CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY, NORTHRIDGE
PERFORMANCE AND DISCUSSION OF VIOLIN MUSIC BY J.S. BACH,
GIUSEPPE TARTINI, ERNEST CHAUSSON, AND CHEN YI
A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements
For the degree of Master of Music in Performance
By
Benjamin D. Thomason
May 2014
Copyright by Benjamin D. Thomason 2014
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The thesis of Benjamin D. Thomason is approved:
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Professor David Aks
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Date
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Professor Michael Ferril
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Date
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Dr. Diane Roscetti, Chair
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Date
California State University, Northridge
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Innumerable thanks are due to all who helped me reach this achievement. To
Jesus and my beloved wife Erin, for their unconditional love and continual invitation to
growth. To Professor Michael Ferril, my incredible teacher and mentor, and Professors
Diane Roscetti and David Aks, my faculty committee. To my family, thank you for your
constant support: Mom, Dad, Eliza, Mary & Rod, Brenna, everyone! Thanks to my
students for helping me to remember the joy of discovery, and to my classmates at CSUN
for your drive to make compelling music. Soli Deo Gloria!
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Table of Contents
Copyright
ii
Signature Page
iii
Acknowledgements
iv
Abstract
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Introduction
1
Fisherman’s Song and Memory by Chen Yi
3
Sonata No. 3 in C Major for Solo Violin BWV 1005 by J.S. Bach
7
Poème Op. 25 by Ernest Chausson
18
Sonata in G Minor “The Devil’s Trill” by Giuseppe Tartini
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The Relevance and Meaning of Classical Music
29
Bibliography
35
v
ABSTRACT
PERFORMANCE AND DISCUSSION OF VIOLIN MUSIC BY J.S. BACH,
GIUSEPPE TARTINI, ERNEST CHAUSSON, AND CHEN YI
By
Benjamin D. Thomason
Master of Music in Performance
This thesis explores the composition and content of the music performed in my
Masters of Music Recital on March 29, 2014. This includes Fisherman’s Song and
Memory by Chen Yi, Sonata No. 3 in C Major for Solo Violin, BWV 1005, by J.S. Bach,
Poème by Ernest Chausson, and Sonata in G Minor “Devil’s Trill” by Giuseppe Tartini. I
examine the circumstances surrounding each piece’s composition, trace each piece’s
relative importance in the history of violin music, and discuss existing analyses of the
pieces, providing my own interpretations as well. I conclude with a philosophical
exploration of the place of classical music in contemporary culture.
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Introduction
The music I selected for performance at my Master of Music recital on March
29th, 2014, encompasses a broad palette of musical styles, compositional forms, and
violin techniques. In this document, I will discuss three aspects of each piece of music.
First, by examining the life circumstances of the composer during the time of each
piece’s composition, I hope to bring into focus their stylistic and artistic approach in
creating each piece of music. I will then attempt to trace a history of performance of the
pieces in order to grasp their relative importance in the history of violin music
specifically, and finally I will discuss existing analyses of the pieces, providing my own
interpretations as well.
A central goal of my recital performance was to write program notes which would
help the audience (which was assumed to be untrained in classical music) to grasp
underlying significances in the music as it hit their ears, rather than to allow it simply to
wash over them. These notes attempted to distill the most salient features concerning
each composition by providing a sketch of the music’s compositional environment and
inner workings. I found the process of writing these program notes to be extremely
difficult for two reasons: first was the challenge of engagingly describing something as
ethereal as music to an audience unfamiliar with musical terminology. Second was the
dual limitation of space in the program and the task of keeping the notes to a length at
which it would be reasonable to expect the audience to actually read them – in other
words, the difficulty was to satisfactorily describe each piece’s entire history, form, and
musical thrust in as compact a way as possible.
1
Since I expended considerable effort writing program notes which crystallize each
composition in a condensed fashion, I include the notes as printed in the program as the
introduction to each piece in this document. From that starting point I continue into an
expanded look at the composers, form, and history of the pieces without needing to restate material given in the notes.
An additional goal of my recital was to invite the audience to experience classical
music in a new way, which I did with a brief letter at the beginning of the program notes.
As a conclusion to this thesis I would like to elaborate much further on some of my
personal thoughts regarding the preparation and performance of classical music in the
contemporary cultural context in which it is becoming increasingly marginalized.
2
Fisherman’s Song and Memory by Chen Yi
Program Notes
Chen Yi is renowned for her masterful combination of Chinese and Western
musical idioms. Fisherman’s Song was composed in 1980 during her time as a student at
Beijing’s Central Conservatory of Music, where she was the first Chinese woman to earn
a Master’s Degree in Composition.1 The rich and lyrical opening melody gives way to a
middle section of folk-dance-like excitement and soaring jubilation. The energy gradually
recedes again as the original melody returns in the piano, transformed at first by the
spirited atmosphere, but soon regaining its former calm as the song winds to a close.
Expanded Commentary
Chen Yi was born in 1953 in Guangzhou, China. She began studying violin and
piano in a Western idiom at a very early age. When she was a teenager, the Chinese
Cultural Revolution struck, and she spent two years in the rural farmland performing
compulsory manual labor. She was able to continue her studies on the violin, however,
and now looks back to this period as a foundational experience in familiarizing herself
with Chinese folk music. Upon her return to Guangzhou, she spent eight years as
concertmaster of the local Peking Opera Troupe, studying and composing for all of the
traditional Chinese instruments in the group.2 When the Cultural Revolution finally came
to an end and institutions of higher education were re-opened in 1977 after a ten year
“Chen Yi,” Theodore Presser Company, accessed April 7, 2014,
http://www.presser.com/Composers/info.cfm?Name=ChenYi
2
“Composer Chen Yi,” Bruce Duffie, accessed April 7, 2014, http://www.bruceduffie.com/chenyi.html.
1
3
hiatus, Chen Yi was chosen from among the tens of thousands of applicants to attend the
Beijing Conservatory of Music, China’s top music school.3 After receiving her Master’s
degree in Composition, she continued her studies at Columbia University with composers
Chou Wen-Chung and Mario Davidovsky, earning her DMA in 1993. Chen Yi is now
Distinguished Professor of Music Composition at the University of Missouri – Kansas
City, and in addition to a long list of composition awards and performances of her works
by major ensembles both in the United States and China, she continues to enjoy high
demand for new compositions and lectures. Some of Chen Yi’s large orchestral works
and piano music have had the privilege of analysis, but there is much to be uncovered
from her chamber music, including in the two pieces from my recital, Fisherman’s Song
and Memory.
