OK, I opened my mouth and announced a quiz on Tuesday (2/9), which means now I have to make it up. Making it up is hard, because I have to figure out what I want you to know, then how to pose the questions, then (worst of all) I have to evaluate them! So even though this is sort of a practice quiz (can-help-you-but-can't-hurt-you type of thing), I want to take it seriously and enlist your help, oh those of you with the courage to write on the blog! This will also help you, since I am going to ask you to submit some good questions you would like me to ask you. Not only will you know some of the questions (if I choose them), but the very act of making good questions is a fruitful exercise.
Here's a little story that may make sense to you and perhaps even be helpful:
Years ago I did a media workshop at Appalshop (a media center in Whiteburg, KY). One part of it involved learning how to interview people. The facilitator showed us some video tape of some very interesting footage of people talking about a particular topic. He chose the footage because these were really good stories. But what he did was to stop the video tape every once and a while and asked this question: "What kind of a question might produce what you just heard as an answer?" Fascinating question about questioning. So are there particularly interesting or insightful passages from out text to which we can put the same question?
What questions do you think will lead to your learning the things that are most important to you? So you can realize your goals. Oh, and by the way, What are your goals?
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
A Little on Scarlatti's Sonata for Harpsichord in D Major, K. 492
I wanted to do a quick entry concerning this lovely little harpsichord Sonata (mainly on the form). It's found in the Anthology (#5, page 12).
This sonata doesn't seem to be one of Scarlatti's more popular ones, but it does have an exciting and fun character throughout! The melody is nice and elegant and also quite moving, after all it is in the Galant Style! This sonata shows Scarlatti extending himself to a much larger symmetrical rounded binary structure, that I must say is not far off from being sonata form. Scarlatti begins with the theme, which is built upon short phrases that are repeated, in D major (mm. 1-8) and then starts his move to the dominant key of A. But, instead of using A major, he begins with A minor (mm. 20-35). A major is finally reached in measure 36 and goes on until the repeat sign. Scarlatti uses the B part of the rounded binary form as the "development" section. Here, he plays on several of the motives that were presented in the previous section. Scarlatti returns to the A (prime) section in measures 74 to the end (notice that he does not use the main beginning thematic material from measures 1-8, but instead uses the material from measures 19 and following). This section does not modulate back to A major or minor, but Scarlatti retains the key of D major. As can be seen, the seeds of Sonata allegro form were being born! The theme is built upon short phrases that are repeated.
As one can see, Scarlatti uses wonderful sections of contrast and repetition in this sonata. It also seems as if Scarlatti is imitating the guitar in this Sonata. Scarlatti uses a wider variety of harmonic and textural color, as well as greater technical difficulties for the keyboardist...like the fun, lyrical virtuosic scalar patterns. To me, this is piece has quite the Baroque feel (maybe due to the use of the harpsichord and trills/mordents).
Hope this helps some of you out! Feel free to use in your notebooks if you would like!
Sam
Contrast, Sammartini, and the Big Picture
Jay made an important point (about the second movement of Sammartini not fitting the galant style) in his comment on Dr. Brunner's latest post. I would like to address this issue, not only because I have an opinion about the Sammartini, but also (and more importantly) because I feel strongly about the lens through which we should be viewing the works we look at in this class. So here are my thoughts:
We've focused a great deal on the labels "galant" and "Empfindsamkeit" in class recently. They are certainly very useful and offer us meaningful insights as we track the development of the Classical musical paradigm, but they are just that: labels, which are a shorthand for a set of characteristics. And the more we use a label, the more of a one-dimensional entity it becomes. "Blonde" is a label. "Muslim" is, unfortunately, becoming a label. Something either fits the label, or it doesn't fit the label. "Either you're with us or you're against us." It's easy (and tempting) to think in black-or-white terms, but it won't ultimately bring us the deeper understanding that we seek. The challenge lies not in finding what fits a given label, but in appreciating what doesn't. Please don't misunderstand me -- labels are critically important: they show us the absolutes. But in the real world, absolutes are largely theoretical, so it is incumbent upon us to recognize the multiple (often contradictory) facets of whoever and whatever we encounter.
