Showing posts with label program music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label program music. Show all posts

Sunday, October 24, 2010

What can I do for Halloween that will be short but scary? I have a pretty good baritone/bass voice but not much time to prepare something.

 Pumpkin singing
Y ou might consider emulating “Fright Night” chamber performances, which have been part of Ottawa’s ChamberFest for the past several years, with bass Robert Pomakov performing Mussorgsky’s ‘Songs and Dances of Death’ [Песни и пляски смерти; Pesni i plyaski smerti] with pianist Valerie Dueck.

P omakov’s theatrical personality is perfect for this, and maybe yours is as well. He advises adopting a Rasputin-like alter-ego. In his own performances, he uses an extended range of dynamics, from softer pianissimos to louder-than-normal fortissimos, a dramatic technique that is effective for rendering scary realism in these lieder.

H ere are the songs:
  • Колыбельная (Last Lullaby in D-sharp minor; 4:26) - A mother cradles her sick baby with a tremendous fever, who through no one’s fault becomes septic, organ-failure sets in, and the baby then dies. The majestic cruelty of pointless annihilation.
  • Серенада (Serenade in D-sharp minor; 4:33) - Death lurks below the bedroom window of terminally ill woman, performing a pastiche of a serenade as though he were her lover. Unwelcome attentions, to say the least.
  • Трепак (Trepak in D minor; 4:03) - A drunk stumbles out of a tavern into the snowy night, takes off his coat and mittens, and freezes to death while hallucinating about fields filled with summer flowers. Mortal haplessness, decorated with depression and morbid chemical dependency.
  • Полководец (Field-Marshal in E-flat minor and D minor; 5:27) - Death is the commander of what’s left of grizzled dead and dying troops after an horrific battle, and he tells them how he will remember them all. Nice.
T his makes a fright-filled 20-minute program—or you can do just 2 or 3 of them if you like. The piano accompaniment is not terrifically hard.

Y ou might consider a black cape and possibly a black eye-patch. Scythes can be found at your local costume shop or, depending whether you live in a rural area or not, at your local garden store or feed/tack store.




Saturday, November 14, 2009

Berliner Philharmoniker: Schoenberg’s ‘Accompaniment’, Op. 34

Schoenberg discursively playing chamber pingpong in 1930

Schoenberg discursively plays ‘chamber pingpong’ in 1930


H    ow words are understood is not told by words alone. How music is understood is not told by music alone. [How films are understood is not told by film alone.]”
  —  Arnold Schoenberg quote.
T    hough originality is inseparable from personality, there exists also a kind of originality which does not derive from profound personality. Products of such artists are often distinguished by uniqueness that resembles true originality… Certainly there was inventiveness at work when the striking changes of some subordinate elements were accomplished for the first time. Subsequently, they achieved an aspect of novelty not derived profoundly from basic ideas. This is ‘mannerism’, not originality. The difference is that mannerism is ‘originality in subordinate matters’. There are many, and even respectable, artists whose success and reputation are based on this minor kind of originality… The moral air of such products is rather for success and publicity than for enriching mankind’s thoughts.”
  —  Arnold Schoenberg, Criteria For the Evaluation of Music (1946), quoted by Tom Myron.
T  onight the Berliner Philharmoniker, under conductor Sir Simon Rattle, performed Schoenberg’s 1929 ‘Begleitungsmusik zu einer Lichtspielscene (Drohende Gefahr, Angst, Katastrophe) ‘ [Accompaniment to a Cinematographic Scene], Op. 34, at Carnegie Hall. What, if anything does Op. 34 have to do with ‘chamber music’, you ask?

W  ell, if ‘intimacy’ is the defining quality of ‘chamber’ music idioms, then Op. 34 has considerable to do with ‘chamber’ collaborative motivations and expressive qualities. Hive-like sectional playing so ‘tight’ and in-tune that a whole section sounds like one person… ‘Open’ orchestration that accentuates individualism of parts… Parts covered by one musician (e.g., timpani; flute flutter-tonguing; heavily muted/smothered trumpet; clarinet near the end of the piece)… A spirit of ‘mutual discovery’ among the ensemble’s parts, instead of orchestral ‘exposition’…

A  gainst those ‘chamber’ features you have the fact that the ensemble has a conductor, has 100+ members, and is playing in this large unchamber-like hall. So, go ahead and throw out my fascination with chamber-ness if you want.

