OK, we’re gonna stretch the idea of the tone poem to its breaking point here: it’s an entire scene from an opera! Specifically, the wonderful opera Der Freischutz by Carl Maria von Weber. This opera is often cited as the first true opera of the Romantic era, and in its pages one finds (in addition to wonderful music) a lot of ideas about musical storytelling and motif that would later be taken to their logical apotheoses by Richard Wagner. Der Freischutz tells the story of a marksman who, in order to win a shooting contest, enters into a contract with the Devil for seven magic bullets. The first six will kill anything the hunter wishes, never missing their targets; the seventh, however, will be under the control of the Devil himself.
One of this opera’s most famous passages is the scene in the second act where our hero, Max, goes to a wooded glen–called the Wolf’s Glen–to meet with the Devil and contract for the casting of the magic bullets. This scene is stark and horrific, and Weber’s scoring of the scene has been called “the most expressive rendering of the gruesome that is to be found in a musical score”. Even now, two hundred years after the opera’s composition, the Wolf’s Glen scene is unnerving stuff. Here it is, and Happy Halloween!
Time for a departure for this series: instead of an orchestral work, a solo piano work! This is the Piano Sonata No. 9 by Alexander Scriabin, a single-movement work that is highly unsettling and even delirious as it moves through its eight minutes. The piece’s dissonance and reliance on trills throughout creates a strong feel of unsettling unstability, so much so that the work took on the nickname “The Black Mass,” as a counterpart to an earlier of Scriabin’s that was subtitled “The White Mass”.
My October tradition in this series is to feature works of music that are dark, or macabre, or outright tinged with terror. This one is a melancholy meditation, a brooding work on the journey to death. Here is Sergei Rachmaninov’s epic tone poem, The Isle of the Dead. The work pulses and rocks with the uneasy waves, but as the work progresses, a sad lyricism takes over, and the whole work is punctuated by quotes from the Dies irae, the death-chant that Rachmaninov found uniquely compelling and quoted in a number of his works.
It’s October, so it’s time to feature spooky stuff here! First up, some film music: A suite from John Williams’s score to The Fury, a Brian De Palma-directed horror movie from 1978. This was right in the middle of Williams’s most notable creative stretch, but this score is generally unfamiliar because the film itself has pretty much vanished into obscurity. (Whether deservedly or not, I couldn’t say; I’ve never seen it.)
A repeat today, but one I haven’t posted in nearly two and a half years, so I don’t feel so bad about it. It’s a work by Jules Massenet called Visions, and I know nothing more about it now than I did then (see the earlier post for details). It’s a dreamy, meditative, and affecting work. Enjoy!
It’s always been interesting to me that so few great and enduring works of classical music have been inspired by the Arthurian legends (or “the Matter of Britain”). There’s some crossover in the operas of Richard Wagner, mostly in his use of the Grail in Lohengrin and Parsifal, but that’s really about it, outside of the work of today’s composer, French Romantic Ernest Chausson. I suppose this can be possibly explained by the fact that nationalism in art also arose during the Romantic period, so when composers were most inspired by legend and myth they also tended to be inspired by their own nation’s legends and myths. This, coupled with the fact that very few of the “great” composers of the Romantic era came from Britain, may explain the paucity of Arthurian operas and symphonies and tone poems.
Except for this Frenchman, Ernest Chaussons, who wrote a tone poem and an opera directly inspired by the Arthurian legends. Chausson was a “bridge” figure, connecting the earlier era of French romanticism with the emergent forms of Impressionism that followed the Romantics. Chausson was primarily influenced by Wagner and by Cesar Franck, and even though his output was small, his music is highly individual and deeply felt. In this way–and in his untimely death–Chausson almost seems like a French counterpart to Alexander Borodin.
The tone poem Viviane is inspired by the love affair between Merlin the wizard and the maiden Viviane, which ends tragically in the eternal imprisonment of Merlin inside a cave of crystal. The work is lush and mostly introspective, but with passages of rapturous passion before concluding on a sad note. One can definitely hear in this work the drama of a Wagner but also the atmospheric introspection of the impressionists to come.
The operas of Giacchino Rossini aren’t performed very much today, but they were once all the rage, and the overtures to those operas have remained mainstays of orchestral music even while the operas themselves have lapsed into some neglect. Rossini’s overtures sparkle with energy, adventure, and lyrical wit, and a few have managed through use in other areas of popular culture managed to become even more well-known now than they were in the composer’s own time. Think of William Tell‘s final section, reused later as the theme for The Lone Ranger, or of the amazing use a Looney Tunes cartoon made of The Barber of Seville.
