jwilzewske: ambiguity

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Richard Goode’s Emergent Chopin

I have a hard time with music I can’t hear and construe tonally. I suppose it’s a habit of ear.”
— Richard Goode, interview with Cheryl North, 2002.

R ichard Goode performed in Rockport today…

Schumann: Kinderszenen, Op. 16
Schumann: Kreisleriana, Op. 16
Chopin: Nocturne in E-flat No. 2, Op. 55
Chopin: Scherzo No. 3 in c-sharp minor, Op. 39
Chopin: Waltz in A-flat No.3, Op. 64
Chopin: Waltz in C-sharp minor No. 2, Op. 64
Chopin: Waltz in F Major No. 3, Op. 34
Chopin: Ballade No. 3 in A-flat Major, Op. 47

T he performance reminds me that the delicacy of Chopin involves not only the delicacy of touch but also delicateness of the mind. The Scherzo Op. 39, especially, illustrates this. The C# minor tonality is latent, deferred for a long time, 24 bars or so, depending on how you interpret some of the bars. This was composed during one of the periods when Chopin’s tuberculosis was exacerbated—a time when we naturally imagine his uncertainty about his health and what would come next was also exacerbated.

T uberculosis was never confirmed, and the Chopin autopsy report has never been found. Both cystic fibrosis and alpha-1-antitrypsin deficiency are possible differential diagnoses that can explain his symptoms.”
— Ulf Kongsgaard, University Hospital, Oslo, 2011.

T he tension abates a bit when the original pattern is overcome by C# sonorities that are more persuasive both metrically/cadentially and tonally. The stable major harmonies that began the composition are transformed into contrapuntal chords, ones that evoke passing tones—naturals, flats, double-sharps—on the path toward a less-complex C#. The meaning of what’s gone before gradually emerges as the complexity recedes. The essayist’s/composer’s/performer’s ideas are not expounded so much as they’re ‘discovered’. (The Op. 39 Chopin descending D-flat major ‘sparkle’ figures in the upper register presage Ray Lynch’s celestial electronica by more than 100 years.)

I n other words, these ‘character pieces’ reveal the composer-as-discoverer or composer-as-kluger/tinkerer/experimenter, and stand in stark contrast to the usual notion of composer-as-omniscient-designer/architect.

G oode gazed out the windows at various moments during the Schumann, looking at the large waves crashing outside on the rocks. How could this scene not influence his next move? How could the liveliness of the waves not have an impact on the ‘Sehr lebhaft’! How could the excitement of the wheeling gulls not impart something extra to the ‘Sehr aufgeregt’!

O ne or two attendees asked whether the screen could be drawn, to darken the hall and “Could you please put a spotlight on Mr. Goode’s face?” David Deveau, MIT Senior Lecturer and founder and Artistic Director of Rockport Music, replied after the intermission that, no, no changes would be made: the lighting and the open view of the sea were precisely as Mr. Goode had requested. Goode finds the late afternoon light of the Atlantic stretching off to the northeast a fine and rewarding view to contemplate while performing these particular works.

I n summary, it was a performance that was intensely enjoyable, warmly recommended, with even more of the spontaneity and essayistic qualities for which Goode is so well known. Perfect for this complex, chilly, drizzly Sunday in October. The F-minor Chopin waltz and Bach’s Sarabande from the B-flat partita were Goode’s parting encore gifts to us all. We went away satisfied and grateful.

T he new Shalin Liu Performance Hall is very nice, by the way—acoustically as well as visually. The irregularities of the dry-laid stone walls on the main floor are enough to prevent any notable resonances or dead zones. And the multi-glazed windows and reception hall on the third floor provide excellent acoustic isolation. There was a 25-knot breeze blowing outside and 1-meter chop in Sandy Bay, none of which was audible inside the Shalin Liu hall. Delightful.

P .S.—Cystic fibrosis was only recognized as such in the 1930s [Andersen D. Cystic fibrosis. Am J Dis Child 1938;56:344-99] and alpha-1-antitrypsin deficiency was only discovered some 30 years after that. So the fact that Chopin’s death was attributed to “tuberculosis” is not surprising, given the minimal medical knowledge at the time.