J  ust the same, maybe the writing does manifest chamber music idioms. Does any modest-size chamber orchestra ever perform this Op. 34, I wonder?

I  n 1929 Schönberg was commissioned by the Heinrichshofen Verlag in Magdeburg to write music for films. The autocratic Schoenberg was not about to relinquish his artistic control, contract or no contract, and so he focused on the eponymous ‘threatening danger, fear, catastrophe.’

A  s a result, Op. 34 is only loosely an instance of ‘program music’. It does not specifically address any particular film’s scenes or characters. The film was hypothetical, imaginary, never produced. The sections that comprise the work (Introduction; 12-tone theme; Song form; Ostinato; Four Contrasting Episodes; Subdivision into Tetrachords; Climax; Reflection on the Beginning of the Work) are fragments. They are idealizations of features that might occur in music intended to be coupled with a film—it’s a kind of meta-film score, a score about future film scores.

A  ctually, Schönberg constructs the climax of ‘Begleitungsmusik’ by colliding a succession of tiny components without predetermining a ‘victor’. The 8-min piece is a series of ideas that enter and enter and enter, intruding upon other ideas that are still being articulated by other parts. New material that unexpectedly eclipses other material—that is a gesture that in 1930 was revolutionary but that we today recognize as a frequent element of film music: overlapping and occluding parts is a way to convey/reinforce that the ‘action’ is changing.

M  ore than this even, Op. 34 has an amorphous pattern of rapidly altering meter. The tempo is ‘elastic’, changing on a timescale that is very short—several seconds only—in a manner that palpably means action. This piece feels decades ahead of its time, introducing gesture after gesture that we today recognize as ‘cinematic’.

A  ccompaniment’/‘Begleitungsmusik’ is a term that evidently bothered Schoenberg. It’s such a politically ‘loaded’ term, connoting subjection of musicians and abandonment to some larger fate that is beyond their control...

B  ut the accurate word for the film composer’s relationship to a director/producer is ‘abandonment’. It must surely be the rare film scoring gig where the director/producer is open to deep collaboration—open to the film’s aesthetic’s being seriously modulated or diverted by what the composer comes up with on her/his own recognizance, like what iconoclast Schoenberg was doing. In a highly competitive world where composers are required to deliver commercial results on tight deadlines, producers and directors do everything that they can to de-risk their projects, with carefully constructed contracts and scene-lists and storyboards. They restrict the budgets and the support in such a way as to preempt novel spiritual discernments and mental awakenings to deep creativity that might extraneously occur. They usurp the composerly role, as Moorefield puts it (link below), and the composer takes a subordinate one... For most film composers, their intimate, chamber Truths lie undiscovered and, if detected, unexamined or edited-away. Exceptions to this exist, of course; but still…

S  o here, in the Berlin Philharmoniker’s beautiful, inspired account of Schoenberg’s Op. 34, we heard a singular, intimate Truth that refused to be subdued by film contracts, producers, commissions. It was a performance so dramatic and unusual that I wanted to put these few thoughts about it down here, even though it’s a bit OT for CMT…

A  ccompaniment’ is difficult, isn’t it? Tough, in part, because it must sound ‘easy’ and not ‘ask too much’. The listener is to be shielded from the difficulties that arise from constraints that require the composer to shorten or prolong each phrase to match the film’s action, at whatever pace that action unfolds. The music suffuses us generously with deliberation and control that originate in the film but only tenuously so. The film’s action can ‘lean’ on the music if it wishes, like a cushion. The film can fall back onto the music if it needs to, like a trapeze artist’s safety-net. These are the cognitive assurances that the music suffusing us makes. Conventional ‘score-as-accompaniment’ is the epitome of supportiveness and of the absence of surprise and obtrusiveness/iconoclasm.

