By Colin Kaye
Update September 26, 2015
The Sound of Silence
Anonymous painting of Joseph Haydn rehearsing.
The other night,
having nothing much to do, I was looking through the orchestral score of
Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony – his last one. He died only nine days after
its first performance and the end of the symphony too literally fades away
to complete silence. The last eight measures are scored for muted cellos
and basses playing a low chord of B minor, so quiet that it’s barely
audible. Then in the last measure of the symphony, Tchaikovsky writes a
rest sign – the musical sign for silence, with a pause mark over the top,
thus effectively writing in several moments’ complete silence at the end of
In his Fifth
Symphony, Tchaikovsky used silence dramatically in the last movement at
a moment when the entire orchestra builds to a thundering climax. There are
a few seconds of silence before the heroic closing section begins. It’s a
moment of high drama because of the extraordinary sense of tension and
anticipation that it creates. The silence is not just “nothing” but an
integral part of the musical experience.
At its simplest level,
silence marks the beginning and end of the music. It also occurs briefly
between musical phrases, so that we can hear where one phrase ends and
another one begins. Just think of Gregorian chant, and those periods of
silence occur between the long flowing phrases. Beethoven often used
silence for musical effect and during the early years of the twentieth
century so did composers like Schoenberg and Webern. In some of Webern’s
music there is probably more silence than there are notes. In contrast, in
one of his string quartets Joseph Haydn used silence for a different reason:
to raise a laugh.
Joseph Haydn (1732-1809): Quartet in E flat major, Op. 33 No. 2,
(“The Joke”). Ariel
Quartet (Duration: 17:20; Video: 720p HD)
In the late summer of
1781, Haydn wrote a set of six string quartets (classified as Op. 33) for
the Viennese publisher Artaria, then one of the top publishing houses in
Europe. Haydn was forty-nine and at the peak of his career.
Like his symphonies,
many of Haydn’s quartets have acquired nicknames, largely because he wrote
so many. In this one, known as “The Joke”, Haydn used silence in the last
movement to create several false endings, so that the audience would applaud
in the wrong places. It must have been tremendous fun at the first
The performance by the
brilliant Israeli Ariel Quartet is exceptional, partly because in their
customary manner they perform the entire work from memory. It’s in the
usual four movements, and like some other Op. 33 quartets, Haydn places the
scherzo immediately after the first movement. This scherzo a very
minuet-like affair, and is actually an Austrian peasant dance known as a
Schuhplattler. In both this movement and the following slow movement,
Haydn frequently uses silence to create tension.
The last movement
(which begins at 13:55) takes the form of a lively Italian folk dance called
the Tarantella. The first false ending is at 16:23; another one at
16.45 and another one at 16.50 which really sounds like the end of the
piece. The real ending arrives at 17.00 but even in this video, the
audience seems unsure whether or not to applaud. After two hundred years,
you’d have thought that Haydn’s joke might have worn a bit thin but as this
performance shows, it still seems to work.
Cage (1912-1992): 4’33" (Four minutes, thirty-three seconds).
Orchestra cond. Lawrence Foster (Duration 05:42; Video 480p)
John Cage, once the
enfant terrible of American contemporary music, took the notion of
silence in music to the obvious limits when he created a piece consisting
entirely of silence. Strangely enough, the idea was not entirely new. This
three-movement work (if such it can be called) dates from 1952 and consists
of virtually blank pages.
The total length of
the three movements is supposed to be four minutes and thirty three seconds
and it can be played by any instrument or combination of instruments. Cage
always insisted that the piece was not a joke and it has even attracted
serious academic debate. Of course, it can only work in the formalized
concert performance setting at which the audience is expected to behave
appropriately and demonstrate correct concert etiquette by sitting quietly
and listening. The point of the whole exercise is that silence doesn’t
actually exist and it draws attention instead to ambient sounds inside and
outside the concert hall.
The BBC Symphony
Orchestra gives a fine performance of this technically challenging work.
The dynamics are beautifully measured, especially in the pianissimo sections
and there’s an elegant sense of phrasing. Conductor Laurence Foster brings
a rare insight into this remarkable work and creates a wonderful sense of
expansiveness. You’ll probably want to listen to it several times.
Update September 20, 2015
Turning the clock back
It’s not much, but it’s home: Dumbarton Oaks.
