Proceedings of the International
Conference on Music Semiotics
In memory of Raymond Monelle
University of Edinburgh, 26-28 October 2012, UK
Edited by: Nearchos Panos
Vangelis Lympouridis
George Athanasopoulos
Peter Nelson
Published by: IPMDS – International Project on Music and Dance Semiotics
Alison House
12 Nicolson Square
Edinburgh, Midlothian
EH8 9DF JH3
Copyright 2013 ©
Produced and Distributed by: ECA - The University of Edinburgh and IPMDS
ISBN: 978-0-9576548-0-8
II
CONTENTS
PREFACE VII
Nearchos Panos
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS XI
EDITORIAL NOTE XII
PART I: ESSAYS BY PROFESSORS RAYMOND MONELLE AND MARIO
BARONI
Musica Speculativa and the Nexus of Music and Nature 2
Unpublished Paper of Raymond Monelle Recently Recovered
The Sense of Music: Raymond Monelle’s Legacy 17
Mario Baroni
PART II: MUSICAL TOPIC THEORY, NARRATIVITY, AND OTHER
SEMIOTIC PERSPECTIVES IN EIGHTEENTH AND NINETEENTH
CENTURY ART MUSIC
Ironizing “Allegory of Listening” - Deconstructing Monelle 35
Yonatan Bar-Yoshafat
How Rhetorical Signs Narrate by Tropes in Performing Handel’s Giulio Cesare 46
Marjo Suominen
Hunt, Military, and Pastoral Topics in the Writings of Eighteenth Century Music
Theorists 57
Andrew Haringer
“When Horror ombers o’er the Scene”: Shock and Awe in Eighteenth-Century Music 58
Clive McClelland
Musical Latent-Structures as a Special Type of (Trans-) Signs 59
Bogusław Raba
Leonore as a Window into the Syntax of Spirituality in Beethoven 67
Olga Sánchez-Kisielewska
III
Topical Interplay in Beethoven’s An die Ferne Geliebte: Ambiguity as Narrative Principle
77
Panu Heimonen
Situational Irony in Beethoven’s Late String Quartets 89
Tamara Balter
March and Pastoral in the Slow Movement of Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony: Longing,
Frustration and Confirmation 99
Lauri Suurpää
Dynamic Similarities between Liszt’s Au Lac de Wallenstadt and Byron’s Childe Harold’s
Pilgrimage 111
Grace Yu
Problematization of Apotheosis in Liszt’s Symphonic Poems - on the Example of
Hunnenschlacht 120
Dániel Nagy
Mahler’s Wunderhorn Music and its World of Meanings 129
Joan Grimalt
Mahler, Secession style and his Symphony No 4. Musical Topics Read Anew in the Light
of Semiotics 138
Bogumila Mika
PART III: MUSICAL TOPIC THEORY, NARRATIVITY, AND OTHER
SEMIOTIC PERSPECTIVES IN TWENTIETH CENTURY AND MODERN
ART MUSIC
The Jewish Florio: Eichendorffian narratives in the first movement of Mahler's Seventh
Symphony 148
Danielle Hood
Signification by Dying Away: Mahler's Allegorical Treatment of the Funeral March
Topic in Der Abschied 157
Lucy Liu
Topic, Paratext and Intertext in the Prélude à l’Après-midi d’un Faune and other Works
of Debussy 166
Paulo de Castro
Peacocks, Paradox, and Peripeteia: Charles Griffes’s Transformation of the Pastoral 175
Taylor Greer
Hidden Pastorals in Janáček’s The Makropulos Case 185
Jory Debenham
IV
Deracinated, Dysphoric and Dialogised: the Wild and Beguiled. Semiotics of Stravinsky’s
Topical Signifiers 193
Nicholas McKay
Topics and Scripts as Imitation in Opera: The Rake’s Progress (1947-51) by Stravinsky,
Auden and Kallman 202
Bienvenido Arana Rodríguez
The End of the Topic, or Indexicality at its Limit 209
Naomi Waltham-Smith
Tropoi vs. Topoi. Josef Matthias Hauer’s Zwölftonspiel in the context of Musica
Speculativa and Conceptual Art 219
Robert Michael Weiß
The Structural Metaphors in Amazonas by Villa-Lobos and in Kyrie by Ligeti 233
Isis de Oliveira
Startling Sounds Telling an Age-Old Story: A Narrative Analysis of Gérard Grisey’s
Prologue (1976) for Solo Viola 242
Joshua Groffman
Mahlerian Intertext and Allegory in Akira Kurosawa’s Ran (1985) 249
Yayoi Uno Everett
Spectralism and Traditional Oral Music in the Style of Horatiu Radulescu 258
Alessandro Milia
A Topical Approach to Contemporary European Art Music 266
Füsun Köksal
An Overview of Retrato I, by Gilberto Mendes: Quotations and the Influence of Film
Music of the 1930s and 40s 275
Cibele Palopoli
Recycling Musical Topoi by Electroacoustic Means in What Happens Beneath the Bed
while Janis Joplin Sleeps? 284
Rodolfo Coelho de Souza
A Lyrebird in Paris: The Pastoral Topos and the Ecocentric Viewpoint in Contemporary
Music Composition 292
Jane Hammond
The Ever More Specialized Topic: How do we Know What it Means? 302
Sean Atkinson
Thomas Adès and the Pianto 309
Edward Venn
V
Networks of Meaning in the Audiovisual Work of Ryoichi Kurokawa 318
Ambrose Field
PART IV: MUSICAL TOPICS AS SIGNS OF AN ETHNIC IDENTITY AND
TOPIC FORMATION IN POPULAR CULTURE
Topic Theory and the Rhetorical Efficacy of Musical Nationalisms: The Argentine Case
328
Melanie Plesch
Villa-Lobos and Nationality Representation by Means of Pictorialism: Some Thoughts on
Amazonas 338
Paulo de Tarso Salles
Rethoricity in the Music of Villa Lobos: Musical Topics in Brazilian Early XXth-Century
Music 346
Acacio Piedade
On Ethno-Existential Irony as Topic in Western Art Music 354
Judah Matras
Musical Genre as Topos: Italian Opera in Italian Auteur Cinema of the 1960s 365
Matteo Giuggioli
Many Ways of Being Young: The Topical Role of Cantautori in Italian Cinema of the
1960s 374
Alessandro Bratus
New Topoi Through Electroacoustic Sound: The Alienated Condition in Italian Auteur
Cinema of the 1960s 383
Maurizio Corbella
Topoi of Technology in Italian Experimental Industrial Film (1959-1973) 394
Alessandro Cecchi
From Topic to Troping Within Film Music 404
Juan Chattah
Classing Topics: An Analysis of the Music for Ken Loach’s Riff Raff 415
Ben Curry
“To Everything There Is a Season”: Topic Formation and The Hearts of Space 424
Byron Almén and James Buhler
Topical Uses of Opera in Television Commercials: Three Case Studies 435
Su Yin Mak
VI
Listening to the Pop Music within the CCTV Spring Festival Gala 443
Jingdi Li
The Bolero Rhythm in Rock 449
Mark Yeary
The Big Note, Xenochrony and All Things Contextual: Frank Zappa and the And 455
Paul Carr
The Flat Second to Tonic Jaws Motif in Heavy Metal and Film Music: Transformations
and Orientalist Use of the Pianto Topic 464
Sarha Moore
Black Sabbath and the Creation of Musical Meaning in the Devil’s Topos 474
Paolo Ribaldini
Does Topic Theory Require a Monological View of Competency? Perspectives From
Popular Music Studies and Reflections on the Emergence of Psychedelia as a New Topical
Field 487
William Echard
Along the Lines of the Roland TB-303: Investigating the Topic of Acid in Techno 496
Botond Vitos
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 503
VII
PREFACE
Together with a group of students and the kind help of faculty and staff of the Reid
School of Music of the University of Edinburgh, we organised the International Conference
on Music Semiotics in Memory of Raymond Monelle at the University of Edinburgh in 2012.
The late Professor Raymond Monelle was a key figure at the Music School and a leading
academic in the semiotics of music. The purpose of this event was to honour his life and
work, and to enable an extended academic debate on the theory of musical topics and its
application to the modern repertoire and popular music. During the conference, three
keynote speeches and more than fifty presentations organised in three sessions covered the
evolution of already known topical worlds, from the Baroque and Classical periods to the
Romantic, Post Romantic and Modern eras. Presentations examined how musical
expression and cultural ground of known topics have been modified in order to reflect new
social, cultural, political and historical conditions.
A particular focus of the conference was to reveal and discuss new musical topics in
Western European art and popular culture and to identify the core elements that define
them. In addition, we have also addressed formal functions that musical topics exhibit as
passages in larger works of music, how these form a network of musical meanings, and
their contribution to the study of the musical narrative and other musical semiotic
perspectives.
Following the success of the conference, members of the organising committee,
who were given the initial assignment to publish this e-book, founded the International
Project on Music and Dance Semiotics (IPMDS). I am very pleased to present here the
proceedings of the International Conference on Music Semiotics in Memory of Raymond
Monelle. Next to names of already prominent scholars in the field of semiotics of music,
you will find promising young scholars as well as composers that contribute their own
perspective regarding the birth and establishment of conventional musical patterns in
contemporary music.
The e-book begins with a recently recovered essay of Professor Monelle with the
title “Musica Speculativa and the Nexus of Music and Nature” which was submitted for an
interdisciplinary conference on music and engineering in Wien in 2006, but remained
unpublished since unfortunately the conference did not take place. I am grateful to Emil
Simeonov and Robert Weiß for bringing this to my attention and enabling the whole
community to access one of Professor Monelle’s last works.
In his essay Monelle follows his original context of presentation as “a broad
historical overview of the relation [of] music [to] mathematics” with an additional
perspective on ethics. His hero, Boethius, is a medieval theorist who is influenced by the
writings of Plato and Aristotle and reinterprets the Pythagorean mathematical approach to
the nature of music by reinforcing its metaphysical perspective; seeing music as the
reflection of the universe’s order, the “music of the spheres”, and assigning an ethical
meaning to it. Music reflects nature and as such it has the capacity to affect human
morals. Monelle is urging us to follow Boethius’s ideas and reconceive musica speculativa.
Shaping the modern theoretical mind to regain its visionary character may help music to
reclaim its ethical power and comfort modern society, which is detached from natural life.
VIII
Monelle builds his case skillfully as he interweaves the musical theoretical ideas
expressed over the course of more than twenty centuries in just a few pages. From the
ancient Greek theoretical views of Pythagoras, Plato and Aristotle, he reaches for their
medieval interpretation by Boethius to help defend his doctrines against the music
practitioners of the Renaissance and Baroque periods.
He initially argues against Coclico, “the Renaissance’s fool”, who limits music’s
nature to the senses and humans’ emotional response and then against Mattheson, a late
Baroque composer and theorist, whose simplified approach to the rhetoric abilities of
music was later dismissed by theorists for its lack of a mathematical/metaphysical basis.
Romantic theorists revisited Pythagorean numerical proportions to explain music’s
power but failed because they were unable to recognise the close links between
music/mathematics and metaphysic/ethics, which contributed to modern music’s
decadence described by Adorno as the reflection of a corrupted social reality.
Monelle holds his last arguments against “Cartesian episteme” and the empirical
approach which dominates today’s theoretical mind and alienates musical representation
and ethics. Cartesian theory, when applied to music, promotes a positivistic approach to
music analysis and assigns a dominant role to psychology and cognitive science for the
examination of aesthetics. The only solution to the alienation that positivism brings to
today’s artistic conception is the “unthinkable”, the return to “the art of resemblance”, a
blend of semiotics, mathematics, metaphysics and ethics belonging to another era’s
theoretical mind.
The second essay is by a prominent scholar in musicology and one of our keynote
speakers, Professor Mario Baroni. In his presentation and essay “The Sense of Music:
Raymond’s Monelle Legacy”, Baroni appears more reconciled than Monelle to a prospect
of harmonious coexistence between the semiotics of music and the new “systematic”
musicology.
Baroni divides his paper into three main sections. In the first section he describes
the development of Monelle’s theoretical ideas through a critical overview of his
published books. In the second section he argues that interdisciplinary cooperation is
necessary for a scientifically viable elucidation of the sense of music. Baroni eloquently
depicts the development of systematic musicology in recent years and its contribution to
musical interpretation and discusses the progress made in four major musicological
approaches: a) the study of “music emotions”, b) the study of “body reaction to music and
music performance”, c) the study of “music and the sociology of culture”, and d) the study
of the “origins of music”. This examination is implemented around three main different
disciplines: cognitive research, music analysis, and anthropological research.
In the third and final section Baroni focuses on the analogies between a positivistic
approach and semiotics. He examines the beneficial contribution of Monelle’s semiotic
ideas to the new systematic musicology, and he brilliantly links the two main
methodological approaches, despite all the doubts and disbelief that one could have for
the other, to their same objective that is the clarification of musical sense.
The main body of the proceedings is divided into three sections according to the
historical and cultural contexts of repertoire and popular music. The first and the second
sections focus on the repertoire music and are presented in chronological order from the
early eighteenth century to the end of the nineteenth century in the first section, and
from the nineteenth century to today in the second.
IX
The papers in these first two sections correspond to different aspects of Monelle’s
theories and reflect either critical studies on his writings, such as Yonatan Bar-Yoshafat’s
essay, or his musical topic theory, such as the papers by Andrew Haringer, Lauri Suurpää,
Grace Yu, Taylor Greer, Jory Debenham, Jane Hammond, Paulo de Castro, Clive
McClelland and Edward Venn, which examine the background, evolution, transformation
and treatment within repertoire music of known topics like the hunting, military, pastoral,
syrinx, ombra, and pianto. Beyond established topics some authors introduce and discuss the
formation of new stylized patterns in contemporary music such as the musical icons of bird
song, echo, and oscillation by Füsun Köksal, the topic of play by Naomi Waltham-Smith,
and topical perspectives on Zwölftonspiel by Robert Michael Weiß.
In addition, some papers examine the union of two different topical worlds
(troping) that define a specific work, for instance Lucy Liu’s paper on the funeral march and
Joan Grimalt’s on the pastoral march. Tamara Balter examines the concept of irony in
music, Nicholas McKay discusses the alienation of musical topics’ semantic character, and
Olga Sánchez-Kisielewska explores the syntactical aspects of them. Bogusław Raba offers
existential semiotic perspectives on structural analysis and Bogumila Mika theorises about
an analogy between succession style in fine arts and in music.
Many authors in this book examine the concept of intertextuality, such as Yayoi
Uno Everett, Isis de Oliveira, and Cibele Palopoli while others explore intertextuality and
synaesthesia in the audio-visual and modern music contexts, such as Rodolfo Coelho de
Souza, Sean Atkinson, and Ambrose Field.
Finally, some authors focus on how musical topics signification network
contributes to the study of a narrative; for instance the papers by Joshua Groffman,
Danielle Hood, Bienvenido Arana Rodríguez, Panu Heimonen, Dániel Nagy, and Marjo
Suominen while Alessandro Milia examines the influences of contemporary composers on
the formation of their musical style.
The last part of the proceedings concerns the interrelations between art and
popular music as well as the examination of mainstream popular music. The papers
presented there fall in to two main subsections: The Musical Topics as Signs of an Ethnic
Identity and Topic Formation in Popular Culture. The first four papers by Judah Matras,
Melanie Plesch, Pauolo de Tarso Salles, and Acacio Piedade, belong to the first subsection
and therefore represent musical topics as signs of an Ethnic identity. The papers that were
included in the panel Audiovisual Topoi in the Italian Cinema of the 1960s, curated by
Alessandro Checchi and presented by Matteo Giuggioli, Alessandro Bratus, Maurizio
Corbella, and Alessandro Cecchi, belong to the same subsection.
Papers by Juan Chattah and Ben Curry are also related to film music and examine
the application of troping theory as a narrative resource to film music and the nature of
musical topics as signs of social classes. The essays by Byron Almén and James Buhler, Su
Yin Mak, and Jingdi Li examine topic formation in popular culture by popular means such
as radio, television and festival. The closing six essays of the proceedings examine topic
formation in popular music, including Mark Yeary’s paper on the use of bolero rhythm in
rock music of the late sixties, the description of a network of meanings in Frank Zappa’s
music by Paul Carr, the deployment of the pianto topic and the formation of the devil’s
topic in heavy metal music by Sarha Moore and Paolo Ribaldini, the codification of
psychedelia in modern popular music by William Echard and the stylizing of acid topic in
techno music by Botond Vitos.
X
This first publication by the IPMDS includes the visions of two great scholars of
our time, Raymond Monelle and Mario Baroni, and it is a great honour for us to publish
such a large number of essays relating to diverse musical contexts by so many affirmed
scholars, as well as to publish several young and talented musicologists.
These proceedings represent an important contribution to the field of the semiotics
of music and I am grateful to all who contributed to their publication.
Nearchos Panos
Chair of the IPMDS
XI
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to express my gratitude to Professor Monelle’s family who have
unconditionally supported me in this project and all the key note speakers and honoured
guests who willfully accepted to participate to this event: Kofi Agawu, Mario Baroni, John
Kitchen, Michael Spitzer, Gino Stefani, Philip Tagg, and Eero Tarasti.
I would like to specially thank Emil Simeonov and Robert Weiß for their initiative
to make “Musica Speculativa and the Nexus of Music and Nature”, an unpublished paper of
Professor Monelle, available to all of us. I am particularly grateful to all the members of
the Scientific Committee for their tireless work: Martin Dixon, Simon Frith, Dario
Martinelli, Peter Nelson, Michael Spitzer and Will Straw.
This conference would not have been possible without the participation of the
paper authors, who travelled to join us from twenty different countries and five different
continents and contributed to this publication. I would also like to thank the members of
the organising committee, the staff of the University of Edinburgh and the volunteers for
their continuous work.
I would like to express my sincere appreciation to my co-editors Vangelis
Lympouridis, George Athanasopoulos and Peter Nelson for their work on this e-book
publication and for co-organising the conference. In addition, I would like to thank the
following for their great support and advice: Ryan Somerville, Mariza Dima, Anastasia
Karandinou, Valentina Guerierri, Alexandro Makridi, Thomas Vantsis, Barbara McLean
and Hellen McNeil.
Finally, I would like to thank the Reid School of Music at the University of
Edinburgh for supporting this conference and providing hospitality as well as for producing
and distributing the conference’s proceedings together with IPMDS.
This conference was funded by the Innovation Initiative Grant of the University of
Edinburgh.
XII
EDITORIAL NOTE
The references in the essays by Raymond Monelle and Mario Baroni have been
adjusted according to the specific referencing system that this edition follows.
The original Abstract-Index submitted in 2006 by Raymond Monelle has been
added in the beginning of his essay with no other adjustments.
Double quotation marks have been used for quotes and titles of works. Single
quotation marks have been used for quotes within quotes, and to convey emphasis and
metaphor. Italic type has been used for technical terms, titles of works, foreign words and
to convey emphasis.
Great care has been taken to ensure that the proper copyright notices are in place
where the reproduction of images made this mandatory. The responsibility for providing
accurate information, as well as furnishing copyright holders with further information after
the publication of this edition lies with the authors. The editors of this e-book do not hold
any responsibility on the above matters.
In the case where any mistaken information in relation to copyright issues is
noticed, please contact the editorial team at the following email address:
askme@ipmds.com. This is an academic publication aiming at the propagation of
knowledge; it is available only online for consulting or downloading, and it is free of
charge.
PART I:
ESSAYS BY PROFESSORS RAYMOND
MONELLE AND MARIO BARONI
2
Musica Speculativa and the Nexus of Music
and Nature
Professor Raymond Monelle: Edinburgh, UK
ABSTRACT-INDEX
The attack on Musica Speculativa
For the music theorists of ancient times, music was founded on a mathematical metaphysics.
Boethius placed music in the quadrivium of universal studies, and attributed to it moral force.
Musical sound was merely derivative, and thus the musical performer was despised.
A Renaissance fool
Adrian Petit Coclico subjected music only to the judgment of sense. A practical musician, he
saw no force in the Musica Speculativa, but argued for the primacy of the performer. His
views are still popular today.
A learned critic
Johann Mattheson turned to Locke’s empirical rationalism: music was only a system of
relations, and had no metaphysical status. Musica Speculativa was ridiculed; music was
entirely distinct from ethics. Related to rhetoric, it ought to have been placed in the trivium of
human studies.
Pythagoras and Plato
The authority of the ancients persisted; the links metaphysics/ethics and music/mathematics
continued, in Leibniz, Rameau, Kant and the Romantics, Wackenroder, Friedrich Schlegel
and E.T.A. Hoffmann.
Nature, cognition, responsibility
The Boethian tradition characterized music as “concept-free knowledge”. Music was evidence
of nature; but this was re-interpreted by Adorno in terms of Lukacs’s “second nature”, the
social facts of inherited materials. Adorno’s two-fold idealism: idea as structure, immanent
form as articulation of socio-historical tendencies. Music’s predicament in a decadent society.
Boethius and Adorno
Music as index of nature, either nature rationalized as divine numbers, or nature as historical
material.
The unthinkable
Foucault invoked the episteme, sign of an intellectual era. Music is ill-at-ease in the Cartesian
episteme, which has dominated the modern world. The episteme of resemblance, however, is
related to the origins of mathematics: plurality and unity, on which number systems are based,
depend on principles of sameness and otherness. Such an epistemic basis has become
unthinkable. We may need to return to it, however, if Musica Speculativa is to regain its
authority, as it clearly must if music is to be saved in an age of moral shipwreck.
3
THE ATTACK ON MUSICA SPECULATIVA
Throughout its history in the Western world, discourse about music has been
articulated in terms of mathematics. In ancient times and throughout the middle ages, the
Pythagorean tradition was the only serious way of discussing music. There was a brief
interruption during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when theories of rhetoric,
imitation and expression supplanted the belief in the numerical origin of music's power,
but they proved unsatisfactory. During the past century, mathematical theories, as well as
other theories of a natural basis for music, have again come to dominate, though they have
changed focus.
The ancients wrote many things about music, but they explained its power in terms
of one particular aspect. Musical intervals and rhythms were governed by numerical
relations. It is true that the system of arithmetical proportions invoked by Pythagoras was
not quite self-consistent, and that some writers, like Aristoxenus, therefore conceded to it
only limited authority. In the first century, Ptolemy invented an immensely complex
system in an attempt to resolve the imperfections. However, Pythagoreanism reached the
middle ages and Renaissance through the work of one particular author, Boethius, the first
to write in Latin (rather than Greek), whose De institutione musica was written in the early
sixth century. He was an exemplary advocate of the Pythagorean/Platonic view; the
problems of non-commensurability, and the protests of practical musicians, meant nothing
to him. For him, music was beyond sound; the universe was constructed musically, and
music was therefore accessible chiefly to intellectual reflection rather than the listening
ear. His famous three musics were largely reflective rather than aesthetic: musica mundana,
the 'music of the spheres' or the principle of the whole of nature, musica humana, the
reflection of universal arithmetic in the nature of man, and musica instrumentalis, the kind
of music you can hear. Heard music moves the soul because it is an earthly reflection of
heavenly mathematics. This view, lofty and speculative though it was, at least explained
the power of music in a way that no subsequent theory has achieved. We are moved by
music because it resonates with our central humanity, which itself reflects the structure of
nature. Our perception of pleasure and pain - in music, of consonance and dissonance arise
from the relative simplicity and complexity of numerical proportions. Music was not
an emotional stimulant or a sensual caress, but a kind of non-conceptual source of
knowledge. This was called musica speculativa, which was opposed to musica pratica, the
métier of music making. For Boethius, speculative music was clearly the more important
kind.
In classifying human studies, therefore, Boethius placed music among the
mathematical discourses, alongside geometry, arithmetic and astronomy in the quadrivium.
The trivium of liberal pursuits - rhetoric, grammar and logic - was not associated with pure
knowledge. It was trivial, in fact.
However, music had a privileged place even among the high studies of the
quadrivium. As well as reflecting the natural order, it could influence human behaviour. It
had moral force, in fact. Thus, a study of music could lead to a knowledge of moral truth.
Since there happen to be four mathematical disciplines, the other three share with
music the task of searching for truth; but music is associated not only with speculation
but with morality as well (Boethius) [1].
4
Music, indeed, may affect the emotions, but this faculty is chiefly important not for
the giving of pleasure or arousing admiration, but because through the feelings the moral
person may be inspired or corrupted.
For nothing is more characteristic of human nature than to be soothed by pleasant
modes or disturbed by their opposites [...] For when we hear what is properly and
harmoniously united in sound in conjunction with that which is harmoniously
coupled and joined together within us and are attracted to it, then we recognize that
we ourselves are put together in its likeness [2].
Consequently, the corruption of music must lead to the corruption of souls, since
even virtuous people will be eventually affected by it.
[Plato] states that there is no greater ruin of morals in a republic than the gradual
perversion of chaste and temperate music, for the minds of those listening at first
acquiesce. Then they gradually submit, preserving no trace of honesty or justice [...]
Indeed, no path to the mind is as open for instruction as the sense of hearing. Thus,
when rhythms and modes reach an intellect through the ears, they doubtless affect and
reshape that mind according to their particular character (Boethius referring to Plato's
Republic) [3].
It is clearly important that we should study theoretical music, for music is a
powerful and dangerous force that must be mastered.
From all these accounts it appears beyond doubt that music is so naturally united with
us that we cannot be free from it even if we so desired. For this reason, the power of
the intellect ought to be summoned, so that this art, innate through nature, may also
be mastered, comprehended through knowledge [4].
As for the ancient controversy with the Aristoxeneans - who considered that
certain mathematical distinctions could not be heard, and were therefore unrealistic Boethius
is firmly on the side of strict Pythagoreanism.
We propose [...] that we should not grant all judgment to the sense—although the
whole origin of this discipline is taken from the sense of hearing, for if nothing were
heard, no argument whatsoever concerning pitches would exist. Yet the sense of
hearing holds the origin in a particular way, and, as it were, serves as an exhortation;
the ultimate perfection and the faculty of recognition consists of reason, which,
holding itself to fixed rules, does not falter by any error [5].
The dangers of comprehending music purely with the ears may be compared with
the basing of universal metaphysics and morality on experience and sensation.
Although basic elements of almost every discipline—and of life itself—are introduced
through the impression of the senses, nevertheless there is no certain judgment, no
comprehension of truth, in these if the arbitration of reason is lacking [6].
Since music has moral power, it needs guardians, Boethius thought if it is to remain
both rational and benign. Without the wisdom of theorists, it can easily become, with its
5
persuasive charm and emotional potency, a degenerate influence in society. This view
seems impeccable.
For this reason, the author restricts real musical knowledge to the reflective
theorist. The practical musician must be controlled. Boethius was perfectly aware of the
skill of performers and their popularity with the masses. Naturally, he saw it as a terrible
temptation and danger. He writes with great passion, and some exaggeration, about the
subordinate position of the performer; the performer is a journeyman, a paid labourer, not
really a musician in the true sense at all.
Now one should bear in mind that every art and also every discipline considers reason
inherently more honorable than a skill which is practiced by the hand and the labor of
an artisan. For it is much better and nobler to know about what someone else fashions
than to execute that about which someone else knows; in fact, physical skill serves as a
slave, while reason rules like a mistress. Unless the hand acts according to the will of
reason, it acts in vain. How much nobler, then, is the study of music as a rational
discipline than as composition and performance! It is as much nobler as the mind is
superior to the body; for devoid of reason, one remains in servitude [...] A musician is
one who has gained knowledge of making music by weighing with the reason, not
through the servitude of work, but through the sovereignty of speculation [7].
This author distinguishes three classes of musician: performers, composers and
"those who judge instrumental performance and song". The first type of musician is
"excluded from comprehension of musical knowledge, since... they act as slaves. None of
them makes use of reason; rather, they are totally lacking in thought". The composers are
"led to song not so much by thought and reason as by a certain natural instinct. For this
reason this class, too, is separated from music".
The third class is that which acquires an ability for judging, so that it can carefully
weigh rhythms and melodies and the composition as a whole. This class, since it is
totally grounded in reason and thought, will rightly be esteemed as musical. That
person is a musician who exhibits the faculty of forming judgments according to
speculation or reason relative and appropriate to music [8].
Thus, Boethius exhibits certain contempt for all kinds of practical music, the
composer just as much as the performer; the reflective musician, for him, is not so much
the critic or theorist as the metaphysician, the philosopher who seeks universal
mathematics within the relations of pitches and rhythms. It would seem that the true
musicians of Europe are not to be found in the conservatoires and practical academies, but
are assembled in this room.1
Yet this writer is equally interested in the moral force of
music. Such a powerful force as music cannot be submitted to the arbitration of a mere
sense organ.
1
Editorial note: Monelle is addressing here the participants of the 2006 conference on music and engineering
that was cancelled.
6
A RENAISSANCE FOOL
This is an unfashionable view. Today, the wider public does not acknowledge any
musicians other than performers, and perhaps composers. These practical musicians have
become proud, therefore. It is instructive to invoke an early version of this attitude: a
writer who cared neither for mathematical truth nor for morality, but thought that musical
savoir-faire was all that mattered.
Adrian Petit Coclico was the Renaissance's fool, a ridiculous figure who claimed to
be a pupil of Josquin (the claim was probably false) as well as Bishop of Ducatum (a place
which does not exist). His compositions are childish, being remembered chiefly for the
term musica reservata, which is still the subject of much debate. He must have had some
success as a choir-trainer, and like many successful practical musicians he had a contempt
of theory. His book, the Compendium musices, published in 1552, reads like a blow-byblow
attack on Boethius. But he entirely misses Boethius's point; he vulgarly assumes that
the Roman theorist was merely out of touch with practical music.
Those who have previously exposed this art to youth have been, for the most part,
only theorists [...] not practical musicians [...] They teach nothing or teach obscurely
on the manner of singing elegantly, on counterpoint or on composition... I would say
that whoever keeps his students too long on precepts and theory lacks judgement and
evidently is ignorant of the goal of music [...]
He who wishes first to explore all the reasoning of speculative music turns himself to
this rather than to singing; he will, in my opinion, only arrive at the hoped for and
preset goal much later on [9].
The singer is not guided by truth or reason, but studies "how to please the ears of
men and how to inspire pleasure in them, as well as admiration and favour for himself".
The chief raison d'être of speculative music—the perception that much of music
cannot be heard—is specifically trashed by Coclico. The musician is "continually guided
by the judgement of his ears. The ears easily understand what is done correctly or badly
and are truly the masters of the art of singing".
Since music is an art of persuasion and communication, it ought properly to be
placed in the trivium: "Music has not been placed outside the number of liberal arts, for it
is taught in the same way as either Rhetoric or any other art, as an art, certainly, by
practice and by imitation" [10].
Coclico, like Boethius, categorizes musicians. For him there are four types: the first
two seem to embrace Boethius's highest caste, first of all "those who first discovered music
and in various things observe a particular harmony of sounds", of whom Coclico
comments that they are "only theorists".
The second type is of those who are mathematicians; there is no one who does not
speak of their compositions [treatises]. But these men did not pursue the goal of music
[...] What is worse, when they hope to spread their invented art widely and make it
more outstanding, they rather defile and obscure it. In teaching precepts and
speculation they have specialized excessively and, in accumulating a multitude of
symbols and other things, they have introduced many difficulties [11].
7
This writer gives a number of examples of musicians in each class, but I omit these
because they seem almost random. The distinction of class three and class four is
somewhat obscure—both seem to include contemporary or near-contemporary
composers—but the stress seems to be on composition and performance respectively.
In the third type, there are the most outstanding musicians and almost as kings of the
others, men who do not specialize in teaching the art, but join together theory with
practice in the best and learned way, men who [...] truly know how to embellish
melodies, to express in them all the emotions of all kinds...
The fourth type is that of poets [presumably ποητηs, maker] [...] They [...] employ all
the precepts and all their skill in singing for this, so that they sing smoothly, ornately
and artfully for the delight of men. These singers are far ahead of any others in
sweetness of voice and they have pursued the true goal of this art; they are held in
greater admiration and favor than all the others [...]
From these remarks, it appears, I think, that music is undoubtedly at its best in that
part which is pleasing to men's ears; it rests more upon the practical than the
theoretical [12].
Coclico's views flow from a common and vulgar prejudice: music theory is an
impractical affair, despised by skilled performers who know how to charm the public
without the aid of theory. It is an odour one can still smell strongly in modern music
colleges.
In the modern world "musician" means "performer". The "Young Musician of the
Year", in a competition on BBC television, is always a performer, never a theorist.
Thousands of dollars and pounds and euros have been endowed for the training of
performers, none for the training of theorists. Yet performers have colluded in the
destruction of music's contemporaneity in favour of the routine of posthumous revival,
and have permitted the other evils which inhabit the contemporary world of music. They
have concentrated on "inspiring pleasure, as well as admiration and favor for themselves",
and have given little time for reflection. We have paid dearly for joining hands with the
fool Coclico.
By very definition, Boethius would tell us, performers cannot know fully about
music because they are chiefly concerned with its sounding surface. As public persons,
they are also involved in the rhetoric and persuasive appeal of music. Yet neither the
sound nor rhetoric of a musical piece, nor its score, reveals the substance, which is
accessible only to reflection. The ear, therefore, is only an interim arbiter of musical
content. Rational contemplation is necessary for the definition of music and its
functions—not contemplation of "musical form" or of the Ursatz, but a consideration of
music in its metaphysical and moral nature. All of this is at the heart of the musica
speculativa.
A LEARNED CRITIC
In spite of Coclico's rantings, the Pythagorean view remained the basis of music
theory until the eighteenth century. With the rise of the science of aesthetics, the musica
speculativa was rejected by many in favour of theories of rhetoric, affection, imitation and
8
expression. Actually, almost all of the new points of view may be found also in ancient
writers. But speculative music was the favourite butt of the moderns.
The violent diatribe in the opening pages of Mattheson's Neu-eröffnetes Orchestre
(1713) is typical of this. The erudite German writer, impressed by John Locke's rejection
of the notion of innate ideas, visualized old theorists who believed that knowledge came
from reflection, and that the senses were not to be trusted. For Locke, all ideas have their
origin in experience; mathematics is merely a matter of relations among ideas, and has thus
no metaphysical status. The Pythagoreans heard music as an imperfect reflection of a
universal order. But such views are mere vanity, he thought; on the contrary, sensual
experience is the basis of knowledge, while reason is fallible.
Applying this philosophy to music, Mattheson refers to a beginner who tries to
inform himself about music by reading Kircher's Musurgia of 1650, a conservative work
which characterizes music as cosmic numbers. The reader is confronted with "a respected
musical pedant [Musicaster]" who demands to be regarded as "Apollo himself, because he
keeps a monochord in his house, and knows that 1, 2, 3, 4 make 10, that the ratio of 1/2
gives the octave, that of 2/3 the fifth; that music is scientia mathematica subalterna,
numerum habens ex arithmetica, et magnitudinem mensurabilem in monochordo ex geometria,
illaque ad rem physicam (sc. sonum) applicans [a subsidiary field of mathematics, taking
numbers from arithmetic, the measured distances on the monochord from geometry, and
applying them to a physical material, i.e. sound]; yet such a devout sinner—when it comes
to it—cannot play two measures correctly, and thus demonstrates his egregious bungling"
[13].
The only measure of music, therefore, is the ear. The musician's purpose is not to
uncover truth, but to please the ear and move the sentiments. The nature of music is
entirely distinct from that of ethics; the latter is subject to rational reflection, which is
foreign to music.
Thus I am wholly opposed to the view that music must, or can, be subjected to a
pontifical discipline more philosophorum [in the manner of the philosophers], as was
done in logic, ethics etc., because this is entirely against its nature; it demands to be
treated freely and without preconceptions. The whole system of rules in music, just as
in the other arts, can merely point one towards the attainment of perfect knowledge;
one should not let oneself be always led, eyes blinkered, by such a guide, much less
achieve anything important, for the guide himself often goes astray; but one should
rather harness all one's powers... to attain the goal through practice, developing a
healthy idea of music, cleansed of all unnecessary dusty prejudice [14].
In fact, the rules themselves must be modified and adapted to match the manysided
fashions of contemporary music, because the senses are "the true origin of all science,
nam nihil est in intellectu, quod non prius fuit in sensu [for there is nothing in the
understanding that was not first of all in the senses]".
Mattheson was also responsible for bringing together music and rhetoric, the latter
being at that time a subject studied by all educated people. If music was an influencer and
persuader—if it could arouse emotions, give courage on the battlefield, soothe the
passionate—then it clearly had rhetorical powers. Actually, this view was almost as old as
speculative music (it may be traced in Quintilian and Isidore of Seville, and indeed in
Kircher), but it became, according to George Buelow, "one of the most distinctive
9
characteristics of Baroque musical rationalism" [15]. Like Coclico, Mattheson placed
music in the trivium of liberal studies, with grammar and logic.
Mattheson was bitterly attacked for his provocative book, and he retrenched
somewhat in Das beschützte Orchestre (1717) and Das forschende Orchestre (1721). But
even in its modified forms his book contained one of the most outspoken rejections of the
older tradition.
A musical science which respects fine ratios of intervals that were impossible to
hear, which attributes to the planets an inaudible music that reveals their participation in
the universal order, which despises musical performers as mere journeymen, such a
tradition seems very distant from people today. Mattheson's attack still finds sympathetic
readers.
PYTHAGORAS AND PLATO
When Boethius argues that music affects the soul because of partaking in the soul's
nature, and that this consubstantiality of music with nature is endorsed by the common
mathematical structure of music and the universe, he is echoing Plato's Republic and
Timaeus. Plato combines Pythagoras's insight—that "attributes of numbers exist in musical
notes and in the heavens and in many other things", as Aristotle puts it in the
Metaphysics—with his own conviction that music must be regulated for the common good.
It is easy for us to grasp at the moral and social component of this view in our need to
redeem music from corruption, while at the same time rejecting the mathematical
component as falsified by recent experience.
However, as John Neubauer shows, the Pythagorean view has been continually
revived throughout history. Leibniz's view of music as "unconscious counting", Rameau's
Traité de l'harmonie, Kant's reinterpretation of Pythagorean cosmic harmony as "mental
play", all referred to this vital tradition [16]. One may find Pythagorean influence even in
Romantic sources, in Schiller, Körner, Wackenroder and Novalis. In an extraordinary
work of Wackenroder and Tieck, the Herzensgiessungen eines kunstliebenden Klosterbruders
[Outpourings of an art-loving friar] of 1797, the two authors puzzle over the origins of
music's power to affect the soul.
From what kind of magic preparation does the scent of this splendid spectral world
arise now?—I observe and find nothing but a wretched texture of numerical
proportions, palpably represented in drilled wood and on frames of gut and brass
wire.—This is almost more miraculous, and I am inclined to believe that God's unseen
harp chimes in with our sounds and endows the human texture of numbers with
heavenly force [...]
All sonorous affects are ruled and guided by the dry, scientific number system, as if by
the odd, magic-conjuring formulas of an old, fearsome magician (quoted by Neubauer)
[17].
These Romantic writers reflect that the music theory of the immediate past,
founded on ideas of representation, although it seems more colourful than number theory,
nevertheless cannot explain the miracle of musical communication. The theories of
imitation and expression, and aesthetic ideas of beauty, are not enough to account for
music's power; the "sounds which art has miraculously discovered and pursues along the
10
greatest variety of paths [...] do not imitate and do not beautify; rather, they constitute a
separate world for themselves" (Neubauer) [18]. The Romantics, far from being
preoccupied with expression theory, characterized music as "not merely a vehicle of
passion... but a higher and richer language, which expresses inwardness but also intimates,
by means of mathematics, a higher order".
Writers of this period returned to musica speculativa, not because they wished to
rediscover a mathematical order in music, but because they were puzzled by the eloquence
of musical form in the absence of concepts. How could a language that lacked concepts
nevertheless relate so powerfully to the world? Friedrich Schlegel likens instrumental
music, not to expressive language but to unconscious philosophy.
Whoever has a sense for the wondrous affinities between all the arts and sciences will
at least not look upon the matter from the shallow perspective of so-called naturalness,
according to which music is supposed to be just the language of sentiment, and such
persons will not find it impossible that all pure instrumental music should have a
tendency to philosophy. Must pure instrumental music not create a text for itself? And
is the theme in it not developed, confirmed, varied, and contrasted as the object of
meditation in a philosophical sequence of ideas? (Neubauer) [19].
Music, then, created a world of its own which was homomorphous with the outer
world, unmediated by concepts. In this respect music was quite distinct from the other
arts; E.T.A. Hoffmann, in a famous review of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, praises
instrumental music because it "scorns every help, every admixture of another art such as
poetry". Numerical proportions are the secret of music, not because they form the
rationale of intervals, but because they ground the structure of many-voiced harmony.
Proportions are "dead, stiff examples of calculation for grammarians without genius";
applied to harmony they become "magic preparations from which they release an
enchanted world". The association of number theory with harmony, as opposed to mere
intervals, has its roots in Rameau's Traité de l'Harmonie, of course. It was never formulated
in the kind of detail that characterized the old musica speculativa. Rather, it served as a
kind of interim explanation of music's communicativeness, which, these writers
apprehended, could not be explained by theories of imitation, expression and beauty.
NATURE, COGNITION, RESPONSIBILITY
In the Boethian tradition, music was a direct means of knowledge, unmediated by
concepts; in fact, a begriffslose Erkenntnis, which was Adorno's term for the art process in
general (Paddison) [20]. Thus, music was classed with the mathematical disciplines,
arithmetic, geometry and astronomy. Some even saw music as a natural science: Thomas
Hobbes, classifying the human studies in his majestic compendium Leviathan, describes
music as the field of "consequences from sounds", alongside optics, which was a
description of "consequences from sights" [21]. This is going rather too far.
However, the Greeks, summarized by Boethius, did not apply this analysis to the
"fine" arts or to drama. These other arts possessed a semiotic or rhetorical relation to
nature. It was music alone which offered a direct revelation of the rational structure of
nature, available to cognition. This has usually been understood as merely a globalizing of
the Pythagorean insight; but as we have seen, Boethius was equally interested in the moral
11
aspects of music. The contemplation of music could lead one to transcendent truth, both
rational and moral.
Adorno, also, though his roots are less in Greek rationalism than in Hegelian
idealism, conceives music as a revelation of truth, available to cognition; and he finds
within it a kind of nature—not now the acoustic nature of proportioned intervals or the
order embodied in chordal harmony, but historical nature, the social facts of inherited
materials, what Lukács called "second nature" [22]. The facts of acoustics he would have
considered unduly fixed, unhistorical, undialectical.
The material of music, music's "second nature", is rooted in the social origins and
associations of musical gestures: the background of dance, song, soldiering, Tafelmusik,
though these have been assimilated and hidden in the absolute music of the bourgeois era.
It is rooted also in "the sense of culturally shared understandings of socially and
historically mediated aesthetic norms and conventions" (Paddison) [23]; that is, in the
inherent tendencies of musical gestures, both within the canon of applied forms (rondo
form, sonata form and so on) and in relation to syntactic implications and tendencies.
Through these, the musical work enters into dialogue with society and history. Thus
"material" is distinct from "content"; the content of a work is constituted by its dialogue
with history, realized therein in the form of material.
It is clear to Adorno that musical material is not physical or psychological in
nature, but social. Traditionally, he says, material was defined by physics or psychology as
"the sum of all sounds at the disposal of the composer". But this is an error.
The actual compositional material [...] is as different from this sum as is language from
its total supply of sounds. It is not simply a matter of the increase and decrease of this
supply in the course of history. All its specific characteristics are indications of the
historical process [...] In that very moment when the historical expression of a chord
can no longer be aurally perceived, it demands that the sounds which surround it give
a conclusive account of its historical implications. These implications have
determined the nature of this expression (Adorno) [24].
Within the very behaviour of notes, chords, phrases, cadences, can be found the
facts of history and ideology. For example, the belief that music must respect the overtone
series (that "the triad is the necessary and universally valid condition of all possible
comprehension"), the basis of musica speculativa, is "nothing but a superstructure for
reactionary compositional tendencies". Composers like Hindemith who wish to
compromize with the commodified world preach reactionary views of this kind. Their
music is therefore a lie based on "calculated feeblemindedness".
Consequently, music is related to truth in two senses. First, truth is inner
consistency, the coherency of the work in itself; "The identity of the 'idea' of the work
with its structure", considering the work to be "a force-field of tensions rendered articulate
and meaningful through consistency of form" (Paddison) [25]. This idealistic notion is
also the foundation, for example, of Schenkerian theory; it lies at the heart of the
traditional view of music as organic unity. But there is another level of musical truth: "The
consistency of [...] immanent form in relation to the divergent socio-historical tendencies
of its pre-formed material". Both levels of truth-content are available to cognition, but the
second is the more obviously semantic.
If music can be untrue to social fact, it can on the other hand also be truthful—
"objective", Adorno says in the Philosophy of modern music [26]. The composer is not
12
responsible to nature in the sense of physical realities, the numerical proportions of
intervals, but she is nevertheless responsible to another kind of nature, that of historical
dialectics. Her position vis-à-vis society is characterized by moral as well as cognitive
responsibility.
Here lies the theorist's greatest paradox. Music must arise out of its own social
conditions. Its material, its subjectivity, its conditions of production, are all socially
mediated. How, then, can it achieve truth in a wholly decadent society? Adorno replies
that the modern composer, though delineating the repressiveness of her society,
nevertheless dissents from its ideology. Modern art remains functionless, but in its very
functionlessness it preserves the true function of art.
As long as an art, which is constituted according to the categories of mass production,
contributes to this ideology, and as long as artistic technique is a technique of
repression, that other, functionless art has its own function. This art alone—in its
most recent and most consequent works—designs a picture of total repression but, by
no means, the ideology thereof. By presenting the unreconciled picture of reality, it
becomes incommensurable with this reality. In this way it expresses opposition to the
injustice of the just verdict. The technical procedures of composition, which
objectively make music into a picture of repressive society, are more advanced than
the procedures of mass production which march beyond modern music in the fashion
of the times, willfully serving repressive society [27].
Adorno considers that contemporary society places artistic creation in crisis,
because art has been reified and social relations commodified, subjected to exchange value
rather than use value. The artist, seeking a truthful response to her own history, is driven
into the absolute monadism of expressionism and finally the loneliness of radical
technique. At last, the only communication is the uncommunicativeness of the avant
garde; the hypersubjectivity of expressionism gives way to the extinction of the subject.
The musical work, now an "organized vacuity", is alienated from society, and within that
alienation lays its truth.
The repressiveness of society is thus found in modern music, where it is reflected
and rejected. There is also another kind of contemporary music which fails to reject
repression, and this Adorno calls "kitsch". This music colludes infamously with the terrors
of social repression, producing not merely the bland uniformities of popular music, which
is, at least, frank and open about its "subordination to the process of exchange", but the
collaborationist styles of irresponsible composers. Adorno mentions Elgar and Sibelius in
this connection. We may find less to reproach in these masters; but we nevertheless find
ourselves subject to the swindle of "classical music", a category which embraces,
apparently, the Chichester psalms, the Concierto de Aranjuez and the theme from Star wars.
BOETHIUS AND ADORNO
In many ways Adorno is the prophet of Modernism, a cultural and aesthetic
movement which is now rejected as "terrorist" (Eagleton) [28]. It is true that his attitudes
are often authoritative and Mandarin. Nevertheless his criticisms of the contemporary
musical world are still full of importance. Only the most radical new music escapes the
stigma of collusion with a divided and unjust society. Much of our music is feeble and
13
tasteless. Concert halls and opera houses are full of the music of the dead. Most people see
music as a sign of inequality; they reject it out of hand, except for the aesthetically tiny
enclave of popular music. The redemptive and reconciliatory power of music is
overlooked. We ourselves, the music theorists and analysts, avert our eyes from the moral
purposes of music to concentrate on mere morphology.
In fact, we may envisage another narrative of music history, in this case the story of
Pythagoreanism. The ancients, summarized by Boethius, considered that the essence of
music was available only to reflection, since the ear perceived only the surface of music. It
is true that music affects the emotions, they acknowledged; but this aspect of music cannot
be explained in psychological terms alone. It must bear witness to an indexical link
between music and nature; the soul of the universe, and that of man, are structured
musically, and for this reason music is a field primarily of cognitive engagement rather
than emotional response. In addition, audible music can affect us morally. Music,
therefore, can improve or corrupt. The common structure of nature and music is shown
principally in numerical proportions.
The dismissal of Pythagoreanism by the baroque writers led only to imitative and
expressive theories. These were satisfactory for a while, but the most intelligent critics
soon noticed that the power of music could not be explained in expressive terms. Sure,
music affects the soul; but how does it do this? The early Romantics, Wackenroder, Tieck,
Friedrich Schlegel, Novalis, returned to Pythagoreanism in order to account for the power
of music, but they were ill at ease with the attribution of such vast emotional power to
"dry numbers".
Adorno freely accepts the cognitive nature of musical engagement, the immanent
meaning of music, and he sees that in some cases music can relinquish its responsibilities,
lapsing into mere kitsch. Music is an index of nature. But for him, the physical nature of
numerical proportions is replaced by the "second nature" of historical material. He has no
need to feel ill at ease about "dry numbers", for the numerical aspect of Pythagoreanism
has been rejected. In Adorno's socially oriented system, it is even more potently the case
that music may either collude with a corrupt society, or may reject repression in a drive to
reconstruct the social order. In other words, music can be corrupt and corrupting, or can
promote virtue.
The chief difference between Boethius and Adorno does not lie in the acceptance
or rejection of classical Pythagoreanism. It lies rather in the confidence in their tone of
voice. Boethius assumes that the world will understand and attend to his warnings.
Adorno, however, thinks that the case is lost. Music has colluded irrevocably with a
corrupt world. The world can no longer even hear his message. It is a "message of despair
from the shipwrecked".
THE UNTHINKABLE
In examining music, we often encounter the unthinkable. For example, it is
evident and natural that music is essentially sound, essentially performance. Yet if we
examine Ives's music, we find that the performance includes features which are not true to
the music, features which betray the text, in order to drive the attention away from sound
towards "substance". The composer demands, "What has sound got to do with music?" It
14
is very hard for the modern musician to grasp the idea of a score which does not represent
a performance, or a performance which is independent of the music it performs.
Thinking the unthinkable: it was this challenge which first gave rise, we are told,
to Foucault's Les mots et les choses. If something seems unthinkable, Foucault proposes, it is
probably framed in another episteme, a different structure of thought which characterizes a
different intellectual era. The appearance of the "science" of aesthetics in the eighteenth
century (it dates, perhaps, from Baumgarten's Aesthetica of 1750-58, though Gilbert &
Kuhn [29] consider that the concepts there embodied come from other, greater thinkers,
notably from Leibniz) was a symptom, not of the birth of reflection in this field after a
long night of ignorance, but of the loss of a style of thought that made aesthetics easy. For
the post-Cartesian age, the theory of art became a deeply puzzling matter. The array of
aesthetic notions which writers plucked from the ancients—imitation, representation,
expression—constitutes an attempt to overcome the irrationality of art.
Representational theory was not more difficult, but infinitely easier, for earlier
styles of thought. Unfortunately, certain aspects of these styles are nowadays
"unthinkable". The modern style of thought (the modern episteme) began with Descartes,
according to Foucault. We may call it "rationality", "science" or "empiricism". It has
proved exceptionally fruitful in the field of natural studies. But it has problematized
artistic representation, and above all music.
The Cartesian episteme, dominant in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,
invoked two kinds of comparison. The first of these was based on measurement: things may
be given sizes or numbers, and these may then be compared, combined, assessed. The
second is a matter of order: complex things may be analyzed into things that are
progressively simpler, until the simplest elements are reached. At each stage of
measurement and analysis, there is an aspect of imbrication or comparison which connects
this stage to the next higher or lower.
Clearly, modern physics is Cartesian in this sense. Physics, and its
empirical/inductive offspring in the fields of science and technology, are dependent on
measurement and simplification. So successful has the Cartesian episteme been that alien
fields, like artistic representation or ethics, have been subjected to it. If an ethical or
aesthetic question cannot be answered by measurement or classification, then perhaps it
can be converted to a question of psychology (or indeed of cognitive studies, brain
physiology or "neuroscience"). In these fields, some kind of analysis of ethics or aesthetics
may be found. But the questions of ethics and aesthetics remain unanswered, because they
are not framed within this episteme. For this reason, Enlightenment civilization turned
out to be cruel and exploitative; also, perhaps, the arts floated off from nature and morality
and collaborated in the class war.
Before Descartes, according to Foucault, the dominant episteme was that of
resemblance [30]. Everything is linked to something that it is like; likenesses are signs of the
natural order. Thus an attack of apoplexy is a kind of human thunderstorm (Crollius,
quoted by Foucault) [31]; the human face is united to the sky, its two eyes the sun and
moon (Aldrovandi). Resemblance may affect the feelings, as when the scent of funeral
flowers makes one sad. Resemblance lies behind astrology and sympathetic magic.
To us such ideas are unthinkable. But we may need to think them in
comprehending the thoughts of our ancestors, including Boethius. And unexpectedly,
ideas of resemblance may be necessary to explain mathematics. Mathematical theory is
grounded, ultimately, in the concepts of "many" and "one", which together constitute the
15
principle of nature. Both are dependent on the concept of likeness, resemblance. All these
ideas are a priori, not founded on observation.
Boethius gives a two-fold demonstration of numerical order in De Arithmetica I.32 and
II.1, where he argues that all inequality (that is, plurality) can be reduced back to its
source, equality (that is, unity). Unity is the constitutive element of plurality just as
letters of the alphabet, sounds and the four elements (fire, air, water and earth) are the
elements of words, music and the created world (White) [32].
The opposition of plurality and unity can be found, analogically represented, in
odd and even numbers, in the sun and moon, the two sexes, soul and body and in many
other places.
In terms of Pythagorean mathematics, "same" is something with constant properties
and is "limited" in the sense that it has a defined and stable nature. Numerically it
derives from unity, and it is found in odd numbers... "Different" is unstable and
unlimited, derived from two (="otherness") and is found in fissile, even numbers...
Though Boethius does not mention it, these two types of number were traditionally
characterised as male (odd) and female (even). In a wider, cosmological sense,
Boethius notes briefly, this division distinguishes God, the soul, the mind and
anything of an incorporeal nature (which all partake of an immutable "same"
substance) from bodies, which have a changeable and varied nature (White) [33].
Since music is an especially perfect example of plurality-in-unity, making audible
the most sophisticated relations of numbers, it exerts, by means of sympathy, an
exceptional power over the soul and the universe. Thus the emotions, and the planets, are
controlled by music. This music is not, however, necessarily audible. Since Boethius is
interested in music only insofar as it presents an analogy to the metaphysical order of the
universe, the music he discusses is really a kind of proto-music or arche-music. He would
not expect to find it in the scores of musical works, or in performances of these works,
even if he could have imagined an adequate musical notation (which was not the case,
according to John Caldwell) [34].
Such a view of music seems absurd and unthinkable. The Cartesian episteme leads
us to seek a positive trace of music—the score or the performance—and is much more
sympathetic to behavioral and cognitive psychology, and to neuroscience. For this reason,
music's power became a mystery to the Enlightenment. Music could not be simplified or
quantified. Instead of being subject to mathematics, it shared by analogy the theoretical
basis of mathematics.
By Mattheson's time, relations by resemblance are confined to superstition.
Consequently, the power of music is often called "magical". The representation and
stimulation of emotions, the moral control of behaviour, the presentation of ideal beauty,
these faculties of music seem inexplicable to eighteenth-century thinkers.
For us, it is not just a question of the difficulties of determining the nature of music,
as Aristotle put it. The fragmentation of our musical world has thrown music into the
hands of the irresponsible. It is no longer a mere theoretical problem; the problem is
moral, social and political. We must learn to think the unthinkable.
16
REFERENCES
[1] Boethius, A.M.S., 1989. Fundamentals of Music. Translated by C.M. Bower. New
Haven, Yale University Press, p. 2.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid., p. 3.
[4] Ibid., p. 8.
[5] Ibid., p. 17.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Ibid., p. 50.
[8] Ibid., p. 51.
[9] Coclico, A.P., 1973/1552. Compendium Musices. Translated by A. Seay. Colorado
Springs, Colorado College Music Press, pp. 1 and 5-6.
[10] Ibid., p. 7.
[11] Ibid., p. 8.
[12] Ibid., pp. 8-9.
[13] Mattheson, J., 1713. Das neu-eröffnetes Orchestre, pp. 5-6.
[14] Ibid., pp. 9-10.
[15] Buelow, J.G., 1980. “Rhetoric and Music”, in New Grove Dictionary of Music and
Musicians, 20 vols., (ed.) S. Sadie, London, Macmillan, XVI, p. 793.
[16] Neubauer, J., 1986. The Emancipation of Music from Language: departure from mimesis in
eighteenth-century aesthetics. New Haven, Yale University Press, pp. 110, 76, and 188.
[17] Ibid, pp. 199-200.
[18] Ibid., p. 200.
[19] Ibid., p. 202.
[20] Paddison, M., 1993. Adorno's Aesthetics of Music, Cambridge University Press, p. 15.
[21] Hobbes, T., 1957/1651. Leviathan: or the matter, forme and power of a commonwealth,
ecclesiasticall and civil. (Ed.) M. Oakeshott. Oxford, Blackwell, p. 55.
[22] Lukács, G., 1971/1920. Theory of the Novel: a historico-philosophical essay on the forms of
great epic literature. Translated by A. Bostock. London, Merlin Press, p. 63.
[23] Paddison, M., 1993, p. 150.
[24] Adorno, T.W., 1994/1948. The Philosophy of Modern Music. Translated by A.G.
Mitchell and W.V. Blomster. New York, Continuum, p. 32.
[25] Paddison, M., 1993, p. 150.
[26] Adorno, T.W., 1994/1948, p. 48.
[27] Ibid., p. 113.
[28] Eagleton, T., 1990. The Ideology of the Aesthetic. Oxford, Blackwell.
[29] Gilbert, K.E. and Kuhn, H. 1972/1939. A History of Esthetics. New York, Dover, pp.
289-90.
[30] Foucault, M., 1970. The Order of Things: an archaeology of the human sciences.
Translation of Les Mots et les Choses. London, Tavistock Publications, p. 25.
[31] Ibid., p. 23.
[32] White, 1981, in M. Gibson (ed.), Boethius: his life, thought and influence. Oxford,
Blackwell, p. 169.
[33] Ibid., p. 177.
[34] Caldwell, J., 1981, in M. Gibson (ed.), Boethius: his life, thought and influence. Oxford,
Blackwell, p. 147.
17
The Sense of Music: Raymond Monelle’s
Legacy
Professor Mario Baroni, Bologna, IT: Keynote Speaker
ABSRACT
My speech is divided in three parts: in the first part Raymond Monelle’s theories from
structuralism to deconstructionism will be described. The three volumes published in
1992, 2000, and 2006 will be analysed and discussed. A second part will be devoted to
recent research on “systematic” musicology: cognitive research (particularly on musical
emotions), anthropological research (particularly on phylogenetic and ontogenetic
developments of human musicality) and music analysis (particularly of musical listening
and musical performance) will be taken into account. I think that an exhaustive discussion
on the relationships of these kinds of studies and semiotic tradition should be not only
opportune, but even necessary. The final part of the speech will be devoted to the possible
positive contributions of semiotics, and particularly of Monelle’s thinking, to new
systematic musicology. Special attention will be given to the use of verbal meanings to
“translate” into words the sense of music: Monelle’s ideas on this specific topic could be of
particular help to recent cognitive research on musical meaning.
MONELLE’S RESEARCH
Raymond Monelle is well known as a musicologist, but his activity was not only
based on theoretical thinking. When I personally met him I had the opportunity to listen
to him as an excellent piano performer and a very pleasant improviser, and recently I also
learned that he published several compositions. This practical activity helped to shed light
on two important aspects of his musicological interests: on the one hand his passion for
musical listening and musical criticism and his vast and deep knowledge of many kinds of
music, and on the other his specific interest for what he named in a famous book, “the
sense of music”. I think that as a musician he made music and as a musicologist he needed
to know intellectually what he was making, to give sense to his musical activity.
He started his research in the 1960s, when the new cultural trends in music were
dominated by structural tendencies and scientific thinking. The knowledge of musical
structures and the practice of music analysis were obviously one of his preferred fields of
activity: he felt a strong fascination towards these aspects, even though this was not
enough to satisfy his exigencies and curiosities. He understood that the sense of music
could not be identified only in musical structures: his adhesion to structural hypotheses
was critical, and a new discipline, semiotics, offered him a possible solution to his strongest
interests. A musical sign had, in fact, to do with communication, was a sign of something
else, outside musical structures. In the following two decades he therefore devoted himself
to the study of linguistics and the philosophical bases of semiotics.
18
Linguistics and semiotics in music, Harwood Academic Publishers, 1992
The result of this systematic study was the first of his three important books, where
it is possible to find an almost complete and detailed summary of all the principal theories
concerning the semiotics of music: linguistic theories of the 20th century from the epoch
of Sapir and De Saussure to that of Chomsky and post Chomskyan research. Philosophical
theories from the epoch of Pierce to that of Derrida and post-modernism. The
anthropological theories of Levi Strauss, three-dimensional hypotheses by Molino and
Nattiez, and a number of other more or less important proposals of many well known
researchers. In other words I believe that the book is still a sort of useful manual on the
initial phase of research into the semiotics of music. Generally speaking Monelle describes
with great correctness the ideas of many researchers often with interesting comparisons
and clarifications, but the most fascinating aspect of this brilliant book is its tendency to
reveal the hidden aspects of Monelle’s personal thinking, his uncertainties, his refusals, his
enthusiasms, his unease. At the end of the book however it is possible to find a more
evident sympathetic attitude, if not an explicit adhesion, towards the tendencies of
deconstructionist critical thinking.
The sense of music, Princeton University Press, 2000
In his second book, published after eight years, the core of his deepest interests is
reached: the chosen title speaks very clearly. In this book the relationship between his way
of thinking and the cultural tendencies of the epoch are substantially modified: now he
speaks as a protagonist and quotes the existing theories as useful means to give more
precision to his ideas. Three theoretical concepts acquire, in this context, a particular
emphasis: the first is the musical topic, an idea that will have important consequences in
Monelle’s subsequent activity. He speaks critically of the book by Ratner [1] and makes
astute remarks on the books by Allanbrook [2], Agawu [3] and others. In this respect we
can observe that Monelle’s ideas are always in search of a balance between the use of
deconstructional tools and the aim of obtaining solid results. The second important
discussion concerns the study of temporality in music, both from an anthropological point
of view (the philosophy of time changes from culture to culture) and from a formal point
of view, (listening to music implies continuous changes and time gives it aspects of
pseudo-narration). The third important point is the search for an intertextual definition of
a musical text. Intertext is not only conceived as the presence of traces of other musical
texts, but also of other non musical contributions. And this is one of the most original and
fruitful results of his theoretical thinking. For example an analysis of literary and
philosophical texts implicitly present in Mahler’s mind, memory and creativity, evidences
a decisive influence toward some of his choices. On this occasion Monelle writes that the
network of significations is infinite. But this does not mean that no precise things can be
said about music.
The musical topic, Indiana University Press, 2006
The third book can be considered the most complete and mature version of
Monelle’s thinking, because of the exemplary clarity of its exposition, and a new more
complex conception of topic, which is theoretically developed and practically exemplified.
19
This revised conception is also a synthesis of the ideas on musical sense exposed in the
two previous volumes. Particularly important are the chapters on the nature and function
of the verbal interpretation of musical meaning, with new reflexions on the theories of
Pierce. On this point the main assertion is that the linguistic interpretation of a musical
topic is not the “signified” of a musical figure, according to linguistic terminology, but (in
Piercian terms) the “interpretant” of it. This means that the sense of music is not to be
conceived as its “meaning”, but as a cultural object in connection with other cultural
objects. Such a relationship is not simple and not conclusive, it is rather an infinite
process: infinite, but not arbitrary. It can indeed be considered a scientific activity, not
different from other similar activities, for example historical research.
In this book, however, a problem remains without any precise solution: the sense of
music, in more general terms, cannot be reduced to the simple presence of topical images.
Is it possible to extend the idea of musical sense outside the limits of the topics?
Undoubtedly it may be possible, and sometimes hints at this problem are found in the
book, but without a systematic approach. I think this is a problem that Monelle would
have solved in the future, had his life allowed him this possibility.
MULTIDISCIPLINARY PERSPECTIVES
To speak of the sense of music is not the aim of a unique and specific discipline.
Even ordinary listeners, when they go to a concert speak of the sense of what they have
listened to and discuss this with other music lovers, not to speak of the points of view of
critics, of teachers and of students. In other words to understand the sense of music
coincides with the motivation itself of music listening and is, we might say, the primary
purpose of whoever has to do with music, and not only with listening to it. To understand
music, however, is not the same thing as to speak of it: moreover some validity criteria
must be applied to our verbal discourse, in order to avoid that every point of view can be
considered equivalent to any other. This is the specific tool of the experts in musicological
writings on music interpretation. Unfortunately, due to the great complexity of this tool,
the musicological research on this topic is extremely large and not always consistent. Both
the traditional philosophical theories and the more recent studies on the so called
systematic musicology are problematic domains.
Now, my first question is: what is the place of semiotics and of Monelle's theories
in the broad scenario of today’s systematic musicology? In the last years the problem of
musical sense has become central also for other not semiotic disciplines, partly linked to
cognitive psychology and partly to technological innovations. It is difficult, however, that
the problem of musical sense (or meaning as it is often called in Anglo-American
literature) can be explained on the basis of only one single discipline. In recent years
Richard Parncutt has written articles, organized conferences, edited a journal to spread the
idea that the discipline traditionally named “systematic musicology” has to be gradually
transformed into a system of interrelated disciplines [4] [5]. I agree with him, and I am
convinced that the problem of understanding and scientifically explaining the sense of
music can be obtained only in a multidisciplinary context of inter-connected studies. I
think that this orientation is already existent, even though in a still implicit form: for
example it is to be noticed that nowadays historians, analysts, psychologists and
sociologists often discuss, in the same conference or in an issue of the same journal, similar
20
problems from different points of view; and some books on musical performance accept
very different articles of anthropologists, computer scientists, and experts in the
psychology of emotions. Crossings of disciplines like these have always been present in our
field, but in the last years they have been much more frequent. In the next part of my
article I shall give examples of this phenomenon.
Music emotions
One of the most widespread topics of recent years in musicological research is the
study of music emotion. The two big volumes of Oxford University Press edited by Patrick
Juslin and John Sloboda [6] [7], the triple issue of Music Analysis (Spitzer) [8], the two
Special Issues of Musicae Scientiae (Juslin and Zentner) [9] and (Lamont and Eerola) [10], a
striking number of articles published in many journals and the titles of other books, can
testify to the universal interest in this topic. It would be significant to know the culturalhistorical
motivations behind such interest, but so far we have no study on this subject.
In this kind of literature the idea that understanding music principally coincides
with its emotional message is normally given as a primary assumption. In this respect
Raymond Monelle [11] was right when he refused to exclusively locate musical meaning in
the area of emotions. The emotional responses to music, however, cannot be ignored,
even though many problems can arise and actually arose from emotional theories applied
to the matter of musical meaning. Here I shall limit myself to mentioning just a few
examples.
Let us start from the distinction between “categorical” and “dimensional”
approaches to emotion (Juslin and Sloboda) [12]. In the former case the convention is to
accept the different categories of emotion formalized by psychologists (and principally
“basic” emotions such as happiness, fear, anger, sadness, and so on, considered as the most
important in the course of human evolution) and to apply them to music. In the latter,
human affects are considered according to two concurring “dimensions”: the amount of
excitement/stillness (arousal) and that of pleasure/displeasure (valence) organized, from a
minimum to a maximum, according to two crossed locations (horizontal and vertical) in a
circle. This theory that Russell [13] called the “circumplex model of affect”, had the
advantage of avoiding too rigid boundaries among emotions. This could better fit the
nature of music emotions, but in some cases it is not able to distinguish different affects
belonging to the same area. For example, “if feelings of gratitude, compassion, tenderness
and contentment were to occupy the same location in the circumplex, they would be
treated as affectively equivalent”, hence, little can be learned about their specific nature
(Zentner) [14].
The categorical model of emotions is by far the most commonly shared of the two
theoretical systems. The main promoter of this way of thinking has been Patrick Juslin,
who on different occasions carefully exposed not only the connections between music and
basic emotions, but also detailed lists of musical features typically used for each of them
(such as happiness, fear, anger, sadness, tenderness) [15] [16] [17]. Juslin had mainly
psychological and anthropological interests, and the word “music” in his articles was rarely
linked to specific epochs or styles, but normally to “music” in itself. His theories, however,
have been adopted also in historically specific instances: Michael Spitzer, for example,
who comes from totally different cultural origins, applied them to the analysis of pieces by
Schubert [18], not to mention many other authors that share the same point of view.
21
Particular aspects of categorical theory applied to music have often been discussed: for
example doubts have been raised about the idea that musical emotions ought to be
reduced to a few basic emotions (Zbikovsky) [19], and also the list of structural factors
indicated as causes of emotional expression has been discussed, for example, by
Gabrielsson and Lindström [20].
In this respect we must not forget that more than thirty years ago Michel Imberty
[21] proposed a theory of music emotions based on interesting musical premises: it was
based on “real” pieces of music (the piano Preludes by Claude Debussy) and the semantic
“factors” indicated by the composer’s subjects, placed in a round space not very different
from Russell’s “circumplex model”, had verbal connotations more strictly corresponding
just to Debussy’s pieces (terms like “freshness, grace, deepness, nostalgia, passion, violence,
dance, movement” were appropriately used), and finally, structural features (dynamics,
texture, rhythm, tempo, contrasts) were strictly calculated and reciprocally dosed
according to the presence of groups of verbal expressions.
Other themes are taken into consideration in this vast collection of stimulating
questions concerning emotions and music: one of the most important, discussed by many
researchers, is the difference between felt and perceived emotions, where “felt” has its
accent placed on the subject (the listener), and “perceived” on the object (the music),
with obvious possible interferences between them and associated aesthetic problems.
Other sophisticated models, different from those just described, have been
proposed by other authors: for example Scherer and Zenter [22] propose a table of affective
states that include not only emotions, but also judgements (like or dislike), moods,
interpersonal relationships (cordiality or detachment), typical behaviours of individuals.
And the musical structures are often considered in correspondence to aspects of verbal
prosody. On another occasion, Scherer and Zentner [23], proposed to distinguish
“utilitarian” from aesthetic emotions, where the former have biological aims (such as those
of primary emotions) linked to survival problems or to aims present in common daily
situations, and the latter have aims linked to ideal aspects of life (for example sublimity,
vitality, tension) experienced as cultural values.
In the universe of music emotions, however, one problem more than others seems
to be particularly close to the semiotic approaches: it is the question of the verbal lexicon
necessary to define musical emotions. Two crucial problems are connected with this
matter: to know what are the emotions that can be properly called “musical” and what are
the most proper words to be used to name them. Zentner, Grandjean and Scherer [24]
tried to tackle problems like these starting from a compilation of 515 affect terms (terms
derived from the affective lexicon of several languages and a review of emotion terms used
in the literature on music and emotion). Subsequently they presented a sample of 252
listeners with these affect labels. The listeners were asked to rate the frequency with which
they felt any of the affect states in response to their preferred music. In this research the
lexicon is not made up of the simple terms of basic emotion. In responses to the same
music, some listeners used melancholy, others dreaming, others sentimental, but they did
not deal with three different emotions but rather with three words that in affect theories
can be considered members of the same “nostalgia complex”. One can add, at this point,
that the three authors speak of reactions to music that are subtle, but in any case present
in verbal lexicon, that is well known also in daily life and not musically specific.
There are however theories that go against this approach: for example Paddison
[25], while critically discussing the traditional, ancient aesthetic of “mimesis”, proposes
22
the idea of an “intransitive” sense (a sense that does not “pass”, does not have any
“transition”, from music to lexicon):
By “mimesis” I do not mean only, or even primarily, the “transitive” notions of
imitation […] where music is said “to imitate something” (this is what I shall call the
“imitation of” theory), just as I do not, by expression, mean primarily transitive
notions of expression where music is said “to express something” (this could be called
the “expression of” theory). […] I also go on to make the claim, following Walter
Benjamin, that mimesis can be seen as an impulse, a mode of “identifying with” rather
than necessarily as “imitation of” or “representation of” something external to itself.
Musical expressivity, he concludes, oscillates between its “transitive” mimetic
moments and an “intransitive” internal “force-field”: that is to say, the sense of music can
be found not only in its power to evoke something, but also in its internal “forceful”
structures.
From examples like these it is easy to deduce how problematic the study of
emotions in music can still be, but also how necessary it can be in order to better
understand the still mysterious connections between music and its possible meanings,
which is one of the main aims of semiotics.
Body reactions to music and music performance
One of the more interesting aspects of musical emotion is the presence of body
reactions both in making music and in listening to it. A well known phenomenon is
arousal, more or less present in different reactions to music depending on the structure of
the music itself and the strength of the emotion: some aspects of this area have been
discussed in the previous section. But the presence of physiological responses to music is
also a well known and traditional field of research: for example pulse rate, skin
conductivity, blood pressure, respiration, muscular tension, and so on, have been observed
and measured by German researches ever since the end of the 19th century (Hodges)
[26]. However, the presence of body reactions still remains a problematic topic. Marc
Leman [27] points out that music, far from being a mere intellectual event, requires strong
interests and emotional involvement, and poses the question of what «being involved in
music» actually means. His answer is that music implies «physical energy […] corporeal
immersion in sound». His recent book studies and measures such forms of energy.
Obviously the sense of music cannot be reduced only to physical responses like these, but
their presence can be considered an important component of musical meaning, even if
this presence is difficult to translate into verbal definitions. Manfred Clynes, too,
experimentally studied other relevant aspects of the presence of body in the processes of
understanding and producing music: in particular he studied forms of muscular and tactile
reactions to musical listening that he named “sentic forms” [28].
The presence of premises like these easily explains why in recent years the topic of
musical gesture has met with ever increasing interest, starting from the First International
Conference on Music and Gesture held in Norwich UK, in 2003. An important book
resumed some of the main contributions of that Conference (Gritten and King 2006) [29],
also including a number of articles written by eminent semiologists among which Robert
Hatten, David Lidov and Raymond Monelle. In the same year Altenmüller, Wiesendanger
and Kesselring [30] published another volume on musical motions mainly based on
23
neurological research. Another collection of essays has been edited by Rolf Inge Godøy
and Marc Leman [31].
One of the most interesting theories which connect the idea of motion to that of
musical meaning is the “mimetical hypothesis” by Arnie Cox [32] published in the
collection edited by Gritten and King. While in other contexts musical meanings tend to
be identified with emotions, in this case they tend be related to gestures. Three kinds of
gestures are always subconsciously present in musical listening according to this theory: a
sort of “imitation” of the gestures of the performers (observed, but also imagined or
remembered), a sub-vocal “imitation” of sounds produced by a voice (but also by particular
melodic instruments); the third is an “a-modal imitation”, empathic corporeal resonance
of visceral exertion connected with sound production. Probably the sense of music is not
only connected with images or concepts, but also with implicit sub-conscious gestures like
these. Music is bodily, non only mentally, understandable.
This kind of embodied meaning is also an excellent introduction to the study of
music performance. In the European classic tradition there are substantial differences
between a score and its execution: more than seventy years ago H.G. Seashore (1937) [33]
noticed that no performance faithfully followed the indications of the written notes of the
score. Observations like these gave rise to the idea of “expression” in music, normally used
in this field: since the initial articles on the subject (Gabrielsson 1987) [34] the term
“expression” has come to imply a deviation from the score prescriptions. If we think of the
idea of embodied meaning we can understand the origins of such deviations: the human
body, when performing music, has its specific needs. A number of experiments clearly
showed, for example, that human performers cannot reach the absolute precision of an
automatic computer performance of a score, and that in order to obtain a “human like”
performance a computer must simulate the “errors” that human bodies and human minds
normally introduces in the rendering of a score. The annual competition proposed by a
group of Japanese researchers, named “rendering contest” (Rencon), contains an
interesting repertoire of such systematic errors (2011) [35]. Unfortunately, though, the
concept of “expression” in performance neither coincides with that of emotion nor with
that of musical sense. Its dimension is different and its definition is particularly
problematic. A good example of problems like these is given for example by Nicholas
Cook [36] in his analysis of different performances of Chopin’s mazurkas.
Independently from gestures and embodied meaning, the main aspect in this
respect is that listening to music needs performance and duration in time. Music is not a
static phenomenon, and for this reason it cannot be simply compared to language and
verbal meanings, but also to other uses of language: for example to narrative [37].
Properties such as the presence of different temporal phases (beginnings, developments
and endings), in other words of changing time, are of primary importance in musical
listening. The theories of musical time developed by Michel Imberty in all his principal
works, and now synthesized in his last book [38], provide an excellent analysis of the
problem. In different ways Leonard B. Meyer [39] posed similar questions with his theory
of musical expectation (the so called “implication- realization” process) and several
followers of this theory added further research to his initial formulation (Huron) [40].
The just mentioned concepts and problems, and principally the idea that music
composition is a deeply different activity from music performance and musical listening,
clearly shows that musical sense cannot be reduced to unique and individual dimensions.
Semiotic theories, and not only cognitive or emotional or biological theories, deal with
24
the same problem: for example Nattiez and Molino pose this premise at the basis of their
tri-partition theory [41] where poietic activity has a relative independence from the
aesthesic one. Moreover one can mention that music, like all forms of human exchanges
and relationships (for example between composers, performers and listeners) is a collective
and social phenomenon, and its sense is strongly dependent on different points of view
and above all on cultural points of view. In the field of music execution itself a particular
problem arises: not only are there expressive differences among players but there are also
cultural transformations in the styles of performance. Expression is not a stable entity,
because it is strongly influenced by collective trends: the sociology of culture has the
specific aim of studying problems just like these. Only on this basis, for example, we can
avoid the fallacious idea that understanding the sense of music is a subjective fact and that
each listener is allowed to give legitimate interpretations of his/her listening.
Music and the sociology of culture
Tia DeNora [42] [43] says that the universally spread ideologies and beliefs
regarding classical music (for example, rapt listening, a hierarchy of musical tastes and the
presence of a canon of works) have a relatively short history: they were born in Vienna in
the years of Beethoven and were confirmed by the German aesthetic tradition of the
Nineteenth century, and in the 20th century by musicologists and philosophers like
Adorno and Dahlhaus. Ideologies on music are obviously spread because they are
necessary to give orientations to human choices (and not only in music), but I agree with
DeNora that their nature and socio-cultural origins must be known and clarified. For this
reason I think that a discipline such as the sociology and the history of culture is of
primary interest even in the field of semiotics and of the reconstruction of the sense of
music. Understanding music and discussing its sense cannot produce a unique and
unquestionable meaning as could be the meaning of a word to be described in a dictionary.
It inevitably means a profound knowledge of the socio-cultural conditions of its
production and of the personal ways used by each composer to dose and filter the
collective conditions of his/her epoch, and means also the knowledge of the
transformations that the sense of music acquires in different epochs and cultural
conditions: the intertextual analyses presented by Monelle in his books are, in this respect,
absolutely convincing in their complexity.
I also believe, however, that in the current versions of the history of music the
problem is normally underestimated and a correct reconstruction of a cultural history of
musical styles in European music is still lacking, with the exception of a very few cases
(e.g. Faure) [44]. In a book published some years ago [45] two colleagues and I developed a
theory of musical grammar based on the idea that a musical style is a structural
phenomenon made up of a complex construction of different structural layers, but that the
existence of structures and layers like these does not necessarily possess an explanation in
itself. Each singular musical structure (a duration, a pitch and so on) is “poietically”
chosen by a composer who in his/her choices must take into account the “aesthesic”
conditions posed by listeners, who must understand and accept the meanings intuitively
included in such choices. The grammar of a style is a continuous negotiation between the
composer’s intentions and the listeners’ agreements. Musical styles in their evolutions are
collectively guided by social conditions: conditions given by time (for example we
normally speak of a “baroque” style distinguished from “renaissance” or “classical” ones),
25
and conditions of geographical space (in the baroque epoch we speak for example of
French, or Italian or German styles). Leonard B. Meyer in his book on style [46] made
analogous assertion when he spoke of the connections between musical styles and social
ideologies. In our study, however, we tried to give a more detailed example of a specific
musical style (that of a book of chamber arias by Giovanni Legrenzi) which involved a
complete reconstruction of all its grammatical choices and the production of a computer
programme able to simulate arias in that style.
One of the more interesting applications of this discipline to a musical context is
the analysis of youth movements in the Sixties of the past century in connection with
youth music, and the explosion of rock styles. Young people, according to classic studies of
Simon Frith, Philipp Tagg, and others, elaborated moral, social cultural values that had
antagonistic valence toward the dominant traditional values, and music (and not only
music, but also literature and other arts) closely reflected them in the structural and formal
grammars of new popular musical styles [47] [48].
Ethnomusicologists and anthropologists have long known that each different
culture has its own legitimate forms of belief and its traditional behaviours, and that their
music must correspond to functions and expressions that are understood and appreciated
by the members of such societies. On some occasions interchanges among cultures can
create other aesthetic problems: for example when the music of a given culture is esteemed
and accepted by another culture. The most well known example is that of black music and
of the great variety of its contacts with Western music. In jazz music, mixtures and
“contaminations” became accepted and normal in the context both for black and white
society. In the already quoted article Tia DeNora gives the interesting example of the so
called bhangra beat, a form of Asian dance music used by young Asians immigrated to the
UK. The emergence of this use, “has offered young Asians a new resource for identity
development and for articulating their relationship to […] the UK” [49]. Other examples,
however, have grown up in recent times due to the ever expanding power of the mass
media and technological tools. I am thinking, for example, of what Peter Gabriel called
“World music”.
The origins of music
The knowledge of so many different musical cultures, styles and functions,
inevitably led researchers to the problem of the origins of music, and gave rise to a new
musicological discipline endowed with its own methods, hypotheses and results. This
discipline can also involve aspects of the research into the sense of music, for example by
offering new perspectives on the relationships between music, verbal language, animal
cries, or by giving suggestions about the primitive social functions of music and the traces
of their survival in particular features of today’s music. Although from a methodological
point of view it has nothing to do with semiotic traditions, it can be important for the
research on the sense of music: I will try to indicate connections like these in the
following pages. After the publication of a book on the “origins of music” (Wallin, Merker
and Brown 2000) [50] many articles and books were in fact devoted to this topic, both
from phylogenetic and ontogenetic points of view.
I shall start from phylogenesis and shall give a few examples that may have possible
connections with the problem of giving sense to music. I shall take them initially from a
special issue (Music and evolution) of Musicae Scientiae. Elvira Brattico and colleagues [51]
26
propose a hypothesis of primitive functions of music based on the “hedonic experience” of
sound, with references to Darwin (e.g. bird calls) but also to recent neuro-biological
inquiries. A quite similar proposal is advanced by Emery Schubert in the same issue [52]:
after a discussion on the different possible functions of music and the exclusion of any
communication function (communication implies assertion and response, but response is
lacking in music), he proposes pleasure generation as the fundamental aim of music.
Martindale, Hauser, Dermott, Miller, Pinker (quoted in the article) adopt a similar point
of view. Steven Brown [53] develops a different idea: neurology and ethnomusicology
show that the most shared forms of “chorus” or “vocal blending” is not homophony, but a
“multi-layered polyphony” where short melodic motives are mixed with one another (as
in the pygmy polyphonies studied by Simha Arom). It is not unconceivable to speculate
that polyphony (or heterophony) actually preceded melody in the story of human
musicality. Brown uses the term “contagious heterophony” to indicate a collective practice
not only widespread among human beings but also among animals (he gives the example
of wolves). A practice whose principal aim is that of confirming the sense of belonging to
a group. Other examples could be cited, but the general context of the phylogenetic
origins of music is highly problematic: Dermott and Hauser (2005) [54] for example say
that the adaptive functions of music are so far a complete mystery: love, religion, war,
have been evoked on several occasions, but the possibilities of any proof are extremely
poor. Innate elements could be better examined taking into account ontogenetic clues
(developmental evidence), comparative hypotheses (animal “music”) anthropological
indications (cross-cultural events) or neurological analyses. In any case, we must say that
at present we are in a starting phase of the discipline. Inquiries like these, however, have a
powerful impact on the research into the sense of music: not, of course, regarding any
specific kinds of music or a particular work of art, but music itself as a human
phenomenon.
Another domain that is well studied, also because it can be experimentally
observed, is that of the ontogenetic origins of music. Particularly important in this field is
the study of mother-infant dialogues in the first periods of human life, which many authors
connect with the first human musical experiences. Ellen Dissanayake [55] and Sandra
Trehub [56] are present in the already quoted volume on the Origins of Music with two
relevant articles. Dissanayake speaks of the “multimodal” activity of temporally patterned
movements, able to control and coordinate, through vocalisations and gestures, the
emotions of the two participants. Regular and repetitive forms of rhythmic protoconversations
and ritual gestures suggest that new-born babies possess an innate ability to
recognize and produce “isomorphic” activities produced by different (multi-modal)
perceptive sources: a mother uses her voice and the baby responds with analogous gestures,
and vice-versa.
Primitive music and dance are inseparably interconnected. Trehub insists on the
presence of such innate abilities by observing the problem from a cognitive point view: in
several experiences she demonstrated that young babies (from six to nine months old) can
recognise short melodies with the same intervals transposed in pitch. The same happens
with rhythms that are recognized as the same pattern if it is slightly accelerated or
retarded, but not if some duration is altered. Similarly, consonance and dissonance are
easily distinguished with a particular preference for consonance and dislike for dissonance.
Colwin Trevarthen [57] uses the term “intrinsic motivic pulse” to refer to the
tendency of babies (and then of adults) to express their “musicality” with expressive
27
gestures. Michel Imberty, on the basis of Trevarthen’s results and the ideas of the
psychoanalyst Daniel Stern [58], proposed an intriguing hypothesis on the genesis of the
perception of musical time in infancy based on mother-infant dialogues: the first
perceptions of time in the minds of babies are produced by regularities in repetition and
expectation (the memory of past repetitions produces expectations of future repetitions:
time is perceived on the basis of this principle). Moreover, time is not an abstract event:
the exchanges between mother and infant imply vocal, tactile, motive, affective
stimulations (principally the pleasure of “being with”): vitality affects, in Stern’s
terminology. This genesis is connected with the individual’s future experience of music
and the tensional aspects of musical temporality.
SOME FINAL REMARKS ON THE ROLE OF SEMIOTICS IN THE INQUIRIES ON
THE SENSE OF MUSIC
In the last part of my paper I will deal with semiotic inquiries and Monelle’s
thinking in the field of musical sense. I shall start from the word itself I used in the title of
my article. Why use “sense” and not “meaning” as we often find in literature? First of all I
should observe that this is the word that Monelle adopted in one of his books, but there
are also other motivations: in my opinion, the use of “meaning” (when applied to music)
can have similar denotations to the use of “sense”, from the point of view of its reference
to musical facts, but it has different connotations when it is adopted outside music: while
“sense” can serve to describe e.g. human behaviours or feelings, “meaning” is more often
present when it indicates what is meant by a word. In other words it can evoke the notion
of “semantic”, and the idea of “musical semantics”: an idea that was in use at the
beginnings of semiotics when (as in the first book by Monelle) the comparison between
music and verbal language was necessary in order to shed light systematically on analogies
and differences between the two communication systems. Now the comparison is by no
means exhausted, but the problem of verbal semantics applied to music has been clarified:
musical meaning (or musical sense) is much more complex than initially thought and in
any case is not to be considered as a “lexicon”.
The practice of musical criticism or hermeneutic interpretations was well aware of
complexities like these. It did not, however, have the purpose of discovering what was the
sense of music, but simply tried to manifest in words the interpretation of a specific piece
of music. Musical semiotics was a different phenomenon: when it came into being in the
1960s (the first International Conference, organized by Gino Stefani [59], was held in
Beograd in 1973) its aim was not simply to interpret or to analyse pieces of music, but to
study music in scientific terms as a means of communication. This was the reason why
linguistics was so important in the early phases of the discipline. Another concurrent
discipline did already exist in the field of music: music analysis, a solid tradition that had
more than a century of experience. It, however, did not have the specific aim of
discovering the sense of music, but only of describing its structural mechanisms. For
reasons such as these, semiotics was a new discipline initially distinct from musical
criticism and from music analysis.
Now, many disciplines interested in music, implicitly have aims that can coincide
or can almost be compared to that indicated by Monelle in the title of his book: the sense
of music. As we saw in the previous section on multidisciplinary research, a sort of
28
“Sensology” of music (obviously different from “semantics”) hovers around a wide area of
scientific interests: many disciplines are becoming involved in the search. In my opinion
the concurrence of different contributions can not only be useful, but in some cases risks
to be essential for the future imaginary new discipline we are speaking about. But what
could the function of semiotics be in this complex context? On this subject Monelle wrote
words of exemplary clarity. In the introduction to his book on Musical Topic [60], he
emphasizes the importance of the discipline and makes distinctions from other concurrent
fields of research: the specific aim of musical semiotics, according to his conception, is to
clarify the logic of musical sign, and for this purpose, other disciplines he calls
“circumstantial interpretants” are not useful:
circumstantial interpretants – social and psychological considerations about
manifested performances, or discussions of the “emotional” effects of the music – are a
different matter, and are rather foreign to the world of semiotics. Semiotics is a logical
study. The logic of signification demands that we examine the sign, not its
manifestation.
The concept of sign, however, is differently described by different semiotic
traditions and does not have a unique, shared identity: Monelle for example (Linguistics
and semiotics in music) [61] points out that the semiotic tradition derived from Saussure
uses a concept of sign not strictly comparable with that derived from Pierce. Eero Tarasti
[62] makes use of signs taken from Piercian tradition such as icon, index, symbol, and so
on; but in other cases he uses concepts taken from Greimas: isotopies, spatial temporal and
actorial categories, or “modalities” such as “will”, “know”, “can” and so on. Each of such
kinds of sign has a definition and shows precise relationships between the components of
the sign process, but a systematically defined, and coherent notion of sign, useful for
managing in efficient ways the sign functions present in a piece of music are so far difficult
to find in the theory and in the practice of semiotics. One could also add that the same
can be said in the field of cognitive sciences and in the whole interdisciplinary field I just
described. This is absolutely true, but with the difference that sciences like these do not
presuppose only “logical” relationships: their research always implies demonstrations based
on empirical evidence. One might provocatively add that if semiotic descriptions in
music were accompanied by empirical research they could be named “cognitive” instead of
“logical”.
In the concluding pages of my paper, I will not emphasize the difference between
semiotic and empirical research: I will try to follow the different path of emphasizing the
analogies. In fact, it is true that the two kinds of research methods have nearly nothing in
common from a methodological point of view, but it is also true that they have the
common aim of explaining very similar events. I shall now try to develop this idea (or at
least risk this bet) by means of some examples, principally (although not exclusively)
taken from Monelle’s texts.
In the issue of the journal Music Analysis published in 2010 and devoted to
emotional research there is an article by Tom Cochrane, whose title is: “Using the persona
to express complex emotions in music” [63]. It is enriched by a number of references to
philosophers such as Davies, Kivy, Levinson, Robinson and others. Its fundamental aim is
to explain why a listener while perceiving music, automatically and unconsciously
transforms his/her perceptions into the behaviours, attitudes or forms of thinking of an
imaginary person. Who could such an imaginary person be? The composer? The music
29
itself, interpreted as a generically human event? Psychological research takes the problem
into account, though it does not possess, so far, efficient theories able to exhaustively
explain this mechanism. There is however a singular coincidence: Monelle in his
deconstructive analysis of the composer’s presence in a musical text (The sense of music)
[64] takes into consideration the same problem but from another totally different point of
view. He is interested in discussing the manifold subjectivities encountered within a
literary novel (and possibly also within a piece of music): the narrator, the characters, the
hero, different social voices and so on. He sets out to discuss them in relation to the
presence of the author but above all to analyse the logical procedures present in such
relationships and the possible “intentional fallacy” of their presence. Obviously these two
presented examples are of a different nature: a psychological presence can be active in a
listener’s mind even if it is “fallacious”, or not logically correct. But from a comparison like
this, there clearly emerges, in my opinion, a partial coincidence between the aims of two
such different disciplines. Once again I emphasize that both one and the other can be
useful in trying to clarify the phenomenology of musical sense.
In another fragment Monelle (Musical topic) [65] discusses the conception of music
as an abstract construct: he uses the word “abstract” to indicate the traditional idea of a
music whose meaning is viewed in music itself (a problem we already mentioned in the
previous pages of the present paper):
we may find heroes, riders, journeys, pomp, ceremony, weeping and dancing, […] the
church and the salon. The tradition of abstract analysis, focusing on development
distribution, comparison, had obscured this obvious fact […] Music […] must always
escape the constraints of meaning: it is [following Adorno] a “concept free discourse”,
and [according to Levi-Strauss] “a grammar without semantics”.
I can add two remarks to this statement. From one point of view I only partially
agree with Monelle’s thinking: it is true that an absolute or “abstract” music analysis tends
to obscure musical meanings that listeners actually perceive. It is also true, however, that
musical meanings, in order to become music, have to be incorporated in structural features
(chords, melodies, rhythms, timbres and so on) that are organized by structural
constraints, endowed with conventional rules, governed by precise rules of style. From this
point of view the abstract study of music can have an important function: that of allowing
or facilitating the interpretation of possible connections between musical structures and
musical sense. While it is true that analysis and the study of musical sense (mostly in
critical and hermeneutic traditions) have evolved as two substantially different disciplines,
endowed with different methods and aims, they are nevertheless at the borders of one
another, and the great worth of semiotics has been that of proposing to study their
relationships: a good example of a sort of interdisciplinary research.
The most interesting point of connection between semiotics and other fields of
research, however, is to be found in the concept of “topic” (another of the key-words used
by Monelle in one of his titles). Monelle’s reflexions on the theories of Pierce and on the
concept of “interpretant” lead to the idea that musical structures are to be conceived as a
cultural objects in connection with other cultural objects. The analytical technique of
topics provides the best demonstration of this principle: it is based on the association of
complex but clearly defined sets of structural features with particular cultural objects such
as affective phenomena, concepts, images, social values, collective behaviours and so on.
This can be exemplified by the topics of the horse extensively studied in the third of
30
Monelle’s three books; the image of the horse, in fact, is a cultural object widely present in
the minds, in the affective reactions, in the social behaviours and conventions of
European society, even if the “sense” of the horse can be different if we consider social
classes, epochs and geographical locations. It can, though, have possible links with
inquiries present in cognitive theory, in the theory of emotions and of gestures, in cultural
studies, in ethnological and anthropological research. In other words, the study of cultural
objects cannot be considered as a specific subject of semiotic research: the methods are
different, but the contents can be the same.
In the practice of the study of “topics”, the association between musical structures
and their expressive contents is considered scientifically correct only if it is historically
documented by a great (or simply a sufficient) number of musical pieces: the scientific
results or the study of a given topic can be validated by demonstrating that in a well
defined musical style, for a particular musical genre and in a precise local area, an
agreement did exist between composers and listeners, according to which the complex set
of musical features could be interpreted to mean something (for example the image of the
horse) shared by all those concerned. In this context we can assert that we have a “neutral
level” (according to Nattiez’s terminology; “abstract” according to that of Monelle) and a
coincidence between poietic and aesthesic intentions and reactions. These requirements
can serve to distinguish the scientific validity of this approach from traditional musical
hermeneutic and criticism, and also from other examples of so-called “semiotic” research
that is often not so rigorous, when it is based on simple assertions and not on precise
demonstrations.
A researcher coming from cognitive studies could raise some objections about this
methodological procedure: for example that the method is not supported by empirical
evidence, because it does not verify if the associated contents are actually perceived by
listeners. This could be considered a good example of what I previously defined as the
need for negotiations between disciplines. In this imaginary case a follower of semiotic
topics could in turn raise his own objections: in all empirical sciences the need for
evidence like this is limited to today’s subjects, in this case the listeners, not to mention
the difficulty to distinguish the competent from the less competent listeners (always open
to infinite discussions and difficulties) while the aim of the topic is to describe the variants
of the cultural object “horse” according to different epochs and kinds of society. Today’s
reactions to the topic of the horse could be considered no more than one of the many
possible variants. Moreover it must take into account the fact that the place of horses in
our society is strictly reduced and that our relationship with horses is largely mediated by
films and television.
So, can negotiations like these obtain positive results? Can different research
methods become so intellectually conscious as to compare results coming from different
intentions and traditions? For the moment I have no reply to such questions. I leave them
open, it depends on too many variables. I shall simply claim that the study of the sense of
music is still in an initial phase of its development: our imaginary “Sensology” is only a
dream for the future. I shall limit myself to two final considerations: that Raymond
Monelle has given a substantial support to the concrete existence of this field, and that
semiotics, even though methodologically different from other sciences, can be considered
as one of the components of the multidisciplinary context I nowadays believe necessary to
explore the mysterious world of the sense of music.
31
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Music Analysis, 29/1-2-3, pp. 263-75, (Special issue on Music and Emotion), Spitzer, M.,
(ed.) 2010.
[64] Monelle, R., 2000. The sense of music. Semiotic essays. Princeton and Oxford,
Princeton University Press, p. 159.
[65] Monelle, R., 2006, p. 31.
34
PART II:
MUSICAL TOPIC THEORY,
NARRATIVITY, AND OTHER SEMIOTIC
PERSPECTIVES IN EIGHTEENTH AND
NINENTEENTH CENTURY ART MUSIC
35
Ironizing “Allegory of Listening” –
Deconstructing Monelle
Yonatan Bar-Yoshafat, PhD, The Open University, IL
ABSTRACT
In his thought-provoking book, The Sense of Music,1
Monelle expanded our standard
topical universe backwards and forwards in musical history. However, his target was not
confined to establishing a wider lexicon of musical topics, but more radically: to reject the
receptiveness for any “purely” musical signs (theoretically accepted by some semioticians)
in favour of the apprehension of music as essentially a signifying medium. In his chapter,
Allegory and Deconstruction, furthermore, he formulated an even more far-reaching
assertion, stating that “the listener to music listens to music listening to itself”, with J. S.
Bach's Fugue in A flat Major BWV 886 (WTC II No. 17) as a case in point.
The concept of allegory is closely related to the concept of irony, as was already noted by
Schlegel (i.e., his famous fragment “all active wit is allegory = mythological irony”). This
work shall delve into the correlation of the two concepts, and argue that while Monelle's
interpretation is revealing in terms of methodology, it is also questionable on several levels.
The most crucial amongst them are the semiotic significances of the fugue's main topics,
the account on the alleged deconstructive tendency of the piece (or what Monelle,
following Paul de Man, calls “allegory of listening”), and the claim that the Bach example
could in principle be paralleled with other works.
As instrumental music covers a shorter span of history than vocal music or literature, its
expressive tropes need to be scrutinized with further historical sensitivity. Comparing
Monelle's analysis of Bach's fugue with my own analysis of the final movement of C. P.
E. Bach's sonata Wq. 65/17 in G minor, I will show that the latter's work manifests selfreflexivity
and ironic “semiotic strategy”, to use Umberto Eco's phrase, and draw
attention to the significations of stylistic and cultural disparity of works from different
historical contexts.
INTRODUCTION
At the outset of chapter 8 in The Sense of Music, entitled “Allegory and
Deconstruction”, Raymond Monelle presents an intriguing reading of J. S. Bach's Fugue in
A flat Major BWV 886 (WTC II No. 17) [1]. Monelle meticulously unveils the riches of
complexities of this piece, concentrating on the topical tension that emerges from the
juxtaposition of the fugue's main subject and countersubject, and on the peculiar
relationship between the fugue and its ancestor version (The Fughetta in F Major BWV
901). However, scrutinizing the Bach fugue in fact serves as a springboard for a much more
inclusive object than topical decoding and comparative analysis of textual revisions; the
1
Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense Of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
36
incentive of Monelle's reading is ultimately to convince us that music is inherently a
signifying medium, irrevocably denied of the ability to convey “pure” signs (or what he
calls “objective” musical figures), and is “bound to deconstruct itself” [3]. More
specifically, Monelle makes conclusive assertions regarding (1) the semiotic significations
of the fugue's key topics, (2) the fundamental deconstructive tendency of the fugue in
relation to the fughetta, and (3) the immanent deconstructive nature of music in general,
which he dubs “allegory of listening”.
In what follows I shall examine each of these claims (concentrating on the first
two), and, by delving into on the relation of the concept of allegory to that of irony,
propose an alternative reading of what seems to be latent in Monelle's own text.
Allegories of Listening
Allegory is an act of invoking something by way of pointing at something else. In
allegory, as Walter Benjamin argued, “Any person, any object, any relationship can mean
absolutely anything else” [4]. For the post-structuralist critic Paul de Man, the
discontinuity between signs and significances is not confined to the sphere of figural tropes
but is implicit in our desire to understand the world through language. According to de
Man all texts inevitably demonstrate their own narrative instability, which is why all texts
are allegorical, and why for him “allegories are always ... allegories of the impossibility of
reading” [5].
Following de Man's concept of “Allegories of Reading”, Monelle asks whether it could be
shown that music too is an “Allegory” in the deconstructive sense, i.e., that reading (or
listening to) musical texts can reveal their inherent instability. He believes that the Bach
fugue is a particular pertinent example, albeit not unique.2
Topical and intertextual significations in BWV 886
Monelle locates arrays of contrarieties in the symbolic connotations of each of the
two principle ideas in Bach's A flat major fugue.3
The fugue's subject, with its metric
agility, diatonic progression and intervallic leaps, “comes from the world of the trio
sonata”, whereas the first countersubject, which consists of even note values in a
descending chromatic fourth (the passus duriusculus), is a Lamento which belongs to the
world of liturgical or theatrical music [6]. The two figures thus represent a set of binaries,
which, according to Monelle, include easeful vs. painful, modern vs. ancient, rational vs.
mystic, chamber vs. church, diatonic vs. chromatic, metric vs. a-metric, instrumental vs.
vocal, string vs. organ and abstract vs. symbolic [7].
Such marked juxtapositions of clashing topics are labeled by Robert Hatten as
musical “Tropes”, which he define as “the bringing together of two otherwise incompatible
style types in a single location to produce a unique expressive meaning from their collision
or fusion” [8]. But Monelle wishes to differentiate the meanings of each of the musical
topics in the Bach fugue, in order to put them in an allegorical relation; for this purpose he
classifies the two “style types” applying Charles Sanders Peirce's typological classes of
2
Monelle also mentions his own analysis of Peter Maxwell Davies's Antechrist, and point towards Haydn's
“Representation of Chaos” from his Schöpfung. (Monelle, The Sense of Music, pp. 206-07). Monelle returned to
Bach's fugue in order to reaffirm its allegorical significations in yet another article. See [2].
3
See appendix example no. 1 (the opening bars of BWB 886).
37
signs (icon-index-symbol), which play an important role throughout his book.4
Hence,
the Corellian-trio-sonata subject is an indexical sign because of its suggestiveness of ... a
Corelli sonata,5
whereas the Lamento countersubject is both indexical and symbolic,
because it is not only connected with vocal, instrumental, sacred and secular genres, but is
also associated with mournful sentiments [9].
Already here we face some interpretive difficulties. The juxtaposition of the trio
sonata topic and the Lamento topic does not produce as vigorous a tropological contrast as
Monelle argues. On the one hand, as fugal movements are a salient sign of the sonata da
chiesa repertoire,6F
6
the fugal subject can be strongly connected to the same liturgical world
of the Lamento countersubject. Its rising and descending diatonic tetrachords are obviously
associated with more innocent and spirited sentiments than the chromatic Lamento
tetrachord, but it is precisely their adjacency that can make it symbolise elevation, blissful
or celestial feelings. On the other hand, the Lamento countersubject receives here too
much symbolic weight. Monelle objects Peter Williams's assertion, according to which by
Bach's day instances of instrumental chromatic fourths became traditional and acted
grammatically or rhetorically rather than symbolically [10]. Monelle's concerns are of
course that if we “objectify” the Lamento topic as a cliché we sterilize its meanings; but
that is in fact what Bach does here. As David Ledbetter reaffirms: “Of all the triple
counterpoints that include the Lamento bass which Bach used in his keyboard works, this
is the most ordinary” [11].
Even if we leave aside the Peircean typological classes of signs, the fugue can be
shown to produce a rather mild trope. First (and this is perhaps the most important reason
for the decrease of markedness of this particular Lamento as a symbolic sign), Bach uses the
Lamento in the major-mode context of the piece – a fact that went unmentioned in
Monelle's analysis even though it bares major semiotic implications – which bleaches its
painful/mournful stamp.7F
7
Second, Lamento subjects are frequent visitors in the trio sonata
world, especially in da chiesa sonatas, so their assemblage with more "abstract" (trio
sonata) subjects is of no great surprise.8F
8
Third, there is a second countersubject in this
fugue, and even though Monelle mentions it, he neither classifies its typology nor
4
In a nutshell, Monelle maintains that a musical icon is based on figural resemblance (literal imitation of the
signified), a musical index is based on figural causality (stylistic reference to the signified), and a musical symbol is
based on figural contingency (agreed cultural code with no direct connection to the signified). As Monelle
demonstrates throughout his book, topics are usually compounded of more than one sign type.
5
Monelle does not fully explain this classification otherwise than by saying that the trio sonata subject is
“connected with court and drawing rooms, and thus with the tone of stringed instruments, with rationalism
and enlightenment, with the spurious stability of hierarchic society, with sophisticated badinage.” Monelle, R.,
2000, pp. 199-200.
6
Monelle himself acknowledges the affiliation between trio sonata subjects and imitative procedures (Ibid., p.
200).
7
A similar case can be found in Bach's Violin Sonata in C Major BWV 1005. Here too Bach builds a fugue
with a dance-like subject and a (major-mode) Lamento countersubject, written in “alla breve”, to add an
archaic, liturgical, flavour. But as in the A flat Major fugue, this lovely movement does not raise any sense of
"allegory".
8
Some illuminating examples can be found in Corelli's (trio) sonatas da chiesa Op. 1 No. 2 in E minor (second
movement, mm. 22-28) and Op. 3 No. 9 in F minor (first movement, mm. 1-4). In his trio Op. 1 No. 11 in D
minor the second movement actually opens with a Lamento subject in imitation (mm. 1-8); but since
descending chromatic fourths are so common in that era, one should not be surprised to find a glimpse of them
even in da camera pieces – such as Corelli's Op. 4 No. 1 in C Major (second movement, mm. 48-49).
38
addresses its reconciling functionality.9
Fourth, as the convention of a fugue requires
repetitions of simultaneous subjects and countersubjects, each repetition of the fugue's
trope necessarily undermines its effect, as our mind quickly drifts along with the fugue's
bewitching harmonic escalation.
This brings us to Monelle's more radical claim, according to which the conflicting
topics of the work bring about a “special” listening to bars 24-50 (from the point where
the original fughetta ended to the end of the fugue), where tonality becomes increasingly
precarious until it almost falls apart [12].
No doubt, the newer part of the fugue is more adventurous in is chromatic and
flattening tendencies than whatever happened in the fughetta. But that does not yet
justify the analogy Monelle draws between Bach's fugue as a whole and Marcel Proust's À
la recherche du temps perdu, in which, as de Man maintained, two authorial levels (the
auteur and the protagonist) converge and undermine each other's narrative (and thus
represents a masterpiece of allegory of reading). The move from the older part of the fugue
to the newer part is just as smooth as the juxtaposition of the two main topics, and none of
these aspects produces a sense of authorial ambiguity;10F
10
at best, we can maintain that
listening to the fugue – bearing in mind the fughetta – adds an apparent intertextual
fragrance to our experience. But intertextuality does not necessarily produce
deconstructive allegories.11F
11
Furthermore, the “harmonic labyrinth”, as Monelle names the
supplementary part of the fugue, by no means harms the movement's organic emotional
affect. Certainly there is a link between the affective cohesion of the fugue and its
structural unity; but more importantly: the chain of contrasts indicated by Monelle is part
of the Baroque hybrid "Langue", which in itself does not call for a reflexive interpretation.
Not only that the second part of the fugue does not threat to undermine the preceding
part, but as the fugue progresses it fulfills the latent harmonic boldness that was cut short
in the fughetta, and gradually relinquishes itself from its initial symbolic weight.
And why should we confine our interpretation of the fugue solely to its intertextual
relations with the fughetta? As a matter of fact, the fugue's intertextuality could be traced
back to Corelli's (da chiesa) violin sonata Op. 5 No. 3, the first two bars of which are quoted
in Monelle's book (p. 200). Had he given us the bass part from Corelli's sonata, we would
have easily recognized a descending (diatonic) tetrachord accompanying our "indexical"
subject, which, a few bars later (at bars 12-13) appears in the parallel minor-mode,
Lamenting chromatically.12F
12
A different interesting intertextual moment appears towards the
end of the fugue, right after the climatic fermata (at bars 46-47), when we unexpectedly
recognize the motive that ends the “ritornello” from the first movement of Bach's Italian
Concerto in F Major (bars 24-26) – a work written in the same key as that of the fughetta.13F
13
9
Note the abundant of descending diatonic tetrachords in the second countersubject, which take their
dexterity from the trio sonata subject and their falling motion from the Lamenting first countersubject.
10
In this respect, the Bach example is much closer to, say, Wagner's bacchanale addition to the later version of
his Tannhäuser overture.
11
Of course, taking into account the habitual practices of parodying and rearranging musical works during the
18th century, one should be careful not to confuse intertextual relations that were generated by pragmatic
considerations with works that produce intentional intertextual meanings. Indeed, intentional intertextuality
occurred throughout the history of western music, and in this respect many mid-ages works – utilizing self
parodies and emblematic allusions – are more allegorical than Bach's fugue.
12
Another notable resemblance can be found in a short transitional motive which runs both at the first half of
bar 3 in Corelli's work and at the first half of bar 5 in Bach's work.
13
N.B., both the final bars of the “ritornello” section and their equivalent passage in the fugue lead to a
deceptive cadence before arriving at the anticipated PAC.
39
Taking into account such intertextual instances will necessarily alter our listening
experience and interpretation, albeit not necessarily turn them into allegories of listening.
At one point in his chapter Monelle claims en passant that with the emergence of
the later part of the fugue the music leads to “aporia” [13]. This word, which in ancient
Greek stood for a state of conscious bewilderment, brings us closer to the more reflexive
levels of music hermeneutics. In many of Plato's dialogues, Socrates interrogates his
educated conversational partners to the point where they admit to arrive at a state of
aporia. Socrates is of course known for pretending to be an ignorant, and this feign
incompetence, which originated in Greek comedy, was named eirōneía – from which the
modern word “irony” is derived.
Between Allegory and Irony
In daily use, allegory and irony are chiefly associated with rhetorical tropes that
express a gap between what is being said and what is actually meant. But ever since
Friedrich Schlegel's cardinal contribution to the romantic discourse of self-reflexivity,
allegory and irony share a deeper meaning that transports them to the sphere of
philosophy. For Schlegel, the lack of cohesion between signs and significances expresses
the “disjointedness” condition of man, for whom not only is the “absolute” outside of
reach, but also self-comprehensibility.14
Schlegel famously depicted irony as a “constant alteration of self-creation and selfdestruction”
and as a “permanent parabasis” [14]. Parabasis, another concept that
originated in ancient Greek comedy, means an “interruption of a discourse by a shift in
the rhetorical register” [15]. De Man explains that allegory's form is experienced as a
diachronic narrative whereas irony's form is experienced as a synchronic moment; thus for
him “irony is the permanent parabasis of the allegory of trope” [16] (the latter is the ideal
narrative coherence of the text, which irony disrupts). Marshal Brown adds another angle
to the relationship between allegory and irony, explaining that “irony is allegory freed of
the melancholy inherent in the inability to express its meaning directly” [17]. The
freedom from melancholy is what connects irony to wit (but not necessarily humour).15 16
Romantic irony plays an important role in the sphere of art. “The ironization of
form”, writes Benjamin, “is like the storm which lifts up [aufheben] the curtain of the
transcendental order of art and reveals it for what it is, in this order as well as in the
unmediated existence of the work” [21]. Gary Handwerk's analysis of the ironic in art can
clarify Benjamin's metaphor. “As a technical device”, writes Handwerk, “Romantic irony
has most typically been identified as the disruption within a text or performance of its aura
of aesthetic illusion” [22]. Handwerk maintains that shattering the façade of aesthetic
illusion in artworks can take shape in either a direct intrusion by the author, in selfreflexive
actions of the protagonists, or in abruptly disjunctive transitions between
narrative registers. Within the context of instrumental music, the last category is of special
importance.
14
Schlegel followed Fichte's argument, according to which the mind is prevented from fully understanding
itself, because self-reflexivity means that the subject has to split and reflect on itself as an object.
15
On irony as allegory and wit see: [18]
16
On the serious sides of irony and its relation to music see [19] [20].
40
Ironic fragmentations in Wq. 65/17
How can a fugue be ironically “deconstructed”? Hypothetically, Bach could have
undercut the fugue's conventions by much extremer measures. For example: he could have
had dilute the movement's polyphonic texture, or digress to another genre's convention,
or maintain the fugue but add something completely different – all of which would sharply
break (or break free, or break through) our expectations from a fugue. Needless to say,
such options are further removed not only from the specific context of the WTC, but of J.
S. Bach's world in general. But this is exactly what happens in the last movement of Carl
Philipp Emanuel Bach's G minor sonata Wq. 65/17 from 1746. 17
The movement opens with rapid arpeggios in a quasi-toccata style which in a flash
lead to a distinctly fugal subject, consisting of a clear rhythmic sequence and descending
chromatic steps (which, not incidentally, exceed the common interval of perfect fourth).
The monophonic subject stimulates our expectation (and most certainly – 18th century
listeners') for a proper answer with a countersubject – but that expectation never comes to
pass. Instead, a prelude-like hasty diatonic sequence takes over and leads into an abrupt,
almost comical, cadence; immediately thereafter the music digresses to a completely
different mood, with a cheerful theme accompanied homophonically, starting
unexpectedly on the sixth degree but quickly modulating towards the relative major.
The ironic feature of this opening escaped even one of C. P. E. Bach's music
experts, David Schulenberg, who argued that “If the [g minor] sonata [Wq. 65/17] gives
any disappointment, it is because the monophonic statements of the chromatic subject of
the last movement may suggest to some hearers the opening of a fugue, and of course the
subject receives no imitative development (nor any development at all)” [23]. But this is
listening to C. P. E. Bach's music through J. S. Bach's ears.
Emanuel Bach is deliberately frustrating us through a series of “parabases”. The
music deceives us on several levels (grammatical and semiotic). The two “toccata”
opening bars, though written in double-meter, could be heard as beginning in triple-meter
(3/8); the “fugal” subjects increase the metric ambiguity, sounding first in 3/4 (bar 3 and
first beat of bar 4), then retroactively, with the added pair of eight notes at the beginning
of bar 6, in 4/4. The mannerist cadence momentarily halts the music as if to restart
correctly, and indeed – it manages to reassure the metric flow; but the moment of metric
stabilizations overlaps with the moment of tonal destabilization (where it drifts away to
the parallel major).
These rhetorical eccentricities, taken together with the topical digressions, do not
allow an “automatic” (or “naïve”) mode of listening. And indeed, once we have come to
recognize the irony of this opening, the rest of movement will be addressed with a more
reflexive orientation. The movement is written in a seemingly simple binary form (it
progresses from tonic to relative major, and, after the double line bar, returns to the tonic).
The secondary tonal area recalls motives from the primary subject in a manner not
uncommon in Baroque works, but reshuffles them in a somewhat disorienting way. Several
ideas presented in the first part of the movement are reintroduced after the double line bar
in a varied version (which is how Emanuel Bach usually "develops" his materials).
Thereafter, at bar 62, we encounter an early instance of a false recapitulation, with the
17
See appendix example no. 2 (the opening bars of Wq. 65/15).
41
primary subject transposed to D Minor.18
At bar 88 we hear the short "toccata" in the
tonic, but before a true sense of recapitulation can be achieved the music modulates
without delay to the subdominant C minor, where the fugal theme is recapitulated. As a
matter of fact, the “fugue” theme is only heard once again – at the very end of the
movement – and its different key appearances throughout the movement recalls C. P. E.
Bach's Rondo works. Additional materials from the first part of the movement reappear,
though not in their expected order or key. The music skips through many of the secondary
tonal area motives (which corresponded to the primary subject), right to the modulatory
theme, at bar 98, now arriving at A flat major (the Neapolitan second degree). Only at bar
101, fifteen bars before the end of the movement, does the primary key begin to sneak back,
albeit the tonic chord is put off to the very last bar (and even the final bar ends with an
appoggiatura note, driving our expectation for a resolution to the very end of the piece).
This movement thus maintains a loose affiliation to several prominent conventions
(Toccata, Fugue, Rondo, binary Suite and Sonata movements). Even though analysis can
ascertain its sonata form, the continual suppression of our educated presumptions
regarding music genres and grammar makes our listening experience “aporiatic”: we begin
by thinking that we are listening to a fugue; then a secondary tonal area leads us to hear a
quasi-Baroque (suite? sonata?) movement; the appearance of a “development” section
affirms the sense of a sonata movement; which is quickly lost again, for the lack of a clear
(thematic and tonal) recapitulation;19
the later restatements of the fugue theme in nontonal
keys again confuses our formal orientation, for a rondo form now comes to mind; the
final restatement of what was the second tonal area in the home key shifts us back to the
sonata domain, but by now we are not sure anymore as to what we have been listening to.
As the movement progresses, the attentive listener are bound to listen reflexively not only
to the music – but also to the very act of his own listening.
The fragmentation of this movement – which, from a formalistic point of view,
might raise doubts regarding its organic cohesion and thematic development – is in fact a
typical sign of C. P. E. Bach's "permanent" semiotic witticism. What is so special in this
example, however, and what sets it apart from anything J. S. Bach ever did in any of his
boldest fugues, is how Emanuel Bach manages in setting an instantaneous ironic trope
consisting of a referent and its nonexistent “negative referent”20
– the fugal subject and
the (never fulfilled) expectation for a countersubject!
Conclusions: The multivalent of (musical) texts and the plausibility of interpretational
readings
Monelle succeeded in expanding our understanding of the mechanism and spirit of
musical topics and how to assess their different levels. However, in his insistence that
18
See J. Hepokoski's and W. Darcy's seven leading criterions for a false-recapitulation effect, to which Emanuel
Bach's movement mostly conform. See [24]. Most notable is probably the appearance of the secondary tonal
area theme at bars 72-79, prior to the “genuine” recapitulation at bar 88.
19
Browsing on C. P. E. Bach's famous Württembergische Sonaten (Wq. 49/1-6) published in 1744 (two years
prior to the G minor Sonata) reveals that all of the set's opening movements (and about half of its closing
movements) already consist of “double” recapitulations. The formal digression found here should not be
attributed to an alleged “transitory” stage in sonata form history, but to a deliberate choice of the composer.
20
I suggest the term “negative reference” to distinguish between parodic phenomena – in which a certain
object is grotesquely exaggerated or distorted, and ironic phenomena – in which a certain object is referred to
by alluding to its opposite familiar qualities.
42
“there has never been a gesture that was ‘purely musical’” [25] he exchanged one extreme
view (pure formalism, which he had rightly denounced) for another (an all-encompassing
music symbolism). As Kofi Agawu has shown, “purely” musical signs can converge with
topical signs in creating interpretational signification [26]. But what is at stake here is, of
course, a more fundamental predicament which exceeds the frame of music semiotics. It is
the unabridged gap between structural and post structural world views, for which I do not
pretend to offer any resolution. I can only quote from Umberto Eco's important text on
interpretation, which can direct us in what strikes me as a most productive path:
One could object that the only alternative to a radical reader-oriented theory of
interpretation is the one extolled by those who say that the only valid interpretation
aims at finding the original intention of the author. In some of my recent writings I
have suggested that between the intention of the author (very difficult to find out and
frequently irrelevant for the interpretation of a text) and the intention of the
interpreter who (to quote Richard Rorty) simply 'beats the text into shape which will
serve for his purpose', there is a third possibility. There is an intention of the text.
[...] To recognize the intentio operis [the intention of the text] is to recognize a
semiotic strategy. Sometimes the semiotic strategy is detectable on the grounds of
established stylistic conventions. [...] Naturally, I can witness a case of irony, and as a
matter of fact the following text should be read in a more sophisticated way. [...] The
internal textual coherence controls the otherwise uncontrollable drives of the reader
[27].
But there is a historical context to consider too. To assume that every work
inevitably deconstructs itself is to risk flattening the significations of stylistic and cultural
disparity of works from different historical periods.21
As instrumental music covers a
shorter span of history than vocal music or literature, its expressive tropes need to be
scrutinized with further sensitivity. Thus, the irony found in C. P. E. Bach's music is not
an indication of an immanent deconstruction tendency in music, but rather an
idiosyncratic “parole” that emerged in a specific time and place, and which represents a
“moment” of artistic self-reflexivity regarding music's “free” play of sounds and what they
stand for.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This research was supported by The Open University of Israel's Research Fund.
REFERENCES
[1] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton: Princeton University
Press. pp. 196-207. An earlier version of this section was first introduced at Musica
Significans: Proceedings of the Third International Congress on Musical Signification
(Edinburgh, 1992), and published in Monelle, R., 1997. “BWV 886 as allegory of listening”
21
As John M. Ellis argues, we expect particular canonical artworks – from essentially different historic and
cultural contexts – to generate different critical commentaries rather than repeated formularization of a certain
theory. See [28].
43
in Contemporary Music Review, Vol. 16/4. Harwood Academic Publishers, pp. 79–88 (My
references are to the book version).
[2] Monelle, R., 2007. “Life and death in a fugue of Bach”. In Music and Its Questions: Essays
in Honor of Peter Williams. Richmond, Va.: Organ Historical Society Press, pp. 239-250.
[3] Monelle, R., 2000, pp. 197-98.
[4] Benjamin, W., 1985/1925. Allegory and Trauerspiel. The origin of German tragic drama.
Translated by J. Osborne. London: Verso, p. 175.
[5] De Man, P., 1979. Allegories of Reading: Figural Language in Rousseau, Nietzsche, Rilke and
Proust. New Haven: Yale University Press, p. 205.
[6] Monelle, R., 2000, pp. 198-99.
[7] Ibid., pp. 205-06.
[8] Hatten, R. S., 2004. Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes: Mozart, Beethoven,
Schubert. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, p. 68. Hatten's Chapter “The Troping of
Topics, Genres, and Forms: Bach, Mozart, Beethoven Schubert, Brahms Bruckner, Mahler”
opens with a reference to Monelle's analysis (ibid., pp. 68-9).
[9] Monelle, R., 2000, pp. 197-98.
[10] Williams, P., 1997. The Chromatic Fourth during Four Centuries of Music, Oxford:
Clarendon Press, pp. 103-04 and 249.
[11] Ledbetter, D., 2002, Bach’s Well-tempered Clavier: the 48 preludes and fugues. New
Haven: Yale University Press, p. 305.
[12] Monelle, R., 2000, pp. 205-06.
[13] Monelle, R., 2000, p. 202.
[14] Behler, E., 1990. “Irony in the Ancient and the Modern World”. In Irony and the
Discourse of Modernity. Seattle: University of Washington Press, pp. 73-110: p84
[15] De Man, P., 1996. “The Concept of Irony”. In Aesthetic ideology. Minneapolis,
Minn.: University of Minnesota Press, pp. 163-184, p. 178.
[16] Ibid., p. 179.
[17] Brown, M., 1979. The Shape of German Romanticism. Ithaca: New York: Cornell
University Press, p. 99.
[18] Frank, M., 2004. “On Schlegel's Role in the Genesis of Early German Romantic Theory
of Art”. In The Philosophical Foundations of Early German Romanticism. Translated by E.
Millan-Zaubert. Albany: SUNY Press, pp. 201-220: p. 216.
[19] Bonds, M. E., 1991. “Haydn, Laurence Sterne, and the Origins of Musical Irony”.
Journal of the American Musicological Society, 44/1, pp. 57-91
[20] Webster, J., 2011. “Irony in Music and Haydn’s Irony”. In Camilla Bork at al., (ed.),
Ereignis und Exegese. Musikalische Interpretation – Interpretation der Musik Festschrift für
Hermann Danuser zum 65. Geburtstag. Schliengen: Edition Argus, pp. 335-46.
[21] Walter Benjamin, “Der Begriff der Kunstkritik in der deutschen Romantik”, quoted in
de Man, The Concept of Irony, p. 183.
[22] Handwerk, G., 2000. “Romantic Irony”. In M. Brown, (ed.), The Cambridge History of
Literary Criticism, Vol. 5: Romanticism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, p. 207.
[23] Schulenberg, D., 1988. “C.P.E. Bach through the 1740s: The Growth of a style”. In
Stephen L. Clark, (ed.), C. P. E. Bach Studies. Oxford: Clarendon Press, pp. 228-29.
[24] Monelle, R., “Life and Death”, pp. 243-44 (quoting from Monelle, R., 1992. Linguistics
and Semiotics in Music. Chur, Switzerland: Harwood, p. 326).
44
[25] Hepokoski, J., and Darcy, W., 2006. Elements of sonata theory: norms, types and
deformations in the late eighteenth-century sonata. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 224-
25
[26] Agawu, V. K., 1991. Playing with Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music.
Princeton: Princeton University Press, p. 72 and elsewhere.
[27] Eco, U., 1992. Interpretation and Overinterpretation. With Richard Rorty, Jonathan
Culler and Christine Brooke-Rose, (ed.) Stefan Collini. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, p. 25 and pp. 64-5.
[28] Ellis, J. M., 1989. Against Deconstruction. N.J.: Princeton University Press p. 117.
References not in text
[29] Tambling, J., 2010. “Allegory, Irony, Deconstruction”. In Allegory. New York:
Routledge, pp. 128-151.
APPENDIX
Example 1. J. S. Bach, Fugue No. 17 in A♭ Major BWV 886, opening entries
45
Example 2. C. P. E. Bach, Keyboard Sonata in G Minor Wq. 65/17, opening
46
How Rhetorical Signs Narrate by Tropes in
Performing Handel´s Giulio Cesare
Marjo Suominen, MA, The University of Helsinki, FI
ABSTRACT
Handel was a creator of skilfully set musical moods and ideas. He merged traditional
German based harmonic of contrasts with Italianate-French musical rhetoric of affections,
which he formulated into originally inventive expression of tonal palette. Giulio Cesare in
Egitto, is one of his all-time most successful operas. I will examine Handel´s rhetoric
based musical applications of emotive methods occurring in his Giulio Cesare, which
function as opera´s alternatives, giving narrative clues by hunting, military and pastoral
tropes for different performance views.
OUTLINES FOR A RESEARCH
Classical rhetorical applications were central to all artistic renditions during the
18th Century, and allegorical context via musical decoration reveals contemporary
(didactic) messages. I apply the theory of affects in music appearing in the writings by
Handel´s colleague Johann Mattheson grounded on Classic Aristotelian and Cartesian
ideals. These are seen against Ciceronian rhetoric thinking, which belonged to Handel´s
basic schooling in Halle, his town of birth. Also, this relates to so called HippocraticGalenic
four elements, by which I will show the different representations of the opera´s
characters as cathartic (ethic) implication. Studying Handel´s metaphors of love in Giulio
Cesare in Egitto, I will introduce how they are depicted by the arias, through hunting,
military and pastoral associations, as a prevailing message. The atmospheric tone paintings
of the arias answer the following questions: how is love defined in Giulio Cesare in Egitto?
What kind of musical signs and metaphors are found? What will these convey and how
will they communicate through different interpretations? Love is an essential theme in
Giulio Cesare as a result of that the arias` foci are interlocked by the affection tensions. I
will provide some fairly recent audiovisual performance examples of “epoch”/pastoral
(ENO, 1984), “satirical”/hunting (Sellars`, 1990) and “colonialist”/military
(Glyndebourne, 2005) perspectives of the work, adding those to different rhetoric ways of
thinking, i.e. those of the Italian, French and German musical rhetoric.
Handel wrote Giulio Cesare based on Nicola Haym´s libretto, which was
inspired by a Venetian opera composed by Antonio Sartorio and libretto written for it by
Francesco Bussani 47 years earlier. Bussani´s version was based onsome historical sources
related to Caesar´s biographies (by Suetonius, Plutarch and Hirtius). Instead of the
political intrigue as the main theme, both Bussani and Haym chose to emphasize the
romantic junctions of the storyline in their librettos.As a framework of the musical
47
analysis, I am applying the theory of affections in music appearing in the writings by
Johann Mattheson (especially in his Das Neu=Eröffnete Orchestre, The Newly-Reopened
Orchestra, 1713, also Der vollkommene Capellmeister, The Flawless Conductor, 1739).
Mattheson grounded his musical theoretical outlines on Classic Aristotelian and
Cartesian ideals (established first in Aristotle´s Rhetoric and later in Descartes´ Les passions
de l’âme) which relate closely to performance practices of the work [1]. He connects
affections to musical figures. Mattheson refers in Capellmeister that melody is to be
directed for presenting affection [2]. To his mind the emphasis shifts from the composer to
the performer [3]. Mattheson regards rhetorical figures as musical devices [4]. He considers
musical figures identical and having such a natural status in the melody with rhetorical
counterparts, and being so well related, as if the Greek orators had derived their speech
figures from the art of the musical tones itself [5].
Method of affects is related to theories of emotion launched by classical
philosophers on responses to events as triggering bodily changes and motivating
characteristic behaviour. Different theories posit several ontologies of emotion and there
has been dispute about what emotions really are. Also emotions have raised questions
about their extent and contribution to rationality. In Handel´s Giulio emotions are been
seen via enhancing self-knowledge by Cartesian view, in which there is as an assumption
that one knows the best one´s own emotions but at the same time they can cause many
failures of self-knowledge by their misleading complexity. In Giulio emotions are been also
connected to morality, likewise they traditionally have been regarded as a threat to
morality and rationality which is reflected in means of vices and virtues: envy, wrath and
pride seen as common vices and love, compassion and sympathy as virtues. There were
three basic Hellenistic standpoints the Stoic by which emotions were irrational beliefs,
and one should get rid of all desires and attachments; Epicurean according to which one
should avoid pain creating pleasures since one possesses a rudimentary desire to aspire
pleasure, and Skeptic who viewed that beliefs itself were irrational and causing the pain.
All three schools emphasized the value of the absence of the disturbance in the soul.
Scottish philosopher David Hume suggested in the 18th
century that emotions as partly
constituted by desires, will help us to motivate decent behaviour and strengthen social life
[6]. (See Appendix Table I: The four humours.)
ON ORIGINS OF MUSICAL RHETORIC
There are three ground models for musical rhetoric, which are the affections seen
via pragmatic (French), semiotic (Italian) and rational (German) ideas and ideals.
Affections seen as:1) an effective discourse for persuasion, as pleasing through activating
the listener´s emotional intellectual response (the French way of musical rhetorical
thinking); 2) a relation between content (signified) and expression (signifier for beautiful
discourse) as ideal, perfection seeking by execution of skills of the performer (the Italian
way of musical rhetorical thinking); and 3) a rational insight by means of influence aiming
for moving / touching the soul, utilising the affections tools in music by intelligent ways
(the German way of musical rhetorical thinking).
I will examine my above-mentioned three audiovisual performance recordings
examples as instances of reoccurrence and remaking of Handel´s opera Giulio Cesare in
48
Egitto. I have chosen these particular performance recordings, because they introduce the
different rhetorical / affection aspects.
Defining Musical Rationalism
Traces of the historical background for the concept of theories for musical
affections have occurred in oratory and rhetoric by Greek and Roman classic writers and
philosophers, Aristotle, Cicero, and Quintilian [8]. In philosophical studies the human
emotions were pondered by such writers as for instance Descartes, Hobbes, Locke and
Shaftesbury [9]. Affection was seen as an idealized emotional state, which was called as
pathos in Greek, affect us in Latin, Affekt in German, and affect or affection in English
[10]. It appeared in music starting from the late 15th
century mentioned in writings by
Burmeister, Lippius, Mersenne, Kircher, Heinichen, Walther, Werchmeister, Scheibe, and
Mattheson [10]. Mattheson applies musical figurative theories by Burmeister, which he
uses as devices for constructing melodies relating them to affects [11].
The French philosopher René Descartes mentions musical affections relating them
to movements of the soul aroused by the art of the spoken theatre, already in his Abrégé de
musique / Compendium Musicae (1618): “[…] its [music´s] aim is to please and to arouse
various emotions in us…for in the same way writers of elegies and tragedies please us most
the more sorrow they awaken in us [12].” In the end of his treatise; he notes on methods of
the cadencial voice leading as compared to discussion of a speech by oratorical system, also
relating, finally, music to that of the poetry; that: “ […] a full cadence is necessary at the
end of a composition. During the course of a composition the avoidance of such a cadence
has a charming effect. This occurs when, so to speak, one voice seems to wish to rest while
another voice proceeds further. This is a type of figure of speech in music, just as there are
figures of speech in Rhetoric…poetry is supposed to arouse the emotions in the same
manner as music [13].” Later Descartes published his famous treatise Les passions de l´âme
(1649) on affections, in which love (and hatred of which, vengeance is a subspecies1
; as in
Handel´s Giulio Cesare, love and vengeance are the basic affections), was among the main
(original, i.e. primitive) affections [14]. According to Deliège, the French composer, music
theorist Jean-Philippe Rameau talked also about affectional, conscious listening, in which
emotional elements depend on intellectual parts of meaning communicated through
interpretation [15].
In Italy, Gioseffo Zarlino called for the emotional unity of text, composition and
musical performance in his Institutioni harmoniche (1558), and Nicola Vincentino sought
for similarity between speech and music (1555). Furthermore, according to Carl Dahlhaus,
the Italian doctrine on musical figures emphasizes “Expressio textus” (the expression),
while the German one concentrates rather on “Explicatiotextus” (the explanation) [16].
In Germany, during the 18th
century, rational, sensible thinking was seen as
cathartic, as an effect of purification. Johann Mattheson (1681-1764), was a Handel´s peer
and colleague in Hamburg at the Gänsemarktoper, (which is now the Hamburg State
Opera) when Handel apprenticed together with him there to Reinhard Keiser (1674 –
1739), an opera composer, and the director of the Hamburg´s opera, in the beginning of
18th
century.
1
See in Descartes´ letter to Princess Elizabeth of Bohemia on Sept 1st
1645, The Philosophical Writings, Vol.
III, The Correspondence.
49
Mattheson´s Affections Settings Compared to Handel´s Giulio Cesare
Later, in his book Orchestre I (1713), Mattheson describes characteristic affections
for the 17 most practical keys as corresponding his temperament (which I have compared
to Handel´s Giulio Cesare´s protagonist arias, as follows):
1. C: rude, bold also tender (Handel: Cesare: “Quel torrente”; brave, revengeful,
victorious)
2. c: sweet, sad (Handel: Cesare: “Empio”, Act 1, scene 3; indignant)
3. D: sharp, headstrong, for warlike and merry things (Handel: Cesare: “Presti”, Act 1,
scene 1; victorious)
4. d: devout, tranquil, also grand; devotion in church music, amusing, flowing
5. Eb: pathos, serious, sad, hostile to all sensuality
6. E: despair, fatal sadness, hopelessness of extreme love, piercing, painful (Handel:
Cleopatra: “Nondisperar”, Act 1, scene 5; ironic, scornful & “Piangerò”, Act 3, scene
3; agony, lamenting, revengeful & “Da tempeste”, Act 3, scene 7; fateful, affectionate,
victorious)
7. e: pensive, profound, grieved, sad
8. F: most beautiful sentiments, generosity, constancy, love (Handel: Cesare:
“Vatacito”, Act 1, scene9; revengeful, justifying & “Aure”, Act 3, scene 4; longing for
& Cleopatra: “V´adoro”, Act 2, scene 2; constant, affectionate, seductive /Parnasso)
9. f: tender, calm, profound, weighty, a fatal mental anxiety, exceedingly moving
10. f#: languishing, amorous, unrestrained, strange, misanthropic (Handel: Cleopatra:
“Se pietà”, Act 2, scene 8; suffering, revengeful, doubtful)
11. G: suggestive and rhetorical, for serious as well as gay things (Handel: Cesare: “Se
fiorito”, Act 2 scene 2; allusive, happy, enamoured)
12. g: almost the most beautiful, graceful, agreeable, tender, yearning, diverting, for
moderate complaints, tempered joyfulness
13. A: affecting and brilliant, inclined to complaining, sad passions (Handel: Cleopatra:
“Tutto”, Act 1, scene 7; potentialities, touching, impressive & “Venere”, Act 2, scene
7; impressive, touching, invocation/requesting)
14. a: plaintive, decorous, resigned, inviting sleep
15. Bb: diverting, magnificent, but also dainty
16. B: offensive, harsh, unpleasant, desperate character (Handel: Cesare: “Al lampo”,
Act 2, scene 8; revengeful, confirming &Cleopatra: “Tu la miastella”, Act 1, scene 8;
grand, anticipating, requesting)
17. b: bizarre, morose, melancholic [17].
I have also compared Mattheson´s list of affections of the dance forms and agogic
markings to equivalents in Handel´s Giulio Cesare, as follows: the list by Mattheson:
I. Minuet: moderate gaiety
II. Gavotte: exulting joy
III. Bourrée: contentment & pleasantness; untroubled or calm
IV. Rigaudon: trifling jocularity
V. March: heroic &fearless
VI.Entrée: nobel& majestic
VII. Gigue: passionate & volatile ardour (Handel: Giulio Cesare: Cleopatra: “Tu la mia
stella”) Loure: proud, arrogant naturedCanarie: eagerness & swiftness
Giga: greatest quickness (Handel: Giulio Cesare: Final Duetto: “Caro! Bella!”;folk like jig)
VIII. Polonaise: frankness & free manner
IX. Angloise: stubbornness
X. Passepied: frivolity (Handel: Giulio Ces: Cleopatra :“Venere bella”)
50
XI. Rondeau: firmness or a firm confidence
XII. Sarabande: ambition (Handel: Giulio Cesare: Ouverture & Cleopatra: “V´adoro”)
XIII. Courante: sweet hopefulness (longing; Handel: Giulio Cesare: Cleopatra:“Tutto puo”)
XIV. Allemande: contented, satisfied spirit (order and peace) [18].
The double metre embodying in Giulio Cesare is “gavotte” (joyous / triumphant/
heroic / military) typed of an affect and triple metreis being viewed as a “sarabande”
(objective / aspiring/ ambitious/hunting) affect. The final duetto is set in a compound
metre connecting the protagonists as a whole [19].
Those arias and affections with more emotional value by Handel in his Giulio
Cesare tend to be written in triple or compound metre, with prolonged la folia typed of
dotted time values in a sarabande style, representing the trope for hunting, i.e. aiming at
something worthwhile and eligible. Those arias having with a heroic or triumphant
character, are more likely to be appearing in a march typed of a military or heroic troped,
gavotte like of a double metre. So, I suggest, that all other dance forms found from Giulio
Cesare, subordinate to these two basic gavotte (military/heroic) and sarabande (hunting /
aspiring) forms. In appendix table II, is my listing on Handel´s protagonist arias´ agogic
and time signature markings with some suggestions for the dance forms.
ON A PERFORMANCE ANALYSIS OF GIULIO CESARE
According to Aristoteliancathartic (soul purifying) ideal,2
in his Giulio Cesare,
Handel puts forward, the quest fora virtuous rulership.3
The opera´s characters have been
defined by Platonian, Aristotelian, and Empedoclean atomistic proportions of opposite
pairs [21]. The personages can be grouped along classic (geometrical) elements, which
were furthered into a medical-psychological theory of humors by Hippocrates-GalenAvicenna;
and Aristotle´s syllogistic square of opposition.4
This relates to the Aristotelian
thesis of substantiating, and finding a way of narrating a story by allowing its listeners to
participate of a “true” argument [29]. Handel applies the square of opposition in Giulio
Cesare, and though being an opera seria, it contains ironical elements. Handel contradicts
tragedy and irony, developing his own type of a Machiavellian “choise” for drama.5
Other
2
Luther adopted this in his conception of the Greek ethos and the educational power of music by its effects [22].
3
Aristotle mentions in his Rhetoric as one of the aims of speeches the speakers in court for law, (as pairs of
oppositions) for notions of right (justice) and wrong (injustice). Also, speakers for praise and blame: for honor
and disgrace. These are referred to in Handel´s Giulio Cesare for instance in following arias: by Caesar in act I,
scene 6, “Non è sì vago e bello” (Not so fair and lovely; [23]) for praise, and in act I, scene 2, “Empio, diró, tu
sei” (I will say, “You are pityless…”; [24]) for blame; and by Sextus´aria in Act I, scene 4 “Svegliatevi nel core”
(Wake within my breast, furies of a wounded soul…”, [25]) for right (vengeance for justice), by Cleopatra in her
aria “Tutto può donna vezzosa” (Everything is possible to a lovely woman…”, [26]); in which innocence
justifies one´s aims), and by Ptolemy in his aria in act II, scene 4 “Si, spietata, il tuo rigore” (You are so pitiless,
your resistance rouses hatred…”; [27]) for wrong (forcing for love by oppressive motives) [28].
4
See: Parsons, Terence (2006).“The Traditional Square of Opposition”.Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy
(SEP).Retrieved May 3, 2011 from http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/square/.
5
Aquila, Rafael del 2001.“Machiavelli´s Theory of Political Action: Tragedy, Irony and Choice”. EUI
Working Paper SPS No. 2001/3. European University Institute, Florence, Department of Political and Social
Sciences. Retrieved May 30 2011 from
http://cadmus.eui.eu/bitstream/handle/1814/316/sps20013.pdf?sequence=1: “So Machiavelli would be guilty of
having introduced in our tradition an idea of ”choice” completely free from any linkage (with tradition, with
humanitarian concerns, with a set of fixed values, with morals, etc.). Furthermore, this ´free choice` would be
considered by Machiavelli as a proof of the deep relationship that exists between good and evil.”
51
opposed elements in Giulio Cesare are the characters, the main themes: love and
revenge.Both depicted here as positive and negative forces; as a positive and negative
love, and as a positive and negative revenge, according to the status of each of the
characters, depending on how affirmative they are compared to the ideals of the messages
of the opera. Through love, Caesar and Cleopatra, will succeed in getting the power, to
rule over Egypt and Rome together equitably and defeating the obvious tyrant, the rival
Tolomeo, deemed unsuited to reign. Handel followed Cicero [30] by his allegorical and
metaphorical creations, by having formed out highpoints of resemblances to natural
phenomena in his metaphoric simile (or Devisen) arias.6
Credibility by creating resemblance [31] as a rhetorical device is sustained in the
opera by metaphoric textual and musical handling. In the first act, scene 9, in Caesar´s
hunting aria “Va tacito e nascosto”, the fair behavior and positive vengeance is allowed by
sneakingly repeating fragmentary melodic line accompanied and echoed by a solo French
horn, alternating with the singing part as the text goes as follows: “Va tacito e nascosto,
quand´avido è di preda, l´astuto cacciator. E chi è mal far disposto, non brama che si veda
l´inganno del suo cor [32].” (How silently, how slyly, when once the scent is taken, the
huntsman tracks the spoor. A traitor shrewd and wily, never lets his prey awaken, unless
the snare be sure).7
The ironic feature comes first from the side of Cleopatra, in her aria
“Non disperar, chi sa?” in act I, scene 5, in which she is playfully scorning her brother as
unfit to have a leader´sposition accentuated by laughter-like high registered strings in the
accompaniment.
On the Recent Performance Instances of the Opera
I have chosen for my analysis here three performance versions, which to my mind
will give some variable (opposing) views and choices on the musical affectual depictions
found from the opera set by Handel. The ENO´s traditional “epoch”/ pastoral styled
perspective from 1984, gives a particular overview on the changes of the work.8
The other
versions sung in their original language in Italian have various emphases based on their
overall productions according to which I have titled them as “satirical”/ hunting (Peter
Sellars´ version, 1990) and “colonialist” / military (Glyndebourne, 2005).
6
In act I, scene 9, “Va tacito e nascosto”, “When intent on his prey”, on a task for a positive revenge for
helping the justice to occur, which is here referred to that of an artful hunter prowling his vicious prey, depicted
by a dialogue between the singer and the solo horn, and later in act II, scene 2, “Se fiorito ameno prato”, “If in
a pleasant flowery meadow”, for awakening of love, which is a dialogue between a singer and the solo violin,
representing a bird, which symbolizes his pure feeling of an attraction. (English translations of the arias
from:Fesquet, D. & Salter, L., 2003.Giulio Cesare in Egitto. A CD booklet with a libretto, ed. by Danile Fesquet.
Deutsche Grammophon GmbH, Hamburg, Archiv B0000314-02 AH3 2003, libretto translated into English by
Lionel Salter 1970, pp. 53 & 63).
7
A VHS video booklet 1984 by Virgin Classics Opera, Eno´s version in English libretto translated by Brian
Trowell, on p. 18 on unnumbered pages.
8
As it is abbreviated and sang in English. Also in its creation, Giulio Cesare was revised many times by
Handel, already right after its first performance for different singers; so there were arias added and omitted
according to which performers were available for him for each performance at that time. The original cast
consisted of the brilliant, and the best singers of the time, the famous castratos Senesino, Gaetano Berenstadt
and Giuseppe Bigonzi (Caesar, Ptolemy and Nirenus), the legendary sopranos Francesca Cuzzoni (Cleopatra),
and Margherita Durastanti (Sextus), and then Anastasia Robinson (Cornelia), Giuseppe Boschi (Achillas) and
John Lagarde or Laguerre (Curius) in the side roles. Giulio Cesare was revived for the King´s Theatre by
Handel in 1725, 1730 and 1732. Due to its popularity, it was also produced outside England, in Hamburg and
Brunswick 1725-37, and as a concert version in Paris in 1724.
52
Caesar´s state of mind starts from his victorious mood which will be introduced in
his opening aria, towards more justified revenge (a positive act), via his longing for love to
consolidation of alliance between the two states, Rome and Egypt and constancy of his
love towards Cleopatra, set by him as the ruler of Egypt. Cleopatra begins by a joyful
expectation wishing for good prospects (an act of innocence). By awaking love, she hopes
to cast herself into power and as the sole holder of the throne. She will achieve her goal by
dubious seduction (an act of a negative love), but her emotions and motives will be
cleared and revealed by her true affects of despair, lamenting and victorious revengefulness
(acts of catharsis) over Caesar´s enemies, and finally by her fairness through her love (an
act of positive love) towards Caesar and justice. Beauty is being celebrated here as a
morally virtuous act (a realization of justice, righteousness).
The Protagonist Roles
Both the musical key relations and time signatures of Caesar´s and Cleopatra´s
arias suggest that there is an antithesis of characters set by Handel. Cleopatra starts with
the key of fate and love (in E major), and pilots the way for Caesar´s emotional side which
is hidden at first by his acts of bravery (in C major), which in the end prove to be also acts
of true and righteous love. On the other hand, Cleopatra hides her real thirst-for-power
motives under her disguise of love, and pastoral charm attempts, so nothing is foretold in
the beginning of the opera although the ideals have already been introduced by Handel at
the beginning of the work. In his aria “Presti omai” he is already being proudly selfassertive,
inviting the people to receive and accept him as a victor. His musical affect is
heroic, in an Allegro-duple meter, in D major key. Onwards moving harmony is
connected with accentuated melodic line, which alternates between larger leaps, intervals
and a stepwise progression containing with coloratura fragments.
Already in the third scene of the first act, Caesar performs his second aria, which
depicts his second important character type: the warrior. Since the beginning, he is
introduced as a high-ranking person within the hierarchy of the characters. He is a
triumphant, victorious and militant character type, which status continues to be
confirmed both by textual and musical means in the course of the opera. His flawlessness
and masculinity are being emphasized directly and indirectly. In a monologue “Alma del
gran Pompeo” he reflects a brave hero´s fragile lifespan. Here the accompanied recitative
instead of an aria stresses that this is a reflection, contemplation. The music functions as a
support, clarifying the text as declamatory forth bringing force by heavily and dark
accented strokes of the strings. The hero´s noble position will be strengthened by the
opening´s majestic Largo, in which the French overture´s tone is prevailing with the
dotted sarabande figures. Modulating harmony attests his pondering and searching state of
a mind. One can sense how the moods of the protagonists proceed from aspiring to
certainty by Cleopatra and assuring reliability of Caesar´s faculties to reign and to effect
on Cleopatra [33].
53
SOME CONCLUDING NOTES
By Sellars` (1990) Cleopatra´s pastoral innocence is questioned right from the
start, as she is depicted as a girl, who is used to luxury and both she and her brother
Ptolemy show a shallow side of themselves by being fond of commodities offered by the
superpower, which in turn is represented by Caesar, also parodied here, by his exaggerated
need for protection and surveillance. ENO´s production gives wittier character to
Cleopatra, to whom her brother does not give much of a competition, so it is obvious that
she possesses those special abilities required from a ruler. Caesar´s role is also stabilized by
ENO´s production as he seems to be mostly equal to his position. Glyndebourne´s version
is shadowed by warlike efforts, the sets are decorated by fleets and zeppelins in the
background, yet the overall mood is positive and mellow, almost musical-styled with
athletic gestured dance scenes. Cleopatra is shown as a real queen with “Egyptionazed”
choreographies including symbols of ancient Egyptian deities of the royal powers, which
refer to her (historical) Greek (Ptolemaic) origins, and to her aims for having tried to
please her subjects by maintaining the traditions despite of the new winds blowing from
Caesar´s direction, Rome.
Sellars` view on baroque dance forms occurs as a satirical tool for his palette of
sharp typed of ballet gestures in a French manner by which the overture of the opera is
also written. Handel´s performance direction of “majestic” will be questioned, as are all
actions into gaining exclusive power, opposing to that of an autocrat. ENO´s reply to that
is choosing the legitimate alliance of two rulers. While Glyndebourne´s route is gaining
sovereignty by agreeing on peace and by the importance of emphasizing signing the peace
treaty. Which one of these might be Handel´s choice in the end, one could play with this
thought for a fleeting moment, but then again he has left choices open for the performers
to close, solve or unfold [34].
REFERENCES
[1] Suominen, M., 2010. “Signs and Messages of Love in Handel´s Giulio Cesare”. A paper
presented at the: i) 14th Biennial International Conference on Baroque Music, Queen´s
University, School of Music and Sonic Arts, Belfast, Northern Ireland, July 1st 2010; ii)
International Conference Embodiment of Authority: Perspectives on Performances, Helsinki,
Finland, September 11th
2010; iii) 11th International Congress on Musical Signification,
Academy of music in Krakow, Poland, September 30th 2010.
[2] Mattheson, J., 1999/1739. DervollkommeneCapellmeister. Kassel, Basel, London, New
York, Prag, Bärenreiter, Bärenreiter-Verlaag KarlVötterle GmbH & Co. KG, Kassel, pp.
45 and 127.
[3] Ibid. pp. 133 and 2-4.
[4] Ibid., pp. 242 and 41.
[5] Ibid., pp. 243 and 46.
[6] Sousa, R., 2010, “Emotion”. SEP (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy) Online, Feb 3
2003 / Jan 14 2010. Retrieved on Oct 13, 2012 from
http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/emotion/.
[7] Kutzer, M., 1998.“Temperament”. HistorischesWörterbuch der Philosophie, Band 10.
Joachim Ritter &KarlfriedGründer eds. Basel, Darmstadt: Schwabe& Co,
54
WissenschaftlicheBuchgesellschaft, pp. 981-2.
[8] Buelow, G. J., 1983. “Johann Mattheson and the invention of the Affektenlehre” in
New Mattheson Studies. George Buelow &Hans Joachim Marx Eds. Cambridge, New York,
New Rochelle, Cambridge University Press, p. 395.
[9] Schmitter, A.M., 2006. “17th
and 18th
Century Theories of Emotions”. SEP, (Stanford
Online Encyclopedia of Philosophy) 25.5.2006 / rev. 15.10.2010, Retrieved August 3rd
2012 from http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/emotions-17th18th/.
[10] Bartel, D., 1997. Musica Poetica, Musical-Rhetorical Figures in German Baroque Music.
Lincoln and London, University of Nebraska Press, p. 31.
[11] Ibid., p. 140.
[12] Descartes, R., 1961/1618. Compendium of Music (Compendium Musicae). American
Institute of Musicology (tr. into English by Walter Robert, Introduction and Notes by
Charles Kent), p. 11.
[13] Ibid., p. 51.
[14] Descartes, R., 1989/1649. The Passions of the Soul. Indianapolis / Cambridge, Hackett
Publishing Company (tr. and Annotated into English by Stephen Voss), p. 56.
[15] Deliège, C., 1987. “Pour une sémantique selon Rameau”. Semiotica 66/1-3, p. 241.
[16] Dahlhaus, C., 2001. “Seconda pratica und musikalische Figurenlehre”. Die Geschichte
der Musik, Band 1: Die Musikvon den Anfängenbiszum Barock (M. Brzoska and M.
Heinemann, ed.), Laaber, Leipzig, Laaber-Verlag.
[17] Mattheson, J., 2002/1713. Die Drei Orchestre-Schriften, I Das Neu-Eröffnete Orchestre.
Hamburg, Laaber, Laaber-Verlag, pp. 231-53.
[18] Ibid., p. 252.
[19] Mattheson, J., 1999/1739. Dervollkommene Capellmeister. Kassel, Basel, London, New
York, Prag, Bärenreiter, Bärenreiter-Verlaag KarlVötterle GmbH & Co. KG, Kassel, Part
II, Chapter 13, pp. 81-136, and 333-345.
[20] Suominen, M., 2010.
[21] Parry, R., 2005. “Empedocles”. SEP (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy ).
Retrieved May 3, 2011 from http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/empedocles/.
[22] Bartel, D., 1997. Musica Poetica, Musical-Rhetorical Figures in German Baroque
Music. Lincoln and London, University of Nebraska Press, pp. 5 and 7.
[23] A CD booklet. 1970. (Ed.) by Danile Fesquet, Deutsche Grammophon GmbH,
Hamburg, Archiv B0000314-02 AH3 2003. Libretto (tr.) Lionel Salter, p. 46.
[24] Ibid, p. 36.
[25] Ibid., 38.
[26] Ibid., 47.
[27] Ibid., 67.
[28] Aristoteles (Aristotle), 1997. Retoriikka (Rhetoric; tr. into Finnish by P. Hohti, P.
Myllykoski, annotations by J. Sihvola), Helsinki, Gaudeamus, p. 17.
[29] Eco, U., 1979/1976. A Theory of Semiotics. (ed) T.A. Sebeok, Bloomington, Indiana
University Press, p. 278.
[30] Cicero, M.T., 2006. Puhujasta (De Oratore; transl. into Finnish by A. Vuola),
Helsinki, Gaudeamus, p. 269.
[31] Eco, U., 1979 /1976. A Theory of Semiotics. (ed.) T.A. Sebeok, Bloomington, Indiana
University Press, p. 280.
[32] Handel: Giulio Cesare in Egitto. 2003. A CD libretto booklet on ORF with the
Austrian Radio, Les Musiciens du Louvre, p. 53.
