from the melody, the tonality becomes more and more obscure. Although B major and c-sharp minor are identifiable, this entire development is moving deeper into a chromatic realm. This continues in full force until the quieter, safer, and comprehensible transition back to A. Chopin is like his barely overlapping contemporary Brahms, in that his generation did not produce functionally ambiguous works (for the most part), but one can taste it in the darker whirlwinds of a section such as this one.
Bar thirty marks the onset of C, eight bars of a theoretically organized (but audibly confusing) transition to D. The progression (using guitar notation for analysis purposes) begins in A major and changes on the down beat of every successive bar: A major – A minor – C sharp diminished seven – (pick-up into bar thirty-four, F sharp major/minor nine) – B major – B minor – D sharp half-diminished seven – (pick-up into bar thirty-eight, G sharp major/minor nine) – E sharp diminished seven – A sharp diminished seven – D sharp diminished seven – G sharp diminished seven – and for the love of God FINALLY – B major. The last four bars of the diminished sequence mark the beginning of the D section. Each bar serves as chromatic run to the down beat of the following bar (it is still a technical study, even though the sheer perfection of the melody blurs its original function). The last four bars of D continue to employ the chromatic runs as the first four (but divided between the left and right hands, for the lighter version of the solid block chords that came previously) suggesting the peak point in these technically extreme passages is about to arrive… and it does. The sister chromatic passage to the beginning of D. Only this time the progression isn’t entirely scaler, they jump intervals falling and rising in opposite motion. This continues from bar fourty-six to fifty-four, where the transition into the final A section picks up.
It is not as though the end is exactly the same as the beginning. Logically this makes sense as the notes are all the same (and in the same order), but to take a melody like this and move it through the bleak harsh of Chopin’s twisted chromaticism, one can’t leave it to logic at the end. This closing melody is new. The print (of this score) even suggests a quieter dynamic for this second time around. The dynamic however is not what carries the weight of this slight change. It is the act of what developed from B to E, and its impending effect in the ears and to the (so called) repeated melody. How does this work? Because it is constantly in question as a “listener’s subconscious recollection of the motifs and patterns of earlier themes” (A Guide to Musical Analysis) develops further as the subconscious act of re-collecting is in itself a process that plays some kind of role on the initial memory. All of these processes leading to the effect on the final colors of the now cultured melody.


Favorite Performances:

Arthur Rubinstein
Claudio Arrau
Glen Gould
Vladimir Horowitz