Ben Johnston, born in 1926, was active as a composer during the mid twentieth century. His output includes stage works, vocal pieces, chamber pieces, and electro-acoustic pieces (Grove Music Online, S.v. “Johnston, Ben”). Johnston took great inspiration from the composer Harry Partch, who was known for his innovations in just intonation. Richard Kassel speaks about the influence between Partch and Johnson:“While Partch’s theory was proundly [sic] influential on him, his more comfortable relationship to Western art music and lack of instrument building skills let him to compose primarily for traditional instruments and genres, especially the string quartet” (Grove Music Online, “Johnston, Ben”). Out of all of Johnston’s pieces, Gilmore argues that String Quartet no. 4 (Amazing Grace) is his most popular work. Drawing on a hymn that nearly every American has heard countless times, Johnston weaves an elaborate web of sound, transforming the familiar hymn in new and unexpected ways.
String Quartet No. 4 (Amazing Grace) was composed in 1973. The piece, in theme and variation form, is approximately eleven minutes long and is based on the American hymn tune “Amazing Grace.” Later, Johnston indicated that his String Quartet no. 4 could optionally be combined with his String Quartet no. 3 to form a two movement piece known as Crossings with a period of silence of sixty to one hundred and twenty seconds separating the movements. Johnston discusses Crossings:
One may equally well consider Crossings a triptych, since The Silence, the middle movement, is a more than merely pregnant pause, but constitutes a tenuous and breathless traverse of a ridge or bridge between two opposite canyon walls, the nearer the post-Viennese expressionist ethos, submitted to the liberating but at the same time straitjacketing abolition of twelve-tone equal temperament in favor of ultrachromatic microtonal just intonation; the farther the deceptively simple and direct-seeming American folk hymn “Amazing Grace,” generating variations of steadily increasing rhythmic and microtonal profusion, always securely grounded in new-old once more frontier-fresh modal tonality capable of wide proportional spaces: new reaches of consonance and metrical intricacy which push the boundaries of intelligible complexity beyond horizons conceivable in the confines of conventional tuning. This is the world of String Quartet no. 4, The Ascent (Ben Johnston, “Maximum Clarity” and Other Writings on Music, p. 200).
Although Johnston’s String Quartet no. 4 is seemingly simple, the score for the piece is quite complex. In the performance notes, Johnson calls for the use of several different tuning systems throughout the piece. Bob Gilmore explains the tunings in the liner notes:
The quartet traverses three different tunings in its eleven-minute span, all of them forms of just Intonation: Pythagorean tuning (based entirely on chains of pure fifths), triadic just intonation (based on pure fifths and pure major thirds), and an experimental form of extended just intonation using, in addition to pure fifths and thirds, intervals derived from the seventh partial in the overtone series (a narrow minor 7th quite different from its equal-tempered equivalent).
In the score, Johnston notates how pitches should either be raised or lowered by a series of symbols consisting of pluses, minuses, or elaborate accidentals. The Pythagorean tuning at the beginning was not immediately obvious to me the first time I listened to it, but it had the subtle effect of evoking folk or modal music.
The quartet also presents several rhythmic challenges such as intricate contrapuntal textures, complicated time signatures such as 10/64 or 27/32 and different time signatures occurring simultaneously. Randall Shinn comments that the pitch/rhythm relationships in the quartet show the influence Medieval and Renaissance music more than any other style. (“Ben Johnston’s Fourth String Quartet,” p. 159).Yet, the complicated rhythmic texture never gets in the way of Johnston’s musical intentions. As Shinn implies, this piece displays all the effortless simplicity of medieval polyphony, with the lines of each instrument weaving gracefully in and out of prominence in the overall texture.
