Armchair Romantic
April 6, 2008 — 3 pm, Sanders Theatre
David Hoose, Guest Conductor
Mahler/Shoenberg/Stein,
Songs of a Wayfarer
1. Wenn mein Schatz Hochzeit macht
2. Ging heut' Morgen über's Feld
3. Ich hab' ein glühend Messer
4. Die zwei blauen Augen
Janna Baty, Mezzo-Soprano
Intermission
Bruckner/Eisler/Stein/Rankl,
Symphony No. 7 in E Major
1. Allegro moderato
2. Adagio — sehr feierlich und sehr langsam
3. Scherzo — sehr schnell
4. Finale — bewegt doch nicht schnell
Large Works in Small Bottles
Among cultural undertakings in Austria following the catastrophe of World War I, the Society for Private Musical Performances surely ranks high. Organized largely by Arnold Schoenberg and a circle of his students and friends with the aim of presenting carefully prepared performances of contemporary music, the Society only lasted as a regular organization for three years, though it continued to give occasional concerts for two years more. The music was to be performed before an audience of members and their guests; no journalists were allowed to write reviews of their concerts.
In addition to premieres of important new works, the Society also performed arrangements for chamber orchestra of recent masterpieces that had not yet been regularly accepted as part of the repertory of the ever-conservative Vienna Philharmonic. Reduction to chamber orchestra size was essential to contain costs, but it also furthered Schoenberg's belief that the aesthetic substance of an orchestral work could often be presented more clearly in a transcription for fewer instruments. In such a performance it could be demonstrated, for example, that Debussy's Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun did not rely solely on its richly evocative orchestral color for its effect, but had an underlying linear and harmonic coherence.
During the second year of the Society's existence, one of the works heard in a chamber transcription was Mahler's Wayfarer songs. The manuscript score and parts of this arrangement are now to be found in the Arnold Schoenberg Institute at USC; the arranger is not identified. There is evidence in the correspondence of the Society that arrangements were often started by Schoenberg and completed by an assistant or else begun by a less experienced musician and subsequently revised by Schoenberg or one of the other senior musicians. It is likely, then, that Schoenberg played some role in this chamber transcription, but its exact extent can probably never be determined.
The arrangement of Bruckner's spacious Seventh Symphony was a group effort by some of Schoenberg's disciples, including Hanns Eisler (later to become best known for writing scores for the plays of Bertolt Brecht after his break with Kurt Weill), Erwin Stein (who left Austria for England in 1938 and worked for the publishing firm of Boosey & Hawkes), and Karl Rankl, who also moved to England and became active as a conductor in addition to composing extensively.
Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)
Songs of a Wayfarer (Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen) (chamber version)
In 1883 the twenty-three-year-old Mahler was an impatient, occasionally insubordinate second conductor at the opera house in Kassel. Not for the last time in his distinguished career as opera conductor, he became infatuated with one of the sopranos on the company roster. To what degree his love was returned is not entirely clear; certainly Mahler spent many anguished hours of doubt, passing his fears along in letters to one of his best friends, Friedrich Löhr. He was always supremely discreet about his amours, however, and never once mentioned the lady's name in writing. We only know who she was because Löhr, to whom Mahler had unburdened his heart when they were spending holidays together, used it in writing back to him. The lady in question was one Johanna Richter, a new member of the company, about two years younger than the composer.
Mahler was unable to figure out what she felt about him. On New Year's Day 1885 he wrote to Löhr to tell about spending New Year's Eve "alone with her ... both of us awaiting the new year's arrival almost without exchanging a word." At midnight she burst into tears and "it overwhelmed me," Mahler wrote, that I might not dry them."