A  nd yet, in Op. 34, sudden viola warmth floods the music—inviting but untrustworthy. There are bassoonistic surprises. Seeping drohende Gefahr, existential Angst.

T  remulous cellos, holding the first two pitches in the 12-tone row, are joined by the bassoon and bass who are preoccupied with pitches 3, 4, 5, and 6. Pitches 6 through 12 enter precipitously in staccato fusillades. The score progressively explores violence and estrangement, via col legno bow-ballistics and brass and flute flutter-tonguing.

O  kay, so maybe Schoenberg’s temperament was not well-suited to composing to commission ‘spec’ on short deadlines. But the duress illuminates so much about the composer as individual, and about small-ensemble perspectives! Originality is, after all, not necessarily something deeply ‘new’ but often the result of looking askance—an averted gaze that looks at the familiar in a fresh, detached way.

R  ainer Seegers (timpani) was particularly skillful in animating Schoenberg’s averted-gaze existential feeling in Op. 34. Large-ensemble orchestration, yes; but still chamber-like sensibility.

I  f you're a software programmer or a mathematical linguist, you might like to read Gorbman (link below) on what today we would call refactoring and code hierarchies... film music as cognitive refactoring of codes contained in the film's action/imagery, simplifying complex relationships between object classes and subclasses and/or confirming or refuting provisional concept bindings that the viewer has made based on the film's imagery.

Wake book, refactoring in Ruby



Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Margaret Marco & French Baroque Oboe: The Composer, The Performers, The Audience

 Margaret Marco
T    he change in the disposition of sonic objects in the acoustic space may alter the perspective of the listener. Where various sound-objects move in different directions... the listener may reasonably assume himself to be at a point of rest. If, however, a number of sound-objects are spaced at various points of the compass... might suggest to the listener that he himself is spinning whilst the frame of reference remains still... Depending on the type of material used, closeness may imply intimacy, distance a sense of eavesdropping or of detachment, and, at various stages in between, a sense of interpersonal communication or more formalised social communication... and aural ‘magnifying glass’, quite different from our experience of normal acoustic perspective.”
  —  Trevor Wishart, p. 148.
L ike good butler, a good Baroque composer does not ‘eavesdrop’... she/he ‘discreetly overhears’.

N ot in the sense of surveillance or espionage, of course. More in the sense of parent/guardian or journalist. This CD contains recordings of seldom-heard pieces, infrequently-performed composers.

 Margaret Marco – Hidden Gems: Oboe Sonatas of French Baroque
  1. Bouin-Cinquième Suitte: I. Le Prudent-La Prudente
  2. Cinquième Suitte: II. Tambourin
  3. Cinquième Suitte: III. Musette
  4. Cinquième Suitte: IV. Les Oiseaux
  5. Huguenet-Première Sonate, Op. 1: I. Grave
  6. Première Sonate, Op. 1: II. Gay-Grave
  7. Première Sonate, Op. 1: III. Sicilienne
  8. Première Sonate, Op. 1: IV. Gigue
  9. Chedeville-Sixième Sonate, Op. 3: I. La Rivièr d'hier
  10. Sixième Sonate, Op. 3: II. La Dificile
  11. Sixième Sonate, Op. 3: III. Rondeau
  12. Sixième Sonate, Op. 3: IV. Les Adieux de Brunoy
  13. Naudot-Sixième Sonate en Trio, Op. 7: I. Musette
  14. Sixième Sonate en Trio, Op. 7: II. Gavotte
  15. Sixième Sonate en Trio, Op. 7: III. Allemande
  16. Sixième Sonate en Trio, Op. 7: IV. Menuet
  17. Sixième Sonate en Trio, Op. 7: V. Sarabande
  18. Sixième Sonate en Trio, Op. 7: VI. Gigue
  19. Naudot-Caprice en Trio, Op. 7: I. Caprice
  20. Caprice en Trio, Op. 7: II. Tambourin
  21. Caprice en Trio, Op. 7: III. Menuet
  22. Caprice en Trio, Op. 7: IV. Chaconne

    [50-sec clip, Margaret Marco, Jacques-Christophe Huguenet, ‘Première Sonate – IV. Gigue’, 1.6MB MP3]


