The Waltz VIII: Macabre Dances

The clock (harp) sounds the hour of midnight. Death tunes his violin to the devilish interval of the tritone and the flute strikes up...a waltz. Death then plays another waltz tune on his violin and dances a Danse Macabre. The waltz grows broader and skeletons join in the dance, their bones clattering on xylophone. A fugue strikes, up then a waltz take on the requiem Dies Irae chant emerges. The dance swirls up again and the music begins its hurtle towards the main climax. The horns sound the approach of dawn, the cock crows on oboe. With a final echo of Death's dance tune the skeleton's retreat and disappear. 

Long before Alfred Schnittke tried to send shivers down our spine with his nightmarish waltzes, composers like Saint-Saëns (in 1874) had realised that the waltz makes the perfect candidate for the danse macabre. He wasn't the first. Over a decade earlier (1859-62) Liszt had composed the first of his Mephisto Waltzes. The work has the subtitle, Der Tanz in der Dorfschenke ('The Dance in the Village Inn'). The story, taken from Lenau, runs as follows:

"There is a wedding feast in progress in the village inn, with music, dancing, carousing. Mephistopheles and Faust pass by, and Mephistopheles induces Faust to enter and take part in the festivities. Mephistopheles snatches the fiddle from the hands of a lethargic fiddler and draws from it indescribably seductive and intoxicating strains. The amorous Faust whirls about with a full-blooded village beauty in a wild dance; they waltz in mad abandon out of the room, into the open, away into the woods. The sounds of the fiddle grow softer and softer, and the nightingale warbles his love-laden song."

The work was originally composed for piano and orchestra but the composer swiftly made arrangements of it for solo piano and orchestra. The orchestral version must have given Saint-Saëns ideas, though Liszt's vision has much more passion than the Frenchman's genial score. This danse is rather more macabre, with wild waltz rhythms, distorted melodies and uproarious climaxes - and a voluptuous melody. 

The Mephisto Waltz No.2 was dedicated to Saint-Saëns and written around five years after the Danse Macabre and some twenty years after the Mephisto Waltz No.1. As a piece of music, I think it's a finer achievement than either of them; indeed, it's one of Liszt's best works. It opens with a play of tritones, just as 

the Danse Macabre did, but its coup-de-theatre it to end with cadences on the same devilish interval - dashing the listener's expectations that the Waltz is about to end in a blaze of major-key glory. There's something though that might strike you as you're listening. Why doesn't it sound like a waltz? The reason is that the piece is written in two time signatures simultaneously - 6/8 and 2/4 - and the two cut across each to such an extent that the waltz rhythm is largely cancelled out. The fact that the waltz rhythm is in no way obvious even to a reader of the score also helps in this respect. So we've arrived at a waltz that doesn't sound at all like a waltz. How diabolical!

The harmonic adventures of the Mephisto Waltz No.2 are carried further in the Mephisto Waltz No.3. You can smell Scriabin in the air of its chains of fourths and its use of trills. Again, you won't find yourself tapping your fingers to a Viennesy 3/4 time beat as the piece has a dual time signature of 12/8 and 4/4 and the cancelling-out of the waltz rhythm is carried out in such a thoroughgoing way. The Third Mephisto Waltz is an exciting and wonderful piece. I'd never heard it before today. I will be hearing it again soon.

The Mephisto Waltz No.4 was unfinished and forgotten until the 1950s. Heroic Lisztian Leslie Howard made a completion of it in the 1970s and the piece has been recorded. Unfortunately, it isn't of the same high standard as its predecessors, sounding rather more obvious than Nos. 2 and 3 whilst lacking the thematic distinction of No.1. It has its moments but the excitement and the mystery found in the others isn't found so abundantly here.  

Another Mephisto Waltz I'm very fond of came from the pen of Prokofiev - his Mephisto Waltz from the film score Lermontov (usually heard in a version for solo piano). Prokofiev understood what Liszt was up to and his waltz has several of the distinguishing features of Liszt's works - including the play of triple and duple-time that at times disguises the waltz element - though it has to be said that the um-pah-pah rhythm makes itself felt far more often in the course of the Russian's work than it ever did in the Hungarian's devilish dance-poems. Of course, Prokofiev brings to his Mephisto Waltz all his usual genius for melody. 