Now, how does this apply to the discussion at hand? In the case of "galant" and "Empfindsamkeit" (i.e., two opposing ideals), Dr. Brunner's use of the yin/yang analogy is very fitting. And Jay, you've hit the nail on the head in pointing out how the 2nd movement of the Sammartini doesn't fit the galant stereotype. So we have to ask ourselves not only "why doesn't it fit?", but also "what does this mean?". You've already taken a step toward answering the first question: the harmonies are not what one would expect of the galant ideal. But perhaps some of the other stylistic elements are more galant-ish (and yes, I use the term "galant-ish" intentionally). For example:
(1) The rhythm (to which you alluded) is straight-forward and repetitive, and the meter is clear and square (with the obvious exception of the fermati)
(2) The melody, while somewhat chromatic and angular at times, is presented in short, clear segments and without any ornamentation.
(3) The texture is almost completely homophonic.
So there seem to be elements of both ideals at play here. Then again, perhaps this is not the best part of the symphony to analyze in these terms, especially in light of the fact that this "movement" is only 6 measures long -- hardly enough for any large-scale form to exist. Clearly, the final cadence is convincing (both registrally and harmonically), and if this were a theory course, we could debate each of the internal resting points and come up with some sort of "quasi-pseudo-sentence-thingy" as the form of the movement. But I think the important thing is that the "movement" seems to have been shaped by 3 compositional goals:
(1) Negate the metric, thematic, and harmonic constructs that had been set up by the first movement -- i.e., violate the listeners' assumptions so that we'll have their attention for the next set of "instructions" (hence the new tempo, angular melody, and successions of inverted chromatic chords);
(2) Don't take too long (lest we bore the listeners); and...
(3) Set us up for what comes next (hence the arrival on the dominant at the end - I think Don alluded to this already).
If memory serves, this sort of passage for the purpose of changing moods is reminiscent of what one might find in a Baroque cantata (especially leading into a recitativo passage). Of course, the mood-changing passage in this symphony differs from its Baroque counterparts in that here every pitch is written out, while Baroque figured bass would have allowed the continuo player to inject an improvisatory element into the music.
Having addressed the style and likely purpose of this brief movement, I think it's time to turn our attention to the second question -- what does this all mean? We can all analyze six measures, but what does our analysis tell us about the development of the classical style? For one thing, my observations about this piece (when combined with my observations about the pieces we've looked at by Stamitz, Benda, and C.P.E. Bach) tell me that the "important" composers of this time (i.e., those whose works we still study today) were all likely trying to find a way to write what they wanted to write within the confines that existed. For example, conditions of employment necessarily impacted each composer's output (we talked in class about how C.P.E. Bach's job security allowed him to go out on a limb, but many didn't enjoy this security). Despite working conditions, however, they all strove to make their music "do something" or "go somewhere."
There was always something interesting or unexpected -- whether it's Stamitz's "Mannheim Steamroller" (an exciting effect to be sure -- remember that it was heard by 18th-century ears), or the unsettled transitory passage used by Sammartini, or the florid, rubato-laden lines of Bach and Benda -- to write engaging music that does something unique was an aspiration of each of these composers (and I think an aspiration of all composers). And the galant and Empfindsamkeit styles were simply two different outlines on which a piece could be based. Like the "sports car" and "SUV" styles, each specific piece had its own color, make, model, upholstery, fancy options packages, and factory recalls...
For this reason I'm grateful to Jessica Tzou for pointing out our unfortunate tendency to attach negative baggage to the galant style -- which is particularly ironic since galant seems to have been more fashionable in many places at the time. I hope that my post has not elevated either style above the other, but rather placed them at opposite ends of a continuum, within which the works we are looking at exist.