Fisherman’s Song comes from Chen Yi’s time in Beijing, written at age 27. In
notes accompanying the printed music, Chen Yi states that “the pentatonic melody…is
my original melody composed in the style of a Cantonese folk song.”4 Her skill at writing
in the Chinese folk music idiom for Western instruments is already apparent in this
student composition. In my preparations of the piece, however, some of the tempo and
meter changes felt somewhat off-balance – though it is entirely possible that this is an
intentional component of the folk-music style. I have been completely unable to find a
previous recording of the piece or any mention of past performances.
The piece is a clear ternary form, with a few departures. After a ten-measure
introduction, the A section itself could be considered a small ternary: the melody is stated
in full by the violin in m. 11-28. There is a brief jig in changing meters following the
3
4
“Composer Chen Yi,” Bruce Duffie, accessed April 7, 2014, http://www.bruceduffie.com/chenyi.html.
Chen Yi, Fisherman’s Song (Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania: Theodore Presser Company, 1999), inside cover.
4
theme from m. 29-42 that attempts to gain momentum – a foreshadowing of the energetic
middle section – but it is cut off by a restatement of a portion of the main theme in m. 4355. The contrasting middle section from m. 56-110 grows upward from short, jumping
phrases in the low register of the violin to brilliant passages of double-stop 16th notes in
m. 89-97 and finally a triumphant new theme in high-register double-stops at the climax
of the piece, m. 98-110. Part A returns, the melody in the piano this time as the violin
spins accompanying triplets from m. 110-119. Again there is an unsettled period of
changing meters from m. 119-124 as the violin and piano play with different parts of the
melody in counterpoint until finally the second half of the melody is satisfyingly re-stated
by the violin in m. 125-130. The piano echoes moments from the theme as the violin ends
a codetta with harmonics.
The second piece I performed by Chen Yi, Memory, is not mentioned in the
program notes because it was an encore. Fortunately, I had occasion to perform the piece,
and gave a brief introduction from the stage. The piece, for solo violin, was composed in
honor of Chen Yi’s violin professor at Beijing Conservatory, Lin Yaoji, who died in
2009. It was premiered at a memorial concert in 2010. Chen Yi again provides comments
in the music: “Dear Professor Lin: I wish you could hear the tune in my Memory, which
sounds like my painful cry out of your name in our Cantonese dialect. I expressed my
deep sorrow in the music, to remember your fatherly mentorship.”5
Memory exhibits a much-matured style as compared to Fisherman’s Song,
displaying the confidence of a master in the authenticity of Chinese folk expression and
the virtuosic and idiomatic writing for the violin. Several compositional techniques
5
Chen Yi, Memory (Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania: Theodore Presser Company, 1999), back cover.
5
carried over from Fisherman’s Song continue to contribute to its “Chineseness”:
pentatonic melodies, undulating patterns of 16th notes, and harmonics. However, Chen Yi
has added numerous printed grace notes, glissandos, complex tuplet rhythms, and
unresolving dissonances, all of which are normal parts of traditional Chinese music. The
effect is such that, but for the Western instrument it is written for, this music is wholly
Chinese.
The form of Memory is very loose. At the outset there are two phrases of similar
shape and gesture from m. 1-7 and 8-13, but from there the music seems to lose itself in
alternating emotions. Passion and sweet melodies gradually intensify, adding a dissonant
major seventh and, in the climax from m. 42-46, glissando trills with triple-fortissimo
32nd-note accents make clear the tragic nature of the piece. The plaintive end of the
opening melody returns in m. 47 to finish the piece almost too quickly, with the clear
intention in this case of leaving us feeling that something is missing.
6
Sonata No. 3 in C Major for Solo Violin BWV 1005 by J.S. Bach
Program Notes
Before Bach completed his book of music for solo violin around 1720, it was
unusual for an instrument to perform without accompaniment. It was generally assumed
that at least a harpsichord and cello were necessary for harmonic and rhythmic support.
In writing for solo violin, the four strings and one bow must provide the melody,
harmonic underpinnings, and rhythmic drive – simultaneously. The invention and
expressiveness of Bach’s music paired with his ingenious weaving together of multiple
parts create an immense musical and technical challenge for violinists. As such, Bach’s
music for solo violin is foundational to the present canon of violin literature.
Bach divided his compositions for solo violin between three Partitas, using the
secular dance idioms of the Baroque era, and three Sonatas, which exhibit a formal,
abstract style and share a similar organization of four movements: slow, fugue, slow, and
fast. In Sonata No. 3, the opening of the Adagio, dominated by an insistent dotted rhythm,
quickly grows from a single-note melody into a four-part texture. The movement consists
of two sections: the first struggles unsuccessfully to break free of the lopsided rhythm,
while the second half succumbs to its unrelenting force, allowing the current to carry the
melody much farther than before. The final cadence is followed by a codetta, leading the
closing harmony of the Adagio directly to the opening key of the Fuga.
Fugue – Bach uses the Italian term Fuga to title this movement – is a strict
process of developing a musical theme. The theme is stated by several “voices” – in this
case four, one for each string of the violin – each imitating the last and then receding into
7
the background to provide commentary and harmonic support to the next voice’s
statement. After being presented in its basic form in every voice, the theme may be
subjected to various transformations – several statements at once, or upside-down, or
backwards, etc. The effect is much the same as a topic of conversation being passed
around a discussion. After this section of “exposition” of the theme, the music may
continue into more free-flowing and improvisatory passages known as “episodes.”
While Bach wrote many dozens of fugues for keyboard instruments, this Fuga is
notable for several reasons. Not only is the theme quite long, it is worked out in virtually
every combination possible on the violin, resulting in a fugue of exceptional length: four
long expositions in alternation with three episodes – two of which also contain thinly
veiled statements of the theme. In terms of organization, it is a unique example of a “da
capo” fugue, in which the first exposition returns as the final exposition, almost verbatim.