Another great Russian who sensed the macabre element latent in the waltz was Rachmaninov. His towering Symphonic Dances features a ghostly waltz as its central movement. The sinister opening brass chords and the eerily swirling woodwind features help set the scene. The wan waltz tune then enters into this haunted landscape (and what a tune it is!). The sinister chords return but the waltz tune begins to surge romantically. All is beginning to go swimmingly but then - in the manner of the Liszt Mephisto Waltzes - the rhythms tangle to such an extent that the waltz rhythm is cancelled out. The tune tries again and again but it seems to lose its reason as it rises in passion and the waltz rushes towards its confused end. 

The associations of death with the waltz are also brought out in Sibelius's very beautiful Valse triste - a piece from his incidental music to a play called Kuolema ('Death'). The original programme note sets the scene:

"It is night. The son, who has been watching beside the bedside of his sick mother, has fallen asleep from sheer weariness, Gradually a ruddy light is diffused through the room: there is a sound of distant music: the glow and the music steal nearer until the strains of a valse melody float distantly to our ears. The sleeping mother awakens, rises from her bed and, in her long white garment, which takes the semblance of a ball dress, begins to move silently and slowly to and fro. She waves her hands and beckons in time to the music, as though she were summoning a crowd of invisible guests. And now they appear, these strange visionary couples, turning and gliding to an unearthly valse rhythm. The dying woman mingles with the dancers; she strives to make them look into her eyes, but the shadowy guests one and all avoid her glance. Then she seems to sink exhausted on her bed and the music breaks off. Presently she gathers all her strength and invokes the dance once more, with more energetic gestures than before. Back come the shadowy dancers, gyrating in a wild, mad rhythm. The weird gaiety reaches a climax; there is a knock at the door, which flies wide open; the mother utters a despairing cry; the spectral guests vanish; the music dies away. Death stands on the threshold."

If strains of madness added to the macabre are what you are looking for in a waltz then look no further that the waltz from the Rasputin-based film Agony (beginning at 4.33) by Schnittke. As was established in an earlier post, Schnittke turned the waltz into the ultimate danse macabre on many occasions. Over in America, Jerry Goldsmith was putting Liszt's Mephisto Waltz to use in the context of a horror film that bore the same title as the Hungarian's diabolic work. His score to The Mephisto Waltz certainly takes the idea somewhat further than Liszt could possibly have imagined, using plenty of avant-garde tricks to add to  the horro - though the old Abbé would doubtless have got a kick out of it. Goldsmith also employed the waltz form in his score to The Boys from Brazil - a thriller about the cloning of Hitler. Here the lightness and unMephistophelian nature of the main waltz tune is intended to ironically underline the horror of Nazi evil. 

As Schnittke and Goldsmith show, the spirit of Liszt's Mephisto Waltzes lived on into the dying decades of the last century - and will doubtless continue to do so. 

The Waltz VII: The Waltz Heads East

As Dvorak's interest in the form tells us, the Slavs certainly took to the waltz, generally speaking. It's right to speak generally because a composer like Smetana didn't concern himself (as far as I can see) with the waltz at all, preferring more specifically Czech forms of dance. 

Mikhail Glinka set the ball rolling in Russia, as he so often did. His Valse-Fantasie in B major of 1856 is one of his best orchestral pieces and has a very Russian-sounding main melody allied to the traditional rhythms of the Central European waltz and to more general-sounding waltz tunes. 

You can hear the origins of certain strains of Tchaikovsky's music in Glinka's Valse-Fantasie. Besides the great symphonic waltzes described in an earlier post, Tchaikovsky's output is full of delicious waltzes, making him one of the greatest of all waltz kings. His first surviving work was a waltz - the Anastasie-Valse of 1854. The rest of his output for piano brings such things as the Valse caprice, Op.4, the Valse-Scherzo No.1, Op.7, the Valse in A flat major, Op.40/8 (played in the link by Rachmaninov no less) and the Valse in F sharp minor, Op.40/9, the Valse from Album for the Young, Op.39, the Valse de salon Op.51/1 and Valse sentimentale, Op.51/6, not to mention the Valse bluette, Op.72/11, the Valse à cinq temps, Op.72/16 and December from The Seasons. You will almost certain also enjoy the Valse-Scherzo, Op.34 for violin and orchestra from 1877. I think it's fair to s, ay that none of these waltzes quite matches the delights provided by the second movement of the much-loved Serenade for Strings, Op.48. The second movement of the Second Orchestral Suite, Op.53 and the second movement of the Third Orchestral Suite, Op.55 are both (in their different ways) enchanting, and the Second Act of his masterly opera Eugene Onegin contains a waltz straight out of the composer's top drawer. Of course, the three great ballets give us some of Tchaikovsky's finest waltzes - and what waltzes they are! From Swan Lake comes this from Act I and this from Act II. From Sleeping Beauty comes the Garland Waltz. Finally, from The Nutcracker comes the Waltz of the Flowers and the Waltz of the Snowflakes. Everyone loves the Waltz of the Flowers but many a critic has a real downer on the Waltz of the Snowflakes. I've seen it described as "gormless". Call me a man of bad taste, but I've always had a real soft spot for it. All together now: "AH, AH, ah-ah, AH"!

