Technical vs Atmospheric Development

Due to mostly technical understanding of music in academic circles, development is by rule seen through technical variations of a musical idea; melody is transferred form major to minor, gets treated by different rhythmical patters, styles etc. But what is the atmospheric effect? If a piece is technically fluid, by no means it has to have atmospheric fluidity. As we said, a musician thinks through music, and that means variating and developing the atmosphere, and not merely combining notes inside a technical game. Beautiful development of atmosphere is sometimes achieved only by changing the arrangement and orchestration, with no further changes; and with technical development, but without atmospheric logic, atmosphere – and therefore beauty of a piece – can be ruined. Even outside of classical music there are examples of this error – for example I remember as a child being excited with famous introductory part of Tubular Bells from Mike Oldfield. My father told me: it’s a long piece, there is much more to it. I was happy to hear that, curious about the epic work-out of the idea… But this experience is a testimony that complexity without organic unity means little. When I heard the “epic” whole – what a disappointment! It was a kind of a collage, maybe little more than that, and the rest of the music was only rarely the work-out of the introductory atmosphere. Tubular Bells (1971) developments are sometimes purely technical – so on the particular atmosphere of the opening continues the development technically fluid, but atmospherically incompatible with the opening – it goes traditionally pastoral, which is not the development of the atmosphere of the opening, although the same themes are used. The same happens with the same Mike Oldfield’s Ommandawn – after mystical, deep introduction comes a common pastoral atmosphere, based on the same themes so technically nothing is wrong: themes go through variations, are used down minor and major scales, treated by different styles, but there is no atmospheric logic in all of that. A listener feels that a composer is not doing good storytelling. He will feel the introductory atmosphere again only with the mesmerizing final part of Ommadawn 1.

Rudolf Thiel in his book “Der Himmel Voller Geigen” mentions Jean Pol, the writer preferred by Schuman, with this quote:

In several words, that were in no connection with the piece, he managed to show the indescribable feeling, as for example constant motion of emotions in symphonic music, that achievement of the old Haydn, the achievement that moved the worlds.

This constant “moving of feelings” is just what we mean by subliminal story telling.

Haydn’s symphonies were much more than the simple synthesis of achievements of his predecessors. The way on which this “more” is realized remains a mystery. It already demands a lot of effort to understand what it is that we are talking about. It would be best if we would use comparative speech, as once did a German poet who in his time, and in general, understood the essence of classical music, the music-loving poet of novels Jean Paul. Once he expressed his impressions of one of the Haydn’s symphonies:

“Stormy winds were battling each other. Suddenly they were set apart by warm, moist sun rays. Sky was again full of heavy clouds, but the master suddenly wiped them of as some illusion and one single ton cried in the spring like some beautiful appearance”.

An example of difference between talk about form, that is involving specialized musical language and technical analysis, and talk about content that is done with general, intuitive speech (common language), is this abridged writing by Parks Grant about Gustav Mahler's symphony no.2:

James Huneker once pointed out that the opening of Wagner’s Die Walküre sounds like that of Schubert’s The Erl-King. The opening of Mahler’s Second or C Minor Symphony is reminiscent of both – though not for long; we quickly become aware that Mahler – not Schubert, Wagner or a second hand version of anybody else – is speaking. The cellos and double basses enter in the second measure with a powerful declamatory theme, which continues for sixteen measures under a constant tremolo G in octaves. During the next fifteen measures the cellos and double basses repeat this declamatory theme (with a slight change near the beginning) while higher instruments, mostly woodwinds, later violins, claim the center of our attention with another important theme. The restless bass figure persists, however, during quite a few measures to come. The rhythms it has already established, and to a lesser degree its melodic characteristics, dominate much of the entire movement.

The second theme or subordinate subject is presented in E major, harmonically a very distant relative of C Minor, key of the first subject…/etc etc../

…After a long, tense, stormy opening piece, something unruffled, gently lilting, and reposed is surely in order. The second movement, in A-flat major, 3/8 time, marked andante moderato, fulfills these needs. Its style at first reminds one of Schubert, yet those who know Mahler’s works will agree that it is pure Mahler.

The form is roughly ABABA; that is a song-form with repeated trio (middle section); but Mahler’s well-nigh invariable custom of employing varied repetition, and hence allowing for natural organic growth, produces a form-scheme more accurately described as A1 B1 A2 B2 A3…..

….Like Schubert before him, Mahler occasionally used materials from one of his songs as the basis for an instrumental work. The third movement of Symphony No. 2 is in large free Rondo form and fulfills the function of a Scherzo…. It opens with some abrupt, short solos on the timpani (incidentally this symphony requires two sets of kettle drums) which might well be derived form the symphony’s opening theme. Running sixteenth-notes in 3/8 time make an early appearance and are encountered in nearly every measure…. The form might be analyzed thus: A1 B1 A2 W C1 X C2 D Y A3 B2 C3 Q Z

A4. In this scheme, W, X, Y, and Z are transitional passages derived mostly from A, and Q represents the music foreshadowing the fifth movement.