So, to come back to the reason for my post, I think you're right, Jay -- the Sammartini does sound "contrasty," and I think we can find that "contrast" in every "important" piece we study this semester. Though the contrast will take different forms and be more obvious at some times than at others, when we look for the balance between the two poles (the yin and yang of the piece, if you will), it is then that we understand what made 18th-century listeners sit up and take notice. In my humble opinion, the music lies not in the notes on the page, but in the energy transmitted to the audience. So when we understand the mindsets of those were a party to this transmission -- the 18th-century composer, the 18th-century performer, and the 18th-century listener -- that's when we understand the music.
LD
We've focused a great deal on the labels "galant" and "Empfindsamkeit" in class recently. They are certainly very useful and offer us meaningful insights as we track the development of the Classical musical paradigm, but they are just that: labels, which are a shorthand for a set of characteristics. And the more we use a label, the more of a one-dimensional entity it becomes. "Blonde" is a label. "Muslim" is, unfortunately, becoming a label. Something either fits the label, or it doesn't fit the label. "Either you're with us or you're against us." It's easy (and tempting) to think in black-or-white terms, but it won't ultimately bring us the deeper understanding that we seek. The challenge lies not in finding what fits a given label, but in appreciating what doesn't. Please don't misunderstand me -- labels are critically important: they show us the absolutes. But in the real world, absolutes are largely theoretical, so it is incumbent upon us to recognize the multiple (often contradictory) facets of whoever and whatever we encounter.
Now, how does this apply to the discussion at hand? In the case of "galant" and "Empfindsamkeit" (i.e., two opposing ideals), Dr. Brunner's use of the yin/yang analogy is very fitting. And Jay, you've hit the nail on the head in pointing out how the 2nd movement of the Sammartini doesn't fit the galant stereotype. So we have to ask ourselves not only "why doesn't it fit?", but also "what does this mean?". You've already taken a step toward answering the first question: the harmonies are not what one would expect of the galant ideal. But perhaps some of the other stylistic elements are more galant-ish (and yes, I use the term "galant-ish" intentionally). For example:
(1) The rhythm (to which you alluded) is straight-forward and repetitive, and the meter is clear and square (with the obvious exception of the fermati)
(2) The melody, while somewhat chromatic and angular at times, is presented in short, clear segments and without any ornamentation.
(3) The texture is almost completely homophonic.
So there seem to be elements of both ideals at play here. Then again, perhaps this is not the best part of the symphony to analyze in these terms, especially in light of the fact that this "movement" is only 6 measures long -- hardly enough for any large-scale form to exist. Clearly, the final cadence is convincing (both registrally and harmonically), and if this were a theory course, we could debate each of the internal resting points and come up with some sort of "quasi-pseudo-sentence-thingy" as the form of the movement. But I think the important thing is that the "movement" seems to have been shaped by 3 compositional goals:
(1) Negate the metric, thematic, and harmonic constructs that had been set up by the first movement -- i.e., violate the listeners' assumptions so that we'll have their attention for the next set of "instructions" (hence the new tempo, angular melody, and successions of inverted chromatic chords);
(2) Don't take too long (lest we bore the listeners); and...
(3) Set us up for what comes next (hence the arrival on the dominant at the end - I think Don alluded to this already).
If memory serves, this sort of passage for the purpose of changing moods is reminiscent of what one might find in a Baroque cantata (especially leading into a recitativo passage). Of course, the mood-changing passage in this symphony differs from its Baroque counterparts in that here every pitch is written out, while Baroque figured bass would have allowed the continuo player to inject an improvisatory element into the music.
Having addressed the style and likely purpose of this brief movement, I think it's time to turn our attention to the second question -- what does this all mean? We can all analyze six measures, but what does our analysis tell us about the development of the classical style? For one thing, my observations about this piece (when combined with my observations about the pieces we've looked at by Stamitz, Benda, and C.P.E. Bach) tell me that the "important" composers of this time (i.e., those whose works we still study today) were all likely trying to find a way to write what they wanted to write within the confines that existed. For example, conditions of employment necessarily impacted each composer's output (we talked in class about how C.P.E. Bach's job security allowed him to go out on a limb, but many didn't enjoy this security). Despite working conditions, however, they all strove to make their music "do something" or "go somewhere."
