The Waltz III: Symphonic Waltzing

The waltz had entered the ballroom and crossed into the world of piano miniatures and great composers. It soon found its place in the symphony. That bold step was taken by the young Hector Berlioz in his Symphonie fantastique of 1830. The second movement of that revolutionary work, Un bal ('A Ball'), conjures up the scene - a glittering ballroom - with harps and tremolo strings. The vision then appears and it's a waltz. The theme (and especially its continuation) is a characteristic Berlioz melodic take on the typical waltz tune and its every appearance is accompanied by fresh orchestral colours. The symphony's famous returning theme - the idée fixe (a melody recurring in all five of its movements) - appears midway and is recalled at the movement's close, acting as a distancing device in a not dissimilar way to the 'invitation' elements in Weber's Invitation to the Dance. 

It was a while before the waltz reappeared in a symphony but when it did it became a regular player in that composer's symphonic team. Who was that waltz-loving composer? Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. A full four of his symphonies contain waltz elements. The main section of the ballet-like Alla tedesca second movement of the underrated Symphony No.3 in D major, ('The Polish') is a waltz (and a lovely one at that). The main theme of the first movement of the fate-dominated Symphony No.4 in F minor (beginning at 1.19) is marked 'In movimento di Valse', though the waltz element is just one of several contending rhythms in a complex symphonic movement. For a full-scale waltz movement though we have to wait until the Symphony No.5 in E minor where the scherzo is replaced by a movement simply marked 'Valse'. "Replaced by?" Well, perhaps it's better to say that the waltz functions as if it were a scherzo. The trio section, indeed, brings more traditional scherzo elements more clearly into play. As the Fifth Symphony is almost as fate-dominated as the Fourth all this waltzing cannot go on forever without a reminder of Fate's fateful fatefulness and just as the movement has been especially tempting Fate by enjoying itself in a major key the symphony's ominous motto theme quietly intervenes to bring the movement to a sombre close. This gesture was obviously inspired by the return of the idée fixe in Berlioz's symphony. (Tchaikovsky was a great fan of Berlioz). The Symphony No.6 in B minor ('Pathetique') has a second movement also in waltz form, though any gentleman and his lady choosing to try to dance along to it (just like any listener attempting to conduct along with it, unsuspectingly) may well end up tripping up over each others feet as the movement isn't in triple time, but in 5/4 time (a constant play of 3 + 2) instead. This tricksy waltz establishes a broadly (if insecurely) relaxed mood. The Pathetique is, however, far from being a relaxed symphony and the movement's central episode - a long chain of melodic sighs over an obsessive pulse - saps away much of the movement's geniality and it ends in gloom.

If you've just taken a listen to it and feel in need of an emotional pick-me-up, there's none better than Leonard Bernstein's loving tribute to this very movement in his Divertimento for Orchestra, whose second movement is marked 'Waltz' and dances in an even tricksier rhythm - 7/4 time.

Elements of distancing, absurdity and irony have been detected by critics in some of Tchaikovsky's symphonic waltzes. There's no doubt about the presence of those elements in Mahler's use of the waltz in the  Im Tempo eines gemächlichen Ländlers second movement of his Ninth Symphony. As you can see from the marking, this isn't a movement in waltz form, adopting one of the waltz's main precursors instead - the Ländler.  However, the movement's indolent dancing takes a violent turn for the worse when the Ländler turns into a waltz - a nasty waltz that bites! Mahler had been down this route before, with the Scherzo of his Fifth Symphony being a double-satire on both the Ländler and the waltz. The waltz rhythms become dislocated, the melodies are distorted and the orchestration drains the music of any Viennese sweetness. The shadowy, ghoulish scherzo of the Seventh Symphony concentrates its satirical fire purely on the waltz. This is a fantastic movement, in every sense.