As for the material itself: a devout Lutheran, Bach frequently used melodies from church
music as components of his abstract compositions, and the very theme of this fugue is
based on the hymn “Komm, heiliger Geist, Herre Gott” – roughly, “Come, Holy Spirit,
Lord God.”6 Another unique aspect of this fugue is its “counter-theme” – a descending
chromatic scale – which the first voice introduces immediately as the second voice takes
up the main theme. Counter-themes are relatively rare in fugue due to the challenges they
pose for composers – once introduced, it is present for every subsequent statement of the
main theme.
After the very long and complex fugue, the Largo is a breath of fresh air, having
the essence of a song without words. It is similar to the opening Adagio in form – two
Jaap Schröder, Bach’s Solo Violin Works: A Performer’s Guide (London: Yale University Press, 2007),
150.
6
8
halves, of which the second explores a larger scope and is followed by a codetta. The
final movement, Allegro assai, is a brilliant sprint. Also a binary form, the first half in
this movement comes to a complete stop and is repeated, contrasting with the smooth
transitions between sections of the Adagio and Largo. The grander expanse of the second
half plays with extended motives from the first before emerging into the high range of the
violin with a triumphant burst on the way to the conclusion of the Sonata.
Expanded Commentary
Considering the length and formal seriousness of J.S. Bach’s music, I felt it
necessary to spend a good deal of space in the program notes introducing the form and
flow of each movement of the Sonata, especially the fugue, in the hopes that the audience
would be able to follow Bach’s musical constructions a little better. I also modified some
of the musical terminology so as to needing extra explanation. Little space was left for
discussing Bach’s life and the genesis of his works for solo violin.
Living from 1685 to 1750, J.S. Bach was firmly rooted in the musical style we
now call Baroque. Despite being most renowned during his lifetime as an organist and
harpsichordist, Bach was also an accomplished violinist, and frequently played in the
Weimar orchestra during his employment there from 1708 to 1717. For several years
following, Bach was employed at the court of Prince Leopold in Cöthen as Capellmeister.
While there, it is likely that Bach finished composing the set of Six Sonatas and Partitas
for solo violin, before 1720.7 That is the year with which Bach dated his finalized
autograph book – a cleanly copied version – of the six pieces together. Having no
Joel Lester, Bach’s Works for Solo Violin: Style, Structure, Performance (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1999), 6.
7
9
responsibilities as a performer or composer for church functions in Cöthen, Bach seems
to have used his time there to explore the compositional possibilities of various genres. It
was during his time at the court of Leopold that he also wrote the Brandenburg
Concertos, the first book of keyboard Preludes & Fugues, the French Suites, two- and
three-part inventions, and finally, the set of six sonatas for violin with accompaniment. It
seems that Bach made it a professional purpose to compose a completely thorough, even
far-ranging exploration of the musical and technical potentialities of the instruments and
genres of his time.8 Bach’s familiarity with the violin meant that he was able to carry the
technical demands as far as he could conceive, given the reasonable limits of the time’s
performance and compositional conventions. The uniqueness of such expansive works
for solo violin in particular can be understood from the fact that Bach felt it necessary to
re-emphasize in the title to each of the six pieces in the collection that it was “senza basso
accompagnato” – there was little precedent for music this kind.9
The book of Six Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin as such was not published
for many decades, though piecemeal movements were selected for publication slightly
earlier. Notably, however, the Fuga from the C Major Sonata was the first officially
published movement from the cycle, being printed in a 1798 volume of “studies”
compiled by Jean Baptiste Cartier, a student of Viotti, to commemorate the recent
establishment of the Paris Conservatory.10 Simrock finally published the complete set in
1802. The book as a whole was recognized primarily as a valuable teaching tool – as
contemporary pedagogues use books of etudes for studying various points of technique.
Lester, Bach’s Works for Solo Violin, 7.
J.S. Bach, Six Sonatas and Partitas for Violin Solo (New York: International Music Company, 1971), 67.
10
Lester, Bach’s Works for Solo Violin, 20.
8
9
10
Both Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann recognized the greatness of the music,
but both were still uncomfortable with the idea of a completely unaccompanied violin,
each offering separately their own additional piano accompaniments to go along with the
violin part. Mendelssohn’s accompaniment to the Chaconne from Partita No. 2 in D
Minor was published in 1847, and Schumann’s accompaniment to the complete set in
1853.11 Ferdinand David and Joseph Joachim are probably the two most important 19th
century violinists to have published their own critical editions of the set, in 1843 and
1908, respectively, though there were several others.12 Joachim was the first violinist to
make a habit of performing entire works from the set, and to do so unaccompanied – it is
very likely due to his influence that the works began gaining popularity as worthy of solo
performance among violinists of the early 20th century.
The form and structure of the C Major Sonata deserves a fuller working-out than
the cursory description of general features that was possible in the program notes. The
introductory Adagio with its hypnotic dotted rhythm has several interesting qualities. In
the first half of its binary form, the dotted rhythm is always rising, outlining an upwardmotion melodic thrust as the harmonies build three beats at a time. However, three
measures, m. 5, 7, and 9, escape from the dotted rhythm into a straight eighth-note
pattern, breaking the growth and winding the melody back downward before the dotted
rhythm picks it up again. This departure serves to increase the tension due to the
elongated suspensions it introduces over the underlying harmonies, until finally a
deceptive cadence is reached in m. 12 and all rhythmic pulse is lost in a searching
11
12
Lester, Bach’s Works for Solo Violin, 23.
Ibid., 21.
11
melismatic run. When the authentic cadence finally arrives at the dominant G major in
measure 15, it is elided with the return of the hypnotic dotting and the start of the second
section of the binary form. This time, however, there is no distraction from the dotting,
and it even begins to take over the shape of the music: in m. 22 the harmonic rhythm
begins to increase and the dotted rhythm usurps the melodic role from the first half’s
slowly building 3-beat pattern, no longer stuck moving only upward. The extended
journey this dotted melody takes us on returns to a cadence in G major at measure 34, and
when we expect to be taken gradually back to the tonic C major, there is a deceptive
cadence in measure 40 as a corollary to the first section, though in keeping with the larger
proportions of the second half, the following melismatic wandering is extended by two
bars. The authentic cadence in C major is reached in measure 45 – but Bach does not end
the piece yet, instead moving for three bars of straight 16th notes back to G major as both
a codetta to the Adagio and a preparation for the beginning of the Fuga, which begins on
the dominant G.
