Anton Webern: String Quartet, Op. 28 (1938)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fQmXU-XMCIs&feature=related

I’ll dispense with the usual synopsis of the composer and of the music (it’s all available from a Google search!).

There is no doubt that many people who try to listen to this piece of music will turn it off. There may be a range of reasons given; it’s boring, it doesn’t make sense, it’s not nice, there’s no melody, it’s not even music. And yet this piece was written by one of the most influential composers of the 20th century. Is it just a bag of nonsense, or is there something to it?

It is impossible to give even the briefest of introductions to the history of 20th century music here but, like much of 20th century art in general, music went through some profound changes in this period. Amongst the most profound of these changes was the gradual shit from tonality (broadly speaking, music that uses conventional ideas of harmony and melody) towards atonality, or music that doesn’t follow any immediately obvious rules on tonality and eschews traditional concepts of harmony.

At first glance it may seem that this development was pointless. That music degenerated from intelligible to unintelligible. Listening to this piece of music, for example, there are no obvious themes; nothing to hum, no obvious sense of direction. How is this music supposed to interest you? What are you supposed to take from it?

These were questions that dominated the 20th century, the answers still multi-faceted and hotly debated to this day. This was the century that brought us Marcel Duchamp’s ‘Fountain’ – a work of art that was simply a porcelain urinal. That brought us Andy Warhol and, later still, ‘Piss Christ’; a photograph of a crucifix drowned in what is claimed to be the artists own urine. Is this art? Does it have any value?

Every question was turned on its head in the 20th century. Does art need to have a value? Is art about personal expression or communication with an audience? Is mainstream art now absorbed into our society so absolutely that it ceases to have any genuine artistic worth? Is it really art if it appears in a commercial, or sells you something, or is created to inspire political allegiance or social pride?

Let me give an example. Why is it that Hannibal Lecter listens to classical music? Or a Bond Villain? Why do we have a fixation with making our most heinous villains cultured, intellectual, artistic beings? It is very, very likely to have something to do with Adolf Hitler. Hitler was both a lover of culture and, more frighteningly, understood how music and film and art could be used to inspire patriotism, love and passion in the German people.

This is an extreme example, but think about it. How is it that something can “sound” like a military march? Or sound English, or German? Or sound romantic? Prokofiev’s famous ‘Montagues and Capulets’ from his ballet ‘Romeo and Juliet’ is more like to make you think or Alan Sugar than Verona these days. That is because the music has been used to create a brand, to illicit emotion, to help you identify and understand something. To generate a narrative.

Avant-Garde artists and composers of the 20th century had problems with the traditional methods and techniques history had given them. Many, for example, felt that tonal music was no longer a valid method for personal expression. It was too loaded with preconception; too much about pandering to an audience rather than finding something new. As a result, experiments into atonalism became increasingly common. This was new ground, unmapped and without preconception. Here a composer could express themselves freely without fear of political or social comparison. You’re unlikely to listen to Webern’s String Quartets and hear anything obvious or make any immediate connections, but if I was to play you a Strauss Waltz or Gregorian Chant you’d probably start getting images in your head straight away. The music is evocative, but to some it is also limiting – there are political, social, historical and religious connotations that cheapen the music, loading it with meaning the author might not have intended.

The debate, of course, comes down to whether all this matters. There are many people who believe that music’s chief intention should be to entertain and evoke. They are not necessarily wrong. But neither are those that argue music should push boundaries, should challenge, should unshackle itself from the past and resist the temptation to pander.

Webern’s music is not easygoing. It is not immediately likeable. It does not offer any obvious clues as to what, if anything, it is about or for. You won’t hear romance, or hatred, or be reminded of the Alps or a time in history. The chances are it will sound uninteresting or unintelligible – or perhaps you will find something that intrigues you. Perhaps it will remind you of a personal memory, or conjure up images in your head you did not expect.