55
[33] Ethnersson, J., 2005, “Opera seria och musikalisk representation av genus”. STMOnline
8/2005. Retrieved January 28, 2011 from
http://www.musikforskning.se/stmonline/vol_8/ethnersson/index.php?menu=3.
[34] Suominen, M., 2010.
APPENDIX
Characterisations
in Giulio Cesare:
Elements: Humours: Disease: Qualities: Seasons: Personalities /
characteristics:
Four horsemen of
Apocalypse & their
representations:
Caesar &
Cleopatra
Air Sanguine Blood Hot &
Moist
Spring courageous, hopeful,
amorous,(happy), cheerful
Red Horse – War
(passion)
Ptolemy
&Achilla
Fire Choleric Yellow
bile
Hot &
Dry
Summer easily angered, bad
tempered (violent,
vengeful), enthusiastic
Pale Horse – Death
(plotting)
Sextus&
Cornelia
Earth Melancholic Black
bile
Cold &
Dry
Autumn despondent, sad, irritable,
sleepless, (saturnine),
somber
Black Horse – Famine
(compassion)
Curio, Nireno Water Phlegmatic Phlegm Cold &
Moist
Winter unemotional, calm, (dull;
faithful)
White Horse –
evilness/
righteousness;
Pestilence
Table I: Aristotle, Hippocrates, Galen: The Four Humours (Types of personalities / temperaments /
character types) and applying their personifications and representations in Handel´s GiulioCesare. [7].
Protag. Aria Time sign. Agogic sign. Affect (by the agogics)/ Dance form suggestion
C. Prestiomai C Allegro comfort / contentment
C. Empio C Allegro - “ Cl.
Non disperar C Allegro (ma non troppo) - “ C.
Non si è vago C Allegro - “ Cl.
Tuttopuò 3/8 Allegro - “ -; courante
Cl. La miastella 6/8 Allegro (ma non troppo) - “ -; gigue
C. Vatacito C Andante (e piano) hope/-ful
Cl. V´adoro 3/4 Largo relief (here like lento?); sarabande
C. Se fiorito C Allegro comfort / contentment
Cl. Venere 3/8 Allegro - “ -; passepied
C. Al lampo C Allegro - “ Cl.
Se pieta C Largo sorrow (here like adagio?)
Cl. Piangerò 3/8 Largo - “ C.
Aure 3/8 Andante hope/-ful
56
Cl. Da tempeste C Allegro comfort /contentment
[C. & Cl. (Duetto) Caro! / Bella!/ Un
belcontento
12/8 Allegro comfort /contentment]; giga
Table II: Time and agogic markings with some suggestions for dance forms by Handel in Giulio
Cesare´s protagonist arias [20].
57
Hunt, Military, and Pastoral Topics in the
Writings of Eighteenth Century Music
Theorists
Andrew Haringer, Williams College, Williamstown, MA, USA
ABSTRACT
In this paper I seek to build upon Raymond Monelle’s research in his 2006 book, The
Musical Topic: Hunt, Military, and Pastoral. Monelle’s work is a model of scholarship,
blending a broad interdisciplinary approach with trenchant interpretations of pieces both
familiar and obscure. For all its thoroughness, though, Monelle’s study conspicuously
avoids serious engagement with the writings of such important eighteenth century music
theorists as Mattheson, Scheibe, Schubart, and the like. This omission doubtless stems
from Monelle’s assertion, put forth in The Sense of Music, that “if theoretical ideas have
any real interpretative force, it is unlikely that they will have been proclaimed by
contemporaries, for contemporaries are engaged in the justification of their music and thus
in concealing vital features”.1
Indeed, eighteenth century music encyclopedias and
treatises, insofar as they mention hunt, military, and pastoral topics at all, rarely do so in
a way consistent with our modern understanding of topics.
Nevertheless, much is to be gained by incorporating these sources into the current
discourse. As I see it, the advantages are twofold. First, careful reading of these sources
reveal important distinctions of great value to scholars and performers in distinguishing
between such march subtopics as the French entrée and the Italian intrada, or between
such pastoral subtopics as the French musette and the Italian siciliana. While one
encounters some inconsistencies among the sources, these authors are often quite specific
about specific stylistic nuances— rhythmic, harmonic, melodic—that allow one to make
these subtle distinctions. Second, these sources further articulate the cultural mythmaking
Monelle so brilliantly exposed in his work, allowing us to better understand the values of
the era. The result is a deeper understanding of both the nuances of these topics, and the
cultural meanings they embody.
Full paper pending publication by the Oxford University Press at the forthcoming book,
Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory
1
See Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, Princeton University Press, p.
24.
58
“When Horror ombers o’er the Scene”:
Shock and Awe in Eighteenth-Century
Music
Clive McClelland, University of Leeds, UK
ABSTRACT
Raymond Monelle recently observed that “it is probably no longer OK to speak of a Sturm
und Drang topic”.1
The use of this term in music is certainly problematic. The original
attempt to draw parallels between certain movements of Haydn’s middle-period
symphonies and the trend in German Romantic literature (Wyzewa 1909) was
misguided, despite subsequent attempts to validate it (Brook, Landon, Todd, Ratner).
This realisation has become more apparent recently (Bonds, Buch, Chantler), and it must
be recognised that the term is no longer fit for purpose in the discipline of topic theory.
My proposal to adopt the term tempesta acknowledges the origins of the style not in
Haydn’s symphonies, but in early opera, since the musical language clearly derives from
depictions of storms and other devastations in the theatre. Disorder in the elements in
Classical mythology (and therefore in much of opera seria) is almost invariably instigated
by irate deities, and is consequently associated with the supernatural. Scenes involving
storms, floods, earthquakes and conflagrations had appropriately wild music, and the
musical style is often reflected in scenes involving flight or pursuit, and even
metaphorically in depicting rage and madness.
Tempesta is also to be regarded as the counterpart of ombra, the menacing style of music
associated with the supernatural. Both will often be found juxtaposed in infernal scenes,
and they clearly share discontinuous elements, such as minor keys, shifting tonalities,
disjunct motion, chromaticism, tremolandi, syncopation, sudden dynamic contrasts and
unusual instrumentation. Both appear in sacred music and as topics in instrumental
music.The main difference between them involves tempo. The creeping terror of ombra at
a slow or moderate pace elicits a quite different emotional response in the audience to the
fast frenzy of tempesta.
Full paper pending publication by the Oxford University Press at the forthcoming book,
Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory
1
Review of V. Kofi Agawu, “Music in Discourse”, Music & Letters 2010, 91/1, pp. 110-11.
59
Musical Latent-Structures as a Special
Type of (Trans-)Signs
Bogusław Raba, University of Wroclaw, PL
ABSTRACT
The term of musical latent structures1
based on Gestaltpsychologie and implicationrealisation
theory,2
in musical semiotic can be understood as type of manifested
concealment (przemilczenie postulatywne). In dynamic sign-process of growing, acting
and atrophy the latent structures present two-level structures (trans-signs): 1) intentional
structure of the atrophic sign (post sign) in mind of recipient and 2) real musical structure
as new creating (nowopowstający) sign. This process can be seen in perspective of
existential semiotic as a manifestation of exosemiosis, transcendens of Ich-Ton and at the
same time the degeneration of parts of koventional structure understood as a Umwelt. In
terms of formal-syntactical analysis this process indicates the break of rules, models, in
terms of implication-realisation theory- intentional created disorder.
In the light of existential semiotics latent-structure are indications of special
existential situation of transcendence of moi and degenerating of conventional structure as
a manifestation of soi.
INTRODUCTION
The theme of this study is part of a broader problem of musical semiotics and
musical style, which Eero Tarasti described as existential [1]. I, as the author of this work
want to investigate the “existential moments” in the musical work, their specific character
and relationship to the manifested structures. I do not hide my sympathy for
existentialism. I am aware of a risks of analysing the subject, which inextricably dependent
on the active imagination of the recipient. However, the awareness of the importance of
these issues and the fascinating reality of the work, which closes in the creative
imagination and reception of the listener, compensates for the risks involved.
The aim of this study is to capture and define the relationship between the
structure manifested and implied (implicit) of a musical work. Then, to identify the ways
and functions of these implied structures called musical latencies and finally interpret the
latency from the point of view of musical semiotics. The thesis of this study, which will be
explained in the course of the article, is following: these implied unresolved musical
structures may represent a special case of signs, which are a manifestation of the extreme
subjectivisation, triggering the so-called “existential moments”.
1
See Musikalische Latenzen in Moraitis, A., 1994. Zur Theorie der musikalischen Analyse, Frankfurt am Main.
2
See Meyer, L.B., 1956. Emotion and Meaning in Music. Chicago, University of Chicago Press; and
1973. Explaining Music: Essays and explorations. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
60
Although the definite shape of the implied structure depends on clarity and
conventionality of explicit structures, the process of implications of latent structures leads
first to the “openness” of the work and the principle of “becoming” in the music of
romanticism and then the existential trends in contemporary music, where the level of
conceptualization, “openness” and co-creativity of musical work reached its peak.
This process can be described as a gradual release of the orientation of the object to
the orientation of the subject, breaking conventions and the teleological process, which is
assessed by the linearity of the temporal and structural dimensionality. In philosophical
terms, it is the way from the affects, feelings and consciousness - that is the essence of
being.
Present state of study
According to the classical theory of knowledge (epistemology), latencies as elusive
empirically entities are the subject of investigation only in sceptical realism or idealism.
From the standpoint of strict realism such entities do not exist [2]. Thus, the method of
analysis based on the strict realism, particularly interested in the study of music
structuralism; do not have access to latencies, considering them as a kind of hypostasis.
Promoter of the concept of music latency, Andreas Moraitis, defines it as the
phenomena that occurs only in the process of receiving (die Wahrnehmung) or presenting
(die Vorstellung) in musical thinking (das musikalische Denken) [3]. Latencies, the
unmanifested elements of the musical structure, require musical experience and
competence of musical style of the recipient [4].
Maciej Golab suggests the understanding of musical latency in an
epistemological point of view as all entities generated in the process of active reception of
musical work (idealism, sceptical realism). Moraitis, following the idea of Hugo Riemanns
Tonvorstellungen [5] and Gestalt-psychology suggests the existence of musical latency as
strict specified entities.3
A very important perspective in the relationship of the music
structure and emotion, music structure and meaning, music structure and style, is given by
Leonard B. Meyer [7]. The last sentence of his book [8], on the “romantic openness” of his
sketch, fits my intention to interpret his approach as a kind of bridge to the consideration
of the problem of musical latency, as he called analogous phenomenon – “unresolved
implicated structures”, a step forward on the basis of semiotics - trans-signs, signs opening
the existential moments in music.
Figure 1. Riemanns exercises in Tonvorstellungen.
3
He distinguished 3 groups of musical latency. They arise by: 1) omission (ellipse), 2) interpolation, 3)
spontaneous grouping effects (Gestalt). He also ponders the problem of enharmonic modulation, where the
change in direction of leading tones results in a different way of resolving of chord than expected [6].
61
From “betrayal” to existential situation
The transformation process of so-called “betray cadence” reveals despite of a
similar technical basis completely different aesthetic purposes. Betrügschluss (betrügen betray),
in its etymological sense is therefore based on deception of our consciousness, and
thus the unexpected resolving causes a surprise. Such an unexpected resolving, although
not in strict harmonic sense, uses J. Haydn in his famous “Surprise” Symphony.4
But
regardless of the success of this work, such technical element remained a musical joke.
In improvising music, such as especially a fantasy genre, this unexpected turns of
musical action were signs of pure imagination and invention. In some examples it became
almost feature of individual musical style, as in the case of C.Ph.E. Bach.5
But even by him
aspect of negativity – distortion of conventions and habits of hearing became primal.
The masterpiece, in which composer bind such web of unexpected turns of musical
action as trans-signs with affection, not only local but in the total structure of the work, is
the first part of the Funeral Ode BWV 198 by J.S. Bach, Double Betrügschluss (Und sieh,
myth wieviel Thränen güssen umringen dein Ehrenmahl) and enharmonical turn/change
(g-D-Fis) on words: und sieh.
Change of leading tones direction by enharmonicism is in another Bach’s
masterpiece, Fantasia and fugue g-minor BWV 542, prepared by very strong directional
voices determined in harmonical progression. It takes place in climax of Fantasia.
Thatswhy it becomes a very suggestive sign. It breaks long uprising phrase, which in its
dramatic character reveals some hope. In enharmonical turn however, outbursts despair
and inevitability, which is underlined by repeated and transposed Neapolitan cadences.
Great suggestiveness is achieved by E. Grieg in his Death of Åsa because of the
simplicity and repeatability of the harmonic-syntactical model. Such repeatability can be
also an expression of a try to break this model, what happen in the next few bars.
Dominant to dominant chord (double dominant) (D)) is not immediately resolved but is
suspended. It strengthens a tension. The absence of a direct solution of dominant in the
first phrase has caused only a relative tension due to the stabilization of such model as a
convention in historical process. Next phrase with (D) create great tension and
expression. This expression is a result of such trans-situation: our consciousness waits and
demands a real audible solution, which doesn’t occur.
4
See Haydn, Symphony G-major “Surprise”, nr 94, II. Adagio, mm.9-16.
5
See C.Ph.E. Bach Sechs Clavier-Sonaten für Kenner und LIebhaber, VI Sonata G-major, Wq. 55, mm. 1-9.
62
Figure 2. E. Grieg, Suite nr 1, op. 46, Death of Åse, mm. 1-6.
It is quite obvious that almost all of these examples are linked both by similar
technical features and also the sign-content, which one could call “existential situations”.
It is ideal accordance between semiotical content of such musical situations and technical
ones. In both cases it means an articulation of individualism, exceptional and
groundbreaking attitude in opposition to convention identified with Umwelt.
THE THREE STAGES OF MUSICAL LATENCY
Latency in the service of confirming and strengthening of the convention
“A choice cannot be directed by cause, for the not would not be a choice” [9].
How do you reconcile this statement with the theory of musical latency offered by
Moraitis, where the determined shape of unmanifested structure depends in causal
relationship on implicated and manifested structure? According to the generally accepted
definition of style,6
musical latencies provide a bridge between the old and new style. The
principle of operation is based on of awareness, unmanifested presence of conventional
solutions and at the same time the introduction of a new one. The moment of most
conventional continuity of manifested structure is the most powerful for emerging of
musical latencies, because only in such moments do latencies take on a concrete form in
consciousness of the recipient and such conventional moments offer the most powerful
effect by introducing of new musical content.7
6
“Style is a replication of patterning, whether in human behaviour or in the artifacts produced by human
behaviour, which results from a series of choices made within some set of constraints [10].”
7
Because of its powerful effect such figures as elipsis or abruptio were beloved as rhetorical figures. The feature
of generality however deprived its symbolic content.
63
Figure 3. Christoph Bernhard, Tractatus compositionis augmentatus, Abruptio: rest in the
middle of a phrase or elision of the final note in the solo voice in a cadence.
Deviation from the conventional structure as a symptom of individual expression is
the first step towards subjectivity, even if such a bridge-situation becomes, because of its
generality [11], a conventional feature of new style and loses its sign-content [12] and
power. In this case, because of generality of this tool, it transmutes from trans-sign state to
the conventional element of musical structure. From the point of view of existentialtranscendental
analysis Ich-Ton (individual tone as a representative of a new style)
becomes transmutated and incorporated to Umwelt-Ton - conventional, manifested
musical structure [13].
Figure 4. The latencies as trans-signs between decay/atrophy of the conventional structure and
new (audible) structural parts of the implication-realization process.
Romantic stage: elite egalitarian symptom or sign of individuality?
Romantic music with the opening of the structure gave unprecedented importance
and significance to implied structures. As noted by Meyer: “If silence ‘frames’ a
composition or movement, then in Romantic music, the frame does not delimit the
meaning of the work […] This creates serious methodological problems for analysis and
criticism. For unrealized implications are obviously more difficult to determine objectively
than the realized implications of a script. Then this must be considered if justice is to be
done to Romantic music” [14].
How do you reconcile these paradoxes, which emerge from this situation: the unity
of musical work (organism ideology) with the openness and richness of unresolved
implicated structures? Is that a sign of – as Meyer claims – elite egalitarian feature of
Romantic music, which “involved the imaginative participation of individuals in the
audience” [15] or manifestation of individuality, distance to petrified reality?
The balancing of Romantic music between classical norms of structure and new
romantic content gave way to possibilities such as openness that allowed the existence of
unresolved implicated structures. Wherein the following low can be observed: the level of
Ich-Ton Umwelt
64
conventional order of manifested structure (lows, rules, strategies) corresponds with the
level of using of unresolved implicated structures. One of the clearest examples is Chopin’s
cross-gender and cross-form style. The unresolved implications of his music often regard
the sudden changes of texture identified with one of the classical conventional genre.
Such shifting of expectations results in a highly individual approach, associated with
extra-musical references. The case of Chopin is so special because he manages to keep the
suggestiveness of unresolved implicated structures in both small and expanded musical
forms.
Another solution of the problem of symbolic determined openness by musical
latencies in Romantic music is the use of historical structures with romantic
interpolations. Such a kind of petrified pluperfect structure contrasts extremely powerful
with individual interpolations and creates highly concrete implications, which can be used
by composer as an open door to individual-existential differentiation Ich-Ton from
Umwelt. Extremely powerful examples of that manner are given by Franz Schubert in his
Fantasie f-minor D. 940. The ‘chain-effect’ of the extension of the last cadence, the most
conventional part of musical form, creates the most extraordinary symbol of tragedy of
existence. On the level of structure, it gives hope of the ending, that is more and more
delayed (the tragedy exaggerated). On the level of meaning – it gives hope at least of
catharsis-like end in the form of traditional tierce des Picardie – in accordance with a
stylization of French overture in this work), which doesn’t occur either. Finally, the series
of unresolved, extremely strong implications (the end of a much expanded work) gradually
almost force to abandonment of implicative thinking, which occurs deceptive.
The New German School represents the opposite manner of relationship between
order of form and unmanifested implications. The abandonment of conventional classical
forms and simultaneously the maintaining of balance between idea of unity and openness
and becoming (included-unresolved implicated structures) result in specific syntactical
strategies. The openness as a sign for longing for transcendence, for infinity [16] becomes
more and more undetermined and unspecific, what in categories of structure means richness
of undetermined- but with accordance with ideas of transcendence -unresolved
implicated structures. On the higher level, such technique establishes a specific order,
convention through which the process of individualisation and becoming can happen.
Such perspective gives new interpretation (among many others) of repetitive musical
syntax of composers of the new German school.8
The paradox of egalitarian access to
intimate realm of composers’ internal world leads to next step, next shift of function of
latencies in existential style of contemporary music.
Contemporary music of existential style: latency as a transcendental way to self-
consciousness
“I could compare my music to white light which contains all colours. Only a prism
can divide the colours and make them appear; this prism could be the spirit of the
listener”, (Arvo Pärt). In music of the late Renaissance and Baroque latencies had an
almost causal nature and therefore were strong determined. They had a very distinct
character as trans-signs and as such, were often used as rhetorical figures. Most of them in
the classical period lose their semantical power and were incorporated as conventional
petrified elements of the classical musical syntax. Romantic music rarely used strong
8
See e.g. Tristan and Isolde, Vorspiel.
65
determined latencies and developed the richness of unresolved implicated structures in
functions of: breaking of conventions (idea of individuality), mystery, idea of historicism
(sketches, ruins) and radical subjectivism.
If in Romantic music latencies indicated unresolved implicated structures that
transcended both frames of the composition and interpolated musical structure, the
existential style of contemporary music gives even more place to not only implicated but
also almost undeterminated play of musical imagination of the audience.
One could say, latencies gave place to gaps in manifested structure of music, which
became more and more gates of subjectivism. Step by step these gaps became places of
generating affects (baroque), then feelings (romanticism) and then unteleological focusing
on consciousness itself. In this way latencies play a role of trans-signs: between
conventional, manifested musical structure (Umwelt) and individual approaches of a new
style (Ich-Ton). Double-function of latencies occurs in bridge-like shape: manifested and
unmanifested one – conventional structure in atrophy (unmanifested) and new one in its
rise.
Moreover, musical latencies in their historical expansion gave course to the process
of gradually relinquishing of the teleological tension of musical structure. From this point
of view time and object orientated music was excluding these dimensions gradually. This
caused a general shift in preferences of modalities: weakness of modalities connected with
mind and will (symbolic shift of will modality occurs in Tristan and Isolde): “will”, “know”,
“can”, also the epistemic but object orientated modality of “do” (from this reason the
existential style of contemporary music so often assimilates features of meditative music).
Essential modality becomes the modality of “be”.
In this way latencies became a fundamental part of musical structure: unmanifested
but reorienting the course of object-directed to subject-directed musical style, signs
transcending the Umwelt of conventions towards individuality and then individuality
orientated on mind -and feelings-objects towards core of being- therefore, consciousness
itself.
REFERENCES
[1] Tarasti, E., 2000. Existential semiotics, Bloomington, Indiana University Press.
[2] See Golab, M., 2003. Spór o granice poznania dzieła muzycznego, Wrocław, pp. 107-126;
and Golab, M., 2008. Musical Work Analysis. An Epistemological Debate, tłum. Frankfurt
am Main.
[3] See Moraitis, A., 1994. Zur Theorie der musikalischen Analyse, Frankfurt am Main, Lang,
p. 166; and Polth, M., Schwab-Felisch, O., and Thorau, Ch., 2000. Klang, Struktur,
Metapher, Stuttgart.
[4] Ibid., p. 167-168.
[5]Riemann, H., 1914/1915. Ideen zu einer ‘Lehre von den Tonvorstellungen’, Jahrbuch der
Musikbibliothek Peters, Band 21/22.
[6] See Moraitis, A., 1994, p. 166; and Polth, M., Schwab-Felisch, O., and Thorau, Ch.,
2000.
[7] See Meyer, L.B. 1956. Emotion and Meaning in Music, Chicago, University of Chicago
Press; and 1989. Style and Music: Theory, History, and Ideology, Philadelphia, University of
Pennsylvania.
66
[8] Meyer, L.B., 1989, p. 352.
[9] Ibid, p. 144.
[10] Riemann, H., 1914/1915, p. 3.
[11] Meyer, L.B., 1989, p. 140.
[12] Ibid, p. 296.
[13] Tarasti, E., 2000.
[14] Meyer, L.B., 1989, p. 325.
[15] Ibid.
[16] Ibid, p. 264.
67
Leonore as a Window into the Syntax of
Spirituality in Beethoven
Olga Sánchez-Kisielewska, Northwestern University, Evanston, USA
ABSTRACT
This paper investigates the interaction of musical topics and large-scale syntax of key
relations in the articulation of musical meaning in Beethoven, by bringing into dialogue the
sacred hymn with the Ab-C-E complex.1 Analytical examples from Fidelio illustrate the
creation of a tonal network that emphasizes the transformation of C major from tonic to
flat submediant of E major. Drawing on topical associations and expressive use of keys, I
suggest the interpretation of this syntactic relationship as a metaphor of the ephemerality of
earthly existence that emphasizes the spiritual dimension of the drama. Finally I extend the
argument to the late String Quartets, suggesting the use of chromatic major-third relations
as a musical sign to represent the opposition between the realms of the material and the
spiritual.
CURTAIN RAISER
Ten years after having started to work on Fidelio, Beethoven made a final attempt
to provide his opera with an adequate introduction. In a significant departure from the
three Leonore overtures, the composer decided to implement a change of key from C major
to E major. Commentators have described the last version of the overture as a more
compact and less programmatic solution that fitted better the abbreviated version of the
opera and did not overpower the light-hearted tone of the opening scenes [1]. Although
less ambitious than its predecessors in terms of extension, modulatory audacity, and
thematic development, the Fidelio Overture Op. 72 b raises tonal issues that are far from
being trivial and anticipate crucial forthcoming events. I shall demonstrate how the
choice of key and the establishment of a particular relationship between C major and E
major can actually be interpreted as articulating a profound metaphysical meaning. This
particular instance of chromatic major-third relationship also played a fundamental role in
the tonal organization of other works that occupied Beethoven around that time, such as
the “Waldstein” Sonata Op. 53 or, as Lodes has pointed out, the Mass in C Op.86 [2], and
it deserves, I believe, more attention than it has received in previous analyses of the opera.
I shall argue that a particular way of articulating the opposition between these two
keys, paired with topical associations with sacred music, suggests two differentiated
ontological spheres that represent respectively the realm of the human and the divine, and
that this contrast provides a tonal framework that plays a fundamental role in the syntax
1
See Mckee, E., 2007. “The Topic of the Sacred Hymn in Beethoven’s Instrumental Music”, College Music
Symposium 47, pp. 23-52; and Bribitzer-Stull, M., 2006. “The A-flat-C-E Complex: The Origin and Function of
Chromatic Third Collections in Nineteenth-century Music”. Music Theory Spectrum 28(2), pp. 167-190.
68
of Beethoven’s representations of spirituality and transcendence within and beyond
Fidelio. In addition to the overture, a number of excerpts provide the basis for an
interpretation that attempts to gain new insights into Beethoven’s personal conception of
Bouilly’s drama as well as semiotic implications of some of his compositional choices. The
approach of this paper is fundamentally analytical, and it is driven by the motivation to
consider the subtle but essential interactions between music structure and musical
signification.
In discussing the relationship of musical topics to analysis, Monelle pointed at the
tension between the paradigmatic method of the former and the syntagmatic approach of
the latter, and illustrated this dichotomy by setting in opposition his own work to that of
Kofi Agawu:
In fact, Agawu is more interested in the contribution of topics to the dynamic
structure of the work than in the question of signification. He gives his topics simple
labels, but their more profound significance- their history in literature and culture,
their reflections in contemporary social life- is not his main concern […] His
emphasis, therefore, is at a different pole from the present work; perhaps it could be
said that Agawu’s book is complimentary to this enterprise [3].
The area between these two poles provides a fertile ground to music-theoretical
inquiries, and it is in this space where this paper is situated. My analyses focus on issues of
large-scale tonal syntax, interactions between topic and key and historical conceptions of
key characteristics [4]. More precisely, I will draw on two recent music-theoretical
concepts developed by Matthew Bribitzer-Stull [5] and Eric Mckee [6] and bring them into
dialogue.
FIDELIO, THE Ab-C-E COMPLEX AND THE TOPIC OF THE SACRED HYMN
The change of key for the final version of Fidelio’s overture represents a movement
along one of the sides of the triangle that represents what Bribitzer-Stull has named the
Ab-C- E complex. This tonal network was frequently explored by romantic composers and
occupied a privileged position among the collections of chords related by major thirds.
The origins of the complex date back to the eighteenth century, when A-flat and E major
stood at the limits of the spectrum of keys with acceptable intonation on unequally
tempered instruments [7]. Through a statistical overview, Bribitzer-Stull shows that
eighteenth century composers hardly ever wrote works or movements in keys with more
than four sharps or flats [8], thus revealing that the lower part of the circle of fifths exists as
theoretical possibility that remains unexplored by compositional practice. Marked
oppositions between the borders and the center of the complex render it semantically
charged: whereas C major was the most frequently employed key and therefore more
neutral in its expressive associations, key characteristics were partially governed by the
sharp-flat principle: “The sharp keys become ever livelier and brighter, reaching the piercing
flames of E major, while the flat keys sink down further and further into darkness ending
up in the Plutonian realm of A-flat major” [9].
Among several Beethoven’s works that feature the Ab-C-E complex [10], Fidelio is
probably the most paradigmatic, inasmuch as it offers a clear illustration of the
metaphorical implications of the keys involved in the prototype. Each of the elements of
69
the complex is used respectively in three of the most poignant moments of the drama: Ab
major for Florestan’s aria from the dungeon (In des Lebens Frühlingstagen, No. 11), E major
for Leonore’s prayer of hope (Komm Hofnung No. 9) and C major in the triumphant finale
(No. 16). Provided that the arias are the two only solo interventions of the main
characters, and that they occupy opposite extremes of the universe of available keys,
affective associations become all the more powerful. Although much has been written on
key symbolism in Fidelio, the consideration of a triangular relationship suggested by the
complex may throw new light into the configuration of a narratively significant musical
trajectory.
The fact that the main key areas of all Leonore/Fidelio overtures can be mapped into
the complex provides further support for the relevance of this constellation of keys in the
conception of the opera. C major is the main key of the Leonore overtures, which also
feature a prominent section in Ab in the slow introduction, with a quotation from
Florestan’s aria, and a secondary theme in E major. Although C major was substituted by E
major as main key for the final version of the overture, it remained as a significant
presence: opposition between these two keys is articulated at three moments of the
overture, emphatically enough to become the main tonal issue anticipated in the prelude
to the drama.
In the first of these three appearances, C major unexpectedly becomes the goal of
the first cadence of the work with an unequivocal IV-V7-I in root position2
. The
subsequent post-cadential move towards the subdominant seems to confirm the
achievement of a point of tonal stability, although retrospectively this peaceful realm
turns to be illusory: C does not represent a tonic on its own right but a mere flattened
scale degree 6 that leads to a sixteen bar dominant prolongation that launches the Allegro
in E major. The second manifestation of C major occurs within the frame of sonata form,
at the point in which what is expected is no less than Hepokoski and Darcy’s essential
structural closure, considered “the tonal and cadential point toward which the trajectory of
the whole movement had been driving” [11]. The passage that had conduced in the
exposition to the cadence in the key of the dominant is restated in the recapitulation in
the flat submediant instead of the normative tonic resolution.3
The change of key
signature serves to cast doubt on whether the C major section is actually in the wrong key
or the real tonal goal of the Overture. The tonic status of C is maintained through an
extended passage, until a transformation of the C tonic chord into an augmented sixth
that reintroduces E major. In a rotational coda that secures the cadence in the proper key
after the misleading recapitulation, C makes one last and prominent utterance (mm. 238-
246). This time C drops its key or chord entity altogether and appears as a nonharmonized
tone, finally revealing unequivocally its subordinate role as an emphatic upper
chromatic neighbour to the dominant of E major.
Through his decision to change the key of the overture, Beethoven was not only
creating a proper harmonic transition into the first scene: he also composed an elaborate
commentary on a particular relationship between C major and E major. Every C’s
appearance as a potential tonic must be retrospectively interpreted as a lowered
submediant within large-scale harmonic syntax. C is only an illusory tonic, a transitory
stage whose ultimate function is to lead towards E major, metaphorically upwards in the
2
See Appendix image no. 1.
3
See Appendix image no. 2.
70
circle of fifths. Hermeneutic hypotheses about metaphysical consequences of this
subordinate state are low hanging fruit, which I will pick later.
Celestial resonances populate historical descriptions of E major, which was
characterized in terms such as uplifting (Junker, 1777) heavenly (Heinse, 1796), dazzling
(Grétry, 1797), or “destined to reign in the realm of spirits” (Hoffman, 1814) [12].
Beethoven’s sensitivity to key characteristics is well known, and so is the fact that he
made use of E major in depictions of both literal and symbolic heavens4
. A fundamental
contribution in this regard is Eric Mckee’s discussion of the significance of E major in
relation to the topic of the sacred hymn, a musical sign with religious connotations that was
established in eighteenth century opera, and whose main attributes are a I-V-VI opening,
choral texture, sotto voce dynamics and duple meter [14]. Beethoven employed frequently
this combination of musical features in both vocal and instrumental works, and chose E
major in approximately half of the instantiations of the topic5
. In his concluding remarks,
Mckee opens an attractive path of inquiry into the expressive motivations lying behind
Beethoven’s compositional strategies:
First, his preference for the key of E major in the depiction of spiritual states; second
his expanded treatment of the submediant at both small and large scale levels of tonal
organization; and third, Beethoven’s use of the hymn topic within an expressive
interplay of other musical topics in which the topic of the sacred hymn is set in
opposition to music depicting our earthly condition [16].
Fidelio provides not only an example but also further evidence for these statements.
The articulation of an opposition between E major and C major is not restricted to the
Overture and appears repeatedly throughout the opera6
. Leonore’s only aria Komm
Hoffnung is a prayer to hope in E major that displays all the characteristics of the topic of
the sacred hymn. The previous recitative consists of two contrasting sections: an agitated
introduction in which Leonore violently condemns Pizarro’s corruption, and a peaceful C
major episode in which the heroine is soothed by peaceful images of nature.7
This
recitative was completely recomposed in 1814, and Beethoven doubled its length: a
significant move considering that most amendments since the original project had mainly
consisted of cuts and reductions. The section in C major, absent in previous versions of
the opera features 9/8 meter, harmonic stability, and parallel thirds in the woodwinds,
constructing a bucolic escape from the tormented onset of the recitative. The key,
introduced as a potential safe haven, finally becomes, one more time, an upper chromatic
neighbour to the dominant that introduces E major, key of the aria. At the topical level,
the pastoral gives way to the sacred hymn.
The relationship between both keys that had been articulated in the Overture in
an abstract manner is fully realized at Leonore’s recitative and aria, with the incorporation
of text and topical associations. In his theory of musical semiotics, Tarasti deals with key
relations in terms of inner spatiality, a notion that allows the conception of musical
4
Examples include Lieder von Gellert Op. 48 no. 1, “Bitten”; “Elegischer Gesang” Op. 118; and “Abendlied
unterm gestirntem Himmel” WoO 150, see Kinderman [13].
5
Although this may seem a natural association between key and topic, it is noteworthy that there is no such
coincidence within Mckee’s list of instances of the hymn prior to Beethoven, which includes operatic excerpts
by Gluck, Salieri and Mozart among others, see Mckee [15].
6
An instance that I do not discuss here can be found in the duet Jetz Schätzchen, jetz sind wir allein, mm.65-80.
7
See Appendix, image no. 3.
71
departure and return or movement from one space to another: “…enharmonic
reinterpretations move us to a new musical inner space. All the rules of modulation can
thus be given a semiotic reading” [17]. The particular ways in which different modulations
and key relations are articulated provide a syntactic framework for the creation of musical
meaning. In Fidelio, the metaphorical conception of musical spaces gives rise to a complex
analogy in which C major and E major interact as the realms of the material and the
spiritual (see Figure 1).
The articulation of such an analogy has consequences for the interpretation of the
drama, tingeing Leonore’s character with religious overtones through topic and key.
Additional spiritual connotations seem to turn the heroine into an allegory of faith
instead of a woman of flesh and blood: her womanhood is de-emphasized, not only by her
men’s clothes but also by the musical treatment that she receives. Had Beethoven’s
interest been placed in the exaltation of marital love, he would have probably devoted
more compositional efforts to the celebration of the reunion between husband and wife (O
Namenlose Freude, No. 15) instead than recycling a theme from his abandoned operatic
project Vestas Feuer. Furthermore, the scene in which wife and husband see each other for
the first time after two years of separation (Euch werde Lohn in besseren Welten, No. 13)
also problematizes the conjugal nature of love as the moving force of the drama. When
Leonore, to whom the starving prisoner refers as sent from heaven, gives him a piece of
bread, the act is imbued with an unmistakable tone of communion. Her utterance of the
line “Da nimm das Brot”8
could be added to Mckee’s list of instances of the sacred hymn,
although this time the topic does not appear in the heavenly key of E major, but in the
earthly C major. The tonal context is analogous to that of the overture, as C major is
about to lead to E major, which in this case is the dominant that leads to a recapitulation.
The topic, associated in Leonore’s aria with E major, descends to C major in a suggestive
analogy. The Ab-C-E complex provides a pre-established frame of tonal reference for
Beethoven’s use of the sacred hymn topic and affords the generation of a complex musical
metaphor of a quasi-Eucharistic moment. References of juxtaposition between this trio of
tonics in a religious context were readily available to Beethoven: it can be found in
Haydn’s Seven Words oratorio, a work that was repeatedly performed in Vienna during the
years prior to the composition of Fidelio.9
8
See Apendix, image no. 4.
9
In 1796, 1798 and 1801, see Lodes [18].
Figure 1: Cross domain mapping afforded by interaction of topic and tonal syntax
72
Usage of key symbolism is a common place in the legion of hermeneutic readings
that Beethoven’s opera has elicited. The fact that the drama takes place in two contrasting
physical spaces, surface and depths, renders key characteristics all the more apparent: flat
keys are associated with the darkness of the prison and Pizarro’s corruption, and C major
with the brightness of sunlight, freedom and victory. It has also been noted that the
narrative trajectory from imprisonment to freedom is paralleled by an ascent from the
dungeons to the surface and by a tonal trajectory from F minor to C major [19]. Political
interpretations of Fidelio, either as an enactment of the ideals of the French Revolution
[20] or as a defence of enlightened absolutism [21], feature a strong goal orientation, as
they emphasize the final triumph of freedom and justice over moral corruption. The
addition of a third dimension to this binary opposition can enrich the interpretation of
this journey from darkness to light, by considering E major as the apex that completes the
Ab-C-E complex, imparting a spiritual dimension to the message conveyed by the opera.
Although an exalted C major-ness embodies the joy of the final chorus of
prisoners, the victory it conveys can also be understood as an earthly and thus transitory
achievement, deployed from a transcendence that is constrained to the realm of the spirit.
The final chorus has been described as “bathed in brilliant sunlight” [22], or a “burst of
light more glorious than any sunrise” [23], and C is indeed bright when opposed to F
minor or Ab. But the repeated use of C major as a subordinate key to E major functions as
a musical sign that alludes to the illusory nature of this tonally defined existential plane.
The source where brightest light is to be found is actually E major, a differentiated
ontological space in which faith and spirit reside, musically embodied in sacred signs.
Teleological narratives oriented exclusively to the achievement of a final state fail to
capture the relevance of this metaphysical realm as moving force and ultimate placeholder
of positive moral values. No less important than the victorious resolution is the presence
of a spiritual agency allegorically represented by Leonore. The Ab-C-E complex and the
topic of the sacred hymn provide further analytical support to readings of the opera that
emphasize its spiritual dimension, such as those of Mellers [24] or Singer, who considered
Fidelio a sacred drama: “In being a dramatization of passion, of heroism and of that
aggressive wilfulness without which there could be neither passion nor heroism, Fidelio
takes the form of a religious mystery” [25].
MEDIANTS AND SUBMEDIANTS IN BEETHOVEN’S LATE STYLE
Whereas the choice of keys was already present in the first version of the opera,
some of the revisions performed in 1814, particularly the new overture and Leonore’s
recitative10
, seem to articulate the contrast between C major and E major in a new
emphatic manner. In Fidelio, it is mainly due to Beethoven’s final modifications that C
major, the key of nature and of the triumphant celebration of freedom at the end of the
opera, repeatedly turns out to be a transitory state that leads to E major, the key of
Leonore, imbued with spiritual meanings. I have suggested that this opposition of keys
functions represents the contrast between the human and the divine, and that the
recurrent reinterpretation of C major as flat submediant of E major can be understood as a
10
The Overture and both Florestan and Leonore’s recitatives and arias were the numbers that suffered major
changes in the 1814 version.
73
metaphor of the ephemerality of the earthly existence and the achievement of a superior,
transcendent state.
Due to the significant temporal gap that separates the first and second version of
the opera from the third, it seems reasonable to venture a reading of the final set of
alterations to Fidelio as an evolutionary link between Beethoven’s heroic and late style.
After all, the works composed between 1806 and 1814, including Op. 74 and Op. 95, have
been labeled as transitional [26]. From the standpoint of the typically heroic per aspera ad
astra archetype, or in Hatten’s words, the tragic-to-triumphant expressive genre [27], C
major shall be considered as the goal towards which the drama strives. However, to
present C major repeatedly playing an auxiliary function to E major notably diffuses its
status, and the emphasis on the religious aspects of the drama contributes to a certain
relaxation of the teleological drive. The construction of the musical narrative is not
entirely captured by a linear progression from F minor to C major; it rather emerges from
the trifold opposition of keys related by major thirds. I find a suggestive analogy between
this shift and a tendency from goal orientation to goal diffusion features that Michael Spitzer
uses to characterize Beethoven’s heroic and late periods respectively [28].
The use of major third relationships would become an essential feature in
Beethoven’s later work. An overview of the choice of key areas in the late string quartets
proves to be striking: out of the eighteen movements in major mode, only three feature a
section in the dominant.11
By contrast, there is a tendency towards a symmetrical
relationship of keys, with a tonic balanced between the mediant major and the flat
submediant (Figure 2). Major-third related keys often appear in episodes differentiated not
only by key but also by texture, register, and character (e.g. E major variation in Op.
127,ii; Gb episode in the Grosse Fugue), and seem to carry more expressive weight than all
the action surrounding them, functioning as heavy middles that challenge the goal
orientation of classical form.
Figure 2: Key relationships in Op. 130 (i)12
and Op. 127(ii and iv).
These aspects of tonal organization have not remained unnoticed, although a
better understanding of their semiotic underpinnings is still to be gained. The opposition
of keys related by major thirds in Fidelio displays a rich metaphorical capacity that can be
11
Op. 127 (iv), Op. 130 (iii), Op. 135 (i). In the Grosse Fugue, original last movement of Op. 130 the
dominant is absent as tonal center, although it does appear in the alternative Finale.
12
Adapted from Chua [29].
74
also applied to instrumental works. Maynard Solomon encouraged “the inquiry into the
connections-at least the analogies- between Beethoven’s thought and his later works” [30],
an enterprise that has inspired notable contributions avant la lettre such as Hatten’s tragicto-transcendent
expressive genre [31], Kinderman’s symbol for the Deity [32] or Lodes’
discussion of the relationship between man and God in the Missa solemnis [33]. A deeper
knowledge of the ways in which keys contribute to musical signification, either by
themselves or in relation to each other, either specific to Beethoven or shared with his
contemporaries, has the potential to open a new window into a repertoire that seems to
encourage endless interpretations.
REFERENCES
[1] Kinderman, W., 2009. Beethoven. Oxford: Oxford University Press, p.118. Dean, W.,
1996. “Beethoven and Opera”. In: Paul Robinson (ed.) Ludwig van Beethoven: Fidelio. New
York: Cambridge University Press, p. 45; and Tusa, M.C., 2000. “Beethoven’s essay in
Opera: historical, text-critical, and interpretive issues” in Fidelio. In Glenn Stanley (ed.)
The Cambridge Companion to Beethoven. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, p. 215.
[2] Lodes, B., 2000. “Probing the Sacred Genres: Beethoven’s Religious Songs, Oratorio,
and Masses”. In Glenn Stanley (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Beethoven. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, pp. 224-226.
[3] Monelle, R. 2006. Musical Topic: Hunt, Military, and Pastoral. Bloomington: Indiana
University Press.
[4] Steblin, R. 1996. History of Key Characteristics in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth
Centuries. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press.
[5] Bribitzer-Stull, M., 2006. “The A-flat-C-E Complex: The Origin and Function of
Chromatic Third Collections in Nineteenth-century Music”. Music Theory Spectrum
28(2), pp. 167-190.
[6] Mckee, E., 2007. “The Topic of the Sacred Hymn in Beethoven’s Instrumental Music”,
College Music Symposium 47, pp. 23-52.
[7] Bribitzer-Stull, M., 2006, p. 172.
[8] Ibid., p. 171.
[9] Steblin, R., 1996, p. 127. The quote is part of a summary of Georg Joseph Vogler’s
article on musical expression in the Deutsche Encyclopädie (1779).
[10] Bribitzer-Stull, M., 2006, p. 186.
[11] Hepokoski, J. and W. Darcy. 2006. Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and
Deformations in the Late Eighteenth-century Sonata. Oxford: Oxford University Press, p. 20.
[12] Steblin, R. 1996, pp. 129-145, quoted in Mckee, E., 2007, p. 42.
[13] Kinderman, W., 2009, p. 312.
[14] Mckee, E., 2007, pp. 23-27.
[15] Ibid., p. 24.
[16] Ibid., p. 50.
[17] Tarasti, E. 1994. A Theory of Musical Semiotics. Bloomington: Indiana University
Press.
[16] Lodes, B., 2000, p. 220.
[17] Marion, S. M., 1937. Beethoven. London: J. M. Dent and Sons, p. 119.
75
[18] Robinson, P., 1996. “Fidelio and the French Revolution”. In: Paul Robinson (ed.)
Ludwig van Beethoven: Fidelio. New York: Cambridge University Press, pp. 68-100.
[19] Solomon, M., 1977. Beethoven. New York: Schirmer.
[20] Carner, M., 1951. “Leonore and Fidelio”, The Musical Times 92 (1297), p. 113.
[21] Marion, S. M., 1937, p. 119.
[22] Mellers, W. Beethoven and the Voice of God. New York: Oxford University Press, p.
439.
[23] Singer, I., 1977. Mozart and Beethoven: The Concept of Love in their Operas. London:
The John Hoskins University Press, p. 212.
[24] Dahlhaus, C., 1991/1987. Ludwig van Beethoven: Approaches to His Music. Oxford:
Clarendon, p. 203.
[25] Hatten, R. S., 1994. Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation and
Interpretation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, chapter 3, pp. 67-90.
[26] Spitzer, M. “The Significance of Recapitulation in the ‘Waldstein’ Sonata”. Beethoven
Forum 5, p. 117.
[27] Chua, D.K.L., 1995. The “Galitzin” Quartets of Beethoven. Princeton: Princeton
University Press, p. 207.
[28] Solomon, M., 2003. Late Beethoven: Music, Thought, Imagination. Berkeley, University
of California Press, p. 2.
[29] Hatten, R., 1994.
[30] Kinderman, W., 1985. “Beethoven’s Symbol for the Deity in the Missa Solemnis and
the Ninth Symphony”.
[31] Lodes, B., 2000.
APPENDIX
Image 1: Fidelio, Overture, mm. 1-23 (reduction)
76
Image 2: Fidelio, Overture, mm. 104-110 (reduction).
Image 3: Fidelio, Overture, mm. 206-212 (reduction).
Image 4: Fidelio, Act 1, No. 9, No.9, mm. 21-32
77
Topical Interplay in Beethoven’s An die
Ferne Geliebte: Ambiguity as Narrative
Principle
Panu Heimonen, University of Helsinki, FI
ABSTRACT
This paper attempts to formulate a novel way of analysing topical relations in interaction
with pragmatic factors in the song cycle An die Ferne Geliebte. The psychological tension
peculiar to the cycle arises from the manner in which topical relations (pastoral, heroic)
interact with a network of minor mode inflections. These tragic minor inflections are
interpreted as metalinguistic negations which are able to form a signifying network and to
function as part of transcendental acts of affirmation and negation. Topics are embedded
in a tonal framework which establishes pertinent tonal goals. The narrative trajectory is
the result of interaction between these transcendental acts and relations that prevail
between topics. The above psychological tension finds moreover an equivalent in the
Moorean paradox.
INTRODUCTION
This paper examines how the topical path in the song cycle An die Ferne Geliebte
develops from ambiguous to non-ambiguous with respect to evolving tonal relations. The
change between the topics reflects a change in interlocutors’ psychological states thus
leading to the emergence of the Beloved. Methodologically the paper attempts to combine
the analysis of tonal relations to an examination of relations between existential semiotic
and pragmatic ways of analytical description. At the end of the cycle there is a strong
sense of success and reconciliation: The distance has been overcome and the Beloved has
gained her presence. Therefore conjectures are put forward concerning the way and
possible moment when reconciliation is achieved.
A METHODOLOGICAL OVERVIEW
An Outline of Form
The cycle itself comprises six songs, the first and last of which form a framing
sections (bs.1-54; 258-342), and the songs no. 2-5 (bs. 55-257) make up the central part of
the cycle. Still in spite of seeming easiness of the character and traits of individual songs
when the cycle is examined as a whole the resulting signifying relations turn out to be
subtle and complicated by nature.
78
Song no.1,
(Ziemlich
langsam
und mit
Ausdruck,
1-54)
Song no. 2,
(Poco
Allegretto,
55-99)
Song no. 3,
(Allegro Assai,
100-152)
Song no. 4
(Nicht zu
Geschwinde,
153-189)
Song no. 5
(Vivace,
190-257)
Song no. 6
(Andante
con moto,
Cantabile258
-304) Coda,
(305-342)
Pastoral Pastoral Heroic Pastoral Heroic Pastoral and
Heroic
merged
Eb-
major
G-major Ab-major
(Ab-
minor)
Ab-
major
C-major
(C-
minor)
Transformati
on to Eb-
major
Table I: Topics and Tonalities in An die Ferne Geliebte
Methodological Approaches
The framework consists of Greimassian narratology, existential semiotic theory
and pragmatics. There is a highly extraordinary narrative trajectory to be found in the
song cycle: A Debrayage (disengagement or “leaving the stage” of an actor [1]) which has
happened before the beginning of the cycle and a multifaceted central section which
prepares the way for the Embrayage [2], the re-emergence of the Beloved, the object of
longing. The song cycle consists of elements that on the surface seem to be rather simple,
but which are part of an embedded tonal structure (framing and central sections) and
which form such signifying relations whose meanings can often only be reached through
elaborated context-dependent referential relations. There seems to emerge both encoded,
semantic relations that arise from topical entities and inferential, pragmatic meanings
such as metalinguistic negations [3], [4], [5], which ultimately serve to bridge the central
songs (nos. 2-5) to the framing sections. It is the Greimassian theory which provides the
narrative outline of the cycle. Yet existential semiotic and pragmatic theories are still
needed in order to illuminate the inner, conversational and dialogic aspects of the piece.
The result of this methodological manifold is a new type of coherence based on pragmatic
inferences in excess of tonal relations and also on the related topical signification of a
semantic type. Ambiguity arises at several conjoined levels to such a measure that one
may almost insist that there is a trajectory of ambiguity to be discerned (on the concept of
ambiguity see [6]).
A methodologically vital development is that instead of speaking only about
expectations at the tonal level we choose to speak about interlocutor’s communicative
intentions [7] and the denial or fulfillment of these intentions. Speaking about intentions
is highly relevant in a situation which at the outset can in a romantic manner be described
as longing for the unattainable. It is a question of inner mental events and processes and
the dialogic communication between them. In addition to expectations the concept of
intention takes into account all the semantic and pragmatic indexical processes that are
vital for a proper understanding of the identity of the interlocutors. This is relevant since
the actors are well established through the accompanying text and the use of intentions in
79
order to analyze conversational interactions in pragmatic and semantic theory belongs to a
venerable stream of research [8].
Ultimately the song cycle is about a dialogical interaction between two
interlocutors, the narrator-protagonist and the Beloved one. It tells how the distance
which separates them is overcome and describes the way in which the topical landscape
tells this story. The former is conceptually realized through rapprochement of the
interlocutors’ communicative intentions, which as mediated via the interacting topics –
especially the pastoral [9] and heroic topics - also forms the main content of the cycle.
The re-emergence or “entering the stage” of the Beloved, which we following
Greimas (1987) shall call Embryage, functions as a presupposition for the entire cycle. It is
the crucial event, the object of longing. This presupposition will then be denied or
negated several times and in different manners in the course of the cycle. It is actually this
sense of knowing something and simultaneously refusing to believe it which allows one to
build up the kind of psychological tension that is characteristic to the cycle as a whole and
which works as a central factor in the formation of the narrative trajectory of the cycle.
This psychological tension is reflected in the paradox which arises in Moorean sentences:
I know that p, but I do not believe p. The negation appearing in these sentences is most
often a metalinguistic negation i.e. a negation which depends on the use of language,
which functions in response to a previous utterance and which objects or denies some
aspect(s) of how a proposition has been expressed. In a respective manner it is these very
tensions that mold the topical trajectory of the cycle and finally result in the merging of
the pastoral and heroic topic.
THE PIVOT POINT: WHICH ROLE FOR AB-MAJOR CHORD (M. 258)?
In terms of music analysis we start the quest for the functioning of the cycle from a
musical moment that carries the major emotional and narrative weight in the cycle and
then start to work backward and forward from there in order to explain the meaning of
formal, narrative and pragmatic processes involved. This central event seems to be the
appearance of the Ab-major chord at b. 258 at the beginning of song no. 6 (Example 11
).
The cadential occurrences in the preceding songs and those in song no 6 are
interpreted as transcendental acts of affirmation when directed towards the main tonality
of the cycle and as negations when they attempt to move the music to a distant tonal goal.
Especially when the music collapses to distant minor modes of various degrees the
resulting negations are interpreted as metalinguistic negations which are able to refer to
other previous occurrences of the minor mode. What specific reasons can be found in
support of this central position of Ab-minor chord? There are several pertinent
dimensions in the song cycle which influence the formation of the narrative trajectory.
Because it is a question about a transformation that is happening within a dialogue
between the interlocutors over a long distance it is advisable to see which dimensions
change and which do possibly remain constant.
In this paper a conjecture is put forward that this is the moment where the Beloved
emerges as a conversational companion in the dialogue. Since the beginning of the cycle
is largely about remembrance one has now reached the now-moment (Temporal change).
1
See Appendix image no. 1.
80
In addition due to the diminishing distance the interlocutors have at least in a fictive
sense reached here the mutual location (Spatial change). The development of narrative in
An die Ferne Geliebte can in fact be largely seen through this Ab-major chord and those
tonal, semantic and pragmatic meanings which are attached to it. In quest of narrative
trajectory as we are it can be shown that many narratively significant progressions have
their origin in the corresponding handling of the Ab-major chord.
We shall start to unravel the narrative logic of the song cycle through the events
which precede the Ab-major chord. Given the central position of Ab-major chord and the
Ab-major tonality in the cycle as a whole its significance deserves to be examined from
various perspectives.
Ab-chord and the respective tonality bear the elements of choice in many respects.
It carries with it a choice between pastoral and heroic topics: The heroic topic in song no.
3, and the pastoral topic in song no. 4. Also the Ab-major chord carries with it the
possibility of modal mixture, as is evident at the end of song no. 3. Here the sinister and
fateful Ab-minor threatens to overcome when the last straws of sunshine fall beneath the
horizon (“meine Seufzer, die vergehen wie der Sonne letzter Strahl”, Example 22
). A
related event takes place at song no. 6 where C-minor is momentarily reached before the
turn into the Bb-major (“und sein letzter Strahl verglühet hinter jener Bergeshöh”,
Example 1). Significant in view of the role of Ab-major chord is that it is in Ab-major
that one finds both pastoral and heroic topics. In this sense it might be thought that both
of the topics have an indexical relation to Ab-major. This can be seen to have a great
impact later in the situation at m. 258 when piano takes up the Ab-chord and starts to
seek the tonal direction. In a topical sense the chord can be indexed to either one of these
chords based on the preceding topical trajectory.
The Shifting Schenkerian Interpretation
Ab-major seems to have a position of a watershed tonality/chord in the cycle. The
intriguing position of the Ab-major chord can be further illustrated through the possible
implied tonal goals which it may have (see Figure 1). If Ab-major chord is established in a
subdominant function (IV), if will through dominant-chord (Bb7th, V) resolve into Ebtonality.
It may however also be interpreted as an upper neighbor to G and the latter
functioning as a dominant resolve into C-minor, the parallel minor which has a tragic
meaning. It is also possible that one reaches Ab-minor as the tonal goal through modal
mixture. Having been almost entirely avoided in the song no. 1 it appears in an extremely
marked vein as Ab-major tonality in the two consecutive songs (nos. 3 and 4) of the
central section. The precarious position of the Ab-major chord is emphasized by the fact
that it is surrounded by the somewhat distant G-major (song no. 2) and C-major tonalities
(song no. 5). This foregrounds the coming role of the chord as the pivot point in the cycle
where several major tonal and narrative tensions are centered. A complicated network of
significations is thus foregrounded in the central section of the song cycle.
2
See Appendix image no. 2.
81
Figure 1. Implied Tonal Goals for the Ab-major Chord
It seems inevitable that in a situation between two interlocutors where uncertainty
is one of the main characteristics there is a push and pull –type of mental activity
concerning the kinds of voice leading interpretations just presented. These tonal goals also
prescribe the way that the longing for the distant Beloved develops and that prescribe the
possible moment of the re-encounter between the interlocutors. As will be become clear
in the course of the paper it is towards the painting of this kind of musical landscape that
Beethoven is aiming at in the song cycle when he is describing and living through the
longing for the distant Beloved.
NARRATIVE PRINCIPLES IN THE CYCLE
In the first song of the cycle a narrative lack [10] is established, which provides a
starting point for the narrative trajectory of the piece. The first and the most general
species of lack can be derived from an epistemological point of view. Since the Beloved is
non-present, she has been disconnected from the events of the story (Debrayage) and thus
obviously unreachable, one cannot possess infallible knowledge about her feelings, desires
or intentions in the first place. In this sense there is an inevitable and wide ranging
epistemic lack, a lack of knowledge, in the first song when seen from the perspective of
the whole cycle3
. From an actorial point of view the song cycle seems to start out from a
situation where the Beloved is in such a location which is so far away that practically she
can be considered absent and to form an object of yearning. In Greimassian narratological
terms this is an example of a heterotopic space [11] i.e. an “elsewhere”, which is able to
imply both kinds of lack, and therefore it may also serve as a starting point towards the
development of an Embryage, the re-entry of an actor. This which will indeed eventually
take place as will become evident later. The above narrative principles will form the
background for the topical interplay which will take place in the song cycle. The
trajectory of topics will punctuate the skeleton of narrative events and along with tonal
3
The epistemic perspective shall be dealt with in more detail in a presentation to be given at the conference
The Communication of Certainty and Uncertainty, October 3rd
-5th
, University of Macerata, Italy. That
presentation will examine the analysis of epistemic modality in more detail in constructing the narrative
trajectory of the piece.
Ab-
major
Chord
Eb-
major
C-
major,
C-minor
Ab-
minor
82
events it will participate in the build-up of that conjectured moment where the Beloved
emerges and the process gets started where the dialogue between the two interlocutors
begins.
From Metalinguistic Negation to Transcendental Tragic
One has now established a path through the piece which consists of negating and
affirming transcendental acts and within this development a network which consists of
negations or denials, which are here interpreted as metalinguistic in the sense that they
are capable to object the previous negations in the network. Pastoral and heroic topics
alternate in the course of the cycle as was describe above in the first chapter. There are
however certain moments where the topic which usually covers the whole song in
question is negated. These kinds of denials of the prevailing topic occur two times in the
cycle. The first one takes place at the end of song no. 3 (Ab-minor, Example 2) and the
second one at the end of song no. 5 (c-minor, Example 1). In terms of voice leading they
are modal mixtures i.e. minor variants and they acquire a much more wide ranging
meaning when they are set into a signifying context. Basically this comes down to the
above mentioned relation of the central section of the song cycle to the outer, framing
parts of the cycle and to the question about how a sense of suspension is built between the
two.
Through an analogy in pragmatic linguistic theory a negation can be interpreted as
specifically a metalinguistic negation. It is something which is not part of the semantic
content of the topical layer of the piece, but it can pragmatically object some aspect of an
expression. It can then be seen to intrude the semantic layer [12] and in this way its
influence can reach over a longer period of time. In this sense it is reminiscent of
signifying processes in existential semiotics.
Being established as a negation of the desired state the tragic fate is in practice
represented as a modal mixture and appears in both songs no. 3 (Ab-minor) and 5 (cminor).
These minor mode passages may according to existential semiotics be interpreted
also as transcendental acts of negation [13], usually coupled with the transcendental act of
affirmation. In this sense the tragic topic, when encountered in a context such as the
present one, acquires for itself the quality of transcendence. In doing so, they will attempt
to keep active the constant awareness of the possibility of the tragic fate. This in turn
causes the very awareness to be bound to loom over and above the individual songs. The
thing which will provide the essential countervailing force for the metalinguistic negation
is the tonal motion towards Bb-chord the dominant of Eb-major. This is the tonal force
that has been avoided throughout the cycle until the moment when Bb in ”Molto adagio”passage
enters (bar 283). Here it is introduced with doubled octaves along with a sensation
as though the time was arrested as the Bb octaves sound out. Hence this appearance
provides what may be termed affirmation in order to complement the previous negations.
In fact it appears in a row since a second affirmation follows in b. 295, the first proper
dominant seventh chord in the entire cycle. The appearance of this seventh chord and
especially the effort that has been allotted to establishing it most effectively testifies that
the distance has indeed now been moved aside.
Yet, as it appears the transcendental act of negation here works against the
principle of Embrayage, which was introduced at the beginning. The result is an intriguing
tension between these dimensions of the work. Left by itself the principle of negation
83
would suggest the negation of the domain of utterance [14], which would imply the
impossibility of Embrayage, the re-entry of the Beloved into the domain of discourse.
Accordingly the absence of the Beloved would endure and the tragic fate would persist
(see Figure 2). However the negations are effectively resisted as the negated utterances are
metalinguistic entities they are projected over the central section of the cycle all the way
until the transformational passages starting from the beginning of the song no. 64
. The
very moment where both tragic negations, the one in C-minor and the one in Ab-minor,
confront each other in b. 283 (“molto Adagio”, Example 1) can be considered to form a
Grentzerfahrung as described by Karl Jaspers [15] and EeroTarasti [16].
.
Figure 2. Alternative, Undesired Development Path
THE TOPICAL CONTRIBUTION: TOWARDS MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING
What will the trajectory of topics now start to look like when it is put into
interaction with the kind of narrative principles which were delineated above? In
connection with landscape poetry topics on a general level participate in the description
of the outer, natural world. On the other hand they are also capable to depict the inner,
psychological states and processes of the human psyche. Therefore a change in topical
content reflects a change in psychological states and a change in the topical relations may
be a sign of a change in mutual interaction between such psychological states.
Songs in the central section (songs nos. 2-5) have been fairly simple by character,
but yet illustrating the topical content in question. They almost tend to bear a
resemblance to folk song. Their tonalities on the other hand form a most interesting tonal
constellation: G-Ab-Ab (Ab-minor)-C (C-minor) – this tonal scheme being framed by
songs in Eb-major on both sides (see Table: 1). There are, however, no strongly directed
tonal tensions between the songs in the same sense that one finds in a thorough composed
work. These tonal relations carry and contribute to the character of the topics that are
4
(Meta)pragmatic inference is a complicated and partly controversial topic since it is a question of rather
recent theoretical work. Its musical applications will be examined more in detail in a presentation to be given
at the conference The Communication of Certainty and Uncertainty, October 3rd
-5th
, University of Macerata,
Italy.
Song No 6, "Tragic"
topic, Blocked
Dialogue, Collapse of
communication,
Persistent Isolation
Songs No. 2-5,
Decreasing
Uncertainty,
Emerging Dialogue
Song No. 1, "Pastoral"
topic, Weak or No
Dialogue
84
present in the central section and later on they will be set into interaction in the course of
the last song and the coda.
In terms of topics one arrives at the crucial moment when the piano enters at b.
258 signifying the newly discovered Beloved. Here a new element intrudes the preceding
clearly separated landscape that has hitherto consisted of alternating pastoral and heroic
topics. This is the moment of Embrayage of the Beloved that one has been preparing for
all the way throughout the cycle. The topical merging which is about to take place is a
central component in the psychological transformation which is taking place here
between the interlocutors. Based on the above discussion the Ab-major chord can be
considered to be related to both pastoral and heroic topics in an indexical manner.
Therefore the overall signifying process seems to work in favor of drawing the two topics
towards each other and then causing them to merge with one another.
Finally the merging of the topics is able to explain even the peculiar outlook of the
piano theme at the beginning of song no. 6. With regard to motives it seems to be closely
related to the theme at the beginning of the cycle, which indeed is the case. The
underlying reason behind this however is that Beethoven deliberately combines the
topical world of the beginning pastoral with the heroic undertones of songs no. 3 and 5.
Therefore when ¾ time signature is changed into a 2/4 time signature the motivic
characteristics are bound to undergo a metamorphosis of a kind.
ON THE CONCEPT OF AMBIGUITY: A SYNTHESIS
What is required from a concept that is set to become the central aesthetic
principle of the analysis at hand? Since pragmatic processes are context dependent they
are usually subject to some kind of negotiation. This on the other hand may serve as a
source of ambiguity since due to contextual factors indexical terms and pragmatically
enriching processes may be interpreted in alternative ways.
Ambiguity can be born out of various sources. In this respect An die Ferne
Geliebte may be considered almost an exemplary case where there is an ambiguity
between the intended meaning and the recovered meaning or between the speaker’s and
addressee’s meaning. It is partly a question of just not knowing how things stand, which is
not ambiguous as such. Yet there are also genuinely ambiguous situations where a term or
an utterance has multiple meanings. In this paper such cases are the problems concerning
indexing and the ways to make pragmatic inferences. On the other hand the very position
of the two songs in Ab-major tonality in the central section is ambiguous since they are in
the middle of tonal degrees (G, C) that as such are not part of the framing Eb-major
tonality and the song at the end of central section seems to directed to a C-based tonality
instead of Eb.
In which ways does ambiguity then come up from this overall picture? It can be
seen to emerge at several interlocking levels. As a result of text-music –interaction there
arises epistemic uncertainty which is reflected as an ambiguity of the actorial identity of
the Beloved and accordingly also an ambiguity concerning the relation between the
interlocutors, which is the central feature of the song cycle. The trajectory in any case
develops from ambiguous to non-ambiguous, from uncertainty to certainty. The resulting
certainty is epitomized by the words at the notorious and affirmative moment (b. 283)
85
where the dominant of Eb-major is reached: “und du singst, und du singst was ich
gesungen, was mir aus der vollen brust ohne Kunstgepräng erklungen” (Example 1).
CONCLUSION
The cycle is based on a delicate interaction between tonal, semantic-topical and
pragmatic factors. As a justification for the inclusion of the pragmatic vocabulary to the
analysis here it can be deemed that the song cycle does not seem to be based entirely on
the idea of tonal coherence. Instead there appear several pragmatic inferences and the
type of continuity that is to be derived from therein. It has been shown that the kinds of
alternation between belief states (p, ¬p) which are peculiar to the cycle can be
characterized through linguistic relations that appear in Moore’s sentences and the related
paradox.
There is a rapproachement of interlocutors’ communicative intentions and a
corresponding merging of topics taking place in An die Ferne Geliebte at that moment
when the Geliebte emerges. It however takes place in such a manner that includes
bringing together strongly contradictory topical and dramatic gestures and a variety of
tonal implications and their deferrals in the course of the song cycle. It may even be that
no definite moment of the emergence of the Beloved after all needs to be pointed out. As
a result the Embryage of the Beloved is being achieved in a piecemeal manner while the
topical trajectory works its way towards the unification of communicative intentions.
Song No 6 and Coda,
Embrayage, "Heroic" and
"Pastoral" topics merged
together, Strong Dialogue
Songs No. 2 (Pastoral), 3
(Heroic), 4 (Pastoral) 5
(Heroic), Decreasing
Uncertainty, Emerging
Dialogue
Song No. 1, "Pastoral"
topic, Weak or No
Dialogue
In a psychological sense the overall effect is one of diminishing the uncertainty of
actions starting from a description of an almost infinite space and distance in nature and
ending in the innermost human sentiments. As a result of the inquiry it is suggested that
interlocutors’ identities are more fully represented in the form and through the mediation
of the topical landscape – pastoral and heroic topics and their transformations - in the song
cycle, not perhaps so much in certain kinds of theme actors or thematic characters as the
case would customarily tend to be. This increasing degree of dialogue is represented in
figure 3, where the sense of a dialogue reaches its highest level in the course of the song no.
6.
Figure 3. Topics and Degrees of Dialogue in Songs No. 1-6.
86
REFERENCES
[1] Greimas, A. & Courtés, J. 1982. Semiotics and Language, An Analytical Dictionary.
Bloomington, Indiana University Press, p. 87.
[2] Ibid., p. 100.
[3] Horn, R. 1985. Metalinguistic Negation and Pragmatic Ambiguity. Language, Vol. 61,
No. 1, pp. 121-174.
[4] Carston, R., 1999. Negation, ’Presupposition’ and Metarepresentation: A Response to
Noel Burton-Roberts. Journal of Linguistics, Vol. 35, No. 2, pp. 365-389.
[5] Pitts, A., 2011. Exploring a ‘Pragmatic Ambiguity’ of Negation. Language, Vol. 87, No.
2, pp. 346-368.
[6] Sennet, A., “Ambiguity”. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Summer 2011
Edition, Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL =
<http://plato.stanford.edu./archives/sum2011/entries/ambiguity/>.
[7] Haugh, M., 2009. Intention(ality) and the Conceptualization of Communication in
pragmatics. Australian Journal of Linguistics, Vol. 29, No. 1, p. 97.
[8] Haugh, M., & Jaszczolt, K. (ed.), Cambridge Handbook of Pragmatics. Cambridge,
Cambridge University Press.
[9] Monelle, R. 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral, Bloomington and
Indianapolis, Indiana University Press, p. 271.
[10] Greimas, A. & Courtés, J. 1982, p. 169.
[11] Ibid., p. 142.
[12] Jaszczolt, K., 2012. Propositional Attitude Reports: Pragmatic Aspects. In: Cambridge
Handbook of Pragmatics.
[13] Tarasti, E., 2000. Existential Semiotics. Bloomington and Indianapolis. Indiana
University Press, p. 11.
[14] Greimas, A. & Courtés, J. 1982, p. 100.
[15] Jaspers, K., 1970: Philosophy. Volume 2. Chicago and London: The University of
Chicago Press.
[16] Tarasti, E. 2007. “What is existential semiotics? From theory to application:
Communication. Understanding / Misunderstanding”. Proceedings of the 9th Congress of the
IASS/AIS - Helsinki-Imatra: 11-17 June, 2007 (ed.) by Eero Tarasti. Acta Semiotica
Fennica XXXIV, Helsinki, Imatra: Semiotic Society of Finland, International Semiotics
Institute, pp. 1755-1773.
87
APPENDIX
Musical example 1. Ambiguous Position of Ab-major Chord in Beethoven: Sämtliche Lieder,
Band II, Pages 161-62, bars 253-285.
© Copyright 1990 by Henle Verlag Publications, Inc. Reprinted by Permission.
88
Musical example 2. Modal Mixture in Song no. 3, Beethoven: Sämtliche Lieder, Band II, Pages
156-57, bars 134-152.
© Copyright 1990 by Henle Verlag Publications, Inc. Reprinted by Permission.
89
Situational Irony in Beethoven’s Late
String Quartets
Tamara Balter, Tel Aviv, IL
ABSTRACT
Although the structures of verbal and of situational irony have been shown to be quite
similar,1
we cannot make a defensible argument about verbal irony in instrumental music,
i.e., about verbal meanings being manipulated; rather, musical events are best explained
as exemplifying situational irony—a type of irony that has been scarcely discussed in the
music theory literature.
Several fundamental characteristics of music make it highly amenable to situational irony
(also known as "irony of events"). Classical music raises expectations, and competent
listeners anticipate situations that they consider right for the musical conditions at hand.
Furthermore, listeners compare and contrast the expected musical event with the one that
actually occurs in the work. But naturally, these traits are not sufficient conditions for
musical irony because contrasting situations and frustrating expectations have many other
uses as well. The main question is therefore: When does the presence of these features
indicate situational irony?
As analyses of several of Beethoven’s late string quartets show, situational irony can be
used to account for a range of musical events that may be interpreted as ironic. Drawing
on Lars Elleström’s2
discussion of situational irony in Magritte’s painting In Praise of
Dialectics, the present essay demonstrates how the closing-beginning contradiction in
Beethoven’s String Quartet in F Major, Op. 135 exemplifies situational irony. The
quartet’s opening, which contains comic elements, makes a mockery of the projected
normative beginning, undermining our stylistic expectations. Situational irony can also be
expressed in music by frustrating a meticulously prepared expectation for harmonic
resolution or key area. Indeed, in the Scherzo movement in Beethoven’s String Quartet in
C-sharp Minor, Op. 131, unexpected modulations may be interpreted retrospectively as
portraying situational irony. In Op. 131 such irony is related to the large-scale ironic
conceit of the movement.
1
Zemach, E. and Balter, T., 2007. "The Structure of Irony and How it Functions in Music," In Philosophers on
Music: Experience, Meaning, and Work, ed. Kathleen Stock. Oxford, Oxford University Press, pp. 178–206.
2
Elleström, L., 1996. "Some Notes on Irony in the Visual Arts and Music: The Examples of Magritte and
Shostakovich," Word & Image 12, p. 202.
90
SITUATIONAL IRONY
Whereas in our daily life we often ascribe irony to situations, events, or certain
behaviors, most studies of irony and related tropes (such as parody, humor, and the
grotesque) attribute irony to literary works. An explanation of irony as modeled in literary
works is also present in the primary definition of the term in the Oxford English
Dictionary, which stresses the use of words. This approach has a long history that goes
back to treatises on rhetoric, which considered irony as one of the rhetorical figures. The
second definition in the OED presents other fields as well in which one can find irony: "a
condition of affairs or events of a character opposite to what was, or might naturally be,
expected; a contradictory outcome of events as if in mockery of the promise and fitness of
things [1]." Douglas Muecke explains that this ordering in the OED (defining verbal irony
first and situational irony later) "reflects the historical development of the concept of
irony: Situational Irony was called irony because, and when, it seemed to resemble Verbal
Irony, and this was not until the eighteenth century [2]."3
From around the time we find situational irony in music, in the second half of the
eighteenth century, this type of irony was already recognized as resembling verbal irony. In
music we seem to have a combination of verbal and situational irony: we can identify
events but not speakers and their intentions. Yet, because we know that there is no
chance or fate involved in a fine artwork (unlike events in real life), we tend to assume
that it is the creator’s voice that (intentionally) invents ironic situations in the work.
Situational irony does not require an ironist, only an onlooker who discerns the irony
exemplified in the situation or state of affairs. Although the structure of verbal and
situational irony is fairly similar, one cannot explicitly speak of verbal meanings that are
manipulated in music (as in verbal irony), but musical events may readily be explained as
exemplifying situational irony in which the situation is constructed, and hence controlled,
by the composer. Thus, although irony of events in life does not require intentionality or
an ironist (Muecke explicitly states that only events and situations may be unintentionally
ironic [4]), in music we similarly do not require any agential intention, but we must
substantiate our interpretation of musical events as displaying situational irony if we were
to attribute it to the work and its composer (or to its "implied author," to use Wayne
Booth's term [5]).4
In situational irony, just as in verbal irony, the perceiver contrasts the situation at
hand with an idealized projected situation [6].5
A situation in reality or a musical event is
perceived as ironic if it leads us (the perceivers) to project (envision) a possible situation
that may be considered a counterpart of the situation/event at hand. Irony typically
involves criticism, a dramatic exposition of imperfection; as such it differs, for instance,
from endearment or amicable understatement, which may have a similar structure. The
contrast between the superior situation and the one at hand enhances the deformity of the
3
Knox [3] notes that "before the late eighteenth century little attempt was made to carry the explicit definition
of irony beyond the type of the dictionary entry and the traditional rhetorical classification."
4
Despite the centrality of intentionality in theories of irony, Booth often employs his notion of an "implied
author" as a means to escape the problematic reliance on intentions when interpreting texts or works of art, as
previously explicated by Wimsatt and Beardsley's "intentional fallacy."
5
In the theory presented there, the structure of both verbal and situational irony is shown to be the same
(unlike, for example, that of parody) in so far as a perceiver is led to project a possible situation that is
understood to be superior to the actual situation. In situational irony our norms lead us to project an idealized,
"apt" situation that is in sharp contrast to the actual situation.
91
target of irony. The essence of irony lies in the projection of a situation that makes reality
(or in our case, aspects of the musical work) look deformed or imperfect.
In verbal irony, a speaker uses language to indicate an ideal situation (contrasted to
the one mocked); in situational irony, the ideal situation is indicated by our norms. We
have strong intuitions about how things should be: what is right, just, and fair in a
particular case. For example, Joe is a clumsy and reckless driver but has never caused an
accident. His wife, Jane, is an adept and scrupulous driver, yet she is killed in a traffic
accident. The real situation here (the good driver is killed and the bad one comes to no
harm) is ironic in that it is perceived against a just counterpart (where people get what
they deserve), a possible world that puts it to shame. The projected situation makes us see
the real situation as a grotesque and deformed version of it. Many of O. Henry's short
stories are filled with ironic situations.
Although the following example of situational irony is taken from a literary work,
it also exemplifies non-linguistic irony, demonstrating that it may occur in literature, too;
it also serves as a "modulation" to our discussion of situational irony in music. The science
fiction novel, Camp Concentration by Thomas Disch, is alleged to be a report of a poet
ordered to describe the life of scientists and artists incarcerated by a totalitarian
government in a concentration camp [7]. The inmates had been intentionally infected
with an illness similar to syphilis, which made them more creative but killed them in less
than a year. The beginning of the report (that is, the beginning of the novel itself)
illustrates the mediocre and dull style of an uninspired poet. Gradually, the writing
improves, until it becomes a superb work of art, written in a poetic, vivid language. A
sensitive reader discerns the gradual improvement in the writing and understands, before
the protagonist himself realizes it, that the latter had also been infected. The disease has
caused him to become more creative, but will kill him very soon. Only at the end of the
novel do we find a literal statement that the poet was indeed infected; until that point,
that crucial plot element can only be inferred from the quality of the writing. This is nonlinguistic,
situational irony: the irony in that novel is revealed not by the meaning of the
text but by its aesthetic properties.6
This example brings me to a significant distinction between linguistic and nonlinguistic
(or behavioral) irony. First, one may speak of irony as linguistic expression. For
example, when I say ironically "That was a really smart thing to say," my intended
meaning may be: "That was a really dumb thing to say." Irony operates here on the literal
meaning of a linguistic expression. In its second, non-linguistic form, irony operates on
the properties of ordinary objects rather than on the meanings of linguistic expressions. For
example, a speaker behaves in a way that he believes to be noble, and his opponent
mimics this behavior in an ironic way, making him appear ridiculous. Here the irony
moves from one property (nobility) to its opposite (ridiculousness). This counter-meaning
embedded in irony is therefore generally critical of the object of the irony. I believe that
irony in instrumental music appears primarily in the second form.
6
Disch’s novel presents not only an irony of events (situational irony) but also a dramatic irony, from the
perspective of the reader, who is first to realize what the narrator does not yet suspect.
92
SITUATIONAL IRONY IN MUSIC
There is almost no discussion of situational irony in the music theory literature
despite the fact that two central, commonly accepted characteristics of music make it
highly amenable to situational irony. First, classical music raises expectations: competent
listeners project situations they consider right for the (musical) conditions at hand.
Second, listeners compare and contrast the anticipated situation (a musical event) with
the one that occurs in the work. As Frank Samarotto notes in an essay addressing
determinism and causality in music analysis, "the idea of a logical succession of events is as
central to the presuppositions of music theory as we currently practice it that all else seems
to fall outside its purview" [8]. Lastly, in situational irony it is not always necessary to
assume an ironic agent (except the author). Note, however, that the above traits are not
sufficient conditions for musical irony because contrasting situations and frustrating
expectations have many other uses too: they create tension, drama, or simply add interest
to the work. Therefore, the main question is: When does the presence of these features
indicate situational irony?
A situation may challenge our assumptions about what is proper and right by
frustrating our expectations about the proper location of musical material of a certain
kind. Thus, a piece that begins with a closing gesture flies in the face of our expectations of
a musical event that is appropriate for the beginning of a work (in the given style). Such
"closing-beginnings" exist in the music of Haydn (notably in Op. 33) and of later
composers, and may be found in any number of string quartets. Jonathan Kramer and Judy
Lochhead discuss the contrast between these two states, the projected and the actual
(Kramer names them "clock-time" and "gestural-time"), in Beethoven’s String Quartet in F
Major, Op. 135 [9]. The musical event at the beginning of that work, shown in Ex. 1 (mm.
1–10), suggests closing or cadencing, contradicting its actual (clock-time) place at the
beginning of the piece. At that hallowed location we expect (hence project) normative
tonic stability and clear periodicity, but instead we find a compound, ten-measure
sentence that closes with a final cadence (in m. 10 all four parts have an F in four different
registers). Two surprising Phrygian cadences open the piece, each followed by a sprightly
three-note motive that mocks its serious mood and questioning gesture (mm. 1–4). A
nonchalant sequence follows and further develops the mocking three-note gesture,
integrating it as a motive. A terminal cadence occurs in m. 10 (note the atypical unison
ending), and then a new, unrelated musical idea begins. Thus, the quartet’s opening
derides the projected normative beginning: it undermines our stylistic expectations and
contains comic elements, hinting at irony.
93
Example 1. Beethoven: String Quartet in F Major, Op. 135, I, mm. 1–10.
One of the few who investigated situational irony in art is Lars Elleström, who used
Magritte’s painting In Praise of Dialectics as an example. The painting shows the inside of a
room through an open window, but the room contains only the façade of another building
[10] (Figure 1). Instead of the stylistically expected domestic scene we find an inferior
situation: a forbidding externality. The frustration of our expectation by the exterior wall
that stands where an inside scene should have been parallels the above closing-beginning
contradiction in Beethoven’s Op. 135. In Magritte’s work we topologically understand the
inside to be the outside; in parallel, Beethoven shows us that the beginning can be the
end.7
The competent listener’s tendency to project the norm leads to a paradox.
Beethoven seems to resolve it at the end of the work, but that solution only intensifies the
irony. The "closing" sentence that opened Op. 135 reappears at the end of the first
movement, performing, so to speak, its "duty" of concluding the movement.8
Yet this
ending redoubles the irony: after we consented to forgo our previous conceptions and have
accepted a new musical idiom in which that musical event plays the role of a commencing
gesture, the new norm is forfeited: we must abandon our newly acquired norm and go back
7
Following Muecke, Elleström writes that an ironic situation is one "that displays a striking incongruity
between an expectation and an event" [11]. But that condition, although necessary, is not sufficient because it
fails to distinguish an ironic situation from a merely surprising one. Elleström himself goes beyond it when he
claims that in music, "when we feel that two contrasting moods are mutually exclusive, and yet in a way make
sense when jumbled together, it is irony that tickles our ears" [12]. This is reminiscent of Lee Miller’s notion of
the overall appropriateness of the ironic situation, to be addressed below [13].
8
A somewhat similar stratagem is employed in the late bagatelle Op. 126, No. 6 in E-flat Major. The bagatelle
begins with a short (6 bar) closing gesture: a fast, virtuoso passage marked "Presto," that has little to do with the
main body of the piece, which is a lyrical Andante in 3/8. This closing gesture reappears in the end, "restoring"
its normative function, where – to use Kramer's terminology – gestural time and clock time are aligned.
Concluding the movement with the same closing gesture that opened it turns the structure into a circular one,
but may also be understood as "framing" it, emphasizing its artificiality.
94
to the old one. The opening sentence concludes the very work that taught us not to
expect it there. The destructive irony here is radical and most effective. Understanding
the paradox in the opening movement helps us comprehend a similar paradox in the final
movement.
Figure 1. Magritte, In Praise of Dialectics, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne9
The "Muss es sein?" question in the finale is presented in unison (Ex. 2). Its
implied harmony is dominant (seventh) to tonic; that is, from unstable to stable harmony,
which seems more suitable for an answer than for a question. But the absence of a
resolution of the leading tone and the leap to the tonic’s third undermines the harmonic
closure of the motive: its harmony suggests an answer, but its contour and voice-leading
suggest a question. This "oxymoronic" feature disappears in the recapitulation, where the
entire questioning motive is harmonized with a dominant harmony, hence sounding more
like a question.10
This paradox, as well as several other resemblances between the finale
and the beginning of the first movement, further hint at irony.11
Another way of expressing situational irony is by frustrating a meticulously
prepared expectation for harmonic resolution or a key area. The sudden dislocations of the
apparent tonal stability in the finale (sonata-rondo) of Beethoven’s Violin Sonata in G
Major, Op. 30, no. 3 are ironic according to Longyear [14]. There are two tonally
surprising shifts in that finale. First, after the second episode of the finale, there is a false
reprise of the theme in the major mediant (mm. 133–36), which is carefully prepared but
abruptly abandoned. The movement proceeds to prepare for a correct recapitulation (m.
141). Second, in the coda there is a surprising shift to the flat submediant (m. 177) after a
prolonged dominant; this unexpected tonality is "stated in a ‘vamp’ accompaniment" and
precedes another statement of the main theme in a wrong key [15]. Longyear maintains
that these shifts display Romantic irony because they destroy an illusion. Leaving aside, for
now, the question of Romantic irony, is this even situational irony? Even if the major
mediant or the flat-submediant are not expected, their surprising appearance does not
amount to contradiction, as required in situational irony. Listeners are led to project a
more normative, perhaps a commonplace tonic area, which does not materialize; but the
projected situation (tonic area) does not mock the realized situation (major mediant) and
does not diametrically contradict it.
9
http://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/col/work/4157
10
I thank Naphtali Wagner for pointing this out to me.
11
Both movements begin with off-tonic harmony, in piano and low register. The mysterious opening gesture is
played by the cello and viola, followed by a contrasting texture with close imitations between the three upper
parts (compare mm. 3–5 in the opening movement with the close imitation in m. 2 of the finale). In the
recapitulation of both movements the gesture appears in fuller texture over a prolonged harmony (D-flat [bVI]
in the first movement and prolonged dominant in the finale). Finally, the coda of the finale dismisses both the
question ("Muss es sein?" in minor, marked Grave) and the answer ("Es muss sein!" marked Allegro).
95
Example 2. Beethoven: String Quartet in F Major, Op. 135, IV, mm. 1-4.
There is, however, a late movement by Beethoven, the Scherzo in the String
Quartet in C-sharp Minor, Op. 131, where unexpected modulations to the mediant may
be retrospectively interpreted as portraying situational irony. In this movement,
Beethoven modulates to the mediant very early in the scherzo section, then directly
moves from the dominant seventh chord of the mediant (V7/iii, marked with a fermata)
to the tonic, E major. This shift brings to mind the above-mentioned deceptive move in
the coda of the Violin Sonata Op. 30, no. 3, from a dominant seventh chord with a
fermata to the flat submediant. In Op. 131 the deception is double, because what may
sound as the submediant in G# (an E major chord) is, in fact, a correct (tonic) reprise of
the A section of the scherzo (Ex. 3).12
These early modulations to the key of the mediant are ironic because once it
becomes clear that the E major chord (m. 45) is a correct beginning of the reprise, the
modulation to G# minor sounds wrong. Beethoven makes it sound as if this
(unconventional) modulation to the key of the mediant was a mistake by writing no
modulation back to the home key. Instead, he makes the players slow down and appear
utterly confused. They hesitate, as if they wonder how they arrived at this G# minor area
and got stuck there, not knowing how to return to E major. Eventually they give up and
start all over, without modulation. Note, however, that the dominant-seventh chord in m.
44 resolves in the right register to the tonic chord in m. 45, reinforcing the possibility of
momentarily hearing the tonic in m. 45 as a deceptive resolution in G# minor. To clinch
the matter, it does make sense to modulate to G# minor in bridging to the next movement
(i.e., at the end of the presto), which is in that very key, and is linked to the present
movement without a pause; but no such modulation occurs there: instead, the players state
G#, the new tonality, in the last two bars in the wrong register (the cello plays in the
register of the violin and the latter plays in the register of the cello. See Ex. 4).13
It thus
12
A similar "deception" can be found in the preparation of the reprise in Haydn's "Kyrie" movement in the
Harmoniemesse (1802), which refers back to the highly surprising first entrance of the choir on a diminished
seventh chord.
13
In a quartet where all the movements follow upon each other as a continuous stream, one may expect a
modulation to G# minor at the end of the Scherzo; the abrupt two-bar section that links the Scherzo with the
next movement is therefore highly comical and brings to mind Beethoven’s whimsical note to Schott (the
publisher) that the quartet "was put together from pilferings."
96
appears as though things got mixed up: the operative modulation comes at the wrong
time. The composer has intentionally made the actual situation look like an aberration, a
deformation of another, more normative one.14
Example 3. Beethoven: String Quartet in C-sharp Minor, Op. 131, V, mm. 30-48
Example 4. Beethoven: String Quartet in C-sharp Minor, Op. 131, V, mm. 484-96.
14
Elsewhere I show that the situational irony in this movement is related to another, large-scale ironic conceit
of the movement and to Romantic irony. Whereas in many cases of Romantic irony the presence of the author
is very much felt, as a means of shattering the illusion of the artwork, in cases of situational irony, as in the
irony of life events, intentionality is not implicit.
97
As these examples show, musical events, similarly to real-life situations may seem
ironic even without the help of text. In one of the few philosophical articles devoted to
situational irony, Lee Miller [16] requires an additional condition for an ironic situation:
although ironic situations run contrary to the hopes and efforts of those involved, they
display a particular propriety, a type of poetic justice, whether good or bad. He notes that
"What turns out contrary to conventional wisdom and habitual belief is quite fitting when
measured in some wider context" [17]. In music, where we never assume events to be an
outcome of fate or chance, we explain ironic situations as carefully crafted by the
composer; thus the overall poetic quality is even more prominent. The aptness of ironic
events may be related to the old "paradox of art," as explained in Hepokoski and Darcy’s
discussion of deformations as compositional surprises: "the paradox of art is that the nature
of the game at hand also and always includes the idea that we are to expect the
unexpected ... What is ‘non-normative’ on one level of understanding becomes
‘normative’ under a wider span of consideration" [18]. In the movements discussed here,
unexpected events become part of a poetic conceit that includes situational irony,
functioning as such wider context.
Although in theory I construe dramatic irony as a kind of situational irony, I
avoided any attempt to trace dramatic irony in Beethoven's instrumental music because of
the more complex issue of agency involved. Dramatic irony presupposes the ignorance or
unawareness of an agent in the text to the nature of the situation at hand. Theorists who
deal with agency in music, however, may well apply the theory of situational irony
presented here to reveal instances of dramatic irony in instrumental music.
REFERENCES
[1] Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. "Irony" (my emphasis).
[2] Muecke, D.C. ,1969. The Compass of Irony. London, Methuen, p. 42.
[3] Knox, Norman, 1961. The Word "Irony" and its Context, 1500–1755. Durham, Duke
University Press, p. 30.
[4] Muecke, D.C. ,1969, p. 42.
[5] Booth, W.C., 1974. A Rhetoric of Irony. University of Chicago Press.
[6] Zemach, E. and Balter, T., 2007. "The Structure of Irony and How it Functions in
Music," In Philosophers on Music: Experience, Meaning, and Work, ed. Kathleen Stock.
Oxford, Oxford University Press, pp. 178–206.
[7] Disch, T.M., 1971. Camp Concentration. Avon books.
[8] Samarotto, F., 2007. "Determinism, Prediction, and Inevitability in Brahms's Rhapsody
in E-flat, Op. 119, No. 4," Theory and Practice 32, p. 72.
[9] Kramer, J.D., 1973. "Multiple and Non-Linear Time in Beethoven’s Opus 135,"
Perspectives of New Music 11:2, pp. 122–145. Lochhead, Judy, 1979. "The Temporal in
Beethoven’s Opus 135: When Are Ends Beginnings?" In Theory Only 4, no. 7, pp. 3–30.
[10] Elleström, L., 1996. "Some Notes on Irony in the Visual Arts and Music: The
Examples of Magritte and Shostakovich," Word & Image 12, p. 202. Elleström further
expands his discussion of situational irony in his book from 2002: Divine Madness: On
Interpreting Literature, Music, and the Visual Arts Ironically. Bucknell University Press.
[11] Ibid, p. 210.
[12] Ibid, p. 205.
98
[13] Miller, C.L, 1976. "Ironic or Not?," American Philosophical Quarterly 13, no. 4, pp.
309–13.
[14] Longyear, R.M., 1970. "Beethoven and Romantic Irony," in The Creative World of
Beethoven, ed. Paul Henry Lang. New York, pp. 145- 62.
[15] Ibid., pp. 154–55.
[16] Miller, C.L, 1976, pp. 309-13.
[17] Miller, p. 310.
[18] Hepokoski, J. and Darcy, W., 2006. Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and
Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata. New York, Oxford University Press, p.
617.
99
March and Pastoral in the Slow Movement
of Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony:
Longing, Frustration and Confirmation
Lauri Suurpää, Sibelius Academy, Helsinki, FI
ABSTRACT
The expressive course of the slow movement of Felix Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony
consists of two clearly defined topics, march and pastoral. They both occur at specific
formal locations, the pastoral occupying the secondary-theme area of both the exposition
and the recapitulation, the march governing the rest of the movement. This outwardly
simple and conventional framework becomes much more nuanced when the movement’s
formal and harmonic idiosyncrasies are taken into account. This paper concentrates on
these idiosyncrasies and their consequences, examining three interrelated issues: 1) In the
movement, march and pastoral both have expressive connotations that can be defined
historically. Most importantly, pastoral is seen as representing longing, Sehnsucht
characteristic of early nineteenth-century aesthetics. So pastoral is invested with a positive
value and is therefore sought for. 2) Owing to their expressive connotations and struggle,
the two topics assume a narrative function, to be elaborated in the paper through the
“tragic archetype” as described by Byron Almén. March is seen as representing “order”
and pastoral “transgression”. The former will ultimately outweigh the latter. 3) The
unfulfilled longing of the pastoral (its primary narrative function in this movement) is
mainly conveyed by the work’s harmonic structure, to be examined from the Schenkerian
perspective. Neither the secondary key in the exposition nor the major-mode tonic in the
recapitulation (the two locations where the pastoral governs) is fully established, as there is
neither a structural tonic nor a confirming perfect authentic cadence. Thus the harmonic
structure, like the pastoral topic, features unfulfilled longing. The paper concludes by
arguing that in the movement the underlying topical opposition triggers a subtle interplay
where expressive and formal as well as historical and analytical factors constitute one
unified narrative trajectory.
OVERALL FORM AND JUXTAPSITION OF MARCH
AND PASTORAL TOPICS
Apart from the youthful First Symphony, Mendelssohn’s symphonic output has
often been seen to include programmatic features. Occasionally the programmatic
allusions are quite direct, like the quotation from the Lutheran chorale “Ein’ feste Burg ist
unser Gott” in the closing movement of the Fifth Symphony or the sonic imitation of a
storm at the end of the opening movement of the Third Symphony. At other times the
programmatic references are less direct, primarily suggesting evocation of moods. These
two layers have been seen to intertwine in the slow movement of the Fourth Symphony,
100
the so-called Italian, which forms the topic of this presentation. As the movement has
either no title or word painting or musical quotations, it may be seen primarily as an
evocation of moods. Yet there are also more precise programmatic features and it has often
been suggested that the movement refers to a sacred procession that Mendelssohn
apparently saw while travelling in Italy.1
One of the main musical factors supporting the
view of the movement as a description of a religious procession is the march topic that
dominates much of the movement. I will start by considering this musical factor.
The movement’s opening clarifies the significance of the march. After the
introductory fanfare, the primary theme begins in bar 3 and a steadily moving quaver
motion in the bass characterizes this theme. This unbroken bass rhythm then dominates
much of the work, and its direct allusions to walking establish march as the movement’s
primary topic. Expressively, this minor-mode march is tragic.
A more joyous major mode twice interrupts the minor. The first of these
occurrences is in bars 45–56. The music has now modulated to a contrasting key, A major,
and the bass gives up the steady quaver motion that has dominated so far. The major, the
new texture and the joyous expression also suggest a topical change from the initial march
to a contrasting pastoral. The alternation of march and pastoral interacts with the
movement’s form, as shown in Table 1. The work is in a modified sonata form without a
development. (The formal idiosyncrasies will later be addressed in some detail.) The
march and minor mode dominate the primary theme, transition and coda, while the
pastoral and major occur in the secondary theme. As a result, the march and minor both
begin and end the work, whereas the major and pastoral provide passing escapes from their
gloom.
TOPICS AND TONAL STRUCTURE
In the movement, march and pastoral are not only topics whose expression and
mode contrast with each other; rather, they are also underlain by very different kinds of
tonal frameworks. Most importantly, while march and minor often occur in a solid tonal
environment, the pastoral and major are never given firm tonal support. I will now
elucidate this contrast in tonal stability from a Schenkerian perspective.
Example 1 is a middleground graph of the exposition’s primary theme and
transition. The primary theme consists of a small ternary form whose a-sections both close
in a perfect authentic cadence in the tonic, a harmonic arrival that also closes a
descending fifth-progression from the movement’s Kopfton A. The primary theme
therefore confirms the tonic very strongly. The ensuing transition shows a quite common
tonal progression where the opening tonic is transformed, through a chromaticised voice
exchange, to an augmented sixth chord. This dissonant sonority is then resolved to a halfcadential
dominant of the secondary key; a “medial caesura”, as such gestures are called in
the recent formal theory of James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy [2].2
As the half-cadential
1
See, for example, [1].
2
The addition of a seventh to the V of V might challenge its function as a half-cadential arrival. William
Caplin, for example, has argued in his detailed study on Classical cadence that a seventh chord cannot
function as a half cadence [3]. Janet Schmalfeldt, by contrast, has argued that in the nineteenth century
seventh chords do constitute half cadences, and she has used the term “nineteenth-century half cadence” when
referring to such cadences [4]. A clear instance, not discussed by Schmalfeldt, of a half cadence with a seventh
chord can be found in bar 29 of Schubert’s song “Der greise Kopf” (Winterreise).
101
dominant occurs in the key of A minor, the listener assumes the secondary theme will
begin in this key. Indeed, dominant minor is a common option for the second theme in
sonata expositions of minor-mode works, and here this option would retain the opening
tragic expression. But as we have seen, Mendelssohn begins the secondary theme in A
major, at the same time introducing the contrasting topic, pastoral. It is as if the
movement refused to accept the course that has been predicted.
The major mode and pastoral topic prove unable to establish themselves securely,
however. This impression is conveyed both by the voice-leading structure, which avoids a
deep-level A-major tonic chord, and by the avoidance of a cadence securing A major as a
key. In the cadential articulation, the movement omits a perfect authentic cadence that
would confirm the secondary key, the gesture that Hepokoski and Darcy call the “essential
expositional closure”. Such a cadence is normative in Classical sonata-form conventions,
and its significance was already observed in the theoretical writings of the eighteenth
century.3
In the voice-leading structure, in turn, the dominant of A major is prolonged
throughout the secondary theme, as shown in Example 2, so there is no deep-level tonic of
the secondary key. That is, it is notable that the secondary theme does not begin with the
conventional structural tonic of the secondary key. The primary element carrying out the
prolongation of the underlying dominant of A major is the neighbouring D-major chord,
the subdominant of A major, which arrives in bar 49. As a predominant sonority, this
chord is expected to initiate a harmonic motion aiming at a cadential closure. Indeed, in
bar 51 the music seems to begin a cadential progression, reaching, at the beginning of bar
52, a sonority that first sounds like a cadential six-four chord. This is not the chord’s
structural function, however. As the inner-voice A descends to G-natural, rather than to
G-sharp as one assumes, the chord turns out to be a passing secondary dominant within a
prolongation of a D-major chord (as is indicated in Example 2a). In other words, the
music aims to reach both a cadential confirmation of A major and this key’s structural
tonic, but both turn out to be unobtainable. Ultimately, in bar 56 the D-major harmony is
transformed, through a chormaticised voice exchange, into a diminished seventh chord
that is then resolved, at the outset of the recapitulation in bar 57, to the underlying Emajor
chord. The secondary theme is thus unable even at its end to securely reach the Amajor
tonic and confirm its key.
The key of A major therefore turns out to be an apparent key only, a key that is
implied by its dominant but not confirmed by its tonic.4
This tonal instability greatly
affects the dramatic role of the A major and pastoral. As they occur within a prolongation
framed by the dominant of A minor (first reached in bar 43 and regained in bar 57), both
the A major and the pastoral ultimately sound quite insubstantial, almost like a kind of
parenthetical insertion, a side-thought that has no lasting effect. Yet one might argue that
A major and the pastoral topic have clear, albeit indirect consequences. The march that
returns at the beginning of the recapitulation might be interpreted as having been affected
3
In 1745, Johann Adolph Scheibe describes the first part of a symphony (= the exposition), observing that the
section must end in a cadence in the secondary key, the only cadence in this section that he mentions [5].
Similarly, in 1793 Heinrich Christoph Koch writes that the symphony’s first main period (= the exposition)
ends in a cadence in the secondary key, after which there may still be “a clarifying period” [6]. In the Classical
era exceptions to the exposition’s cadential closure are extremely rare. Yet there are movements whose
expositions do close without a perfect authentic cadence in the secondary key; see the opening movement of
Haydn’s G-minor String Quartet, Op. 20, No. 3. In the nineteenth century, the avoidance of a perfect
authentic cadence in the secondary key became more common.
4
Carl Schachter has clarified the notion of an “apparent key” [7].
102
by the previous pastoral; most importantly, the march lacks the stability with which it was
associated at the movement’s beginning. As Table 1 indicates, the recapitulation starts in
the dominant minor; furthermore, there is no root-position chord at the beginning of this
section. Moreover, the opening section of the recapitulation (bars 57–74) fuses the
functions of the primary theme and the transition; in other words, the section begins as a
primary theme but ends as a transition.5
When the section reaches its closure, the tonic
key has returned and the half cadence of bar 71 functions as the recapitulation’s “medial
caesura”.
The voice-leading structure supports the somewhat insubstantial quality of the
primary theme that opens the recapitulation. This is shown in Example 3, a middleground
graph of the entire movement. In addition to the return of the primary theme in the
wrong key at the beginning of the recapitulation (the dominant rather than the tonic),
the section fusing the functions of a primary theme and a transition avoids the structural
tonic chord of both the initial key of the section (A minor) and of its closing key (D
minor). Instead, the section starts on the regained dominant of the secondary key, which
is, at last, resolved to an A-major chord in bar 65. (The A-major chord has already arrived
in the first inversion in bar 62.) This chord no longer locally functions as the tonic of the
secondary key, A major, however; this option was left behind with the end of the
exposition. Rather, the chord now functions also in the foreground as the dominant of the
main key, D minor. This dominant looks ahead to a resolution to the tonic, and it is the
task of the remainder of the movement, the recapitulation’s secondary theme, to bring the
music to a cadentially confirmed tonic – the first such sonority since the end of the
exposition’s primary theme.
The ensuing secondary theme repeats the music heard in the second part of the
exposition, now in the tonic major. The major mode here is significant; most importantly,
now that the movement is approaching its conclusion, the major mode and the pastoral
topic reign. As the primary-theme/transition fusion that opened the recapitulation was
tonally rather insecure, it might seem that the major and the pastoral are now going to
have the upper hand, their subsidiary role in the exposition notwithstanding. For the
briefest of moments this seems to be the case. In bar 86 the recapitulation reaches its end
in the perfect authentic cadence in D major, a harmonic progression that functions as the
“essential structural closure”, the movement’s formal goal in the theory of Hepokoski and
Darcy. In the voice-leading structure, in turn, bar 86 signifies, as shown in Example 3, the
completion of the Ursatz. If the movement had ended on the first quaver of bar 86, it
would have seemed quite clear that the music had moved from the opening D minor to a
firmly established D major and thus also clearly established the pastoral. But the
movement does not end here. Rather, the D-major tonic is a fleeting element that is
immediately transformed into a minor sonority. The coda then follows in D minor and in
the march topic. I would argue that in bar 86 the minor triad is the primary element, so
the inner-voice F-sharp should be understood as an embellishing pitch, basically as a
chromatic passing tone. (Therefore there is only the D-minor chord in the middleground
graph of Example 3.) In other words, the fleeting major-mode resolution retrospectively
turns out to be only an illusion; the reality of the music, so to speak, returns to the minor.
5
Such a fusion of functions, where the beginning of a formal section suggests one formal function while its end
suggests another, has been discussed in detail by Janet Schmalfeldt, who uses the term “becoming” for referring
to this phenomenon [8].
103
So the major and pastoral are also secondary and unstable in the recapitulation, the same
way they were in the exposition.
TOPICS, STRUCTURE AND NARRATIVE
In the Mendelssohn movement, march and pastoral are more than just neutral
topics that alternate with each other; they both have expressive connotations that make
their dialogue nuanced.6
Pastoral, in particular, has a rather distinct content. In the
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, pastoral was often associated with longing for a
past that has now been lost for good, yearning for the time when people were still
innocent and in a direct dialogue with nature. In the early nineteenth-century musical
writings this view was shown, for example, in Heinrich Christoph Koch’s comment on
“pastorale” in his Musikalishes Lexicon, published in 1802 [10]. More generally, yearning for
the past innocence that one may associate with the pastoral can be related to Romantic
longing, the Sehnsucht characteristic of early German Romantic literature. This longing
was not toward something concrete and clearly defined, but rather toward the ineffable
and infinite. Owing to its unspecified nature, Romantic longing eternally remains
unfulfilled, and the Romantics themselves referred to it with the expression “longing for
the infinite” (Sehnsucht nach dem Unendlichen) [11]. Raymond Monelle has described this
quality aptly: “Lyric time is the present, a present that is always in the present. And for the
Romantic, the present is a void…All that could be felt in the present time was a longing
for the absent life that lay outside it [12].”
Like pastoral, the “blue flower” that appears in Novalis’s novel Heinrich von
Ofterdingen, arguably the best known single symbol of Romantic longing, also draws a
connection between yearning and nature.
But I long to behold the blue flower…I never have heard of such a strange passion for
a flower…I might think myself mad, were not my perceptions and reasonings so clear;
and this state of mind appears to have brought with it superior knowledge of all
subjects. I have heard, that in ancient times beasts, and trees, and rocks conversed
with men. As I gaze up to them, they appear every moment about to speak to me; and
I can almost tell by their looks what they would say. There must yet be many words
unknown to me. If I knew more, I could comprehend better [13].
Thus, pastoral may, as a musical topic, be associated with the more general notion of
Romantic longing (albeit the two are, of course, by no means identical). In the
Mendelssohn movement, the object of longing in the pastoral topic clearly represents
something positive, which, at the same time, is fundamentally unobtainable. In addition
to the pastoral topic, the major mode conveys this positive expression.
At a general level, the expressive connotations of the march, the other of the
movement’s main topics, are less specific. In the Classical and early Romantic eras march
had no fixed expressive content. Rather, its expression could extend from the tragic effect
of a funeral march to the heroic quality of a military march. In the Mendelssohn
movement, the minor mode and the slow tempo draw associations, indirect but clearly
audible, to the funeral march. Thus the march here has a gloomy quality.
6
Raymond Monelle discusses the historical context and signification of march and pastoral in great detail [9].
104
The positive but unobtainable quality of the pastoral and the tragic nature of the
march provide a foundation for elucidating the movement’s narrative unfolding.
Technically, this narrative can be described by applying Byron Almén’s terminology [14]
[15]. He makes a distinction between two types of musical elements: those that are
securely established and conventional (he refers to these with the term “order”) and those
that depart from conventions and are less secure (these are denoted by the term
“transgression”). Almén argues that the listener sympathises with one of these poles, so
this chosen pole is considered positive. Narrative archetypes then consist of an initial
tension between the two poles and of the final outcome in which one of the two ends up
being primary. If the pole with which the listener sympathises turns out to be the primary,
the narrative’s outcome is positive, while the result is negative in cases where the pole not
sympathised with dominates at the end.
The archetype that Almén calls “tragic” is valuable for our present purposes (Table
2a). Here the order is deemed negative while the transgression is positive. The right-hand
side column indicates that this opposition provides a foundation for a narrative
transformation. The tragic narrative archetype ends in a “defeat of transgression by order”;
that is, the initial juxtaposition of order and transgression leads to a state in which only
order remains. As the listener sympathises with transgression, this outcome is unwanted.
The tragic archetype provides a framework in which we can interpret the narrative
quality of the harmonic-structural and topical features of the Mendelssohn movement that
have been analysed above. Table 3 shows that the narrative course can be divided into
five phases, each of which exhibits a definite structural and topical state as well as a formal
section. The first phase covers the exposition’s primary theme and transition, introducing
the order. This phase’s tonal clarity, perfect authentic cadences in D minor and the
underlying top voice fifth-progression all convey the view that the minor and march
represent the stable state of affairs, the order. Phase 2, the second theme of the exposition,
challenges the order by introducing transgression, the major mode and the pastoral topic.
These elements remain somewhat insubstantial, however. As A major is not cadentially
confirmed, and as the middleground voice leading includes no structural tonic of this key,
transgression remains a non-confirmed element. Yet it may be interpreted as having an
effect on the movement’s continuation. When order (that is, march and minor) returns in
phase 3, in the recapitulation’s opening section that merges primary theme with
transition, the order no longer has the stability it initially had. The music avoids the
structural tonic of both the section’s opening A minor and of its closing D minor, so tonal
solidity is evaded. Therefore we may argue that the previous transgression has removed the
self-assuredness that the order initially had.
The middleground voice leading, shown in Example 3, indicates that the tonal
events of phase 3 can be seen to grow directly out of the two preceding phases that
introduce the juxtaposition of order and transgression. The first phase (order) closes in bar
43 on a dominant of A minor, a chord that is still prolonged when the third phase begins
in bar 57. The same chord is also prolonged in the second phase (bars 45–56), but locally
it is transformed from a dominant of A minor to a dominant of A major. Thus the
expression, together with the pastoral topic, changes the extensively prolonged chord from
the realm of order to that of transgression. When the resolution into an A triad finally
arrives in bar 65, it is to a major triad, the type of chord one would have expected to arrive
in the second phase. But this chord is no longer the tonic of A major, so it is reached in
the tragic world of order.
105
After this conflict, phase 4 attempts to confirm transgression and give it primacy
over order. Now we do have a cadence in what one assumes to be D major, a cadence
whose significance in enhanced by the descent of the Urlinie here. But the D-major chord
is only an embellishing element that is immediately transformed into a primary minor
triad. Firm confirmation of the transgression thus turns out to be impossible, and the
movement’s final fifth phase conclusively seals the primacy of order; that is, of minor and
march.
EPILOGUE
My analysis has indicated, I hope, that the slow movement of Mendelssohn’s Italian
Symphony has a strong dramatic quality, which has been analysed above from a number of
perspectives: form, voice-leading structure, topics, Romantic aesthetics and narrativity. I
argue that the power and subtlety of the movement’s drama is not created by any one of
these aspects alone, but is rather an outcome of their interaction. So a comprehensive
elucidation of the movement’s drama benefits from an application of a variety of analytical
perspectives.
I started this paper by referring to the common view that the slow movement of
the Italian Symphony has a programmatic quality, which grows out of its alleged references
to a sacred procession that Mendelssohn saw in Italy. Yet, in the analysis above I have not
spoken about this direct programmatic reference. As my analysis has addressed the
Andante’s musical elements alone, the movement’s narration can be appreciated even
without a direct extra-musical reference. In other words, the movement’s topical
opposition, form and voice-leading structure create its drama, and these factors suggest
musical narration even in the absence of an unequivocally stated programmatic reference.
The inference of allusions to a sacred procession may well deepen individual listeners’
emotional reaction toward the piece, thus they may be valuable for that given listener’s
reception of the movement. But I argue that such direct programmatic references are not
required for appreciating the deeply affective narrative of the movement, the drama that
fundamentally consists of the music’s intrinsic features.
REFERENCES
[1] Todd, R. L., 1997. “Mendelssohn”. In The Nineteenth-Century Symphony, ed. D. K.
Holoman, 78–107. New York, Schirmer, p. 88.
[2] Hepokoski, J. and Darcy, W., 2006. “Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and
Deformations” in The Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata. New York, Oxford University Press.
[3] Caplin, W., 2004. “The Classical Cadence: Conceptions and Misconceptions”. Journal
of the American Musicological Society 57/1: 51–117, p. 70.
[4] Schmalfeldt, J., 2011. In the Process of Becoming: Analytical and Philosophical Perspectives
on Form in Early Nineteenth-Century Music, New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 200,
203 and 217.
[5] Scheibe, J. A., 1745. Critischer Musikus. Leipzig, Bernhard Christoph Breitkopf.
(Facsimile Hildesheim, Georg Olms Verlag, 1970), p. 623.
106
[6] Koch, H.C., 1983/1782-93. Introductory Essay on Composition, (trans.) Nancy Kovaleff
Baker. New Haven, Yale University Press, p. 199.
[7] Schachter, C., 1999. Unfoldings: Essays in Schenkerian Theory and Analysis. New York,
Oxford University Press, pp. 139–42.
[8] Schmalfeldt, J., 2011. In the Process of Becoming: Analytical and Philosophical Perspectives
on Form in Early Nineteenth-Century Music, New York: Oxford University Press.
[9] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington,
Indiana University Press.
[10] Koch, H.C., 1802. Musikalisches Lexikon. Frankfurt am Main August Hermann dem
Jüngern, (Facsimile reprint, Kassel, Bärenreiter, 2001), cols. 1142–43.
[11] Frank, M, 2004. The Philosophical Foundations of Early German Romanticism, (trans.)
Elizabeth Millán-Zaibert. Albany, State University of New York Press, p. 29.
[12] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, Princeton
University Press, p. 115.
[13] Novalis, 1842. Henry of Ofterdingen: A Romance, anonymous translation. Cambridge,
MA John Owen, (German original 1802), pp. 23-4.
[14] Almén, B., 2003. “Narrative Archetypes: A Critique, Theory, and Method of
Narrative Analysis”. Journal of Music Theory 47/1: 1–40.
[15] Almén, B., 2008. A Theory of Musical Narrative. Bloomington, Indiana University
Press.
107
APPENDIX
Bars bars 1–35 bars 35–45 bars 45–57
Sonata form exposition
Formal zones primary theme (P) transition (TR) secondary theme (S)
Keys d d → a A
Closing
cadences
perfect authentic cadence
(PAC) in D minor
(bar 35)
half cadence (HC) in
A minor (bars 43
and 45);
= medial caesura (MC)
no cadences;
essential expositional
closure (EEC)
avoided
Topics march march pastoral
Bars bars 57–74 bars 74–86 bars 86–103
Sonata form recapitulation coda
Formal zones primary theme (P)
becomes transition
(TR)
secondary theme (S) coda
Keys a → d D d
Closing
cadences
half cadence (HC) in
D minor (bars 71
and 73);
= medial caesura
(MC)
perfect authentic cadence in
D major (bar 86; the major
tonic is immediately
transformed into a minor
sonority); = essential
structural closure (ESC)
perfect authentic
cadence in D
minor (bar 102)
Topics march pastoral march
Table 1. Mendelssohn, Italian Symphony, op. 90, II, overall organization
Example 1. Mendelssohn, Italian Symphony, II, bars 1–43, middleground voice leading
108
Example 2. Mendelssohn, Italian Symphony, II, bars 43–57, voice-leading sketch
109
Example 3. Mendelssohn, Italian Symphony, II, middleground voice leading
a)
underlying opposition temporal, narrative transformation
order (negative)
vs.
transgression (positive)
defeat of transgression by order
=
order vs. transgression → order
b)
order transgression
march
minor
pastoral
major
Table 2. Tragic narrative archetype after Byron Almén (Table 2a) and narrative function of
‘march’ and ‘pastoral’ in Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony, II (Table 2b)
110
phase 1
(bars 1–45)
phase 2
(bars 45–56)
phase 3
(bars 57–74)
phase 4
(bars 74–86)
phase 5
(bars 86–103)
exposition,
P and TR
exposition,
S
recapitulation,
P ⇒ TR
recapitulation,
S
coda
order
established
transgression
introduced but
not secured
order returns
but without
strong
confirmation
transgression
attempts in
vain to confirm
itself
order
established
D minor fully
confirmed
A major as a
key but no
structural tonic
or cadential
confirmation
from a
dominant of A
minor to a
dominant of D
minor; no
structural tonic
from the
dominant of D
major to a
cadential
confirmation;
cadential
arrival turns
out to be in D
minor,
however, not in
major
D minor fully
confirmed
march pastoral march pastoral march
Table 3. Narrative phases in Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony, II
111
Dynamic Similarities between Liszt’s Au lac
de Wallenstadt and Byron’s Childe Harold’s
Pilgrimage
Grace Yu, Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts, HK
ABSTRACT
In this paper, I aim at explicating the nature of intermediality by illustrating the dynamic
similarities between the musical signifiers of Liszt’s Au Lac de Wallenstadt and its cultural
source of inspiration, Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. The mapping of oppositional
pairs across musical and cultural domains reflects the intrinsic importance of the notion of
paradox in different art forms, which elaborates upon Monelle’s1
idea that the pastoral
milieu “invokes an opposition of nature and art”.
While Au Lac de Wallenstadt uses an abundance of pastoral topical markers (e.g.
opening pentatonic melody, pedal point, regularly pulse repetition)2
, the other overtly
non-pastoral musical features, e.g. transformation of the melody in the different A
sections, the harmonic oscillations, the contrasts between A and B sections in terms of
phrase structure and harmonic complexities, and the liquidation phenomenon likewise play
fundamental role in establishing oppositions that are intrinsic to Romantic pastoral
manifestations.
My paper offers a systematic intermedial explication of Au Lac de Wallenstadt: while the
title of the piece points to physical properties of a lake, the contrasting pairs found in
Liszt’s deliberate quotation of Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage signal connection with
the contrasting pairs in the culturally contextualized reading of Bryon’s Harold, which
signals further connection with the contrasting pairs of Liszt’s own biographical states.
Musical-stylistic contrasting pairs map readily onto these culturally and biographically
contrasting pairs that are by their very nature tightly interconnected with one another.
Such cultural and biographical facets also provide further cues for the interpretive paths
leading to particular or enriched iconic and indexical associations of a multitude of musical
stylistic constructs, e.g. melodic rhythmic gestures, voiceleading subtleties, formal
manipulations, harmonic treatments, and temporal procedures. My analysis reveals an
interconnecting system of cultural and biographical facets, in addition to the composer’s
sophisticated culturally mediated expression of complex states and emotions.
1
See Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral, Bloomington, Indiana University
Press.
2
See Grabócz, M., 1996. Morphologie des oeuvres pour piano de Liszt: Influence du programme sur
l'évolution des formes instrumentals, Paris, Éditions Kimé.
112
DYNAMIC SIMILARITIES ACROSS MUSICAL AND CULTURAL DOMAIN
Monelle identifies that pastoral milieu “invokes an opposition of nature and art
[1].” In effort to further elaborate on the oppositional nature of pastoral topic in addition
to explicating the nature of intermediality, I illustrate the dynamic similarities between
the musical signifiers of Liszt’s Au lac de Wallenstadt and its cultural source of inspiration,
Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. The mapping of oppositional pairs across musical and
cultural domains reflects the intrinsic importance of the notion of paradox in different art
forms.
Before my furthering on paradoxical notion, below is a formal overview of Liszt’s
Au lac de Wallenstadt (Table 1).
Formal
Section
Intro. A A’ B A’’ Tonic
extension
Key Ab Ab Ab Db-E-
V/Ab
Ab Ab
mm. 1-4 5-20 21-36 37-62 63-78 79-112
Remarks The opening
consists of
the markedly
static
“ripple-like”
left-hand
pattern.
The right
hand
commences
at m. 5 as
the cantabile
single line
melody
while the
introductory,
static lefthand
pattern
undulates.
The section
closes on I in
Ab.
The right
hand melody
of A’ is the
same as that
of A, but in
octaves. The
section
likewise
closes on I in
Ab.
At the
beginning of
this section,
the melody is
rather
similar to
that of A
section but
in the key of
Db major.
The section
includes
modal
mixture and
enharmonic
modulation.
Rhythmic
displacement
is evident in
the melody
at mm. 63-
64 and mm.
71-72. The
melody is
also varied
through
registral
expansion.
The melody
that begins
this part is
similar to that
of the B
section, but it
is harmonized
differently;
there is a
meter change
from 3/8 to
2/4 at m. 103,
which can be
seen as the
beginning of
the coda.
Table 1 Form diagram of Au lac de Wallenstadt
PASTORAL FEATURES IN AU LAC DE WALLENSTADT
Liszt’s use of pastoral topical markers in the piece can be assigned by stylistic
conventions, e.g. the pentatonic melody at mm. 5-12, the use of the pedal point, the use
of a relatively simple theme, the use of calm rhythm, and the regularly pulsed repetition in
the accompaniment [2] and the connection of these pastoral topical textures creates the
pastoral isotopy used throughout the piece [3]. Grabócz’s accounts on the use of pastoral
figures and motifs resemble Ratner’s parameters of topical categories. e.g. opening
pentatonic melody, pedal point, regularly pulse repetition. The other overtly non-pastoral
musical features as shown in the formal treatment of the piece (refer to the form diagram
of Liszt’s Au lac de Wallenstadt), e.g. transformation of the melody in the different A
113
sections, the contrasts between A and B sections in terms of phrase structure, harmonic
complexities notably in B section, and the liquidation phenomenon through retention of
the drone-like pedal tones and the continuous diminution of the previously syncopated
melody in A’’ section, in addition to the fundamental harmonic oscillations in the left
hand part of the opening accompaniment figure likewise play fundamental role in
establishing oppositions that are intrinsic to Romantic pastoral manifestations.
PHYSICAL VS. CULTURALIZED NATURE
Nonetheless, it is crucial to articulate the difference between physical and
culturalized nature. For instance, the modification of the final title from the first
publication of the piece Le lac de Wallenstadt (The Lake of Wallenstadt) to become Au lac
de Wallenstadt (By the Lake of Wallenstadt) is a significant one. More than depicting the
physical property of the lake, the piece also ties to emotions and thoughts triggered by
contemplating the lake. The cultural perspective of a reflecting Romantic subject indeed
intersects dynamically with both the literary and the biographical.
CONNECTION OF CONTRASTING PAIRS IN LITERATURE AND ITS
CULTURAL CONTEXT
Au lac de Wallenstadt was written during Liszt’s elopement with Marie d’Agoult in
Switzerland. Both the first and the second versions are likewise prefaced by a quotation
extracted from Stanza 85 of Canto III in Lord Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage:
… thy contrasted lake,
With the wild world I dwell in, is a thing
Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake
Earth’s troubled waters for a purer spring [4].
Merely from reading Liszt’s quotation of Bryon, the notion of “contrast” stands out:
“wild world” is contrasted with “stillness,” just as “troubled waters” is contrasted with
“purer spring.” Reading Byron’s own image of Harold in context, Calenza points out that
“Byron blended the popular image of poet as rebel and as a bearer of freedom with that of
the social outcast and solitary wanderer [5].” The dualistic culturally contextualized images
of Byron’s Harold as “rebel” and “social outcast” are contrasted with “freedom bearer” and
the nobler “solitary wanderer.” These two contrasting pairs connect dynamically with the
contrasting pair of Liszt’s quotation of Byron of “wild world” vs. “purer spring.”
FURTHER CONNECTION OF CONTRASTING PAIRS WITH LISZT’S OWN
BIOGRAPHICAL STATES
The above-mentioned interconnected contrasting pairs further intersect with
Liszt’s own biographical states as he composed and revised the musical work. When Liszt
composed the first version of the piece, his violation of the social norm of the time by
eloping with Marie d’Agoult connect to the culturalized notion of “rebel,” and Liszt “the
114
lone pilgrim … whose travels across Switzerland as the scenic prelude to a full artistic
awakening in Italy” [6] intersects with the “solitary wanderer.” Later on as Liszt was
revising the piece in Weimar for the second publication, the social disapproval of
cohabiting with Princess Carolyne Sayn-Wittgenstein (who repeatedly failed to pursue an
official annulment from Prince Nicholas) [7] connects also to Harold’s image of “social
outcast,” and Liszt’s pursuit of artistic freedom by settling in Altenburg near Weimar
where the city was deemed by Liszt as a “Mecca” for contemporary music [8] intersects
with Harold’s image of “freedom bearer.” Please refer to following table (Table 2) that
tabulates the above-mentioned dynamic connection of the contrasting pairs between
Liszt’s quotation, cultural context of Byron’s Harold, and Liszt’s different biographical
states as he was composing and later on revising the piece for publication.
Contrasting pairs
Liszt’s quotation from Byron’s
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
Stillness Wild world
(Heaven’s) Purer spring Earth’s troubled waters
Interpretive context of
Byron’s Harold
Freedom bearer Rebel
(Noble) Solitary wanderer Social outcast
Liszt’s own biographical state
during the composition of the
first version (Le lac de
Wallenstadt)
“The lone pilgrim…whose
travels across Switzerland as
the scenic prelude to a full
artistic awakening in Italy”
Violation of social norms by
eloping with Marie d’Agoult
Liszt’s own biographical state
during the revision of the
second version (Au lac de
Wallenstadt)
Settlement in Altenburg near
Weimar where the city is a
“Mecca” for contemporary
music of Liszt
Unrest resulted from social
disapproval of cohabiting
with Princess Carolyne SaynWittgenstein
(who repeatedly
failed to pursue an official
annulment from Prince
Nicholas)
Table 2 The Dynamic Connection of the Contrasting Pairs in Liszt’s Quotation, Cultural
Context of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, and Liszt’s Biographical State
NATURE OF INTERMEDIALITY AS REFLECTED BY LISZT’S AU LAC DE
WALLENSTADT
In the course of derivation of the musical meaning of Au lac de Wallenstadt, the
dynamic connection as explained explicates the nature of intermediality: the connection
is found on the basis of traits of similarities across the different domains (the physical
properties of the natural source, the literary references, cultural contexts of Byron, and
Liszt’s own biography). One facet of the extramusical source of inspiration (e.g. imagery in
Liszt’s quotation of Byron) triggers a representation of the similar trait in another domain
(e.g. a culturally contextualized reading of Byron’s Harold) that leads to the tie with
another representation in another domain (e.g. Liszt’s own biographical states). The
115
interconnectedness across the different domains consolidates the systematic basis of
informed interpretive reading of the work.
MAPPINGS BETWEEN MUSICAL CONTRASTING PAIRS AND CULTURALLYMEDIATED
CONTRASTING PAIRS
Mappings occur between musical contrasting pairs onto culturally-mediated
contrasting pairs as well. In addition to Byron’s preface, d’Agoult’s memoir indicates that
the shore of Lake Wallenstadt was a place where she and Liszt spent some time:
The shores of the lake of Wallenstadt kept us for a long time. Franz wrote there for me
a melancholy harmony, imitative of the sigh of the waves and the cadence of oars,
which I have never been able to hear without weeping [9].
As mentioned previously, the contour of this accompanying figure iconically
resembles the rise and fall of waves; here, Marie d’Agoult suggests another icon—that of
the cadence of oars. The contrasting phenomenon, stillness of the lake in Byron’s quote, is
captured iconically by the endless rhythmic repetitions of the accompanying figures in the
left hand throughout the piece.
THE MUSICAL MEANING OF LISZT’S AU LAC DE WALLENSTADT
Hence, the musical meaning of Au lac de Wallenstadt is something more than being
a depiction of a calm pastoral lake. The contrasting stylistic phenomenon in music maps
readily onto the contrasting pairs of the cultural lake in Byron’s quotation, the cultural
Harold, and Liszt’s own biographical states. Such musical contrasting pairs discussed
include textural contrast (static left hand and active vs. “leapy” right-hand melody),
sectional contrast (harmonic static sections A vs. harmonically adventurous section B),
and harmonic contrast (use of pedal tone vs. harmonic oscillations between tonic and
dominant harmony) etc.
Byron’s literary reference to the stillness of the lake, however, cannot be signified
just by the music itself; rather, the iconic reference is culturally mediated and enriched by
Byron’s quote. Also, the icon is not established as an isolated short motive or musical
figure, but as a process that unfolds across time throughout the piece. More than mere
undulations, these waves are indexically ascribed with human emotions, evoking the “sigh
of waves” mentioned by d’Agoult. Here, wave is not merely an agency3
of Nature, but at
the same time, waves are heard as embodying human sighs. Newcomb adopts Donald
Davidson’s notion that “anything understood as an action must be understood as
intentional [10].” Without knowing the intention of d’Agoult as shown in her memoir
(just as the intention of Liszt to give us cues with Bryon’s quotation), we would have only
a general nineteenth-century stylistic association between gesture and sign—and little
direct evidence to claim the emotional underpinning of sighing.
The embodiment of sighs is also reflected by the repeated use of E-flat octaves in
the right hand at mm. 55-60. These E-flat octaves reiterate initially once a measure, and
3
Agency is the capacity, the condition, or state of acting or of exerting power.
116
they then wind down to once every two measures. The bass notes in the left hand and the
grace-note octaves in the right hand present a chromatic descent coupled in 10ths. In
addition, this motion of winding down and dying away appears with the expression
perdendosi. This temporal indication can be indexically interpreted as an emotional
utterance associated with a sigh.
ICONICITY, INDEXICALITY AND EMOTIVE EXPRESSIVENESS
To evaluate the contextual motivation between d’Agoult’s biography and Liszt’s
music, the association of the left hand accompaniment figure with waves relies on an
iconic resemblance between the rise and fall of melodic contour in the musical figuration,
and the rise and fall of physical waves. Through indexicality, this wave is embodied with
the human action of a sigh. While music narrates through actoriality,4
the association
with the sigh of waves also relies on an intention, one that is established by means of the
cultural associations of the quote from Marie d’Agoult’s memoir. The interpretation of the
human emotions as embodied in waves becomes a sign itself. Through further
indexicality, it leads to an association with traumas in life, struggle in relationships, or
emotional unrest, which is supported by biographical knowledge of Liszt’s experiences. We
may outline these motivations as shown in Figure 1.
Figuration of triplet----Icon----Waves (as an agency of nature) and 16ths |
|
Index1 (cultural associations, established by repetition)
|
|
Sigh of waves (an interpretant, which serves in turn as a sign,
| sigh as anthropomorphic action)
|
|
Index 2 (cultural and psychological agent of waves,
| suggests action, situations relevant to actions)
|
“waves” in life; instability of emotions
(interpreted in the context of the elopement of
d’Agoult and Liszt; explanation based on biographical
inference)
Figure 1 The path to emotive expressiveness from a musical figure in Au lac de Wallenstadt
Unlike accounts suggestive of the expressive qualities of a purely instrumental
piece without an extramusical source of inspiration, this interpretation incorporates
culturally mediated icons and indices that lead to contextually more specific meanings.
Based on this generalized process of signification, one may go still further; the
repeated Eb octave in mm. 53-60 implies further potential interpretations through
4
For example, Tarasti’s application of Greimas’s actoriality concepts. See [11].
117
iconicity and indexicality (see Table 3, which includes interpretations of other stylistic
types as well).
Figurations/stylistic
phenomena
Iconic Indexical Index as sign –
further
indexicality
Figuration of triplet
16ths and four 16ths
(accompaniment figure
in the left hand through
the entire piece except
the coda)
Ripple of
waves
(culturally
mediated)
Personified as “sigh” of
waves (culturally
mediated by d’Agoult’s
memoir)—contemplating
in empathy with motion
“Waves” in life;
instability in
human
experience
Repeated Eb octaves
(mm. 53-60) with
perdendosi indication
and chromatic inner
line
Slowing
down of
motion
Personified as
“melancholy” (culturally
mediated by d’Agoult’s
memoir)
Emotional
utterance
The use of regular
sectional rounded
binary form
Simplicity
in structure
Personified as pastoral
simplicity (culturally
mediated by topical
conventions)
Overt simplicity
as an overall
expectation
towards life
Oscillation between Db
major and its parallel
minor C# minor (Db
minor)
Oscillations
in life
Personified as dwelling in
the wild world (mediated
by Byron’s quote)
Instability in life
Liquidation of the
initial melody at section
A” and the change of
meter from 3/8 to 2/4
Withdrawal Personified as withdrawal
on earth to reach
transcendental serenity
Spiritual
transcendence
Table 3 Musical Figurations in Au lac de Wallenstadt
The second column of Table 3 shows the signification of musical figures through
iconicity. Knowledge of the cultural background already contributes to the iconic, but
interpretation may go beyond iconicity by means of indexicality, when cultural
associations are triggered by extramusical sources of inspiration. Further indexicality is
analogous to Peirce’s chain of interpretants.5
FORM AND ITS EXPRESSIVE PATH
A further example of iconicity is suggested by the use of form. As shown previously
in Table 1, the form of this piece is sectional rounded binary. The choice of a simple form
may be interpreted iconically in terms of simplicity (see Table 3). The notion of simplicity
may perhaps tie to the notion of “purer spring” found in Liszt’s quote of Bryon, and hence
interconnected to the mapping of the cultural Harold as well as facets of Liszt’s own
biographical states mentioned in Table 2.
5
Hatten explains that “for Peirce, a sign (vehicle) is related to an object (designatum) in such a way that it
brings forth an interpretant for a knowledgeable user (interpreter) of that sign; in turn, the interpretant is
brought forth according to the ground of the relationship, its “rule of interpretation.” See [12].
118
HARMONIC MANIPULATION AND ITS CULTURAL CONNECTIONS
Other than reliance on iconicity and indexicality, the traditional parameter of
harmony may also be strategically interpreted by taking cultural and historical
backgrounds into account. For example, the piece is in the key of Ab major, but the
middle section of the piece modulates to Db major and reaches E major. These large-scale
harmonic motions inevitably suggest a change of emotion (mm. 37-50). The use of modal
mixture harmonies that recall “Schubertian oscillations” can likewise be interpreted as
emotional disturbances. At the end of this major and minor oscillation, Db minor is
reinterpreted enharmonically as C# minor (=vi of E major) at mm. 43-44, but this is
primarily a notational convenience. This C# minor then leads to E major diatonically. E
major and Ab major (four sharps versus four flats in the key signature) are apparently
distantly related on the surface, but they are linked by the fact that E major is
enharmonically bVI of Ab major with a common tone of Ab (G#). This change in key
relationship can be strategically interpreted as a “contrast” as observed in the lake, as
indicated in Byron’s quote (“thy contrasted lake”). The subtle changes in harmony that
represent the “contrasted” appearance of the lake can be mapped onto an emotional
contrast— perhaps inferring the “wild world” in Byron’s quote.
The pensive dominant prolongation that accompanies the chromatic descent (mm.
53-59) and ascent (mm. 95-99) can be interpreted strategically as “melancholy”
harmonies mediated by the memoir of d’Aguolt. Again in the above interpretations, the
cultural and historical backgrounds provide the basis for reconstruction of meaning.
PASTORAL GESTURE AND ITS STRATEGIC INTERPRETATION
The arpeggiated patterns may be related to the pastoral topic according to classical
conventions (following Ratner’s approach), but what is the implied significance of the
pastoral in this piece? The incorporation of syncopations, in addition to the expansion of
register and elaboration of texture in the repetition of the initial theme at section A” can
be strategically interpreted as Liszt’s “forsak[ing] the earth’s troubled waters for a purer
spring”; furthermore, the use of the tied-over notes in the bass line at mm. 102-103 and
the subsequent diminution of the opening melody ascending in the right hand at m. 103
are icons of escape from reality that reinforce the notion of forsaking the earth. In
addition, the halt of the ongoing accompaniment pattern, the change to the arpeggiated
texture in the right hand, and the incorporation of the non-syncopated (quasidiminished)
return of the melody can be strategically interpreted as transcendental
serenity. This strategic interpretation again has taken Byron’s quote into account.
Without the quote, this relationship with the music would not be as clear.
119
DYNAMIC MAPPING OF OPPOSITIONS AND SIGNIFICATION
IN DIFFERENT ART FORMS
My interpretive reading of Au lac de Wallenstadt explicates systematically the
nature of intermediality: while the title of the piece Au lac de Wallenstadt points readily to
physical properties of a lake, it is the contrasting pairs found in Liszt’s deliberate quotation
of Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage that signal connection with the contrasting pairs in
the culturally contextualized reading of Byron’s Harold. This signals further connection
with the contrasting pairs of Liszt’s own biographical states. Musical-stylistic contrasting
pairs map readily onto these culturally and biographically contrasting pairs that are by
their very nature tightly interconnected with one another. Such cultural and biographical
facets also provide further cues for the interpretive paths leading to particular or enriched
iconic and indexical associations of a multitude of musical stylistic constructs, e.g.
melodic-rhythmic gestures, voice leading subtleties, formal manipulations, harmonic
treatments, and temporal procedures. The dynamic mapping of oppositional pairs across
musical and cultural domains goes beyond affirming the intrinsic significance of the
notion of paradox across different art forms; my study elucidates the interconnectedness
and dynamism across musical, cultural, and emotive domains.
REFERENCES
[1] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral, Bloomington,
Indiana University Press, p. 195.
[2] Grabócz, M., 1996. Morphologie des oeuvres pour piano de Liszt: Influence du programme
sur l'évolution des formes instrumentals, Paris, Éditions Kimé, pp. 39, 81-3, 101.
[3] Ibid., 123.
[4] Seale, H., 1993. Liner Notes from Années de pèlerinage, performed by Lazar Berman,
Polygram Records - #437206, CD.
[5] Celenza, A.H., 2006. “Liszt, Italy and the Republic of Imagination” in Franz Liszt and
His World. (ed.) by Dana Gooley and Christopher Gibbs, Princeton, New Jersey,
Princeton University Press, p. 4.
[6] Ibid., 5.
[7] Walker, A., 1993. Franz Liszt: The Weimar Years, 1848-1861. Ithaca, New York,
Cornell University Press, p. 85.
[8] Ibid., viii. The notion of the musical “Mecca” was indicated by the content guide of
Walker’s biography.
[9] Seale, H., 1993.
[10] Newcomb, A., 1997. “Action and Agency in Mahler’s Ninth Symphony, Second
Movement,” in Music and Meaning, (ed.) J. Robinson, Ithaca, Cornell University Press, p.
131.
[11] Tarasti, E., 1994. A Theory of Musical Semiotics, Bloomington, Indiana University
Press.
[12] Hatten, R., 1994. Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlations and
Interpretation, Bloomington, Indiana University Press, p. 243.
120
Problematization of Apotheosis in Liszt’s
Symphonic Poems – on the Example of
Hunnenschlacht
Dániel Nagy, Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest, HU
ABSTRACT
It seems at first sight, that Liszt’s works, especially the symphonic poems of the 1850s,
usually end with an apotheosis. Examining the topoi of these works, after the general
theory of musical and symphonic topoi by Constantin Floros, Raymond Monelle or Eero
Tarasti among others, and the specific description of Lisztian intonations by Márta
Grabócz – one can find that the final topos is that, what they would call the triumphant.
Does this automatically mean an apotheosis? Analyzing the process of musical signification
and the narrative content of one particular symphonic poem – Hunnenschlacht, and
examining the possible readings in a broader cultural and historic context, it can be
revealed as a result, that Lisztian apotheosis is far from being unambiguous.
INTRODUCTION
The examination of the musical intonations (or topoi) in 19th century music is a
very interesting and edifying task, especially in case of the music of Liszt.1
There are
already some very important studies on this topic by Márta Grabócz, Eero Tarasti, Keith T.
Jones among many others [1]. Examining the endings of Liszt’s musical works –
particularly the symphonic poems from his Weimar period such as Tasso, Mazeppa,
Prometheus or Hunnenschlacht – one can find that the final musical topos of these works
is the intonation, what we could call triumphant [2]. The explanation seems to be quite
obvious: Liszt’s profoundly religious view of the world and his belief in the advancement of
humanity did not allow him other kinds of ending [3]. The apotheosis was the only
possibility. In my paper I will attempt to prove, that this issue is much complicated than it
seems at first sight. I chose one particular symphonic poem to show, that even the most
unambiguous Lisztian apotheosis can be problematized through a detailed analysis of the
process of musical signification.
I have decided to use Hunnenschlacht as an example, because in my opinion of all
the narrative symphonic works by Liszt, Hunnenschlacht’s “story” seems to be the less
1
Intonation in this sense covers approximately the same meaning in French and Eastern-European
terminology as musical topos for the English speaking scholars. See Grabócz M., 2003. Zene és narrativitás,
[Music and Narrativity] Pécs, Ars Longa – Jelenkor, p. 8.
121
controversial, but after a detailed analysis it can easily become questionable, that the
story, told us by the musical narration would perfectly match with the written programme.
In my paper I would like to offer an alternative reading of this symphonic poem - based
mainly on the analysis of musical topoi - which questions the unambiguity of the Lisztian
apotheosis (which is often considered as an aesthetic problem in the music of Liszt by
some analysts) [4].
HUNNENSCHLACHT – TRADITIONAL INTERPRETATION
AND DETAILED ANALYSIS
The symphonic poem Hunnenschlacht (The battle of the Huns) was composed in
1856-1857 in Weimar, after the monumental fresco of the German painter Wilhelm von
Kaulbach (1805-1874) depicting the sanguinary battle at Catalaunum 451 C. E. between
the army of the legendary Hun king Attila and the Roman-Visigoth allied troops lead by
the roman Aëtius and the gothic king Theoderich [5]. According to the written
programme (originally in French, under the name of the composer himself) the story is
quite simple: the Christian troops of the roman-gothic alliance, the defenders of
civilization fighting under the protection of the Holy Cross, defeat the pagan, barbaric
hordes of the dreadful Attila, and the piece ends with their triumph. From this point of
view Hunnenschlacht could be considered as traditional battle-music. The origins of that
tradition can be traced back as early as the 16th century, to the chanson entitled La
Guerre by Clément Jannequin, and the instrumental genre called battaglia in the 17th
century, based on the influence of Jannequin’s piece [6]. I have no information about
whether Liszt had known anything about that tradition or not, but the depiction of battle
in instrumental music has other antecedents adjacent to Liszt, for example Beethoven’s
op. 91 Wellingtons Sieg oder die Schlacht bei Vittoria, in which the two sides are represented
by different characteristic musical themes (the Rule Britannia and the God save the King for
the English, and the melody of a taunting song from the War of Spanish Successsion,
Marlborough s’en va-t-en guerre for the French in that case) [7]. Another important
antecedent of that kind is the ending of Meyerbeer’s opera Les Huguenots (visualizing the
St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in 1572) in which the Catholics are represented by their
bloodthirsty march, and the Protestants by the well-known choral tune Ein feste Burg ist
unser Gott. Liszt must have known this music by Meyerbeer very well, because he wrote
one of his opera-paraphrases from Les Huguenots (in which he concentrates especially to
the final scene) [8].
Eero Tarasti states that in Liszt’s symphonic poems the mythic functions are closely
connected to the musical themes, or in another way, themes equal heroes of the narrative
(or narrative actors). [9] In case of Hunnenschlacht there are basically four or five of such
themes. The great Hungarian Liszt scholar, Klára Hamburger distinguished four major
themes – two for each side, one to depict both protagonists, and one for their “battle-cries”
[10]. The “Hun-theme” (fig. 1) appears first at the very beginning of the piece in a deep
register, it gains a certain Hungarian-colour by the so-called “gipsy-scale” with its
characteristic augmented second (this particular scale is extremely frequent in Hungarian
verbunkos music, which by the 19th century usually played by gipsy bands in Hungary, and
was commonly considered as the Hungarian national musical style that time) [11].
122
Figure 1: Hun-theme (exposition)
This is followed by the introduction of the Hun “battle-cry” (m. 11 marked feroce,
fig. 2) on horns, which is simply a seventh-chord based on A-flat. According to Raymond
Monelle, the two main forms of the military topic in music are march and fanfare, [12] we
can be sure about that this motif belongs to the second one. The most important
characteristics of the fanfare are the use of brass instruments and the triadic melody [13].
The “Hun battle-cry motif” fulfills the second feature only partially, because although it is
based on a chord actually not triadic, but a seventh chord, and just like the “Hun-theme”
with its exotic augmented seconds and weird rhythm, this battle-cry also arouses a certain
sense of amorphousness.
Figure 2: Hun “battle-cry” (exposition)
The “Christian-themes” are the complete opposite of the “Hun-themes” in this
sense; they are well-shaped, diatonic, with unambiguous rhythmic figures. The main
theme of the Christians is not composed by Liszt himself, it is the melody of a Gregorian
plainchant antiphon Crux fidelis inter omnes arbor una nobilis, which was originally the
refrain of the hymn Pange lingua gloriosi lauream certaminis, attributed to the bishop
Venantius Fortunatus (6th century C.E.) [14]. The head of this motif, known as the
Cruxmotif, has a huge importance in the music of Liszt. We can find it in many other
major works of the composer, such as the Gran Mass, the Dante-symphony and the Piano
sonata in b minor among others [15]. It is not seem to be a reckless assumption, that Liszt
used this melody as the symbol of the Holy Cross, which was carried by the Christians in
the battle, and which occupies a very important position on Kaulbach’s painting at the top
left corner. According to the foreword in the score of the oratorio St. Elizabeth (in which
the cruxmotif is also used):
Finally it must be noticed, that the intonation [so la do] is very frequent in gregorian
plainchant; e.g. in Magnificat, or in the hymn Crux fidelis. The composer of this work
uses this particular series of tones […] as the acoustic symbol of the Cross [16].
In Hunnenschlacht this theme appears for the first time in m. 98, played by
trombones, unharmonized (fig. 3).
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Figure 3: Choral (exposition)
The “war-cry” of the Christians appears earlier, in m. 77, with the epigraph
Schlachtruf (or Cri de Guerre). It is apparently a fanfare-like motif for it’s certainly triadic,
although it is in minor mode (clear c-minor) and played by violoncellos and bassoons for
the first time (fig. 4).
Figure 4: Christian “battle-cry” (Schlachtruf) (exposition)
In his book about Liszt’s symphonic poems, Keith T. Jones calls our attention to an
other important theme in the exposition, which could be marked as “secondary Huntheme”.
This theme comes up for the first time in m. 31, marked violente on the violins
(fig. 5). It is undoubtedly belongs to the musical world of the Huns, with its elevating
sequence-based melody and ferocious triplet-based rhythmic figures [17].
Figure 5: “Secondary Hun-theme” (exposition)
After the identification of the musical actors, the following task is to re-read the
symphonic poem concentrating on these themes and their intonations. According to Eero
Tarasti, Liszt’s symphonic poems usually depict some kind of a conflict – and in their
narratives the certain themes are attached to certain mythic-narrative functions [18]. In
the Lisztian narrative, the diverse appearances of the certain themes mark the mythic
functions [19]. In case of Liszt, it is the process of thematic transformation, and the series
of themes and intonations construct the chain of mythic functions after which the
narrative meaning is constructed [20]. By Liszt, the musical structure is always parallel
with the immanent mythic structure [21]. In my opinion, the two most important issues in
the construction of meaning in Liszt’s music are the thematic transformation and the
genetic relations between particular themes at the paradigmatic level, and the succession
of various musical topoi at the syntagmatic level.
124
If we now examine Hunnenschlacht in this sense, we will certainly find the
traditional reading of the story - given by the written programme itself - not completely
satisfying. Tarasti states, that in the symphonic poems of Liszt the relation between
programme and music is not “completely unambiguous” [22]. The programme is not the
description of the musical structure, rather the verbalization of the mythic content,
signified by the musical sign system [23], but what is exactly this mythic content? One
could not find a better example than Hunnenschlacht to prove, that in some cases, a much
more complex narrative reading can be adumbrated by the musical structure, than the
verbalized meaning of the programme. In my opinion, meaning always comes into
existence in some kind of a discourse. In case of musical works, such as Hunnenschlacht,
this discourse takes place between a piece of music (the musical process) and the listener.
Programme in this sense, plays a very important role in the process of generating musical
meaning, since its main function is to guide the listener’s expectations, which can be
affirmed or disaffirmed by the musical process. Programme therefore has a key role in
meaning construction; however it is by no means the verbalized meaning itself. In
Hunnenschlacht, the written programme states, that the battle ends with the glorious
victory of the Christian troops. It is obvious then to examine the recapitulation carefully,
because the depiction of the victory stage will surely give the key to the whole narrative. It
is also an ambiguous feature of Liszt’s music that we can talk about recapitulation and
victory at the same time. On the one hand, the musical form of the piece certainly refers
to ternary form, or in some way even a kind of sonata form, for the third section
(recapitulation) is obviously based on the themes introduced in the first section
(exposition). On the other hand, however, the third section is far from being merely the
recurrence of the main themes, on account of a very important device in Liszt’s music –
thematic transformation. All important themes appear in the final section in a more or
less transformed way, carrying a more or less different musical topos. Therefore Liszt’s
musical structure can be described as circular (because of the use of ternary form) and linear
(because of the series of transformed themes and musical topoi) at the same time [24].
Though the question of musical form is also a very interesting and important question, I
am going to concentrate on the problems raised by an analysis of the narrative content of
Hunnenschlacht in the rest of my paper [25].
In my opinion – as mentioned above – the key to this narrative content is the final
(or recapitulation) section of the piece. In m. 271 the orchestra is silenced, the tempo
mark changes to Lento and the Crux fidelis melody comes to the surface again, played by an
organ (or harmonium) behind the scenes (according to the composer’s instruction), with a
choral-like harmonization instead of the unisono by brass instruments on previous
appearances (fig. 6). This section is marked dolce religioso and it has a really
transcendental, religious character which clearly opposes the march like setting of the
same theme in the earlier stages of the piece.
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Figure 6: Choral (recapitulation)
The first line of the choral is followed by the exultant, major mode version of the
Christian fanfare-motif, fortissimo, in an orchestral tutti, which is of course followed by
the second choral-line. The alternation of these two themes ends at mark K, when a
transitory material comes on the violins. This piano marked violin theme based on an
elevating sequence, is undoubtedly the transformation of what I marked above as
“secondary Hun-theme”, but its character is completely different – nothing left of its
original ferocious, aggressive, violent nature. That time it is perfectly tamed, gaining an
almost transcendental intonation (fig. 7).
Figure 7: “Tamed secondary Hun-theme” (recapitulation)
It is followed by another theme played by the strings – this theme is marked
espressivo pietoso, and has a gentle, unquestionably religious character, although this theme
can be considered as a transformation of the brutal “Hun-theme” (fig. 8). It is not selfevident
then, why the Hun-themes appear again in the recapitulation, since – according
to the traditional interpretation of the piece – they are defeated. Klára Hamburger states,
that the Hun-themes are missing from the “victory” stage (the section starts at m. 271)
[26]. I think it can be easily proved that this is not the case, but the most striking
discovery is yet to come. The espressivo pietoso theme seems to be closely related also to the
Crux fidelis theme, and that retrospectively reveals the genetic connection between the
main themes of the two opposing sides. It looks like as the original Hun-theme would be a
distortion, the wild, pagan, uncivilized version of the theme depicting the Holy Cross.
Liszt often used this kind of treatment of his themes, characterizing the anti-hero as the
corrupted counterpart of the hero (such as in Faust-symphony or in the b minor sonata).
Figure 8: Espressivo pietoso theme (recapitulation)
Certainly the third Hun-theme is not missing from the recapitulation – it reappears
in m. 375 on flutes, stripping off its original feroce, or furioso character (fig. 9).
126
Figure 9: “Tamed Hun battle-cry” (recapitulation)
There is one other transformation of a Hun-related theme in the final section of
the piece, in m. 398 (at the Stretto mark) – the main Hun-theme, tamed to the gentle
espressivo pietoso before, now shows a brand new face. This time it appears in a-minor, on
strings and woodwinds, and it gains a restrained but proud, slightly ceremonial, almost
march-like character.
Figure 10: ‘Stretto’ (recapitulation)
Finally the piece ends with an apotheosis of the choral in a splendid orchestral tutti.
Hunnenschlacht – Problematization
Persisting in the traditional interpretation of the musical narrative of
Hunnenschlacht (also given by the written programme), one can be faced with some quite
puzzling feature of the musical process. First of all, there is the problem of themes and
thematic relations on the paradigmatic level, the strong connection between the Huntheme
and the Crux fidelis, and the presence of the Hun-themes – though in a radically
changed form – in the final, victory section. The second problem arises on the
syntagmatic level, with an analysis of the succession of the applied musical topoi – it must
be noticed then, that not just the Hun-themes appear in the final stage of the piece in a
transformed way, but even the Christian ones. The two occurrences of the plainchant
based theme for example, have a perfectly different character, being combative and
march-like in the exposition on the trombones, but religious and transcendental in the
recapitulation on the organ. Like it would be no more a picture of the Christian troops,
but the Holy Cross itself.
The arising doubts about the interpretation of the written programme – adopted by
many former analysts of Hunnenschlacht – even invigorating, if we pay attention to extramusical
considerations, namely the question of Liszt’s Hungarian identity. According to
the common view in the 19th century Hungary, Hungarians thought about themselves as
the descendents of the Huns. That time, Attila, the Scourge of God, was considered in
Hungary as the forefather of the medieval Hungarian monarchs. This historic myth of
origin has of course no serious evidence, and today it is commonly rejected in Hungarian
historiography, but it was widely accepted at the time, when Liszt’s symphonic poem was
written. It is evident, that the ideal of Christianity had been the goal for human history
according to Liszt, after his readings of the catholic-humanist authors such as FrançoisRené
de Chateaubriand or Félicité de Lamennais [27]. But is it possible that this ideal of
religion was so utterly important for Liszt, that he composed a symphonic poem about the
127
elimination of his own pagan ancestors? Is it possible that the composer of Hunnenschlacht
opposed the two main identities he had, in such way in his composition? I think if we
really want to get closer to the idea of this work, we have to change the basic oppositions
according to which we interpret the musical narrative. Instead of Christians against Huns,
the elementary semantic categories of Hunnenschlacht can be the idea of Christianity and
Civilization against Heathendom and Barbarism, [28] and the principles of Love and
Peace against Hatred and Destruction.
CONCLUSION
What is this piece about eventually? Victory – but who is victorious, and who is
defeated? Conversion – but who is the converter, and who is converted? Redemption – but
who is the redeemer, and who is redeemed? If the Huns are simply defeated, why are their
themes appear again and again in the final section, and why is their main-theme initially
connected with the choral? If the Huns are finally converted to Christianity, why is it
needed that the Christian-themes are also going under serious transformation in character
across the process of musical narration? If Hunnenschlacht is about redemption, whether
the Huns are redeemed of their pagan brutality, or the corrupted, decadent Roman,
“Western” culture needs redemption by the young, pure and vigorous “Eastern”. Is this an
early example of the so called Eastern messianism reverberated later by important EasternEuropean
thinkers, such as Great Russian writers like Tolstoy and Dostoevsky? Or is it just
a case of Erlösung dem Erlöser quarter of a century before Wagner’s Parsifal?
I do not think that one can answer these questions unequivocally, but I hope that I
have successfully shown how many of these kind of questions can be raised about one
single symphonic poem, which by the way seems to be completely unambiguous at first
sight. My main goal has been to reveal, that although the vast majority of Liszt’s works has
the so-called “triumphant-ending”, it does not automatically mean, that these works are
simply didactic, and aesthetically problematic for this reason. I do not think – of course –
that my interpretation would be the only correct reading of this piece. But I do think that
this is one of the possible readings, which can be legalized by the musical structure. The
possibility of this kind of an interpretation proves in itself, that the musical narratives of
Liszt are much more complex than it is stated by their traditional interpretations. Maybe
Liszt had not been able to deny his teleological conception of history and human
existence in construction of the narratives of most of his musical pieces, but he would not
have been a real artist if he had not been sensitive to this kind of reasoning.
REFERENCES
[1] Grabócz, M., 1986. Morphologie des oeuvres pour piano de Liszt: influence du programme
sur l'évolution des formes instrumentales. Budapest, Musicological Institute of the Hungarian
Academy of Sciences.
Tarasti, E., 1978. “Myth and Music.” Acta Musicologica Fennica 11. Helsinki, Suomen
Musiikkitieteellinen Seura, pp.131-151.
Johns, K.T., 1991. “Music as Medium, topoi and the expression of programme in Franz
Liszt’s symphonic poems.” In Tokumaru Yosihiko et al. (ed.) Tradition and its Future in
Music: Report or SIMS 1990 Osaka. Tokyo, Mita press, pp. 223-230.