Where Tchaikovsky and Mahler lead Shostakovich was bound to follow. The scherzo of his Symphony No.5 in D minor is strongly waltz-like, albeit a heavy-footed kind of waltz. It has clear Mahlerian overtones of biting sarcasm (whilst also being great fun), reminding me of the equivalent movement in Mahler 7 especially. What (or who) exactly is being bitten remains a matter of intense and often bitter debate.

As you may have realised, all these waltzes take their partners in symphonies that have a sort of programmatic impulse behind them, however veiled and suggestive. The waltz isn't there for purely abstract reasons. The waltz may be too freighted with meaning and suggestion for it to lend itself to purely abstract use in a symphony.

I'll end this post was one of my favourite symphonic waltzes, one which rather proves that point and yet also partly disproves it - the second movement of the magnificent Second Symphony of Carl Nielsen. This symphony is the one he based on 'The Four Temperaments' and this movement depicts his vision of the 'phlegmatic' man. In the great Dane's own words:

"His real inclination was to lie where the birds sing, where the fish glide noiselessly through the water, where the sun warms and the wind strokes mildly round one's curls. He was fair; his expression was rather happy, but not self-complacent, rather with a hint of quiet melancholy, so that one felt impelled to be good to him... I have never seen him dance; he wasn't active enough for that, though he might easily have got the idea to swing himself in a gentle slow waltz rhythm, so I have used that for the movement, Allegro comodo e flemmatico, and tried to stick to one mood, as far away as possible from energy, emotionalism, and such things." 

That said, you need not know anything about Nielsen's programme to relish every second of this movement as a purely abstract symphonic movement in an abstract overall structure. Knowing or not knowing, either way it's compelling music.

Where Hindemith led...?

What is it with Hindemith? His Fourth String Quartet, Op.22 is a first-rate piece, at times beautiful, moving, bracing, brilliant, scary and fun. Though composed in 1921, it sometimes sounds strikingly like the Shostakovich of the fifteen quartets. As Shostakovich has been the New Mahler for the last decade or so, perhaps Hindemith could soon become the New Shostakovich and sweep the airwaves and concert halls of the world? Probably not (though fingers crossed).

The first violin opens the quartet with a satisfying melodic line, melancholic in character. This is the opening gambit in an anxious, lyrical fugato into which Hindemith's early Expressionism soon intrudes, forcing the fugato aside. It returns, however, over a treading bass before singing to itself in a sad duet. This is bleak but beautiful music, not wholly remote from the elegiac side of his contemporary, Bartok - or of Shostakovich.

Assertive chords signal a shift to fast stamping music - a savage scherzo, scurrying and slashing, with a whirling sense of melody. For the trio section, the texture thinks to a violin's nervous melody dancing neurotically over a quickly-rocking accompaniment. Others join in. This splendid music grows ever more compelling. Eventually things slow down and melt into shadows, but the whirling melody awaits, cranks itself up and spins off again. A brief elegiac pause for thought leads to a final frenzy. 

The central movement is a muted affair - literally! - with whispered melody sounding over a muffled pizzicato accompaniment. The music is vaguely march-like in character. The melody (which winds its way through the voices) is winning, with a captivating and wholly individual lyricism. A very fine movement.

The fourth movement storms in. The mutes are off! It's another savage, whirling scherzo - exhilarating and brilliant. This is paprika-rich stuff. We then pass briefly through a contrapuntal passage, entering the world of the neo-Classical Hindemith to come, taking us straight through into the thoroughly enjoyable rondo finale - a lively, folk-flavoured movement whose anticipation of the later Shostakovich is truly uncanny.

Moving forwards some 25 years and we arrive at Shostakovich himself and his Third String Quartet in F minor. Composed in the immediate aftermath of the Great Patriotic War, this dark quartet follows in several of Hindemith's footprints.

The first movement Allegretto opens with a jaunty air - its theme a typically wayward Shostakovich tune over a very simple accompaniment. The neo-Classical style comes with a whiff of satire but with the secondary material darker thoughts arrive and in the development section's dour (but exciting) counterpoint nerves might be set jangling - they certainly should be by the scream of dissonance at its climax from which the recapitulation springs. The coda is a hurtle to the end, with a cock-snooking conclusion.