It could be argued that “art” is not for anything. Consumerism has allied our expectations of art to our sense of value. If you buy an album of music, you expect it to entertain or interest you. We look to music to give us joy; something fun to listen to on the way to work, something to relax to, something to put you in a certain mood or enhance the ambience of a party or your house. But that’s not necessarily all music has to be about. The artist creates and the audience responds, whether with love or hatred or indifference. Some would argue that is all art can be.

I myself am not entirely confident of my own feelings in this matter. I have no shame in admitting I find much Webern’s music, or Berg’s, or Schoenberg or Cage or Feldman’s music difficult. But the tendency to assume this is a bad thing is wrong. So have a listen to Webern. You may hate it, but he plainly didn’t write it for you to easily love. For those 9 minutes you’ll have an experience that, love or loathe, is unique. And perhaps that, and that alone, is the point?

Dvořák – Humoresque in Gb Major.

Another lengthy absence, I know. I like to give the impression I have such a busy life I’m often too busy to update…

This will be a relatively brief post, but the music does the talking anyway. Dvořák is probably one of the most famous composers of the Romantic period, his ‘New World’ Symphony, composed on a visit to the Unites States, being one of his most well known works.

I believe, though I could be wrong, that this piece was originally written just for piano by the composer. It is one of those works that has, over time, been arranged in many different ways; piano and violin, piano and cello, string orchestra, full orchestra and, in this case, orchestra and solo violin and cello.

Yo Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman are basically living legends in the classical world, both undisputed masters of their respective instruments. It was only yesterday that I first ever found this performance though and I liked it so much I thought it warranted a post! It’s a really great arrangement and a really great performance – the way the play is so expressive but also so simple (yes, they both like making some interesting faces, too!).

I was going to research this piece of music before writing about it but, after listening to it a few times, I actually decided to just post it up. All I know is that it is from a set of 8 pieces of music Dvorak wrote. A ‘Humoresque’ is basically a title given to a piece of nice, simple music that prioritises mood over intellect. Structurally it’s very simple and there is little traditional ‘development’ in the music. It’s still a very nice piece of music though and no less powerful for its simplicity.

It’s always nice to stumble across these videos on YouTube. Great Orchestra, great soloists, great composer, great composition. No words really necessary!

Jonny Greenwood – Popcorn Superhet Receiver

Jonny Greenwood is a name many people will be familiar with, having been guitarist and general instrumental noodler in rock band Radiohead. It was clear even as far back as Radiohead’s album ‘The Bends’ that Greenwood’s musical ability and ambition went far further than just the guitar, and this became even more apparent when Radiohead released their seminal album ‘OK Computer’. The album, of course, became one of the defining moments of the 90s, and thrust the band firmly into the spotlight as the most exciting thing in music at the time.

Fast-forward several Radiohead albums and a film soundtrack later and Jonny Greenwood became the BBC’s Composer in Residence in 2004. The post gave Greenwood the opportunity to compose for large symphonic forces and ‘Popcorn Superhet Receiver’ was one of the works produced during that period.

The piece was apparently inspired by radio static and radio waves, but one of the other reasons I posted it up was because of the clear influence of Penderecki’s ‘Threnody’, which I posted up several days ago. This work is much less malign in tone, but the use of incessant tonal clusters is a definite nod to Penderecki’s work.

What I really like about this piece of music is actually the section that starts about 12 minutes in (about 2:30 into the second video). The section itself is played pizzicato by the strings section, who play their instruments more like guitars than orchestral strings. To me it’s clear in this section that Greenwood has a strong background in rock music in this section – it’s not hard to imagine one of Phil Selway’s jittery drum beats underneath the strings! It’s refreshing to hear these sorts of rhythms in an orchestral setting, and in my opinion this is the most striking section of the whole piece.