128
Johns, K.T., 1997. “The Symphonic Poems of Franz Liszt”. Franz Liszt studies series no. 3.
Stuyvesant, NY, Pendragon Press.
[2] Grabócz, M., 1986, pp.120-125.
[3] Hamburger, K., 1983. “Hunok csatája.” [Battle of the Huns] In Kroó, György (ed.) A
hét zeneműve 1983, Október-1984, Szeptember, Budapest, Zeneműkiadó vállalat, p. 273.
See also Hamburger, Klára, 1986. Liszt Kalauz. Budapest, Zeneműkiadó, p. 66.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Hamburger, K., 1986, p. 64.
[6] Knotik, C., 1982. “Musik und Religion im Zeitalter des Historismus: Franz Liszts
Wende zum Oratorienschaffen als Ästhetisches Problem”. Wissenschaftliche Arbeiten aus
dem Burgenland. Heft 64. Eisenstadt, Burgenländischen landesmuseum, p. 11.
[7] Ibid.
[8] About the influence of Les Huguenots on Hunnenschlacht see Batta András, 1987. Az
improvizációtól a szimfonikus költeményig. A sajátos formavilág a karaktertípusok
kialakulásának kevésbé figyelembe vett aspektusa Liszt Ferenc zenéjében. [From interpretation
to the symphonic poem. The less noticed aspects of the particular forms and evolution of
character-types in the music of Liszt.] Doctoral dissertation. Budapest.
[9] Tarasti, E., 1978, pp.133 and 144.
[10] Hamburger, K., 1983, p 274.
[11] Gut, S., 1975. Franz Liszt. Les éléments du langage musical. Éditions Klincksieck, p. 85.
See also Kaczmarczyk, A., 2006. “Magyar háromkirályok.” In Magyar Zene 44/4, p. 394.
[12] Monelle, R., 2000. The sense of music: Semiotic essays. Princeton-Oxford, Princeton
University Press, p. 34. See also Monelle, R., 2006. The musical topic: Hunt, Military and
Pastoral. Bloomington-Indianapolis, Indiana University Press, p.113.
[13] Monelle, R., 2000, p. 34. P. See also Monelle, R., 2006, p. 135.
[14] Knotik, C., 1982, p. 21.
[15] Merrick, P., 1987. Revolution and Religion in the Music of Liszt. Cambridge University
Press, pp. 284-285
[16] See Die Legende der Heiligen Elisabeth. Foreword. Edition of C.F. Kahnt, Leipzig.
[17] Johns K.T., 1997, p. 57.
[18] Tarasti, E., 1978, pp.132-133.
[19] Ibid.
[20] Ibid.
[21] Ibid. p. 151
[22] Ibid. p. 135
[23] Ibid. p. 134
[24] On the dialectic of sonata form and “open form” in case of Hunnenschlacht see
Kaiser, Manfred, 1977. “Anmerkungen zur Kompositionstechnik Franz Liszts. Am Beispiel
der Hunnenschlacht.” In Suppan, W., (ed.) 1977. Liszt-Studien I. Kongress-Bericht
Eisenstadt, 1975. Graz, Akademische Druck- u. Verlaganstalt.
[25] Agawu, K., 2009. Music as Discourse: Semiotic Adventures in Romantic Music. (Oxford
Studies in Music Theory), Oxford, Oxford University Press, pp. 226-227.
[26] Hamburger, K., 1983 pp. 276-277.
[27] Dömling, W., 1985. Franz Liszt und seine Zeit. Laaber, Laaaber Verlag, pp. 80-85.
[28] Le Diagon-Jacquin, L., 2003. La Musique de Liszt et les Arts Visuels. Doctoral
Dissertation. Strasbourg, p. 51.
129
Mahler’s Wunderhorn Music and its World
of Meanings
Joan Grimalt, PhD, Universitat Internacional de Catalunya, SP
ABSTRACT
This paper presents the results of the author’s PhD research, a new way to interpret and
classify Gustav Mahler's orchestral songs on Des Knaben Wunderhorn. The song
analyses, which constitute the basic material of the present study, follow methodologically
Márta Grabócz's and Raymond Monelle's topical analysis. The latter supervised this
thesis until his decease in March 2010.
The analyses' results are organized according to a Semiotic Square that Greimas
redesigned, in the 1960s. The whole configures a structural map (an imago mundi) that
represents the world evoked by Mahler's Wunderhorn music.
Among the topics not described before, the musical laughter and the pastoral march stand
out.
AN INTERPRETER’S RESEARCH
The final version of my thesis started with a new analysis of a group of Mahler´s
orchestral songs based on Des Knaben Wunderhorn. These songs are closely related to his
first four symphonies, often called the Wunderhorn symphonies. He uses their meanings as
if they were musical signs, flowing from the lyrical medium into the symphonic language
with great naturalness. An example of a recurrent topic in the Wunderhorn songs is the
soldier as a victim of the army. A new topic indeed. Up to the World Wars, the military
topic had mostly positive, patriotic connotations. Mahler instead uses it as a critical
metaphor of the relationship between the individual and society.1
For the analysis of the Wunderhorn songs, one of the terms used by music
semioticians remained central in my analyses: the musical topic. As there is no consensual
definition among the experts, I had to find an operative one, adapted to the music I
intended to analyse. A musical topic, in my thesis, is a recurrent musical motif, with a
constant meaning, in a given context, be it historical or within the work of a composer.
Mahler has his own characteristic topics: musical gestures that appear frequently in his
music, and that can be interpreted depending on the contexts in which they appear. I
soon realised that discovering these signs in Mahler’s language was a first step towards a
global representation of the world his music evokes. A second step would be to classify
them.
1
The voice of this “sacrificial soldier” is implicit in many passages of Mahler’s instrumental output. Its oftengrotesque
character reminds the Fateful Adventures of the Good Soldier Švejk During the World War,
contemporary of Mahler’s work. They were written by Jaroslav Hašek (1883-1923) as a reaction to World War
One, and published posthumously in 1923.
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The two topics I consider the most significant had surprisingly not been described
before. That is why they were studied more in depth, tracing them down not only in the
songs, but also in the four Wunderhorn symphonies. They are the musical laughter and the
pastoral march. The former has been presented and published in 2007, in a semiotic
congress [1]. The latter, a subgenre typical of European late romantic music, is described
next.
THE PASTORAL MARCH
This complex musical sign gathers together two different, apparently incompatible
genres: the march and the pastoral. In Robert Hatten’s terminology, it could be called a
trope [2]. But the pastoral genre is a problematic one, in Mahler’s music. It has been
defined as the mediation between Nature and Man [3]. Arcadia represents fulfilment on
earth, the most perfect adaptation possible to terrene life conditions. However, in
Mahler’s musical world, the pastoral tends to appear as in question, and nature as a threat
to the individual, i.e. as an extension, or a metaphor, of the world’s evil. Musically, the
most frequent sign of that is the perpetuum mobile which animates most of his symphonic
Scherzi. This constant, busy bustling finds its paradigm in the brutal song ‘Earthly Life’,
Das irdische Leben.2
Whenever in Mahler’s world the Arcadian idyll appears, often with Alpine and
water motifs, a demolishing irony is near, as if the music would question itself. That is
what happens in the songs Rheinlegendchen, Fischpredigt, and in most of the Fourth
symphony.
Still there is a strip of pastoral meaning in Mahler’s Wunderhorn music. It can be
included into a broader category, that of Lyricism, one of the fundamental tones in
Mahler’s oeuvre. In my semiotic map (see infra, §3), it takes the opposite place to the evil
world, the enemy of the aforementioned soldier. Lyricism conveys the subjective
expression of all fulfilment that shall not be. It is thus a negative manifestation, just as
irony means the contrary of what it states. Mahlerian lyricism appears under three main
affective categories:
• Full of yearning, as if Fulfilment were attainable through effort, in a
projection into an ideal future;
• Mourning in elegy, looking back on the past, or
• Pastoral, where the illusion of a present Fulfilment is at its closest.
The best features of the last one are what I have been calling the Pastoral march. It
derives from the hiking song, itself a popular stylization of the military march. Mahler uses
it as if he were conscious of its etymological meaning, i.e. of its derivation from the
military to the civil, keeping its collective character, and taking on a political nuance. In
Raymond Monelle's words:
There were, after all, whole categories of folksong connected with the national spirit:
Soldatenlieder, Heimatslieder, Heldenlieder. This is the other side of the semantics of
folksong. […] Its origins lie in the same doctrine of the Volksseele that inspired the
2
In its turn, this sign has a direct relationship with the Storm topic of the 18th
centruy opera (and Beethoven’s
Pastoral symphony), with Monteverdi’s stile concitato, and with the madrigalism of Fire.
131
pastoral side of the nineteenth-century topical signification, Herder's belief in the
mysterious truths understood by the unlettered masses, and Arnim's applying of this to
the spirit of the German nation [4].
The distinctive musical feature of the pastoral march is its accompaniment in
descending fourths, typically on double basses, pizzicato:
Example 1: Typical accompaniment for a Pastoral March3
That is what brought me to look for its etymology in the German songs students
and other merry makers would sing in the 19th
century. In German, this repertoire is called
Studentenlieder or Wanderlieder; thus Wayfarer songs. They were gathered in innumerable
songbooks that were published up to the end of World War Two, with a patriotic
background.
A good example of these songs is Gelübde (‘Oaths’): Mahler adapts and uses it
dramaturgically in his Third symphony, as if that melody were the main role of a narrative.
Example 2: Gelübde.
Johannes Brahms quoted the song too, in his Academic Overture (1880). Maybe it is
the openly nationalistic tone of its text what prevented it, to my knowledge, to find its
place in the Mahlerian bibliography. The first stanza goes:
1. Ich hab mich ergeben I have surrendered
Mit Herz und mit Hand, With my heart and my hand
Dir Land voll Lieb' und Leben, To you, country full of love and life,
Mein deutsches Vaterland! My German fatherland!
Besides its distinctive accompaniment, the pastoral march presents the following
musical features:
3
All music examples are my own transcriptions.
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• A stylized march metre, replacing its dotted, aggressive rhythms with some
simple, peaceful ones, and in a slower tempo.
• Besides the regular F-major, the keys of C-major, G-major and E-major
seem to ring Arcadic too in Mahler’s ears.
• The major/minor seal, as Adorno [5] or Floros [6] call it, i.e. Mahler’s
emblematic shifting from major to minor, reinforces often the ambiguity of
the pastoral march.
• The diastematic tends to the notes proper to the natural horn, the
pentatonic scale or just pure diatony. The preferred melodic intervals are
the fourth, the second and the quint. Often bird imitations or references to
Alpine music (Jodeln) appear, especially in contexts of False Appearances.
• The instrumentation favours the typically pastoral instruments, i.e. oboe or
cor anglais, flute and horn.
• Often the pace is stopped and resumed, suggesting a walker –or a singer–
lost in her thoughts, or in their lyrical utterings.
Chronologically, the first example of the pastoral march is paradigmatic: in the
second song of the Wayfarer cycle, Ging heut' morgen, the poetic self is euphoric about a
beautiful, sunlit morning. Disenchantment arrives at the end of the song: in his world
there is no hope of a flourishing such as nature presents him with. The typical wayfarer
fourths form not only the head of the motif but also its accompaniment, as in a polyphonic
imitative design:
Example 3: Ging heut' morgen, mm. 29-33.
Or, still in the same cycle, Die zwei blauen Augen, in the episode where, as it
happens with the wanderer in Schubert’s Winterreise, peace is found under a lime tree.
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Example 4: Die zwei blauen Augen, mm. 40-44.
The instrumental introduction to Das himmlische Leben, ‘Heavenly Life’, is another
example of a pastoral march. The song complements the aforementioned ‘Earthly Life’:
the starving child in the latter comes here to a heaven where cooking and eating are the
main facilities.
Example 5: Beginning of Das himmlische Leben.
A last instance among the numerous pastoral marches in Mahler’s symphonic
vocabulary4
, the Adagio of the Fourth symphony, where that seemingly vacillating pace
can be observed:
Example 6: Fourth symphony, Adagio, begin.
4
In other Wunderhorn songs: the central part of Urlicht, or the 3d section of Wo die schönen Trompeten blasen. In
the First symphony, 3d mov., nº 10; Second symphony, 1st mov., nº 7-10, 15-16; Third symphony, 1st mov.,
nº 11-12, nº 39; 5th mov., 6th mov. (esp. mm. 250-252, 316-321); Fourth symphony, 1st mov., nº 1, nº 4-5, nº
10, etc.; 3d mov. (esp. nº 4, nº 12, etc.).
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Summarizing: the march is a constant presence in Mahler’s music. Military and
funeral marches often signify a hostile world to the individual, but there is another kind of
march that has received little attention, if any, in spite of its frequency. It is the pastoral
march, derived from the wayfarer marching songs. Its meaning is often deceptive, but it
depicts an oasis of an imagined fulfilment of the subject.
A TYPOLOGY OF THE MUSICAL SIGNS
As musical signs emerged along my analyses, they would tend to gather into some
classification. These larger groups could offer a representative image of the musical world I
was trying to study. I have called such groups of related meanings Isotopies, adapting
Greimas’s terminology. Four of them finally emerged. One of the most pleasant surprises
during the investigation was to find that these four isotopies were confirmed a posteriori by
two important references.
One of them is Greimas’s semiotic square.
Figure 1: Greimas’s semiotic square.
Algirdas Julien Greimas is the founder of the Paris semiotic school. His semiotic
square, adapted from Aristotle, gathers in an outline the global results of my investigation
[7]. The fact that I did not look for it corroborated the Greimasian filiation of my
methodology. After all I had been oriented, above all, by Grabócz and Monelle.
The other reference is a quote by Mahler himself, dividing the world of musical
meaning in a way very similar to my final diagram. I did not pay attention to these reports
until after reaching them by deduction. Maybe because I tried to base my analyses on a
hermeneutic tradition, thus not inventing, but interpreting.
The semiotic square representing Mahler’s Wunderhorn world, according to my
findings, is as follows:
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Figure 2: Semiotic square with the four isotopies of Mahler’s Wunderhorn music.
The pastoral march figures within the isotopy of the Subject’s Fulfilment, which in
Mahler’s music appears as basically impossible. On the other hand, the isotopy of
Transcendence gathers the religious aspects that interest Mahler so lively, especially the
eschatological ones.
Beside the opposition between Transcendence and Fulfilment on earth there is a
connection between these two meaning fields. In psychological terms, it is euphoria; in
musical terms, their signifyer is harmony, consonance. Whenever the many tensions give
way to a release, this moment takes place in one of these areas: on an ideal terrain, related
to the old pastoral tradition, or in a religious beyond.
What distinguishes them is their degree of reality. Whereas in Mahler’s music
Transcendence appears as an affirming assertion, the possibility of a fulfilled life on earth
takes on the realm of fantasy and dream. In this Wunderhorn world, the subject’s fulfilment
is yearned for, not experienced as real. This becomes transparent in the terrible words the
composer pronounced on his deathbed: ‘I lived a paper-based life!’5
Is there an opposite to that Subject’s Fulfilment? According to Greimas, negation
or contradiction are terms which exclude one another. What makes the subject’s bliss
impossible is what Adorno calls the Worldly Tumult, i.e. the musical image of a hostile,
chaotic world. That is another fundamental isotopy in Mahler’s music, including its whole
repertoire of grotesque marches, blows, screaming, and violent contrasts.
There is still a last isotopy to complete this map: Irony and, more generally, False
Appearances. Irony comes to unmask, once and again, beauty as a fallacy, and can thus be
understood as contrary to a life in plenitude, a negation of Transcendence, and
complementary to the Worldly Tumult.
5
Ich habe Papier gelebt! In Alma Mahler Memories: p. 56.
136
Correspondingly, the Worldly Tumult is contrary to Transcendence, just as heaven
and hell. Finally, the vertical axe of our semiotic square asks for an opposite to Euphoria,
i.e. Dysphoria. Its musical manifestations are dissonance and tension.
These could be the four cardinal points of a graphic representation of Mahler’s
Wunderhorn world, as a map to orient further explorations. It can be read thus: Mahler’s
Wunderhorn music asserts the existence of a hostile world to the subject – a stupid, vulgar,
cruel world, as in the first movement of the Third symphony– and hence the impossibility
of a fulfilled life. In this situation, two alternatives are offered: irony, to unmask False
Appearances, and a Transcendent reality, albeit as a promise, e.g. in the Finale of the
Second symphony.
CONCLUSIONS
In the first pages of the dissertation, reference indexes are meant to be useful for
continuing analytical work, as well as a list with 44 different topics, including their
location in the songs and symphonies, and their corresponding isotopy. Finally, all 25
referenced songs appear in chronological order, with their main isotopies and topics.
In a way, the results of the thesis are more, and in another way less than I expected,
as I started the investigation. I then envisaged an exhaustive analysis of the Wunderhorn
songs and the four symphonies, as belonging to one only land of meaning. Finally, I could
thoroughly study just some of the topics that seemed most significant, searching out their
presence in the songs and in the four Wunderhorn symphonies. On the other hand, it was a
pleasant surprise to reach to a map with the four winds of the explored territory, in which
later research could be integrated, and which constitutes an image of Mahler’s musical
world, at least up to 1901.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As a young interpreter, I remember my perplexity trying to find out the meanings
of instrumental music. One day I got the irresistible offer to conduct Mahler’s First
symphony with the Spanish Youth Orchestra (Jonde): it was the spring of 1997. The
intuition that the work was telling a musical story, irreducible to words, was
overwhelming.
The close affinity between semiotics and language made a study on musical
semiotics a propitious enterprise, due to my degree in Philology. Of all the experts of our
time who have helped with my research, there are three I would like to mention and
thank for founding my intuitions with semiotic tools: Constantin Floros, Márta Grabócz,
and Raymond Monelle. The latter generously guided and inspired me in what we could
not imagine would be his last years, not only supervising the thesis I present here, but in
the way he was able to restore the art of sound to its proper field, humanities. I feel truly
honoured to be part of this homage to the memory of this accomplished musician and
humanist.
This contribution was possible thanks to the kind support of the Humanities
Department of the Universitat Internacional de Catalunya.
137
REFERENCES
[1] Grimalt, J., 2007. “Is the Laughter a Musical Topic?” In: Proceedings of the 9th World
Congress of the International Association for Semiotic Studies, Helsinki-Imatra.
[2] Hatten, R., 2004. Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and
Interpretation. Indiana University Press.
[3] Johnson, J., 2009, p. 49. Mahler's Voices. Expression and Irony in the Songs and
Symphonies. Oxford University Press.
[4] Monelle, R., 2006, p. 257. The musical topic: hunt, military, and pastoral. Indiana
University Press.
[5] Adorno, T. W., 2003/1960. “Mahler. Eine musikalische Physiognomik”, in: Die
musikalischen Monographien. Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. XIII. Frankfurt am Main,
Suhrkamp.
[6] Floros, C., 1985. Gustav Mahler II. Mahler und die Symphonik des 19. Jahrhunderts in
neuer Deutung. Zur Grundlegung einer zeitgemäßen musikalischen Exegetik. Wiesbaden,
Breitkopf & Härtel.
[7] Greimas, A.J., 2002/1986. Sémantique structurale. Recherche de méthode. Paris, Presses
Universitaires de France.
138
Mahler, Secession style and his Symphony
No 4. Musical Topics Read Anew in the
Light of Semiotics
Bogumila Mika, PhD, University of Silesia, Katowice, PL
ABSTRACT
In the fine arts, the turn of 19th
century saw the triumphant march of a new style, known
in different countries under different names. In Austria, where, from 1897 to 1907,
Mahler served as director of the Vienna Court Opera, the term Secession was given to this
style. This nomenclature derives from the artists’ society Secession, founded in 1897.
Secession style wasn't a matter of indifference to Mahler. He was closely connected with
the Vienna Secession movement from 1902. But do connections exist between the epoch
influenced by Secession and Mahler’s music? Can one find signs of Secession style in his
works? I will suggest that Mahler’s Fourth Symphony, written in 1900, is a good example
of the Secession style in music. Three levels of consideration of this symphony make
possible an analogy between Secession style in art and in music: 1) structure of elements
of the work with musical topics used by the composer; 2) fundamental aspects of its form;
3) cultural context. In my paper I will analyze these levels, and also will examine the
features of musical Secession style, comparing them with features of music from the
Classical and Romantic epochs. This comparison will give a new insight into the analysis
of Mahler’s Symphony No 4 in a light of semiotics.
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS: VIENNA SECESSION AND GUSTAV MAHLER
The turn of 19th century saw the triumphant march of a new style in the fine arts,
known in different countries under different names. Its main name was “Art Nouveau”
(French for “new art”)1, but this international philosophy and style of art was also known
as “Jugendstil” (German for “youth style”), “Stile Liberty” (London)2, “Modernisme” (in
Spain: in Catalonia), “Stile Floreale” (in Italy means: floral style) and as “Sezessionstil”
(in Austria).
Artists who resigned from the Association of Austrian Artists coined the term
“Vienna Secession” for the movement founded on 3 April 1897 “in protest against the
rigid academicism of the official Artists' Society and the cramped outmoded venues for
exhibition” [1], housed in the Vienna Küunstlerhaus3. The organization of “Vienna
Secession” attracted such recognizable persons as Gustav and Ernst Klimt, Koloman
Moser, Josef Hoffmann, Joseph Maria Olbrich, Alfred Roller and Otto Wagner, and
1
In France Art Nouveau was also known as style Guimard, after the French designer Hector Guimard.
2
After British Art Nouveau designer Arthur Lasenby Liberty.
3
Secession comes from the Latin “secessio plebis”, meaning withdrawal of the common people.
139
followed the examples of its predecessors, the Munich and Berlin Secessions, by practicing
“new art” (art nouveau).
The aims of the “Vienna Secession” were formulated in the Secession magazine
“Ver Sacrum” (“Sacred Spring”) published from 1898 to 1903. The goals of the
organization were summed up by the motto “Der Zeit Ihre Kunst, Der Kunst Ihre Freiheit”
(“To the age its art, to art its freedom”), which was inscribed on the wall of Secession's
Exposition Hall in Vienna (1897-98), designed by Joseph Maria Olbrich.
The “Secession” broke with the cult of forms of past epochs, with imitation of
styles of the past, and with the historicism and eclecticism of the 19th century. It
proclaimed the right of each epoch to its own art, understood to be an expression of the
era’s unique aims, aspirations and preferences. Secession tried to create a new art.
Secession artists, seeking “Novelty at any price” - one of the movement’s
maxims - original and unconventional, and even if these aspirations led, at times, to a new
eclecticism. Artists of the “Secessionist” movement admired the decorative and
ornamental aspect of the rococo and incorporated it into their respective styles [2]. Klimt
particularly stands out among Secession painters because ornamentation he employed
served much more than a purely decorative function. It provided “a means of bringing
together antithetical themes” [3] or “the profusion of surface beauty distracted from more
ominous objects” [4] or “the nature of the association was with a cult of aesthetic beauty.
This, by no means, precluded darker romantic images” [5]. Artists of the “Vienna
Secession” formulated positive attitudes toward foreign art. And Secession's statement of
purpose read [6]:
We desire an art not enslaved to foreigners, but at the same time without fear or
hatred of the foreign. The art of abroad should act upon us as an incentive to reflect
upon ourselves; we want to recognize it, admire it, if it deserve an admiration, all we
do not want to do is to imitate it. We want to big foreign art to Vienna not just for the
sake of artists, academics and collectors but in order to create a great mass of people
receptive to art, to awaken the desire which lies dormant in the breast of every man
for beauty and freedom of thought and feeling.
This might explain why fin de siècle Vienna was characterized by a unique cultural
dynamic which brought separate areas of art, literature and intellectual developments into
fertile and innovative contact.
Gustav Mahler lived in this cultural (artistic) climate in Vienna near the turn of
19th century, where he had served as director of the Vienna Court Opera since 1897 and
was officially elected conductor of the Philharmonic a year later, on September 26, 1898.
Zoltan Roman [7] reminds us that,
while Mahler had never displayed much interest in the visual arts, it seems reasonable
to assume that, sooner or later, he had to become aware of an artist like Klimt, either
through his connections with the Vienna Secession or through Alma and her circle.
While there is no evidence of a closer connection between them, it is well known that
Mahler and Klimt (who appeared to have had a life-long infatuation with Alma) often
met socially after 1901.
We also should remember that Mahler’s close association with the Secessionists
began in 1902 because of the Fourteenth Exhibition of the Viennese Secession (I5th
140
April-27th June 1902), for which the central theme was Beethoven, and for which, Max
Klinger's Beethoven freeze sculpture was the centerpiece. Twenty-one artists collaborated
on the exhibition under the direction of Josef Hoffmann. Gustav Klimt – the first
president of the “Vienna Secession” - created for the exhibition the famous Beethoven
Frieze, which covered three upper walls of a main exhibition room, “presented an allegory
of Beethoven as savior, not so much of all mankind as of the individual soul” [8]. And the
wind-players from the Vienna Philharmonic, under Gustav Mahler's direction, welcomed
Klinger as a guest of the Secession “with the strains of Mahler's own re-arrangement of
part of the last movement of Beethoven's 'Choral' (Ninth) Symphony” [9].4
In 1903 Mahler hired Secession artist Alfred Roller to make radical changes to the
concept of the Vienna Court Opera design, a final stage of the artistic reform he had done
there. As I. K. Rogoff put it “The many set and costume designs […] for productions in
which Roller worked under Mahler trace a process by which a reflection of external reality
and the crumbling of previous grandeur infiltrate the ideal of the illusionistic
Gesamtkunstwerk” [10].
William Ritter (a French reviewer contemporary with Mahler, initially an
opponent and later a devotee of his works) found similarities between Mahler's
symphonies and Viennese Secession. He wrote: “Mahler's music kept with the century,
which is it faithfully reflected in it. It is performed in Otto Wagner's architectonic space
filled with works of Klimt and Moser. One day it will symbolize modern Vienna” [11].
But can we find in Mahler's music tokens of “secession style”? Is it at all possible to
draw an analogy between “secession style” in fine arts and in music?
I suggest that when trying to draw parallels between “secession style” in fine arts
and in music we must accept the following premises:
1) we must agree that music does, or should, partake in the artistic climate of its
time in ways that are demonstrable and meaningful. “The years around 1900, which saw
many sustained contacts and associations between artists working in different media, seem
a logical place to look” [12].
2) we must – following the most common method in writings on music and
Jugendstil - “isolate several aspects of the visual art, either of technique or of subject
matter, and seek parallels in music of the fin de siècle” [13]. And, as Historians of art and
design, we must “agree on at least three basic elements of Jugendstil: the primacy of the
dynamic, flowing line; flatness or two dimensionality (Jugendstil has been called a
Flachenkunst); and the profuseness of ornament” [14].
Accepting these premises, let me refer also to the article of Polish scholar Rafal
Augustyn, The notion “secession” applied to music [15], in which the author proposes to
analyze “secession style” in music on three levels:
1) structure of elements of the work;
2) fundamental aspects of its form;
3) cultural context.
Following his suggestions I will examine these three levels in Mahler’s Fourth
Symphony. The work was written between 1899 and 1900, except for the song–finale Das
4
Music attendant the exhibition had its sources in the Ninth Symphony of Beethoven, and Mahler conducting
this work - transformed it slightly. He made some changes in cast and in orchestration, choosing a
fragment from the final part of Ninth Symphony: “Ihr stürzt nieder, Milionen?,Ahnest du den Schöpfer, Welt?
Such ihn übern Sternenzelt!,Über Sternen muss er wohnen”, resigning (I think you mean deleting the choir at
this point] a choir and charging brass instruments with its fragment), see Blaukopf [13], p 176.
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himmlische Leben, which was composed in 1892 but never used in a large-scale work until it
was incorporated into the Fourth Symphony. “Mahler worked on the fair copy of the
Symphony during the 1900-1901 conducting season, and finished it in spring 1901. The
Fourth Symphony was given its premiere in Munich in November 1901” [16].
STRUCTURE OF ELEMENTS OF THE WORK
One of the main artistic means of Secession was line: curved, long, smooth,
twisted, wavy, seeming to be in motion. This line generally is broken into two fragments
of two different curvatures: smaller and larger. It also can change its thickness, and these
changes remain in relation to the degree of curvature.
In an essay entitled Das neue Ornament (1901), Henry van de Velde [17], one of
the most brilliant and influential theorists of art nouveau, observed that
it was the idea that lines are interrelated in the same logical and consistent way as
numbers and as notes in music that led me to go in search of a purely abstract
ornamental style, one which engenders beauty of its own accord and by means of the
harmony of construction and the harmony of the regularity and equilibrium of forms
which compose an ornament.
In his later study Point and Line to Plane (1926), Kandinsky seems to echo directly
Endell's theories about line, asserting that
length is a durational concept [ . . .] the time required to follow a straight line is
different from the time required to follow a curved line even if the lengths are the
same, and the more animated the curved line is, the more it stretches itself out in
time. In line therefore, the possibilities of using up time are very manifold [18].
Let us assume that flowing and dynamic line in fine art can be transferred to music.
Musical line is a coherent succession of tones (melody and rhythm), changeable in
dynamic and tone-colour. We can give as example an irregularly curved line the first
theme of the first movement of Symphony No.4 (bars 3-6). Note that it is divided into two
fragments, the first of greater and the second of smaller curvature.
Similar features also are characteristic of the first violin theme of second
movement of the Fourth Symphony (bars 6-11), which begins with intervals of thirds and
with longer rhythmic notes (crotchet with a dot), and which later is taken by fluent
motion of seconds in semiquavers. This repeats regularly every four bars.
The second theme of the third movement of the Symphony (bars 57-70) is similar
to scroll-work (like spirally twisted) curvature, developing from small intervals to larger
and characterized by progressively increasing rhythmic diminution.
It is worth noting that “secession style” especially valued lines of helical shape,
which spiralled upward. It may be seen in decorative art as runners of grape-vines, shoots
of ferns, and arms of an octopus.
Secession’s aim to connect with the same single line the background and the
primary object, and sometimes also to incorporate an ornament - can be found most
especially in the Fourth Symphony in the second and third movements. In the second
movement (bars 81-87) the accompanying violin’s part becomes the main theme, taking
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the leading role from the winds. Similarly, in the third movement one and the same line
unites the main melody, fading eventually into the “musical background”.
One finds a typical feature of secession art - many lines mutually interlaced, from
time to time branched and sometimes in parallel - in the Trio of the second movement
(bars 87-101). These lines should not be considered as isolated melodic lines; they are
made of two equivalent instrumental passages.
Sharpness of outline, roundness and dynamic of frequently curved “secession” lines
with large spans and with many changes of direction can be applied in music as large
interval leaps, as smooth portamento passages between distant notes and as extreme
changes in dynamic within a short time span. A good example of this in the Fourth
Symphony is the second theme of the third movement (bars 62-70).
It was typical in Secession art to connect spaces of different colours without
chromatic transition, and usually with merely a line of demarcation. We find these
distinctively sharp contrasts of action in the Fourth in the domains of harmony and of
tempo. The third segment of the development of the first movement: uses a juxtaposition
of different keys without modulation or even chromatic passages. The keys are: C major,
D-flat major, C major, F-sharp major, G major.
Figure 1. First movement – three segments of development (the first segment -53 bars, the
second segment – 54 bars, the third segment – 30 bars).
In the third movement, Mahler uses in close proximity the tempi: Allegretto
grazioso, Andante, Allegretto subito, Allegro subito, Allegro molto subito, Andante
subito.
In the second movement of the Fourth the insistent motion of the first theme
contrasts with the regular rhythmic sequence of the introduction and of the first bridge
(bars 25-26). Within the introduction, a “laughter- like” sound of winds is contrasted with
a horn motif (bars 1-12).
In many of Klimt's pictures and Beardsley’s drawings, "empty places" or "empty
spaces," containing only a few lines abut richly ornamented areas with vivid actions and
abundant details. In Mahler’s Fourth Symphony, an example of a contrast between rich
musical action and empty space set next to each other is found in the first theme of the
second movement with its background and refrain based on the empty sounding fifths c-g
(bars 34-45).
It is worth adding that this typical Secession predilection for huge empty spaces,
called “amor vacui”, arises from the mutual appreciation of both values: that which is
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“empty” and that which is “full, rich”. In consequence, it has a specific and meaningful
power, a significance and an intensifying strength of expression.
Secession’s fancy for asymmetry and irregularity has frequently been listed as one of
its main characteristics. When ideal symmetry is felt as something perfect but "lifeless", a
slight asymmetry is felt as something imperfect but alive. "Asymmetric work provokes the
receiver's imagination, helps him to make in his mind a perfect object of something that
in reality is imperfect. Therefore asymmetry in works of art is more valuable than is
symmetry." –With these words Japanese aesthete Kakuzō [19] gives evidence of Secession’s
applicability in the art of Far East.
A special kind of asymmetry also may be traced in Mahler's Fourth Symphony,
both in microstructure (particular themes) and in macrostructure (form). As an example
of microstructure I propose the first theme of the first movement, which is organic in
construction, fluent, asymmetric, and deprived of proportions conditioned by arithmetic
or by mechanical repeatability.
On the level of macrostructure the whole symphony, with respect to form, can
be perceived as incoherent. The song-finale instead of a more typical final movement,
contributes to this incoherence. The song about the “Heavenly life” (from an ironic point
of view) destroys symmetry and deforms the shape of the symphony – a shape that we have
might expected, being familiar with the tradition of the evolution of symphonic form.
Carl Niekerk [20] writes:
Mahler's instructions to use a childlike female voice raises the question of whether the
utopian moment is intended seriously and whether the listeners were to consciously
perceive it as a child's fantasy, or both at once. The expression of two diametrically
opposed but equally valid feelings-another stylistic marker of early Romantic irony- is
clearly recognizable here in Mahler's Fourth. A telling moment with regard to this
irony is the passage in the song when the child sings of the lamb's slaughter (Wir
führen ein geduldigs, / Unschuldigs, geduldigs, / Ein liebliches Lämmlein zum Tod).
FUNDAMENTAL ASPECTS OF FORM OF THE FOURTH SYMPHONY
One of the features of “secession art” is evolution into linearity. In music this
might be seen as the domination of a horizontal way of thinking, as the importance of
melody or the coexistence of two or more equally important melodic lines. These features
are found in each of the four movements of Mahler's Fourth, most obviously in the second
movement Trio and in the third movement, as already discussed.
Coexistence of geometric and organic elements [21] is typical of secession art and
symbolizes the coexistence of two worlds: one of the "order of intellect" and a second of
the "order of nature". These two elements of two worlds are, in arts and architecture,
placed close together, without intervening trim or transition. In Mahler’s Fourth, as an
example, I propose the juxtaposition of the geometric Scherzo (second movement), with
respect to its metro-rhythmic dimension, tonality and texture with the organic Adagio
(third movement).
Secession art also invented a new type of interdependence between external shape
of the work and its bearing structure. If in music we cite texture and harmony, respectively
[22], then a multitude of voices was replaced by the variety of different musical plans
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achieved by the juxtaposition of different themes, timbres, tone-colours, and orchestration
(introduction, bars 1-12, and coda of the second movement, bars 358-64).
A multitude of dynamics (poli-dynamic) is noticeable in the constant alternation
of dynamic of different musical lines, which occurs with simultaneously with the
alternating thematic lines (second movement – Trio and third movement of the Fourth
Symphony).
CULTURAL CONTEXT
Secession style is characterized by a fascination with the Orient. Following the
Orient’s example, both “empty spaces” and soft (gentle) shapes became important in fine
arts. “Empty spaces” in Mahler’s Fourth are easily heard as pedal-notes, passages of ostinato
of fourth and fifths (in the second, third and fourth movements)5
and in passages based on
(long-held intervals (passages between the variations of the third movement).6
The influence of the East made an impact on artists’ treatment of colour. In music
those techniques which helped to support tonality lost importance while the values of
sonority and of instrumental effects were enhanced. Mahler’s interest in tone-colour was
reflected, in my opinion, in the introductions to the first7
and second movements, where
the orchestral strains resemble “glockenspiel” and “laugher”, respectively.
These same sounds also revealed the tendency to use music in its illustrative or
symbolic function. Using ‘fiedel’–like sound (in the second movement) – and fiedel was a
prototype of the violin and an original instrument hitherto played merely in the Far East –
might serve also (though not necessarily) as evidence of the Oriental influence.
The simultaneous coexistence of “high” style and “common” (low) style was also
typical for secession style in fine arts. This tendency to juxtapose vernacular and classic
traditions was especially present in Josef Hoffmann's architectural designs [23]. Mahler
also employed this hybrid style in his music. The best example usually is given as the Third
Symphony (in the fourth and fifth movements, where Mahler's generative material
included passages from both Das trunkene Lied (Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche) and Es
sungen drei Engel (Des Knaben Wunderhorn) [24].
But this tendency also may be found in Mahler’s Fourth Symphony, where the first
theme of Allegro (first movement) is dance-like, probably of folk provenance, or in the
signal motif of the first bridge, contrasting with the “high style” of the whole of that
section, especially of its development. Tina Marlowe-Storkovich goes so far as to claim
that Mahler’s music, generally, demonstrates that the composer “strove to elevate
vernacular to its monumental dimension” [25].
5
See the ostinato of fourth-fifths in the third movement, bars 49-56.
6
See passages between the variations of the third movement (“empty spacer”), bars 283-86, and 311-14.
7
See the introduction to the first movement (“Glockenspiel”), bars 1-13.
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FINAL REMARKS
Having located some essential features of "secession style" as typical in fine arts also
in Mahler’s Fourth Symphony we may ask: do these features contribute to the neo-classical
character of the analyzed work or, quite the opposite, are they contradictory to it?
The answer seems to be positive for classicism. “Secession” threw away everything
that was romantic, subjective, and exuberant and penetrated into deep emotionality. It
was a style, or an icon of the movement, that was characterized by simplification,
reduction of dynamic strength and reduction to classical values of art both in form and
substance. Its desire was to become closer to common people, to create a universal art
outside the confines of academic tradition that would convince everyman, would speak to
everyone through its simplicity, clarity and beauty.
Secession and classical style both delighted in virtuosity. Both were characterized
by cheerfulness, lightness and capricious charm. Classical artists preferred to suggest as
much as possible by saying as little as possible. La Fontaine [26] said: “I think that it is a
need to leave in the most beautiful themes something to think”. And secession’s artists
used elements devoid of precise meaning as symbols in their multifarious levels. Mallarmé
[27] said: “Instead of describing one should suggest! To name a subject means to destroy
three-fourths of the satisfaction coming from the poem; coming from joy of progressive
guessing: merely to suggest the subject – that is the dream”.
The main rule of Classicism was: “to be attractive" and in 17th
century this meant
to appeal to an audience experienced in culture and difficult to please. The main trend in
Secession can be dubbed “aesthetic-like”, because their representative works should have
incited aesthetic contemplation, were made to be enjoyed by human eyes.
The true motto of Secession reads [28]: “I believe in everything that is beautiful,
pleasant and useful, as the need arises”.
According to these assumptions, Secession’s features found in the music of
Mahler's Fourth Symphony, read in a light of semiotics, can supply additional proof of the
“neo-classical” style of this composition.
REFERENCES
[1] Rogoff I. K., 1983. Review: Vienna 1900. Edinburgh. The Burlington Magazine, 125
(968), p. 714.
[2] Schroeder, D. P., 1993. Alban Berg and Peter Altenberg: Intimate Art and the
Aesthetics of Life. Journal of the American Musicological Society, 46 (2), Summer Issue,
p. 273.
[3] Ibid., p. 273.
[4] Ibid., p. 273.
[5] Ibid., p. 273.
[6] Rosenfeld A. ed., 1999. Defining Russian Graphic Arts, From Diaghilev to Stalin, 1898–
1934. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, London: The Jane Voorhees
Zimmerli Art Museum, p. 65.
[7] Roman Z., 2008. The Rainbow at Sunset: The Quest for Renewal, and Musico-Poetic
Exoticism in the Viennese Orbit from the 1890s to the 1920s. International Review of the
Aesthetics and Sociology of Music, 39 (2), p. 190.
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[8] Schroeder, D. P., 1993, p. 274.
[9] Vergo P., 1973. Gustav Klimt's Beethoven Frieze. The Burlington Magazine, 115 (839),
Feb. Issue, p. 109.
[10] Rogoff I. K., 1983, p. 714.
[11] Blaukopf K., 1973. Gustav Mahler, oder, der Zeitgenosse der Zukunft. München:
Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, p. 174.
[12] Frisch W., 1990. Music and Jugendstil. Critical Inquiry, 17 (1), Autumn Issue, pp. 139-
140.
[13] Ibid., p. 140.
[14] Ibid., p. 140.
[15] Augustyn R., 1981. Pojęcie "Secesja" w zastosowaniu do muzyki [The notion
“Secession” applied to music]. In: Muzyka polska a modernizm [Polish music and modernity].
Krakow: Polskie Wydawnictwo Muzyczne.
[16] Zychowicz J. L., 1995. Toward an Ausgabe letzter Hand: The Publication and
Revision of Mahler's Fourth Symphony. The Journal of Musicology, 13 (2), Spring Issue,
p. 262.
[17] Velde H. van de, 1901. Das neue Ornament, In: H. Curjel, ed., 1955. Zum neuen Stil.
München: R. Piper & Co, p. 94.
[18] Frisch W., 1990, p. 145.
[19] Kakuzō O., 1987. Ksiega herbaty [The book of tea]. Warszawa: Panstwowy Instytut
Wydawniczy.
[20] Niekerk C., 2004. Mahler Contra Wagner: The Philosophical Legacy of Romanticism
in Gustav Mahler's Third and Fourth Symphonies. The German Quarterly, 77(2), Spring
Issue, p. 201.
[21] Augustyn R., 1981, p. 60.
[22] Ibid., p. 61.
[23] Marlowe-Storkovich T., 2003. "Medicine" by Gustav Klimt. Artibus et Historiae, 24
(47), pp.231-252.
[24] Ibid., p. 234.
[25] Ibid., p. 234.
[26] Peyre H., 1983. Co to jest klasycyzm?[What it is “Classicism”?]. Warszawa: PWM, p. 57.
[27] Wallis M., 1984. Secesja [Secession]. Warszawa: Arkady, p. 194.
[28] Madsen, St. T., 1987. Art Nouveau. Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Artystyczne i Filmowe,
p. 57.
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PART III:
MUSICAL TOPIC THEORY,
NARRATIVITY, AND OTHER SEMIOTIC
PERSPECTIVES IN TWENTIENTH
CENTURY AND MODERN ART MUSIC
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The Jewish Florio: Eichendorffian
Narratives in the First Movement of
Mahler's Seventh Symphony
Danielle Hood, University of Leeds, UK
ABSTRACT
In 1900 Mahler exclaimed to his friends “Death to Programmes! [...] The language of
music has communicated immeasurably more than the word is able to express.” With the
advent of topic analysis, however, Monelle and others have begun to suggest narratives for
his work [1]. La Grange proposes that Mahler had in mind two specific works by
Eichendorff when he wrote the Seventh Symphony: the poem, “Das Ständchen”, and the
novella “Das Marmorbild”. These works have, thus far, only been connected to the two
Nachtmusiken (movements two and four). While the two Nachtmusiken are inspired by
the poems within “Das Marmorbild”, a topical analysis of the first movement reveals it
mirrors the literary narrative of the novella. The analysis demonstrates that while the
correspondences between the two plots are not exact, they are close enough that the
similarities seem unlikely to be wholly coincidental, not least given Alma Mahler’s
testimony regarding the specific influence of Eichendorff, even if she seemed to think that
this was restricted to other movements of the symphony. The musical narrative not only
elucidates the correlation between music and literature but also highlights cultural themes
prevalent within fin-de-siècle Vienna, for example the Jewish overtones and the conflict
between the ethical rational life over instinctual, emotional life exemplified by the rivalry
between the real love of Bianca and the magical seduction of Venus.
DAS MARMORBILD
Eichendorff’s Das Marmorbild, written in 1818, tells of the story of Florio, a young
nobleman, freed from responsibility and travelling through Italy. On his approach to the
city of Lucca he encounters stranger, the singer Fortunata, who leads him to a celebration
of spring. There he meets a beautiful maiden, Bianca with whom he appears to fall in love
at first sight, and she with him. At the feast he composes a song to her, declaring his love,
and she allows him to kiss her. At the end of the feast, however, a dark stranger, the
cavalier Donati, steps into the marquee and greats Florio as an old acquaintance but
Fortunato immediately dislikes Donati. That night Florio is plagued by dreams of Bianca
as a siren who attempts to sink his ship and waking he decides to go for a walk. In time he
comes upon a garden next to the lakes edge where a marble statue of Venus stands. Florio
stares, unable to avert his gaze as the statue appears to look back at him whereupon he
started and ran in fright back to the inn.
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The next morning Fortunato gently chides him for his moonlight wanderings,
before leaving Florio. The young noble returns to the lake but cannot find the statue
again; instead, he finds himself in a garden by a palace eavesdropping on a beautiful lady’s
song whose features closely resemble the marble statue. As he attempts to find the singer
he instead stumbles upon Donati, lying asleep, appearing as if dead. Upon waking the
cavalier he extracts a promise that he will be introduced to the lady the next day and
leaves in a state of exultation. The next day Donati instead invites Florio to a hunt. The
young noble is repulsed by the idea that he should hunt on the Sabbath and Donati leaves
in disgust, whereupon Florio goes to church plagued by thoughts of love and lust.
The next evening Fortunato invites him to a masked ball with the intimation
that there Florio will meet an old acquaintance. He dances with Bianca, who is disguised
as a Greek girl, but the lady is also there dressed identically and Florio becomes confused
as to who is who. After the lady takes off her mask and reveals herself to him she invites
him to her house the next evening. When he then sees Bianca he becomes indifferent to
her, as his mind wanders to the impending meeting. At this indifference Bianca becomes
distraught, she had dreamed of marrying Florio the night she met him and now he has
acted as if a stranger to her.
Eventually Florio finds himself at supper with Donati in the house of the
mysterious lady. The lady herself leads Florio by the hand and begins to seduce him. Florio
feels he has known her since childhood, as do all men, the enchantress herself remarks. At
these words Florio descries paintings of her on the walls and remembers where he has seen
her before, as he had seen paintings like these in his youthful fantasies of eroticism. The
strain of a song filters through the window, sung by Fortunato, and seems to waken Florio,
as he exclaims: “Lord God, do not let me lose my way in this world!” As a thunderstorm
approached Florio saw the enchantress begin to turn back into the marble statue he had
first seen and he runs from the room.
The next morning finds him leaving Lucca and meeting three other travellers
on the way: Fortunato, Pietro (Bianca’s uncle) and a young boy. As they leave the city
Fortunato relates a myth of the ruined temple on the hill which Florio recognises as the
palace of the Lady. The myth recounts the story of Venus, who haunts her ruined temple
and tempts young men into losing their souls to her. At this story the young boy lifts his
head to reveal that it is in fact Bianca. Florio sees her and falls in love with her anew,
telling her: “I feel like a new man; I sense that everything will turn out aright, now that I
have found you again.”
FLORIO
If the musical narrative of the first movement of the Seventh Symphony maps on
to that of Das Marmorbild, then the forty-nine bar introduction of the first movement
introduces both the character, Florio, and the plot of the movement/novella: the conflict
between the supernatural and the rational. In Eichendorff’s novella Florio rides into town
and is instantly distracted by the “delicate fragrance[s]” and the “colourful procession” of
people walking along the avenue [2]. His poetic nature (the aspiration of which he shyly
admits to the singer Fortunato) is expressed by an arioso melody in the tenor horn. The
arioso, a style of opera singing between recitative and aria (theme A, example 1),
humanises the instrumental solo and evokes its literary stylistic counterpart, poetry, as a
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form of expression that lies between speech and song. The accompanying topic (example
1a) symbolises the supernatural sub-plot through the utilisation of the ombra topic. This
topic is signified by the slow tempo instigating a creeping terror, the dotted rhythms
symbolising heartbeats or footsteps (either the approach of impending menace or the
procession of a funeral) and the tremolando in the strings and clarinets, which, when
combined with fp markings at bar 6 create fear and agitation. The rational sub-plot is
expressed by the noble march topic that begins at bar 19 (example 2); the stability of the
march represents the solidity of the rational ideology, while the noble aspect refers more
to the alleged morality of that ideology within this narrative than to just the social class of
the character. As discussed above, while the ideology undoubtedly stems from a religious
viewpoint, the religion now associated with the character is Jewish. This is suggested by
the use of the trombone as a solo instrument at bars 27-31 and the flute cadenza at bar 39,
which displays Jewish connotations from the placement of chords either side of the
neighbour-note based flourishes and the accidentals providing a minor key [3].
THE HUNT TOPIC
The first subject begins at bar 50 with the hunt topic. The tempo marking is 2/2
which could also indicate a cavalry march, however, with the use of the horns as the
melodic instrument, combined with the driving ostinato signifying the galloping horse it
seems more likely to signify the hunt. The hunt topic illustrates three different aspects of
the novella. It not only suggests certain aspects of Florio’s character, and at the same time
the moral of the story, but also situates the action within a natural environment and, as it
is associated with myth and adventure gives an overview of some of the themes of the
storyline. This topic is associated with the ideal of hunting, rather than the brutal reality;
it is hence correlated with nobility, courage, joy and being one with nature. Fitzpatrick
suggests that “the hunt stood for all that was desirable in worldly virtue, representing a
new embodiment of the older ritterlich-höfisch [chivalrous-courtly] ... ideals which were at
the centre of aristocratic thought” [4]. The valiant associations of this topic connote two
levels of signification here. They describe the character’s aristocratic bearing, but also his
personality traits, which lead to the happy ending of this cautionary tale as it is through
his moral and pious nature that he escapes the clutches of Venus and narrowly avoids
losing his soul to the enchantress. The hunt topic also symbolises nature, immediately
placing the listener outside. The horn evokes the woodland, and thus also mystery,
romance and the unknown, so once again two levels of signification are represented: the
first level is the superficial pastoral setting of the novel [5]. It begins in a park with a
celebration of spring, and throughout the novel most of the important moments of the
plot happen in gardens. The second level is the evocation of mystery and romance
suggested by the topic, which as discussed above are the primary sub-plots of the novel.
As the plot develops throughout the first movement, the reoccurrences of the
hunt topic also change. When it returns for the second time at bar 145 it is beginning to
develop. Theme B returns but in a semi-canonic manner so that between bars 148 and
154, the fanfare figure (from bars 53-54) enters five times in different instruments. At this
point in the narrative, Florio has met Bianca (represented throughout the narrative by
theme C, shown in example 4, and outlined fully below), but not yet Venus (contrastingly
represented by the Sturm topic) and as such his character is confused by the emotions that
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he is suddenly faced with, hence the development of the theme. It is also the point at
which he wanders into the garden to clear his head, and therefore the introduction of the
mythical aspect of the story.
The third time the hunt topic returns, at bar 373, it lasts only six bars before
giving way to the noble march juxtaposed with the learned topic signified by the imitation
in the strings and brass throughout the section. This embodies the rational/moral/religious
victory, represented by the hunt and noble march, over the pagan deity’s seduction,
symbolised by the preceding ombra topic.
THE CENTRAL CONFLICT BETWEEN RATIONAL AND MAGICAL LOVE
The syntagmatic placement of the topics and their development through the
movement represents the conflict between Florio’s real inamorata and her magical rival.
Notably the “real” beloved, Bianca, is denoted by theme C (example 4), while the topical
narrative develops around her dependent on the action of the plot. This suggests an
element of intransigence in her character such that she is signified by a physical presence:
a specific motive, hence identifying her as the actual love interest. The supernatural love,
Venus, is represented instead by the Fantasia and Sturm und Drang topics, both of which
are of a transitory nature and neither of which have a specific motive associated with
them. Venus therefore has no physical presence within the music, confirming not only the
supernatural nature of the character but also the hallucinatory element to her relationship
with Florio. The struggle is seen from Florio’s view-point, it is an internal battle which is
awakened within the nobleman from his first realisation of his love for Bianca. The
previously unburdened young man is suddenly confronted with the concept of responsible
love and its consequences. This leads to his dream of her manifestation as a siren sinking
his ship, the trauma of which leaves him susceptible to the charms of Venus. His conflict
is illustrated by the placement of the topics within the musical narrative and the way in
which they interact with each other, through juxtaposition and integration to create the
literary narrative of Das Marmorbild.
As Florio enters the city Fortunato directs him to a park where a spring celebration
is underway. It is here he first glimpses Bianca as she plays badminton, and she notices
him. A brief flirtation ensues signified by the salon music in the transition at bar 79
(example 3). The section’s compound duple time and minim upbeat suggest a dance while
the elegant Straussian melody (still based on fourths) and countermelody in the strings
give this section a galant air retrospectively reflecting the romance topic which appears as
the second subject at bar 118. The dance element is given a dream-like, almost drunken
quality as the main theme in the violins begins on the weaker third beat of the bar, rather
than the strong beat as is usual. The horns contribute to this effect with falling chromatic
interjections thereby setting the scene of the feast.
Soon after he first catches sight of Bianca Florio has declared his love for her by
composing a poem and persuading her to kiss him. This love is expressed by a lyrical
romance topic complete with octave doubling in the strings, expressive pauses at the top
of the arch-shaped melody and ascending pizzicato figures in the bass. The romance topic
accompanies the introduction of the second subject: Theme C.
This dream of inner conflict is shown at bar 174 as a development of theme A, the
arioso melody which represents Florio himself, is accompanied by the salon music from bar
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79. Both keep their original signifiers, but now, in a B minor key, the effect approaches
the Fantasia style, the 3 against 2 rhythms, chromatic horn lines and full texture making it
harmonically and rhythmically ambiguous. It is the fantasia element that suggests this is a
dream, the minor key, chromaticism and the rhythmic divergences creating an
unstructured atmosphere, while the solitude of the arioso point to the internalisation of
emotion that Florio experiences at the thought of Bianca, signified by the salon music.
At bar 196 there is a reiteration of theme C, but the topic is now the sensibility
style, a musical aesthetic expressing intimate sensitivity. Heartz and Brown suggest
Empfindsamkeit served as an early defence of sense over reason and rationalism and it is
certainly used in this way here [6]. As Florio’s senses overtake him he stumbles outside to
take a walk ending eventually at a garden where he finds the statue of Venus. His panic
over his dream and the events preceding it he begins to let his let his emotions overbear
his reason; the fact that it is theme C, the theme which the romance topic initially
accompanies, that is accompanied by the sensibility topic provides the evidence of what
Florio is affected by, i.e. his love for Bianca.
The remainder of the development (bars 212-272) is concerned with the battle
between rationalism and sensibility (between Bianca and Venus). At bar 212 theme B is
accompanied by both the military and the Sturm und Drang topics: constant changes in
rhythm, dynamics and texture signifying the latter topic, while the dotted rhythms and
fanfare figures throughout signify the former. The Sturm topic has connotations of an
earlier time, the term originally coined to refer to retrospective links with romanticism
seen in the music of Haydn, and is therefore seen as a classical topic. The ‘past’
associations of this topic, in addition to the turbulence and instability also caused by its
utterance clearly represent the mythological magic inherent to the mysterious lady to
whom Florio becomes obsessed. The representation of Venus by the Sturm topic is
ultimately confirmed by the way in which she is revealed to be the marble statue:
Meanwhile the thunderstorm seemed to be coming ever nearer; the wind, between
whose gusts a solitary strain of the song would fly up and rend the heart all the while,
swept whistling through all of the house, threatening to extinguish the wildly
flickering candles. The next moment, a lengthy flash of lightning illuminated the
duskening chamber. Then Florio suddenly started back a few steps, for it seemed to
him that the lady was standing before him, rigid, eyes shut, with extremely white
countenance and arms [7].
The military topic in contrast is epitomised by its stability, characterised by its
steady rhythm and even phrases, and used in this context to symbolise the real and
rational beloved. The conflict between the magical and real are therefore symbolised by
the juxtaposition of the Sturm and the military topics as Florio is thrown between his
beloved and her rival.
Just as Venus begins her seduction a pious song is heard through the open window,
an old song familiar to Florio, but the song troubles Venus, unsurprisingly, as it is the
catalyst which frees Florio from her grip. In the musical narrative this is illustrated by the
appearance of a chorale at bars 259 to 261, punctuated by fanfares (example 5). This
learned sub-topic is heralded by a complete change in sonority as the Sturm topic is
banished by the topics which form the rational topical class (the chorale topic, learned
style and the alla breve topic at bars 313-316). Here the chorale is an example of doublecoding,
a way in which we can perceive two different, and often opposed meanings of the
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same sign. In this instance the chorale is associated not only with the Lutheran
congregational hymn, but also with the rationalist “science” of music which is embodied
within the learned topic. The chorale is the epitome of the rule-based logic which has
driven composers for centuries, and therefore an essential part of the rational topic, while
at the same time symbolises the very concepts that rationalists opposed: religion and faith
in an un-provable power [8]. At the same time the Lutheran hymn is a religious song, so it
symbolises that element of the narrative, even though it doesn't exhibit the Jewishness
that is elsewhere required of it. Thus it expresses the Jewishness that is needed elsewhere,
while not actually being a Jewish topic at all. It's coded, on the one hand, as the religious
song the narrative requires, while simultaneously ‘being’ the learned topic.
The ancient song, which takes Florio back to his childhood, is replaced at bar 367
by a pastoral section with nationalist overtones, signified by the chromatic repeated notes
in the violins, the solo violin and cor anglais. The national topic is often used to signify a
longing or reminiscence of home, folk songs often expressing a wish to return to the green
hills/land/fields of home. Here it coincides both with the familiar song and with Florio’s
realisation that he has indeed seen Venus before in pictures from his childhood: “Then the
feeling suddenly flew through him, as if borne on the strains of the song outside, that at
home, in the days of early childhood, he had ofttimes seen such a picture” [9].
The last section of the development, from bars 298, begins with what Floros calls
“a religious vision”, while La Grange comments that it is “a moment of pure ecstasy” [10].
This moment is signified by the military chorale from bars 256, which returns as a series of
fanfares from bar 299. The learned style is associated with an ecclesiastical locale, which
gives this section the religious atmosphere and is also signified by the cadences affected
from bars 304-307, the first an interrupted cadence before the perfect cadence at bar 307,
and the alla-breve topic which emerges at bars 313-316. The power of Fortunato’s song
swells “with ever increasing power” causing the seductress to turn back to the statue and is
symbolised by the religious fervour that proliferates this section. This spiritual
understanding, as Florio sees her for what she is, leads to the lyricism of the major key
romance topic, which includes the “light” figure and develops themes B and C together.
His final rejection of the rival explains the disappearance, from bar 317 of theme A, the
internal obstacle to the fulfilment of his love for Bianca which manifested within his
dream. The light figure represents, as it does in Des Knaben Wunderhorn and
Kindertorenlieder, the acknowledgement of God, and the hope that that this acceptance
gives to those that may be on the wrong path.
This moment of rationality does not last, however. Themes B and C, joined by the
funeral march and romance topics, bring to the fore once again Romanticism, the
integration of which creates a slow, ombra topic, confirmed by the tremelo strings,
woodwind and string drones, and solo trombone and tenor horn melodies. With Florio’s
understanding of the situation comes a “deadly horror” for as Venus begins to turn back
into a statue other supernatural occurrences begin:
Tall flowers in planters had begun to hideously wind and intertwine like colourfullyspotted
rearing snakes; every cavalier on the arrases suddenly looked like him and gave
him a malicious smile; both of the arms that held the candles strained and stretched
themselves longer and longer, as if a giant were struggling to work his way out of the
wall; the hall filled up more and more, the flames of lightning threw horrible lights
among the forms, through which throng Florio saw the stone statues thrusting for him
with such violence that his hair stood on end.
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Florio then attempts to find the cavalier Donati, but finds only a “lowly hut,
completely overgrown with vine leaves.” The funeral march and ombra topic symbolise
Florio’s experiences and his comprehension of the supernatural nature of his adventure.
The recapitulation sees a return of the hunt topic, integrated with the noble
march and the learned style to indicate rationalism’s victory and leads to a recapitulation
of the salon music and the romance topic in their original forms, which is to say they are
not integrated with any other topic and are again accompanying theme C. This is
significant as when they appeared in the exposition they represented Florio’s relationship
with Bianca, and in this position they represent the resurgence of this relationship as she
joins him, her uncle and Fortunato on their travels.
The musical structure itself is also innovative within this first movement. The
topics relationship with the conventional sonata form is different from the way in which
they worked in earlier symphonies (for example the Fourth). In Mahler’s Fourth
Symphony the motivic development is the central variant throughout the first movement.
Each motive has its own topical correlation and as each returns, even with the
development inherent to the sonata form, the topic returns with it. In this way the topical
language is often layered depending on how many themes are being used at a time. In the
Seventh Symphony, however, the relationship between theme and topic is reversed.
Adorno describes the motivic process succinctly as an “always different yet identical
figure”, indicating that the motives (although differing enough to be able to identify three
recognisable “themes”) are all built on the interval of a fourth and all consist of a quaverdotted
quaver-semiquaver rhythm (although often temporally augmented or diminished)
[11]. Without this clear motivic definition to signpost the structural sections (exposition,
development etc.) the topics provide structural signification instead. This can be seen
through the use of the hunt and the romance topic as subjects one and two. Theme B had
already appeared in the introduction, but the hunt topic was not used until the exposition.
It subsequently returned at the start of the development and the recapitulation effectively
marking these structural points.
The topical narrative of this movement can therefore be seen to act in different
ways. One topic, the hunt, can be seen to have three different levels of signification:
representing the ethical personality of the main character, the plot of the story and to
situate the story within the natural surroundings of parks and gardens. Other topics are
used to represent only one aspect of the plot or character. For instance the salon music
represents Florio’s first meeting with Bianca, the Sturm topic represents Venus and the
rational topic symbolises one side of the conflict between magical and real love. These
topics are then developed into a narrative through their interaction with each other,
through integration, juxtaposition or their placement in respect of other topics.
In an ostensibly abstract symphonic first movement where one would not expect to
find a narrative--where the composer, indeed, specifically claimed that there was no
narrative--a topical approach enables the construction of a narrative analogous to that
which appears in Eichendorff's novella, emphasizing the ways in which music, specifically
topics, index other cultural media. The historical specificity of such indexing is suggested
by the presence of topics which appear to be particularly linked to fin-de-siècle Vienna,
such as the Jewish and the Rational topics, which mirror contemporary social issues and
interests: here, particularly potent appears to have been the political issues of antiSemitism
and the “failure of liberalism” that Schorske suggests was caused by the
movement away from the rational life towards the 'instinctual' emotional existence. The
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topical references and the narrativisation which is communicated through them suggests
that, even if Mahler was right to claim that “the language of music has communicated
immeasurably more than the word is able to express”, this ‘more’ is key: that music's
referential frame is always already in excess of a linguistic one, it does not mean that it was
not simultaneously capable of expressing, topically, narrativisations of and commentaries
upon the world in which Mahler, for one, lived.
Example 1: Theme A
Example 1a: dotted funeral march rhythm.
Example 2: noble march theme, bars 19-23
Example 3: Salon music
Example 4: Theme C, bars 118-126
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Example 5: The chorale and fanfare topics, bars 258-263
Example 6: The ‘light’ figure, bar 317
REFERENCES
[1] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music. Woodstock, Pricneton University Press.
[2] Eichendorff, J., The Marble Statue. Translated by Michael Haldane.
http://www.michaelhaldane.com/Translations.htm, accessed 22/4/12, p. 1.
[3] The association between the trombone and the Jewish faith is explained by Haider, an
unknown scholar quoted in C.F.D Schubart’s essay, 1806: “Ideen zu einer Aesthetik der
Tonkunst”, (ed.) Ludwig Schubert. Vienna, J. V. Degen, p. 315-317; quoted in David M.
Guion. , 1988. The Trombone: Its history and music: 1697-1811. London, Routledge, pp.
85-6: “This instrument is entirely ecclesiastical [...] the instrument is ancient, and, it
would seem, an invention of the Jews: for there appears references already in the Old
Testament to tone changes on wind instruments, and this is unthinkable aside from
trombones. [...] It is certain that the sound of the trombone is truly intended for religion
and not at all for secular use.”
[4] Fitzpatrick, H., 1970. The horn and horn-playing, and the Austro-Bohemian tradition from
1680-1830. London, Oxford University Press, p. 20; quoted in: Monelle. 2006. The
Musical Topic, p. 67.
[5] Monelle, R., 2000, p. 40.
[6] Heartz, D. and A. B. Brown, “Empfindsamkeit”. In Grove music online. Oxford Muic
online, http://0-www.oxfordmusiconline.com. (accessed April 27, 2012).
[7] Eichendorff, J. F., The Marble Statue, p. 40.
[8] Jencks, C., 2002. The New Paradigm in Architecture: The language of Post-modernism.
Yale University Press, p. 27.
[9] Eichendorff, J. F. The Marble Statue. Trans. by Michael Haldane, p. 38.
[10] Floros C., 1994. Gustav Mahler: The Symphonies. Aldershot, Amadeus Press, p. 198; La
Grange, F. Gustav Mahler Vol. 3, p. 858.
[11] Adorno, T. W., 1992. Mahler: A Musical Physiognomy. Chicago, University of
Chicago Press, p.86, quoted in La Grange. Gustav Mahler Vol. 3, p. 851
157
Signification by Dying Away: Mahler's
Allegorical Treatment of the Funeral
March Topic in Der Abschied
Lucy Liu, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN, USA
ABSTRACT
This paper offers a new reading of the funeral march topic found in the last movement of
Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde (“Der Abschied”), drawing on Monelle’s study of
Mahler’s use of musical topics. Traditional analyses naively view the funeral march as
simply signifying the death of the protagonist, which then stands as the negative
counterpart to his blissful transfiguration and union with the earth at the end of the piece.
However, I argue that the negativity of the funeral march fundamentally stems from a
linguistic anxiety and, as allegory, highlights the transience of all signification. Moreover,
the piece’s allegorical mode actually deconstructs the text’s supposed binary opposition of
eternal nature and human transience.
Monelle hears two conflicting impulses in Mahler’s use of topics: both an “abdication of
subjectivity” (nature expresses itself) and “rawness” (i.e., places of exaggerated
construction, such as when Mahler overstresses topical features). Both tactics undercut
authoriality, for either unshaped materials stand unassimilated (Monelle: “montage”) or
Mahler seems to work them too much. In the latter case, by forcing a clichéd topic to
speak when it can no longer speak, the topic becomes self-referential, hence alienated from
itself. I demonstrate that it is precisely through montage and alienation that the timeworn
funeral march topic in “Der Abschied” acquires a second-order, allegorical expression. As
described by Benjamin and Adorno, in allegory, reified musical objects are “lit up”
momentarily and find expression again as the expression of convention: the conventions
themselves become “opaque,” their materiality made palpable.
Throughout, I discuss how allegory can be an extension of Monelle’s theory of topics,
namely, allegory—a large part of which hinges on self-referentiality—becomes crucial for
a topic’s expressive ability as that topic nears the end of its lifecycle.
THE DYING OF A TOPIC AND ALLEGORY
In both The Musical Topic and The Sense of Music, Raymond Monelle is concerned
with the emergence—the birth—of musical topics, addressing such questions as what
socio-cultural conditions need to be met for a topic to be born and what in fact constitutes
a full-fledged topic, for, in Monelle’s own words, “not all signifying items are topics” [1].
Monelle specifies two criteria for a signifying musical object to qualify as a new topic. First,
a musical sign should already have passed from literal imitation (iconism; resemblance) or
stylistic reference (indexicality; signification by contiguity or causality) into signification
by association. That is, the immediate object of a musical figure itself has acquired a
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broader range of meanings; Monelle terms this “indexicality of the object” or “indexicality
of the content.” For instance, the pianto figure—a falling minor second—initially
accompanied textual mentions of tears and weeping, but over time it also came to signify
grief, pain, and regret, for these associations are contiguous with the original, more literal,
meaning. Second, there ought to be a level of conventionality in the sign. In the initial
stages of a topic’s formation, a musical figure is complex and particular; it is its own direct
content (ratio difficilis). Through continuous exposure and habit, complex signs become
“stylized” so that a body of learned rules and codes begin to govern how these signs are
interpreted. Yet Monelle is also at pains to stress that even as musical topics form a code,
they do not refer to the empirical world but derive their meaning from within the system
of musical, literary, and cultural history. Thus the “musical horse,” for instance, conveys
more cultural information than the semantic horse of everyday life, for the “noble horse”
topic correlates to a cluster of imaginative attributes, such as maleness, adventure, and
high status [2].
But what of the fate of a musical topic as it approaches the end of its “life cycle,” as
it were? More specifically: After centuries of usage and possible expansion and adaptation,
what happens to a topic as its signifying and expressive potentials are exhausted? A variety
of outcomes are possible. A topic may fall into disuse or may be completely transformed in
the hands of an idiosyncratic composer and emerge once again as new. Yet there is a third
possibility which is the focus of my paper today – the allegorical “jolting” of a topic
(allegory as defined by Walter Benjamin and Theodor Adorno), implicitly developed by
Monelle in his analysis of Mahler’s use of topics. In this sense I am using Mahler as a case
study to illustrate one category of possibility as a topic is decaying and reaching its limit.
According to Monelle, Mahler inherits one of the paradoxes of Romanticism, at
once asserting “arbitrary subjective self-expression” and “renewing the impersonal, semianonymous
conventions of the Volkslied” [3]. On the one hand, Monelle hears an
“abdication of subjectivity”: the composer’s subjective will recede and musical nature (that
is, musical materials) manifests or expresses itself, unassimilated. Thus Mahler “seemed to
write in many styles” [4]. In Adorno’s words, “in [Mahler’s music], as in a theater,
something objective is enacted, the identifiable face of which has been obliterated” [5].
On the other hand, Monelle detects certain “rawness” in Mahler’s topical references, for
instance, a slight exaggeration or overstressing of topical features, or “a failure of
technique” in the treatment of texture [6]. These are signs of a hyper-subjectivity which
due to its self-consciousness actually alienates the listener. Again, to quote Adorno,
“[Mahler’s] symphonies do not exist in a simple positive sense… whole complexes want to
be taken negatively… Negativity for him has become a purely compositional category…
through a hyperbolical expression in excess of the music’s actual meaning” [7].
In fact, the two seemingly opposed tendencies in Mahler’s music identified by
Monelle can both be subsumed under Adorno’s and Benjamin’s concept of allegory. As
defined by the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, allegory “is not the conventional
representation of some expression… but an expression of convention. Allegorical
expression includes as its object this very conventionality of the historical.” Another way
of understanding allegory is through its opposite, the Romantic symbol: the latter stands
for an immediately intuitable unity between the sensuous (concrete, particular) and the
extra-sensuous (abstract, general), that is, the illusion of aesthetic essence. By contrast,
allegory comes to pass when the symbol has become a stereotype and can no longer
provide access to immediate, living meaning. Allegory, then, is the foregrounding of
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convention, where reified, alienated objects—that which lie in ruins (“second nature”)—
are “lit up” momentarily and find expression again precisely through this alienation.
Hence, there is a moment of self-consciousness in allegory. In Michael Spitzer’s words,
allegory designates the “becoming opaque” of conventions: that is, one gazes at the
conventions themselves, and not merely through them [8].
In what follows, I take the last movement of Das Lied von der Erde, “Der Abschied,”
as a case study.1
First, I shall give a formal overview of the movement and analyze a few
isolated passages that exemplify the two modes of allegory as identified by Monelle. Then,
I offer an “against the grain” reading of the song’s two nodal, antithetical points – the
central, “negative” march section and the “positive,” transcendent coda, arguing that
Mahler’s allegorical mode of composing problematizes the text’s supposedly
straightforward “death and transfiguration” narrative.
SUBJECTIVE ALLEGORY AND OBJECTIVE ALLEGORY
Broadly speaking, “Der Abschied” is in modified strophic form, comprised of an
orchestral introduction, four rotations, and a lengthy coda. Each rotation begins with an
accompanied recitative followed by two or more arias, into which a number of
instrumental interludes are weaved. Collectively, the recitatives, arias, and orchestral
passages function as “episodes.” Mahler’s treatment of the form is flexible, for the number
of episodes and the length of each vary from rotation to rotation; that is, upon repetition,
corresponding episodes can bear much resemblance to each other or be drastically altered.
This is especially the case with the third and fourth rotations, the former being a purely
instrumental march (the English horn takes the place of the alto voice in the recitative,
and the first-person arias become a “klagende Lied” for orchestra) and the latter
substantially reworked so as to be sung entirely in a manner that hovers between
accompanied recitative and arioso, abolishing the earlier recitative-aria distinction.
The two contradictory impulses Monelle discerns in Mahler—a “subjectlessness”
on the one hand and the deliberate overworking of materials on the other—constitute two
different modes of allegory. In the first, expression emerges when convention reaches a
limit, a saturation point. That is, the absence of a subject forces a conventionalized
landscape to manifest itself as convention. I call this “objective allegory.” In the second
case, where stock figures and overplayed expressions are exaggerated and hence made to
sound “unnatural,” the figures do not so much correlate to cultural units (the typical way
musical items signify, according to Monelle) as they become self-referential and point to
their own inauthenticity. I call this “subjective allegory.”
Subjective allegory itself can be broken down into two varieties, most noticeably
perceived in (1) Mahler’s idiosyncratic manner of melodic writing, especially in the purely
orchestral passages, and (2) the intentional use of musical formulae from kitsch to set an
equally sentimental line of text. The common idea that underlies both instances is
extreme self-referentiality, where the “over-clarity” of these conventional figures and
overwrought melodies points to their own taking place, as if they are saying “I” (the
positing of oneself in speech).
Examples of orchestral passages where melodies seem over-determined—
“command[ed]… against their wish,” as it were [9]—can be found at Fig. 11 (a “neurotic”
1
Readers are encouraged to have a score at hand for the rest of the essay.
160
response from the orchestra to the protagonist’s description of nature), Fig. 17 (an
orchestral postlude marked zart, leidenschaftlich), and Fig. 24 (a gratuitous interlude
inserted between the second recitative and its ensuing aria, marked aber mit innigster
Empfindung). Specific techniques include: large leaps (6th
s, 7th
s, octaves, and 9th
s) and,
relatedly, the technique of “reaching over” where a line descends by step then suddenly is
pulled back up again to its initial register, only to descend once more; strategically placed
accents (usually three or more in a row); fragmentation and the repetition of fragments in
an ever more urgent and compulsive manner. All these factors contribute to make the
melodies sound contrived and hyperbolic; they acquire a yearning, “insatiable” quality
because Mahler whips them on relentlessly. In extreme cases, overexertion and a desperate
desire to “speak” lead to a forced tone and a melody’s voice may “crack” (see, for instance,
1 bar before Fig. 26, where a high A simply cannot sustain itself or reach any higher, thus
dwindles away, pianissimo leggiero). Adorno argues that, for Mahler, allegorical expression
lies precisely in these imperfect, “broken” moments, because the state that musical
language finds itself in is exhausted, unable to support untroubled expression.
Notable examples of kitsch in “Der Abschied” include the stylized “nature music”
episodes (Figures 7-10, 13, 23) and an extended recitative in the fourth rotation that is
not found in previous rotations, setting the text “Wohin ich geh’n? Ich geh’, ich wand’re
in die Berge. Ich suche Ruhe, Ruhe für mein einsam Herz!” (Figure 53-54). It is this latter
passage I wish to examine, for it openly displays its inability for genuine expression. To
begin with, the text “Ich suche Ruhe, Ruhe für mein einsam Herz!” in the early-Romantic
tradition (one thinks of Schubert) would have been authentic—in the sense of ringing
true with the attitudes of a particular era—but by 1906 the idea of Weltschmerz was just a
cliché in literature and music. Mahler’s setting only adds to the unoriginal quality of the
poem: note, for instance, the obligatory upward glissando in the voice at 6 measures after
Fig. 53, the use of modal mixture (E and Eb, scale-degrees 3 and b3), and the utterly
conventional cadence at Fig. 54 – a turn figure about Eb which then rises to a G, only to
fall by a 6th
to the leading tone, itself a substitute for scale-degree 2, before resolving onto
the tonic. Immediately after the cadence (Fig. 54/m. 1), the strings section and the high
winds swell up in response to the protagonist’s intimation of death by restating the voice’s
melody twice, the first time a sixth higher, the second time by an octave, as if
sympathizing with her. As a matter of fact, this may very well be the most explicitly “false”
passage to be found in “Der Abschied,” in the sense of Mahler knowingly cueing
saccharine music—familiar to everyone from kitsch—to accompany the emotional core of
a drama. Markers of banal sentimentality include the wide glissandos in the first and
second violins (G to G, and C to a high Eb), the harmonization of the main melody
exclusively by parallel thirds or sixths – which coupled with the high-strings timbre
produces an ingratiating sweetness, and the manneristic treatment of dynamics – a gradual
crescendo is followed by a sudden decrescendo to pianissimo, only to swell up once more.
While Adorno may insist that,
Not despite the kitsch to which it is drawn is Mahler’s music great, but because its
construction unties the tongue of kitsch, unfetters the longing that is merely exploited
by the commerce that the kitsch serves […] [10].
I read this entire recitative and orchestral postlude as negative expression, that is,
allegory, the allegorical moment deriving from the fact that the text’s and the music’s
distancing artificiality (due to their having been overplayed and degraded countless times
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by popular showpieces)—one could even say “deadness” or “staged-ness”—at once longs
for expression yet simultaneously acknowledges the impossibility of authentic expression
within an aged, exhausted idiom. Instead of attempting to wring expression out of these
maudlin passages, Mahler draws attention to their material existence as such.
Contrastingly, a number of episodes in “Der Abschied” end by disintegrating,
thereby laying bare their material and letting the listener “gaze” at them as material. The
universal agent of disintegration in this movement is a chromatically descending scale,
introduced early on in m. 14 (played by the oboe, starting at the sforzando diminuendo
marking). Frequently, motivic fragmentation and prolonged pauses accompany this fast,
chromatically sliding scale in passages of decay, lending them an air of uncertainty. Thus
one hears a different type of allegory, objective allegory as opposed to subjective allegory;
that is, now music “gapes open.” In place of construction and artistic semblance one hears
a loosening of art’s spell.
An example will substantiate my position. It occurs near the close of the recitative
of the purely instrumental third rotation, at 2 bars before Fig. 40. The recitative begins at
Fig. 38 and, similar to previous rotations, is comprised of three textural layers – a low
pedal, the Baroque gruppetto turn figure, and the rhythmically precise, sighing march
theme, the latter two being thoroughly conventional. Yet at Fig. 39 an additional motivic
element is introduced: the notes Eb-B-C, which are reminiscent of the opening melody of
Orpheus’s lament, “Tu se’ morta,” from Monteverdi’s opera L’Orfeo. From Fig. 39 onward,
the four distinct layers coalesce into a sentential structure, with the proportions “2+2+4,”
but the continuation phrase does not complete itself (see the half rest followed by a
fermata over a quarter rest at 2 bars before Fig. 40). Textural dissociation then begins to
take hold, and two more pauses—both palpably longer than the first—only make the
passage sound even more hesitant, as if the music is somehow constricted and gasping for
air. Salient details to note from these six measures include the ubiquitous presence of
chromatically descending scalar fragments, their seemingly haphazard—hence dissonant—
juxtaposition with both the sighing march theme and the “Tu se’ morta” melody, and the
doubling of lines by a tritone (see the first two bars of Fig. 40). Motivic and textural
dissociation become the most pronounced at 3 bars before Fig. 41, for neither the “Tu se’
morta” melody nor the sighing march theme is heard in their entirety. Against these two
fragments, the cellos play a chromatically rising line. In essence, three independent and
dissonant lines coexist but are unrelated to each other. The rising cello melody reaches no
conclusion; it ends like a question mark, uncertain about what the next formal section will
bring.
I argue that this less structured, disintegrating section ending exemplifies a
different type of allegory than the overtly constructed passages that seem to possess
agency, to explicitly desire speech and vocality (but failing); instead, one hears what
Adorno terms Rauschen – a murmuring, rustling nature. Rauschen becomes audible when
the momentary semblance of something distinct wanes, and material is left as material, left
forlorn. In the relinquishing of subjectivity, worn-out materials which have become
musical “nature” are exposed as mere “second nature,” that is, as something historical, thus
contingent and transient. Furthermore, these “dead” figures and motives can only appear
by dying away, for that is the very condition of their expression, to always be in transition.
In his explication of Adorno’s notion of allegory, Ulrich Plass notes that Adorno often
substitutes the word Abgebrochensein for allegory, referring to “the broken-off quality of artworks,
their damaged, truncated character” [11]. In the above two examples, damage and
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brokenness are manifested in multiple parameters. Motives and lines either disintegrate
(usually following a fast, descending chromatic run) or simply break off mid-stream.
Harmony is either rendered ambiguous by the addition of non-resolving consonant
suspensions or is extremely dissonant, the latter often accompanied by textural
dissociation (that is, the loosening of counterpoint) as well. Finally, with the gradual
exiting of instruments as a formal section comes to an end, and as the dynamic level
decreases, each remaining instrument’s timbre becomes distinct, which, in the context of
an already dissonant counterpoint, causes the overall sound to lose its “roundness.”
On the other side of the coin, Rauschen can also stand for mere “noise” – a
disruption to, or loss of, meaningful language. In passages such as the two examples above,
the not-quite-integrated lines, harmonies, and motivic fragments cause a breakdown of
unitary signification (or at least the appearance of unequivocal signification), so much so
that these bits of dead, “abandoned” material are at least somewhat purified of
conventional meaning and “enriched with enigmatic confusion” [12]. In place of the
quasi-rational “language character” of music, one hears musical language’s asemantic,
purely sonic, tendency, freed from the dictates of artistic expression – sensuous sound as a
remainder of meaningful language. Simultaneously, one becomes aware of one’s own
attitude: that, all along, one has been trying to hear something significant in the
murmuring, meaningless noise of Rauschen, “as if ‘Rauschen’ were meaningful language.”
Plass writes, “Allegory here means specifically: the noticeable semblance-character of
meaning (rather than the unnoticed semblance-character of meaning in the symbolic mode
of signification)” [13]. Mahler’s relinquishing of construction renders visible the illusory
claim to meaning, to significance that underlies all artistic activity, thereby achieving (at
least in certain moments) a self-reflexivity that pushes “Der Abschied” outside of the
symbolic realm: in place of aesthetic absorption one can understand these truncated,
fractured passages as a commentary on the typical attitude one assumes when
contemplating artworks.
THE GRAND MARCH
The two types of allegory I have discussed so far—one linked to a lyric, and often
impassioned or even exaggerated, subjectivity; the other perceived in the rustling,
decaying objectivity surrounding Mahler’s “fallen,” “abandoned” materials—come to a
head in the central march section (the third rotation) of the song. It is my contention that
the march induces uneasy reflection in the listener not simply because of its supposed
“semantic content,” the “what,” but because of the two opposing categories of allegory it
exhibits: the march is the most structured rotation of the entire piece (that is, the least
free; the most determined and purposeful), yet it also betrays a certain heterogeneity and
non-integration, where disparate materials collide and are swept along, as if traveling
downstream in a river (to invoke Adorno’s favorite metaphor, which he applies to both
Eichendorff and Mahler). The naive programmatic reading of this march tells one that,
beginning with a ritualistic stroke on the tam-tam at Fig. 38, a funeral march passes by,
within which the wailing, lamenting voices of the masses are heard. Since the poetic text
seems to take death and finding rest and transfiguration in death as its subject matter, it is
apt that the song should include a central funeral march, which, in the blissful and lushly
orchestrated coda, is then exorcised or transcended.
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But if one would take a step back from this program, one immediately sees that the
march is cobbled together from scraps of conventional, and mostly vocal, melodies and
figures, including the sighing, scalar march theme in strict 8th
-notes and rhythmically
augmented versions of the same scalar idea functioning as upper-voice melodies, the “Tu
se’ morta” motive (treated as a cantus firmus, appearing in all registers and assuming
various mensural proportions), and a weakly functional bassline which mostly revolves
around pre-dominant harmonies in the key of C minor. On a larger scale, there is also a
blurring of genre, for the vocal origins of Mahler’s materials combined with his
contrapuntal treatment of them undermine the march as such (the paradigmatic march
being homophonic, and driven by strong harmonic progressions, not melodic writing).
Thus what is nominally a march is also a “klagende Lied” for orchestra, carrying along but
barely containing all of its reified musical expressions (or, alienated cipher-like objects);
the latter mix and collide yet remain undissolved. Bits and pieces of music history sweep
by, but they resist Mahler’s shaping hand.
On the other hand, the march is in many ways the most “strictly composed” part of
the entire movement, as demonstrated in its clear phrasing and phrase types, its ability to
achieve a perfect cadence in the home key of C minor (the first unambiguous cadence in
any key), and the gradual emergence of mannered (that is, contorted and “unnatural”)
melodic writing in especially the second half of the orchestral aria (Figures 44-47). The
aria is comprised of two lengthy phrases – Figures 41-44, and 44-47. The first phrase
initially states a compound-period-like structure made up of two mini-sentences (Fig. 41 to
1 bar before Fig. 43), then repeats the same structure with different melodic content,
beginning at the up-beat to Fig. 43 and cadencing at Fig. 44. A quick counting of measures
reveals the obvious fact that Mahler’s phrases do not follow balanced, Classical
proportions, nor do they employ strong, functional basslines (again, the emphasis is on
pre-dominant harmonies and evaded cadences); yet, the prototypes linger in the
background and nevertheless offer the listener something familiar to rely on, if only as a
distant reference point.
The perfect authentic cadence at Fig. 44 is crucial for my reading of the march. To
begin, it is the first unambiguous cadence in the entire movement: the harmonic
progression i – bII6
– V6/4-5/3
– i supports a thoroughly conventional melodic descent to
scale-degree 1. However, this cadence ought not to be taken at face value, as simply
indicating the one extreme pole of music—namely its language-like, rational aspect—for
its clichéd-ness is so blatant, so patent, that it appears to deliberately foreground the
concept (that is, the philosophical category) of “construction” (or, meaning, “sense”) as
such for the listener’s consideration. I shall return to this argument shortly but, first, the
second phrase needs to be analyzed.
The second phrase (Figures 44-47) is indeed the most lyrical section of the march,
but its lyricism is troubled: here Mahler’s idiosyncratic melodic writing draws attention to
itself, more so than any of the other sections of the movement. Specifically, the melodies
sound overwrought and over-determined, partly due to Mahler’s obsessive quoting and
transposition to various keys (for instance, D minor) of the “Tu se’ morta” motive, and
partly due to his “forcing the melodies against their wish” – for example, awkward (and
sometimes dissonant) leaps of a diminished-4th
, tritone, or 6th
abound. Especially in the 11
measures leading up to the cadence at Fig. 46/m. 5, the upper-voice melodies sound less
and less natural, stemming from Mahler’s pushing the technique of “substitution” to its
extreme. That is, instead of having a scalar, melodically fluent line, he substitutes a
164
“foreign” note so as to make the melody disjunct. The “Tu se’ morta” motive already hints
at substitution, for instead of scale-degrees 3-2-1, it sounds 3-♮7-1. Mahler goes one step
further and incorporates larger leaps, frequently, 6th
s (see Fig. 46/mm. 3-4, D-C-Eb-Ab, C-B
♮-D-F). Through these tortured melodies, one hears an excess of compositional control
and subjective will, which, paradoxically, lends a speaking quality to these passages, as if
they desire significant speech, although forever denied it.
Overall, then, the march hovers halfway between the complete abandoning of
subjectivity to reified materials (which Adorno also detects in Eichendorff) and the
absolute, “forced” shaping of them. To amplify: the march as allegory is able to temporarily
push back the sediment social meanings inherent within Mahler’s banal materials, thus
achieving the expression of convention as (1) a disintegrating, objective Rauschen (pure
sound) and, (2) paradoxically, a co-product stemming from extreme—hence selfconscious—rational
construction. Thus, the wailing and lamenting orchestral march is
not simply, or crudely, “about” death, but musically and as pure music puts into sharp focus
a self-referential and inescapable anxiety surrounding the contingency of musical language
as such.
THE CODA, PROBLEMATIZED
If the march, as the centerpiece of “Der Abschied,” constitutes the negative pole of
the song, then one possible reading of the extensive coda sees the latter as balancing and
ultimately redeeming that negativity; here, the protagonist is released from the inexorable
march toward death and achieves an ecstatic, Tristan-esque merging with nature. While
such a reading is certainly plausible—even encouraged by several musical indications
within the coda—it is also too one-dimensional, for the coda does not and cannot stand
outside of the time frame of the movement absolutely, and therefore still needs to be
understood in context of the allegorical mood of the whole.
Indeed, there are a few persuasive reasons in support of the “transcendent” reading.
Harmonically, both the ubiquitous presence of added-6th
s to triads and the weakened
status of dominant harmony lend the coda a “floating,” static atmosphere, as if forward
moving time is dissolved (see, for instance, Mahler’s reinvention of the standard German-
augmented-6th
to V7
progression at Fig. 61. Typically the strongest of discharges, here it is
rendered almost non-functional by the addition of modally mixed tones and chromatic
neighbor notes). In terms of orchestration, the “heavenly,” shimmering timbre of two
harps, celesta, and finally mandolin is said to signify the protagonist’s blissful dissolution of
self and transfiguration. Melodically, there is an emphasis on upwardly moving lines,
forming an opposite contour compared to the earlier “reaching over” passages where lines
would leap up but then descend stepwise. Lastly, Mahler’s style of text-setting for the coda
contrasts with what came before. Instead of syllabic, clear text declamation, each word’s
syllables are so drawn-out that semantic meaning becomes less important than each
vowel’s phonic quality, ultimately leading to a dissolution of sense in sound (note
especially the ü and e sounds of “allüberall” and “ewig”).
Yet, because allegorical expression spreads itself across the entire song, I argue that
the ending ought not to be taken in a purely positive, unproblematic way. In addition to
the two modalities of allegory I identified and analyzed above, the entire piece as a whole
actually deconstructs the text’s supposed “meaning” and binary oppositions. On the surface,
165
the text holds an opposition between nature (eternity) and history (human transience); in
a very literal—even mundane—sense; it also is “about” transitioning from life to death.
However, Mahler’s allegorical mode performs a pun on the text: in “Der Abschied,” nature
is not just commonplace, imitative “nature music” (such as birds and brooks) but also what
has become “natural” through music history; that is, lifeless, conventional materials seem
like nature but should more properly be termed “second nature.” Mahler is playing entirely
within the realm of (music) history when he conjures up “dead,” second nature. From
within the strictly “human” realm he exposes “second nature”—hackneyed and alienated
musical objects—as artificial, as history. Thus “pure nature” is revealed as impossibility.
Moreover, because allegory repeats momentarily, and ghost-like, a life that is no longer
alive, it is a signifier of transience and transition, a process of transition that is forever
taking place. Thus, although the coda seems to suggest an eternal union with the earth
and the stilling of longing—a static and ecstatic mode of being—the entire piece as
allegory prevents such a positive reading.
In conclusion, in this essay, I have theorized about one possible consequence of
decaying topics which are reaching the limits of their lifespan, namely, that they become
self-referential. To invoke an oft-cited Benjaminian metaphor—by incinerating itself, a
timeworn topic again achieves expression, but one without “natural” immediacy, for the
reverse side of self-referentiality is an awareness of the historicity of all cultural objects.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The present essay grew out of a course I took with Professor Naomi WalthamSmith
in the spring semester of 2012. I wish to thank her for her ideas, careful editing, and
continuous help over the past year.
REFERENCES
[1] Monelle, Raymond, 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, p. 80.
[2] Ibid., 53.
[3] Ibid., 175.
[4] Ibid., 176.
[5] Adorno, Theodor, 1992. Mahler: A Musical Physiognomy. Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, p. 25.
[6] Monelle, 2000, p. 176.
[7] Adorno, 1992, p. 125.
[8] Spitzer, Michael, 2006. Music as Philosophy: Adorno and Beethoven’s Late Style.
Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, p. 3.
[9] Adorno, 1992, p. 131.
[10] Ibid., p. 39.
[11] Plass, Ulrich, 2007. Language and History in Theodor W. Adorno’s Notes to Literature.
New York: Routledge, p. 58.
[12] Ibid., p. 67.
[13] Ibid.
166
Topic, Paratext and Intertext in the Prelude
à l ’Après-midi d’un Faune and other Works
of Debussy
Paulo F. de Castro, PhD, CESEM, Universidade Nova de Lisboa, PT
ABSTRACT
According to Raymond Monelle, Debussy was a prolific inventor of topical signifiers, and
one of these was an imitation of the ancient syrinx, which can be heard in the opening bars
of the Prélude à l’Après-midi d’un Faune, among other works. This essay offers an
outline of the pre- and subsequent history, the cultural grounds, and the main uses of this
topic, which can be defined more generally as an invocation topic, taking into account its
ritualistic function within Debussy’s musical poetics. Special emphasis is placed on the
paratextual and intertextual relations forming the background to Debussy’s uses of the
topic in the Prélude, at the intersection of various domains, such as the pastoral, the
exotic, the erotic and the elegiac, as a contribution towards an understanding of musical
topics as dynamic semantic networks.
THE RELEVANCE OF PARATEXT
Debussy’s Prélude à l’Après-midi d’un faune (1894) has become such a firm repertoire
staple that we hardly notice the work’s originality any more. For one thing, the Prélude
begins like no other piece in the 19th-century orchestral canon, with a strictly
unaccompanied, amorphous, ambiguous flute solo sounding like nothing so much as a free
improvisation, as distant from the symphonic ethos as could possibly be imagined in an
age of post-Wagnerian overstatement. There is no orchestral introduction, not even the
merest pair of chords that might help establish the basic coordinates of the musical space,
such as pulse, meter, tempo or key. For a few seconds, with the full orchestra sitting still on
the concert platform, the effect can be slightly baffling; the piece is clearly meant to open
up an imaginary space in the listener’s mind, and as such it is probably better served by an
acousmatic performance.
If we let ourselves be guided by Debussy’s title (and only the most unsympathetic of
listeners would not), we enter into a kind of hermeneutic pact with the composer, being
invited to identify the solo flute as an attribute of a mythological, Dionysian creature:
more precisely, the protagonist of Stéphane Mallarmé’s eclogue, which Debussy originally
meant to set as a “Prélude, Interlude et Paraphrase finale pour l’Après-midi d’un faune”,
but ended up ‘paraphrasing’ within a single movement.1
Drawing on terminology
introduced by Gérard Genette, we could say that the title (together with the composer’s
1
Cf. Lesure [1].
167
signature) functions as a paratext with regard to the musical text (and by extension, to its
performance), a crucial threshold in the transaction involved in the act of listening – the
paratext being understood as “the privileged locus of a pragmatics and of a strategy, an
action on the public with the aim, successfully or unsuccessfully understood or attained, of
a better reception of the text and of a more pertinent reading – more pertinent, needless
to say, in the eyes of the author and its allies” [2]. Genette defines the paratext (with
regard to the literary work) as the repertoire of verbal or non-verbal features such as the
author’s name, titles, dedications, epigraphs, chapter headings, prefaces, notes,
illustrations, etc., which support and accompany the text and contribute to its
presentation, in the ordinary, but also in the strong sense of making the text ‘present’ to
the reader and facilitating the latter’s reception of it. Typically, the paratext occupies a
blurred zone between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ of the text proper, as a threshold (seuil)
between the texte and the hors-texte.
For his part, Roland Barthes [3] drew attention to the anchoring function (ancrage)
of titles, providing a measure of stability to the ‘flowing chain’ of the signifieds implicit in
the polysemic image – and there seems to be no a priori reason why the principle should
not apply to music as well as pictures. The programme for the premiere of the Prélude,
moreover, added a further paratextual layer, in the form of a note, probably written by the
composer himself, describing the music as “a very free illustration” of Mallarmé’s poem,
through a sequence of moving décors, against which the faun’s desires and reveries unfold;
weary of the chase after elusive, half-imaginary female creatures, the faun lets himself
succumb to the noontide heat, eventually fulfilling his dreams of “total possession” in
sleep [4]. Interestingly, in the case of the Prélude à l’Après-midi d’un faune, the paratext
itself provides a window onto the intertext, for Debussy’s score is itself a kind of
commentary on a pre-existing, independent work of art. Notice the striking economy of
means involved in the paratextual framing: a title is often all it takes to activate an entire
semantic ecology. To further complexify matters, it is worth recalling that the poem itself
was originally destined for the stage; in a letter of June 1865, Mallarmé stated, in his
typically paradoxical manner: “je le fais absolument scénique, non possible au théâtre, mais
exigeant le théâtre” [“I am making it entirely with the stage in mind, not possible for the
theatre, but demanding the theatre”],2
thus reminding us of the inextricable confluence of the
literary, the visual and the aural dimensions of that cluster of meanings we came to know
as Debussy’s Prélude à l’Après-midi d’un faune.3
As in a number of works similarly
conceived in the spirit of Symbolism, it might be helpful to think of Debussy’s early
masterpiece as a latent Gesamtkunstwerk (call it a multimedia work if you will), in which
the non-sonorous media simply inhabit the plane of the virtual; which really amounts to
saying that the work will always remain incomplete without the staging provided by the
listener’s imagination.
I have proposed my own interpretation of the manner in which Debussy’s music
interacts with Mallarmé’s poem in a previous essay [6], and I shall not deal with this
matter in detail here.4
For our present purpose, a brief summary may suffice: (a) Debussy’s
work, no less than Mallarmé’s, bears witness to the fin-de-siècle fascination with the
2
Letter to Cazalis, cit. in Mallarmé [5].
3
A cluster made more complex by the choreographic realizations of the Prélude, starting with Nijinsky’s 1912
ballet, which, in a sense, could be seen as a belated vindication of Mallarmé’s conception of L’Après-midi d’un
faune as a stage work.
4
For a thorough investigation of Debussy’s musical appropriation of Mallarmé’s eclogue, cf. Code [7].
168
dissolution of ‘solid’ materiality into a play of forces, where, furthermore, the phenomenal
realm is no longer conceived of in terms of a succession governed by the chain of causality,
but rather as a merging, or flowing, of one experience into another; (b) The concomitant
non-developmental logic tends to favour the fragmentary motif as against the more stable
sujet, or theme; (c) Both the poem and the music are indebted ‘hypertextually’ (as Genette
would say [8]) to the mythological story of the nymph Syrinx, who, in an attempt to resist
Pan’s advances, was changed into a reed that made a plaintive sound when blown through
by the wind, thus inspiring the god to invent the panpipes; (d) In accord with its distant
Ovidian origins, Debussy’s Prélude offers an allegory of endless metamorphosis, doubled by
endless frustration (as experienced by the protagonist, a projection of the desiring subject
as well as the artist), to be redeemed, if at all, on the plane of the imaginary. The work as a
whole projects the image of music as a kind of fluid, akin to water and air, an element of
the universal flux, where breath becomes the symbol of artistic inspiration. It is against
this background that I wish to focus on the initial bars of the Prélude, those very bars
which, in Pierre Boulez’s oft-quoted phrase, represent the awakening of modern music.
There is some irony in the fact that this icon of modernism should have deep and readily
recognizable roots in a repertoire destined to be rendered obsolete by modernism itself.
A DEBUSSYAN MUSICAL TOPIC
According to Raymond Monelle [9], to whom we owe some of the most perceptive
writing on the theory and practice of musical topics, Debussy was a prolific inventor of
topical signifiers, and one of these was an imitation of the ancient syrinx – itself a variant
of the more familiar shepherd’s pipe, to be heard, among many other examples, in Berlioz’s
Symphonie fantastique (1830), Wagner’s Tannhäuser, Act I, scene 3 (1845), Tristan and
Isolde, Act III, scene 1 (1865), and Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin, Act I, scene 2 (1879).5
In its peculiar Debussyan form, the topic can be more or less readily detected in “La flûte
de Pan” (Chansons de Bilitis, 1897-98); the cor anglais solo in “Nuages” (Nocturnes, 1897-
99); “Le faune” (Fêtes galantes, 2nd
series, 1904); the opening solos in “De l’aube à midi sur
la mer” (cor anglais doubled by muted trumpet) and “Jeux de vagues” (cor anglais alone)
(La mer, 1903-05); “Les parfums de la nuit” (Iberia, from the Images for orchestra, 1905-
08); “Voiles” (Préludes, 1st
book, 1909-10); the Rapsodie pour orchestre et saxophone (1901-
11); “Canope” (Préludes, 2nd
book, 1911-12); the transition before the 1st Dance in
Khamma, scene 2 (1911-12); Syrinx for solo flute (1913; formerly known as La flûte de
Pan); and several numbers from the Six épigraphes antiques (1914-15; based on the
discarded incidental music for Chansons de Bilitis, 1900-01).6
Its characteristic musical
gesture,7
as illustrated in exemplary fashion by the opening bars of the Prélude (a
transposition of the faun’s “sonore, vaine et monotone ligne”), is thus described by
Monelle: “Debussy imagined that the lips were applied to the pipe of highest pitch, then
slid across the instrument, producing a rapid downward scale or arpeggio (or perhaps the
5
The ‘rustic’ panpipe had of course been used by Mozart in Die Zauberflöte (1791) as Papageno’s instrumental
attribute.
6
More conventional pastoral variants of the topic include the pipe figures in “The Little Shepherd” (Children’s
Corner, 1906-08), “Bruyères” (Préludes, 2nd
book, 1911-12), Gigues (Images, 1912) and La boîte à joujoux, scene 3
(1913). For a discussion of Syrinx that takes into account the notion of paratext, see Cobussen [10].
7
My use of the concept of musical gesture is informed by Robert S. Hatten’s definition of the same as a
“significant energetic shaping [of sound] through time” [11].
169
reverse)” [12].8
Incidentally, by mentioning “[les] deux tuyaux” (line 18) and “le jonc
vaste et jumeau” (line 43), that is, the ‘twin pipes’ of the faun’s ‘flute’, Mallarmé betrays a
curious confusion as to the precise nature of the instrument, which he probably mistook
for an aulos; that confusion, however, seems to have been turned to good account by
Debussy, as an invitation to create his own composite instrument by alternating, or
combining, various members of the wind section as he deemed appropriate.
Debussy’s topic, however, has a complex physiognomy, for unlike the humble
shepherd’s pipe, the faun’s syrinx is far from evoking the world of erotic innocence and
serene ideality more commonly associated with the traditional sphere of the pastoral. In
many (though not all) cases, the ‘syrinx’ topic illustrates a subcategory of the typically
Debussyan ‘monophonic opening’, one of several structural patterns investigated by James
A. Hepokoski.9
Hepokoski reminds us of how Debussy’s openings function ritualistically,
as “thresholds linking secular and sacred/aesthetic space” [14], even when, as in the case
with the Prélude, this sacralised aesthetic is carried out within a context of sensual
pleasure. Since the exact nature of the instrument – syrinx, flute or any kind of reed pipe –
may vary from one work (or part of work) to another, it seems apposite to define the
musical typology in question in terms of its ritualistic character, rather than a definite
organological category. For this reason, I will henceforth refer to the ‘syrinx’ topic as an
invocation topic. Before Debussy, this kind of typology could be heard in such exotica as
the “Mélodie hindoue” for the flute in the Act III Divertissement from Massenet’s Le roi de
Lahore (1877), which, appropriately enough, is set in an Eastern Paradise; in a form more
directly reminiscent of Debussy’s version, in the oboe solo from the Persian dance in the
Act II ballet in Delibes’s Lakmé (1883); or, in a work roughly contemporary to Debussy’s,
in the passage for the flute underscoring Thaïs’s invocation of Venus in Act II, scene 1 of
Massenet’s eponymous opera (1894; revised version, 1898).10
Even more interesting, of
course, is the post-Debussyan history of the topic, which can hardly be broached within
the scope of the present essay: a catalogue of its many incarnations would have to include
suitable examples from Ravel’s “La flûte enchantée” (Shéhérazade, 1903) and Daphnis et
Chloë (1909-12), Nikolay Tcherepnin’s Narcisse et Echo (1911), Reynaldo Hahn’s Le dieu
bleu (1912), Maurice Delage’s Poèmes hindous (1914), Szymanowski’s “Dryades et Pan”
(Mythes, 1915), Charles Koechlin’s Les heures persanes (1913-19, orchestrated 1921), Carl
Nielsen’s Pan og Syrinx (1917-18) as well as Roussel’s Joueurs de flûte (1924); whereas a
piece such as Dukas’s La plainte, au loin, du faune... for piano (1920) bears a more
immediate intertextual relation to Debussy’s Prélude as a tribute to its composer, by means
8
http://petrucci.mus.auth.gr/imglnks/usimg/c/c3/IMSLP07757-_une_Faune__trans._Borwick_-_piano_.pdf, p.
1.
9
According to Hepokoski, this structural pattern itself consists of three gestural phases, of which the second
describes the faun’s monody well: “An unaccompanied melodic line breaking the silence. Typically, the
melodic line begins with a relatively prolonged initial pitch, piano or pianissimo, and glides gracefully into more
active rhythmic motion in a manner that is not emphatically metrical. The line is often undular, returning at
points to its initial pitch in a supple curve, and it generally implies a rather weak tonic, because of the use of
pentatonicism, chromaticism, modality, gapped scales, or other such devices” [13].
10
http://javanese.imslp.info/files/imglnks/usimg/1/12/IMSLP20429-PMLP28148-Delibes-LakmeVSheu.pdf,
p. 126;
http://javanese.imslp.info/files/imglnks/usimg/7/73/IMSLP20437-PMLP10664-Massenet-ThaisVSfe.pdf,
p. 93. There is a parallel Russian branch of the topic, for which Rimsky-Korsakov’s Mlada, Act III (1892)
provides a veritable primer. For a classic example of the orientalist line in Russian music, cf. Rimsky’s
symphonic suite Sheherazade (1888).
170
of explicit quotation.11
Incidentally, a neo-primitivist variant of the same topic (an
imitation of Slavonic spring pipes, or dudki) provides the opening idea of another mythical
modernist landmark: no less than the Introduction to Stravinsky’s Le sacre du printemps
(1913).
Describing the invocation topic as a subcategory of the pastoral is, however, not
entirely satisfying, for it is my contention that musical topics tend to operate by
juxtaposing diverse semantic fields, thus multiplying the connections that allow those
topics to function as dense networks of meaning rather than static signs with fixed
signifieds, of the kind that lends itself to being neatly tabulated in lists of rhetorical
figures. Accordingly, I should like to suggest an approach to musical meaning based on a
genuinely differential view rather than one based on the oppositional properties of signs: a
view in which meanings (much like the Debussyan experience of temporality itself)
occasionally merge and flow into one another without much concern for fixed boundaries.
The rhetoric of fluidity intrinsic to Debussy’s music somehow seems to suggest a more fluid
approach to musical rhetoric itself. Beyond the pastoral mode thoroughly scrutinized by
Monelle, the Prélude opening gesture seems to call up no less than three further distinct,
albeit overlapping, semantic fields, all of which, it seems to me, are essential to an
interpretation of the work as a whole, namely the exotic, the erotic, and the elegiac. Let
us briefly examine each of these in turn.
MAPPING OUT SEMANTIC FIELDS
Exoticism
The pastoral sources of the faun’s music are clearly evident, not least thanks to the
prominence of woodwinds and horns in the score, but the effect is more sylvan than
merely bucolic. Crucially, the immediate impression is one of (pleasurable) strangeness:
the flute monody (in the medium-low register, piano, marked “doux et expressif”),
beginning on a sustained note (the return of which will signal the successive waves of the
musical metamorphosis), gives only the vaguest hint of a tonic, breaking off after less than
four bars.12 From the initial pitch C♯, the melody slides lazily downwards, first by a
whole-step, then chromatically, to G – thus outlining a tritone – before moving back
hesitantly, by whole-tones plus a semitone, to the initial pitch. Details are important here:
the fact that the falling chromatic segment is preceded by a whole tone, and that the
upward whole-tone segment accommodates a quasi-leading note (B♯), shows that a simple
chromatic vs. diatonic dualism is not necessarily the best framework within which to
11
http://imslp.us/php/linkhandler.php?path=/scores/Klingsor_Tristan_1966/Ravel__Sheherazade_(voice_and_piano).pdf,
p. 29;
http://conquest.imslp.info/files/imglnks/usimg/c/c7/IMSLP211854-SIBLEY1802.20308.fccd-
39087012874626score.pdf, p. 12;
http://javanese.imslp.info/files/imglnks/usimg/1/11/IMSLP26227-PMLP58402Szymanowski_op30_Mythes_piano.pdf,
p. 28;
http://imslp.eu/linkhandler.php?path=/imglnks/euimg/4/47/IMSLP17466-Roussel__Joueurs_de_Fl__te__Op._27.pdf,
p. 1;
http://javanese.imslp.info/files/imglnks/usimg/2/2d/IMSLP229141-PMLP06661-Dukas__La_plainte_pf_Sibley.1802.21420.pdf,
p. 2.
12
http://petrucci.mus.auth.gr/imglnks/usimg/c/c3/IMSLP07757-_une_Faune__trans._Borwick_-_piano_.pdf, p.
1.
171
situate Debussy’s musical gesture; moreover, the falling whole-tone interval will pervade
the work as a whole, both melodically (as an appoggiatura) and harmonically (as an ‘added
sixth’, suggestive of a double tonal focus). The process is repeated, after which the melody
seems to gain a more affirmative drive, reaching upwards to E (notice the false relation
G/G♯) and settling for an instant on what would sound like an arpeggiated tonic triad if
only the melody were not to swerve at once towards a new tritone, A♯; the latter pitch in
turn triggers the first harmonic event in the score, a verticalization of the prominent
melodic pitches A♯-C♯-E-G♯, in a sonorous ripple (a harp glissando) followed by an echo
that accords well with the pastoral setting, and marks the transition from the phenomenal
to the noumenal plane of the musical narrative, to borrow a distinction made by Carolyn
Abbate in the domain of opera [15].13
Monelle’s description of the musical figures from bar 4 onwards as pentatonic [16]
seems less helpful here, because it unduly overstresses the opposition between the horn
calls and the flute solo – the former being a distorted echo of the latter (as if halfremembered
in a dreamlike state). Not only does the description fail to account for the
semitone E-F, but it leaves unexplained the presence of another prominent tritone
between the notes D and A♭ – thus linking the flute and the horn motifs more
intimately than the chromatic/pentatonic divide would suggest.14
Not only is the melody
tonally ambiguous, it is not even possible to pin it down to a recognizable scale, for its
constituent pitches, freely mixing the chromatic, the whole-tone and the diatonic genera,
cannot be subsumed under any standard arrangement – and neither will it eventually
allow any conclusive harmonization.15
The intended effect is that of a foreign musical
object, in both spatial and temporal terms: the imaginary music of an archaic culture,
freely ‘synthesized’ by Debussy from the accumulated resources of 19th
-century orientalism.
Owing to the undulating, rhythmically flexible and ornamental-melismatic quality of the
musical figuration typified by the faun’s improvisations, the image of the arabesque has
become a standard metaphor in many descriptions of Debussy’s music; the composer
himself sanctioned the usage in a note addressed to Mallarmé a few days before the
premiere,16
and the term could be used as a general designation for a whole array of topics,
which often intersect with the invocation typology, thanks to the associations of the
arabesque itself with magic.
Eroticism
In a time of colonial expansionism, the exotic almost inevitably carried
connotations of voluptuousness and the desire for the other – or even the desire of the
13
The term ‘phenomenal’ is applied by Abbate to a musical event that declares itself openly or implicitly as a
‘real’ performance, as opposed to the ‘noumenal’ status of a musical passage assumed to emanate from an
indeterminate locus.
14
Cf. also Monelle [17].
15
This ambiguity serves another important compositional purpose: by keeping the harmonic background to the
recurring melody in constant mutation throughout the work, Debussy emphasizes the relative nonhomogeneity
of foreground and background, in keeping with his multiplanar, spatially-oriented conception of
sonority (which, needless to say, cannot be captured in any kind of linear progression graph).
16
In this document, dated 20 December 1894, Debussy describes his work as “les arabesques qu’un peut-être
coupable orgueil m’a fait croire être dictées par la Flûte de votre Faune” [“the arabesques which I have been led
to believe, through a pride perhaps blameworthy, were inspired by the Flute of your Faun”] [18]. Among the
classic literature on the subject, cf. Gervais [19] and Zenck-Maurer [20].
172
other – allied to sundry fantasies of possession, with wide-ranging cultural, political and
psychological implications. Not surprisingly, the ‘Orient’ of the Symbolist and decadent
(male) imagination frequently finds itself embodied in female figures (the temptress, the
odalisque, the captive) combining seductiveness and submissiveness to varying degrees.
This kind of imagery finds its way into Debussy’s Prélude by way of Mallarmé’s intertextual
play with the Syrinx story: Pan’s sublimated libido seems to be echoed in the faun’s
attempt to ‘recover’ his absent nymphs through art (to make them ‘permanent’, according
to the opening line: “Ces nymphes, je les veux perpétuer” [21]) – in an ironic hint at the
faun’s (or the artist’s) naive hopes for a reversal of metamorphosis: as if the music could
grow back into a nymph (or preferably two – since there are two pipes in the aulos). The
presence of the feminine in the opening sequence is essentially metonymic and indexical
in nature, because the kind of material given by Debussy to his syrinx-playing faun derives
from musical typologies centred on a ‘yielding’, descending kind of chromatic progression
with connotations of erotic promise, notably in the world of French (or French-inspired)
opera – usually set in faraway lands and widely suggestive of carnal indulgence. Among
many representative examples with a strong family resemblance, one could cite Aida’s line
(marked dolcissimo) in the Andantino section of her duet with Radamès in Verdi’s
eponymous opera, Act III (1871), an evocation of erotic utopia par excellence (the
accompaniment being provided by three flutes in their medium-low register, moving in
parallel sixth chords); Dalila’s aria of seduction in Saint-Saëns’s Samson et Dalila, Act II,
scene 3 (1877; first performance in France, 1890); and the figure signalling Hérode’s erotic
obsession for Salomé in Massenet’s Hérodiade, Act II, scene 5 (1881, revised version
1884).17
An earlier prototype could even be found in the modulating passage introducing
Susanna’s (false) acquiescence to the Count’s advances in the Duettino at the beginning
of Act III of Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro (1786), where a descending chromatic figure in the
flute (doubled by the second violins at the lower octave) is immediately mirrored and
amplified in the longer note values of the bass line.
Elegy
One of the common objections to the claims of music rhetoric is the apparent fact
that codifications of music-rhetorical figures tend to be inconsistent and admit of too
many counter-examples. Downward movement by semitones being associated in different
contexts with the lament, one may wonder why Debussy’s invocation topic should
conform to an intervallic pattern akin to the older theoreticians’ passus duriusculus and the
pathopoeia, or more generally to musical figures evocative of pain or even death. One
might of course argue that as contexts vary, so do significations, but there is in fact an
important link between the faun’s re-enactment of Syrinx’s fate and the lament, for the
mythic invention of the panpipes is itself predicated on the melancholy of irreversible loss,
foreshadowing a vision of music in general as a sonorous memento for the irretrievable – a
vision deeply ingrained in fin-de-siècle culture. More generally, this vision seems reinforced
17
http://conquest.imslp.info/files/imglnks/usimg/9/94/IMSLP30368-PMLP17351-AidaVSie.pdf,
p. 240;
http://petrucci.mus.auth.gr/imglnks/usimg/4/43/IMSLP41636-PMLP48364-SaintSaens-SamsonDalilaVSf.pdf,
p. 163;
http://petrucci.mus.auth.gr/imglnks/usimg/9/91/IMSLP70055-PMLP71734-Massenet_-_Herodiade_VS.pdf,
p. 80.
173
by Vladimir Jankélévitch’s observation that ‘geotropism’ is “the fundamental intention of
the Debussyan melisma” [22], and as such, a token of Debussy’s fascination for figures of
decline. This aspect of Debussy’s poetics in itself opens up a whole field of inquiry, which
cannot be pursued within the scope of this essay.
ENVOI
To sum up: the invocation topic seems to be an important element in Debussy’s
musical language, but topics tend to be more polysemic in nature than the taxonomic
impulse would lead us to believe; it would be a serious mistake, however, to equate
polysemy with semantic indeterminacy tout court. Oppositions, on the other hand, may or
may not play a primary role in the construction of meaning; if some 19th
-century examples
seem to fit binary schemes so well, this may be because binarism is itself part of the
axiological framework of the period, rather than a universal precondition of signification.
It would appear that musical semantics could be more productively approached from a
hermeneutic, rather than a strictly sign-centred perspective (at least in the canonical, still
current structuralist-derived sense). For, as the linguist Émile Benveniste observed long
ago [23], a message cannot be reduced to a sequence of units, to be separately identified
and described as such; it is not the sum of signs that produces meaning, but meaning,
taken as a whole, that realizes itself in particular signs. It is my contention that a
comprehensive theory of musical topics as dynamic and multi-dimensional semantic
networks could profitably take such a premise as a starting point.
REFERENCES
[1] Lesure, F., 2003. Claude Debussy: Biographie critique suivie du catalogue de l’œuvre. Paris,
Fayard, pp. 514-15.
[2] Genette, G., 1987. Seuils, Paris, Seuil, p. 8 (translation mine).
[3] Barthes, R., 1982. Rhétorique de l’image. L’obvie et l’obtus: Essais critiques III, Paris,
Seuil, pp. 30ff.
[4] Lesure, F., 2003, p. 515.
[5] Mallarmé, S., 1998. Oeuvres complètes I (ed. Bertrand Marchal). Paris, Gallimard, p.
1167 (translation mine).
[6] De Castro, P. F., 2010. “Listening to the Faun (Again and Again)”. In: L. NavickaitėMartinelli,
ed. 2010. Before and After Music: Proceedings from the 10th Congress of the
International Project on Musical Signification. Imatra, International Semiotics Institute /
Helsinki, Umweb, pp. 329-37.
[7] Code, D. J., 2001. “Hearing Debussy Reading Mallarmé: Music après Wagner in the
Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune”. Journal of the American Musicological Society, 54(3), pp.
493-554.
[8] Genette, G., 1982. Palimpsestes: La littérature au second degré. Paris, Seuil, p. 13.
[9] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington,
Indiana University Press, p. 265.
[10] Cobussen, M., n.d. In(-)formations: The Meaning of Paratextual Elements in Debussy’s
Syrinx. [pdf] Available at:
174
<http://leidenuniv.academia.edu/MarcelCobussen/Papers/477595/The_Meaning_of_Parat
extual_Elements _in_Debussys_Syrinx> [Accessed 3 August 2012].
[11] Hatten, R. S., 2004. Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes: Mozart,
Beethoven, Schubert. Bloomington, Indiana University Press, p. 95.
[12] Monelle, R., 2006, p. 265.
[13] Hepokoski, J. A., 1984. “Formulaic Openings in Debussy”. 19th
Century Music, 8(1),
pp. 44-59; here p. 45.
[14] Ibid., pp. 54 and 57 respectively.
[15] Abbate, C., 1991. Unsung Voices. Opera and Musical Narrative in the Nineteenth
Century. Princeton, Princeton University Press, pp. 5ff.
[16] Monelle, R., 1990. “A Semantic Approach to Debussy’s Songs”. The Music Review,
51(3), pp. 193-207; here pp. 206-07.
[17] Id., 1997. “Binary Semantic Opposition in Debussy”. In: I. Rauch and G. F. Carr, eds.
1997. Semiotics Around the World. Synthesis in Diversity. Berlin, Mouton de Gruyter, pp.
647-50.
[18] Debussy, C., 2005. Correspondance 1872-1918 (ed.) François Lesure and Denis Herlin.
Paris, Gallimard, p. 228.
[19] Gervais, F., 1958. “La notion d’arabesque chez Debussy”. La Revue musicale, 241, pp.
3-23.
[20] Zenck-Maurer, C., 1974. Versuch über die wahre Art, Debussy zu analysieren. München,
Emil Katzbichler, especially pp. 105-38.
[21] Mallarmé, S., 1876. L’Après-midi d’un faune. Oeuvres complètes I, 1998, p. 22.
[21] Jankélévitch, V., 1989. Debussy et le mystère de l’instant. Paris, Plon, pp. 44ff.
[23] Benveniste, E., 1974. Problèmes de linguistique générale II. Paris, Gallimard, p. 64.
175
Peacocks, Paradox, and Peripeteia: Charles
Griffes’s Transformation of the Pastoral
Taylor A. Greer, Penn State University, State College, PA, USA
ABSTRACT
The music of Charles Griffes represents a unique moment in the history of the pastoral.
A visionary American composer at the turn of the century, Griffes was an artistic
polyglot, drawing inspiration from a wide spectrum of sources, ranging from fin-de-siècle
French harmony and Japanese exoticism to the Aestheticism movement in late-Victorian
England. The thread linking these diverse sources is a new conception of the pastoral in
which he transformed the siciliana-based tradition he had inherited into a multidimensional
topical field that integrates elements of drama and irony. My paper
introduces three types of pastorals in Griffes’s work: (1) simple; (2) dramatic, which
includes a prepared climax coinciding with motivic synthesis and a new religioso topic; and
(3) ironic, which is defined by a modern-day peripeteia or reversal.
INTRODUCTION
Today I wish to begin with an anecdote about the city and the country. Charles
Tomlinson Griffes, a neglected American composer at the turn of the century had a
voracious appetite for literature. In his later years he found inspiration in a wide range of
poems by Samuel Coleridge, W. B. Yeats, Edgar Allan Poe, and Oscar Wilde that depicted
various scenes of nature such as gardens, sunrises, lakes, and night winds. By his own
admission, he composed the opening phrase of his most famous work, “The White
Peacock,” while gazing at a sunset on his commute between a rural boarding school, where
he worked, and New York City. Yet, when asked if he liked living in the country, he
responded: “I long to be in the city. The country does not inspire me especially. I get
much more inspiration from reading Oriental folk tales than I do from looking at a tree
[1].” While composers’ own statements about their music are often less than reliable, in
Griffes’s case the concept of paradox is inseparable from his treatment of the pastoral.
The music of Charles Griffes represents a unique moment in the history of the
pastoral. A visionary American composer at the turn of the century, Griffes was an
artistic polyglot, drawing inspiration from a wide spectrum of sources, ranging from fin-desiècle
French harmony, ancient Japanese poetry to the Aestheticism movement in lateVictorian
England. The thread linking these diverse sources is a new conception of the
pastoral in which he transformed the siciliana-based tradition he had inherited from his
eighteenth- and nineteenth-century predecessors into a multi-dimensional topical field
that integrated elements of drama and irony. In his magisterial work The Musical Topic,
Raymond Monelle established a rich interpretive legacy for understanding the pastoral
176
tradition in literature and music [2]. In this paper I will enrich his legacy by exploring a
geographical area and historical period he never considered: American art music during
the early twentieth century.
This essay consists of three parts: a brief sketch of Griffes’s mature style as well as a
summary of the assumptions and methods used in the study; followed by an introduction
to two types of pastorals found in Griffes’s work—the dramatic pastoral, which includes a
prepared climax, and the ironic pastoral, which is defined by a fundamental reversal or an
adaptation of Aristotle’s notion of peripeteia. Representative musical examples will be
drawn from two piano works, “The White Peacock” and “The Vale of Dreams.”
Historians have long considered early twentieth-century American composers like
Griffes as marginal, occupying a stylistic oblivion, neither Romantic nor Modern. There
are two principal reasons for this historical judgment. The first reason is the so-called
“Emerson” problem, that is, the over-reliance by American artists on European traditions.
Griffes grew to maturity at a time when American musical life was dominated by the
aesthetic ideals of Europe, in particular, of Germany. Alex Ross argues, in his awardwinning
book, The Rest is Noise, that composers of this generation “failed to find a
language that was singularly American or singularly their own [3].” When Ralph Waldo
Emerson bemoaned in his 1837 essay “The American Scholar” that “too long have we
listened to the courtly muses of Europe,” little did he know that seventy years later the
problem would still exist [4].
The other reason Griffes’s music has been neglected is that during the so-called
Roaring ‘Twenties, especially in New York, “modernist” music began to roar. Whatever
its merits, Griffes’s music paled in comparison to the soaring sirens of Edgar Varèse or the
well-armed tone clusters of Henry Cowell. In this view, Griffes fell into the cracks of
history because he reached maturity when the embers of late Romanticism were burning
out and the torches of the Modernist revolution were just being lit.
But to treat G’s music as lost in a stylistic crevasse does it a serious injustice.
Instead we should focus on what makes it “marginal.” In some works he could be
considered late-Romantic, content to speak the late nineteenth-century “lingua
chromatica” of Wagner and Liszt. Yet at other times he was clearly an incipient
Modernist, listening to twentieth-century French and Russian muses. In short, Griffes’s
mature style combined novelty with nostalgia and his revival of the pastoral tradition
reflects this unique aesthetic blend.
The initial step in this interpretive study is to define my underlying assumptions.
The pastoral is one of the oldest of all Western literary and cultural traditions, stretching
from Theocritus’s Idylls and Virgil’s Eclogues in ancient Greece and Rome to the present.
I will assume that the pastoral is a genre, style and/or orientation that has both musical
and literary roots, though I will focus more on the former than the latter. Furthermore,
considering the exhaustive studies of the pastoral by Monelle and by Robert Hatten in his
1994 study, Musical Meaning in Beethoven, there is no need to reenact an exegesis of the
countless musical associations that this term has acquired [5]. For convenience, Example
1 includes a list that Hatten proposes of ten common pastoral characteristics.
(1) Compound Meters
(2) Pedal points or drone fifths in bass
(3) Harmonic stasis (e.g. V7); diatonic harmonic texture; slow harmonic rhythm
(4) Simple melodic contour
177
(5) Contrary motion between outer voices
(6) Rocking accompaniment
(7) Texture of parallel thirds
(8) Consonant appoggiatura
(9) Elaborated Resolution of dissonance
(10) Major modality
Example 1: Hatten’s List of Common Characteristics of Musical Pastorals (1994).
Like the above-mentioned authors, in this paper I will focus exclusively on purely
instrumental works, although Griffes composed both vocal and instrumental pastorals.
Regarding the theoretical approach demonstrated in this study, the simplest way of
describing it would be a patchwork quilt, for I borrow in differing proportions from
Hatten, Kofi Agawu, and Marta Grabocz. I will briefly summarize the influence each one
has had on this project. In his first book, Hatten demonstrates a protean critical vision,
fusing a collection of hermeneutic interpretations of individual works by Beethoven with a
general theory of musical meaning based on markedness. The ultimate aim of these two
complementary processes is the “reconstruction of a stylistic competency” [6]. While I am
not as committed to his concept of markedness or to his virtuosic style of interpretation, I
certainly share his fascination with opposition as an organizing principle. I, too share an
ultimate critical goal of reenacting a “stylistic competency” for Griffes’s music, although
the historical and cultural framework of that competency had shifted dramatically
between the Goethezeit and the many competing principles, programs, and manifestos that
populated the fin-de-siècle aesthetic landscape. Whereas for Hatten musical expression in
the early nineteenth century was linked to concepts such as tragedy, transcendence, and
abnegation, in the early twentieth century that framework was being called into question.
To Agawu, I am in even greater debt. In his Music as Discourse he argues that
nineteenth-century music inherited the topical traditions of the eighteenth-century and
then transformed them within new aesthetic approaches [7]. While new expressive styles
and musical topics certainly emerged in the repertoire, as meticulously identified and
classified by Janice Dickensheets [8] and Danuta Mirka [9], critics who wish to better
understand romantic music should not be content simply to discover more and more
topics and assemble longer and longer topical inventories. The challenge is to integrate
new types of topics within some kind of broader formal and/or narrative model. I am also
in strong sympathy with his frustration over some musicologists’ attempt to repudiate
formalism and his clarion call to renew studying the “musical code” within a semiotic
context. What might be called Agawu’s “menu” approach—employing between two and
six analytical rubrics—is hardly a strict analytical method. However, his failure to
construct a systematic analytical method, in my view, is a strength, not a weakness. As a
whole, his book is a cross between a Hermeneutiklehre, a genuine theory of criticism, and a
Kritikscenen or an anthology of insightful critical practice.
Finally, I must acknowledge the meticulous work of Marta Grabocz who has
adapted the semiotic theories of Greimas and Courtés to explain the expressive world of
Liszt’s instrumental music, assembling an elaborate hierarchy of seme/ classeme / semantic
isotopie [10]. Elements of Griffes’s treatment of the pastoral are analogous to her concept
of “pantheistic” seme, that is, a fusion of the pastoral and religioso semes.
178
DRAMATIC PASTORAL
There are two types of pastorals that appear in Griffes’s music: dramatic and ironic.
Dramatic pastorals are characterized by a prepared climax and ironic pastorals by a musical
peripeteia at the close. In my conception of the dramatic pastoral in Griffes’s works three
elements coincide: (a) the introduction of a new religioso texture featuring a continuous
rhythm; (b) a peak in register and dynamics; and (c) a motivic synthesis in which melodic,
rhythmic, and/or harmonic ideas heard in the opening are transformed. It is important to
stress that a section does not qualify as a “prepared climax” if it is simply a melodic apex at
a loud dynamic; it must also possess some kind of developmental function in relation to
previous motivic material as well as contain the religioso topic.
The modus operandus of this type of pastoral is a process of transformation between
a conflicting mix of topics at the outset, and a triumphant, even ecstatic chorale texture at
the moment of climax. Though the initial section often contains such markings as
languido, tranquillo or sognando, it is usually characterized by multiple and highly
contrasting musical topics either in succession or in simultaneity, only one of which is
passive or tranquil. The result is an unstable affective landscape that is ripe for change.
To claim that turn-of-the-century instrumental music is organized around a climax
is hardly news. What is new is that the “dramatic” category stretches to the limit the
conventions of the pastoral tradition. Taken by itself, the concept of climax at the very
least suggests extreme emotion, if not triumph and/or transcendence, emotions not
normally associated with shepherds’ Arcadian laments on the syrinx or its more recent
counterpart, the musette. Instead Griffes envisioned the musical pastoral as a crucible of
emotions, a dramatic framework that supports a transformation of affects, not an
evocation of a one-dimensional affect.
If we were to imagine a history of the study of musical climax, it would have
chapters devoted to William Newman [11], Ralph Kirkpatrick [12], Agawu [13], Hatten
[14], and Zohar Eitan [15]. Since time is limited, I will mention only a few highlights from
this history. The juncture Kirkpatrick identified in Scarlatti’s sonatas, called the “crux,”
where the harmonic and formal dimensions converge, is highly analogous to the formal
function of the climax in Griffes’s pastorals. Regarding the other studies of climax, all
differ significantly from mine. For example, Zohar focuses exclusively on the melodic
dimension, whereras Hatten defines two independent concepts, the crux and the apex,
which in practice could occur separately or coincide. In my approach the apex and climax
coincide and, more important, are always distinct from the peripeteia.1
A clear illustration of the “dramatic” pastoral can be found in “The White
Peacock,” one of four pieces in a set entitled Roman Sketches, Op. 7 (the set is named after
Sospiri de Roma, a collection of poems William Sharp wrote in 1891). To appreciate fully
the impact of this work’s climax let us consider how Griffes sets the stage in the opening
measures. Measures 1-6 contain a succession of three contrasting musical motives and
topics the rhythms of which are displayed in Example 2 (see Appendix). The first motive
1
In his study of Schumann, Agawu adopts the term “highpoint” rather than climax to denote a point of
rhetorical significance at which a dramatic reversal occurs, which in the context of Heine’s poetry is called
Stimmungsbrechung. According to Agawu, a highpoint could manifest itself in any of a wide range of musical
parameters such as a peak in register, dynamics, harmonic tension or textural culmination. The difference
between his notion of highpoint and mine is that in Griffes’s pastorals the climax is created by a convergence
of intensity in multiple parameters.
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is too fragmentary to express any genuine musical topic—arpeggios in both hands drawn
from the whole-tone scale that lead to a sustained B9 chord. The short rhythmic values in
this contrapuntal texture, 3 against 7, look more precise than they sound. The entire
gesture is a conflict of opposites: motion followed by stasis, two-part melody followed by
harmony. Since Griffes immediately repeats the entire gesture, this fragment becomes a
kind of musical aphorism evoking languor. Next comes a descending chromatic melodic
line in m. 2 with a repeating dotted figure on top of a steady quarter-note pulse that
together suggests a march. But the 3/2 meter makes the pattern seem off-balance. Finally,
a thick, chordal texture appears in a slower siciliano dotted rhythm. The combined effect
of this topical panorama is an ambiance of indulgence and improvisation; more important,
this languorous opening will later serve as the topical reservoir for the work’s climax.
The climactic section, mm. 38-46, ushers in the recapitulation of the opening
section and, in addition, synthesizes topics and motives heard in the opening bars. In mm.
38-41 the slow siciliano dotted figure appears as a rising octatonic melody in the left hand.
Juxtaposed against it is the initial march-like rhythm, descending through the chromatic
scale, as shown in Example 3 (see Appendix). The earlier succession of rhythmic motives
is now telescoped into a rich contrapuntal texture. Other factors that intensify this
section are a continuous rise in register through a span of three octaves and a gradual
increase in dynamics.
When the climax finally arrives in m. 43, Griffes repeats several melodic and
rhythmic features of the opening section and magnifies their proportions. First, the
melody’s expansive descent, F#7 – A4, employs two different exotic scales present in the
opening section: the whole-tone collection in the right hand from m. 1 and the octatonic
collection that derives from mm. 3-4. Second and more important, at m. 43 he introduces
a new religioso topic: a continuous quarter-note pattern in the violins that is emphasized
by tenuto articulations and that suggests a chorale (see Appendix, Example 4). This is the
longest section of continuous quarter note texture in the entire piece. Note that the
impact of this homorhythmic texture is greater in the orchestral transcription than in the
original version for solo piano since in the former he substitutes quarter note values in
place of the scintillating sixteenth-note accompaniment.
In Griffes’s hands, the musical pastoral becomes the vehicle for introducing
spiritual associations, specifically the chorale texture, without expressing any particular
spiritual faith—in short, the religioso gesture without the religion. A process of change is
at work in this piece whereby the initial conflict between traditional pastoral cues and
other contrasting topics changes into spiritual elation, euphoria, even ecstasy.
IRONIC PASTORAL
Finally, we arrive at the second type: the ironic pastoral. All contemporary
inquiries into irony ultimately fall under the shadow of Friederich Schlegel’s writings at
the turn of the nineteenth century. It could be argued that any definition of irony,
whether epic or epigrammatic in length, is doomed to fail since the term being defined
raises questions about objectivity, knowledge, and rationality. Nevertheless, in recent
years a handful of scholars have applied the concept of irony to explain musical
experience in new ways. Representative examples include the following: Esti Sheinberg
who borrows Hatten’s model of correlation to explore a wide range of ambiguity in
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Shostakovich’s music [16]; Yayoi Uno Everett who interprets Ligeti’s music, blending
Linda Hutcheon’s social conception of parody with Sheinberg’s concept of existential
irony [17]; and finally Michael Klein who revives Northrup Frye’s literary theory of
narrative archetypes to reveal new dimensions of works by Chopin and Brahms [18].
As a point of departure for exploring Griffes’s use of irony, let us assume that a
signifier (or, for Peirce, a representamen) can possess an element of ambiguity whereby it
presents two diametrically opposed meanings to a given interpretant. When translated
into a musical context, the phenomenon of ambiguity usually takes the form of a
contradiction. Scheinberg distinguishes between two different ways of approaching this
contradiction: finite and infinite irony. If the irony is finite, then one of the two
interpretations emerges as the preferred (or hidden) one and the other is rejected. In the
case of infinite irony, both interpretations are equally valid (or invalid) which leads to an
irreconcilable paradox—this type is also known as “romantic” irony. As we will see,
Griffes’s ironic pastorals are of the infinite variety.
Griffes’s occasional use of the ironic epilogue revives the Aristotelian concept of
peripeteia or turning point. In the Poetics Aristotle defines the concept as a “change of the
kind described from one state of things within the play to its opposite” and should emerge
from the “very structure and incidents of the play” [19]. Although Aristotle argues that
peripeteia and anagnorisis (or the principal character’s self-discovery) are both essential for
the dramatic form of tragedy, the model of musical irony will include only the former.
This model is defined by the principle of opposition: a climax or moment of emotional
intensity is followed by a turning point that redefines “turning” and ultimately transforms
the tonal drama of the work. The rhetoric of teleology—an introduction that culminates
in a climax and is followed by a dénoument—is undermined and makes formal closure
impossible. Griffes’s epilogues reverse the overall rhetorical direction, as if mocking the
previous moment of intensity. The final moment of reversal is the very embodiment of a
musical paradox. More disruptive than a surprise ending, they are a twist not only in the
musical “plot” but ultimately in the logic of tonality.2
One work that clearly illustrates the concept of a musical peripeteia is a slightly
earlier piano work, “The Vale of Dreams,” the first of Three Tone-Pictures, Op. 5. The
opening bars present a curious mixture of topics (see the Appendix, Example 5). To begin
with, a single dissonant chord, Bb4/2, pulsates as a syncopated ostinato in the
accompaniment from mm. 1-13. Juxtaposed against this bass ostinato is a rich amalgam of
rhythmic styles, including eighth-note triplets, a traditional pastoral dotted pattern, as
well as the more unusual reverse dotted pattern. The latter rhythm could be interpreted as
a dance type known as the Scottish strathspey in which the fiddler mixes dotted and
reverse dotted rhythms (or “Scottish snaps”) in endless combinations, always within a
duple or quadruple meter. The overall effect in Griffes’s work is rhythmic ambiguity about
where the shorter rhythm falls—either on the beat or preceding the beat.
Griffes reserves a final touch of drama for the end in that he introduces a
stunning reversal, a musical form of peripeteia, in the last chord: the first and only
statement of the tonic in a weak 6/4 inversion. The gesture leading to this chord in mm.
57-60 is like a motivic mosaic in which different voices echo pitch motives from the
opening section (see Appendix, Example 6). The half step in the bass, A – Bb, was first
2
For an alternative adaptation of Aristotle’s notion of peripeteia, see Jason T. Stell, “Rachmaninov's
Expressive Strategies in Selected Piano Preludes: Highpoints, Dramatic Models, and Dynamic Curves,”
Unpublished Master’s Thesis, Pennsylvania State University, 1999.
181
heard in reverse order in the soprano, mm. 5-6, and again in the alto, mm. 9-10. Likewise,
the descending parallel thirds in the inner voices repeat and extend the basic motivic
shape in the upper voices throughout mm. 1-10. Finally the soprano’s pitch, Eb5 is an
incomplete statement of the descending half step in mm. 4-5 in the original register.
The ironic reading of the Coda depends on a contextual understanding of an
age-old norm in tonal practice: the resolution of the V7. Throughout the initial and final
sections of this work, the harmonic texture is static, intoning the same harmony either as
a chord or arpeggio. Over the course of work the listener’s perception of this sonority
evolves so that its traditional harmonic function—instability—disappears and is gradually
replaced by a coloristic function—the major-minor seventh chord serving as pure sound.
However, when the Eb chord makes its first and only appearance at the end, it casts doubt
retrospectively on the contextually based method of interpreting the Bb7 chord as purely
coloristic. According to this view, the final chord’s rhetorical twist appears to be onedimensional,
a restoration of eighteenth-century harmonic tradition and an utter rejection
of the newly acquired contextual approach.
But there is more to the story behind this rhetorical “vale”! A deeper, doubleedged
irony is also at work here, leading us to reconsider the final cadence. By ending the
work on an Eb 6/4 chord, Griffes could just as well be poking fun at the listener’s
expectation of a final concord. In this reading, the final chord inaugurates a critical
process that questions one of the fundamental assumptions of tonal music: the distinction
between consonance and dissonance. This “tone picture” neither celebrates the intrinsic
pleasure of dissonance nor affirms the need for consonance, but instead ridicules them
both. Perhaps it is the sense of closure itself that is being turned inside out. Questions
abound. Does the final major triad restore the countenance of tonality or thumb its nose
at it? Instead of preferring one alternative over the other, is the music suggesting both—a
paradox that can be summarized as “neither either nor or”?
CONCLUSION
In these brief remarks, we have uncovered two forms of pastoral expression in
American music during the early twentieth century: the dramatic and the ironic. But,
ultimately, in the context of musical semiotics the significance of these observations is less
the discovery of some new species of pastoral than the revelation of a new sensibility
toward the pastoral tradition—one that fuses a fascination with and a distance from the
past, that mixes critical commentary and creative renewal.
182
REFERENCES
[1] Bauer, M., 1943. “Charles Griffes as I Remember Him,” The Musical Quarterly 29: 355-
80, p. 356.
[2] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
[3] Ross, A., 2008. The Rest is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century. New York: Picador,
p. 28.
[4] Emerson, R.W., 1929. “The American Scholar,” in Complete Writings of Ralph W.
Emerson. New York: W. H. Wise, vol. 1: 25-36.
[5] Hatten, R., 1994. Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and
Interpretation. Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press.
[6] Ibid., p. 10.
[7] Agawu, K., 2009. Music as Discourse: Semiotic Adventures in Romantic Analysis. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, p. 48.
[8] Dickensheets, J., 2003. “Nineteenth-Century Topical Analysis: A Lexicon of
Romantic Topoi,” Pendragon Review 2, no. 2: 5-19.
[9] Agawu summarizes Mirka’s unpublished list. See Agawu, 2009, pp. 48-49.
[10] Grobocz, M., 1996. Morphologie des Oeuvres pour Piano de Liszt: Influence du
Programme sur l’Evolution des Formes Instrumentales, 2nd
edition. Paris: Editions Kimé, p. 41.
[11] Newman, W.S., 1952. “The Climax of Music”, The Music Review 13: 283-93.
[12] Kirkpatrick, R., 1953. Domenico Scarlatti. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University
Press.
[13] Agawu, K., 1984. “Structural ‘Highpoints’ in Schumann’s Dichterliebe,” Music Analysis
3, no. 2: 159-80.
[14] Hatten, 1994.
[15] Eitan, Z., 1997. Highpoints: A Study of Melodic Peaks. Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press.
[16] Sheinberg, E., 2000. Irony, Satire, Parody and the Grotesque in the Music of Shotakovich.
Aldershot: Ashgate.
[17] Everett, Y.U., 2006. The Music of Louis Andriessen. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
[18] Klein, M., 2009. “Ironic Narrative, Ironic Reading,” Journal of Music Theory 53, no. 1:
95-136.
[19] Aristotle, 1941. The Basic Works of Aristotle, translated and edited by Richard D.
McKeon. New York: Random House, 1452-53.
183
APPENDIX
The White Peacock and Other Works for Solo Piano, by Charles Tomlinson Griffes.©
Copyright 1999 by Dover Publications, Inc. Reprinted by Permission.
Example 2: “The White Peacock,” Rhythmic motives in opening section
Example 3: “The White Peacock,” mm. 38-39
Example 4: “The White Peacock,” Orchestral transcription, violin 1 part, mm. 43-47
184
Example 5: “The Vale of Dreams,” mm. 3-6
Example 6: “The Vale of Dreams,” mm. 57-60
185
Hidden Pastorals in Janáček’s The
Makropulos Case
Jory Debenham, Lancaster University, UK
ABSTRACT
No opera of Janáček’s has been considered less lyrical and more jagged in style that of The
Makropulos Case. With sets in a law office, backstage, and in a hotel room, there seems
scant pretext for pastoral writing of the kind that fills the composer's two previous operas,
Káťa Kabanová and Cunning Little Vixen. However, the score is riddled with hidden
pastoral elements that both regulate the flow of the music and provide potent symbolic
power as emblems of the conflict between time and timelessness that animates the drama.
In The Makropulos Case, the protagonist of the story, Emilia Marty, has lived for more
than 300 years and the longevity formula she had taken has started to wear off. The story
focuses on her search to recover the lost formula, while offering a meditation on the
concept of the eternal.
Raymond Monelle argued that issues of both temporality and “topics” in music are central
to a successful understanding of a musical work. His description of the dualistic nature of
time is particularly apt in relation to Janáček’s opera: “the extended present of lyric time
becomes a space where the remembered or imagined past is reflected, while the mobility of
progressive time is a forum for individual choice and action.”1
In this paper I explore the
ways in which Janáček incorporates musical representations of chronological (progressive
time) time that are central to the plot, yet juxtaposes them with pastoral elements, creating
a counter-narrative of timelessness (lyric time). Janáček exploits this topic for its specific
musical properties, allowing him to control the flow of time while expressing the
transcendent and ethereal underlying philosophical arguments that are presented in the
opera.
HIDDEN PASTORALS IN JANÁČEK’S THE MAKROPULOS CASE
No opera of Janáček’s has been considered less lyrical and more jagged in style that
of The Makropulos Case. With sets in a law office, backstage, and in a hotel room, there
seems scant pretext for pastoral writing of the kind that fills the composer's two previous
operas, Káťa Kabanová and Cunning Little Vixen. However, the score is riddled with
hidden pastoral elements that both regulate the flow of the music and provide potent
symbolic power as emblems of the conflict between time and timelessness that animates
the drama. In The Makropulos Case, the protagonist of the story, Emilia Marty, has lived
for more than 300 years and the longevity formula she had taken has started to wear off.
The story focuses on her search to recover the lost formula, while offering a meditation on
the concept of the eternal.
1
Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton University Press, p. 115.
186
THE PASTORAL
The pastoral as a topic, or topos, has a long history in Western thought, and
according to Raymond Monelle, “Pastoralism is one of the most ancient, and longest
lived, of all literary and cultural genres” [1]. Pastoral qualities are broad in scope,
extending from the rustic Burlesque of the Scherzo of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony to the
high pastoral evocation of classical shepherds, angels and idyllic landscapes of the Baroque
cantatas and oratorios. As a general concept, the use of thirds and sixths, long harmonic
pedals representing drones, repeated notes and figures that create harmonic stasis, lilting
time signatures of 6/8 or 12/16, incorporation of folk melodies and dances, as well as
combinations of wind instruments, especially flute and oboe, are understood to create a
pastoral effect in music.
Janáček’s opera, The Makropulos Case, does not tend to conjure these images of an
idyllic environment or angelic inspiration. In fact, the setting and text of the opera is
quite the opposite. The work, based on a play by the Czech writer Karel Čapek, is a
modernist tale set amidst a legal case involving a significant inheritance that has been
disputed for more than a century. The main character, Emilia Marty, arrives on the scene
with previously unknown information about the court case. As the story unfolds, the
audience discovers that she has lived an artificially extended life as a highly acclaimed
opera singer. Her unnaturally long existence has resulted in her becoming icy and
unfeeling, seeing very little purpose to life and experiencing little joy. Her unfathomable
beauty and amazing operatic talents wreak havoc and destruction on the men she
encounters and elicit jealousy and insecurity from the women in her company. Her mighty
persona embodies both an idealized and appalling caricature of the imagined potentiality
of extended youth and longevity of life.
Janáček himself referred to his diva as “cold as ice” [2] and critics at the time
focused on the prosaic, conversational quality of the music. Čapek is often quoted as
commenting negatively on Janáček’s desire to set his prosaic work: “That old crank! Soon
he'll even be setting the local column in the newspaper [3].” And, ever since the opera’s
premiere, critics and musicologists have expounded on the modernist elements,
commenting regularly on how the opera differs from Janáček’s previous works. Why then,
would it seem appropriate or logical to analyse the work from a traditionalist vantage
point of the pastoral? I would argue that this perspective reveals a musical counternarrative
in the work that ultimately culminates in the subjective space of the final scene
where Emilia Marty has a transcendent encounter with death that offers her a profound
understanding of the meaning of life. This final scene is a major highlight of the opera and
is the aspect of the work that provides a significantly alternative reading to Čapek’s
philosophical inquiry.
In his discussion of the myth and meaning surrounding the pastoral, Monelle
highlights the connection between this musical topic and the concept of time. The
pastoral realm can be understood as a world in which “time is not experienced as a
historical or developing process [4].” Instead, this world becomes to one of philosophical
thought where the pastoral represents aspects of timelessness and eternity. Timelessness in
music is often depicted by what theorists Lewis Rowell and Jonathan Kramer refer to as
“stasis” or that in music which does not change sequentially [5]. The terms “pastoral” and
“timeless” are often linked[6] and the language of the pastoral tangibly captures the
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essence of the ephemeral, eternal and transcendental qualities that are central to Janáček’s
opera.
TIME AND TIMELESSNESS
In many writings about time, two distinctions are made; one of objective, or
physical time that can be measured by a clock, and one of subjective time. The
philosopher Edmond Husserl described the physical version as “worldly time” and the
subjective, or experiential one as “phenomenological time”. In his view, the subjective
version is privileged, with pure “consciousness” contained as a field of that subjective
space. The essence or origin of objective or cosmic time, Husserl argued, can only be
resolved by understanding it in relation to the phenomenological time and therefore the
latter is of greater importance [7]. This temporal dualism is also of central importance to
Monelle, resulting in a similar conclusion. Monelle’s version of physical time is called
“progressive time”, and is where the narrative action takes place. His rendering of
experiential time is named “lyric time”, and serves as the place where the music “seems to
present moral and emotional truth” [8].
Monelle also argued that issues of both temporality and “topics” in music are
central to a successful understanding of a musical work. His description of the dualistic
nature of time is particularly apt in relation to Janáček’s opera: “the extended present of
lyric time becomes a space where the remembered or imagined past is reflected, while the
mobility of progressive time is a forum for individual choice and action [9].” Through this
lens, Janáček’s juxtaposition of chronological (progressive time) time with pastoral
elements that create a counter-narrative of timelessness (lyric time) become central to
understanding the deeper meaning of the work. Janáček exploits these musical properties,
allowing him to control the flow of time while expressing the transcendent and ethereal
underlying philosophical arguments that are presented in the opera.
Janacek’s own views on the subject of time substantiate the relevance of these
concepts to his own work. Throughout his career, Janáček wrote and thought a great deal
about time and rhythm, and worked out complex theories and methods to incorporate
these ideas into his compositions. His theories of speech-melody describe the spoken word
as consisting of the speed of delivery and rhythm, in combination with register and
intonation. He believed that speech embodies both the internal and external aspects of an
individual, and that by consciously examining these elements, he could understand the
“inner life” and underlying character of a given speaker [10]. He went to great lengths to
develop this theory, fastidiously transcribing animal sounds and various speech utterances.
He even used a chronoscope, a time-measuring device that could measure down to a tenth
of a second, as a method of reaching exceptional precision in his transcriptions.
As an extension of his speech-melody theory, Janáček also developed another
theory he called Sčasování, a term that is in part derived from the Czech word “čas”,
which means “time” or “in time”. Through this lens, he theorized rhythmic activity as
consisting of layers that the mind produces as it processes rhythmic information. Through
the rhythm of spoken words, he believed it was possible to comprehend and feel the
expression of the soul [11]. In many of his writings and theorizations, Janáček makes it
clear that while time is central to his composition, it is the subjective aspects; the
underlying qualities associated with it, that are of interest and importance to him. In
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Makropulos in particular, it is evident that the composer incorporated multiple layers and
complexities that control both the physical and symbolic, subjective illusions of time.
On a surface level in The Makropulos Case, Janáček highlights the tangibility of the
forward movement of clock time in the narrative and uses a variety of typical techniques
such as fast tempi, shorter note values, and driving rhythms over a prominent tympani line
to literally represent the action. The opening of the prelude is a great example of this,
starting the production off with energy and urgency. Much later in the opera, in the third
act, another typical example surfaces when the diva Emilia Marty leaves the room and her
accusers proceed to clandestinely search her belongings for incriminating evidence. At
this point, the rhythmic figures and texture punctuate the scene, representing the
characters’ rapid, scurrying movements and suggesting their limited amount of time in
which to complete the search. Examples like these, where Janáček offers a musical
equivalent of chronological time, are easily found throughout the work, and generally,
they are the figures and motifs that are easiest to notice, as they command our attention
and offer a feeling of heightened intensity. However, this is not the version of time that is
of the utmost importance to the opera, but instead, I would argue that the more veiled and
subjective version or Monelle’s “lyric time” holds that position.
In the context of Makropulos, this “lyric time” is directly related to the abstract,
subjective concepts of the eternal, ageless, or immortal – all attributes that are associated
with the main character Emilia Marty’s longevity and her historical situation. Janáček
evokes this sensibility through traditional musical techniques, particularly those associated
with the pastoral, resulting in a sense of timelessness, directly juxtaposing the jagged and
angular melodic lines and the modernist narrative and setting.
FANFARES & WALTZES
The first and most pronounced musical evocation of this timelessness occurs near
the beginning of the work with an offstage fanfare that interrupts the energetic, forwarddriven
theme in the Overture, literally stopping the rhythmic flow and creating a
contrasting suspension of time. Fanfares have been used for centuries, being incorporated
into important events or to announce the appearance of a significant person. In the opera,
this fanfare motive coincides throughout with textual references to Marty’s distant past, to
her father Hieronymus Makropulos, or to Emperor Rudolph II. Janáček’s use of horns and
its signification of a noble and distant past allow this theme to serve within the larger
pastoral effect. Notably, the placing of the instruments offstage removes them from the
time and place of the stage action, symbolic both physically and acoustically of the
distance between the main character’s early years and the present time witnessed in the
opera. The fanfare thus takes on a more ethereal quality, highlighting its essence of
timelessness.
In addition to the referential aspects of the fanfare, the evocation of nostalgia and
memory is also a key feature of Janáček’s musical representation of timelessness. The cafewaltz
explicitly associated with Marty’s former lover Hauk-Šendorf is an example of this
(see Figure 1).
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Figure 1: Hauk-Šendorf Cafe Waltz (Act II, Reh. 40) 2
This theme serves, I think, not as a leitmotiv; simply a tune we can associate with
Hauk’s character and a more tender time in both Hauk’s and Marty’s lives, but rather as a
musical symbol of an idealized past that is a powerful and sentimental reminder of the
everlasting qualities of memory. While not explicitly associated with the pastoral, the
waltz was at one time a popular dance and the effect Janáček creates with it in this passage
places it well within the pastoral realm for our purposes.
A snippet of the Hauk waltz occurs later in the act when the young character Janek
leaves the stage for the last time, foreshadowing his transformation from the physical into
the realm of memory, where he becomes situated in the next act, having committed
suicide. A different, grander waltz figure arises in the final act in the orchestra, offering a
heightened energy and spaciousness, existing as if it had absorbed the essence of Hauk and
Janek and was transformed into the grander ethereal space. Finally, the piece closes with a
ten-bar majestic waltz in 3/2 time, combining with the fanfare gesture to offer a mighty
finale. From a metaphorical standpoint, it’s as if the slow café waltz evolves from Hauk’s
memory, maintaining a lineage connected to Marty that compounds tender, nostalgic
moments, and finally arrives as a powerful and passionate theme that encompasses
multiple memories and associations.
John Tyrell describes the waltz figure in the final scene as Janáček’s “most
haunting” of his slow waltzes, and suggests that it is a cathartic finale in which “the
principal character becomes reconciled to [her] fate” [12]. This catharsis, he argues is not
simply confined to the waltz, but is part of the overall interpretive message Janáček offers
to the work, and is found particularly in the music associated with Marty. The notion of
catharsis as Tyrell suggests, and the concept of Marty’s timelessness discussed here, are
interwoven and are deeply connected. The most powerful evocation of this occurs at the
moment Marty’s sentiment toward her situation is transformed and Janáček offers a
complete musical suspension of time. In the final act, Marty confesses her true identity
and collapses, feeling death’s grip come upon her. At this point the driving cross-rhythms
stop abruptly, a beautiful Maestoso and espressivo section begins, and the result is a
profound expression of the eternal or sublime. Her brush with death is not a negative
thing after all, and the alteration of her character is overwhelmingly positive, at least from
a musical standpoint.