The second movement Moderato deepens the darkness with one of Shostakovich's machine-like accompaniments underlying a flighty fiddle tune, making it into a dead-eyed waltz. This danse macabre continues with new tunes and new accompaniments but the tone is maintained. Listen out for the strange pizzicato passage (which thirds clenching their teeth above them). Weirdly compelling, it finally yields way to tragic utterance.

With the third movement Allegro we are in the familiar world of the savage scherzo. Shostakovich's opening chords bark like prison guard-dogs and their rhythms underpin the first of the movement's Russian-sounding tunes (along with faster ones). Its trio section doesn't depart from the pattern - or the mood, with teeters between menace and hysteria.

The Adagio is (of course! - as this is Shostakovich!) elegiac and (also of course!) bleakly beautiful. Unison passages of grim intent begin by alternating with individual lamenting voices. The melodies of each penetrate each other and a funeral march begins, using them poignantly. Shostakovich's melodic writing is especially strong here.

The long Finale begins veiled in mystery but soon engages us with an enigmatically smiling violin melody. A second follows. Again the accompaniments are kept fresh. The next such tune belongs to the cello and has something of the circus about it (a clown's painted-on smile?). It becomes a duet and is disquietingly charming. After all this melody-driven writing comes some development and a tensing of the nerve-strings. A scary climax arrives and is prolonged, with the opening theme from the Adagio returning at the point of greatest stress, its companion following. The movement ebbs into the lament of a single voice and then silence. Quietly the Finale's own themes return in a muted recapitulation before themselves ebbing onto a single voice's enigmatic, ethereal last song. 

Though the magnificent Shostakovich quartet is more Romantically expressive than the no-less-magnificent Hindemith quartet, it seems to me to be in a clear line of descent from it. Does it to you?

Simples. Or not.

Nielsen's final symphony, the Sixth Symphony, bears the subtitle 'Sinfonia semplice' but, as you'll hear if you listen to the piece, it's anything but a simple symphony. Such ironic titles were clearly a part of the composer's dry sense of humour. As mentioned in the previous post, he called a movement from his Piano Suite 'Allegretto innocente' when it was far from innocent in character and the restless opening movement of the Second Violin Sonata is given the droll marking 'Allegro con tepidezza' despite there being nothing remotely tepid about it.

The opening movement is magnificent but you would have to have a brain the size of a planet to find it simple! Time for a fanciful analogy. Listening to this movement is like rock climbing. There's a great deal of effort needed but it is very rewarding and affords glorious views as you climb higher and higher and the sense at the end of a struggle won. There are steep ascents and potential pitfalls but they only serve to give an adrenalin rush to the committed listener and lead to heart-stoppingly stunning passages. The reference to 'heart-stopping' was deliberately chosen as the movement's main climax evokes the composer's own experience of suffering a heart attack. All is well at the very start as a glockenspiel chimes four times, gently, steadily. The violins sing a hopeful-sounding phrase and the woodwinds potter about. A jaunty new violin melody set to a jogging rhythm follows, sounding a neo-Classical note. A further theme follows - a memorable four-note figure on flute (the one thing that can be called 'semplice'), which is answered by a falling idea made from thirds and minor seconds over of a chromatic, wavy accompaniment. This chromatic clouding-over gathers pace threateningly and eventually evicts the jaunty tune. The mists descend poetically and an energetic fugue (full of dotted rhythms) is launched to disperse them, gaining in strength as earlier themes return. The flow of energy then abruptly changes direction, darkening again and gradually swirling upwards towards a furious climax out of which emerges a glorious blaze of major-key radiance as the hopeful-sounding phrase returns (in combination with the flute's theme) like a hymn. This breathtaking passage leads to a fascinating section where a piccolo pipes away at a single note while the strings play an archaic-sounding dance. A new fugue intrudes nervously and into it Nielsen throws further reminders of earlier themes, gathering together in a developmental ferment at the frenzied height of which a cry rings out and the glockenspiel sounds again, irregularly. This is the composer's depiction of his heart attack. Lower strings respond with a passionate song of grief. A high canon floats in on violins, flecked by glockenspiel, beautifully, sadly, and the lamenting resumes no less beautifully, again intensifying until fugal writing re-erupts. This climaxes then melts away. The closing bars are serene yet sad. We have travelled from G major/minor at the start to A flat major at the end. Yes, quite a journey and not a simple one. 