Mainly I just wanted to post this up to highlight Jonny Greenwood’s incredible musical talent, and his genuinely eclectic musical tastes and ambitions. This was one of his first orchestral pieces (if not the first), and whilst it is perhaps not the most refined or expressive of pieces (Greenwood himself later omitted parts of it, realising as much), it’s nevertheless a fascinating work and an enjoyable insight into the other side of Jonny Greenwood’s musical abilities.

Incidentally, if sections of this music seem familiar to you, that may well be the case. ‘Popcorn Superhet Receiver’ was used in Paul Thomas Anderson’s brilliant film ‘There Will be Blood’. Greenwood also scored the rest of the film, including a lot of new original music, and the entire soundtrack is superb and well worth a listen.

 

The other side of John Williams

John Williams is probably the most famous and successful film score composer of the last 40 years. Taking a brief glance through the titles of some of the films he’s scored, it’s easy to see why. Amongst his most well known films are Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Harry Potter, E.T., Schindler’s List, Jurassic Park, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Jaws, and I could probably name a dozen more that even the most passive of filmgoers would know of.

Like most film composers, however, John Williams’ output doesn’t stop at film. In between finding time to write some of the most memorable scores of all time, John Williams has also found time to write a lot of music for the concert hall and other events, and I wanted to post up a couple those works here.

The first work is the mighty ‘Call of the Champions’. Written in 2002 for the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City, you could be forgiven for thinking Call of the Champions has come from another film score. It’s John Williams at his melodic, majestic best, writing music that’s meant to inspire and be inspired by the world’s best athletes. It’s orchestral pageantry in its purest form, with the incredibly distinct sound of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir adding a huge presence to the sweeping strings and punchy brass.

The second piece is called ‘Soundings’, and was composed specifically for the Walt Disney Hall in which we hear it being played. I wanted to post this up since it’s quite different from a lot of John Williams’ film work, and proof that his abilities extend far beyond a pretty tune (not that proof was ever needed!). There are still some of Williams’ trademark touches here; the staccato brass and big chords, full of suspensions and augmentations that give the music a rich, dense feel, but this is a fascinating insight into the sort of music that Williams composes outside of cinema.

Finally, as a bit of fun, I’ve posted John Williams’ piece ‘The Mission’. Americans will very likely recognise certainly the opening section of this music from NBC Nightly News, but outside of America the piece is much less known, so I wanted to post it here. Year after year, commission after commission, John Williams manages to write quality work in his own distinctive flavour. Some have criticised him of sounding unoriginal, but you have to take into context that’s because his work has been so incredibly popular – it’s not an exaggeration to say John Williams has virtually defined the sound of orchestral film scores in the last 35 years, and to this day his music is still incredibly popular.

Anyway, there we have it, a few of John Williams’ non-film compositions, and a demonstration that his consistency and quality have not waned these last four decades.

Adagio for Strings – Samuel Barber

‘Adagio for Strings’ must rank amongst one of the most famous and well loved orchestral music pieces. It has become something of a cultural phenomenon in its own right, no doubt in part because of its use in famous film and TV programmes and its performance at funerals including Roosevelt’s and Einstein’s.

Quite what makes the piece so special is hard to ascertain, but it certainly is special. My instinct is that it’s something to do with the simplicity and universality of the music. I would imagine nobody, from any culture or time or walk of live, could fail to recognise the deep sense of introspection and sadness in the plaintive strings. Like possibly all the most enduring music, the sounds itself feels somehow like a vessel, able to carry huge chunks of our own thoughts, feelings and lives – it’s what we bring to the music at any given point that makes it so special to so many.

In fact, the word simplicity is probably a bit unfair, since musically there is some complexity to the piece in the way Barber develops his melody and uses it from section to section. But to analyse this piece of music is pointless; this is music that demands to be felt, not thought about.

The history of the piece itself is relatively unremarkable, except for the fact that it was originally the second movement of a string quartet. The quartet arrangement is nice, but there’s something about the arrangement for the much larger string orchestra (the famous version above) that, in my opinion, is much more fitting. The dense, layered sound of the strings gives the piece a solidity and sense of force without removing any of its nuance. Another interesting fact is that Barber was just 26 when he composed the piece. Somehow the music feels much older and wiser than the young age of its composer would suggest, but I guess age and wisdom are very different things.