While a complete analysis of the Fuga would probably outline every entrance of
the subject and its tonal area, putting the piece under such a microscope is outside the
scope of this paper. In fact, this fugue is the longest written by Bach, in terms both of
length of performance and notated measures.13 A closer but generalized look at each
exposition and episode will reveal more than enough about the inner workings of the
fugue.
First, we should examine the fugue subject and countersubject. Since it begins on
an upbeat in cut time, the primary accents, on each downbeat of the four-bar subject,
Byron Wallace “Virtuosity and Illusion: Bach’s C-Major Solo Violin Fugue in the History of
Polyphony,” DMA Diss., UC Santa Barbara (2001), 1.
13
12
form a descending tetrachord of two whole-steps and a final half-step. It is appropriate,
therefore, that the countersubject takes the form of ascending half-steps by half-bars in
order to perfectly balance the downward-sloping subject. Jaap Schröder, in his
Performer’s Guide to Bach’s solo violin works, argues for the presence of a tertiary
subject: a pattern of four rising quarter-notes, appearing at the end of the subject. The
quick quarter-notes rise to meet falling eighth-notes in the conclusion of the main subject;
see m. 7, 13, and 106 as examples. Schröder notes that the presence of this third subject
allows for each denomination of the pulse to have a significant role in the Fuga: whole
notes determine the shape of the main subject, half notes make up the countersubject,
quarter notes form a tertiary subject, and eighth notes dominate the episodes.14
The first exposition lasts from m. 1-66, starting on the dominant G and ending in
tonic C major. Bach bides his time in this introductory exposition, stating the subject no
fewer than seven times in the various voices. Several sections of eighth notes, almost
seeming to be episodes themselves, interrupt the constant presence of the subject, from
m. 20-23, 34-44, and 59-66. These departures not only serve as a breath of fresh air in the
midst of a very long exposition, but foreshadow the texture and shapes of the episodes to
follow. It is not too much to assert that the exposition takes the form of A-B-A’-B’-A”B” where A are contrapuntal expositions of the subject, decreasing in length, and B are
increasingly long interruptions of episodic eighth notes.
The first episode, from m. 66-92, takes C major and modulates to E major after a
scale in the bass ends on an E pedal tone from m. 84-92. The following exposition, m.
92-165, starts therefore from E major, and moves through various keys before ending in
14
Schröder, Bach’s Solo Violin Works, 153-154.
13
an implied E minor. Significant features of this second exposition are its immediate
introduction of a stretto of the fugue subject in m. 93, a stretto of just the second-half of
the subject starting in m. 137, and yet another stretto of the complete subject in m. 147.
Bach also varies the texture of this exposition – not through interludes of eighth notes,
but by requiring long slurs over some statements of the subject, creating different
characters as the music moves through its transformations.
The next episode, starting in E minor at m. 165, ends in G major at m. 201. Most
notable in this section is an extended pedal tone on D, lasting from m. 186-201, over
which the fugue subject is presented with harmonization. This could be said to be a
superimposition of episodic and expository material, using the episode’s characteristic
eighth notes to present several iterations of the fugue subject outside of a clearly defined
exposition. This idea is so momentous that Bach chose to repeat it in the third episode as
well. That final episode, from m. 245-288, starts in C major and ends in G major with the
exact same chord which completed the previous episode. The pedal tone during the
superimposition this time, however, is G, lasting from m. 273-288. Bach’s repetition of
this effect and its identical ending certainly give the impression that the two episodes are
variations of each other, though the third and final episode does reach the highest register
of the entire Fuga in m. 263, a distinction not insignificant in the context of the
movement.
The exposition sandwiched between these two similar episodes introduces the
fugue subject in inversion (Bach notes “al riverso” in the score), starting in m. 201 and
eventually reaching a C major cadence in m. 245. The inversion is not exact – a few
intervals are changed, but more importantly to the flow of the music, Bach alters the
14
rhythm of the subject, moving eighth notes which usually rush to the end of the subject a
little earlier and allowing the subject to finish with a more steady quarter note pulse.
Perhaps Bach chose this alteration because, with the inversion, the thrust of the subject is
now moving upward, and retaining the original rhythm would have introduced too much
forward energy just as the subject is coming to its end.15 Regardless of its variation, the
inverted subject and its companion subjects, which are also inverted, are put through
every possible contrapuntal contortion in short order, making this the densest of the
expositions.
After the third episode ending on the G pedal-tone superimposition, the final
exposition turns out to be a da capo of the first introductory exposition, taking G major
again to end on C major in m. 288 to 354. The only variation in this re-presentation of
that exposition is the lack of necessity to wait to introduce the counter-subjects: m. 288296 are fully harmonized compared to the gradual buildup of voices in the initial
statements of the subject in m. 1-8. The final chord has always felt unsatisfying to me
because of the open fifth in the top two notes. However, after noting that the Adagio’s
codetta moves to G major in order to prepare the ear for the Fuga, I have grown to see
this somewhat anticlimactic ending of the Fuga as yet another implied connection to the
following Largo. The awkward voicing of this C major chord makes the initial F major
chord of the Largo (a dominant-tonic relationship!), with the major third filled in, feel
warmly inviting.
Due to its massive length and difficulty, this Fuga has sometimes been referred to
as a “concerto fugue” – though here this moniker is not quite appropriate. In other pieces
15
Schröder, Bach’s Solo Violin Works, 156.
15
known as concerto fugues (take the first movement of Bach’s D minor Concerto for Two
Violins, for example), the episodes serve as vehicles for displaying the soloists’ virtuosity
and flair. This Fuga, in contrast, is far more difficult to execute in the expositions than
the episodes, and to such a degree that the episodes seem to both performer and audience
to be a break and a breath of fresh air compared to the very complex expositions.16 As
such a long and complicated piece, the Fuga takes on a form of its own. Keeping in mind
that the da capo exposition itself shifts between expositing the fugue subject and
foreshadowing episodes, I venture to propose this general shape for the Fuga: A-B-A’-CA”-C’-A.