In response to the situation, he wrote poems for a set of six songs, of which the "idea as a whole is that a wayfaring man, who has been stricken by fate, now sets forth into the world, traveling wherever his road may lead him." In the end he set only four of them to music during the next year. The earliest version was for voice with piano accompaniment, but Mahler evidently intended to orchestrate it from the beginning. He did not, however, begin doing so until after he had finished the First Symphony, and probably the Second and a good part of the Third as well. Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen is a deeply affecting contribution to that very German tradition—going back in music to Schubert's Winterreise and in literature still farther—telling of the young man, unlucky in love, who must wander the wide world, finding in all the brightest and freshest of natural beauties reminders of his lost sweetheart and of his misery, which periodically bursts beyond the bounds of control, finally to achieve some kind of consolation in rest or oblivion or death.
| Wenn mein Schatz Hochzeit macht | |
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Wenn mein Schatz Hochzeit macht, fröhliche Hochzeit macht, hab' ich meinen traurigen Tag! Geh' ich in mein Kämmerlein, dunkles Kämmerlein, Weine! wein'! Um meinen Schatz, um meinen lieben Schatz! |
When my sweetheart marries, happily marries, it will be a sad day for me! I shall go into my little room, my dark little room, and weep, weep for my sweetheart, for my dear love! |
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Blümlein blau! Blümlein blau! Verdorre nicht! Verdorre nicht! Vöglein süss! Vöglein süss! Du singst auf grüner Heide "Ach! wie ist die Welt so schön! Ziküth! Ziküth!" |
Blue flower, blue flower, do not fade, do not fade! Sweet bird! Sweet bird! You sing on the green meadow "Ah! How lovely the world is! Chirp! Chirp!" |
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Singet nicht! Blühet nicht! Lenz ist ja vorbei! Alles Singen ist nun aus! Des Abends, wenn ich schlafen geh', denk' ich an mein Leide! An mein Leide! |
Do not sing, do not blossom, Spring is past! All singing is over! In the evening, when I go to sleep, I think of my sorrow, of my sorrow! |
| Ging heut' Morgen über's Feld | |
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Ging heut' Morgen über's Feld, Tau noch auf den Gräsern hing, Sprach zu mir der lust'ge Fink: "Ei, du! Gelt? Guten Morgen! Ei, gelt? Du! Wird's nicht eine schöne Welt? Schöne Welt? Zink! Zink! Schön und flink! Wie mir noch die Welt gefällt!" |
This morning I went over the field, dew was still hanging on the grass, The merry finch spoke to me: "Ah, is it you? Good morning! Hey, you! Isn't it a beautiful world? Beautiful world? Chirp! Chirp! Beautiful and alive! How the world pleases me!" |
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Auch die Glockenblum' am Feld hat mir lustig, guter Ding', mit den Glöckchen, klinge, kling, klinge, kling, ihren Morgengruss geschellt: "Wird's nicht eine schöne Welt? Schöne Welt? Kling! Kling! Kling! Kling! Schönes Ding! Wie mir doch die Welt gefällt! Heia!" |
Even the bluebells in the field had a merry song for me, with their bells—ting-a-ling! ting-a-ling! ringing out their morning greeting: "Isn't it a beautiful world? A beautiful world? Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling! Beautiful thing! How the world pleases me. Hola!" |
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Und da fing im Sonnenschein gleich die Welt zu funkeln an; Alles, alles, Ton und Farbe gewann! Im Sonnenschein! Blum' und Vogel, gross und klein. "Guten Tag! Guten Tag! Ist's nicht eine schöne Welt? Ei, du! Gelt? Ei, du! Gelt? Schöne Welt!" |
And then in the sunshine the world began to sparkle; Everything, everything gained tone and color in the sunshine! Flower and bird, large and small. "Good day! Good day! Isn't it a beautiful world? Hey, you! Am I right? Hey, you! Am I right? Beautiful world!" |
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Nun fängt auch mein Glück wohl an! Nun fängt auch mein Glück wohl an! Nein! Nein! Das ich mein', Mir nimmer, nimmer blühen kann! |
Now, perhaps, my happiness will begin. Now, perhaps, my happiness will begin. No, no! I am sure of that— my life can never, never blossom! |
| Ich hab' ein glühend Messer | |
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Ich hab' ein glühend Messer, ein Messer in meiner Brust, O weh! O weh! Das schneid't so tief in jede Freud' und jede Lust, so tief! so tief! so deeply! Es schneid't so weh und tief! |