I have a photo of Richard Goode in my office. I have known Richard for 25, no, 30 years. When my son was small, he asked ‘Dad, is that picture Beethoven?’ And I laughed and replied, ‘No, but almost. As good as if it were Beethoven. He plays almost as if he were Beethoven.’ ”
— David Deveau, pre-concert remarks.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Christian Zacharias: Thematic Instability in Schubert’s Sonata in A major (D. 959)

T he opening theme chimes majestically, inner voices nestled between pedal points in the high and low registers. Schubert then responds with an arpeggiated triplet figure that forms the basis for much of the movement. Wide leaps, double thirds, and hand-crossings take us on a journey that maintains its majesty and lyricism. The slow movement, the Andantino, starts as a barcarolle but becomes tempestuous in its chaotic middle section. Musicologist John Reed calls it ‘probably the wildest outburst of fantasy Schubert ever committed to paper.’ Chromatic scales, trills, tremolandi and thunderous broken octaves become increasingly explosive in this central episode. Melody is abandoned. Order disintegrates into utter hysteria and despair. This is as close to an aural description of a physical and mental breakdown as Schubert will ever get, as he looks into the abyss. The movement returns to the simplicity and quietude of the opening. Melody and order are restored as the movement ends in tragic resignation.”
— Laurie Schulman, FCM program notes.

Context-dependent ambiguity must serve expressive purposes that the composer intends and that the performers and audience can grasp, or else it does no good. The first movement of the Schubert Piano Sonata in A Major (D. 959) has plenty of ambiguity to try and comprehend. Chord progressions that appear at the end of the movement are anticipated by earlier material in the movement. Without those anticipatory hints the ending would be ambiguous. Instead, the final statement of the progression provides a long-awaited, satisfying resolution. It is not a ‘retracing’ of a trail of ‘breadcrumbs’ Schubert left for us. It’s the tracing itself, coherently concluded. The two-chord voice-leading is crucial for how this ‘set-up’ and ‘resolution’ scheme works.

Viewed from this perspective, this movement is maybe more cohesive than some musicologists (Donald Tovey and others) have judged it to be. Brendel is, I think, closer to what I have in mind—in his writings (Fisk, too) and in his playing—and Zacharias seems to endorse this view as well in his performance tonight in Kansas City.

Tovey especially seems to have looked for orderly exposition and recapitulation as the way things should go. Schubert did not comply. The first movement of D. 959 arrives at its end not to recapitulate but to express itself forthrightly for the very first time.

Mozart and Haydn sonatas typically signal the beginning of the recapitulation with a return to the tonic and to the primary theme. Additionally, Mozart and Haydn usually emphasize the signalled return by restating the primary thematic material exactly as it appeared in the beginning, without changes in orchestration or melodic contour. Schubert doesn’t hold to this practice; or at least in D. 959 he broke the mould. The things that some writers have said are ‘chaotic’ in this sonata strike me instead as diaristic entries of extemporaneous musical thoughts by someone who knows he will likely die soon. It was September, 1828, when Schubert was editing the D. 959 manuscript, the fair-copy as we have it today. It was two months before his death. This was not for Schubert a time of conventional composerly exposition. What he instead gives us is a vivid essay on the end-of-life journey that was commencing and that he full-well knew was commencing.

The psychological effect of this sonata’s design can be unsettling—and surely this is what Schubert intended us to feel. “That’s strange! Schubert’s already heading for the ‘barn’. I must’ve missed the start of the recapitulation. But which bit that he’s played would we be recapitulating anyway?”

Christian Zacharias provided wonderful interpretations of Schumann’s Kinderszenen, Op. 15, and Beethoven’s Sonata in E-flat Major, Op. 7. But, for me, the most rewarding moments of the evening were in Zacharias’s inspired rendering of the Schubert. The audience responded with an immediate standing ovation. Superb performance, Christian!

W e tend to think of virtuosity as the musical equivalent of an extreme sport: lots of fast, loud, bravura passages that show off finger power and agility, ideally with enough originality in the phrasing to make the performance seem more than just whiz-bang display. But in his recital at the Rose Theater on Wednesday evening, pianist Christian Zacharias argued that virtuosity comes in other forms as well, most notably as an expression of patient introspection. That may seem counterintuitive, but some of Mr. Zacharias’s most electrifying playing was graceful and understated, with commanding gradations of tension. This was certainly true of his account of Schumann’s Kinderszenen. These are gentle pieces at heart, and Mr. Zacharias addressed most with a light touch that defined fantasy in terms of dreaminess.”
— Allan Kozinn, NYT, 23-FEB-2008.