The Largo of the C Major Sonata has been most famously and thoroughly
analyzed by Heinrich Schenker – there is little one could add to his paper on the
movement.17 The binary nature of the movement is clear enough, as the music reaches a
cadence in the dominant C major in measure 8, and continues on to return to its tonic F
major by m. 18. Despite the simpler feel of this movement as compared to the Adagio and
Fuga, the violin is still required by Bach to accompany itself. A clear “bass” note appears
on every major beat and most minor ones as well, providing a framework for the upper
voice’s wanderings. The coda, from m. 18-21, momentarily leaves this structure behind
in a breathless ascent, but finding no foothold, falls back into compliance (despite
lingering insistently on the diminished seventh in m. 20). The final chord yet again
prepares us for the next movement. The F major chord lacks its fifth, C – and this is the
very pitch and tonic with which the Allegro assai begins.
Schröder, Bach’s Solo Violin Works, 159.
Heinrich Schenker, “The Largo of J.S. Bach’s Sonata No. 3 for Unaccompanied Violin, BWV 1005,”
Music Forum Vol. 4 (1976): 141-159.
16
17
16
Allegro assai is the most straightforward of the movements of Sonata No. 3 – it is
almost exclusively 16th notes in moto perpetuo, the only exceptions being a few eighth
notes in the primary motive at the beginning and end of each section. Beginning in C
major, the first part of the binary form ends predictably in the dominant G at m. 42. The
second half takes the G major and moves through several other keys in a more extended
working-out of the material, playing with different slurs and figurations, but finally ends
in C major again in m. 102. The most notable feature of the Allegro assai is its pervasive
bariolage, a technique in which the bow must be quickly alternated between two strings,
one maintaining a pedal tone while the other voice moves about. The technique is used to
great effect at the climax of the movement in m. 88-94, only the second time in the whole
sonata Bach extends the range of the music into the violin’s sixth position.
17
Poème Op. 25 by Ernest Chausson
Program Notes
Poème, written in 1896, was originally given the title Le Chant de l’amour
triomphant – The Song of Love Triumphant – though this was later crossed out by
Chausson in favor of Poème. This initial marking links the piece directly to a short story
of the same title written in 1881 by a close friend of Chausson’s, the Russian author Ivan
Turgenev.18 The story, describing a mystical and sensual love triangle induced by a
passionate violin performance, is likely based in reality as well: Turgenev himself
harbored a lifelong obsession with the composer and singer Pauline Viardot, and their
mutual friend, composer Gabriel Faure, also suffered unrequited love at the hand of
Pauline’s daughter Marianne Viardot. Turgenev, the Viardots, and Faure often socialized
in Chausson’s Paris salon, along with the composers Cesar Franck and Claude Debussy;
a very distinguished gathering of musicians and intellectuals whose work and
philosophies often influenced each other.19
Parallels in the dramatic arcs of Poème and The Song of Love Triumphant may
certainly be found, though it is clear that Chausson’s final intention was to write music
which stood on its own merit, requiring and following no other associations.20 Poème’s
dedicatee, the renowned violinist Eugène Ysaÿe, participated in its composition to such
an extent that Chausson referred to it as “my-your Poème” in a letter to him.21
Jessica Duchen, “Love Triumphant?” The Strad (Jan. 2005): 44.
Vincent Skowronski, “How to Play Chausson’s Poème,” Strings Vol. 26 No. 6 (Jan 2012): 33.
20
Skowronski, “How to Play Chausson’s Poème,” 34.
21
Duchen, “Love Triumphant?” 47.
18
19
18
Chausson’s lack of another enduringly significant piece of music may stem from his selfimposed perfectionism, which led him to destroy most of his own manuscripts.
As with any poem, description of the work fails to capture its essence. The only
fair approach is to allow the music to grip us. However, an overview may help in
following the flow of the music. The piece adheres to no established form: after the scene
is set by a melancholy introduction, the violin states Poème’s expressive melody, first in
austere lucidity, then again obscured by increasing, swirling fervor. As the waves of
emotion begin rippling in the accompaniment, the violin enters soaring with sensuous
beauty. Slowly developing tension finally snaps, throwing us into a searching turmoil.
Soon we are released into a glorious height of ecstasy, only to float quickly down into
solemnity and meditation. We begin the return journey with sweet melodies again, but
must pass through even greater cataclysms before arriving back at the original passionate
melody, glimmering in a final, fading twilight.
Expanded Commentary
Chausson did not commit himself to music until relatively late – he had already
earned a law degree from the University of Paris in 1877 at age 22, but he vacillated in
dissatisfaction until he visited Munich in 1879 to attend performances of Wagner’s
operas. The experience seems to have impressed him deeply, and he enrolled in Cesar
Franck’s composition classes at the Paris Conservatory within a month.22 Despite some
early success in composition, especially with songs, Chausson could not help but be
22
Laurence Davies, Cesar Franck and His Circle, (London: Barrie & Jenkins, 1970): 179.
19
drawn to Wagnerian expressions of drama, and the inevitable unfavorable comparisons
and criticisms by his French critics and colleagues alike weighed on him heavily:
Besides the great men, there are thousands of little ants which grind
away, sweating conscientiously, without receiving any appreciation; what they
do is of little consequence; it does not change anything and yet they cannot do
otherwise. Why the deuce am I one of those beasts?23
Fortunately, in addition to nurturing relationships with Franck, Faure, d’Indy,
Duparc, and Debussy, the influence of two more friends served to reinvigorate
Chausson’s self-confidence. Primarily, the Belgian violinist Ysaÿe is responsible in large
part for the existence of Poème, having encouraged Chausson to compose a violin
concerto after participating in the successful performance of some of Chausson’s
chamber music in Brussels in 1892. Chausson delayed, absorbed in work on his opera Le
Roi Arthus, but in the meantime Ysaÿe himself published Poème Elégiaque for violin and
orchestra – another possible inspiration for the name of Chausson’s own composition, in
more than name only. Eventually Chausson assented to composing a work of smaller
proportions, and Ysaÿe premiered Poème on December 27, 1896.24 The second friend to
provide a boost to Chausson’s confidence, though he himself was unaware of it, was the
Spaniard Isaac Albeniz, who personally paid Breitkopf & Härtel to publish the piece,
something which Chausson had struggled to accomplish with his own music.25
The achievement of Poème came merely three years before Chausson’s tragic
death in a bicycling accident at age 44. His untimely death and self-imposed
perfectionism leave us with an output of relatively few compositions: in addition to
23
Davies, Cesar Franck and His Circle, 183.