One day, during my
time as an impoverished music student in London, I was ferreting through the
records in a second-hand music shop and came across one of those rather
unusual 45rpm classical recordings. It was recorded by the London Mozart
Players (founded in 1949 and still going strong) and featured Stravinsky’s
Dumbarton Oaks Concerto. I bought the record without hesitation and
didn’t regret it.
We have to thank the
absurdly-wealthy American diplomat Robert Woods Bliss and his wife Mildred
for this piece. To mark their thirtieth wedding anniversary in 1938, they
commissioned a new work from Igor Stravinsky, then one of the superstar
musicians of the day and much in demand as a composer and conductor. As a
result of the commission, he wrote the Concerto in E-flat for Chamber
Orchestra while staying in a town near Geneva where his eldest daughter
was fighting a terminal battle with tuberculosis.
The work was first
performed in the grandiose music room of the Bliss house, rustically named
Dumbarton Oaks. For years, I had pictured a homely, rambling country
house with roses and wisteria everywhere blissfully unaware that
Dumbarton Oaks was actually an enormous nineteenth century building of
palatial proportions, situated in Washington’s up-market Georgetown
neighborhood. Even so, the name provided a convenient and enduring nickname
for the concerto. As fate would have it, on the day of the first
performance Stravinsky was in hospital with tuberculosis (though he lived to
tell the tale) and the ensemble was conducted by the legendary teacher and
musician Nadia Boulanger.
During the 1920s,
Stravinsky had become profoundly interested in a neoclassical approach to
composition which he later claimed to have invented himself. This drew on
some of the aesthetic principles vaguely associated with European music’s
Classical Period which was roughly between 1750 and 1820. Although
Stravinsky wrote some of the best-known neoclassical works in the
repertoire, other composers notably Hindemith, Prokofiev, Bartók, Milhaud
and Poulenc were also influenced by neoclassical principles.
Stravinsky (1882-1971): Concerto in E-flat for Chamber Orchestra
cond. David Greilsammer (Duration: 16:02; Video: 1080p HD)
If your knowledge of
Stravinsky’s music is through the ballets written before the First World
War, this work may come as a pleasant surprise. Stravinsky first explored
the neoclassical approach in his ballet Pulcinella which dates from
around 1920 and was based on melodies presumed at the time to have been
written by the eighteenth century Italian composer Giovanni Pergolesi. As
it turned out, they weren’t, but the ballet began Stravinsky’s long
fascination with neoclassical principles. The Concerto in E-flat is
a three-movement work written along the lines of a baroque concerto
grosso in which unlike a conventional concerto, a group of instruments
perform the solo sections. It’s scored for ten stringed instruments, a
handful of woodwind and two horns.
would be a more appropriate description, because you’ll hear fascinating
echoes of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No 3 emerging through the light
and airy textures, with snippets of melody that sound as though they’ve come
from dance music of the thirties. The light and delicate second movement is
followed by an energetic finale that’s full of melodies, shifting accents
and driving rhythms and although the music turns the clock back to the
eighteenth century for its inspiration, the sound is pure Stravinsky.
Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953): Symphony No 1 in D (“Classical”).
Symphony Orchestra cond. Thomas Sřndergĺrd (Duration: 15:33; Video: 1080p
Prokofiev wrote this
work during 1916-17, which puts Stravinsky’s claim to be the “inventor of
neoclassicism” on somewhat shaky ground. Prokofiev was in his mid-twenties
and already a successful composer with several operas, ballets and other
orchestral works to his credit, including his first two piano concertos.
Symphony draws on the musical style of Joseph Haydn for its inspiration
and has become Prokofiev’s most popular orchestral work. Prokofiev once
commented that “if Haydn were alive today, he would compose as he did
before, but at the same time would include something new in his manner of
The work is scored for
small orchestra and the format is pretty similar to the symphonies with
which Haydn would have been familiar except that the traditional minuet is
replaced with a gavotte. Prokofiev uses techniques that Haydn would have
recognised, yet the musical language is unmistakably his own, with jaunty
playful rhythms and spiky melodies. There’s a lovely lyrical second
movement and an elegant gavotte which contains surprisingly satisfying
twists of harmony. The brilliant finale is a scampering movement which
contains plenty of lively tunes. There’s an especially catchy one, first
heard on the flute (at 11:23) that you might find yourself humming for a
long time afterwards.