A composer sometimes maligned (or, in some works, fairly described) as producing 'watered-down Tchaikovsky', Anton Arensky, produced one of the best of all Russian waltzes - the Valse from his Suite No.1, Op.15 for two pianos - a number that combines considerable brilliance of technique and elegance of invention with a first-rate tune, which comes around and is decorated and dissolved again and again. 

Alexander Glazunov's Concert Waltz No.1 has more than a little of Tchaikovsky's waltzing spirit about it and, unsurprising, this beautifully-scored and melodically enticing slice of Tchaikovsky-style orchestral writing has become one of its composer's most played pieces. One success is, understandably, likely to make a composer try again and hope for a second success. His Concert Waltz No.2 isn't really in the same league as its predecessor but it is far from unattractive.  His loveable ballet The Seasons contains another endearing waltz, the Waltz of the Cornflowers and Poppies, and his other popular ballet, Raymonda, contains waltzes like the Valse fantastique and the Grand Waltz.

I'm saving one the best of Sergei Rachmaninov's waltz-inspired pieces for another post, but there are other gems from his pen that will slot in nicely here. There's a charming Valse and Romance for six hands (piano) from 1890-1, the Valse from the solo Morceaux de salon, Op.10 the excellent Valse from the Six Morceaux, Op.11 for piano duet and the Valse from the Suite No.2, Op.17.

Yes, the Russians write good waltzes. That was to continue into the Twentieth Century, though two of its most pioneering figures weren't really waltz kings.

Alexander Scriabin pretty much began composing by writing waltzes. His Valse in F minor, Op.1 was composed at the age of 13. He didn't sustain that interest, however, and later efforts, like the Waltz in A flat major, Op.38, though entertaining, seems out-of-place and old-fashioned in the context of everything else he was writing at that time.

We've already encountered Igor Stravinsky's Lanner appropriations for his Petruskha waltz. His other waltzes are similarly distanced in tone, such as the Waltz (beginning at 1.46) from The Soldier's Tale, the deliciously mechanical-sounding yet wacky Waltz (beginning at 1.31) from the Three Easy Pieces (a little gem) and the somewhat similar Valse pour les enfants.

The lack of Romanticism in Stravinsky's waltzes is hardly surprising. Shostakovich's waltzes are hardly likely to sound like Glazunov either, though they are bound to be a bit warmer. We've already met his less than straight symphonic take on the waltz and now it's time to introduce his popular waltzes from the feel-good Jazz Suites. If you click on any on the following numbers it will bear you hot-foot to a Shostakovich waltz - one of which is particularly well-loved. (How teasing of me!): 1, 2, 3, 4. The first three are somewhat cut from the same cloth, aren't they? It's a cloth it's fun to have pieces cut from though! The charm of the fourth is rather different, and it leads me on to the Waltz-Scherzo from The Bolt via the Ballet Suites - a top-notch piece of light music that does seem to have a little Tchaikovsky (and something of Petrushka) about it. If you don't know this Waltz-Scherzo, I strongly recommend it to you. It might make your day. The other waltzes from the Ballet Suites are the Waltz from The Human Comedy and the Waltz from The Limpid Stream. Such enjoyable music! (The complete Jazz and Ballet Suites can be relished here - and should be, if you want to give yourself an hour or so of non-stop fun).

Prokofiev's waltzes are just as tasty. Who could resist Since We Met from War and Peace? Prokofiev arranged the same number for piano, here played by Richter. Fabulous in either version. Another waltz from the opera may be enjoyed here and more Richter, this time playing the Grand Waltz from the ballet Cinderella, really ought to be listened to here. The utterly magical orchestral version of this waltz is available here - music so good it brings a lump to my throat. This version even has a slow introduction to match any by the Strausses for sheer enchantment. This is one of my favourite pieces of music. The other waltz from Cinderella brings another glorious tune.  As these four waltzes (in their various incarnations) demonstrate, Prokofiev is one of the supreme masters of waltz. Less familiar - and less special - are the two Pushkin waltzes, written to mark the poet's 150th anniversary in 1949. Less special, but still likeable. There's one more waltz-gem by Prokofiev but, as with that special piece by Rachmaninov, I want to save it for another post.