Ibid., 195.
25
Duchen, “Love Triumphant?” 47.
24
20
Poème, there is one opera, one symphony, a few symphonic poems, some chamber
music, and some songs. We can attribute the incredible allure of Poème to Chausson’s
drive for excellence. Poème, while bursting with passion and grandeur, is at the same
time tightly-wrought and elegant in expression – exactly the characteristics one expects
from poetry. It seamlessly encompasses wildly divergent aesthetics: dark yet intimate,
lyrical yet brooding, fiery yet dreamy, kaleidoscopic yet grave.
A synopsis of the Turgenev short story is necessary in order to better surmise its
impact on the genesis and organization of Poème.26 The story recounts how two friends,
Muzio and Fabio, strike a deal allowing their mutual crush Valeria to choose whom to
marry. Following his rejection by Valeria, Muzio travels to the orient in an attempt to
forget his passion for her. Several years later he returns to visit the happy couple, having
acquired strange instruments and mysterious habits. Valeria invites him to play his exotic
Indian violin, and the music seems to place a spell upon all who hear it. Tension builds as
the entrancing music is mysteriously heard again during the night, inducing Valeria to
sleep-walking and implications of illicit passions; eventually the musician is discovered,
stabbed by Fabio, and flees, painfully awakened from his fervent dreaming. Valeria
recovers, but cannot excise the melody from playing in her head, and we are left with the
suggestion that something more has been planted within her as well.27
Such a colorful and fantastic scene with a supernatural violin melody at its center
cannot fail to inspire equally passionate music. While some have undertaken to align
specific moments and themes of Poème to events and plot features of Turgenev’s story, I
Ivan Turgenev, “The Song of Love Triumphant,” in A Reckless Character and Other Stories, trans.
Isabel Hapgood (Freeport, N.Y.: Books for Libraries Press, 1971): 159-195.
27
Duchen, “Love Triumphant?” 51.
26
21
personally feel that the intrigue of the story is embodied much more powerfully by the
music of Poème when the associations are left to the ear and imagination. At the same
time, however, I cannot imagine Poème being performed in an effective way without the
performer being aware of the intimate and enigmatic story it is based on.
In terms of its structural and harmonic components, Poème is very free.
Chausson’s harmonic language lands, as his life-span did, somewhere between the lush
romantic chromaticism of Franck and the colorful austerity of Debussy. The main theme,
stated by the violin in m. 31-50, receives immediate development in the form of a
phantasmagoric cadenza, with the theme being found in m. 77-81. Reaching a lyrical
climax at m. 97, the music takes off in earnest from the melancholy introductory section
into a swiftly quivering accompaniment figure, affording the sense that we are now
subject to the current of the music. The violin re-enters at measure 113, and measure 123
presents a second mournful melody which grows into a significant character, bearing
repetition in the accompaniment in m. 138. The virtuosic and constantly shifting passage
from m. 152, starting with accompaniment but joined by the violin in m. 164, ends up in
a glorious statement of the second theme again from m. 123 in high-register octaves at m.
180. Once the mood has calmed again, the solemn introductory material and statement of
the main theme returns in the accompaniment starting in m. 198. The violin soon joins
and extends the theme until m. 240, when the mood again shifts to the meditative second
melody from m. 123. This theme also receives a greater working out until m. 271, at
which point a crescendo and stringendo bring the piece to a tempestuous climax from m.
285-301 with yet another statement of the same searching melody. As the yearning main
theme appears a final time in both accompaniment and solo violin, and the piece slowly
22
swirls to its brooding end with trill descending from the violin’s highest register, coming
to rest in ethereal peace.
The form of Poème defies convenient categorization. A rough approximation of
the general outline of the piece may look like A-B-C-A’-B’-D-A” where both C and D,
the areas of fiery cataclysms, emerge gloriously into high-range statements of the second
B theme. Possibly we can interpret the flow of the piece to be in two large sections of
gradually increasing intensity, with the main theme A leading to the second theme B,
which then builds into an explosive outburst, C or D, and is concluded by a coda of A
material.
23
Sonata in G Minor “The Devil’s Trill” by Giuseppe Tartini
Program Notes
Various secondary sources relate a popular legend regarding the composition of
the “Devil’s Trill” Sonata, though its absolute veracity is not confirmed. The story goes
that, at some point during 1713-1715, Tartini, an Italian virtuoso, dreamt of making a
deal with the devil. In the dream the devil, among other acts of service, played violin for
him with startling techniques and otherworldly effects. Upon awakening, Tartini hastened
to write down the music he had heard in all its devilish ingenuity and virtuosity.28
There is some truth to the idea that this music is particularly inspired; it is the only
one of dozens of sonatas and concertos for violin composed by Tartini to have attained a
lasting place in the canon of violin repertoire, perhaps due in large part to its extended
use of the markedly challenging and rare double-stop trills. The piece has undergone
many alterations since its composition, being subjected to editing in no less than nine
different versions by violinists of the 19th and early 20th centuries. The most significant
change is certainly the tradition of playing the Baroque composition with a Romantic
style, leading to differing opinions regarding the location, number, and intensity of the
trills and ornamentations.
The introductory Larghetto opens the piece with two unsettled, lilting sections. In
the Allegro energico, small trills begin to permeate the texture as the music jolts forward
into two passages of constantly shifting and restless motion. In the third section, the
music balances three times between periods of solemn gravitas and displays of virtuosic
28
Victor Chapin, The Violin and its Masters (New York: J.B. Lippincott Company, 1969): 51.
24
frenzy, including the “Devil’s Trill” passages. Finally the violin abandons sanity to
traverse an extended cadenza of double-stop trills, coming to an ending only as the mania
has expended everything the music has to offer.