The performance by
these Danish musicians is staggeringly good. Listen out for the brilliantly
virtuosic woodwind playing in the last movement.
Update September 12, 2015
The Melody Lingers On
The Kontras Quartet.
(fanjoy labrenz photography)
The title comes from a
song by Irving Berlin, first recorded in 1928 by Ruth Etting, once known as
“America’s sweetheart of song”. Of course, melody - lingering or otherwise
- is one of the most important features of music. During the early Middle
Ages, most music consisted of a single melody and precious little else. The
composer Joseph Haydn once remarked that “melody is the main thing; harmony
is useful only to charm the ear” and the musical theorist Johann Philipp
Kirnberger put it more bluntly saying that “the true goal of music - its
proper enterprise - is melody”.
For many people,
melody is the most memorable feature in a piece long after other aspects of
the music things are forgotten, so in that respect Irving Berlin hit the
nail on the head. During the second half of the twentieth century, melody
temporarily became less relevant in classical music, prompting the
irritatingly pompous Sir Thomas Beecham to remark that composers should
write “tunes that chauffeurs and errand boys can whistle.” In contrast,
Aaron Copland, known for his ability to write fine melodies, commented that
a melody isn’t “merely something you can hum.”
So this week, here are
two popular works full of memorable melodies. They’re both for string
quartet which nearly always consists of two violins, a viola player and a
cellist. This type of ensemble emerged sometime during the eighteenth
century and has been popular with composers ever since. Haydn wrote seventy
works for string quartet; Mozart wrote twenty-three and the ever-prolific
Luigi Boccherini churned out more than ninety. Beethoven’s eighteen
quartets are considered to be some of the finest ever written, especially
the later ones.
Alexander Borodin, the
Russian composer, who incidentally was also a medical doctor and a chemist,
managed only two string quartets because much of his time was engaged in
scientific research. Even so, he was particularly adept at crafting jolly
good tunes. So good were they, that many were borrowed (or stolen, if you
prefer) for the 1953 musical Kismet, set in a fictional Baghdad
during the time of The Arabian Nights.
Alexander Borodin (1833-1887): String Quartet No. 2 in
D Major (first movement).
Kontras Quartet (Duration: 08:08; Video: 720p HD)
This quartet was
written in 1881 when the composer was on holiday, staying with a friend in
Zhitovo, a country town in Southern Russia. The first movement has been
described as “one of the most perfect examples” of Borodin’s lyrical style
and it’s full of lovely melodies and magical changes of key.
The four movements are
presented on YouTube as separate videos, listed on the right-hand-side of
the screen. Unusually, the second movement is not a slow one, but a quick
and lively scherzo in which you’ll hear a melody which later became
better known as Baubles, Bangles and Beads. The slow third movement
is beautiful and you’ll probably recognize the main theme as yet another hit
from the show, And This is My Beloved.
The Kontras Quartet is
a brilliant young American string quartet based in Chicago and has
established an international reputation. This is a fine recording in which
the four players work to produce a balanced, seamless and perfectly
Antonín Dvorák (1841-1904): String Quartet No 12 in F,
Op 96 (“American”).
Prazak Quartet (Duration: 25:05; Video: 360p)
If any string quartet
can stake a claim for the most popular work in the chamber music repertoire,
it has to be this. I first encountered it as a teenager and thought it was
the best quartet I’d ever heard. This performance has been watched over
218,000 times on YouTube alone, so there’s clearly an audience for chamber
The work dates from
1893 when the Czech composer was Director of the National Conservatory in
New York City. Like Borodin, he was taking a summer holiday when he wrote
it. Dvorák stayed in the small Iowa town of Spillville which was home to a
small Czech community. Even today the town has only a few hundred
Dvorák sketched the
quartet in just three days and completed the entire work less than a
fortnight later. He’d recently completed his famous New World Symphony
and the string quartet contains many similar American-sounding themes, often
using the sweet-sounding pentatonic scale. For a long time, it was assumed
that Dvorák had used genuine folk songs and spirituals and although the
composer heard many American folksongs during his stay, all the melodies in
the quartet are largely the composer’s own.
