Each week I listen to a classical piece I've never heard before, and then I report out my thoughts. For the week of 11/29/20, I listened to Anton Bruckner's Symphony No. 4 in E Flat Major.
Evidently there are 30-plus versions of Bruckner's nine symphonies -- and there's even a "Symphony 0." I tried to determine which version of the symphony was being performed in the video above/left, but I didn't see any indication other than it was Bruckner's Symphony No. 4. UPDATE: After listening to Bruckner's Symphony No. 4, I have rated it a blue light saber. Continue scrolling down to see my comments. I know very little if anything about the works of Anton Bruckner, so I ran a Google-search on “Anton Bruckner’s greatest works,” and one site recommended a neo-Brucknerite start with his Symphony No. 4 in E-flat Major, the “Romantic.” So that’s what I did. Now that I've listened to Bruckner’s 4th for the first time, I’ve got to be honest – it really didn’t do much for me. Overall I thought the piece was uninteresting. It showed promise at the start with its soft, woodland call from the horns – and there were other spots of interest here and there – but the work just never really grabbed my interest. It was soft. It was loud. It was beautiful. It was dramatic. At times it tried to approach sublimity. There were sumptuous segments of lush strings. There were tender parts with mellifluous woodwinds. There were gallant sections bursting with brassy fanfares and grandeur. Very lofty stuff. **yawn** Don’t get me wrong. There was some very beautiful stuff here, and it was pleasant enough to listen to, but overall it was just too – boring? Lackluster (although it did have some luster)? Humdrum (although one could hum along – and there were drums)? I dunno. I just found it uninteresting, and I don’t mind monotony. I even enjoy the works of Stephen Reich. At least his music is interesting. There was a portion of second movement that caught my attention – but not for long. The third and fourth movements had a great deal of ebbing and swelling with respites of anticipation, all leading to surges of brass. Lots and lots of brass. And timpani. Then the tide would recede. Then the tide would build again. It seemed very formulaic to me. Like those big crowd pleasers in Broadway shows. This was just the symphonic hall version of that. Coincidentally, shortly after I’d listened to Bruckner’s Symphony No. 4, I received an email from a friend with a recommendation of a podcast to check out. It's called "Sticky Notes: The Classical Music Podcast," HERE. I glanced through the episodes and saw that the installment from September 24, 2020, focused on Bruckner’s Fourth – so I listened in. The host, Joshua Weilerstein, first explained the “Bruckner problem,” the issue that centers on the various published editions of Bruckner’s symphonies (discussed briefly at the top of my comments). Weilerstein reported that there are seven versions of the fourth symphony, so I have no idea which one I heard. He also talked about the “epic scope and grandeur” of this symphony. True enough, it was epic and grand -- or, at least, it tried to be. He spoke of its “peaks and valleys” as it journeyed to its “glowing and ecstatic conclusion.” There was most certainly a colossal effort on Bruckner’s part to be epic and grand and ecstatic. Weilerstein described the composer’s “passionate outpouring” as big blocks of sound with big blocks of themes. Block, block, block. Unfortunately, all I heard from Bruckner was blah(k), blah(k), blah(k). Banal passage after banal passage. Bruckner nicknamed the symphony the “Romantic” himself, and here is his description of what the music is meant to evoke: “Medieval city. Dawn. Morning calls sound from the towers. The gates open. On proud steeds, knights ride into the open. Woodland magic embraces them. Forest murmurs. Bird songs. And thus the romantic picture unfolds.” Doesn’t that sound a bit too goofy? Okay, maybe I’m being hypercritical. Bruckner’s Symphony No. 4 does have merit. It was just not to my taste. However, I tend to think many in the audience in the video above agree with me. Listen to their applause at the end. It’s polite – but not exuberant.