There’s no doubt Barber captured something in his Adagio that profoundly moves virtually everybody that hears it. Rarely has music captured such longing and sadness so simply and honestly and despite its continued use in film and TV, somehow the music never feels clichéd or melodramatic. The video above has a full performance of the piece so do give it a listen, as the opening is so well known its rare you hear the whole piece performed as one.

I thought I’d have lots to write about this piece of music but, sat here listening to it, I can think of very little that really does it much justice. Any composer will tell you that’s when you’re listening to something truly special – when words won’t do.

Enjoy.

Eliza’s Aria – Elena Kats-Chernin

Since I didn’t have much time to devote to this today I thought I’d do something a little different. Today’s piece in unlikely to be one you’ve heard of, but it’s very likely to be one you’ve heard.

Nearly five years ago, this piece made it into a series of adverts for Lloyds TSB that continue to this day. It’s unfortunate that this music has become synonymous with banking, especially since the carefree “for the journey” slogan that accompanies the whole campaign is not quite the experience of banking most of us have for ourselves. But I wanted to put this up to try and reclaim it a little on its own merit; a lovely piece of modern romanticism in the style of Tchaikovsky.

The music is actually from a ballet called ‘Wild Swans’, first performed less than ten years ago in 2003.  The ballet is based on the fairytale of the same name by Hans Christian Andersen. I haven’t seen any performances of it, but I’ve heard most of the score and it’s really very nice – well worth a listen. Written by Australian composer Elena Kats-Chermin, it’s not hard to hear the influence of 19th century romantic ballets such as Swan Lake or The Nutcracker and, for those film score enthusiasts, it’s easy to hear some similarities with composers like Danny Elfman who, along with Tim Burton, is also deeply involved with bringing old fairytales to life musically for the big screen.

There’s not really much to say about this piece except that it’s very nice and very well known now, albeit not in its original context. I thought it would be fun to post up and it’s a nice listen. Enjoy!

Igor Stravinsky – The Rite of Spring

There are not many pieces of music that have managed to start a riot. ‘The Rite of Spring’, however, has.

Written by Russian composer Igor Stravinsky, the piece had its premiere on the 29th May 1913 in Paris. It didn’t take long for the audience, confused and appalled by what they heard, to begin booing and hissing. Things soon degenerated and it wasn’t long before dissatisfaction led to full out disgust, and the unhappy audience began to riot. The rest of the performance was marred by scuffles, shouting and fights that not even the police, who were called to the concert, could quell.

Listening to the ‘Rite’, it’s easy to see why it might have caused so much anger and confusion amongst the bourgeois audience in attendance – used to a much more gentle and entertaining evening of music. Stravinsky’s masterpiece is a landmark in orchestral music and marks one of the great turning points from 19th century romanticism into true 20th century experimentation. The piece is full of clashing, primal rhythms and dissonances. This is not much designed to paint a gentle picture, but instead to thrust you headlong into a different world.

The music itself was written and performed as a ballet depicting a pagan ritual in which a young girl is selected and made to dance until she dies. But the ‘Rite’ is one of the first and certainly one of the most famous examples of a new and savage approach to music; using sound and rhythm to evoke deep, primal sensibilities that defy such fleeting concepts of contemporary culture or society. ‘The Rite of Spring’ is truly a timeless and somehow ancient sounding work that has influenced virtually everything that has come since, from film soundtracks to electronica.

Fans of the Disney film ‘Fantasia’ may well recognise the music from a sequence in the film depicting the origins of life on earth (you remember, the dinosaurs!). Indeed, listening to the music, the listener can’t help but get the feeling this is music from long before we knew what music was. Deep drums pound heavily, seemingly randomly in places, as strings and woodwinds clash furiously against each other. You can’t help but get the impression of a primordial soup or quantum explosion, as if the music is rising out of the big bang itself, a scramble of sounds not yet understood, but exciting and fresh and new.