OK, so the listener has climbed all that way to the top of the rock-face and, panting, is looking out towards the second movement. What view greets that listener? An avant-garde circus! (Not what anyone would have expected!) This 'Humoreske' has worried critics since its first performance. It's so disconcertingly unlike the preceding movement, or either of the movements that follow. It's a sharply sarcastic caprice, written just for winds and percussion, made up of parodies of contemporary modernist styles and composers, with Schoenberg and Stravinsky very much Nielsen's main targets. (Koechlin's Les Bandar-Log is an interesting point of comparison). Varèse might also be a target, given the sneering siren-like trombone yawns as the movement's various perky little tunes proceed. The question is 'Can something be criticised for being out of place if it was clearly meant to sound out of place?' What was he getting at? There's no simple answer to that. Was he obliquely comparing the disorder inside his heart with the disorder inside modern music (and suggesting that Schoenberg, Stravinsky & Co. were giving it a heart attack)? Just a thought. Was he echoing Mahler's statement that the symphony must contain the whole world, including things that don't appear to fit at all?

The third movement brings back the strings in style, launching a beautiful fugato. This initial confidence soon collapses onto a strange unwinding rope of melody. Against it winds and then lower strings recall the fugato theme. The  flute launches a new theme and other woodwinds follow. The strings stop them in their tracks and the fugue and the unwinding rope tangle themselves together again to powerful effect. The woodwinds try again and a poetic passage of conflicting impulses results, quickly and mysteriously ending in a sunset glow. A fabulous movement.

Golden glows are not going to be the end-point of this symphony, however. It couldn't be that simple! The Finale is a set of dramatic variations on a quixotic bassoon theme that could only have come from the brain of Carl Nielsen. Variations I and II throw the spotlight on the winds, while the third variation is a strange fugato for the strings. Variations IV and V follow straight on and are tempestuous. Variation VI is a wry waltz and in both it and its successor this charming thing is repeatedly undermined and finally bullied into shutting up. Variation VIII comes close to being a lament and is followed by a dancing variation in which the glockenspiel's two-note ostinato, begun quietly, rises to audibility. The grim final variation brings back the soundworld of the 'Humoreske' (so there is a connection there!), with percussion foregrounded and a growling tuba prowling underneath. A mock fanfare provokes the strings to leap like bonfire flames over the side-drum. A brass chorale sounds over it and everything (Ives-like) shimmies to climax out of which comes a catchy fragment of a dance tune. This dies away and strings lead to the final flare-up, leaving the bassoon to blow a final raspberry as a 'goodbye'. 

That ending is an enigmatic as anything by Shostakovich. If you listen to Shostakovich's own final symphony, the Fifteenth, after listening to Nielsen's Sixth, you might be struck by many similarities. I've no idea whether Shostakovich knew this symphony of Nielsen's but the coincidences of technique and tone (if they are coincidences) are striking. Just re-listen to the very opening of the Sinfonia Semplice and then listen to the opening seconds of the Shostakovich for starters...

From Jewish Folk Poetry

For such a fashionable composer, Shostakovich's songs remain largely neglected. This is a shame because they are among his greatest works. A good candidate for being his greatest work is the orchestral song cycle From Jewish Folk Poetry (1948), written in the wake of his second denunciation by the Soviet regime and not performed, for political reasons, until after Stalin's death. At a time when anti-Semitism was becoming state policy and the composer was in official disfavour, composing pieces that highlighted the suffering of Jewish people, however discreetly, was never going to be looked upon favourably. Despite that, Shostakovich famously incorporated Jewish themes in several of his major works from those years and, under Khrushchev's thaw, returned to the theme of anti-Semitism in his Thirteenth Symphony (Babi Yar) of 1962,  publicly protesting (to considerable official squeamishness) against all forms and manifestations of anti-Semitism, including the Stalinist variety. 