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Each week I'll listen to a classical piece I've never heard before, and then I'll report out my thoughts. First up, for the week of 11/22/20, I'll listen to Béla Bartók's Piano Concerto No. 1. UPDATE: I've now listened to the piece a few times, once without the score (below left) and other times with an abbreviated score (below right), and I have rated the concerto a gold light saber. Continue scrolling to see my comments. As you can see from my rating above, I enjoyed Bartok’s concerto. However, I’m not sure the piece will be to everyone’s liking – especially to those new to classical music – as the composition is not a lyrical piece where one can easily hum a melody from the work. Instead, the most precise term I can use to describe Bartok's concerto is “percussive,” as Bartok emphasized the percussive nature of the piano with a relentless striking and pounding of the keys. Like most concertos, Bartok’s piece is in three movements, and in usual fashion, the first is fast, the second is slow, and the third is faster than the first. Bartok’s three movements are marked as follows:
I've played some short piano pieces by Bartok in the past, and they were not the usual fare, so to speak. They were a bit -- quirky? I remember one piece had no specific key signature – well, no sharps or flats were noted – but as the treble clef played in the key of “C,” the bass – with Bartok's use of various flats – was in another key. Plus, Bartok shifted rests and beats on the bass line, so that at times, it seemed as though each line had different time signatures. Bartok’s concerto had similar characteristics but to a much greater degree. Plus, there was significant use of dissonance through the use of note clusters – groups of notes that in standard lines of music “don’t mesh.” Think of color schemes that don’t blend; however, somehow Bartok made the discord work. Below left: Note clusters of two adjacent notes. Below right: Note clusters of three or four adjacent notes. The concerto opens somewhat dramatically with timpani and some very low notes on the piano, followed by a bold line of brass (outlined in red, below right) which repeats at times throughout the movement. It is, perhaps, the closest thing to a “lyrical line” in the movement. Below left: One repeat of the brass line on the piano (at 4:04 in the YouTube version with the abbreviated score). Below right: Another example occurs (at 4:43). At times there was a definite march-like beat. You can actually tap your foot. At other times, Bartok shifted time signatures and beats and rests so that the piano, orchestra and solo instruments seem to slip out of coordination. Think of a group of shaky waiters trying to balance stacks of plates and drinks on several trays while listing to the right or left, adding or skipping a step in an attempt to maintain balance. Bartok has everyone like those waiters, careening about simultaneously as the movement advances very quickly and erratically. To be honest, it is quite impressive how the conductor, the orchestra, and the pianist keep it all together.
The second movement, which I loved, is a much slower and measured piece. Its relentless throbbing suggested bewilderment at times, perhaps confusion, but nothing disillusioned or bleak. Instead, to me, it seemed more contemplative and introspective, a construct of metacognitive dissonance. At one point, the piano accompanies the orchestra with a hypnotic pulse where the right hand plays on beats two and three (below left with the red arrows) and the left hand plays on beats three and one (below left with the purple arrows). The inherent tension and dissonance swells with impelling force not by way of a quickened tempo but through crescendo and an escalation of more intense note clusters on the piano (below right). The third movement begins immediately after the second with an all out assault on the notes on the piano. The attack, though, does not convey that things will gyrate out of control due to mounting intensity. Instead, the advance suggests a charge of purpose and force.
The final movement is layered with parallels to the first – its rhythms, its motifs, its brisk chromatic runs, its ebb and flow of tension. Again, the movement is characterized by ferocity, but not despair. The piece culminates with rhythm against rhythm, structure against frenzy, and piano against orchestra. The energy and emotion of the final movement builds and recedes, shifts and accelerates, and swells and surges like a pulsating murmuration of birds swooping and swirling in the sky. Be sure to pay attention, though, because the piece rushes to an abrupt end. The first time I listened to this concerto, I was not watching the score -- I was just listening -- and the end caught me quite off guard. It was as if Bartok was speaking, and he just stopped mid |
A New Hope:As the header above says, each week I will listen to a piece of classical music that I've never heard before, and then I will report out what I thought about it. Archives
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