There was always something interesting or unexpected -- whether it's Stamitz's "Mannheim Steamroller" (an exciting effect to be sure -- remember that it was heard by 18th-century ears), or the unsettled transitory passage used by Sammartini, or the florid, rubato-laden lines of Bach and Benda -- to write engaging music that does something unique was an aspiration of each of these composers (and I think an aspiration of all composers). And the galant and Empfindsamkeit styles were simply two different outlines on which a piece could be based. Like the "sports car" and "SUV" styles, each specific piece had its own color, make, model, upholstery, fancy options packages, and factory recalls...
For this reason I'm grateful to Jessica Tzou for pointing out our unfortunate tendency to attach negative baggage to the galant style -- which is particularly ironic since galant seems to have been more fashionable in many places at the time. I hope that my post has not elevated either style above the other, but rather placed them at opposite ends of a continuum, within which the works we are looking at exist.
So, to come back to the reason for my post, I think you're right, Jay -- the Sammartini does sound "contrasty," and I think we can find that "contrast" in every "important" piece we study this semester. Though the contrast will take different forms and be more obvious at some times than at others, when we look for the balance between the two poles (the yin and yang of the piece, if you will), it is then that we understand what made 18th-century listeners sit up and take notice. In my humble opinion, the music lies not in the notes on the page, but in the energy transmitted to the audience. So when we understand the mindsets of those were a party to this transmission -- the 18th-century composer, the 18th-century performer, and the 18th-century listener -- that's when we understand the music.
LD
Monday, February 1, 2010
All beginning is difficult
Alle Anfang ist schwer. A saying I learned in German class when I was in the 9th grade (in 1960!). "All beginning is difficult." It is for me certainly, yet if I don't begin this blog, no one will. So I have to set some kind of example.
I would like to have a thread on "What has surprised me," or "What I am learning from my study of this music." I would prefer it on the positive side.
In this category, I have been thinking about YIN and YANG
In Chinese philosophy yin/yang is used to describe how seemingly disjunct or opposing forces are interconnected and interdependent in the natural world, giving rise to each other in turn.
It strikes me that much of what we have been studying and listening to in this pre-classical period has to do with the contrast and, at times, the blending of opposites. Thus the notion of galant and Empfindsamkeit, of the aesthetics of the beautiful and the sublime. Theorists and critics of the period are fond of pitting one quality against its opposite.
Koch wrote in 1802: "The principal object of music is to stir the feelings," while Tuerk wrote in 1789, "the expression of the ruling sentiment...is the highest goal of music."
Our understanding and appreciation for music of this period, then, must be based learning what these feelings were and how they were expressed.
I find one of the most useful discussions of how composers conceived and experienced their music, and really how the music "works," is Leonard Ratner's study, Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (on reserve, ML 195 .R38). He bases his study of the music on theoretical treatises of the period, so he could begin to think and experience the music as they might have. He considers music as a "language," or analogous to language, with its own rhetoric, vocabulary, grammar, and syntax. This is also the way contemporaries wrote and thought about music.
Music in the early 18th century, he writes, "developed a thesaurus of characteristic figures, which formed a rich legacy for classic composers. Some of these figures were associated with various feeling and affections; other had a picturesque flavor They are designated here as topics--subjects for musical discourse. Topics appear as fully worked-out pieces, i.e., types, or as figures and progressions within a piece, i.e., styles. The distinction between types and styles is flexible; minutes and marches represent complete types of composition, but they also furnish styles for other pieces."
From here he talks about the elements of music in terms of rhetoric (e.g., harmony, melody, rhythm, texture) and develops a very effective way of discussing the music. I recommend you take a look at it.
In the meantime, it would be interesting for us to continue to play with opposites, as the composers obviously did, and explore the spectrum that lay between the opposite poles and how balance, rapprochement, and synthesis happened in the three great masters at the end of the period.
Now that we have begun...your turns.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Welcome to our very own MUS 503 Classic Music blog!
Well, that is the message: Welcome. I have to get you invited and installed, then say something interesting, pose an interesting question so that you can respond to it. Or..., you could beat me to it!
See you on line!
LB
See you on line!
LB
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