    [50-sec clip, Margaret Marco, Nicolas Chedeville, ‘Sixième Sonate – IV. Les Adieux de Brunoy’, 1.6MB MP3]


    [50-sec clip, Margaret Marco, Jacques-Christophe Naudot, ‘Sixième Sonate – VI. Gigue’, 1.6MB MP3]

  • Margaret Marco, oboe
  • Barbara Bishop, oboe
  • Matthew Herren, cello
  • Rebecca Bell, harpsichord
T hese sonatas are not merely ‘evocative’. They report on particular kinds of relationships—between performers and their audience; between composers and performers and patrons. There are hints in these 18th Century works, about the nature of such relationships that may have been distinctly French, plus elements that were widely-traveled... The rhythms and textures, the binary or rounded binary form with sectional repeats, the predominance of dance-inspired forms such as the courante, rigaudon, menuet, and gigue.

H idden Gems’ brings together works that share natural affinities characteristic of the time. But hearing them together illuminates some of their not-so-obvious ‘hidden’ qualities as well. Not only do the individual pieces seem to provide a [backhanded; unintended] commentary on each other, the pieces taken together embody who it was these composers were writing for. The pieces suggest how the performers conceived of their audiences. And the pieces contain clues about the aristocratic patrons and how they wished to be diverted and perceived by each other: a society that delighted in ‘overhearing’ juicy conversations. Even the music suggests ‘positioning’ in order to surreptitiously overhear things and repeat them to others, a rhetoric of reciprocal pleasure...

L    anger’s [Philosophy in a New Key: A Study in the Symbolism of Reason, Rite, and Art, 1957, p. 218] philosophy [portrays] ... music-making as a symptom of ... eavesdropping. If music were only a matter of releasing pent-up personal desire, music’s formal excellence would not matter the way it does. In fact, the more ‘self-expressive’ something is, the less musical it is likely to be. Music, Langer is convinced, is not about exposing, discharging, or expressing feeling; and yet, it is clearly related to feeling in some way. How might that be? Simply, music is a presentational symbol; and as such it is neither a stimulus nor a symptom of feeling: it is ‘not the cause or the cure of feelings, but their logical expression’.”
  —  Wayne Bowman, p.210.
V    arious performative strategies that ‘opera buffa’ adopts in the rhetoric of pleasure... [which] cannot exist without the eavesdropping presence of the audience.”
  —  Downing Thomas, p. 228.
W hile Chedeville and Huguenet and Naudot were part of the same tradition, culturally and musically, their backgrounds were very different. Nicolas Chedeville (1705-1782) was a prolific composer and instrument maker, a member of the Douze Grands Hautbois, a group of oboists and bassoonists who performed for state ceremonies during the reigns of Kings Louis XIV and XV. Jacques Christophe Huguenet (1680-1729) was a violinist and composer, appointed an ordinaire of the Royal Chamber in 1710 and a member of the Petits violons. Jacques-Christophe Naudot (1690-1762) was a self-taught Parisian flautist who had many aristocratic pupils and patrons. By contrast, not much is known about Jean-Francois Bouin; even his birth and death dates are not known. But from the title page of his compositions we know that he was a publisher and teacher of the ever-disparaged ‘vielle’ (hurdy-gurdy), about which he wrote a large, erudite, defensive tome. The righteous pique he develops in this book makes it a satisfying, if exotic, read—somewhat like reading transcripts of lawyers’ celebrated pleadings in courts of law, on behalf of hurdy-gurdies in the dock.

T hese works show sophisticated adults who as a salon game pretend to be children, amusing themselves with stylizations of fashionable dances. The differences in the composers’ approaches, and indeed, of their psychological make-up are evident enough. But the similarities of gesture and rhetoric are also evident. Marco’s and her colleagues’ musicianship is excellent, enabling us to hear and imagine these things (stylized ‘eavesdropping’ behaviors, relished and storied) beyond the musical texts themselves.