For the remainder of the work, there is a beautiful sense of freedom in the vocal
lines, accompanied with very little rhythmic or harmonic activity. The strings move in
repeated seconds over long pedal points, evoking a true suspension of time. Only the
2
© Copyright by Universal Edition A.G., Wien. Reproduced by permission. All rights reserved.
190
fanfare and the nostalgic waltz figures punctuate the temporal space, but do so with a sense
of being background and of a distant time and place; related to the present but not of it.
THE PASTORAL AND TRANSCENDENCE
From the point of her collapse, the spiritual side of Marty’s encounter with death is
highlighted, and the music reflects her sense of transcendence. Her musical material is
angelic and aria-like, and there’s a suggestion of the timeless rituals associated with
religion, leading to her exclamation of “Pater Hemon!” her final words before she
dramatically succumbs to her fate of death. Throughout this entire passage, Janáček
evokes a strong sense of the quality of personal reflection and tradition associated with the
end of life. Interestingly, however, although it appears this simple timeless beauty and
spaciousness is only achieved once Marty has a personal encounter with “death’s grip”, it is
evident that Janáček set this moment up from the very beginning, using compositional
techniques associated with the idea of the pastoral.
From the moment Marty is introduced to the audience, through the young singer
Krista, allusions to Marty’s timeless essence are made, foreshadowing the transcendence of
the final scene. At the moment Krista arrives in Act I, our attention has been on the
angular and repetitious conversation and dialogue of the legal clerk, Vitek and the
plaintiff, Gregor. Krista’s entry is a beautiful contrast to the parallel fourths and fifths and
highly chromatic musical language of the first scene. Instead, we are treated to lilting
chords featuring sonorous thirds and sixths swaying back and forth, evoking a sense of the
pastoral as Krista explains how wonderful Marty is. The angularity and conversational
style returns until the actual entry of Marty herself. As Marty physically enters and Krista
exclaims “Good Heavens, it’s Marty!” the orchestra appears with another pastoral motive:
eighth notes flowing in long phrases over Gb and Db pedal points (see Figure 2).
Figure 2: Marty’s Arrival (Act I, Reh. 45)3
During Marty’s conversation with the lawyer Kolenaty about the court case, there
is an underlying tenderness evoked through a Dvořákian folk melody. And, as Marty
pleads for the characters to understand Pepi Prus’ true intentions with regards to his will
and the lawyer expresses his doubts, this gentle cello theme moves in warm sixths over a
held Eb, evoking Marty’s tender feelings that may not necessarily be evident in the vocal
line (see Figure 3).
3
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191
Figure 3: Folk Melody (Act I, Reh. 69)4
Other examples of pastoral tone can be found throughout the work: Marty’s arrival
in the second act occurs over a repeated note Bb pedal creating stasis; Marty’s interaction
with Gregor backstage consists of arpeggiated figures over a C pedal in the orchestral line;
many of her parts throughout the second act, as harsh as they may be in the vocal line, are
accompanied by repeated notes in the lower voice and long notes that move in thirds
above, creating a background stasis and harmony amidst a seemingly disjunct and
discordant environment.
JUXTAPOSITION AND INTEGRATION
While it seems obvious to look for pastoral aspects in Janáček’s other works, such
as The Vixen, where themes of nature and environment are central to the plot and staging,
it is easy to overlook these elements in Makropulos, with its modern, urban setting and
disjunct, non-melodic vocal lines. I would argue though, that this is where the main
strength of the work lies. As Michael Beckerman offered in his writing on Janáček opera,
“...the juxtaposition of opposing forces is Janáček’s greatest strength as a dramatist [13].”
In the opera version of The Makropulos Case, Janáček’s most profound juxtaposition
can be found in his manipulation of the pastoral language to reflect the dual narratives
relating to the temporal spaces surrounding time and timelessness. Whereas Čapek’s
version highlights physical time, focusing on philosophical ruminations on the number of
years a person should live, Janáček offers a counter-narrative that explores and expresses
the opposite. Instead, he highlights the ethereal, subjective and non-verbal aspects we can
ascribe to so many of the themes and elements of the work; those of love, loss, longevity
and spirituality. In this work, Janáček is the master illusionist; offering an impression of a
“talky”, non-melodic vocal line, while drawing on lyrical models, and foregrounding a
modern, mechanical, urban setting against the ethereal timelessness evoked by the
displaced fanfare, the nostalgic waltz, and the pastoral language throughout. With a
dexterous sleight of hand, he cleverly integrates these concepts, manipulating our
perceptions of the temporal space, adding depth and profundity to Čapek’s already
masterful dramatic work.
4
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192
REFERENCES
[1] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Indiana University
Press, p. 185.
[2] Tyrrell, J., 1992. Janáček’s Operas: A Documentary Account by the Composer. Princeton
University Press, p. 309.
[3] Sheppard, J., 2009. Janáček’s Makropulos and the Case of the Silent Diva. The Opera
Quarterly. 25, 1-2 (Jan. 2009), p. 55.
[4] Monelle, R., 2006, p. 195.
[5] Blandino, M.V., 2006. Musical Time and Revealed Timelessness. Louisiana State
University.
[6] Beckerman, M.B., 2003. New Worlds of Dvořák: Searching in America for the Composer’s
Inner Life W. W. Norton & Company, p. 142.; Shore, D.R. 1985. Spenser and the Poetics of
Pastoral: A Study of the World of Colin Clout. McGill-Queens, p. 12; Monelle, R. 2006.
(Many others can be found with a simple Google search).
[7] Summarized from Fuchs, W.W., 1976. Phenomenology and the Metaphysics of Presence:
An Essay in the Philosophy of Edmund Husserl. Springer, p. 62-64.
[8] Monelle, R., 1997. Musical uniqueness as a function of the text. Applied Semiotics. 2, 4,
p. 56.
[9] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton University Press, p.
115.
[10] Wingfield, P., 1992. “Janáček’s Speech-Melody Theory in Concept and Practice,”
Cambridge Opera Journal 4, no. 3, p. 282.
[11] Beckerman, M.B., 1994. Janáček as Theorist. Pendragon Press, p. 82-3.
[12] Tyrrell, J., 1987. “The Cathartic Slow Waltz and Other Finale Conventions in
Janáček’s Operas”, in Music and Theatre: Essays in Honour of Winton Dean. Nigel Fortune,
ed., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, p. 351.
[13] Beckerman, M.B., 1995. “Pleasures and Woes: The Vixen’s Wedding Celebration” in
Janácek and Czech Music : Proceedings of the International Conference (Saint Louis, 1988).
Michael Brim Beckerman, Glen Bauer ed., International Conference and Festival,
Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, pp. 52-3.
193
Deracinated, Dysphoric and Dialogised: the
Wild and Beguiled. Semiotics of
Stravinsky’s Topical Signifiers
Nicholas Peter McKay, PhD, The University of Sussex, UK
ABSTRACT
Stravinsky's “transposition” and use of established musical topoi offer an intriguing case
study for the semiotician versed in Monelle's readings of musical topics and the sense of
music. Dialogised from the outset by the composer's anti-expressive, formalist polemics,
Stravinsky's use of extroversive semiosis brings to mind the lyrics of an Ella Fitzgerald’s
song: one is “bewitched, bothered and bewildered” at the simultaneously ‘wild’ and
‘beguiled’ play of his referential signs.
The convention-breeching and deceptive sense of Stravinsky's signifiers results primarily
from three stylistic and rhetorical strategies common to most of his topical references.
Stravinsky deploys topics: i) in deracinated contexts, displaced from their natural stylistic,
geographic and semiotic homes; ii) in dysphoric states, confronting Monelle's assertion
that topics are prototypically euphoric signifiers built on a culturally mediated separation of
signifier and signified; and iii) through dialogised utterances akin to Hatten's notion of
“the troping of topics”.
Focussing on close readings of Stravinsky's music theatre and concert repertoire, this
paper builds on Monelle's discussion of “apodeitic complicity” - evidenced here in the
relationship elicited between Stravinsky's referential signs and listener responses to them and
highlights what (following Hatten) can be read as Stravinsky's “stylistically and
strategically marked” deployment of genres as surrogate stylistic topics (e.g. chorale,
quartet, concerto etc.). This latter rhetorical conceit comprises a twentieth-century
analogue of the eighteenth-century use of dance forms (e.g. minuet, musette etc.) both as
self-contained genres (“forms”) and as fleeting referential topics (“styles”) operating
across a variety of genres; a distinction noted by Ratner and Agawu. In this respect,
Stravinsky's music both presents and problematises “new”, emergent musical topics in the
Western European repertoire of the last two centuries. A Monellean semiotic reading of
Stravinsky’s musical topics thus offers vital hermeneutic and historicist keys to
understanding their wild and beguiled natures, leaving us bewitched, bothered and
bewildered no more.
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TOPICS AND CONVENTION
Topics as familiar, intertextual, commonplaces of style
Ratner described musical topics as “commonplaces of style” [1]. Allenbrook
referred to the inbuilt “intertextuality of the classical style” [2]. As such descriptions attest,
“referential signs” [3] are prototypically grounded on conventional signifiers. They have an
inbuilt tendency to behave themselves. Their musical life blood courses only when they
evoke in collective listeners a sense of interconnected similarity: of hearing again in a
musical moment an instance of something stylistically familiar enough to activate a readymade,
learned cultural response. The referential signs of musical topics thus present a
kind of semi-automatic hermeneutic tool for comprehending what Monelle calls “the
sense of music” [4].
Hearing the difference or uniqueness of any particular topical reference, though
vital, is necessarily a secondary interpretative process, possible only when one's perceptual
frame of reference has first been securely cued by the familiar gestures and syntactic
parameters of the recognizable, governing topic. In this respect all topic readings
participate to a degree in what Monelle terms acts of apodeitic complicity: [5] the drawing
of a generalised inference (a topic or “type”) from a particular instance (a “token”) that
displays the recognisable syntactic hallmarks of a stylistic-semantic idea we accept at face
value. Topical references may subsequently be prototypical, stereotypical or even atypical
[6] to varying degrees but it is rare for topical references to challenge the topos they
invoke through defamiliarisation devices that bring into question the very commonalities
and intertexts on which they are built.
Stravinsky’s aesthetic defamiliarisation
Defamiliarisation (also known as alienation), however, is the default rhetorical
gambit of Stravinsky's musical language [7]. Across his Russian, neoclassical and serial
works, he has made a well-documented career calling card of aesthetic distancing devices
in most of his musical output. Commentators have tended to focus largely on (“pure”)
signs of defamiliarisation manifest in Stravinsky's musical syntax, highlighting moments of
“ungrammatically” evident in techniques such as polyrhythm, [8] polychordality and
‘wrong-note’ neoclassic harmony; [9] even dialogised genres (e.g. the use of symphony and
sonata forms that question the formal conventions they simultaneously evoke) [10]. Less
well-documented, however, are discussions of the composer's (“referential”) signs of
stylistic ungrammatically: the simultaneous evocation of, and distancing from, topical
references [11].
This is perhaps to be expected given the composer's equally well-documented antiexpressive
aesthetic ideology [12]. Why look for referential signs (behaving or
misbehaving) in music constructed by one who advocated that music was “essentially
powerless to express anything at all” [13]? Yet Stravinsky's music participates in rhetorical
strategies of stylistic defamiliarisation just as much as it does syntactic. To allude to the
lyrics of a famous 1940s Rodgers and Hart song, one can talk of the simultaneously “wild”
(critiquing) and “beguiling” (evoking) nature of his topical references. Expressively
evocative and enigmatic in equal measure, they “bewitch, bother and bewilder” when
subjected to music semiotic readings. Building on Monelle's insights into musical topoi,
195
this paper thus considers three common rhetorical strategies through which Stravinsky's
topical references characteristically encode elements of stylistic ungrammatically. With a
shamelessly contrived alliterative allusion to that same Rodgers and Hart song, these three
strategies can be summarised as the “deracinated, dysphoric and dialogized” play of
Stravinsky's wild and beguiling referential signs.
STRAVINSKY’S DERACINATED, DYSPHORIC AND DIALOGISED TOPICS
Deracinated topics
The deracinated topic, as the term suggests, is one that is somehow uprooted or
displaced from its natural locale or geography. Here one recalls Ratner's historicising
trichotomy of musical topoi as signifiers of different levels of nobility (from high to low
style), specificity (from Turkish march to generic march style) and locale (from the
battlefield to the ballroom) [14]. One also recalls Monelle’s important de-historicising
caveat (pace Ratner) of the separation of signifiers from signifieds: the pastoral musette of
art music is an ideological evocation of an imagined bucolic repose bearing little or no
resemblance to any practical sonic tools of shepherding ever heard in the countryside (just
as the hunting and military musical topoi bare scant resemblance to anything ever
sounded on horseback chase or in battlefield combat) [15]. While Ratner is right to
suggest that many topics correlate to specific locales or geographies, Monelle’s important
historical work (aptly described by Spitzer as “out-historicising the historians” [16]) shows
that all musical topoi are to a degree deracinated from the locales or geographies they
evoke. Yet, while such is to be expected of any representation (be it in visual, literary or
musical art) that is at heart a stylised ideological conceit, Stravinsky has a tendency to
willfully deracinate his musical topics a degree further still.
Pastoralism in Oedipus Rex
Take for example his two relatively large scale operas, Oedipus Rex and The Rake's
Progress. Master-classes both in syntactic and stylistic distancing devices, they are replete
in examples of what we might term the “stylistic”, “temporal” and “geographic”
deracination of topics. Staying with the example of the pastoral topic, the Shepherd’s aria
in Act 2 of Oedipus Rex presents a simple example of a geographically and temporally
deracinated topic [17]. Among its other pastoral signifiers (the pseudo-Siciliano
compound time signature and dotted-rhythm lilt) is heard a prototypical ostinato drone
bass, not of anything endemic to Greece (Ancient or modern), befitting the narrative of
Sophocles's tragedy, but of a ranz des vaches [18]: an Alpine horn drone characteristic of
Swiss Herdsmen–doubtless something Stravinsky heard while exiled in Switzerland
between 1914 and 1920; a few years before completing his opera-oratorio in 1926. Here,
then, Stravinsky employs an off-the-peg musical topic willfully deracinated by time and
place from contemporary Alpine Switzerland to Ancient Greece.
The ranz des vaches is not so deracinated by instrument, however. It is rendered by
two bassoons acting as “surrogate stimuli” [19] for the more penetrative sound of the
double-reed instrument (the aulόs of ancient Greece) likely to have been used in
shepherding. In this respect, Stravinsky’s use of the pastoral topic is not only temporally
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and geographically deracinated (while preserving a stylistic association with shepherding),
but curiously breeches Monelle’s caveat on the separation of signifiers and signifieds.
Resisting the historically inaccurate (but more evocative of pastoral Arcadia) panpipe/syrinx-inspired
‘soft and caressing’ flutes (that Monelle reminds us Debussy and
Mallarmé imagined in L’Après-midi d’un Faune) [20], Stravinsky opts instead for the more
authentic double-reed sound; albeit one playing a drone from an altogether other time and
place.
Pastoralism in The Rake’s Progress
Stylistic deracination by time and place forms the very fabric–perhaps even the
underlying metaphor–of Stravinsky’s other major opera, The Rake’s Progress. Its principle
concern too is with the pastoral [21], less as an isolated, stylistic, referential topic in itself
(the opening “The woods are green” duet and trio being the obvious exception), more as
an allegory of “a lost pastoral”, indicative of the “impossibility of return” to a state of bliss:
be it the idyllic countryside after the shallow machinations of London city (as suggested in
the diegesis of the opera) or, as Wiebe argues, to the very (meta-narrative) conventions of
opera itself [22]. By the 1950s those conventions and that genre were “adjudged by all
respected circles to be long since dead”, leaving Stravinsky and Auden (themselves both
deracinated from their cultural homelands in Los Angeles in the 1940s) to effectively
(re)construct a set-piece opera, picking over the “detritus of some other time and place” to
which no genuine return could be made.
The result is an entire opera teeming with allusive (topical/genre) and explicit
(quotations) referential signs deracinated from their natural time and place; synthetic by
their very nature. Stravinsky seems to employ explicit quotation from this operatic
‘detritus’ to draw dramatic parallels more than rely on general, allusive topical references.
Tom and Anne’s Act II, scene 2, “discovery duet” (“Anne! Here!”), for example, is voiced
through a comparable “discovery duet” between Gilda and Rigoletto in Act II of Verdi’s
Rigoletto (“Signori in essa è tutta la mia famiglia”). Here Rigoletto discovers that Gilda
was seduced by the Duke, while Anne discovers that Tom has been seduced by the
attractions of London [23]. Continuing the theme, Tom’s Act I, scene 2, “Love, too
frequently betrayed” cavatina, complete with answering Prostitutes’ chorus, is modeled
closely on the Act I, scene 5 (quasi-pastoral) quintet, “Di scrivermi ogni giorno” of
Mozart’s Così fan tutte. Here both numbers are concerned with the topic of love’s
potential betrayal and, as Wiebe observes, both resonate a ‘duplicity’ which is not
reflected in the beauty of the music [24].
Personified quotation and characteristic topic of lament in Oedipus Rex
This use of explicit quotation (what we might term tropes of prosopopoeia for their
personification of another voice) over more characteristic, allusive musical topoi (what we
might term tropes of ethopoeia for their more general evocation of stylistic traits) [25] is
itself a hallmark of Stravinsky’s aesthetic defamiliarisation. A more sharply attuned
referential sign, quotation exhibits more stylistic precision than that typically found in
conventional musical topoi; a precision that Stravinsky uses as much to dialogise his music
as to draw dramatic parallels. Returning momentarily to Oedipus Rex, consider the
example of the Act I aria, Invidia fortunam odit, in which Oedipus boastfully accuses Creon
and Tiresias of envy and conspiracy explicitly set to the pianto-(topic of lament)-ridden
197
music [26] of the Qui Mariam absolvisti from the Ingemisco of the Dies Iræ of Verdi’s Messa
da Requiem: a stylistic and semantic cross-matching of Verdi’s penitential guilt with
Oedipus’s egotistical, boastful, accusative reassertion of innocence [27]. Here, in contrast
to the personified tropes of The Rake’s Progress, Stravinsky appears to call on (the
prosopopoeia of) explicit quotation–here infused with (the ethopoeia of the pianto topic of
lament)–more to invoke a “dissonant”, dialogised referential sign than a resonant dramatic
parallel. (As such, it constitutes an example of Stravinsky’s third type of stylistic
ungrammatically discussed below.) Regardless of their relative degrees of
stylistic/semantic-dramatic resonance or dialogism, these “operatic” referential signs,
however, remain deracinated in time and place. They are resonances or traces of what
Stravinsky termed “disjecta membra” [28]; in this case from an “Italian” operatic tradition
long since wrecked.
Dysphoric topics
If Stravinsky’s use of deracinated topics and quotations generates wild and
beguiling musical signs primarily from a temporal, geographic and sometimes stylistic
displacement of referential signs, his second strategy, the use of referential signs in
dysphoric states, comes more from the simple act of breaching the convention for topics to
sound prototypically in euphoric states. Monelle states this convention clearly with
examples from the noble horse topic (the euphoric male knight astride a galloping destrier
vs. the dysphoric witch upon her goat or broomstick) [29] and the hunt (the euphoric
heroic parforce hunt of the Middle Ages vs. the dysphoric chasse aux toiles with its ignoble,
squalid encircled herding of a collective group hunted en masse)–even going so far as to
assert that “the dysphoric aspects of the chasse aux toiles are nowhere present in the
musical topic” [30]. I have elsewhere essayed how Stravinsky’s Jeu du Rapt section of The
Rite of Spring appears to contravene Monelle’s assertion, paradoxically celebrating the
dysphoric horn calls of the cornet de chasse (simple rhythmic horn calls spanning a fourth
in imitation of the primarily rhythmic early hunting horns) depicting in both
choreography and music the ritual abduction of multiple female quarry taken from a
collective pool by encircling male hunters–whose threatening, thrusting, stamping
gestures synchronise to the rhythm of the calls [31]. Neither in music nor balletic action
does Stravinsky’s hunt in any way resemble the imagined noble ideals of the parforce hunt
with its evocative melodic horn calls. The dysphoria here is again in part, the result of
Stravinsky’s failure to follow the classical topic convention of separating signifiers from
signifieds (recoursing to stark rhythmic calls resembling those practical enough to have
sounded during a hunt in place of the more imagined ideal of melodic calls possible only
on instruments impractical for horseback hunting). Ultimately, however, it is the musicochoreographic
celebration of the terror of the chasse aux toiles over the nobility of the
heroic parforce hunt of a single quarry; a terror gendered here as threatening collective
male power exerted on encircled, herded females as perhaps befits Stravinsky, Roerich and
Nijinsky’s portrayal of this ritualised pagan-time Khorovod game of abduction facilitating
cross-tribal breeding [32].
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Dialogised topics
The third common strategy of Stravinsky’s use of referential signs, their dialogised
deployment, has already been previewed above in the stylistic-semantic cross-matching of
Oedipus’s assertive Invidia fortunam odit aria with the pianto-lament of Verdi’s Qui Mariam
absolvisti. Here Stravinsky presents a classic example of what, in literary theory, Bakhtin
terms “double-voicing” [33]: the simultaneous bifurcation of two opposed voices (e.g.
Stravinsky-Verdi; neoclassic-melodramatic; modernist-Romantic; assertive-supplicating;
egotistic-lamentation) in a single musical utterance. The concept is not at all dissimilar to
Hatten’s notion of the “troping of topics” [34] where two or more active topoi suffuse in a
given musical moment. While Oedipus’s aria draws on both prosopopoeitic (quotation) and
ethopoeitic (topoi) for its referential signs, Hatten’s concept is geared more towards the
ethopoeitic double-voicing of musical topics.
For an example of this, one has only to return to the Shepherd’s aria of that same
opera-oratorio (discussed above as an example of a deracinated topic). As I have
elsewhere noted, the pastoralism of that ranz des vaches bass drone and lilting Siciliano
melody is in fact “suffused (troped) with the lament of the weeping pianto, amplified by its
‘infinity of laments’ figure, the passus duriusculus (descending minor seconds over a
fourth)” all rendered in a relatively unambiguous Bb minor [35]. The Shepherd’s aria is
therefore not just deracinated but also dialogised as a pastoral-lament with referential signs
pulling in both topical directions. In this regard the aria can also be seen as dysphoric,
certainly in relation to the more euphoric pastoralism depicted in Beethoven’s Sixth
Symphony or indeed the opening pastoral duet and trio of The Rake’s Progress discussed
above. This simple aria thus reveals on closer hermeneutic probing all three of
Stravinsky’s strategies of stylistic “ungrammatically” at play. It presents a simultaneously
deracinated, dysphoric and dialogised topical reference par excellence precisely because
these “wild” elements of stylistic deviance that contravene the prototypical conventions of
topical discourse remain so beguiling: they “amuse, charm and delight” as much as they
“deceive, distract and divert”.
INSTRUMENTAL GENRES AS TOPICS
By way of conclusion, I present one brief and final extension to this discussion of
Stravinsky’s tripartite strategies for deploying referential signs marked by their
ungrammatically. In addition to the ethopoeitic evocation of general, stylistic topics and
the prosopopoeitic personification of particular musical quotation, Stravinsky has one
further prominent tool of extroversive semiosis: the tendency to employ genres as language
styles within a given work; language styles which–as with his topical and quotational
signs–carry with them associative expressive meanings and ideologies. The technique is
by no means unique to Stravinsky. Agawu clearly articulates that many classical topoi
exist both as language styles and as independent genres (Baroque and Classical dance
forms such as the sarabande, gavotte, minuet etc. immediately spring to mind) [36].
Chorales are another Baroque genre that has migrated to the status of musical topoi–one
replete with associations of religiosity and congregational univocality. They figure
prominently in Stravinsky’s music both as discrete genres (the Symphonies of Wind
Instruments’ isolated chorale in memoriam for Debussy, the final piece of the Three Pieces
199
for String Quartet etc.) and as passing stylistic topics (the curtain rise of Petrushka [Figures
7-11] etc.); both prone to elements of syntactic and stylistic ungrammatically (e.g.
parallel/conjunct motion, wide chordal spacing etc. in addition to the trademark
deracinated, dysphoric and dialogised deployment).
The most common strategy employed by Stravinsky, however, is to dialogise one
genre against its typical language style. While Cone, Straus and Cross have all
commented on Stravinsky’s dialogised use of sonata form genres, their observations are
confined largely to matters of syntax (e.g. the tendency of a leading-note to act as a
surrogate/synthetic tonic or the superimposition of an arch form over a sonata form) [37].
Stravinsky’s dialogised use of genre as a language style in the Bakhtinian sense, however, is
arguably more prominent as a rhetorical trope. This can occur in one of two prominent
ways. As I have argued elsewhere, the middle piece of Stravinsky’s Three Pieces for String
Quartet relies on the use of absent or negated referential signifiers of prototypical string
quartet textures, phrasing and gestures to such an over-coded degree that the work can be
read as an allotropic quartet: existing simultaneously as both a quartet and anti-quartet
(the lyrical, legato, teleologically-phrased quartet transformed into a repetitive, percussive
machine of seemingly haphazard gestures expunging all traces of theme from the scene)
[38].
While this Turanian period [39] use of genre codes as a referential sign relies largely
on absent or negated signifiers, Stravinsky’s hallmark neoclassic genre relies more heavily
on dialogising present signifiers of two or more conflated (“troped”) genres. The opening
of the Symphony of Psalms is an excellent example of this rhetorical gambit [40].
Obliterating the penitential, supplicating language style one might expect to accompany
Psalm 38, v. 13-14, the orchestra fires off with a virtuosic language style more befitting a
piano etude replete with rapid passage work, fistfuls of chords and extreme registers.
When the anticipated subdued lyrical language style finally appears, it is presented in a
sequence of “compound utterances of dual styles” troped or double-voiced “in selfcontradictory
opposition with one another (medieval plainchant penitence vs.
eighteenth/nineteenth-century piano etude virtuosity)”.
Whether by topical reference, explicit quotation or genre styles, Stravinsky’s use of
referential signifiers thus bewitch, bother and bewilder in equal measure. They display a
tendency to subvert or play with the conventional rules of topics and musical signification
as outlined by Monelle’s compelling semiotic work. By deploying these referential signs in
deracinated, dysphoric and dialogised forms, Stravinsky compounds not only the syntax,
but also the sense of music.
REFERENCES
[1] Ratner, L. G. 1980. Classic music: expression, form and style, New York, Schirmer
books.
[2] Allanbrook, W. J. 1996. “‘To serve the private pleasure’: expression and form in the
string quartets.” Wolfgang Amadè Mozart: Essays on His Life and His Music. Oxford:
Clarendon Press, p. 134.
[3] The distinction between the extroversive semiosis of ‘referential signs’ and their
introversive ‘pure sign’ counterpart is drawn in Agawu, V. K. 1991. Playing with signs: a
semiotic interpretation of classical music, Princeton, New Jersey, Princeton University
200
Press. For a further discussion of this distinction see McKay, N. P. 2007a. On topics today.
Zeitschrift der Gesellschaft für Musiktheorie, 4, pp. 159-183.
[4] Monelle, R. 2000. The sense of music: semiotic essays, Princeton, New Jersey,
Princeton University Press.
[5] Ibid, p. 134.
[6] For a discussion of these different types of “typicality”, see Lakoff, G. 1990. Women,
fire, and dangerous things: what categories reveal about the mind, Chicago and London,
The University of Chicago Press.
[7] See for example Adorno, T. 1973. Philosophy of modern music, London, Sheed &
Ward; Albright, D. 1989; Stravinsky: the music box and the nightingale, New York,
Gordon and Breach; Bernstein, L. 1976. The unanswered question: six talks at Harvard,
Cambridge, Massachusetts and London, England, Harvard University Press; Walsh, S.
1993. Stravinsky: Oedipus Rex, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press; Watkins, G.
1994. Pyramids at the Louvre: music, culture, and collage from Stravinsky to the
postmodernists, Harvard, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.
[8] Bernstein, L. 1976; Boulez, P. 1991. Stocktakings from an apprenticeship, Oxford,
Clarendon.
[9] Andriessen, L. & Schönberger, E. 1989. The apollonian clockwork on Stravinsky,
Oxford, Oxford University Press; Bernstein, L. 1976.
[10] Cross, J. 1998. The Stravinsky legacy, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press;
Kielian-Gilbert, M. 1991. “Stravinsky's contrasts: contradiction and discontinuity in his
neoclassical music”. Journal of musicology, IX, 448-480; Straus, J. N. 1990. Remaking the
past: musical modernism and the influence of the tonal tradition, Cambridge, Mass.,
Harvard University Press; Straus, J. N. 1987. “Sonata form in Stravinsky”, in Haimo, E. &
Johnson, P. (ed.) Stravinsky retrospectives. Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska
Press; Hyde, M. 2003. “Stravinsky's neoclassicism”, in Cross, J. (ed.) The Cambridge
companion to Stravinsky. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
[11] While Straus has articulated a theory of what he terms musical topics operating in
Stravinsky’s music (see Straus, J. N. 2001. Stravinsky's late music, Cambridge University
Press, pp.183-248), I have elsewhere critiqued this application of so-called topic theory for
confusing what might be termed a private idiolect of secret (largely syntactic) codes with
the broader commonalities (and cross-composer intertextuality) of style required of
conventional referential topics. See McKay, N. P. 2009. Ethnic cleansing, anxious
influence and secret codes: a semiotician's guide to Stravinsky's musicological afterlife and
its archaeological contra-factum, in Tarasti, E. (ed.) Before and after music: acta semiotica
Fennica. Helsinki: The international semiotics institute.
[12] Stravinsky, I. 1990. An autobiography (1903-1934), London, Marion Boyars
Publishers Ltd, p. 53; Stravinsky, I. 1994. Poetics of music in the form of six lessons,
Harvard, Harvard University Press, pp.80-81; Stravinsky, I. 1924. “Some ideas about my
Octuor”. The Arts. Brooklyn, pp. 4-6.
[13] Stravinsky, I. 1990, p. 53.
[14] Ratner, L. G. 1991. “Topical content in Mozart's keyboard sonatas”. Early music, 19,
pp. 615-619.
[15] Monelle, R. 2006. The musical topic: hunt, military and pastoral, Bloomington,
Indiana University Press, pp. 35, and 207-208,
[16] Spitzer, M. 2002. Review: The sense of music: semiotic essays by Raymond Monelle.
Music & Letters, 83, pp. 506-9.
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[17] For a fuller discussion of this example, see McKay, N. 2012. Dysphoric states:
Stravinsky's topics - huntsmen, soldiers and shepherds, in Sheinberg, E. (ed.) Music
semiotics: a network of significations in honour and memory of Raymond Monelle.
Farnham: Ashgate.
[18] Walsh, S. 1993, pp. 52-53.
[19] Eco, U. 2000. Kant and the platypus, London, Vintage, p. 356.
[20] Monelle, R. 2006, pp. 207-208.
[21] See for example Chew, G. 1993. “Pastoral and neoclassicism: a reinterpretation of
Auden's and Stravinsky's Rake's Progress”. Cambridge opera journal, 5, pp. 239-263;
Straus, J. N. 1991. “The progress of a motive in Stravinsky's The Rake's Progress”. The
journal of musicology, 9, pp. 165-185.
[22] Wiebe, H. 2009. “The Rake's Progress as Opera Museum”. Opera Quarterly, 25, pp.6-
27.
[23] For a discussion of this intertextual reference see Cantoni, A. 1994. “Verdi e
Stravinskij”. Studi Verdiani, 10, pp. 127-54; McKay, N. 2001. “Oedipus's Requiem:
Verdi's ‘voice’ in Stravinsky”, in Seat, F. D., Marvin, R. M. & Marcia, M. (eds.) Verdi
2001, Firenze: L. S. Olschki, pp. 411-441.
[24] Wiebe, H. 2009, p. 18.
[25] For definitions of prosopopoeia and ethopoeia, see Lanham, R. A. 1991. A handlist of
rhetorical terms, Berkeley, University of California Press.
[26] For a discussion of the pianto topic of lament, see Monelle, R. 2000, pp. 66-76.
[27] For a detailed discussion of this dialogised reference to Verdi see McKay, N. 2001.
[28] Stravinsky, I. & Craft, R. 1968. Dialogues and a diary, London, Faber, p. 129.
[29] Monelle, R. 2000, pp. 62-63.
[30] Monelle, R. 2006, p. 95.
[31] McKay, N. 2012.
[32] Taruskin, R. 1996. Stravinsky and the Russian traditions: a biography of the works through
“Mavra”, Oxford, Oxford University Press, p. 873
[33] See Korsyn, K. 1999. “Beyond privileged contexts: intertextuality, influence and
dialogue”, in Cook, N. & Everist, M. (eds.) Rethinking Music. Oxford: Oxford University
Press, pp.55-72; McKay, N. P. 2007b. “‘One for all and all for one’: voicing in Stravinsky's
music theatre”. The Journal of Music and Meaning [Online], 5.
[34] Hatten, R. S. 2004. Interpreting musical gestures, topics, and tropes: Mozart, Beethoven,
Schubert, Bloomington, Ind., Indiana University Press, pp. 68-89.
[35] McKay, N. 2012. For a discussion of the pianto and passus duriussculus topoi see
Monelle, R. 2000, pp. 66-76.
[36] Agawu, V. K. 1991, p. 32.
[37] Cone, E. T. 1963. “The uses of convention: Stravinsky and his models”, in Lang, P.
H. (ed.) Stravinsky: a new appraisal of his work. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc,
Cross, J. 1998; Straus, J. N. 1987.
[38] McKay, N. P. 2003. “Igor's eccentric gestures: a semiotic decoding of Stravinsky's
syntax with markedness theory”, in Tarasti, E. (ed.) Musical semiotics revisited: Acta
semiotica Fennica. Helsinki: The international semiotics institute.
[39] Taruskin, R. 1996, p. 1167.
[40] For a detailed discussion of this example see McKay, N. P. 2007b.
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Topics and Scripts as Imitation in Opera:
The Rake’s Progress (1947-1951) by
Stravinsky, Auden, And Kallman
Bienvenido Arana Rodríguez, Université March-Bloch de Strasbourg, FR
ABSTRACT
This paper aims at introducing those lieux communs that can be easily identified by an
opera spectator with a previous knowledge of other works. In order to explain this kind of
correlation process, I will use the concept of “topic” and how it is applied to the Rake’s
Progress. I will also extend the idea of “topic” to those lieux communs where the narrative
action is a key element. In this case, I will adapt the notion of “script” so it can be applied
to the stereotyped narrative sequences.
INTRODUCTION
Anyone who has ever attended the performance of The Rake’s Progress will have
notice lots of references bringing him back to the music of old times. This fundamental
characteristic of the opera by Stravinsky, Auden and Kallman has led many scholars to
think about the possibility of the use of certain compositions by other composers. To
further this hypothesis, Stravinsky explained the sources that inspired him to articulate
the work: Così fan tutte by Mozart, in addition of the engravings collection created by
William Hogarth (1735) [1]. One of the most common analyses of The Rake’s Progress has
focused on revealing some hidden texts [2] – the hypotexts, as well as trying to find the
“mystery” that provokes the familiarity of the work in the spectator. The question is: can a
spectator identify the material of other specific works, or just certain commonplaces?
The Rake’s has a very rich variety of elements that can be found through the opera
tradition, particularly during the eighteenth-century. It is not just an opera, but an opera
of operas [3]. This is, a great pastiche that offers a summary of the opera tradition that
attempts to mimic all kinds of conventions and stereotyped formulae ranging from the use
of old genres, types and musical styles to well-known scenes.
In The Rake’s we can see general musical types such as the secco recitatives, the
accompanied recitatives, the ariosos, the arias, the ensembles, the choruses and the
overtures. We can also find more specific musical types such as the da capo aria (“The
woods are green”, act 1, scene I), the cavatina (“Love, too frequently betrayed, act 1, scene
II), the cabaletta (“I go, I go to him”, act 1, scene III), the lamento aria (“Vary the song, O
London”, act 2, scene I) and the lamento chorus (“Mourn of Adonis”, act 3, scene III). All
these musical types are treated from the perspective of imitation. In addition, the libretto
is based on the Faust myth, a theme, that although it was not common during the
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eighteenth-century it certainly was a recurrent theme in the nineteenth-century1
. All
these elements together with others that I will explain below make of this work an opera
that goes beyond the use of materials from other authors; it is rather a work that uses
recurrent elements that are present throughout the operatic repertoire.
TOPICS
The first notion I will use for the analysis of this opera is the theory of topics, for
which I will build mainly upon Wye Allanbrook’s and Raymond Monelle’s approaches [4].
Note the following table:
Introduction Military
Act 1, scene I Pastoral (march, horse, minuet, gigue, fanfare)
Act 1, scene II Military (march, fanfare, pastoral, pianto, siciliana)
Act 1, scene III Pastoral (gigue, horse)
Act 2, scene I Pastoral (lamento, passus duriusculus, hunt, minuet, tarantella)
Act 2, scene II Military (overture, march, sarabande)
Act 2, scene III Pastoral / military (march, minuet, fanfare)
Act 3, scene I (Minuet, march, fanfare)
Act 3, scene II Funeral (French overture, march, pastoral, prélude pour clavecin, fanfare)
Act 3, scene III (Pastoral, march, minuet, contredanse, siciliana, funeral, pianto)
Epilogue Military
Table I: Global/specific topics
In the table above we can see the global and specific topics that appear in The
Rake’s Progress. The left column is divided by the opera scenes, beside the introduction
and epilogue. The right column shows the topics that articulate every scene. The brackets
indicate the topics that occupy either the whole of an opera number or a part of it. For
example, the topic “pastoral” appears on almost every number of the first scene of the
opera, while the topics “march”, “horse” and “fanfare” as well as the types of dance
“minuet” or “gigue” appear in a single number or at specific times of a single number. Due
to the small size of this paper, I will only briefly treat “siciliana”, “military march” and
“sarabande” topics.
Siciliana topic
The “siciliana” or “siciliano” topic belongs to the “pastoral” genre [5]. The example
taken for this paper is the latest number of the scene II of act 1. The scenic setting is a
brothel, where the main character – Tom Rakewell, accompanied by Nick Shadow – is
seduced by a prostitute. But to understand the use of this topic is necessary to advance
some of the libretto. The first act of the opera happens in a country house. This is where
Tom and his dear love, Anne, after declaring their eternal love for each other, are
surprised by the arrival of Nick, who informs Tom that he has received an inheritance
from an uncle who lived in the city. After saying goodbye to Anne and her father, Tom
and Nick leave for the city to take over the inheritance. Before leaving, however, Tom
1
E.g., La Damnation de Faust (1846) by Berlioz or Faust (1859) by Gounod.
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asked Nick about his fees for helping him, to which the latter replied that he will be
charged once a year has elapsed. In the scene II, set in a brothel, Nick tries to pervert Tom
by leading him to the brothel, where Mother Goose persuades him. Finally, Tom and
Mother Goose slept together.
In the example 1 we can see a prototypical “siciliana” topic that includes the most
characteristic elements of this pastoral dance: the time signature of 6/8, starting with a
pastoral instrumentation, the bagpipe drones in the horns and the bassoon II, as well as
the rhythms and characteristic melodic contours. On the other hand, the chorus is a
description of nature (“The sun is bright, the grass is green”) that describes the prostitute
and Tom as two lovers (“The King is courting young historical Queen”). Indeed, here the
use of the “siciliana” topic matches its common use2
. This is, the “siciliana” is associated
with love and nature, but also with past times, the Golden Age, when Tom was happy in
country house with Anne. Yet, it is somehow surprising the ironic treatment of the use of
the “siciliana” since here it represents the love between a man and a prostitute: a false
love. The irony and mockery are not only two of the most important features in this
number, but in the opera as a whole, as we will see in other examples.
Military march and sarabande topics
The integration of dance as a writing material of certain arias is an important
feature in the operas belonging to the second half of the eighteenth-century, and
especially in Mozart’s operas. However, this assimilation is not a direct representation of
dances steps, but it rather represents the stylized rhythms made to suit the singer’s motion
[6]. But there are also other cases in which dance is used to represent the social life of
certain characters. For example, in order to represent the noble status of Susanna in Le
Nozze di Figaro, Mozart uses a minuet in the finale of the act 2. Another classic example of
this same opera takes place in “Se vuol ballare”, act 1, where Figaro imagine a moment he
lived while in the court. For this, the Austrian author resorted to the classic model
minuet-contredanse-minuet. There are numerous examples in the social use of the dance,
especially in Le Nozze and in Don Giovanni [7].
In the opera that we are studying in this paper, this phenomenon also occurs. It is
clear particularly in the scene II of Act 2. To understand what happens in this scene, it is
necessary to go back to the libretto again. Under the Nick’s recommendation, Tom marries
Baba the Turk, a woman who works showing his huge beard. Anne, Tom’s fiancée when
he lived in the country, goes in search of her lover. When Anne arrives at the door of
Tom’s house, she sees Tom and Baba arriving, the latter being inside a carriage that is
pulled by several servants. At the time Baba is about to enter the house, Anne calls Tom.
He rejects her and tells her that he is married to Baba. Then, Anne leaves crying while
the Turk continues her procession to enter the house with Tom.
The procession is a scenic commonplace that appears in several operas3
and is
associated with the ceremony, solemnity, or main occasions [8]. It also tends to occur with
the entrance of a noble into the stage. In this case, the procession of Baba is divided into
2
E.g., “Intendo amico mio” from Il re pastore (1775) and “Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen” from Die
Zauberflöte (1791) by Mozart.
3
E.g., Così fan tutte (1789), Die Zauberflöte (1791) and La clemenza di Tito (1791) by Mozart; L’elisir d’amore
(1832) by Donizetti; La Damnation de Faust (1846) by Berlioz; Die Meistersinger (1868) by Wagner; and Carmen
(1875) by Bizet.
205
two parts. In the first, the music accompanying the procession is a military march
(“Lights! ‘Tis he!”) and it uses all the typical elements of the march: the time signature of
2/4, allegro tempo, major-key, etc. However, the excessive repetition of the rhythms
makes the spectator to perceive a certain irony. As a result, Baba the Turk is treated with
derision. In the second part of the procession, after Tom has rejected Anne, Stravinsky
uses a “sarabande” (“I have not run away”). We can see that this number corresponds to
the main features of the “sarabande”: slow tempo, triple meter, the legato, the
characteristic rhythms and the usual harmonic process I-IV-I of the beginning.
In short, both the “military march” and the “sarabande” topics are used as an
association to show a character totally opposite to its real self. Baba the Turk has neither
military nor noble origin, but quite the opposite. She is a character that belongs to the
circus life. Contrary to the usual association with the heroic and nobility of these topics,
the ironic treatment of the topics here contributes to an even more banal vision of the
character.
SCRIPTS
The procession example serves us as a bridge between the “topic” and the “script”
notions. The procession is an operatic topic or intertextual frame [9] that includes a single
scenic action: the trip of Baba’s carriage while being pulled by the servants. But, what
happens when there is an ensemble of actions? That is when the “script” comes into play
[10]:
A script is a structure that describes an appropriate sequence of events in a particular
context. A script is made up of slots and requirements about what can fill those slots.
The structure is an interconnected whole, and what is in one slot subject to much
change, nor do they provide the apparatus for handling totally novel situations. Thus,
a script is a predetermined, stereotyped sequence of actions that defines a well-know
situation [11].
The knowledge of the script allows for the definition of a universe of assumptions
and it also allows the spectator to identify the opera and anticipate the actions of the
story. In addition, a script is fixed and precise, even in the order of the elements that
compose it, only permitting a few minor variations. Yet, the problem arises when the
spectator does not know the script, because in that case, he will not understand what is
represented in the different fragments [12].
A very usual example in opera is the {serenade} script4
. The sequence of actions
takes place in a very specific context – in front of a house in the evening – and it involves
the boyfriend, who carries a guitar and who is in front of the house of the beloved one.
The sequence of actions is as follows: 1) arrival of the suitor, 2) the suitor sings a love song
accompanying him with the guitar, 3) the beloved one appears at the balcony to hear the
music, 4) both speak, and 5) the suitor declares his love for her. The differences in the use
of {serenade} script between several applications are minimal. Thus, in the other operas,
4
E.g., Don Giovanni (1775), Die Entführung aus dem Serail (1782) and Così fan tutte (1789) by Mozart; Il barbero
di Siviglia (1816) by Rossini; Don Pasquale (1843) by Donizetti; La Traviata (1853) by Verdi; and Faust (1859)
by Gounod.
206
the suitor is perhaps accompanied by musicians, or instead of playing a guitar he might
play a mandolin. But despite these minor differences, a spectator can easily identify that it
is a {serenade} script.
In the case of The Rake’s Progress, we can easily identify some scripts. The scene II
of act 1 is based on the {brothel} script. The framework is a brothel and the characters are
the client (Tom) and the prostitutes (including Mother Goose). The beginning of the
script, when 1) Tom enters the brothel, already anticipates the sequence of actions: 2) the
client drinks something, 3) the prostitute seduces him, 4) they both go to bed 5) the client
pays and 6) he leaves. These two last actions are omitted from the opera since they are not
necessary to recognize the script. Here is another example. The first scene of act 3 is
structured from {auction} script. Here the framework is not an auction house, but Tom’s
house. However, the items that appear in the scene as well as its distribution are as usual:
an auctioneer standing on a porch, two guards in front of the auctioneer, buyers sitting in
front of the auctioneer and a person charged with going to showing the objects to the
public. The reader of this paper can easily predict the sequence of actions.
If the last two scripts presented above imply a common knowledge of non-opera
works, in The Rake’s there are also scripts that only an opera spectator can recognize. The
first is the {vaudeville final} script5
. This involves not only the frame and the characters of
the narrative sequence, but also its type of music – military – and the theme – moralizing.
The sequence of actions is as follows: 1) development of all the characters on stage, 2) the
characters addresses the public, 3) the singers sing individually and in ensemble, 4)
lowering of the curtain, and 5) the audience applauds. Indeed, in this script the spectator
participates in the sequence of actions.
But not all scripts are so easily identifiable. The last example I want to point out is
the {pantomime} script6
from the scene III of act 2. This is a sequence of actions that is
typically located in a pastoral setting. This script is made up of two types of characters: a
natural character and magical characters. The action sequence is as follows: 1) a person
falls asleep, 2) a magical character appears,7
3) the magical character makes some magic,
4) the magical character dances, 5) the sleeping character wakes up, and 6) the sleeping
character is bewitched. It is a strictly musical and visual script with no use of words.
Yet in The Rake’s, there is the substitution of some elements which makes it
difficult to identify this script, although the sequence of actions is the same as the
prototype described above. Tom Rakewell is the character who falls asleep and Nick
Shadow, the magical one. But the fundamental difference is that Nick, instead of doing
magic, he tricks Tom into thinking that he has invented a magic machine that multiplies
the loaves of bread from a crumb, a machine Tom had dreamed about in his sleep. This is
the strategy Nick uses to cause Tom’s ruin. In addition, the sequence does not occur in a
pastoral setting, but at Tom’s. The scenic frame is substituted by the pastoral music. While
the sequence differs from the prototype of pantomime, a spectator with great knowledge of
opera can perfectly identify this sequence as a {pantomime} script.
5
E.g., Rinaldo (1711) by Händel; Orfeo ed Euridice (1762) by Glück; Don Giovanni (1775), Die Entführung
aus dem Serail (1782), Der Schauspieldirektor (1786) and Così fan tutte (1789) by Mozart; Il barbiere di
Siviglia (1816) by Rossini; Don Pasquale (1843) by Donizetti; Falstaff (1893) by Verdi; and L’heure espagnole
(1911) by Ravel.
6
E.g., Platée (1745) by Rameau; Orphée (1762), Alceste (1767) and Iphigénie en Tauride (1779) by Glück; La
Damnation de Faust (1846) and Les Troyens (1856-8) by Gounod; and Der Rosenkavalier (1910) by Strauss.
7
See pantomime “Fa la la” in [13].
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CONCLUSIONS
In this brief paper, I have tried to apply two concepts that focus on the processes of
recognition, significance and comprehension of an operatic spectator from a pragmatic
point of view. The application of the theory of topics has allowed us to understand the
processes of significance of Stravinsky’s opera from the use of conventional formulae
whose meaning can be found in the operatic repertoire. On the other hand, the use of the
notion of script has helped us to detect those stereotyped sequences of action which can
be recognizable by spectator with a previous knowledgeable of opera repertoire.
What is clear is that to mimic the music and the opera of the past – especially that
belonging to the eighteenth-century – is essential the use of musical topics, theatrical
topics and scripts in the same way of that time. In this sense, both the Russian composer
and the American librettists had a very precise knowledge of the repertoire. This
knowledge allowed them to use these elements in a way that contemporary literate
spectator can perfectly identify them. As I tried to show in the present paper, their use
may be the usual one, causing the typical meaning associations or going against this with
the aim of causing the irony. From this point of view, we can consider the authors of The
Rake’s as true experts in semiotics.
Furthermore, I believe that using the scripts as a tool for the analysis of the opera
can be very effective given the high level of stereotyping that has this genre.
Unfortunately, there are very few studies that have been applied to music [14], and even
less to opera in particular. What we suggest in this paper is a first step to understand the
mechanisms that contribute to the comprehension of an opera spectator. We can also
extend the script notion to other levels, as on the characters, due to the recurrence of
many of them. Here is an example. As mentioned below, The Rake’s is based on the Faust
myth. Nick Shadow represents Mephistopheles. Consequently, he is a very stereotyped
character that follows a sequence of actions: 1) he appears by surprise, 2) he tricks another
character – in this case, Tom Rakell, 3) he corrupts that character, 4) he charges the debt
of the character and 5) he provokes his death. But the difference with the libretto by
Auden and Kallman is that Fausto’s death is replaced by Tom Rakewell’s madness.
Nevertheless, we can identify this character as a {Mephistopheles} script and we can
anticipate his actions.
Using the tools of analysis that I have proposed in this article on the opera and its
further development can provide us a new vision of a genre that needs new approaches. In
this sense, both, theory of topics and narrative scripts, can help us in this task.
REFERENCES
[1] Craft, R., 1991. Conversaciones con Igor Stravinsky. Madrid, Alianza Editorial, pp. 119-
121.
[2] Boucourechliev, A., 1982. Igor Stravinsky. Paris, Fayard.
Chew, G., 1993. “Pastoral and Neoclassicism: A Reinterpretation of Auden’s and
Stravinsky’s ‘Rake’s Progress’”, In Cambridge Opera Journal 5(3): pp. 239-263.
Felz, N., 1991. “The Rake’s Progress: masque élisabéthain sous un loup vénitien”, In Revue
de Musicologie 77(1): pp. 59-80.
[3] Andriessen, L.; Schönberger, E., 1989. Apollonian Clockwork: On Stravinsky. Oxford,
Oxford University Press.
208
[4] Allanbrook, W., 1983. Rhythmic gesture in Mozart: Le Nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni.
Chicago, University of Chicago Press.
Allanbrook, W.; Hilton, W., 1992. “Dance Rhythms in Mozart’s Arias”, In Early Music
20(1): pp. 142-149.
Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music. Princeton, Princeton University Press.
Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington and
Indiana, Indiana University Press.
[5] Monelle, 2006, pp. 215-220.
[6] Allanbrook, 1992, p. 144.
[7] Allanbrook, 1983.
[8] Monelle, 2006, p. 127.
[9] Eco, U., 1985. Lector in fabula. Le rôle du lecteur. Paris, Grasset.
[10] Schank, R. C. and Abelson, R. P., 1977. Scripts, plans, goals and understanding. An
Inquiry into human knowledge structures. New Jersey, Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Mandler, J. M., 1984. Stories, Scripts, and Scenes: Aspects of Schema Theory. New Jersey,
Lawrence, Erlbaum Associates.
Herman, D., 1997. “Scripts, Sequences, and Stories: Elements of a Postclassical
Narratology”, In Publication of Modern Language Association 112(5): pp. 1046-1059.
[11] Schank, R. C., Abelson, R. P., Op. cit., p. 41.
[12] Gervais, B., 1990. Récits et actions. Pour une théorie de la lecture. Longueuil, Le
Préambule, p. 165.
[13] Screenshot of The Rake’s Progress, DVD, OA1062D (Glyndebourne: BBC/Opus Arte,
2012). Matthew Rose (Nick Shadow, left), Topi Lehtipuu (Tom Rakewell); John Cox,
director; David Hockney, designer.
[14] Meyer, L. B., 1989. Style and Music: Theory, History, and Ideology. Chicago, The
University of Chicago Press.
López Cano, R. 2004. De la Retórica a la Ciencia Cognitiva. Un estudio intersemiótico de los
Tonos Humanos de José Marín (ca. 1618-1699). Valladolid, Universidad de Valladolid.
209
The End of the Topic, or Indexicality at its
Limit
Naomi Waltham-Smith, PhD, University of Pennsylvania, USA
ABSTRACT
Monelle discerned the emergence of a new topic in the passage from pure iconicity or
indexicality to a second-order referentiality that he called the “indexicality of the object”.
Drawing upon Benjamin’s interest in play and the way in which this notion has been
taken up in the Italian post-workerist philosophical tradition, this paper explores the
musical topic of play in modernity exemplified by the late eighteenth-century interest in
mechanical instruments and toys, and Wes Anderson’s use of Britten’s music in Moonrise
Kingdom. I argue that play insinuates itself into a theory of topics at two distinct levels,
first, functioning as a musical topic or family of topics and second, constituting the limitcondition
of the topic as it falls into disuse.
AN INVENTORY OF TOPICS
In a brief, yet unmistakably affectionate lecture on the filmic practice of Guy
Debord, the Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben suggestively defines man as a
“moviegoing animal”—an animal that “is interested in images [even] after he has
recognized that they are not real [1].” It was in the late 1960s that Debord declared that
“the whole of life…presents itself as an immense accumulation of spectacles,” that “all that
once was directly lived has become mere representation [2].” Even if the full force and
subtlety of Debord’s argument is lost or perhaps deliberately suppressed in the current
sloganistic journalistic discourse on our media-saturated society, his analysis of the
spectacle as the manifestation of social alienation in late capitalism continues to have
resonance.
From this perspective, it is no surprise that we might expect to find not only a
proliferation of new musical topics in more recent repertoires, but also, I shall go on to
suggest, a situation in which musical topicality, as theorized by Raymond Monelle,
extinguishes itself in this saturation. At the core of both Monelle and Debord’s conceptual
apparatuses is the relation between sound or image and the real, and it is this connection
that is tested and transformed by the increasing spectacularization of the world in
modernity in which appearance threatens to obliterate reality. For Monelle, the topic at
once grounds itself in and takes its leave from the real in the same way as does the
dominant form of the image today: while the photograph has long been the paradigmatic
example of the indexical sign, it is only with Monelle’s recourse to the semiotic theories of
American pragmatist Charles Peirce that this form of relationality was recognized as an
important component in the generation of musical meaning. Peirce’s theory famously
identifies three signifying functions—namely icon, index, and symbol—each of which
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play a part in Monelle’s account of musical topicality [3]. Somewhat simplifying Peirce’s
later theoretical system, Monelle contrasts the index with the icon: whilst the later
signifies by virtue of resemblance (chiefly through imitation), the index requires a causal
connection with reality. Peirce’s own early example of the photograph is helpful here
because it demonstrates both the difference and the potential interdependence between
the two signifying functions [4]. Insofar as it resembles the object it represents, the
photograph signifies iconically, but, at the same time, this iconic relation is both an effect
and a condition of the photograph’s indexicality whereby the image is produced as a result
of the physical process of capture. The photograph is indexical in character in both a
causal and deitic manner in that the image results from the distribution of the different
intensities of light of the object onto the sensor and also points performatively to the
event of inscription—both to the production and to the taking place of reference.
Like the photograph, music exploits both iconic and indexical signifying functions
in what Monelle analyses as a two-stage process [5]. In the first step, the sounding item
refers—either iconically or indexically—to an object. In the first case, the musical item
imitates its object such as a bird call or a drumroll by presenting common properties by
which the object can be recognized. Monelle’s discusses throughout the book the example
of the pianto which copies the physical gesture of weeping. Alternatively, the music can
point to an object by means of a musical style or repertoire to which the object is
connected, Monelle’s chief example being the sarabande topic which does not so much
resemble the bodily gestures of the dance itself as present stylistic features of its musical
manifestation (triple metre with an accented second beat, for example) by which the
dance is recognizable.
Neither of these kinds of reference, however, is sufficient to constitute musical
topicality. Instead, a genuine topic is defined by a second-order referentiality in which this
first-stage reference (whether it be iconic or indexical) is in turn followed by a secondstage
reference between the object and its ultimate signification which could be multiplied
to form a chain of infinitely-deferred reference to ever more remote cultural associations
(see Figure 1). The second reference may only signify through the second of Peirce’s
categories and Monelle therefore calls this the “indexicality of the object [6].” Among the
examples of this kind of indexicality that Monelle cites are the reference of weeping (the
object of the pianto’s iconic reference) to grief, pain, loss or regret and the sarabande’s
association with seriousness and decorum. The result is to define the topic as a reference
that refers not simply to an object, but to an object itself referring to something else, so
that the topic consists in a reference to a reference.
Figure 1
Monelle does not stop at this reduplication of referentiality, but instead encases it
within a further higher-order reference that traverses the entirety of the recursive process.
Rather than construe this higher-order referentiality as supplementary, it might be more
appropriate, following Peirce rather than Derrida, to view it as an arbiter of meaning that
MUSICAL
ITEM
OBJECT
ULTIMATE
SIGNIFICATION
SIGNIFICATION
1
SIGNIFICATION
2
icon/index index index index
symbol
211
is able to stand as a final interpretant and bring the infinite play of différence to a halt. So,
what kind of signifying function is able to fulfil this role? At a later point in the book at
which Monelle pauses to consider the possibility of building an ever-expanding inventory
of musical topics, the requirement for second-order referentiality is clearly stated as a part
of a two-limb test for determining whether a new topic has been revealed. First, “has this
musical sign passed from literal imitation (iconism) or stylistic reference (indexicality)
into signification by association (the indexicality of the object)? And second, is there a
level of conventionality in the sign? [7]”. While the first limb corresponds to the second
component of Peirce’s triadic system, the second limb, with its threshold of
conventionality, appeals to Peirce’s notion of symbolism whereby signs refer by virtue of
habit or acquired law. For instance, as the symbolic function of the pianto became
established through customary interpretation, the musical figure alone was able to signify
loss or grief in the absence of the local textual idea of weeping. This means that, only if
music’s reference to a particular indexicality is authorized by some culturally-contingent
general law of interpretation, will it constitute a topic.
THE END OF THE TOPIC
While Monelle proposes this test as a means of identifying the birth of a new topic,
in what follows I analyse this mix of indexicality and symbolism that constitutes the topic
in order to speculate instead about the other end of the topic’s lifecycle when a topic
would fall out of the inventory of living topics. What would it mean for the topic to reach
its limit and come to an end?
Just as Peirce discerned a mutual constitution of icon and index in the photograph,
my starting hypothesis will be that the living topic is animated by the interaction between
symbolism and indexicality, or, that indexicality and symbolism constitute not
independent modes of signification, but a single bipolar machine whose operation
produces musical topicality. To better understand the relation between the two orders of
reference in musical topicality, I shall begin by investigating those musical examples in
which one limb of the test either ceases or is yet to be met. In other words, what becomes
of the topic in the absence of either its habitual impulse or its connection to the real? This
entails looking at the margins of the topic, at the zones of indiscernibility in which a
musical entity is on the point of becoming a topic or on the brink of losing its topical
function.
Of the two poles, Monelle privileges the symbolic, subordinating the physical
materiality of the index to custom. In fact, he introduces the topic as a “symbol [whose]
indexical or iconic features [are] governed by convention and thus by rule [8].” He goes on
to give the example of the cuckoo’s call to argue that, in the presence of a pre-existent
indexicality of the object, a topic only emerges with the establishment of a customary
practice of interpretation. The two-stage process of referentiality is already present insofar
as the musical figure first imitates and thereby refers iconically to the sound of a cuckoo’s
call and the bird call then points indexically to the heralding of spring when the change
in season determines the migratory pattern of the birds. For Monelle, such musical figures
would not constitute a genuine topic until it were “culturally prescribed that the imitation
of a cuckoo by an orchestral instrument inevitably signifies the heralding of spring.”
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By contrast, the indexicality of the object is a feature that merely “seems
universal.” Indeed, Monelle proposes that musical figures retain their topical function
when the interpretative convention outlives the originary indexical signification. The
military fanfare appears to work in this way for modern audiences who are aware of the
figure’s bellicose character even though trumpets are no longer used in modern warfare,
notwithstanding their presence in military paraphernalia [9]. One might comprehend this
development as a short-circuiting of the double-referential motion: the particularity of the
object drops out entirely in favour of a single relation prescribed only by an immediacy of
conventional use without passage through material externality.
Whilst this reading would fit with a certain Debordian critique of the images of
modernity as an eclipse of the real by the reign of appearance, another reading suggests
itself which recognizes that the indexicality does not disappear but survives as a once-butno-longer,
as a signification that has been deactivated or fallen into disuse. This would
mean that the persistence of a pure symbolism beyond the originary indexicality amounts
to something like a use of a use-less object.
The inverse situation in which the object’s indexical grounding in the real survives
the symbolic cultural resonances looks somewhat like the mirror-image of the cuckoo’s
call prototopic. Lawrence Zbikowski argues that changing socio-political connotations of
dancing rather than the absence of an active practice drove the decline of dance topics in
the early nineteenth century [10]. Conversely, he speculates that the flourishing of a
greater variety of dances among a wider spectrum of society saw the indexical relations to
a shared activity eclipsing the (symbolic) utility of musical dances as topics. An excess of
indexicality might actually lead to a falling away of symbolic association.
Given that topics hinge so decisively on their symbolic function, it is no surprise
that the rise and fall of topics depends heavily upon the waxing and waning of culturallycontingent
associations. An inventory of topics might thus include, in addition to living
topics in current usage, historical (lapsed) or incipient (proto) topics that may currently
be in a state of deactivation or potentiality. Conceiving of these various states of the topic
along a spectrum of modality from potential to actual in two dimensions enables an
analysis of the production of musical topicality as a bipolar machine. As the example of
the military trumpet call demonstrates, indexical function obtains as a result of a relation
that has at some point taken place in actuality. The domain of indexicality permits
interpretation on the basis of a corpus of actual, particular relations. Symbolism,
conversely, works through a generic rule that authorizes possible interpretative usages.
While this may not be readily apparent, I suggest that symbols fall into the category of
actualized potentialities that philosophers have analysed as existing possibilities-in-waiting
rather than as genuine (im)potentialities that may or may not take shape. Monelle’s use of
word “inevitably” to describe the way in which symbols refer to a signification supports
this reading. Further, we can observe that iconicity is genuinely (im)potential potentiality.
Occupying a privileged role in Pierce’s system, the icon is associated with Firstness: that
quality of a sign that gives it a pure capacity to be interpreted before any given habitual
interpretation. Hence, in an ambitious fusion of Peirce’s semiotics with Walter Benjamin’s
notion of the dialectical image, Peter Osborne can argue that the icon is not primarily
defined by its resemblance (which Peirce associates with Thirdness), but with
recognizability and reproducibility [11].
Figure 2 shows an attempt to decide between topicality and non-topicality on the
basis of each of the limbs, with symbolism indicating a usability of the reference and
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indexicality an actual use of the signifying relation. This double cut cannot separate
cleanly the sphere of topicality in the upper left quadrant, in which the combined
presence of indexical and symbolic gives rise to an ongoing potential to make use of a
relation already used in actuality, from the lower right quadrant in which both limbs of
Monelle’s test fail to be met. This division is not without remainder: the other two
quadrants present situations in which musical referentiality tends, on the one hand,
towards an absolute symbolism without indexicality in which the unused would be usable
and, on the other, in the direction of an absolute indexicality with symbolism in which
the used would be unusable. These two presentations cannot simply be designated as nottopical,
but rather imply margins at the limits of topicality in which a musical signification
is topical with respect to one limb but not to the other—a scenario that is arguably best
encapsulated by the formula not-not-topic.
Symbolism No symbolism
Indexicality Topic—Usable used: use of the
useful
Not-not-topic—Unusable used:
disuse of the useful
No
indexicality
Not-not-topic—Usable
unused: use of the useless
Not-topic—Unusable unused:
disuse of the useless
Figure 2
These two quadrants represent two opposed tendencies that come into proximity at
their limit. In both cases, whether the cultural association or the object’s causal
connection falls away, there remains a pure signifying without signification, in which
signification can only signify itself. In the case of an absolute indexicality, what is left over
is a pure pointing to the taking place of reference, a pure deixis. We might also construe
this indexicality that has lost its connection to the cause that produces the object as
something like an immanent cause that has no origin or end outside itself, or a pure praxis,
which, unlike poesis, has no product outside its own productivity. Conversely, the
absolutely symbolic marks a pure usage doubled-back on itself, a pure rule of interpretation
in (general) force but without (particular) application, where meaning derives only from
convention’s relation to itself. Insofar as the topic is defined as a reference to a reference,
this propensity to self-referentiality is immanent to its distinctive signifying character; the
reference to a pure referring without referent simply marks the limit-condition of the topic
at which it comes to its end.
PLAY
The foregoing analysis situates the end of the topic within a sphere of disused use
and deactivated activity and as such aligns the fate of musical topicality with an interest in
inoperosity in the Italian post-workerist philosophical tradition. Alongside a Marxian
conception of a pure praxis, this thought also takes its cue from Walter Benjamin’s
observations on the new free use to which toys and disused objects might be put [12], as
well as Benjamin’s wider interest in a form of studious play that would survive the law.
Two related trajectories within Italian thought advance the analysis of the end of the
topic. The first is Agamben’s various appropriations and extensions of a Benjaminian
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conception of play throughout his career to date [13], and the other is Paolo Virno’s
discussion of performance and virtuosity; both lead back to a notion of potentiality [14].
Play’s significance for topic theory is twofold. First, play can be argued to function,
if not as a single musical topic, then as a family of topical references. At this level, the
features of the music (repetition, instrumentation, rhythmic propulsion) iconically imitate
the motions of, say, a clockwork toy or indexically point to a broader set of musical styles,
including, for example, the music box. These objects in turn conjure up a variety of
cultural associations of youth, innocence, regression, idleness, loss, and even the
inanimate. Beyond this capacity to act as a reference of musical signification, however,
play also names the condition to which the topic aspires at its limit.
The increasingly explicit interest in inoperosity in Agamben’s recent work
manifests itself in his early writings under the guise of play, where the concept emerges out
of Claude Lévi-Strauss’s analysis of the temporality of ritual. Whereas ritual acts
synchronically to fix and structure the calendar, highlighting its cyclical, repetitive
character, play transforms and destroys the calendar, dispersing each temporal instant.
Agamben posits an inverse relationship between sacred ritual and profaning play, but one
which, like the bipolar operation of symbolism and indexicality, arrives at indiscernibility
when each pole is taken to its limit. An absolute synchrony—a completely ritualized
practice—makes of every moment an always-already, collapsing them into the same, so
that the historical passage between them is unrecognizable. The pure diachrony of play at
its limit achieves the same end result—the oblivion of history—by instead irreparably
separating one instant from the next to sever any historical connection. The possibility of
relating rests upon a combination of familiarity (the always-already) that facilitates
connection, and disjunction (the never-before) that forestalls an absolute coincidence in
which there would be no relation. Absolute synchrony, like absolute symbolism, presents
an absolute impossibility of relation to the extent that there is only ever an always-already.
The opposite is true of pure diachrony and indexicality which can only point to the pure
eventual taking-place of a particularity. Agamben extends his conception of play through
a reading of toys that are frequently replicas of the objects that have fallen into disuse or
are miniaturizations—hence deactivations—of objects that still maintain their use value.
Whereas sacralization elevates and removes ordinary things to a separate domain (the
sphere of the sacred, the law, economics, war), play tends to profane its objects, returning
them to a new non-canonical use. While Agamben privileges the kind of play that
transforms synchrony into diachrony, amounting to a disuse of the useful (pure
indexicality), he also observes that there can be a certain ritual elements to games that
might consist in something like a use of the useless (pure symbolism).
THE SACRALIZATION OF THE TOY
Late eighteenth-century repertoires attest to the difficulty of cleanly separating
play from rite as much as they do the purely musical from the extra-musical or idea from
material. The mode of listening that is both the condition and effect of the passage to
absolute music can be traced back to the rich topical universe of music developed in
preceding decades. By 1800, music in the European art tradition had arguably attained an
unprecedented degree of stylistic conventionality. The idea of an absolute music
exhibiting sufficiency in a purely musical, introversive signification nonetheless depended
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upon the acquisition of ingrained listening habits to enable recognition of the music’s
formal process: the rarefied status of absolute music only obtained through a high degree of
conventionality. The symbolic function of musical topicality played an important role not
only in that it set a precedent for music offering an “invitation” for interpretation and
explicitly declaring its recognizibility, but also in that is assumed a quasi-pedagogical
function due to the tight interactions between topicality and structure. At the risk of
oversimplifying, the proliferation of topics in music of the later eighteenth century
entrained some of the central components of that distinctive mode of turn-of-the-century
listening without which the idea of absolute music is unimaginable. With early
nineteenth-century repertoires frequently demonstrating a marked attenuation of the
familiar topics of the recent past, a musical tradition rich in topics arguably paves the way
for its own demise.
Within this context, the embracing of the sphere of play in late eighteenth-century
music, especially in the form of mechanical instruments and the imitation and even use of
toys, requires careful evaluation. Consider the example of Toy Symphony, likely
assembled from a larger set of divertimenti by Tyrolean monk Edmund Angerer. The piece
calls for a band of toy instruments—cuckoo, nightingale, rattles and Turkish crescent in
addition to toy triangle, cymbals, trumpet and drums—alongside its modest string forces:
the use of these miniature replicas succumbs readily to Agamben’s critical insights,
suggesting that, by virtue of their size and limited technical capacity, these instruments
mark a retreat from the canonical use of their larger counterparts. At first blush this piece
seems to effect a gesture of profanation, liberating the symphonic genre from its
burgeoning status as the pinnacle of compositional prowess and relegating it to the domain
of the childish and regressive. While the musical style is deliberately simple throughout,
the comic potential of these unusual forces is curiously underplayed. While the seeming
normalcy might itself evidence a dry sense of humour, the motivic and syntactic
integration of the distinctive features of the toy instruments points more in the direction
of rite and structure than it does towards the evental taking-place of pure diachronous
indexicality. Contrast the much noisier and riotous episodes of Turkish music in Mozart
and Beethoven that are designed to highlight the material qualities of the external
reference. Instead, what seemingly happens here is an attempt to restore the toy
instruments to a canonical usage: a form of sacralization which finds a formal use for the
useless.
A useful comparison may be made with Mozart’s F-minor Fantasie K. 608, “an
organ piece for a clock,” where there is a much greater discrepancy between the medium
and the seriousness of the music’s stylistic references and contrapuntal bravura. As
Annette Richards observes, most pieces for mechanical organ or musical clock conformed
stylistically to the childish and frivolous connotations of the instruments, comprising
mainly charming galanteries or kitsch [15] K. 608, though, is at odds with both the
conventions of the genre and the vulgar commercialism of its context. The contrapuntal
excesses of the piece allow for the typical demonstration of the machine’s seemingly
infinite capacity for virtuosity and, to this extent, exhibit play as a ceaseless activity,
serving to locate the piece’s impact in the evental character of its performance. In an
assessment of the political potential of performance and virtuosity, Paolo Virno suggests
that a pure productivity that has no finished product other than itself aligns virtuosity
with political action or pure praxis, but also risks being condemned, following Marx, to
the status of servile labour [16]. Rather than straightforwardly celebrate the alliance of
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virtuosity with political action, Virno instead observes that this pure taking-place of
activity without an external product—an activity that Virno likens to the pure faculty or
capacity for reference that we find in the topic at its limit—is actually a characteristic of
work in the post-Fordist era. In its lofty ambitions, K. 608 conforms to the trajectory of
absolute music, passing through an extreme virtuosity or play simply in order to return to
an elevated, serious usage. Indeed, play has served a similar function in Mozart reception
more widely. The childlike qualities of both composer and music have long been
emphasized by commentators in an attempt to safeguard the sanctity of absolute music: by
emphasizing the effortless productivity of Mozart’s superabundant imagination, his music
was removed into an untarnished sphere freed from the grubbiness of work and money—
and of material indexicality.
PLAYFUL PROFANATION
By contrast, Wes Anderson’s recent revival in Moonrise Kingdom of many of these
same topics (cuckoo, military drum and bugle) extends topicality to its limit in a bold
gesture of playful profanation. The film’s two main protagonists are Sam Shakusky and
Suzy Bishop, two twelve-year olds who fall in love, become pen pals and resolve to run
away together in September 1965, but this is no straightforward coming-of-age story. The
setting is the quaint fictional New England island of New Penzance that seemingly
embodies the small-town homely values of a country enjoying its last summer of
innocence, but the film at once resists this narrative trope: for example, Anderson decided
against a possible epilogue in which the master of Sam’s scout troop would be sent off to
Vietnam. Instead the film plays with the idea not of a loss, but a proliferation of
innocence. Anderson aims his familiar rectilinear and top-down camerawork at sets
resembling giant dolls’ houses, so that it is not just Sam’s miniature canoe or Suzy’s dinky
vintage Barrington portable record-player, but an entire miniaturized world built of sets—
some manifestly models—that could have been borrowed from his earlier animation,
Fantastic Mr. Fox. The films’ soundscape, dominated by Britten’s music for children,
likewise evokes childlike innocence, not to mourn it as lost or to cherish it as a sacred
domain set apart from the harsh realities of adult life, but to allow it colonize and profane
this entire fictional world. The film opens with the Bishop children listening to a record of
The Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra, and two songs from Friday Afternoons are heard
later. Further, Sam and Suzy first meet at a local church performance of Noye’s Fludde in
which she plays the raven: during this sequence with the backstage encounter at the
performance and her initiating their correspondence, we hear the animals’ Kyries as they
enter the ark complete with B-flat bugle calls that echo the miniature instrument used at
the scout camp. The animals’ Alleluias from the end of the opera—again overlaid with
bugle fanfares—underscore the climax of the film in which the entire community shelters
in the church during a severe storm and flash flood.
Anderson inverts the adults’ and children’s worlds. The convictions and
pragmatism of the young runaways, whose intelligent earnestness makes them unpopular,
are portrayed with complete seriousness, whereas the adults appear faintly ridiculous and
helpless. Bill Murray’s Mr Bishop goes “out back” with an axe to escape from marital crisis
into self-pity, while his wife (Frances McDormand) addresses her family with a megaphone
and sneaks out like a naughty schoolgirl on a pedal bike to meet the lonely and
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charmingly incompetent local police officer (Bruce Willis). The boy scouts’ escape
strategy and toy weaponry work more effectively than the official operations, while the
grown-up world turns into mere theatre and the island a stage set as the film’s act final
begins to play out in real life the events of the supposedly cancelled performance of Noye’s
Fludde. Far from being propelled into premature adulthood through their first romance,
the children retain their naivety (the clumsy directness of the pair’s attempt at French
kissing eschews any eroticization of early pubescence). Instead it is the adults who become
childlike: Captain Sharp takes up a weapon fashioned from a walking stick and nails by
one of the boy scouts, while Tilda Swinton’s Social Services and Captain Sharp threaten
to “write one another up” for misbehaviour.
Moreover, Moonrise Kingdom effects this overturning of the conventional relation
between innocence and experience through a deactivation of two eighteenth-century
musical topics via Britten. Listing the characters in an interview, Murray wryly observes:
“Edward Norton, he does a lot of psycho work, he’s playing against type; Bruce Willis,
playing a policeman, typecast, I guess.” Anderson empties the Bruce-Willis topic of its
conventional association, deactivating the symbolic reference that connected the material
relation between Willis and his office to connotations of toughness, insensitivity and
violence. Not just the Die Hard star, but Britten’s music and its topical universe are put to
a new, non-canonical use. The music first brings with it a critical convention that discerns
a loss of innocence, even of perversion within childhood, in Britten’s obsession with the
young. The “Cuckoo!” song first sounds when Scout Master Ward broaches the subject of
Sam’s status as an orphan after he has been apprehended for the first time. This might
seem to suggest an association between spring and awakening into adulthood, but the
significance of the cuckoo seems ambiguous when Ward appears more concerned with
Sam’s camp-building prowess, an activity that plays at being grown-up. In a similar way,
the bugles and drums seem to be cut off from any premonitory reference to Vietnam,
confined to the mock war games of the scouts so as to profane the sphere of war, just as the
film profanes the sphere of law and order with its emasculation of Willis, ridicule of Social
Services and comic illusion to a US Department of Inclement Weather. The “Cuckoo!”
returns at the end when Sam climbs out of Suzy’s window, imitating his new guardian in a
child-size police uniform that captures perfectly the deactivation of the Willis topic’s
symbolic reference. The cuckoo topic, similarly cast against type, reaches its limit in its
pure-taking place without (its customary) significance, conspiring with young love to
profane authority.
REFERENCES
[1] Agamben, G., 2004. “Difference and Repetition: On Guy Debord’s Films,” trans.
Holmes, B., in (ed.) McDonough, T., Guy Debord and the Situationist International: Texts
and Documents. Cambridge, Mass., The MIT Press, pp. 313–319, at 314.
[2] Debord, G., 1994. The Society of the Spectacle, trans. Smith, D. New York, Zone Books, p.
12.
[3] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, Princeton
University.
218
[4] Hartsthorne, C. and Weiss, P. (ed.), 1931. The Collected Papers of Charles Sanders
Peirce. Cambridge, Mass., The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, §2.286 and
§2.265.
[5] Monelle, R., 2000, pp. 17–18.
[6] Ibid., p. 80 et passim.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Ibid., p. 17.
[9] Ibid., p. 66.
[10] Zbikowski, L., 2012. “Music, Dance, and Meaning in the Early-Nineteenth Century,”
Journal of Musicological Research 31 (2012), pp. 147–165, at p. 162.
[11] Osborne, P., 2000. “Sign and Image,” in Philosophy in Cultural Theory. New York,
Routledge, p. 20–52.
[12] Benjamin, W., 1999. “Old Toys: The Toy Exhibition at the Märkisches Museum,” in
(ed.) Jennings, M. W., Eiland, H. and Smith, G., 1999. Walter Benjamin: Selected Writings,
Volume 2, 1927–1934. Cambridge, Mass., Belknap Press, pp. 98–102.
[13] Agamben, G., 1993. “In Playland: Reflection on History and Play,” in Infancy and
History: Essays on the Destruction of Experience, (trans.) Heron, L. London, Verso, pp. 65–
87, and Agamben, G., 2007. “In Praise of Profanation,” in (trans.) Fort, J., 2007.
Profanations. New York, Zone Books, pp. 73–92.
[14] Virno, P., 1996. “Virtuosity and Revolution: The Political Theory of Exodus,” (ed.)
Virno, P. and Hardt, M., 1996. Radical Thought in Italy: A Potential Politics. Minneapolis,
University of Minnesota Press, pp. 189–210.
[15] Richards, A., 1999. “Automatic Genius: Mozart and Mechanical Sublime,” Music and
Letters, 80(3), pp. 366– 389.
[16] Virno, P., 1996.
219
Tropoi vs. Topoi: Josef Matthias Hauer’s
Zwölftonspiel in the context of Musica
Speculativa and Conceptual Art
Robert Michael Weiß, Josef Matthias Hauer Musikschule, AT
ABSTRACT
Can different features of a Zwölftonspiel be seen functioning as musical topics in such an
abstract, self-referential type of music, thus relating the notion of the topos to the
mathematical-algorithmical domain?
At least the Twelve-tone-cycles have been in this way examined and classified by Hauer
himself in the System of the 44 Tropes. Hauer thereby established structural criteria for
eventually trying to describe musical content and transcended mere graphs of musical
structures into meaningful visualizations.
Due to its algorithmic nature the Zwölftonspiel can also be visualized in flow-charts, which
in turn can be compared with similar visualizations of medieval concepts of musical
realms, traditional composing, and even Conceptual Art: Knowing about John Cage’s
interest in “especially the late Hauer” I would position the Zwölftonspiel right between the
latter and the well-tried Musica Speculativa.
JOSEF MATTHIAS HAUER’S ZWÖLFTONSPIEL
Historical Survey
Eventually conceived in its final manifestation in 19401
, the Zwölftonspiel
according to Hauer should no longer be seen and practiced as musical composition, but as
a “game”, accessible to anybody learning the rules. In fact Hauer even compared his new
finding with the game of chess [1]. This notion was the result of a long development that
had started with Hauer’s first compositions around 1912 and culminated for the first time
with his first twelve-tone composition (op.19, 1919): In this piece Hauer already implied
abstraction up to the point of just playing sequences of 12 notes monophonically, which
during the piece spread out into musical particles he would later call Bausteine. In the
following years Hauer refined this fundamental finding, gaining experience that was
condensed in several musical techniques, all of them more or less means of organizing the
primordial musical structure of a sequence of 12 different pitches. (At this point we
already find the conception of relating musical structure to musical content.) These
organizational elements found by Hauer consisted of the “Tropes” (1921), the
“Continuum” (1926) and the “Melic Design”, which all turned out to be crucial
1
Hauer’s first piece explicitly titled Zwölftönespiel dates from 28. August 1940.
220
components of what he would later integrate as “sub-routines” (as I will show flow-chartwise)
in the general layout of his Zwölftonspiel.
No further radical development took place, however Hauer fine-tuned this practice
and came up with a new Spielform every now and then. Only in 1947 we recognize a new
breakthrough, another abstraction by (almost) abandoning the use of the retrograde
twelve-tone-sequence, replacing it by a retrograde manifestation of the Continuum; maybe
there is a chronological coincidence with the fact that Victor Sokolowski2
became
Hauer’s student. Hauer never formulated the rules of the game by himself; actually it was
the merit of Sokolowski to develop didactic tools, especially a concise terminology to
teach the game.
Seen from today the Zwölftonspiel is actually an anticipation of interactive
algorithmic game-conceptions which should come into reality only decades after Hauer’s
discovery.
Abridged Description and Visualization in Procedures3
Twelve-tone-cycle: Putting together a Zwölftonspiel we start with a sequence of 12
notes, guided by what Hauer called the nomos (Zwölftongesetz). No note may be repeated
before all the others have been played. In fact this yields “more than a mere twelve-tonerow”,
because the nomos in itself (recall the formula: “may be repeated”) and even more
the following steps require a looping of the original sequence. We therefore call this
fundamental structure the “Twelve-tone-cycle”.4
Just as the 12 notes are arranged and
cycled in tightest chronological order, the tonal material is compressed and cycled in
terms of space as well: The pitches are arranged within a major seventh (a process of cyclic
abstraction based on the octave-wise repeated pitch classes, yielding a matrix of 12
pitches at 12 time-positions).
Continuum: As the second procedure the basic algorithm for a Zwölftonspiel will be
applied now: The aforementioned matrix is transformed into a sequence of 12 4-part-
chords.5
Spielplan: I did not attempt to translate this German Expression since it nicely
implies all the qualities of the following procedure: We decide about the application of
particular manifestations of the continuum, e.g. spatial rotations of the tetrads6
or whether
we play the continuum forwards or backwards: As mentioned above Hauer eventually used
pairings of progressive and regressive processings of the Continuum.
By evaluating how well these possibilities fit into the whole Spiel a feedback loop
emerges, back to the Continuum procedure: Changes to the structure of the Continuum
may be appropriate. Such a feedback is an important feature while designing musical
structures. Here it marks the point of the first significant “user”-interaction beyond the
sheer automatism of the algorithm as well.
2
Victor Sokolowski (1911 – 1982), Austrian harpsichordist, teacher, student of Hauer since 1946, who first
publicly performed Hauer’s Zwölftonspiele for harpsichord. I studied with Sokolowski from 1977 and continue to
teach Hauer’s Zwölftonspiel at the Music School named after J. M. Hauer in the Austrian city of Wiener
Neustadt (Hauer’s birthplace, about 50 km south to Vienna).
3
The flow-charts relating to this and the following chapters are shown in the Appendix.
4
Actually the essential difference between (Schoenberg’s) composing and Hauer’s playing or rather gaming
with twelve notes is enrooted in this fact, as I pointed out in [2].
5
For a detailed explanation see Appendix, Figure 5.
6
formerly known as “inversions”, octavewise displacements of the lowest notes
221
Extraction:7
So far we have designed a compact flow of tetrads, achieved from the
original dodecaphonic sequence, arranged in a layout delineating a “musical form”. Next
the tetrads are split up in time and space into particular rhythmic and melodic patterns,
either directly following an algorithmic automatism, or due to deliberate interventions of
the Zwölftonspieler, the person playing the game.
Basically we discern three main types of extraction:
• monophonic ones (in different rhythmical genres)
• complementary monophonic ones, such as parallel or counter- or hocketlike
movements of at least two parts
• polyphonic ones in two subtypes of movements of the parts from tetrad to
tetrad or within the tetrads as well (yielding the most complex rhythmical
structures)8
Here the chosen “Type of Extraction” may have a feedback-like influence on the
Spielplan, just as the Spielplan might have had on the “Continuum”. In fact subjective,
personal elements (decisions of the person playing) are introduced now, while up to that
point a “machine” could have done the job as well.9
At this stage we have developed a variety of musical phenomena such as harmony
(from the Continuum), melody and rhythm (from the Extractions),10
along with a layout
of musical form (from the Spielplan) out of a single Twelve-tone-cycle. We truly followed
algorithmical principles to generate the structures, at some points with the option of
feeding subjective parameters into the “machine”. On the other hand we have outlined a
sharply contoured picture of a compositional process.
Now we shall have to find possible governing influences beyond mere parameter
input.
Procedural Properties of a Zwölftonspiel
Visualizing the compilation of a Zwölftonspiel as a flow-chart (according to its
algorithmic nature) reveals a flow of “information”11
from a greater level of abstractness
and latency towards more and more elaborate musical manifestations. In this flow of
information we can add lateral influences governing the outcome of the procedures and
we notice feedback-loops at some points, thus we observe a “charging” of the procedure to
which information is fed back.
One particular monophonic extraction yields a single melodic line, which is in fact
identical with the original twelve-tone-sequence. From a mathematical point of view a
composite function (as which we can see the chain of single procedures) has delivered an
output identical to the input; in terms of the logistics of the flow-chart we can interpret
7
The German expression, according to Sokolowski, would be Ausgliederung.
8
For an example in Hauer’s Twelve-tone-notation see Appendix, Figure 6.
9
In the flow-chart this is represented by the vertical flow along the straight arrows from the cycle down to a
particular type of monophonic extraction, which actually can be done “fully automated”. Indeed Hauer has
written pieces along that procedural outline and I compared them with the results of a computerized
implementation – with a 100% match. See Hauer’s Zwölftonspiel from 19. February 1953 [3].
10
Articulation and timbre can be derived as well.
11
In this flow-chart-approach the term “information” is used in a broad and more common-sense
understanding, not as the strictly calculable notion as proposed by C. E. Shannon [4]. However, especially the
notion of “entropy” will play a role in an accurate modeling of the – here only outlined – procedures, e.g. in a
software-implementation to simulate the decisions of the player.
222
this as a feedback-situation. But we cannot say that eventually nothing has happened,
because harmonic (and latent rhythmical) context was generated en route! So we can say
that the original “melic situation” of the cycle has been “charged” with context, thus
probably also with meaning, significance.12
The most important, yet most abstract lateral influx takes place on top of the flowchart:
imagine a “pool of possibilities” at the left of the procedure “Twelve-tone-cycle”,
serving as a gauge to properties of such a twelve-tone-sequence. Hauer was able to
structure this “pool” in the shape of the “44 Tropes”.
The further we go down, the more subjectivity is added to the growing musical
complexity, so we actually follow a path from latency to manifestation, that is why I dare
to hold it as a visualization of a compositional process per se.
Mathematical Implications
We are dealing with mathematical principles when choosing the cycle (out of the
permutations of 12 notes), adjusting a Continuum with its toroidal properties (using
modulo-arithmetics) or setting up the Spielplan (symmetries have an impact). And it
should be mentioned that the Zwölftonspiel deals with some of the most fundamental
principles of musical structures as we are accustomed to use them. Even the number 12 is
de-mystified: its high importance in music appears just as a matter of (especially coprime)
factors. Besides that we encounter a link to some proto-musical speculation: Hauer himself
related his Zwölftonspiel to the ancient Chinese book of divination and wisdom, the I
Ching.13
Musica Speculativa (V.1)
Although not stemming from the Greek tradition, this particular relation to nonmusical
issues such as the divination aspect of the I Ching leads us to the Boëthian notion
of discrete musical realms. Again a flow-chart can be drawn,14
and I would literally call
this a “top-down-model”: we shall find a similar flow from latency towards manifestation
as already observed in the Zwölftonspiel-chart. Musica coelestis, overshadowing the whole
structure, definitely unhearable, is the foundation for all derived aspects.
In this sense the Zwölftonspiel has a strong relation to musica speculativa: If we –
somewhat simplified – understand the latter as “never-to-be-heard” or at least “not-yet-tobe-heard”
music, we will recognize the relation to those elements of a Zwölftonspiel which
are engaged in preparing the structures for the “truly” musical results. Just as well the
ancient comprehension of “musica” incorporated definitely more than just audible
phenomena.
Looking at the flow-charts we also recognize that there is in fact more than
downright musical “information” flowing, especially (lateral) information out of the
mathematical domain.15
12
Hauer also called the Continuum-procedure “in Harmonie bringen” of the twelve-tone-sequence.
13
... which on the other hand served as an inspiration to G. W. Leibniz in designing his binary number system.
14
See Appendix, Figure 2.
15
While we have already placed the pool of the trope-structures aside the procedure for the cycle, Hauer placed
something even more fundamental on top of this, namely the law of equal temperament – something definitely
math-related!
223
Further contemplation, especially about the directions of the streams of
information, suggests a search for what a good example of a bottom-up model would be: In
complementary contrast to musica speculativa, the musica reservata of a certain Adrianus
Petit Coclico16
comes to my mind, inspired by a paper by Raymond Monelle [5]. Coclico
obviously propagates an outlook where the recipient plays an important role, feeding back
his reactions to the maker(s) of music in different levels above, of course not too far into
the domain of the unhearable. Interestingly, social aspects appear in the history of this
feedback-stream, something I would like to cross-reference to the “anthropocentric
decline” in music history, as proposed by Andreas Liess [6]. Since the top two procedures
and of course the whole theoretical background cannot directly be heard, initially no
feedback from an “audience” (the term understood literally) will occur, no charging with
information. Only during further historical development such a feedback will reach up
further and further.
TROPOI @ HAUER: THE SYSTEM OF THE 44 TROPES
Unlike older and newer applications of the term “trope”, Hauer used it in a very
primordial way, literally derived from the Greek term for “phrase”, maybe even with a
little “twist”: it would all be a Wendung in German, like Redewendung = turn of speech,
phrase and überraschende Wendung = surprising development, change.17
Hauer might have
had a Gregorian-Chant-Trope association in mind since he sometimes related to the
tropes as “modes” within a dodecaphonic system. Anyway he found a catalog of
“complementary pairs of hexachords” within a set of 12 pitches, 44 in number.18
They are
discerned by the relations between the two halves and listed arbitrarily: Hauer over the
years gave different orders and numberings and it is yet to be accomplished to standardize
an “objective” numbering.19
Symmetries
There are four basic types of symmetry to be found in the pairings, listed here in a
somewhat ascending order of symmetry:20
• two different tropes with asymmetrical halves have one external symmetry
axis
(“exo-symmetrical” tropes; the mathematically most general situation)
• tropes share an internal symmetry axis between the two halves (“mono-
symmetrical”)
• the halves have a (common) symmetry axis within themselves (“endo-
symmetrical”)
16
Adrianus Petit Coclico (1499 – ~1562), Flemish singer and composer, published “Musica reservata” in 1552
17
One more reference to the I Ching, which is in fact a catalogue of structural pictures in situations of change
similar to the structural visualizations of the tropes.
18
“pitch classes” and pitch class sets we would call them today, according to Allen Forte [7], also see Rahn,
1980 [8]; Hermann Pfrogner related to this kind of abstraction as “Ton-Orte” [9] [10].
19
My system of numbering “aggregates of pitches”, as suggested in [11], would be objective enough, yet it does
not depict the network of trope-sequences which seems to be the background for Hauer’s numbering(s).
20
Geometrical examples for the four types of symmetry are given in the Appendix, Figures 7 through 10.
224
• the two hexachords have central symmetry anyway as well as different
multiple symmetrical properties (“poly-symmetrical”) which may either
stem from highly symmetrical hexachords themselves (which then are
transpositions of each other) or a combination of symmetries as listed
above, which leads to the phenomenon that the groupings above actually
are intersecting sets, thus the number 44 for all the different tropes is not
quite easy to calculate.21
This catalog of tropes makes the vast abundance of 479 001 600 permutations of 12
notes accessible. The consequences of the symmetrical properties are a reduction of
permutations per trope: the higher the symmetry, the lower the number of permutations
(i.e. different readouts of pairs of 6-note-melodies).
Breaking News: A Short Note on “Breaking Symmetries”
With its essence as musica coelestis the system of the tropes should be capable of
nurturing further speculations on fundamental musical principles. In fact I was able to
benefit from their fundamentality in sketching a theory of “Information Difference” as a
means of dynamically estimating musical content [12].
6! = 720 different “melodies” are possible within one hexachord, 720*720 = 518
400 within one trope. Symmetries reduce these numbers, since certain patterns will be
repeated and therefore do not count as new information: With higher symmetry we gain
less information.
The setup of the tropes as two hexachords allows a lot of symmetries, something
definitely impossible when we start from a prime number cardinality of a subset of pitches.
In fact the latter is the case in such prominent tonal systems as the pentatonic or the
heptatonic (which together form a complementary distribution as well), yielding dynamic
varieties.
A single trope is a static snapshot of the interval-relation of a twelve-tone-row,
telling nothing about the dynamic properties of a twelve-tone-cycle! In fact a sequence of 6
tropes is necessary to describe the properties of our fundamental element of musical
substance: “Change” is a main issue again.
In a nutshell: “Breaking Symmetries”, working with prime number cardinalities,
introducing feedback, even reversing22
a flow of information generates a “higher level of
information”. Everything that is repeated, mirrored, transposed, etc. may be easier to
recognize (i.e. to hear), but there is a smaller variety of (combinatorial) “possibilities”,
thus a lower information potential.
21
Which has to do with the fact that factors of 12 can be factors of each other.
22
Reversing a continuum even generates a new cycle, since the functions of appearing and disappearing notes
are not symmetrically reversed within the individual quadrants.
225
TOPOI @ MONELLE: A CATALOGUE OF THE LIBRARY OF MUSICAL
CONTENT?
A Mapping and a Roadmap to Composing
One could put together a Zwölftonspiel without taking care about the tropes the
same way as one could compose (or just lump together, if we want to see that critically) a
piece of classical or romantic music without taking care of all proto- and meta-musical
implications:
One could simply start with a generic musical idea, be it a chord progression, a
rhythmical pattern, a melodic fragment, maybe just a mood, set in a certain timbre,
however achieved.
One would scoop from an almost limitless pool, “motivators” need not necessarily
be very specific: a faint reminiscence, a quotation, an interval or a well-tried already
existing chord progression might do. No sophistication is needed at this point.
The flow-chart depicting this course of action23
will seem familiar. Further
elaboration of the musical idea requires craft, greater formal arrangements need some
reasoning, the final musical result may literally demand some fine-tuning. In fact
interpretation comes in where elaboration for whichever reason was left out. Just take
incomplete notation like figured bass or jazz-chord-symbols as an example.
The realms of characteristic features for the respective procedure, taken from the
“musica universalis”-chart can be put next to the corresponding procedures in both the
Zwölftonspiel- and the “composition”-chart!
Musical Topics in Function
As the notion of “musical topics” [13] is usually applied to classical and romantic
music (styles with less pretension to be such an abstract music as dodecaphony), I of
course shall not dare trying to force this former guideline for interpretation and
understanding into accordance with the needs of the latter. But, inspired by the
visualization of the (lateral) influx of outer-musical24
entities I shifted my attention from
the flow path of “how-do-we-get-significance-out-of-music” to “how-does-the-composer-
put-significance-into-music”.
So I found a proper location in the flow-chart: Where musica coelestis is effective
under Boëthian terms and where the Tropes flourish according to Hauer, I would like to
put musical topics in the guise of their influential importance for the traditional
composer.25
CONCEPTUAL ART: MUSICA SPECULATIVA V.2
In 1967, emerging from “minimal art”, which has strived for objectivity, logic, thus
de-subjectification of the expressionist art forms, a new concept was formulated by Sol
23
See Appendix, Figure 3.
24
Music to be understood as plain audible music at this point!
25
Another coincidence: Obviously no musica coelestis, but also neither tropes nor topics will be found directly
in the score [14].
226
LeWitt26
, himself in the tradition of De Stijl and Bauhaus.27
LeWitt coined the new term
and formulated a sort of credo in his “paragraphs on conceptual art”: [15]
In conceptual art the idea or concept is the most important aspect of the work. When
an artist uses a conceptual form of art, it means that all of the planning and decisions
are made beforehand and the execution is a perfunctory affair.
Well, this sounds like musica speculativa (pun intended)! This attitude was uttered
even stronger by Lawrence Weiner in his “declaration of intent”: [16]
1. The artist may construct the piece.
2. The piece may be fabricated.
3. The piece need not be built.
Each being equal and consistent with the intent of the artist the decision as to
condition rests with the receiver upon the occasion of receivership.
Just apply these conditions to music and it may be inaudible. At the same time
what is generally accredited to Heinz von Foerster28
is important, namely that “the
message is created at the receiver”. Having arrived in cybernetics, let’s carry on with Sol
LeWitt:
The idea becomes a machine that makes the art. This kind of art is not theoretical or
illustrative of theories; it is intuitive, it is involved with all types of mental processes
and it is purposeless. It is usually free from the dependence on the skill of the artist as a
craftsman.
This justifies my flow-chart-approach, relates to Hauer’s notion of Spiel as opposed
to composing and eventually is pretty anti-Coclico in the last sentence. We might
continue this game of interpolation (and feedback) with Mr. LeWitt, but we can already
grasp the basic ideas: breaking flows, turning things (sometimes literally) upside down,
reverting the streams of the traditional generation of (not only musical) art eventually
produces the new variety.
Another Mapping, another Roadmap: a Flow-chart to Fluxus
And: another flow-chart29
can be mapped to the previous ones and we will find the
same realms and corresponding procedures, solely possible changes in the location and
intensity of the – now sometimes inverted – flow of contextualization.
Fluxus – more or less more – or less than the Score
Richard Hoffmann, Arnold Schoenberg’s last student and secretary, has told me
that John Cage once came to his office to find him preparing a lecture titled “An Hour
With Hauer”. Cage made a remark that he very much appreciated Hauer, “especially the
26
Sol LeWitt (1928 – 2007), US-American artist
27
… to both of which Hauer had some relations; he was even (unsuccessfully) invited to the Bauhaus by the
painter Johannes Itten.
28
Heinz von Foerster (1911 – 2002), member of the widespread Austrian Köchert-Family who also supported
Josef Matthias Hauer, and who knew Hauer very well.
29
See Appendix , Figure 4.
227
late Hauer”. Well, this is the Hauer of the Zwölftonspiel, of purposeless playing, the Hauer
casting his twelve-tone-sequences like I Ching hexagrams.30
And it was Cage who pushed
the handling of the musical score to an extreme: in the legendary piece “4’33” nothing is
performed, nothing is actually notated, however not nothing is written there.31
Musica speculativa at its best.
RÉSUMÉ
If, in this limited space, I could have given a bit of an insight into the position of
Hauer’s Zwölftonspiel between the historical generic musica speculativa and its “V.2” in
disguise of the Conceptual Art, it might be possible to see a conception of topoi as a
roadmap to generation and (vice versa) understanding and interpretation of musical
meaning related to conceptions like Hauer’s “44 Tropes”; conceptions like the meaningful
setup of structures in either the technical/mathematical/ algorithmical domain of
computer-generated music or the idealistic/ideologic realm of musical performances, where
the notion of musical meaning may be reversed by the audience itself in anticipating the
musical result from its effectuation.32
I have nothing to say and I am saying it and that is poetry…
(John Cage, 1959)33
[18]
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to express my thankfulness for the fact that I was provided by Raymond
Monelle himself with a paper of him when I was involved in the preparation of a congress
in Vienna in 2006, which eventually did not take place. This paper [5] inspired me to the
line of thought from musica speculativa to conceptual art.
REFERENCES
[1] Hauer, J. M., 1942. Manifesto at the end of his first “Zwölftönespiel”, Manuscript
[2] Weiß, R. M., 2005. Vom Komponieren zum Spielen: Josef Matthias Hauer, [in:] Arnold
Schönbergs Schachzüge/Arnold Schoenberg’s Brilliant Moves, Dodecaphony and Game
Constructions, Journal Of The Arnold Schönberg Center 7/2005, Wien (2006), pp. 243-
273
[3] Hauer, J. M., 1953. Zwölftonspiel vom 19. Februar 1953, Wien (1983), Musikverlag
Doblinger (01 600 D.16.083)
[4] Shannon, C. E., 1948, A Mathematical Theory of Communication, [in:] The Bell
System Technical Journal, Vol. 27, pp 379-423, 623-656
[5] Monelle, R., 2013. “‘Musica Speculativa’ and the nexus of music and nature”, in N.
Panos, V. Lympouridis, G. Athanasopoulos and P. Nelson (ed.) 2013, Proceedings of the
30
What Hauer practiced as well: his yarrow-stalks are still existing.
31
During a visit at Edition Peters in London I was actually given the score as a gift [17].
32
I.e. making it unnecessary in the best case.
33
NB: In the same year 1959, J. M. Hauer died and Miles Davis recorded: “Kind Of Blue”.
228
International Conference on Music Semiotics in Memory of Raymond Monelle (Edinburgh
2012); Edinburgh, The International Project on Music and Dance Semiotics.
[6] Liess, A., 1968, Die Musik des Abendlandes, Wien (1970), Jugend und Volk
[7] Forte, Allen, 1973. The Structure Of Atonal Music, New Haven, Yale University Press
[8] Rahn, John, 1980. Basic Atonal Theory, New York, Longman
[9] Pfrogner, H., 1953, Die Zwölfordnung der Töne, Wien, Amalthea, p. 144
[10] Pfrogner, H., 1976, Lebendige Tonwelt, Zum Phänomen Musik, München – Wien,
Langen Müller, p. 364
[11] Weiß, R. M., 2010. The Calculator’s Ears, New computer-based insights into tonal
systems and tonal structures based upon George Russell’s Lydian Chromatic Concept and Josef
Matthias Hauer’s System of the 44 Tropes, Krakow, Proceedings of the XI. International
Congress on Musical Signification (in print)
[12] Ibid.
[13] Monelle, R., 2000, The Sense Of Music, Semiotic Essays, Princeton and Oxford,
Princeton University Press, p. 14 ff.
[14] Ibid., p. 10
[15] LeWitt, S., 1967. Paragraphs on Conceptual Art, [in:] Artforum, June 1967, New York,
Artforum International Magazine
[16] Weiner, L., 1969, [in:] January 5-31, (exhibition catalog), New York, Seth Siegellaub
[17] Cage, J., 1952. 4’33”, London, Edition Peters (PE.P06777)
[18] Cage, J., 1959. Lecture On Nothing, [in:] Cage, J., Silence (pp. 109-127), Middletown,
CT, Wesleyan University Press, originally printed in Incontri musicali, August 1959
229
APPENDIX
Figure 1. (simplified) Flow Chart of a Zwölftonspiel
Figure 2. Mapping: another Flow Chart, 34
according to Jacob of Liége
34
Freely redrawn after the Speculum musicae by Jacobus Leodiensis/Jacques de Liège (~1260 – after 1330), who
revamped the Boëthian model a little bit by placing the musica coelestis atop the musica mundane.
230
Figure 3. A way of composing music: Flow-chart of a hypothetical compositorial process
Figure 4. More Of The Same: structural similarities considering Conceptual Art
231
The original sequence of 12 pitch classes is treated as a cycle. The 12x12-matrix of sequential
positions (on the x-axis) and pitches within the ambitus of a major seventh (on the y-axis) can be seen as
the unfolded surface of a torus (which can be reconstructed when the left and right borders of the matrix are
glued together for the time-loop and the top and bottom borders for the repeated chromatic arrangement of
the pitch-classes). Since the unfolding of the surface can start at 12 different temporal positions and 12
different pitch positions respectively,we get 144 "lower left corners" of phase-shifted manifestations of this
matrix.
• The tightly packed twelve pitches are grouped into 4 layers (quadrants; S [green], A [orange],
T [blue], B [red]) with three notes each, interconnected by half-tone or whole-tone steps.
• In every quadrant each note shall sound as long as there is no other pitch of the same group
appearing. In other words: pitches from the same layer will never sound together, but only subsequently
replace each other. The principle is applied cyclically and yields a sequence of 12 tetrads. Since the grouping
of pitches in tripartite layers can be done in three different ways (depending on the pitch upon which we
start unfolding the vertical circularity of the matrix), at this point we (have to) make a decision within the
so far strictly automatic procedure for the first time: Though the same underlying cycle is used, eventually
(up to) three different harmonic sequences can be the result.
A continuum usually will have to be adjusted, i.e. rotated to a position where it ends with a
particular type of tetrad (Major Seventh Chord).
Hauer’s Twelve-tone-notation resembles the piano keyboard: black lines represent the black keys, white
spaces the white keys with their two adjacent pairs, represented by the broader spaces.
Figure 5. The “Continuum” algorithm: generating tetrads
Figure 6. The 4-part braid of a Melic Design in Hauer’s 12-tone notation; first sub-type of polyphony
232
Figure 7. The polysymmetrical 1. Trope Figure 8. The monosymmetrical 2. Trope
Figure 9. The endosymmetrical 8. Trope
Figure 10. External symmetry between the 5. and 6. Trope
The pitch classes of the hexachords are displayed at the 12 positions of a clock-face, clockwise
chromatically ascending.
233
The Structural Metaphors in Amazonas by
Villa-Lobos and in Kyrie by Ligeti
Isis de Oliveira, University of Sao Paulo, BR
ABSTRACT
This work is an inter-textual interpretation between the seven introductory bars of VillaLobos's
Amazonas piece and Ligeti's Kyrie, and it aims to demonstrate how two different
generations from the XX th
century deal with timbre pictorialism, in which musical
structure and elements are a metaphor to the Brazilian symphonic poem of Villa and also
to the liturgical text used by Ligeti. I will apply the concepts of “pictorialism”, “wordpainting”
and “structural metaphor”.1
INTRODUCTION
This work intends to make an inter-textual analysis between the seven
introductory bars of Villa-Lobos's symphonic poem Amazonas (1917) and Ligeti's Kyrie
(1963-65).
In order to make these observations, we accept the notion of "structural
metaphors" which “... allow us to do much more than just orient concepts, refer to them,
quantify them etc., [...] they allow us, in addition, to use one highly structured and clearly
delineated concept to structure another” [1]. Therefore, we will use the extra-musical
experiences to get deeply close to the compositional process of the structure of this piece.
Thus, by comprehending this poetic example, we will be able to understand the realities
created by Villa-Lobos and Ligeti. “New metaphors are capable of creating new
understandings and, therefore, new realities” [2].
But metaphor is not merely a matter of language. It is a matter of conceptual structure.
And conceptual structure is not merely a matter of the intellect – it involves all the
natural dimensions of our experience, including aspects of our sense experience: color,
shape, texture, sound, etc. These dimensions structure not only mundane experience,
but aesthetic experience as well. Each art medium picks out certain dimensions of our
experiences and excludes others. Artworks provide new ways of structuring our
experience in terms of these natural dimensions. Works of arts provide new
experiential gestalts and, therefore, new coherences. From the experientialist point of
view, art is, in general, a matter of imaginative rationality and a means of creating new
realities [3].
1
See Ratner, L., 1980. Classic Music: expression, form, and style. New York, Schirmer; and Lakoff, G. and
Johnson, M., 2002. Metaphors we live by. Chicago and London, The University of Chicago Press.
234
Not only the structure of these pieces will be treating in this paper, we will also
talk about the elements of the musical surface built by Villa-Lobos and Ligeti in their
pieces that will be seen later on. Hatten understands the beginning of Ratner's book
Classic Music as “historical classifications of musical topics”. The classification used by
Hatten, based on Ratner’s book, is organized in four categories. In the current study we
opted to use only the last one (“pictorialism, word painting, and imitation of sounds in
nature” [4]) that Ratner considers a “step forward related to the use of topics” [5].
Pictorialism, “generally associated with instrumental music, conveys some idea of
an action or scene” [6]. In Villa-Lobos' work, the texture of melodies played by clarinets, a
bass clarinet and bassoons in the first seven bars – which will reappear in the course of
Amazonas is related to the waves of the river (“water mode” - “modo de água” [7] ).
Referring to “word-painting”, which “is the matching of a word or phrase in a text
to a musical figure” [8], we believe it is an important concept to support our observations
of Ligeti's Kyrie. The composer proposes the choir of souls for mercy by placing
symmetrical and individual cells. The musical result sounds like a non-symmetrical
entanglement of these voices. The singularity of each voice cannot be heard and the
“word-painting” enhances a blurred whispering of a crowd of souls.
Then we will see how Villa-Lobos' research for a new richness of sounds, like the
work of his contemporaries in the first half of the XXth
century, found solutions to
construct textures from post-tonal material, establishing relations with extra-musical
elements such as the forest soundscape and the program of the symphonic poem. Later,
Ligeti, helped by the psychoacoustic researches from the second half of the XXth
century,
could create a work where the focus of the audition was the texture and its density
changes, relegating the figurativism of the previous compositions to an inaudible base,
giving place for the texture and the word-painting as he desired.
Finally, we will see how two very distinct poetics create sound constructions
capable of structurally relating to the extra-musical material.
AMAZONAS BY HEITOR VILLA-LOBOS
Here we will analyze the section “Amazonas' Contemplation” (“Contemplação do
Amazonas”), bar 1 to 7 of Amazonas, a symphonic poem by Heitor Villas-Lobos. We do
not intend to offer a massive and exhausting observation of the piece. Our focus is on
searching the possibilities found by the Brazilian composer regarding the use of timbre as a
way to reach a non-tonal musical pictorialism in his first attempts at the beginning of the
XXth
century. Just like some Villas-Lobos's contemporary musicians did (Debussy with La
mer, Stravinsky with Le Sacre du Printemps), some of his compositional processes are sound
experimentations that helped to boost the artistic-theoretical researches that resulted, for
example, in the "sound object" by Pierre Schaeffer.
This symphonic poem by Villa-Lobos is an artistic example of the generation that
preceded Ligeti and his contemporaries. However we do not want to say that the
Hungarian composer had been straightly affected by Villa-Lobos. We just suggest that the
generation after the 1950's, and consequently Ligeti and his sound researches, suffered the
influence of the effects and efforts of the composers from the beginning of the century.
Theoretical and artistic researches could be improved, in the second half of the XXth
235
century, by the discoveries in the field of the audio manipulation technologies as well as
the ones in psychoacoustic.
The Amazonas program begins with a “pretty virgin girl” that “used to greet the
dawn, taking bath in the Amazonas's water, the Marajoara river” [9].
To musically paint these words, Villa opposes two musical elements: one static (the
body of the young Indian girl) and another one in constant movement (the translucent
waters of the river). A sustained note turns into a solid body, the girl’s body. After the two
introductory bars, where the motive (E-D-E-E-E-E2
) is exposed by the horns and copied by
the viola d'amore, the E is sustained with no pauses until the 7th
bar. On the 3rd
-4th
and 5th
bars, an embellishment, representing the swimming movements, places the sustained E in
the flutes as well. With the first violins, producing harmonic sounds, the E note comes
together with A, giving a rich sonority to the central tone.
Around the sustained E note some incidental sounds appear to remain the
soundscape from a forest (the descendent chromaticism of the tuba in the 6th bar,
suggesting a big creeping animal on the riverside, or the flute's ascendant figuration and
the piccolo in the 7th bar, suggesting birds sounds, for example).
Figure 1: The seven introductory bars of Amazonas. The flute, piccolo, tube and bass parts are
not represented.3
A parallelism neither tonal nor real (without the complete maintenance of the
intervals) gives the "water mode" layer a changing and varied musical surface. The variety
of intervals between the dissonant notes proposed by Villa's written, together with the
waves produced by the beating of sound waves among the dissonant notes,4
produces a
clear sound pictorialism of the changeable and fluid surface of the water of a river like the
Amazonas.
But in which way is the "water-mode" built? Until the 5th
measure, it seems that we
are in face of calm waters, which are relatively more constant. Until this moment, the Ist
2
In Portuguese, the sequence of notes of the theme (MI, RE, MI, MI, MI, MI) refers to the name of the VillaLobos´
work Myremis, This original piece was modified in 1917 to create Amazonas.
3
Processos Composicionais em Villa-Lobos, by Paulo Tarso de Salles. © Copyright 2009 by Editora da Unicam.
Reprinted by Permission.
4
Intervals like the Major 7th
, the Major 9th
and the triton are very common in this passage.
236
and IInd
clarinets, the bass clarinet and the Ist
and IInd
bassoons make little waves each one
upon four notes set. Although none of the voices repeat exactly the tetrachord of the
other voice, they seem to have affinity with each other.
The Ist
clarinet and the Ist
bassoon make together a complete whole-tone scale.
Similarly, the IInd
clarinet and the bass clarinet together make the other whole-tone scale,
as a complement to the previous one. Then these four instruments make together all the
chromatic scale and go to the 4th
bar moving in a parallel way, always maintaining the
same chord (A, Gb, C and F, from the low to the higher tones) only transposing it. The
line that bothers this stability is the one played by the IInd
bassoon, which makes a 3rd
minor followed by a chromatic trichord (D, E#, F#, G). Therefore, the relation between
the clarinets and the Ist
bassoon chord works in a different way with the bass, played by the
IInd
bassoon (figure 2).
Figure 2: Parts of clarinets, bass clarinet and bassons between measures 1-4.5
Until the 4th
bar, the pictorialism of the river's waters was built from an
overlapping of a chromatic trichord and two whole-tone scales. The interval variety was
just built by the IInd
basson's line.
On the 5th
-6th
bars the standards of chromaticism and whole-tones are both
influenced by one another and the five voices start to make octatonic sequences6
. The
melodic contour, which goes to a slightly higher zone before coming back to the initial
point, shows the little agitation that the "water mode" suffers in these two measures. From
the 7th
bar, the score becomes smoother, changing between the two first chords of the 3rd
bar and then maintaining this pattern, sometimes changing the color (piano and harp
between the 10th
-17th
, woodwinds and strings on the 18th
-26th
bars, etc).
5
Processos Composicionais em Villa-Lobos, by Paulo Tarso de Salles. © Copyright 2009 by Editora da Unicam.
Reprinted by Permission.
6
The overlapping of chromatic elements and whole tones was one of Villa-Lobos’ compositional proposals, as
it is presented by Maria Alice Volpi [10] in her work about the sketches of the composer in one of his
manuscripts. The same interest places Villa Lobos next to contemporaries such as Béla Bartók [11] in the
search for sonoroties that downplayed the tonality, in this case using the octatonic scale.
237
THE KYRIE BY GYÖRGY LIGETI
The other work that we will investigate is the second movement of György Ligeti's
Requiem. This funeral mass, composed between 1963 and 1965, is a fundamental mark
[12] in the poetic of the composer, for intensifying the composition techniques employed
in his previous works and also for proposing new paths for his poetic.
Although it is difficult to distinct each one of the voices of this Kyrie, the majority
of the listeners know what a Kyrie means. The words Kyrie eleison/ Christie eleison/ Kyrie
eleison are in the mind of the most part of those who have a conscious contact with this
movement of the piece. The reaction is astonishing when we listen to the entanglement of
voices and instruments where we are unable to pay attention to a single line. It is even
more surprising when we know that it is a fugue.7
In the traditional counterpoint it is fundamental that each one of the melodic lines
must be clearly separated, making them strongly independent from each other. So why
choose the counterpoint to create an indistinguishably sound-mass?
With this compositional contradiction, Ligeti gives even more attention to the
"word-painting" of this work. The undistinguished sound-mass takes us to get inside the
mess of souls in order to reach the divine piety instead of focusing on the individual aspect
of mercy. It is not just a voice that claims for eleison, but the whole humanity that watched
the two World Wars and the politic-ideological fights of the Cold War.
Ligeti's personal and familiar life was affected by the tragic events from the
beginning of the XXth
century. Coming from a Jewish family, he survived a concentration
camp, but lost his father and his brother during the IInd
World War [14]. In the 1950's,
Hungary was dominated by the Soviets and, during the Revolution of 1956, Ligeti was
forced to flee with his wife from his homeland [15]. It was not just his personal experience
that led him to compose a Requiem. As a post homage for the tragic dead of Anton
Webern [16], the Requiem of the 1960's, third attempt of the composer in the genre, puts
in evidence the Death as one of Ligeti's preoccupations.
There is all my own fear on it [specifically on the third movement, Dies Irae], my real
life experiences, a lot of terrifying childhood fantasies, and yet the music resolves all
this as well. As if to say, we do not have to live in fear; or you could put it like this, we
are certainly going up to die, but so long as we are alive we believe that we shall live
for ever (sic) […] one dimension of my music bears the imprint of a long time spent in
shadow of death as an individual and as a member of a group [17].
Arriving to Colony, in the end of the 50's, Ligeti finds the politic-ideological fights
of the music field. There, the composer found the last remains of the extreme figuration in
music. The authoritarianism and violence, with which the serial composers of the second
half of the XXth
century hold their ideas, were contested in the 60's by several
compositional proposals. Ligeti, with the textural compositions, and Cage, with the
aleatoric music, made part of the opposition.
What provocation could be greater for the figurativism of the XXth
century than a
fugue, in which the focus of the perception is dislocated to the density and texture instead
of the line note-to-note? But how does Ligeti build a sound-mass from the counterpoint
7
“It is true that the fugue did not exist in Ockeghem’s time and, structurally speaking, this movement is a
strange twenty-part fugue” [13].
238
writing? The composer says: “I disrupted the intervals: that is to say, I inserted so many
minor seconds that even the minor seconds, or the chromaticism, disappeared in the
harmonic sense” [18]. This was a compositional concern not only for Ligeti, but also for a
generation who had looked for new harmonic and compositional possibilities taking the
music to an even more textural context.
All three [Ligeti, Penderecki and Xenakis] were involved with techniques that dealt
directly with masses of sound, with aggregations that in one way or another
deemphasized pitch as a sound quality, or at least as a privileged sound quality. When
this deemphasis took place the form of packing pitches into confined spaces as densely
as possible, definable intervals disappeared as well as their constituent pitches” [19].
The amount of seconds appears on the horizontal as well as on the vertical
relationships. Beyond the harmonic manipulation, Ligeti reaches the dense sound-mass of
his work using the rhythm manipulation of it.
The choral part of this Kyrie is formed by five canons (one of sopranos, one of
mezzos, one of contraltos, one of tenors and one of bass) each one of them being composed
by four voices. Each line of the canon sings exactly the same sequence of notes of the
other lines. However, each one of the four lines of each canon makes a unique rhythmic
figuration.8
We are facing the great contrast between the collective desire (“wordpainting”
of the unique text of a Kyrie) and the particular form of expression of each
person (unique as the rhythm of each line). The distinct rhythmic patterns uncover the
perception of the parts and emphasize the whole, in the same way that a mess is made
from the irregular amount of several individual voices. In other words, Ligeti accumulates
many rhythmic cells, including the simultaneity of many types of tuplets (of five, seven or
nine notes) between the voices of the same group. The sound effect of this rhythmic
manipulation is a constant change of a complex sound. The successive notes of this fugue
are not listened as individual sounds, in linear succession of notes. We listen to a complex
sound object sometimes higher, sometimes lower, and sometimes more or less dense.
But it was the studio work that gave me the technique. For instance, I had to read up
psychoacoustic at that time, and I learned that if you have a sequence of sounds where
the difference in time is less than fifth milliseconds then you don’t hear them any
more as individual sounds. This gave me the idea of creating a very close succession in
instrumental music, and I did that in the second movement of Apparitions and in
Atmosphères [21].
Observing the score, we can see a structure where two canonic parts are used more
than once and put together in different ways. This was not the first time that a multi
thematic fugue was seen in the history of music. An important example appeared on a
work of Haydn. On the last movements in three of the String Quartets Op. 20 (numbers 2,
5 and 6), the composer made notes at the beginning of the score to indicate that these
were fugues of 4, 2 and 3 subjects, respectively. We can see the first few bars of the String
Quartet Op. 20/5 in F minor of Haydn.
8
“In this movement I wanted to combine Flemish polyphony with my own new micropolyphony. I took
Ockeghem as my model, and adopted his ‘varietas’ principal, where the voices are similar without being
identical. […] The canonic parts are identical in their notes but their rhythmic articulations are always
different and no rhythmic pattern is ever repeated in a canon” [20].
239
Figure 3: First few bars of String Quartet Op. 20 n. 5 in F minor (Hob.III:35). The rectangles
show the two subjects. Both may appear as main musical figuration or as part of the background during
the piece.9
The two subjects also show the liturgical text. We will call Subject 1 the canonic
line related to the text Kyrie eleison and Subject 2 the one that musically comes with the
words Christie eleison. Both themes without the pattern ABA as it is in the original text.
None of the subjects appear separately. The prayers to the Father and to the Son always
come together.
Subject 1, a notorious example of chromatic saturation in a horizontal line, is
exclusively composed of seconds, been almost 90% of this subject being composed of
second minors. This subject is completely based on two small interval cells (see figures 4
and 5).
Figure 4: Interval cell a which will make the interval figurations of the Subject 1.
Figure 5: Interval cell b which will make the interval figurations of Subject 1
9
String Quartet, Op. 20 no 5, by Joseph Haydn. © Copyright by Dover Publications, Inc. Reprinted by
Permission.
240
The only compositional variation process that this subject suffers is inversions and
transpositions. If on Subject 1 the process of thematic variation is more traditional, using
the standard process since the Early Music, subject 2 can just be understood if we think of
processional music. This appears in different sizes and ways, where two chromatic lines can
get alternatively (figure 6). Thus, subject 2 appears as a changeable theme where what is
important is the way it goes further, sometimes as a compression, and some others as an
expansion. What get all the versions of this second theme together are the large
palindromes of pitches (comparison between figures 6 and 7).
Figure 6: One of the versions of the Subject 2 (pitches from mezzos between measures 13 and 28)
Figure 7: One of the versions of Subject 2 (pitches from altos between measures 61 and 90).
Subject 2 shows a significant structural metaphor. Previously we were talking about
dualism between the message of a religious crowd and the unique and subjective
expression of each person. The contrast between the crowd of voices and the subjective
identity of each person is also revealed metaphorically on this subject. Each prayer is
presented in a singular and unique way, just like it can be seen in each singular and unique
version of the subject. Similarly the essence of the prayer is the same for all the crowed,
just like the structure of the Subject 2 (intercalation of two chromatic lines that may be
amplified by palindromes).
This double fugue highlights an expressive “word-painting”. The duality between
the tradition (processes of variation from a figurative idea on the 1st
Subject) and
revolution (new possibilities are used on the thematic construction and straight connect
to the Theories of Process from the 2nd
Theme) is also connected to the contrast and
complementary images of the Father (Kyrie) and the Son (Christie) from the liturgical
text.
241
FINAL CONSIDERATIONS
Our work dealt with the use of metaphors in the organization of structural elements in
two works of the XXth
century, where extra-musical elements seem to have great relevance for
their comprehension. The Symphonic Poems and also the vocal music have strong relations
to images that go beyond the objects employed in the musical art craft. Not only the
metaphors were fundamental to the appreciation of the structures in Villa-Lobos's Amazonas
and Ligeti's Kyrie, but also the concepts of pictorialism and "word-painting" were of great
relevance to the appreciation of the surface of the musical material observed in this work.
The intention of our approach was to deeply explore their poetics, showing
possible meanings in their works and relations between the musical work and the poetic
images of the program used by Villa-Lobos and the liturgical text used by Ligeti.
Therefore, this paper intends to amplify the considerations about the György Ligeti's
Requiem, using, in this essay, the concepts of the musical semiotic and the inter-textual
appreciation applied to a work of the beginning of the XXth
century.
REFERENCES
[1] Lakoff, G. and Johnson, M., 2002. Metaphors we live by. Chicago and London, The
University of Chicago Press, p. 61.
[2] Ibid., p. 235.
[3] Ibid., p. 235-236.
[4] Hatten, R., 1994. Musical Meaning in Beethoven: markedness, correlation, and
interpretation, Boomington & Indianapolis, indiana University Press, p. 74
[5] Ratner, L., 1980. Classic Music: expression, form, and style. New York, Schirmer, p. 25
[6] Ibid.
[7] Salles, P.T., 2009. Processos Composicionais em Villa-Lobos. Campinas, Editora da
UNICAMP, p. 190.
[8] Ibid.
[9] Ibid. p. 187.
[10] Volpi, M.A., 2011. O Manuscrito P38.1.1 e a “tabela prática” de Villa-Lobos. In:
Revista Brasileira de Música. Vol. 24, n.2., p. 299-309.
[11] Antokoletz, E., 1990. The music of Béla Bartók: a study of tonality and progression in
twentieth-century music. California, University of California Press.
[12] Clendinning, 1989. Contrapuntal Techniques in the Music of György Ligeti.
Connecticut, PhD, Faculty of Graduate School of Yale University, p. 11.
[13] Ligeti apud Clendinning, 1989, p. 47.
[14] Griffiths, P., 1997. György Ligeti. London, Robson Books, p. 3.
[15] Ligeti qpud Griffiths, P., 1997, p. 15.
[16] Toop, R., 1999. György Ligeti. London, Phaidon Press, p. 104.
[17] Ligeti apud Toop, R., 1999, p. 102-104.
[18] Ligeti apud Bernard, Spring 1999. Ligeti restoration of Interval and its Significance for
his Later Works. In: Music Theory Spectrum, v. 21. N. 1, p. 1-31, p. 2.
[19] Ibid.
[20] Ligeti apud Clendinning, 1989, p. 47.
[21] Ligeti apud Griffiths, 1997, p. 18.
242
Startling Sounds Telling an Age-Old
Story: a Narrative Analysis of Gérard
Grisey’s Prologue (1976) for Solo Viola
Joshua Groffman, Indiana University, IN, USA
ABSTRACT
This paper examines the creation of narrative in Gérard Grisey’s Prologue (1976) for
solo viola, the first piece of the instrumental cycle Les espaces acoustiques and one of the
formative works of the spectral school of composition. Prologue presents a number of
challenges to the listener and analyst, including a relative dearth of material (of the work’s
sixteen minutes, nearly twelve of them are taken up by the evolution of a simple arpeggio
figure) and peculiar approach to form (which is entirely unidirectional, with no
restatement of any material). Previous discussions of spectralist pieces have tended to
stress a formalist angle, presenting analyses of pitch and time procedures without reference
to narrative or musical meaning. In contrast, I argue that an approach which uses
semiotics to identify a network of meaning within the piece will clarify the issues presented
by Prologue in new ways, offering novel possibilities for meaningful readings of the
spectral repertoire.
I proceed by identifying the multiple signifiers present in the piece: a “heartbeat motive,”
indexical of a human consciousness; an impersonal, constantly evolving process with
which the heartbeat motive is often in conflict; and following a chaotic climax, a lament
topic in reaction to the preceding catastrophe. These aid in the creation of a narrative
spanning the entire piece. I trace the development of the interplay between the impersonal
process which drives inexorably towards crisis and the heartbeat motive that resists it; in
the post-climax music, it is the human consciousness that “sings” the lament music as it
contemplates the catastrophe it has endured. After outlining the arc of the narrative, I
conclude with several observations about Prologue’s form and material, arguing that its
narrative typifies the unique way in which spectral pieces often position themselves with
regard to musical sound and the listener.
243
STARTLING SOUNDS TELLING AN AGE-OLD STORY
Introduction
Gérard Grisey’s Prologue for solo viola (1976) presents itself to the listener as being
at once intuitively understandable and puzzlingly resistant to interpretation. On the one
hand, the work’s overall trajectory and shape will be familiar to anyone with a passing
familiarity of 20th
-century art music: material is presented and developed, growing to a
climax around two-thirds of the way through the work, after which the music fades away
quietly. On the other, the work poses a number of difficulties. There is a curious dearth of
material; of the work’s sixteen minutes, nearly twelve of them are taken up by the
repetition and evolution of the initial, rather simple, arpeggio figure. More puzzling still is
the work’s unidirectional nature. As material evolves and disappears, it makes no
reappearance; the work as a whole seems to fly in the face of art music conventions which
demand thematic unity and cyclical or rotational organization as necessary to coherence.
In the following analysis, I will address these issues by approaching the piece via
semiotic analysis. Previous discussions of pieces by composers from the spectralist school,
of which Grisey was a founding member, have tended to stress a formalist angle,
presenting analyses of pitch and time procedures without reference to narrative or musical
meaning. Here, I argue that an approach which uses an analysis of signifiers and topics to
identify a network of meaning within the piece will clarify the issues presented by Prologue
in new ways, offering novel possibilities for fruitful readings of the spectral repertoire. I
will give a narrative reading of the evolution and interaction of the various signifiers,
maintaining that throughout there is a tension between impersonal process music and the
“human element,” heard as a drone motive mimicking a heartbeat. After tracing the arc
of the narrative through this lens, I will argue that Prologue’s peculiar unidirectional form
is an outgrowth of the way it – along with many other spectral pieces – positions itself
with regard to musical sound and the listener. In doing so, I hope to illuminate the
“cultural work” Prologue performs. Kofi Agawu writes of Raymond Monelle that his
method was always sensitive to the ways aspects of an individual piece function as
“elements in a larger, complex web of cultural association and affiliation [1].” That insight
provides my starting point.
Spectralism and the material of Prologue
Prologue takes as its basic gesture an arpeggio figure that begins the piece and forms
the thematic material for the first twelve minutes. The arpeggio gesture is interrupted at
various intervals by another thematic element, two low Bs (made possible by tuning the
low C string of the viola down a semitone) stated always in the same tempo in a shortlong
rhythmic pattern.1
This short-long motive is the first and most obvious signifier in
the work. It is marked at once as “other” from the arpeggio figure by several musical
factors: the unique timbre of the open string and scordatura, its steady rhythmic profile
against the flexible tempo of the arpeggios, and its resistance to change as the arpeggio
grows and evolves. Most useful for our purposes is Grisey’s score note indicating the
rhythm should be played comme un battement de coeur, “like a heartbeat.” Such a
1
See basic gesture of Prologue, an arpeggio figure followed by “the heartbeat motive”, two low Bs. In Ricordi,
2007, Prologue: pour alto seul, Milan, page 1, first system.
244
direction immediately suggests multiple interpretative possibilities; the heart is central not
only to the literal functioning of human life but can serve as a potent metaphor for
culturally-embedded meanings. Its specific role in the narrative of Prologue can be
clarified by an examination of its interaction with the arpeggio material that surrounds it.
When first presented, the arpeggio consists of five notes, but successive iterations
quickly add pitches and expand the register upward. Procedures of repetition with slow,
incremental change are common to many spectral pieces and they are the organizing
principle of the first twelve minutes of Prologue. No two iterations are identical and each
successive statement plays a role in traversing a transition between multiple musical
parameters: the dynamic grows from loud to soft; a tightly constricted register near the
bottom of the instrument grows to encompass its entire range; rhythmic activity becomes
increasingly frenetic; and ordinario bow position, pressure, and clearly articulated pitches
transition to sul tasto and sul ponticello bow positions, while the introduction of glissandi
that smear distinct pitches eventually result in a long passage for scratch tone in which
normally pitched tones disappear altogether.
Prologue contains several examples of the well-known tendency of spectral
composers to derive inspiration for harmonic and textural aspects of their compositions
from acoustic phenomena. The first arpeggio of Prologue begins with an evocation of the
harmonic series rooted on E; as the piece drives towards the chaotic climax, the series
becomes increasingly inharmonic, a trajectory that matches and amplifies the use of noise
elements and scratch tone to color the sound. In addition, an oscillating figure derived
from the idea of sound echoing in a reverberant space is often appended at the end of the
arpeggio gestures (first heard at 02:422
and increasingly prevalent later on). The use of
acoustic phenomena forms part of the larger philosophical backdrop to spectral music; in
explaining his music to general audiences, Grisey explained that his intention was to
compose music that consisted of “sounds, not notes” [2]. By investigating the “organic,
living acoustic nature of sound,” he hoped to create music in which sound itself has a
generative force [3]. Implicit in this stance is a desire to avoid earlier methods of pitch
and temporal organization, including tonal and serial procedures, and the trappings of
specific cultural practices they carry with them. Instead, the idea of “sounds, not notes” as
typified by the arpeggio music points toward a view in which the music takes on the aspect
of a physical object that can be manipulated and shaped as such.
The procedures of change in this and other spectral pieces are not strictly linear or
mechanistic but organic and flexible, and this too serves to dramatize the metaphor of
sound-as-physical-object. A typical example is the treatment of the “echo” figure; first
introduced at 02:42, it does not immediately become a fixture in the music and is not
heard again until more than a minute later (04:01), during which time we have heard
many more iterations of the original arpeggio gesture. The oscillating figure grows more
prevalent gradually, but we become aware of its presence only once it has been fully
assimilated into the texture. The effect of this varied repetition is to create a process in
which the listener is aware of a gradually shifting aural landscape but often finds it
impossible to pinpoint exactly when any one element has been introduced; it is akin, to
take one example, to the way isolated bubbles of increasing size appear in a pot of water as
it is heated to a boil. Spectral composers and analysts frequently refer to images drawn
from nature in describing this music: one reviewer speaks of “stark visions of profound
2
All timings refer to the recording of Prologue from the recording Les espaces acoustiques (Kairos, 2005), Garth
Knox, viola.
245
canyons and gleaming stars,” and later of “the dream-like time of the cosmos” [4].
Listening to Prologue, the listener has the experience of traveling large sonic distances
without ever quite being able to pinpoint the moment at which one thing becomes the
other, a conception of time and form that has obvious parallels with the slow, everchanging
motion of natural processes.
Because the invocation of natural process is so central to Prologue, it is important
to further unpack the way it positions itself with regard to the listener. The “sounds, not
notes” dichotomy might be understood as an attempt to create absolute music: a piece
free from semantic connotations or cultural groundings. This would be, I believe, a
misreading of Grisey’s philosophy. Rather, spectralism’s use of the physical properties of
sound should be understood largely as a conceit, a rhetorical position it adopts while
staying within the fundamental cultural discourse of Western art music. As innovative as
the sounds of Prologue are, they share enough genetic material to be read semiotically and
in relation to sounds that have come before. The process of slow change in Prologue thus
becomes a narrative object alongside multiple others embedded in the discourse of the
piece. In context, I understand the process music to carry overtones of the inexorable,
impersonal, and the not-human; the use of the overtone series provides not just the
harmony, but signifies an organization beyond and apart from man-made systems.
That this is so will become clearer with an examination of the relationship
between the process music and the heartbeat motive mentioned earlier. Having examined
the two elements separately, we may now usefully juxtapose them together. At first, the
relationship between the drone and the arpeggio music is unclear. Both motives are
presented at first in an unmarked fashion – the restricted register and dynamic range and
relative simplicity of the material resist interpretation and we are given no introductory
gesture or other framing musical material that might allow us to situate this material in a
narrative context.
As the piece progresses, however, it becomes clear that the arpeggio and heartbeat
motives follow distinct paths throughout the piece. While the arpeggio immediately
begins to grow and change from the very beginning of the piece, the heartbeat motive
resists that change; although the number of times it is repeated varies, it is presented
almost without exception with the same short-long rhythm, at the same tempo and at the
same pitch. Surrounded by the constantly changing arpeggio figure with its evocations of
impersonal, natural processes called up by its use of the overtone series and the “echo,” the
heartbeat motive seems to observe and react to the arpeggio figure as it evolves. The
dichotomy between the two types of material and Grisey’s designation that the motive
should be played “like a heartbeat” allows us to clarify the meaning of this signifier. If the
arepeggio music evokes natural process, the heartbeat represents the human element, a
representation of living consciousness in the piece.
From an unmarked, unreadable beginning, a narrative shape starts to emerge. We
begin to discern a conflict between the changing, increasingly chaotic arpeggio and the
heartbeat that resists this change. As the arpeggio expands its register and pulls away from
a harmonic series rooted on E (evident by 06:15), the heartbeat motive returns to the
same B drone on which it began. Only late in the piece as glissandi and exaggerated bow
colors begin to denature the pitch of the arpeggios does the heartbeat motive show
evidence of variation through increased bow pressure and the use of the ricochet (09:38);
it cannot successfully resist being affected by the increasingly chaotic material surrounding
it.
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As noted above, the growth and development of the arpeggio motive culminates in
a climax (at approximately 10:00) in which glissandi and scratch tone obliterate pitch and
rhythm. Following this cataclysm, which eventually loses energy and dies away, there is a
postlude with a much calmer affect. The rhythmic activity of the earlier section is
replaced with drawn out tones that are constantly varied and colored by shifts in bow
position, vibrato, and use of left-hand pizzicato. The dynamic rises briefly but never
regains the intensity of the climax. As with the arpeggio, the heartbeat motive disappears
following the catastrophic climax. Indeed, its last statement occurs somewhat before the
climax actually begins (09:42); resistant to the end, it is not changed so much as
overwhelmed by the wave of scratch tone. Nevertheless, as we listen to the post-climax
music, we discern the re-emergence of a human consciousness. Pre-climax, our sense of
time was controlled by the continuous unfolding of the arpeggio in straight-forward,
impersonal clock time; afterwards, human concerns predominate and we experience a
flexible temporality. The clock slows, and perhaps stops altogether, as the human
consciousness in the music contemplates the catastrophe it has endured.
The nature of this music and its positioning in the score suggest this passage should
be understood to invoke a lament topic. In its drawn-out pitches, colored by fluctuations
of vibrato and glissando, it recreates a wailing human voice broken by sobs; in this, it
creates a link with the sighing pianto motive so typical of earlier lament musics analyzed by
Raymond Monelle [5]. Its placement, too, directly following the storm of scratch tone,
suggests that it is reacting mournfully to the cataclysm that precedes it. At the same time,
it extends and updates the range of associations bound up with lament music. The intense
quiet of the passage (Grisey designates that the passage should be “extremely calm”) is not
peaceful but, given what has come before, eerie. This is a lament topic for the atomic age
– the human consciousness in Prologue does not lament, as Arianna does, the absence of a
lover, but its solitude in the post-apocalyptic landscape of the piece.3
Unidirectional form and its implications for a narrative reading
It has been noted that one of the most striking aspects of Prologue is the total lack
of any effort on Grisey’s part to create a sense of recapitulation or reprise of any of his
materials. Once we have moved away from the E-based harmonic series, we do not return
to it; once the glissandi begin to infuse the arpeggio material, we hear no more clearly
articulated pitches; and the “echo” motive is transformed into a violent trill and never
resumes its previous incarnation. Again, this unidirectional treatment of the material is a
common element in many spectral pieces, but also one of the most baffling to explain
when set against the context of Western art music, which prizes coherence and an organic
and unified structure as one of its chief aims. Prologue does not sound itsincoherent, but
its failure to organize its material in the conventional way merits further discussion, and is
the final step in constructing a narrative reading of the piece.
I have identified a narrative arc in the piece and suggested an interpretation that
hears an interaction between a human consciousness and an impersonal process, typified
by the arpeggio material. This reading does not necessarily explain, however, why Grisey
resists a recapitulation or restatement of important motivic material, or why once the
arpeggio and heartbeat material have been altered and warped by Grisey’s manipulations
3
See lament music, marked “extremely calm,” following the climatic scratch-tone passage. In Ricordi, 2007,
Prologue: pour alto seul, Milan, page 4, first system (Extrêmement calme)”.
247
they do not return in their unaltered state. It is clear that the lament music is reacting to,
“remembering,” the music and the cataclysm that has come before it; but it is easy to
imagine a recomposition of the piece where a similar narrative is maintained but in which
we do hear the arpeggio – perhaps only in fragmentary form, interspersed with the long
tones restated of the lament music – as a way of evoking a sense of memory and reaction
to previous music.
The difference between the imagined recomposition and the piece as it stands lies
not in the details of what the narrative is, but rather in how the narrative is positioned
with respect to the listener. Again we return to Grisey’s interest in “sounds, not notes.” I
have discussed how, in this piece, musical material – in particular, the process music – is
treated as itself a physically present object in the way that it grows, changes, and is
destroyed. I have qualified this reading, noting that this is a rhetorical gesture; of course,
the sounds themselves are not literally present in a tangible way.
Nevertheless, the use of processes of slow change are significant because they do
recreate aspects of the physical world. In its dramatization of an sonic evolution, its
playing out of each step, the process music is not so much about slow change as it is a
recreation of it. The music is heavily mimetic – when we listen to the arpeggio music we
are not listening to a piece about a process, we are listening to the process itself.
This insight enables us to return to the question of Prologue’s unidirectional form
with new clarity. If the music seeks to recreate the workings of the physical world, it is, on
some level, bound by the rules of the physical world. To return again to an analogy from
the natural world, we might say that listening to Prologue is akin to observing a process –
watching a fire consume fuel, for instance – in which physical matter is unalterably
changed; for the arpeggios to return would create the sense of a log, burned up by fire,
popping suddenly back into existence.
We have noted that there is more than impersonal, natural process in Prologue:
interacting with the physical are the heartbeat and lament topics, which point to the idea
of a human consciousness within the piece. Yet the human element within the music
does not change our sense that this piece is entirely mimetic. Just as we observe the
natural process of the arpeggio unfold, so too do we watch the consciousness resist that
unfolding, become overwhelmed by it, and lament the cataclysm when it has passed. The
heartbeat motive observes the process; we observe the heartbeat motive. The creation of
a narrative in Prologue is a function not of the piece but of the listener, who follows the
evolution and destruction of the arpeggio and the ensuing lament and understands the two
to be related, understands the lament to be reacting to the preceding music.
This analysis has sought to engage with the semiotic issues at play in Prologue,
providing a catalog not simply of the musical material from which the piece is constructed
but an account of how the piece functions as a document embedded in a specific culture,
what Agawu calls “the imagined historical and socio-cultural provenance of musical
materials [6].” By proceeding in this way, we see the narrative take on new resonances.
For all its trafficking in the impersonal, Prologue is obviously concerned with the human
condition; the interplay of the human element and the surrounding music can take on the
aspect of a parable on the ways we are buffeted by all the processes around us, naturallyoccurring
or man-made. Grisey’s genius is to tell an age-old story with startlingly
innovative materials.
248
REFERENCES
[1] Agawu, K., 2008. “Topic Theory: Achievement, Critique, Prospects”, Passagen: IMS
Kongress Zürich 2007: fünf Hauptvorträge. Kassel, Bärenreiter-Verlag, p. 49.
[2] Tommasini, A., 2010. ‘Conjuring Up Wondrous Sounds,’ The New York Times, 21
November, C1.
[3] Castanet, P.A., 2000. “Gérard Grisey and the Foliation of Time”, trans. Joshua Fineberg,
Contemporary Music Review, vol. 19, part 3: 29-40, p. 29.
[4] Wheatley, J., 2009. “London, South Bank Centre: Gérard Grisey’s Les espaces
acoustiques”, Tempo, vol. 63, no. 247, p. 69.
[5] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, Princeton University
Press, pp. 66-7.
[6] Agawu, K., 2008, p. 57.
249
Mahlerian Intertext and Allegory in Akira
Kurosawa’s Ran (1985)
Yayoi Uno Everett, Emory University, Atlanta, GA, USA
ABSTRACT
The film director Akira Kurosawa transports the narrative of Ran into a mythical realm
through ritual, montage, and non-diegetic use of Mahlerian music. Based on
Shakespeare’s King Lear, the narrative of Ran emphasizes the importance of filial loyalty,
while depicting life as an endless cycle of suffering caused by those who lust for power.
Drawing on Andrew Goodwin’s theory of intertextual cinema, this paper examines the
extent to which Toru Takemitsu’s film score reinforces the allegory of futility and nihilism
in Ran. In accordance with Kurosawa’s demand for a music that “moves beyond
Mahler”, Takemitsu composed a dirge-like orchestral music that conveys “the view from
heaven” for the main battle scene. Expanding on Raymond Monelle’s topic theory, my
analysis examines how topics (funeral march, pianto) and other intertextual references to
Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde and Symphony No.1 shape Takemitsu’s film scores for
the climactic battle scene, the protagonist’s descent into madness, and reconciliation
between the father and son. Combined with the filmic effects, the Mahlerian music
elevates Kurosawa’s vision of the apocalypse to a mythical realm.
BACKGROUND
Ran (“chaos”) is a great epic film, a tragedy fed by Shakespeare, and a testament to
Akira Kurosawa’s legacy as a filmmaker. In contemplating his view of human history,
Kurosawa remarked that he wished to explore dramatic situations in which the
protagonist’s failed ambitions do not yield tragic greatness, but stands as a reflection of the
director’s own pessimism [1]. The filmmaker explains in an interview that the subtext for
the narrative of Ran is the threat of nuclear apocalypse: although cast in the medieval
period of warring clans, its narrative is saturated with the anxiety of the post-Hiroshima
age [2]. The apocalyptic image is best illustrated in the final scene of the film: after all of
his loved ones are killed, the blind hermit, Tsurumaru, teeters on the edge of a cliff with
the blood red sunset flaming behind him.
Working with other playwrights, it took Kurosawa seven years to complete the
screenplay and another two years before he started shooting the film in 1984. Like Stanley
Kubrick, Kurosawa was an unusual director who imparted to his crew very specific ideas
about how he uses music in his films. In Ran, Kurosawa had symphonic music by Mahler
in mind and used it before and during the shooting of certain scenes. For the rush (a quick
print of a shooting of a film), Kurosawa used excerpts from Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde
and told Toru Takemitsu to come up with Mahlerian music that “moves beyond Mahler!”
[3]. Even for a seasoned film composer like Takemitsu, Kurosawa’s demands were difficult
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to meet. In spite of the masterpiece that resulted, the collaboration between the two was
not at all smooth.1
This paper examines how the combined effects of filmic shots and soundtrack,
indeed, move beyond the dramatic (Shakespeare) and musical (Mahler) intertexts that
inspired the work. Takemitsu’s Mahler-inspired music, although used sparingly, provides
profound commentary on the film’s narrative and elevates Kurosawa’s vision of the
apocalypse to a mythical realm.
DRAMATIC INTERTEXT: SHAKESPEARE’S KING LEAR
Following Julia Kristeva, Michael Klein defines intertext as “the crossing of texts”
where critics “often concern themselves both with the linguistic (musical) codes that bind
texts together and with the tropes that transform these codes from text to text” [4]. Klein
lists four different types of intertextuality that we are concerned with in music analysis: 1)
poietic intertextuality that refers to those texts that an author brings to his/her writing; 2)
esthesic intertextuality that refers to texts that a society brings to its reading; 3) historical
intertextuality that confines the reading of the text to its own time; and 4) transhistorical
intertextuality that may open the interpretation of the text from various historical
framework [5]. Applied to the multimedial genre of film, primary intertexts that shaped
Kurosawa’s and Takemitsu’s vision constitute the poietic, while the analyst/viewer’s reading
of the film constitute the esthesic. Semiotic analysis can be used as a tool for us to
negotiate the extent to which esthesic intertexts are conditioned by the poietic. Let’s begin
by examining the dramatic intertexts that shaped the construction of the narrative and
the filmic production.
James Goodwin explains how Kurosawa first drew inspiration from a medieval
Japanese legend by Motonari Mori (1497-1571), which idealizes family loyalty: Mori’s
three sons are revered as those who exemplify traditional sense of loyalty and filial piety
after their own father [6]. Kurosawa inverts this image in Ran by depicting Lord Hidetora as
someone who builds his vast kingdom through violence and coercion of power. When he
decides to step down and let his three sons (Taro, Jiro, and Saburo) inherit his throne, all
hell breaks loose. Quick to disowning his third son (Saburo)—the only one who doesn’t
feign loyalty, Hidetora learns that his other sons will do anything to monopolize his
kingdom; the armies of Taro and Jiro besiege the third castle where Hidetora takes refuge
and expect him to commit seppuku (ritual suicide). In his subsequent journey through
madness, Hidetora encounters the victims of his own ruthless past. After roaming in the
wilderness as a mad man, he is reunited with Saburo and his trusted retainer Tango. The
moment of reconciliation is, however, short-lived: his brothers’ armies kill Saburo and
Hidetora dies after him.
The other dramatic intertext for Ran comes from Shakespeare’s King Lear; the
constitution of characters and plot is derived from the tragic tale about an aging ruler
deposed by his corrupted children: to Lear’s three daughters, there are Hidetora’s three
sons; to Lear’s loyal servant, the Earl of Kent, and the Fool, there is Hidetora’s retainer,
Tango, and Kyoami the Fool. Even Edmund, who tries to kill his half-brother, Edgar, and
1
For Takemitsu, who had the privilege of working with other directors who gave him control over the editorial
process, it was difficult to work with Kurosawa, who was unrelenting in having his own demands met.
251
his father, the Earl of Gloucester, can be compared to Lady Kaede (Taro’s wife), who
conspires to kill Jiro’s first wife, Lady Sué, after she seduces Jiro following her husband’s
death. An important deviation from King Lear can be found in the absence of a tragic hero
in Ran: while Lear is a victim of those who sin against him, Hidetora is an antihero, who
achieves his political power by inflicting horrible sufferings upon others [7]. Lear goes mad
because he can’t cope with the corruption in others (“I am a man more sinned against
than sinning”), while Hidetora goes mad because he is forced to confront the history of his
own ruthless past. In King Lear, we hear the speech uttered by Gloucester soon after he is
blinded by Cornwall: “As flies to wanton boys, so we are to the gods. They kill us for their
sport.” Shakespeare tells us that the ethos of character and society, in the end, may have
no bearing on the outcome of human action. In Ran, there is a reference to this line, but
the blame is squarely placed on humans. Just when Saburo’s army had successfully defeated
his brothers’ armies at the end, they are faced with their leader’s death. So when Kyoami
cries out to the gods for their cruelty, Tango is quick to reprimand him:
Kyoami (the fool): Are there no gods, no buddhas? If you exist, hear my words: you’re
all cruel and fickle pranksters! You ease your boredom in the heavens by crush us like
worms! Damn you! Is it such sport to see us weep and howl?
Tango (the retainer): Stop it! Do not curse the gods! It is they who weep. In every age
they’ve watched us tread the path of evil, unable to live without killing each other.
They can’t save us from ourselves.
Tango’s concluding speech conveys the tragic irony that lies at the heart of the
narrative as envisioned by Kurosawa. The gods are inherently merciful, but humans are
caught up in a vicious cycle of violence. In the concluding scene of King Lear, there is a
hint of optimism when Edgar and Kent survive and Edgar is left to speak about the sad
weight of the events, which everyone must now endure. There is a comparable ending in
Ran, when the blind hermit, Tsurumaru teeters at the edge of cliff and is saved by the
scroll of Buddha that falls before him. Kurosawa leaves the viewer hanging with the
question: was that an act of divine intervention? Is there a god that watches over us after
all?
MUSICAL INTERTEXT: MAHLER’S MUSIC TO WHAT END?
Takemitsu’s film score for Ran alternates between musical fragments that make use
of traditional Japanese music (taiko drums, shinobue, nokan) and western orchestral music
composed in a range of styles. In fact, the Mahlerian music is a small subset of the latter
and occupies at the most ten minutes of the entire film that lasts two hours and forty
minutes. The dramatic import of this music is, however, critical to the film. For the major
battle scene, this music is set into relief by the absence of diegetic sounds for the first and
only time. Tomoko Deguchi makes a persuasive argument that the solo music for shinobue
or nokan (transversal flute used in traditional Japanese ensembles) expresses the notion of
history as cyclic, while the symphonic music conveys a sense of detachment and
timelessness—“the vulnerable existence of humankind as a whole within history, as gazed
252
from above” [8].2
While I agree with Deguchi’s argument that the Buddhist notion of
impermanence provides an important context for understanding the film’s narrative, my
reading of the Mahlerian music departs from hers; the gaze from above is neither detached
nor indifferent, but comes from a place that transcends the film’s diegetic time and place.
Considering Kurosawa’s attachment to Mahler, it could be understood as his own elegy (in
the guise of a heavenly voice) and commentary directed at the human atrocities of
violence. The pianto topic embedded in the battle music can be seen as an iconic
representation of this heavenly cry. Let us first examine Takemitsu’s film score without
the accompanying images.
The symphonic music Takemitsu composed for the main battle scene is cyclically
configured around three motivic or thematic fragments. The oboe solo melody constitutes
what I will refer to as motive A, as shown in Example 1. Unequivocally modeled on the
oboe melody that opens “Der Abschied” from Mahler’s Lied von der Erde, the melody
features an ascending minor third (C-D-Eb) as its basic shape. However, Takemitsu
harmonizes it with a pentachord (C-Eb-F-F#-A) with an octatonic inflection, sustained by
the strings over a D pedal in the bass. The chord is prolonged over four and a half
measures within a rhythmically amorphous texture (strong beats are effaced), exuding a
sense of mystery and stasis. In Mahler’s setting in Das Lied von der Erde, this motive
appears in parallel major and undergoes continual transformation to comment on the text
about the poet who bids farewell to his lover. It is filled with the romantic sentiment of
abnegation and the poet’s ecstatic proclamation of the “world drunk with love and life!”
Sorrow gives way to peace and contentment as the narrator bids farewell one last time and
the piece closes in C major.
Example 1: oboe solo (A) motive3
In the context of Ran, the same melody is denied this agency for transformation;
instead, it is woven into the cyclical chain of motives that are tossed back and forth
between instruments, but it remains essentially unchanged in mood. The opening phrase
that contains motive A functions as an antecedent phrase that leads to the main thematic
motive (B) played tutti by the orchestra, as shown in Example 2. The principle melody is
supported by the planning of chords based on minor-major 7th
(B-D-F#-A# moves down to
Bb-Db-F-A by a semitone). The dissonance of major seventh (outer voices of the
accompanying chord) lends a bittersweet inflection to the melody in B minor. The pianto
motive is embedded twice in the chromatic descent from A to F, as indicated by the
circled notes in the upper register. The strong-weak rhythmic structure of the repeating
2
Shinobue is the instrument Tsurumaru plays to express his sorrow and to remind Hidetora of his brutality in
the past (he wiped out Tsurumaru’s family and blinded him). Deguchi illustrates in her analysis that the solo
tranversal flute’s music (shinobue or nokan) is organized by means of the traditional jo-ha-kyu structure found
in Noh dramas, see Deguchi, p.56.