Expanded Commentary
The life of Giuseppe Tartini (1692-1770) bears many resemblances to Ernest
Chausson’s. Born into a wealthy family, he first studied law at the University of Padua
before a secret marriage enraged his (and her) relatives and he retreated to the monastery
of St. Francis in Assisi.29 While there, Tartini began to make discoveries about practical
improvements to the construction of the violin and bow, as well as becoming recognized
as a virtuoso. Despite claiming that he did not begin studying the violin until the age of
30, we know the time he spent at the monastery was from 1713-1715, when he was at
most 23 years old. Perhaps he meant that he did not seek a formal instructor in violin
until that age – there is no record of his having had violin lessons with another teacher
until then, implying that he was completely self-taught. This is quite a feat, not only
considering the difficulty of the techniques present in the “Devil’s Trill” Sonata, but the
fact that this sonata was composed during his time at the Franciscan monastery, before he
claims to have taken up formal study of the violin.30 Or perhaps it is simply an indication
of Tartini’s humility and self-deprecation (similar again to Chausson), another example
of which being that he refused to participate in a contest of skills with the established
master Veracini.31
29
Chapin, The Violin and its Masters, 50.
Ibid., 52.
31
Ibid., 51.
30
25
As far as the harmony is concerned, there is nothing particularly novel about the
“Devil’s Trill” Sonata. The form, however, while very clear-cut, is actually quite
inventive, considering the period of its composition (a few years before Bach’s works for
solo violin, in fact!). The introduction, a Larghetto in 12/8, is a binary form starting in
tonic G minor and cadencing in the relative B-flat major. The second half (m. 13-23)
moves quickly through several keys before ending in G minor again. Allegro energico is
also in two parts, m. 24-82 and 83-159, both staying fairly close to the tonic. Perpetual
16th notes lead the violin through a maze of shifting bowings, articulations, dynamic
shadings, and the ubiquitous trills add energy and excitement to the romp.
Following the Allegro energico are the three pairings of Grave and Allegro assai.
The first Grave moves from G minor to the relative B-flat major in m. 160-166, but the
Allegro assai starts again in G minor in m. 167, moving eventually through sequenced
passages of thirds to A major, at which point the “Devil’s Trill” first appears from m.
197-214, serving as the frenzied ending of the Allegro assai. The next Grave continues
from 215-220, taking the A major on to finish in D minor, where the next Allegro assai
takes off. The “Devil’s Trill” begins again at m. 247 in G major, and returns to the final
Grave in G minor instead. In content, this third Grave, from m. 260-266, is identical to
the second, aside from the key centers and a few ornaments. On the other hand, the
upcoming third Allegro assai is the one which differs significantly from the first two
(they are much less similar to each other than the second and third Graves are, but they
do share very analogous shape and development). Whereas the first two Allegro assai
were 50 and 40 measures respectively, the third lasts only from m. 267-295, 28 measures.
26
The “Devil’s Trill” passage in this section is likewise cut short, stretching only from m.
275-282.
Considering the historical context of this Sonata, the cadenza is incredibly
innovative. To call for a cadenza in a Sonata in the first place is extremely rare at any
point throughout music history. The placement of the cadenza, after the presentation of
the bulk of the Sonata’s music of any import, echoes the era’s practice of placing a
cadenza between a cadential 6/4 chord and its swift resolution to conclude the piece.
Even this practice, however, was limited to primary movements of concertos.
The trills called for in the cadenza continue straight for 58 bars, accompanied the
entire time by a double-stop note. The fun doesn’t stop there, however, as Tartini next
calls for the performance of three G octaves at once – requiring the left hand to stretch
from third position to sixth position – the space of an 11th, though to make matters worse
an octave of that stretch must be made between the tightly-ligamented 3rd and 4th fingers.
After such a display of virtuosic hysteria, the Adagio ending, from m. 377-380, seems
almost perfunctory, as nothing could possibly exceed the feats just accomplished. It is as
if Tartini not only expended his physical energy with the cadenza, but his compositional
will was sucked dry as well – there is simply nothing left to say after that.
The general form of the Sonata can therefore be outlined as follows: Larghetto
(with its two similar parts), Allegro energico (with its two similar parts as well), and then
A-B-A’-B-A’-B’-Cadenza/Coda, where A is Grave and B is Allegro assai.
The “Devil’s Trill” Sonata has undergone so many iterations of editing that it is
difficult to imagine what Tartini’s original performance practice of the piece would have
been. Furthermore, the alterations occurred mostly during the 19th century, when it was
27
the style to romanticize Baroque compositions and take ample artistic license. Notable
versions were edited and published by Alard (1864), Becker (1889), Hubay (1895), and
Kreisler and Joachim (both in 1905).32
“Violin Sonata in G Minor,” IMSLP, accessed April 28, 2014,
http://imslp.org/wiki/Violin_Sonata_in_G_minor,_B.g5_%27Le_trille_du_diable%27_(Tartini,_Giuseppe)
32
28
The Relevance and Meaning of Classical Music
Program Notes: On Listening to Classical Music
All art is difficult to grasp beyond a surface layer. The extended length and
relative complexity of most pieces of classical music create a barrier to comprehension,
leaving many feeling lost and helpless as the notes and emotions rush past. Often, those
unfamiliar with what they are listening to are still able to enjoy classical music by simply
soaking in the wash of sound; some close their eyes and allow visions to take them
trance-like into an alternate reality.
The ultimate goal of music is indeed to transport us, but something of greater
power is available to those who invest their presence. I ask you to fight against the urge
to be enchanted, to dull your senses. Rather, participate with me in active music-making,
opening your hearts to deeper possibilities. As the melodies and harmonies unfold from
each instant to the next, ask: “Where is the music taking us – with what movement and
direction is it guiding our thoughts, feelings, and souls?” It is my purpose tonight to
uncover through music a shared experience of things hidden from our human abilities to
express or perceive: an encounter with something beyond ourselves.