I  admit I bought this CD with the somewhat ‘detached’ intention of learning something about composers I’d never before heard and woodwind ensemble literature about which I was totally ignorant until now. But I am thrilled to have found not a pallid scholarly account but instead a rich provocation to Baroque dreaming and conjecture, in French. Cool!

M argaret Marco is principal oboe with the Kansas City Chamber Orchestra and has appeared with various orchestras including the Orquesta Sinfònica de Maracaibo, the Rome Festival Orchestra, the Dubuque (IA) Symphony and the St. Joseph (MO) Symphony. She is the Associate Professor of Oboe at the University of Kansas and holds degrees from Northwestern University, University of Iowa, and University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana. She served as President of the Midwest Double Reed Society and performs frequently on Kansas Public Radio and with the flute, oboe, piano trio Allègresse. She currently serves on the Executive Committee of the International Double Reed Society as the coordinator of the Fernand Gillet-Hugo Fox International Oboe Competition.

R ebecca Bell, harpsichordist, studied at the Royal College of Music in London, where she won the prize for clavichord playing while studying with Ruth Dyson and Robert Woolley. She has concertized in the U.S., Canada, England, the Netherlands, Italy, Austria and Germany. She is a founding member of Summerfest Kansas City where she served as the Artistic Director from 1995-1999. She is the harpsichordist for the Kansas City Symphony and the Kansas City Chamber Orchestra.

M atthew Herren has performed at Alice Tully Hall at Lincoln Center and The National Gallery in Washington and has recorded orchestral and chamber music for the Deutsche Grammophon, Sony, Atlantic, Helicon and London Decca Labels with The Orchestra of St. Luke’s. His performances have been broadcast on NPR’s Performance Today. Herren performs regularly with The American Composers Orchestra, The New York Oratorio Society, and The New York Concert Singers, Trio Fedele, The Kansas City Symphony, Kansas City Chamber Orchestra and Chamber Music Society.

B arbara Bishop is Associate Principal Oboe with the Kansas City Symphony and co-principal of the Kansas City Chamber Orchestra and Assistant Professor of oboe at the University of Missouri-Kansas City Conservatory. She trained at the Eastman School and has a Master of Music degree from the University of Minnesota. She is a regular Guest Principal with the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra.





Monday, January 22, 2007

Michael Nyman: Successful Minimalist, Successful Film Composer

Tristram Shandy
T here’s always a question of duration; there’s a question of who the orchestra is. No one is free to write what you want—you collaborate on a film score, and one of the good things is that someone else’s work is motivating you.”
  — Michael Nyman

CMT: Yesterday I saw the 2006 Michael Winterbottom – Steve Coogan film, ‘Tristram Shandy,’ on DVD. Nice Michael Nyman soundtrack, including a re-do of the adaptation of Handel’s Sarabande in D minor—the one that he did for the 1982 Peter Greenaway film, ‘The Draughtsman’s Contract.’

DSM: Remind me—a sarabande is a slow dance that typically has a hemiola meter, right? Three in two? A hemiola is a metrical pattern in which two bars in triple time (3/2 or 3/4 or 3/8, for example) are articulated as if they were three bars in duple time (2/2 or 2/4 or 2/8). ‘Hemiola’ derives from the Greek ‘hemiolios’, meaning “one and a half”—am I remembering that correctly?

Draughtsman’s Contract
CMT: Yes. And Handel’s original Sarabande in D minor illustrates interplay between at least five rhythmic levels: the natural poetic meter, the imposed poetic meter, the expected meter of the dance, the harmonic rhythm of the music and the ternary rhythm. Nyman adapts this interplay to create an edgy, intense, off-balance pulse.

DSM: It’s a little hard for us today to think of dancing with such resolute sadness. The traditional ‘saudades’ of Portugal; some Spanish tango—so there are a few modern forms, I suppose, that have poetic meter, dance meter, and harmonic rhythms similar to a sarabande. . . But I suppose that the ritualized gestures of the sarabande as a dance—the partners continue in their stylized way governed by the music until the music concludes, with no escape once it’s begun—I suppose this dance idiom serves to lend a fatalistic nuance to what Nyman is doing. In other words, I suppose Nyman chose this sarabande form so as to emphasize the constraints that the characters have. Tristram Shandy, after all, is concerned with the ‘thrownness’ and profound uncontrollability of life—we humans are, in contravention of all wishes we might have to be masters of our destiny, constrained by circumstances and chance occurrences.