I have a glowing dagger, a dagger in my breast, alas! alas! It cuts so deeply into every joy and every happiness, So deeply! It cut so painfully and deeply! |
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Ach, was ist das für ein böser Gast! Ach, was ist das für ein böser Gast! Nimmer hält er Ruh', nimmer hält er Rast! Nicht bei Tag, nicht bei Nacht, wenn ich schlief! O weh! O weh! O weh! |
Ah, what an unwelcome guest it is! Ah, what an unwelcome guest it is! It never grants me peace, never grants me rest! Not by day, not by night, when I would sleep! Alas! Alas! Alas! |
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Wenn ich in den Himmel seh', seh' ich zwei blaue Augen steh'n! O weh! O weh! Wenn ich im gelben Felde geh', seh' ich von fern das blonde Haar im Winde weh'n! O weh! O weh! Wenn ich aus dem Traum auffahr' und höre klingen ihr silbern Lachen, O weh! O weh! Ich wollt' ich läg' auf der schwarzen Bahr', könnt' nimmer, nimmer die Augen aufmachen! |
When I look into the sky, I see two blue eyes! Alas! Alas! Whenever I go into the golden fields, I see from afar her blonde hair blowing in the wind! Alas! Alas! When I start up from my dreams and hear her silvery laughter ringing, Alas! Alas! I wish I were lying on the black bier, never, never to open my eyes again! |
| Die zwei blauen Augen | |
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Die zwei blauen Augen von meinem Schatz, die haben mich in die weite Welt geschickt. Da musst' ich Abschied nehmen vom allerliebsten Platz! O Augen blau, warum habt ihr mich angeblickt? Nun hab' ich ewig Leid und Grämen! |
My love's two blue eyes have sent me forth into the world. I had to bid farewell to the place I loved the most! Oh, blue eyes, why did you ever look at me? Now I have eternal pain and torment! |
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Ich bin ausgegangen in stiller Nacht, wohl über die dunkle Heide. Hat mir niemand Ade gesagt. Ade! Ade! Ade! Mein Gesell' war Lieb' und Leide. |
I left in the stillness of night, across the dark heath. No one said farewell to me. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell! My companions were love and sorrow. |
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Auf der Strasse stand ein Lindenbaum, da hab' ich zum ersten Mal im Schlaf geruht! Unter dem Lindenbaum, Der hat seine Blüten über mich geschneit— da wusst' ich nicht wie das Leben tut, war alles, alles wieder gut! Ach, alles wieder gut! Alles, Lieb' und Leid, und Welt, und Traum! —Gustav Mahler |
On the street stood a linden tree, where I rested in sleep for the first time! Under the linden tree, which snowed its blossoms over me— then I no longer knew what life does, everything was good again! Oh, everything good again! Everything—love, and sorrow, and the world and my dreams! —Translation by Steven Ledbetter |
Anton Bruckner (1824-1896)
Symphony No. 7 in E (chamber version)
Bruckner's symphonies offer so individual and personal a treatment of the form inherited from his Viennese predecessors Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert that we still misunderstand them. Until quite recently Bruckner's name was always linked in the same breath with Mahler's, as if Bruckner-and-Mahler were no less inseparable than Gilbert-and-Sullivan. To be sure, they both wrote lengthy and demanding symphonies that were rarely performed at the time, but in other respects their music looked in opposite directions. Mahler's symphonies were filled with existential doubt and anguish, and no matter how assertively positive the endings might be, search and doubt remain at the core. Bruckner could hardly have been more different. Though insecure as an individual, his music reflects throughout the absolute conviction of his Catholic faith. Each symphony seems from the beginning to be aiming for a predestined conclusion of grandeur and almost heavenly glory. If Mahler's symphonies are in some sense acts of self-psychoanalysis, Bruckner's symphonies are liturgical acts. (And perhaps this is why today, in an age of endless questioning of values, Mahler's symphonies seem to strike a more easily responsive chord than Bruckner's.)
Bruckner arrived in Vienna in 1868. At forty-four he had been named to the professorship in harmony and counterpoint at the Vienna Conservatory, a position of considerable prestige. Bruckner's technical accomplishments were extraordinary. He had begun to make a name for himself as a composer of masses, having already written his three major works in that medium, and he had composed his Symphony No. 1 (two earlier symphonic essays remain outside the official canon), though it was not yet known in the capital.