3
The transcriptions are based on Takemitsu’s sketches for the film score, made available by the Archives of
Modern Japanese Music (Tokyo, Meiji Gakuin University).
253
two bars resembles a “sigh” at a broader gestural level. The timpani marks off the main
beat in the tempo of a funeral march [9].4
Example 2: main thematic motive (B) [reduced score]
Each time A repeats and leads to B, the orchestral texture of the main theme
thicken and the accompanying parts become more elaborate. Another prominent melody
(C) in B minor is introduced by the horn and doubled by woodwinds, as shown in
Example 3. Takemitsu explicitly writes “elegy” above the entry of this horn melody.
Accompanied by delicate string and harp harmonics, the pianto motive is further
accentuated by its placement at the melodic apex of the phrase (see bracketed notes).
Example 3: “elegy” (C) motive
Toward the end of the film, Takemitsu introduces another Mahlerian intertext: a
funeral march for the scene when Saburo’s army departs with the bodies of Hidetora and
Saburo. Against the beats of the funeral march in Bb minor, Takemitsu introduces a
melody in the bassoon that is based on the third movement from Mahler’s Symphony
No.1. It is, in effect, an intertext of an intertext since Mahler transforms the nursery tune
“Frère Jacques” into a symphonic canon in D minor. Example 4 shows the first four bars of
the bassoon melody. In the original sketch and recording, Takemitsu develops this theme
further by embedding a thematic variation of motive B in the continuation of this phrase.
Example 4: “Funeral march” à la Mahler
4
Takemitsu admits in an interview that he had to conform to Kurosawa’s idea to include the timpani in this
passage.
254
NARRATIVE CONTEXT: AUDIO-VISUAL SYNCHRONIZATION
Takemitsu’s filmic score acquires specific narrative meaning when synchronized
with Kurosawa’s filmic shots in Ran. I would like to focus on three excerpts where the
Mahlerian music is featured in the film and the audio-visual synchronization that takes
place. The first scene is the climactic battle between the armies of the first and second
sons (Taro and Jiro), where the two armies siege upon Hidetora, his army, and consorts in
the middle of the night. As mentioned earlier, it is the only time when the diegetic sounds
are erased and replaced by non-diegetic music in order to underscore the dramatic
significance of this scene. It is as if the viewer is made to retreat inwardly in order to
contemplate the atrocities of human violence.5
Influenced by Sergei Eisenstein’s
cinematography, Kurosawa distinguished the armies of the three sons by color: yellow
banner, helmet, and pennants for Taro’s army, red for Jiro’s, and blue for Saburo’s. By
distinguishing each son by color, Deguchi comments that Kurosawa “reduces the
individuality of the sons to mere generic icons, emphasizing the more universal notion of
‘sons in a family system’….” [10].
Table 5 summarizes the audio-visual synchronization of this scene that lasts nearly
seven minutes. In general, the oboe solo (A) is synchronized with the medium shots of
human death, while the orchestral motive (B), played tutti, is synchronized with the long
shots of the army as well as the “gaze from above” (the moon’s ray piercing through the
dark night).
DVD
timing
6
Montage sequence Film score
1’00”35 Hidetora awakens from the attack waged
by Taro’s and Jiro’s armies
Diegetic sounds
1’01”56 Dead bodies of Hidetora’s army; Taro’s
army (yellow banner) sieges the castle
Diegetic sounds erased; oboe solo (A)
1’02”44 Jiro’s army (red banner) enters through
the gate en masse
Orchestral motive (B)
1’03”08 Hidetora defends himself at the entrance
of the castle as Jiro’s army attacks
Oboe solo (A); orchestra repeats
fragments of A; bridge
1’03”52 The shot of the moon from above;
Hidetora’s consorts commit suicide; some
are shot down by Jiro’s army
Orchestral motive (B) fragment,
followed by the horn/woodwind
melody (C)
1’04”42 Hidetora collapses in awe; the moon
shines from above; the armies make full
entry
Flute bridge; Orchestral motive (B)
1’05”13 Jiro’s army (long shot) Oboe solo (A); strings repeat the
motive in antiphonal dialogue
1’05”44 Taro’s and Jiro’s armies fight one another
(long shot); more arrows and gunshots go
through the castle
Oboe bridge; dissonant chord sounded
(x3); closing melody by bassoon and
strings (C) interpolated by the oboe
solo (A) fragment
1’06”52 Taro enters as the victor of the battle Orchestral motive (B); oboe (A);
5
Deguchi comments on similar strategies used in other films such as Apocalyse Now (1979), Platoon (1986),
and Kingdom of Heaven (2005), in which the diegetic sounds are muted and non-diegetic music is heard in its
place. It creates an effect where actions seem to be controlled and viewed from a higher force, see Deguchi
(61).
6
DVD timings are based on the 2005 Criterion Collection re-release of Ran, produced by Serge Silberman.
2’28”10 = 2 hours 28 minutes and 10 seconds.
255
shinobue enters, punctuated by the
gong
1’07”35 Taro is shot down by Jiro’s army; as the
castle burns down, Hidetora remains
alive, but falls into a state of shock; his
remaining soldiers are struck and die
Diegetic sounds resume: gunshots and
soldiers’ howling
Table 5: Audio-visual synchronization of the main battle scene
Kurosawa brings back some of the music from this battle scene in the tragic-ironic
moment when Saburo is killed, while moments later his army proclaims victory over their
enemies (Jiro’s and Taro’s armies). As outlined in Table 6, the scene begins with Hidetora
and Saburo’s reunification: the old man fondly tells Saburo how he wants to spend time
with him as father and son. Out of nowhere, a gunshot is heard and Saburo falls off his
horse. Hidetora, who managed to survive the siege of the castle, is now overcome with
grief and dies after him. As Kyoami shouts out to the gods that they are “cruel and fickle
pranksters” who “crush us like worms for pleasure,” Tango scolds Kyoami and reminds
him: “the gods are crying for us” for “not being able to save us from ourselves.” At this
precise moment, a brief recapitulation of the Mahlerian music is heard in counterpoint
with Tango’s utterance. He tells Kyoami to stop crying because “men live not for joy but
for sorrow, not for peace, but for suffering.” And this is precisely the moment when
Kyoami’s cry coincides with the pianto topic played by the strings in the background.
DVD
timing
Montage sequence Film score
2’28”10 Hidetora accompanies Saburo on
horseback; medium-long shot of the two
Diegetic sounds (blowing wind, horses)
2’28”40 Saburo falls dead and Hidetora dies after
him, asking for his son’s forgiveness
Diegetic sounds (gunshot and neighing
horse)
2’31”27 Saburo’s army returns to proclaim victory
(long shot); Tango collapses on the ground
Diegetic sounds (horses)
2’32”06 Kyoami cries out to the gods: “you crush us
like worms for pleasure!” (long shot)
Diegetic sounds (e.g., wind blowing)
2’32” 30 Tango scolds Kyoami and reminds him that
the gods cry for us (medium-long shot)
Motives A and B played in unison by
the strings; A repeats (x3)
Table 6: Audio-visual synchronization of the death of Saburo
In the penultimate scene (2’36:11), where Saburo’s army retreats from the battle
scene with the bodies of Hidetora and Saburo, Takemitsu introduces the funeral march
music, inspired by Mahler’s Symphony No.1 (Example 4). Here, the function of music
remains incidental: the slow beat of the funeral march matches the pace of the soldiers’
march and marks their departure. The music is also muted and is blended into the diegetic
sounds of the marching soldiers, rustling wind, and neighing horses. While Takemitsu
created a longer film score that interweaves the variation of motive B, it was not
incorporated into the final cut of this scene. Instead, the film concludes with the wild,
chaotic sound of the shinobue, which accompanies the blind hermit, Tsurumaru, who
barely escapes from death.
256
CONCLUSION: RAN AS AN APOCALYPTIC ODE
Just as Goodwin conceives Kurosawa’s cinematography as a textual site in which
discourses and cultural inflections become inscribed and interwoven, Takemitsu’s film
score for Ran can be conceived as an auditory site in which different cultural inflections
merge; one hears the reference to Mahler, but filtered through Takemitsu’s cyclical and
harmonically static texture. Takemistu’s Mahlerian music in the film provides profound
commentary on Kurosawa’s allegory of nihilism through doubly negating the dramatic and
musical intertexts. Gone is the victor/victim binary that drives the narrative of King Lear.
The gods weep for us because all humans are corruptible. It is remarkable how well
Takemitsu’s music captures the philosophical essence of the film. Just as the narrative of
Ran marks its difference from King Lear by owning up to the cruelty of fate as caused by
humans, Takemitsu marks his distance from Mahler by denying the oboe melody its
agency for transformation into a major key. The romantic abnegation and sense of closure
that accompanies Mahler’s “Das Abschied” is notably absent.
Moreover, while Takemitsu’s music contains topical inflections (march, pianto
motive) that are semiotically coded, the musical meaning ultimately remains provisional
and incomplete. For some of us, the dirge-like music lingers long after the filmic images
have receded from our consciousness. I refer to this phenomenon as an indexical residue
because the musical sign becomes unmoored from the specific context of the film and
becomes an intertext that signifies lament. But is it like any other lament from the history
of western music? Clearly no. Raymond Monelle reminds us that “cultural temporalities”
of music ground our consciousness to a specific historical time and place:
[T]opics are only the most obvious kinds of musical sign. Music also, in a profound
way, signifies indexically the underlying rhythms of contemporary consciousness. In
particular, cultural temporalities are perforce reflected in music. Musical structure, in
fact, is largely a matter of the realization of temporality [11].
Monelle goes on to illustrate how the tendency for sequential structures to extend
and embed realistic evocations is a nineteenth-century phenomenon. By the same token, I
argue that the fragmented, cyclical, and non-developmental process that characterizes
Takemitsu’s music in the film transcends its nineteenth-century model; his music
embodies the fragmentary view of history, social alienation, and nihilism that consumed
Kurosawa and other filmmakers who came of age after World War II. The cultural
specificity of this claim works in tandem with the allegorical and mythical dimension of
the narrative: Kurosawa’s lament that the human race will continue to destroy each other
for the sake of power. Perhaps this is what leads Goodwin to comment that Kurosawa’s
dramaturgy and style are “less a means of fixed exposition and final resolution of habitual
themes than a means of investigation and speculation into abiding paradoxes such as
humanity’s capacity for inhumanity” [12].
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REFERENCES
[1] Goodwin, J., 1994. Akira Kurosawa and Intertextual Cinema. Baltimore and London:
The Johns Hopkins University Press, p. 191.
[2] Tessier, M., 2005/1985. “Interview with Toru Takemitsu.” La revue du cinéma 408
(September). Reprinted in the DVD liner notes to Ran. Irvington, NY: Criterion
Collection, p. 20.
[3] Wilmington, M., 2005. “Apocalyse Song.” In the DVD liner notes to Ran. Irvington,
NY: Criterion Collection, p. 7.
[4] Klein, M.L., 2005. Intertextuality in Western Art Music. Bloomingdale: Indiana
University Press, p. 11.
[5] Ibid., p. 7.
[6] Goodwin, J., 1994. Akira Kurosawa and Intertextual Cinema. Baltimore and London:
The Johns Hopkins University Press, p.196.
[7] Ibid., p. 200.
[8] Deguchi, T., 2010. “Gaze from the Heavens, Ghost from the Past: Symbolic Meanings
in Toru Takemitsu’s Music for Akira Kurosawa’s Film, Ran (1985).” Journal of Film Music
3.1: 51-64, p. 52.
[9] Tatebana, R., 2003. “Takemitsu Toru: A Journey toward Musical Creativity.”
Bungakukai 10 (1992). Reprinted in The Complete Takemitsu Edition. Vol. 4: Music for
movies 2. Tokyo: Shogakukan, p. 159.
[10] Deguchi, T., 2010, p.53.
[11] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton: Princeton
University Press, p. 228.
[12] Goodwin, J., 1994, p. 23.
258
Spectralism and Traditional Oral Music in
the Style of Horatiu Radulescu
Alessandro Milia, University of Paris VIII, FR
ABSTRACT
My research mainly focuses on the relationships between compositional strategies evolved
in recent times and those of traditional oral music. My aim is to shine a light on which
new musical meanings and structures derive from a union between historical paradigms of
the Twentieth century (such as Spectralism) and features of traditional oral music. In my
previous research, I have analyzed several strategies for organizing compositional form in
traditional oral music, focusing on those developed in Sardinia. I particularly highlighted
the artistic potential of Sardinian traditional oral music given its characteristic use of open
temporal form, open temporal compositional processes, and systems of micro-variations.
Following that research, I analysed the musical language of the Italian composer Franco
Oppo (1935), who developed a part of his style based upon compositional systems
borrowed from Sardinian traditional oral music [1].
In this paper, I would like to address the relationship between traditional oral music and
spectralism in Horatiu Radulescu’s (1942-2008) work, [2] [3] [4]. Radulescu’s approach
to traditional oral music is comparable to that of Oppo. Born in Bucharest, Radulescu
developed a very specific spectral language that was ahead of its time, which, after the late
1960’s, he distinguished from French spectralism. Then, starting from the 1990s he
developed a style that fused together musical aspects from traditional oral music (especially
from Romania), spectral strategies, as well as from other elements of the ancient, Western
savant musical tradition and of the classical and romantic epochs.
INTRODUCTION AND HYPOTHESIS
When we speak about oral tradition in relation to contemporary written music,
many questions are generated. 1) How does a traditional oral music compositional strategy
influence the musical language of an experimental composer such as Radulescu? 2) Which
artistic innovations does it introduce to the style of the composer? 3) Which new musical
structures and meanings are generated by this hybrid music? 4) Regarding a semiotic
perspective, can the integration of several different systems (oral/savant) generate a new
synthetic music language or new signs?1
1
Concerning the notion of musical sign, we can consider the work La musique et les signes, Précis de sémiotique
musicale of Eero Tarasti, which contains numerous arguments on this subject [5]. For the purposes of this paper,
a sign is a component of the music which generates a sense of meaning with which we can then establish a
rapport with the original sign. When a new component shows itself in the music that we perceive, it becomes a
recognizable sign with an attached meaning.
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The use of oral traditional music in post-modernity has resulted in the production
of less abstract works and a more narrative and discursive style. In writing this paper, my
contribution to the subject will be an attempt to answer the question that emerges almost
naturally by observing Radulescu's musical work: how can the introduction of traditional
oral music strategies change a composer’s compositional system, particularly concerning
Radulescu’s spectral music? Or rather, how does one perceive the musical work once the
composer has incorporated the essential aspects of oral tradition into his craft?2
RADULESCU'S GLOBAL MUSICAL LANGUAGE
Radulescu's relationship with the oral music tradition doesn't concern his most
recent period. His interest in the harmonic spectrum emerged – as stated by Radulescu
himself – through the observation of Romanian traditional oral music during the period of
his education in Romania [8]. Much of the music in the oral tradition is, in fact, based on
the exploitation of the first natural harmonic, on scales formed by micro-intervals, natural
or non-tempered intervals that rely on the physical nature of sound. Radulescu began his
investigation on spectralism in the early 1960s. His first spectral composition – Credo
(1962-1969) for nine cellos, Opus 10 – was ahead of its time; it came a decade before the
first spectral French works and was coeval with the most important of K. Stockhausen's
spectral works: Stimmung (1968) for voices3
.
Radulescu's musical language distinguishes itself by the organization of musical
syntax through microscopic structures, while a compositional processing is done through
micro-variations. The micro-structures and the formal aspects of micro-variations are
essentials in a noticeable part of traditional oral musics. The construction of musical
architecture through micro-elements is also used by other Eastern European composers
such as G. Ligeti, who was likely inspired by Hungarian traditional oral music. In my
previous research, I have already dealt with the technique of micro-variations through the
study of Oppo's style, based on the structures of Sardinian traditional oral music. Oppo’s
style was often characterised by the use of harmonies based off of the first natural
harmonics or non-tempered intervals from a series of natural harmonics, which are derived
from the system of Sardinian oral music [11].
Radulescu’s musical ideal of building the macro-form by the assembly of
microscopic elements, did not prevent him from composing pieces of large proportions in
which the entire sum of the tiny elements establishes the global overall form. These
principles are present in his spectral pieces from the 1960s to the 1980s but they also
appear in his later work. It is evident that the use of some schemas from classical culture,
such as sonata form, in the 1990s, provides an essential basis on which he evolves the
micro-elements and develops micro-variations typical of his style. The use of these two
processes of generation of form, 1) the minimalist and directional elaboration through
micro-variations and 2) the use in these works of stable teleological models strengthened
2
I use the theory of analysis elaborated by Antonio Lai Genèse et Revolutions des Langages Musicaux [6], which is
based on the principle of Dérivation of a model. This theory allows the identification of models in the style of
the composer and to determine the derivations and hybridisations of these models. I also use several principles
elaborated by Eero Tarasti in La musique et les signes. Précis de sémiotique musicale [7].
3
For a closer examination of Radulescu's spectral musical language see [9] and [10].
260
as forma sonata, can seem contradictory. These two processes however seem to coexist with
no problem at all.
In several of Radulescu’s compositions of the early 1990s – as in practicing Eternity
(1992) VIth string quartet, Opus 91, where and Beyond (1992) for flute and strings, Opus
55b – the stylistic change towards the techniques discussed in the previous paragraph
appears in his work. This shift becomes more evident in his Piano Sonatas and in The Quest
(1996), Concerto for Piano and Orchestra, Opus 90. In all of the above mentioned works,
the flux of continuous sound in his previous spectral style is replaced by the discontinuity
of the musical discourse. This is accomplished through the fragmentation of the sonic
syntax, the use of themes of popular and traditional oral origin, the renunciation of the
sound mass’s unity and the search to create a variety of contrasts between two or more
musical elements within a given piece. The sizable lengths of his compositions -e.g., the
Piano Concerto The Quest (1996), 47 min., and Cinerum (2005) for voices and ensemble,
Opus 108, 90 min. - are a symptom of a formal organization through a premeditated
strategy of the teleological compositional tradition.
As already mentioned, in Radulescu's recent works, he often borrows from music of
oral Eastern Europe tradition, especially from Romania. The composer uses the form of
colinda. In the first movement of his Piano Concerto, for example, the second theme is
based off of a colinda and, in the third movement he uses 18 different colinda again,
overlapped and processed by the technique of canon in diffraction. This technique involves
the production of several melodies that start simultaneously but at different speeds causing
a complex multiphony, (Ibid.). Another example of his use of Romanian oral music forms
can be seen in his 3rd Piano Sonata: the third movement is titled Doina. In his cycle of
Piano Sonatas, Radulescu uses a different theme of traditional oral origin for each
movement of each sonata.
While Radulescu integrates traditional oral music into some of his recent musical
pieces, he also tries to give a new life to the main features of symphonic style, such as 1) the
forma sonata (where each sonata of his piano sonata cycle is comprised of 2 to 5
movements) 2) alternation of formal parts (e.g. ABAB), 3) the use of identifiable formal
functions, 4) contrast among elements used into the work 5) the use of re-exposition
(dynamic or not) for the entire duration of the piece. Thus, this hybrid of spectral
principles, symphonic ideals and traditional oral musical creates a new musical aesthetic.
THE CYCLE LAO-TZU: "TAO TE CHING" PIANO SONATAS
Radulescu's Piano Sonatas composed between 1991 and 2007 form a cycle of works
entitled Lao-Tzu: Tao Te Ching Piano Sonatas.4
During my doctoral studies, I will deal
directly with this cycle of work. In this paper, I will just provide a few examples from this
study. The Piano Sonatas are independent pieces and are each characterized by different
materials. However, they are united by similar aesthetic principles. Summoning up Lao-
4
See: a) being and non-being create each other (Freiburg 1991), 2th piano Sonata , 13 min., Opus 82; b) you will
endure forever (Paris 1992/Montreux 1999), 3th piano Sonata, 27 min., Opus 86; c) like a well ... older than God
(Freiburg 1993), 4th piano Sonata, 15 min., Opus 92; d) settle your dust, this is the primal identity (Montreux
2003), 5th piano Sonata, 17 min., Opus 106; e) return to the source of light (Vevey 2007), 6th piano Sonata, 17
min., Opus 110. The first Piano Sonata has been composed in 1968 so we don't treat this work in this paper;
see, Cradle to Abysses (Bucuresti 1968), 1st Piano Sonata, 11 min., Opus 5.
261
Tzu and his book Tao Te Ching should have a special meaning for Radulescu. This is the
most important philosophical book of the Eastern philosopher Lao-tzu – whose actual
existence is disputed – and it is obscure, ambiguous, and timeless. In all likelihood, the
Taoist research of harmony between the nature of Being and universe reflects the author's
ideal music. Radulescu’s purpose was to create a musical language based on the nature of
sound. He founded his approach on a scientific and naturalistic method, but musically, he
tried mask the origins of his material (such as the musical spectrum) in letting only the
finished result emerge [12]. Surely, the trade-off between Being and nature that is sought
by Taoist philosophy stands at the core of Radulescu's musical thought concerning this
cycle of piano works.
In the Piano Sonatas, Radulescu adopted a musical writing that contrasted with the
principles that governed his works of the previous decade. In particular, this applies to the
more abstract spectral works which push the possibilities of performance and perception to
the limits of interpretation, trying to realize just intonation - e.g., infinite to be cannot be
infinite, infinite anti-be could be infinite (1976-1987) for 9 strings quartet Opus 33 and the
cycle of works for viola as Das Andere (1984) Opus 49, Agnus Dei (1991) for two violas
Opus 84. In his piano music, Radulescu had to give up just intonation and exploit the
simplification of the piano’s equal-tempered tuning. In spite of that, he exploited several
spectral processing techniques in the Sonatas. The pitches are always organized as to refer
to the series of natural harmonics [13]. As such, we often find that the tonal centres
appear as low fundamental pulsating notes on the piano or remain only low pitches
theoretically because they’re too low to be played on the instrument.
We often observed that the process of development relates exclusively to the
harmonic features of Radulescu’s works [14]. The composer employs metric-rhythmic
ostinato models, thus he emphasizes the importance of harmony and modulation from one
spectrum to another (we can observe this phenomenon of metro-rhythmic ostinato
patterns in his 3th Sonata, in the first and fourth movements [15] or in the Piano
Concerto, The Quest, in the first movement. Several forms, being rather on a stable
metric-rhythmic model, are built on the principle of a metre ostinato variation. These
principles of variation derive from ancient composition techniques prior to tonality, such
as variations on basso or soprano ostinato, and they also derive from his experience with
traditional oral music, often based on a principle of variation.
In his piano pieces, the metric aspect is particularly refined. Radulescu uses
composites and original models, evocative of dance music, most likely inspired by
traditional metric models of oral music. He invents meters of ostinato in unstable pulsation,
for example inside one measure we may find 2/16-3/16-4/16-5/16, or 5/16-3/16-4/16, [16].
The instability of the main pulsation is an innovative aspect that strongly characterizes all
his pieces for piano solo. I suspect Radulescu borrowed this technique from the traditional
oral music culture, as its opposite, a stable pulsation, is more characteristic of savant
music. This feature also stands as a breaking point from earlier and more abstract works. In
this new style of Radulescu, the traditional use of measures is truly justified, because the
measure often contains the metric-rhythmic pattern that constitutes the main cell upon
which the piece develops. As a matter of fact, these measures do not only include a part of
the musical idea, but the whole primordial cell (e.g., in The Quest Piano Concerto, first
movement, and in the 3th Sonata, first and forth movements). During our study of
Sardinian traditional oral music, we have already observed that fundamental structures – if
262
they are written in the most appropriate meter – can often be enclosed within a single
measure [17].
The cycle Lao-Tzu : "Tao Te Ching" Piano Sonatas is an audacious and
experimental work. Besides its harmonic features, its polyphonic aspects are also very
elaborate. Through the technique of the canon in diffraction Radulescu managed different
and independent voices that approach the limit of what can be performed on the piano.
We can find an example in his Sonata V [18] and especially in his Sonata VI. This
particular technique of polyphonic organization has been differently exploited in many
works such as in the second movement of his Piano Concerto and in Cinerum. This
contrapuntal practice is borrowed from the old vocal tradition, specifically concerning
monodic songs of oral tradition.
In fact, in his cycle of Piano Sonatas, the harmonic aspects (through the spectral
organization) and the polyphonic aspects (through the canon in diffraction) are both
massively used and alternated in order to create variety and a technical-stylistic contrast.
We often find the Byzantine hymns or Colinda overlapped with the canon in diffraction.
This means that the traditional oral monodies assume a multi-phonic dimension. It's very
interesting to see how Radulescu uses two dimensions – vertical and horizontal – creating
a synthetic musical language in which all the dimensions of sound and its development are
fully exploited. For the most part in spectral experimental musical language, only one
dimension is exploited, whereas others aspects are put at the edges of the musical idea. In
Radulescu's spectral language, the harmonic relationships between sounds, and therefore
the timbre, are the most important aspects. In spectralism, the progressive and directional
development of musical parameters totally rejects the discontinuity of traditional musical
linear syntax (concerning polyphony and melody). In contrast, as of the 1990s, Radulescu
made a stylistic synthesis, thus creating a composite musical language.
ALLOYS OF ORALITY AND EXPERIMENTAL COMPOSITION
At the centre of my research is the study of the mixture of orality and experimental
composition. Music, like verbal language, is a system based on the differences between its
fundamental elements. It is this degree of difference between two or more signs that allows
for the production of communication and discourse. In addition, the widespread and
repeated use of similar signs (e.g., several aspects of traditional oral music) produces longdistance
relationships over time and allows the crystallization of a musical language.
This new musical language is the result of using principles borrowed from orality.
The formal hybrid systems developed by Oppo and Radulescu add a new “sign” to the
established aesthetic systems. Traditional Sardinian or Romanian oral music stands as a
strange component in contemporary music; its exploitation in this new context generates
a composite sign that is distinct from any pre-existing or recognizable sign. Therefore, the
new sign causes instability in its interpretation yet it can still influence the expectations of
the listener.
As such, the use of musical forms from traditional oral music influences many
aspects of contemporary music: (1) rediscovery of formal models outside of the tonal
system; (2) rediscovery of some variation and improvisational systems; (3) use of open
form (opera aperta) and compositional temporal open process, typical of most traditional
oral musics; (4) rediscovery of some formal organization systems based on rhetoric and
263
narration unusual in serial, stochastic and spectral music; (5) a new formal role of metric
and rhythm; (6) the introduction of mythical, spiritual and mystical aspects, forgotten by
the erudite tradition.
Using a semiotic perspective, we can argue that the style generated by Oppo's and
Radulescu's works most likely produces a new musical language. These new “signs” created
by the hybridization of orality and experimental paradigms or erudite musical tradition
mark such a significant departure from previous signs as to be noticeably innovative. In
contrast, the similarity of hybrid styles to art music strategies allow the former to still be
recognized as deriving from the active language of the latter (such as with the use of
sonata form and spectralism in Radulescu's style), and the similarity with some traditional
oral music (such as colinda or micro-variation technique from traditional oral music). This
familiarity allows this mixed musical language to remain a language recognized by and
intelligible to the listener.
CONCLUSION
In my research, I try to answer the question that almost naturally emerges during
one’s observation of Oppo’s and Radulescu’s musical work: how can the introduction of
traditional oral musical strategies change the experimental musical language? Namely,
how does one perceive the musical work once it has incorporated the characteristic
aspects of orality?
I am persuaded that the interbreeding between diverse musical paradigms,
originating from various cultural spheres, can develop the musical language and make it
more open, in amplifying both the communicative aspect of music as well as the potential
of expression. Beyond this, the cultural hybridization also brings the specific aspects of the
composer’s musical identity to the foreground. In Oppo’s and Radulescu’s case, the use of
traditional oral music from their respective countries of origin determines the specificity
and the originality of their styles through giving unity and coherence to their music. In
particular, the use of traditional oral aspects brings the composers’ specific cultural
identities to the foreground: Oppo’s Mediterranean heritage and Radelescu’s Eastern
European heritage.
Through our study of these works as a re-introduction of orality into post-modern
style, one can now perceive these musical works as being less abstract. One sees that there
is a balanced integration of compositional principles (such as serialism, spectralism and
cybernetics) based on more conceptual ideas, and narrative and discursive aspects related
to the oral music tradition. This style moves away from and releases the radicalism and
intellectual heaviness of compositional thought from the composers’ previous periods. In
other words, the components introduced by orality allow for a more immediate
communication in music through a less conceptual, intellectual and theoretical musical
language.
264
REFERENCES
[1] Milia A., 2009-2010. Transcription et élaboration dans le langage musical de Franco Oppo.
Mémoire de Master, Université Paris 8 Vincennes à Saint-Denis.
[2] Radulescu H., Web site, www.horatiuradulescu.com.
[3] Radulescu H., 1975: Sound Plasma: Music of the Future Sign, Munich, Edition Modern.
[4] Radulescu H., (DESTARAC, Sandra pseudonym), 2003. Liner notes for the CD
Horatiu Radulescu: Trois Sonates d’après Lao Tzu Opus 82, 86 et 92 (1991-1999), Ortwin
Stürmer piano, Menton, CPO CD, in www.horatiuradulescu.com.
[5] Tarasti E., 2006. La musique et les signes, Précis de sémiotique musicale, Paris,
L'Harmattan, coll. Sémiotique et philosophie de la musique.
[6] Lai A., 2002. Genèse et révolution des langages musicaux, Paris, L'Harmattan, Coll.
“Sémiotique et Philosophie de la Musique”.
[7] Tarasti E., 2006.
[8] Lai A., 2005. “Il linguaggio di Horatiu Radulescu e il movimento spettrale”, in
Musica/Realtà, Juillet 2005 n°77, Lucca, LIM, pp. 155-173.
[9] Ibid.
[10] Lai A., 2005. “Le langage spectral de Horatiu Radulescu”, in L’éducation musicale,
Novembre/Décembre 2005 n°527-528, pp. 18-24.
[11] Milia A., 2011. “Franco Oppo, appunti sulla figura e sullo stile” in Musica/Realtà,
Marzo 2011 n°94, Lucca, LIM, pp. 61-92.
[12] Lai A., 2005.
[13] Radulescu H., 1993. Sonata IV “like a well... older that god”, opus 92, movement I,
measures 1-3, p. 1, Montreux, Lucero Print Music Publishers.
[14] Radulescu H., 1993; and 1999, Sonata III “you will endure forever”, opus 86,
movement II, measures 1-3, p. 25; and movement IV, measures 1-4, p. 47, Montreux,
Lucero Print Music.
[15] Radulescu H., 1999, Movement IV, measures 1-4, p. 47; and movement I, measures 1-
6, p. 1.
[16] Radulescu H., 1999, movement IV, measures 1-4, p. 47; and 2003, Sonata V “settle
your dust, this is the primal identity”, opus 106, movement III, measures 1 and 2, p. 47,
Montreux, Lucero Print Music Publishers.
[17] Radulescu H., 1999, movement I, measures 1-6, p. 1.
[18] Radulescu H., 2003, movement I, measures 137 and 138, p. 21.
Additional bibliography:
Brizzi A., 1989-1990: Le sorgenti inudibili del suono. La musica spettrale di Horatiu
Radulescu, Tesi di Laurea, Università di Bologna.
Gilmore B., 1998: liner notes for CD of The Quest: Concerto for piano and large orchestra
Opus 90 by Horatiu Radulescu, in www.horatiuradulescu.com.
Gilmore B., 2003: “Wild Ocean”, an interview with Horatiu Radulescu, in
www.horatiuradulescu.com, first published in Contemporary Music Review 22 n°1-2, pp.
105-122.
Gilmore B., 2006: “Horatiu Radulescu discute avec Bob Gilmore”, liner notes for the CD
Intimate Rituals: works for viola, Vincent Royer viola, Gérard Caussé viola, Petra Junken
265
and Horatiu Radulescu sound icons, production Sub Rosa, MFA Musique Française
d'Aujourd'hui.
Milia A., 2008-2009: Introduction au langage musical de Franco Oppo, Mémoire de Master,
Université Paris 8 Vincennes à Saint-Denis.
Oppo F., 1983: “Per una teoria generale sul linguaggi musicale”, in Musical Grammars and
Computer Analysis, article of the congress (Modena 4-6 October 1982), Firenze, Leo S.
Olschki Editore, p. 115-130.
Stoianova I., 2000: Manuel d’analyse musicale. Variations, sonate, formes cycliques, Paris,
Minerve, Coll. “Musique ouverte”.
Von Der Weid J-N., 2002: La musica del XX secolo, Lucca, Ricordi-LIM, coll. Le Sfere, p.
378.
266
A Topical Approach to Contemporary
European Art Music
Füsun Köksal, The University of Chicago, IL, USA
ABSTRACT
As used in analysis by Leonard Ratner and taken further by theorists such as Kofi Agawu,
Robert Hatten, and Raymond Monelle, the theory of topics has not been applied widely to
music after the romantic period. In this study I show that today’s music may fruitfully be
analysed from a topical perspective. By examining the possibilities of applying such a
theory to today’s music, I explore the unconventional idea that there may be an emerging
set of shared musical conventions in the music of our time. This paper presents selected
topics in detail and provides relevant examples from the repertory.
INTRODUCTION
Since the 1920s, questions concerning the listener-composer relationship, the
sociological function of music and the composer, and the relationship between complexity
and comprehension have been discussed by different parties, including musicians,
philosophers, sociologists, composers, artists and music theorists. In the 1950s, composers
such as Milton Babbitt argued that because the relatedness of the work is autonomous,
understanding music composed with indeterminacy––that is the music, that is not
composed within stylistic familiarities and is thus not predictable––does not necessarily
demand familiarity with “generalized assumptions [1].” On the other hand, in Music, the
Arts, and Ideas Leonard B. Meyer argued that the adversity of perception that listeners
experience when listening to “highly complex experimental music” depends upon “a set of
strongly ingrained habits [2].” Years later, another music theorist and composer, Fred
Lerdahl, argued in support of Meyer’s idea that such an intellectual, compositional
processes engender a gap between the compositional grammar and listening grammar, and
that music composed with serial procedures prevents the listener from forming a mental
representation of music, which is necessary for its comprehension [3].
More recently, musicologist Arved Ashby’s edited collection The Pleasure of
Modernist Music approaches modern music from the listener’s point of view, offering a
variety of perspectives on non-structural listening, including an essay by Amy Bauer that
surveys different theories on the comprehensibility of modern music.1
Ashby himself
1
Amy Bauer, “Tone Color, Movement, Changing Harmonic Planes: Cognition, Constraints and Conceptual
Blends in Modernist Music,” in The Pleasure of Modernist Music, ed. Arved Ashby (New York: University of
Rochester Press, 2004), pp. 121-152.
267
explores the psychosocial connotations of modernist musical gestures through their
employment in film. 2
In a spirit similar to The Pleasure of Modern Music, this paper seeks to contribute to
scholarship on the comprehensibility of contemporary European concert music written in
the last 25 years by exploring its associative qualities and considering the music from the
listener’s perspective. Regardless of what the composer himself explains about his/her
music, are listeners able to form mental representations of the music in the course of their
listening? Is it really the case that abstract music is unable to awake images in our minds?
Would it be possible to offer a different understanding of contemporary music based on
the associative qualities of music? How does today’s music differ from music governed by
the total serialism in terms of directionality, trajectory, linearity, and individuality?
This paper is an attempt to explore the answers to these questions, and I will argue
that the music of the representatives of contemporary European modernism has the
potential to stimulate the listener to form associative meanings. The paper will offer a topic
theoretical perspective on the issue, which directly deals with signifier/signified
relationships. While such an approach asserts that the associative qualities of this music
extend beyond individual associations to a collective one, it also implies the existence of a
stylistic commonality in the music of last 25 years. 3
This study focuses on prominent composers of European art music, including Ivan
Fedele (b. 1953), Michael Jarrell (b. 1958), Matthias Pintscher (b. 1971), Unsuk Chin (b.
1961), and Gérard Pesson (b. 1958), who follow modernist lines and whose music is
informed by the music of composers of high modernity such as Boulez, Berio, Ligeti, and
Stockhausen.
All topics presented in this study are in accordance two criteria introduced by
Monelle at the end of the third chapter of The Sense of Music: 1) Possessing the capability
of “signification by association”; and 2) Displaying a “level of conventionality in the sign.
There are nevertheless questions regarding the applicability of topics theory to the music
of today, at least as it was presented by Leonard G. Ratner. The first of these questions
concerns the difficulty in defining today’s cultural conventions because of their wide
variety as compared to those in the 18th century; the second concerns the difficulty of
defining today’s cultural conventions from today’s perspective. This being the case, I
suggest the following: While it is possible to interpret the music from the sociological,
historical, or artistic values of an artist as they are embodied in conventions, this process
can be reversed by the use of a topical analysis of music to expose the relevant cultural
conventions. Such an inquiry propounds a heuristic point of view towards different
landscapes, which today’s music offers.
Since this paper is a part of a longer study, in the following section I provide a brief
overview of issues related to the categorization of today’s topical universe. Following this
overview I present three neoteric topics, analyze selected topics in detail, and provide
relevant examples from the repertory.
2
Arved Ashby, “Modernism Goes to the Movies,” in The Pleasure of Modernist Music, ed. Arved Ashby (New
York: University of Rochester Press, 2004), pp. 345-390.
3
In an interview composer Unsuk Chin refers to a similar idea: “Many composers nowadays have an ‘extraterritorial’
feeling about them. Whatever passport they may carry, their music sounds completely globalized; it
borrows from everywhere and every era, and is rooted nowhere.”
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/music/classicalconcertreviews/8442547/Total-Immersion-Unsuk-Chin-
Barbican-review.html
268
LARGE-SCALE ORGANIZATION OF TOPICS
I suggest that the panoply of contemporary music topics can be understood either
chronologically or conceptually. The two categories of topics may thus be represented as
follows: 1) A chronological division of topics consisting of Classical topics and Neoteric
topics; 2) A conceptual division of topics consisting of Nature, Culture, Time, and Space.
Chronological Division of topics
Classical topics
I am defining classical topics as the topics prevalent in the classical period as defined
by Leonard Ratner [4]. To apply traditional topics in the context of contemporary music
does not imply that they appear within the same musical parameters as they appeared in
the 18th century. Rather, the connection of these topics with their counterparts from
history involves their common expressive sense. Although a trumpet call of Witold
Lutosławski, for example, sounds very different from a trumpet call of Haydn, both evoke
the same type of music. During my research I identified the following traditional topics:
Brilliant style, Singing style, Fanfare, and Sigh.
Neoteric topics
The neoteric topics are topics that seem to have emerged after the traditional
canon, and that relate to cultural conventions of the 20th and 21st centuries. Among the
neoteric topics, which are the main focus of this paper, I have identified Zero gravity, Bee
buzz, Action, Hysteria, Bird song, Echo, Boundary play, Opening space, Frozen time,
Oscillation, and Rocket and resonance.
Conceptual Division of Topics
The taxonomy of modern topics may also be guided by concepts. Four categories
have emerged from my survey: Nature, Culture, Time, and Space. Although this
categorization is informed by two binary oppositions (Nature/Culture and Time/Space)
the opposition of these interdependent concepts is not important to this study. The
distribution of topics according to their conceptual division is as follows: Topics of Nature:
Bee buzz, Bird song, Zero gravity, and Overtone. Topics of Space: Opening space, Boundary
play, and Echo. Topics of Time: Oscillation, Frozen time, and Polymeric. Topics of Culture:
Singing style, Fanfare, Hysteria, Brilliant style, Fanfare, Sigh, and Action.
SELECTED TOPICS: ZERO GRAVITY, BOUNDARY PLAY, FROZEN TIME
Zero gravity
This topic is a general type, like the Brilliant and the Singing styles, and highlights
slow motion in music. Although Zero gravity might be projected by a single melodic line it
is usually a combination of a couple of melodic lines, constituting a textural unit. The
melodic structure uses large intervallic skips and slowly oscillates between high and low
269
notes. In this case both the stylistic trait of the signifier (type of music) and the signified
(topic) are new. We could not make such an association without seeing the human gesture
in a zero gravity environment or slow-motion filmic technique. To be clear, the name I
give to this topic, Zero gravity, reflects personal associations. It reminds me of the gestures
and the mood in zero gravity––quiet and spacey––, and gives the impression that the
gesture is static and not completely predictable; as the steps of an astronaut are not wholly
in his control, so the music unfolds unpredictably. Thus the signification process works
here iconically. This signification process can be seen as similar to the suggested
correlation of the rhythmic gesture to the human gesture as articulated by Wye Jamison
Allanbrook [5].
A typical example of this topic appears as a background event in Unsuk Chin’s (b.
1961) Violin Concerto (2001) in mm. 69–102 in the orchestra section [6]. As shown in
example 1, the topic represents itself as separate entrances of dyads by different
instruments. Here, both the extensive intervallic gap within the dyads, such as C#5-B6 on
the oboe, and the intervallic gap between the successive dyad pairs contribute to the sense
of spatiality, a sense of empty space. Almost all of the sounding simultaneities are
underlined with a crescendo followed by decrescendo. The succession of those dynamic
components creates the effect of an object gradually coming closer and then moving away.
Example 1: Unsuk Chin, Violin Concerto (2001), mm. 76-79.4
The second example of this topic is from Michael Jarrell’s (b. 1958) Sillages (2005).
While the previous example projects only long notes, this example displays a melodic
presentation of the topic, which evokes the feeling of a number of objects sweeping to and
fro in a zero-gravity environment. The melodic fragments are molded by a crescendo or
decrescendo –– or both ––vaguely entering and disappearing (example 2) [7]. There is no
sense of contrast or abrupt gesture disturbing the stagnancy of the stillness. Here we have
another fundamental component of this topic, the Echoing effect, which becomes
especially apparent in the solo parts. Although the solo lines do not imitate each other
melodically, they touch on the same pitch in close proximity, such as the C# 5 in the flute
(m. 72, 2nd beat), and the oboe on the next beat, and the D4 in the oboe in m. 72, which
is reiterated by the clarinet right afterwards in m. 73. The effect is most efficient in m. 73
between the solo clarinet and the clarinet 1 in the orchestra, engendering an unfocused,
4
Violin Concerto, by Unsuk Chin. © Copyright 2002 by Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd. Reprinted by
permission.
270
blurry effect created by an involuntary gesture, or the motion of an object in a frictionless
environment which is trying to move forward but which cannot reach to its target.5
Example 2: Michael Jarrell, Sillages (2005), mm. 70-72.6
A similar echoing effect also appears in Ivan Fedele’s (b. 1953) Ètudes Borèales, No.
2, a piece based on the same topic from the beginning to the end (example 3) [8].
Example 3: Ivan Fedele, Ètudes Borèales, No. 2, m. 9.7
Boundary Play
While many of the gestural behaviours of Boundary play may be found in G. Ligeti’s
(b. 1923) music as early as the 1960s, and in his later period in pieces such as the Cello
Concerto (1966) or the Piano Etudes, Book I (1985), No. 1, Desordre, the topic’s
continued presence in the music of other composers motivates me to call it a topic.
Fedele’s etude no. 2 from Ètudes Australes exhibits a sophisticated and complex
example of Boundary play, in which the composer presents the topic in multiple layers.
Like Ligeti’s Piano Etude No. 1, Desordre, the range of the piano becomes the boundarydefining
element in Fedele’s Platea di Weddell. As a whole the piece recalls a stretched-out
5
Although the nomenclature of the topics in this paper is personal, the idea of a body in motion appears in
Jarrell’s own writing about this work. Jarrell described his piece as : “The trace that a ship leaves behind it on
the surface of waters,” and “part of a fluid (liquid, air) left behind a body in motion - perturbations that occur
therein.” See http://www.michaeljarrell.com/en/oeuvres-fiche.php?cotage=28330. A further description of the
same piece full of images such as “echoing,” “aeroplane,” and “motion in the sky” appears on a review written in
2009: “The orchestra is pulled in their wake, the echoes gradually dispersing like cloud trails in the sky,
following an aeroplane that has flown out of sight.” See http://classical-
iconoclast.blogspot.com/2009/08/michael-jarrell-sillages-prom-25-2009.html.
6
Sillages – Congruences II, by Michael Jarell. © Copyright 2005 by Editions Henry Lemoine. Reprinted by
permission.
7
Etudes boreales for piano – Etudes australes for piano, by Ivan Fedele. © Copyright 2003 by Sugarmusic S.p.A.
Milano (Italy) – Edizioni Suvini Zerboni. Reprinted by permission.
271
moment of the oscillation of a pendulum between the apex and the nadir of the keyboard,
which finally stops on A0 because it cannot go further down. Due to limitations of space I
will present an analysis of the first section only [9].
The topic presents itself in three layers. I will call each layer A, B, and C,
respectively: Layer A is the upper layer, which defines the upper border of the right hand;
Layer B, the middle layer, consists of trills and tremolos; finally Layer C is the lower level
of the right hand, which imitates Layer A from a major seventh lower. In the first unit
both A and C layers move chromatically.
Example 4: Ivan Fedele, Etudes Australes, No. 2, mm.1-4.8
While Layer A begins from F5 (m. 2) and moves up to D# 7 (m. 12), a span of
about two octaves, Layer C begins from Gb4 (m. 2) and moves up to E6 in m. 12, again in
a 2-octave span. Layer B, however, moves a little differently, because it moves slower than
the other two lines, which in turn causes it to function as a local pedal point.
Additionally, while establishing the temporary pitch-space relationships in the inner
voices and establishing the local orientation points between Layers A and C, it brings
another layer into the mix by chromatically expanding its own pitch space via trills and
tremolos. There is another aspect here that I believe adds to the topic’s quality: the pedal
notes for the left hand. By staying at one pitch throughout a particular section, the pedal
tone functions as an orientation point, like the North Star, so that we perceive how far we
are away from a fixed anchor point.
The topic appears in Chin’s Violin Concerto in mm. 210-235 [10]. Here, the pitch
space is extended in each appearance of the arpeggiated gesture. The gesture projects an
oscillation between the lowest boundary pitch G3 (m. 210) and reaches to the highest
pitch of B6 by the end of the tenth repetition in m. 223.
Example 5: Unsuk Chin, Violin Concerto (2001), mm. 210-223.9
8
Ibid.
9
Violin Concerto, by Unsuk Chin © Copyright 2002 by Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd. Reprinted by
permission of Boosey & Hawkes, Inc.
272
Frozen Time
Frozen time manifests itself in an unexpected repetition of a pitch or a gesture
interrupting the natural course of music. This topic becomes one of the main components
of Gerard Pesson’s (b. 1958) Wunderblock (Nebenstück II) (2005) for accordion and
orchestra. Although the piece itself has a repetitive quality, it is still clear when the music
comes to a deadlock. Such passages are found in m. 24, mm. 77-81, and elsewhere. Frozen
time is displayed in example 6 [11].
Example 6: Gèrard Pesson, Wunderblock (Nebenstück II) (2005), m. 24.10
Matthias Pintscher (b. 1971) also uses the topic extensively in the second
movement of Reflections on Narcissus, mov. II (2004-2005) for violoncello and orchestra.
His use of the topic is, however, more integrated into the narration of the music. The topic
can be heard in the flowing passages: mm. 228-230, 241-243, 250-254, and 255- 261 [12].11
Example 7: Matthias Pintscher, Reflections on Narcissus, Mov. II (2004-2005), mm. 229-231.12
10
Wunderblock (Nebenstück II), by Gérard Pesson. © Copyright 2005 by Editions Henry Lemoine. Reprinted by
permission.
11
In his liner notes in the recording of this piece, Thomas Schafer uses a definition similar to the idea of
freezing time: “But the Reflections on Narcissus also overwhelm the listener repeatedly with astonishing ruptures,
as when Pintscher, after an ambitiously constructed progression toward a climax, which flows into what is
really the culmination of the piece, suddenly cuts into this upsurge and places in contrast to it the beautifully
touching intimate dialogue of the solo cello and its counterpart in the orchestra, as if time stands still for a
moment” (p. 14).
12
Reflections on Narcissus, by Matthias Pintscher. © Copyright 2005 by Bärenreiter – Verlag Karl Vötterle
GmbH & Co. KG, Kassel. Used by permission.
273
A subtype of Frozen time is Oscillation, which involves the gesture of quick
movement between two or more pitches. The third movement of Philip Hurel’s (b. 1955)
Flash-Back (1998) exhibits an extended section based on this topic, which is based not
only on two or more pitches but also multiple orchestral layers. In this passage we have
two layers of the same topic, marking a static, resting point of a process that occurs earlier
in the work. Example 8 displays a piano reduction of the first layer of the topic, which is
easily audible when executed by tuba, trombone 2, contrabass, contrabassoon, horns, cello,
and piano. It is essentially a repeated four-note succession from A1, which stabilizes the
lowest pitch space to G3, as shown in the example. The second layer is an Oscillation
between chords performed by high strings and high woodwinds. Although both topics
move in a regular motion in themselves and return to the starting location every thirteen
eighth notes, an additional 3/16 in every other cycle creates the illusion of a slight delay.
Although this effect could be explained as the result of the processes related to spectral
techniques, I believe the particular effect it creates and the employment of the effect by
other composers classifies this gestural quality as a topic [13].
Example 8: Philippe Hurel, Flash-Back (1998), mm. 77-80.13
This paper may be understood as an attempt to show that the music written by
contemporary composers of the last 25 years, those following the modernist lines of the
avant-garde, are open to musical signification by examining the associative qualities of
musical gestures, unlike most of the works written by their predecessors.
Both the associative qualities of gestural units and the fact that there are similar
musical gestures employed by different composers, which recalls the common practice of
the classical era, inspired me to approach this subject from a topical perspective. To be
sure, today’s cultural conventions are much wider than the cultural conventions of the
18th century. Nevertheless, different people, regardless of their education, cultural
background, and geographical location, are likely to interpret many gestural qualities in a
similar way. Zero gravity presents such an instance. Regardless of the listener’s geographical
placement, any person who audits a musical passage exhibiting this topic, while watching
a documentary showing the motion of objects moving in a weightless environment, would
be able to conjure up a mental picture of an astronaut trying to move in such an
environment. I strongly believe if a musical passage is capable of creating such a specific
mental picture at a collective level, the signified may very well be pointing out a cultural
convention.
Understood as an intrinsic element of music, I suggest that the topics presented in
this study should be understood differently than the filmic qualities found in modern
music as discussed by Arved Ashby. Ashby argues extensively that “visual” qualities can be
13
Flash-Back, by Philippe Hurel. © Copyright 1998 by Editions Henry Lemoine. Peprinted by permission.
274
found in such works as Krzysztof Penderecki’s (b. 1933) Threnody to the Victims of
Hiroshima (1961), and John Corigliano’s (b. 1938) Pied Piper Fantasy for flute and
orchestra (1979-82) and classifies the associative qualities of these works as
phantasmagoric, a word which has been used by Adorno to define music that aspires to
achieve an illusionary effect [14] [15]. Ashby’s argument elicits the question of whether
the topics I have presented in this paper could be understood as having such
phantasmagoric qualities. I would reply in the negative: Even though phantasmagoric
gestures display an inorganic relationship with the work itself by privileging secondary
parameters, the topics considered in this paper exist within the organic structural
continuity of the piece and they do not necessarily privilege the secondary parameters.
The topics presented here belong to the abstract nature of the music and emerge as part of
the vocabulary of the music of today. I suggest that this subject calls for more research. At
first glance, it may be deepened by an examination of the roots of the exemplified topics;
many of the gestural shapes of these topics can be found in the earlier examples of music
composed after 1945, or perhaps even earlier. However, such coverage far exceeds the
limits of this paper.
REFERENCES
[1] Babbit, M., 1998. “Who Cares if You Listen?” in Contemporary Composers on
Contemporary Music, ed. Elliot Schwartz and Barney Childs, New York, Da Capo Press,
Inc.
[2] Meyer, L. B., 1967. Music, The Arts, and Ideas, Chicago and London, The University of
Chicago Press.
[3] Lerdahl, F., 2001. “Cognitive Constraints on Compositional Systems” in Generative
Processes in Music: The Psychology of Performance, Improvisation, and Composition, ed. John
Sloboda, Oxford, Oxford University Press.
[4] Ratner, L.G., 1980. Classic Music, New York, Schirmer Books.
[5] Allanbrook, W.J., 1983. Rhythmic Gesture in Mozart: Le Nozze di Figaro and Don
Giovanni, Chicago, University of Chicago Press.
[6] Chin, U., 2001. Konzert für Violine und Orchester, London, Boosey & Hawkes.
[7] Jarrell, M., 2005. Sillages (Congruences II), Paris, Editions Henry Lemoine.
[8] Fedele, I., 2003. Boreales, Milano, Edizioni Suvini Zerboni.
[9] Fedele, I., 2003. Ètudes Australes, Milano, Edizioni Suvini Zerboni.
[10] Chin, U., 2001. Konzert für Violine und Orchester, London, Boosey & Hawkes.
[11] Pesson, G., 2005. Wunderblock (Nebenstück II), Paris, Editions Henry Lemoine.
[12] Pintscher, M., 2004-2005. Reflections in Narcissus, Kassel, Bärenreiter.
[13] Hurel, P., 1998. Flash-Back, Paris, Editions Henry Lemoine.
[14] Ashby, A., 2004. “Modernism Goes to the Movies”, in The Pleasure of Modernist
Music, ed. Arved Ashby, New York, University of Rochester Press.
[15] Paddison, M., 1998. Adorno’s Aesthetics of Music, Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press.
275
An Overview of Retrato I, by Gilberto
Mendes: Quotations and the Influence of
Film Music of the 1930s and 40s
Cibele Palopoli, MD, Univeristy of Sao Paulo, BR
ABSTRACT
This paper examines complementary aspects between the film and post-tonal music in
Retrato I (1974), for flute and clarinet, by Gilberto Mendes (b. 1922), which carries
densely meaningful musical signs interacting and co-existing in a same piece. Film music
of the 1930s and 40s can be viewed as an indexical sign and its effects as an emotional
intepretant recall an important period of Gilberto Mendes’s life, his childhood, and the
tonal music present in his compositional course. Inspired by Charles Sanders Peirce’s
categories, this article is an attempt to approach his ideas to musical analysis, considering
musical procedures developed during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, such as set
theory.
INTRODUCTION
Born and raised by the sea, the Brazilian composer Gilberto Mendes (b. 1922) has
been interacting with the 20th
and 21st
compositional trends since the beginning of his
career, in order to reach a higher degree of freedom in form and metrics. His search for
new timbres and his use of brief pitch collections as structural elements in his work show
aspects of Modernism’s aesthetic and political consequences.
When we analyze the course taken by the composer himself in his book Uma
odisséia musical: dos mares do sul à elegância pop/art déco [a musical odyssey: from the
southern seas to the pop/art deco elegance] (1994), we realize that his musical learning
process was oriented towards a non-tonal universe. In his youth, he abandoned his
compositional training as a tone-oriented teacher in favor of a more personal learning
process, based on his own analyses of the work composed by Bach, Schumann, Schubert,
Scarlatti, Chopin, Bartók, Schoenberg, Milhaud, Stravinsky, Debussy and Webern, his
“foremost and truest music composition teachers” [1]. From 1945 to 1958–a period
considered by the composer as his first compositional phase–he was attracted to
Neoclassicism, the absence of directionality and a non-functional harmony, and this
resulted in the construction of chords using seconds and fourths. In addition, he was
strongly influenced by the tonal music prevalent in American films during the 1930s and
40s. The combination of the compositional techniques arising from these influences
resulted in works whose characteristics led him to classify this phase as “tonal with a
poly/atonal climate” [2].
276
It was a combination of events that led the composer to a brief nationalistic streak;
the Jdanov doctrine 1
in the early 1950s, the second open letter written by Camargo
Guarnieri 2
, the subsequent breakup of Guerra-Peixe and Cláudio Santoro from
dodecaphonism and his contact with Mário de Andrade’s 1928 Ensaio sobre a Música
Brasileira [essay on Brazilian music]. Consequently this inspired him to explore Brazilian
folklore under Mário de Andrade’s guidance. However, it did not take him long to return
to the then-called “vanguard”, which sought a greater contact with Western contemporary
compositions. During his second compositional phase, called “experimental” (1960-1982),
Gilberto Mendes went to the Darmstadt summer course, strengthening his contact with
aleatorical, microtonal, neo-Dadaistic, concrete, gestural (musical theatre) music, as well
as happenings, using new graphic symbols in scoring his works.3
American movie composers of the 1930s and 1940s, such as Cole Porter, George
Gershwin and Frederick Hollander,
4
are also part of Gilberto Mendes’s musical identity,
highlighting his nostalgic relationship with film music to his work as a whole:
Hollander, what a maritime, blue-sky, moving resonance his name evokes in me […].
In Germany, he was Friederich Hollaender, the king of kabarett melodien, in the
Berlin Friedrichstrasse of the 1920s. He also composed the songs Marlene Dietrich
sings in The Blue Angel, directed by Sternberg, including the anthological Ich bin
von Kopf bis Fuss auf Liebe eingestellt.5
In the United States, fleeing Nazism, he
composes Moonlight and Shadows, which Dorothy Lamour sings in Her Jungle Love.
And Eddy Duchin’s orchestral arrangement and recording of this song became my
Wellesian rosebud […] [6].
Film music of the 1930s and 40s can be viewed as an indexical sign and its effects
as an emotional intepretant recall an important period of Gilberto Mendes’s life, his
childhood, and the tonal music present in his compositional course. We can also verify on
Mendes’s works logical interpretants, as his most famous works Beba Coca-Cola (Motet em
Ré Menor) (1967) and Santos Football Music (1969), and even energetic interpretants, as
mentioned by Martinez [7], in O Último Tango em Vila Parisi (1987), Ulysses em
Copacabana Surfing with James Joyce e Dorothy Lamour (1988) and Il Samba Del Soldato
(1991).
Inspired by Charles Sanders Peirce’s categories, this article is an attempt to
approach his ideas to musical analysis, focusing on the intertextuality provided by Gilberto
Mendes’s Retrato I, which carries densely meaningful musical signs interacting and coexisting
in a same piece.
1
The Jdanov Manifest was written by Andrei Alexandrovitch Jdanov in the then USSR and delivered during
a congress of the Composers’ Union, in 1948, see Salles [3].
2
The Carta Aberta aos Músicos e Críticos do Brasil [open letter to the musicians and critics of Brazil], that was
written in December 1950, and published in the mainstream media of the time, was mainly targeted at HansJoachim
Koellreutter. In his open letter, Guarnieri warned “the new generations of artists” about the “dangers”
of modern art as a force capable of destroying the modernist nationalism. The author criticized the twelve-tone
technique, considering it a degenerate art, an athematic and essentially cerebral music, both antipopular and
antinational, see Contier [4].
3
To further references about Gilberto Mendes’s importance, see Buckinx [5].
4
The son of German parents, composer Friedrich Hollaender was born in London in 1896 and died in Munich
in 1976. During the 1930s, Hollaender settled in the USA and changed the spelling of his name to Frederick
Hollander. Currently, we may find references to him in both spellings.
5
The title of this song in English is Falling in Love Again.
277
AN OVERVIEW OF RETRATO I
It was during his second compositional period that Gilberto Mendes, from his
performance in the Movimento Música Nova [new music movement], came to be defined as a
“composer freed from traditional techniques, oriented towards experimentalism, the
exploration of electroacoustics, of randomness, of the concept of row with a structural
basis, ultimately of the pluri-sensoriality of the work of art”, [8]. In this context, the
composer wrote, in 1974, Retrato I [portrait I], for flute and clarinet in B flat, the first in a
series of musical portraits dedicated to his wife Eliane. The title of the piece may be
interpreted as a rheme, which allows for the concretization of imagined possibilities. It also
can be indexed 6
in relation to 19th
Century aesthetics, evoking Mussorgski’s Pictures at an
Exhibition.
Retrato I has 161 bars organized into a single Section, which is subdivided into
introduction and nine Parts (Table 1). At each Part, the irregular number of bars indicates
the asymmetry present in the piece’s form and the diversity inherent in the dynamics and
timbre procedures characterizes a stratified texture.
Sections
Bar
Single section
1-161
Part Bar Part 1
1-4
Part 2
5-38
Part 3
39-49
Part 4
50-63
Part 5
64-69
Part 6
70-95
Part 7
96-108
Part 8
109-120
Repeats
Part 2
material
Part 9
121-124
Repeats
Part 3
material
Part 10
125-128
Repeats
Part 4
material
Part 11
129-161
Center A A D F & C Transition A & D Transition A D F A
Nr. Of
bar
4 34 11 14 6 26 13 12 4 4 33
Table 1: Retrato I’s form.
Inside each Part, five varied sets are juxtaposed. This multiplicity of little varied
sets has characteristics of Postmodernism. Set 1 is expanded (Figure 1) as of the first bars,
starting from a sound, until it reaches the 3m interval above referred to by Gilberto
Mendes (namely, in bar 13 and 36). The microtonal undulations proceeded by 2M
intervals and tremolos can be interpreted as a rhematic-iconic-legisign, representing the
maritime ebb and flow from Gilberto Mendes’s hometown, Santos.
6
We highlight that the utilization of the word index in this paper is directly related to Peirce’s Trichotomy,
referring to “a sign that is related to its object through co-occurrence in actual experience”, see Turino [9].
278
Figure 1: Set 1 and its major variations (bars 1-2, 4, 11-15 and 36-38).7
Sets 2 through 4 (Figure 2) and their variations are then introduced, interspersed
by forms of set 1:
7
All musical examples are reproductions from the same edition: Retrato I, by Gilberto Mendes; copyright 1979,
by Editoras Novas Metas Ltda. Used by permission.
279
Figure 2: Sets 2 through 4 and their variations (respectively bars 5, 8-9 and 19-23; 6 and 63;
28-30 and 36-38).
When we consider the general pauses, the sonority of the wind and keys of the
flute, as well as the gestures at the end of the piece as musical material, we expand our
organization to five sets. This fifth set, composed basically of extended techniques, can
also be associated with musical signs. The sonority of wind played on the flute by blowing
in the headjoint completely cover is a rhematic-iconic-legisign, literally a metaphor for
the beach wind sonority. On the other hand, the percussive effects produced by key clicks
as well as the physical and expressive gestures (musical theatre) at the end of the piece
represent an energetic interpretant to be developed by the performers.
In his memoirs, Gilberto Mendes refers to the elements that formed his musical
composition:
[“Retrato I”] has the shape of an often-interrupted melody, in order to give way to the
re-elaboration of what was heard until the breakpoint. The re-elaborated parts add up
at each interruption. On the first page, I present two very brief fragments of two
songs–their beginnings–by Friedrich Hollaender, one of which was sung by Marlene
Dietrich in The Blue Angel8
and the other by Dorothy Lamour in Her Jungle Love,9
8
The composer refers to the song Falling in Love Again (Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuss auf Liebe eingestellt).
280
both starting from the third minor interval, which is also the first interval of my own
interrupted melody. Therefore, they are not mere quotations, but the composition of a
process of identification among several musical elements around the third minor
interval, which is the axis of the entire composition, until the end, in tremolos, with
the interval opening up to a Schumann piece.10
It is as if my melody finds it difficult
to move on. And, always stumbling, it does not reach the end, always in the midst of a
nostalgic feel of musical recollections. Musicians pretend to repeat the last phrase
(they play it mentally), in a theatrical manner, with the instruments in their mouths
[10].
Frederick Hollander’s quotations of film music of the 1930s and 40s (specifically,
Falling in Love Again and Moonlight and Shadows) in Retrato I represent a notion of formal
iconism [11]. Moreover, it constantly evokes an emotional interpretant, referred by the
composer as “a nostalgic feel of musical recollections”. A self-confessed lover of the
American cinema of the 1930s and 1940s, Gilberto Mendes searches in American films new
signs for his music, saying that not long before composing Retrato I, he found out that his
two favorite songs (Falling in Love Again and Moonlight and Shadows) had been composed
by the same person: “I could not help but get very thrilled with this discovery. The same
composer had written the two popular songs that meant the most to me, (…), which I
evoked in Retrato I” [12]. By inserting quotations into his work, he alluded to his own
memory of these songs resulting in “references [that] are always cherished reminiscences,
shamelessly distorted due to the fact they are gathered ‘by ear,’ confused by the
simultaneous combination of more than one record of his recollections” [13].
[...] I, of all people, in love with cinema, an art which sometimes I think I like better
than music. The movie theater is like a temple to me. There, when the lights grow
dim and the movie starts, I find God. It is my religion […] [14].
According to the composer, Retrato I presents quotations of avowedly tonal music
(Figure 3). Nonetheless, the use of polytonality 11
in the passages where the
aforementioned quotations are taken from, the absence of a harmonic hierarchy and the
utilization of diverse pitch collections characterize a post-tonal work [16]:
9
Gilberto Mendes refers to Moonlight and Shadows.
10
The musical contour formed by the notes in the last bars of Retrato I is similar to the first bars of the Fabel
piece, which integrates Fantasiestücke, Op. 12, or the passages of the Sonata, Op. 22, or even the Humoresque,
Op. 20, for piano. In personal contact with pianists Heloísa and Amílcar Zani, they said that the insertion of
short similar passages in different works is a common practice adopted by Robert Schumann.
11
We consider that polytonality “(...) is the simultaneous use of two or more aurally distinguishable tonal
centers. (…) As a general rule, each tonal layer in a polytonal passage will be basically diatonic to its own
scale”, see Kostka [15].
281
Figure 3: Examples of quotations in polytonal passages: Falling in Love Again, Moonlight and
Shadows and Schumann’s contour (bars 36-38, 39-44 and 159-161).
The use of the flute and clarinet in B flat facilitates the creation of a balanced
sound and timbre during the piece. The graphical presentation of the piece (symbolic
sign) includes a leaflet with technical and interpretative instructions associated with the
score through circled letters, from A to K.12
With the support of this expedient, Gilberto
Mendes asks for effects like frulatto, microtonal undulations, wind sounds achieved by
blowing directly into the flute headjoint (without a formed embouchure), notes played at
the same time when the letters “T” and “K” are reproduced, key clicks, and notes both
played and sang at an interval of second major or minor. These sonorities enlarge the
sound diversity and contribute to textural stratification which in itself becomes an
indexing of the Darmstadt’s Neue Musik concepts.
The piece is characterized by a great rhythmic and metric diversity. Although there
is no indication of time signature, the presence of mixed metrics in measurable bars, which
extend from 2 quavers (last bar) to 42 quavers (first bar) (Figure 4), is striking.
12
The leaflet contains the following instructions (in both Portuguese and English): “(A) Start without sound;
(B) Wave the sound microtonally; (C) Cover completely the end [sic] of the flute and blow; (D) Like an
exercise of technique; (E) Pronounce the letter ‘T’ when playing each note, as clear as possible; (F) A long
note with periodic accents; (G) Click the keys of the flute with the fingers; (H) Play the notes and, at the same
time, click the keys of the flute; (I) Pronounce the letter ‘K’ when playing each note, as clear as possible; (J)
Sing while playing the notes, at an interval of second major or minor; (K) Not to be played. Perform this final
part mentally, with all physical and expressive gestures”, see Mendes [17].
282
Figure 4: Metric diversity: From 42 quavers (bar 1) to 2 quavers (bar 161).
The first metronomic indication is a quarter note at 60bpm and, a little further
ahead, the measurement by the quaver is valued in the indication that makes it equal to
120bpm (bar 5). However, after reaching bar 11, the quaver is associated with 88bpm and
these tempos continue to be alternated until the end of the piece, being generally
separated by at least one bar of silence in both voices or by a long musical figure in one of
the voices. Our conjecture is that the composer based his indication on the options
provided by mechanical metronomes. Gilberto Mendes then explores two distinct types of
temporality: the objective one, represented by the metronomic indications, versus a
subjective one, which calls into question the possibility of considering music purely iconic.
FINAL CONSIDERATIONS
We therefore conclude that the segmentation of sets associated with the
determination of a referential locus, metric irregularity, and diverse dynamics, timbre, and
articulation support the understanding of the stratified texture as well as the 11 part
formation of the piece’s formal organization–which represent ancillary aspects to both a
timbristic treatment, and the conduction of the piece by its performers. Retrato I deals
with the atmosphere of the film music of the 1930s and 40s concomitantly with the
dryness of post-tonal music, provided by compositional procedures such as polymodality
and music theatre. Finally, we verified in this preliminary investigation a co-existence of
densely meaningful musical signs, in which interaction represents the post-modern essence
in Gilberto Mendes’s music.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This article is part of the final results of our undergraduate research, which was
conducted between 2009 and 2010 under orientation of Dr Adriana Lopes da Cunha
Moreira, and promotion by the Fundação de Amparo à Pesquisa do Estado de São Paulo
(FAPESP) [São Paulo Research Foundation].
283
REFERENCES
[1] Mendes, G., 1994. Uma odisséia musical: dos mares do sul à elegância pop/art déco. São
Paulo, EDUSP, p. 40.
[2] Ibid., p. 43-53.
[3] Salles, P. T., 2005. Aberturas e impasses: O Pós-Modernismo na música e seus reflexos no
Brasil – 1970-1980. São Paulo, Editora da Unesp, p. 170.
[4] Contier, A. D., 1991. “A sacralização do nacional e do popular na música (1920-50)”.
In Revista Música. São Paulo, Universidade de São Paulo, v. 3, n°1, p. 29.
[5] Buckinx, B., 1998. O pequeno pomo ou a história da música do Pós-Modernismo. São
Paulo, Editora Giordano e Ateliê Editorial, p. 73-5. [Dutch version: Buckinx, B., 1994. De
kleine pomo: of de muziekgeschiedenis van het postmodernisme. Peer, Alamire].
[6] Mendes, G., 1994, p. 13-4.
[7] Martinez, J. L., 2006. “Brasilidade e semiose musical”. Revista Opus 12, p. 119.
[8] Santos, A. E., 1997. O antropofagismo na obra pianística de Gilberto Mendes. São Paulo,
Annablume, p. 33.
[9] Turino, T., “Signs of Imagination, Identity, and Experience: A Peircian Semiotic
Theory for Music”. Ethnomusicology, Vol. 43, No. 2, p. 227.
[10] Mendes, G., 1994, p. 158-9.
[11] Osmond-Smith, A., and Monelle, R., 1991. “Music and the Peircean Trichotomies”.
Edinburgh, IRASM, 22/1, p. 101.
[12] Mendes, G., 1994, p. 159.
[13] Coelho de Souza, R., 2004. Gilberto Mendes: piano solo e Rimsky. Notes for the CDROM
booklet. São Paulo, LAMI/ECA/USP, p. 3.
[14] Mendes, G., 2008. Viver sua música: com Stravinsky em meus ouvidos, rumo à avenida
Nevskiy. São Paulo, EDUSP, p. 209.
[15] Kostka, S. M., 2006. Materials and Techniques of Twentieth-Century Music. 3 ed. Upper
Saddle River, Prentice-Hall, p. 105.
[16] Straus, J. N., 1995. Introduction to Post Tonal Theory. Upper Saddle River, PrenticeHall,
p. 130-131.
[17] Mendes, G., 1979. Retrato I: para flauta e clarinete. Score. São Paulo, Novas Metas,
n.p.
284
Recycling Musical Topoi by
Electroacoustic Means in What Happens
Beneath the Bed While Janis Sleeps?
Rodolfo Coelho de Souza, DMA, University of Sao Paulo, BR
ABSTRACT
Topical theory has been extended by Monelle and others to styles after the Classical
period, the repertoire for which it was originally devised. This paper expands this analytical
principle to works of electroacoustic music that avoid Schaffer’s principle of reduced
listening, allowing both intrinsic and extrinsic references to emerge. The work analysed
displays programmatic content, a large array of topical references, metaphor and
metonymy tropes, and narrative development, suggesting that this genre is able to achieve
an artistic status that refutes the criticism of being mere sound effects. Topical meanings
can be effective in substituting formal functions in a language that lacks traditional syntax,
granting the composer a tool to deal with issues of formal design.
INTRODUCTION
Given that the theory of musical topics was initially devised by Ratner [1] to account
for the juxtaposition of stylist features within the Classical style, electroacoustic music might
well seem the opposite of a locus classicus of discourse using musical topoi. Nevertheless some
authors that followed Ratner’s path expanded the theory to subsequent periods, like Agawu
[2], who aimed to embrace the music of the Romantic period. Monelle was certainly among
the most audacious who thought that topical theory might contribute to the understanding
of many musical styles. In Monelle’s seminal work of 2006 [3], which focuses mostly on
Pastoral and March topics, he occasionally extrapolated the theory to the repertoire of
twentieth-century music, examining works by Debussy, Prokofiev and even Ligeti.
The purpose of this paper is to demonstrate that topical theory can be expanded even
to recent pieces of electroacoustic music, assuming that they do not comply with Schaeffer’s
concept of “reduced listening”. To argue this hypothesis, I will analyse some passages from
my What Happens Beneath the Bed While Janis Sleeps?, a piece of electroacoustic music
composed in 1998 that uses, among other raw materials, voice samples of the deceased pop
singer Janis Joplin1
. As corollary, I will show that the interpretation of topical meaning
allows us to recognize the emergence of metaphorical and metonymic tropes that not only
contribute to an underlying musical narrative but also justify the claim that this musical
language has an artistic status.
1
This piece was recorded in a CD of the Brazilian Society of Electroacoustic Music. It also received recognition
as finalist for the ASCAP award at the SEAMUS Conference of 1999 in San Jose, California.
285
EXTRINSIC AND INTRINSIC REFERENCE IN ELECTROACOUSTIC MUSIC
As a point of departure, we may establish that What Happens Beneath the Bed While
Janis Sleeps? deals with both extrinsic and intrinsic meanings. The title points to a certain
Janis that the listener may or may not, at the beginning, associate with the singer Janis
Joplin. The piece lasts eight minutes, and when it reaches its last part it is quite plausible
to assume that whoever knows Janis Joplin’s recordings will have enough clues to make
the association. However this link is not necessary to justify the piece as a piece of music,
or to provide an undisputed meaning to it, or even to allow the understanding of its
implicit narrative. It would only add one more layer of reference to the world outside the
musical discourse, allowing, for instance, the uncovering of the identity of the deceased
singer, suggested by the musical material of the piece, to be interpreted narratively as a
resurrection journey – actually another token of the archetypical legend of the suicidal
queen Dido who returns from hell.
Another layer that makes this music programmatic is the information, sometimes
provided by program notes, at other times by an image printed with the notes or projected
on a screen, that the composition was inspired by the famous painting Nightmare I (1781)
by the English/Swiss artist Henry Fuseli (1741-1825). That proto-Romantic picture
portrays a young woman tormented, during her dream, by an Incubus and a mythical
horse. This painting belongs nowadays to the Detroit Institute of Arts and we can see a
reproduction at:
http://www.dia.org/object-info/f222b80e-c3ba-4dd0-a705-4b14cb4f5ad6.aspx
This visual extrinsic reference does not actually create a narrative by itself but
helps to create associations, as we will see, between the topical meanings suggested by the
music and the two main characters of Fuseli’s painting, the woman and the Incubus, who
are reinstated in the music as Janis and her nocturnally hounding monsters.
However, should not electroacoustic music be “abstract music”? Indeed, Pierre
Schaeffer, the founder of concrete music, prescribes the principle of “reduced listening” as a
necessary condition to make effective music that is created by the transformation of
recorded sound materials. This principle requires that the samples should be distorted by
electronic means to the point that we do not recognize the source that generated that
sound. In this approach, the composer should strive to deal only with the abstract
parameters of sound, avoiding any possible references to external meanings. Schaeffer
recommended that the compositional process of shaping the sound materials deemphasize,
as much as possible, interpretation at the index level of the sign, according to Peirce’s
icon/index/symbol trichotomy. For Schaeffer, the composer should endeavour at the
intrinsic iconic level of the sign, following the tradition of pure abstract music, i.e. absolute
music. Eliminating the index level, concrete music would avoid the danger of becoming
episodic, like mere cartoon sound effects. Blocking the index level also implies the purge
of symbolic meanings which would prevent concrete music from adhering to any
aesthetics of programmatic music.
Diverging from Schaeffer, the following generation of composers linked to the
GRM – the French Groupe de Recherches Musicales (including such figures as Michel
Chion and François Bayle) – claimed that electroacoustic music could employ signs
exhibiting all three levels of the Peircean sign: the icon, the index and the symbol.
286
Nevertheless, they did not theorize the achievement of a symbolic or narrative level
according to any theory like that of musical topoi. Actually their studies focused on the
parallels between the languages of electroacoustic music and cinema and radio-theatre.
One problem that challenges the analysis of electroacoustic music is that the music
is seldom represented by a score. As its musical discourse is not as greatly dependent on
pitches as previous repertoires, listening to the actual music, and paying attention to all its
parameters, especially timbre and register, becomes key to the process of interpretation.
Nevertheless some kind of representation is required in order to present the analysis to a
reader. Therefore I choose to follow Chion’s method of analysing audio-visual discourses.
He recommends the assignment of words to each musical event as a means of representing
it. Notice that he does not intend to reduce the musical meaning to verbal meaning. The
only purpose of the substitution is representation. Notwithstanding, he emphasizes that
“we must have confidence in words and, therefore, take them seriously” [4].
MUSICAL TOPOI RECYLED IN ELECTROACOUSTIC MUSIC
The recognition of musical topics in electroacoustic music, a musical style
undeniably very remote from the Classical repertoire for which the concept was
developed, implies some level of transformation in the way in which topics are presented.
Hatten’s concept of the topical field is useful for this purpose. He defines topical fields as
“larger areas such as the tragic, the pastoral, the heroic, and the buffa that are supported by
topical oppositions” [5]. We may enlarge the application of topical representation to
assume that an electroacoustic musical sign can be interpreted to fit a certain topical field,
even if it is presented in an unfamiliar way that does not conform to traditional means.
Usually this assumption implies that some change of focus from one level to another of the
Peircean sign must occur. As a disclaimer, we must state that we do not claim that all
electroacoustic music is suitable for interpretation by topic theory, at least at this stage of
our research. Nevertheless we defend that some instances are. The piece of music focused
in this paper represents one of those cases.
The seed for most of the sounds that occurs in the piece is a short sample of Janis
Joplin’s voice. The sample that functions as the work’s main motive is presented at the
onset. It is a scream, a pungent shout, enigmatic inasmuch as it conveys as much pain as
rejoicing. Therefore the sound material can be interpreted from the beginning as a trope
that mixes struggle with redemption. The same content of this trope is projected over the
long run of the musical narrative, as indicated earlier.
The scream motive, in conformity to Schaeffer’s principle, is electronically
transformed up to the point that its reference to the original recording is sufficiently
disguised. It becomes an iconic sign of impetus or stress. Therefore the topical field to
which it belongs can be immediately associated with the heroic. Moreover, the specific
topic would the Sturm und Drang, insofar as the German word Drang means impulse, stress
and impetus. Nevertheless the topical meaning conveyed by the electroacoustic language
uses a more elementary iconic representation than its symbolic counterparts in instances
of the Classical style which usually depend on rhythmic and harmonic conventions.
The scream motive is the core of what we may call a first theme. After a short
transition follows a second material placed as a direct opposition to the first. This second
“theme” is also derived from the singer’s recording. However, instead of the scream filtered
287
and twisted by electronic means, this theme features a Sprechstimme stretched in time and
transposed to the low register. The effect is the transformation of the original sample into
a grotesque song performed in a slow tempo by a monstrous character. The topic here
conforms undoubtedly to that of a funeral march.
At this point the music has established the domains of two musical characters
placed in opposition. This opposition is purely musical, although we may correlate them to
external references. The programmatic title and the painting association provide for that:
the dreaming (dead?) woman (Janis) is the first theme and the Incubus (Janis’s nightmare
phantoms) is the second theme. The set-up for an intrinsic musical narrative and a
suitably correlated external symbolic narrative have both been established.
Notice that we touch here on an important point of the discussion: how topical
meaning can contribute to the structure of an electroacoustic piece of music. Caplin [6]
argues that a direct correlation between musical topoi and formal functions is difficult, or
even possible to assert for the Classical repertoire. He argues that, in tonal music, formal
functions depend mostly on tonal functions, like modulation and cadences, as opposed to
topical meanings. What happens, on the other hand, with electroacoustic music, which
does not rely on tonal functional relations to model its form? Our assumption is that
topical meanings can substitute for tonal functions to providing formal structure for this
kind of music. Form depends fundamentally on contrast. Contrast can be achieved by a
variety of means. Tonal functions have granted structural contrast to most of the music of
the common period. Topics have reinforced that contrast in certain styles, like the
Classical and the Romantic. However, in the absence of the tonal syntax, the resource to
topical contrast is a possibility available to the composer, in order to provide formal clarity
to his music. Maybe this can explain why topical analysis has emerged with such a force in
our contemporary theoretical concerns. I do not mean to suggest that electroacoustic
music is the driving force in that direction. But it may well be that audio-visual languages
(in which electroacoustic music is so often employed) assume this role because they
constitute a forceful part of our daily experience. Therefore topical meanings, topical
fields, genre types, paradigmatic expressive narratives, all of which contribute to the
structure of audio-visual products, inevitably would have to surface in any media as part of
the conceptual apparatus of our Zeitgeist.
Are there other topics in the piece of music we are analysing, besides Sturm und
Drang and Funeral March? Finding them would help to corroborate our thesis that topical
meaning can grant form to electroacoustic music. Indeed, we may recognize other passages
that relate to singing and learned style (marking the Coda section), the noble horse topic
(marking a turning point in the Development section), the water depiction topic
(marking the Retransition section), horn call (an actual train whistle), and the scherzo
topic (in many passages that imply grotesquerie, fantastic, bizarre and monstrous). All
these contribute to the creation of a formal design. It would be also possible to claim that
electroacoustic music creates its own idiomatic stylistic and topical interpretations, like
machine depiction, nature depiction, bells of all kinds, etc. These topics might be grouped
in sub-categories based on textures or gestures. Therefore topical analysis in
electroacoustic seems to be an open-ended endeavour.
What follows is a summary of the main topics found in the piece:
288
• Sturm und Drang
• March (particularly Funeral march)
• Singing style
• Learned style
• Scherzo
• Horn call
• Landscape depiction
• Noble horse
Although we cannot dwell on each of the topics employed in the piece, there are
two passages that deserve special consideration. The first occurs in the core of the
development and employs sounds generated by electronic means that emulate wind gusts.
At first sight this material has no relation with the thematic material of the work, be it the
scream or the funeral march. We might perhaps recognize some spectro-morphological or
gestural similarity between the scream and the wind gust, but this would be insufficient to
justify its logical use in the piece.
A more effective principle that yields coherence for the piece emerges from topical
association. What is perceived in this passage is an actual storm depiction (in fact an
electronic simulation, not a recording) that correlates with the Sturm und Drang topic
because the German word Sturm means storm in English. Therefore what is heard can be
interpreted as a variation of the topic of first theme. At the iconic level, the links are not
very strong, but they correlate expressively in the symbolic level of culturally codified
meanings.
Other seemingly unconnected material, which also appears in the development, is
a train sound. We can reasonably expect that in developmental sections, contrasting
materials derived from far-reaching musical associations may emerge. However it is not
obvious what association legitimates the sound of the train as belonging to this piece.
Again, topical interpretation must be called upon to explain what makes the passage
coherent. The aforementioned machine topic, which undoubtedly would encompass the
train sound, has not been clearly expressed earlier in the piece. The pacing
accompanimental strokes of the funeral march theme indeed have some similarity with
machine sounds, but this seems to be too subtle to provide a justification for it. On the
other hand, we may listen to the train as related to the noble horse topic. Hatten would
call this a troping of topics. Trains have literally tremendous “horse power”, i.e., we may
say that they express the modern equivalent of the noble horse. The train sound is
preceded by a fragment that resembles the sound of marching horse hooves. The march
topic is thus evoked in distinct ways: the funeral march as the second theme, the marching
horses fragment in the development, and ultimately the train itself, which renders its own
marching rhythm. In other words, we may interpret the train as a topical variation of the
second theme in the symbolic realm, inasmuch as the storm was a variation of the first
theme.
We may also point out some levels of intertextuality associated with these
materials. The train certainly makes reference to Pierre Schaeffer’s Étude aux Chemins de
Fer (1948) and the wind reminds us of Henri Pousser’s Trois Visages de Liège (1961), both
seminal works in the repertoire of musique concrète. In fact, the marching horse topic
echoes a long stream of visual and aural associations that range from the horse in Fuseli’s
painting through the horse depiction in Schubert’s Erlkönig and Wagner’s Ride of the
Valkires.
289
THE RELATION OF SYNTAX WITH TROPES IN
ELECTROACOUSTIC MUSIC
The syntax of electroacoustic music has been studied by so many authors that it
would be impossible to acknowledge all of them here. Nevertheless this paper takes a
particular approach unrelated to any of the previous contributions, seeking a functional
model based on semiotic operations that might help to explain how different sound
objects link coherently in a phrase of electroacoustic music.
The problem starts when we realize that most sound objects are simply juxtaposed
without adhering to any discernible syntactical paradigm such as we find, for instance, in
tonal music. The technique usually employed is the montage technique that has been
studied for the cinema language. The juxtaposition procedure, or parataxis (in opposition
to syntax), can also create meaning. The difference is that the logic of connection is not
given by any syntactic element that belongs to the language. We may provide an example
in verbal language. We say “John is a man because he has mind and body”. The words
“is/because/has/and” allow logical connections for the names in the phrase. If we had
stated “John man mind body” it would be harder to infer some meaning. However poetry
uses expressions like “cold heat” and “giant dwarf”, or “the tale of terror tells” and “fluffy
flowers flow”. Sometimes they also may seem illogical. Indeed, oxymoron and alliteration
are figures of speech that take advantage of our surprise with the apparent lack of sense in
the juxtaposition of words. They operate respectively in the significant and the signifier
levels of the words. According to Peircean semiotics they favour symbolic and iconic
interpretation respectively.
Sound objects in electroacoustic language can be linked in a similar fashion to
figures of speech. Their juxtaposition creates meaningful relations based on iconic,
indexical or symbolic interpretation. Moreover, each sound object can carry a topical
meaning that is similar or contrasting to what is adjacent to it. Therefore a string of
electroacoustic sound objects can become a very complex linguistic statement whose
interpretation requires the deployment of our most subtle powers of intuition, as opposed
to logical reasoning.
The analysis of an excerpt of What Happens Beneath the Bed While Janis Sleeps? can
clarify this interpretation model. We will continue to use Chion’s method of representing
sound objects with words, accepting that these words incorporate meanings (that are not
apparent) at other Peircean levels than the symbolic. In previous stages of this paper we
have already dealt with many of these sound objects in isolation. Now we must deal with
the question of how they are linked together to form a musical phrase that somehow
makes sense to our ears.
Figure 1. Symbolic representation of a sentence in the development section
Similarities in spectro-morphology at certain points account for intrinsic
metaphorical relations between sound objects. For instance, in the iconic level of the sign,
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the similarity between wind loops, marching horse hooves and the rhythm of the train
metal trails builds a chain of musically related events that allows us to accept as logical the
juxtaposition of these sound objects that depict wind, horses and train. In other words,
internal iconic relations make acceptable the juxtaposition of sounds with unrelated
external meanings. We might call this procedure an intrinsic musical metaphor.
The syntax of another part of this sentence depends on metonymical transference.
Why do we accept that the rhythmic sound of train metal trails and the whistle belong
together in the same soundscape? There is not anything similar between them to provide
an iconic metaphoric justification, as postulated above. However in the real world we are
used to hear together the rhythmic sounds of the train and the sound of his whistle. Their
relation is a synecdoche (part for whole, which is a species of metonymy). at the level of
symbolic representation and depends on an indexical contiguity (train  whistle). One
can substitute one for the other in the representation of a train. When put together they
seem to be complementary.
Just the opposite happens when the train whistle seems to merge (or become) a
sustained singer’s voice (a relation further enhanced by electronic glissandi sounds). Their
relation is again metaphorical, based on intrinsic similarities between the sounds of the
whistle, the voice, and the electronic glissandi. Indeed, the metaphor unfolds that “Janis’s
voice is like a whistle”.
Another remarkable feature displayed by such electroacoustic “sentences” is that
they create unrealistic or even surrealistic scenarios. There are no limits on how to
assemble sounds in paradoxical situations. Where do we find in the real world a singer
taming the powerful noise of a train with her voice?
Finally, the recognition of metaphorical and metonymical musical tropes,
operating in this piece of electroacoustic music at intrinsic and extrinsic semiotic levels,
grants to this language an artistic status that has been questioned by some critics. Their
concern has been that electroacoustic music might be nothing but a collection of disparate
sound effects. This evaluation can be dismissed when it becomes clear that electroacoustic
music is capable of performing linguistic operations as sophisticated as the ones found in
poetry, literary prose, visual arts, or any other form of art.
CONCLUSIONS
The analysis of this selected electroacoustic piece of music demonstrates that it is
possible for this genre to convey topical meanings. Moreover, the contrast afforded by
topical expression can be a fundamental tool for the composer to bestow formal design for
his music even if the traditional syntactical means are not readily available in this genre.
The array of topoi that might be extrapolated from the tradition into this
apparently more abstract genre seems to be very large. In this piece at least eight topics
can be recognized, some of them presented in different fashions. We may surmise that
some topics, like baroque or gallant style dance topics, are hardly expected to be found in
electroacoustic music, while others may be used frequently. Nevertheless it is not expected
that every piece of electroacoustic music will produce topical meaning. If the composer
chooses to comply with the reduced listening principle postulated by Pierre Schaeffer, the
music will tend to display singular abstract expression, erasing tendencies of topical
interpretation. But this is also not uncommon for instrumental music that features only
291
one topic from beginning to end. There are musical poetics that strive for unity of
sentiment while others rely on topical contrast to achieve formal design and diversity of
expression.
It may be assumed that electroacoustic music can generate its own list of idiomatic
topics. The analysis of a larger set of electroacoustic pieces encompassing authors of
different schools, varied personal tendencies, and at different stages in the development of
the language, is still necessary to demonstrate the reach of the topical theory for the
understanding of this particular genre.
Further analysis should also pursue the recognition of tropes, both in Hatten’s sense
of a mixture of topics in a single configuration, and also in the sense devised in this paper
that point to large-scale relations between separate sound objects portraying different
topical meanings. All these analyses should also lead to the recognition of the narrative
strategies that are more often used in electroacoustic music.
REFERENCES
[1] Ratner, L.G., 1980. Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style. New York, Schirmer
Books.
[2] Agawu, K., 2009. Music as Discourse: Semiotic Adventures in Romantic Music.
Oxford, Oxford University Press.
[3] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington,
Indiana University Press.
[4] Chion, M., 1990. L’audio-vision: Son et image au cinéma. Paris: Editions Nathan, p.
146.
[5] Hatten, R., 1994. Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation and
Interpretation. Bloomington, Indiana University Press, p. 295.
[6] Caplin, X., 2005. “On the relation of musical topoi to formal function”. EighteenthCentury
Music 2/1, 113–124. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.
292
A Lyrebird in Paris: the Pastoral Topos and
the Ecocentric Viewpoint in
Contemporary Music Composition
Jane Hammond, Monash University, Melbourne, AU
ABSTRACT
Today, writers within discourses such as ecocriticism and ecomusicology are engaging with
environmental issues. These ecocentric discussions often intersect with the recurring
themes of the “great topical world” of the pastoral. Raymond Monelle’s forensic detailing
about the pastoral creates relevant insights for our understanding of musical meaning in
contemporary contexts. His semiotic reading of music and culture offers a methodology
relevant to composers seeking to understand how their music communicates within a
particular culture or cultures. My composition A Lyrebird in Paris represents a
contemporary musical exploration of the pastoral themes of nostalgia and birdsong. As a
composer, my interest in Monelle relates to building on his understandings of the pastoral
affect, in what is tentatively named here as eco-composition.
Here rest we; lo! cyperus decks the ground,
Oaks lend their shade, and sweet bees murmur round
Their honied hives; here two cool fountains spring;
Here merrily the birds on branches sing;
Here pines in clusters more umbrageous grow,
Wave high their heads, and scatter cones below.
Theocritus, Idyllium V [1]
Birdsong has been part of the literary tradition of the pastoral topos since the
Greek writer Theocritus penned his Boukolika (“ox-herding poems”) in the third century
BC. Many of Theocritus’ poems are set in a lovely, idyllic place, where birds sing and bees
murmur amongst sunlit trees, flowing water and verdant foliage. His great Roman admirer,
the poet Publius Vergilius Maro, continued the tradition, incorporating this idealized
world into his early Eclogues.1
Ernst Robert Curtius, the celebrated writer on European
literature and its rich history, observed that Virgil’s “constant epithet for ‘beautiful nature’
was the word amoenus (“pleasant, lovely”) and thus the locus amoenus or “pleasance”
became the principal motif of all nature description from the Empire to the sixteenth
1
Composed between 42 and 37 BC.
293
century [2]. Not surprisingly then, the imitation of birdsong has often been incorporated
into music that is obviously pastoral in content and intent. As Raymond Monelle said,
Since the locus amoenus is part of the world of the pastoral, and since the mimicking
of birdsong is such an obvious musical resource, we must probably identify this device
as a subtopic of the pastoral genre [3].
As a composer I am interested in perceptions about the place of human beings
within their environment and amongst the non-humans that inhabit it with us.
Engagement with an ecocritical perspective leads to a recognition that while the soothing
locus amoenus of our collective consciousness may continue to beguile our imaginations
the real physical environment where birds live today cannot be taken for granted. Many
literary theorists and now even musicologists are writing with an increasing sense of
urgency about the role that culture and cultural studies have to play in understanding and
responding to contemporary ecological concerns. As the philosopher and feminist Kate
Soper observed “it is not language that has a hole in its ozone layer” [4].
Yet the complex and rich history of the pastoral can still provide relevant insights
within this current anxiety and sense of urgency about climate change, environmental
degradation and species destruction. The writer Terry Gifford suggests that the durability
of the pastoral lies in its ability to “both contain and appear to evade tensions and
contradictions – between country and city, art and nature, the human and the nonhuman,
our social and our inner selves, our masculine and our feminine selves” [5]. This
paper considers how aspects of the topos of the pastoral are relevant to contemporary
music composition through my own recent work for clarinet, cello and piano, A Lyrebird in
Paris. In its attention to the minutiae and small details of construction and poiesis, in
taking an attitude of contemplation of sources and connections this approach itself
suggests aspects of the pastoral mode.
Monelle proposed that a composition could be represented as “a generative
genealogy of texts stretching infinitely in all directions” [6]. My own compositions are the
result of my response to the many different “texts” that surround and connect to the ideas
and stimulus for each of the works.2
Just as Monelle describes, these texts themselves
generate other texts in an infinite web of connections. In the process of developing my
composition A Lyrebird in Paris for clarinet, cello and piano I engaged with, and explored
materials in books and articles, in paintings, reproductions of paintings, musical scores,
photographs, audio recordings, and films. These texts were all connected in my mind by
their relationship to birds, in this particular case the lyrebird, and the philanthropist
Louise Hanson-Dyer and her abiding connection with her place of birth, Melbourne. They
also connected with my own relationship to memory and place as I spent many childhood
vacations in the Kinglake National Park on the outskirts of Melbourne where I regularly
heard lyrebirds calling from depths of the forest.3
The theme of connection to place often
as nostalgia is, of course, an abiding trope of the pastoral topos.
As a commissioned work A Lyrebird in Paris has creative boundaries that are
determined by the requirements of the commissioning body, in this case The British Music
Society of Victoria which is now trading as Lyrebird Music Society Incorporated. In 2010
2
My conception of a text is in the postmodern sense of anything that can be read. Many cultural products can
be defined, and therefore read, as a text for example a novel, a film, a painting, or a musical score.
3
In February 2009, 98% of the 22,360 hectare Kinglake National Park was burnt in the Black Saturday Fires.
294
the society commissioned me to write a chamber work, as part of their 90th
Anniversary
celebrations and the work was premiered by the distinguished Australian trio Ensemble
Liaison in 2011. The Melbourne branch of the British Music Society of Victoria was
founded in 1921 by the Melbourne-born socialite, music-lover and philanthropist Louise
Berta Mosson Hanson Dyer (1888-1962). Louise went on to found the music and record
publishing company Éditions de L'Oiseau-Lyre in Paris in 1932 [7]. The first aim of the
company was to produce a complete edition of the music of the French baroque composer
François Couperin (le grand), and the complete twelve volume set appeared in 1933.
Amongst Couperin’s many hundreds of pieces for harpsichord are a number whose
titles refer to birds, providing me with some specific compositional materials. His Troisième
livre de piéces de clavecin (1722) contains a set, as part of the Quartorzième Ordre, with the
following titles: Le Rossignol-en-amour (The nightingale in love); La Linote-effarouchée
(The startled linnet); Les Fauvètes plaintive (The plaintive warblers) and Le Rossignolvainqueur
(The victorious nightingale). One of these is particular importance and
relevance to the subject of musical topics—“Les Fauvétes Plaintives” or The Plaintive
Warblers. Marked with the expression “Tres tendrement” (very tenderly) and written in
the key of D minor, this short keyboard composition is set almost entirely in a tessitura
above middle C, with the parts for the two hands close together in a highly ornamented
texture. There are a number of birds known as warblers in Europe. Olivier Messiaen’s large
work for solo piano La fauvette des jardins (1970) is named for the species known in English
as the Garden Warbler, Sylvia borin, whose call is complex and rapid. However, Couperin’s
piece, clearly presents a lament through its use of the minor mode, its expressive marking
and through its persistent use of a falling minor 2nd
, known as the pianto. Monelle has
called this figure an iconic topic that signifies weeping and “has represented a lament
since the 16th
century”[8]. It is established as the principal motif of “Les Fauvétes
Plaintives” from the first bars, shown below in Figure 1. The title leaves little doubt of the
composer’s intention to create a particular atmosphere—while not funereal or desperately
mournful “Les Fauvétes Plaintives” signifies to the Western ear, just as the title suggests, a
“plaintive” mood or emotion.
Figure 1: Opening bars of “Les Fauvétes Plaintives” by François Couperin [9].4
In exploring the nostalgia that has always been an abiding theme of the pastoral
topos I have incorporated the sighs and laments of the pianto into the clarinet part from
the very beginning of A Lyrebird in Paris. In the opening bars I sought to create the
atmosphere of a quiet and mysterious place, a locus amoenus that is also tinged with a hint
of melancholy and nostalgia suggested by the clarinet weaving its plaintive melody.
4
Reprinted from Couperin [9]. Reproduced with permission from the University of Melbourne Copyright
Office on behalf of Éditions de L'Oiseau-Lyre.
295
Figure 2: Opening bars from A Lyrebird in Paris showing the use of the pianto in the clarinet
part.5
As we approach the conclusion of A Lyrebird in Paris the clarinet presents the only
complete statements of the four-note opening motif from “Les Fauvétes Plaintives” seen in
Figure 1 above. These two falling semitones are set amongst the final quiet suggestions of
the lyrebird’s rhythmic invitation-display call in the cello and piano shown in Figure 3
below.
Figure 3: Bars 148–152 of A Lyrebird in Paris.6
By the end of the 1930s Éditions de L'Oiseau-Lyre was also releasing gramophone
recordings and over time this became an increasingly important and influential part of
their activity. Hanson-Dyer was always keen to embrace new technology and L’Oiseaulyre
would go on to produce the first long play records in France [10]. Her association with
Thurston Dart and her ongoing commitment to presenting early music led to L’OiseauLyre
releasing, in 1958, an important recording of François Couperin’s Pièces de Violes
played by the early music specialist Desmond Dupré on viola da gamba. I was able to
reference this aspect of Hanson-Dyer’s legacy in my composition in another gesture
towards to the nostalgia of the pastoral.
5
A Lyrebird in Paris, by Jane Hammond ©2011. Reproduced with permission from the composer.
6
Ibid.
296
The “Passacaile ou Chaconne from his Pièces de viole Suite No. 1 in E minor
provided me with material that is referenced in a distinct section of my composition. This
section, featuring the cello with piano accompaniment, provides a contrast in texture and
mood from its surroundings. Juxtaposed against the lively and complex rhythmic texture of
the preceding section for the full ensemble, which features highly ornamented and
vigorous clarinet writing, a new mood is quickly established. The cello begins, quoting
loosely from the theme of the Couperin Passacaile, in a rather rhapsodic and espressivo
fashion, with frequent pauses and portamenti. The piano interpolates this line with soft
rolled chords and rapid sotto voce gestures that are initially polytonal. These
interpolations then transform into short tonal cadential phrases in reference to cadences
of Couperin’s period, before returning to more elaborate polytonal gestures. These
interpolations are not strictly connected rhythmically to the cello part. Overall the
intention is to create a nostalgic reference to Couperin and to a time and place long gone.
Louise Hanson-Dyer left a great legacy to the music world in print music and
recordings, but was always committed to her connections with her original home,
Melbourne. Although she established Éditions de L'Oiseau-Lyre in Paris and made her
home in Europe from the age of 42 until her death in 1962, Louise chose to name her
publishing and recording company after a bird that is native to areas close to Melbourne—
the Superb Lyrebird. The lyrebird family Menuridae is from the Order Passeriformes and is
endemic to eastern Australia. It comprises two living species—the Superb Lyrebird
Menura novaehollandiae and the Albert’s Lyrebird Menura alberti, however, most popular
references are to the Superb Lyrebird which “occurs in native forests in the south-east of
the continent along both sides of the Great Dividing Range, from the New South Wales–
Queensland border region to southern Victoria, with an introduced population in
Tasmania” [11].
In the process of developing my composition for the Lyrebird Music Society
commission I read about Louise Hanson-Dyer in books, newspapers, and articles, looked at
photographic and painted portraits of her, listened to recordings made by L’Oiseau-Lyre,
and handled some of the elaborately produced scores that she published and which can be
accessed in some of Melbourne’s libraries.7
I also became fascinated by the extraordinary
and beautiful lyrebird and by the particularly local history of human interactions with the
lyrebirds of Sherbrooke Forest, an area of native rainforest 40km east of Melbourne that is
now part of the Dandenong Ranges National Park. According to The Sherbrooke Lyrebird
Study Group the Superb Lyrebird population of this area is currently stable “at around 160
birds” [12].
In 1933 a small book by the president of the Royal Zoological Society, Ambrose
Pratt, was published called The Lore of the Lyre Bird. It became very popular, was certainly
read by Hanson-Dyer, and remained in publication until 1955, reaching nine editions. In
2011 it was rereleased by the publisher Barnes and Noble. Written in a light and readable
style, it tells the story of Mrs. Wilkinson and the special relationship she developed with a
wild male lyrebird that she named James. The bird would visit her regularly at her small
cottage in the midst of Sherbrooke Forest, sometimes tapping on her window and
exchanging the greeting “Hullo, Boy!”. James would present performances of his own
7
The University of Melbourne houses the collection of 15th to 19th century music imprints, first editions and
music manuscripts collected by Éditions de L'Oiseau-Lyre founder Louise Hanson-Dyer, 1884-1962 and
donated to the University of Melbourne. Their music library, that of Monash University, and also the State
Library of Victoria holds copies of many of the print and audio releases of Éditions de L'Oiseau-Lyre.
297
special lyrebird display on the balcony of her home. In Pratt’s words: “It dances prettily
and accompanies its steps with a strange elfin music, spaced with throbbing time-beats to
which the dancing steps attune” .In this book a distinctive silhouette photograph of James
at dawn, displaying and singing near Mrs. Wilkinson’s cottage is reproduced [13]. This
image became the basis for the logo of L’Oiseau-Lyre’s records, replacing the earlier logo
that had appeared on their books that was an inaccurate representation of the lyrebird.
Books about the lyrebirds in this area continued to be published. The Lyrebirds of
Sherbrooke, by Leonard Hart Smith, published in Melbourne in 1951, contains
photographs, in nostalgic black and white, showing the home of the lyrebirds. Mist
enshrouded eucalypts tower over secluded nooks amongst tangles of ferns—a locus amoenus
full of mystery and beauty. Beneath the tree ferns and tall eucalypts (Eucalyptus regnans),
amidst a jungle of undergrowth, ferns and bracken the male lyrebird prepares and
maintains many mounds of “some four to five feet in diameter” by clearing shrubs,
flattening bracken and scratching up earth [14]. On these raised mounds he performs
spectacular visual and vocal courtship displays that incorporate the dazzling spreading and
shuddering of the feathers of his extremely long and impressive tail.
Just as compelling as the photographic and descriptive records of the lyrebirds of
Sherbrooke Forest are the audio recordings and their history. On 30 June 1931 a short
article headed “Lyrebird Broadcast” appeared on page 6 of The Argus, Melbourne’s
principal newspaper at that time. The Australian Broadcasting Company, at great expense
and with many weeks of preparation and planning, established an open-air temporary
broadcasting “studio” in Sherbrooke Forest. Extensions from telephone lines were run half
a mile into the dense forest where microphones were hidden close to the favourite singing
places of two male lyrebirds [15]. Their song was broadcast direct from the forest every
year from 1931 to 1934, reaching much of Australia and even America.
In June 1931 Herschells Pty. Ltd., Melbourne, released a 78 rpm gramophone
record titled The History and Song of the Lyre Bird. In 1966 a 12-inch LP record was
released by Folkways Records titled The Lyrebird: A Documentary Study of Its Song. It is
now available for digital download from iTunes and in this form became the most
significant text for me in the development of A Lyrebird in Paris. The record “was prepared
from original tape recordings taken over a period of several years in Sherbrooke
Forest”[16]. The fifteen tracks on this long play record incorporate selections of these
original recordings with spoken commentary that introduces and explains the material.
This commentary and detailed written sleeve notes are by the ornithologist Konstantin
Halafoff. He describes how many birds in Sherbrooke had become familiar with humans
and would “speak into the microphone like a T.V. announcer”, sometimes sing “an earsplitting
serenade at three feet distance” [17]. The spoken commentary introduces the first
recording—a mature male bird performing his “song on the mound” and names the bird as
“Spotty, the best known bird in Sherbrooke Forest” [18]. This particular bird, named for
the white flecks on his chest, is identified by this name in numerous books, photographs
and newspaper articles over many years. Leonard Smith, a keen observer, photographer
and writer of many publications about lyrebirds wrote that Spotty was one of “two birds
which dominated the firebreak area in Sherbrooke Forest for more than thirty years” [19].
Lyrebirds typically live in the wild for around twenty years and being weak fliers,
“tend not to disperse far”, with a maximum recorded movement of only ten kilometres
[20]. The adult male lyrebird is renowned as an exceptional mimic and vocal performer
whose powerful voice can be heard up to a kilometre distant [21]. He takes no active part
298
in nesting or rearing the young but spends the winter breeding season, from June to
August, defending his territory, mating with females, establishing and maintaining his
mounds and displaying his magnificent plumage and vocal abilities. While the lyrebird is
famous for its ability to imitate the calls of other birds and sounds from its environment, it
also incorporates its own calls or “items” in its display repertoire. In my composition I
have worked with two of these lyrebird-specific calls—the Territorial Song or call and the
“invitation-display call” [22].
In order to fully appreciate the complexity and detail contained in the lyrebird’s
vocalizations some of the tracks on the 1966 Folkways record provide slowed-down
versions of the recordings. As the commentary points out, the human ear is not capable of
hearing the individual notes that are produced at speeds often exceeding ten per second;
nor is the human ear able to hear some of the higher frequencies produced by the lyrebird.
Listening to this material at the original speed provides one sort of aural impression but as
the playback speed is slowed down more and more individual notes can be heard. On side
2, band 3 is a recording of what Halafoff called a “Stanza Melody”, but which
ornithologists now term a “territorial song” or call, a short but very distinctive lyrebirdspecific
component of the lyrebird’s repertoire. This loud song of 5-10 seconds duration
varies considerably over the distribution range of the lyrebird but a particular bird will
have a unique version that he repeats consistently. When slowed down I was provided
with another way of examining and exploring the “stanza melody”. It revealed extremely
high notes leaping swiftly down to low registers forming an elaborate but shapely melodic
line. Through a process of “transcription, transformation and interpretation”, as Messiaen
described it, I was able to develop one of the important melodic themes in my own
composition.
This detail can also be observed visually in sonograms (or sonagrams), graphical
representations of birdsong that show the distribution of sound frequencies as a function of
time. They are in general use today by scientists as a means of identifying and analysing
bird vocalisations. Sonograms were once produced by expensive machines, but it is now
possible to generate different graphical representations of sound using digital means. The
computer application Sonic Visualiser is an example of one such application that is
designed “for viewing, analysing, and annotating music audio files” [23].8
The invitation-display call is given by males during the breeding season, when they
are on or near the mound and displaying to females. As the researcher Vicki Powys has
observed while “there is some confusion in the literature in the descriptions of all the
sounds, and their exact behavioural meaning may be variable, … if you hear these
invitation-display calls you can be fairly sure that a female lyrebird is approaching, or on, a
display mound of the male lyrebird, and that mating may soon take place” [24]. The
invitation-display call usually contains three different types of sounds—a loud blick or
plik, a twanging sound and a softer galloping sound— all melded together in a distinct
pattern [25]. This pattern has strongly rhythmic features and is accompanied by distinctive
movements of the bird “stepping around the mound and hopping up and down, in a
rhythm that matches the display call” [26]. The invitation-display call varies regionally; so
that, for example, in Sherbrooke Forest in Victoria the call typically contains a “loud
double blick” while in parts of New South Wales the lyrebirds give only a single “blick” as
part of the call.
8
Developed at the Centre for Digital Music at Queen Mary, University of London by Chris Cannam, Christian
Landone, and Mark Sandler and available for downloading from the website <http://www.sonicvisualiser.org>.
299
Side one track four of the Folkways album is titled “Dance Music” and the spoken
commentary refers to it as a “jumping dance”. This short recording has provided me with
formal, rhythmic, gestural and motivic material for large sections of A Lyrebird in Paris. It is
clearly recognizable as the invitation-display call described by Vicki Powys. The three
elements that she has identified of blick, gallop and twang sounds are present along with a
barely audible light click that is sometimes heard after a series of twangs. Blick, gallop,
twang, and click are combined in distinctive patterns over a period of just over one and a
half minutes at a regular and consistent tempo of quarter note equals 120. The combination
of BBGGG is the predominant motif, repeated in that form twenty-six times along with
variants. These are grouped together in six phrases, with each phrase defined by the
interpolation of the rapidly repeated twanging sound. The entire presentation stays in the
same tempo, can be represented rhythmically in musical notation as shown below in Figure
4.
Figure 4: Rhythmic notation of the “jumping dance” recorded on Folkways FX6116.9
The pattern ends with a final blick followed by soft sounds that are possibly what
Powys describes as “a soft huffing call that is thought to indicate successful copulation”
[27]. The regularity of this passage of material is very apparent. In my composition I have
written a large section in 5/4 metre that follows the structural and rhythmic framework of
the material presented by the Sherbrooke lyrebird. While it is not possible for
instrumentalists to play as many notes as can be detected in the lyrebird’s vocalisations by
adding many ornamental notes, particularly to the clarinet part, by employing abrupt and
frequent registral and dynamic changes, portamenti, and thick chords all within a
continuous, driving rhythm, I have aimed to create an impression of the intensity, energy
and flamboyant extravagance that is my response to the lyrebird's performance.
In his essay ‘On Imitation in Music’ Hector Berlioz discussed Beethoven's
renditions of birdsong in his Pastoral Symphony, observing that “the voice of the
nightingale, sometimes plaintive, sometimes brilliant, and ever irregular, is not imitable”
[28]. Even earlier the English naturalist Daines Barrington made many observations in his
publication of 1773, Experiments and Observations on the Singing of Birds, about the
difficulties of trying to notate or even conceive of birdsong using the musical notation and
conception of his day. He observed that “the intervals used by birds are commonly so
minute, that we cannot judge at all of them from the more gross intervals into which we
9
Musical example transcribed by the author.
300
divide our musical octave”[29]. His sentiments were echoed by Olivier Messiaen when he
wrote in 1944 about his attitude to birdsong and his compositions in The Technique of My
Musical Language:
Since they use untempered intervals smaller than the semitone, and as it is ridiculous
servilely to copy nature, we are going to give some examples of melodies of the “bird”
genre which will be transcription, transformation, and interpretation of the volleys
and trills of our little servants of immaterial joy [30].
My musical text evokes a lyrebird, but it is a bird that I have constructed through
my own interpretation of texts that refer to and document the bird. I have knowingly
made reference in my composition to particular lyrebirds, like Spotty, whose vocalisations
were recorded, selected, edited and reproduced on vinyl long play records and then
digitally rendered. I do not aim to imitate Spotty as I believe that is an unachievable and
pointless aim. All of the books, photographs, descriptions by scientists, analogue and
digital recordings do not represent the real bird any more than my music does. As Monelle
said in relation to the musical topics and the horse:
When a musical text evokes a horse, as in Schubert’s Erlkonig, there is never a
question of referentiality or extension, but always of the acceptance and formulation
of a cultural unit. Language can seem to represent a ‘real’ horse, but music is bound to
invoke a textual horse, a cheval écrit. Of course, literary texts can no more speak of
‘real’ horses than can music.
In this paper I have traced connections between my compositional process and the
themes and motifs of the great cultural world of the pastoral topos. I have reflected on how
this composition came about and how it came to traverse the web of meanings within my
conception of my natural and imagined environment, and my relationship to some of the
age-old pastoral themes—the celebration of exploring the detail in the world around us;
our connection to place; the contemplation of ourselves in nature and the nostalgic
longing to connect with our wild selves. These themes are relevant to the artist motivated
to engage with an ecocentric viewpoint and to explore the connections between the
human and the non-human and our place in the world.
REFERENCES
[1] Theocritus, 1992/1767. Idyllium V. The Idylliums of Theocritus, (Translation by F.
Fawkes). Cambridge, Chadwyck-Healey, p. 51.
[2] Curtius, E. R. & Trask, W. R., 1953/1948. European Literature and the Latin Middle
Ages. New York, Pantheon Books, p. 192.
[3 ] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington,
Indiana University Press, pp. 234–235.
[4] Soper, K., 1995. What Is Nature? Culture, Politics and the Non-Human. Oxford;
Cambridge, Mass., USA, Blackwell, p. 151.
[5] Gifford, T., 1999. Pastoral. London, Routledge, p. 11.
[6] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, N.J., Princeton
University Press, p. 155.
301
[7] Davidson, J., 2006–2011. Dyer, Louise Berta Mosson Hanson (1884–1962). Australian
Dictionary of Biography [Online]. Available: http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/dyer-louiseberta-mosson-hanson-6070/text10391
[Accessed 29 August 2012].
[8] Monelle, R., 2000, p. 17.
[9] Couperin, F., 1932–1933. Œuvres Complètes De François Couperin, Vol. IV. In:
Cauchie, M. (ed.). Paris, Éditions de L'Oiseau-Lyre, p.36.
[10] Davidson, J., 1994. Lyrebird Rising: Louise Hanson-Dyer of Oiseau-Lyre, 1884-1962.
Carlton, Vic., Melbourne University Press at the Miegunyah Press.
[11] Powys, V., 1995. Regional Variation in the Territorial Songs of Superb Lyrebirds in the
Central Tablelands of New South Wales. Emu, 95, p. 280.
[12] Sherbrooke Lyrebird Study Group, 2012. Sherbrooke Lyrebird Study Group [Online].
Available: http://home.vicnet.net.au/~slsg/Home.htm [Accessed 26 August 2012].
[13] Pratt, A., 1933. The Lore of the Lyrebird. Sydney, Endeavour Press, p. 28.
[14] Smith, L. H., 1951. The Lyrebirds of Sherbrooke. Melbourne, Georgian House, p. 19.
[15] Littlejohns, R. T., 1943. Lyrebirds Calling from Australia. Melbourne, Robertson &
Mullens, p. 24.
[16] Halafoff, K. C., 1966. The Lyrebird: A Documentary Study of Its Song (Commentary
and Sleeve Notes). Folkways Records, FX 6116, p. 2.
[17] Ibid.
[18] Ibid., p. 4.
[19] Smith, L. H., 1988. The Life of the Lyrebird. Richmond, Vic., William Heinemann, p.
11.
[20] Marchant, S., Higgins, P. J. & Ambrose, S. J. (eds.), 1990–2006. Handbook of
Australian, New Zealand and Antarctic Birds, Volume 5 Tyrant-Flycatchers to Chats.
Melbourne; New York, Oxford University Press, p. 126.
[21] Ibid., p. 157.
[22] Powys, V., 2008. Regional Variation in the Invitation-Display Calls of the Superb Lyrebird.
Audiowings, the journal of the Australian Wildlife Sound Recording Group [Online]. 11.
Available: http://www.caperteebirder.com/index.php?p=1_7_Lyrebirds [Accessed 13
January 2012].
[23] Cannam, C., Landone, C. & Sandler, M., 2010. Sonic Visualiser: An Open Source
Application for Viewing, Analysing, and Annotating Music Audio Files. 2.0 ed.
[24] Powys, V., 2008.
[25] Ibid.
[26] Ibid.
[27] Ibid.
[28] Berlioz, H., 1971/1837. On Imitation in Music. Fantastic Symphony an Authoritative
Score, Historical Background, Analysis, Views and Comments. New York, Norton, 1
miniature score (viii, 306 p.), p. 40.
[29] Barrington, D., 1773. Experiments and Observations on the Singing of Birds, by the Hon.
Daines Barrington, Vice Pres. R. S. In a Letter to Mathew Maty, M. D. Sec. R. S.
Philosophical Transactions (1683-1775), p. 226.
[30] Messiaen, O. & Satterfield, J., 1956/1944. The Technique of My Musical Language.
Paris, Alphonse Leduc, p. 34.
302
The Ever More Specialized Topic: How Do
We Know What It Means?
Sean Atkinson, PhD, The University of Texas at Arlington, TX, USA
ABSTRACT
In our post-modern society, the idea of a shared cultural experience differs greatly from
our notion of it in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. We share not a common
experience, but a common amalgamation of experiences; we hear not the individual topic,
but instead hear a “hum” of varied, ever more specialized topics. How then are we to
understand those topics when we hear them? Or even more fundamentally, how do we
know we are hearing them at all? One way to focus the problem is to address the nature of
cultural itself. When we say “shared cultural experience,” to who’s cultural are we
referring? This article presents several ways in which topics present themselves to not
necessarily the culture at large, but instead to some kind of subcultural unit.
Through Reich’s music and Beryl Korot’s video art, Three Tales (2003) presents scenes,
many of which include specialized musical topics and intertextual references that are based
on three significant technological and/or ethical events from the past 100 years. A specific
example is Wagner’s anvil chorus heard in association with the Hindenburg catastrophe.
More generally, musical phasing is found in every part of Three Tales, but attains
significant poignancy in association with machines. The phasing represents a first-order
connotation, as minimalist compositional techniques have become closely associated with
mechanical imagery, while the anvil chorus presents a second-order connotation that first
references the forging of the ring of the Nibelung, but then connects the ring’s enormous,
albeit corrupting, power to the Hindenburg and Nazi Germany. Therefore, part of the
solution to the ever more specialized topic is a flexible definition of both topic itself and the
meaning of shared culture.
THE CULTURE OF TOPICS
Let me begin by stating what this paper is not. As topic theory blossoms into the
new millennium, I do not engage topics the same way Kofi Agawu has treated them as
they entered the Romantic era [1]. While those Classical-era topics took on new meaning
in a new time, the signs of those topics were still easily recognizable. The hunt was still the
hunt, in that its characteristic musical elements remained intact, however, the meaning
was slightly altered to include a sense of the past; an historical marker in addition to its
original meaning. I also do not engage topics as formal considerations, much like William
Caplin has done [2]. Caplin’s approach is novel, as some topics do seem to have associated
formal functions, and their use outside of those norms presents analytical interest. This
can add subtle and yet profound nuance to readings of formal function. What these
approaches share is a common set of topics, laid out first by Leonard Ratner [3], later
expanded by Agawu [4], and ultimately codified and refined by Raymond Monelle [5] [6].
303
This paper, in contrast, seeks to find new and emerging topics; topics that are in their
infancy and as such are limited in their cultural scope, yet are on their way to becoming
more ingrained in a larger cultural context.
For a topic to engender meaning, it must have a connection to something in the
culture, but what exactly is that cultural? For the Classical topics, we assume this to mean
listeners, or as is more likely today, scholars of Western art music. Topics, therefore, only
attain meaning once the majority of people in that culture understand the musical sign as
a signal for something else. But is not this “culture,” as topics theorists have all tacitly
agreed upon, itself just a subculture? Indeed, this group is but a small subset of the larger
musical community when one considers the multitude of different musics in the world,
and this is true more so today than at any time in human history. Many of these other
musics have been explored in this way, the most prominent likely being Agawu’s recent
work in African music [7]. Those musical signs are known to a specific subcultural group,
which lies almost entirely outside the Western art music culture.
However, one does not need to look far beyond the Western music tradition to
find subcultures with potential for topical analysis. Take for example punk rock from the
early 1980’s. David Easely has identified several “riffs” in the punk rock genre that saw
prominent use primarily because of the ease with which they could be played on the guitar
[8]. The repetition of these riffs ingrained them into genre, and eventually became paired
with certain themes and words in the lyrics. Some of these riff schemes even escaped punk
and are found in other rock genres, but the vast majority act as a clear sign for punk, but
only to those that understand the culture. Therefore, a subcultural topic emerges that not
only signals “punk,” but is also evident in similar forms of rock, showing its potential for
growth into the prevailing culture. While in this paper I am exploring a type of music
closer to Western art music than punk, the relationships are quite similar. Minimalist
music is a relatively new branch of Western musical culture and, as a result, is teeming
with topics that are relevant to the avid fan and listener of the genre, yet might still
escape the casual listener who is otherwise familiar with the Classical topics.
METHODOLOGY OF DISCOVERY
To aid in the discovery of topics in minimalist music, I begin with Monelle’s twopart
axiom of topic identification:
The central questions of the topic theorist are: Has this musical sign passed from
literal imitation (iconism) or stylistic reference (indexicality) into signification by
association (the indexicality of the object)? And second, is there a level of
conventionality in the sign? If the answers are positive, then a new topic has been
revealed, whatever the period of the music studied [9].
Both of these questions require that the sign already possesses some larger
connection to the culture at hand. But what if a musical sign is on its way to such a status?
What if the topic works in a smaller, more specific cultural setting now, but could
eventually become known to a wider audience? What if not enough time has passed for
this to happen? Or what if, in a topic’s infancy, the shared cultural group is limited in
scope, having not yet expanded into a greater cultural understanding? Indeed, any
subculture will have its own set of topics, some of which may never become known to a
304
larger audience. In that case, we may be too early in our identification of topic. But what if
that process is ongoing? What if the musical device is presently transitioning from icon or
index into a more associative element? While only hindsight can tell for sure, there are
ways to find these musical devices now. Intimate knowledge of a music’s origin and
cultural context is key. After all, the topic theorist is often more a student of history than
of music. But more important to the present study, it is more of a question about the size of
the culture under examination.
The present paper uses minimalism, a small subset of the Western musical
tradition, as a case study for an exploration of the emerging topic.1
The musical signs have
yet to achieve a broad understanding as topics, yet manage to achieve some kind of topiclike
association within the subculture, in this case within the realm of minimalist music.
These emerging topics present themselves in one of two ways. The first is to simply follow
the prescription of Monelle from above, connecting musical devices that have become
somewhat ubiquitous in their use to some larger cultural understanding. In this case, the
larger cultural understanding is often relegated to just the subcultural level. The second is
to assume for the present moment that the cultural part of the equation has yet to
manifest. Perhaps in time this connection will become more apparent, but for now we can
seek out clues that may speak to an eventual ascension into the prevailing culture. These
examples often present as what Michael Klein would call intertextual references, music in
a culture (Western art music) that references other music from that same culture [10]. The
connections are largely musical, but over time, the circumstances in which they are used
could become consistent enough to warrant the label of topic. Recall, for example, the
“riffs” which have found significant use in the identity of punk rock music. Through an
examination of several moments in Steve Reich’s Three Tales (2003), the following
discussion highlights the various ways in which the emerging and ever more specialized
topic can manifest.
EMERGING TOPICS IN THREE TALES
Minimalism and Technology
Three Tales is a self-described video opera with music by Steve Reich and video by
Beryl Korot. Its subject matter pertains to three significant, technological events from the
twentieth century. Act I, “Hindenburg,” explores the crash of the infamous airship. Act II,
“Bikini,” describes and comments upon U.S. atomic bomb testing at the Bikini atoll in the
1950’s. And Act III, “Dolly,” contends with the very meaning of life as it relates to the
cloning of Dolly the sheep in the late 1990’s. The result is a narrative that paints a
cautionary tale about the role technology has played and could potentially play in our
lives. Reich himself is no stranger to technology, as his early experiments with minimalism
relied on the use of tape machines and other audio technologies with which to compose.
On a larger level, however, when looking at minimalist music as a whole, it is easy
to find a common thread concerning technology and machines. The Qatsi trilogy of films
1
I assume a broad definition of minimalism, but the cultural unit referred to as minimalism primarily refers to
the American minimalists; specifically the music of Philip Glass and Steve Reich. That is not to say, however,
that the more general observations about the repetitive quality of the music would not apply to a broader group
as well.
305
by Godfrey Reggio and Philip Glass each depict the use of technology, also in a less than
flattering light. This trend is arguably the first topic to emerge into the prevailing culture;
minimalist music as a signifier of machine. Such references can be found before minimalist
music was even known as such. For example, the soundtrack to the classic science fiction
film Metropolis features what contemporary listeners today would unquestionably describe
as minimalist. Gottfried Huppertz’s music, especially in scenes such as the arrival of Freder
in the Worker’s City, has the repetitive quality of recent minimalist music. And of course,
it is not just the machinery that matches the constant rhythmic pulses of the music, but
the workers themselves as part of the larger biomechanical machine that powers the city.2
The main source of melodic material in “Dolly” comes from a number of interviews
Reich conducted with leading scientific and religious leaders. In fact, the inflection of
their speech shapes the musical contours.3
Twice during these interviews, the word
“machine” is uttered, and Reich begins to loop the word in an almost maniacal manner.
Example 1 shows an excerpt of the first time this happens. Example 1a is the unaltered
transcription (as heard by Reich), and 1b is a brief excerpt of the loop on the words “are
machines.” Looping is a common Reichian technique, and its use on the word “machine”
is telling. Korot’s video also loops to match Reich’s musical looping, producing several
afterimages of the interviewees as the loop continues.4
The resulting rhythmic groove
takes on a mechanical quality of its own, so its coupling with the word “machine” not only
enhances the already established minimalism/machine connection, but also highlights
Reich’s awareness of the topic. The only other word in “Dolly” that receives this same
kind of treatment is “copies,” and that word, too, implies a mechanical connection.
Example 1: (a) transcription of an interview with Richard Dawkins (as heard by Reich), and (b)
the subsequent alteration and looping.5
2
I thank Rebecca Doran Eaton [11] for introducing me to this early example of the minimalism/machine
connection. A brief excerpt from Metropolis can be accessed online at
http://www.uta.edu/faculty/seana/media/metropolis_clip.mov. A more recent cinematic example can be found
in the 1994 movie The Hudsucker Proxy. The scene in question presents a montage of the fictional Hudsucker
Industries as they create and bring to market the hula-hoop. A brief excerpt from this montage can be accessed
online at http://www.uta.edu/faculty/seana/media/ hudsucker_proxy_clip.mov.
3
Reich first used this idea in Different Trains (1988). Digital technology aids Reich in “Dolly” as he is able to
not only exactly pitch-match the vocal inflections of the interviewees, but also sustain any one of the pitches
they create for an indefinite period of time with very little distortion.
4
A short video example can be accessed online at http://www.uta.edu/faculty/seana/media/dolly.mov.
5
Three Tales by Steve Reich and Beryl Korot © Copyright 2002 by Hendon Music, Inc., a Boosey & Hawkes
company. Reprinted with permission.
306
However, a minimalist/machine connection can occur without an explicit word
association. In “Bikini,” the images on screen portray large numbers of sailors and other
military individuals preparing for the nuclear bomb tests. The way in which Korot edits
the video suggests the soldiers themselves are a tightly organized machine, each with a
specialized task, yet working in unison with one another, much like the scene from
Metropolis. Even without the music, one would be hard pressed to describe their motion as
anything but mechanical and repetitive. The addition of Reich’s minimalist score, which
in the present example includes the use of augmented musical canons, cements the
machine topic for the audience.6
The augmented canons are another technique favored by
Reich, in which a relatively short canon is later rhythmically stretched while leaving the
overall contour of the musical line the same. Example 2 shows a brief example of an
augmented canon from “Bikini.”
Example 2: (a) the unaltered, original melody, and (b) the augmented version, which is
presented in canon with two additional voices.7
A deliberate play by Reich and Korot on the minimalist/machine topic comes from
the beginning of Three Tales. The opening images of “Hindenburg” show the initial crash
and ensuing chaos on the ground as it happened. Not yet present are the orderly,
mechanized images seen later in the opera; instead, the viewer is presented with opposite.
Workers and emergency personnel are shown to be frantically moving about, trying to all
at once help and yet come to terms with what is happening. However, this chaotic
destruction of technology is accompanied by Reich’s augmented canons. As a minimalist
composer, Reich is likely to use common minimalist techniques throughout; however,
there are several places in this post-minimalist opera where Reich does not write in an
explicitly minimalist style, so his choice to do so here may be intentional.
Minimalism and History
While the preceding topic of minimalism as machine is both strong and deeply
rooted in the culture, it is somewhat vague in the specific of its meaning. The breadth of
its possible connections to any kind of mechanized motion allows it to all at once be
flexible and wide-spread, yet of little interest to the topic theorist. I equate this topic with
the pianto, a simple two-note motive mimicking a sigh and providing a musical sign for
6
See Atkinson [12] for more information on this specific technique, which is a common feature in vocal music
by Reich. In the article, Video Example 1 shows a brief example of these mechanical movements.
7
Three Tales by Steve Reich and Beryl Korot © Copyright 2002 by Hendon Music, Inc., a Boosey & Hawkes
company. Reprinted with permission.
307
sadness. A useful gesture, yes, yet it lacks specificity of meaning of, for example, the hunt
topic. However, there are some emerging topics in Three Tales that are surprisingly specific
in their cultural connection. During “Hindenburg,” the second scene (“Nibelung
Zeppelin”) focuses on the construction of the airship. While explicit references to Nazi
Germany are not made until the end of the scene (the complete tailfin is shown with the
swastika), a more subtle musical reference is instead used. The scene begins musically with
a chorus of anvils, echoing the anvil chorus from Wagner’s Das Rheingold; specifically, the
anvils heard during the initial forging of the great ring. Example 3 compares the opening
of “Nibelung Zeppelin” (3b) with the anvil chorus from the transition between scenes 2
and 3 of Das Rheingold (3a). The rhythmic similarity is unmistakable, but the playing of
the rhythm on anvils firmly connects these two musical moments. Clearly, Reich is
connecting the forging of the ring, whose enormous power ultimately corrupts its bearer,
to the Hindenburg’s construction. Nazi Germany viewed the Hindenburg and their entire
fleet of airships as a sign of their technological superiority, and Reich has musically sealed
its tragic fate through association with the ring. While this first order connotation is
illuminating, there is no larger cultural connection, so no possible new topic can be
identified. This is more akin to an intertextual reference with Western music and music
alone.8
Example 3: (a) the anvil chorus as presented in Wagner’s Das Rheingold, and (b) the opening
measures of Reich’s “Nibelung Zeppelin” from Three Tales.9
However, the preceding reference can be further considered in terms of cultural
context. Nazi Germany often used Wagner’s music as a tool for propaganda, highlighting
anti-Semitic themes found within his operas. Reich’s use of this Wagnerian topic is
therefore complicated by two separate, yet intertwined meanings. As described above, the
8
One should not confuse the compelling narrative of Das Rheingold as a substitute for a meaningful cultural
connection. While the plot associated with the ring and its reference by Reich makes an intriguing story, it
cannot, by itself, be the beginnings of a new topic.
9
Three Tales by Steve Reich and Beryl Korot © Copyright 2002 by Hendon Music, Inc., a Boosey & Hawkes
company. Reprinted with Permission.
308
first is musical, in that the anvil motive accompanies both the forging of the ring and the
building of the ship, thus linking their respective narratives. But the second is deeply
rooted in the cultural history of Western Europe, thus allowing the anvil motive the
opportunity to ascend to the level of topic. What this motive still lacks, however, is a
sense of conventionality. But with continued and consistent use, the anvil topic could
come to stand for the ultimate destruction of the self at one’s own over-ambitious goals.
CONCLUSION
While this article does not pretend to fully address the issue of emerging topics in
Western music, it does articulate ways in which topics imbedded in a subculture could
come to be known to the larger cultural audience. In the case of minimalist music, we can
already see that a broad notion of minimalism and machine has already made its way to
become a topic, yet other, more specific references, such as the anvil motive, need more
repetition in similar contexts in order to be widely considered a topic. Further research is
needed, especially in other subcultural genres, in order to gain more insight into the early
beginnings of topics in Western music.
REFERENCES
[1] Agawu, K., 1991. Playing with signs: A semiotic interpretation of classic music. Princeton,
Princeton University Press.
[2] Caplin, W., 2005. “On the relation of musical topoi to formal function,” EighteenthCentury
Music. Volume 2, Number 1, pp. 113–124.
[3] Ratner, L., 1980. Classic music: Expression, form, and style. New York, Schirmer.
[4] Agawu, K., 1991.
[5] Monelle, R., 2000. The sense of music: Semiotic essays. Princeton, Princeton University
Press.
[6] Monelle, R., 2006. The musical topic: Hunt, military, and pastoral. Bloomington, Indiana
University Press.
[7] Agawu, K., 2006. “Structural Analysis or Cultural Analysis? Competing Perspectives
on the ‘Standard Pattern’ of West African Rhythm,” Journal of the American Musicological
Society. Volume 59, Number 1 (Spring), pp. 1–46.
[8] Easley, D., 2011. “‘It's not my imagination, I've got a gun on my back!’: Style and
Sound in Early American Hardcore Punk, 1978–1983,” Ph.D. dissertation. Florida State
University, pp. 62–92.
[9] Monelle, R., 2000, p. 80.
[10] Klein, M., 2004. Intertextuality in western art music: Musical meaning and interpretation.
Bloomington, Indiana University Press.
[11] Eaton, R., 2008. “Unheard minimalisms: the functions of the minimalist technique in
film scores,” Ph.D. dissertation. University of Texas, Austin.
[12] Atkinson, S., 2011. “Canons, Augmentations, and Their Meaning in Two Works by
Steve Reich,” Music Theory Online. Volume 17, Number 1.
309
Thomas Adès and the Pianto
Edward Venn, Lancaster University, UK
ABSTRACT
Though Raymond Monelle ends his survey of the pianto with the music of Wagner, recent
writings have illustrated the ongoing presence of the topic in the music of the twentieth
century. This paper extends the historical narrative one step further to explore the role of
the pianto in the music of Thomas Adès (b. 1971). Although a number of works will be
surveyed, specific focus is given to the second movement of his orchestral work Asyla
(1997) and his second opera, The Tempest (2004). In both of these works, the symbolic
force of the pianto is exploited alongside other topical and intertextual references,
demonstrating its development and continued signifying potential in the music of today.
INTRODUCTION
In a 2010 interview with Thomas Adès, the broadcaster Tom Service suggested
that the composer’s music manifested some sort of “Britishness”:
Service: OK, do you have a sense of a responsibility to audiences or even the culture
here because of your, you know, fame as a young British composer?
Adès: Well, I don’t think they’re sitting there as individuals saying, “I’m a Briton
who’s going to learn about my national identity by listening to Thomas Adès’s Violin
Concerto”. I mean, you know, who thinks like that? (BBC Radio 3, May 15, 2010)
Adès’s closed response was of little surprise. Though he was born and raised in
London, his music connects with a wide range of international trends, some of which
relate to his Eastern European1
and Jewish heritage,2
others to his love of Couperin3
and
popular music [2]. Such cosmopolitanism might in itself be considered a British trait. But I
would argue also that there is a strand of melancholy that occasionally comes to the fore
in Adès’s music that has a close connection to English traditions.4
All of these
characteristics ultimately demonstrate, if not “a sense of responsibility to audiences or
even the culture here”, then at the very least an awareness of shared musical and cultural
codes that facilitate communication. Indeed, the playful treatment of these codes and
their significations, often with the intention of finding new compositional resources
1
For instance, the final movement of Asyla. See Venn [1].
2
Adès’s 2007 orchestral work Tevot plays on the multiple connotations of the Hebrew title.
3
The Sonata da Caccia (1993) was conceived in part as a homage to Debussy and Couperin; Adès also made
arrangements of Couperin in Les Baricades Mistérieuses (1994) and Three Studies from Couperin (2006).
4
Christopher Mark (University of Surrey) has been exploring for a number of years the melancholy in British
music. See http://www.surrey.ac.uk/msr/people/christopher_mark/index.htm
310
within them, is one of Adès’s compositional trademarks [3] [4]. Such is the case with his
appropriation and reworking of the pianto topic.
Raymond Monelle’s magisterial survey of the pianto ends with the music of Wagner
[5]. Nevertheless, recent writings have illustrated its continued presence in the music of
the twentieth century, in which the stylized weeping significations of the late Renaissance
pianto has been replaced by those of particular lamenting and grieving practices in the
modern era (see for instance Bauer [6], Cross [7], Metzer [8] and Whittall [9]). This
development in the nature of the signified cultural units is reflected by a comparable
transformation of the signifier: twentieth-century composers have demonstrated
considerable resourcefulness in incorporating the pianto into new musical signs, which may
or may not be troped with other topical references. Ligeti, for instance, in his so-called
lamento motif, builds descending semitones into a characteristic and quasi-systematic
formula that becomes increasingly common across his output [10].
Nevertheless, to paraphrase Michael Spitzer [11], the sidestepping of a semiotics of
musical emotion in such accounts is problematic, not least because the pianto in this (and
any) period is not only a topic in the cultural-critical sense understood by Monelle, but
also a compositional resource that is expressive of sadness. Spitzer’s argument, that topics
signify cultural units extroversively and emotions introversively and that “topics modify
emotions” [12], leads to the conclusion that one ought to account for these differing
significations in any topical analysis.
This paper begins therefore with a survey of some of Adès’s evocations of the
pianto, focusing initially on the cultural units he signifies. This will be followed by analyses
of his 1997 orchestral work Asyla and his 2004 operatic reworking of Shakespeare’s The
Tempest in order firstly to see how Adès tropes the topic in these works [13], and secondly
to understand better how these tropes “modify emotions”. Following recent musicanalytical
practice,5
I shall focus on the five basic emotions—in particular sadness—rather
than more nuanced states such as “melancholy” or “grief”. Ultimately, I will demonstrate
how topic theory can help generate novel interpretations of Adès’s music, as well as
offering a contribution to the neglected field of emotion in contemporary music.
ADÈS’S PIANTO-FORMULA
As with Ligeti, Adès’s appropriation of the pianto occurs as part of a melodic
formula that has lamenting properties, as in the second movement of his 2005 Violin
Concerto (Rehearsal Number (RN) 14; 1’25”).6
The formula consists of a descending fivenote
idea (E5—D-sharp5—G-sharp4—G4—B3), repeated in sequence. At this stage,
there is perhaps little to connect it to the pianto, or for that matter to broader British or
Eastern European traditions of lamenting. Nevertheless, it is one of my central claims that
this formula is Adès’s most characteristic means of engaging with the pianto topic.7
To
avoid confusion, I shall refer to it as Adès’s “pianto-formula”, distinct from, but related to,
5
See the adaptation of Patrik Juslin’s “musical circumplex” in Spitzer [14] and [15].
6
Recordings of Adès’s music are widely available. For of all the musical examples discussed in the text,
reference is given to both the score and position on the CD (track number, timings). CD details are given in
the discography.
7
Dominic Wells has described these semitones and perfect fifths as an “Adèsian signature” [16]. Whilst Adès’s
use of the pianto often incorporates this “signature”, it is not bound to it.
311
the traditional two-note semitonal pianto motif discussed by Monelle. In order to
demonstrate this relationship, and to tease out some of its extroversive significations, I
shall situate it in the context of Adès’s wider compositional concerns.
Adès describes his 1992 piano work Darknesse Visible as an “explosion of John
Dowland’s lute song ‘In Darknesse Let Mee Dwell”’, in which he fragments the material of
one of British music’s most celebrated evocations of the melancholy, in order to discover
and explore “patterns latent in the original” [17]. Thus the opening E4—F4—E4 of
Dowland’s melody (bb. 4-5, with the falling semitone on “darknesse”) is given a tremulous
reworking by Adès at the outset of his own piece (bb. 1-3; 0’00” and again in the bass, bb.
8-10; 0’34”). This gesture can be considered a genuine acceptance of the potential of the
falling minor second to be expressive of sadness as well as a reference to Elizabethan
melancholic traditions. On the other hand, Adès radically reworks a decorated version of
the pianto motif in bars 18-19 of Dowland’s original,8
inverting the rising steps of
Dowland’s melody into racking, falling sevenths (A-flat4—B-double-flat3—C-flat2—Dflat2;
bb. 35-6; 2’46”), the embodied weeping of the embellished pianto intensified by a
plunge into the depths of more recent expressionistic idiolects.
Adès’s angular reworking of the decorated pianto points as much to more recent
British musical and cultural traditions as it does European modernism. The locus classicus
for its fallings sevenths is the ninth variation (“Nimrod”) from Elgar’s Enigma Variations
Op. 36 (1899). Characteristically, in an ambivalent homage to be found in “O Albion”,
the sixth movement of his string quartet Arcadiana (1994), Adès inverts these sevenths.9
Nevertheless, the intertextual connection enables Adès to co-opt the cultural unit of lateEdwardian
British nostalgia into his evocation of idylls “vanishing, vanished or imaginary”
[20]. Here the pianto is implied rather than stated, its presence felt in tender rising and
falling seconds passed imitatively—and sequentially—around the string quartet (bb. 1-6;
0’00”, but especially from 0’34”). Whereas the reworked pianto motifs in Darknesse Visible
served to align Renaissance representations of weeping and melancholy with more recent
dysphoric expressionism, the extroversive significations of “O Albion” posit connections
between early twentieth-century nostalgia and the “sighing” associations of the
eighteenth-century pianto [21].
The sequences of “O Albion” also point towards Adès’s characteristically
systematic treatment of the pianto. Another example is to be found in The Fayrfax Carol
(1997). As with Darknesse Visible, the carol turns to the Renaissance, setting a poem that
describes both the birth of Christ and Mary’s premonition of his crucifixion [22]. The
opening bars embellish a three-voice harmonic framework, in which the upper voice (the
pianto) falls by semitone against lower voices moving by descending whole tone (bb. 1-9;
0’00”). The intervallic cycles that structure these harmonies are mechanical, but give rise
to a highly expressive musical surface that evokes the pianto and implies a static tonal
background of E-flat minor. The overall effect is that of a single pianto gesture—a tear, a
sigh—extended over some twenty seconds of time: a perpetual present, a frozen pose
expressive of sadness. Despite the Renaissance text, the frigid emotional world afforded by
the musical structures is redolent of late-twentieth-century characterizations of
immobilized grief.10
8
Monelle drew attention to this variant of the pianto [18].
9
For a lengthier comparison of “O Albion’ and ‘Nimrod”, see Whittall [19].
10
See Kübler-Ross [23].
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Let us return, then, to the melodic fragment of the Violin Concerto and to the
relationship between the pianto-as-motif and the personal pianto-as-formula. Adès’s highly
allusive music invokes (though frequently with a modicum of critical distance) a variety of
historically situated cultural representations of sadness; it also refers to traditional
techniques and contexts that are expressive of this emotion. One particularly relevant
consequence of such invocations is that Adès’s harmonic language, so often generated
systematically rather than through tonal processes [24] [25], retains a sense of consonance
and dissonance, of tension and release. Thus the falling semitones that permeate the
Violin Concerto’s melody share the expressive qualities of appoggiaturas. Similarly, the
expanding intervals of its descending leaps gain from evocations of both the exaggerated
rhetoric of expressionism as well as an English tone of voice, the latter finessing the
extreme emotional duress of the former with a sense of melancholy. Finally, the propensity
for system and indeed sequence offers a refraction—or in Adès’s terms, an explosion—of
more traditional patterns. In particular, although I shall not labour the point here, such
systems seem to me to evoke the spirit though not the letter of that other conventional
sign of the lament, the passus duriusculus [26]. Thus what we have with Adès’s piantoformula,
I am arguing, is a musical pattern that, whilst not a literal pianto-motif, happens
to enjoy some of its cultural significations as topic, and which in turn possesses the
capacity to modify the basic emotional state that it is expressive of. In the cases considered
so far, “sadness” has been nuanced by cultural practices of melancholy, nostalgia and grief.
The examples that follow offer altogether more complex situations.
THE PIANTO-FORMULA IN ASYLA
The presence of a veiled quotation of the opening of The Fayrfax Carol in the
middle of the second movement of Asyla (bb. 44-47; 2’30”) has attracted the attention of
critics who have variously likened it to human agency within an otherwise impersonal
space [27] or noted the correspondences between the liturgical nature of the former with
the suppressed title “Vatican” of the latter [28]. More generally, Richard Taruskin has
connected the soundworld of this movement to Bach’s Cantatas and Passions [29]. Yet I
believe no-one has yet pointed out that the main theme of the movement—the first
appearance of the pianto-formula in Adès’s output—has close correspondences with Bach’s
Cantata Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen BWV 12. Specifically, Bach’s opening Sinfonia,
with obbligato oboe, leads to a chorus in which successive imitative entries of sighing
figures in the voices outline a progressively expanding intervallic series, all over a passus
duriusculus in the bass. Adès, by contrast, disperses the duriusculus throughout the texture
(in a similar manner to the treatment of the decorated pianto-motif in Darknesse Visible),
creating a general background of sorrow, over which the bass oboe unfolds an extended
compound melody that echoes the imitative entries of Bach’s chorus (bb. 11-18; 0’32”).
Given the nature of the reworkings observed in Darknesse Visible and ‘O Albion’,
the suggestion that there exists an intentional intertextual link between Asyla and BWV
12 is plausible (and moreover, we do not require intentionality for the link to exist).11
Indeed, such is the promiscuous potential of the movement for intertextual reference that
the conductor Sir Simon Rattle, an early champion of Asyla, has likened it to Parsifal [31].
11
Alexi Vellianits has suggested a similar relationship exists between the chaconne that underpins the piantoformula
in Adès’s Violin Concerto and Bach’s D minor Partita BWV 1004. See Vellianitis [30].
313
Yet another associative link was made by Taruskin when he described the movement as
surrealist, apparently in ignorance of the fact that Adès’s mother is an expert on Dali [32].
Taruskin certainly has a point, especially in those passages in which the theme is enclosed
in a halo of echoes that run at different speeds, in different registers, and often in
inversion to the theme itself (bb. 19-42; 0’59”). Such intertexts act as “meeting points” in
which the collision of meanings give rise to new and unexpected interpretations [33].
On the other hand, the initial presentation of the theme mirrors closely the
musical attributes that Patrik Juslin suggests are expressive of sadness [34]: it is slow,
legato, unvaried in articulation, has a low sound level, and so on. This maps on well to the
interiority of the music (alluded to by the title of Asyla for the work as a whole and the
suppressed subtitle of “Vatican” for the second movement). Yet as the movement
progresses, the musical signifiers begin to proliferate: the twisted, introverted nature of the
melody is given multiple echoes and refractions across the orchestra in different registers,
timbres, tempi and inversions. The thematic saturation offers a negative, dysphoric
instance of the style topic plenitude [35], which in effect tropes the pianto to afford new
meanings. The increased negative emotional valency arises in part from the variable
instrumental colours, timings and articulations: together with a general increase in musical
activity, we might argue that sadness is turning to fear [36]. The suffocating,
claustrophobic atmosphere is thus far removed from the dignified suffering of BWV 12 or
the sensuous spirituality of Parsifal, and indeed a considerable expressive charge is
generated from the growing distance between intertextual resonances and Adès’s musical
surface. Perhaps the psychological underpinnings of surrealism provide the best
interpretative pointer here, for Adès transforms the healthy lamenting practices associated
with the twentieth-century pianto into something obsessional, all-consuming.
Instead of trading on conventional cultural representations of grief, the troping of the
pianto-formula in Asyla with dysphoric plentitude12
modifies the way in which the formula is
‘expressive’ of an emotion, creating a compound of sadness and fear—a finessing, rather than
construction, of an emotion [37]. Though the pianto-motif is historically not immune from
such dysphoric states [38], I would argue that here Adès conjures up a pathological world of
feeling that can only be a product of the post-Freudian world: its signified cultural units are
the province of contemporary psychoanalysis and thus mark the latest development in the
pianto’s evolving cultural history.
THE PIANTO-FORMULA IN THE TEMPEST
The dominant expressive genre13
for much of The Tempest is again pathological
lamentation, but here anger counterpoints sadness. The pianto-formula that underpins the
majority of Prospero’s music is restricted to alternations of descending semitones and
perfect fifths, suggesting, perhaps, an even more emotionally crippled state than that
presented in Asyla.
Nevertheless, conventional extroversive and introversive codes retain a certain
force in the opera: such codes are psychologically and dramatically necessary in order to
set into sharp relief Propsero’s emotions. For instance, observing the titular tempest from
afar, Prospero’s daughter Miranda “woe[s] the day” to a chromatically descending line,
12
This is related too to Ligeti’s complex contrapuntal practice.
13
The relationship between topic and expressive genre is discussed by Robert Hatten [39].
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harmonized in a sort of D minor that invests the descent with quasi-tonal significations
(Act 1 Scene 2, RN 17-3
; CD 1 Track 02, 0’41”). Shortly afterwards, to a torrent of furious
versions of the pianto-formula—expressive of anger by virtue of volume, timbre, tempo and
articulation—, Prospero tells Miranda of the treachery that led them to be cast away on
the island. Blessed, as we shall see, with a ‘natural’ innocence (and thus according to
dramatic convention a degree of psychological insight), Miranda sees Prospero’s anger for
what it really is. “Such grief”, she sings (Act 1 Scene 2, RN 35; CD 1 Track 03 6’04”),
whilst in the orchestra the pianto-formula continues hesitantly, subcutaneously reinstating
sadness as the dominant emotion. Over on another part of the island, the King of Naples
laments what he believes to be the loss of his son Ferdinand’s life to an accompaniment of
melting chromaticism (Act 2 Scene 2, RN 194; CD 1 Track 14, 1’09), corroborating—as
if it were not already clear enough—that in musico-dramatic terms, those characters able
to access genuine emotions do so by means of conventional musical codes.
But what of Prospero and the pianto-formula? The formula’s network of
significations include grieving—this is perhaps the dominant twentieth-century
interpretation of it—but Prospero’s grief is twisted, problematized. As depicted by the
music, Prospero is fixated in the anger stage, psychologically unable to move on [40]. The
underlying semiosis governing this interpretation is rather sophisticated. The bulk of
Prospero’s music, either in his vocal line or in the accompaniment (or both), consists of
versions both direct and indirect of the pianto-formula. To choose but two examples from a
host of possibilities, we find the same obsessional usage of this material early on in the
opera when he sings of his brother (Act 1 Scene 2, RN 33; CD 1 Track 02, 5’03”) as well
as in the final act when he gloats of his eventual revenge (Act 3 Scene 2, RN 281; CD 2
Track 06, 3’22”). Extroversively, we know that some kind of dysphoric state, most likely
grieving, is connoted topically. Introversively, however, the acoustic cues point to anger as
a basic emotion. The two combine to imply an anger that results from grieving, but this is
troped further by the dysphoric plenitude afforded by the mechanical alternation of
intervals, the Escher-like tumbling sequences that characterize Adès’s pianto-formula, and
the multiple imitations in both voice and accompaniment. The resulting grief is both
asphyxiating and splenetic, and supremely appropriate for the dramatic situation.
This mention of the mechanical, systematic nature of the pianto-formula is timely.
Not all semitones, as Monelle rightly reminded us, need be expressions of sighing or
weeping [41]. Indeed, just as healthy grief is conveyed by conventional means within The
Tempest, so too are other dramatic states. Magic and sensuousness are both central themes
in the opera, and Adès, drawing on the same conventions that Monelle finds in Wagner’s
music, clothes these in semitones. Examples of both can be found in Caliban’s first scene:
consider, for instance, the discussion of Prospero’s art (Act 1 Scene 4, RN 61; CD 1 Track
06, 0’19”) and Caliban’s lust for Miranda (Act 1 Scene 4, RN 72; CD 1 Track 06, 2’31”).
It is fundamental to my argument that Adès’s pianto-formula is distinguished from passages
such as these by virtue of his mechanical systems of extension. (One might also note the
dramatic and intertextual contexts in which these systems appear, and how their
obsessional properties reflect the particular emotional worlds that Adès seeks to depict.)
Yet The Tempest is ultimately a comedy of forgiveness, and thus Prospero’s material
has to reflect this. The impetus comes from Miranda’s love for Ferdinand. Within Act 1,
Miranda had already come to be associated with perfect fifths and major seconds, such as
when she sings of the island (“headlands for climbing”, Act 1 Scene 2, RN 38; CD 1
Track 04, 0’30”) or as she wakes from a magical slumber (Act 1 Scene 6, RN 97+2
; CD 1
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Track 09, 1’52”). Both of these examples invoke nature (and imply Miranda’s close
connection to it), either in its physical form, or in its opposition to the artificial, the
magical. Strengthening such associations are the pentatonic leanings generated by the
combination of perfect fifths and major seconds. These intervals (or their inversions)
return in Miranda and Ferdinand’s love duet (Act 2 Scene 4, RN 218; CD 1 Track 16,
1’49”), and Prospero’s ultimate redemption is prefigured in the mutation of his
characteristic semitones into tones at the end of Act 2 (Act 2 Scene 4, RN 227; CD 1
Track 09, 7’04”). In the third act, the “major second” version of the formula becomes
increasingly prominent, beginning with the orchestral introduction, in which it appears in
an ascending form (CD 2 Track 01, 0’00”), and again at the end of the opera once all but
Ariel and Caliban have departed (Act 3 Scene 4, RN 329; CD 2 Track 12, 0’00”).
The process thus described characterizes, in Robert Hatten’s terms, an expressive
trajectory from a furious pathological lament (governed by the pianto-formula) to the
pastoral [42]. Nevertheless, I would argue that even this pastoral conclusion is ultimately
governed by the lament by virtue of the relationship between the pianto- and pastoralformulas
that Adès employs. What emerges is an extroversive trope in which the pastoral
is mediated by the lament, in what seems to be a return to the melancholic Arcady of “O
Albion”.14
Why else would Prospero’s aria to the impermanence of the physical world
(“with my art I’ve dimmed the sun”) climax with a restatement of the pianto-formula (Act
3 Scene 2, RN 282; CD 2 Track 06, 3’58”)? This in turn undercuts the otherwise tender
(if not happy) close of the opera, affording such introversive emotions a tinge of sadness,
as if it is only amidst the reconciliations that true grieving has finally become possible.