So much has happened since 1913 that it’s hard to listen to the ‘Rite’ with the same amount of awe that it must have inspired back then. Audiences, used to the melodrama and aural caress of the romantic period, probably would have felt about as assaulted by the noise as we might be by yesterday’s post, ‘Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima’. But look past the initial onslaught and there is a pioneering musicianship in this work that, even today, is as bold and exciting as ever. Stravinsky once said it took him a long time to figure out how to put the ideas in his head down into sheet music, such were the complexities of rhythm and harmony, and you can still hear those complexities today.

Of all the pieces I’ve posted so far, the ‘Rite’ is probably one of the most fundamentally important. Its impact on modern music extends so far and wide that it’s actually hard to spot, such is our familiarity with it these days. But the ‘Rite’ still holds up as a powerful and savage work that still has the power to evoke and emote, and is well worth a listen for anybody.

Krzysztof Penderecki – Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima

Let me start by saying today’s piece of music isn’t going to be pleasant…

Which might be something of a strange thing to say, given that today the concept of listening to music is synonymous with entertainment. Indeed, ‘Threnody’ is not a piece I’m prone to putting on very often, but its place in our musical literature is assured.

Despite its name the work was originally not written with a specific theme in mind, and the title was added by composer Penderecki only after he’d heard the work and noted the extreme emotional intensity of it. Penderecki was just 27 when he composed the music in 1960, and it was to catapult him to fame as one of the most innovative and daring composers of his generation.

To hear a piece like ‘Threnody’ is to ignite age-old questions about the function and reason for music in society, in culture and in art. Indeed, there’s not a soul on this Earth that should be able to claim they “like” such an obviously intense and painful work. In a world where time is precious and we all have our own problems and fears, do we really need to subject ourselves to such a violent and unrelenting sprawl of noise?

The answer to that question is a personal one. Many people won’t get past the first 30 seconds of this piece of music, and I can totally understand why. Does it really explain anything? Does it really offer anything positive or useful to us as individuals? It took me a long time to really feel comfortable listening to this assault on the ears and for a long time I glossed over it as “modern” music, a term equally applicable to the art world, which itself has seen more than its fair share of dubious contributions.

Whatever you may feel personally, Threnody is an important musical contribution to 20th century music. Leaving behind all concept of harmony, rhythm or melody, Threnody instead blurs the line between music and noise to create something that actually has a conscious physical and mental effect on the listener. Whilst this may be something that today, in our world and our culture, doesn’t seem that impressive, in the 1960s it was a much bigger deal. This was music that dispensed with any pretense of instrospection or personal interpretation and instead simply beat you over the head repeatedly. If you do manage to get to the end of the piece, you’ll likely feel physically different for it.

Listening to the piece and knowing the title, it’s not hard to conjure up pretty disturbing images of human pain and suffering on a truly epic scale. Looking at grainy, black-and-white photos and film of the aftermath of Hiroshima, the music takes on a whole new meaning. It’s virtually nauseous trying to get through the whole thing; but that in itself is testament, perhaps, to how closely it reverberates with its subject matter.

Not all music is made to be listened to, perhaps. Indeed, Threnody is unlikely to be something you listen to on the way to work or put on in the background over drinks in the evening. But as humans sometimes we need to try and understand the great strife we put each other through. War, social strife, intolerance, hatred – these are things we must sometimes try to understand and feel, if only to repulse ourselves enough to do something about them. And ‘Threnody’ is perhaps the musical equivalent of putting ourselves through difficult, stomach-churning experiences, so that next time something positive happens, no matter how small, we are that much more grateful for it.

I think we’ll leave it there for now! I hope you do sample ‘Threnody’, if only so you never really have to do so again. This is not music for your i-Pod, but it is a painful reflection of all that is wrong and dangerous about our species and about our time – stated in a way that no photo or footage could ever quite do justice.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Requiem Mass in D Minor (K.626).