From Jewish Folk Poetry is, as you might expect, predominantly bleak in nature, dealing at it does largely with the subjects of oppression and poverty, but these eleven songs manage not only not to be dispiriting but instead to be various in mood - tragic, comic, tragicomic, romantic - and an absolute pleasure to listen to. They call for a soprano, a mezzo, a tenor and an orchestra. The singers sing solos, duets and trios, which gives the cycle a dramatic and, at many times, an operatic character.

1. The Lament for the Dead Child. The opening song, for the soprano and mezzo, is a masterly song by any standards. To a trudging rhythm, keening woodwind and sad horns lament and the singers weave their beautiful lines together. The touching central dialogue over swaying strings reminds me strongly of Mussorgsky and the climax, where the voices sing in thirds, is magnificent. 

2. The Thoughtful Mother and Aunt. This 'comic' song, again for the female singers only, is no less masterful. Pizzicato strings provide the accompaniment, with comments from a solo clarinet, to the artfully artless-sounding 'folk-tune', whose melody begins on the notes of a major triad but is soon chromatically-inflected to give it a minor-key feel. It passes back between two main keys, somewhat obsessively. The effect is eerily hypnotic.

3. Lullaby. A grim but beautiful song for the mezzo. To a trudging pizzicato accompaniment (sometimes bolstered by Wagnerian brass), her deeply expressive melody receives words of comfort from some tender woodwind solos - of which the the one for flute is the loveliest. This is a very great song whose momentary brightenings of tonality and scoring touch the heart.

4. Before a Long Parting. This soprano-tenor duet is especially operatic, beginning with powerfully impressive declamatory singing from the soprano, backed by low winds. This passage alternates with romance-like sections. It's a fabulous, thrilling song.

5. A Warning. This short song for the soprano sets her in an expressive duet with a solo clarinet. 

6. The Abandoned Father. This is another powerful 'operatic duet', this time for the mezzo and tenor. It's a vivid piece of scene-painting. At its climax, Shostakovich deploys his percussion, though it's the widely-spaced parallel woodwind writing at the beginning that is the most striking feature of the scoring. Even this, though, is out-struck by the by the remarkable whimpering ending, assailed as the singer is by ferocious orchestral thuds. 

7. The Song of Misery. A very characteristic violin solo runs throughout much of this otherwise highly Mussorgsky-like tragicomic song for the tenor, where folk-like and romance-like passages sit side by side.

8. Winter. This is the first trio - and a stunning song, with more vivid tone-painting by the orchestra. The tenor sings the song's sad burden. The women then join him, first to imitate (wordlessly) the winter winds, then to bring the song to a rather Puccini-like climax (thrilling!).

 9. A Good Life. After Winter comes Spring, and in the three final songs Shostakovich turns to happier thoughts, as a good Soviet artist had to do at the time - or else! This first one is a tenor solo and sounds very unlike the Shostakovich we know. In fact it sounds much more like Rimsky-Korsakov - a lyrical aria from 19th Century Russian opera - and, though it may be a pastiche, it's a cracking song! 

10. The Young Girl's Song. This delightful soprano song begins in folk-like style with a perky wind accompaniment but, as the girl's thoughts turn to more adult things, romantic strings enter and bring with them romance-style writing. 

11. Happiness. "Oh, how happy are we to be Jewish in Stalin's Russia!" is the sentiment in this final trio! Or is it? As so often with Shostakovich, who knew how to put on a poker face, it's hard to be sure. It certainly sounds ironic to me. It's another delightful number, whatever, with its heavy oompahing accompaniment and a broad folk-style melody.

I can't recommend From Jewish Folk Poetry strongly enough. Please try it out.