Once again, and in complex and innovative ways, topics are found to modify emotions.
CONCLUSION
Common to the first group of works surveyed in this paper is the way in which
Adès’s usage of the pianto is, conventionally, expressive of sadness. In each case this basic
emotion was modified by extroversively signified cultural units, leading in turn to
melancholy (in the case of Darknesse Visible), nostalgia (in “O Albion”), and grief (in The
Fayrfax Carol). Such an observation should guard against unwary claims that the
emotional centre of the music is secured solely through cliché: the postmodern mobility of
the historical references of the cultural signifieds give rise in turn to richly expressive
tapestries, though in each case it is telling that Adès draws on indigenous cultural
traditions: his music is perhaps more British than he cares to realize.
In the cases of Asyla and The Tempest the frame of reference changes: no longer
historical, the cultural units signified by the pianto-formula are those of the asylum, of
contemporary psychoanalysis. In Adès’s hands, the island of The Tempest is no longer a
site for Renaissance grieving, as it was in Shakespeare’s time; its landscapes, physical and
psychological, are equally far removed from the early-twentieth-century nostalgic lands-ofhope-and-glory
portrayed by Elgar. Rather, Adès presents a modified form of sadness for
the internationalist modern age, with all of its public pathological issues, and in so doing
moves the cultural history of the pianto along one stage further. Here, the semitones and
the patterns of the pianto no longer stylize weeping or sighing, instead echoing the traumas
of a culture for which grief has proved all but inescapable.
14
For a different interpretation of The Tempest, see Gallon [43].
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One of the most potent signs that topic theory is in rude health has been the rise of
studies that have brought contemporary music and emotion into its purview—“O Brave
New World”, as Miranda might say. Yet we must be careful not to rest on our laurels, and
there is much critical enterprise required in order to understand the ways in which topics
have evolved over the course of the last century, in terms of the forms that they take, the
cultural units that they signify, and the ways that they modify emotions. As Monelle
suggested, “perhaps a new topical map needs to be drawn” [44]: I hope I’ve at least helped
sketch out a small corner of it.
REFERENCES
[1] Venn, E., 2006. “‘Asylum Gained’? Aspects of Meaning in Thomas Adès’s Asyla”.
Music Analysis, 25/i-ii: 89-120.
[2] Venn, E. 2010a. “Narrativity in Thomas Adès’s ‘Ecstasio’”. Res Facta Nova 11(20): 69-
78.
[3] Venn, E., 2010b. “Interpreting ‘High’ and ‘Popular’ Cultures in Music”. Paper given at
XI International Congress on Musical Signification, Krakow, 1 Oct.
[4] Wells, D., 2012. “Plural Styles, Personal Style: The Music of Thomas Adès”. Tempo 66
(260): 2-14.
[5] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, Princeton University
Press.
[6] Bauer, A., 2011. Ligeti’s Laments: Nostalgia, Exoticism, and the Absolute. Aldershot,
Ashgate.
[7] Cross, J., 2009. Harrison Birtwistle: The Mask of Orpheus. Aldershot, Ashgate.
[8] Metzer, D., 2009. Musical Modernism at the Turn of the Twenty-First Century.
Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.
[9] Whittall, A., 2003a. Exploring Twentieth-Century Music: Tradition and Innovation.
Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.
[10] Steinitz, R., 2003. György Ligeti: Music of the Imagination. Boston, Northeastern
University Press.
[11] Spitzer, M., 2012. “The Topic of Emotion”, [in] Sheinberg, E. (ed.), Musical Semiotics:
A Network of Significations. Aldershot, Ashgate.
[12] Ibid., p. 223.
[13] Hatten, R., 2004. Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes. Bloomington,
Indiana University Press.
[14] Spitzer, M., 2010. “Mapping the Human Heart: A Holistic Analysis of Fear in
Schubert”. Music Analysis, 29/i-ii-iii: 149-213.
[15] Spitzer, M., 2012.
[16] Wells, D., 2012, p. 6.
[17] Adès, T., 1992. [Composer’s note to] Darknesse Visible. Faber Music.
[18] Monelle, R., 2000, p. 63.
[19] Whittall, A., 2003b. “James Dillon, Thomas Adès, and the Pleasures of Allusion”, [in]
O’Hagan, P. (ed.), Aspects of British Music in the 1990s. Aldershot, Ashgate.
[20] Adès, T., 1994. [Composer’s note to] Arcadiana Op. 12. Faber Music.
[21] Monelle, R., 2000, p. 70.
317
[22] Gallon, E., 2011. Narrativities in the Music of Thomas Adès. PhD Diss., Lancaster
University.
[23] Kübler-Ross, E., 1969. On Death and Dying. New York, Macmillan.
[24] Roeder, J., 2006. “Co-operating Continuities in the Music of Thomas Adès”. Music
Analysis, 25/i-ii: 121-54.
[25] Travers, A., 2005. Interval cycles, their permutations and generative properties in Thomas
Adès’s Asyla. Ph.D. Diss., University of Rochester.
[26] Monelle, R., 2000, pp. 73-76.
[27] Gallon, E., 2011, p. 188.
[28] Travers, A., 2005, p. 25.
[29] Taruskin, R., 2009. “A Surrealist Composer comes to the Rescue of Modernism”, [in:]
The Danger of Music and Other Anti-Utopian Essays. Berkeley, University of California
Press.
[30] Vellianitis, A., 2012. Kuusisto’s Joke: Reconstructing the Rubble of Tonality in Thomas
Adès’s Violin Concerto. Mmus Diss., University of Oxford, p. 43.
[31] Taruskin, R., 2009, p. 148.
[32] Ibid.
[33] Monelle, R., 2000, p. 155.
[34] Cited in Spitzer, M., 2012, p. 213.
[35] See Hatten, R., 2004, p. 43.
[36] See Spizter, M., 2010, pp. 152 and 157.
[37] Ibid., p. 205.
[38] Monelle, R., 2000, pp. 74-5.
[39] Hatten, R., 1994. Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and
Interpretation. Bloomington, Indiana University Press, Chapter 3.
[40] See Kübler-Ross, E., 1969.
[41] Monelle, R., 2000, p. 76.
[42] See Hatten, R., 2004, p. 53 ff.
[43] Gallon, E., 2011, pp. 254-302.
[44] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington,
Indiana University Press, p. 273.
DISCOGRAPHY
Adès, T., Arcadiana [on] Adès: Living Toys. EMI CD 0724357227124
Adès, T., Asyla [on] Adès: Asyla. EMI CD 0724355681829
Adès, T., Darknesse Visibile [on] Adès: Life Story. EMI CD 5099902720227
Adès, T., The Fayrfax Carol [on] Adès: America: A Prophecy. EMI CD 5099902720128
Adès, T., The Tempest [on] Thomas Adès: The Tempest. EMI CD 5099969523427
Adès, T., Violin Concerto [on] Adès: Tevot, Violin Concerto, Couperin Dances. EMI CD
5099945781322.
318
Networks of Meaning in the Audiovisual
Work of Ryoichi Kurokawa
Ambrose Field, The University of York, UK
ABSTRACT
Japanese digital artist Ryoichi Kurokawa questions relationships between reception and
compositional design in new ways in his piece Rheo:5 horizons (2010). This paper
explores methods by which the traditionally self-supporting domains of audio and image
are rearranged by Kurokawa into a unique art-form where distinctions between media are
of secondary importance to hierarchy-free structures of process and material. It is
proposed that Kurokawa goes beyond accepted notions of synaesthesia, through the
generation of an abstracted semiotic structure which unifies both extramusical meaning
and the physical sounding materials themselves. It is argued that the result of this structure
is a piece where the visual is audible and the audio is visual. Critically, this is not done
through simplistic domain mapping. Instead, a web of signification is setup to assist
viewers and listeners in perceiving precise connections between natural and synthetic
forms, and real and non-real sound worlds. Juxtapositions of material and signifier
emerge, but it is proposed that these do not operate according to postmodern principles of
intertextuality. This paper shows that through the careful compositional preparation of
semiotic relationships, Kurokawa’s piece inhabits Bourriaud’s definitions of the
Altermodern [1], rather than postmodern cross-media aesthetics.
DEFINITIONS
In this paper, discussion relating to compositional material will refer to both visual
and audio elements of the work unless explicitly stated. The word perceiver will be used in
place of “listener” or “viewer”. Finally, all time references relating to Rheo: 5 horizons refer
the version as recorded in [2].
DEFINING AUDIO AND IMAGE RELATIONSHIPS IN CONTEMPORARY
CROSS-MEDIA ARTWORKS
In Rheo: 5 horizons, compositional structures cross between visual and audio
domains. As such, it fits within commonly accepted definitions [3] of new, cross-media
work. This paper aims to demonstrate how Rheo: 5 horizons goes beyond these definitions
by exhibiting highly integrated interactions between material, and the semiotic
consequences of that material. In contemporary cross-media art work, one of three
general modes of interaction can be observed between a medium and the materials
themselves. These can be categorised as follows:
319
Mode i: cross-media with supporting relationships between domains.
This mode is encountered in commercial film [4], television or mass media where
one domain takes on a role which serves only to magnify, add comment, subvert or
straightforwardly support the other. In contemporary art making practice, cross-media with
supporting relationships between domains can take the form of events such as music festival
VJ performances, where the visual medium contributes highly to the audience’s perception
of the music as an event, yet provides few additional signifieds of its own to the structural
discourse of the work. These relationships can emphasise the spectacle of an event in ways
in which music cannot, primarily by providing a sense of physical scale. Recent
projection-mapping performances, such as Amon Tobin’s Isam [5], are exemplary of this
process. Finally, cross-media works with supportive relationships between domains are
often more mass-media oriented than works created modes ii or iii below. Rheo: 5 horizons
is positioned outside of mode i both practically (it is not a mass-market piece), and
aesthetically (the piece demands that we perceive it in an integrated way, due in part to
the focus that results from the sparing and minimal application of its compositional
material).
Mode ii: cross-media with interactive relationships between domains.
Kurokawa inhabits a world where the interactive and structurally inter-related
generation of advanced audio and graphical material is commonplace. Contemporary
modular composition software, such as Max/Msp [6] permits graphic and visual control
from the same conceptual space as audio generation or sound processing. Composers have
enjoyed these new opportunities to exploit cross-domain structural commonality. For
example, in [7], Carsten Nicolai appears to be demonstrating the actual means by which
his audio is created within the visual component of his work. This convergence of process
and artistic result is entirely different to the domain mapping found in early cross-media it
is a design principle of the artwork, not a receptive consequence of the combination of
similar poietic systems. Combining media across domains driven by precisely the same
organisational systems has resulted in a new wave of reductionist aesthetics in cross-media
art. The tighter the interaction between structures in each domain, the less room there
appears to be for real-world, representational signification. This type of relationship
typically rules out compositions using sounds and visual materials from the real-world, as
these have their own set of semiotic networks. Pieces generated in this way can be highly
aesthetically consistent between domains (such as [8]), and are also economically effective
as they offer streamlined work-flow advantages for composers. Rheo: 5 horizons presents an
intriguing paradox: the piece is clearly a product of reductionist aesthetics, yet it employs a
significant amount of extrinsic referencing. This is explored further in section 3.
Mode iii: cross-media constructed with functionally independent audio and video domains.
This mode of presentation notably conflicts with contemporary cultural trends
which favor clearly identifiable artistic products, clean branding and a single artistic
concept. Recalling Barthes [9], this mode requires the audience to construct their own
meaning from the simultaneous presentation of two unrelated streams. This mode of
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interaction can be important to composers seeking to engage with their audiences’
imagination, and results in the familiar post-modern compositional dynamics of layering
and juxtaposition. This mode is exemplified in the contemporary collaborative work of
Egbert Mittelstӓdt & Biosphere (Geir Jenssen) [10].
In Rheo: 5 Horizons, Kurokawa is careful to present events in such a way that they
at least possess entry and exit timescale correspondences across domains, perhaps to avoid
perceivers from having to favor one domain over another. Also, due to these
correspondences, perceivers can avoid feeling any un-ease in having to author their own
set of audio-visual relationships.
It is proposed that this synesthesia-like experience results from the consistent
application of compositional structures between domains, rather than any neurological or
biological notions of synesthesia. Thus, the perceiver is afforded guided opportunities to
find his/her own structural interpretants by the composition itself. This ‘guide’ takes the
form of clearly defined networks of meaning.
NETWORKS OF MEANING IN RHEO: 5 HORIZONS
The piece builds networks of meaning involving both extrinsic and cross-domain
signification. It does so by establishing its own reference points from which the perceiver
is encouraged to decode surrounding events. It is proposed that material and process
operate independently, and that these concepts can be folded into discrete, nonhierarchical,
unified structures which operate equally across all domains. Although
Kurokawa does not give any detailed accounts of his compositional design for this work to
date, he crucially speaks of the piece existing as a “diagram” of its composite elements [11],
indicating that signification within the work is not dependent on the forwards progression
of time.
Reference points: the “horizon”
The horizon in nature is a point of stasis - whilst events may change above and
below the horizon on different timescales, the horizon point itself remains fixed. The
“horizons” in this piece, real and abstract, and in both the audio and visual domains,
function in the same way. In Kurokawa’s composition, the horizon is visually placed in the
same physical location across all five screens, and is present at all times during the piece.
Even when there is no representational image of a real-world horizon on the screens, a
substitute, in the form of a thin, barely perceivable graphic line, is present. In the audio,
the horizon is present throughout in the piece (with one important exception discussed
below). It takes the form of an unbroken and largely unchanging drone. The harmonics of
this drone vary, providing both variety to the listening experience and references to the
manner in which the synthetic visual images are observably modulated by simple
waveforms to give them vertical movement.
The power of a reference point becomes magnified when it is removed. Kurokawa
introduces such removals, lending a sense of large-scale sectionality to the piece. When
they occur (see below), it is as if any connections which might be inferred by the perceiver
across media domains have been perceptually “reset”. This situation is enhanced as the
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often oppositional pairings which book-end our cross-domain perception of the structure
in this work (detailed in section 3) are temporarily abandoned:
Between 1m48s and 2m10s all moving visual images are removed and all that
remains is the motionless thin, graphic horizon line. The composer has with-held all
synthetic and representational visual imagery at this point. Time appears to stop, yet the
audio track still provides the horizon drone, which continues to evolve through the subtle
highlighting of selected harmonic resonances.
Between 4m20s and 4m36s all audio is temporarily removed. This action creates a
startling link with the visuals, which have previously moved in close synchronisation with
the audio. It is almost as if gravity has been removed from the visual world, permitting
images of reality to fly past in speeded up, snap-shot fashion. Critically at this point, time
itself flows in an entirely linear way: the rate of image change does not vary, or possess
notions of acceleration or deceleration. The audio “horizon” is subsequently re-introduced
gradually: it fades in as a pure sine tone, which then takes on the more complex harmonics
of the drone.
A sense of composed “flow” is obtained in the piece precisely because of these
interruptions, even though the surface of the work is constructed through a succession of
potentially interchangeable gestural sub-units (described below).
Cross-domain structures to permit interchangeable signification between audio and video
The following discussion assumes that this idea is not one which is manifest
linearly in time, instead being constructionally closer to Xenakis’ concept [12] of out of time
structures. Such domain interoperability is also not a unidirectional process - concepts
which are rendered in one media domain are freely transferred to the other at different
points in time. Importantly, it is not the media realisation which is mapped between
domains to produce a cross-domain result; it is the rendering of a set of domain and
content-neutral structures. These structures can contain both what would normally be
regarded as processes and materials. By folding processes, materials and organizational
systems into structural objects, without any hierarchy other than that which the piece
itself imposes, possibilities for interconnection are generated on a neutral-level1
that
would be difficult to realize creatively with a hierarchical view of musical structure in
mind. Here, there is no narrative, no material correspondence between micro and macro
(in a Schenkerian sense), and no large-scale goal directed motion. Critically, all of
Kurokawa’s structural units appear to require cross domain application to achieve a sense of
artistic consistency or balance. As different perceivers may map different structures onto
their reading of the work, please be mindful that this discussion follows the author’s
reading of the piece.
Structure: horizon - The horizon is manifest both as visual horizons and an audible
drone. It is the measuring tool, and also connects with the structure controlling the
deployment of abstraction and reality. The horizon line is sometimes real (coming from a
representational image of the real-world), sometimes a simple horizontal graphic line, and
also an audio entity.
Structure: coastlines/sea. Real-world sounds of the sea, sea-birds, and wind noise
perceptually connect with the visual imagery of real-world sea panoramas and coastlines.
When this structure intersects with the abstraction and reality continuum mentioned
1
Following Nattiez’s original definition of the term in [13].
322
below, the visual representation of the sea becomes less “realistic” and more digital. Whilst
in this case it appears in a form like a sophisticated wire-frame model of reality, there is a
detectable trace of the real-world still present within the abstraction. To aid the detection
of this trace, abstracted visuals are occasionally positioned to occur together with the
articulation of real-world sounds, for example the passage at 6m51s combines this digital
trace of reality with a clearly audible sea-gull sound. Importantly, the ‘coastline’ structure
is rarely completely represented across the entire canvas as a single entity - there is only
one moment in the work at 5m20s where all five visual panels present a contiguous image.
This moment serves as a large-scale interruption of similar significance to the withholding
of individual audio or visual components of the work.
Structure: continuum between abstraction and reality. This structure effects the extent
to which known realities are perceivable in the artwork at any time. Abstraction in the
visual domain is accomplished by the direct substitution of representational imagery for
line-based computer graphics. Abstraction in the audio domain occurs in the form of
synthetic sounds, rather than real-world sound recordings.
Structure: time markers. Time is clearly segregated in this piece. The division of the
piece into cells which contrast against the continuity of the horizon drone is highly
noticeable on first listening (the gestural signification of time is discussed in section 4).
The passage of time is marked on a moment-to-moment level through the use of audio
cues: percussive, drum like sounds herald the introduction of longer sustained sections of
audio (for example, passages at 1m18s and 1m25s). Short, impulsive noise textures are
used to mark small-scale (3m18s) changes in the visual images. On a micro-sonic level,
granular, fracturing sounds, such as those found between 1m07s and 1m19s are used to
mark visual acceleration and decelerations. If these sounds were smoother and more
continuous, their semiotic implication (in sounding like “clock ticks”) would be less
obvious.
Structure: Physical space. The physical space structure of the installation itself
operates across the three-dimensional domain of sound, and the two dimensions of vision.
Kurokawa however, has notably attempted to minimise the three-dimensional nature of
the audio presentation by mounting the loudspeakers in a line in front of the perceiver,
with one loudspeaker per screen. The movement of images between canvases results in a
corresponding physical movement in the location of the audio. Kurokawa believes that
this serves to re-enforce the idea of movement itself, stating in [14] [sic]:
By being synthesized with the move of image, the spatial cognition of the sound can
be enhanced. […] These resonances have an impact on sensory perception; which is
developing a similar synesthetic experience. The sound adds to a width and a depth
via an integration of auditory and visual sense; which builds spatial audiovisual
construction and gives a renewed recognition of space.
Multichannel audio systems can provide the facility to enhance a connection with
reality, through immersing the perceiver within an environment. Importantly, there is no
attempt to create an audio “environment” here, or to provide immersion. Each
loudspeaker acts as an independent entity, linked to the visual content of the panel over
which it is positioned.2
The result is a slice of sound from each loudspeaker, upon which
2
According to the system diagram shown at the introduction in [15].
323
the only connection to a greater sense of “environment” comes directly from the structure
of the piece and not from the physical presentation in the venue.
Reductionist aesthetics
Thus, a network of connections is exposed through folding process, form and
material into structural units of equivalent compositional currency. It is this absence of
traditional hierarchy in Rheo: 5 horizons which permits a high degree of external
signification: previously, it was noted that reductionist aesthetics which concern
interactive relationships between media domains rarely make use of complex, external
networks of signification that might be encountered if the sounds or images of reality were
introduced. Free from hierarchical structural relationships, and coupled with the
compositional choice of deliberately generic real-world materials, listeners can exploit
their own imagination in decoding personal meanings from the work. It is as if they have
been deliberately placed in a semiotic confinement-zone outside of the piece by the
composer. It simply does not matter if one imagines a local beach or an exotic, far away
location. Whilst relevant to the individual perceiver, it does not matter precisely what the
sea-gull sounds are, and it does not matter how the line-drawn digital abstractions of
reality were produced. This is because the precise signification of all of these materials has
been previously disconnected from pointing towards structural intention by the composer.
TIMESCALE IMPLICATIONS
Timescale in Rheo: 5 horizons requires some additional discussion, as it is both
semiotically neutralised (through the use of a consistent “horizon” structure) and highly
articulated. The articulation of time on a moment-to-moment level is effected through a
packaged, gestural format where short pockets of time predominantly contain
accelerations or decelerations.
Motion
The articulation of images and audio on a moment-to-moment timescale has
resonance with the “cool” bullet-time motion techniques pioneered by John Gaeta in
popular Hollywood films, as analysed in Purse [16]. Gaeta’s cinematic digital timescale
manipulations give viewers an insider’s perspective on time, helping them perceive details
of events which would not otherwise be possible to apprehend. This is not simply slowmotion
as a perceivable connection with reality is made through the non-linear event
trajectories themselves. We experience the act of journeying from real-time into a type of
hyper-detailed, micro-level time. Kurokawa provides a similar experience – gestural forms
are defined by articulated accelerations or decelerations of the same compositional
material (i.e., the sonic or visual substance does not change its form within a gesture, it is
modulated by time). Figure 1. depicts the time-shaping of one visual gesture, through the
simple measurement of the height of the image above the horizon-line as a percentage of
the remaining visual space over time.
324
Figure 1: Visual gestural profile example, showing acceleration from 0m58s to1m19s, in the leftmost
canvas.
Kurokawa does not extend this technique of timestretching to audio content itself
(although sounds are articulated with accelerations and decelerations as previously noted)
GENERIC REALITY
The lack of “sound processing” or “visual effects” is critical to the success of the
networks of meaning described previously. Whilst the work clearly uses real-world images,
it does not appear to be a presentation or representation of any particular environment.
The landscape shown is a relatively featureless construction of sea and sky, with a horizon
clearly visible. No visual processing appears to be done to these images other than to
abstract their shapes and formal parameters into a wireframe “model” that is
compositionally manipulated. The sea never “becomes” something else (such as land, for
example). It is either present as is, or abstracted. Sonically, real-world sounds always retain
their sonic identity and signifieds. This is important, as any sample-level manipulation of
the sounds within this piece would have consequences in positioning the work itself
outside of the interconnected and self-supporting networks meaning of previously
described. For example, had this particular sample been time or spectrally manipulated
through sound processing techniques, it would lose a connection to the reality/abstraction
structure due to disconnection from the signifieds of the original audio reality. Through
processing, the real-world audio would not become “abstracted” – merely “different” or
“unrecognizable”.
Although reality itself is presented in a relatively generic way, there is plenty of
visual detail in the work. This detail is centred upon the micro-level (we can clearly see
the stratification of the textures in the rocks or the waves on the shore) and serves to
provide the minimum of semiotic re-assurance that these images have indeed come from
the real-world. Any more detail than this could encourage perceivers to leave this world of
“generic reality” and start making connections between locative signifiers that would be
an unhelpful barrier to achieving a “synesthetic” experience with the other structures in
the work. Thus, there appear to be no details present on a larger formal level within the
visual images: there are no identifying features of the coast line, rock-formations or other
natural forms that could precisely locate these images.
-20
0
20
40
60
80
100
1 6 11 16 21
%ofimageabovehorizonline
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TECHNOLOGICAL SIGNIFIEDS
Artistically, Rheo: 5 horizons leverages the semiotic language of “high technology”
in its use of sophisticated image distribution and articulation techniques. However, the
installation itself is made directly from commonly available “consumer” technologies. The
composer has, through a series of simple interventions, changed the technological
signifieds from “consumer” to “artwork”. High resolution, widescreen televisions show the
visual component of the piece. For most people, televisions are viewed in a horizontal,
16:9 orientation. By rotating the screens through 90 degrees, in “portrait” mode,
Kurokawa has removed all signifiers of domesticity from this method of delivery. Domestic
television is not transmitted in “portrait” orientation, and computer monitors offering this
orientation have specialist applications. Kurokawa however suggests that using this
orientation links his work with “Japanese paintings” [17]. The vertical orientation of the
television monitor also places the work within the artistic canon of the triptych, although
here clearly in an expanded form. The piece also features a five channel audio system.
However, rather than this being distributed in a standard 5.1 cinematic arrangement (also
found domestically), each loudspeaker simply provides the audio content related to one
visual panel.3
CONCLUSION: BEYOND POSTMODERN JUXTAPOSITION
Electronic media together with sophisticated visual and audio production tools
have vastly enriched compositional processes by which media, form, genre and external
signification can be combined in art works. In Rheo: 5 horizons, Kurokawa uses many
different media types, combining electronic with the non-electronic, the natural with the
synthetic and the representational with formal abstractions. Yet in this piece, there is no
sense of a “postmodern" juxtaposition or assemblage. Whilst there is an observable
hybridity of media, it is the processes described in section 3 that enable the network of
signification to be manipulated across media domains by the composer. Perhaps Rheo: 5
horizons has more in common with Altermodern aesthetics [19] than it does with
postmodern intertextuality. There is no ironic message present through the juxtaposition
of different media, and we are not asked to “re-conextualise” anything by the artwork.
Rheo: 5 horizons was winner of the Golden Nica for digital music at the 2010 Prix Ars
Electronica Awards, Linz.
REFERENCES
[1] Bourriaud, N., 2009. Postmodernism is Dead. Altermodern Exhibition Materials, Tate
Modern, Fourth Tate Triennial, London.
[2] Kurokawa, R., 2010. Rheo: 5 Horizons. In Cyberarts, International Compendium –
Prix Ars Electronica. DVD media. Austria, Sony DADC.
3
Discussed by the composer in [18].
326
[3] Manovich, L., 1999. Avant-garde as software.
http://www.uoc.edu/artnodes/espai/eng/art/manovich1002/manovich1002.html last
accessed: 07/08/2012.
[4] Chion, M., 1990. Audio-Vision. New York, Columbia University Press. pp 40-65.
[5] Tobin, A., 2012. Isam. http://www.amontobin.com, last accessed: 07/08/2012.
[6] Max/Msp., 2012. Product of Cycling 74 ltd. http://www.cycling74.com, last accessed
07/08/2012 .
[7] Nicolai C., 2010. as Alva Noto: Unitxt, Ars Electronica Performance. Documented on
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJG0ETkoLCM, last accessed 07/08/2012.
[8] Ibid.
[9] Barthes, R., 1977. Image Music Text. London, Fontana Press, trans. Heath, S.
[10] Egbert Mittelstӓdt & Biosphere. CTM festival 11, live performance, http://www.ctmfestival.de/archive/ctm11/cinechamber/module-3.html,
last accessed 10/10/12.
[11] Kurokawa, R., 2010. Subtitled DVD commentary in Kurokawa, R., 2010.
[12] Xenakis, I., 1922. Formalized Music. New York, Pendragon Press.
[13] Nattiez, J-J., 1990. Music and Discourse. Princeton, Princeton University Press. Pp. 19-
37.
[14] Kurokawa, R., 2012, personal communication.
[15] See Kurokawa, R., 2010.
[16] Purse, L., 2005. The New Spatial Dynamics of the Bullet-Time Effect, in King G.,
(ed.), The Spectacle of the Real: from Hollywood to Reality TV and Beyond. Bristol: Intellect
Books
[17] Niessen, B., 2009. In conversation with Kurokawa,
http://www.digicult.it/digimag/article.asp?id=627, last accessed 07/08/2012.
[18] See Kurokawa, R., 2010.
[19] See Bourriaud, N., 2009.
327
PART IV:
MUSICAL TOPICS AS SIGNS OF AN
ETHNIC IDENTITY AND TOPIC
FORMATION IN POPULAR CULTURE
328
Topic Theory and the Rhetorical Efficacy
of Musical Nationalisms: The Argentine
Case
Melanie Plesch, The University of Melbourn, AU
ABSTRACT
This paper proposes that topic theory can elucidate the construction of meaning in
nationalist idioms. Taking Argentine art music as a case study, I argue that topical
analysis could be the musicological pillar in a constructivist theory of musical nationalism.
Nationalist repertories, however, present a number of challenges to the topical analyst,
among them important ethical dilemmas. Monelle’s model1
(2000; 2006), situated at the
intersection between musicology and cultural history, presents itself as an exemplary
methodology.
Argentine musical nationalism emerged towards the end of the nineteenth century as the
result of the larger process of nation building and cultural identity construction that took
place in the country at the time. The prevailing preoccupation with defining a national
ethos and producing symbolic representations of the nation saw Argentine composers
embarking on the construction of a distinctive musical idiom that included references to
folk songs and dances, rhythms, harmonic patterns, tonal systems, traditional musical
instruments, and other evocations, all immersed in an otherwise European style. This
idiom can be conceived of as a conceptual rhetorical system wherein the folk references
constitute a topical network. Defining this network or “universe of topics” requires an
initial instance of identification and description of the different topoi. However, nationalist
topoi are not innocent: each of them evokes a world of meaning which is entangled within
a larger, coherent, cultural system.
I argue that in order to understand the connection between musical topoi and identity
construction it is imperative to move beyond topic labelling and investigate what sets of
values, beliefs and rules they endorse, and what social, racial and gender hierarchies they
help construe and propagate. In short, nationalist topoi call for “a full cultural study”.2
1
See Monelle, R. 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, N.J, Princeton University Press; and
2006, The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington, Indiana UniversityPress.
2
See Monelle, R., 2000, p. 33.
329
INTRODUCTION
How do musical nationalisms work? “National” musics are integral to the shaping
of collective identities and the expression of sentiments of belonging, and can even be
instrumental in eliciting patriotic responses in people. Furthermore, musical nationalisms
have become an integral part of Western representations of national identities in music,
irrespective of their “authenticity”. While the rhetorical efficacy of national idioms is
clear, we know very little about their mechanism of functioning. We do not have clear
answers to important questions such as how “national” meaning is conveyed musically and
why people recognise it and respond to it, nor do we know how political agendas are
realized in the actual music. Another aspect that remains problematic is the relationship
of musical nationalisms to traditional musics (folk and indigenous, real or imaginary),
especially in the case of works that do not present easily recognisable references to specific
folk songs or dances, and yet possess an unequivocal “national” character.
In this paper I propose that topical analysis can help answer some of these
questions. Using the Argentine example as a case study, I will outline the main
contributions that topic theory can make to the study and understanding of the rhetorical
efficacy of musical nationalisms, and present a composite theoretical framework
integrating a constructivist theory of nationalism, topical analysis and cultural history.
THE MUSICAL RHETORIC OF THE NATION
I have proposed elsewhere that musical nationalisms function as rhetorical systems
in which allusions to traditional musics constitute a topical network [1]. These topoi refer
the listener to worlds of meaning that have been historically sanctioned as representative
of the national identity and subsequently incorporated into the national consciousness
through the ideological state apparatus. I have applied topic theory to the study of what I
call the “musical rhetoric of Argentineness”, an idiom construed towards the end of the
19th
century by the early generation of Argentine nationalist composers and further
expanded by subsequent generations, and whose main traits became naturalised to the
point of being accepted as the true “Argentine voice” [2] [3].
The word rhetoric immediately brings to mind the image of a persuasive discourse
that convinces through an artificially constructed eloquence. Indeed, Argentine musical
nationalism persuades us of its own argentinidad or Argentineness through the deliberate
use of a series of musical commonplaces or loci topici that, although immersed in an
unequivocally European idiom, refer the listener to certain worlds of meaning historically
sanctioned as representative of the national identity. The idea of topoi, as we know,
proceeds from one of the five canons of classical rhetoric, the inventio. From the Latin
invenire, to find, the invention is concerned with finding the appropriate things to say, the
arguments to demonstrate one’s proposition. In order to find them one searches in places,
more specifically “common” places, or topoi [4] [5]. A scrutiny of those topoi, therefore, can
offer an insight into the original proposition of the rhetorician. I shall return to the
broader implications of this point for the study of the musical rhetoric of the nation below.
What are the topics of Argentine nationalist music? Like those of Classical music,
they include “types” and “styles”. Dance and song types present clear expressive
associations and carry gender, racial and class connotations. Styles involve more complex
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combinations of musical systems (such as pentatonicism), instruments (guitar, North
Western flutes, drums) and textures.3
It is important to keep in mind, though, that a
nationalist topos is not a literal quotation of a folk song and that it is not an isolated
occurrence: it is a recurrent idea that runs through the entire corpus, at different levels of
abstraction.4
As important as what these topics are is where they come from: they belong to the
musical world of the gaucho, the legendary horseman of the Pampas who was promoted to
the role of national character towards the end of the 19th
century. The relationship
between Argentine hegemonic culture and the gaucho is long, complex and contradictory.
Initially considered by Argentine elites as the epitome of “barbarism”, his music was
consistently described in derogatory terms. He was deemed racially inferior, the product of
centuries of miscegenation, and his semi-nomadic way of life was seen as an obstacle to
progress. This attitude was dramatically reversed around the 1880s when, as a reaction
against the mass immigration that took place in the country at the time, he was
pronounced the quintessence of all things Argentinean and his cultural universe was used
as a source for the construction of a distinctive Argentine high culture including the
visual arts, literature, and music. Thus, urban composers, usually belonging to the upper
(or at least the middle) classes, incorporated isolated elements—our topoi---from the
musical world of the gaucho (a world that was not their own and of which they had but
superficial knowledge) into the fabric of their works, which are otherwise in a clear
European idiom.
As we can see, issues of class, race and xenophobia are at the heart of the genesis of
our topical universe. Nationalist topoi are entangled in dense webs of signification; their
expressive connotations articulate musically a series of ideas about Argentineness
pervasive in Argentine culture towards the end of the 19th
and the beginning of the 20th
centuries.5
Unveiling the meaning of these topoi requires connecting them effectively to
other areas of the national imagination such as historical documents, parliamentary
debates, the visual arts and literature; topical identification cannot be our ultimate goal.6
This is why, in this theoretical model, we need cultural history; in this regard, Monelle’s
interdisciplinary methodology, as presented in The sense of music [10] and developed in
The musical topic [11] appears as an exemplary research program.7
TOPIC THEORY MEETS POLITICS
The study of musical nationalisms, particularly—but not exclusively—in the Latin
American cases, presents the scholar with a number of challenges. They are summarised
below, together with an outline of topic theory’s three main contributions towards
surmounting them.
The Romantic view of musical nationalisms proposed the existence of the “spirit”
of a people, an essence that would permeate all its cultural manifestations and, of course,
3
Some notable examples are huella, malambo, vidalita and triste/estilo. See [6].
4
It is also worth mentioning that not all folk dances and songs became topicalised. Topical analysts need to be
careful to differentiate between a one-off reference and a “real” topic [7].
5
For an overview, see [8].
6
I first attempted such a study in [9], but it was not until the publication of Monelle’s The musical topic that I
saw the possibilities of a combined methodology intersecting topic theory and cultural history.
7
An instance of my application of his methodology to Argentine musical nationalism can be found in [12].
331
be embodied in its music. This Herderian view has had an enduring presence in the
treatment of musical nationalisms, Latin American as well as European. For instance, in
the current entry “nationalism” in the Oxford Dictionary of Music we read that “Liszt
expressed the Hungarian spirit in his works, and this spirit was later intensified by Bartók
and Kodály”, (my emphasis) [13].
Aligned with this view, traditional research in the area of Argentine musical
nationalism has tended to be essentialist, either focusing on the relative success of
composers in portraying “the national spirit” or limiting itself to identifying “folk”
elements that may be superficially evident in the music. These discussions have also
displayed an inclination to fixate on the alleged authenticity of these folk elements.8
Overcoming essentialism, therefore, is one of the main challenges for a critical
approach to Latin American musical nationalisms. Recent developments in the field of
political science provide an invaluable aid in this regard. Indeed, the Herderian view has
been challenged in the past three decades, particularly by authors such as Ernest Gellner,
Benedict Anderson and Eric Hobsbawm, whose work constitutes a constructivist view of
nationalisms [18] [19] [20]. This perspective proposes—as is known—that a nation is not a
primordial essence but an invention or a construct, or even, to use Homi Bhabha’s
memorable term, a “narration”, [21]. The idea of the nation-state is considered to be
historically specific and closely related to the transition to industrial society and the
emergence of modern territorial divisions. In fact, nations themselves are regarded as one
of the outstanding discursive formations of Modernity and historians agree on their
fictional, imaginary, and discursive nature. The implications of this theory for musicology
are significant. If nations, nationalities and nationalisms are constructs, this means that its
meaning has to be constituted through discourse, or, in Anderson’s terms, it has to be
imagined.
A constructivist view
From a constructivist point of view, nationalist idioms in music are not “natural”
but cultural constructions, historically and socially determined. A number of scholars have
acknowledged this view in recent years, exploring the connection between nationbuilding
efforts and the emergence of musical nationalisms.9
Little attention has been
paid, however, to the musical aspect of these political operations. If we accept the
constructivist view of nationalisms, finding the “spirit” of the people in the music is no
longer a valid pursuit. This should not prevent us, however, from investigating how and by
what means this particular variety of musical meaning has been constructed, or from
attempting to explain the dynamics of its communicative efficacy. This is the first
contribution that topic theory offers to the study of musical nationalisms: a more objective
connection between music and the production of meaning, and a non-essentialist view
that allows us to incorporate the constructedness of nationalist idioms. In this sense, it
appears as the ideal musicological counterpart to a constructivist theory of nationalism.
8
See, for example [14] [15] [16] [17].
9
See, for instance, [22] and the individual collaborations in [23].
332
Beyond folk labelling
Musical nationalisms are notably characterised by the presence of elements from
folk and indigenous songs, dances, instruments and rhythms. This association between
traditional musics and art music has been at the centre of the musicological treatment of
Latin American nationalisms and is responsible for a methodological eccentricity which
could be described as the “folk rhythm spotting” syndrome. Indeed, discussions of
Argentine nationalist works, especially those produced by non-Argentine scholars, have
tended to focus on “discovering” (sometimes incorrectly) which folk songs and dances are
present in a particular piece of music.10
While an awareness of the folk idiom alluded to by
the composer might help performers produce a more convincing rendition of these works,
the explanatory power of this type of analysis is limited. Topic theory, by incorporating
the identification of elements from traditional musics into a more solid and objective
conceptual framework, allows us to go beyond “spotting”.
Conceptualising the communicative efficacy
“Spotting” is a relatively simple exercise with works in which the folk element is
used as thematic material clearly presented at the beginning of the composition and even
alluded to in the title, as in Julián Aguirre’s Hueya op. 49, Alberto Ginastera’s Malambo,
and Carlos Guastavino’s Bailecito. It becomes progressively more problematic when
references are fragmentary, less literal, occur simultaneously, or are generally more
abstract, i.e. when they behave like topoi. A large proportion of the output of Argentine
nationalist composers operates within this framework.
Listeners encultured in Argentine music find that this repertoire has a strong
evocative power. Works like Carlos LópezBuchardo’s Campera and Guastavino’s Jeromita
Linares, for instance, are said to possess a clearly recognisable yet indefinable national
atmosphere that appeals to some elusive yet accepted notions about the expression of
argentinidad or Argentineness in music. Conservative historiography has interpreted this
phenomenon as the ultimate triumph of the nationalist project: our composers at last distil
the national spirit without referring explicitly to any folk dance or song [26].
Topical analysis allows us to objectivise this otherwise elusive “spirit”. Careful
inspection of the repertoire from a topical point of view reveals a plethora of musical
figures at different levels of abstraction whose meaningful and expressive associations
competent listeners are able to recognise. Thus, topic theory offers a solid methodological
ground on which to conceptualise the communicative efficacy of nationalist works.
UNVEILING THE ELUSIVE SPIRIT
Carlos López Buchardo’s Campera (1919) is often described as having “captured”
the essence of Argentineness without making use of any specific folk dance or song.
Topical scrutiny, however, reveals that two Argentine topoi are subtly embedded in the
piece’s post-romantic idiom: milonga and triste.
Originally part of a suite titled Escenas argentinas for orchestra, Campera soon
became an independent piece due to its popularity. The title could be loosely translated as
10
See, for instance, [24] [25].
333
“From the countryside” [27], immediately referring the listener to the rural landscape,
where Argentine Romantic nationalists located the essence of the national spirit. The
main melody, played alternately by the violin and the oboe, gives rise to a number of
semantic associations with the pastoral world, and undoubtedly participates in this wellknown
Western topic. The first mark of Argentineness is the hint of a habanera rhythm in
the accompaniment: a subtle appearance of the topos of the milonga that tells us that this is
no ordinary rural world, but that of the Pampas. We need to wait until the melody’s
closing cadence, however, for the deciding moment: a stepwise descent with double
auxiliary note over a sustained dominant chord that eventually resolves to the tonic,
which clearly alludes to the topos of the triste. (Example 1)11
Example 1. Carlos López Buchardo, Campera (piano reduction) bars 1-12.
This decentering of the topos, is a typical strategy used by Argentine nationalist
composers since Alberto Williams’s foundational Elrancho abandonado. Sometimes topoi
are presented either at the end of a phrase or at the end of the piece, thus bestowing the
“national” meaning retrospectively. The rhetorical effect of this strategy is significant, as
works that might evolve in an otherwise unmarked European idiom suddenly acquire new
meaning. Indeed, in Campera, the appearance of the topos of the triste is the piece’s coup de
grâce: this is the touch that, if you are Argentinean, brings tears to your eyes.
In order to understand the meaning of this reference we would need to examine
the history of this topic and ask what element of the external world it represents, what
that element means within the culture, why it has been chosen to represent the nation,
and explore if it can be related to other elements within the culture. A full discussion of
the triste topos is beyond the scope of this paper; I shall outline its main issues here.
This particular turn of phrase is pervasive in Argentine nationalist music, its
history as a topos going back to Julián Aguirre’s Aires Nacionales Argentinos, subtitled
“Cinco tristes” (1898), regarded as one of the cornerstones of Argentine musical
11
I would like to thank Hernán D. Ramallo for the typesetting of the musical examples and the creative
solution found for the formatting of example 1; all musical examples are my own transcriptions.
334
nationalism.12
Its characteristic desinence was soon adopted by other composers and
became a signifier for Pampean melody; as such it appears in countless works [28].
The triste is a folk song dating back to colonial times. Of grave mood and
improvisatory character, it is usually sung in a rhapsodic manner, with guitar chords
punctuating the phrase endings in an almost recitative style [29]. The melodies feature a
mostly descending profile with “weak” ending, often at a distance of a major second.13
The
word triste means “sad” in Spanish and indeed melancholy is pervasive in the lyrics of this
song, which usually deal with loneliness and the sorrows of unrequited love.
The topos clearly points to the melancholy pathos associated with the inhabitants
of the Pampean region but is also related to a larger dysphoric trope in Argentine culture.
Sadness pervades the nationalist movement and is embodied in representations of the
gaucho in literature and the visual arts. The gaucho is afflicted by “una pena estrordinaria,”
an extraordinary sorrow, as stated in the memorable initial lines of José Hernández’s
Martín Fierro, one of the foundational texts of Argentine gauchesca literature.
5
Aquí me pongo a cantar
al compás de la vihuela,
que el hombre que lo
desvela
una pena estrordinaria,
como la ave solitaria
con el cantar se consuela
[30].
Here I come to sing
to the beat of my guitar:
because the man who is kept
from sleep
by an uncommon sorrow
comforts himself with singing
like a solitary bird.
Nationalist paintings also display an unequivocal melancholy. Art historian Diana
Wechsler describes them as “… set in a homogeneous and empty time, where nostalgia
appears to be the only common trait, a perverse nostalgia of a past rendered mythical and
a present that is no longer” [31]. This nostalgia articulates in the aesthetic sphere the
modernist nostalgia triggered in Argentina by the unforeseen effects of mass immigration
and the rapid modernisation that took place in the country towards the end of the 19th
century. In the cultural production of the period there is a clear longing for a vanished
past, an old order (associated with the image of the gaucho and the rural world) in which
the lower classes knew their place and did not question their betters, and where ideals and
spiritual achievements were more important than material gain. While this is sometimes
expressed explicitly, it is mostly (and perhaps more successfully) articulated at an abstract
level, through representations of landscape, situations, characters and emotions that
convey an intense melancholic pathos. It is in this context that the topos of the triste
makes full sense.
CONCLUSION
While topic theory has much to contribute to the study of musical nationalism, the
repertoire posits a number of ethical challenges. I contend that these challenges can only
12
See Appendix image No. 1.
13
See Appendix image No. 2.
335
be overcome by an interdisciplinary methodology combining topical analysis with an indepth
historical exegesis.
Accepting the constructedness of national idioms forces us to contend with the
connection between poetics and politics. If nations are narrations, traditions are invented
and communities are imagined, it is important to investigate who is doing the storytelling,
the inventing, and the imagining. While topic theory allows us to successfully
connect musicology with a constructivist theory of nationalism, our work cannot be
exhausted by topical labelling. We need to ask what sort of story is being told and what
type of “us” is being imagined through these topoi. Returning to the issue of the invention
mentioned above, it is important to keep in mind that, within the world of rhetoric, topoi
are more than just commonplaces: as collections of possible themes, they effectively
establish the boundaries of what can be said about something. In this regard it is crucial to
take into account that musical rhetorics of nationalisms are not inclusive systems but
selective ones and that they exclude more than they include. When analysing nationalist
musical topoi it is revealing to observe whose voices were incorporated into the fabric of
the music of the nation and whose were excluded.
The provenance of the topoi marks the main difference between the original
incarnation of topic theory and its application to nationalist repertoires. While most of
the topoi of Classical music (with perhaps the exception of the Turkish topos) proceed
from the same culture that forged them, the topoi of Argentine musical nationalism were
taken, as we saw, from the musical world of the gaucho.14
They are, therefore, acts of
cultural appropriation. The fact that power imbalance is at the heart of the construction of
this topical universe needs to be constantly borne in mind.15
Nationalist topoi, therefore,
are not innocent: we need to examine what set of values, beliefs and rules of conduct they
support and what social, racial and gender hierarchies they help construct. In this regard,
topoi are enmeshed in larger “worlds of meaning” that can be detected in other areas of the
cultural imagination, such as literature and the visual arts, and it is in this context that
their deepest signification within the culture is made evident. Nationalist topoi require, in
Monelle’s words, “a full cultural study”, [32].
REFERENCES
[1] Plesch, M., 1996. “La música en la construcción de la identidad cultural argentina: el
topos de la guitarra en la producción del primer nacionalismo.” Revista Argentina de
Musicología, 1(1), pp. 57–68.
[2] Plesch, M. 2008. “La lógica sonora de la generación del ’80: Una aproximación a la
retórica del nacionalismo musical argentino.” In Los caminos de la música (Europa-Argentina).
Jujuy, Editorial de la Universidad Nacional de Jujuy, pp. 55–111.
[3] Plesch, M. 2009. “The Topos of the Guitar in Late Nineteenth-and Early TwentiethCentury
Argentina.” The Musical Quarterly, 92(3-4), pp. 242–278.
[4] Lausberg, H. 1975. Elementos de retórica literaria. Madrid, Gredos, p. 32 ff.
[5] Barthes, R. 1974. La antigua retórica. Buenos Aires, Tiempo Contemporáneo.
[6] See Plesch, M., 2008, p. 82 ff.
14
And, to a lesser extent, from some of the indigenous cultures from the Andean region.
15
While it could be argued that there is no ethnic difference between gauchos and urban dwellers, there is a
significant class distinction between the intelligentsia and the peasant population.
336
[7] Ibid, p. 102.
[8] Ibid, p. 82 ff.
[9] Plesch, M. 1998. The Guitar in Nineteenth-Century Buenos Aires: Towards a Cultural
History of an Argentine Musical Emblem. PhD diss. Melbourne, The University of Melbourne,
chapter 5.
[10] Monelle, R. 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, N.J, Princeton
University Press.
[11] Monelle, R. 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington, Indiana
UniversityPress.
[12] Plesch, M. 2009.
[13] Kennedy, M., “Nationalism in Music.” The Oxford Dictionary of Music.2nd ed. rev.,
edited by Michael Kennedy. Oxford Music Online.
[14] García Morillo, R. 1984. Estudios sobre música argentina. Buenos Aires, Ediciones
Culturales Argentinas.
[15] Arizaga, R. and Camps, P., 1990. Historia de la música argentina. Buenos Aires, Ricordi
Americana.
[16] Veniard, J. M., 1986. La música nacional argentina. Buenos Aires, Instituto Nacional de
Musicología “Carlos Vega”.
[17] Veniard, J. M., 2000. Aproximación a la música académica argentina. Buenos Aires,
Ediciones de la Universidad Católica Argentina.
[18] Gellner, E. 1983.Nations and Nationalism. London, Basil Blackwell.
[19] Anderson, B. 1983. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of
Nationalism. London, Verso.
[20] Hobsbawm, E. J., and T. O. Ranger. 1983. The Invention of Tradition. New York,
Cambridge University Press.
[21] Bhabha, H. K. 1990. Nation and Narration. London and New York, Routledge.
[22] Bohlman, P. 2004. The Music of European Nationalism: Cultural Identity and Modern
History. Santa Barbara, CA, ABC-CLIO.
[23] White, H. and Michael M., eds. 2001. Musical Constructions of Nationalism: Essays on
the History and Ideology of European Musical Culture 1800-1945. Cork, Cork University Press.
[24] Wylie, R. 1986. Argentine Folk Elements in the Solo Piano Works of Alberto Ginastera.
DMA thesis, University of Texas at Austin.
[25] Hammond, S. 2007. An Analysis of Carlos Guastavino’s Tres Sonatinas Para Piano and the
Influence of Argentine Dances Bailecito, Zamba, and Chacarera. Master thesis, The University
of Texas at El Paso, 2007.
[26] Veniard, J. M. 2000, p. 295-296.
[27] Real Academia Española, 2001. Diccionario de la lengua española. Madrid, Espasa, s.v.
campero, ra: Meaning §1. “belonging to or relative to the countryside”.
[28] Plesch, M. 2008, p. 97 ff.
[29] Vega, C., 1964. “Las canciones folklóricas argentinas.” In Gran manual de folklore.
Buenos Aires, Honegger, pp. 193–320.
[30] Hernández, J. Martín Fierro. 1967 (1872). Bilingual edition.English version by C. E.
Ward, New York, State University of New York Press, p. 2.
[31] Wechsler, D., 1990. “Salón Nacional de Bellas Artes, promotor de vocaciones
nacionalistas,” In Articulación del discurso escrito con la producción artística en Argentina y
Latinoamérica, siglos XIX-XX. Buenos Aires, CAIA-Contrapunto, p. 96.
[32] Monelle, R. 2000, p. 33.
337
APPENDIX
Image No. 1. Julián Aguirre, Triste No. 3, bars 1-2
Image No. 2: Characteristic cadential figure of the folk triste
338
Villa-Lobos and National Representation
by Means of Pictorialism: Some Thoughts
on Amazonas
Paulo de Tarso Salles, PhD, University of Sao Paulo, BR
ABSTRACT
One of the most intriguing aspects in Amazonas is the way that nationality and its signs
are evoked, without any allusion to folkloric tunes. In this work, just the representation of
nature is able to suggest a place, a jungle and the metaphorical connections with Brazilian
culture that can be inferred from this sequence of images. The title is a powerful hint but
the hearer has no other clues besides that one. In the 20th century, the absence of
conventions well known by all people puts the hearers in front to a huge amount of
possible meanings to correlate sounds with the scene or places suggested. Some of my
references come from core studies by Leonard Ratner and Robert Hatten among others.1
INTRODUCTION
The Symphonic poems Amazonas and Uirapuru were officially composed in 1917
according Villa-Lobos himself. However these dates are probably false: Uirapuru was
premiered just in 1935 in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Amazonas was premiered earlier, in
1929 in Paris, and its piano version was finished in 1932. Both works are derived from
earlier ones: Uirapuru is a new version to Tedio de Alvorada; Amazonas is the same to
Myremis.
The gap between the “composition” and the premiere suggests an anticipation of
the real date of composition of these works. This musicological problem is usual in some
Villa-Lobos’s works, some people says that he liked to offer his first idea of a new
composition as if it was the date of the finished piece of music. Others says that he did it
to avoid any allusion of influence from Stravinsky, showing up works composed before his
first visit to Europe in 1923 where he alleged had his first hearing of Le sacre du printemps
[1].
Unfortunately, the score of Myremis (premiered in 1918 in Rio de Janeiro) is
actually lost and there is no way to compare it with Amazonas [2], except for a few
fragmentary motives noted down on a sheet music paper. One of these motives is the
opening theme (fig. 1):
1
See Leonard Ratner, 1980. Classic Music: Expression, Form and Style. London: Schirmer Books; and Hatten,
R., 1994. Musical meaning in Beethoven. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
339
Figure 1: opening theme in Myremis and also in Amazonas.2
We can see in this theme a literal representation of the title, Myremis: Mi-Ré-MiMi-Mi-Mi.
The repeated note E can be wrote down in Portuguese as the plural form to Mi:
“Mis”. This is all that can be inferred from the elder remaining manuscript. The argument
of Amazonas is due to Raul Villa-Lobos, the composer's father:
A young Indian virgin, consecrated by the gods of the magic forests, had the custom of
greeting the dawn and bathing in the waters of the Amazon. There she sported, calling
on the sun and admiring her reflection in the waters of the river, proud in her
primitive sensuality. Meanwhile the gods of the tropical winds breathed around her a
gentle, perfumed breeze. Oblivious, she danced, surrendering herself to her pleasure
like a simple child. Jealous and angered at this insult, the god of the winds carried the
chaste perfume of the young girl to the profane region of the monsters. One of them
picks up her scent from far and, anxious to possess her, destroys everything before him,
as he advances, unheard, towards her, gazing at her in ecstasy and desire. His image,
however, is reflected by the sun-light on the grey shadow of the girl. Seeing her own
shadow transformed, she rushes away, horrified, pursued by the monster into the abyss
of her own desire [3].
FRENCH INFLUENCES UPON VILLA-LOBOS
Following this script, Villa-Lobos started dealing with two characters and their
representations: 1) the young Indian girl and 2) the waters of the Amazon. The first one
was resolved in a straight way: the sustained E crosses several bars as if it was the very girl
bathing on the water’s surface. However, Villa-Lobos chose two different instruments to
portray this call. First we hear this theme in the French horn and then immediately on
viola d’amore. They both sustain the final E, stretching this pitch to bar 7. All this
section, from bar 2 to bar 7 is labelled as Contemplação do Amazonas [Contemplating
Amazonas]. Thus, the physical presence of the girl is associated with this pitch, since in
bar 8, Ciúmes do deus dos ventos (Jealousy of wind’s god), we are leaded to another place for
a while, and in this meantime the E vanishes to return in the end of the bar 9 in harmonic
sounds of viola d’amore, alto and cello.
The waters of the Amazon are the second character. They play a more complex
role, offering ambiance and movement to the scene. At this point we can disguise another
important influence on Villa-Lobos: the French music of Saint-Säens, Franck and the
modernists Debussy and Ravel. These musicians offered important models of water’s
representation with sounds and is very possible that Villa-Lobos was acquainted with the
most of them.
Saint-Säens’s Le Cygne (The Swan), from Carnival of Animals for cello and piano
(Fig. 2A), is one of these works that Villa-Lobos knew (he was a cello player and
2
All musical examples are my own transcriptions.
340
performed this piece in recitals) and likely quoted in his Canto do Cisne Negro (Song of the
Black Swan, Fig. 2B). In these cases, the piano part mimics the movement of the water
provoked by the “swan” (the cello line) on the surface [4].
Figure 2A: Saint-Säens’s The Swan
Figure 2B: Villa-Lobos’s Song of the Black Swan.
WAGNER, DEBUSSY AND VILLA-LOBOS: INTERTEXTUALITY
In Amazonas we can find an intertextual relationship with Debussy’s La Mer (1903-
1905). The huge orchestra evokes the grandiosity of the ocean and we can hear different
tone colours that seem to be analogous to the effect of the sunlight on the water, besides
some sounds so much typical of the sea. Another important aspect is the movement of the
waves, suggested by the titles of these three magnificent “symphonic sketches”.
Trezise [5] notes that are “music in celebration of the sea and other watery
phenomena” in works by Mozart (in Cosí fan tutte), Mendelssohn (Hebrides overture) and
Wagner (Das Rheingold). Wagner’s influence played an important role in Debussy’s style:
341
The ‘bleeding’ chunks drawn from Wagner's operas, such as the Forest Murmurs and
Magic Fire Music, so vital to the propagation of his music in France (where the operas
waited many years for their first performances), constitute a genre in their own right,
one that offers a fascinating precedent for the forms and style of Debussy, as for many
of his contemporaries. The overture to Der fliegende Hollander is a fine example of
the combination of sea imagery, storm, and the kind of narrative that was so often set
against its backdrop. Here is a typical operatic sea drama in which the anger of the sea
acts as an allegory for the turbulent destiny of the anti-hero. As in many such dramas,
the feminine character is depicted in gentle woodwind tones with the archetypal
Romantic motif of the descending third. However remote, the principal theme of
Dialogue du vent et de la mer also has a ‘feminine’ character (in a specific Romantic
sense) that is set against the stormy music of the sections that precede and follow it [6].
Wagner and Debussy were influences to Villa-Lobos’s music. In Uirapuru the
Tristan’s chord is quoted and plays an important part in all the work [7]. One particular
instance is the end of Tristan’s Prelude (Fig. 3), quoted in the coda of Uirapuru (Fig. 4).
Villa-Lobos transformed this quotation in a sort of whole-tone variation (Fig. 5) that
evokes Debussy’s music. This may be considered as a sort of musical tropos, since two
different sources (Wagner and Debussy) are merged in a completely different meaning.
Figure 3: ending of Tristan’s Prelude by Wagner.
Figure 4: Ending of Uirapuru by Villa-Lobos.
Figure 5: analysis of half tone displacements and the resulting whole-tone scale in Uirapuru.
In Amazonas the immediate suggestion of water could be associated with the
waving sonority that Debussy created in La Mer. Trezise says that “Debussy made little use
342
of conventional water motifs or figures in La mer, yet he still finds a place for this genus
[Trezise refers to Wagner’s music] at the beginning of the first principal section of De
l'aube a midi sur la mer (bar 31)” [8].
In the figure above the waving movement is determinate by ascents and descents of
2nd
s, suggesting the Dorian mode with centre on B. The unprepared turn to B flat minor is
reinforced by the acceleration of the up and down 2nd
s, now just in the part of Violins II.
The effect is powered by the double basses and first violins in the extreme range that
grows up and vanishes, in a kind of filtering that emphasizes the middle range of violins
and altos in the new tonality. So, the swing of the intervals is amplified in a broader sense
by the dynamics that crosses the sections and this is even more expanded by the waving
tonalities around everything.
Amazonas: the “water mode”
The representation of water has another dimension in Amazonas. Villa-Lobos is
not travelling in the open sea, but rather than this he is painting a luxuriant jungle with
dark waters. The movement is softer than the powerful waves of the sea, so there are no
such abroad orchestral tessiture, but the waving chords are confined to the clarinets and
bassoons (Fig. 6). Differently from Debussy, Villa-Lobos is dealing with human and
mythological characters, and they interfere and interact directly with the nature.
Figure 6: beginning of Amazonas.
The metaphoric associations are strong attached to the timbre: the dark waters of
Amazon River are represented by the bass sounds of dark woodwinds. This is a sort of
“structural metaphor”, to use a category coined by Lakoff and Johnson [9], thus to do that
the waters of the river became sound, Villa-Lobos developed a “water mode”. This new
mode may be also described according a definition of what the mode represents:
[…] scale and mode are two very different things: mode is living music; but the scale is
only a dead abstraction, the material of the mode arranged according to pitch. […]
Whereas the scale is, as we know, as abstractions, the mode is something living, and
therefore its meaning is hard to grasp – it can never be defined. One could define it as
a sum of melodic or harmonic motive-impulses attached to certain tones and to a
certain extent tending toward the principal tone or final [10].
343
The chords played by clarinets and bassoons in Amazonas presents two regular
modes, between bars 3 and 5 (Fig. 7). If one puts together the parts of 1s clarinet and 1st
bassoon, it will result in a whole-tone collection; the complementary whole-tone
collection occurs between 2nd
clarinet and bass-clarinet (all these resulting in tetrachords
4-21, according Forte notation). This contains all the twelve tones. There is another level
of regularity in the intervals between these lines: a Perfect 4th
between 1st
and 2nd
clarinets;
a Tritone between 2nd
clarinet and bass-clarinet; a diminished 7th
between bass-clarinet
and 1st
bassoon. The part of 2nd
bassoon breaks the balance with an asymmetrical
tetrachord (4-4). However, this line is in balance with the 1st
bassoon line, waving around
a Perfect 5th
axis, alternating diminished and augmented 5th
s.
Figure 7: woodwinds tetrachords and its relationships in the “water mode”.
This complex chain of events mingled in an exquisite texture is one of the most common
features of Villa-Lobos’s music: use of symmetrical structures that at first sight seems
asymmetrical, since there are many levels imbedded. Other astonishing feature is the transitory
character of these delicate structures that the composer destroys with pleasure. A disturbance
originated from the bottom, the brief attack by tuba, double-bassoon and double basses changes
the surface intervals in the clarinets (Fig. 8). The last four notes of 1st
clarinet in bar 6 suggest
an octatonic scale.
Figure 8: the attack from the bottom and the reflection in the surface.
344
VILLA-LOBOS: TROPOS AND ANTROPOPHAGY
The Perfect 5th
can be associated with the Nature, from its importance to the
harmonic series. One can see this interval as the axis of the “water mode”. The Perfect 4th
s
is also present in the harmonic series and is applied in the upper level of this layer. The
waving of the water is represented by the melodic profile of 1st
clarinet, imitated by all the
other instruments. The waving is reinforced by swinging around the Perfect 5th
axis with
diminished and augmented 5th
s, analogous to what occurred in La Mer. This way VillaLobos
assimilates the technique of Debussy to elaborate his own soundscape. The
“neutral” structural elements can assume a quite different meaning in this context. This is
very close of what Robert Hatten [11] assigns as tropos:
Troping in music may be defined as the bringing together of two otherwise
incompatible style types in a single location to produce a unique expressive meaning
from their collision or fusion. Troping constitutes one of the more spectacular ways
that composer can create new meanings, and the thematic tropes may have
consequences for the interpretations of an entire multimovement work. Topics are
style types that possess strong correlations or associations with expressive meaning:
thus, they are natural candidates for tropological treatment [12].
Although Villa-Lobos is well known through his alleged connections with folklore,
a great number of his works does not present any direct allusion to popular culture.
Amazonas is one of the most intriguing cases: in its around 12 minutes one cannot devise
any particular melodic or rhythmic suggestion from Brazilian folk music; some techniques
are derived from Villa-Lobos self-learning apprentice from scores by Wagner, Debussy,
d’Indy among others composers. Even so, Amazonas displays an exquisite exoticism that
has enough power to induce one to believe that is actually hearing an effective
representation of the jungle and its mysteries.
Thus, the pictorialism inherent to the symphonic poem tradition [13] was maybe
the first step to the compositional planning of Amazonas. In this work, if he probably was
not a creator of new techniques certainly he was a skilful user of the disposable means to
introduce the sound of tropical forests of Brazil in the concert hall. In this sense one could
say that troping was an intuitive strategy of Brazilian modernists that called themselves as
“anthropophagites”. Brazilian culture is full of hybridism, resulting from the symbolic act
of "devouring" foreign cultures as a means of assimilation. In the music of Villa-Lobos that
was the strategy used to develop your own sense of style and language.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to express my gratitude to FAPESP (Sao Paulo Research Foundation) and
USP by the grants that allowed me to travel overseas for this Conference.
345
REFERENCES
[1] For accurate accounts of Villa-Lobos biographic data, I recommend Tarasti, E., 1995.
Heitor Villa-Lobos: The life and works, 1887-1959. North Carolina: Mac Farland &
Company. If the reader is able to read Portuguese he or she must read Guérios, P., 2003.
Heitor Villa-Lobos: o caminho sinuoso da predestinação. Rio de Janeiro: Editora FGV.
[2] For a detailed comparison between manuscript of Tedio de Alvorada and Uirapuru:
Salles, P.T., 2005. Tédio de Alvorada e Uirapuru, um estudo comparativo de duas partituras
de Heitor Villa-Lobos. In: Brasiliana, n. 5, Rio de Janeiro: Academia Brasileira de Música.
[3] This English translation is quoted from Marco Polo’s CD’s sleeve notes 8.223357,
packed with four symphonic poems by Villa-Lobos: Gênesis, Erosão, Amazonas and
Alvorada na Floresta Tropical, conducted by Roberto Duarte. The original Portuguese
version is issued in Villa-Lobos, sua obra, Rio de Janeiro: Museu Villa-Lobos.
[4] In a more detailed study I compared both “swans” by Saint-Säens and Villa-Lobos:
Salles, P.T., 2009. Villa-Lobos: processos composicionais. Campinas: Editora Unicamp.
[5] Trezise, S., 1994. Debussy: La Mer. Cambridge University Press.
[6] Ibid, pp. 32-33.
[7] See Salles, P.T., 2009.
[8] Trezise, S., 1994, pp. 32-33.
[9] Lakoff and Johnson, 1980. Metaphors we live by. University of Chicago Press.
[10] Jeppesen, K., 1992. Counterpoint. New York: Dover, p, 62.
[11] Hatten, R., 2004. Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
[12] Ibid, p. 68.
[13] Ratner, L., 1980. Classic Music: Expression, Form and Style. London: Schirmer Books,
p. 25. Ratner defines “pictorialism” in music as “efforts to imitate or symbolize specific
ideas from poetry or other types of literature [and] generally associated with instrumental
music, conveys some idea of an action or scene”.
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Rhetoricity in the Music of Villa Lobos:
Musical Topics in Brazilian Early XXthCentury
Music
Acácio Piedade, PhD, State University of Santa Catarina, Florianopolis, BR
ABSTRACT
In this paper I propose an analysis of the music of Brazilian composer Heitor Villa Lobos
under the perspective of musical Rhetoric and the theory of musical topics. I argue that this
point of view makes it possible to understand a characteristic of his musical style that was
not well discussed so far, which led some critics to claim that Villa Lobos' music is
excessively chaotic or formally disoriented. In fact, I claim he is using topics of Brazilian
music in a special way. The paper starts by addressing the theoretical adaptation of the
theory of musical topoi in the context of National musical styles. I discuss the pertinence
of topics theory in this case, departing from several authors who wrote about topics,
including Raymond Monelle, and I also use some concepts of the Group Mμ. I draw
upon a concept of musical topics that is more interested in the forms of use of music
figures than in their fixed structures itself, which can vary among several possibilities inside
the universes of topics. Then I argue that Brazilian topics started to appear in the first
decades of the XXth-century in parallel to the modernist movement in the Arts, also a
time when key popular music styles were in consolidation and were especially important to
the agenda of the intellectuals involved with the construction of Brazilian national music.
After this I present the universes of Brazilian topics and discuss excerpts of works of Villa
Lobos in order to show how they appear there and to argue that rhetoricity and density of
topical meaning are important characteristics of his style.
INTRODUCTION
The music of composer Heitor Villa Lobos remains a difficult task to the analyst,
maybe because of his historical independence and originality, since in the first decade of
the XXth-century the composer was writing music in a direction that would be developed
only from the 20s on, by composers of the Modernist movement, who sought a National
language for concert music [1]. Or maybe because his music has been considered
complicated in terms of structural-semiotic analysis, being deeply anchored in the
production of sound images of Brazilian folklore. The composer himself declared that he
painted impressions, landscapes, emotions, and therefore he described his own music as a
vehicle for expressing extra-musical phenomena. Following this path, a rhetorical analysis
of Villa Lobos' music can bring up interesting discussions about signification and I think
that the concept of rhetoricity as well as the theory of topics are contributions in this
direction. At first I will comment on the theory of topics and its application to Brazilian
347
music. Then I will present some universes of Brazilian topics I've been working with and I
will discuss how these topics navigate the music of Villa Lobos. I shall conclude by
claiming that topical density and high rhetoricity are important characteristics of his
musical style.
BRIEF COMMENTS ON THE THEORY OF TOPICS
Many authors are constructing the theory of musical topics since its initial
contribution by Ratner [2], followed by Agawu [3], Allanbrook [4], Hatten [5], Monelle
[6] [7], Sisman [8] and many others [9]. This collective effort constitutes a new
perspective to the investigation of meaning in music, which shall be experimented in the
study of other musical universes than the European music of the common practice period.
In this sense, I've been trying to adapt this rhetorical approach in order to apply it in a
completely different case, the Brazilian music of the end of the XIXth and first decades of
the XXth-century. The reason for that is that I think that the theory of topics is a
powerful tool to investigate the diversity of musical repertoires inside a limited cultural
universe such as a National music, and also because I think that during this period of
Brazilian music history there was happening the consolidation of musical genres that are
still stable and operative as pillars of what is considered to be Brazilian music. I take the
risk of facing so many inconsistencies in the question of what is to be considered Brazilian
or not, but yet I think this enterprise is worth because I've been verifying that the
categories I've been working with somehow fit with what musicians and musicologists say.
The case of the musical language of Villa Lobos is an example of this, and I will try to
develop it in this paper.
A condition to engage an application of the theory of topics is a well-established
and stable socio-historical context, as it is the case of the music of the Classical period.
However, if one wants to approach topics in a National music, the problem starts with the
idea of Nation itself. Apart from the geopolitical concept of Nation-state, many social
scientists agree that Nation is something arbitrary and even imaginary [10]. Though it is
purely a rational convention, a Nation is often taken as an objective thing in the world,
and this essentialisation ends by posing theoretical problems and paradoxes. But the fact is
that despite being a social construction, a Nation is real to the extent that it is something
strongly experienced by people. In fact, it is a tacit consensus at least for the people that
live in it, and it is also a very important notion in their lives and identities.
Considering this pragmatic dimension of Nation and the pertinence of the idea of
historically and geographically located communities that share a musical world, I think
that one can speak of musical repertoires considered to be originated from the Nationstate
Brazil as being Brazilian music. This allows the construction of a context that is not a
historical period such as the Classical one but instead a set of musicalities of a
contemporary community living in its territory [11]. I shall remind that musicality, like
identity, is a contrastive concept and therefore there can only exist a Brazilian musicality
to the extent that there is also an Argentinean or a Scottish one. And this contrastive
aspect continues to apply inside the category of National musicality, for it comprises
several different regional idioms that can form individual musical languages, each one of
them being also a particular musicality pertaining to the Nation. For example, there is a
musicality for the tango and other genres of the region of the river de la Plata, South
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America, and one can conceive that all of them fit inside a larger category of Argentinean
musicality, which however may encompass this musicality but is not limited to it. The
same process may be exercised to think any relation of National and regional music styles.
Insofar there is a musicality, one can think about the rhetorical dimension of it,
which is an important effort for the construction and maintenance of its identity. And this
allows one to think about the isotopic constitution of it, whereas topics and figures are
active units. Isotopy, as I will comment below, is the characteristic that renders
acceptability and stability of conventional meaning in a chain of musical ideas. The inner
musicalities of a Nation constitute the different universes of topics I shall refer here. I
employ the idea of universe of topics used by Agawu [3] as musical-symbolic sets that can
be isolated from each other within a larger musicality, such as a National one. It is a
generic term to put together some musical structures and cultural-literary ideas that it
makes sense to separate from other universes. The elements of these groups of topics can
be used to promote a greater rhetoricity in the musical text.
The idea of rhetoricity in music derives from the distinction between topic and
figure, which can be drawn from the General Rhetoric of the Group Mμ [12]. Briefly, the
application of some ideas of this group of Belgian semioticists leads to think the musical
topoi as constituents of an isotopic chain, and the figure as the surprising element that
breaks up the semantic stability of this level. Musical topics are thus topological: they
have a specific place in the narrative to correctly affect the audience. However, a musical
topic can turn into a musical figure by means of making changes in its placement, form or
disposition, and this transformation increases its rhetoricity, that is, the level of its
rhetorical quality [13]. The idea that music can present different degrees of rhetoricity
helps to understand how sometimes musical topics acquire a higher salience by breaking
the expectation generated by isotopic conventionality, thereby becoming a figure, as I
think it is the case in many works of Villa Lobos.
BRAZILIAN TOPICS IN THE MUSIC OF VILLA LOBOS
In Villa Lobos, as well in other Brazilian Nationalist composers such as Camargo
Guarnieri, there is often the musical evocation of the later XIX-century Brazil, the time of
the old waltzes and other genres such as Seresta and Modinha, a time when life was
attributed with lyrism, simplicity, freshness and nostalgia. There are some depictions of
Portugal in this symbolic set, for instance some evocations of Fado musicality, and also
embellished flourishing melodies with many arabesques, as well as rhythmic patterns of old
dances such as Maxixe and Polka. One can hear sound structures of old civil-military
bands that many countryside little Brazilian cities used to have, like for example patterns
of tuba-like bass lines. One can add here the Choro, a very important genre to all this
symbolic-musical set of categories. All these elements can work together in a musical text
to musically recreate a kind of deep Brazil, a land whose myth of origin tells that the real
"authentic" and "pure" Brazilian musicality is lost in the ashes of the past but may be reexperienced
by the enacting of these specific musical configurations. I call this universe of
topics "Época de Ouro" ("golden age").
Golden age topics are abundantly found in the music of Nationalist compositions,
such the Valsas de Esquina by Francisco Mignone, to mention only one. In Villa Lobos this
universe often emerges by means of Choro's 7-stringed guitar bass-lines, for example,
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which the composer uses in various transformed ways. In the example below, from the
Chôro Nr. 1 for guitar, there are some golden age topics:
Figure 1: from Chôros Nr. 1, cc. 9-12.3
The fermata in bar 9 and 11 are a kind of emulation of the rubato lyrism in the
singing style of Seresta and other old genres, usually presenting a descending glissando after
the retained note. Bars 10 and 12 present a Choro-bass line, here in the original guitar
timbre. These lines, called by musicians "baixaria", appear in several forms in the music of
Villa Lobos, mostly serving to connect parts of the melodic theme, and many times
appearing in a pretty transformed way. In the following example, the octavated bass line
points to the topos, the conventional space of these guitar typical phrases:
Figure 2: from Bachianas Nr. 4, Ária, cc. 7-12.
Besides this, the example above, an excerpt of the Ária of the Bachianas Brasileiras
N. 4, brings up in the melody a clear reference to another universe of topics of Brazilian
musicality: the "Nordestino" ("northeastern"). Being a great source of inspiration for
Nationalist composers, the generalized musicality of northeastern regional culture
generated many expressions that were recognized as deeply Brazilian, such as the musical
genre Baião and the many melodies that employ the Mixolidian and Dorian modes in a
very particular way. Therefore, the excerpt above shows this frankly Nordestino theme in
dialog with Choro-like descending bass lines that evoke the Golden Age universe, a
completely different symbolic-musical set. This polyphony is an example of the double
remission to different topical universes that causes the matching of two diverse worlds of
meaning, provoking a kind of excess that is important in Villa Lobos musical language.
The Prelude to the Bachianas Brasileiras N. 2 (1933) begins with a dark atmosphere
in the strings but soon the solo of tenor sax makes a timbristic allusion of the world of
Choro, therefore a Golden Age topic. The sax in the Choro is a major contribution that
saxophonist-composer Pixinguinha had just consolidated in that time. This remission is
3
All musical examples are my own transcriptions.
350
followed by a solo of trombone with many glissandi, what emulates the romantic Golden
Age singing style and at the same time points to a specific use of this instrument in the socalled
Gafieira ballroom dance music that was in progress at the time this composition was
written. In this piece, the strings construct the melodic prominence together with the solo
sax and the solo trombone. This is here the case of universe of Golden Age topics, but
soon it comes a brief section with plenty of harmonic and rhythmic allusions to another
universe of topics, the Caipira ("countryman") topics (see below), after what there is the
recapitulation of the initial material. This succession of topical universes may cause an
astonishing impression of expressive incongruence, due to the dark and lyrical density of
the first and last sections and the innocent dancing simplicity of the second one. This
certainly is part of the rhetorical intents of Villa Lobos, something that is curiously
expressed in the title of this Prelude, "O Canto do Capadócio", that appear in the score
translated into several languages (Ricordi Editions) as "the song of countryman". But in
fact "capadócio" was a word also used to mean rogue, rascal, pointing to the figure of the
"malandro", an important constituent of a different universe of topics, which I call
"Brejeiro" [11].
The evocation of the Caipira universe, which evokes a crucial aspect of the inner
side of Brazil, particularly the countryside of Southeastern region, where there is the figure
of the Caipira and one recognizes and praises his way of life, sincerity and simplicity. Villa
Lobos very directly evokes this universe in his Trenzinho do Caipira ("Countryman's little
train"), as well in Plantio do Caboclo, a piece from the cycle for piano solo Ciclo Brasileiro:
Figure 3: from Ciclo Brasileiro, Plantio do Caboclo, cc. 10-11.
Here the chords in the left hand remind the typical Caipira guitar called "viola
caipira", also in the simplicity of the harmonic progression (I-V7) of this genre, which is
called "toada caipira". There is at the same time the ostinato of the right hand, which
seems to put a special brilliant light in the countryside landscape that is being painted
here.
Caipira topics are also clear in the Prelude to the Bachianas Brasileiras N. 7 (1942),
entitled "Ponteio", which presents a typical melodic contour in parallel thirds and sixths.
But there the Caipira elements are permeated with a learned style marked by the
contrapuntal texture and the very Bachian melody. At the same time, one can notice
those already mentioned bass lines of Choro, both from 7-stringed guitar and from bandlike
tuba patterns, as well as other elements that recall the Golden Age universe.
Villa Lobos inaugurated in the Brazilian musicality a universe of topics that may be
called Indígena ("Indigenous"), in which the evocation goes to the Indigenous forest
peoples and their surrounding world, especially the birds. Villa Lobos largely employed
iconicity in his works to mean the chant of birds such as the "uirapurú". And also so-called
351
spirits of nature are present in these references to the Indígena universe, like in the Suite
Amazonas. The example below is an excerpt of this work, the beginning of a section called
"Dance of the enchanting of the forests":
Figure 4: from Amazonas: Bailado indigena brasileira, for piano, Section 9.
The polyrhythmic texture and the rhythmic modulation in the right hand produce
a sense of independence and great liberty of the melody in relation to the ostinato.
Following the clues that Villa Lobos himself presents in the score of this programmatic
piece, that freedom evokes the presence of a living being of the forest, be it the voice of a
bird or the one of a spirit that freely flows over the stable current of arpeggios.
The Indígena in Villa Lobos is not like the romantised Indigenous world of Il
Guarany, an opera composed in 1870 by Carlos Gomes in which the idea of the noble
savage is prominent. In Villa Lobos, the Indígena universe is one of the dense and remote
forest, much more wild and savage and, at the same time, one that is coherent with the
352
ideal of the Modernist movement of 1922 [14]. The Indigenous here is much more free, it
is the anarchic Indian of Mario de Andrade's roman Macunaíma. Villa Lobos himself was
called a "white Indian", a wild composer to the eyes of Europe [15]. The fact is that the
Indigenous universe of topics is very important in Villa Lobos general style, and
particularly in some of his pieces he employs so-called Indigenous melodies taken as
"authentic", like in the Três Danças Características (africanas e indígenas), where he uses a
song of the Caripuna Indians, which he supposedly collected himself in their village.
CONCLUSION
The complexity of the music of Villa Lobos has been commented by several
musicologists [16] and re-discovered by contemporary researchers [17], but the apparent
chaos of its semiotic density favoured the construction of his image as that of an artist
with almost bursting and savage creativity. His colleague composer Francisco Mignone for
instance said Villa Lobos was an "animal" with a volcanic talent, a magnificent force
"from the caves of irrationality" [18]. What I find with the analysis of meaning in the
music of Villa Lobos is a particular density of different topical references that may put
some light on views like this one. Working as if it had layers of meaning, the "plot" (as
Agawu called it) of Villa Lobos' music seems to be eventually constituted of sequences
that mix of two or more universes of topics, successively or even simultaneously. This end
by putting together distant worlds like for example Indigenous melodies and old Brazilian
waltzes, or Brejeiro scherzando gestures and Choro bass lines, or European Modern
Impressionist music sounds together with topics of Brazilian northeastern universe. The
high rhetoricity of his music results from these transformations and dislocations, a feature
that is responsible for dense evocations and a sense of excessiveness characteristic of Villa
Lobos musical language.
REFERENCES
[1] Guérios, P. R., 2005. Heitor Villa-Lobos: o caminho sinuoso da predestinação. Rio de
Janeiro: FGV.
[2] Ratner, L. G., 1980. Classic music: Expression, form, and style. New York, Schirmer
Books.
[3] Agawu, K. V., 1991. Playing with signs: a semiotic interpretation of classic music.
Princeton, Princeton University Press.
[4] Allanbrook, W. J., 1983. Rhythmic gesture in Mozart: Le nozze di Figaro & Don Giovanni.
Chicago, University of Chicago Press.
[5] Hatten, R. S., 2004. Interpreting musical gestures, topics, and tropes: Mozart, Beethoven,
Schubert. Bloomington and Indianapolis, Indiana University Press.
[6] Monelle, R., 2000. The sense of music: semiotic essays. Princeton: Princeton University
Press.
[7] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic. Bloomington, Indiana University Press.
[8] Sisman, E. R., 1993. Mozart: The “Jupiter” Symphony, no. 41 in C major, K. 551.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
353
[9] Monelle, R., 2007. "Sur quelques aspects de la théorie des topiques musicaux", In
Márta Grábocz (ed.) Sens et Signification en Musique. Paris, Hermann, pp. 177-193.
[10] Anderson, B., 1983. Imagined Communities. London, Verso.
[11] Piedade, A. T. C., 2011. “Perseguindo fios da meada: pensamentos sobre hibridismo,
musicalidade e tópicas” (“Pursuing clues to the puzzle: thoughts on hybridism, musicality
and topics”), Per Musi, Belo Horizonte, n. 23, 2011, pp.103-112.
[12] Dubois J. et al., 1970. Rhétorique Générale. Paris: Librairie Larousse.
[13] Piedade, A. T. C., 2012. “Música e Retoricidade” (“Music and Rhetoricity”).
Proceedings of the IVth Meeting of Musicology of Ribeirao Preto. Sao Paulo, USP.
[14] Béhague, C., 2006. “Art Music Studies Indianism in Latin American Art-Music
Composition of the 1920s to 1940s: Case Studies from Mexico, Peru, and Brazil”. Latin
American Music Review, 27, 1, Spring/Summer, p. 28-37.
[15] Chic, A. S., 1987. Villa-Lobos: Souvenirs de l’ Indian Blanc. Paris: Actes du Sud.
[16] Neves, J. M., 1977. Villa-Lobos, o choro e os choros. São Paulo, Musicalia S/A. Cultura
Musical.
[17] Salles, P. T., 2009. Villa-Lobos: Processos Composicionais. Campinas, SP: Editora da
Unicamp.
[18] Mignone, F., 1969. Villa-Lobos na música sinfônica. Presença de Villa-Lobos, 3rd.
Volume, 1st. ed., Rio de Janeiro, MEC-Museu Villa-Lobos, p. 83-93.
354
On Ethno-Existential Irony as Topic in
Western Art Music
Judah Matras, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, IL
ABSTRACT
The ‘case’ for Jewish Existential Irony as “musical ethos” in works of Shostakovich has
recently been impressively made by Prof. Esti Sheinberg [1]. In her paper Sheinberg
reviews the concept of “existential irony,” cites Jewish sources, themes, and motifs in
Shostakovich’s music, and identifies musical “correlatives” of existential ironies which are
held to illustrate or represent Jewish ethos. Sheinberg’s ‘case’ receives certain indirect
support in accounts by other scholars of Shostakovich’s Jewish friendships and
incorporation of Jewish themes and “musical inflections” in his music ([2]; [3]; and
especially [4]).
In this paper I show that ethnic sub-populations in the socio-demographic sense (where
‘ethnic’ may refer to sub-populations delineated on the basis of race, linguistic or sociocultural
or –geographic origin, religion, socio-economic status or class, gender, or age, etc.
identification) more generally are characterized by existential ironies which illustrate or
represent the ethnic-specific ethos; and music scholars have identified ‘correlatives’ which
can illustrate and identify them in their musics . I cite analyses by music scholars as
examples for several familiar subpopulations (and mention the issue of applicability of the
argument for the arts and culture generally as hinted or asserted by Adorno, Benjamin,
and Bakhtin); and I conclude that ethno-existential irony should be adopted as a “topic”
in Western Art Music [5].
INTRODUCTION
In her book, Irony, Satire, Parody and the Grotesque in the Music of Shostakovich. A
Theory of Musical Incongruities Esti Sheinberg [6] analyzes ambiguities in Shostakovitch’s
musical output by exploring themes of irony, satire, parody, and grotesque in Russian
culture generally, in Shostokovich’s biography, in his musical idioms, and in their nonmusical
referents. In the book she introduces the concept of existential irony in music
and closes the analysis with a passage asserting “existential irony as Shostakovich’s metamessage.”
In a subsequent paper [7], Sheinberg develops the idea of “Shostakovich’s
‘Jewish Music’ as an Existential Statement.” It signifies both the existential, eternal
ambiguity of music as an aesthetic and ethical ideal of Jewish tradition: “life in general is
perceived and accepted as a mixture of dysphoric and the euphoric… Jewish music, by its
‘laughing through tears’, that is, by expressing dysphoric purport through euphoric devices,
355
is for Shostakovich indeed a ‘moral issue’, in that it signifies existential ambiguity1
and
reflects existential ambiguity as an ethical approach to life.”
In her book [8] Sheinberg mentions use of “musical topics” but she does not
extend the discussion to “existential irony” in other musics, even as she mentions the idea
of “artists as ‘eternal Jews’ – […] restless souls with no real homeland […]” and cites
Mahler as akin to Shostakovich both in his “musical existentialism,” as expressing
‘heartbreaking, tragic irony,’ and as a composer for whom “music was inseparable from
social and ethical issues”. In the rest of this paper, I make the ‘case’: i) for generality of
‘ethno-existential irony’ in musics of “minority,” or designated “other” or “outsider” (in
the sense of sociologist Émile Durkheim) identity-population groups, and ii) I argue that
ethno-existential irony is an “indexical topic,” in the sense of Monelle [9][10] and should
be included in the recognized “topics” in Western Art Music listed by Monelle, Tarasti
[11], and others.
ETHNO-EXISTENTIAL IRONY IN JEWISH MUSIC
The early 20th
Century fieldwork, and publications of Abraham Z. Idelsohn on
ancient and historical Hebrew and Jewish song and music in comparative contexts, and
his analyses of connections between early Hebrew and Christian musics, are widely cited
as ground-breaking on both historical and musicological grounds [12] [13]. Idelsohn’s
project involved primarily collection of field recordings of music in Jewish communities of
Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East and demonstration of a historically authentic
system of Jewish music, encoding aspects of ethnic and national identity in the life of the
synagogue and in the world of the diaspora. In his summary volume, Jewish Music. Its
Historical Development, [14], Idelsohn’s concluding passage includes the lines:
As a result of our treatise, we see that the Jewish people has created a special type of
music, an interpretation of the spiritual and social life, of its ideals and emotions. In
this music we find the employment of particular scales, motives, modes, rhythms, and
forms based on definite musical principles […] Jewish song voices the spirit and
history of a people who for three thousand years have been fighting bitterly but
hopefully for its existence, scattered in thousands of small groups among the millions
having diverse tongues, cultures, and creeds […] a genuine echo of Jewish religion,
ethics, history, of the inner life of the Jews and of their external vicissitudes.
In his book, Idelsohn mentions variously elements of existential irony, satire,
grotesque, and humor in the evolvement of Jewish song, music, and performance. For
example, in describing the “Mode of Esther,” he notes that in their reading of the Book of
Esther, “German Jews […] interpreted the Megilla of the story of Esther and Mordechai
and the struggle of the Jews in Persia as the story of their own life. Their abuse of Haman
was a disguised attack on their contemporary enemies, and an opportunity to mock them,
at times even in a vulgar manner.” Elsewhere:
But family life was not ideal, and the young woman had to suffer most, from the
proverbial mother-in-law as well as from her own mother. At times religious struggles
caused the break-up of the family […] All these bitter experiences of life struck the
1
Author’s italics.
356
Jewish woman primarily and found utterance in her song. Thus, we find bridal songs,
wedding songs, laments of the young disappointed wife […] mother-songs, soldier
songs, grass-widow songs, orphan-songs, […] accusations against and curses upon the
heretic husband [...] in a pathetic style and in a desperate sadness […] there exists a
considerable part of joyous songs. As soon as the subject matter is religious –the
Torah, Messiah, Israel and its past, the festivals, etc.- the tone becomes brighter.
Furthermore, we find a great number of humorous and witty jingles, at times of subtle
satire and sarcasm against both Jew and gentile. At times, peculiar conditions of
Jewish life find expression in biting irony in which tears mingle with laughter.
As Bohlman has noted, additional themes of “otherness” were taken up and
accorded prominence, so that much of Idelsohn’s descriptions and analyses casts Jewish
music as characterized by ethno-existential irony.
Unlike Idelsohn who explicitly denied the label “Jewish music” to the works of
Jewish musicians who “created or performed European music,” the historian and
musicologist Peter Gradenwitz [15] introduces his book, The Music of Israel, as treatise on
the “rise and growth of Hebrew and Jewish music.” and explicitly accords the label “Jewish
music” to the works of, say, Salomone Rossi, Felix Mendelssohn, Gustav Mahler, Ernest
Bloch, and Arnold Schoenberg even as Idelsohn explicitly did not. Gradenwitz is not
principally taken up with the “otherness” of Jewish song, prayer, or community or ethnic
settings and relations but, rather, celebrates the achievements of Jewish liturgies,
musicians, composers, performers, ideas, and aesthetics in the contexts of the musics of
their respective times and locales. Nonetheless Gradenwitz, too, takes note of the
“otherness” of Jewish music early in the book in analyzing cleavages between Occidental
vs. Oriental music, instruments, and traditions, and the status of Jews and Jewish
communities in medieval, Renaissance, and post-Renaissance European regions.
Discussing Mendelssohn, Meyerbeer, Mahler, and Offenbach, Gradenwitz writes:
Each of these three great figures in nineteenth-century musical history [Mendelssohn,
Meyerbeer, and Mahler] was a split personality in his own way and a foreign element
in all spheres of activity. In the works of Offenbach, the ingenious critic of French
society, there appeared still another trait characteristically Jewish: sarcasm, satire, and
irony, which the Jews had developed as weapons of the weak and helpless against the
powers of oppression. We can often find Jews as masters of caricature and satire — in
literature, painting, and music — and the grotesque has always attracted them.
Thus Gradenwitz supplies another testimonial to the ethno-existential irony of
Jewish music.
Philip Bohlman in his book, Jewish Music and Modernity [16], begins his
discussion of “Jewish Music at the Borders of Modernity” with the assertion that “Jewish
music begins with Salamone Rossi (ca.1570-ca.1628).” Bohlman holds that Jewish music
was the product of crossing borders and negotiating identities. Rossi, according to
Bohlman, was the transitional figure between myth and history: Rossi’s Jewishness
determined the ways the composer and his music entered Jewish history as phenomena of
early modern Europe. Bohlman writes further:
Rossi’s negotiation of the stylistic borders between the Renaissance and the Baroque
was inseparable from the historical fact that he was a Jew working primarily in an
Italian sphere that was Christian. Rossi’s forays into the seconda practica, therefore,
357
paralleled his own entry into the public sphere of early modern Italy and the
reconfiguration of the Mantuan Jewish community as ‘public’ itself, that is, as a culture
that extended beyond the ghetto.
In the chapter entitled “Inventing Jewish Music” [17], Bohlman points to the
Jewish “negotiation with otherness,” to the encounter, cultural engagement, and
acquisition of “new presence in the public sphere outside the Jewish community,” and to
the “reincorporation” of biblical past as transformations in the Jewish Community. These
led to blurring of boundaries between “selfhood” and “otherhood” Jewish Music in
liturgies, cantillation, folk music, songbook, cabaret, and art music. Later, following the
Holocaust and the post-Holocaust events and migrations, Jewish identity and institutions
of Jewish music shifted to Israel, to North America, and elsewhere in the diaspora. These
have resulted in emergence of new Jewish art musics based on musical responses to the
Holocaust, institutionalization of Israeli music life, revival and globalization of earlier
Jewish musics, and penetration of “modern genres” of Jewish music” into the broader
public sphere.
The description and analysis are largely driven by three central concepts: i)
“selfness,” ii) “otherness,” and iii) “hybridity” which he imputes both to collectivities
(socio-demographic groupings) and to their musics, are more desirable or less desirable,
more problematic or less problematic, in accordance with the various historical, social, or
aesthetic contexts in which they appear. There is an important affinity between the
concept of “otherness” and the Durkheimian [18] concept of “other,” or of “non-us.” For
sociologist Émile Durkheim, “otherness,” and especially the presence of designated “other”
social categories: criminals, deviants, dissimilar classes, “negative cults,” are “functional,”
indeed crucial, in promoting and fortifying social solidarity in societies. The presence and
behaviours of deviants and of “others” proves our own morality and righteousness. We
need others and their “otherness” to define our own “we-ness.” Bohlman –as Durkheim--
uses “otherness” as an “existential” label, and thus the processes, the outcomes, and their
attributes bearing on musical “otherness,” e.g. parody, hybridity, irony can also be labelled
“existential.” and hence provide additional evidence of ethno-existential irony in Jewish
music.
GYPSY MUSIC, GYPSINESS, AND ETHNO-EXISTENTIAL IRONY
The European history of Roma, or Gypsy, migration and settlement, however
incompletely documented, is clearly a history characterized by widespread and repeated
episodes of prejudice and discrimination, exclusion, exploitation and want, and — in
periods and places of Nazi rule — by racial — doctrine victimization, murder, and
genocide. In his classic account, The Gipsy in Music [19] Franz Liszt appears as the mid-
19th
Century champion of Gypsy music and cites variously their suffering from persecution
and wandering, the absence among Gypsies of nationalist tradition or rhetoric, the
extreme contrasts with persecuted and wandering Jews, avoidance of work and simplicity
of needs and ambitions, and cites especially their authentic role in the origins of
Hungarian music and the rhapsody as “Bohemian/Gypsy epic.” He dwells also on affinity,
symbiosis, and negotiation between Gypsies and Magyars [20], [21]. In his book, Liszt
devotes a full chapter to speculation about possible origins (Indian, Greek) of “Gipsy”
musical practice and of affinities to origins, style, and instrumentation of Hungarian music
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and he devotes a chapter to musicological analysis [22] – including scales, intervals,
rhythm, ornamentation, (asserting an absence of orchestration and of thorough-bass,
prominence and dominance assigned to the first violin) – of Gypsy music.
Liszt was widely attacked (by musicians, nationalists, and self-styled “patriots”
and, especially, by Hungarian composers and pioneer-ethnomusicologists, Bartók and
Kodály) regarding his claims about Gypsy origins of Hungarian folk and art musics [23],
and subsequently backtracked somewhat. But as it turned out, the Verbunkos (recruitment
dance), the characteristic genre of the Gypsy musician in Hungary as came to be
employed and recognized as dominant in Hungarian popular and art music alike in the rest
of the 19th
Century [24] [25] [26] [27]. The dance idioms in the Gypsy Verbunkos music
examples cited by the respective scholars have some affinity to the dance idiom “musical
correlatives” of existential irony (in the Jewish ethos) representing sometimes “courage,”
sometimes “escapism, elation, and insanity,” sometimes “confidence” or ironically “too
much confidence,” or alternatively of “devotion […] aware of its ironic circumstance” and
overcoming existential angst by sheer survival. In all events, Gypsy music as created and
performed in Europe as late as the mid-20th
Century seems to exemplify ethno-existential
irony.
In the post-World War II era the Roma remained largely stigmatized as
“nomadic” and anti-social, and excluded both in capitalist Western and Southern Europe
and in socialist Central, Balkans, and Eastern Europe countries; but they have continued
and often enhanced their professional music-making roles and status in their own and in
the “host” communities. However the latter half of the 20th
Century and beginning of the
current century have also been witness to emergence: i) of professional and cultural elites
among the Roma and ii) of organization and rise of civil rights movements in the Roma
communities. Malvinni [28] notes two mutually conflicting avenues for addressing the
Roma: 1) labelling Roma as constituents of the individual state; or 2) viewing the Roma as
a cross-cultural entity, a transnational people spread across the world. Roma activists have
been working for decades to solve problems at the local level, in terms of the first avenue.
The idea of the second avenue, the Roma as transnational people, still exists mostly as a
figure of the imagination, an unrealized project; and yet most of the legal assumptions of
the European Union come out of it. As well, that idea prefigured the 19th
Century’s
version of a pan-national Gypsy music.
NATIONALISM IN MUSICS OF NON-NATION-STATE PEOPLES —
THE CZECH EXAMPLE
Music scholars have described and analyzed “musical nationalism” as emerging
during the 19th
Century, generally viewing such national movements as offshoots of
“romanticism.” In this section I review briefly the more-or-less “conventional” account of
the emergence of Czech national music which, (unlike the example of emergence of
Hungarian national music) has not been involved in controversy concerning the
‘authenticity’ of its origins or performance, and has been linked with the biographies of
Bedřich Smetana (1824-1884), Antonin Dvořák (1841-1904), Leoš Janáček (1884-1928),
Josef Suk (1874-1935), and Bohuslav Martinů (1890-1959). All were born in Czech lands
(Bohemia, Moravia).
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Bedřich Smetana is widely recognized as the founder of Czech national music,
and his works are steeped in the folk songs, dances, and legends of his native Bohemia. But
until 1862 Bohemia was under Austrian domination: German was the official language in
Prague’s schools and government bureaus and, in effect, was Smetana’s own “first
language.” He was active in Czech liberation movements and participated in the
revolutions of 1848. But the insurrection failed and. Smetana emigrated to Gothenburg,
Sweden, in 1856 where he taught, conducted, and composed successfully. He returned to
Prague only in 1862 after Austrian military defeats were followed by liberal concessions
including establishment of Czech-language newpapers and Czech theatres for drama and
opera.. He composed The Bartered Bride, his most famous opera, based on Bohemian
legend and folk materials, for one of these theatres. And he remained in Prague, as a
composer, pianist, teacher, conductor, and active advocate and promoter of Czech musical
nationalism for the rest of his life [29].
Born in a village about 45 miles from Prague and viewed as following Smetana
as the leading composer of Czech national music, Antonin Dvořák infused his music with
Bohemian folk motifs and idioms. He left home at age 16 to study music in Prague, was
able to earn a meager living for some years playing the viola in an opera orchestra under
Smetana’s direction, to pursue studies in an organ school, and to undertake some original
compositions. Some of his works came to the attention of Brahms, who recommended
Dvořák to his own publisher [30] and from this time his fame spread rapidly. He was
invited several times to England where his works were successfully presented as Czech
music even though he rarely quoted actual folk tunes. Beckerman raises important
questions about the “Czechness” not only of Dvořák but of the rest of the composers of the
Czech national music establishment as well: all were trained and steeped in the AustrianGerman
and the “New German School” traditions, in German mother-tongue or lessthan-fully-fluent
in the Czech language, all “cosmopolitan,” most of their lives spent in
urban, rather than in traditionally-Czech-speaking rural settings, with significant parts of
their adult lives spent away from the Czech lands and territories. Only Josef Suk spent his
entire adult life in Central Bohemia and Prague.
In a widely-cited paper, Michael Beckerman [31] inquires: what makes 19th
Century Czech music “Czech?” He considers music composed from 1850 onward by
Czech-born and Czech-speaking composers identifying themselves with the Western
European musical mainstream and cites examples of the composers’ own insistence on
their Czech identities and traditions. Beckerman examines the proposition that
“Czechness” is composed of musical traits which can be objectively discerned, and finds:
“there is in fact no single musical detail that can be shown to occur in Czech music and
nowhere else.” But, he continues, it is feasible to combine characteristic musical details
with considerations of context and contextual motifs, e.g. assertions and pronouncements
of Czech composers, to reveal the model of “Czechness” developed by Smetana and largely
adopted by the others. He goes on to illustrate the employment of combinations of heroic
themes, melodies, folk materials, and musical details (e.g. rhythmic organization that is a
pre-fixed musical reflection of the Czech language) by composers who followed Smetana,
suggesting a “folk ethos” that Beckerman denotes “Czech sensibility.” The emerging
prominence of the “sensibility” term in Beckerman’s characterization of “Czechness”
generally, and with reference to bipolar alternative elements and contexts (sacred vs.
secular, urban vs. rural or pastoral), implies both recognition of, and ongoing negotiation
with, “otherness” (in the sense employed by Bohlman and Durkheim as well as an
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“existential dimension” of Czech nationalism and “Czechness” in music. Though the
concept of “irony” is not invoked explicitly it would seem that the “dissolution of the
barriers” between, and “coexistence” of, the bipolar opposites among elements,
approaches, and styles mentioned must imply substantial measures of irony in thought and
expression of Czechness. Accordingly, Michael Beckerman’s analysis of emergence of
Czech national music and the sketch of the elements and features of Czechness in music
portrays another example of ethno-existential irony in Western Art Music, in this case
representing pre-sovereignty Czech ethos.
BLUES, RAGTIME, JAZZ: AFRICAN-AMERICAN MUSIC AS ULTIMATE
ETHNO-EXISTENTIAL IRONY
We learn from Finkelstein [32] and others that the first forms of jazz were ragtime
and blues, dating from the 1890-1910 decades. Ragtime was the more “educated” music: its
creators were pianists, many with rudimentary musical instruction. A special expressive
content of ragtime was its wit: a kind of ironic, playful musical laughter, full of rhythmic
stops and starts, of shocks and surprises.” Though the origin of the blues is still obscure, it
is emphatically a Negro creation.
An integral part of the blues is the special wit and humor, rising out of the contrast
between statement and answer, between the unflagging beat and the speech-inflected
freedom of melodic accents […] in ragtime the wit is uppermost, providing the
sparkling surface; in the blues, it is the lamenting song that takes over, while the wit
becomes a constant brake or check on the outpouring of feeling. It is as if the
expression of misery had always to be wrapped up in a note of irony or defiant refusal
to succumb.
The fact that blue singers are frequently called “blues shouters,” and blues are
called “moans” reflects what the music itself confirms: the close connection of the blues to
a cry of the human voice. Finkelstein describes the emergence of Negro jazz in New
Orleans, its "migration” northward to Chicago, New York, and nationwide, the copying,
imitation, entrance, and sometimes-competition/sometimes-collaboration of white jazz
musicians and jazz bands; and he describes the appropriation and adoption of jazz idioms
and jazz motifs (and ragtime and blues idioms and motifs) by American composers of
“classical” and theater musics and in Western Art Music generally and by citation of new
(then post-World War II and Cold-War era) developments, personalities, and performers
and ensembles in jazz. He concludes and summarizes:
Jazz is a special product of the American Negro people…in a society in which they are
denied basic freedoms…embodies a defiance of hostile and oppressive forces, with its
growth, forms, and textures shaped by a pathos and bitterness wrapped in a protective
clothing of wit […] If the American people have not yet in sufficient numbers
demanded the eradication of racism from American life, the influence of jazz has
nevertheless been to make […] people conscious of the corrosion in social and cultural
life brought by this undemocracy and inhumanity […] jazz adds the reiteration of other
truths about music… that music is a democratic art, not art of an ‘elite’[…] there are
vast creative powers latent among the masses of people […] that music can flower […]
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from a handful of folk motifs, granted that the musician himself has something real
and heartfelt to say in response to life.
Though himself a very controversial political, academic, and literary figure,
LeRoi Jones’s book Blues People [33] was favourably received and is still regarded as the
first examination of African-American-initiated jazz and blues musics within the
American socio-political historiography and the first book on blues and jazz authored by
an African-American. Writing at the height of the 1960s Civil Rights struggle in the
United States, Jones became a militant “Black Power” advocate, converted to Islam and
changed his name to Amiri Imamu Baraka. And in the book he develops and gives
forceful expression of the view that original African-American music in the US has been
consistently and systematically raided, corrupted, appropriated, and exploited by whites
and by the white corporate music business. It is Jones’s/Baraka’s analysis of the origins,
characteristics, and socio-political settings and meanings of the African-American musical
idioms which interest us at this point.
We learn from Amiri Imamu Baraka, a.k.a LeRoi Jones, that blues is the “parent
of all legitimate jazz.” And, though it is not possible to say exactly how old blues is, it is a
native American music, the product of the black man in America. He cites closeness of the
blues to imitation of the human voice, the “functionality” of the music, its personal and
social reference groundings: love, sex, tragedy, interpersonal relationships, death, travel,
loneliness, work, the personal nature of blues-singing as originating in the Negro’s
“American experience” as distinct from African songs. “Primitive blues” was an almost
conscious expression of the Negro’ individuality and of his separateness. Ragtime and jazz
emerged from the blues and are dependent upon blues for their existence in any degree of
authenticity. The blues scale and “blue tonality” of jazz, the “blueing” of the notes, are
probably transplanted survivals of African (non-diatonic) scales; and improvisation,
another major facet of African music. Baraka (a.k.a.LeRoi Jones) goes on to review the
growth and expansion of jazz, both African-American and white, and in relation to one
another, through the mid-20th
Century.
The acknowledgement in his monograph, Music in a New Found Land, by the
prominent English musicologist, Wilfrid Mellers [34] of blues, ragtime, and jazz as Western
Art Music has energized the recognition of African-American music and of its origins,
composers, performers, and audiences variously around the world. Of the blues, Mellers
cites their being intensely personal insofar as each man sings alone, of his own sorrow,
they are also –even more than most folk art – impersonal in so far as each man’s sorrow is
a common lot.
Though the blues singer may protest against destiny, he is not usually angry, and
seldom looks to heaven for relief. He sings to get the blues off his mind; the mere
statement becomes therapeutic, an emotional liberation […] so: tragic passion is
tempered by ironic detachment. When the blues singer advises us not to notice him
[…] we recognize that the detachment is part of the blues’ honesty. Though the spirit
wants to sing, it is nagged by the wearisome burden of keeping alive […] a gambling
song, but with the realization that life is itself a gamble.
Of special interest in our own exploration here is Mellers’s various
characterizations of African-American jazz items as: “tragic-ironic blues are among the
362
supreme achievements of jazz […] owing their ‘universality’ to topical and local
circumstance.”
Thus Wilfrid Mellers’s portrayals and analyses, and many of the terms he uses to
describe the features, of African-American blues, ragtime, and jazz music, performers, and
audiences, alongside those of Finkelstein and of Baraka, are consistent with the view of
this music as an example, perhaps the “ultimate” example, of ethno-existential irony as
musical ethos. The late 19th
and 20th
Century emergence, recognition, performance, and
wide acceptance of African-American-origin Jazz as the quintessential American Art
Music both in the United States and abroad, and the adoption and incorporation of Jazz
elements and motives more broadly in Western Art Musics composed by prominent
American figures (e.g. from Edward McDowell, Henry Gilbert, Louis Gottschalk, Scott
Joplin, and Howard Swanson through George Gershwin, Aaron Copland, Leonard
Bernstein, Duke Ellington, Philip Glass, and Steve Reich, and Wynton Marsalis) as well
as by canonized European composers (e.g. from Johannes Brahms and Antonin Dvořák to
Claude Debussy, Maurice Ravel, Francis Poulenc, Darius Milhaud, Frederick Delius, Igor
Stravinsky, Nadia Boulanger, Dmitri Shostakovich, Bohuslav Martinu, Kurt Weill, Paul
Hindemith, and Ernst Krenek) highlight the connection between ethno-existential irony
and Western Art Music. The same decades were witness to an explosion in the numbers
of African-American composers and performers directly trained, involved, and employed
in Western Art Music, possibly also reflecting this connection.
CONCLUSION: ETHNO-EXISTENTIAL IRONY AS TOPIC
IN WESTERN ART MUSIC
The Sheinberg concepts of “Jewish existential irony as musical ethos” are more
general than is suggested by the author. I have found Sheinberg’s extensive references to
Mikhail Bakhtin in her book [35] illuminating, and perhaps even understated, with
reference to the bearing of “heterglossia” and “hybrid utterances” on issues of identity.
She brings our attention to the centrality and generality of “otherness” and “outsider”
concepts, connected to the “author and hero” and to the “transgredience” themes in
Bakhtin’s teachings [36]. On the other hand, Sheinberg mentions Theodor Adorno only
with references to some of his observations on Gustav Mahler; but she makes no reference
to more general musical issues raised in his writings. Adorno’s essays and books typically
present bipolarities of art works, of musics [37], of composers, of audiences, but without
serious attention to processes of interaction or negotiation between them. Generally
Adorno strongly favors and advocates one pole, disfavors and derogates the other, with
consideration of relationships between poles very restricted. By contrast, Adorno’s friend
and intellectual correspondent, Walter Benjamin was famously taken up with otherness
and its addressing and negotiation. These interests and tendencies appear prominently in,
for example, portrayal of the flâneur in Benjamin’s Paris Arcades Project [38] and variously
in his essays and especially, in “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical
Reproduction,” collected and posthumously published [39]. Benjamin’s theory of mass art
argues for its liberating tendencies. Thus the questions, discussion, and speculation
initially specific to “ethno-existential irony” in musics of “minority,” or “other” or
“outsider” identity-population groups, extend to arts and culture more generally.
363
Though choosing their own approaches, scholars of respectively Jewish, Gypsy,
Czech, and African-American “nationless peoples” musical idioms have found and
identified textual and musical indexes and signifiers of “otherness” and “negotiation with
otherness.” As I understand them, they show i) the generality of “ethno-existential
irony” in musics of “minority,” or designated “other” or “outsider” identity-population
groups, and ii) that ethno-existential irony is an “indexical topic,” in the sense of Prof.
Monelle [40], and should be included in the list recognized of “ topics” in Western Art
Music. The latter seems likely to offer an important linkage to Prof. Tarasti’s emerging
Existential Semiotics theory [41], itself energized in no small measure by concepts of
“otherness,” “selfness,” “alternity,” and “hybridity,” of place and ethnicity, and, at least
implicitly, by “ethno-existential irony.” The sociological challenge and — I think — the
civic and moral challenges to address these issues in our increasingly-kaleidoscopic sociodemographic
settings seem to me no less than those of, or even to go somewhat beyond
those of, structural musicology or deconstructive critique.
REFERENCES
[1] Sheinberg, E., 2008. “Jewish existential irony as musical ethos in the music of
Shostakovich,” in P. Fairclough and D. Fanning (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to
Shostakovich, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
[2] Taruskin, R., 1997. “Shostakovich and Us,” in Defining Russia Musically: Historical and
Hermeneutical Esssays, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
[3] Botstein, L., 2004. “Listening to Shostakovich,” in L.E. Fay, ed., Shostakovich and His
World, Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press.
[4] Kuhn, E., Wehrmeyer, A., and Wolter, G., 2001. Dmitri Shostakovich and the Jewish
Heritage in Music. Berlin: Ernst Kuhn.
[5] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music. Semiotic Essays. Princeton: Princeton University
Press.
[6] Sheinberg, E., 2000. Irony, Satire, Parody and the Grotesque in the Music of Shostakovich.
A Theory of Musical Incongruities. Aldershot Hants, UK: Ashgate Publishing Ltd, pp. 63-4
and 318-9.
[7] Sheinberg, E., 2008, pp. 99-100.
[8] Sheinberg, E., 2000, p. 356.
[9] Monelle, R., 1992. Linguistics and Semiotics in Music. Chur (Sw): Harwood Academic
Publishers, Chapters 7 and 9.
[10] Monelle, R., 2000, Chapters 2 and 3.
[11] Tarasti, E., 1996. “Music history revisited (by a semiotician): Sign conceptions in
music,” pp. 3-36 in E. Tarasti, (ed.), Musical Semiotics in Growth. Bloomington: Indiana
University Press
[12] Bohlman, P.V., 2008. Jewish Music and Modernity. New York: Oxford University Press
[13] Cohen, J.M., 2010. “Rewriting the Grand Narrative of Jewish Music: Abraham Z.
Idelsohn in the United States,” Jewish Quarterly Review, (100) 3 (Summer) 417–453.
[14] Idelsohn, A.Z., 1992/1929. Jewish Music. Its Historical Development. New York: Dover
Publications Inc, pp. 492, 65, and 394-5.
[15] Gradenwitz, P., 1996. The Music of Israel From the Biblical Period to Modern Times. (2d
Ed.). Portland: Amadeus Press, Chapters 3 and 4, and p. 188.
364
[16] Bohlman, P.V., 2008, pp. xxviii-xxxi.
[17] Ibid., Chapter 4.
[18] Durkheim, É., 1964. The Division of Labor in Society. (Tr.) G. Simpson. New York:
The Free Press.
[19] Liszt, F., n.d. The Gipsy in Music. (Tr.) E. Evans, 2 vols. (first published Paris: 1859 as
Des Bohémiens et de leur musique en Hongrie), London: William Reeves, Ltd.
[20] Malvinni, D., 2004. The Gypsy Caravan. From Real Roma to Imaginary Gypsies in
Western Music and Film. New York: Routledge.
[21] Loya, S., 2011. Liszt’s Transcultural Modernism and the Hungarian-Gypsy Tradition.
Rochester: University of Rochester Press.
[22] Liszt, F., n.d., Chapter 28-29.
[23] Sárosi, B., 1978. Gypsy Music. (Tr.) F. Macnicol. Budapest: Gondolat, pp.141-150.
[24] Ibid., pp. 85-119.
[25] Malvinni, D., 2004, Chapter 9.
[26] Loya, S., 2011.
[27] Frigyesi, J, 1998. Bela Bartók and Turn-of-the-Century Budapest. Berkeley: University of
California Press, pp. 55-59.
[28] Malvinni, D., 2004, pp. 212-216.
[29] Finkelstein, S., 1989. Composer and Nation: The Folk Heritage in Music. 2d Ed. New
York: International Publishers.
[30] Beckerman, M., 1993. “The Master’s Little Joke: Antonin Dvořák and the Mask of
Nation,” pp. 134-154 in M. Beckerman, (ed.), Dvořák and His World. Princeton: Princeton
University Press.
[31] Beckerman, M., 1986. “In Search of Czechness in Music,” 19th
Century Music, 10: 1,
(Summer), 61-73; see pp. 64 and 71.
[32] Finkelstein, S., 1989, Chapter 12, pp. 303 and 321-2.
[33] Jones, L-R, 1963. Blues People. The Negro Experience in White America and the Music
That Developed From It. Edinburgh: Payback Press, pp. 50 and 93-4.
[34] Mellers, W., 1987. Music in a New Found Land. Themes and Development in the History
of American Music. London: Faber & Faber, pp. 267-8 and 296.
[35] Sheinberg, E., 2000.
[36] Bakhtin, M.M. 1981. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, ed. Michael Holquist, (tr.)
C. Emerson and M. Holquist, Austin: University of Texas Press.
[37] Adorno, T.W., 2002, Essays on Music. (ed.) R. Leppert. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
[38] Scruton, R., 2009. Understanding Music: Philosophy and Interpretation. London:
Continuum.
[38] Benjamin, W., 1999. The Arcades Project. (ed.) R. Tiedemann, (tr.) Howard Eiland
and Kevin McLaughlin, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Belknap Press.
[39] Benjamin, Walter, 2007. Illuminations. (ed.) H. Arendt, [first published 1968; 2007
preface by Leon Wieseltier], New York: Schocken Books.
[40] Monelle, R., 2000, Chapter 2.
[41] Tarasti, E., 2000. Existential Semiotics. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
365
Musical Genre as Topos: Italian Opera in
Italian Auteur Cinema of the 1960s
Matteo Giuggioli,Université François Rabelais – Centre d'Études Supérieures de
la Renaissance, FR
ABSTRACT
In the aftermath of the Second World War, opera and particularly nineteenth-century
Italian opera, often referred to under the term “melodramma”, is frequently used in film.
Even besides the genre of “opera film”, references to melodramma can be found both in
popular genres and in auteur cinema. In this connection, almost all Italian directors,
starting from Visconti, reveal a deep knowledge of opera, so that references to it permeate
the syntactic and semantic structure of their films. The encounter between auteur cinema
and Italian opera constitutes interpretative and representational horizons for dealing with
central themes in Italian post-war culture, whether connected to the construction and
transmission of the historical memory of the nation (Risorgimento, Fascism, the
Resistance, the Reconstruction era, the “economic miracle”, and so on) or the evolution
of taste and customs. As a cinematic topos, opera offers a critical tool that is highly
effective for investigating existential/sentimental aspects as well as political implications. In
this context my paper will take into consideration the references to Italian opera in Pietro
Germi’s Divorce, Italian Style (1961) trying to highlight their deep impact on levels of
meaning of the audiovisual discourse.
INTRODUCTION: OPERA AS AUDIOVISUAL TOPOS
Italian culture is strongly linked to opera, in particular to 19th century opera. This
artistic genre has accompanied the rise of modern Italy as a nation, being a sort of ideal
soundtrack for the Risorgimento. During this historical period, characterized by the
heroism of young patriots, by the personal appeal of political leaders and ideologists, by
great military deeds, Italy from a mosaic of little States became a single unitary State.
Composers of music, above all operatic composers – chiefly Giuseppe Verdi – contributed,
probably more than other artists, or indeed great writers, for example Alessandro Manzoni
or Ippolito Nievo, to building a national identity. They started to be considered soon, by
the collective imagination, as fathers for the country.
Such assertions, apparently incontrovertible so deeply are they rooted in the
common sense, are actually problematic. The historiographical debate has re-opened the
problem of the Italian Risorgimento, to separate historical facts from anecdotes, legends
and utopias and to highlight contradictions that characterize it as a historical and cultural
process [1] [2]. Also on Risorgimental Verdi the discussion has been opened and different
ideas have arisen. There are supporters of a strong involvement of Verdi in Risorgimental
events. They consider the composer and the political references present in a lot of his
366
early operas as catalysts of dissent for Italian patriots [3]. On the other hand, the
orientation is to limit the direct influence and involvement of Verdi and his operas in
politics and in the rebellious acts [4] [5]. This interpretive line postulates that it is first of
all in the framework of the history of their own genre that Verdian operas should be
considered. Only later a connection between operas and socio-historical facts
contemporary to their creation should be supposed and eventually demonstrated. Research
conducted from this perspective have encouraged a redefinition of the matter of
Risorgimental Verdi, concluding that bringing out of the patriotic element of his early
operas started only around the Italian unification. At that time the process of establishing
a mythology of the recent glorious historical events was only beginning [6].
The correspondence between opera and Italian Risorgimento history, as well as
between opera and national Italian identity, has been widely acknowledged by cinema [7],
not only by Italian cinema. However, Italian cinema made a substantial contribution to
the adoption of these ideas in the cultural collective imagination of Italy. In a certain way
it has continued the same line of myth-creating which started around the national
unification.
In the aftermath of the Second World War these correspondences were still active
in Italian cinema. They were soon radicalized, taking two opposite directions. On one
hand popular and directly opera-linked genres like the film opera or the musicarello offer a
simplified and higly stereotyped version. On the other hand the auteur cinema, like the
commedia all’italiana, uses them as critical devices, useful for reflecting on Italian history,
on contemporary politics, on Italian customs and behaviour, and on their origins.
This paper focuses on the contact between the latter kind of Italian cinema and
opera of the 19th century, in order to show how still in cinematic output of the 1960s
Italian opera worked as a deep generator of expressive forms and meanings on the
affective, ethical and political planes. We are interested here in identifying the persistence
of a widespread culture of opera in Italian cinema of that time. If this persistence surely
strengthens both the correspondences between opera and Risorgimento history and opera
and national Italian identity, it ultimately places them on the surface of the cinematic
representation, establishing itself instead as a critical tool to interrogate them [8]. This
persistence is able indeed to influence in depth both the structural and thematic levels of
films. Operatic culture can have an effect on the creation of characters, on the dramaturgy
and narrative profile of film. Obviously it can activate a web of meanings through the
aural dimension of film.
The semiotic category of audiovisual topos seems appropriate to describe this
phenomenon. Here we will refer to it in generative terms. Our goal is not the classification
of operatic culture traces, considering the degree of closeness between films and operas or
other reasons of historical continuity for forms or formulas of the representation between
cinema and opera. Instead, analysing a case study we will examine the dialogue among
“intermedial genres”1
that these traces are able to activate within the films, paying
attention to its various structural results and to their semantic projection. Analysis will
follow all three research directions pointed out by Alessandro Cecchi in his paper
included in this session:
1
Artistic genres, like sound film and opera, characterized by what Werner Wolf calls an “overt intermediality”.
See Wolf [9].
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Investigating how pre-existing musical topoi are re-used in cinema and other
audiovisual art-forms through “remediation”; exploring the practical uses of musical
topoi in the composition and improvisation of film music; focusing the attention on
“audiovisual topoi” viewed as recurring structures exhibiting the correlation to a
semantic field through the moving images, where sound or music can play a significant
role [10].
It will allow us to observe the intermediality between film and opera, not only in
reference to functional aspects or in order to establish a categorization.2
More crucially,
intermediality will be considered as a process that enables the work of art in which the
different media – or intermedial genres, as in this case – converge, to elaborate a critical
discourse in testifying the real and in giving form to ethical, political, existential issues [12].
A CASE STUDY: DIVORCE, ITALIAN STYLE
The commedia all'italiana and the Italian Opera
The film we are going to analyse is Divorce, Italian Style (original title: Divorzio
all'italiana), of 1961, directed by Pietro Germi, one of the masterpieces of the commedia
all'italiana3
. The film can be quite legitimately referred to the category of auteur cinema,
both because Germi is a recognised protagonist of Italian cinema and on account of the
high quality of the film4
.
The questions of identifying the commedia all’italiana as a genre and whether it has
more in common with auteur cinema or popular cinema are destined to remain unresolved
in the history of the cinema, and are ultimately false problems. What really counts is to
arrive at a full understanding of the importance of the commedia all’italiana as an artistic,
cultural and social phenomenon:
The commedia all’italiana placed in the spotlight the character, the tics, the dilemmas
and the idiosyncrasies of a whole nation; it made entertainment of their weaknesses,
their concealed acts of cowardice, the local microculture. Everyday life became comic
excess, the spectacle of dissembled indigence, an epic of denial and renunciation [17].
Divorce, Italian Style fits perfectly with this description given by Maurizio Grande.
Based on the phenomenon of the honour crime, the film stands as a satirical denunciation
of the legislation (enshrined in the infamous article 587 of the Italian penal code) which
still in the early sixties exempted the honour crime, i.e. homicide committed to avenge a
serious personal affront, from penal consequences in Italy. It usually involved the killing of
the wife or husband, possibly together with her or his lover, for infidelity. Germi’s film, set
not surprisingly in Sicily, was also a denunciation of a society that not only tolerated but
defended this law.
Merely from the film’s subject it is not difficult to understand in just what a
complex and tortuous process of signification the opera topos was to find itself.
Nonetheless, the contact between opera and cinema does not have very different
2
On intermediality between cinema and opera see Citron [11].
3
For an overview on the commedia all’italiana see D’Amico [13].
4
On Germi's biography and films see Sesti [14]. On Divorce, Italian Style see Giacovelli [15] and Grande [16].
368
outcomes even in films which the subject is less macabre. One can think of My Friends
(Amici miei), 1975, directed by Mario Monicelli but also originally conceived by Germi,
who died before he was able to start shooting. In this film there is an explicit and
reiterated allusion to opera in the first bars of the Cantabile “Bella figlia dell'amore” from
the third act Quartet in Rigoletto, which the group of friends who are the film’s
protagonists sing as their rallying cry every time they are setting off one of their new
escapades.
At a first level of analysis we can readily recognise a dual identification: of the
libertine, roguish but also aggressive attitude of the Duca di Mantova – the character who
in the opera leads off the Cantabile making blatant advances to Maddalena – with the
analogous spirit that animates the group of Tuscan adventurers, and thus with one of the
typical traits of the Italian male. On closer inspection, however, the reference to opera
touches on a more complex vein of meaning, paving the way for a deeper and more wideranging
confrontation between the film and Verdi’s celebrated opera. If the buccaneering,
cynical but also passionate spirit of the protagonists is reflected in the words and musical
motifs of the Duca di Mantova, the film’s narrative and ultimate meaning, imbued with an
absolute pessimism concerning the human condition, are reflected in the tragic aspect of
Rigoletto. The bitter pessimism that emerges in the film when it becomes clear that the
brazen attitude of the protagonists can never win out over the hardships of life and time’s
destructive force has a sinister and sublime echo in the lugubrious plot of Verdi’s opera,
dominated by moral abjection and the looming presence of death.
These considerations bring us back to the central issue we are confronting in the
analysis of Divorce, Italian Style: in post-war Italian auteur cinema, as in the commedia
all’italiana, references to opera are hardly ever presented as a prestigious hallmark of
everything Italian, albeit neutralised, meaning a stereotype of how Italy tended to be
represented in literature or the cinema. For Germi’s generation of directors, and also for
the next generation, who were operating in a culture that was still pervaded with the spirit
of the melodramma, opera was raw material with which to investigate even the most
obscure aspects of the immature, contradictory and elusive national identity.
Remediating “Una furtiva lagrima”
The plot of Divorce, Italian Style can be summarised as follows: in the imaginary
Sicilian town of Agramonte Baron Ferdinando Cefalù, known as Fefè (Marcello
Mastroianni), has been married for twelve years to the rather exasperating Rosalia, a
woman who is no longer a beauty but is still very much in love with him. He, meanwhile,
has fallen for a cousin of his, the sixteen-year-old Angela (Stefania Sandrelli). Since
divorce did not exist, the only way open to Fefè to escape from the clutches of Rosalia is
the honour crime. He desperately sets out about finding a lover for this wife so that he can
surprise them together, kill them, and take advantage of the legal recognition of the
honour motive and, once he has served a brief spell in prison, will finally be able to marry
his beloved. He does not succeed in finding a lover, but fate gives him a hand. Following a
row with her husband Rosalia, feeling abandoned, turns to Carmelo Patanè for
consolation, an old flame of hers thought to have died during the war but who had
returned home. On hearing of this old liaison Fefè favoured their meetings and spied on
the potential adulterers. Although he did not seem able to pluck up the courage to carry
out the murder, in the end he did so and married his cousin.
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Opera figures in the film above all with the sequence set in the theatre of
Agramonte [0:36:26-0:37:44]. Seated in a box at a performance of Donizetti’s L'elisir
d'amore, Fefè, who has just had the idea of the honour crime, is scrutinising the assembled
townsfolk through his opera glasses, looking for the man who could become his wife’s
lover and set the plan in motion. Rosalia is in the box at her husband’s side but pays no
attention to what he is doing, being totally absorbed by the performance: on stage
Nemorino is singing the celebrated romanza “Una furtiva lagrima”.
It is at this point that the topos of opera emerges most patently in the film,
producing a multiple effect. On the structural level Germi uses it to realise his own version
of what had become a paradigmatic sequence in Italian post-war cinema: a scene set in the
opera house during a performance. There are examples in a number of films, ranging from
Luchino Visconti’s Senso to Before the Revolution (Prima della rivoluzione) by Bernardo
Bertolucci, just to name the two most significant examples [18]. While this narrative motif
is introduced by particular circumstances, there is always one constant feature producing
some standard sense elements, namely the appearance, in a circumscribed, shared space, of
many of the characters already encountered in the film that the filmgoers are expected to
recognise. Meeting up in a public space, far from their customary environments (work,
family, institutional) and in a role, that of spectators, which differs from their usual
functions, they engage in a social ritual, and the characters involved in this ritual are
immediately perceived as a community.
The theatre is a container for this community in which the possibilities of
movement and individual initiative are constrained. In the suffocating atmosphere of the
crowded theatre the film finds an effective image for the moral and intellectual narrowmindedness
of a non-descript community in the Italian provinces, capable of crushing the
will of the individual who refuses to conform. In Divorce, Italian Style Fefè must comply
with the logic of the honour crime, on pain of being publicly discredited and derided.
Although he is deeply troubled by the deed confronting him, he will remain true to his
duty, and even take a certain pleasure in fixing the details of his plan. The theatre is seen
as the proper setting for this ambiguity. The theatricality of the opera performance is
reflected in the attitude of the characters in the film. This mirroring of the stage and
reality is another constant in sequences of Italian films set in the theatre. The formal
construction of the sequence usually highlights the contiguity between the place (and
world) of the fiction and that of the reality, suggesting that the two domains are in fact
indistinguishable. This is usually achieved by camera movements or reverse shots between
the stage and the rest of the theatre. In Germi’s film the audience is the main focus, but a
brief reverse shot between the singer who takes the part of Nemorino and the spectators is
all it takes to bring out the connection between the physical places and, symbolically, the
characters’ existential states.
The audience participation in the performance ties in with one of the
correspondences we have identified from the outset between opera and Italian national
identity: the ‘theatricality’ which carries over onto the characters from the stage brings out
one of the central and most characteristic elements in this identity. In the particular
circumstances of each film there can be more specific motives for this theatricality. In
Divorce, Italian Style it is linked to the criminal machinations planned and put into effect
by Fefè. In theatricality there is always the grave implication of the suspension of ethical
judgment, subordinated as it is to the dynamics of social interaction. In drawing up his
plan Fefè too turns the distinction between good and evil on its head.
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Operatic music is an essential element of the paradigm of Italian cinema seen in
the sequences set in the theatre. By establishing a contact with the actions and thoughts
of the characters in the film, it leads to new semantic possibilities. In the theatre sequence
in Divorce, Italian Style, the romanza sung by Nemorino clashes with Fefè’s attitude: the
solicitude shown by the latter to his wife is only a matter of appearances when we know
that he has plotted to do away with her and is already putting this plan into action. The
audiovisual construction gives a sarcastic emphasis to this clash, isolating the two
elements – Fefè’s thought process and Nemorino’s lyricism – in the film’s sound space, and
sets up a paradoxical rhythmic and formal correspondence between the two. Just when, on
stage, Nemorino bursts out with his exclamation “M'ama, lo vedo” [She loves me, I can
see], finally making explicit what had up to this point only the timid sensation of Adina’s
love, revealed to him by that “furtive tear”, Fefè’s search seems to be over, since he
believes he has found the right lover for Rosalia. In fact this choice immediately proves
misguided; because the man in question is not interested, and may indeed be physically
incapable of an amorous relationship with a woman (Germi’s caustic irony merely betrays
an allusion to impotence, if not indeed eviration).
This kind of remediation of an operatic excerpt (both music and performance)
from L'Elisir d'amore in Divorce, Italian Style conforms perfectly to Germi’s poetical
approach, maintaining a constant equilibrium among hard-bitten irony, cynicism and
impassioned lyricism. If the relationship between the music and Fefè’s thought process
highlights the former aspect, the passionate involvement of Rosalia and the rest of the
audience in the performance is a direct reflection of the latter. Besides, Fefè himself, as a
member of Agramonte society, contained and metaphorically represented in the opera
house, cannot altogether avoid being a participant in the collective sentiment. And the
film, in showing him torn between authentic amorous passion, the false and grotesque
theatrical transfiguration of that passion, and his obstinate pursuit of his criminal designs,
highlights the character’s oscillation between the affective and existential poles.
There is an analogously ambivalence in the encounter of the two genres film and
opera. Whenever allusions to the world of opera occur in the film, whether in the theatre
sequence or on other occasions, the operatic references have an effect on the overall
expressive ‘intonation’. Since Divorce, Italian Style is a comedy, it appears perfectly
appropriate that the theatre sequence should feature an opera buffa. However, this is only
the most superficial aspect of the dialogue between genres. L'elisir d'amore is indeed an
opera buffa, but one which allows plenty of scope for the pathetic element, given its fullest
rein in Nemorino’s romanza “Una furtiva lagrima”. This gives the opera more in common
with the semiserio genre in which the comic, elegiac, sentimental and tragic elements
confront one another without ruling each other out, forming an expressive model which is
quite peculiar in the Italian operatic tradition.
Surely it is more appropriate to consider the contact between the genres of film and
opera in the following terms: just as in an opera semiseria, in this film the comic, grotesque
and tragic components (the film ends with a double murder, and death, whether violent or
not, impinges at various moments in the film) coexist. Showing admirable authorial
command, Germi insists repeatedly on this problematic coexistence of genre elements in
order to evoke various levels of meaning, and in particular to make keen satirical
comments on certain absurd conventions, such as the honour crime, which are upheld by
Italian society, and also to highlight the problem of how the Italian national identity can
be represented. At the same time, alongside these polemical intentions the director
371
engages in a no less tenacious expressive quest to give a convincing form to the supreme
passions, and primarily love, through audiovisual resources, and the genre of opera proves
to be instrumental and irreplaceable on both counts.
Operatic Echoes
As we have mentioned, there are other allusions to opera in the film, less direct
than the excerpt of Donizetti but no less eloquent, and these bear out this impression.
Accompanying the opening credits we hear, as in the typical pot-pourri overture to a 19th
century opera, the film’s two main musical themes. The sound track is the work of Carlo
Rustichelli, a composer who was very active in Italian cinema in those years [19].
The first theme [0:00:15-0:00:56] comes from Canto d'amore, a popular song in
Sicilian dialect which throughout the film accompanies above all the love story between
Fefè and his cousin Angela. The song immediately calls to mind “O Lola ch'hai di latti la
cammisa”, the Siciliana heard in the first scene of Pietro Mascagni’s Cavelleria rusticana.
The latter operatic song is sung by Turiddu and speaks of his love for Lola. It is an
adulterous love and thus full of danger, as we sense in Turiddu’s words “e nun me mpuorta
si ce muoru accisu...” [and it’s nothing to me if I die a violent death…]. Turiddu does in
fact perish in a duel with Compare Alfio, Lola’s husband. Rustichelli’s Canto d'amore
recalls Mascagni’s song both in the use of dialect and, in musical terms, in the melodic
structure and instrumental timbre where plucked instruments predominate (mandolins in
Canto d'amore, harp in the Siciliana). Even more significant is the structural analogy in the
collocation of the two pieces in the film and the opera. The film begins with Canto
d'amore, just as, after an instrumental prelude, the Siciliana marks the beginning of the
action in Cavalleria. In both film and opera this collocation makes the piece of music the
first element in establishing the setting: Sicily, with its spirit and dynamics of passion and
society, is represented first and foremost through the musical filter. Music serves as the key
to the expressive values and meanings of the representation. This status, which once again
can be seen as paradigmatic, holds good in both the opera and the film.
The first reference for the second main theme [0:00:56-0:01:40] of Divorce, Italian
Style was certainly the ‘environmental’ one to the Italian banda, and in particular to the
ensembles of that kind from Southern Italy. However, the theme was also clearly inspired
by the genre of opera. In this case we can look for the model in the operas of Verdi: the
melodic structure is Verdian, and so is the orchestral colouring. The peremptory opening
attack features dramatic tutti chords followed by a mournful cantabile phrase in the low
woodwinds, with a characteristic accompaniment on brass instruments. These Verdian
overtones in Rustichelli’s melody seem to evoke an opening like that of the “Miserere”
from Part Four of Il Trovatore. And there could hardly be a more fitting allusion for the
melody in the film, entitled Marcia funebre, than this Part Four of Il Trovatore which Verdi
himself entitled Il supplizio [The torment].
This second theme, which also appears in the opening credits, recurs several times
during the film, as if to underline the painful aspects of the story or highlight, by contrast,
certain grotesque developments that mirror the moments when the deviant conceptions of
moral norms on the part of Italian, and particularly Sicilian, society come to the fore.
The use of this theme towards the end of the film in the sequence of the dual
murder of Rosalia and her lover Carmelo Patanè [1:32:59-1:34:24] is extremely significant.
As the two opening chords ring out we see a deranged Fefè arriving on the scene of the
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assignment of the two lovers, indicated to him by the local Mafia boss Don Ciccio Matara.
But while he is looking for the adulterous pair – and his state of agitation, like the
suspense, is underlined by the tremolo in the strings which dilates the melody of the
funeral march – the two lovers are surprised, as is Fefè himself and the filmgoer, by gun
shots. Immacolata, Carmelo’s cheated wife, was the first to arrive on the scene and has
killed her husband. Fefè is even closer to taking leave of his senses but nonetheless he
finally manages to kill Rosalia. Throughout the second part of the sequence, from the
meeting of Fefè and Immacolata to the murder of Rosalia, the cantabile phrase of
Rustichelli’s Marcia funebre is reiterated repeatedly. This sequence in fact constitutes a
compendium of all the film’s expressive registers: comic – in the appearance and bizarre,
alienated behaviour of Fefè; sentimental – the lovers’ idyll; and tragic – in the figure and
bearing of Immacolata, as well as in the murderous acts. Germi emphasises the contrast
above all between the stunned, helpless attitude of Fefè and the tragic moral rigor of
Immacolata. The director’s aim seems to be to condemn the practice of the honour crime
once and for all by ridiculing it in the attitudes, contrasting but equally insincere and
theatrical, of Fefè and Immacolata.
It is the music that has to ensure that, in the grotesque dénouement, the plausibility
of the representation in terms of the passions, ethics and the existential does not
definitively break down. The under-stated and moderately solemn character of the theme
gives a concrete expressiveness to a scenario of passions and thought processes which is
more true to life than what is shown in the images or revealed in the dialogue, for it is not
disfigured by the ruthless and absurd rules of an iniquitous social practice. In this
character, clearly inspired by Verdi, there is room for the estranged intimacy and
humanity of the characters in the drama. Beneath the apparent affinities, which are in fact
deceptive, such as that between the music and a national or local Italian identity, the
underlying culture of the opera genre provides, in Divorce, Italian Style; a structural
framework for the representation and an essential, meaningful perspective. Just as in 19th
century opera, in this film we are confronted with the impossibility of representing in a
satisfactory manner the social and political dynamics of Italian society unless one is willing
to go into the intimate contradictions of the individual situations. Operatic music, or
music that is inspired by opera, makes a decisive contribution to the expression of this
flawed intimacy in the film, which cannot lay claim to a single, all-redeeming solution to
its condition but must confront the contrasts of its inherent passions.
REFERENCES
[1] Banti, M.A., 2004. Il Risorgimento italiano. Roma-Bari, Laterza.
[2] Banti, M.A., 2011. Sublime madre nostra. La nazione italiana dal Risorgimento al Fascismo.
Roma-Bari, Laterza.
[3] Gossett, P., 2005. “Le ‘edizioni distrutte’ e il significato dei cori operistici nel
Risorgimento”. Il Saggiatore musicale 12 (2), pp. 339-387.
[4] Smart, M.A., 2004. “Verdi, Italian Romanticism and the Risorgimento”. In S.L.
Balthazar, ed. 2004. The Cambridge Companion to Verdi. Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press, pp. 29-45.
[5] Parker, R., 1997. “Arpa d'or dei fatidici Vati”: The Verdian Patrioctic Chorus in the 1840s.
Parma-Torino, E.D.T.
373
[6] Morelli, G., 1988. “L'opera nella cultura nazionale italiana”. In L. Bianconi and G.
Pestelli, eds. 1988. Storia dell'opera italiana. Torino, E.D.T., Vol. 6, pp. 395-453.
[7] Casadio, G., 1995. Opera e cinema. La musica lirica nel cinema italiano dall'avvento del
sonoro ad oggi. Ravenna, Longo.
[8] Giuggioli, M., 2011. “L'eredità culturale verdiana alle origini del cinema politico di
Bernardo Bertolucci”. In E. Mosconi and M. Locatelli, eds 2011. Cinema e Sonoro in
Italia (1945-1970). Comunicazioni Sociali, 2011 (1), pp. 102-104.
[9] Wolf, W., 1999. The Musicalization of Fiction: A Study in the Theory and History of
Intermediality. Amsterdam, Rodopi, pp. 35-50.
[10] Cecchi, A., 2013. “Topoi of technology in Italian ‘experimental’ industrial film
(1959-1973)”, in N. Panos, V. Lympouridis, G. Athanasopoulos and P. Nelson (ed.) 2013,
Proceedings of the International Conference on Music Semiotics in Memory of Raymond
Monelle, (Edinburgh 2012); Edinburgh, The International Project on Music and Dance
Semiotics.
[11] Citron, M.J., 2010. When Opera Meets Film. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press,
pp. 7-9.
[12] Montani, P., 2010. L’immaginazione intermediale. Perlustrare, rifigurare, testimoniare il
mondo sensibile. Roma-Bari, Laterza.
[13] D'Amico, M., 2008. La commedia all'italiana. Il cinema comico in Italia dal 1945 al 1975.
Milano, Il Saggiatore.
[14] Sesti, M., 1997. Tutto il cinema di Pietro Germi. Milano, Baldini e Castoldi.
[15] Giacovelli, S., 1995. La commedia all’italiana. La storia, i luoghi, gli autori, gli attori, i film.
Roma, Gremese, pp. 56-58.
[16] Grande, M., 2002. La commedia all'italiana. Roma, Bulzoni, p. 140-146.
[17] Grande, M., 2002, p. 55.
[18] Giuggioli, M., 2011, pp. 104-112.
[19] Buffa, S., 2003. Un musicista per il cinema: Carlo Rustichelli, un profilo artistico. Roma,
Carocci.
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Many Ways of Being Young: The Topical
Role of Cantautori in Italian Cinema of the
1960s
Alessandro Bratus, PhD, Università di Pavia, IT
ABSTRACT
As recent researches have shown, the phenomenon of cantautori marked a particular
phase in the evolution of Italian popular music, as a collective label whose origin has been
grounded in its opposition to both the ‘old’ melodic tradition epitomized by the Sanremo
Festival and to the ‘new’, ‘shouter’ styles of the late 1950s derived from early AngloAmerican
rock’n’roll. Especially during the 1970s, cantautori gained an aesthetical
primacy based on rhetorical, musical, and behavioral features centered on individual
expression and authenticity. The paper explores how their image construction was first
established in film featuring singer-songwriters on screen during the previous decade,
forecasting some of the traits later recognized as typical of these artists. The audiovisual
strategies by which their own, unique personality was visually depicted are highlighted,
whether in auteur films such as La cuccagna (L. Salce, 1962) or La vita agra (C.
Lizzani, 1964), or in popular productions, such as Urlatori alla sbarra (L. Fulci, 1960),
Questi pazzi, pazzi italiani (T. Piacentini, 1965), or Quando dico che ti amo (G.
Bianchi, 1967).
IMAGE CONSTRUCTION OF THE FIRST GENERATION
OF CANTAUTORI
One of the few points in common between the many academic and journalistic
contributions regarding the phenomenon of Italian cantautori (a term that could be loosely
translated as singer-songwriter)1
is their extremely flexible characterization in terms of
musical choices and stylistic reference. Actually it is difficult to inscribe them in a ‘genre’
marked off by a well-defined group of normative issues (or rules, as Franco Fabbri would
call them [1]), but their collective identification can be best understood as a “strategy of
cultural classification […] put forward by a network of cultural entrepreneurs, intellectuals,
and artists who defined themselves in opposition to the traditional Italian song world
epitomized by the Festival of Sanremo” [2]. On the one hand, the emphasis put on the
development of different distinctive authorial voices in contrast with the contemporary
Italian mainstream underlines the contradiction of artists who prize individuality and
uniqueness, but marketed and distributed by the industrial record companies, thus forced
1
Nevertheless, throughout this text I choose to use the Italian word to stress its local significance and
specificity.
375
under a serial logic constraining their classification under some sort of collective ‘label’ [3].
On the other hand, moving from normative to a practice-based conception and thinking
of genres as “socially constructed organizing principles” [4] with the capacity of connect
many aspects of the musical life [5] would help in linking an heterogeneous set of practices
and a group of artists whose only shared quality is defined by their double role as author of
music and lyrics and as performers of their own songs.
Preceded by prototypical figures like those of Armando Gill, Odoardo Spadaro,
Domenico Modugno, Gianni Meccia (who is the very author for whom the word
cantautore was invented in the early 1960s) [6], cantautori achieved their maximum
popularity during the 1970s, when a series of aesthetical, cultural, economic and industrial
factors combined to maximize their impact on Italian record market at an unprecedented
level [7] [8]. As Santoro has convincingly demonstrated, the huge success with a juvenile
audience of cantautori was the consequence of what could be defined a ‘cultural trauma’
centered on the dramatic suicide of Luigi Tenco in 1967, before the final night of that
year’s Sanremo Festival [9] [10].2
This event led in the following years to a process of
‘consecration’, distinction and collective identification regarding the figure of cantautore
in the public sphere in Italy [12] [13], culminating in the foundation in 1972 of a
professional association - the Club Tenco - which organized its own annual award and
festival, stressing above all the poetic quality of the lyrics and their commitment to
realistic themes, even social and political.
On the one hand, the acknowledgment and promotion of this category as distinct
from the rest of Italian popular music would result in the widespread success of a series of
highly skilled exponents during the 1970s, such as Francesco Guccini, Lucio Dalla,3
Francesco De Gregori, and Antonello Venditti. On the other hand some specific aspects
concerning the image-building through cinema of the first generation of cantautori tends
to go completely unnoticed (in addition to Tenco, we can add the names of Umberto
Bindi, Sergio Endrigo, Fabrizio De André, Gino Paoli, Enzo Jannacci), perhaps also due to
a retrospective narration reflecting the increasing politicization within Italian society in
the later decade.4
But the term itself and its origin betray its inter-medial connotation, for
at least two reasons: because it was modeled on the expression auteur cinema [16], and
because it was put into circulation following a carefully planned strategy of marketing
placement, carried on not only in the world of recorded popular music but also through
the press as well as on audiovisual media. The aim of my paper is to underline how their
participation, as actors and performers, in popular and art films of the 1960s contributes to
establish some of the overall features of the character of cantautore, as it would be later
2
The definition of ‘cultural trauma’ is taken from the writings of Jeffrey C. Alexander as a socio-cultural
process resulting from “[…] the acute discomfort entering into the collectivity’s sense of its own identity.
Collectives actors ‘decide’ to represent social pain as a fundamental threat to their sense of who they are, where
they came from, and where they want to go” [11].
3
Although both Francesco Guccini and Lucio Dalla were well active in the 1960s already, it was only in the
1970s that they gained recognition on a national scale. Guccini had his first success with the album Radici in
1972, although debuted as author and singer in 1967. Dalla who began his career as a jazz singer as early as in
1961, achieved some success only after his participation in 1971 Sanremo Festival with the song 4/3/1943.
Thanks to his unconventional image and explosive personality, between 1965 and 1969 he was also involved
in at least nine films as a performer or as an actor, which made his career unique and deserve special
consideration in future studies on this subject [14].
4
Even in a text allegedly devoted to the same topic, such as Bassetti’s Sapore di sala, these appeareances are not
considered at all, in a vision of the relationship between cantautori and cinema exclusively focused on their
activity as composers for soundtrack or authors of title-theme songs [15].
376
understood, as well as to empower that “spiral of signification” [17] that would fix the
meaning of the word in the following years. In this decade, when the definition was
forming and the mainstream media system was still a viable option for promoting
cantautori – a situation that was to end after 1968 [18] [19] – we can observe how these
musicians struggled to give voice to a different way of expressing their condition as young
people. As a case study, cinema offers a good point of view, although limited to only one
media, because in the 1960s it retains its role to give expression to collective narrations
about youth and generational gap, before television gradually replaced it in the course of
the 1970s.
UMBERTO BINDI: THE MAN AT THE PIANO
Classically trained as a composer and pianist, Umberto Bindi debuted in the early
1960s with songs performed by himself and other singers (Il nostro concerto, Arrivederci, Il
mio mondo), but soon his popularity declined, mainly as a consequence of his
homosexuality which discomforted the Italian media. He made appearances in two films,
Urlatori alla sbarra (L. Fulci, 1960) and Rocco e le sorelle (G. Simonelli, 1961), proposing a
consistent image in both. In the first film he plays the role of Agonia (Agony), a sickly,
hypochondriac character obsessed by medicines, who is part of the teddy-boys gang led by
Mina and Adriano Celentano. His physical features and performative behavior make him
stand out sharply from the rest of the group, looking like the definitive nerd: he is thin
whereas the others are tall and well-set, he does not dance, he caresses and holds hands
with his girl (the daughter of the Public Health Minister) instead of kissing her during an
excursion in the woods (possibly alluding to his homosexuality), he wears thick hornrimmed
glasses, he plays the piano during the collective performances not in a Jerry Lee
Lewis-esque manner (as Brunetta does accompanying Mina’s performance of Vorrei sapere
perchè, starting at 32’) but remaining firmly seated on the stool. At 51’, when he sings the
final part of L’odio, the image moves from Bindi repeating the word l’odio (hate) several
times on dissonant piano chords to a detail of the saxophone player counterpointing the
vocal line with an improvised melody. Zooming forward, the camera focuses on a couple
in the background beginning to dance; then it cuts to a close-up on Agonia’s girlfriend
immediately followed by a counter-shot on the singer’s face during his final highest note,
while the words are saying dopo l’amore c’è l’odio (after love comes hate). In clear contrast
to the other frenetic songs in the film, mainly devoted to dance, L’odio introduces a
reflexive moment intended to frame the following dialogue between Joe il Rosso (Joe
Sentieri) and Giulia (Elke Sommer), in which he complains about the future and his
lacking perspectives of success. The musical features of the song, such as the slow tempo,
complex harmony, instrumental composition of the group typical of jazz (piano, sax,
double-bass, drums), and above all the strong reverb on the vocal track, putting the singer
in the center of an ample, empty space, encourage introspection and self-analysis.
In Simonelli’s film Rocco e le sorelle Bindi sings one of his most popular songs, Il
nostro concerto, playing the piano and wearing a formal black suit with bow tie. The
audiovisual construction of this sequence alternates between lateral shooting of the group,
close-up on the singer’s face, with his eyes constantly turned up staring metaphorically at
the sky, and the reaction shots of the couple witnessing the performance. As in the
previous example, this moment is a catalyst for the expression of deep feelings between the
377
two lovers, manifested first by both characters sighing while looking at the performance,
and then by their decision to leave the club and go home. Again, the presence of the
cantautore on screen with his ecstatic interpretation of a song – whose features are quite
similar to those we have listed above – is the trigger for self-reflection and analysis of their
existential situation. In doing this, the performance serves to push forward the plot and to
accompany the moments when the most important decisions are taken, in a sort of
dialogue between the song and the inner thoughts of different characters.
ENZO JANNACCI: MARGINALITY GAINS CENTER STAGE
The same role of a ‘conscience’ for other characters is played by Enzo Jannacci in
Quando dico che ti amo (G. Bianchi, 1967), a musicarello (Italian musical comedy typical of
the 1950s and the 1960s, usually titled after a song and starring its singer as the main
character) featuring Tony Renis, one of the most famous teen idols of the 1960s. In this
film the cantautore plays Ascanio, the protagonist’s best friend: they live together and he
often covers up for the many mistakes Tony makes in his multiple love affairs. Jannacci’s
image here parallels the overall traits we have seen in the previous paragraph, starting
with the choice of formal dress with suit and tie, thick horn-rimmed glasses, his slightly
built physical aspect, his shy and clumsy behavior with women. Also their musicianship is
revealing, as well as their performative characterization: Ascanio’s instrument is the piano,
in contrast with Tony, who is a guitarist and a singer. Besides making a few appearances as
fake-percussionist with Tony in the club where he works – being himself an employee
coming from the provincial city of Lodi, in the neighborhood of Milan –, awkwardly
shaking a pair of maracas, Jannacci’s only performance is located in the private space of
home and lasts for less than a minute. With his heavily accented voice he tries to sing a
song about a homeless man (El purtav i scarp del tennis, he wore tennis shoes) intended as a
love song for his would-be girlfriend Julia, abruptly interrupted by his friend making fun of
him. This brief scene is obviously part of the comic characterization of Ascanio, but it is
interesting to note how the two musicians are presented, opposing a “classic” instrument
like the piano to the more “popular” guitar, provincial versus urban backgrounds, regular
job versus artistic professional activity, platonic versus polygamous love.
The identification of the first term of these couples with the cantautore is
consistent with what we see in another example regarding Jannacci, in Questi pazzi, pazzi
italiani (T. Piacentini, 1965). The film is just a collection of proto-music videos with the
intermission of comical sketches without any overall narrative thread, starring musicians
as diverse as Lucio Dalla, Dino, Petula Clark, Luigi Tenco, Los Marcellos Ferial, Gianni
Morandi, among others. Here Jannacci presents L’Armando, a comic ballad about the
murder of a guy by his best friend; the lyrics are set in a police station, where the
protagonist explains to an officer the harsh treatment he received from Armando from the
beginning of their friendship and eventually half admits his guilt. Shot in an urban setting,
the singer is at a table in the middle of a square with an older character and two
policemen, drinking wine (his alibi is being at a tavern in the moment of murder) and
singing them his story. His look and visual presentation, as well as his static behavior,
recall the role of Ascanio in Quando dico che ti amo: he remains seated gesticulating all the
time, in a frantic but repressed constant movement which, together with the heavy
Lombard accent, contributes to the funny overtones of the sequence.
378
The themes of Jannacci’s songs depict a marginal world of suburban areas, with
ironic, paradoxical characters halfway between modernity and rural culture [20]. In his
first appearance in a film, La vita agra (C. Lizzani, 1964) he already foreshadowed these
features, as described by Borgna:
Esile, pallido, con scatti improvvisi da marionetta, la voce spezzata e la chitarra tenuta
all’altezza del petto da sembrare un collarone alla Pierrot, interpretava una canzone
assolutamente folle, quella che racconta la storia di uno che cerca un ombrello,
“l’ombrello di suo fratello” [21].
Here he performs two songs accompanying him with the guitar, L’ombrello di mio
fratello (36’) and Ti te se no (54’): the first is a sort of nonsense rhyme based on puns and
wordplay with satirical allusions to widespread Italian corruption, while the second, sung
in Milanese dialect, recounts the daydreams of a proletarian when he is going downtown.
The setting is Bar Jamaica, one of the favorite meeting points for left-wing intellectuals in
the 1960s, located in the bohemian zone of the Brera Academy of Fine Arts in Milan. As
in the previous examples, these are not formal staged performances: he appears singing in
the center of a knot of people casually gathered around him. The audiovisual construction
of these sequences, in which the main characters (Ugo Tognazzi, Anna Ralli) are often
alternated with his performance, also tends to insert these songs as constituent parts of the
discourse articulated by the broader narrative context of La vita agra, a bitter reflection on
postwar Italian society [22]. With their mixture of apparent detachment and vernacular
irony, Jannacci’s performances seem to symbolise in sound the worst outcomes of the
economic boom, when the fragility of the renewing affluence was unmistakable and the
signs of a growing recession – which was to dog the mid- and late-1960s – were already
foreseen.