Mozart’s infamous Requiem Mass in D Minor is probably one of the foremost reasons I ever discovered classical music seriously. I had to study it for my A-Level music exam and everything about it, from the history, to the legend, to the craftsmanship and, indeed, to the music itself is nothing short of amazing.

Legend would have it that on a dark, stormy night an anonymous shrouded figure knocked on the door of Mozart’s home and, when the composer answered, offered Mozart a bag full of ducats to write a Requiem Mass on commission, with the promise of more money upon completion. As Mozart began to work on the Requiem he found himself becoming increasingly ill and, before long, it became clear to him that he was writing the Requiem not just for a client, but also for himself. The composer struggled through illness and grave personal agony in his attempts to finish the composition and died midway through its composition, the ultimate victim of his own masterpiece.

The reality is, in truth, much less fanciful, but no less interesting. Mozart was indeed commissioned to write the Requiem by the wealthy Count von Walsegg, who intended to have the worked performed in memory of his recently deceased wife and pass it off as his own work. Mozart did also die whilst working on the piece, though he was likely far from “haunted” by the commission and, indeed, the months leading up to his illness and death were some of the happiest and most productive of his life. But he did die without completing the work and, thanks to the musings and mischief of many artists, poets and scholars since, the legends that have grown around the work have helped make it one of the most famous of Mozart’s compositions and, indeed, in the whole classical pantheon.

Mozart was a genius in the true sense of the word, touring Europe and performing music for Emperors and dignitaries on a regular basis long before his 10th birthday. His abilities as a performer and a composer were clear virtually before he could speak and he was in demand throughout much of his life for both talents. I could have chosen virtually any one of Mozart’s works to put here as a shining example of how to write music, but the Requiem is special both to me personally but also, I feel, as a work in its own right.

The piece I’ve chosen is the opening movement of the work (the rest is no doubt around YouTube if you want to listen to it), as I felt it was best to start at the beginning. A Requiem Mass is, as you might imagine, music set to religious texts concerning death and funerary rights. Indeed, this opening movement is about as mournful and sombre as you can get, but don’t let that fact deceive you – it has many layers. Starting with fragile strings, it’s not long before Bassett Horns and Bassoons take on a melody that is to form the centrepiece of the whole work. As the intro reaches a crescendo the choir enter one voice at a time, each repeating the main theme as they do so to eventually create a powerful cacophony of sound before entering triumphantly into F major. As the music raises in ecstasy the choir sings “Et lux perpetua luceat eis” – “And let perpetual light shine upon them”. I’m not a religious man, but it all sounds about as close to divine as you can get.

As much as the legend surrounding the work may be just that, legend, I’ve always found myself listening to this piece with an image of the frail composer firmly in my head. For as much as I may just be reading too much into things, Mozart’s Requiem does indeed seem to capture the spirit of death more vividly than most composers can. And the music seems to run the whole gamut; fear, sadness, joy, acceptance, denial, anger, peace. To me, whatever the truth and whatever the legend, there’s no doubt Mozart had something deeply profound to say when writing this piece.

I could go on forever about the Requiem (I probably will over the course of future posts) but, for now, I’ll let the music speak. When Mozart died the Requiem, still unfinished, was handed to many of Mozart’s pupils and peers in an attempt to complete it. But the opening piece is Mozart’s pretty much note-for-note, and a true example of his genius. Musically sublime, technically unbelievable, Mozart was one of the few composers that had the heart for music as well as the head for it.

It’s often a shock for people (myself included) when they learn that Mozart was just 35 when he died, of causes unknown. To see what he managed to do in those short years, and how large a legacy he left, is astonishing. It’s only right that, in the end, Mozart died composing, and that his last undisputed masterpiece is now both a celebration of his life and a fitting legacy that will remain long, long after his death.