I enjoyed this quartet immensely. I sometimes assume that most twentieth century classical music is atonal and ugly. I was pleasantly surprised by the clear tonality and easy-to-follow theme and variation structure of this piece. Although the score for this piece is filled with mixed meters, and polyphonic textures, and multiple tuning systems, these enhance rather than distract from the enjoyment of the performance. Unlike some of the more atonal avante-garde music of the twentieth century, this piece can be enjoyed and appreciated by a wide audience because its accessibility. By using a well-known American hymn tune as his theme, Johnston has made this piece immediately appealing to a wide variety of listeners. “Amazing Grace” has become such an integral part of American culture that it has almost achieved folksong status and is recognized by nearly everyone. The fact that Johnston uses this hymn makes the piece approachable by giving the audience something familiar to grasp on to. Although I feel this piece is more than worthy of being included in the Canon, there are several reasons why it is not. In 1973, with popular music on the rise, it was difficult for classical composers to generate interest in their works. Additionally, in the world of classical music, Johnston’s quartet had to vie with the established string repertoire of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven for performances and audiences. Unfortunately, because of its novel tuning system, it has probably intimidated performers as well as audiences, who immediately dismiss it as one of those dreaded “modern” pieces. It is a pity that such a well balanced and satisfying work has been relegated to the back shelf of the musical world. Perhaps the coming years will see a renewed interest in the works of Ben Johnston, and his String Quartet no. 4 in particular.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
ARNOLD SCHOENBERG--A SURVIVOR FROM WARSAW
Arnold Schoenberg is remembered for his achievements in breaking away from tonality and for pioneering the twelve-tone method of composition which inspired many composers of the twentieth century. Schoenberg had already enjoyed a successful career as a composer when he came to America in 1933, largely due to the anti-Semitism that was beginning to appear in Hitler’s Germany. In 1947, Schoenberg began writing a piece for orchestra, narrator, and chorus that would pay tribute to the Jews who died at the hands of the Nazis during World War II (Michael Strasser, “‘A Survivor from Warsaw’ as Personal Parable,” 52 & 54). This piece was eventually titled A Survivor from Warsaw and was premiered in Albuquerque on November 4th, 1948 with tremendous success (ibid., 56-57). Michael Strasser comments on the importance of the piece:
The emotional impact that A Survivor from Warsaw had on the performers and audience at the Albuquerque première has not dimmed with time. The source of the work’s effect on audiences is not difficult to fathom, for the event to which it bears witness—the brutal and systematic annihilation of most of Europe’s Jewish population—is a crime unparalleled in the annals of human history. To audiences of the late 1940s and 1950s, for whom the bitter experiences of world war were still vivid, A Survivor from Warsaw must have carried a special meaning (“‘A Survivor from Warsaw’ as Personal Parable,” 57).
The piece retained its popularity in subsequent performances and is seen as one of Schoenberg’s most successful works. Because Schoenberg was such a pioneer in the field of composition in the 20th century, and because this work is so well known, it deserves further examination.
Scored for orchestra, male narrator, and men’s chorus, the piece lasts slightly over seven minutes and is built on Schoenberg’s twelve-tone system. Strasser divides the work into two main sections, the first consisting of the narration with orchestral accompaniment, the second when the chorus comes in with the “Shema Yisroel” (ibid., 62). He comments that although the first section lasts much longer than the second section, the emotional climax of the second section helps to give a sense of balance to the piece (ibid., 62). In the first section, the focus is on the narrator as he tells the story of the doomed Jewish prisoners. After a jarring instrumental introduction, the narrator enters with the words:
I cannot remember ev’rything. I must have been unconscious most of the time.—I remember only the grandiose moment when they all started to sing, as if prearranged, the old prayer they had neglected for so many years—the forgotten creed! But I have no recollection how I got underground to live in the sewers of Warsaw for so long a time.— (Joseph Auner, A Schoenberg Reader: Documents of a Life, p. 319).
