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