Alfred Schnittke wrote music for a TV programme called The Waltz. I've no knowledge as to whether the programme was about the waltz or not, though the movements (1.Building plot, 2.Coach, 3.Factory & 4.Vovka) suggest possibly not. You'll recognise a borrowed tune from a certain Viennese waltz composer (now who could that be?) though. The score is rather dream-like (nightmarish at times). It seems to be written in much the same spirit as Rodion Shchedrin's contemporary Carmen Suite. It's a fascinating find. Mysterious and sinister waltzes about in Schnittke's music - numbers like the waltz from The Story of an Unknown Actor (like a creepy take on a Shostakovich 'jazz'-waltz) or the rather obsessive waltz from Clowns and Children or the grotesque waltzes The Portrait and The Ball from the Gogol Suite. Aren't they all excellent? The Tempo di Valse movement from his great Piano Quintet offers another of these hallucinatory visions...

....and it's to the sinister side of the waltz that I will be turning next. Do you smell the sulphur yet?

Complete this work which I began

If you think you know what to expect from the music of Alfred Schnittke (1934-1998) - bleak or ironic (or both), each work full of startling stylistic contrasts - then you might be surprised by his Choir Concerto, a 40-minute masterpiece in which the composer demonstrates a superlative technique and an ear attuned to beauty. Setting aside despair, irony and 'polystylism', Schnittke offers his listeners a serene and radiant work which draws deeply on the traditions of Russian Orthodoxy and the great Russian choral tradition. Lovers of the Tchaikovsky Liturgy and the Rachmaninov Vespers need not hesitate here. If it ever sounds like 'modern music' it's only in some of its harmonies, which can recall the lushest chords of Arvo Pärt, but overall the Choir Concerto is a one-off wonder of majestic consonance and luminous choral colour.

The long opening section, 'O master of all living things', contains stretch after stretch of beautiful music, with an opening paragraph that delivers a memorable melody, sumptuous harmonies, gorgeous textures, a masterly ebb and flow and ravishing changes of key and mode. The structure is, as tradition permits, repetitive - though Schnittke handles his repetitiveness discreetly. Thus, a recurring feature is a shifting pattern based on a three-note falling figure, which the composer initially ranges across one major or minor third only to affect a magical brightening of key later to thrillingly affirmative effect. This is set against a chant on one note and enhanced on its later appearances by melismas - the movement's most stunning passage containing a shining mass of them. Homophony is the prime method, with counterpoint being confined to decorative touches and brief, simple bursts of imitation. Emotions of elation and heart's ease will hopefully be experienced, though there are undercurrents of lamentation too.

A background of 'alliluyias' is one hypnotic feature of 'I, an expert in human passions', the second movement. This has a main theme based on a minor second, set in motion against itself in the other voices and with homophonic passages for contrast. Blazes of bright tonality interrupt the chromatic tug of the music associated with this theme - major countering minor - and the movement's climax is wonderfully fervent. Listen out for the magical soaring soprano line that is placed as a counter-melody when the theme returns late on. The ending is a well-judged fade-out.

'God, grant deliverance from sin' begins in black, penitential colours with male voices only presenting the chant-like main theme and remains generally a more sombre movement with a keening two-note figure on a minor second (which fans of James MacMillan might also appreciate) emerging midway out of a brighter major second-based figure and with a lamenting babble following close on. Radiant homophony yields mostly to gently interweaving lines and minor-key harmonies. It's very powerful stuff. There is another brief but thrilling soprano solo to listen out for as she soars out over the male chorus and provokes the mixed chorus's entry.

The final section 'Complete this work which I began' brings homophony back centre-stage and is supremely lovely in its textures - radiant serenity flooding back in. Its opening bars may again remind you a little of Pärt but soon the music sings out with Romantic warmth. Affirmation soon follows. Many of this movement's harmonies are gems, and simple melodies ride on them. 'Amens' on rising major thirds emerge from high sopranos, gently, over a haunting cloud of D major and conclude the work enchantingly. 

For those unfamiliar with what Alfred Schnittke's music usually sounds like, please try a few of the following pieces:

Symphony No.1
Concerto Grosso No.1
(K)ein Sommernachtstraum
Viola Concerto
Silent Night
Piano Quintet