The narrator goes on to tell how the Nazi soldiers round up a crowd of Jewish men to beat them and take them to the gas chambers. Although Schoenberg most likely meant for the title to reference the Jewish Warsaw revolt of 1943, the actual events of the story most likely take place in a concentration camp (“‘A Survivor from Warsaw’ as Personal Parable,” p. 58). The text is at times shockingly brutal, portraying the Nazi soldiers beating the Jewish men. Although the text itself is emotionally powerful, it can take on different shades of expression based on the delivery of the narrator. As a member of the orchestra in a recent performance of this piece, I was able to witness this first hand. When the narrator describes the physical and emotional state of the men who were just beaten by the Nazis, the text says “It had become very still—fear and pain.” In the recording I listened to, the narrator puts the emphasis on the word “pain” by nearly shouting the line; the effect is one of anger and sharp physical pain. During rehearsals for the performance I participated in, I heard the narrator deliver this line in several additional ways. One was to linger on the word “pain” but in a much gentler voice, giving the whole line a much more tragic and eerie effect. The piece gives the narrator power to give added nuance to the story by vocal inflection. Although the narrator is crucial in telling the story, it is the chorus that provides the emotional climax of the piece.
As the narrator relates how the Nazi guards prepare to take the prisoners to the gas chambers, the orchestra gradually builds and crescendos into a state of frenzy. The narrator cries, “They began again, first slowly: one, two, three, four, became faster and faster, so fast that it finally sounded like a stampede of wild horses, and all of sudden, in the middle of it, they began singing the Shema Yisrael.” At this moment, the chorus enters in unison, singing ‘Shema Yisroel,’ a traditional Jewish prayer in Hebrew. Taken from Deuteronomy, the text of the prayer translates:
Hear Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord, And you should love the Lord, your God, With all your heart and with all your soul And with all your might. And these words, which I command you today, Shall be in all your heart; [sic] And you shall teach them diligently to your children and talk of them When you sit in your house And when you walk along your way, When you lie down and when you rise (Joseph Auner, A Schoenberg Reader: Documents of a Life, p. 320).
The first time I listened to the piece, this moment struck me as the most powerful and dramatic moment of the work. Despite my general dislike of the twelve-tone composition method, I found myself grudgingly liking this piece for the raw emotional power it achieves by its text, orchestration, and effective use of men’s chorus.
When I first listened to this work in preparation for a rehearsal, I was unsure of what to expect. Most of the time, I dislike twelve-tone music in general and dislike Schoenberg’s music in particular. However, my preconceived notions about this piece turned out to be wrong. In this piece, I felt that the twelve-tone orchestral part served to accentuate the brutality of the text. While I can sometimes find myself bored by music from the Second Viennese School, the gripping story of the narrator held my attention until the entrance of the chorus brought the piece to a breathtaking climax before its furious close. I am not sure whether this piece should be included in the Canon. The subject matter and the jarring twelve-tone orchestration make it difficult to listen to, and the large performing forces make it a challenge to perform. Although there are other difficult-to-perform works in the Canon such as Wagner’s Ring Cycle, most of them are tonal, or semi-tonal, giving them a wider appeal to a public accustomed to tonality. These are all contributing reasons why this piece is not currently in the Canon. Yet in a world plagued with racism, genocide, religious prejudice and violence of all types, A Survivor from Warsaw gives powerful witness to the reality courage and faith in the midst of violence and hate. While it will probably never reach the level of popularity of the great works included in the Canon, A Survivor from Warsaw should never be forgotten.
The emotional impact that A Survivor from Warsaw had on the performers and audience at the Albuquerque première has not dimmed with time. The source of the work’s effect on audiences is not difficult to fathom, for the event to which it bears witness—the brutal and systematic annihilation of most of Europe’s Jewish population—is a crime unparalleled in the annals of human history. To audiences of the late 1940s and 1950s, for whom the bitter experiences of world war were still vivid, A Survivor from Warsaw must have carried a special meaning (“‘A Survivor from Warsaw’ as Personal Parable,” 57).
The piece retained its popularity in subsequent performances and is seen as one of Schoenberg’s most successful works. Because Schoenberg was such a pioneer in the field of composition in the 20th century, and because this work is so well known, it deserves further examination.