Today we have a different overture: L’italiana in Algeri, or The Italian Girl in Algiers. The overture starts off quietly before a surprising smash erupts from the orchestra, and then as the overture progresses the tunes and rhythms become more and more dancelike as the overture propels toward its close. As always, the overture is full of Rossini’s sparkle and delight.
Time for some film music! One thing that a lot of movie music fans discover is how often it turns out that they love a particular filmscore while disliking the film for which it was written. This is an example of mine. The 80s urban fantasy flick Highlander is a cult fave for many, but I have never much liked it at all. Not even the inherent coolness of Sean Connery or Clancy Brown are sufficient to make the movie interesting to me (if you haven’t seen it, it’s about immortal beings who are fated to battle one another through the ages until only one remains). The movie is shot with flare and the action sequences are cool, but the script is…well, it’s mostly ponderous and dull.
Not so, however, is Michael Kamen’s score, which soars and swoops and gives the entire film a gravitas that it honestly doesn’t earn by virtue of its story. This is a suite that someone edited together from Kamen’s work for the film, and it highlights the best parts of Kamen’s work. Enjoy!
As a composer, Leonard Bernstein is almost certainly best known for having written the score to the classic musical West Side Story (a remake of which is now being shot by Steven Spielberg, interestingly enough–at this point just about the only thing Spielberg hasn’t done is a musical). As iconic as much of Bernstein’s score to West Side Story is, and as memorable as some of its numbers are, as a musical it definitely displays notions that Bernstein had been considering for a number of years prior to writing it. Much of Bernstein’s life was spent in search of a true American vernacular in concert hall music, and one can sense a bit of chafing in his three symphonies regarding the symphony’s genesis not in American musical traditions but from European (and particularly German) ones.
Bernstein’s belief in a developing American musical vernacular wasn’t limited to the symphony hall, either; he believed it was coming in theater as well. A chapter of Bernstein’s book The Joy of Music briefly traces the development of musical comedy in America up to the point where George Gershwin arrived on the scene, and another chapter from the same book has Bernstein mourning the titanic loss to American music that Gershwin died so early when it seemed as if he was about to move into the most profound part of his career, after Porgy and Bess. For Bernstein, American musical comedy arose from the European operatic tradition just as American symphonic music had, with German singspiels and French operettas providing the templates.
So with West Side Story, Bernstein was trying to move the needle in the direction that Gershwin had been pushing at the time of his death. Did he succeed? I don’t know, but perhaps it is easier to see the direction the musical theater took, away from individual songs and into more complete works. Hence today’s featured piece, the Symphonic Dances from West Side Story, is comprised of a number of extracts from the show, arranged together to form the backbone of a ballet that could, in twenty-five minutes or so, roughly sketch out the action of the three-hour show. Bernstein didn’t just stitch together a collection of numbers and call it a piece. The Dances are very much their own work with their own formal demands and their own sense of drama. The themes are not arranged in the exact sequence that they appear in the show, either; Bernstein was less about a “greatest hits” type of thing (obviously, perhaps, given that “I Feel Pretty” and “Tonight,” to name just two of the show’s most popular numbers, are not reference in the Dances) than about the creation of a single work that exists on its own. This he does, quite marvelously.
Here are the Symphonic Dances from West Side Story by Leonard Bernstein. In this performance, recorded at the BBC Proms in 2007, Gustavo Dudamel conducts the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela. This match of conductor and orchestra is responsible for some utterly amazing musicmaking, by the way.
Gustav Holst is known almost exclusively these days for The Planets and his two Suites for Military Band, but he wrote a great deal of fine and interesting music beyond his couple of war-horses. Today’s selection is one of those pieces, a tone poem called Indra. Holst had an abiding interest in the mysticism of the Far East and of the Subcontinent, which manifests in this piece. Indra depicts in music the story of the Hindu god Indra, deity of rain and storm. The legend has Indra battling a dragon who has caused a drought to afflict the land, but in victory Indra manages to restore the rain to the fields. Holst’s piece is full of exotic color, even if the melodic material has no specific claim to Indian nativity at all. At the end one can almost feel the exuberant joy as the rains begin again.