The Prazak Quartet was
established in 1972 and it’s interesting how these Czech musicians approach
the work. Unlike some American and British string quartets that tend to go
for a smooth and restrained performance of this work, there’s no
pussy-footing around here and the musicians give a lively and passionate
performance that seems to bring out more of the Bohemian qualities of the
The Tuileries Palace, Paris c. 1778.
I’m sure you’ve been
to one of those concerts where someone starts clapping at an inappropriate
moment, causing acute embarrassment to themselves and a general feeling of
discomfort among everyone else. One of the Golden Rules of classical music
concerts is that one doesn’t clap between movements. One simply doesn’t,
Of course, it wasn’t
always thus. “Up until the beginning of the twentieth century”, writes the
American music critic Alex Ross, “Applause between movements and even during
movements was the sign of a knowledgeable, appreciative audience, not of an
At the first
performance of Brahms’s First Piano Concerto in 1858 the composer knew
things were not going well because there was no applause after the first
movement. Hissing, but no applause. On the other hand (if you’ll excuse
the irresistible pun), Mendelssohn explicitly asked that his Third Symphony
be played without a break to avoid “the usual lengthy interruptions”. It’s
thought that the practice of keeping quiet between movements may have
originated in Germany during the late nineteenth century.
I remember once
hearing a thrilling performance of a Beethoven piano concerto in which the
dramatic end of the first movement surely must have been composed to elicit
an audience reaction. I cannot have been the only one who wanted to release
my excitement and applaud or even cheer the soloist. But of course, nothing
of the sort happened apart from the usual coughing and shuffling in an
awkward self-imposed silence. In Beethoven’s time there would probably have
been a standing ovation.
It’s easy to
understand how newcomers to classical music or those who don’t know The
Golden Rule will break into spontaneous applause at such moments. Perhaps
it’s time to change the way we think about concerts. Even so, to rebuke
people for showing their appreciation is sheer bad manners. At a local
concert last year during the performance of a Bach concerto, there was a
tentative ripple of polite applause from the back of the hall at the end of
the first movement. One of the concert promoters leapt from his seat and
gestured wildly at the offenders, thus making himself more of a downright
nuisance than those he was foolishly and misguidedly reprimanding.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791): Symphony No 31 in D major “Paris”.
Danish National Chamber Orchestra cond. Adam Fischer (Duration: 16:41;
Video: 720p HD)
The 22-year-old Mozart
had a dismal time when he was job-hunting in Paris, but at least the
experience brought us this symphony, which was given its first public
performance at the Tuileries Palace in 1778. In a letter to his father,
Mozart enthusiastically relates how the Parisian audience burst into
applause at particularly exciting moments during the first movement. The
letter clearly reveals that Mozart was composing for a specific type of
audience and was even tailoring his music to elicit reactions. Of course,
he wasn’t the first composer – or the last – to do so.
The symphony is scored
for a large orchestra which included comparative newcomers, a pair of
clarinets. Mozart had first heard them in Mannheim and was enthusiastic
about using the instruments in his Paris symphony. The enthusiasm shows.
Mozart uses many colourful orchestral effects which clearly went down well
with the Parisians and it’s interesting to speculate at which moment the
noisy but appreciative audience might have applauded. Even today this
remains one of Mozart’s most popular symphonies. But try applauding during
the first movement as they did in Paris and you’ll probably be hauled out of
the concert hall by armed guards.
Steve Reich (b. 1936): Clapping Music (1972).
Performed by composition students at the College of Music, University of
Colorado at Boulder (Duration: 04:54; Video: 480p)
In this piece it’s the
performers, rather than the audience, who do the clapping. Steve Reich is
one of the pioneers of minimalism and he’s had a huge influence on
contemporary music. Clapping Music was originally written for two
performers and it consists of just twelve measures (bars) each of which is
played eight times. One performer claps a single rhythm throughout the
piece. In the first measure, the second performer claps the same rhythm
(eight times of course) but in the next measure the rhythm shifts by one
eighth note to the right. This process continues throughout the piece until
the thirteenth measure when the second performer is inevitably clapping the
same rhythm as the first, drawing the piece to its logical and inescapable
close. It’s elegantly simple but strangely mesmerizing as the rhythmic
patterns shift out of phase with each other.
written for two performers, Clapping Music is invariably performed by
a group, which to my mind makes for a much more satisfying sound. If you
want to brush up your music-reading skills you can download the printed
score and clap along with the performers.