LUIGI TENCO: IMAGE CONSTRUCTION BETWEEN
REALITY AND LEGEND
The same ambivalent attitude towards the recent development of Italian society is
a peculiar trademark of Luigi Tenco’s production, if not the most gifted, perhaps the most
influential figure in the latter definition of the cantautore in the cultural panorama of the
late-1960s. As Pivato has written commenting on the relationship between his songs and
contemporary historical events:
È, quella di Tenco, forse la più lucida testimonianza dell’incontro tra due mentalità
opposte e distanti: quella del mondo rurale e quella della civiltà industriale, sullo
sfondo di un’Italia che il boom economico sta proiettando sulla scena della modernità
attraverso costi sociali e umani piuttosto elevati [23].
His stance is readily mirrored in the two films he collaborated on, and a brief
analysis of his appearances can further deepen our understanding of his significance in
Italian popular music not only as a songwriter, but also as a complex media personality.
His participation in a short proto-music video in Questo pazzo, pazzo mondo della canzone
(B. Corbucci - S. Grimaldi, 1965) shows some striking parallels with Jannacci’s
appearance discussed above. Even though the lyrics of Io lo so già are not comic at all,
379
dealing with the irreparable failure of communication between two lovers, all the other
features of the visual presentation are quite similar, and even reiterate the same basic
points, even though with different formal choices. The sequence is shot in a small town in
inland Liguria, the region where Tenco was raised from the age of ten, emphasizing the
closeness to his own biography. He looks neat and tidy, and the lyrics express distance
from bourgeois conventions. Unlike in L’Armando, in which Jannacci seems unaware of
the shooting and never looks directly at camera, here the cuts are determined by the
macro-formal features and dramatic project of the song: during the verse the singer shows
detachment, as if muttering the lyrics to himself, while in the chorus he gazes straight at
the spectator and delivers the climactic part of the song with an intense expression
intended to enhance the pathetic effect of the words and the musical structure, as to
underline the sincerity of his feelings.
In La cuccagna (1962, L. Salce), Tenco’s first cinematographic experience, he plays
the role of Roberto, an ‘angry young man’ intolerant of any social restriction and
disillusioned by the disappointments his girlfriend Rossella (Donatella Turri) encounters
as she struggles to become an independent woman. Commenting on the film, Borgna
wrote that he, Gino Paoli and his colleagues:5
[…] erano, in qualche modo, i “cantori” di una gioventù “amore e rabbia”, provinciale
e desolata in cui – forse – tutto era compiacimento: il dramma e il cinismo, la cultura e
la disperazione; ma era comunque - in tutta la sua mediocrità e le sue contraddizioni una
generazione che voleva integrarsi. Una generazione che resisteva al boom
economico e ai suoi modelli di consumo, di vita e di rapporti, costituendo una riserva
di futuro che poi, negli anni del centro-sinistra e in quelli della crisi economica,
avrebbe costituito la base dell’insubordinazione giovanile di massa. Di quella gioventù
e di quella cultura Luigi Tenco costituiva un’immagine – anche fisica – esemplare [24].
When he received his call-up papers from the military authorities, Roberto resolves
to commit suicide and indirectly explains his decision by performing a song by another
cantautore, Fabrizio De André, the antiwar La ballata dell’eroe. Again, in this performative
moment he is not formally singing in front of an audience, rather he is first at home alone
and then with Rossella crying and moaning at him. Moreover, the choice of the song
refers to another songwriter from Liguria and throughout the film his character shows only
disillusion about the future and modernity. We can see how his off- and on-screen persona
roughly coincide; his struggle to appear authentic despite the cinematographic mediation
allows us to focus on Tenco’s acute awareness of the media and of how they can be used
for complex communicative purposes:
[…] his vision of contemporary culture and the role of canzone within that culture –
and therefore his vision of his own role as a singer and songwriter – was completely
bound up with an explicit program of cultural transformation that willingly accepted –
both programmatically and realistically – the strategic exploitation of the tools of mass
communication and mobilization, rather than scorning and combating them [25].6
5
Borgna here cited Paoli for his composition of the soundtrack for Bernardo Bertolucci’s Prima della rivoluzione,
thus the reference is also in this case to a work related to cinema and again stresses the close relationship
between different media industries during this decade.
6
He pursued the same aspiration to an all-encompassing style in his compositional choices, through which he
aspired to merge international influences coming from United States, United Kingdom and France with Italian
popular and traditional (folk) music. Some of their biographers labeled this recurrent trend in his career an
380
THE CANTAUTORE AS A TOPICAL CONSTRUCTION
The recognition of a topos in audiovisual products differs radically from the same
operation in instrumental music: here the connotative effect of the image connected with
certain sounds establishes a complex of relationships that cannot be reduced to a series of
semantic index, rather it has to be interpreted as a consistent system located in a
particular historical and geographical context. If, as Monelle wrote, “The world is a […]
‘semiosphere’, an interconnected universe of signs” [27] and the study of musical topoi is
the reconstruction of the formation of meaning through sound within culture, history, and
society, when it comes to contemporary phenomena like popular music and cinema the
number of connections grows as a fractal, according to their composite nature of
multimedia objects. Being “[…] commonplaces incorporated into musical discourses and
recognizable by members of an interpretive community […]” [28] topoi are also historically
determined, and subjected to stratification over epochs and generations, thus accessible to
large audiences and readable as thick aggregates of connotative instances around specific
meanings [29].
This is particularly true in the case of cantautori, whose collective identification
mostly relies on their position within Italian popular culture, as Santoro summarizes it
“[…] the very meaning of canzone d’autore resides in its oppositional character: it casts
apart a class of objects for their artistry - that is, their authenticity as symbolic expression
of an artistic intention” [30].7
Although they contribute to a consistent image for the
entire category, helping in the later definition of the genre as a whole, their differences as
public personae played a crucial role in presenting the category of ‘youth’ as plural, not
merely defined by polarization against the older generation.8
This deconstructed fixed
clichés and meant young people were treated as individuals, rather than as a collective
‘monolithic’ age group uncritically aligned with lifestyles and trends coming from AngloAmerican
popular culture. This last image of youth as uncommitted, consumer-driven,
indifferent and skeptical towards politics was in fact the subject of many popular films
(such as the majority of the musicarelli) during the late-1950s and the mid-1960s [33], so it
is very interesting that the cantautori made their appearance in this context and began to
define their peculiar identity based on authenticity and self-reflection. At the same time,
the very fact that they choose to develop themselves as complex media personae suggest
that their oppositional character to both traditional and Anglo-American trends was more
apparent than real. Instead, they seem to shape their collective identification using
cinema as a sort of reagent to combine their fascination for the potential of intermedial
marketing and the desire to differentiate themselves as plainly as possible from mainstream
musicians and performers.
From what we have seen and discussed, I would like to end by drawing some partial
and provisional conclusions that can also indicate the path for future research on the
operation of “expansion of consensus” in Gramscian terms, emphasizing his attempt to take advantage of the
global assets of the cultural industry to spread progressive ideas and messages [26].
7
Also Jacopo Tomatis, in his historical reconstruction on the first formation and definition of the term
cantautore in Italian popular press, recognizes authenticity as the key discriminating factor for an artist to be
included within the genre [31].
8
From a purely musical point of view, also Franco Fabbri notes how one of the key innovation cantautori
brought to Italian popular music was their ‘true voices’, even ‘out-of-tune’, but nevertheless very far from the
pseudo-operatic voices of singers such as Claudio Villa, Luciano Tajoli, Arturo Testa [32].
381
audiovisual topical construction of this popular music genre, and lead to a slight revision
of the historical position of cantautori:
1. The examples considered - as well as many others we passed over - demonstrate
that cinema in the 1960s was still an ‘acceptable’ tool to extend the possibilities of success
for an individual artist or for collective identification. The strategy employed by Bindi,
Tenco, Jannacci - together with Gino Paoli, Sergio Endrigo, Giorgio Gaber - was to act as
a sort of ‘subterranean avant-garde’ who played not against the hegemonic culture, but
well within it [34];
2. These considerations redefine the significance of the cantautori not only as
lyricists, musicians and performers, as the latter ‘consecration’ of the genre by institutions
such as the Club Tenco would imply, but as overall media personae with a deep awareness
of the mechanisms of image construction as a multi-layered process [35]. In this respect,
they were an integral part of the overall project to build a renewed Italian popular culture
following World War II, in which the elements coming from abroad were adapted to local
conventions and cultural habits, in the attempt to bridge the gap with international trends
and products;
3. The phenomenon of cantautori shows how meaning formation relies, above all in
contemporary popular culture, on extensive negotiation constantly open to redefinition
and stratification over time, as its stability and communicative effect are grounded in its
steady expansion, rather than in the assignment of a definite referential value. In this case,
beyond a plurality of individual features, the shared sense of authenticity at the core of
the collective identification of cantautori can be summarized around three points,
foreshadowing the tension between modernization and anti-modernization soon to
explode in Italian society during the following decade [36]: the use of performance for the
singer’s intimate expression and to foster self-reflection in his audience, a nonconventional
lifestyle, and the celebration of marginality against mainstream, periphery
against center, folk music against rock and roll, local dialects against Italian, rural past
against urban modernity.
REFERENCES
[1] Fabbri, F., 1981. “A Theory of Musical Genres: Two Applications”. In Popular Music
Perspectives, (ed.) D. Horn and P. Tagg, Göteborg, International Association for the Study
of Popular Music, pp. 52-81.
[2] Santoro, M., 2002. “What is a ‘cantautore’? Distinction and Authorship in Italian
(Popular) Music”. Poetics 30/1-2, p. 123.
[3] Jachia, P., 1998. La canzone d'autore italiana (1958-1997): Avventure della parola
cantata. Milano, Feltrinelli, p. 9.
[4] Di Maggio, P., 1987. “Classification in Art”. American Sociological Review 52/4, p. 441.
[5] Holt, F., 2007. Genre in Popular Music. Chicago, University of Chicago Press, p. 3.
[6] Tomatis, J., 2010. “Vorrei trovar parole nuove. Il neologismo ‘cantautore’ e l’ideologia
dei generi musicali nella canzone italiana degli anni Sessanta”. IASPM@Journal, 1/2,
http://www.iaspmjournal.net/index.php/IASPM_Journal/article/view/326/552, p. 4.
[7] Fabbri, F., 1981, p. 74-80.
[8] Jachia, P., 1998, pp. 108-109.
382
[9] Santoro, M., 2006. “The Tenco Effect: Suicide, San Remo, and the Social
Construction of the canzone d’autore”. Journal of Modern Italian Studies 11/3, p. 343.
[10] Santoro, M., 2010. Effetto Tenco: Genealogia della canzone d’autore. Bologna, Il
Mulino, pp. 8-15.
[11] Alexander, J. C., 2003. The Meanings of Social Life. A Cultural Sociology. Bologna, Il
Mulino, p. 93.
[12] Santoro, M., 2002, p. 112.
[13] Alexander, J. C., 2003, 103-4.
[14] Ricordi C. (ed.), 2010. Ti ricordi Nanni? L’uomo che inventò i cantautori, Milano,
Excelsior 1881, p. 38.
[15] Bassetti, S., 1990. Sapore di sala: Cinema e cantautori. Firenze, La Casa Usher.
[16] Tomatis, J., 2010, p. 2.
[17] Alexander, J. C., 2006, p. 93-104.
[18] Colombo, F. (ed.), 2000. Gli anni delle cose. Media e società italiana negli anni settanta.
Milano, I.S.U. Università Cattolica, pp. 7-12.
[19] Marinozzi, F., 2004. La spettacolarizzazione nella televisione italiana. PhD thesis,
Frankfurt (Oder), Europa-Universität Viadrina, pp. 34-54.
[20] Liperi, F., 1999. Storia della canzone italiana. Roma, RAI-Eri, p. 235.
[21] Borgna, G., 1985. Storia della canzone italiana. Roma, Laterza, p. 176.
[22] Giacovelli, S., 1995. La commedia all’italiana. La storia, i luoghi, gli autori, gli attori, i
film. Roma, Gremese.
[23] Pivato, S., 2002. La storia leggera. L’uso pubblico della storia nella canzone italiana.
Bologna, Il Mulino, p. 168.
[24] Borgna, G. - Dessì, S., 1977. C’era una volta una gatta. I cantautori degli anni
Sessanta. Roma, Savelli, p. 16.
[25] Santoro, M., 2006, p. 348.
[26] Fegatelli, A., 1982. Luigi Tenco: La storia, i testi inediti. Roma, Lato Side, p. 82.
[27] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington,
Indiana University Press, p. 22.
[28] Agawu, K., 2009. Music as Discourse: Semiotic Adventures in Romantic Music. Oxford,
Oxford Unversity Press, p. 43.
[29] Agawu, K., 1991. Playing with Signs. A Semiotic Interpretation of Classical Music.
Princeton, Princeton Unversity Press, p. 49.
[30] Santoro, M., 2002, p. 129.
[31] Tomatis, J., 2010, p. 17.
[32] Fabbri, F., 1999. “Il cantautore con due voci”. Musica/Realtà 58, pp. 85-86.
[33] Gundle, S., 1998, p. 240.
[34] Peroni, M., 2005. Il nostro concerto. La storia contemporanea tra musica leggera e canzone
popolare. Milano, Bruno Mondadori, p. 44.
[35] Peroni, M., 2005, pp. 24-25; 47-48.
[36] Marinozzi, F., 2004, pp. 40-54.
383
New Topoi Through Electroacoustic
Sound: The Alienated Condition in Italian
Auteur Cinema of the 1960s
Maurizio Corbella, PhD, University of Milan, IT
ABSTRACT
We define “electroacoustic” a sound or set of sounds resulting from processes of electronic
synthesis and/or manipulation. At the turn of 20th
century such technological processes
matched with certain “tropes” of western culture such as vibration, inscription and
transmission that were subsequently developed in sonic arts. These tropes find a privileged
field of application in the domain of audiovisual media, to the extent that some scholars
place them at the origin of the theoretical and technical debate concerning the birth of
American talkies. It is indeed the fictional cinema that since its beginnings contributed,
through the means of electroacoustic sound, to the development of those tropes towards
narrative configurations such as automation and perceptual alteration and eventually to
the profound characterization of genres like science fiction and horror-thriller. In an ideal
itinerary leading from Rouben Mamoulian’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931) to Alfred
Hitchcock’s Spellbound and Fred Wilcox’s Forbidden Planet (1956), the topical
connotation of electroacoustic sound become well established in the American cinema. I
argue that Italian auteur cinema of the 1960s rearticulated such topoi under new
perspectives and through an approach to electroacoustic sound strongly mediated by the
reception of contemporary avant-garde music. Drawing on two case studies––The Red
Desert (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1964) and The Seed of Man (Marco Ferreri, 1969)––
this paper analyzes how Italian auteur films used electroacoustic sound and music (in
these cases pre-existent compositions) to give expression to the alienated condition of a
generation facing dramatic disillusion after the post-war “economic miracle”. In such
contexts, electronics are used not merely to produce uncanny effects but as processes of
musical construction that challenge artistic creativity and expression, eventually
representing tools of hermeneutical interpretations of the films themselves.
NEW CONFIGURATION OF OLD TOPOI:
ELECTROACOUSTIC SOUND AND ALIENATION
During an interview in 1963, Italian film director Gillo Pontecorvo gave a striking
description of the profound cultural mutation that invested his generation in the period of
the so-called Italian “economic miracle” (ca. 1958-1963).
We launch men into the cosmos, we discover the structure of DNA [. . .] and thus we
come close to the possibility of transforming the human species, as well as animals and
plants; cybernetics are about to develop machines which will be able to think as
human beings. Hence science [. . .] starts to find itself in zones that until today have
384
been subjects of study and passion for magicians, mystics, alchemists and, of course,
philosophers [1].1
Italian auteur cinema of the 1960s mirrors the urgency of giving an account of
those hybrid “zones” of intellectual reflection that polarize diverse fields of knowledge,
namely the arts, science and technology. But cinema does not merely attempt to narrate
this profound cultural change; rather it aims to redefine its own fundamentals through the
new forces implied by this transformation. In this respect, Italian auteur cinema enjoyed a
privileged relationship to contemporary artistic avant-gardes, for filmmakers could draw
on them as tools to challenge established notions of narration, representation, montage,
and so forth. In the arts, experimental music took on a crucial role for filmmakers in
linking cinema to contemporary scientific speculation, as I will clarify later. For these
reasons auteur cinema engages with music a problematic, yet fascinating, process of
mediation and cross-fertilization.
If we had to choose a class of elements that constitutes the common ground on
which cinema and musical avant-garde communicate, not necessarily pacifically, this
would certainly be electroacoustic sound. By defining “electroacoustic” a sound or set of
sounds resulting from processes of electronic synthesis, manipulation and/or montage, we
can easily see that on one hand this milieu represents the main field of experimentation
for musical avant-gardes worldwide in the period we are considering; and on the other
hand, sound synthesis, manipulation and montage constitute the basic processes through
which, since the 1920s, cinema has been questioning and creatively challenging ideas of
realistic representation conveyed by recording. As James Lastra has shown, these notions
are at the origin of the theoretical and technical debate concerning the birth of American
talkies [2]; similarly, it is through new applications of these ideas, many coming from tape
music and music concrète, that the notion of sound design was introduced into Hollywood
practice during the 1970s [3].
At the same time, the discovery of electroacoustic sonorities matched “cultural
units” (in Raymond Monelle’s terms [4]) that are profoundly characteristic of modernity
and started to be rooted in the Western world in the late 18th
century, and received a
decisive enhancement in the late 19th
century thanks to the introduction of recording
technologies. Some would call them ‘archetypes’ of modernity, but since there is no room
here to discuss such a complex issue, we can agree with the use of the more neutral tropes,
among which Douglas Kahn identifies “vibration”, “inscription” and “transmission” [5].2
Fictional (especially Hollywood) cinema crucially contributed to articulating these tropes
within narrative structures, thus configuring a well-established set of audiovisual topoi that
accumulated through long use. In an ideal itinerary stretching from Rouben Mamoulian’s
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931) to Alfred Hitchcock’s Spellbound (1945) and Fred Wilcox’s
Forbidden Planet (1956), electroacoustic sound shaped the topoi of automation, psychical
instability, perceptual alteration and catastrophe, and characterised genres such as
science-fiction, horror, and thrillers.
My paper aims to describe the rearticulation of these topoi in Italian auteur cinema
as a means of interpreting the transitional socio-cultural scenario of the 1960s––which
involved a dramatic switch from initial euphoria at the technological and industrial
discoveries introduced in the still rural economy of post-war Italy, to an increasingly
1
All translations from Italian are provided by the author, except when specified.
2
Kahn refers to them also as “figures of sound” [6]; Lastra adds “simulation” to these tropes [7].
385
radical disillusion. The category of alienation, inherited from Marxian studies, was reintroduced
into the European intellectual debate in the 1960s, acquiring new nuances
from its application to consumerism theories. Among theoreticians we can cite Jean
Baudrillard, whose The System of Objects (1966) [8] constitutes a major reference for my
work. In Italy, beside important contributions by philosophers and semiotic scholars––
notably Umberto Eco, whose mass culture studies were ground-breaking [9], and Theodor
W. Adorno, who had a profound influence on the musical avant-garde––the topic of
alienation was thoroughly discussed in film journals, which can be viewed in Rick
Altman’s terms as a crucial “pragmatic function” [10] in the cultural production of the
1960s. Different degrees of militancy and philosophical articulation notwithstanding, film
critics were important filters between films and society, influencing both filmmakers and
spectators; we get a glimpse of this in the character of the French critic in Fellini’s 8 ½
(1963).
The reconfiguration of topoi conveyed by electroacoustic sound can partially be
recognised in Italian cinema as a reaction to audiovisual clichés coming from abroad,
especially from Hollywood. Such clichés were well acknowledged in Italy by the 1960s, as
several critics and composers testified. “By now”, wrote musicologist Luigi Pestalozza in
reviewing On the Threshold of Space by Robert D. Webb (1956), “we are aware of a musical
sci-fi vocabulary: we would recognise with our eyes closed the presence on screen of a
martian spaceship entering planet earth’s orbit . . .” [11]. At the same time the
homologation with clichés was interpreted as compliance with the American capitalist
ideology:
When I hear that [experimentation with new sounds] is the new artistic and musical
dimension of mankind, I wonder whether the alienation that can be so easily tracked
within sci-fi movies and their music [. . .] does not consist in feeding the need of
evasion, the anti-humanism, the mistrust in reality, the ‘titanic’ and irrational
aspiration to cosmic dominion, or, worst, the amateurish enthusiasm for the
discoveries of science [. . .] according to a cultural position that suffers from the dull
aestheticisms of decadence [12].
The reaction can take on the form of irony, as is the case of filmmakers who work
within the grids of film-genres. Mirroring the transition from American western to Italian
spaghetti-western, horror filmmaker Mario Bava clearly had in mind Hollywood sciencefiction
productions of the 1950s when he directed his postmodern low-budgeted Planet of
the Vampires (1965), which would eventually become a cult b-movie in the American
VHS market during the 1980s. In terms of music, much like Louis and Bebe Barron’s
involvement in Forbidden Planet, Bava secured the collaboration of electronic music
pioneer Gino Marinuzzi Jr., who had invented the first modular synthesiser in Rome [13].
Again, Marinuzzi collaborated with Alberto Lattuada for The Mandrake (1965), a film
adaptation of Machiavelli’s comedy, in which irony is deployed through the displacement
of electronic music in a Renaissance setting–– and Fellini’s conception of “upside down
science fiction” [14] for Fellini-Satyricon (1969) led in a similar direction. Furthermore,
irony can be used in such a way as to question the borders of genres and approach topics
that are more closely connected to sensitive issues of the economic miracle.3
In Omicron
3
At the same time, the proximity through which audiovisual topoi of technology are configured in sciencefiction
and industrial films––not necessarily involving irony––is another promising subject of research that is
addressed in this panel by Alessandro Cecchi.
386
(1963), Ugo Gregoretti used the audiovisual clichés of science-fiction, relying on
electronic sound effects composed by Piero Umiliani, to amusingly depict the alienated
condition of the working class––Omicron being an alien from planet Ultra who takes over
(in a ‘man-in-black’ way) the body of worker Trabucco and tries to learn his habits in
order to overcome the human race. Irony can become a structural element of newborn
audiovisual genres, as in the TV musical opera La fantarca (1966, directed by Vittorio
Cottafavi). The score by Roman Vlad is a sort of opera buffa stuffed with electronic and
concrete sounds as well as visual effects, to depict the space-immigration of southern
Italians on board a peculiar coffe-machine spaceship [15].
However, the reaction to American clichés could mean the creation of alternative
models of narration. This is the case of the examples I will explore in the next pages. For
the sake of consistency I choose to concentrate on a characteristic common to several
auteur films of this period, that is, the use of pre-existent music. Yet, although there is a
massive literature analysing the use of the classic and romantic musical traditions in auteur
cinema, the same cannot be said of the use of avant-garde and experimental music. I argue
that in this respect Italian filmmakers deployed one of the most interesting features of
their own experimentation, wherein ‘unusual’ pieces of music were used as processes rather
than objects, making it possible to destructure the textual organization of the scenes they
are applied to. As a result, what appears to be for instance a ‘conventional’ use of
electroacoustic sound, turns out to be a tool of hermeneutical interpretation of the whole
film.
ANTONIONI’S ELECTRONIC DESERT,
AN EXPERIMENTAL LABORATORY
Michelangelo Antonioni identified the spark that engendered the inspiration for
The Red Desert (Il deserto rosso, 1964) in an encounter he had with Silvio Ceccato (1914-
1997) [16]. Scientist, philosopher and linguist with a diploma in composition and a
background as music critic, Ceccato was responsible for the introduction of cybernetics in
Italy, after working on models of simultaneous translation in a task-force financed by the
United States. With his huge written production in several scientific disciplines and his
special fondness for arts, music and cinema, he is undoubtedly a fascinating personality for
intellectuals and artists.4
Antonioni told of seeing one of the latest projects developed by
Ceccato, consisting of a “mechanic newsman” (cronista meccanico), a never finished
automaton that was supposed to be able to produce short descriptions of elementary
physical phenomena [18].
What struck the filmmaker was the speed with which scientific research overtook
the imagination of his generation, causing at the same time a dramatic gap with the
younger generation, growing up within the economic miracle: “a child who has played
with robots from his earliest years would understand perfectly; such a child would have no
problem going into space on a rocket, if he wanted to” [19]. As Norbert Wiener, the
founder of cybernetics, had foreshadowed, the nexus human-machine finally became
central in the 1960s [20]. Yet Giuliana, the main character in The Red Desert, is unable to
4
Ceccato founded the ‘third cybernetics’, or logonics, which particularly investigated the dynamics of artistic
creation and reception, with a privileged focus on music [17].
387
understand and control the complex messages conveyed by the automated reality
surrounding her.
The neurosis I sought to describe in Red Desert is above all a matter of adjusting. There
are people who do adapt, and others who can’t manage, perhaps because they are too
tied to ways of life that are by now out-of-date. This is Giuliana’s problem. What
brought on her personal crisis was the irreconcilable divide, the gap between
sensibility, intelligence, and psychology, and the way life is imposed on her [21].
At the same time Giuliana cannot ignore those messages: “She is led to think that
things surrounding her do not exist unless she notices them. She feels thus morally
compelled to stare at things as much as she can, for she feels subtly guilty for their
potential loss of reality” [22]. This neurotic condition is consubstantial to the consumerist
society relying on automatism, as explained in those very years by Baudrillard.
The evolution of imagery is indicated by the passage from an animistic structure to an
energetic structure: traditional objects used to be witnesses of our presence, static
symbols of the body’s organs. Technical objects have a different fascination, for they
refer to a virtual energy, therefore they are no longer witnesses of our presence, but
rather supporters of our dynamical image [23].
With respect to this framing, the contribution of the electronic music composed by
Vittorio Gelmetti must be investigated under the profile of poiesis. Gelmetti and
Antonioni worked together for about a month [24] manipulating pre-existent electronic
pieces by the composer. These compositions belong to the first phase of his production,
when he was interested in borrowing formal procedures from scientific research. For this
reason they can be assimilated to the contemporary artistic current of arte programmata
(“programmed art”) [25]. The aseptic contour, literally experimental, of Gelmetti’s
electronic treatment of sound can lead us to the core of the film’s inspiration. Therein,
electronic sound does not hold merely dramaturgical functions, but becomes an object of
observation per se, the sonorous manifestation of an automated existential condition.
Antonioni is not looking for audiovisual situations where music works empathically (or
non-empathically) with images, representing the main character’s struggles; rather he
seeks for acoustic profiles that sound ‘objective’, as if they were sonic extensions of
Giuliana’s psyche. Musical syntax is denied in this film, to the extent that sound events
are transformed into acoustical phenomena to be observed. The main character is a sort of
‘guineapig’ of the experiment, whereas the spectator is the observer who can critically (not
emotionally) identify with Giuliana and realize the sum of the factors involved in her
neurotic condition (massive industrialization, pollution, limits of familiar relations,
impossibility of physically abandoning herself to emotions, etc.).
It is only on a deeper level that the dramaturgical functions of electronic sound as
well as the related audiovisual topoi can be recognised. They confirm previous assumptions
and link, as many scholars have noted, the industrial to the psychological dimension.5
Let
us consider two sequences:
5
Antonioni himself was the first supporting this idea [26]; for other critical analysis of Gelmetti’s music for The
Red Desert, see also [27] [28] [29]; for a general framing of Gelmetti’s figure, see [30].
388
1. [0:14:22-0:18:51]6
The sequence when Giuliana shows a neurotic behavior
for the first time starts with a sound abruptly awakening her in the middle
of the night. Its synchronization with a toy robot, which was left on in her
kid’s room, soon spoils the sinister aura of the sound. Giuliana turns the toy
off, but when the ‘menace’ seems placated, another sound, electronic this
time, appears in the high register. It is clear that it is a signal, but the
spectator does not know what it stands for. If we framed this episode in the
topical grids of genre films, this sound could prelude some ‘thrilling’
development––and Giuliana seems indeed frightened by something she sees
in the dark––; such a high-pitched tensional drone would then prelude
some sort of musical resolution. Yet it is soon evident that this sound profile
is destined to remain fixed, flashing, and obstinate throughout the whole
sequence. In fact it is not a mere sound effect but a manipulation of
Gelmetti’s Modulazione per Michelangelo, a pre-existent composition (1963)
[31].7
2. [1:05:26-1:08:16] Once again, the toy robot is framed in close up. The
camera moves over Ugo’s (Giuliana’s husband) hand holding a test tube,
then revealing him playing with his son Valerio on a toy microscope.
Valerio’s room is a proper ‘toy laboratory’, and the kid moves about amid
the equipment quite confidently. Valerio does not struggle to integrate
technology into his world, for it has been part of it since he was born. In his
‘laboratory’ he carries out simple operations of knowledge, which he shows
to his mom through a confutatio process: “How much is one and one?” he
asks Giuliana; “Are you kidding? It’s two”, answers the mother. But then
Valerio pours two drops of liquid on a napkin and proudly asks “How many
are there?” while his father smiles smugly (he is the mentor-accomplice of
his son, thus configuring an imbalance in the family triangle and leaving
Giuliana in the minority). Giuliana kisses the kid’s front, but when she tries
to hug him the same sound signal that we heard in the previous sequence
cuts in, thus sanctioning the impossibility of emotionally joining with
Valerio. The kid’s play, as will be clear in the unfolding of the plot, will
become more and more cynical and Giuliana will inexorably become a
victim of it.
6
Time codes refer to the DVD edition: Medusa Video, Italy, 2004.
7
Despite the title, this composition has originally nothing to do with Antonioni. The title refers to
Michelangelo Buonarroti and was conceived as ambient music for the exhibition of his project for the Florence
fortifications at the Palazzo dell’Esposizione in Rome (1964).
389
THE SOUND OF MAN. FERRERI, TEITELBAUM AND
THE BIOFEEDBACK
In a crucial sequence of The Seed of Man (Il seme dell’uomo, 1969) by Marco Ferreri,
Cino and Dora, a young couple who have escaped from a nuclear apocalypse, watch one of
the last TV broadcasts documenting the extinction of the human species [0:21:20-
0:26:06].8
Desperate images (actually taken from Second World War footage) unfold
accompanied by the Va’ pensiero chorus from Giuseppe Verdi’s Nabucco, while the TV
speaker comments: “We ask everyone to be calm and have trust. Today, the decisions and
the final word are up to the electronic brains that don’t have the doubts and hesitations of
a human being”. The invocation of the Jewish people of the Nabucco, suffering and yet
united in an extreme surge of pride against the invader, soon gives way to the wasted postatomic
landscape, a seashore in which Cino and Dora live as new Adam and Eve with no
God nor Eden; their existence is shaken by the arrival of external events, such as the
stranding of a whale corpse (naturally named Moby Dick by Cino) or the mysterious
woman who threatens the balance of the couple until Dora murders her and cooks her
meat for Cino, without him knowing. After surviving the pestilence caused by the huge
carcass, Cino realizes that he wants a descendant, so he drugs Dora and inseminates her
while she is unconscious. When Dora feels the first symptoms of pregnancy, Cino
triumphantly shouts in delirium “I sowed! The seed of man has sprouted!”. But, as he
madly runs around Dora, the two suddenly explode. Perhaps he triggered a mine hidden in
the sand.
Apart from some rare musical cues composed by Teo Usuelli and the already
mentioned chorus by Verdi, the paramount sound presence in the film is a composition by
Richard Teitelbaum: In Tune (1967). Member of the improvisation ensemble Musica
Elettronica Viva (MEV) and resident in Rome throughout the second half of the 1960s,
the American composer was working on musical applications of biofeedback techniques.
Biofeedback is a method introduced in psychotherapy designed to gain awareness of and
ultimately manipulate certain physiological functions by using remote technological
equipments. In the words of pianist and composer David Rosenboom, it can become “a
system . . . for production of music and visual phenomena by precise electrical information
extracted from subjects who have learned conscious control of associated psychophysical
states” [32]. Biofeedback compositions essentially operate a conversion of signals coming
from a living organism (brainwaves, heart-pulse, breath, etc.) into audible or visible
signals, which the composer/performer controls thanks to a voltage control synthesizer and
(nowadays) digital devices. In biofeedback music the audience may have an important role
in influencing the performer/source of the signals; that is why musical performance
becomes a happening that matches individuals with the collectivity. Human sound,
submerging the audience through loudspeakers and being influenced by audience’s
feedback, seems to become a material expression of those concepts of inner harmony, time
and rhythm developed in musical speculation under the influence of oriental
philosophies.9
8
The time codes refer to the DVD edition: Koch Lorber Films, US, 2008.
9
Teitelbaum spent a period of research at the Department of Psychology of the Queens College. There, he
collaborated with Lloyd Gilden, an eclectic scientist who was also influenced by Zen.
390
The resonance created by time-locking one’s consciousness with the cortically
synchronized neuronal activity that the alpha rhythm apparently represents seems to
significantly reinforce and increase that synchronous activity, and in turn produces
positive effects on the consciousness; a feeling of “at oneness”, of being in unison with
Time, in harmony with Self [33].
The premiere of In Tune took place in Rome in the cathedral of San Paolo on 4
December 1968: the human source was the actress Barbara Mayfield with contact
microphones (applied to heart and throat) and an EEG matched with a differential
amplifier to catch her low frequency alpha brainwaves. Pre-amplified heart pulse and
breath were stereophonically mixed, whereas brainwaves were plugged into the Moog’s
voltage control, which was itself used as a sound source. At the top of the chain there was
the composer/performer. An expanded version of the composition was later presented at
the American Academy in Rome, with a second actress and two tapes reproducing orgasm
sounds and Tibetan vocal music [34].
Through its sound ‘rendering’ of the sub-conscious, In Tune seems to stand for a
‘deterministic’ response to cinema’s fictional constructions of psyche. Ferreri, a friend of
Teitelbaum’s and responsible for his encounter with Antonioni (which would lead to the
involvement of MEV in Zabriskie Point),10
probably followed up this intuition in using a
recording of the composition (we do not know which one of the two mentioned) for his
new film.
In Tune occurs five times in The Seed of Man, underpinning particularly long
sequences [0:00:00-0:02:27 (opening titles); 0:08:49-0:21:12; 0:52:00-0:56:59; 1:33:53-
1:35:16; 1:38:14-1:44:35]. Its sound features and the apparent lack of narrative consistency
of its use (for instance, there are no evident synch points), make it difficult to distinguish
it from environmental sounds, to the extent that it can be interpreted as a sort of acoustic
‘pleating’ of the soundscape. Most impressive is the film’s ability to fully catch the
semantic outcomes of the music while turning upside down its ecumenical nature (i.e.
connecting human beings in an inner unison). In a post-atomic waste land, those sounds
become disturbing echoes of an already extinct mankind as well as of a second apocalyptic
big bang, surfacing from time to time as a lament, a plea or a menace: an acoustic
pestilence that will blow over only with the last explosion, leaving room for the indistinct
murmur of the sea. Verdi’s invocation “va’ pensiero sull’ali dorate” (“go, thought, on golden
wings”) is antithetically mirrored by In Tune, whose sound substance is indeed ‘flying
thought’, but whose ‘wings’ are instead tainted and unveil human self-destructive
vocation, with no possibility of redemption.
CONCLUSIONS
In attempting to write a history of sound in the arts, Douglas Kahn develops an
interesting thesis, according to which 20th
century musical avant-gardes generally adopted
a common strategy to encompass non-musical sounds (i.e. noises) within the sphere of
musical organization. In order to do this, they tended to abstract sound from its “worldly”
associations in favor of a “musicalization”, wherein sound could “conform materially to
ideas of sonicity, that is, ideas of a sound stripped of its associative attributes, a minimally
10
This is what Teitelbaum stated to me in a conversation.
391
coded sound existing in close proximity to ‘pure’ perception and distant from the
contaminating effects of the world” [35]. Conversely, “cinema was more amenable and less
defensive” [36] and encouraged, due to its audiovisual nature, visual associations of sound.
In terms of topic theory, it remains still an open issue to determine how far audiovisual
topoi can be matched with musical topoi. In the field of electroacoustic music this is even
more complicated, for no attempts have been made, as far as I know, to apply topic theory
to 20th
century avant-garde. Cinema, on the other hand, has often encouraged
categorizing music usage in terms of typologies according to its narrative uses. Despite the
contempt avant-garde composers and musicologists generally showed until the 1980s
towards the simplistic categorizations of film music––e.g. atonal = noise = tension etc.––
recent attempts to apply anthropological perspectives to cinema are quite promising: see,
for example, Ilario Meandri’s use of Murray Schafer’s category of anti-music to interpret
mainstream Hollywood [37].
My exploration of Italian auteur cinema is an invitation to investigate the poietic
level of audiovisual artefacts in order to grasp the construction of topoi. The authors’
intentions (whether filmmaker, composer, sound technician, etc.) can either be
documented or inferred and take on extraordinary value as privileged points of view for
interpreting cultural units, whose understanding is the necessary premise to the
continuous reconfiguration of topoi cinema has accustomed us.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This paper represents a further development of two essays previously published in
Italian: “Suono elettroacustico e generi cinematografici: da cliché a elemento strutturale”.
In Meandri, I., - Valle, A. (eds.). Suono/Immagine/Genere. Torino, Kaplan, 2011, pp. 29-
48; “Sperimentazione elettroacustica e cinema d’autore. Due casi di studio”. Comunicazioni
sociali, no. 1, 2011, pp. 93-101. It also draws on my Ph.D. dissertation Musica elettroacustica
e cinema d’autore in Italia negli anni Sessanta (University of Milan, 2010).
REFERENCES
[1] Pontecorvo, G., 1963. “Il fantastico nel reale”. Filmcritica, vol. 14, no. 135-136, p. 367.
[2] Lastra, J., 2000. Sound Technology and the American Cinema. Perception, Representation,
Modernity. New York, Columbia University Press.
[3] Corbella, M., 2010. “Sound Design. Ambiguity and Historical Necessity of a
Fashionable Label”. Worlds of AudioVision, 1
<http://www-5.unipv.it/wav/pdf/WAV_Corbella_2010_eng.pdf>.
[4] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington, Indiana
University Press, pp. 23-26.
[5] Kahn, D., 1992. “Introduction. Histories of Sound Once Removed”. In Kahn, D. Whitehead,
G. (eds.). Wireless Imagination. Sound, Radio and the Avant-Garde.
Cambridge (MA), MIT Press, pp. 17-26.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Lastra, J., 2000, pp. 1-15.
[8] Baudrillard, J., 1966. Le sistème des objets. Paris, Gallimard.
392
[9] Eco, U., 1964. Apocalittici e integrati. Milano, Bompiani.
[10] Altman, R., 1999. Film/Genre. London, British Film Institute, pp. 207-215.
[11] Pestalozza, L., 1956. [review of On the Threshold of Space, Robert D. Webb]. Cinema
nuovo, vol. 5, no. 86, p. 28.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Corbella, M., 2012. “Fonosynth”. The Grove Dictionary of Musical Instruments, 2nd
Ed.,
Oxford University Online (forthcoming).
[14] Zanelli, D., 1969 (ed.). Fellini-Satyricon di Federico Fellini. Bologna, Cappelli, p. 43.
[15] Corbella, M., 2010. “Musica ed effetti elettronici nella televisione di Cottafavi”. In
Aprà, A. - Bursi, G. - Starace, S. (ed.), Ai poeti non si spara. Il cinema e la televisione di
Vittorio Cottafavi. Bologna, Cineteca, pp. 65-71.
[16] Godard, J-L., 1964. “La nuit, l’éclipse, l’aurore. Entretien avec Michelangelo
Antonioni”. Cahiers du cinéma, no. 160; eng. transl. in Michelangelo Antonioni. Ontological
Architecture. The Poetics of Space.
<http://antonioni9.wordpress.com/2011/10/26/the-night-the-eclipse-the-dawn-november-
1964/>.
[17] Zotto, G. (ed.), 1980. Dalla cibernetica all’arte musicale. Milano, Zanibon.
[18] Nascimbeni, G., 1997. “Una macchina fantastica per Ceccato e Buzzati”. Corriere della
sera, 28 December <http://www.methodologia.it/wp0.htm>.
[19] Godard, J-L., 1964.
[20] Wiener, N., 1950. The Human Use of Human Beings: Cybernetics and Society. Boston,
Houghton Mifflin.
[21] Godard, J-L., 1964.
[22] Antonioni, M., 1999. “1963. Ravenna. Durante le riprese de Il deserto rosso”. Comincio
a capire, Catania, Il girasole, p. 45.
[23] Baudrillard, J., 1966, p. 151.
[24] Comuzio, E., 1988. “Vittorio Gelmetti, avanguardia ma non dietro alle mode”.
Cineforum, vol. 28, no. 12, pp. 11-14.
[25] De Mezzo, G., 2006. “L’edizione di Treni d’onda a modulazione d’intensità di Vittorio
Gelmetti. Fonti scritte e documenti sonori”. In Canazza, S. - Casadei Turroni Monti, M.
(ed.), Ri-mediazione dei documenti sonori. Udine, Forum, p. 541.
[26] Antonioni, M., Fare un film è per me vivere: scritti sul cinema. Ed. by Di Carlo, C. and
Tinazzi, G., Venezia, Marsilio, p. 253.
[27] Boschi, A., 1999. “‘La musica che meglio si adatta alle immagini’; suoni e rumori nel
cinema di Antonioni”, in Achilli, A. - Boschi, A. - Casadio, G., pp. 90-95.
[28] Alunno, M. 2004. “Vittorio Gelmetti. Sperimentazione e cinema”. Civiltà musicale,
vol. 19, p. 193.
[29] Calabretto, R., 2012. Antonioni e la musica. Venezia, Marsilio, pp. 137-162.
[30] De Mezzo, G., 2003. Scritti, colloqui e opere su nastro di Vittorio Gelmetti. Ph.D.
dissertation, University of Trento.
[31] Di Carlo, C. 1964. Michelangelo Antonioni. Il deserto rosso. Bologna, Cappelli, p. 15.
[32] Rosenboom, D., 1971. “Homuncular Homophony”. In Rosenboom, D. (ed.), 1976.
Biofeedback and the Arts. Results of Early Experiments. Vancouver, Aesthetic Research
Center of Canada, p. 1.
[33] Teitelbaum, R., 1974. “In Tune: Some Early Experiments in Biofeedback Music
(1966-1974). In Rosenboom, D. (ed.), 1976, p. 37.
[34] Ibid., p. 43-45.
393
[35] Kahn, D., 1992, p. 3.
[36] Kahn, D., 1999. Noise, Meat, Water. A History of Sound in the Arts. Cambridge (MA),
Mit Press, p. 11.
[37] Meandri, I., 2012. “From the Marvelous to the Anti-Music: Film Music Clichés and
Formulas in an Ethnomusicology Perspective”. Music & Media 4th Study Group Conference,
University of Turin, June 2012.
394
Topoi of Technology in Italian
Experimental Industrial Film (1959-1973)
Alessandro Cecchi, PhD, University of Torino, IT
ABSTRACT
After discussing some problematic premises of topic theory in relation to the study of
cinema, the paper proposes to investigate audiovisual topoi by combining Rick Altman’s
“semantic/syntactic/pragmatic”approach to film genre with the structural perspective on
audiovisual “textuality” developed by Gianmario Borio starting from the reflections of
Michel Chion and Nicholas Cook. This methodological framework is applied to the case of
Italian industrial cinema. An outline of the history of this non-fiction genre presents
technology as a semantic field emerging in relation to the rapid industrialization process
during the period of the so-called Italian “economic miracle” (1958-1963). Pragmatic
aspects play a significant role. In those years the major industrial corporations and centres
for scientific research (Enea, Eni, Fiat, Innocenti, Italsider, Olivetti) invested in
cinematographic communication as a means to promote their image and popularize
scientific-technological information, taking advantage of state subsidies. On this basis
industrial cinema became a field of conscious audiovisual experimentation. Among the
musical collaborators we find prominent avantgarde composers engaged in the field of both
electroacoustic and instrumental music, such as Luciano Berio and Egisto Macchi. Their
contribution produced a radical change in the soundscape of the genre, directly affecting
the audiovisual representation of technology. Particularly electronic and concrete music
were the fundamental component in the recurrence of audiovisual structures forming new
topoi. Among these emerge both topical configurations aiming at producing simple
communicational effects and elaborate constructions involving the use of rhetoric figures.
THEORETICAL AND METHODOLOGICAL PREMISES
Topic Theory and Audiovisual Topoi
Judging from its widespread applications in the field of musicology, and in spite of
the frequent theoretical attempts to overcome the dichotomy, topic theory appears to be
implicitly based on a rigid demarcation between signifier and signified.1
What casts doubts
on such rigidity is the fact that a musical “structure” (in the broad sense) on which a topos
relies can trigger the signification process and refer to a given context only if some aspects
of that structure belong in some way to the context. Consequently, the structure itself is at
the same time the signifier (it refers to the context) and a part of the signified, since it
contributes to defining or at least to connoting the context. A topos, however, cannot be
identified in the structure as such. Rather, it is a symbolic process of endowment with
1
See Hatten [1], Monelle [2] [3] [4] [5].
395
meaning implying intentionality. In other words, the structure can refer to a context in
the intention of the author and/or of the recipient of the communicative act. It is a task of
historical research, not of theory, to clarify the basic characteristics of each recurrence of a
topos, such as the author’s intention and the audience’s reception. From a theoretical point
of view we can merely note the hermeneutic circle between the structure occurring in a
musical text or performance, and the aspects of the structure occurring in the habitual
context.
At the same time topic theory is characterized by the tendency to an essentialist
conception of musical topoi. The discussion of topoi in terms of abstract essences may result
either from the historical persistence of the topoi and of the semantic field to which they
refer or from the fact that scholars have a preference for long-term topoi referring to
contexts that are connoted through music over time immemorial and characterized by
simple musical structures that resist change. Yet, since topoi are symbolic processes
triggered by recurring structures related to defined semantic fields, the possibility of
highlighting their historicity is at the disposal of whoever decides to problematize the
“difference” rather than greet the “eternal recurrence of the identical”. Each use of a topos
is in fact a result of negotiation among different actors: the author, the public and various
cultural institutions.
I have focused on these questionable premises of topic theory because the
difficulties deriving from them become inescapable as soon as one shifts attention from the
musical to the audiovisual field. For as far as the first premise is concerned, it has to be said
that moving images have the ability to represent objects and contexts in full detail,
leaving little space for imagination: they exhibit or expose the semantic field directly in
the audiovisual structure, breaking down any theoretical demarcation between signifier
and signified. And as for the second premise, it must be admitted that audiovisual products
embrace a more radical historicity, preventing one from maintaining an essentialist
position. We can recall that the first audiovisual medium in the strict sense – that is, based
on the synchronization of images and sound – was sound film, and the advent of cinema
marked the passage from craftsmanship, that was typical of the traditional artistic fields, to
an industrial production method, based on the division of labour. This determined a
remarkable increase in the number of products, eliciting the recurrence of audiovisual
structures related to semantic fields as well as the re-use of topoi that were formed in other
artistic fields (such as music, literature, painting, theatre) as well as the emergence of new
topoi, whose rapid formation is much easier to observe. A commercial system of
distribution determined at the same time an increase of the public, so that communication
became all the more important, encouraging the use of topoi in all the components of
filmmaking: script, shots, sound effects, music and so on.
Concerning the role of music, the study of topoi in the audiovisual field can
successfully develop in three directions at least: investigating how pre-existing musical
topoi are re-used in cinema and other audiovisual art-forms through “remediation”;
exploring the practical uses of musical topoi in the composition and improvisation of film
music; focusing the attention on “audiovisual topoi” viewed as recurring structures
exhibiting the correlation to a semantic field through the moving images, where sound or
music can play a significant role.
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Methodological Approaches to Audiovisual Structures
In pursuing this third direction, I will adopt countermeasures aiming at protecting
against the theoretical pitfalls discussed above. Such countermeasures are implicit in the
theoretical and methodological premises on which my research is based, and I shall briefly
discuss them.
In the absence of studies explicitly devoted to audiovisual topoi characterized by the
significant role of sound or music, I take from Rick Altman an anti-essentialist proposal
developed in relation to the cinematographic concept of genre, which shares with the
concept of topos the idea of a recurrence of semantically connoted structures. In order to
account for textual and contextual aspects of film genres equally, Altman proposes what
he calls a “semantic/syntactic/pragmatic approach” [6]. The last adjective, an update of an
approach previously taken by Altman [7], offers a useful specification in the field of
cinema, where the “pragmatic” aspects – those making reference to the system of
production, distribution and reception in a certain historical context – play an important
role. This is valid for a film genre as well as for an audiovisual topos. Even the latter, in
fact, must be situated in its historical context in order to be understood as symbolic
processes, and each cinematographic context includes a particular productiondistribution-reception
circuit. In any case, pragmatic aspects actually go beyond such a
circuit, to include all the historical and cultural premises endowing a genre or a topos with
its characteristic semantic connotations.
The “semantic/syntactic” approach needs to be adapted in relation to the case
study that I intend to present. Through such an approach, Altman gives accounts of
recurring “textual” aspects at the basis of fiction film genres; for this purpose he
understands textuality in narratologic terms. This is the reason for the difficulties which
arise when one tries to transfer such an approach directly to the genres of so-called “nonfiction”
– a term which defines antithetically typologies of audiovisual communication
that do not conform to the criterion of a (tendentially) linear and coherent narration of a
story. In attempting to overcome such difficulties, I propose to complement Altman’s
approach with other theoretical perspectives designed to highlight structural aspects
shared by all the audiovisual forms.
Michel Chion was probably the first to foreground the structural relationship
between image and sound/music in cinema and other audiovisual forms [8]. Subsequently,
this aspect has been highlighted by Nicholas Cook, who focused attention on audiovisual
products characterized by the centrality of music, that he defined “musical multimedia”
[9]. More recently, Gianmario Borio has developed this theoretical perspective proposing a
definition of audiovisual “textuality” as structural articulation “in two dimensions, whose
presence is tangible in the two levels of film recording in pre-digital sonorous film: images
and sound” [10]. The film and the magnetic soundtrack remain in fact separate for the
greater part of the process of film production.
This approach makes it possible to clearly identify the structures of the audiovisual
text on which every individual semantic process is ultimately based: the different
components (photography, shot, dialogues, noises, music) combined through the main
constructive processes (editing and synchronization) and developing a relation with
objects and contexts represented by the moving images. Such semantic processes are at
the basis of further signification strategies, becoming increasingly complex. Some of these
strategies conform to the criterion of narration, which characterizes fiction cinema.
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However, being based on the recurrence of an audiovisual structure, an audiovisual topos
can also develop independently from narrative strategies.
THE REPRESENTATION OF TECHNOLOGY IN ITALIAN
INDUSTRIAL FILM
Historical and Pragmatic Aspects
My historical investigation concerns audiovisual topoi related to a semantic field
that took on increasing social and historical relevance during the 20th century:
“technology”. The perimeter of the investigation results from the intersection between
historical context and film genre. I will focus, in fact, on Italian industrial film in a period
of extraordinary development, coinciding – not by chance – with the central years of the
so-called “economic miracle” (1958-1963), a label which designates the sustained
economic growth relying on a rapid industrialization process destined to produce profound
transformations in the Italian social and cultural texture as well as in the landscape. The
diffused perception of discontinuity from the past, even an ongoing epochal change,
burdened technology deriving from scientific research and serving industry with new
connotations, strictly tying technology to ideas such as innovation, revolution, projection
toward the future; a technology that now seemed to serve man and peace, not war, as the
tragic experience of the Second World War had shown.
Even in this case an inescapable hermeneutic circle emerges. Those connotations
are in fact on the one hand “recorded” but on the other hand conveyed, encouraged,
instilled and diffused by the media system of the period (journals, radio, disc, cinema,
television) which actively participated to the construction of the technological paradigm
as a socio-cultural context. Among them, industrial film occupied a central and strategic
position.
A genre cultivated in Italy since the very beginning of the 20th century, during the
1930s – shortly after the birth of sound film – industrial film experienced a period of
extraordinary vitality. In 1933 Acciaio (Steel), one of the first films produced by Cines,
entirely shot in the Terni steelworks, introduced a high standard of audiovisual
experimentation, involving outstanding collaborators: the film’s direcor was Walter
Ruttmann, who since the 1920s had been an indefatigable experimenter with abstract film
particularly in the field of editing and synchronization; the music was composed by Gian
Francesco Malipiero, whose score allowed the director to obtain solutions and effects of
great emotive impact, particularly in the representation of steel work processes; the
screenplay had been adapted by Mario Soldati (uncredited) from a novel of Luigi
Pirandello, using a very thin plot woven into a film intended to document and glorify
Italian industry.
After the tragic events at the end of the Second World War, the genre re-emerged
from the rubble with very limited means. Nevertheless industrial film began to conform to
the communicative standard – not of course the productive standard – of Hollywood
cinema, whose diffusion had been initially encouraged by the American occupation of
Italy. Such standards emerged in the intentions of the corporations that commissioned the
films and in certain characteristics of such products. As far as the sound is concerned, we
encounter the predominance of “film music” intended as a stereotyped stylistic category:
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scores for large orchestra with large sections of percussion and brass instruments, using
leitmotifs and thematic-motivic elaboration, enlarged tonality frequently recurring to
chromaticism, and the sense of apotheosis; all the musical processes rely on Western
classic, romantic, and late romantic to impressionist traditions, where the construction of
meaning and communication relied on a system of diffused musical topoi, and resorting
episodically to the languages of a more advanced modernity. Between the end of the 1940s
and the end of the 1950s there were some scrupulous productions, such as a 1949 short by
Michelangelo Antonioni for the viscose industry, Sette canne, un vestito (Seven Reeds, One
Suit), with music by Giovanni Fusco, or the remarkable productions directed by Ermanno
Olmi from 1953 onwards for Edison, characterized by the sporadic use of music and the
construction of a peculiar soundscape. However, it was from the end of the 1950s, with
the initiatives of other industrial corporations, directors and collaborators, that the
technological paradigm began to directly involve industrial communication, profoundly
changing some of the main features of industrial film.
The pragmatic aspects played a considerable role in this transformation. As a
consequence of the sustained economic growth, the main Italian private industrial
corporations, along with some strategic state corporations including national centres for
scientific research, decided to invest as never before in cinematographic communication,
seen not so much as a production of commercials focusing on the end product, but rather
as the means to promote the “corporate image” through the proposal of information or
scientific-technological divulgation, stressing the social and cultural meaning of the
industrial and technological progress. In these films the documentation of the preliminary
steps – the conception and planning stage – as well as the various phases of industrial
production come to the fore. In directly producing or commissioning films, the industrial
corporations had the possibility of making use, for a certain period, of state subventions
and funding, enforcing their investment capabilities determined by the Italian economic
growth. Among the consequences of this favourable context, the production of films in
this specific sub-genre of documentary really took off, reaching a peak in 1964, just before
a law was passed denying access to public funding for industrial film production, resulting
in a decline of the genre in quantitative terms [11] [12].
In such a context the artistic aspirations of the leaders of corporations producing
high technologies favoured the cooperation of film directors and artistic collaborators that
were active in the artistic avantgardes. The result of these collaborations emerges in films
characterized by a high degree of audiovisual experimentation. The number of such films
during the 1960s led me to propose the idea of an ‘experimental’ sub-genre of Italian
industrial film, emerging in 1959, developing in the first half of the 1960s, attaining new
vitality around 1968, and going into a rapid decline, though rare productions can be
detected until 1973 [13].
Audiovisual Experimentation and the “Technological Paradigm”
Among the “experimental” sub-genre of the Italian industrial film, sound and
music were involved in a profound transformation. The first examples produced a deep
impact on the subsequent cinematographic production considered as a whole. What is
interesting is the fact that such a transformation represents at the same time the
consolidation of a “technological paradigm” in film music. Cinema is in itself strongly
based on technology. In order to meet the needs of the industrial documentary, a high
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degree of technology is requested: the difficulties posed by extreme conditions of light
need an accurate use of filters; the techniques of photography and shooting can involve a
large range of possibilities, from aerial shooting to macro-photography; it is usual the resort
to drawings and animations. Compared to such an extended use of devices for the images,
the traditional orchestral scores might appear all the more anachronistic. This could be
one of the reasons that encouraged – in general – sound and music to conform to
technological innovation.
In 1959 both the National Centre for Nuclear Research (CNRN) – then National
Centre for Nuclear Energy (CNEN), now National Agency for New Technology, Energy
and the Environment (ENEA) – and Olivetti produced or commissioned industrial films
whose music was assigned to Luciano Berio, who since 1955 had been experimenting with
electronic sound in collaboration with Bruno Maderna and others at the Studio di
Fonologia Rai in Milan. The CNRN film Ispra 1 (Gian Luigi Lomazzi, 1959) was designed
to inform about the Italian efforts concerning nuclear energy as they were developed in
the new laboratories of nuclear research and fusion in Ispra, near Varese (it was the first
Italian nuclear reactor, realized on American project). The two Olivetti productions
directed in 1960 by Nelo Risi – Elea classe 9000 (Elea, series 9000) and La memoria del
futuro (Memory of the Future) – concerned the construction of the first computing machine
completely based on transistors (computer was named Elea 9003), at the same time
illustrating in full detail the history of computing systems and underlining their
importance for human progress.
For Ispra Berio used almost exclusively electronic and concrete sound, that is, tape music.
For La memoria del futuro he used almost exclusively avantgarde instrumental music. On
the contrary for Elea he composed both electronic and instrumental music (accurately
avoiding the usual stylistic canons of “film music”) in order to combine through
overdubbing, in some passages, electronic modules and musical cues from the recorded
instrumental score. Though not an isolated case, the combination of both typologies of
sound production was unusual: until 1965, though present in the same film, electronic
music and instrumental scores were generally used separately.
Beyond the specific compositional choices, the association between the representation of
“new technologies” and electronic music became a practicable path, and other composers
could follow the example, as happened in the 1960s. After 1959 Berio himself
collaborated in very few film productions: in 1963 he collaborated with Bruno Munari in
some short art and abstract films, where sequences shot in contemporary art exhibitions, as
in Arte programmata (Programmed Art), or abstract coloured lights and forms, as in I colori
della luce (The Colours of Light), were accompanied only by music, excluding comments,
dialogues and any other sound. However, both the forementioned CNRN and Olivetti
films had great resonance, to the extent that Elea classe 9000 won the prize for the best
industrial film in the competition regularly held in those years during the prestigious
Venice Film Festival. In the field of industrial film, since 1959 electronic music became
the sound of technological innovation and scientific research, and in particular the sound
of nuclear energy, chemical analysis, electronic computing, automation, and was ready to
pass into Italian auteur cinema – starting from Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1964 film
Deserto rosso (Red Desert) – with these and other connotations [14].
The radical change emerges from the comparison between a scientific 1958 film produced
by the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) as an integral part of the series Atom for
peace and Ispra 1 (1959), both illustrating the peaceful uses of nuclear energy. The sound
400
design is completely different. In the first case the usual orchestral music dominates: the
curves of the cathode rays of an oscilloscope is imitated by the music through a melodic
oscillation of the thin sound of a flute [0:00:14-0:00:30]. In the second case, starting from
the head titles, the sound design taken as a whole shares with the represented contexts
precisely the “technological paradigm”: electronic and concrete sound, through the means
of tape, were based on a technology introduced in Italy in 1955 – even if the Studio di
Fonologia in Milan followed very high standards, to the extent that it was in competition
with the most advanced centres in Europe: Paris and Cologne. The association relied on
the objective similarity between the electronic devices used in the analysis of data and
those used for the production of electronic sound. The similarity enforced the association,
which shortly involved recurrence, developing topoi that were properly “new”, and this not
only because they emerged directly as audiovisual topoi, but also because they relied on a
technology which was pure avantgarde.
While the representation of heavy industry and particularly the most spectacular phases of
steel work, from Acciaio onwards, made use of timbral homogeneity triggered by the use of
percussion and brass instruments (a topos which is still extensively used today), the most
advanced scientific and industrial technologies of those years (based on nuclear physics,
informatics and electronics) could rely on homogeneity at different levels: not only
timbral (I refer to the sounds that were generally produced by instruments of measure and
analysis) but even material, structural and technological.
Recurrence and Consolidation of Audiovisual Topoi during the 1960s
During the 1960s the recurrence of such associations consolidated their relationship with
particular connotations of the semantic field, producing shared audiovisual topoi as well as
encouraging sophisticated artistic constructions.
One of these was the recurrent association between comments of the speaker concerning
the dangers and risks for men’s health or safety (the risks of radioactivity, nuclear
destruction, environmental pollution and so on), images exhibiting signals of danger (a
very direct and meaningful communication instrument) and electronic sound. The last is
often characterized by very high, even disturbing frequencies along with prolonged sound,
sometimes characterized by a gradual or even a sudden increase in intensity. It is not by
chance that such associations occur repeatedly in the films produced by CNEN or ENEA,
whose communicative strategy was since the very beginning that of admitting the risks
and the dangers connected to nuclear energy – these were, rather, at the centre of the
discourse.
In the head titles of the film Atomi puliti (Clean Atoms), directed by Enrico Franceschelli
in 1965, with the musical collaboration of Franco Potenza – a neglected Roman composer,
very active both in the field of popular music (he was the director of the choir at the
Sanremo Festival from its introduction in 1960) and avantgarde composition as well as
cinema – we hear piano music combined with a long continuous sound whose timbre is
hard to identify; the music is synchronized with the shooting of a stream ending in a small
waterfall. After the head titles the words in the comment of the speaker concerning the
environmental damages produced by pollution – a consequence of industrialization –
coincide with the emergence of electronic sound, that now, during a long pause in the
piano, we realize was present from the beginning of the film. The tension of electronic
sound increasingly grows when the shoots focus on the building of a factory, with a long
401
chimney against a grey sky, coloured by the smoke of industrial production [0:00:00-
0:00:45]. Then the contemplation of disasters is stressed by electronic sound becoming a
more and more scary presence, reaching a climax in the subsequent section, illustrating
atomic power in its destructive values, as shown by the atomic bomb on Hiroshima.
The end of the film insists on the images of nuclear waste deposits: a number of
blue and red nuclear drums exhibiting the well-known symbol of radioactivity: black
three-leafed clover on a yellow field. In this sequence – after a section where electronic
sound became a harmonic and pleasing background – the film gradually returns to a
different sound, increasingly more disturbing and even threatening, until an electronic
shiver of terror, synchronized with the black screen, concludes the film. Here sound
transforms into a threat the risks that the words of the speaker tend to minimize [0:10:23-
0:10:42].
At the end of the 1960s, after a ten-year development, we encounter experimental
films showing a conscious and even sophisticated use of topoi involving electronic music,
with results of great audiovisual impact. A noticeable example is the Innocenti film Noi
continuiamo (We Are Continuing), directed in 1968 by Mario Damicelli, with the musical
collaboration of Egisto Macchi, one of the founding members of Nuova Consonanza. This
film capitalizes on the recurrence of audiovisual structures triggering signification processes
that offer very simple and immediate effects. In a passage [0:13:28-0:13:50] the words
“analisi chimiche” (“chemical analysis”), pronounced by the speaker while details of
beakers, microscopes, X-ray devices and oscilloscopes appear, are strictly synchronized with
the entrance of electronic sound, which up until that point had been quite marginal.
Yet a very complex topos emerges in the same film, showing how, even in the age of
the audiovisual and of technology, the traditional rhetoric figures can play both a
constructive and interpretative role. This is a composed topos inspired by the idea of
“montage”. In the theory of loci communi we experience a figure resembling the old locus
notationis, that is, triggered by the different meanings assumed by the term “montage” – or
at least by the Italian term “montaggio”, characterized by the wide range of precise, even
technical, connotations. At the same time this is an outstanding application of the figure
that old theoreticians would have named locus totius et partium, and that I would re-define
as structural correspondence between the represented object and the modalities of its
representation. In order to understand the convergence of these two figures, it has to be
said that electronic and concrete music share with pre-digital cinema the technology of
recording, that is the magnetic tape and the technique of manipulating, through cut and
montage, the recorded sound.
Many times, in this industrial film, the speaker gives way to pure audiovisual
construction through extended montage sequences that are in effect abstract – to the
extent that the workers, who in reality were always present in the assembly line, are
basically suppressed, or at least become anonymous, in order to give the impression of
prevalent if not complete automation. An outstanding experimental sequence is involved
in the topos [0:18:30-0:21:20].
The previously mentioned rhetoric figures derive from the convergence of the
following elements: the represented object is the assemblage (“montaggio” in Italian) of a car
on an assembly line (“catena di montaggio”); the moving images are organized through
montage sequences based on masterful video editing (“montaggio”); the sound corresponds to
the same concept, given that it is the product of the cuts and montage (“montaggio”) of a
magnetic tape, constructed for the purposes of an exact correspondence with the syntax of the
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video editing, that is, using strict or punctual synchronization; the tape is at the same time a
collage of instrumental music, electronic and recorded sound, becoming one and the same
under the concept of concrete music – the noises of industrial production (recorded,
transformed, manipulated and to some extent becoming abstract sounds) have been inserted
in the soundtrack, which mainly contains synthetic sound. In other words, a highly
technological and elaborate montage process is represented through a highly technological
and elaborate montage process, combining two separate “horizontal” montages (in the moving
images and in the soundtrack) in the “vertical” montage achieved through synchronization
[15].
Not only, here, do signifier and signified converge, but the audiovisual structure
refers to the same semantic field correlated to the topos. The technological paradigm,
shared between represented object and modalities of representation, has been consciously
highlighted in its constructive capabilities.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author wishes to thank Arianna Turci and Elena Testa of the Archivio
Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa in Ivrea (Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia) for their
support and help in finding the audiovisual sources analysed in this paper.
The research has been carried out in the context of the “Cabiria” project, devoted
to “Census, Cataloguing and Study of Manuscript and Printed Music for the Cinema in
Piedmont”, coordinated by Annarita Colturato and funded by the Regional Government
of Piedmont, Italy.
REFERENCES
[1] Hatten, R., 1994. Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and
Interpretation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, p. 243.
[2] Monelle, R., 1996. “The Postmodern Project in Music Theory”. In: E. Tarasti, ed. 1996.
Musical Semiotics in Growth. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, p. 50.
[3] Monelle, R., 1996. “What Is a Musical Text?” In: E. Tarasti, ed. 1996. Musical Semiotics in
Growth. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, pp. 247-248.
[4] Monelle, R., 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton: Princeton University
Press, pp. 149 and 196.
[5] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington and
Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, pp. 20-32.
[6] Altman, R., 1999. Film/Genre. London: British Film Institute, pp. 208-210.
[7] Altman, R., 1984. “A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre”. Cinema Journal 3, pp.
6-18.
[8] Chion, M., 1994. Audio-Vision: Sound on Screen. New York: Columbia University Press.
[9] Cook, N., 1998. Analysing Musical Multimedia. Oxford and New York: Oxford University
Press.
[10] Borio, G., 2007. “Riflessioni sul rapporto tra struttura e significato nei testi
audiovisivi”. Philomusica on-line [e-journal] 6 (3). Available at:
<http://riviste.paviauniversitypress.it/> [Accessed 5 October 2012].
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[11] Boledi, L. and Mosconi, E., 2005. “Il film industriale”. In: R. De Berti, ed. 2005. Un secolo
di cinema a Milano. Milano: Il Castoro, pp. 295-311.
[12] Falchero, A.M., 2008. “Cinema e industria: i documentari industriali”. Storia-PoliticaSocietà
41 (3-4), pp. 129-42.
[13] Cecchi, A., 2011. “Il film industriale italiano degli anni sessanta tra sperimentazione
audiovisiva, avanguardia musicale e definizione di genere”. In: I. Meandri and A. Valle,
ed. 2011. Suono/Immagine/Genere. Torino: Kaplan, pp. 137-59.
[14] Corbella, M., 2010. Musica elettroacustica e cinema in Italia negli anni sessanta, PhD
dissertation, University of Milan.
[15] Borio, G., 2007.
404
From Topic to Troping Within Film Music
Juan Chattah, PhD, University of Miami, FL, USA
ABSTRACT
Although the interpretation of musical topics and musical troping within film might seem
analogous, topics reflect (primarily) a symbolic relationship between signifier and signified,
whereas troping reflects an iconic relationship. This paper navigates from denotation and
connotation, to topics, and subsequently to troping, thus framing this discussion within the
Saussurean signifier-signified model, yet addressing the icon/index/symbol taxonomy
proposed by Charles Sanders Peirce. The film-music repertoire analyzed includes
soundtracks from The Red Violin, Big Night, and Being There.
FROM DENOTATION/CONNOTATION TO TOPICS
Although meaning in music is derived from both connotative and denotative
semiosis, the notion of musical topics clearly belongs to the realm of connotation. Louis
Hjelmslev claimed that “a connotative semiotic is a semiotic that is not a language, and
one whose expression plane is provided by the content plane and expression plane of a
denotative semiotic [1].” Similarly, according to Umberto Eco, “there is a connotative
semiotics when there is a semiotics whose expression plane is another semiotics,” and he
continued, “the characteristic of a connotative code is the fact that further significations
conventionally relies on a primary one [2].” In the following figure, which is similar to
Roland Barthes’s model of connotation/denotation, Philip Tagg illustrates the notion
of connotation and denotation from a linguistic viewpoint:
Figure 1: Connotation as “superelevation of previous signification [3].”
The signifier-signified relationships depicted in Figure 1 above are denotative and
rely mainly upon indexicality. But the relationship between “alarm noise” and “fire,” or
between “alarm noise” and “danger,” is one of connotation. On the notion of connotation
in music, Raymond Monelle remarks that
music appears to have denotative meaning when some natural sound is imitated, or
when a quotation from some other work or style is presented: a fanfare, horn call or
shepherd’s pipe. There is seldom a question of denotative meaning alone, however, as
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there can be in language. Karbusicky observes that the sound of the cuckoo, which
presumably denotes the bird, can also signify “Spring is here [4]!”
Thus, Monelle and Vladimir Karbusicky’s denotative meaning of a sign is mainly
based on onomatopoeia and subsequently extended to topicality. Similarly, Eco claims
that “there are musical ‘signs’ with an explicit denotative value (trumpet signals in the
army) and there are syntagms or entire ‘texts’ possessing pre-culturalized connotative
value (‘pastoral’ or ‘thrilling’ music, etc.) [5].” Thus, Eco’s notion of musical syntagms is
akin to Leonard Ratner’s theory of topics. His conception of musical signs however is a
misnomer: trumpet signals in the army should not be considered music but sound signals:
thanks to the loud and far-reaching sound of trumpets, they serve to communicate
commands in open, large places. In case, however, that trumpet signals are
incorporated (via onomatopoeia) in opera or even in piano music, they become musical
gestures that help define the presence of musical topics.
Accounts of topics within music date to Joachim Burmeister (1566-1629) and
then Johann Heinichen (1683-1729); both approached music composition from a surfaceoriented
perspective. Heinichen, in his Der General-Bass in der Composition, includes
the loci topici (topics for a formal discourse) as a general method of composition that
focuses on surface textures. Later Leonard Ratner, Kofi Agawu, and other theorists
adopted the concept of topics for the analysis of (mostly) eighteenth-century music.
Figure 2 below shows Agawu’s “Universe of Topics,” which he borrowed from
Ratner. Each topic manifests itself in two dimensions: 1) the signifier, which comprises
all the surface phenomena, such as rhythm, melody, texture, timbre, etc; and 2) the
signified, which makes direct reference to the particular topic as a socio-cultural entity.
Figure 2: Ratner’s “Universe of Topics [6].”
Within the icon/index/symbol taxonomy proposed by Peirce, topics would
correspond to the third level of semiosis, hence symbols. Naturally, topics may rely on
basic similarity with the signified (iconicity) or some biological or cultural correlation
(iconicity via metaphorical processes). Usually topics originate, and are established,
through proximity to their signified (indexicality) or through a metonymic process (i.e.
part-for-whole). But, because topics establish an arbitrary signifier-signified relationship,
406
and because these signs become conventional within culturally defined repertoires, we
should regard them as symbols.1
Like Ratner and later Agawu, Tagg provides a universe of topics that he calls the
“ethnocentric selection of possible connotative spheres” or feels. The list of feels he
provides, as a verbalized form of signs, is not exhaustive. Both the transmitter and the
receiver understand these feels because they share the same socio-cultural background
and store of signs. Some of the ethnocentric feels that Tagg addresses are: romantic
sensuality, noble suffering, Spaghetti Western, horror, erotic tango, alienated urban loneliness,
twinkling happy Christmas, hippy meditation, etc. He further remarks that
even though creative musicians within the European and North American cultural
sphere might never use any of the words in the list to describe their music, they would
know how to construct sounds corresponding to most of these “feels” while codal
competent listeners from the same cultural background would be able to
distinguish that music into categories similar to those listed [7].
In fact, most film directors communicate with their film composer employing
words or phrases (i.e. feels) such as the ones listed above; it is the composer’s task to
understand and translate these feels into music that evokes the desired response from the
audience.
Musical topics are used within film for various purposes, such as to set locale, set
time period, as genre identifiers, etc. Manifested primarily as style synecdoches, topics
exhibit the two emblematic dimensions of every sign: 1) the signifier: all the surface
phenomena, such as rhythm, melody, texture, timbre, etc.; and 2) the signified: the
particular socio-cultural associations. Hence, the cognitive process whereby an audience
understands musical topics within film is basically a semiotic process. The same cannot be
said of troping; later within this paper I flesh out the intricacies of this difference.
TOPICS WITHIN A NARRATIVE THREAD
Topics can help shape a musical narrative by interacting with themes or leitmotivs.
This fusion affects the musical discourse, often through a process of developing
variation, and help guide the dramatic trajectory of a film.2
For instance, The Red Violin
realizes a large-scale structural plan that maps the events in the narrative through a theme
and variations formal design in the music. Composer John Corigliano states that in The
Red Violin, he
planned a big structure of seven chords, which literally formed the basis for the entire
movie […] Because the movie was involved with the tarot, involved with classical
music and a violin, and involved with many different ages of music, I felt that one had
to tie everything together. If you just wrote baroque, classical, romantic, and so forth,
they would be detached, since the only thing that threaded through the 300 years was
1
Naturally, every signifying process falls into an endlessly unfolding chain of semiosis. Interpretation cannot be
reduced to just one semiotic process; rather, interpretation results from a complex web of signification
surrounding every sign. This is akin to Barthes’ insistence that the distinction between connotation and
denotation inevitably collapses.
2
See Hatten’s notion of musical gestures in his Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes, page 233.
407
this violin. One needed a thread that had to be thematic and harmonic […] Unless
you tie it together with some common thread, you will not feel the organic quality of
the movie [8].
A parallel between the film’s narrative structure and the soundtrack’s theme and
variation design illustrates a sophisticated use of leitmotif fused with topics.3
The Red
Violin begins with a present-day violin auction, and flashes back to numerous times,
places, and performers that surrounded the violin. The main theme is presented in its
essential form sung by Anna (Irene Grazioli), whose blood will paint the violin after she
dies while giving birth to the luthier’s child. (See Appendix, Musical Example 1.) The
theme leads into the first flashback: the creation of the violin in seventeenth-century
Italy.
Film Excerpt 1: First appearance of the Red Violin. (0:06:50 - 0:07:30)
Film Excerpt 2 shows the second flashback, to an eighteenth-century Austrian
monastery. Musical Example 2 shows a variation of the theme. (See Appendix) This
variation incorporates stylistic characteristics of the period’s music such as clear diatonic
harmonic progressions, and continuous rhythmic figuration reminiscent of the works by
baroque composers.
Film Excerpt 2: The Red Violin at an eighteenth-century Austrian monastery. (0:39:27 - 0:39:50)
Film Excerpt 3 shows the flashback to nineteenth-century Oxford; a Gypsy female
violinist plays a variation of the theme. This scene takes place right before the “Devil”
takes possession of the violin. The variation of the theme is in an improvisatory style and
makes use of a hexatonic Gypsy/Hungarian mode (G, A, B , C#/D , E, F#) with strong
emphasis on the exotic sounding B -D interval. Musical Example 3 shows the last
segment of this variation, (see Appendix.) The Gypsy/Hungarian mode acts as a musical
symbol (i.e. topic) that triggers the westernized (and thus conventionally established)
association of exoticism. Additionally, the scenography and costumes provide a visually
topical representation of character type.
3
The extreme nature of the variations (and their grounded in conventional topics) is not suggestive of
leitmotif transformations.
408
Film Excerpt 3: The Red Violin played by Gypsy woman. (0:51:30 – 0:52:20)
At the time the Gypsy violinist stops playing, the “Devil” (as addressed in the
movie) appears and takes the violin. This character portrays the typical nineteenthcentury
virtuoso, such as the legendary Paganini, and tropes on the myth of
Mephistopheles. In Film Excerpt 4, this character plays his new composition (clearly a
transformation of the main theme), illustrating the nineteenth-century virtuoso style:
ricochet bowing, multiple stopping at dazzling speed, extended octave playing,
arpeggiated passages requiring continuous rapid string crossings, and superb bow
technique. Musical Examples 4 and 5 illustrate several of these techniques incorporated in
the variation, (see Appendix). Moreover, the music not only exhibits the technical
capacities of the violin, but also allows for an increased intensity of emotional and artistic
expression in the hands of the performer.
Film Excerpt 4: The Red Violin played by nineteenth-century virtuoso performer.
(0:56:15 – 0:58:00)
In the forgoing examples from The Red Violin a theme is adjusted to conform to
various topics; the soundtrack thus informs the audience while helping shape the narrative
structure of the film. Adjusting a theme to conform to various topics is not troping: troping
requires a fusion of two (or more) distinct topics.
TROPING AS NARRATIVE DEVICE
According to Robert Hatten, troping occurs when “two different, formally
unrelated types are brought together in the same functional location so as to spark an
interpretation based on their interaction [9].” Although primarily explored within the
common practice repertoire, musical troping is extremely valuable as a narrative resource
within film: the compositional decision to fuse two unrelated musical topics within a
scene is generally motivated by a convergence of two distinct elements in the film’s
narrative. Through this fusion of two unrelated topics, the music accentuates a plot
based on some dichotomy (i.e. two distinct characters, two different cultures, two
points of view, etc.). As such, musical troping effectively maps the film’s narrative
structure and thus suggests a cognitive process based on metaphor (i.e. iconicity), rather
409
than a purely symbolic process. The process of signification extends beyond the symbology
provided by each topic: it resorts to firstness by highlighting the analogy between fusing
two topics and fusing two elements in the narrative.
Peter Sellers’s film Being There tells the story of Chauncey Gardiner, who lived
his whole life in isolation working as a gardener in the house of a millionaire. When the
wealthy man dies, Chauncey is forced out of the house. Chauncey enters an alien modern
world; his immaculate appearance merges with the contaminated streets; his regular and
predictable life devolves into strange and chaotic situations. The film presents two
contrasting elements: 1) Chauncey Gardiner, an old, prudent, innocent, almost sterile
human being, and 2) the external world as modern and exiting, yet contaminated and
corrupt.
CHAUNCEY GARDINER EXTERNAL WORLD
- Old and prudent
- Pure / clean
- Innocent
- Bases his knowledge on nature
- Quiet environment
- Classical music
- Modern and reckless
- Contaminated / dirty
- Corrupt
- Bases its actions on economics
- Overload of city sounds
- Disco-funk music
Table I: Contrasting elements established in Being There.
Table I compares the essential characteristics of these two elements as established
in the film. Each of these elements is represented musically via two distinct musical
topics: Chauncey is typified with classical music, while the external world is
represented by ‘modern’ music of the time (70’s disco-funk style). The soundtrack in
Film Excerpt 5, which accompanies Chauncey leaving the only home he has ever
known and stepping into a new world, makes reference to these two contrasting elements,
symbolizing their convergence by combining Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra with the
disco-funk beats popular in the 70’s.4
Film Excerpt 5: Chauncey leaves home. (0:19:00 – 0:22:50)
The musical troping in the scene parallels the convergence (or merging) of
elements in the narrative establishing a conceptual metaphor (i.e. iconic resemblance).5
Troping is achieved by blending salient stylistic characteristics of each type. As it is
4
The arrangement featured in the film is by Brazilian pianist and arranger Eumir Deodato.
5
Following Lakoff’s and Johnson’s Conceptual Metaphor theory, this would be a Convergence Of Narrative
Elements Is Musical Troping conceptual metaphor.
410
evident in Musical Example 6 (see Appendix), many elements from Also Sprach
Zarathustra are retained but adjusted to conform to the 70’s disco-funk style:
- Instrumentation of the original classical piece expanded to include typical
disco instrumentation (organ, drum set, cowbells)
- Melody (played on the original instruments: trumpet with sporadic orchestral
tutti) rhythmically adjusted with anticipations and retardations characteristic
of the disco style
- Harmonies extended with the addition of 7ths and 9ths typical of more
contemporary practices
- Jazzy organ incorporates riffs based on extended harmonies
- Metrical structure maintained, but the beat is emphasized by a disco pattern
performed on a drum set
- Non-musical sounds (such as the city noise in the background) help relocate
the classical piece into a non-classical context.
Superimposing the musical troping with the convergence of contrasting
elements in the narrative, triggers a metaphorical correlation, i.e. a signifier-signified
relationship based on firstness or iconicism. As a result, the audience projects the musical
troping onto the narrative, placing the convergence of elements at the center of
attention,6
(see Table II).
NARRATIVE MUSIC
Convergence of two elements, each portraying
different social, economic, cultural, historical,
philosophical backgrounds.
Troping of musical types achieved by
maintaining salient denotative characteristics of
each type.
CHAUNCEY
GARDINER
EXTERNAL
WORLD
CLASSICAL
MUSIC
DISCO-FUNK
MUSIC
Old and prudent
Pure / clean
Innocent
Draws his
knowledge from
nature
Identifies himself
with classical music
Modern and
reckless
Contaminated /
dirty
Corrupt
Defined by
economics
Represented
through disco music
and an overload of
city sounds
Instrumentation:
symphonic
orchestra
Pulse: flexible
Harmonic
language:
traditional
Dynamic range:
large
Instrumentation: 70’s
electronica
Pulse: regular
Harmonic language:
popular
Dynamic range:
narrow
Table II: Troping representing the convergence of narrative elements in Being There.
The film Big Night is about two Italian brothers, Primo and Secondo, who
emigrated from Italy and opened a restaurant in America. The restaurant is almost
bankrupt, and the lack of success is due to the owners’ decision to keep the restaurant as
authentic to the Italian tradition as possible. Table III below compares the two
contrasting elements established in the film: 1) Italian culture, and 2) American culture.
6
The obvious “discovery of a new world” connotation that stems from viewers familiar with the film 2001: A
Space Odyssey, are particular to Also Sprach Zarathustra and not to the instance of troping.
411
ITALIAN CULTURE AMERICAN CULTURE
- Food: pasta
- Language: Italian
- Music: Italian Opera
- Dress code: elegant
- Food: meatballs
- Language: English
- Music: Jazz
- Dress code: casual
Table III: Contrasting elements established in Big Night.
The restaurant would have to close due to lack of customers, so Primo seeks the
advice of an Italian friend who owns a very successful restaurant called Pascal’s. The key to
Pascal’s success is the blend of the two cultures in every aspect of the restaurant, from the
menu (spaghetti with meatballs) to the live music played in the restaurant; even it’s very
name is a linguistic troping: the Italian name with the characteristically American
‘apostrophe + s’ added. As Primo enters the restaurant, the music (as well as visuals and
the sparse dialogue) portrays this cultural fusion. A conceptual metaphor emerges, via
which the audience projects the fusion taking place in the music onto the narrative.7
Similar to the instance in Being There, musical troping is achieved by retaining
distinctive elements from each of the two musical traditions during the synthesis (see
Table IV below); elements from ’O Sole Mio are preserved but adjusted to conform to a
Jazzy, easy listening style:
- Italian lyrics retained but pronunciation adjusted with a heavy American
accent
- Orchestral accompaniment replaced by piano accompaniment
- Metrical structure maintained, but with a profuse incorporation of syncopation
- Timbre of voice and inflections adjusted to ‘background-music in restaurant’ or
‘night-club’ setting
- Non-musical sounds (of customers and servers) help relocate the classical piece
into a non-classical context.
Film Excerpt 6: Primo enters Pascal’s restaurant. (0:23:40 - 0:24:50)
7
Following Lakoff’s and Johnson’s formatting, this would be also a Convergence Of Narrative Elements Is
Musical Troping conceptual metaphor.
412
NARRATIVE MUSIC
Convergence of two elements, each portraying
different social, economic, cultural, historical,
philosophical backgrounds.
Troping of musical types achieved by
maintaining salient denotative characteristics of
each type.
ITALIAN
CULTURE
AMERRICAN
CULTURE
ITALIAN
MUSIC
AMERICAN
MUSIC
Food: Pasta
Language: Italian
Music: Operatic
Dress-code: Elegant
Food: Meatballs
Language: English
Music: Jazzy
Dress-code: Casual
Vocal Style: Operatic
Language: Italian
Rhythm: sporadic
syncopations
Instrumentation:
Orchestral
Vocal Style: Jazzy
Language: English
Rhythm: frequent
syncopations
Instrumentation:
Smaller Ensemble
Table IV: Troping representing a convergence of narrative elements in Big Night.
CONCLUSION
The primary differences between troping and topics are the conceptual process
through which an audience derives meaning, as well as the degree of conventionality of
that meaning. Troping establishes new meanings by mapping an analogous blending of
narrative elements (characters, places, etc.), whereas topics draw on conventionally
established meanings. Therefore, whereas topics exhibit (primarily) a symbolic
relationship between signifier and signified, troping reveals an iconic relationship.
REFERENCES
[1] Louis Hjelmslev, cited in Monelle, R., 1992. Linguistics and Semiotics in Music. London:
Routledge, p. 45.
[2] Eco, U., 1979. A Theory of Semiotics. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, p. 55.
[3] Tagg, P., 1999. Introductory Notes to the Semiotics of Music. Online text that constitutes
part of a project to produce a textbook in the semiotics of music, p. 7.
[4] Monelle, R., 1992. Linguistics and Semiotics in Music. London: Routledge, p. 16.
[5] Eco, U., 1979. A Theory of Semiotics. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, p. 11.
[6] Agawu, K., 1991. Playing with Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music. New
Jersey: Princeton University Press, p. 39.
[7] Tagg, P., 1999, p. 11.
[8] Salzman. T., ed., 2006. A Composer’s Insight – Volume 3. Meredith Music, p. 86.
[9] Hatten, R., 2004. Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, p. 295.
413
APPENDIX – MUSICAL EXAMPLES
Note: All musical examples are my own transcriptions from the original
soundtracks.
Musical Example 1: Theme from The Red Violin.
Musical Example 2: Variation of The Red Violin theme to represent Baroque style.
Musical Example 3: Variation of The Red Violin theme to represent (westernized) Gypsy style.
Musical Example 4: Double-stops and ricochet bowing. Variation of The Red Violin theme to
represent virtuoso Romantic style.
414
Musical Example 5: Arpeggiated passage requiring continuous rapid string crossings. Variation
of The Red Violin theme to represent virtuoso Romantic style.
Musical Example 6: Disco style revamping of Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra in Being There.
415
Classing Topics: An Analysis of the Music
for Ken Loach’s Riff Raff
Ben Curry, PhD, University of Kent, UK
ABSTRACT
The musical topic as an intersection of formal characteristics and cultural resonances
provides a useful means to approach representations of class in the music for Ken Loach’s
1991 film Riff Raff. Key to understanding the music for Riff Raff is the tension it reflects
between the subject matter of the film, which concerns the working class and homeless in
post-Thatcher Britain, and the film’s production and consumption, which is dominated by
an altogether different stratum of British society.
Through a close reading of Stewart Copeland’s opening cue for Riff Raff, this paper will
explore how musical topics allow us to analyse the interplay of social forces that shape
music in a cinematic context. By drawing on the distinction in Peircian semiotics between
actuality and meaning it will engage key questions concerning the notion of class as
indicative of both cultural habit and socio-economic position, and music’s place in this
complex of relations. It will go on to argue that topics in popular music tend to reflect
actuality in a manner that can be usefully opposed to those tendencies that characterize
music in the classical tradition.
INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS
The British film Riff Raff, directed by leftist filmmaker Ken Loach in the early
1990s, begins with two shots of rats on a building site. A wider shot follows of two builders
and while the film’s title is displayed the simple ambient soundscape is interrupted by a
slightly brash declamation from a synthetic piano (Example 1).
Example 1. Opening idea of the score for Riff Raff.1
Any stylistic or topical reference for this figure, which outlines a V7 to I cadence
in B major, is, in certain respects, indistinct. It articulates a formal device that is a corner
stone of common-practice music but the voicing, phrasing and (to a lesser extent) the
1
All musical examples are my own transcriptions from the original soundtracks.
416
timbre aren’t quite right. One can hardly have failed to observe the class-bound subject
matter of the film even before starting to watch it, and this might lead us to bring to mind
that music still closely associated with British working-class culture (albeit a culture of
another era), that is music hall. Aspects of the texture might be conceived in terms of a
music-hall topic, because the suggestion of an off-beat right hand tallies well with many
music hall accompaniments, as does the slightly brash or mildly honky-tonk timbre. But
here again categorization is not straightforward because the sudden entry and ensuing
silence, and the ambiguous metric organization with the stresses implying a 2 plus 3 might
be taken to suggest the modernism of Bartók and Stravinsky or perhaps the additive
rhythmic patterns of certain Latin American musics.
The cadential figure is followed by a short rest, at which point sforzando Es
announce a shift up a tone to C sharp minor, the key center that dominates this opening
cue (despite its beginning and ending in B), and we encounter a somewhat different
topical reference with the swung, chromatic, walking bass unmistakably suggesting jazz
and blues traditions. But again we sense an intersection of references when a shift back
down a tone is underlined by the reinsertion of the opening figure which is again
articulated so as to give a sense of discontinuity at odds with the dynamic impulse of the
walking bass.
The shifting up and down a tone is a gesture particularly characteristic of rock, it perhaps
brings to mind the alternation between chord I and the “so-called flattened seventh”, a
pattern that tends to be considered a paradigm of rock harmony [1]. The use of two
chordal regions a tone a part is such that two tonics are implied in a similar manner to
that outlined by Stephenson in relation to rock’s ubiquitous major to relative minor
ambiguity [2]. But this pattern does not have the cyclic organization that would
characterize an overtly rock context, indeed the repeated but irregular shift between C
sharp, B and E suggest more of an extensional rather than an intentional approach to
musical construction, a distinction outlined in Andrew Chester’s influential take on rock
aesthetics [3]. Furthermore the implication of two tonics whilst having precedence in rock
might successfully be aligned to the juxtapositional logic of certain modernist musics
despite the dominance of popular-music or jazz idioms at the surface level of this score.
As the location of the picture track and sound shift away from the building site to a
busy London street the texture of the music fills out and there is a modal interchange with
the introduction of E sharps implying C sharp mixolydian. This reinforces the growing sense
of jazz as a controlling topic as do a series of right-hand piano figures that suggest
improvisation.2
By this means the ambiguity of musical style partially slips away as the cue
plays out. This topical solidification (as we might call it) is also the result of the melody’s
articulation of what I would term formalized blue notes – formalized in that, what Ripani
has identified as a range of pitches, is suggested by the sounding of both the major and the
minor third [5]. These notes (G and G sharp) are at times made to work functionally
through the implication of an augmented chord on the dominant, which then resolves to a
major version of the tonic (a progression particularly characteristic of trad jazz) (see the end
of bar 25 into 26 in Example 2 – note that the G is spelt F double sharp). The trill in the
right hand also highlights the “blue” character of the phrase in bar 27.
2
For a discussion of the notion of controlling topics see Sisman’s ‘Genre, Gesture and Meaning in Mozart’s
“Prague” Symphony’ [4].
417
Example 2: Opening cue of Riff Raff (Loach/Copeland 1991) with letters below staves indicating key
418
The developing sense of jazz as a controlling topic is of interest, because, to draw
again on Andrew Chester’s distinction between extensional and intentional musics, jazz
can be seen to have developed such that an essentially intentional music became more
closely allied to extensional structural approaches as its harmonic palette broadened and
the sense of large-scale harmonic movement became more common. Jazz, then, as with
much of the material in this cue is not easily situated within those higher-lower
distinctions of musical style that are habitually taken to suggest the differing strata of our
class-bound societies.
The close-reading strategy I have deployed in opening this paper especially when
focused, as it is, upon topical and genre reference already begins to give some sense of the
complexity of significations that underpin the use of even the simplest music in cinematic
contexts. It seems apt to begin with such an approach when wishing to consider class and
its relationship with musical topics, because class as a social category is, it seems to me,
particularly mobile and fraught with contradictions. It is not my intension, however, to
simply highlight such complexities and contradictions or to point out their reflection in
the music for Riff Raff. By relating my opening analysis to the theories of Charles Sanders
Peirce, which receive some qualification from Bourdieu’s notion of habitus, I hope,
instead, to explore the possibility of identifying the ways in which music might be
considered significant on two quite distinct but related levels. Identifying these levels in
relation to both class and music might, in turn, provide insights into comparable processes
that characterize the film text as a whole and lead us to reconsider Monelle’s claim that
we should not assume that the “signified [of the musical topic] was ever part of the social
and material world” [6]. I will first look at these theoretical models before bringing them
to bear upon the music of Riff Raff.
ACTUALITY AND MEANING
Peircian thought is characterized by triple thinking. For Peirce all thought can be
understood in terms of semiosis and this process entails three identifiable aspects the sign
(S), the object (O) and the interpretant (I). This, following G-G Granger and Monelle
[7], can be schematized as shown in Figure 1.
Figure 1: Monelle’s schematization of the Peircian sign-complex following Granger
The components of the sign complex are not static but instead generate a series or
network of significations because each interpretant will become a sign in relation to a new
419
thought that develops from it with reference to the object. Thus interpretants continually
develop but the object is relatively fixed.
The relative fixity of the object brings us to the wider significance of Peircian
thought. Each component of the sign complex is grounded in one of Peirce’s three
universal categories. Thus the sign can be described more broadly as firstness or
potentiality; the object as secondness or actuality; and the interpretant as thirdness or
habit.
Whilst triple thinking is central to Peircian models, there is a sense in which
oppositions are also important. Something of this importance is gained when we consider
his assertion that “nothing is more indispensable to a sound epistemology than a crystalclear
discrimination between the Object and the Interpretant of knowledge” [8].
What Peirce is getting at here is the sense in which actuality, the world as it is
regardless of what we take it to be, can be opposed to habit or what I will term meaning.
Actuality and meaning are related because the process of semiosis should lead to an everfuller
understanding of actuality or, to put another way, meanings will come to correspond
to actuality in the long run. But despite this convergence it will be necessary in certain
analytical contexts to discriminate between actuality and meaning.
The difficulty we can encounter in applying Peirce to say the music of Riff Raff is
that whilst his distinction between actuality and meaning provides considerable scope for
understanding the two levels of significance I wish to pursue in this paper, the idea that
actuality and meaning will always converge is not particularly helpful in theorizing their
stubborn separation in certain contexts. Or, to put another way, the idea that semiosis
develops towards a matching of meaning and actuality does not always accord with
aesthetic texts, because such texts can exhibit a central tension between their indexical
dimension (that concerning actuality) and their symbolic dimension (that concerning
their meaning).
It is on this point that the connection between the Peircian notion of habit
(thirdness) might be developed in relation Bourdieu’s concept of habitus. Habit, thirdness
or meaning is not simply the product of semiosis for Peirce it is in a sense the governing
principle of the process as a whole. Thus while the standard diagram of the sign complex
suggests three distinct but relate components we need to qualify this model by considering
the way in which the categories are contained within each other, suggesting the
schematization favored by José Luiz Martinez (see Figure 2) [9].
Figure 2: The interrelationship of the Peircian categories
420
For Peirce habit is the overriding principle of inquiry and it is thereby synonymous
with reason. In our efforts to understand the world we deploy those habitual activities that
allow us to gain an ever-fuller and more accurate understanding of actuality. In
considering a film or music text, however, the assumption that its meaning is driven solely
or even primarily by reason seems problematic. What I have termed aesthetic texts will
tend to concern themselves and/or an overtly unreal world and in this sense undermine
the more straightforward connection to actuality suggested by Peirce’s model. But how
then can we theorize the distinct levels of signification that I, following Peirce, term
actuality and meaning for a film such as Riff Raff? Bourdieu’s ideas on cultural production
point a way forward, I would suggest. Consider for example his statement that:
Each agent, wittingly or unwittingly, willy nilly, is a producer and reproducer of
objective meaning […] It is because subjects do not, strictly speaking, know what they
are doing that what they do has more meaning than they know [10].
This notion of a set of meanings that are unintended or derived from a kind of
unthinking process of production stands in stark contrast to Peirce’s ideas concerning
habit or reason. Like Peircian habit, however, Bourdieu’s notion of habitus points to a
generalized force that underpins human activity but it emphasizes the possibility of what
we might understand as a kind of ideological interference that can lead to the
reproduction or reinscription of assumptions and ideas that run contrary to the
engagement of actuality so fundamental to Peircian models.
I would not want to eject the possibility of Peirce’s more positive conception of
human endeavor, however, not least because it enables us to see why Bourdieu’s adherence
to the empirical method is vitally important to the success of his projects, but also because
it allows us to counter those claims that theories of ideology can simply be turned in on
themselves as they lack an account of how it is possible to escape ideology in order to
critique it. From this perspective the empirical method provides a means to pursue a fuller
understanding that will, in the long run, come good despite the power of the habitus to
interfere with such a process.
CLASS AND TOPIC IN FILM MUSIC
The theoretical possibilities afforded by Bourdieu’s notion of habitus when brought
within a Peircian framework are particularly useful as we approach the question of class
and how the representation of class might be manifest in the topical fabric of the music for
Riff Raff. Consider first the way in which the notion of class is itself subject to the tensions
that stem from the habitus/actuality split. This can be explored through the distinction
between class as culture and class as socio-economic position. This distinction highlights
the possibility of economic mobility unaccompanied by cultural renegotiation or only
partial change – the old adage that you can take someone out of the ghetto but you can’t
take the ghetto out of her or him. Furthermore a change in cultural modes of reference do
not necessarily entail a change in socio-economic position, like Susan in Riff Raff, one
might adopt the trappings of lower-middle class hippiedom and consider oneself a part of
the cultural industries whilst remaining precariously close to destitution.
If we accept the far-reaching distinction between actuality and habitus, however,
we can firstly recognize that an incongruence between the symbols of the habitus (class as
421
culture) and the indices of actuality (class as socio-economic position) should not lead us
to suggest that injustices at the level of actuality are no longer intelligible or relevant. If
there appears to be a tendency for high-low class-cultural distinction to be eroded by the
culturally omnivorous middle-classes this should not lead us to ignore what appears to be a
concomitant reinforcing of class division at the level of actuality or socio-economic
position. Furthermore, the possibility afforded by Peircian models concerning the process
through which meaning or understanding can be brought into line with actuality allows us
to reassert Derek Scott’s point, made with reference to Bourdieu’s Distinction, that it is
possible to trace a clear connection between class as actuality and the musical culture
developing around and through it [11]. In the final part of this paper I will bring these
arguments to bear upon the close reading strategies deployed during its opening.
In the study of popular music we can identify two central claims concerning its
value. The first, which tends to be used to counter Hanslickian thought, is the point that
popular music needs to be understood as a social phenomenon that makes no claims for
transcendence, claims which are themselves viewed with suspicion [12]. The second,
which tends to be used to counter certain Adornian arguments, is the point that popular
music places special emphasis on those elements that are transparent to traditional
Western music analysis, which Middleton frames in terms of “sound”, motoric stimulus
and nuance of pitch inflection [13].
These two points can be connected; it seems to me, through their tendency to
invoke the actual. The social world, for example, is located in actions and objects
(actuality) in a way that musical form and ideas are not. Similarly the narrowing of time
frame that characterizes those elements of particular importance to popular music reflects
the process by which actuality can be perceived. In Peirce’s phenomenological terms,
actuality is that which we knock up against and which is the case regardless of whether we
understand it as such. Similarly, whereas classical music reception will tend to value the
dynamic level of music in terms of its shaping, popular music reception tends to be more
concerned with loudness per se – the point is as much to feel the bass as it is to reflect on
its shaping.
In my account of the opening cue for Riff Raff I pointed to a number of broad
topical references and suggested a tension between them, a tension that can, in turn, be
taken to reflect a high-low cultural divide. I touched upon music hall, blues and rock and
opposed them to tendencies, albethey slight, towards modernist techniques in the
suggestion of additive rhythms and juxtapositional logic, and in the discontinuities in
dynamic impulse. The emergence of jazz as a controlling topic, I also suggested, is
significant at the level of meaning (as opposed to the level of actuality) because jazz has
become something of a middle-brow genre.
At the level of meaning then we can recognize in the music for Riff Raff a series of
topic-like references that serve as a means of negotiating the tension that derives from the
class incongruence between its subject matter (the British working class and homeless)
and its producers and audience, undoubtedly dominated by the professional or middle
classes. In this way we can begin to explain why jazz, a music so often used in film for its
association with black Americans, nightlife and clubs, is used to accompany shots of white
British people in the daytime on building sites and London streets.
But this tension at the level of meaning derived from analysis, it seems to me,
points to and intersects with a more fundamental tension articulated at the music’s own
levels of meaning and actuality. The point I am getting at here is that those elements
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more closely bound to music’s actuality do not tend to reflect the subject matter of the
film. The absence of a drum kit, an instrument that will, more often than not, play a key
role in providing the motoric stimulus of popular idioms, is particularly important here.
More generally the palette adopted is that of a kind of jazz trio clearly dominated by the
piano an instrument that, like jazz, has a mobile relationship with high-low cultural
divisions. The absence of a drum kit might not prevent the development of a sense of
motoric stimulus and indeed around bars 26 we gain something of this impulse through a
far less fragmented right-hand piano part and the brief introduction of an inner part to
provide further impetus. But this texture is reasonably short lived and needs to be placed
in the context of the particularly discontinuous passage that proceeds in bars 22 to 25.
It does not seem far-fetched to me, then, to posit a perceptible tendency for the
actuality of a film’s music to reflect more determinedly the actuality of the film. That is for
those elements that are often rendered transparent in traditional music analytical practices
to be particularly important in understanding not the meaning of the film (its characters
and narrative constructs) but its actuality – its social and market positioning and more
specifically the actions and lives of its producers. The “sound” of the topics, then, perhaps
says as much or even more about those institutions and producers that underpin the film’s
production and reception (i.e. Ken Loach, Channel 4, the International Federation of
Film Critics, the Spanish Academy of Cinematic Art and Science, and the large body of
organizations that form the Prix Italia community) as it does about the plight of large
sections of the working class and the homeless in Britain. Furthermore, just as class as
meaning or culture should not be wholly divorced from class as actuality or socioeconomic
position, so the class implications of musical topics should not be isolated from
the real world through which they develop because the class-implications of any musical
utterance comes into play at the level of the music’s very fabric or actuality.
Finally, then, and to stretch my central point a little further, might we even come
to question whether similar insights can be developed in relation to the film’s meaning? If
at the level of the music working-class idioms are made palatable by aligning those more
telling musical elements to the expectations of a middle-class audience could it also be the
case that the lives of British working class men and women are presented in accordance
with the habits or habitus of middle-class cinematic conventions so as to render them
assimilable by a more dominant stratum of society?
REFERENCES
[1] See Moore, A. F., 1995. “The So-Called ‘Flattened Seventh’ in Rock”. Popular Music
14(2) pp. 185-201.
[2] Stephenson, K., 2002. What to Listen for in Rock: A Stylistic Analysis. New Haven: Yale
University Press, pp. 48–49.
[3] Chester, A., 1990. “Second Thoughts on a Rock Aesthetic”. In: Frith, S. and
Goodwin, A. eds. On Record: Rock, Pop and the Written Word. London: Routledge.
[4] Sisman, E. R., 1997. “Genre, Gesture and Meaning in Mozart’s ‘Prague’ Symphony”.
In: Eisen, C. Mozart Studies 2. Oxford: Clarendon.
[5] Ripani, R., 2006. The New Blue Music: Changes in Rhythm and Blues, 1950-1999.
Jackson: University of Mississippi, p. 21.
423
[6] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, p. 23.
[7] Monelle, R., 1992. Semiotics and Linguistics in Music. Chur, Switzerland: Harwood.
[8] Peirce, C. S., 1931-58. Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce. Hartsthorne et al. eds.
Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press. Volume 4, Paragraph 539.
[9] Martinez, J. L., 2001. Semiosis in Hindustani Music. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, p. 63.
[10] Jenkins, R., 1992. Pierre Bourdieu. London: Routledge, p. 77.
[11] Scott, D. B., 2001. The Singing Bourgeois: Songs of the Victorian Drawing Room and
Parlour. 2nd
edition. Aldershot: Ashgate, p. xvi.
[12] See, for example, Tagg, P. Ten Little Tunes: Towards a Musicology of the Mass Media.
New York: The Mass media Music Scholars Press, p. 9ff.
[13] Middleton, R. Studying Popular Music. Milton Keynes: Open University Press, p. 55.
424
“To Everything There Is a Season”:
Topic Formation and the Hearts of Space
Byron Almén & James Buhler, The University of Texas, TX, USA
ABSTRACT
Hearts of Space is an American radio program that began in 1973 as a weekly show on
KPFA-FM in the San Francisco area devoted to a range of newly emergent music
genres—among them ambient and so-called “space” music. By 1983, it had achieved
sufficient stature to be syndicated on public radio stations across the U.S. and was part of
the development of a growing “New Age” movement, a phenomenon that it has
significantly helped to define and shape over the last thirty years. As a result of its
privileged status and dedicated fan base, the show has become a pivotal force in the
construction and formation of this new genre, including the development and codification
of its constitutive stylistic categories and subcategories. Soon after its syndication launch,
the program began to release CDs on its own record label; these efforts at branding were
eventually eclipsed by web-based distribution of its many weekly programs (totaling 980
episodes as of 25 May 2012) and recordings (around 150 as of the same date).
The show’s website offers numerous categorical divisions of its extensive content,
including geographical-stylistic genres such as “African-Sub-Saharan,” “Ambient,”
“Cinematic/Soundtrack,” and “Sacred/Choral,” among others. But the site reserves a
special place for organization via the four seasons: roughly 2/3 of its content has been
catalogued under one of these four categories. This foregrounding of seasonal topical
associations invites critical consideration of its classificatory criteria. In this paper, we will
offer a mapping of these seasonal topics and their subcategories. As an example of topic
formation in tandem with genre construction, the use of seasonal categories in Hearts of
Space offers a window into the complicated negotiations between artists, audiences,
distributors (both corporate and nonprofit), and the distinctive and emergent properties of
the genre.
INTRODUCTION
Hearts of Space is an American radio program that began in 1973 as a weekly show
on KPFA-FM in the San Francisco area devoted to a range of newly emergent music
genres—among them ambient and so-called “space” music. By 1983, it had achieved
sufficient stature to be syndicated on public radio stations across the U.S. and was part of
the development of a growing “New Age” movement, a phenomenon that it has
significantly helped to define and shape over the last thirty years. As a result of its
privileged status and dedicated fan base, the show has become a pivotal force in the
construction and formation of this new genre, including the development and codification
of its constitutive stylistic categories and subcategories. Soon after its syndication launch,
425
the program began to release CDs on its own record label; these efforts at branding were
eventually eclipsed after 2001 by web-based distribution of its many weekly programs
(totaling 985 episodes as of 24 July 2012) and recordings (around 150 as of the same date).
The show’s website (hos.com) offers numerous categorical divisions of its extensive
content, including geographical-stylistic genres such as “African-Sub-Saharan,”
“Ambient,” “Cinematic/Soundtrack,” and “Sacred/Choral,” among others. But the site
reserves a special place for organization via the four seasons: about half its content has
been catalogued under one of these four categories: 165 shows for summer, 133 for winter,
132 for autumn and 94 for spring. This foregrounding of seasonal topical associations
invites critical consideration of its classificatory criteria and this paper will offer a mapping
of these seasonal topics and their subcategories.
PROCEDURE
Because every weekly episode is characterized by three descriptions of increasing
size and level of detail—(1) a short one-to-six-word title, (2) a phrase or pair of phrases
that summarizes the essential content, and (3) a lengthier treatment of one or more
paragraphs that is also heard to accompany the program’s opening minutes, along with a
track listing narrated in the closing minutes—it is possible to produce a mapping between
the verbal descriptions and the musical–semantic content of the episodes within each
season category.
We approached this task from both a quantitative and a qualitative angle. The
quantitative approach consisted of processing all textual descriptions for the programs
within each seasonal category through a word-cloud generator. We then removed all nonpertinent
words, such as grammatical modifiers, from the word cloud. The remaining
words in the cloud provided a visual representation based on a statistical measure of the
semantically relevant terms central to the season. Tables 1-4, included in the Appendix,
illustrate the resulting word cloud (and accompanying word counts for the top 50 terms)
corresponding to each season.
The qualitative approach consisted in analyzing a representative sample of 50
descriptive entries for each seasonal category, drawn from four different periods of the
program’s history (early, early-middle, late-middle, and recent). Based on our own musical
expertise and our experience with the music and the site in question, we selected what
seemed to us to be the most important and salient terms for each entry. When possible, we
removed those terms that were common to all four seasons—terms such as “music” and
“ambience” that characterized the whole genre rather than a single season. From the
resulting list of terms, we selected those which were most common and/or most striking to
form a master list for each season. In so doing, we attempted to retain sufficient terms to
establish the diversity of semantic content. Next, we grouped these terms into emergent
functional categories based on shared features. Our analysis revealed that the terms
organize themselves into five functional categories: (1) nature images, (2) cultures, (3)
moods and symbols, (4) seasonal holidays, and (5) certain highlighted musical features,
genres, or types. Table 5, included in the Appendix, presents the selected terms for each
season grouped by functional category. We then compared the quantitative word-cloud
lists with the qualitative functional lists to determine whether certain terms worthy of
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attention had been omitted from one or the other. We made corrections to the qualitative
list based on this comparison.
Even given this classification, the terms and categories seems at first glance
somewhat scattered and diffuse. The lists, however illuminating, do not reveal the diverse
hierarchical deployment of terms within the signifying system. Examining their use
carefully shows that certain terms derive from other terms and that some terms play a
much more integral role in organizing the seasonal category than do others. This in turn
suggests that the seasons form a general conceptual matrix that generates and orders the
terms. We suggest a provisional hierarchy of these terms in the following discussion,
premised on the following principles that we imagine the site’s creative team to have
followed, at least implicitly.
1. Each season as a semantic entity is assumed to comprise a small set of primary
terms corresponding to a relatively more immediate range of associations that define the
basic conceptual topography of each season.
2. Another, larger, set of secondary terms can be derived from the primary terms.
These terms appear to characterize the primary terms more precisely and to contribute a
greater degree of nuance, but their connection to the season labels themselves are more
indirect.
3. Further levels of association can be established for the remaining terms until the
entire list is accounted for. In general, non-primary terms intersect with musical
signification and pull musical elements into the semantic orbit of seasonal topical
signification through the process of connotation.
4. We have not ruled out the possibility that a term may appear at multiple points
in the hierarchy (reflecting a kind of semantic reinforcement of the term from several
angles). The matrix also generates formulations that are hybrids of seasons and so are not
well-defined in and of themselves. Indian music, for instance—while associated primarily
with spring (e.g., 191)—also appears quite frequently with summer (e.g., 737) and many of
the Indian-themed shows (e.g., 839, 875, 948, and 979) are listed under both. Water and
light likewise figure in all seasons, although each season gives the term a distinctive
inflection. Other articulations of season arise from clouds of excess signifiers, any of which
may be present or absent but as a group nevertheless suggest the season. What is also
striking is that the seasons are not treated equivalently in either discursive or musical
registers despite their common hierarchical organizations. In both cases, different
categories are chosen as primary for each season. This provisional hierarchy helps to
explain the inclusion of each term and its place in the signifying system of each season.
5. Working against this proliferation of terms are various means of concentrating
the force of signification to increase the conceptual coherence of each season into a more
or less well-ordered metaphorical field. We have identified four primary means of giving
definition to this metaphorical field:
(a) Basic organizing concept—a general term that distills the conceptual
framework of the season. For example, summer’s basic organizing concept is heat; winter’s
concept is not cold, however, but absence.
(b) Representational tenor—a more particularizing term than the basic organizing
concept; it draws other terms in to fill out the conceptual framework with a distinct
metaphorical resonance. For example, summer’s representational tenor is plenitude, which
combined with the basic organizing concept of heat, yields the image of the steamy jungle.
427
In the case of winter, the representational tenor of austerity relates to deprivation, lack
and stasis.
(c) Characteristic timbre or instrument—an instrument or timbre consistent with
and reinforcing the organizing concept and representational tenor. The characteristic
instrument of summer, for instance, is the drum, whereas for winter it is the bell.
(d) Representational mode—the dominant set of codes (real to imaginary) and
hue (dark to light) that control the strategies of representation for each season. Both
summer and winter are characterized by a fusion of codes with respect to the continuum of
real to imaginary but they differ with respect to hue, with summer being light and winter
being dark. Table 6 presents a summary analysis of the terms of conceptual coherence for
each season.
Summer Fall Winter Spring
Organizing Concept Heat Decline Absence Emergence
Representational Tenor Plenitude Loss and
Melancholy
Austerity Pastoral
Characteristic Timbre Drum Wood flute Bell Guitar
Representational Mode Light Fusion,
Cultural
Codes
Dark Cultural
Codes
Dark Fusion,
Cultural Codes
Light Realistic
Codes
Table 6: Summary Analysis of the Seasons
The final step in the present analysis is to suggest certain musical features within
the episodes of each system that correlate with the system thus obtained. This process of
correlation is not simple, and a corresponding analysis proceeding in the other direction—
from a map of the musical-semantic content toward the verbal descriptors—is required for
a full treatment of the material. We have confined ourselves to the text-to-music direction
for the purposes of this paper in the interest of space. For the same reason, we have also
restricted detailed consideration to summer and fall.
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SUMMER
By far the largest category, summer also appears to be the most central to
establishing the matrix of the seasons, which is why we begin our analysis with it. It is also
the one that is most coherent in its organization and the one that emerged in definite
form at the earliest stage in the show. As noted above, the primary concept that organizes
summer is heat, and the other terms in the category reflect it in direct (desert), oblique
(dream, breeze) and even seemingly contradictory (cool) ways. The use of heat as the
primary organizing concept for summer leads directly to the association with warm
geographical regions, specifically the equatorial zones. Many of the summer-themed shows
therefore feature the music of the Middle East (108, 294, 523, 630, 631, 637, 670, 694,
698, 805, 811, 838, 878, 887, and 984), Latin America (559, 701, 706, 734, and 917) and
the Mediterranean (227,704, 571, 637, 668, 694, 769, 811, 846, and 950). In fact, summer
is somewhat unusual in having such a strong geographical emphasis to its representation.
Although each of the seasons does draw music from particular regions and although the
seasons are mapped onto global regions—summer as equatorial; fall and spring as
temperate; winter as arctic—so that a year seems to trace a cyclic journey from the equator
through the temperate zones, to the arctic and back, summer features cultural
importations far more prominently than do the other seasons.
The chain of associations often moves past geographical location to focus, for
example, on the most obvious climatic conditions of the equatorial zone, desert and
rainforest, which leads immediately to an opposition of humidity and aridity. This
opposition explicitly structures “Equator” (455). The program opens with this description:
STEAMY jungles, exotic birds, trackless deserts, and trancelike rhythms. Just a few of
the sights and sounds that come to mind when we think of the music on this program.
On this edition of Hearts of Space called EQUATOR, we travel along the sundrenched
midsection of the planet [...] in search of the spacemusic of heat.
The program includes music of Tuu (UK), Steve Roach (US), Vidna Obmana
(Belgium), Mo Bama (US), O Yuki Conjugate (UK), Jon Hassell (US), Robert Rich
(US), Alio Die (Italy) and basically consists of exotica of the equatorial region, that is,
music composed to evoke the concept of “heat” more as a figure of imaginary dream state
than as a signifier for actual geography. Other shows focus on the arid or on the humid
rather than on the opposition per se. Like “Equator,” “Tales of Sand” (434), for instance,
derives its sensibility from Western cultural myths and cinematic moods conventionally
used to depict the desert. The soundscape is more imaginary than real. Over the years, the
show has increasingly tapped into the resources of the burgeoning world music market to
fill in its imaginary soundscapes with concrete indigenous musical detail, the code of the
real.
Even with the increased use of modalities that draw liberally on nature sounds and
indigenous idioms, the show’s focus remains on the construction of imaginary rather than
documentary soundscapes. “Desert Caravan” (984), for instance, purports to offer a rich
mixture of North African, Greek, Turkish, Kurdish, Arabic, and Indian music. But the
show’s focus remains the image, “the romantic trans-cultural sound of the Middle East,”
rather than any actual sound rooted to place, and so the music selected retains a sense of
having been worked on to produce the imaginary particularity of its soundscape; its
representational modes continue to draw primarily from fusion or exotica rather than from
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nature sounds or indigenous folk music. The preference for a mode of representation that
emphasizes codes of the imaginary over those of the real seems even stronger for the shows
devoted to the rainforest or jungle (“Amazon Passage” (296), “Lagoon” (233), and
“Amazonia” (228)). This suggests perhaps that humid heat provides fertile conditions for
musical fantasy to run wild.
The steamy heat of the jungle is a figure of excess and plenitude, the
representational tenor of summer. The dry heat of the desert, by contrast, plays more
toward its contrary of austerity, the representational tenor of winter. As such, the jungle is
arguably more central to the image of summer than is the desert. Yet in general the
category of summer is defined less by the presence of positive terms than by structuring
oppositions: day/night, light/dark, wet/dry, excessive/austere, earth/sky, energetic/languid,
and in terms of representational modes real/imaginary. Even its primary structuring
concept of heat enters into the opposition with cold to form the common dyad warm/cool.
As in the case of desert, the minor term of the opposition is often an effective means of
representation, and the unrelenting quality of the major term, day or warmth, for example,
is often figured through negation by the respite offered by its corresponding minor term—
for example, the relaxing summer night, the refreshing cool breeze. Notably, the two
summer holidays that get the most attention—the solstice (Midsummer) and American
Independence Day (844, 916)—are both focused on evening activities, which likewise
emphasizes the minor term of the opposition. As befits their status as exceptions, holidays
disrupt the usual representational regime and disrupt the musical field. The shows based
around Independence Day, for instance, feature American patriotic music, which lies off
the representational grid of the show; so much so, that these shows are not even
catalogued under the rubric of “summer.”
These oppositions generate a constellation of tertiary terms that are not themselves
strictly speaking oppositional: earthy, rhythmic, sensual, sultry, floating, tribal, and so
forth. Earthy, sensual and sultry all relate to the representational tenor of plenitude, to the
manifest physicality of life, and to the requirements for its sustenance and reproduction.
Floating suggests a suspended, languid quality that plays toward the sky, a lifting of energy
that radiates upward from the earth. Prominent rhythmic figures, which, like melody, are
generally given less emphasis in the music featured on Hearts of Space, appear more
frequently in summer, and it is likewise linked to the energetic quality: rhythm as selfperpetuating,
organic, the heartbeat of the world. Summer is also therefore more likely to
feature the sound of the drum, its characteristic timber, which links it as well to a tribal
element. As noted above, summer is of all the seasons the one most likely to draw on
indigenous music and from a much wider range of sources. The profusion of musical
cultures in summer draws from the tenor of plenitude but also suggests the musical
articulation of human culture at its zenith.
AUTUMN
Autumn presents an interesting contrast to summer. Rather than heat, the basic
organizing concept is decline. Because autumn therefore works on the conditions of
summer, it is a transitional season, presenting the turn from heat to cold, the shortening of
the day, the descending angle of the sun. “As the shadows grow longer, the earth rumbles
and contracts and the leaves wither and die, leaving a world of orange, red and brown
430
relics decaying on wet ground” (539). Autumn is structured not by opposition but by
mixing and a loss of the distinctions of summer. As such the representational strategies of
autumnal music do not rely as heavily on geographical regions. That is, unlike summer
with its polyglot of cultural importations, few autumnal programs focus exclusively on
musical evocations of a particular geographical region. The main exception to this rule is
the relatively common appearance of Native American music (404, 437, 504, 577, 608,
647, 677, 710, 744, 783, 817, 854, 893, and 929), which might relate symbolically to the
notion in the American imaginary of Native American culture as historically destined to
fade as the frontier advanced. In these cases, the modality of musical representation rarely
moves beyond evocation and fusion; the programs only present, as it were, the ghostly
trace of Native American music, usually in the form of a breathy, melancholic wood flute
playing in an idiomatic fashion. In any event, the representational modality of pure
indigenous folk music, uncommon even in summer, is virtually absent from autumnal
programs.
Soundscapes for the autumnal programs are primarily constructed around the basic
organizing concept of decline itself: dark timbres, muted colors and dysphoric, sometimes
turbulent moods. And mood is the dominant representational mode. This gives autumn a
representational tenor of loss and melancholy. If autumn is the season of harvest and
momentary abundance, any feeling of exuberance is tempered by the recognition that the
world is dying and that the stores cannot be replenished. The clearly marked oppositions
that ruled over summer recede into an undifferentiated world of mist and gloom. Autumn
therefore also presents a crisis of cultural articulation, where on the one hand an assertive
stormy face rages at a loss of distinction that its turbulence only further erodes, but on the
other hand a pensive elegiac face reflects on those distinctions that it can retain only as
haunted forms. This play between energetic turbulence and introspective haunting gives
autumn a narrower, but more characteristic representational field than summer, whose
representational range is much wider, but also for that reason more diffuse. It is not
surprising then that unusual emphasis is given to the zodiac sign of Scorpio and the crossquarter
festival of Halloween, which celebrates the dark spirit of nature and inflects the
season’s representational tenor of loss toward a gloomy melancholia.
CONCLUSION
As mentioned above, the preceding semantic analysis of the season categories in
Hearts of Space forms one part of a larger project. Missing from the present discussion are
the roles that the musical content itself plays in the establishment and development of the
new topical categories. For example, features of the ambient and spacemusic genres
themselves constrain the range of acceptable semantic choices; these choices give rise to
particular significatory axes rather than others. Furthermore, pre-existing musical topoi
certainly suggest, through their inclusion in the weekly programs, other music-topical
associations that can be more determinative of topical categories that those derived from
verbal descriptors.
Finally—and especially in the earlier stages of the program’s history—the choice of
repertoire to be included in individual programs appears to be more determinative than
the semantic associations with which they are (or become) associated. This observation
also touches upon the larger issue of how the seasonal topics were shaped over time. In the
431
program’s early years, seasonal categories were not explicit, since these categories appeared
only with the emergence of the website archive in the last decade or so. Instead, the back
catalogue of titles appearing on the program before syndication and the demands of
surveying new recordings were likely the primary influences at this point. Insofar as Hearts
of Space is a weekly program, the neo-pagan aspects of the New Age genre (including
seasonal associations) would have emerged naturally out of consideration of what should
be included at a particular point in the year. Over time, the implicit weight of emerging
seasonal connotations would have suggested themselves directly to the program’s creative
team, and would likely have become a more explicit criterion for the development of
episode content. By the time seasonal categories were introduced, the program had a long
unspoken history of associations to draw upon. Later programs (after about Episode 600)
are therefore more articulate with respect to seasonal distinctions, a phenomenon that is
less focused in the earlier episodes. As a result, the formation of seasonal topics can be said
to result from a complex interplay between musical content and associations, semantic
content and associations, the influences of the foundational genres (ambient, spacemusic),
issues related to producing a weekly program, and the influence of new forms of
distribution (syndication, the internet). These issues will be further developed in our
future publications on this subject.
432
APPENDIX
Top 50 counts: journey (86), summer (82), sound (78), night (76), ambient (76), sounds (74), desert (68),
electronic (67), time (67), dream (56), light (54), Indian (52), moon (51), western (51), earth (50), dance (46), rich
(45), African (45), sky (45), blue (41), years (39), today (37), life (37), dreams (37), water (37), deep (35), song
(35), ancient (34), guitar (34), harmonies (34), sun (34), rhythms (34), garden (32), long (31), soundscape (31),
celestial (30), return (29), green (29), east (29), days (29), trance (28), last (28), cultures (28), warm (27), Africa
(26), spirit (26), way (26), heart (26), real (26), wind (25), middle (25), forest (25)
Table 1: Summer
Top 50 counts: world (104), time (82), journey (65), dark (64), autumn (61), sound (61), earth (54), song (52),
ambient (51), cello (51), light (50), blue (47), sky (46), native (45), night (44), silver (38), series (37), classical
(36), wave (36), flute (34), piano (34), days (33), electronic (32), American (32), prayer (32), ancient (32), fall
(30), cedar (30), lost (30), years (28), land (28), deep (27), dream (27), songs (25), black (25), harmonies (25), city
(24), cold (24), sounds (24), moon (24), spirit (23), return (23), spirits (22), sacred (22), canyon (22), sun (22),
voices (22), instruments (21), coyote (21), dance (21), shadows (21).
Table 2: Autumn
433
Top 50 counts: winter (136), time (83), light (81), world (64), sound (62), journey (62), electronic (53), night (46),
northern (43), bells (43), season (40), earth (39), cold (38), ice (37), silent (37), Celtic (36), sounds (35), deep
(34), piano (33), harmonies (33), crystal (32), north (32), snow (31), celestial (31), days (31), song (31), winter's
(30), ambient (30), come (28), voices (27), heart (27), instruments (26), sacred (25), dream (25), dark (25), blue
(25), life (24), spirit (24), year (24), Tibetan (24), spacemusic (24), songs (23), early (23), wind (23), classical
(23), inspired (22), ancient (22), harp (22), bowls (22), spring (21), sky (21), art (21)
Table 3: Winter
Top 50 counts: spring (69), world (56), journey (53), time (52), sound (47), earth (46), Indian (42), sounds (40),
ambient (38), electronic (38), moon (34), night (33), sacred (32), light (30), heart (28), Celtic (27), green (27), life
(26), water (25), winter (25), ancient (24), long (24), sea (23), musicians (23), day (22), garden (22), last (21),
blue (21), celestial (20), days (20), prayer (19), harmonies (19), years (19), east (19), western (19), wave (19),
classical (19), age (18), white (18), air (18), dream (17), quiet (17), spacemusic (17), classics (17), sun (17),
pacific (16), century (16), movement (16), wind (16), chilled (16), sky (16)
Table 4: Spring
434
Summer Fall Winter Spring
Nature
images
Jungle
Desert
Water
Breeze
Sky
Warm/Cool
Day/Night
Mist
Shadow
Darkness
Transition
Gloom
Cold
Twilight
Mountains Seas
Dark/Light
Cold/Warm
Water
Thaw
Day
Green
Dawn
Light
Birds
Earth
Cultures Mediterranean
Arabic
Indonesian
Spanish
Latin America
Equitorial
South Asian
Scandinavia (like
winter)
Native American
Peru
Scandinavia
Tibet
Eastern Europe
Celtic
Classical (choral)
Celtic (St. Patrick’s)
Pacific
Japan
India
China
England
Middle Eastern (like
Summer)
Symbols Energetic/Languid
Floating
Tribal
Rhythmic
Dream
Culture
Life
Changing
Bittersweet
Hidden
Calm
Foreboding
Catharsis
Somber
Ghosts
Spectral
Subtle
Restraint
Deflationary
Receding
Wistful
Turbulence
Quiet
Consolation
Harmony
Peace
Catharsis (like Fall)
Austerity
Silence
Nothing
Death
Cyclic elements
Dawn of Culture
Redemption
Rebirth
Emergence
Pastoral
Garden
Fertility
Nature
Holidays Midsummer
American
Independence Day
Halloween/All
Saints Day
Scorpio
Christmas
Solstice
New Year's
St. Patrick's Day
Easter
Music Drum
Rhythm
Wood Flute
Lullaby
Elegy
Bell
Christmas Carols
Choral
Drone
Wire-strung
instruments
Nature sounds
Guitar
Table 5: Semantic Fields by Season
435
Topical Uses of Opera in Television
Commercials: Three Case Studies1
Su Yin Mak, PhD, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, HK
ABSTRACT
This paper adapts and broadens topic theory to study the interaction between cultural
themes and musical styles within a contemporary context in which the rhetorical act is
clearly circumscribed: the television commercial. Comparative analysis of three
television commercials from Britain, Korea and Hong Kong which all use Puccini’s
“Nessun dorma” as soundtrack demonstrates different semiotic alignments between
cultural and musical codes. I argue that these commercials not only articulate subsets of
a global cluster of meanings associated with opera, but also posit new, locally defined
connotations for the topos. The analysis also problematizes opera’s place within current
debates about “high” and “low” culture, and explores the extent to which these
classifications are continually being repositioned.
INTRODUCTION
Recent research has witnessed growing interest in the ways global and local
factors interact in the production of meaning in music. The methodologies that have
emerged, though diverse, are inevitably grounded in the notion of style. That is, when
considering the ways in which communities of listeners recognize, construct and
interpret musical meanings, reference to stylistic categories or distinctions is
unavoidable. Yet the question of how styles may foster rhetorical linkage between music
and meaning, and more crucially how the modes of such linkage may vary from
community to community, have rarely been addressed from a music-theoretical
perspective.
This paper adapts and broadens topic theory to study the interaction between
cultural themes and musical styles within a contemporary context in which the
rhetorical act is clearly circumscribed: the television commercial. It will be in two parts.
Part I draws attention to three semiotic features of musical topics that allow the efficient
communication of meaning, and considers how the associations of Italian opera in
popular culture may be modeled topically. Part II compares and analyzes three television
commercials from Britain, Korea and Hong Kong which all use Puccini’s “Nessun
Dorma” as soundtrack, but which have very different intended messages, towards
demonstrating the multivalent role of music in the promotion of social and cultural
paradigms.
1
This paper is a shortened version of my article “Pitching the Sale: A Cross-cultural Comparison of Operatic
Topoi in Television Commercials,” Musica Humana Vol. 3 No, 1 (Spring 2011), p. 61-82.
436
PART I: TOPIC THEORY
Since conference participants are no doubt familiar with topic theory, I will focus
directly on three semiotic features of musical topoi that are particularly noteworthy for
our present purpose. First, topical signification is dependent upon familiarity with
stylistic conventions and knowledge of the cultural contexts in which they have been
habitually employed. Second, topics signify metonymically: stylistic gestures are
recognized as tokens of a type rather than appreciated for their uniqueness. Third, the
notion of “topic” does not describe a one-to-one correspondence between gesture and
meaning, but rather posits semiotic links between a characteristic musical style and a
range of expression.
The point may be illustrated by the pastoral topos in Western art music of the
common practice period. Composers and listeners of the time would have had a shared
consensus on the stylistic markers for the pastoral: moderate tempo, compound duple
meter, use of wind instruments, and simple diatonic harmony often involving a drone.
These features together constitute a single topical category, yet its signification is
multivalent. It may function as a marker for low social status (as in the aria “Deh veni,
non tardar” from The Marriage of Figaro, which is sung by Susanna, a maid servant), or as
a Christian symbol of the Nativity (as in Handel’s “He shall feed his flock like a
shepherd” from The Messiah). It may even metaphorically refer to a lost Arcadia to
signify nostalgia and loss (as in “Der Lindenbaum” from Schubert’s Die Winterreisse). The
pastoral topos points towards a cluster of related meanings, which a composer may
selectively call forth depending on the needs of the particular communicative context. It
delimits, rather than dictates, the shared response that a particular musical style will
induce.
Compare the topical use of “Italian opera” in contemporary popular culture.
Since musical topoi function as aural analogues of cultural topoi, in today’s heterogeneous
global culture they often have a greater semiotic range, and may indeed even enshrine
potentially contradictory meanings. To cite an obvious example, “Italian opera” signals
“Italian-ness”, but because this “Italian-ness” would be variously stereotyped by different
communities of listeners, the topos might evoke timeless classicism for some, ephemeral
fashion for others, and even the Mafia for certain American audiences. Likewise, the
elitist connotations of opera can be interpreted positively or negatively. Indeed, opera
could suggest both emotional authenticity via its associations with the passionate and the
opposite effect of emotional phoniness via its associations with social snobbery.
The following issues arise: What happens to the signification process when
stylistic recognition remains constant but the social and cultural context has shifted? Do
disparate listening communities articulate different subsets of a global cluster of
meanings, or do they each posit new, localized associations? Do other semiotic factors
come into play? The rest of this paper considers these issues with reference to three
television commercials from Britain, Korea and Hong Kong with operatic soundtracks.
The analysis proceeds from a clearly-defined communicative function – from meaning –
to the part played by music in the realization of that meaning.2
To minimize the number
of variables, I have chosen examples which all use the same music: the aria “Nessun
Dorma” from Puccini’s Turandot.
2
Thus I approach the question of musical meaning from the same direction as Nicholas Cook in the opening
chapter of his book Analyzing Musical Multimedia (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998). My topical methodology
is, of course, quite different from Cook’s.
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PART II: THE TELEVISION COMMERCIALS
The notion of musical topic, derived from the cultural contexts in which stylistic
gestures have been habitually employed, signifies referentially. It therefore has
tremendous potential as an analytical model for the use of music in advertising: Because
advertising is an act of rhetorical persuasion that, unlike the one-on-one sales pitch,
relies entirely on mass media, it is consequently dependent on widespread social
meanings rather than on personal motivations for consumption. In modeling both the
shared recognition of characteristic musical styles and their associated meanings for a
given community of listeners, topic theory allows us to analyze musical styles as social
and cultural signifiers – as what Umberto Eco has termed “cultural units” [1].
An Example from the UK
My first example is the BBC’s title sequence for its telecast of the 1990
Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) World Cup competition,
which features a performance of “Nessun Dorma” by Luciano Pavarotti [2]. The
sequence begins with scenes from classical antiquity, which turn out to be part of the
décor of a grand theatre. Accompanying these images is the introductory chorus of the
aria’s last section. At Pavarotti’s solo vocal entry, the stage curtains open to reveal two
muses dancing around a giant World Cup trophy on what looks like a grandstand, with a
large crowd of spectators in the background. On the word “vincero” (“I will win”), we
see virtuoso play by famous footballers from international teams, and finally, on the
climactic high C, we see goals being scored and celebrated.
An Italian aria sung by Italy’s most famous opera star is an obvious means of
identifying the locale for the football tournament, and points towards several meanings
popularly associated with opera: passion, virtuosity and spectacle. Pavarotti’s role as the
BBC’s World Cup spokesman also resonates with the first “The Three Tenors” concert,
which took place in Rome on the eve of the 1990 World Cup final and similarly
establishes a link between the worlds of opera and football.3
But why merge the
highbrow, elitist associations of opera with the working class sport?
Such a usage might be read in the light of two factors in Britain’s cultural climate
at the time, the first having to do with opera and the second with football. As David T.
Evans has shown, in Britain a state-supported opera has been promoted since the 1940s
as an integral part of “culturism”, out of the belief that “a wider distribution of culture
through society is desirable” and that “opera along with the best in all art forms should
be available to everyone rather than just the privileged minority.” [3] A related
phenomenon is the classical music boom in the 1980s, thanks to the rise of the compact
disc and aggressive “crossover” marketing by record companies. This made Pavarotti a
superstar. Three months before the BBC selected “Nessun Dorma” as its World Cup
theme, the celebrity tenor’s compilation of his greatest hits, entitled “The Essential
Pavarotti,” became the first classical album to make it into the British pop music charts,
eventually reaching No.1 on 23 June 1990 [4]; “Nessun Dorma” spent 11 weeks in the
singles chart and reached No.2, the highest position ever for a classical work, on 30 June
1990 [5].
3
I was, however, unable to find any documented evidence as to whether advance publicity for the Three
Tenors concert might have influenced the BBC’s choice of World Cup theme music.
438
As for football, from the late 1960s football hooliganism was a well-known social
problem in Britain, and by the 1980s this “English disease” was being exported to
continental Europe. On 29 May 1985, a serious riot occurred at Heysel Stadium in
Brussels on the occasion of the European Cup Football Championship Final between the
English and Italian teams Liverpool and Juventus. Shortly before kickoff, Liverpool
supporters stampeded through section barriers towards their rival fans, causing 39 deaths
and more than 400 injuries. The tragedy resulted in all English football league clubs
being banned from playing in European competitions by the Union of European Football
Association (UEFA), a ban that was not lifted until 1990, the year of the World Cup.4
In light of the crisis in the image of professional football in Britain around 1990,
the BBC’s use of “Nessun Dorma” as its World Cup theme communicates complex and
multiple layers of message. First, the operatic style is a means of gentrification, but in
order to avoid alienating the traditionally working class football audience, the BBC
downplays the elitism and exclusivity popularly associated with opera by choosing an
aria and a singer with mass appeal. Second, the use of an opera aria as a football anthem
both acknowledges that football involves passion, physical strength, and acts of
virtuosity, and implies that these qualities may be expressed in a genteel and civilized
manner. Likewise, the quasi-classical and theatrical allusions turn spectator sport into
spectacle, and situate the World Cup tournament in a “safe”, non-violent environment.
Finally, the image of Pavarotti further distances football from its associations with
hooliganism, as the singer’s big, cuddly persona is about as far removed as possible from
that of the football thug. The advertising message relies on both the topical associations
for opera and the persona of the performer. Indeed, Pavarotti himself becomes a
commodity that enshrines the very qualities that the operatic style is meant to project.
Two Examples from Asia
The semiotic role of singer’s persona may be clarified by my next example, a
Korean commercial for luxury apartments by the Doosan Construction Company [6].
The commercial begins with the image of a satellite orbiting the earth in space. A
female voice marvels, “It’s the sun – no, it’s The Zenith’,” and tall skyscrapers rise up
from the ground. The picture then switches to the interior of a luxury apartment
decorated in a contemporary modernist style, and occupied by an elegant woman in an
ornamental pose. The voice-over changes to a male voice: “The 80th floor: how high
you live represents how high you have risen in life.” As the woman moves to stand in
front of a picture window with a spectacular view of the city, the message is made
explicit: The Zenith is “for the top in Korea.”5
Why does “Nessun dorma” accompany images of technology and outer space,
images that are quite foreign to opera’s usual range of reference? As in the BBC title
sequence, the music in the Zenith commercial is also a quotation of a popular hit, and
the singer’s persona likewise plays an important role in its signification. What is quoted
– and credited on screen – is a performance by Paul Potts. Potts was a mobile phone
salesman in a small town before rocketing to worldwide fame after winning the 2007
Britain’s Got Talent competition with a performance of this very aria [7]. In January
2008 he began an international concert tour that included performances in Korea. Potts
cultivated a public persona as a man of humble origins whose talent and perseverance
4
I am grateful to Christopher Pak for drawing my attention to the significance of the Heysel Stadium riot.
5
I am grateful to Youn Kim for helping me translate the Korean text of this commercial.
439
led him to success, and this image was propagated by the Korea media in the advance
reports of his concerts in Seoul [8].
In this Korean commercial, Potts is thus an icon for rags-to-riches success, his
high C an aural analogue of the skyscraper that symbolizes the “zenith” of achievement.
Moreover, the commercial taps into the primary topical association for opera in Asia,
which is social rather than cultural elitism – a social elitism that moreover, is premised
on wealth rather than on notions of taste and refinement. Like the staidly elegant
woman in the commercial, the opera topos is a status symbol and a status symbol only.
The advertising message has little engagement with the passion and theatricality of the
music, which has become a mere subtext.
This is not the case in my last example, which is also a commercial for
apartments from Asia, but one by the Hong Kong property developer Sino Land [9].
How does the operatic soundtrack participate in the construction of social paradigms? In
line with the property’s ostentatious name, The Palazzo, the commercial is replete with
overblown images of opulence and aristocracy (horses, ballrooms, grand staircases and
the like). It also alludes to a stereotypical understanding of opera plots: there is some
sort of love story that involves feverish pursuit and complex intrigue before ending with
passionate consummation. Furthermore, all the actors in the commercial are Caucasian:
what is being touted as “a classic above it all” is the “Western-ness” of a Europhile
imagination.
Market research has shown that Chinese consumers tend to associate global
images and foreign appeals in advertising with status, modernity, and cosmopolitan
sophistication. In a study by Nan Zhou and Russell W. Belk, which uses a readerresponse
approach to learn how Chinese consumers react to television and print ads with
various emphases on the global, foreign or Western on the one hand, and the Chinese,
local or Asian on the other, informants have commented that foreign models “have
better figures and better dispositions,” “show the prestige of the owners,” and “look more
expressive and unrestrained.” The researchers conclude that “the current gauge of status
and success in China is the degree to which something is thought to be ‘global’, or more
accurately, Western … as it is a symbol associated with people who are recognized as
being successful, those claiming to be successful, and those aspiring to success.
Consumption of Western things is perceived to separate the ‘successful’ from the
‘unsuccessful’” [10].
In Hong Kong, the association between opera and luxury residential
developments is a commonplace one. Because opera performances are seen as occasions
for social networking among the elite, they are often sponsored by property developers
who wish to capitalize on opera’s exclusive status. The inaugural gala concert of Opera
Hong Kong, the city’s professional opera company, is a case in point. The name of a
luxury property, Residence Bel-Air, is prominently displayed on the concert poster,
while the names of the performers only appear in fine print (see Figure 1).
440
Figure 1: Poster for Opera Hong Kong’s inaugural gala concert6
As in its Korean counterpart, then, the Hong Kong commercial uses the opera
topos as a shorthand signifier of high status and wealth. Yet here the impression of
luxury is mostly window dressing: the property is actually located in a suburb near an
industrial area — not a high-end neighbourhood at all — and includes small-size units
targeted towards the middle-class buyer rather than the economic elite. Now the target
buyers are well aware of the huge gap between the advertising image [11] and the actual
product (Figure 2): so what is the advertising message? I believe that, unlike the Korean
commercial, what is being sold here is not a realistic status symbol, but a fantasy ideal of
an imagined cosmopolitanism; not “this property is tangible proof that you have attained
success,” but “this property would make you feel like you are living in the passionate,
sophisticated, luxurious and Westernized world of grand opera.”
Figure 2: The Palazzo, photograph by the author (2011)
6
Reproduced by kind permission of Opera Hong Kong.
441
This is a dubious message indeed for those who know that most grand operas do
not have happy endings. For those who are familiar with Puccini’s aria, the text of
“Nessun Dorma” is also difficult to reconcile with the advertising of residential
properties. Beginning with the words “no one will know his name” is surely inauspicious
for brand recognition, and besides, who would want to live in a place where “none shall
sleep!” Yet, before we mock the Asian advertisers for their imperfect understanding of
Western highbrow culture, it is worth remembering that the original meaning of the aria
is also irrelevant to the BBC example we saw earlier. As David T. Evans has suggested,
the fact that opera is performed in languages that audiences are not expected to
understand serves the generalized international requirements of advertising well; all the
consumers need to know is that they can experience a “quality moment” by listening to
what they are assured is “quality music” [12]. If in these commercials the misalignment
of cultural and musical codes posits an ironic relationship between high art and mass
culture, such irony is surely unwitting.
Power, authority and social class have long been articulated through cultural
artifacts and their accompanying rituals, and, to quote the cultural historian Lawrence
Levine, “precisely the same forms of culture can perform markedly distinct functions in
different periods or among different groups [13].” In the three television commercials, we
have seen how the operatic style is plundered and fragmented to form part of a globally
or locally oriented cultural code. In modeling both the shared recognition of
characteristic musical styles and their associated meanings for a given community of
listeners, topic theory allows us to analyze such usage as social and cultural signifiers. It
allows the scholar to problematize opera’s place within current debates about “high” and
“low” culture, and to explore the extent to which these classifications are continually
being repositioned. After all, it is the intertextual spaces between music and culture that
have the richest meaning.
REFERENCES
[1] Eco, U., 1976. A Theory of Semiotics. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
[2] The BBC, title sequence for the 1990 FIFA World Cup telecast,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqzz7B7V2IE
[3] Evans, D. T., 1998. Phantasmagoria: A Sociology of Opera. Aldershot: Ashgate,
p. 116-117.
[4] “Pavarotti Scores in the Pop Charts.” The Economist, 23 June 1990.
[5] The Official Charts Company Archive. http://www.theofficialcharts.com/search-results-
album/_/nessun+dorma
[6] Doosan Construction and Engineering, commercial for “The Zenith” apartments,
2008, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJi_h_b6Ty4
[7] The Paul Potts Official Website, http:www.paulpottsofficial.com
[8] “Singer Paul Potts Coming to Korea.” The Korea Times, 29 January 2008.
[9] Sino Land, commercial for “The Palazzo” apartments, 2008,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0kJErS3fQA
[10] Zhou, N. and Belk, R.W., 2004. “Chinese Consumer Readings of Global and Local
Advertising Appeals.” Journal of Advertising 33 (3), p. 63-76; quotation from p. 68-69.
[11] Sino Land corporate website,
http://www.sinoland.com/eng/default.asp?xid=hkp_pfs_res_nt_tp
442
[12] Evans, D. T., 1998.
[13] Levine, L., 1998. Highbrow/Lowbrow: The Emergence of Cultural Hierarchy in
America. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, p. 240.
443
Listening to the Pop Music within the
CCTV Spring Festival Gala
Jingdi Li,The University of York, UK
ABSTRACT
After Reform and Opening Up, the CCTV Spring Festival Gala, from the governmentcontrolled
station China Central Television, has disseminated performances to the whole
of China annually on Chinese New Year’s Eve. This programme has become the most
watched television show in China with hundreds of millions of enthusiastic viewers
nationwide. Its total length is 4.5 hours including all sorts of musical forms, not only
focusing on traditional Chinese music, but also trying to introduce new kinds of Pop
music. An examination of post reform Pop music on the CCTV Spring Festival Gala
stage will shed light on how Chinese musical development continues to be closely
intertwined with politics under tight state control.
Since the Reform and Opening Up Policy was introduced in Mainland China in
1978, China’s relationship with the outside world and its self-image have altered
drastically, while the relationship between music and politics has continued to push
Communist agendas and to maintain a favorable view of the Party.
In this paper, I will focus on the Pop music theme from the most widely watched
TV program of the past 28 years in China: the Spring Festival Gala that is broadcast
annually through the official propaganda arsenal of the Party-China Central Television
(CCTV in short). After its first broadcast in January 1983, the four-hour long TV show
caused immediate shockwaves throughout China, and even brought overseas Chinese
circles a sense of home. The total number of viewers was reported to be 499 million after
the 2012 CCTV Spring Festival Gala, which was confirmed as a Guinness record [1].
After the implementation of the Reform and Opening Up policy, with economic
change has come a cultural shift; foreign capital has arrived, bringing with it new
cultural influences. Such rapid changes have challenged China’s traditional culture.
Communal identity is no longer only based on closed borders and strong political
ideology. Most Chinese people now share a similar goal to their western peers, which is
to improve their lives economically. The country looks and feels very different to its prereform
self. With its vast audience and place at the centre of China’s most culturally
significant national festival and holiday, the CCTV Spring Festival Gala is an ideal tool
for promoting ‘harmony’ by instilling a sense of identity and cohesion. However, while
much attention has been paid to the sociological, economic and communication
dimensions, little work has been done from a musicological approach [2] [3] [4].
How did politically influenced Pop music come to feature as the Party’s newest
propaganda tool in post reform China after a history of underground growth? I attempt
to answer that and the following questions in this paper: how and why was Pop music
introduced to Chinese audiences for the first time via the official propaganda platform,
444
the CCTV Spring Festival Gala, in 1983; what does the music sound like; how did the
Party ‘communicate’ to the audience and deliver certain political information by
encouraging and playing this type of Pop music; how did the audience receive it?
In 1978 the Chinese government introduced the Reform and Opening Up Policy,
enacted at the Third Plenary Session of the 11th Central Committee of the Communist
Party of China, aimed at opening China to the global economy and shifting it towards a
market economy [5]. The term ‘open’ mainly referred to the outside world, in a broad
sense, but also included internal opening. In these many ways, China’s economic
development has had a huge impact. This policy changed China’s course politically,
economically and culturally, in an attempt to gain global acceptance. While the value of
Chinese civilization was challenged on the one hand, the Party on the other hand, was
trying to maintain the idea of ‘harmony’ nationwide which has played a strong part in
Chinese culture for 2,500 years. Harmony, an idealized way of expressing uniformity and
conformity, features heavily in the works many Chinese philosophers, including
Confucius. Maintaining harmony during this modern period of such great and rapid
change is an issue for the Chinese government. The Reform and Opening Up period has
seen a resurgence of interest in traditional Chinese music and instruments, as well as in
Chinese history and traditional legends in general. The government has introduced new
national holidays to mark Chinese traditions, such as Chinese New Year’s Eve, and
encouraged interest in Chinese history, art and music. At the same time, the
relationship between music and politics has remained a regular feature of life, and
represents the voice of the Party. Under its direct control, China Central Television
broadcasts the CCTV Spring Festival Gala in order to promote China’s transnational
unity and its social harmony during the Party’s new holiday evening, and also
reconstructs China’s multi-culture.
Mao required the direction of Chinese art to “remain the revolutionary theme” as
it is a “part of the revolution career” and “represents the great Chinese people and their
benefit” [6]. Since then, most Chinese artistic work has assumed a Communist identity,
in other words serving as the Party’s propaganda tool. However, after the Cultural
Revolution, the Party’s propaganda became much subtler.
Using Pop music (or tongsu gequ in Chinese) as a propaganda weapon on the
CCTV Spring Festival Gala in 1983, was a significant turning point for the Party.
CCTV invited a female Pop singer Li Gu-yi to perform nine songs in that year’s Spring
Festival Gala, including “The Love of my Hometown”, which has a strongly characteristic
Pop style. However before the reform, Pop music was banned by the Party and
considered the sound of ‘decadence’, a symbol of ‘Capitalism bourgeois’, it was even
renamed by the left wing newspapers as “Huangse gequ” (“porno songs”) because it
“sounds vulgar, contrived, and has no connection to the revolutionary career”, it is the
“low art” [7] [8]; additionally, China’s highest leader Deng Xiao-ping announced a public
document against ‘spiritual pollution’ three months before that performance. In this
document, he says: the situation of the commercialized spiritual products influenced by
the western world has reached its limitation [9] [10]. In regard to this, the Chinese
Scholar Song Xiang-rui, from the Wuhan Conservatory of Music, thinks CCTV’s
behaviour in 1983 “was such a contradiction to the Communist Party’s demand” [11].
But was this really a contradiction?
In opposition to Song’s opinion, I think the first taste of Pop music on the CCTV
Spring Festival stage was not a conflicting event. After the opening up, the Communist
Party gradually abandoned its priority of being the only resource for information on
445
literature and music. From the communication point of view, the mass audience became
an active receiver instead of the final passive target of the communication process. This
model was reinforced dramatically. Information and feedback about various music
themes and styles, especially Pop music, were exchanged among the audience regularly.
They were eager to experience their real feelings by choosing the music they enjoyed,
not just that fed via the Communist Party’s choices. Influences from nearby Asian
countries and further afield were introduced and widely spread in mainland China via
unofficial channels, which was a cause for concern to the Party because of the
unexpected underground growth of Pop culture, that prompted Deng’s previous
discourse. Therefore, as the ‘receiver’, during this music dissemination process, more
than one billion Chinese people did hear one voice at the same time decided by their
‘sender’: an exquisite female voice gently performing in a ‘untrained’ style, delivering a
sweetly melodic line within a relatively narrow musical range, as friendly as any ordinary
person’s speaking voice, completely different from the Western operatic singing style or
the revolutionary themed marching songs during the Cultural Revolution, and it was
readily accessible and memorable. Moreover, the lyrics were also very approachable and
romantic:
We are far apart, but you keep all my deepest love.
Even if it is hard to meet you again, I will always remember your voice,
just let the wind bring my emotion to you, my dearest hometown […]
After decades of strict control by the Party, the audience was deeply touched, and
almost convinced this was a freshly composed love song. The singer and her song both
soon became well known throughout the whole nation [12]. Pop music might originally
have been a product of the bourgeoisie, but it could be refined and “serve the Great
Chinese proletariats life” too. Nevertheless, this was only the prelude to the introduction
of Pop music in mainland China on the CCTV Spring Festival Gala stage. China had
opened its culture to the globe and with the barriers down, the Chinese people became
free to explore outside influences.
Deng also indicated two primary missions of the country in the 80s: focusing the
nation’s attention on economic growth and resolving the problem of Taiwan [13]. This
explains the following performances of 1984 and 1985’s CCTV Spring Festival Gala
music performance: respectively, the Hong Kong singer Zhang Ming-min who brought
his song “My Chinese Heart” followed by the American Taiwanese singer Fei Xiang with
his songs “The Fire in the Winter” and “The Clouds of my Hometown”. By inviting
these singers, the Party was trying to express the point that Hong Kong and Taiwan are
both part of P.R China, and the latter will return to its motherland sooner or later;
Chinese people both from Taiwan and mainland are a family, just as Fei’s lyrics described
‘Come back home, you wandering wanderer’ in “The Clouds of my Hometown”.
The most recent and surprising performance was in the 2009 Gala [14]. It
attracted the highest viewership of any year’s Spring Festival Gala according to the
media research company CSM’s data [15]. It was a joint performance mixed from two
individual repertoires performed by two of China’s most popular music stars—Song Zuying,
a well-known Communist propaganda singer, and Taiwanese Pop star Jay Chow.
Jay’s original song title Bencao Gangmu comes from a Chinese materia medica work
Bencao Gangmu written in the fifteenth century by one of the greatest Chinese herbalists
and acupuncturists in history. Jay composed the music and Fang Wen-shan the lyrics.
The performance begins with Jay Chow’s rap singing accompanied by a mixture of
446
traditional Chinese flute, Western electric guitar and drums. Jay is wearing a shining
gold jacket decorated with a Chinese Long (dragon) pattern on his legs, resembling an
ancient Chinese emperor standing against a red background, along with 3D projections
of the pieces in Chinese chess. He sings:
If Hua Tuo7 is still alive, the idolization of the foreign world would be cured.
The national consciousness would be stimulated when foreigners all come here to
learn characters.
All these herbs are my treasure,
I shall recreate history in my own way.
If you have time please read the following words,
The lyrics as shown above are the first section of Bencao Gangmu. With the music
continually playing, a nine-year old boy named Hou Gao-Jun-jie, wearing identical
clothing to Jay Chow’s, joins in as a guest singer while performing a popping dance.
They are singing together:
Lotus seeds, goji berries. (A list of Chinese medical herbs that shares the same
rhymes)
I am honored to take some Chinese herbs […]
The music carries on with the hook of Bencao Gangmu as shown in the second
line of the two bars below (Fig. 1).
Fig 1. The hook part of Jay Chow’s Bencao Gangmu.8
But Hou sings (from bar 9 to 16, as shown in Fig. 2 below):
(Lyrics)
Spice girls of red pepper
Spice girls, hot as pepper
They love pepper as children
They still love them grown up
They marry men loving peppers
Peppers put their love to test
Spice girls, hot as pepper
7
Hua Tuo (140-208) a Chinese ancient physician.
8
All musical examples are my own transcriptions.