Scored for orchestra, male narrator, and men’s chorus, the piece lasts slightly over seven minutes and is built on Schoenberg’s twelve-tone system. Strasser divides the work into two main sections, the first consisting of the narration with orchestral accompaniment, the second when the chorus comes in with the “Shema Yisroel” (ibid., 62). He comments that although the first section lasts much longer than the second section, the emotional climax of the second section helps to give a sense of balance to the piece (ibid., 62). In the first section, the focus is on the narrator as he tells the story of the doomed Jewish prisoners. After a jarring instrumental introduction, the narrator enters with the words:
I cannot remember ev’rything. I must have been unconscious most of the time.—I remember only the grandiose moment when they all started to sing, as if prearranged, the old prayer they had neglected for so many years—the forgotten creed! But I have no recollection how I got underground to live in the sewers of Warsaw for so long a time.— (Joseph Auner, A Schoenberg Reader: Documents of a Life, p. 319).
The narrator goes on to tell how the Nazi soldiers round up a crowd of Jewish men to beat them and take them to the gas chambers. Although Schoenberg most likely meant for the title to reference the Jewish Warsaw revolt of 1943, the actual events of the story most likely take place in a concentration camp (“‘A Survivor from Warsaw’ as Personal Parable,” p. 58). The text is at times shockingly brutal, portraying the Nazi soldiers beating the Jewish men. Although the text itself is emotionally powerful, it can take on different shades of expression based on the delivery of the narrator. As a member of the orchestra in a recent performance of this piece, I was able to witness this first hand. When the narrator describes the physical and emotional state of the men who were just beaten by the Nazis, the text says “It had become very still—fear and pain.” In the recording I listened to, the narrator puts the emphasis on the word “pain” by nearly shouting the line; the effect is one of anger and sharp physical pain. During rehearsals for the performance I participated in, I heard the narrator deliver this line in several additional ways. One was to linger on the word “pain” but in a much gentler voice, giving the whole line a much more tragic and eerie effect. The piece gives the narrator power to give added nuance to the story by vocal inflection. Although the narrator is crucial in telling the story, it is the chorus that provides the emotional climax of the piece.
As the narrator relates how the Nazi guards prepare to take the prisoners to the gas chambers, the orchestra gradually builds and crescendos into a state of frenzy. The narrator cries, “They began again, first slowly: one, two, three, four, became faster and faster, so fast that it finally sounded like a stampede of wild horses, and all of sudden, in the middle of it, they began singing the Shema Yisrael.” At this moment, the chorus enters in unison, singing ‘Shema Yisroel,’ a traditional Jewish prayer in Hebrew. Taken from Deuteronomy, the text of the prayer translates:
Hear Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord, And you should love the Lord, your God, With all your heart and with all your soul And with all your might. And these words, which I command you today, Shall be in all your heart; [sic] And you shall teach them diligently to your children and talk of them When you sit in your house And when you walk along your way, When you lie down and when you rise (Joseph Auner, A Schoenberg Reader: Documents of a Life, p. 320).
The first time I listened to the piece, this moment struck me as the most powerful and dramatic moment of the work. Despite my general dislike of the twelve-tone composition method, I found myself grudgingly liking this piece for the raw emotional power it achieves by its text, orchestration, and effective use of men’s chorus.
When I first listened to this work in preparation for a rehearsal, I was unsure of what to expect. Most of the time, I dislike twelve-tone music in general and dislike Schoenberg’s music in particular. However, my preconceived notions about this piece turned out to be wrong. In this piece, I felt that the twelve-tone orchestral part served to accentuate the brutality of the text. While I can sometimes find myself bored by music from the Second Viennese School, the gripping story of the narrator held my attention until the entrance of the chorus brought the piece to a breathtaking climax before its furious close. I am not sure whether this piece should be included in the Canon. The subject matter and the jarring twelve-tone orchestration make it difficult to listen to, and the large performing forces make it a challenge to perform. Although there are other difficult-to-perform works in the Canon such as Wagner’s Ring Cycle, most of them are tonal, or semi-tonal, giving them a wider appeal to a public accustomed to tonality. These are all contributing reasons why this piece is not currently in the Canon. Yet in a world plagued with racism, genocide, religious prejudice and violence of all types, A Survivor from Warsaw gives powerful witness to the reality courage and faith in the midst of violence and hate. While it will probably never reach the level of popularity of the great works included in the Canon, A Survivor from Warsaw should never be forgotten.
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