CMT: Michael Nyman followed a traditional music education at the Royal Academy of Music and King's College London. Renouncing Classical Music traditions, he spent some time collecting examples of Romanian folk music before working as a musicologist and critic. His famous book ‘Experimental Music, Cage and beyond’ was mainly about minimalism and exploring the relationship between composer, performer and audience, the relationship between sound and silence, and music-as-theatre.

DSM: Nyman’s own minimalist compositions rely on simple patterns and repeated figures, with progressive or cyclical variations as vessels for his meaning. Often, the progressions are hypnotic in the way that dance music is routinely hypnotic. For more than 25 years Nyman has nurtured a strong relationship with film director Peter Greenaway. The music for these Peter Greenaway films was played by the Nyman Band, whose distinctive sound hints at jazz and features saxophones. But he takes short phrases and chord sequences mostly from the Baroque and Classical eras. Nyman frequently borrows motives from composers such as Handel, Purcell, Mozart and Brahms. These are used as passacaglia-like foundations for variations anchored with a ‘ground’. One characteristic of Nyman's music from this time is that it simply stops abruptly when the last variation finishes—he almost never recapitulates with a Coda. Very dramatic—what this does in the context of a film! I wonder why more chamber music composers don’t pitch the art flick producers and directors . . .

Handel Sarabande in D-mi, m1-11
Play MP3: Handel Sarabande in D mi
CMT: Though Nyman scored lots of soundtracks for Greenaway, it was for director Jane Campion that Nyman’s best known work was composed. The soundtrack to ‘The Piano’ illustrates his minimalism. Curiously, Michael Nyman has been known to introduce himself to a French audience as ‘The English Yann Tiersen.’

DSM: The 2 + 1 division of the measure in the triple meters is maybe more common, more thematic in later repertoires than it is in Baroque music. We may have even come to hear it as more natural than the division into 1 + 2. The division into 1 + 2, by contrast, is a kind of characteristically Baroque rhythmic device exemplified in the sarabande, the minuet, and other genres that are geared to this accented second beat.

CMT: Counterstress or local emphasis on the second beat (representing not displacement but rather the accent scheme of an established genre) is a feature of most of Handel’s sarabandes, chaconnes, and minuets. And it’s prominent, too, in his other dance pieces. Such emphasis, which doesn’t detract from the metrical force of the downbeat, rarely causes backbeat displacement. It usually accrues to the second beat through a durational accent or through a melodic, textural, or registral intensification of the type that William Rothstein calls counterstress. Counterstress defines these dance forms, especially when the rhythms of the piece suggest that the genre in question is enclosed within the confines of another genre. But a counterstress that falls on the second beat and competes with the adjacent downbeat can occur in any composition. Its prevalence in dances is probably the reason why it appears in the triple meters so often. Its ubiquity in imitative textures—during the preparation and the resolution of suspensions, and at points of imitation—accounts for its inverse prevalence in the duple meters.

Mozart Piano Sonata, K332, hemiola
DSM: In addressing the performance of sarabandes, Donald Waxman says that, historically, sarabandes were lusty dances complete with castanets and tambourines, but that by the 18th-century, sarabandes had evolved into sober, un-lusty things. In describing the sarabande, he states: “Danced to a sustained but not too slow pulse in three, the sarabande is unusual for a dance in triple time because of its frequent stresses on the second beat. These stresses on beat two, somewhat the equivalent of a double downbeat, can be very repetitive, or they can alternate over two or four bars, as often occurs in the Bach sarabandes.”

CMT: Willner identifies several categories of Handelian hemiolas—cadential, expansion, contraction, and overlapping hemiolas. He says that the hemiola courts a level of tension or uncertainty in that the hemiola may not be the same in the outer voices: the bass may not necessarily support the hemiola in the upper voice, and the upper voice may not corroborate the hemiola in the bass. Especially in such cases, the tension accrues through a series of stresses—rhythmic accents that are due to melodic, textural, harmonic, or registral intensification.

