Aram of Arabia

I promised in an earlier post concerning Aram Khachaturian's absorbing Second Symphony to blog something about the same composer's Third Symphony, which I described as an "unmissably awful...jaw-dropping monstrosity". I'll keep my word. Please take a listen to it. It won't disappoint you. 

It's not long (lasting under 25 minutes), but the Third Symphony's lack of length is more than made up for by the scale of its orchestra. (It requires the entire population of all fifteen nations of the former Soviet Union just to play the brass parts!) The sheer noise the thing makes also belies its size. (The Martians wrote a letter to the U.N. complaining about noise levels after enduring several performances of it!). The orchestral fanfares (massed brass and drums) are truly stentorian, banal yet overpowering - like a royal wedding pageant as organised by someone with absolutely no sense of decorum, proportion or sense. Then imagine Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor for organ as played by a demented 1940s movie organist and you might get some impression (even before you hear it) of the work's astonishing organ part. 

After this monstrous regiment of fanfares and the mad organist, the symphony winds down and the big tune appears - an Armenian-style tune, given a lush Hollywood-style treatment. This section really does sound like something out of an epic film score - something Ben Hur-ish or Lawrence of Arabia-ish. (The sensible listener in me notes that the repeating pairs of notes in this theme are in some way connected to the stentorian fanfares. Not that this really matters.) The pace picks up and the dramatic climax of the film section is reached. The symphony then winds down again and the fanfare figure is quietly remembered, very simply. Woodwind arabesques appear and the music potters around a bit longer, repeating that simple fanfare figure and the arabesques. Suddenly a sandstorm blows in and the music comes back to life, building itself up (with a simple rhythm and a squally figure) to a rowdy, hectoring climax on the fanfare figure which just gets even more rowdy and hectoring on each repetition. 

The mad organist re-enters the organ loft and the symphony swirls up again, ever crazier, towards the return of the fanfares at their most bombastic, as at the beginning. The insane organist and those monstrous regiments of brass bludgeon their way on, knocking any semblance of subtlety out of the way, preparing us for the most delightful thing of all - the return of the romantic big tune as a high-kicking, colourfully-dressed Cossack. It's like the can-can with armoured tanks. The tune does get a rather more romantic reprise afterwards, but the film symphony is reaching its heroic climax - obviously a battle - and victory for the Motherland is gloried in with yet more scorchingly over-written climatic passages before the symphony galumphs to its full-throttle ending. 

Stupefying, stupid, stupendous stuff! I love it!

Mirzoyan: Armenia's Composer-King

Talking of the tuneful old Supreme Leader of Soviet music, Tikhon Khrennikov (as I was a few posts ago), I failed to spot until recently that his (apparently) far more benign counterpart in Armenia, Edward Mirzoyan, died late last year at the ripe old age of 92. Unlike Khrennikov, Mirzoyan's name - and it's a name I've seen from time to time but whose music I've never heard a note of until now - seems not to have become mud, despite his high-flying Soviet career. Unlike Khrennikov then, not a controversial composer; indeed, all I've seen on my researches are highly appreciative (sometimes loving) comments from Armenian admirers. I may (or may not) be missing something, but the internet never lies and that must be the case. (Is this the time for that /sarc thing to be employed?)

That self-same internet has provided me (and, thus, you) with some opportunities to explore the music of Edward Mirzoyan. 

The most-regularly posted piece by Mirzoyan is Shoushanik, a short work named in honour of an early Armenian queen-saint (whose story seems a distressing one). Rather surprisingly, the music's Armenian folksong-inspired turns of phrase (literally) find themselves integrated into melancholy string writing (plus poignant tunes and minor-key harmonies) that seems (to an attuned and English ear) far from unlike our own Edward - Edward Elgar - and his dear-to-every-Englishman-who-loves-classical-music-and-likes-the-music-of-Edward-Elgar string-orchestral gems. As an Elgarian myself, I find it hard to resist such an easy-on-the-ear tribute. It would make a good soundtrack to a heart-tugging movie too. 

Such late late-Romanticism is, perhaps, a little at odds with the composer's reputation as a neo-Classical composer. To see that side of him you need to listen to his largish scale Symphony for Timpani and String Orchestra. This has more than a few film-score-like passages too (usually a good sign), is full of attractive music, strongly tonal in harmony - despite some occasional Stravinsky-like asperities -, and has a good deal of melody (not, it must be admitted, - at least according to my brain - of the highest kind of memorability) which keeps the listener listening. If I were to name a key influence on the symphony I would say 'Shostakovich'. Certain passage just have that Shostakovich feel about them. (Plus, I would swear to hearing the DSCH motif pass my ears - in the first movement - at some stage). The first movement also has twinges of Bartók. I'm sure you will hear what I mean as you listen. Again, what I presume to be specifically Armenian folk music touches grace the piece's melodic flow. Given my chain of pieces on the waltz, it would be remiss of me not to point out that the pleasing second movement is a (Shostakovich-style) symphonic waltz. The dejected slow movement is particularly attractive, with many a heart-tugging dissonant suspension along the way. There's a second theme that most clearly goes down the (presumably) specifically Armenian folk melody route and a piercingly emotional climax (stark and aggressive).  The finale is cheerful, like Shostakovich on happy pills - though (being, I suspect, a Romantic at heart) the composer recalls the slow movement and its pangs of melancholy at a couple of points. The vigour of (presumably Armenian) folk music is felt from time to time too. The ending is firmly affirmative. Khrennikov would have approved.