447
Fig 2. Song Zu-ying’s Spice Girls
As the notation above shows, similar rhythmic patterns can be seen in the two
songs. Spice Girls, composed by Xu Pri-dong, was originally performed by Song Zu-ying,
the best-known folk propaganda singer. Song was born in Mao Ze-dong’s hometown in
Hu Nan province where the first military uprising of the PLA took place. The local
people including Mao himself enjoyed eating spicy food. Once Mao joked “spicy pepper
is the real food for revolutionaries” [16]. When Jay become a drummer on the traditional
Chinese big drum, enhancing the heated atmosphere, the audience cheers and applauds.
As the music gradually approaches its hook again, Song Zu-ying rises slowly in the
middle of the stage, singing the hook of her own Spice Girls (see bar No.9 to 16, Fig. 2).
The audience screams and sings along with the performers. The background music still
remains Jay’s Pop tune, but is performed by artists from multiple backgrounds. Age,
gender, even the lyrics seem to be not as important as the two singers’ determination to
give a joint performance. Jay’s Pop song Bencao Gangmu perfectly marked his Chinese
cultural identity, which satisfied the Party’s political expectations. Nothing could better
express Chinese unity than the most famous singer—moreover from Taiwan—in a
costume inspired by traditional dress, playing a Chinese drum and bringing together
many other elements from traditional Chinese shows.
Claude Shannon formulated the idea of measuring the quantity of information in
a given message by examining its “surprise value”, in other words its degree of
“predictability or unpredictability” [17]. The high degree of unpredictability in this
collaboration proved a highly effective means of furthering Party ideals. The sender, as
the Party, delivered a very successful performance provided by the artists from mainland
China and Taiwan. Although the political issue with Taiwan was not resolved as Deng
wished, the common heritage and shared tradition of celebrating Chinese New Year
with a musical performance was a major contribution in achieving the ideal of ‘harmony’
in Chinese society.
CONCLUSION
The Reform and Opening Up policy not only revolutionized China’s economic
and political order, but also re-orientated China’s mainstream culture by fostering
politically influenced Pop music to further the Communist Party’s political aims and
ideals regarding Chinese society. Designed as a strict propaganda device, the CCTV
Spring Festival Gala has progressively harnessed modern technology and singers from
different backgrounds to increase its audiences each year. Through its first experiment of
448
introducing Pop music it has gradually become the major propaganda force sustaining
the centralised power of the Communist Party.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to thank the Music Department, University of York for supporting my
participation in this conference.
REFERENCES
[1] Zhang, T. The audience of CCTV Spring Festival Gala in 2012 has reached 499
million, a new Guinness world record. [Online]. Tencent. 6 April 2012. Available at:
http://ent.qq.com/a/20120406/000005.htm [Accessed 10 April 2012].
[2] Gao, H. The rising of Pop music on the CCTV Spring Festival Gala. Chongqing today
[on-line]. Available at: http://d.g.wanfangdata.com.cn/Periodical_jrcq200909025.aspx
[Accessed 23 September 2011].
[3] Luo, T.Z. The not so popular mainstream music performances of the CCTV Spring Festival
Gala. Northern music [on-line]. Available at:
http://d.g.wanfangdata.com.cn/Periodical_bfyy200703022.aspx [Accessed 23 Sept. 2011]
[4] Song, V.4., 2007. CCTV Spring Festival Gala and its singers from HK & Taiwan,
Wanfang data [on-line]. P.15. Available at: http://d.g.wanfangdata.com.cn/Periodical_hzwhyyxyxb200704003.aspx
[Accessed 23 September 2011].
[5] Deng, X.P., 1993. Selected works of Deng Xiao-ping. Beijing: People’s Publishing
House, Vol.3, p. 269.
[6] Mao, Z.D, 1991. Selected works of Mao Ze-dong. Beijing: People’s Publishing House, p.
905, and p. 794.
[7] Ibid., [4].
[8] Chen, documentary broadcast, the witness of the phenomenon, Li Ye-mo, presenter.
CCTV 1, 16 June 2008.
[9] Deng, X.P., 1993, p. 145.
[10] Song, V.4., 2007.
[11] Ibid.
[12] Gao, H.
[13] Deng, X.P., 1993.
[14] Xinhua (2009). The rating of 2009’s CCTV Spring Festival Gala, Jay and Song won the
highest rate. [Online]. Available at: http://news.xinhuanet.com/ent/2009-
02/04/content_10760139.htm [Accessed 6 February 2010].
[15] Wang, K.Z., (ed.) 2009. China TV Rating Yearbook, Beijing: Communication
University of China, p. 28
[16] Qi, F. Mao and his “pepper revolution” theory. [Online] 360 library data.1 May
2010.Available at: http://www.360doc.com/content/10/0501/09/535749_25662857.shtml
[Accessed 6 June 2012].
[17] Hopkins, Brooks, Neumann and Wright. “An experiment in musical composition”.
[Online] IRE Transactions on Electronic Computers, Vol. 6, No. 1. Available at:
http://www.music-cog.ohio-state.edu/Music829D/Notes/Infotheory.html [Accessed 4
May, 2012].
449
The Bolero Rhythm in Rock
Mark Yeary, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN, USA
ABSTRACT
The Bolero rhythm, a triplet-infused rhythm pattern derived from Maurice Ravel’s
“Boléro”, appears in a number of rock music singles beginning in the late 1960’s.
Although Ravel’s highly recognizable pattern is commonly quoted in many genres of
popular music, the Bolero rhythm takes on added significance in the realm of hard rock:
it acts as a symbolic musical topic that represents military fanfare. In this paper, I
provide a brief history of the Bolero rhythm topic as it appears in rock recordings, and I
explore the features that characterize this topic—triplet patterns, a featured snare drum,
and a unison “riff”—as it is frequently heard in a rock context.
INTRODUCTION
In the genre of early 1970’s music that we now call hard rock, three bands fought
for supremacy: Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and Deep Purple. Although Deep Purple’s
legacy has softened over time, their star burned brightly in 1970; the group that had
offered the pretentious Concerto for Group and Orchestra just a year earlier met the new
decade with a more focused, no-nonsense approach, as heard in their album Deep Purple
In Rock. The obligatory minor-mode rock ballad that closes side 1 of this album, “Child
in Time,” is a showcase for newly hired vocalist Ian Gillan; the section that follows the
song’s opening verses features Gillan soaring through the upper range of his head voice,
reaching a peak of A5. And although the eight-bar instrumental break that follows may
seem incongruous to modern ears, this brief passage is the perfect match to the intensity
of Gillan’s stratospheric scream as it prepares the following guitar solo. This break, with
its percussive, triplet-infused unison riff, is known to rock musicians as the Bolero
rhythm.
Example 1: Deep Purple, “Child in Time” [1].
The Bolero rhythm appears in a handful of rock recordings of the late 1960’s and
early 1970’s, and we may safely assume that its title is derived from the well-known
Maurice Ravel work of the same name. But whereas the eight-bar break in “Child in
Time” shares Ravel’s use of triplets, there is little else in this passage that would suggest
association with Boléro. Treating this rhythmic break as a hard-rock convention allows
us to look beyond Ravel, and beyond the dance it represents, and in the examples that
follow I offer a framework for hearing the Bolero rhythm as a shared cultural code—a
musical topic—with its own associations derived from a handful of musical features.
These features are the triplet rhythm pattern, the snare drum, and the monotonic unison
riff.
450
BOLÉRO, “BECK’S BOLERO,” AND THE BOLERO RHYTHM
That the Bolero rhythm takes its name from Ravel’s Boléro is largely due to the
popularity of this work among Western listeners of all cultural strata. One of the more
notorious assessments of the cultural currency of Boléro comes from Allan Bloom, whose
1987 monograph The Closing of the American Mind focuses on the implications of
repetitive rhythm: “Young people know that rock has the beat of sexual intercourse.
That is why Ravel’s Bolero is the one piece of classical music that is commonly known
and liked by them [2].” Perhaps Bloom’s decision to single out of Boléro was influenced
by its featured role in the 1979 movie 10, in which Jenny, portrayed by actress Bo Derek,
tells Dudley Moore’s George Webber that “Boléro was the most descriptive sex music
ever written.” Yet if we wish to propose references to Bolero in rock, there are much
more suitable candidates to be found: “Abbadon’s Bolero” by Emerson, Lake and Palmer,
and “Bolero,” a section of the side-length track “Lizard” by King Crimson, both use
Ravel’s snare-drum pattern as an ostinato, in its original triple meter, with Ravel-like
melodies floating above. Another contemporary recording, “The Bomber” from the
James Gang’s 1970 album James Gang Rides Again, contains a middle section labeled
“Bolero,” attributed to Ravel, in which both Ravel’s melody and his 3/4 snare ostinato
are preserved; Ravel’s estate threatened legal action upon the release of this album, and
the track was edited to exclude the Bolero section in subsequent pressings.
In comparison, the break from “Child in Time” would strike us as a rather weak
allusion to Ravel’s Boléro. If we wish to associate this passage with another musical work,
a more compelling alternative is the influential 1967 single “Beck’s Bolero,” featuring
guitarists Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page. Though both Beck and Page have in the past
claimed authorship of the track, both acknowledge that Page was responsible for the
Bolero rhythm that drives the opening section; not surprisingly, Page specifically
mentions Ravel’s Boléro as the inspiration for the rhythm pattern of the piece [3]. The
stature of Beck and Page among hard rock guitarists, and the surprising chart success of
“Beck’s Bolero”—released a year after its recording date, as a B-side to the bubblegum
pop tune “Hi Ho Silver Lining”—suggests an attractive alternative to the Ravel lineage:
Deep Purple and other performers of the Bolero rhythm may have turned to “Beck’s
Bolero,” not Ravel’s, for their musical inspiration.
Example 2: Jeff Beck, “Beck’s Bolero [4].”
FEATURES OF THE BOLERO RHYTHM
The triplet rhythm pattern heard in Page’s strummed 12-string guitar is the most
aurally distinct element of the Bolero rhythm: it is a salient departure from the simple
meter typical of rock music. And whereas the cultural influence of Ravel’s Boléro
suggests that this triplet rhythm is the mark of a dance topic, a broader survey of 19thand
20th-century Western concert music confirms that triplet rhythms may conjure any
number of musical associations. Raymond Monelle writes in The Musical Topic that a
triplet or 6/8 rhythm is often used to invoke hunting, but this is a rather unlikely
interpretation in a rock context. More promising for our purposes is Monelle’s
association of triplets with march topics: in a pithy statement in The Sense of Music,
Monelle notes that Leonard Ratner’s description of march topics omits “an essential
451
feature of the march: its tendency to articulate in dotted figures and triplets, which
continued well into the nineteenth and twentieth centuries [5].”
With this possibility in mind, I offer another late-1960’s single that makes similar
use of triplet rhythms. Although the snare drum riffs heard in the opening minute of
David Bowie’s 1969 single “Space Oddity” are not an instance of the Bolero rhythm,
they do share with the Bolero rhythm the same use of triplet figures. Drummer Terry
Cox’s triplet patterns, heard in relief against the simple-meter texture of guitars and
vocals, capture the solemnity of the moments leading up to a spacecraft launch. “Space
Oddity” invites us to consider triplet rhythm patterns in a context that has little to do
with dance: these rhythms are the sounds of a ceremony, and as such we may understand
them as a form of march topic.
Example 3: David Bowie, “Space Oddity [6].”
The introduction to “Space Oddity” and the Bolero break in “Child in Time”
share more than just triplet rhythms: in each passage, the percussionist performs the
rhythm pattern solely on the snare drum. To the modern listener, the snare drum is able
to evoke images of ceremonial marches with relative ease; it is one of the instruments
most associated with military music. Yet this association is relatively recent: Monelle
notes that the trumpet, not the snare drum, was understood as the primary instrument of
military music up to and including the early 19th century, and that “the military snare
drum was at first excluded from European bands because it was established as a signaling
instrument in the West [7].” Once admitted into the orchestra, the snare drum quickly
became identifiable as a signifier of marches or calls to military action, as befitting a
signaling instrument: the most obvious use of the snare drum in this capacity is heard in
the opening movement of Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony, dubbed “Leningrad.” The
snare-driven ostinato that dominates this movement is the military equivalent of Ravel’s
Boléro. Whether one hears this passage as either patriotic propaganda or dystopian
parody of war, its signification of the German/Russian encounter during the Siege of
Leningrad is unmistakable: the snare drum is both the call to arms and the sound of the
battlefield.
Example 4: Dmitri Shostakovich, Symphony no. 7, I. Allegretto [8].
In contrast, the snare drum has always been a staple of rock; the constant
presence of the snare backbeat in rock is not the sound of battle, but of youthful energy
and dance, as aptly captured by The Beatles in their single “Rock and Roll Music.” But
the percussive strikes of the snare can also model the sounds of military procession, and
examples of the Bolero-as-march rhythm beckon within the genre of hard rock, with
noted gun enthusiast Ted Nugent providing the most telling of these. In the 1975 single
“Stranglehold,” drummer Tommy Aldridge produces the Bolero rhythm march signal,
while Ted Nugent’s overdubbed guitar lines, with their sudden shift to the major mode,
provide the unmistakable trumpet fanfare that punctuates his triumph over Death:
“some people think they gonna die someday / I got news you never got to go.”
Example 5: Ted Nugent, “Stranglehold [9].”
The third element of the Bolero rhythm, the monotonic unison riff, is lacking in
the percussion-only rhythm pattern heard in “Stranglehold,” but in a tutti or
homophonic texture it is always present: the classic Bolero rhythm break is the sound of
452
a single repeating note or chord, with changes in pitch only where mandated by a
change in harmony. Such bluntly repetitive riffs, of course, are a staple of the genre of
rock that would become heavy metal, and as such they have attracted the greatest ire of
rock critics: the unison riff is maximally simple music made accessible to contemporary
youth with little capacity to digest polyphony. The notebooks of 1970’s rock critics such
as Lester Bangs and Robert Christgau are filled with invectives against riffmasters like
Black Sabbath, as their barbs take aim at both the technical limitations of the band and
the haplessly simple results of their performances. Yet Deep Purple are clearly above such
limitations: the tightly synchronized Bolero rhythm riff in “Child in Time” is not the
sloppy sound of drug-addled performers outfitted with overly loud amplifiers.
Done well, simplicity can be a difficult thing to achieve: whereas any foot soldier
can master the simple steps of a march, coordinating the steps of hundreds of soldiers
requires effort and discipline. And although this observation opens the door for an
Adornian critique of repetition in popular music, numerous scholars have rebuffed such
critiques by embracing the social connotations of simplicity. Robert Walser’s defense of
simplicity in Running With the Devil is particularly fitting for this purpose: while
acknowledging the repetitive similarities of heavy metal music and military marches,
Walser states that the purpose of marches
is not to inculcate mindlessness but rather single-mindedness. […] both marches and
metal sometimes rely upon an impression of simplicity for their social effectiveness,
an impression that in fact may be made possible only by considerable skill and
technical mediation and that may serve to help articulate complex social meanings
[10].
The archetypal Bolero rhythm break, therefore, is a display of military precision,
which lends itself well to the tropes of power that Walser and other rock scholars locate
in nearly every sonic detail of hard rock: in the guitar’s distorted timbre, in the vocal
scream, and in the whack of the drums. But the Bolero rhythm does more than simply
repeat a march pattern in homophonic texture: it does so by repeating a single pitch.
There is no melody to speak of in the Bolero rhythm: the extensive repetition of a pitch
thwarts the basic human expectation of pitch variation as an essential melodic element.
This distinction is critical: whereas a regularly rhythmic melody suggests the musical
coordination of human activities such as dances and marches, the same rhythm used in
the service of a single repeated sound is anti-lyrical, even anti-musical, as Stravinsky
aptly demonstrated by using his repeated “Augurs chords” as the sonic record of
primitive ritual. Human speech is never strictly monotonous, barring physiological
impairments; but the sounds of humans’ activities, their physical exertions upon the
world, can be monotonous, and in industrial society they often are. The single repeated
pitch or chord in the Bolero rhythm is not a musical accompaniment to marching
soldiers: it is the sound of marching itself, of boots upon stone, and of war machines.
The exemplar of this tactic in Western concert music is Holst’s “Mars, the
Bringer of War,” the first of seven movements from The Planets. “Mars,” like the first
movement of the “Leningrad” Symphony, is about battle, but the two works emphasize
different aspects of battle: whereas Shostakovich gives a sonic rendering of a battle
scene, Holst chronicles the impending threat of attack. Holst’s pulsing figure heard in
the low strings and percussion provides the ominous backdrop of war, the sounds of
innumerable assembled forces, which characterizes the movement. All of the ingredients
of the Bolero rhythm break are heard in this riff, and if this movement were as widely
453
known as Ravel’s Boléro I might be discussing the “Mars rhythm” in rock, similarly
transformed into a 4/4 meter.
Example 6: Gustav Holst, The Planets, I. “Mars, the Bringer of War” [11].
The Bolero rhythm represents battle in a rock context equally well; it is heard at
the climactic moment of “The Knife,” a recording by the progressive rock group Genesis
that tells of a fictional, dystopian armed revolution. Following a long instrumental
section that includes the sounds of soldiers’ voices and guns, the Bolero rhythm enters
with a monotonic unison riff that stands in shocking contrast to the multi-layered
passage that precedes it. This unison riff gives way to a slightly more complex blues-scale
riff, and organist Tony Banks soon follows with an arpeggiated figure, seemingly to
remind us that we are, in fact, listening to Genesis. In a nod to Allan Bloom’s critique of
rock music, the actions portrayed by this musical section are indeed mindless; singer
Peter Gabriel’s lyrics point toward the futility of violent revolution. Yet the effect of
militaristic single-minded uprising is fully present in this passage: it works perfectly as a
soundtrack for the pending and actualized conflict of Gabriel’s revolutionaries.
Example 7: Genesis, “The Knife” [12].
CONCLUSION
As I’ve noted earlier, the Bolero rhythm held a relatively brief period of
popularity: Ted Nugent’s “Stranglehold” is one of the later rock recordings to employ the
Bolero rhythm as a break. Its strength as a musical topic is its ability to model the sounds
of marching and battle; when grafted onto a less militaristic context, as in the Styx
power ballad “Lady” from 1974, it is reduced to one of many tropes of power heard in
1970’s rock. But shades of the Bolero rhythm may also be heard in the newer generation
of hard rock that emerged mid-decade, as heavy metal bands such as Judas Priest and
Iron Maiden favored a riff-heavy texture that left little room for the R&B-derived
textures of 1960’s rock. In the following clip, taken from the first track of Iron Maiden’s
1981 album Killers, the Bolero rhythm is heard as an extension of the unison,
rhythmically driven section that opens the piece: the effect is no longer one of
difference, but of rhythmic diminution. The title of this track, “The Ides of March,”
provides a wonderful double entendre with which I’d like to conclude: although we may
acknowledge the nominal links between the Bolero rhythm and the Ravel work of the
same name, my exploration of the Bolero rhythm suggests that the historical and topical
path of this motive may be understood in its most prototypical form—as a triplet-infused
snare pattern, accompanied by monotonic riff—as a late 20th-century form of a march
topic, signifying the mechanized sounds of military activity, and the procession of
military might.
Example 8: Iron Maiden, “The Ides of March” [13].
454
REFERENCES
[1] Deep Purple, 1970. Deep Purple in Rock. [CD] London: Harvest.
[2] Bloom, A., 1987. The Closing of the American Mind. Simon & Schuster, New York,
p. 73.
[3] Rosen, S., 1977. “Jimmy Page.” Guitar Player 11 (July).
[4] Beck, J., 1968. Truth. [CD] London: Columbia.
[5] Monelle, R., 2000. The sense of music: Semiotic essays. Princeton: Princeton
University Press Princeton, NJ, p. 26.
[6] Bowie, D., 1969. David Bowie. [CD] London: Philips. Remastered, 2009.
[7] Monelle, R., 2006. The musical topic: Hunt, military and pastoral. Indiana University
Press, Bloomington, IN, p. 119.
[8] Shostakovich, D. Symphony no. 7 “Leningrad”. [CD] St. Petersburg Philharmonic
Orchestra, conducted by Yuri Temirkanov. New York: RCA Victor Red Seal, 1996.
[9] Nugent, T. 1975. Ted Nugent. [CD] New York: Epic.
[10] Walser, Robert, 1993. Running With the Devil: Power, Gender, and Madness in Heavy
Metal Music. Wesleyan University Press, Hanover, NH, p. 49.
[11] Holst, G. The Planets. [CD] London Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Georg
Solti. London: Decca, 1991.
[12] Genesis, 1970. Trespass. [CD] London: Charisma.
[13] Iron Maiden, 1981. Killers. [CD] London: EMI.
455
The Big Note, Xenochrony and All
Things Contextual: Frank Zappa and the
And
Paul Carr, the University of Glamorgan, UK
ABSTRACT
This essay is an edited version of the introductory chapter to a forthcoming book being
published by Ashgate entitled Frank Zappa and the And: A Contextual Analysis of his
Legacy (2013). The essay outlines the richness of Zappa’s career in terms of
semiological depth, and how his cross-referencing of both his own, other composers
music, and popular culture at large provides a complex web of meaning, in which he
often re-signified musical materials in subtle, and often humorous ways.
INTRODUCTION
Composer, guitarist, film maker, satirist and political activist, of all the
prominent rock musicians to emerge during the mid 1960s, Frank Zappa is arguably the
most complex and prolific. During his 27 years in the public eye (1966–1993), Zappa
released over 60 official albums between the inaugural The Mothers of Invention
recording Freak Out! [1] and Civilization Phase III [2], a figure that does not include
numerous bootleg recordings, or the “official” posthumous releases made available by the
Zappa Family Trust. This inexhaustible creativity is complemented by unusual
eclecticism, with Zappa being one of the few rock musicians to interface with both high
and low culture on a regular basis, a process in which he freely juxtapositioned otherwise
disparate musical styles (such as doo-wop, reggae and musique concrète) within the same
compositions and albums. Besides a tendency for implementing this artistic freedom via
his much quoted maxim, “anything, anytime, for no reason at all” [3], Zappa also
progressively cross-referenced his own, other composers’ music, and popular culture at
large throughout his career, providing a range of what Roland Barthes described as
obvious and obtuse meanings for his audience [4]. For example, Absolutely Free [5] alone
has allusions to “Louie Louie”,9
Stravinsky’s The Rite Of Spring,10
Petrushka,11
and The
Soldiers Tale,12
“Duke Of Earl”,13
“Baby Love”,14
Holst’s The Planets Suite,15
Irving
9
Quoted between 0:06–0:16 of “Plastic People”.
10
Between 0:00–0:07 and 0:16–0:21 of “Amnesia Vivace”.
11
Between 1:29–2:07 of “Status Back Baby”.
12
Between 1:25–1:32 of “Soft Cell Conclusion”.
13
Quoted between 0:46–1:00 of “Amnesia Vivace”.
14
Quoted between 1:11–0:47 of “The Duke Regains His Chops”.
15
Between 0:08–0:26 of “Invocation and Ritual Dance of the Young Pumpkin”.
456
Berlin’s “God Bless America”,16
and “White Christmas”,17
all of which simultaneously
depict obvious genre synecdoches, in addition to more obtuse relationships between
signifier and signified, what Barthes describes as the third meaning. He commented:
I do not know what it’s signified is, at least I am unable to give it a name, but I can
see clearly the traits, the signifying accidents of which this – consequently
incomplete – sign is composed [6].
This process of course has a particular resonance with instrumental music, whose
commentators have noted long-standing concerns regarding the relationship of abstract
sound to language based concepts and descriptors. Edward Hanslick’s (1825–1904) then
controversial belief that “instrumental music cannot represent the ideas of [emotions
such as] love, anger and fear” [7] were reiterated over one hundred years later by Michel
Imberty, who stated:
The musical signifier refers to a signified that has no exact verbal signifier […]
musical meaning, as soon as it is explained in words, loses itself in verbal meanings,
too precise, to literal: they betray it [8].
It is important to note that Hanslick in particular was not asserting that musical
structures could not impart extra-musical meaning, but that they “can [only] express the
various accompanying adjectives and never the substantive, [for example] love itself” [9].
Zappa himself appeared to have a clear belief in the semiological power of music,
describing the process as Archetypical American Musical Icons in his biography,
incorporating them to put what he described as “a spin on any lyric in their vicinity”
[10]. Regarding the intended impartation of meaning, he stated:
The audience doesn't have to know, for example, who Jan Garber or Lester Lanin is
to appreciate those textures – the average guy is not going to say ‘Hey, Richie!
Check this out! They're doing Lester!’ He knows what that style means. He's
groaned over it in old movies on Channel 13 for years [11].
When discussing the incorporation of a similar, albeit less pervasive practice in
Ice Cube’s “When Will They Shoot” [12], Robert Walser outlines how Ice Cube “is in a
dialogue with these artists, there contexts, [and] their audiences”, assuming “of his
listeners a certain kind of cultural literacy” [13]. This comment not only resonates with
Zappa’s acute awareness of his audiences’ musical knowledge, which he used as a
semiotic horizon to not only signify meaning, but to re-signify musical materials. As
indicated in a recent essay in Contemporary Theatre Review, Zappa would often
“accentuate the light entertainment of otherwise serious pieces by superimposing
frivolity over the original text” [14], resulting in compositions such as Also Sprach
Zarathustra and “La Donna è Mobile” becoming detached from their original meaning, as
parts of a musical bricolage. This juxtaposition of low and high art occurred not only via
overt quotation, but also more subliminally in pieces such as “Fountain of Love” [15] and
“Status Back Baby” [16], both of which incorporate fragments of Stravinsky’s The Rite of
Spring and Petrushka respectively. In addition to attacking the seriousness of high art,
Zappa is quoted as regarding the introduction of Stravinsky into his early work as “a get
16
Between 0:47–0:54 of “Soft Cell Conclusion”.
17
Between 0:00–0:02 and 1:50–1:52 of “Uncle Bernie’s Farm”.
457
acquainted offer” [17], seemingly using these gestures as tasters for the more avant-garde
experiments he was to introduce later in his career. Indeed when one reflects on the
processes highlighted above, Zappa’s practices resonate somewhere between the ideals of
Paul Hindemith’s notion of Gebrauchmusik,18
and the elitist musical snobbery outlined
by Milton Babbitt in his 1958 essay “Who Cares if You Listen”, where the complexity of
Babbitt’s tonal language is seen to call for an “increased accuracy from the transmitter
(the performer) and activity from the receiver (the listener)” in order for the work to be
“communicated” [18].
THE ONTOLOGICAL STATUS OF HIS MUSIC, AND REFERENCES TO HIS
OWN AND OTHERS’ WORK
It is important to point out that musical references to Zappa’s own work are also
prevalent, with indicative examples including “Help I’m A Rock” [19], “Dog Breath, In
The Year Of The Plague” [20], and “Lonely Little Girl” [21], in addition to his final
album Civilization Phaze III [22], which merges music from the early 1990s with material
from Thing-Fish [23], The Perfect Stranger [24], and Lumpy Gravy [25]. Although this
practice could be regarded as self-plagiarising, Zappa considered it as similar to the reemergence
of characters in novels, he commented:
When a novelist invents a character. If the character is a good one, he takes on a life
of his own. Why should he get to go to only one party [26]?
Although this overt cross-referencing process could be sarcastically regarded as a
means of manipulating the music business, facilitating what Ben Watson describes as “a
neurotic response to mass culture: the transformation of consumer into collector” [27], it
also has the impact of making the intended meaning and classification of Zappa’s work
unusually problematic: for example albums such as London Symphony Orchestra Vol.1 [28]
and Hot Rats [29] are classified as Rock/Pop by the All Music Guide,19
despite their
explicit classical and jazz leanings. Additionally, depending on where one accesses
Zappa’s music chronologically, this constant recursion of musical and cultural material
has the potential of instigating a psychological Russian Doll effect on the listener, often
prompting the close examination of not only his musical influences and past/future
catalogue, but also the extra-musical meanings that he is referring to.
Regarding Zappa’s personal conceptual positioning of music, he was clear that all
of his creative output was unified by a philosophy he entitled The Big Note. In a 1968
article he wrote for Life Magazine, he stated:
Everything in the universe is composed basically of vibrations – light is a vibration,
sound is a vibration, atoms are composed of vibrations – and all these vibrations just
might be harmonics of some incomprehensible fundamental cosmic tone [30].
As outlined by Delville and Norris, the Big Note concept resonates strongly with
the discoveries of Nobel Prize winners Robert Wilson and Arno Penzias, who discovered
three years earlier (in 1965) that a residual sound related to the Big Bang was still
18
Although Hindemith was not addressing popular music, the ideal of Gebrauchmusik was that all people of
the world could listen to and be moved by one music.
19
Refer to http://www.allmusic.com/.
458
apparent in the universe, and that this sound was judged to be vibrating at
approximately 4080 mega hertz, slightly flatter than B in equal temperament tuning [31].
Zappa’s Big Note also has some resonance to Pythagoras’ belief that music serves as a
reflection of the inherent sounds produced by the solar system, a philosophy continued
by Plato in Timaeus, (where the Demiurge fashions the universe in a way that is explicitly
musical) and The Myth Of Er, where he envisaged the resonance inherent in the orbit of
the earthly planets to constitute a single harmonious scale. As outlined by Plato’s pupil
Aristotle in De Caelo, one of the few authentic accounts of Pythagorean philosophy:
The motion of bodies of that size must produce a noise, since on our earth the
motion of bodies far inferior in size and in speed of movement has that effect. Also,
when the sun and the moon, they say, and all the stars, so great in number and size,
are moving with so rapid a motion, how should they not produce a sound immensely
great [32]?
This paper is not suggesting that Zappa’s music incorporated a mystical
Pythagoran/Platonic dimension – where the results of his creativity would be regarded as
a metaphysical representation of the eternal. However, his practice of developing
individual compositions over many years does resonate with a musical-pendurantist
perspective: were musical works are seen to exist atemporally – obtaining their
ontological status from what Caplin and Matheson describe as a “fusion of performances”
[33] – with individual performances being regarded as “temporal parts” of an ongoing
musical work [34].
Regardless of whether Zappa was aware of these philosophical positions or not, it
is apparent that not only his compositions, but his entire creative output is littered with
a web of fractal logic, where consistent patterns are apparent between single tracks,
entire albums and public performances, in addition to non-musical materials such as
press interviews and cover art.
The cover of Over-Nite Sensation [35] represents an indicative example, and can
be regarded as a painting inside of a painting, which is itself a painting of a mirror. The
reflection in the mirror is of a hotel room, which graphically depicts Zappa’s perception
of the life of a touring musician, with indexical signifiers such as underwear, band
publicity, suitcases and flight tickets, combined with more subliminal phallic symbols
such as a penis-like fire hydrant, a vagina-shaped grapefruit, and a semen-dripping water
hose. This direct and subliminal attention to explicit content in particular has the
capacity to facilitate one to ask who is looking in the mirror – almost in a Kierkegaardian
sense.20
Does the meaning relate exclusively to Zappa and his band members, or as
outlined in a 1973 Go Set article, is Zappa “the distorted mirror through which we
experience ourselves and the neurotic perverted society that man has created” [36]? As
discussed in selected essays in the forthcoming edited collection, this dialogic balance
between the meaning of Zappa’s work being extraneous or personal in nature is one of
the principle factors that make his work so appealing.
20
Søren Kierkegaard (1813–1855) adopted a similar technique as Zappa when encouraging his readers to
question their preconceptions of “truth”. Concisely speaking, it is suggested that both used irony, often
depicted in story form, to encourage their audience to deconstruct prior assumptions. It is also interesting to
note that both often used aliases/third parties/pseudonyms (such as “Billy The Mountain” or “Joe” in Zappa’s
case, or Johannes Climacus or Constantin Constantius in the case of Kierkegaard) to depict their positions,
rather than presenting their ideologies directly.
459
In order to further conceptualise his creative practice, Zappa developed the
terminology Project and Object to describe the difference between the completed work of
art and the ongoing process of redefining it, clearly considering individual works of art as
being in a constant state of development. He commented:
Project/Object is a term I have used to describe the overall concept of my work in
various mediums. Each project (in whatever realm), or interview connected to it, is
part of a larger object, for which there is no technical name [37]
This course of action is similar to the Works and Texts continuum described by
Joseph Grigely, who asserts that a text is “constantly undergoing continuous and
discontinuous transience as it ages” [38] and how artworks have “multiple texts”, with
the meanings we create being a “direct product of the textual spaces we enter and engage
in” [39]. This is certainly the case for Zappa, whose portfolio has numerous examples of
compositions progressively developing over the entire time he recorded music. Examples
range from single pieces such as “A Pound For A Brown On The Bus” and “Legend Of
The Golden Arches” [40], both being obvious variations on the same creative materials,
to entire albums such as Thing-Fish [41], which includes rearrangements of pieces from
earlier albums such as Shiek Yerbouti [42], and Them or Us [43]. This pendurantistic
process of developing texts into ever evolving works has also continued in the
performances and recordings of countless tribute bands that have emerged since Zappa’s
death, a phenomena that has often resulted in litigation by the Zappa Family Trust.21
These tribute bands range from those that aim to replicate Zappa’s music faithfully,22
to
those that adapt his music into new directions,23
with both practices not only
perpetuating his Project/Object philosophy, but also resonating with Eco’s belief in the
aesthetic value of ambiguity of meaning, via what he described as the Open Work. Writing
just prior to The Mothers of Invention’s inaugural release, Eco commented:
The work of art is a fundamentally ambiguous message, a plurality of signifieds that
coexist within a single signifier […] today, this ambiguity is becoming an explicit
goal of the work, a value to be realised in preference to all others [44].
The final important inter-textual process that Zappa employed is his self-titled
Xenochrony,24
a studio technique he incorporated to horizontally fuse often unrelated
tracks recorded in incongruous times and places. After initially experimenting on
Captain Beefheart’s “The Blimp” [45], Zappa continued to employ the technique on
albums such as Lumpy Gravy [46] and Sheik Yerbouti [47], with Joe’s Garage [48], arguably
representing the most interesting example, where all of the guitar solos aside from
“Watermelon in Easter Hay” [49] being transported from other recordings. As indicated
in my own essay in the collection, this technique has the capacity of simultaneously
combining otherwise incongruent times, places and spaces, adding another dimension to
his tendency toward self-reference.
21
See Carr, “An Autocratic Approach to Music Copyright?”.
22
For example Bogus Pomp, The Grandmothers and Project/Project.
23
For example The Ed Palermo Big Band and Le Bocal lean toward Jazz, while the The Omnibus Wind
Ensemble and Ensemble Ambrosius focus on various classical influences. In the case of the latter, the
instrumentation is that of a baroque ensemble.
24
Meaning “Alien Time”, with an etymology deriving from the Greek words Xenos (strange or alien) and
Chronos (time).
460
As Zappa’s music is constructed in such a way to at times ignore conventional
notions of linear time, it is suggested that any analysis of his musical output should place
a particular emphasis on the synchronic nature of his texts. Barthes describes these
multi-layered narratives as “intergrational” in nature, asserting that “a unit belonging to
a particular level only takes on meaning if it can be in integrated in a higher level” [50].
Barthes’ precedence of the intergrational over what he describes as the more linear
“distributional”25
has a particular resonance with Zappa’s creative practices, in addition
to the potential meaning of his texts. His Big Note and Xenochronic concepts in particular
encourage the listener to engage with his music “vertically”: comparing specific sound
objects to similar or identical practices that have occurred elsewhere; considering the
impact of what sounds like twentieth-century classical music being composed by a rock
musician; or pondering the result of two otherwise incongruous styles or sounds that
don’t (but somehow do) belong together.
According to Middleton [51], popular music analysis has a tendency to focus on
connotative as opposed to denotative meaning. He terms this connotative–denotative
dialogic as secondary and primary forms of signification, and regards the later, “in the
sense it is used in linguistics [to be] rare in music”,26
quoting animal noises in The
Beatles’ “Good Morning” [52] or the motorbike noises in The Shangri-Las “Leader of the
Pack” [53] as indicative examples. Regarding the practices of quotation, stylistic allusion
and parody as sub-categories of primary signification, these processes are seen to have the
capacity to refer to music from both inside and outside the artists own repertoire. Using
The Electric Light Orchestra’s “Roll Over Beethoven”27
as an indicative example of
outside-quotation, and the Beatles’ “A Day in the Life”28
as an instance of self-quotation,
Middleton provides a useful context to the much more pervasive use Zappa made of
these devises outlined earlier. Examples of stylistic allusion include “A Whiter Shade of
Pale” [54] and The Beatles’ White Album [55], both of which provide interesting isolated
counterparts to entire albums such as Crusing with Ruben and the Jets [56] (1950’s DoWop),
or indeed allusions to composers such as Varèse and Stravinsky in Zappa’s
orchestral repertoire. Middleton regards his final form of primary signification, destructive
parody, to be even “less frequent [than quotation and stylistic allusion]” but considers it
“fundamental to the work of Frank Zappa” [57], and although he mentions no examples
by name, he is correct in regarding the technique as an important part of Zappa’s
idiolect. As indicated earlier, Zappa had a tendency to trivialise otherwise serious pieces
of music in some of his compositions, and acknowledged American satirist Spike Jones as
an influence on this process. Additionally, Zappa would “destructively” allude to a range
of personalities in his lyrics, ranging from parodies of musicians such as Bob Dylan and
Al Di Meola, to ex-presidents such as John F. Kennedy, Richard Nixon and Ronald
Reagan, to more generic phenomena such as rock band folk law, or corrupt
televangelists.
It is apparent that Middleton’s secondary signification (connotation) can arise as
a result of individual or combinationary primary significations, a process Zappa
intentionally propagated via his Big Note, Project/Object and Xenochronic philosophies.
Indeed in the sleeve notes of You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol. 3, [58] Zappa
25
Ibid.
26
Middleton, Studying PopularMusic, p. 220.
27
Which quotes the opening of the first movement of Beethoven’s 5th
.
28
The Beatles, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, which uses a short extract of “Lucy in the Sky with
Diamonds”.
461
effectively discusses the means through which combinations of primary meanings can
result in secondary signification. When providing a list of rationales for his cut and paste
techniques while compiling the six-part You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore series, he
asks two significant questions. Firstly, “is there some ‘folkloric’ significance to the
performance?” And secondly, “will it [the inserted section of audio] give ‘Continuity’
clues to the hard-core maniacs with a complete record collection?”29
Taking Zappa at his
word, the terminology Conceptual Continuity has become the means through which many
Zappa fans describe their tracking of denotative meanings, and as outlined by Middleton,
the connotations associated with these meanings are “in theory, of infinite size” [59].
CONCLUSION
This forthcoming collection by Ashgate does not intend to postulate a unified
interpretive code, either between authors, or between authors and readers, but a range of
analytic reactions to pertinent contextual areas related to Zappa’s oeuvre. As outlined by
John Blacking, the “sound may be the object, but man is the subject; and the key to
understanding music is the relationships existing between subject and object” [60].
Taking Zappa as the “subject”, the book intends to ultimately explore this relationship,
and it is hoped that it will in some small way become part of his ongoing Conceptual
Continuity.
REFERENCES
[1] Mothers of Invention, The., 1966. Freak Out!. Verve, V6-5005-2.
[2] Zappa, F., 1994. Civilization Phaze III. Barking Pumpkin Records, UMRK 01.
[3] Zappa, F., Occhiogrosso, P., 1994. The Real Frank Zappa Book. London, Pickador, p.
163.
[4] Barthes, R., 1977. Image Music Text. London, Fontana Press.
[5] Mothers of Invention, The., 1967. Absolutely Free. Verve, V6-5013.
[6] Barthes, R., 1977. Image Music Text. London, Fontana Press, p. 63.
[7] Hanslick, E., 1986. On the Musically Beautiful. Indiana, Hackett Publishing Company,
p. 11.
[8] Imberty, M., quoted in Nattiez, J-J,. 1987. Music and Discourse: Toward a Semiology of
Music. New Jersey, Princeton University Press, p. 9.
[9] Hanslick, E., 1986. On the Musically Beautiful. Indiana, Hackett Publishing Company,
p. 9.
[10] Zappa, F., Occhiogrosso, P., 1994. The Real Frank Zappa Book. London, Pickador, p.
167.
[11] Ibid.
[12] Cube, Ice., 1992. The Predator. Island, 57185.
[13] Walser, R., ‘Popular Music Analysis: Ten Apothegms and Four Instances’, in Moore,
Allan, F., (ed.), 2003. Analyzing Popular Music. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press,
pp. 16–38, at 31.
29
Taken from the sleeve notes of Zappa, You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol. 3.
462
[14] Carr, P., 2011. ‘An Autocratic Approach to Music Copyright?: The potential
negative impacts of restrictive rights on a composers legacy: The case of the Zappa
Family Trust’. Contemporary Theatre Review, 21/3, pp. 302–316, at 305.
[15] Mothers of Invention, The., 1968. Cruising With Ruben and the Jets. Verve, V65005.
[16] Mothers of Invention, The., 1967. Absolutely Free. Verve, V6-5013.
[17] Shelton, R., 25 December 1966. ‘Son of Suzy Creamcheese’, The New York Times,
p. 12.
[18] Babbitt, M., ‘Who Cares if You Listen’, in Elliot Schwartz and Barney Childs (eds),
1998. Contemporary Composers on Contemporary Music, New York, Da Capo Press, pp.
243–250, at 245.
[19] Mothers of Invention, The., 1966. Freak Out!. Verve, V6-5005-2.
[20] Mothers of Invention, The., 1969. Uncle Meat. Bizarre Records, 2MS 2024.
[21] Mothers of Invention, The., 1967. We’re Only In It For The Money. Verve, V6-5045.
[22] Zappa, F., 1994. Civilization Phaze III. Barking Pumpkin Records. UMRK 01.
[23] Zappa, F., 1984. Thing-Fish, Barking Pumpkin. SKC074201.
[24] Zappa, F., 1984. Boulez Conducts Zappa: The Perfect Stranger. EMI, DS-38170
[25] Zappa, F., 1968. Lumpy Gravy. Verve, V6-8741.
[26] Zappa, F., Occhiogrosso, Peter., 1994. The Real Frank Zappa Book. London,
Pickador, p. 139.
[27] Watson, B., 1993. Frank Zappa: The Negative Dialectics of Poodle Play, New York, St.
Martin’s Press, p. 227.
[28] Zappa, F., 1983. London Symphony Orchestra Vol. 1. Barking Pumpkin, FW38820.
[29] Zappa, F., 1969. Hot Rats. Bizarre, RS6356.
[30] Zappa, F., 28 June 1968. ‘The Oracle has it all Psyched Out’, Life Magazine, p.84.
[31] Delville, M., Norris, A., 2005. Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart and the Secret History
of Maximalism. Cambridge, Salt Publishing.
[32] Aristotle, R., William, S, J (eds)., 1930. The Works of Aristotle Vol. 2 (Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
[33] Caplin, B., Matheson, C., 2006. ‘Defending Musical Perdurantism’, British Journal of
Aesthetics, 46/1, pp. 59–69.
[34] Ibid., p. 68.
[35] Zappa, F., 1973. Over-Nite Sensation. DiscReet, MS2149.
[36] Anonymous 1, 26 May 1973. ‘Zappa Tour’. Go Set, pp. 3–6.
[37] Zappa, F with Occhiogrosso, P., 1989. The Real Frank Zappa Book. London, Picador.
[38] Grigely, J., 1995. Textuality: Art ,Theory, and Textual Criticism. Michigan,
University of Michigan Press, p. 1.
[39] Ibid., p. 3.
[40] Mothers of Invention, The., 1969. Uncle Meat. Bizarre Records, 2MS 2024.
[41] Zappa, F., 1984. Thing-Fish. Barking Pumpkin. SKC074201.
[42] Zappa, F., 1979. Sheik Yerbouti. Zappa, SRZ-2-1501.
[43] Zappa, F., 1984. Them Or Us. Barking Pumpkin, SVB074200.
[44] Eco, U., 1984. The Role of the Reader: Explorations in the Semiotics of Texts.
Bloomington, Indiana University Press.
[45] Beefheart, C., 1969. Trout Mask Replica Straight, STS 1053.
[46] Zappa, F., 1968. Lumpy Gravy. Verve, V6-8741.
[47] Zappa, F., 1979. Sheik Yerbouti. Zappa, SRZ-2-1501.
[48] Zappa, F., 1979. Joe’s Garage: Act 1.Zappa, SRZ11603, and Zappa, F., 1979. Joe’s
Garage: Acts II & III. Zappa, SRZ21502.
463
[49] Zappa, F., 1979. Joe’s Garage: Acts II & III. Zappa, SRZ21502.
[50] Barthes, R., 1977. Image Music Text. London, Fontana Press, p. 86.
[51] Middleton, R., 1990. Studying Popular Music. Buckingham: Open University Press.
[52] Beatles, The,. 1967. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Capital, 4XAS 2653.
[53] Shangri-Las, The., 1964. The Dum Dum Ditty, Blue Cat, BC 117.
[54] Harum, Procol., 1967. Procol Harum, A&M, SP-4373.
[55] Beatles, The., 1968. The White Album, Apple, SWBO-101.
[56] Mothers of Invention, The., 1968. Cruising With Ruben and the Jets. Verve, V65005.
[57] Middleton, R., 1990. Studying Popular Music. Buckingham: Open University Press, p.
220.
[58] Zappa, F., 1989. You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol. 3. Rykodisc,
RCD10085/86.
[59] Middleton, R., 1990. Studying Popular Music. Buckingham: Open University Press, p.
232.
[60] Blacking, J., 1974. How Musical Is Man. Seattle and London: University of
Washington Press, p. 26.
464
The Flat Second to Tonic Jaws Motif in
Heavy Metal and Film Music:
Transformations and Orientalist use of the
Pianto Topic
Sarah Moore, The University of Sheffield, Sheffield, UK
ABSTRACT
Monelle identified the falling semitone motif as the pianto topic, dating back to
Renaissance madrigals where it accompanied lyrics about weeping (pianti). Within
Classical period it was called a “sigh”, signifying distress, sorrow and lament.30
Later,
transformations created more disturbing meanings, such as anger and terror. Monelle
described the pianto in Wagner's Ring Cycle as a “sharply dysphoric and ominous
figure”. In the 1970s it “conjures terror” in John Williams's Jaws motif.31
This paper discusses a particular component of the pianto, the ♭ motif. I argue that
this falling semitone ♭ motif, as in the Jaws motif, is a particularly intense
component of the pianto topic, and its transformation and abundance in Heavy Metal
and film music is attributable to its tense, powerful connotations. In Heavy Metal, the ♭
motif is associated with positive discourses of hell and death, and in film
soundtracks it appears alongside the depiction of terror. Through film and recording
analysis, interviews and secondary literature, this research studies the significations of
the ♭ gesture in Metal tracks, including in the genre of Oriental Metal, and
Hollywood and Bollywood film soundtracks.
The parallel use, since the nineteenth century, of the ♭ motif as an Oriental
signifier complicates its associations. For example, in war films based in the Middle East
the b2-1 motif may support a narrative of terror associated with the Arab. When the ♭
motif is also used to depict the Orient, signification may take on a political and
demonising function.
INTRODUCTION
The pianto is a falling semitone musical gesture that appeared in the Renaissance
alongside lyrics concerning weeping. By the Baroque period the pianto had lost direct
attachment to lyrics of weeping, and now signified “grief, pain, regret, loss”. Within early
Classical music of the 18th
century it was named the “Mannheim sigh” [1]. Through into
the 19th
century these associations continued, sometimes associated with dysphoria as
when Monelle describes the pianto in Wagner's Ring Cycle thus:
30
See Monelle, R. 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays, Princeton University Press, pp. 17 and 66-73.
31
Ibid, pp. 71-2.
465
The motive of servitude in the Ring is heard as a sharply dysphoric and ominous
figure [...] It is merely the two-note figure of a descending semitone […]The topic of
the pianto is everywhere in the Ring; it is always a minor second, always descending
[...] it is the basis of the motive of fate […] the moan of the dissonant falling second
expresses perfectly the idea of lament [2].
The association of the pianto to the expression of omen was a new transformation
of this topic, the dysphoric semitone fall.
Writings on the falling semitone motif often place it in the context of the falling
“Phrygian” tetrachord, named after the lower tetrachord of the Phrygian mode.
However, much of this writing places this tetrachord freely within a scale, for instance
-♭ -♭ - . This extended figure became known as the “lament motif” [3]. William
Kimmel takes the signification of grief to an extreme and associates all occurrences of a
falling “Phrygian” tetrachord with death, writing: “Wherever in music these
configurations occur prominently, they disclose the presence and workings of death in
the musical being” [4].
My concern here is for the Phrygian cadence ♭ , which, surely, is a particular
occurrence of the pianto holding specific connotations. These result partly because of its
fall to the tonic, partly due to the ♭ note degree being Other to commonplace Western
scales. This paper discusses these particular significations, the dysphoric transformations
that have emerged, especially in the late 20th century, and the complications resulting
from the parallel Oriental associations of the Phrygian mode.
THE INHERITED CODES OF THE ♭ PIANTO
The semitone degree above or below the keynote holds particularly strong
associations of attraction, “leading” to the keynote. The falling “upper leading note”, the
♭ , also carries the connotations of the pianto. Musicologist Deryck Cooke described the
flat second degree as “an expression of anguish in a context of finality, a hopeless
anguish”, in contrast to the ♭6 that is “anguish with hope” [5].
In addition to this, since the late medieval period the rise of polyphony in
Western music brought the demise of the modes that were commonplace in Gregorian
chant and early In addition to this, since the late medieval period the rise of polyphony in
Western music brought the demise of the modes that were commonplace in Gregorian
chant and early troubadour music. The Phrygian mode held a particular “problem”
within a harmonic framework due to its flat second, which prevented a conventional
“dominant” chord. Susan McClary explains how the Phrygian was unsuitable for the vast
majority of situations and that it was deemed “illegitimate” [6]. McClary told me in
interview: “In the physical bodies [in the Western World] that are accustomed back to the
15th century it is going to sound profoundly alien, and there may be even a physical
reaction”. The flat second after this time connoted “pathos” and “anguish” in Western
music. For instance, in the 16th century madrigal O Dolce Notte, by Verdelot, the
movement from the key note up to the flat second and back is described by McClary as a
“nocturnal arch” that haunts the madrigal [7]. Musical motifs containing the flat second
signify the Other, the noe itself being Other to the “normal” choice of musical notes in
Western genres.
466
TRANSFORMATIONS OF THE ♭ PIANTO
The ♭ pianto has been transformed through the exploitation of its
transgressive nature, to a popularity as something different and shocking, which has
found a place within, for instance, action thrillers and Heavy Metal music.
♭ in Action Movies
This motif is now present in numerous Hollywood film tracks: it's a subliminal
shark—a threat or anxiety, sometimes tinged with irony. Annahid Kassabian writes of
how “audiences have simply seen enough films to know the intended meanings”, [that
one] “would have to work hard not to acquire competence in ... the theme for Jaws
...[that] developed a life of its own, becoming the sound of ironic danger” [10]. An
example of this ironic connotation is Robert Rodriguez’s main theme from his 2007
zombie thriller Planet Terror (Figure 1) [11].
Figure 1. “Planet Terror” theme tune.32
This theme re-occurs almost incessantly throughout the film, underlying the
persistent threat of alien attack.
♭ in Heavy Metal
In common between action films like Jaws and Planet Terror and the developing
genre of Heavy Metal music in the 1970s was a return to the themes of 1950s Gothic
horror movies. The early Metal band Black Sabbath was drawn to “medieval” modes,
highlighting the most “unusual” notes: the ♭ and #4. Andrew Cope writes:
Black Sabbath appear to have adopted and contextualised certain key intervals […]
the flat 2nd and the tritone were the cornerstones of the guitar riff output of Black
Sabbath from 1969 to 1975 […] [There was a] consistent privileging of the flat 2nd
[...] These riff constructions subsequently became a major building block in heavy
metal [12].
32
All musical examples are my own transcriptions.
In the final decades of the twentieth century the ♭ motif began to be used in
Hollywood films as a code for “beast”, supporting tense, doom laden associations. The
1975 film Jaws, made the motif famous, heralding an approaching shark [8]. Monelle
acknowledges this connection between the “Jaws” motif, writing that ‘‘the dysphoric
sentiment of the pianto … conjures terror in John Williams's music for the movie Jaws”
[9].
467
For example, the ♭ 1ˆ2ˆ − motif is particularly prominent in the mid section of Black
Sabbath’s 1970 track, “Hand of Doom” (Figure 2) [13].
Figure 2. “Hand of Doom” extract
Metal bass guitarist Pete Herbert refers to the ♭ 2ˆ here as the minor second:
A riff with minor second makes it more interesting, really “doomy” […] It suits the
style, not […] something pretty in a Major scale [...] You can also jump around to the
minor second riff, say E to F, without playing a wrong note [...] I think it’s those two
things: the physical stagecraft, performance and what a minor second does to you as
a human [...] It creates the skull and the spiral to Hell (Pete Herbert personal
interview 2009).
The Phrygian second became ubiquitous in Metal music, recognised as a mainstay
Bands such as Metallica and Megadeth adopted Phrygian as their modus operandi
[…] The Phrygian usually lies dormant within the system [but] can be conjured up
when called upon to help spew out particularly harsh affective states […] [turned]
into a strength if one wishes to simulate such an uncomfortable affective realm [15].
By combining the flat second musical motif in a low frequency and with a loud
volume, its association may change from pathetic to aggressive, to a new anti-heroic
identification. The Otherness of the sound of the flat second is transformed from having
a passive connotation to a threatening and thus powerful one.
Metal out of context
of the contemporary Metal sound [14]. It underpins Metal power in an aggressive reworking
of the pianto topic, forming new and dramatic significations. Again, specific
dysphoric connections are attached to the Phrygian mode. McClary writes of how the
“problems” of the Phrygian mode can be turned to compositional advantage:
Aggressive connotations in Metal have also resulted in it being extensively used in
thriller movies, and in military situations, with associations of action, adventure and
violence, [16]. For instance, the 2001 song “Bodies” by American alternative Metal band
Drowning Pool, written about dancing in a “mosh pit”, has a chorus line: “Let the Bodies
Hit the Floor”. It has been taken out of context on many occasions and used in connection
with violence and war, including in the films Stop-Loss, Fahrenheit 9/11, Soundtrack to
War and the Rambo 4 trailer [17]. Journalist David Peisner writes: “Nearly every interrogator
and soldier I spoke to mentioned the … hit “Bodies”, with its wild-eyedchorus “Let the
bodies hit the floor!” as a favourite for both psyching up U.S. soldiers andpsyching out
enemies and captives” [18].
468
Figure 3. “Bodies” theme tune
The lyric and the backing music of “Bodies” are both melodically built on the ♭
pianto (Figure 3) [19]. The sedimented meanings of the ♭ gesture add weight to
“Bodies” powerful connotations.
♭ IN ORIENTAL MUSIC
The ♭ gesture also has a significant presence in the music of countries that
have been touched by the Arab and Ottoman empires, and in Indian music. For
instance, in Turkish classical music the ♭ appears in upwards of 80% of all common
tunes, and the ♭ gesture is always a strong feature. Associations for this gesture are
abundant, yet have little connection with the Western pianto topic.
♭ as Oriental Topos
COMBINED TOPOI
Significant combinations have been made between the ♭ Oriental topos and
the ♭ pianto. The ease of moving between these two gestures provides a tight fit for
This “Orientalist” signification of the ♭ gesture is also prominent in Western
compositions. Spanish folk music and dance, particularly Andalusian, became
fashionable in nineteenth century Paris, spearheaded by Debussy, Ravel and the
Spaniard la Falla. Much was made of the Andalusian cadence, the same falling Phrygian
tetrachord that was basic to the lament motif (see above). Its mere presence conjured up
Spain, or a generalised gypsy or Arab [21]. Philip Tagg writes about the Phrygian mode:
“From a Eurocentric viewpoint, this is the mode of Spain, gypsys, Balkans, Turks and
Arabs…. music from somewhere else ... the Phrygian is obviously neither default mode
nor default melodic vocabulary” [22]. Alongside location, the ♭ gesture may have
other Oriental associations of exotic and sensual, with possibly violent undertones [23].
The gesture has been maintained as a signifier of the Oriental throughout the 20th
century.
In many 20th
century compositions there is an awareness of difference between
Eastern and Western scale choices, which may be exploited by musicians. Bálint Sárosi,
researching Hungarian gypsy performance, discovered that the musicians encountered in
one village would bring “even the commonest melody to an end with a Phrygian cadence”
as it “pleased the collector” [20]. Self-conscious tunes are also composed, that emphasise
the ♭ to represent the “emotionality” of the East, as opposed to the “rationality” of the
West.
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their use in composition. I offer three examples: the genre of Oriental Metal; Bollywood
film soundtracks, and Middle Eastern war films.
Oriental Metal
Eastern allusion within Metal tracks has been described by Glenn Pillsbury as
part of a search for personal identity. On Metallica's 1991 Black Album, the track
“Wherever I May Roam” begins with a delicate sitar version of a -♭ motif, restated
later in a “heavy” metal version [24]. The track concerns a search for self via the concept
of the Road. Pillsbury states that they are “using musical tropes instantly identifiable as
some exotic Other.... this ethnic backdrop can represent danger or evoke uncertainty
and mystery” [25].
Oriental Metal originated with the Israeli band Orphaned Land in the 1990s.
Yossi Sa'aron Sassi of Orphaned Land is a Mizrahi Jew, and Middle Eastern music was
sung and played in his childhood home. He speaks of the difference in the use of the flat
second between his own band and Western Metal bands:
I think a lot of people in Metal in the Western World play it because [...] it has that
half tone diabolic, bad boy kind of essence to it […] they do something that is
Phrygian…But for me it’s really nothing about that. I don’t try to be diabolic and to
create any controversial sounds, or dissonant sounds in any way. For me it is far from
dissonant (Yossi Sa'aron Sassi personal interview 2010).
The Palestinian Oriental Metal band Chaos’s 2011 track “Silence before Chaos”
starts with an extended Arabic melody, played on the qanun by guitarist Firas Nadaf’s
father. This melody, centred on the ♭ motif, is taken up in a heavy bass line in the
subsequent Metal track, similar to in “Wherever I May Roam” (Figure 4) [26].
Figure 4. “Silence before Chaos” theme tune
The flat second is not Other to many Oriental Metal musicians. Meanings are
extended by the use of Arabic scales as self-identity markers, the potential for expression
using this note becomes more complex. The “masculine” connotations acquired from the
Metal genre can be transferred to the flat second within Arabic music, enabling young
men in the Middle East further empowerment through their own local musical resources.
Bollywood film scores
Another significant meeting between the ♭ Oriental topos and the ♭
pianto is within Bollywood film soundtracks. As in Hollywood, melodrama, suspense and
tension are exploited in film scores, often using Western orchestration and musical
devices. As described above, action scenes will take the ♭ pianto as “edgy” and
470
transgressive. Contrasted to this, the depiction of the “Indian hero/heroine” within
Bollywood films traditionally would be likely to use a classical raga, and in early
Bollywood the soundtrack was closely identified with a nationalist spirit [27]. Distinctive
pitches, such as the ♭ , depict the identity of the Indian separate from Western
influence.
Since the 1990s changes within the Bollywood film industry have resulted in the
“Indian hero/heroine” being as likely to be portrayed using international pop and/or
Latin music genres, with traditional raga and folk music conveying conservative, perhaps
“backward” values. However, tunes that combine some element of “Indian melody” with
a pop tune may be the biggest hits [28]. An example, using the ♭ gesture as Indian
topos, is the 2004 smash hit “Dhoom Machale” (Figure 5) [29].
Figure 5. “Dhoom Machale” theme tune
In such songs, the pianto topic is, arguably, meshed onto the Oriental topos. The
combination conveys “Indian cool”, with lyrics about burning passion and images of
vampish dance. The awareness and use of Western musical gestures such as the pianto,
combined with “Indian” identity markers, gives scope for complexities of associations
beyond both the Hollywood use of the ♭ gesture and traditional Indian classical
conventions.
Dysphoric Arabs
The most potent meeting of the ♭ pianto topic with the ♭ Oriental trope
is, perhaps, in the depiction of the Arab in war films. The depiction of the Arab within
film has frequently been overlaid with the “sinister” and “evil”. Nassar Al-Taee, writer
on Orientalist representation in music, reports:
The romanticised image of the Orient in the first half of the 20C [...] gradually
evolved to produce a more explosive version of the Arab as a violent terrorist who
seeks to destroy American values. Since the 1970s, terrorists who threaten the
Western world have taken over and dominated the image of the Arab in American
film […] Since [9/11], the Arab has come to represent the “antithesis of Western
values and rationality” within binary lines of good versus evil [30].
The “unheard” nature of the film soundtrack, so defined by Claudia Gorbman,
can create a situation where connotations that are unacceptable in words and images slip
by into the musical “text” [31]. For instance, in the 2008 film The Hurt Locker, set during
the Iraq war, the masculinity and machismo of the main character Sergeant James is
underlined by his listening to the track “Khyber Pass” which combines “Arabic” singing
471
with a Metal track using a ♭ bass riff [32]. This could be heard simply as “pumpingup”
music for battle. Yet when codes of East and “beast” are brought together in a Middle
Eastern war setting, through the commonality of the flat second motif, Othering
connotations are being reinforced.
Figure 6. Military recruitment video
I argue that this video is underlining a perceived threat to the American way of
life from the “East” by using the “Eastern” ♭ almost subliminally under the image of the
Eastern man. Then it is “appropriated” by a powerful image of a U.S soldier. The sinister
and dangerous is complexly situated both without and within the American subject.
This “appropriation” of the ♭ gesture can be thought of as an example of a more
widespread blurring of the “hero” and the “anti-hero” [34].
The ominous connotations of the ♭ gesture, and the Oriental Otherness of
its presence, both contribute to its effectiveness in sound tracks that depict threat and
possible “underhand” attack. A complex of sedimented meanings empowers the flat
second to support film depictions of a “diabolic” and aggressive threat from the East.
CONCLUSIONS
This discussion has led from the dysphoric transformations of the general pianto
topic, to the specific ♭ pianto and its manifestations in film music and Heavy metal.
There are, I argue, significant and particularly intense connotations of lament and
anguish connected to the ♭ pianto due to the perceived Otherness of the ♭ and the
negative metaphors attached to its fall to the tonic. The ♭ pianto has a strong
presence in contemporary film and Heavy Metal; its intense connotations have been
exploited to create “edgy” action film soundtracks, and positive discourses within the
transgressive genre of Metal.
When regarded together with the Oriental topos of ♭ Phrygian, alongside or
enmeshed with the pianto topic, there are more complex connotations. These range from
the powerful identity markers within Oriental Metal and Bollywood to the, often covert,
violent and irrational connotations for Arabs within war films set in the Middle East.
This slippage between connotations of the Orient and those of anguish and dysphoria
Another instance is a 2007 American military recruitment video that has the ♭
firstly appearing behind the image of an Eastern man holding a weapon, with captions
regarding a threat from terrorism (Figure 6) [33]. Then it continues more menacingly with
an American soldier in a stealth image with a caption “We are watching you”, using an
electric guitar playing fast repeated key-note to flat second.
472
create a heady mixture that all who study contemporary film and media should take note
of.
INTERVIEWS
Interviews with Pete Herbert, Yossi Sa’aron Sassi, and Susan McClary conducted
by Sarha Moore between 2009 and 2010 in London, Israel and Los Angeles.
REFERENCES
[1] Monelle, R. 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays, Princeton University Press, p.
17, 73.
[2] Ibid., pp. 66, and 71-2.
[3] Rosand, E., 1979. “The Descending Tetrachord: An Emblem of Lament” in The
Musical Quarterly 65, p. 349.
[4] Kimmel, W. 1980.“The Phrygian Inflection and the Appearances of Death in Music”.
College Music Symposium 20, pp. 44-5.
[5] Cooke, D., 1990. The Language of Music, Oxford University Press, p.78.
[6] McClary, S., 2004. Modal Subjectivities: Self-Fashioning in the Italian Madrigal,
University of California Press, p. 48.
[7] Ibid., p. 51.
[8] Jaws. 1975. Music by John Williams. Hollywood: Universal Pictures.
[9] Monelle, R., 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral, Indiana University
Press, p. 7.
[10] Kassabian, A. 2001. “Hearing film: Tracking identifications in contemporary
Hollywood film music” in Soundtrack available: Essays on film and popular music. Wojcik,
P., Knight, A. (ed.) Durham: Duke University Press, pp. 24 and 109-10.
[11] Planet Terror. 2007. Music by Robert Rodriguez. New York: The Weinstein
Company.
[12] Cope, A.L., 2010. Black Sabbath and the Rise of Heavy Metal Music, Ashgate, pp. 51-
7.
[13] Black Sabbath, 1970. “Hand of Doom”, Paranoid, Warner Bros.
[14] Pillsbury, G.T., 2006. Damage Incorporated: Metallica and the Production of Musical
Identity, Taylor & Francis, pp. 126-128.
[15] McClary, S., 2004., pp. 82, 96-8 and 209.
[16] Pieslak, J.R., 2009. Sound Targets: American Soldiers and Music in the Iraq War,
Indiana University Press, p. 77.
[17] Sumera, M., 2008. Hearing War, seeing Music: Violence, Aesthetics, and Technology in
online war music, University of Wisconson, p. 50.
[18] Peisner, D., 2006. “Music as Torture: War is Loud” Spin. Available from:
http://www.spin.com/articles/music-torture-war-loud?page=0%2C4, p. 91.
[19] Drowning Pool, 2001. “Bodies”, Sinner, Wind-up.
[20] Sárosi, B. & Macnicol, F., 1978. Gypsy music, Corvina Press, pp. 246-7.
[21] Scott, D.B., 2003. From the Erotic to the Demonic: On Critical Musicology, Oxford
University Press, USA, p. 166.
473
[22] Tagg, P. & Clarida, R., 2003. Ten Little Title Tunes: Towards a Musicology of the
Mass Media, Mass Media Music Scholars’ Press, p. 319.
[23] Said, E.W., 1979. Orientalism, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, p. 40.
[24] Metallica, 1992. “Wherever I may Roam”, The Black Album, Elektra Records.
[25] Pillsbury, G.T., 2006, pp. 103, 104.
[26] Chaos, 2011. “Silence before Chaos”. Available from:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=giIaVWZy4OY.
[27] Morcom, A., 2007. Hindi Film Songs and the Cinema, Ashgate, p. 65, 177.
[28] Ibid., p. 158.
[29] “Dhoom Machale”, 2004. Dhoom. Music by Pritam. Delhi: Yash Ray Films.
[30] Al-Taee, N. 2010. Representations of the Orient in Western Music: Violence and
Sensuality. Burlington: Ashgate, p. 259.
[31] Killick, A., 2001. “Music as Ethnic Marker in Film: The ‘Jewish’ Case.” In
Soundtrack Available: Essays on Film and Popular Music. Wojcik, P., Knight, A. (ed.)
Durham: Duke University Press, pp. 186, 199.
[32] Ministry, 2006. “Khyber Pass”, Rio Grande Blood, 13th Planet.
[33] “Recon Marine Recruiting Video”. Available from: www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-
79oCEKJE0.
[34] Biddle, I., Jarman-Ivens, F. 2007. “Introduction: Oh Boy! Making Masculinity in
Popular Music”, in Oh Boy!: masculinities and popular music, New York: Routledge, p. 13.
474
Black Sabbath and the Creation of
Musical Meaning in the Devil’s Topos
Paolo Ribaldini, University of Helsinki, FI
ABSTRACT
Black Sabbath is recognized nowadays as one of the most important bands in the
development and history of heavy metal music since its first namesake release in 1970.
This paper focuses on the Devil, one of the most important and stereotypical topics
throughout heavy metal, which recurs regularly in Black Sabbath’s discography. My
main question is: is it possible to find in Black Sabbath’s music the musical topos which
represents the Devil? And does it refer only to one musical feature or to more than one?
Does it depend only from music or also from extra-musical context?
INTRODUCTION
Devil’s musical topos refers here to a musical element which recalls the idea of the
Devil in the listener. This idea is intended as a personified contrast between God (good)
and the Devil (evil), which is a common feature of Western symbolism and culture,
especially in the Christian Age: in this perspective there is no room for any shade of
grey, the distinction between good and evil is clear.
Western civilization culture offers examples of how the Devil is depicted in the
common imagination: from Medieval illustrations which represent the Devil pursuing
the souls of the damned, to literature (e.g. Dante’s Commedia) and, in the 20th
Century,
media like cinema (e.g. The Exorcist by W. Friedkin), comics or video-games (e.g. Diablo
by Blizzard Entertainment).
Methodology
I use standard font to indicate bands (e.g. Black Sabbath), italics for albums (e.g.
Black Sabbath), standard font in quotation marks for songs (e.g. “Black Sabbath”) [1]. I
also use BS, Black Sabbath or just Sabbath as synonymous.
I assume as my point of view that a musical piece is made in its wholeness by a
large amount of elements. Here I prefer to differentiate between “musical
content/features” and “extra-musical features”, the former being merely the “sounds” that
form the piece (harmony, melody, rhythmical patterns, arrangement, timbre and so on),
the latter dealing with lyrics; album artwork; on-stage and off-stage presence of the
performers in a live context; social background where the author acts at the moment of
composing a song; his personal life, story and experience; piece’s influence on
forthcoming authors; historical events; etc.
475
Exploring the complete work of the band would be impossible in such a brief
paper, so I’ll show just some examples I consider worth attention. The transcriptions
used here are made by me from original recordings, except where noticed. They report
only the part of the songs which support the illustration of the Devil’s topic.
THE DEVIL IN EXTRA-MUSICAL CONTEXT
In this section I’m going to choose some sample songs to put them as starting
points for the purpose of my contribution. The choice is absolutely arbitrary and abides
by the following criteria:
• Presence of extra-musical elements (primarily lyrics) referring to the
Devil. Already at this early point of the inquiry, it is quite clear that, if
the Devil’s topos exists in musical context, it is always supported by extramusical
elements.
• Variety through the varied band’s line-up and periods in its 40-years long
history.
• Title tracks, singles, album openers, live setlist classics are privileged.
It is also important to have an idea of how was the Devil’s musical topos handled
in other contexts than Black Sabbath.
The tritone interval is also nicknamed “Devil in music”, a name inherited from
Medieval harmony, where it was forbidden on mathematic criteria. Pythagorean music
theory was involved: in fact, diabolus in musica wasn’t symbolically related to the Devil
until later periods. In the Middle Age its prohibition was merely formal and theoretical,
not religious in itself (although mathematics was also religion in the Pythagorean
doctrine), because this interval didn’t abide to the mathematic-driven harmony rules of
that time [2]. In spite of that, the “Devil in music” has been standing more and more as
the musical sign of the Devil through the ages so far.
In contemporary culture, the soundtrack is another suitable which to be brought
as example: Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby (1969) and the abovementioned The
Exorcist (1973) have been standing as paragon in horror movies since their release, and
nowadays are some of the most renowned films about the Devil. Here I also take in
account Geezer Butler’s (former bass player and lyrics writer in BS) large passion for
horror movies and literature. At the beginning of their career, the intention of the band
was mainly to give the idea of such scary topics and landscapes. The name of the band
itself comes from an Italian horror movie by Mario Bava, I Tre Volti della Paura, whose
English title is Black Sabbath.
Thus, the musical themes and features in the abovementioned movies’
soundtracks are going to be considered: tritones, flat 2nd interval, howling screams,
sudden sounds, chromatism are some of the most common elements in these
soundtracks, which of course stood as models for plenty of other likewise ones in the
following decades. Tritone and flat 2nd in particular are used as “tension makers”, as
stated by Cope, who himself quotes Tagg, Deathridge and Smirnov [3].
476
Black Sabbath
The reputation of being “satanic” has been one of BS’ trademarks across the
decades. Everyone who has even sketchily heard about the band knows its alleged
involvement in occult and paranormal. The purpose of this paper is, however, not to
inquire whether or not the band was really involved into Satanism. The beginning of the
relation between BS and the Devil’s topic is to be individuated in the namesake song,
released in Black Sabbath album (1970) [4]. The lyrical theme leaves no room for
misunderstanding: it tells about someone who frighteningly discovers to be drawn in an
evil context and to be a “chosen one”. The artwork cover shows a mysterious woman in
black cloak creeping in a moor landscape, in front of a country house or farm [Appendix
1, 1].
Other examples of Black Sabbath song lyrics which deal with occult and Devil are
“N.I.B.” and, only in a slighter way, “Evil Woman” and “The Wizard”. Being half of the
songs in Black Sabbath related to the Devil’s topic, this album stands as one of the most
occult-related in BS’s career.
Born Again and “Disturbing the Priest”
In 1983 Ian Gillan, formerly in Deep Purple from ’70 to ’73, joined BS as singer.
The band released Born Again, sometimes considered their darkest and controversial
work [5] [6]. The first extra-musical element that suggests an agreement to our central
topic is the artwork cover by Steve Joule: on electric blue background, a redskin
newborn poses tenderly, and shows his vampire-like teeth and Devil’s horns. It is
possible also to imagine a correspondence between the artwork and one of the final
scenes in Rosemary’s Baby movie. The cover was always considered with a mixture of
distrust and anxiety both by the band and the audience. Gillan himself later stated that
the artwork gave him a creepy shiver [7].
The song I’ve taken from this album is “Disturbing the Priest” [8], which was
originally inspired by a funny event: the priest of the church next to the band’s recording
studios complained because of the high playback volume [Appendix 1, 2]. However,
most listeners were not aware of this event and considered the song related with the
Devil due to both the sonic environment and the artwork sleeve.
Headless Cross
Headless Cross, dated 1989 and featuring vocalist Tony Martin, is one of the most
Devil-related Black Sabbath albums on the lyrical themes’ side. The title track [9] tells
about a namesake village near Birmingham (homeland of the former band members),
upon which a legend was told: during a raging period of the black plague in the Middle
Age, the villagers tried to escape death through a deal with the Devil. The deal didn’t
work and they were all slain by Satan himself [Appendix 1, 3].
The album was slighted by audience and critics in the USA, maybe due to PMRC
(Parents Music Resource Center) indirect strong influence at that time. This
committee’s purpose was to improve parental control over the access of children to
music containing reference to violence, sex, drugs, alcohol, and so on.
477
The Devil You Know and “Breaking Into Heaven”
Up to now, The Devil You Know is BS’ latest studio release (2009), though under
the name of Heaven and Hell. Starting from the artwork, an adjustment of the painting
Satan by Per Øyvind Haagensen, the whole album is characterized by a dark and occult
atmosphere.
This atmosphere is maybe also influenced by the attention paid by Ronnie James
Dio (singer and lyrics writer) to religious matters: on the metal scenery he holds the
paternity of the horns’ symbol (closed fist with second and fifth fingers lifted up forming
the shape of two horns), which he always awarded with an apotropaic function.
On the cover there are also the numbers 25 and 41, referring to Matthew’s
Gospel 25, 41 (King’s James version): “Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand,
Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels”. The
Devil seems to be one of the main thematic figures. “Breaking Into Heaven” [10] refers
to the legendary clash between God and fallen angels lead by Lucifer, also narrated in
John Milton’s literary masterpiece Paradise Lost (1667) [Appendix 1, 4].
THE DEVIL AS A MUSICAL TOPOS
Analysis criteria
The following musical elements are taken into account to analyze the songs:
• Riff melody
• Rhythms
• Lead vocals melody
• Harmony
• Instruments and timbres
The chosen examples are going to be investigated in order to identify some
specific features and elements which musically refer to the Devil’s topic.
Hence, they are going to be considered in comparison, and then conclusions will
be drawn from this process. The comparison is going to be made both from aural and
analytical point of view.
Riffs
A riff is a short repeated melodic fragment, phrase or theme, with a pronounced
rhythmic character. Riffs can be played in any combination of instruments and can
be spontaneously improvised or pre-composed. A riff may be repeated unchanged or
it can be altered to fit the harmonic changes of a song [11].
Riffs belong to the very core of popular music, and even more when taking heavy
metal into consideration.
Since Tony Iommi is the author of most BS riffs, this section is going to focus
especially on guitars (and bass guitar).
478
“Black Sabbath” – The starting riff (00:38) [App. 2, Fig. 1] after the rain and
church bells sound presents the tritone between G and C# as main feature. The final riff
(04:36; transcription by Lilja, [12]) is particularly interesting [App. 2, Fig. 3]: a rush of
triplets in 4/4 which prepares a long-strokes section with G5
and Gq
(quartal chord on G:
G-C-F-Bb, practically a guitar barre on four strings) chords and guitar solo which leads
to the end.
“Disturbing the Priest” – In the first riff [App. 2, Fig. 4] the bass covers a
descending scale from tonic to dominant (embellishment on the subdominant) following
the I-VII-VI-V-I in D-Aeolian mode. Then (00:10), guitar plays a broken, distorted
melody with a flat 2nd
: A-D-C#5
and A-D-Eb5
, with A and D harmonics; the verse riff
(00:55) is held up by the bass, with E steady quavers walk, while Iommi gives up
rythmical guitar playing in advantage of a more atmospheric instrument effect
production.
“Headless Cross” - The Db-Mixolydian riff at the beginning (00:10) [App. 2,
Fig. 5] is much closer to classic heavy metal than to Black Sabbath’s early style: power
chords proceed through stepwise motion on a steady bass fundamental. The second main
riff (00:32, Aeolian) [App. 2, Fig. 6] is also something very “classic”, again based on
power chords with a typical closing filler at the end of the fourth repetition (00:50). The
bridge - chorus (01:37) [App. 2, Fig. 8-9] lies on long strokes, though at its end stands a
pattern with the succession Eb-D-Ab-G, which gives a tonal dominant taste even in CAeolian.
Keyboards are also to be mentioned: the special break (03:04) [App. 2, Fig. 10]
presents a synth choir melody with flat 2nd
D-Eb.
“Breaking Into Heaven” – Riffs in this songs walk slow but flawless. The
opening one [App. 2, Fig. 11] is based on a very simple rhythm and involves the flat 2nd
between Bb and A, also a tritone between the fundamental Eb and A itself. The EbPhrygian
verse (00:39) [App. 2, Fig. 12] is based on the Gb-Eb then Ab-Abb-Gb tones
patterns, while its rhythm presents syncopation and the ascending closing fragment BbCb-Eb-Fb-Cb-Bb,
also used at the end of the chorus [App. 2, Fig. 13]. The bridge is a
succession of descending power chords from IV to I.
Rhythms
All the considered songs are in the time signature of 4/4, typical of most rock and
metal music. Though, the rhythmical point of view is the less influencing in the Devil’s
topic. Its analysis is therefore here less detailed.
“Black Sabbath” – Guitar and bass rhythms are very monolithic and often based
on half-notes or whole notes. The drumming is not based on keeping the tempo, whereas
rather meant to be “orchestral”, according to the words of drummer Bill Ward himself
[13], whose main purpose was accompanying guitar, riffs rather than being technically
precise.
“Disturbing the Priest” – The prevailing pattern in the piece is the 16th-16th-
8th module, which can be found in the vocals verse on the words “not at all”.
Nevertheless, in a more specific way it is possible to observe a strong contrast between
the quite free attitude of vocals’ rhythm and the strong rhythmicity of the instruments in
the riffs, which often lay on combination of quavers or semiquavers and pauses. Only the
chorus (00:40) is built on deep long strokes, the second of which is on upbeat.
479
“Headless Cross” – The bassist steadily fingerpicks the chord fundamental in
homorhythmic patterns (in this case, 8th-16th-16th) in a way that was common in the
Eighties heavy rock music. Instrumental rhythms often lie on upbeats, especially on
chords changes, while the vocals rhythm is quite complex and varied, usually shifting
among combinations of quavers and semiquavers.
“Breaking Into Heaven” – There’s large variety of rhythms in this piece: the
opening riff is a heavy on quarter-notes, the verse lies on syncopation on countered
sixteenth-notes, the bridge is mainly made by long half-notes power chords, with a final
bar made by countered 16ths quatrains which lead to the chorus; the guitar in chorus
presents a very interesting syncopation pattern with four notes in the first three beats of
the bar and then a further syncope on the last beat.
Lead vocals
“Black Sabbath” – Vocals are quite repetitive and turn around the G-aeolian
scale (01:25), hitting the first five degrees in ascending sequence, then the octave and
finally conforming to the C# riff peculiarity [App. 2, Fig. 2]. There are some slight
variations, but the vocals melody basically relies on this pattern. They follow the
rhythmical path of the piece: they are narrative and free from tempo in the first part, and
then conform to a more disciplined pulse when the rhythmic section begins to impose
(04:43).
“Disturbing the Priest” – Gillan opens the song with piercing high-pitch
distortions. Gillan takes advantage of his wide vocal range with falsettos. The singer goes
through the verse (00:55) almost speaking, often following the 16th-16th-8th basic
rhythmic pattern on a D-C constant trill, which then becomes A-G. In general terms,
the vocals of the songs are based on two main features: Gillan’s excursion back and forth
through his range (often with “demonic” screams) and the contrast between the
homorhythmic verse and the melodic bridge and chorus. It’s noticeable that, differently
from Osbourne (who simply overdubbed the vocals keeping the same melodic line),
Gillan often harmonizes vocals.
“Headless Cross” – Tony Martin’s use of the vocal range varies throughout the
piece and covers almost two octaves. The intervals are quite wide in the verse [App. 2,
Fig. 7]; on the contrary lead vocals tend to proceed stepwise in the bridge, just before the
sudden leaps at the end of the chorus (01:53, C-G, and then G to Eb-D-C scale) which
also follow the general trend of instruments at that point.
“Breaking Into Heaven” – Ronnie James Dio developed his own inimitable
vocal style during more than fifty years on stage, shifting across genres such as swing,
romances, hard rock and classic heavy metal. These are the words Tony Iommi spent on
him: “He would sing sort of across the riff, whereas Ozzy would probably follow the riff,
particularly on ‘Iron Man’. […] He [Dio] gave us another angle on writing” [14]. His
weaponry on this song is various: from a melodic point of view, he uses both stepwise
flow (e.g. in the bridge, 01:46) and leaps (as in the verse, 00:39), then harmonization
especially in the bridge (one of his characteristics during his whole career). Dio’s tone is
majestic and epic, and on the rhythmic side he drags the phrase seeming often outtempo
(giving quite the out-of-time impression) through a complex rhythmicity which
actually is far simpler if considered as widening the phrase and following a solemn
exposition.
480
Harmony
“Black Sabbath” - The key is G-Aeolian. A very particular harmony lies at the
end of the song (05:14), where a succession of whole-notes draws in an alternation of G5
and Gq chords, with bass playing G-F-E-Eb. The resulting harmony is very complex: IVIIq(2_4_5)-dorVI7-VIq(2_3_5_6)
[15].
“Disturbing the Priest” – D-Aeolian is the key exploited in the piece, except for
the initial riff, where both harmonic minor (which is found in C# tone) and Phrygian
(Eb instead of E).
“Headless Cross” – Whereas the intro mode is Db-Mixolydian, from the verse
going on it changes into C-Aeolian. The basic feature of this song is the wide use of
power chords, and the most common harmonic functions are I, VII, VI and III: again,
both very common in Eighties heavy rock music (though in modal, not tonal system).
“Breaking Into Heaven” – In the starting riff there’s an ambiguity between EbAeolian
and Eb-Phrygian mode, the latter being the scale of verse and bridge (though
the closing bar of the bridge shifts to an Aeolian chord and then back again to Phrygian,
but this may also be a chromatic use of II degree to fulfill a dominant function), lowering
the II degree of from F to Fb. The chorus is instead in Eb-Aeolian.
Instruments and timbres
“Black Sabbath” – Rainfall and church bells are evocative, but the distorted
sound of Iommi’s guitar is very important. Due to a factory accident, he had to learn all
the basic technique from the beginning and play with prosthesis on two fingertips on the
right hand. The limitation in his technical possibilities at that time led him to play a lot
of power chords and partly built the recognizable sound of BS.
“Disturbing the Priest” – Ian Gillan’s timbre is screaming and hysteric, a feature
which could recall an evil environment. The sound of Born Again was heavily criticized
at the time because of its roughness, but it’s my opinion that the same roughness gives
the song a dark, creepy and haunting atmosphere. There’s a difference between Born
Again and the first BS release: from 1971 (Master of Reality) and on, Iommi began to
experiment with every kind of imaginable devices he found in recording studios, making
BS’ sound much more complex. Born Again is unique in BS’ discography due to its sharp
and cutting sound, being perhaps the band’s “darkest and most morbid” album.
“Headless Cross” – The sound is brighter than in Born Again, also due to an
extended use of keyboards. The drumming style of Cozy Powell is pattern-varied and on
tempo, in sharp contrast to unique “orchestral” Bill Ward’s style. The sounds of
instruments are equalized and reverbed in balance one with each other, while Tony
Iommi uses many guitar effects, which became very popular in the Eighties onwards. It is
possible to daresay that, after Seventh Star (1985), the sound of BS became very similar to
most other heavy/hair metal mainstream bands, losing many sound features of the first
BS’ releases.
“Breaking Into Heaven” – Production follows the standards of nowadays heavy
metal discography market and balances every instrument with the others keeping each
voice audible, but at the same time giving the song a powerful and massive sonic feature.
481
Features that recall the Devil’s topos
“Black Sabbath” – The starting distorted riff’s specific feature is the tritone from
G to C#. The latter note is also hit by a church bell, which remarks it to the listener
(furthermore, the bell’s tone is G, which recreates harmonically the tritone). The verse
drumming (01:08) on toms, timpani and bass drum gives the idea of something detached
and creepy, which can qualify as bearer of the topos. The G5
-Gq
chord alternation in the
ending (04:36) is dissonant (according to standard tonal/modal harmony), at the same
time threatening and epic. The main “demonic” features in the song are therefore
harmonic (tritone, G5
-Gq
) and timbral (bells, the sound of Gq
). Thus, the idea of the
considered topos, suggested by the lyrics, is also musically quite strong.
“Disturbing the Priest” – Wild, high-pitched screams throughout the whole
song, which could represent the Devil’s topos. The guitar riff (00:10) with the distorted
harmonics and flat 2nd
is representative of that topos and is also a very important part of
the piece’s identity. The contrast between upward and downward guitar-effect glissandos
in the verse gives the idea of something ancestral, mythical and threatening (it almost
resembles a non-human voices choir). Finally, the rough sound obtained by the
equalization and mixing, though disliked by musicians themselves, is enough sharp and
edgy to upset the listener and give him a sensation of discomfort, as if a dark presence
was creeping around. Thus, this song has primarily timbral (voice, glissando effect,
production, distorted harmonics) and harmonic features (flat 2nd
). Musically, the Devil’s
feature is strongly present in this song.
“Headless Cross” – Two elements recall the Devil’s topos. The Eb-D-Ab-G
pattern at the end of the chorus, which exploits two flat 2nd
intervals in the scale voice
leading: ^3 to ^2 and ^6 to ^#5 (since G is chromatic in the Aeolian mode).
Secondarily, the brief keyboard melody in the special, with the flat 2nd
and the ambiguity
between D in the ascending scale (Phrygian mode) and Db in the descending one
(Aeolian mode). Both the features involved here are harmonic.
“Breaking Into Heaven” – The two main riffs are the most musically related to
the topos: their wide and inexorable pace mirrors the cover artwork, an evil and powerful
entity which can’t be escaped from. The first of the two riffs, again, employs the tritone.
The darkness and fullness of the sound is also another element which improves the idea
of something enormous and unavoidable. The Devil’s topos here is given by harmonic
(tritone, flat 2nd
), melodic (pounding, slow riffs) and timbral (powerful equalization)
features.
According to my analysis, every considered song somehow contains musical
elements of the topos I was looking for. However, there is no fixed recurrence among
them through the different pieces. The tritone as Devil’s topos is an important feature,
but it is present only in two pieces out of four. Sound effects, though widely used, do
never repeat the same ideas or characteristics (they are based variously on guitar effects,
screaming vocals, church bells, etc.). If we want to consider what recurs in every piece
under investigation, it’s possible to identify distortion, flat 2nd
and power chords as
common elements. Hence, one could believe they are the Devil’s topos features, but they
all are actually quite common elements in the Black Sabbath discography, not only in
the songs which deal with the Devil as an extra-musical topos.
482
CONCLUSION
The starting purpose was to inquire the presence or absence of one or more
musical elements which could be considered having a relation to the extra-musical topos
of the Devil. I analyzed some BS songs, firstly from extra-musical point of view, then
from a musical one. This brought to the identification of some features which could be
related to the topos. Thus, I can state the presence of a musical Devil’s topos in Black
Sabbath’s music.
Nevertheless, this is brought by different elements from time to time, since no
strong recurring element was found to be always present through the different songs. In
the music of Black Sabbath the reference to this specific topic is not granted by fixed
musical items, but rather by the band’s adjustment to the aesthetic and performing
perspective of their times.
Furthermore, it was stated at the starting of the paper that the extra-musical
point of view is fundamental, being it related to lyrics, artwork, etc. Without it, the
considered music features would not have their “topical” meaning. Hence, it is clear that
the presence of this musical topos is the extra-musical context are strictly related, and
support each other in the exploitation of musical meaning.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My main acknowledgement goes to my supervisor Esa Lilja, who patiently and
carefully reviewed my work, though according to me the widest freedom in my choices
and thoughts. I would like also to thank my mate and former band colleague Corrado
Varelli for having shared with me many of his own thoughts and opinions about Black
Sabbath.
REFERENCES
[1] Lilja, E., 2009. Theory and Analysis of Classic Heavy Metal Harmony. Helsinki, IAML,
pp. 9-20.
[2] Christensen, T. (ed.), 2002. Cambridge History of Western Music Theory. Cambridge,
Cambridge University Press, pp. 123, 142-49, 156, 273-76, 485-87.
[3] Cope, A.L., 2010. Black Sabbath and the Rise of Heavy Metal Music. Farnham,
Ashgate, pp. 52-54.
[4] Black Sabbath (Butler, Iommi, Osbourne, Ward), 1970. “Black Sabbath”, Black
Sabbath. Vertigo.
[5] Vitolo, E., 2012. Black Sabbath. Neon Knights. Roma, Arcana, p. 178.
[6] McIver, J., [ed. and trans. by] Schettino, E. and Baroni, M., 2009. Black Sabbath.
Milano, Tsunami, pp.163-168.
[7] Ibid., p. 164.
[8] Black Sabbath (Butler, Gillan, Iommi, Ward), 1983. “Disturbing the Priest”, Born
Again. Vertigo.
483
[9] Black Sabbath (Cottle, Iommi, Martin, Nicholls, Powell), 1989. “Headless Cross”,
Headless Cross. IRS.
[10] Heaven and Hell (Butler, Dio, Iommi), 2009. “Breaking Into Heaven”, The Devil
You Know. Roadrunner Records.
[11] Washburne, C., Fabbri, F., 2003. “Riff”. In Continuum Encyclopedia of Popular Music
of the World. Volume II: Performance and Production. London, Continuum, p. 592
(quoted in Lilja, Theory and Analysis of Classic Heavy Metal Harmony, p. 154. See
above).
[12] Lilja, E., 2009, p. 190.
[13] Rosen, S., 1996. Wheels of Confusion. The Story of Black Sabbath. Chessington,
Castle Communications, p. 70.
[14] Ibid., p. 98.
[15] Lilja, E., 2009, p. 190.
APPENDIX 1 – LYRICS
1. Lyrics to “Black Sabbath”
http://www.metal-archives.com/albums/Black_Sabbath/Black_Sabbath/482
2. Lyrics to “Disturbing The Priest”
http://www.metal-archives.com/albums/Black_Sabbath/Born_Again/517
3. Lyrics to “Headless Cross”
http://www.metal-archives.com/albums/Black_Sabbath/Headless_Cross/524
4. Lyrics to “Breaking Into Heaven”
http://www.metal-
archives.com/albums/Heaven_and_Hell/The_Devil_You_Know/228522
484
APPENDIX 2 – SCORES
Note: All musical examples are my own transcriptions; fig. 3 is E. Lijla’s transcription.
BLACK SABBATH
Figure 1
Figure 2
Figure 3
DISTURBING THE PRIEST
Figure 4
485
HEADLESS CROSS
Figure 5
Figure 6
Figure 7
Figure 8
Figure 9
Figure 10
486
BREAKING INTO HEAVEN
Figure 11
Figure 12
Figure 13
487
Does Topic Theory Require a Monological
View of Competency? Perspectives From
Popular Music Studies and Reflections on
the Emergence of Psychedelia as a New
Topical Field
William Echard, Carleton University, CA
ABSTRACT
This paper asks in what ways existing topic theory should be modified when being used
to study new topical fields at the time of their emergence, i.e., when the researcher is
working with relatively contemporary materials rather than at an historical remove.
Most importantly, the traditional semiotic idea of a single competency shared by all
members of a community is questioned, and steps are taken to replace it with a more
dialogic perspective on the creation, circulation, and regulation of meaning. The
example of psychedelic popular music is explored as a case study.
The theory of musical topics has much to offer popular music studies, being
consistent with the sort of Saussurian model that has tended to dominate the study of
popular music but offering many extensions and refinements. However, topic theory in
its present form was developed in order to study music at a significant historical remove,
and its subsequent major developments and applications have similarly been focused on
music of the 19th century and earlier. For music of such time periods it has proven
methodologically effective to proceed as if the object of study is a single competency,
universal to the culture in question. As a result, when we try to apply topic theory to
contemporary genres and especially to the study of emergent topics, important
methodological and theoretical questions arise. In such cases, it is important to explain
how fresh topics appear and older ones are transformed in ways which are contingent
upon local and personal circumstances. This is a highly dialogical situation, and so the
question arises: can we support a monological view of semiotic competency and still do
justice to such a context? I will argue that it is possible to reconcile the most useful
aspects of existing topic theory with the claim that interpretive competencies are
multiple and contingent, explain the reasons for adopting such a view when studying
contemporary emergent topics, and explore a case study---the development of
psychedelic styles since the 1960s---with an eye towards two main questions: (i) in what
ways might we need to change the emphasis of existing topic theory in order to address
this kind of context, and; (ii) in what ways can we see psychedelic styles moving from a
488
relatively fluid and dialogical situation to a more static and monological one, as topic
theory would predict them to do in the long run?
In choosing to redesign topic theory for the study of contemporary emergent
topics, I do not wish to imply a sweeping critique of existing work, much less rejection.
The question is not one of absolute theoretical adequacy, but rather of which choices are
most appropriate for which research situations. It is not so much the case that the
development of topics, and the dialogism associated with such development, have been
ignored in existing work but that even this development has been cast from the
perspective of an historical remove, as already-completed. My question is: what should
we say about emergent topics from the perspective of participants in the time of their
emergence?
While many have contributed to the study of topics, the work of Raymond
Monelle is perhaps most significant with respect to two aspects of the theory. First, his
work offers the greatest historical depth. Second, he has offered the most extensive
model of the internal working of topics (although others have done more to theorize the
ways in which topics participate in elaborated structures). However, I would also suggest
that from the perspective of the contemporary study of emergent topics Monelle's work
presents the greatest ontological and epistemological difficulties. In a sense this is
another compliment: Monelle does us the service of making his assumptions and choices
entirely clear. But some of these are precisely the things that I will suggest need to be
transformed in approaches concerned with contemporary situations. In developing this
argument, I will therefore engage most directly with Monelle's work, bringing in
references to other theorists as appropriate. The range of texts I engage is quite narrow,
confined to fairly recent work from a single publisher, but that is because the community
of scholars who have done the most to advance topic theory are represented here.
Elsewhere I have presented a much more extended review of how such work can be
situated relative to the full range of music-semiotic theories, drawing on the literature of
popular music as well as others [1].
This paper has three parts. First I will describe in fairly neutral terms some of the
ontological and epistemological assumptions of current topic theory. Then I will offer a
more critical perspective on these features, and finally proceed to the case study.
Throughout, I will focus on three main aspects of topic theory: (i) its tendency towards
an atomistic view of the topic; (ii) its monological view of competency, and; (iii) its
attempt to keep separate various semantic domains.
The theory of topics does offer certain kinds of dynamism insofar as a great deal
of work has been done on how topics participate in processes of style change and in
dynamic elaborated forms of meaning, for example Hatten's work on troping of topics
and on expressive genre [2] or Almén's on narrative [3]. But in such cases the topic itself
is still generally treated as atomic. It is the relative fixity of topics as signifying units or as
coordinates in a semantic field which is relied upon as a framework against various forms
of combination and movement is analyzed. It is not generally asked how the meaning or
structure of topics themselves is changed through participation in such situations. On
one level this could be seen as antithetical to the general semiotic program of
emphasizing systems and mechanisms rather than items of vocabulary, although it is also
true that any system requires certain fixed terms and recent theories of musical semiotics
have tended to use topics in this way. This is not to say that workers in the area are
unaware of the issue. Monelle's own work in many ways can be read as an attempt to get
past the atomic approach to topics through an emphasis on historical context, textuality,
489
and cultural units. But as we will see, Monelle makes other choices which put strict
limits on how far such topical dynamism can be extended. Similarly, Hatten does note
that topics are synthetic emergent entities [4] but for the most part this aspect of
topicality is not developed in his work.
Monelle frequently asserts that topics are defined by complete conventionality:
that a topical signifier evokes the same cultural unit for competent listeners wherever it
occurs. This is not to say that Monelle fails to study the varieties of meaning and
changes in meaning associated with topics as they develop, but that his ultimate
perspective is removed from such multiplicity. The diverging and partial reports of
contemporaries are discussed, but ultimately sublated within the holistic perspective
Monelle wants to develop, and the competency he ultimately describes is based on
consensus, albeit often tacit. Hatten offers a position similar to Monelle's, but somewhat
more moderate:
I maintain that we still have access to relatively objective (by which I mean
intersubjectively defensible) historical meanings. […] I do not claim there must be
one and only one musical meaning [. . .] but rather that we can propose plausible,
contemporaneous meanings, at an appropriate level of generality [5].
The crux of the discussion is this: what constitutes the appropriate level of
generality in any given case? Monelle's understanding of competency appears to posit an
extremely high level of generality, even universality. This choice makes sense relative to
certain of Monelle's linguistic and semiotic sources, but it also creates a tension with his
otherwise particularistic and nuanced descriptions of specific historical situations and of
the differences between them.
When discussing the relationship between various semantic domains, systems of
code, and so forth, some of what Monelle says would be entirely consistent with
mainstream views in fields such as ethnomusicology or popular music studies. For
example: "all musical signification is social and cultural . . . because topics are paradigms,
signifying in relation to culture" [6]. But in other respects Monelle defends views that
appear more traditional, perhaps to the point of being reactionary, by insisting on the
separation of different signifying regimes and by seemingly attributing agency to texts
and to signifying systems. For example: "a theory of the sense of music is not
autonomous, but it is immanent, self-related, and logically prior to music sociology" [7].
Similarly, while Monelle adopts the theory of cultural units to describe the object of
topical signs, he defines cultural units in terms of a split between external-world
experience and convention which stands in sharp contrast to many forms of
contemporary cultural theory [8]. Although such theoretical tendencies are arguably
divergent, there are good reasons that Monelle would hold them all at the same time,
since his work is situated at an intersection between the study of history, which tends in
a pluralistic and pragmatic direction, and traditional semiotics, which requires as one of
its fundamental tenants that "the status of a sentence or term as a semiotic entity is not
guaranteed by its relation to a real state of affairs, but by its interpretability within a
code" [9].
Having now described some of the theoretical choices which I will want to
nuance or change in the study of contemporary emergent topics, we can move to a
discussion of why such changes may be needed, starting on a theoretical level and then
continuing into the case study. Many of the points I want to raise have already come up
490
in the literature, and indeed within the community of musical semioticians concerned
with historical styles. Consider, for example this extended quote from Melanie Lowe:
To limit contextualization, while perhaps prudent, creates as many theoretical
questions as practical answers it provides. For one, limiting context draws firm
boundaries around the text as well, sustaining the problematic text/context binary
[. . .] Moreover, by constraining context and allowing a text to embrace only
'relevant' intertexual relationships, the main mechanism of intertextuality itself---
context becoming text---can ultimately fail to operate [. . .] Equally problematic is
the question of who decides which 'some' things outside of the text 'ascend' to
become part of the text [10].
The issues raised by Lowe are both ontological, having to do with the site of
immanence of textuality, and epistemological, having to do with unexamined choices
about whose discursive authority should be favoured. My concerns are similar, but center
on the nature of competency, and the ultimate untenability of a strong separation
between semantic domains and semiotic regimes.
In its original form within Chomskyan linguistics, linguistic competency is
universal to all humans. The same competency underlies all natural languages, and it is a
cultural universal that linguistic competency is a prerequisite for being considered
normal by any community. The object of study in such a model is the ideal speaker in an
homogeneous community. So at first it seems entirely reasonable that a theory of musicsemiotic
competency will be similarly Universalist and consensus-oriented. However,
there are important respects in which this mapping fails to operate. First, the frame of
reference for topic theory is not all music, or even all music within a particular culture,
but rather certain substyles. A kind of universality is asserted, but it is difficult to justify
given that true universality has already been set aside. Second, while aesthetic and social
value judgments are outside the scope of Chomskyian linguistic competence, they are an
important part of music-semiotic competence. I therefore characterize the view of
musical competency typical of existing topic theory as monological in two related senses.
First, in the assumption that stylistic competence is singular and universally distributed
within a culture, and second, in the assumption that such competence includes
consensus on certain judgments of aesthetic and social value. But I have described a
contradiction in the first kind of monologism, since it tries to be particular and universal
at the same time. When working on primarily historical materials such a position may or
may not be avoidable, but in my experience it's more trouble than it's work when
working with contemporary cultures, not only for reasons of epistemological politics but
also for simple methodological and ontological reasons. It is too difficult to pry apart the
obviously intertwined stylistic and interpretive frameworks active in the present
moment. If we accept this analysis of the first kind of monologism, then we have much
less motive to try and sustain the second.
My suggestion is that when doing any kind of analysis on contemporary musicsemiotic
practices, including the study of emergent topics, it is necessary to recognize
that the kind of competency involved is like competency in a single language or even a
dialect, and therefore not a universal competency. Further, discursive struggles over
authority can often be productively understood as a clash of competing competencies,
and this approach can help to explain the unique mixture of disagreement and frank
mutual incomprehension typical of such encounters. Of course we also need to attend to
the fact that such a competency will include strategies for negotiating with and
491
translating between competing competencies, such that over time the interaction
between several of them may well produce competencies of greater generality and more
widespread distribution.
Even allowing for such a radical alteration, there is much in existing topic theory
that should be retained in the study of emergent topics. In my own work, one of
Monelle's most consistently useful insights is also one of the most subtle: the fact that a
topic is distinguished in part by indexicality of the content. In short, the idea is that a
topical sign in the first instance signifies some object of cultural importance, often for
historical or social reasons, but that object is taken in turn as an index of broader
cultural units.1
This model not only suggests the final structure towards which topics
develop but also the sort of social processes that allow it to happen. Indexicality of
content is one of two criteria of topicality emphasized by Monelle, both of which will be
useful in our case study of psychedelia:
• "Has this musical sign passed from literal imitation (iconism) or stylistic reference
(indexicality) into signification by association (the indexicality of the object)?"
• "Is there a level of conventionality in the sign?" [12]
But since the study of contemporary emergent topics requires us to take such
signs not as a given but to examine the processes through which they develop, further
questions are necessary. With regard to the indexicality of content we need to pay
special attention to instances of signs being removed from their original stylistic frames,
or of entire styles being removed from their contexts. Such acts of removal and
distancing are necessary for the immediate signification to be weakened and the
indexicality of content to become conventional. With respect to conventionality more
generally, we can look for struggles over epistemic authority, and should be careful not to
minimize differences of understanding. We can also look for moments where the
meanings preferred by one community, or the version of a textual feature typical of one
style, gain more widespread distribution and acceptance. And we can ask in every case
how sensitive a particular meaning is to the identity of the interpreter. In cases where
this judgment drifts towards 'relatively insensitive', a new topic may be developing.
At this point I have finished my summary and critique of certain aspects of topic
theory, and offered suggestions about what an approach more appropriate to the
contemporary study of emergent topics might look like. For the remainder of the paper I
will examine a case study: the emergence of new topics in connection with psychedelic
styles and cultures since the 1960s. Since space doesn't allow a comprehensive overview,
I will focus on three features:
(i) the intense dialogism of early psychedelic styles; (ii) instances where
indexicality of content is evident but not yet monological; (iii) an example of
continuing openness and contested definitions within a likely emergent topic.
The first points I wish to make have more to do with the creation of a
psychedelic style and genre in general, rather than topics in particular. But since the two
are not really separable in practice, and are to a degree mutually defining, it will be a
useful exercise. In the 1950s and into the 1960s there were a range of constituencies and
agendas active in the creation of psychedelic culture. Some prominent groups and figures
include: Aldous Huxley, psychological researchers (often concerned with mimicking
1
For a full explanation see Monelle [11].
492
psychosis), clinicians, therapists, Timothy Leary and other popularizers, The Diggers,
The Merry Pranksters, Hunter S. Thompson, and social-political radicals such as The
White Panthers and the Yippies. Between them were a range of agendas, which could be
arranged into at least four types: scientific, humanistic, hedonistic, and political. This
overview is necessarily very crude but should at least give a sense of the cultural
complexities surrounding early psychedelia. Also important is the shift of the mid-1960s,
which altered psychedelic culture from something limited to the laboratory and private
salon and turned it into mass culture. It was at this point that deliberately psychedelic
music began to be created, shortly followed by widespread commodification of the
associated styles. After the 1960s, we see continuing subcultural and stylistic
fragmentation in psychedelia along with an increasing degree of historical reflexivity.
Apart from this contextual complexity, early psychedelic styles were intensely
dialogical in that psychedelic music were always created as substyles of styles which were
not primarily psychedelic in orientation (psychedelic rock, psychedelic folk, etc.). There
are a range of subtle relationships that can be found between source styles and their
psychedelic variants, but for now we can simply note the existence of two major groups.
Token contributors are styles which contributed signifiers but which did not develop an
extensive psychedelic substyle/subgenre.2
Base styles are styles which are not always or
even usually psychedelic, but which developed an extensive psychedelic
substyle/subgenre. Table 1 gives a sense of which major source styles for early psychedelia
may be fit into each category.
Styles that were token
contributors but not base
styles
Base styles established
before the mid-1960s
Base styles established in the
mid-1960s or later
Electronic and musique
concrète
Free jazz
Indian classical
Instrumental surf
1950s rock and roll
Rhythm and blues
Vaudeville and Music Hall
Circus music
Church music
Brass bands
Soul
Country
Chicago and folk blues
Folk
Electric blues rock
Jazz-rock fusion
Funk
Folk rock
Progressive rock
Minimalism (marginal, but
Terry Riley is at least one
example, and maybe also the
Velvet Underground and
German rock bands such as Can
and Amon Düül II)
Table 1: Psychedelic-related styles of the 1960s and early 1970s.
Generally, a token contributor or base style is in some way cognate with
psychedelic experience or intent, and further complexities arise from that fact that there
are several ways in which this can happen:
Cognate by intent: Genres that are associated with the transformation of
consciousness but which do not have psychedelic intent (e.g., Buddhism, Hinduism,
Surrealism).
Cognate by formal affect: Styles that are formally amenable to psychedelic use,
especially because they offer icons of psychedelic experience (e.g. drones in Indian
classical music, or timbral and spatial experimentation in classical electronic music).
2
I do not mean 'token' here in the formal sense of a type/token relationship. I simply mean that individual
musical features are borrowed in isolation, without any extensive generic or stylistic mapping.
493
Cognate by context. Base styles that become implicated by time/space connection
to psychedelia. Some may also be cognate by formal affect (e.g. Yardbirds-style rave-ups)
and some may not (e.g., country music, pre-1960s blues).
Cognate with redirection. Deliberate use of psychedelic styles for some nonpsychedelic
purpose (e.g., exploitation, nostalgia, decoration).
We do not have room to pursue this analysis in more depth, but it should be clear
that early psychedelia was exceptionally rich in dialogical relationships. Each of these
borrowings, removals, and redefinitions was associated with a range of negotiations over
meaning, and in some cases clashes between previously separate or even previously
opposed styles and systems of musical understanding.
Often, we can directly map Monelle's model of indexicality of content into a
psychedelic context. For example, see Table 2.
Musical Item Object Signification
Indian stylistic influences in
The Beatles "Love You To"
[14]
index Indian spirituality index Consciousness expansion (as
part of psychedelic philosophy)
Harmonic oscillation in The
Grateful Dead "Dark Star"
[15]
icon Suspended time
sense
index Altered sensory and cognitive
states (as part of psychedelic
experience)
Table 2: Two straightforward examples of psychedelic indexicality of content.3
Such an analysis probably mirrors quite well the ways in which such gestures
became standardized to signify widespread features of psychedelic culture. But Monelle's
model can also be useful in showing how meanings can be contested or divergent. For
example, Table 3 offers two ways of reading the same signifier, both of them topical and
both likely consistent with the interpretive priorities of different groups of listeners.
Music Item Object Signification
Sitar-like guitar
solo in The
Hollies "Bus
Stop" [16]
heard as an
index
raga rock as a
trend
index Psychedelia as a style with which
The Hollies display solidarity
heard as an
icon
raga rock as a
trend
index Psychedelia as a style which The
Hollies are cynically exploiting
Table 3: Two different readings of the same topical sign
In this example, it is possible that two disagreeing interpreters would both selfidentify
as insiders to rock culture. Similar divergences, or even greater ones, could be
possible between self-identified subcultural insiders and outsiders. For example, consider
a disagreement over whether a loose improvisatory approach to music ultimately
represents social and artistic progress, or social and artistic degeneration. It is important
to note that in some cases holders of the different views do not only disagree, but
fundamentally perceive different situations. Their divergent competencies invite the
construction of different symbolic worlds, which then struggle for discursive authority.
I would like to discuss one other application of the indexicality of content model,
having to do with the increasing historical self-reflexivity that became important to
psychedelic culture by the 1970s. Signs which had previously signified contemporary
3
All tables of this type are based on the format suggested by Monelle [13].
494
struggles and abstract values maintained these associations, but with an added layer of
signifying the 1960s themselves. For example, see Table 4.
Musical Item Object 1 Object 1 Signification
Drum loop in
The
Chemical
Brothers
"Setting Sun"
[17]
icon The Beatles
"Tomorrow
Never
Knows" [18]
symbol The Chemical
Brothers
asserting their
place in a
lineage
index 1960s psychedelic
culture both reinscribed
and seen as
an object of solidarity
and tribute
Table 4: Historical reflexivity in later psychedelia, analyzed as an instance of indexicality of
content with one extra signifying stage
In all of these examples, Monelle's model of the topic remains useful but
within a context that emphasizes multiplicity of perspective and perhaps even the social
encounters between multiple competencies.
I'd like to conclude by briefly considering another example which shows the
benefits of recognizing ambiguity and openness in topical definitions, and suggests that
we should not rush to foreclose these. One of the many electronic dance music subgenres
to emerge in the mid-1980s was acid house, defined largely by the distinctive 'squelch'
noises produced by the Roland TB-303 bass synthesizer. This combination of timbre
with characteristic melodic and rhythmic programming is a good candidate for an
emergent topic because, for those familiar with electronic dance music, when used in
certain ways it immediately and fairly universally connotes the acid house genre along
with all the associated cultural units, even in the absence of other cues. But should this
potential topic also be seen as part of the emergent topical universe of psychedelia? The
name 'acid house' might suggest so, especially given the iconic relationship between the
TB-303 squelch and certain types of electronic sound already associated with psychedelic
styles. However, there are conflicting reports regarding the origins of the name and none
have emerged as definitive. They do not even all accept that the psychedelic reference
was primary -- other connotations of the word 'acid' are sometimes preferred.. I would
argue that at this point in time, given the indexical connection of the style to a dance
culture with psychedelic elements, and given the iconic relationship to certain
psychedelic music, that the psychedelic correlation is becoming dominant and that the
further indexicality of content back to psychedelic experience and culture more
generally is becoming conventional. But not entirely, and not for everyone, and not with
any clear understanding of the original motives, which remain close enough in time for
many participants in the culture to care about them. We may or may not in this case be
witnessing the moment of standardization and a collapse of multiple perspectives into
something monological. And the model of the topic can be very useful in helping to sort
out what's going on. But I think we should avoid the temptation to jump to an early
closure of such issues.
495
REFERENCES
[1] Echard, William, 2005. Neil Young and the Poetics of Energy. Bloomington, Indiana
University Press.
[2] Hatten, Robert S., 1994. Music Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and
Interpretation. Bloomington, Indiana University Press, and Hatten, Robert S., 2004.
Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes. Bloomington, Indiana University Press.
[3] Almén, Byron, 2008. A Theory of Musical Narrative. Bloomington, Indiana University
Press.
[4] Hatten, R., 2004, pp. 2-3.
[5] Ibid., pp. 6-7.
[6] Monelle, Raymond, 2006. The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military, and Pastoral.
Bloomington, Indiana University Press, pp. 9-10.
[7] Monelle, Raymond, 2000. The Sense of Music: Semiotic Essays. Princeton, Princeton
University Press, p. 6.
[8] Monelle, R., 2006, pp. 23-24.
[9] Ibid., p. 21.
[10] Lowe, Melanie, 2007. Pleasure and Meaning in the Classical Symphony. Bloomington,
Indiana University Press, pp. 76-77.
[11] Monelle, R., 2000, pp. 16-18.
[12] Ibid., p. 80.
[13] Ibid., p. 18.
[14] Beatles, The., 1966. "Love You To." Revolver. Parlophone.
[15] Grateful Dead, The., 1969. "Dark Star." Live/Dead. Warner Bros.
[16] Hollies, The., 1966 (single). "Bus Stop." Parlophone.
[17] Chemical Brothers, The., 1996 (single). "Setting Sun." Freestyle Dust/Virgin.
[18] Beatles, The., 1966. "Tomorrow Never Knows." Revolver. Parlophone.
496
Along the Lines of the Roland TB-303:
Investigating the Topic of Acid in Techno
Botond Vitos, Monash University, Melbourne, AU
ABSTRACT
Based on ethnographic data from my performance studies PhD project, this paper
addresses the concept of the musical topic in the context of the popular music meta-genre
of electronic dance music (EDM) and particularly the sub-genre of acid techno. Dance
music signifies embodiments of particular sensibilities and arrangements, and indeed the
music is one primary layer in an interconnected web of mediations within the ritual
context of electronic dance floors, with other layers including recreational drugs and
environmental arrangements. These electronic rituals often seem devoid of referential
messages or at the very least detached from textual explanations, as indicated by the
music’s lack of lyrics and the scarcity of ideological references.
In EDM the synthesized or sampled sounds of instruments such as drum machines are
misappropriated or untied from the cultural units corresponding to the original
instruments, signalling an engagement with the intertwined mediums of electronic
sounds and drugs from which a range of cultural, social and historical ties unfold. A
primary topic in acid techno is related to the Roland TB-303 bass synthesiser responsible
for the ‘acid sound’, the history of which emerged from the creative ‘perversion’ of
technology by early techno producers, went hand in hand with the reattribution of
pharmaceutical drugs as recreational and found its natural habitat in the post-industrial
space of the squatted warehouse party. Indeed this supports Monelle’s argument that
musical signification is inseparable from historical, social and cultural processes,
indicating the relevance of interdisciplinary approaches.
EDM AND THE MUSICAL TOPIC
The popular music meta-genre of electronic dance music (EDM) is a relatively
new phenomenon. Evolving from the 1970s New York disco, its first significant genres
appeared in the US in the mid-eighties, where DJs from Detroit and Chicago
constructed “machine music […] that turned you into a machine” [1]. Dance music
signifies embodiments of particular sensibilities and arrangements [2], and indeed the
music is one primary layer in an interconnected web of mediations within the ritual
context of electronic dance floors, with other layers including recreational drugs and
environmental arrangements [3]. These electronic rituals often seem devoid of
referential messages, or at the very least, seem detached from textual explanations, as
indicated by the music’s lack of lyrics and the scarcity of ideological references. Similar
to a musical meta-language, EDM is explicitly concerned with the qualities of the
medium into which it is embedded; the ‘content’ of most tracks is generally very limited
or subordinated to this primal concern, and lyrics are either non-existent or applied as
atmospheric effects reinforcing the sound.
497
During the early years of EDM, producers discovered creative new ways for using
drum machines and synthesizers which had been originally designated by manufacturers
as substitutes for ‘real’ instruments and human performers. The intention of early EDM
producers was not to create replicas but ‘machinic’ sounds, rhythms and effects never
heard before, and to put them into circulation within their immanent techno-aesthetic
contexts. These artists produced copies without originals by steering away from the
natural referent and using these ‘fake’ instruments for their own special sonic attributes
[4]. Inspired by the working mechanisms of the drum machine, the foundations of loopbased,
‘synthetic’ dance music were laid. This inexhaustible manufacturing of repetitive
sound patterns in EDM, traceable to the working mechanisms of the drum machine, is
reminiscent of Baudrillard’s [5] consideration of the serial form of models generated in
infinite chains, which carries out the ‘murder of the original’ through its infinite
diffraction into itself. This process can be originally reproduced in the historical-cultural
context of an art movement: such as Warhol’s early production of soup can series
through which he “attacked the concept of originality in an original way” [6].
Figure 1: Series of Roland TB-303 drum machines: ‘acid’ as a sound.1
Similarly, much of the characteristic ‘machinic’ sound of EDM is derived from a
series of sound patterns returning into themselves and generally aligned to a repetitive
flow of bass. This diminishes temporal referentiality and contributes to the illusion of a
timeless progression at parties. The experience of this is related to a contemporary
‘digital aesthetics’ which, as described by Murphie and Potts [7], instead of focusing upon
an eternal idea of art or beauty, is engaged in the endless transformation of our sense of
perception through technology. This ‘differential aesthetic’ acquires a multi-dimensional
depth in EDM: not only is the sound and the music under continuous manipulation by
means of an infinite number of effects and re-mixes, but the effects of sound systems and
visuals at parties are further enhanced by the technology of consciousness-altering drugs.
My consideration of topic theory in EDM draws on Monelle’s guidelines::
In order to understand a topic, we need to relate a long narrative of fantasy and
imagination, as well as to understand social and technological history. […] Both
1
Author's own artwork.
498
signifier and signified must be investigated if we are to reach some grasp, at least
provisional, of the meanings and evocations of each musical topic [8].
Considering the merely three-decade long history of EDM, the main social and
technological concerns of my discussion are related to the above-described developments
in late 20th
century popular music. In this context specifically the relationship between
signifier and signified is worth investigating. In contrast with topics in classical music
where, for example, a musical horse would correlate to the conventional ‘cultural unit’ of
the horse [9], in EDM the synthesized or sampled sounds are misappropriated or untied
from the conventional cultural units relating to the original instruments or sound
samples. Cascone [10], for instance, describes techno as an “appropriation machine,
assimilating cultural references, tweaking them, and then re-presenting them as tonguein-cheek
jokes”. Following McLuhan [11], the medium becomes the message: the
collapse between the topic’s signifier and newly developed signified refers to an
engagement with the intertwined mediums of electronic sounds and recreational drugs
from which a range of cultural, social and historical ties unfold.
The remainder of this paper addresses the acid techno sub-genre and its primary
topic of ‘acid’ as part of my broader PhD research of Melbourne EDM scenes. The
discussion is illustrated by interview excerpts drawn from a recent focus group I
conducted with performers/organizers and regulars at the core of the scene.
TECHNO AND THE ROLAND TB-303
Particularly in the genre of techno, the key structural particularity of the music
lies in the manipulation of repetitive loops: the music is engaged in further repetitions of
a copy that lost its original. In techno tracks this act of copying the copy is associated
with subtle changes in the sound layers, leading to a differential repetition. The layers
are typically endowed with percussive, rhythmic functions: contrary to most genres of
popular music where drums establish the meter of the track while remaining in the
background, in techno “drums are the music, to the extent that the few melodic
elements that are present (e.g., the riffs) frequently assume a percussive role as well” [12].
Consequently, the music itself becomes a ‘drum machine’ even in its present context,
when it is created by means of hybrid methods often including computerized sound
production [13].
One of the ‘fake’ instruments that had been ‘perverted’ by early producers, the
Roland TB-303, reached iconic status, particularly in the acid techno sub-genre. This was
the same instrument that fuelled UK acid house scenes, notorious for drug-related moral
panics in the 1990s. Acid house was responsible for the wide-spread of house in the late
1980s and early 1990s UK after its original development by hedonistic, gay black
communities in early 1980s Chicago. Techno, originally related to Chicago house,
emerged from the more intellectually oriented middle class black youth of late 1980s
Detroit, relying on influences such as Kraftwerk, funk, European synth-pop, and the postindustrial
cityscape of decaying Detroit City [14]. The first incarnation of the genre was
connected to Belleville Three, a group of producers paying increasing attention to
instrumentation details in their tracks, influenced by sci-fi imagery and stark European
synthesiser music. In the early 1990s the second wave of Detroit techno artists pushed the
499
music closer to the form as we know it today. Inspired by electro, U.K. synthpop,
industrial music and EBM music, a harsh sound was in development [15].
The TB-303 bass line generator was unsuccessful for its designated scope because
it produced ‘inauthentic’ sounds, and its design made it incompatible for playing, yet
suitable for programming music [16]. By applying its built-in effects in the ‘wrong’ way to
its programmed sound patterns, EDM producers started creating extremely resonant,
squeaky and distorted sound layers. In acid techno this modified bass line (that hardly
resembles bass) is used in conjunction with the physically moving grooves of hard
techno music, contributing to an intensity that is often further amplified by drugs, as
explained by the following focus group participant:
Cooper: Yeah, that's just something about the power or intensity of it… A lot of
people think hard music is aggressive or, you know, there's something unsocial about
it, but really, for me it's like, you can't say a sports car is evil or aggressive, but you
know, it must be really enjoyable to drive on, because it's powerful. And the music
basically is just the only thing that kind of… that's caught me. And for some
instances I wouldn't even say techno is like music to me. I hate saying this because
it's kind of cliché. But music to me, I like a lot of bands and stuff like that, but the
only thing that actually gives a physical response to music, regardless of, you know,
drugs or no drugs, is techno and acid techno.
THE MARRIAGE OF SOUND AND DRUG
After the second wave techno lost popularity among the black inhabitants of
Detroit, and due to influences of global EDM culture and geographical/cultural shifts it
apparently ceased to be ‘black’ music, with Berlin becoming one of its main global hubs.
However, certain Detroit DJs did not even regard techno as a black phenomenon in the
first place. A similar detachment from black realities is discussed in More Brilliant than the
Sun: Adventures in Sonic Fiction, a book by Kodwo Eshun on the musical manifestations
of black science fiction sensibilities. Eshun situates Detroit techno within the context of
Afro-futurism, which, in contrast with, for example, the street reality of mainstream hiphop,
is engaged with the unreality-principle of a sonic science developing the "alien
discontinuum" of machine music. With techno, according to Eshun [17] “the machine
goes mental”, it "turns the soul into sound-fx” and burns out colour. Eshun also notes
that there was a general confusion about the skin colour of the first Detroit techno
producers.
The consumption of popular recreational drugs such as acid (LSD) and ecstasy
(MDMA) was almost completely absent in the Detroit techno scene yet became
organically connected to the genre after its exportation to the British rave parties of the
late eighties [18]. The emergence of these drugs can be regarded as a technological
misappropriation, with both MDMA and LSD being invented as pharmaceuticals first
and then appropriated for other uses [19] [20], intensifying the further explorations of
the machine aesthetic evoked by Eshun. In the focus group I conducted both drugs were
frequently mentioned, with acid considered particularly conducive for directing
attention on previously unnoticed layers in the music.
Jake: The TB-303 which is the main instrument of acid techno is referred to as
the acid sound. Which, hence, acid techno. Basically the particular tone, and the
500
way it changes frequency, and the way it rises and drops, on certain drugs can
really take you to… for the lack of another term, take you to another world. I
took a lot of LSD and hallucinogenic drugs at one particular event to see one
particular acid techno artist, and I was, like, the drunk guy at the party. Like, I
could barely stand up straight. I was stumbling all over the place. Two of the
weirdest guys that I would usually be looking at, I saw at the corner of my eye,
going: look at this guy… Looking at me, tapping each other, laughing: look at
this guy! But it really opened up my perception to sound and frequency range.
Hearing this particular tone from speakers higher than the roof, and, you know,
your mind grabbing onto different parts of it, that you wouldn't usually sort of
zone in on when you would go to a party ‘straight’.
For Jake, experiencing acid (techno) while on acid (LSD) is considered a decisive
experience, opening up his “perception to sound and frequency range”. The two
corrosive components are thus inextricably linked in the formation of acid as a musical
topic inherent in this expanded flow of frequencies. Monelle [21] highlights the
imaginative and processual dimension of musical topics: musical texts, similarly to
literary texts, are transforming meaning, adding an imaginative dimension to the one
inherent language. Acid as a topic correlates to a transformative and imaginative
expansion of this fusion of the linguistic sound/drug mixture: for Jake it signifies a
powerful aesthetic experience, the linguistic definition of which is problematic (“for the
lack of another term”). Furthermore, in this case even the linguistic signification relates
to processes of technological misappropriation, creating further shifts in meanings or
losses of original referentiality: the TB-303 is no longer used as a ‘fake’ instrument; LSD
is no longer a pharmaceutical drug.
Figure 2: Series of LSD-containing blotters: ‘acid’ as a drug.2
The understanding of acid as a musical topic must be based on the investigation
of the drug/music experience in context: as Monelle [22] emphasizes, musical
signification is inseparable from historical-cultural processes, indicating the relevance of
interdisciplinary approaches. My final investigation situates the experience in its closest
cultural context, the environment of the acid techno party.
2
Mad Hatter LSD Blotter Art. Image by Apothecary, © 2001 Erowid.org. reprinted with permission from
Erowid.org.
501
URBAN SQUAT SPACES
The history of acid techno is interwoven with technological perversions, such as
exploring the acid sound of the Roland TB-303 drum machine, or the ‘rediscovery’ of
pharmaceutical drugs such as LSD or ecstasy as recreational. This is complemented by a
third misappropriation of industrial spaces: abandoned squat warehouses and factory
buildings used for dance events. In Melbourne, the latter was an international import
first and became a necessity later, with increasing regulation and security measures
pushing the sub-genre to the margins of urban nightscapes. The eerie atmosphere of such
settings is a good companion to the squeaky frequencies of acid, as the recollections of a
party-goer from a recent party suggest:
Stan: A kind of theatre/factory sort of structure with no purpose, just kind of sitting
there with no reason in the middle of which is quite a dynamic and industrial area.
It’s quite good to see this relicy type of artifact … the 50s or 40s factory that’s sort of
fallen on hard time[s]. But I’m not sure what they did there, it’s a mystery what they
did there. It’s not quite a theatre, not quite a factory; it’s quite enigmatic as a
venue… There is something very artistic about a disused industrial building. It just
seems like a place in incredible flux which is on the cusp of being demolished, but in
that sort of transition between what it was and what it will be, in a sort of limbo.
Just as early producers were exploring the ‘gaps’ in technologies outside of their
intended or ‘useful’ applications, with the TB-303 being one of the notable examples for
this process [23], such places “in incredible flux”, as the one evoked in the fragment, are
discovered as gaps in the machinic landscape to be filled with the technological
imaginary of EDM. In these post-industrial mansions haunted by the ghosts of
production, Eshun’s “secret life of machines” [24] prevails, with party-goers partaking in
the evolution of human-machine interactions. Such corrosive environments carry the
connotations of familiarity and freedom to the interviewees, as opposed to the ‘shinier’
but severely regulated commercial clubscapes of the Melbourne CBD.
CONCLUSION: PERVERTING MACHINES
Musical topics add the imaginative dimension of cultural contexts to the
semantic field of simple linguistic terms [25]. This paper argued that the crystallization of
acid as topic is inseparable from cultural processes and is shaped by sound, drug and
environment as three intertwined layers of technological misappropriation. As an
interviewee confirms: “techno is like a drug to me now”; and indeed these two
components contribute to the aesthetic experience that emerges from the same corrosive
logic that defines the use of urban squat environments. From the after-life of
technologies and environments, the acid techno party invokes machine-ghosts that are
sometimes brought back to haunt the everyday as well, as the concluding fragment
humorously suggests:
Sophie: My dad used to joke that the music I listened to sounded like when he used
to work at the factories… [Laughs] Like the machinery… It's like: Aaah…
502
Cooper: Yeah, and a lot of people say that about Detroit [techno] too…
Sophie: And my mum has caught me dancing to the washing machine before
[Laughs]. And the other day at work, I'm like: someone's playing really good music,
who is that? And I'm wandering around the offices, trying to work out who it was,
who is playing good music, and I realised it was a dot matrix printer. My god… It
was like: Oh god, I need help [Laughs].
REFERENCES
[1] Reynolds, S., 1999. Generation ecstasy: into the world of techno and rave culture. New
York: Routledge, p. 28.
[2] Monelle, R., 2006. The musical topic: hunt, military and pastoral. Bloomington, Ind.:
Indiana University Press, p. 6.
[3] Jackson, P., 2004. Inside clubbing: sensual experiments in the art of being human. Oxford:
Berg, p. 17-20.
[4] Butler, M.J., 2006. Unlocking the groove: rhythm, meter, and musical design in electronic
dance music. Profiles in popular music. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, p. 70.
[5] Baudrillard, J., 1993. Symbolic Exchange and Death. London: Sage, p. 72-73.
[6] Baudrillard, J., 1997. “Objects, Images, and the Possibilities of Aesthetic Illusion”. In
Jean Baudrillard: Art and Artefact, edited by Nicholas Zurbrugg. London: Thousand Oaks,
p. 11.
[7] Murphie, A., and Potts, J., 2002. Culture and Technology. Basingstoke: Palgrave, p. 84.
[8] Monelle, R., 2006, p. 19.
[9] Monelle, R., 2006, p. 23.
[10] Cascone, K., 2000. “The Aesthetics of Failure: ‘Post-Digital’ Tendencies in
Contemporary Computer Music”. Computer Music Journal 24 (4):12-18.
[11] McLuhan, M., 1964. Understanding media: the extensions of man: New York:
McGraw-Hill.
[12] Butler, M.J., 2006, p. 93.
[13] Butler, M.J., 2006, p. 67-70.
[14] Brewster, B., and Broughton, F., 2000. Last night a DJ saved my life : the history of the
disc jockey. (Updated ed.), London: Headline.
[15] Reynolds, S., 1999, p. 219-220.
[16] Butler, M.J., 2006, p. 68.
[17] Eshun, K., 1998, More brilliant than the sun: adventures in sonic fiction. London:
Quartet Books, p. 107.
[18] Sicko, D., 2010, Techno rebels: the renegades of electronic funk. Second Edition,
Detroit, Michigan: Painted Turtle, p. 78-80.
[19] Redhead, S., 1993. The Politics of Ecstasy. In Rave off: politics and deviance in
contemporary youth culture, (ed.) by Steve Redhead. Aldershot: Avebury.
[20] Russell, K., 1993. Lysergia Suburbia. In Rave off: politics and deviance in contemporary
youth culture, (ed.) by Steve Redhead. Aldershot: Avebury.
[21] Monelle, R., 2006, p. 25.
[22] Monelle, R., 2006.
[23] Butler, M.J., 2006, p. 68.
[24] Eshun, K., 1998, More brilliant than the sun: adventures in sonic fiction. London:
Quartet Books, p. 10.
[25] Monelle, R., 2006, p. 24.
503
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
Raymond Monelle
(1937 - 2010)
Professor Raymond Monelle was a musician, composer, conductor, music lecturer,
semiotician, author, and critic. He was born in Bristol in 1937 and educated at the city's
grammar school. In 1948, his family moved to Hull, where he went to Hymer's College,
before going on to spend two years in the R.A.F doing National Service. While he
initially became a teacher at Ottershaw School, his love and passion for music led him to
a career change; he returned to education and obtained a BMus from the Royal College
of Music in London, a Masters degree in Modern History from the University of Oxford,
and a PhD for his thesis on opera seria from the University of Edinburgh.
In 1969 Raymond Monelle joined the University of Edinburgh as a member of
staff, where his friendliness and affable reputation among the students made him a
popular lecturer. He was a prominent member of the music faculty at Edinburgh
University for more than 30 years with an active involvement in the department’s
musical activities, before his retirement in 2002. He continued to teach some classes,
supervise postgraduates and undertake some work at Napier University. He gave talks
from Rome to Mexico, sharing his experiences and knowledge. On his retirement, he
achieved an honorary professorship in recognition of his work and maintained his
passion for the subject until his death.
His most influential and inspiring output was in the area of the semiotics of
music; it was a field in which he was internationally recognised and respected. He wrote
three books on this subject: Linguistics and Semiotics in Music (1992), The Sense of Music
(2000), and, The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral (2006). Among numerous
essays and papers, he also wrote a novel, Bird in the Apple Tree, about the adolescence of
the composer Alban Berg (unpublished). He was also a keen composer, he composed
several piano and organ works, as well as a Missa Brevis, among others. Apart from his
academic duties, he was conductor of the opera club and university society choir. During
the 1970s, he conducted performances including Handel's Judas Maccabaeus and
Stravinsky's The Wedding, as well as a number of opera club productions, such as Weber's
Oberon, Offenbach's Orpheus in the Underworld, and Boieldieu's La Dame Blanche. He
also had a lifelong love of jazz and performed with his own trio – as an accomplished and
inventive jazz pianist, he once played his way from Southampton to Cape Town at the
head of a jazz group which entertained passengers sailing with the Union Castle shipping
line. As a critic, he was a reviewer of music for The Scotsman and later for Opera
Magazine and The Independent.
He is survived by his wife Mhairead, his sister Suzy and his daughters, Cathy and
Julia.
504
AUTHORS
Almén, Byron is an associate professor of music theory in the Sarah and Ernest
Butler School of Music at the University of Texas at Austin. He is the author of A
Theory of Musical Narrative and is currently working on a book on musical discourse and
the theory of consciousness.
Atkinson, Sean is an assistant professor of music theory at the University of
Texas at Arlington where he teaches courses in post-tonal analysis, musical semiotics,
and 20th-century form and technique. He currently serves on the executive board of the
Texas Society for Music Theory and on the advisory board of Mosaic, a new graduate
music journal sponsored by the State University of New York, Buffalo.
Balter, Tamara holds a Ph.D. in Music Theory from Indiana University (2009).
Research interests include music aesthetics and 18th century music. Publications: “The
Structure of Irony and How it Functions in Music,” in Philosophers on Music: Meaning,
Experience and Work, (ed.) Katherine Stock (Oxford University Press, 2007), coauthored
with Eddy Zemach; “Parody of Learned Style,” in Music Semiotics: A Network of
Signification: In Honour and Memory of Raymond Monelle, (ed.) Esti Sheinberg (Ashgate,
2012).
Bar-Yoshafat, Yonatan is a music lecturer at the Department of Literature,
Language and the Arts, The Open University, Israel. His Ph.D., “Romantic Irony in
C.P.E. Bach's Music: Formal, Semiotic and Narrative Manifestations and HistoricStylistic
Significances”, was written at Tel-Aviv University. He published articles and
study materials in Hebrew, and a new article of his is about to be published in the
IRASM.
Mario Baroni1
has been full professor at the Department of Musicology of the
University of Bologna (Italy). In 1990 he founded an association for the analysis and
theory of music (Gruppo Analisi e Teoria Musicale). As president of this association he
co-organised the second and the sixth European Conferences of Music Analysis. He was
also President of ESCOM (European Society for Cognitive Studies of Music) from 2003
to 2006. His research fields are mainly devoted to problems of music analysis, music
communication and music education. His book Le regole della musica (on the concept of
musical grammar) in collaboration with R. Dalmonte and C. Jacoboni was published in
Italy and translated into English and French.
Bratus, Alessandro is a postdoctoral research fellow at the University of PaviaCremona
where he gained his Ph.D. in 2009 with a dissertation on Bob Dylan’s
Basement Tapes. His field of research is popular music, with particular interest in the
analysis of song and multimedia products (especially British and American) from the
1960s on.
1
Keynote speaker at the International Conference on Music Semiotics in Memory of Raymond Monelle, University of
Edinburgh, 26-28 October, 2012.
505
Buhler, James is an associate professor of music theory in the Sarah and Ernest
Butler School of Music at the University of Texas at Austin. He is an editor of Music and
Cinema and the co-author of Hearing the Movies. He is currently working on a book on
music, myth, and the cinema.
Carr, Paul is Head of the Division of Music and Sound and Reader in Popular
Music Analysis at the University of Glamorgan. His research interests focus on
musicology, the music industry and pedagogical frameworks for music education. He is
also an experienced performing musician, having toured and recorded with artists as
diverse as The James Taylor Quartet and American saxophonist Bob Berg.
Castro, Paulo (PhD, Royal Holloway, University of London, with a thesis on
Wittgenstein and music) is a musicologist, a lecturer at Universidade Nova, Lisbon, and
a member of the CESEM research centre (Portugal). He has published several books and
essays on 19th
- and 20th
-century music. His interests as a researcher include topic theory
and the philosophies of musical modernism. Paulo F. de Castro is Chairman of the
Portuguese Society for Music Research.
Cecchi, Alessandro holds a postdoctoral fellowship at the University of Turin for
research on film music in Italian industrial cinema. He received his Ph.D. at the
University of Pavia-Cremona, with a dissertation on Ernst Kurth’s theory of musical
form. His publications focus on film music, history of the concepts of music and cinema,
19th-20th century music theory and aesthetics, the symphonies of Bruckner and Mahler.
Chattah, Juan is Assistant Professor of Music at University of Miami, where he
teaches courses on Musical Semiotics, Narrative Sound, and Film Music. His primary
research interest concerns the application of models drawn from linguistics and critical
theory to the analysis of film music. His dissertation “Semiotics, Pragmatics, and
Metaphor in Film Music Analysis” is under review for publication. He is currently
director of the CMS Institute for Film-Music Pedagogy, held every summer at the Frost
School of Music, in beautiful Miami.
Corbella, Maurizio is postdoctoral research fellow at the University of Milan,
where he received his Ph.D. in 2010 with a dissertation on the role of electroacoustic
music in the Italian cinema of the 1960s. His publications include essays on Nino Rota’s
music, Federico Fellini, Michelangelo Antonioni, sound design, science fiction, early
electronic music in Italy and American third stream.
Curry, Ben completed his first degree in music at Cardiff University in 1996, his
MA in Film and TV Composition at Bristol in 2003, and his doctoral studies in
Musicology at Cardiff in 2011. His PhD thesis concerns the application of semiotics to
music and he has given research papers on this subject in the UK and elsewhere in
Europe. He has published an article in Studies in Musical Theatre and in a collection of
essays in honour of Raymond Monelle. Ben’s musical interests stretch from the
eighteenth century to the present day and his research focuses upon twentieth-century
popular music and late eighteenth-century music.
506
Debenham, Jory is a doctoral candidate at Lancaster University, researching the
music of the Theresienstadt concentration camp, exploring ways of deriving and
uncovering meaning from the surviving scores and texts. She is also active as an
educator; in addition to private piano teaching, she is in demand as an adjudicator and
examiner for the Royal Conservatory of Music in Canada.
Echard, William is an Associate Professor of Music at Carleton University,
Ottawa. His early research on energetic and spatial icons and indices in rock music led
to a book on Neil Young published by Indiana University Press. He is currently working
on a long-term project concerning topic theory and the historical development of
psychedelic popular music.
Everett, Yayoi Uno is Associate Professor at Emory University in Atlanta,
Georgia, USA. Her research specializes in the analysis of postwar art music, art film, and
opera from the perspective of music theory, semiotics, cultural studies, multimedia
theories, and East Asian aesthetics. She is currently working on a monograph on
contemporary operas and her previous publications include a monograph on Louis
Andriessen's music, co-edited volume Locating East Asia in Western Music, and analytical
articles on György Ligeti, Elliott Carter, Toru Takemitsu, and Chou-Wen Chung.
Field, Ambrose is Reader in Music at the University of York. He has published
writings on digital culture in Continuum Press and Ashgate, and his musical
compositions are recorded on ECM records and Sargasso. His work concerns the
exploration of new sonic and cultural territories through digital technologies, and is an
award winner at the Prix Ars Electronica, Linz (1997, 1998, 2006). He has broadcast on
the BBC, the ORF, RTE, and SWR networks.
Giuggioli, Matteo is postdoctoral research fellow at the Centre d’Études
Supérieures de la Renaissance of Tours. He gained his Ph.D. at the University of PaviaCremona
with a dissertation devoted to narrative implications in Boccherini’s String
Quintets. His publications focus on 18th-century instrumental music and film music,
especially the relation between opera and cinema.
Greer, Taylor A. an Associate Professor at the Penn State University, received
his Ph. D. in music theory from Yale University. His first area of research, for which he
received an ACLS fellowship, resulted in A Question of Balance: Charles Seeger's
Philosophy of Music, published by the University of California Press (1998). His present
research project focuses on another American composer at the turn-of-the-century,
Charles Griffes.
Grimalt, Joan conductor, philologist, and PhD in musicology with a thesis on G.
Mahler supervised by Raymond Monelle until his decease. He is teaching at the Esmuc
(Conservatory), at the UPF, and at the Uic, Barcelona. Among the international group
on Musical Signification led by Eero Tarasti, his main research subjects are Mahler’s
work and sacred music.
507
Groffman, Joshua is currently a doctoral student in composition at the Indiana
University Jacobs School of Music, where he also earned a master’s degree. He graduated
from Cornell University in 2007, where he completed double majors in music and
history. He has written works for orchestral, vocal, and chamber ensembles, as well as for
theater and film.
Hammond, Jane is a PhD candidate at the Sir Zelman Cowen School of Music,
Monash University, Melbourne, Australia. She has composed original music for
mainstream and community theatre, and the concert stage. Her doctoral research in
music composition focuses on an exploration of musical meaning through the theory of
musical topics, in particular the pastoral topos.
Haringer, Andrew received his Ph.D. in Historical Musicology from Columbia
University in 2012, with a dissertation on the early works of Franz Liszt. His research
interests include political, religious, and poetic influences in Liszt’s life and work; music
semiotics and topics theory in particular; and the fantasy tradition in Romantic piano
music.
Heimonen, Panu has been educated at the Sibelius-Academy (Music theory and
analysis) and the University of Helsinki (Musicology, Philosophy). His research centres
on music analysis and narrative theory with applications to various musical contexts,
including musical performance. He has special interest in bringing together narrative
ways of analysing music with traditional music analytical techniques such as
Schenkerian analysis and musical Formenlehre.
Hood, Danielle is a third year part-time postgraduate research student at the
University of Leeds, supervised by Dr. Martin Iddon and Dr. Mic Spence. My research
considers the presence of topoi in fin-de-siècle Vienna, focusing on formalising specific
‘Viennese’ topics and tracing them through the major Viennese composers, from Johann
Strauss and Mahler to Webern and Eisler.
Köksal, Füsun is a composer currently pursuing a Ph.D in composition with
music theory minor at the University of Chicago. Köksal is a recipient of several
international awards, including a third prize at the 6ème Concours International de
Composition Henri Dutilleux (2008), and her works have been performed by prominent
ensembles such as Eighth Blackbird, International Ensemble Modern Academy, Arditti
String Quartet, and Penderecki String Quartet.
Li, Jingdi currently a second year music PhD student at the University of York
conducts musicological research. She completed her MA in the same field in 2010. Prior
to coming to the UK, she worked in China as a teacher at a well-known private school.
Before that she studied Music at Capital Normal University in Beijing.
Liu, Lucy is a doctoral student in music theory at Indiana University. She has a
BA (summa cum laude) from the University of Western Ontario, where she was a
recipient of the Queen Elizabeth II Aiming for the Top Scholarship from 2006-2009.
Lucy is part of the editorial support team for Indiana Theory Review.
508
Mak, Su Yin is Associate Professor of Music Theory and Vice-Chair at the
Department of Music of the Chinese University of Hong Kong. Though primarily known
as a Schubert scholar, she has also published on other topics that engage the relationship
between musical structure and expression in tonal music.
Matras, Judah is Professor Emeritus of Sociology at the Hebrew University of
Jerusalem, Carleton University, Ottawa, and the University of Haifa. His main career
research and teaching were devoted to social stratification and mobility, population
studies, and social gerontology, but most recently he has taught courses and seminars in
the Sociology of Music and has presented numerous of research papers.
McKay, Nicholas is Head of Music and Senior Lecturer at the University of
Sussex, U.K. He was awarded a Leverhulme Research Fellowship to complete a
monograph on the semiotics of quotation, allusion and topical reference in Stravinsky’s
music. He is Assistant Editor of the Journal of Music and Meaning and has published
articles on music semiotics and topic theory including a recent chapter in honour of
Raymond Monelle.
McClelland, Clive is Principal Teaching Fellow in the School of Music at the
University of Leeds, where he gained his PhD in 2001, and where he delivers courses in
18C music, opera, analysis and harmony & counterpoint. He is also very active as a
choral director and performer, and is chorus master of Leeds Baroque. His main research
interest is in the field of topic theory, and he has written the entry on ombra in the New
Grove dictionary. His first book, Ombra: Supernatural Music in the Eighteenth Century has
just been published with Lexington Books. It has been described as representing ‘a
milestone in the ongoing search for understanding how composers used musical
conventions to communicate with their audiences’. He is also contributing the chapter
on ombra and tempesta in the forthcoming Oxford Handbook of Topic Theory (ed.) Danuta
Mirka, and is starting to look closely at horror movie music.
Mika, Bogumila is an associate professor in the University of Silesia, Katowice,
Poland. She is a music theorist (MA) and a composer (MA), music sociologist (PhD,
1999) and musicologist (habilitation 2011, Jagellonian University, Cracow). She has
published three books and 45 articles on contemporary music and semiotic aspects of
music. She presented papers in the USA and in many European cities.
Milia, Alessandro studied clarinet and composition in Italy. From 2002, he
attended the Italian composer Franco Oppo with which he followed his first composition
lessons, then a course of musical analysis. In 2007, he moved away in France where
during two years he followed the Master Arts Research and Composition at the University
Paris VIII with professor Antonio Lai. In 2011 a part of his Master's research was
published in an article entitled Franco Oppo, Appunti sulla figura e sullo stile, in the Italian
review Musica/Realta. Currently, he is a doctoral student at the University of Paris VIII
under the direction of Ivanka Stoianova, in collaboration with the University Ca'Foscari
of Venice. His musicology and compositional Research approaches the study of relations
between oral traditional music and news compositional strategies.
509
Moore, Sarha is a musician, teacher and PhD student of World Music. She plays
saxophone with the Bollywood Brass Band and has played and recorded with Highlife,
Klezmer, big, street and jazz bands. Her PhD at Sheffield University, “The Other Leading
Note”, is a comparative study of the appearance of the phrygian or flat second in raga,
maqam, Klezmer, Heavy Metal and Western classical music. It assesses the importance of
the flat second in music, both structurally and emotionally, and considers how varied
associations attributed to it can lead to miscommunication and its use as an Orientalist
tool.
Nagy, Daniel is a Hungarian musicologist and an MA student of semiotics at the
Loránd Eötvös University in Budapest. He studied history at the University of Pécs (his
home town) and finally he gained his Bachelor degree in musicology at the Ferenc Liszt
Music Academy in Budapest in 2011. He participated in several researches of the
Musicological Institute of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences about the history of 20th
century Hungarian music, and of the Liszt Memorial Museum and Research Center
about Liszt. His main interests are the music of the 19th century (Liszt and Wagner
especially), music semiotics and comparative studies between music and literature, art
etc.
Oliveira, Isis does her Master’s degree with funding from FAPESP at USP, where
she graduated. Her thesis is focused on the analysis of Ligeti’s Requiem under the
orientation of Paulo de Tarso Salles. Ísis also conducted a survey of undergraduate
research about the Op. 30 by Webern under the guidance of Salles and funded by
FAPESP, which received Honorable Mention.
Palopoli, Cibele has a bachelor in Flute by Universidade de São Paulo (USP)
with a scholarship offered by the State of São Paulo Research Foundation (FAPESP).
Cibele Palopoli earned an M.A. at the same University (USP/FAPESP). Recently she
won an International Mobility Scholarship funded by Santander Group, allowing her to
study at the Music Department of King’s College London.
Piedade, Acácio T. C. (Ph.D. Federal University of Santa Catarina, Brazil, 2004)
is currently associate professor at Universidade do Estado de Santa Catarina (UDESC)
in Florianópolis, Brazil, where he teaches and coordinates researches in Musicology,
Ethnomusicology and Music Analysis. He is the author of several articles and book
chapters on music analysis of Brazilian music, music signification and topics.
Plesch, Melanie is an Argentine musicologist currently based in Australia.
Formerly an Associate Professor at the University of Buenos Aires, she is now a Lecturer
in Musicology at the University of Melbourne. Her research focuses on the intersections
of music, politics and society, with particular emphasis on the relationship between
music and the construction of national identities.
Raba, Bogusław was born on 30th of Oktober 1976 in Legnica. In 2000 he
graduated with distinction in theory of music from Wrocław. In 2003 he graduated with
distinction in organ study also from Wrocław. He took private lessons of improvisation
by Jos van der Kooy in Amsterdam, then organ improvisation and French organ music in
masterclass by Julian Gembalski in Katowice. Since 2000 he taught as assistant at the
High School of Music (Harmony, Countepoint, Analysis of Music, Musical Forms).
510
Since 2005 he began to teach at the Institut of Musicology (University of Wrocław):
Analysis of Music, Harmony, Counterpoint, History of music XIXth century. In 2008 he
defended Ph.D.: Between Romantism And Modernism. Compositional works of Ignacy
Jan Paderewski. This first monography of Paderewski's oeuvres was published in 2010.
The English translation of his book is in preparation in Peter Lang Edition.
Ribaldini, Paolo was born in 1986, and attained both Bachelor (2008) and
Master's Degree (2010) in Philosophy at the University of Verona (Italy). In 2011 he
also took a Bachelor in Violin at the Conservatorio of Mantova. He is currently a PhD
student at the University of Helsinki, Faculty of Arts. His study concerns the application
of musical philosophy to heavy metal music.
Rodríguez, Bienvenido Arana is a Ph.D. student of the Université Marc-Bloch de
Strasbourg under the direction of Márta Grabócz and he is a member of the Laboratoire
d’Excellence GREAM (Groupe de Recherches Expérimentales sur l’Acte Musicale).
Currently, he researches on the signification processes of an opera spectator.
Salles, Pauolo de Tarso was born in Sao Paulo, Brazil. His specialties are in
composition, musical research and guitar. Dr. Salles teaches Music Theory in the Music
Department of ECA/USP (University of Sao Paulo). He works as a coordinator of a
research project on the string quartets by Villa-Lobos with the sponsorship of FAPESP
(The State of Sao Paulo Research Foundation) and as well, co-coordinates PAM laboratory
of perception and Musical analysis. He is the author of the books Aberturas e
impasses: a música no pós-modernismo [Openings and deadlocks: music in the postmodern
age] (Ed. Unesp, 2005) and Villa-Lobos: processos composicionais [Villa-Lobos:
compositional processes] (Ed. Unicamp, 2009), as well as several articles published in
journals and congresses of musicology.
Sánchez-Kisielewska, Olga is a doctoral student in Music Theory and Cognition
at Northwestern University. She holds master degrees in Music Theory and Musicology
and bachelor degrees in clarinet and economics. Her research interests include musical
meaning, connections between music, literature, and the visual arts, and the
phenomenology of the aesthetic experience. She volunteers as a docent for the Chicago
Symphony Orchestra.
Souza, Rodolfo Coelho is associate professor of Music Theory and Composition
at the University of São Paulo, Brazil. He has a DMA in Music Composition from the
University of Texas at Austin, where he studied with Patrick McCreless, Elliott
Antokoletz, Douglass Green, Michael Klein and Russell Pinkston, who advised his
dissertation A Concerto for Computer and Orchestra.
Suominen, Marjo is a doctoral student at the University of Helsinki,
(Department of Philosophy, History, Culture and Art Studies, in Musicology). Her
research discipline concerns with Handel´s Giulio Cesare by musical performance
practices of musical rhetoric (the affections theories). There has been published an
online conference proceedings article in English by her on December 14th
2011.
Suurpää, Lauri is the Professor of Music Theory at the Sibelius Academy in
Helsinki, Finland. His main research interest is the analysis of tonal music, and his
511
publications have combined examinations of tonal structure from a Schenkerian
perspective with aspects such as form, programmatic features, narrativity, musico-poetic
associations in vocal music, eighteenth-century rhetoric, and Romantic aesthetics.
Venn, Edward is Senior Lecturer in Music at Lancaster University. His research
interests focus on twentieth-century and contemporary music. Recent writings include a
monongraph (The Music of Hugh Wood, Ashgate), two chapters in The Cambridge
Companion to Michael Tippett (forthcoming, 2013) and various articles, chapters and
dictionary entries on the music of Thomas Adès, Mark-Anthony Turnage, David
Matthews, and Nicholas Maw. He is Critical Forum Editor for the journal Music
Analysis, serves on the editorial board for The Journal of Music and Meaning, and writes
reviews regularly for both Tempo and Music & Letters.
Vitos, Botond is a PhD candidate at the School of English, Communications &
Performance Studies, Monash University, Melbourne, Australia. He received an MA in
Cultural Anthropology from the ELTE University, Budapest, Hungary. His research
interests include electronic dance music studies, the relationships between music and
technology, the cultural contexts and meanings of drug use and the interconnectedness
of music scenes.
Waltham-Smith, Naomi is Assistant Professor in Music Theory at the University
of Pennsylvania. Sitting at the intersection of music theory and Continental philosophy,
her research explores how the critical resources of recent French and Italian thought
might be deployed to interrogate the ethical significance of encounters with music’s
sounding materiality. She is currently writing a book on “Music and Belonging Between
Revolution and Restoration.”
Weiß, Robert Michael born 1956 in Vienna; growing up with jazz music. Studies
in piano, music pedagogy, jazz piano; harpsichord and the Zwölftonspiel with Victor
Sokolowski (student of Twelve-Tone-pioneer Josef Matthias Hauer). Certified teacher of
George Russell’s “Lydian Chromatic Concept” International concert activities and
recordings, as composer, conductor, pianist. Design of interactive exhibits on Music and
Mathematics, presented in Austria, Italy and Germany.
Yeary, Mark is Visiting Assistant Professor of Music Theory at the Jacobs School
of Music at Indiana University. His recent research interests include the structure and
use of chords in the works of Stravinsky and Messiaen, the roles of timbre and context in
the aural pedagogy of harmonic music, and the cultural and musical exegesis of
progressive rock.
Yu, Grace is a full-time lecturer of the Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts,
holds a Ph.D. in music theory and M.M. in piano performance from the Indiana
University Bloomington. She presented papers and lecture-recitals at the World
Congress of Semiotics, European Music Analysis Conference, the International Liszt
Conference “Liszt and the Arts”, International Congress of Music Signification,
Canadian University Music Society, and West Coast Conference of Music Theory and
Analysis. Other than researching and teaching music theory, Yu was an orchestral
pianist for Bloomington Symphony Orchestra and Columbus Indiana Philharmonic. Yu’s
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achievements in music have been recognized by the Phi Kappa Lambda honor, Bernard
Van Zuiden Music Scholarship, Sir Edward Youde Memorial Scholarship, among
numerous others.
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