Michael Nyman, drowning by numbers
DSM: Because the overlapping hemiolas span several bars, the temporary metrical uncertainty they portray in the middle can create big disturbances in the rhythmic flux of the piece. To foster a compositional and rhetorical milieu in which such disturbance will achieve its intended effect without going in the ditch, Handel prepares the onset of his hemiolas in some way during the preceding passages and then only gradually allows them to dissipate in the phrase or phrases that follow. By the time their peregrinations are finished, their very presence in the piece will have promoted additional rhythmic space, and this might have in turn become the compositional essence of the piece.

CMT: Nyman’s awkwardness and abruptness are not unlike the difficulties Baroque composers faced when, in the course of short pieces, they felt need to resolve complex issues they had raised moments earlier but did not quite have the needed durational space in which to work out the resolution. It’s much like the problem of microfiction—how do you write a short story in 250 words?

DSM: And Handel’s handling of the Sarabande’s durational space is typical of the improvizational nature of Baroque style. It gives a degree of compositional freedom, wouldn’t you say?

Michael Nyman
CMT: I do worry, though, that Nyman is co-opting the sarabande, taking it far out of context. The sarabande is offered as a homily, yet when we watch the films that have these pieces as part of the soundtracks we have no idea what this genre designation means to the homiletical way in which the music is heard or played in the context of the films. Is it right to simply unleash the thing to be heard empirically, without intertextual reference even to other works that we understand as belonging to the genre of Baroque dance. Isn’t this a very risky thing to do? A big risk of being misunderstood, or not understood at all?

DSM: Since most acts of listening include categorization of the music being heard and categorization plays an important role in listening strategies, the implications of the musical surface must be shaped, to a large degree, by intertextual reference. What does the viewer-listener who has no intertextual references or familiarity with Baroque dances make of this passage’s primary metrical form?

CMT: I prefer Hatten’s ‘stylistic level’ to refer to surface issues, and his ‘strategic level’ to denote large-scale matters, such as the rhetorical ordering of topical groups and sections. ‘Topics’ in Handel’s D-minor Sarabande include the characteristic pairs of repeated notes on the first and second beats of many measures, the preponderance of durational accents on many second beats, the use of characteristic chordal and intervallic textures in thematic areas, and the underlying progressions and division into eight-bar phrases and four-bar subphrases. In their own genre, topical passages are ‘unmarked’ since they’re familiar to the listener who has heard other instances of the genre. But when the same topical passages make guest appearances in other genres, as they do here in film soundtracks, they take on a ‘marked’ quality. In Handel’s D-minor Sarabande, topical passages appear only on their own turf and remain unmarked until Nyman’s Sarabande’s narrative scheme transforms them into marked passages.

Michael Nyman
DSM: It’s of course by no means certain that the listener’s conception of the screenplay’s plot will coincide with the composer’s or the analyst’s, or with the performers’ or director’s, for that matter. The listener, who possesses few of the analyst’s tools or experience, makes sense of it in an ad hoc way. But even if in the first few bars of Handel's D-minor Sarabande virtually every detail of its rhythm, melody, and harmony is a trope that can be found in other examples of this same genre, and even if many listeners may not be able to recall whether a ‘reference’ at, say, m. 25, is to a previous point in the same piece or to a similar passage in another one, I think that both analyst and listener will approach such passages as singular moments in a work that tells a unique story. Their interpretations will depend less on their ability to recognize the intertextual roots of such passages as they will depend on their capacity to interpret the unique use to which these roots are put in relation to what they have just heard and seen. For the listener as well as the analyst, apprehending Handel’s D-minor Sarabande—or Nyman’s variations on it—is therefore an active, creative experience. It doesn’t depend on an extensive familiarity with Baroque chamber music as such. And, yes, maybe chamber music would be more socially popular than it current ly is, if composers (or organizations such as CMA) overtly marketed to the film industry.


Michael Nyman, in search of a zed hidden amongst many noughts