Talking of waltzes (as I have been, lest you haven't noticed), there's a waltz in his attractive Album for my Grand-daughter for solo piano. We're seeing yet another side to the composer here, writing winning piano miniatures. There are six movements - "Morning", "Mariam", "Meditation", "Play", "Sad Waltz" and "Toccatina". The first piece makes especially attractive use of dissonant harmony, while the second has plenty of Bartók about it. The fourth piece (if suitably orchestrated) is somewhat in the spirit of Stravinsky's Petrushka. That winsome waltz is wistful and somewhat sentimental. If these child-friendly piano pieces are a bit too easy-to-play for you (you pianist-hating sadists!), then there's always the the Poem for piano, full of dramatic rhetoric and clangorous (slightly Messiaen-like) piano writing initially, though the music turns inward for its middle section. 

For very late Mirzoyan, you are welcome (as I was) to try the Introduction and Perpetuum Mobile of 2007, for violin and piano, written in memory of the Armenian Genocide. The melodies are dyed with Armenian folk colour, though the harmonies are full of unobtrusive mid-20th Century-style mainstream dissonance. Liszt and Rachmaninov would have been taken with his use of the very old Dies Irae plainchant. Fancy that still being used in a 2007 piece for violin and piano!

Did you like the music of Edvard Mirzoyan?

An Armenian at war

Aram Khachaturian (1903-78) is best known outside the former Soviet Union for two short extracts from his ballets - the Sabre Dance from Gayane and the Adagio from Spartacus. Barely known at all, however, are his three symphonies. I don't know the First, but the Second and Third are well worth exploring - the former because it's a very decent piece, the latter because it's a jaw-dropping monstrosity. (I'll deal with the Third Symphony at a later date. It's unmissably awful.)

Khachaturian's Second Symphony is a war-time work which, whilst not being a towering masterpiece, contains within its not inconsiderable length much that is attractive. It may be compared to Shostakovich's Leningrad Symphony in that respect. There are times, such as in the middle of the first movement and occasionally in the scherzo, where Khachaturian sounds rather like Shostakovich (especially in his scoring) but the Armenian is generally a far more opulent and romantic composer than his Russian friend and owes a good deal to the 'Mighty Handful' of the preceding century (Balakirev, Borodin, Cui, Rimsky Korsakov and Mussorgsky), as well as to his homeland's folk music and to that other Russian giant of the 20th century, Prokofiev. 

The subtitle of this symphony is 'The Bell' (or 'The Tocsin') and a motif (theme) associated with 'the bell' features in all four movements.

The opening Andante maestoso begins with the 'tocsin motif' - on tubular bells, among other things - sounding its falling thirds, loudly. This warning sounded and reflected on, the movement's main theme is then presented by the strings. It's a romantic melody, with an 'oriental' melisma and a touch of 'Eastern' chromaticism in its later phrases. Despite its probably origins in Armenian folk music, it sounds much like the sort of tune composers associated with the Russian tradition had been writing since the days of Balakirev  & Co. A perky figure (that reminds me oddly of our own Malcolm Arnold) followed by a militarist outburst bridges the way to a cor anglais tune that could have come straight out of Borodin's Central Asia. If like me (and most other listeners) you enjoy such 'oriental' tunes, you are certain to take to this one too. This theme head the second subject group, along with other agreeable melodic snatches. The main themes are then combined in a sort of development section - the part with the Shostakovich-like passage - before a pair of Katchei's bassoons (Stravinsky's Firebird) lead us to a sighing, lilting tune. This is one of the afore-mentioned agreeable melodic snatches expanded into something richer and even more memorable. Khachaturian lingers on this lovely melody before launching his recapitulation. The first subject gains a striking high counter-melody on its return and certain other tweaks are made to the original ideas. There's a frantic air to the coda though, until it sinks in exhaustion, the 'tocsin' sounding quietly.

The Allegro risoluto scherzo opens wonderfully with a weave of bell-like ostinati and a glinting 'oriental' tune. A lunge via a piano into Shostakovich-style high jinx takes us somewhere different. These two types of music - the old and the new - then alternate. A fresh 'oriental' tune, complete with melismas, returns us to the world of Rimsky-Korsakov & Co. very enjoyably in a 'heroic' Trio section that could have come from an epic film score. A striking entwining of the music of the two sections plus some wistfully dancing string lines bear us back to the main section of the scherzo, now transformed with bright new balletic material.

The Andante slow movement uses yet another Armenian-style 'oriental' tune as its main theme, presented over a variety of march rhythms. A tinge of grimness grows into a dark expanse as the march rhythms persists and as the old 'Dies irae' chant (so often used by Rachmaninov) enters as a new theme - the second subject here. It casts a compelling spell. It may not be great music but it's so completely effective that it might as well be! The scoring is spot-on throughout and Mahler's ghost might well be nodding along in approval -as might Shostakovich's. 

Prokofiev's influence (if such it be) is felt most strongly in the Finale. An arresting opening from the brass sets the movement's heroic tone. The strings set in motion an attractive optimistic figure and the horns play a warm, singing tune of equal optimism and appeal. Trumpets sing it proudly - as well they might. It's the symphony's hit tune (or would be were it better known). Battle music ensues. It is easy to imagine the scene, so close to film music is this passage. The strings then present a tense new tune, swirling it up to meet the main theme like lovers calling across a battlefield. Some pleasant pattern-making leads to a triumphant restatement of the main theme - a triumphant passage that sucks in earlier themes too. The symphony gears itself up to give us a big finish. However, Khachaturian delays this gratification by first allowing his lyrical lovers to intervene in a short interlude and then delays it again for a quiet hymn of thanks before unleashing the bombast we've all been waiting for. 

It's an absorbing discovery.