But despite his growing reputation and the supportive reviews of the influential critic Eduard Hanslick, Bruckner must have been a strange apparition. A child of the country, he was socially out of place in Vienna. Short and stocky, a hearty eater unfashionably dressed, he could easily be taken for a peasant farmer. And more importantly for his musical career, with his simple nature he never understood the musical politics of Vienna, and he lost the support of Hanslick by expressing and constantly reaffirming his great admiration for Wagner.
After arriving in Vienna Bruckner devoted almost his entire creative energy to the composition of symphonies. The years 1871 to 1876 saw the pouring out of symphonies 2, 3, 4, and 5. The Vienna Philharmonic (then as now an ensemble of conservative, not to say reactionary, taste) refused to play the First on account of its "wildness and daring," then the Second, claiming that it was "nonsense." Yet when a patron was found to finance a performance of the Second, the audience gave it a standing ovation. But it was the Third Symphony that really set the cap on Bruckner's problems in Vienna. Bruckner dedicated the score to Wagner, oblivious to the fact that Vienna was anti-Wagner territory and that the most outspoken anti-Wagnerian was the critic Hanslick.
After a devastating performance in 1877 of the Third Symphony, he began to revise his earlier symphonies to make them more acceptable—a habit that was to continue throughout his life. The Fourth underwent this process of rewriting without ever having been heard in public, and he found no conductor willing to take on the Fifth. He quickly completed his Sixth, which he regarded as his boldest, and Seventh symphonies. The Seventh was launched with great success, but the Eighth, which followed it, was misunderstood, and Bruckner's long attempts to rework it successfully prevented him from completing his Ninth, a work that remains a magnificent torso.
Bruckner's favorite way of beginning a symphony is with a hushed tremolo, to suggest the birth of something out of nothing, a gambit he learned from Beethoven's Ninth and never got over. But his Seventh is unique in starting with a glorious, serene, arched melody in E major in the cellos, supported occasionally by the horns, or violas, or clarinets. This vast movement begins in a sunny E major, moves away to B minor and B major. The opening theme is the source of many thematic tendrils that enrich the unfolding of the movement. Eventually Bruckner recaptures that home key, and, in the serene closing pages, the main theme is heard simultaneously in its original form and upside down.
The slow movement ("Very solemn and very slow") is generally regarded as one of Bruckner's greatest single achievements. In January 1883 wrote to the great Wagnerian conductor Felix Mottl, "One day I came home and felt very sad. The thought had crossed my mind that before long the Master would die, and then the C-sharp minor theme of the Adagio came to me." To any devotee of Wagner, the words "the Master" were instantly clear. Indeed, Wagner died the following month, on February 13, and Bruckner's prescient mourning theme is presented on a quartet of the instruments that are known colloquially as "Wagner tubas"—tenor and bass tubas that Wagner had created for The Ring of the Nibelung in order to blend the mellowness of horn sound with the rich power of the tubas. Immediately after the tuba theme we hear music in the strings that Bruckner conceived for his Te Deum, which he was composing at the same time. In the choral work, this theme sets the words "non confundar in aeternum" ("let me not be confounded forever"). Following this statement, Bruckner introduces a gentler, slightly faster contrasting idea, an "Austrian" melody in 3/4 time. Bruckner uses the Te Deum theme to build to a particularly massive climax in the astonishingly distant key of C major—harmonically almost as far from C-sharp as it is possible to get.
Following this deeply internal slow movement, the Scherzo returns to the outer world of Austrian dance and peasant life that Bruckner knew so well as a child. The Scherzo galumphs heavily along in an obstinately repeated rhythmic pattern against which the trumpet issues a crowing fanfare. The Trio is slower and more lyrical, a moment of tranquility before the repeat of the Scherzo.
The finale grows from a theme that is a faster variant of the broad opening melody of the first movement. But here it is sometimes quirky, sometimes grand, cast on a spacious geography that visits the keys of E (the home key), A-flat, and C as principal way-stations. These three keys divide the octave into equal thirds and set up an architecture that Bruckner fills, in the end, with a blaze of glory, bringing back that very opening theme in its final resonant form.
© Copyright 2008. Steven Ledbetter (www.stevenledbetter.com)