Expanded Commentary
What am I, what are we classical musicians, trying to accomplish exactly? The
phrase “to play an instrument” – our physical work – inherently indicates that there is
something more fundamental which we feel a need to express but which, with our limited
human bodies, languages, minds, cultures, we cannot. The object of the instrument
29
translates and channels the player’s physical and emotional energy; the musician’s soul
itself transforms into the purer currency of sound, like molten precious metal, manifesting
in itself the inexpressible yet universally felt groanings, desires, calamities, and orgasms
of our human existence. I see my specific role as performer to be that of a messenger,
translating through my own body and emotions the message and essence of each piece of
music, which itself is imbued with the composer’s own physical and emotional effort.
Their original intentions will not be unaffected by me as I perform their music, and
likewise each listener is struck differently by the music – but in performance I hope to
create an atmosphere in which the audience might momentarily participate in a reality
that is truer to their souls and humanity than everyday experiences, regardless of
differences in presentation and reception of the musical stimuli.
When someone chooses to attend a concert, they can prepare themselves for what
sort of experience they will have by noting the instrumentation present, and if they are
familiar with musical styles and composers, looking up the music to be performed. The
possible range of sounds manifested is limited by the instrumentation present – a solo
violin cannot create a woodwind, brass, or percussion sound, for example, but only
approximate imitations.
The result is a set of two limitations: the first is the very real ability of the
instruments present to create different sounds (or not). The second is the audience’s
preconceived notions about the kind of music they will experience and the accompanying
individual emotional categorizations they may form based on the instrumentation present
and their knowledge of its compositional style. Of course, as musical styles and
techniques have evolved over the centuries, the palette of potential sounds has grown
30
quite large, even for solo instruments such as the violin or piano. Composers have striven
not only to create wholly new and individual music (whether their compositions are
perceived to be forward-looking or not), but to innovate new sounds from old instruments
as well. However, even with a relatively straightforward piece, such as any Sonata by
Handel, the potential range of emotional content and audience experience is still very
wide-ranging – but reliant completely on the performers.
There is indeed only so much that composers and performers can do when faced
with the practical limitations of their chosen instruments, outside of inventing new ones
(and this process has continued consistently despite the stagnation of the stringed
instruments since the perfection of the inward-curved bow and metal strings, with 19th
and 20th century innovations in wind and brass equipment, the explosion of avant-garde
instruments led by Harry Partch and John Cage, not to mention the seemingly limitless
possibilities of amplified and computer music). But the responsibility lies squarely on the
performers to take what the composer has given them, with its limits of instrumentation
and characteristic compositional style, and to transform it into a compelling experience
for an audience. How do we accomplish this?
First of all, contemporary culture has created such a boundary around “classical
music” and its associated instruments that it almost prevents any possibility of an
audience having a moving experience. I cannot recount how many sickening times I have
overheard at concerts other audience members remarking something like “The Beethoven
will be much easier than the Bartok” or “I think we all know which part of that concert
we liked best” after a pairing of Schoenberg (Verklarte Nacht, no less!) and Bach. I
believe therefore that audiences need to be gently invited to experience openly whatever
31
soundscape the composer presents, and reminded to evaluate its impact on them – on a
deeper level than its relative consonance to their ears. Whether this invitation and
reminder necessitates a preview of the form and thrust of the music in order to help the
audience engage with the performance, or simply a general statement about what it is
hoped the audience would get out of a concert is up for debate.
After priming the audience in such a way, the success of a concert is left entirely
to the actual performance: the attitude, tempos, intonation, and skill of the performers.
And this is where another blockade arises: there is a general sense of amazement among
non-musicians at the “talent” required to perform. This is disturbing to me. I see playing
the violin at a professional level as no more superhuman than any other kind of practiced
physical skill or intellectual exercise. Music may have a more mysterious, immediate and
powerful emotional and spiritual consequence for listeners than other presentations of
professional skills like literature, visual art, design, medical competence, legal arguing, or
what have you. However, that difference is inherent in the music itself, and not in any
superhuman quality its performers may or may not pretend to employ.
Playing violin, or any musical instrument, requires no talent. Every skill for
executing the physical task of playing at the very highest levels may be trained and
learned. Natural affinity to melody or rhythm may give some a head-start in one or more
specific areas of skill required, but even those “talents” are usually acquired as a result of
environmental factors during development: early exposure to and participation in even
such basic musical activities as nursery rhymes, children’s dances, or banging on pots
and pans can begin the process. What is required, then, to be a “good” musician – to be
able to create compelling performances which affect audiences in more than a superficial
32
way? I posit four categories, three of which are one hundred percent trainable and
learnable, though they may occasionally appear fully developed in a child, and a fourth
which is a bit more inscrutable.
Sensitivity: a musician must be sensitive to both human and musical meanings.
They must be able to feel, with every sense, what they are doing physically with their
instruments and the effect it is having musically. They must be sensitive to their own
joys, desires, and pain, as well as that in others, in order to effectively embody those
emotions in sound. Sensitivity can also cover the musical necessities of attention to
accurate pitch, rhythm, articulation, etc., and the accompanying ability to choose
appropriately between options in the midst of performance.
Creativity: to be drawn to exploration and the making of new things – in short, to
be “artistic.” This includes openness to new and unfamiliar experiences, continually
evaluating not only their relative merits but also their effects on the artist’s selfperception and outlook on following experiences. Also important is the ability to
recognize the novel and delightful in old, worn-out standards and to breathe freshness
into them.
Discipline: a lynchpin by which both Sensitivity and Creativity can, and indeed
must, be trained. Discipline also encompasses the development of subtle physical skills
directly related to performance of a chosen instrument, including accuracy in pitch,
rhythm, articulation, and expression. Each of these elements must be practiced with
discipline if the performer is to reach a level at which none are an impediment to the
audience’s direct contact with the music.
33
Personality: it is arguable how much personality is a result of environmental and
inherited factors or is entirely individual. I might forward a guess that, as much as
personality is relevant to performance, it is the end result of combining the three above
categories, whether they had to be arduously acquired or appeared fully-formed.
Personality is the final variable, the “magic,” so to speak, of a performance. It is what a
performer can bring to a composer’s music that is completely individual.
It is incumbent upon performers of classical music to diligently develop each of
these categories in the pursuit of compelling performances. We owe it to audiences to
invite them to a performance which will not distract them from the power of the music
but will immerse and unite them with the emotional and spiritual realm of the composer,
the performers, and even other audience members, as they are drawn in to the universal
expressions in music.
34
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36