The fourth movement follows without pause…. The opening, with its quiet brass instruments, suggests a chorale. With 21 changes of time signatures in the first 35 measures, coupled with a very slow tempo, it seems almost rhythmless; but it is exactly what is needed after the music that has preceded it and in light of that which is to follow.”

And now we give the complete writing on the last movement, where the writer switches to talk about content:

The fifth and final movement – one of the longest in any symphony – was beyond question influenced by the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and has a general plan in common with it: it opens in pessimism, which increases and then reaches a turning-point; optimism then conquers, steadily gains ground, and finally attains a triumphant conclusion.

Long as this part is, only a person who did not know it would be rash enough to brand it “too long”. The writer’s long-held (though completely unsupported) private opinion is that the finale was originally planned to be even longer – that its form as we know it actually represents a slight condensation.

The uproar of the opening suggests the day of judgment as surely as any music ever can. The quotation already mentioned in conjunction with the third movement (as shown above) is powerfully stated. However there is an immediate quieting down and this motive (see below) associated later with the idea of “resurrection” is heard tentatively. (The casual hint of it in the first movement has already received mention. The other theme that was so briefly foreshadowed appears soon).

In general, it may be said that the first part of the finale consists of a series of comparatively brief and not-so-closely-connected sections, a bit fragmentary in effect. Several spots stand out in the listener’s consciousness, (some of them are not the principal theme, but rather fascinating episodes), namely: (1) A fanfare-like theme for horns, played not in the orchestra but off-stage so that the sound appears to reach us from a great distance – almost like a barely recalled memory, or perhaps suggesting a dimly-perceived glimpse into our future. (2) A chain of trills in parallel triads which is strongly suggestive of the style of the French impressionists. In view of the fact that musical Impressionism was barely becoming established at the time this symphony was written (1894), it seems likely that this resemblance is a thought-provoking coincidence rather than imitation. (3) A short but agitated section suggestive of a desperate pressing to overcome some obstacle, but which quickly collapses. The failure is only temporary, for this theme is destined to turn up twice later, once at the beginning of a passage which does indeed lead across the turning-point of the movement, again as a short contralto solo with a text of reassuring tone. (4) A section based on fanfare-like material accompanied by many trills, slow and majestic, yet brilliant.

The next part of the movement brings the first passage of any sustained length. A terrifying crescendo for nothing but percussion instruments – decidedly unusual considering when it was written – suggests the gates of hell opening. The music that follows is a wild march – urgent, desperate, at times hard-bitten, and only occasionally buoyant of confident. Mahler’s favorite rhythmic pattern – eighth-note, sixteenth-rest, sixteenth note – is prominent for the first time in this movement. Sometimes the music suggests an inexorable drive toward an unwelcome fate. The music dissolves in wild collapse; again there is a failure to surmount an obstacle. The above-mentioned agitated theme returns, and this time grows, becomes eager and urgent. It unfolds amid many changes in meter. Meanwhile off-stage there is barely audible fanfare-like material played by two trumpets, triangle, bass drum, and cymbals; it seems to be military music carried to our ears by the wind. The mounting crescendo of the rest of the orchestra swallows it up, and soon a bold fortissimo sweeps us to the grand climax of the movement, at whose peak Mahler states (in a different key) the chord-progression already heard in the third movement and again at the start of the present movement (see example at left). Hereis music that is a climax in every sense – not merely a tremendously loud passage but a genuine turning point as well. A few quiet measures suggestive of dawn lead to perhaps the most remarkable spot in a symphony truly laden with remarkable spots. It is unique; one can search musical literature in vain for anything else even slightly like it. Trumpets and horns, both off-stage, plays fanfares of magical character; in the orchestra there are bird-like twitters from flute and piccolo and underneath occasional rumbles from the bass drum or offstage timpani. Surely if nature had the gift of composing, the result would sound like this! Mahler has specified that of the four trumpets used, two should be placed to the left, two to the right.

The long-awaited entrance of the chorus follows, in music of solemn, reposed dignity. It will be noticed that both here and twice later, out of the chorus there gradually emerges a solo voice, in this and the following instance the soprano, in a still later passage the contralto. Not unless one consults the score can he say exactly where the soloist is detached from the rest of the chorus. Mahler’s effect is fresh, striking, yet simply achieved. The spirit form now on is by turns solemn, hopeful, restful, reassuring, and wildly triumphant; it has been purged of everything bitter, desperate, and frustrating. The listener is swept into one brilliant cadence after another. Toward the end an organ lends its plangent support to the already powerful chorus and orchestra. The symphony concludes in a blaze of jubilation, the key being E-flat major.

This writer adds that the last movement contains “series of comparatively brief and not-so-closely-connected sections, a bit fragmentary in effect”. This movement is “fragmentary” only in some formal sense; but in the sense of overall musical meaning and effect, it is one of the least fragmentary movements written by Mahler. It has story-telling logic. Mahler himself agreed: “It’s a remarkable, fearful, great piece! I didn’t realize this when I was composing.” (From “Mahler: His Life, Work, & World”). It is recorded that on the premiere of the symphony, audiences by far most reacted on this last movement.