Ralph Vaughan Williams – The Lark Ascending

It’s been something of an age since I wrote on here, but now I have a shred of spare time again I’m excited about trying to get this whole thing back up and running again.

I thought I’d start back with one of my favourites – ‘The Lark Ascending’ by Ralph Vaughan Williams. This lovely piece of music can probably be labelled under the category “Tone Poem”, a term that applies to impressionistic music not belonging to an obvious or specific musical format such as symphony or concerto. The term became increasingly popular in the 20th century as composers eschewed the constraints of traditional musical formats and wrote pieces designed to evoke and suggest at leisure.

Despite its pastoral and serene nature, the majority of the piece was sketched out whilst Vaughan Williams watched ships full of troops make their way across the English Channel during World War I – an ordeal Vaughan Williams endured himself when, despite being 41, he enlisted to serve his country. Years later, in 1920, Vaughan Williams revised this piece of music with the help of violinist and friend Marie Hall, turning it into the piece it is today.

Inspired by George Meredith’s poem of the same name, it’s not hard to hear the violin simulating the airy and breathless flight of the lark, with the plaintive strings evoking the gentle rolling hills of the Oxfordshire countryside Vaughan Williams would have known so well. The piece starts slowly, almost solemnly, letting the violin cut through as the sole voice in the orchestra. The piece continues to develop, the rest of the orchestra adding its weight to the soaring melodies and evolving harmonies before gently simmering down again. Then, out of the ashes rises more playful and carefree material on the flute and woodwinds, gaining in intensity as the solo violin and the rest of the strings add their weight. That section then boils down, de-constructing into a more pensive and lyrical phase before the violin once again soars to take over the music, ending with the solo violin once again imitating the lark as it flies – presumably away and out of sight.

There is an unfortunate tendency to gloss over Vaughan Williams as the “quintessential” sound of 20th century England and indeed Britain, leading to the erroneous assumption his work is the proverbial “wallpaper music” of our culture – pleasing but not powerful, enjoyable but not engaging. But beneath the pastoral colours and gentle dynamics of much of Vaughan Williams’ work is a deep sense of melancholy and longing that goes far beyond just tickling the ears.

The Lark Ascending is, for me, one of the best examples of how Vaughan Williams manages to be both enjoyable and yet enduring, never straying far from powerful melody and thoroughly tonal sensibilities and yet, at the same time, managing to evoke something far deeper than a Lark in the fields. Much like George Meredith, Vaughan Williams found in the Lark a metaphor for something much deeper – the knowledge that all of us are flitting about the endless landscape, never sure which way to go or quite what we’re looking for. But, for all our eventual aimlessness, there is something wonderful about simply being. Vaughan Williams must have seen the troops going to war and recognised how fleeting and fickle life can be, and yet how wonderful it can be for that fact.

Trying to put quite what you feel about The Lark Ascending into words is impossible, and that in itself is a good indicator of its effectiveness and power. There are many things that I like about this piece of music, but what I have always found fascinating is the last solo passage that the violin plays as the piece ends. As the Lark darts about the landscape, the violin somehow gives the distinct impression of increasing distance as the bird makes its way out of our lives. But as the last notes of the violin rise and rise, there is one final surprise left. At the very last note of the piece the violin doesn’t rise as it feels it might, but instead descends, leaving the distinct impression not of completion – not of the bird ascending into the sunrise – but instead of unknowing. It’s easy to imagine that the piece could continue on into new sections, the violin feeling as if it might continue to play long after the last note has been written. And that in itself is the strength of the piece – that long after the music has finished the truth remains. As for what becomes of the Lark? That’s something not even music can answer.

 

The Lark Ascending

George Meredith (1828–1909)

HE rises and begins to round, He drops the silver chain of sound Of many links without a break, In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake, All intervolv’d and spreading wide,         5 Like water-dimples down a tide Where ripple ripple overcurls And eddy into eddy whirls; A press of hurried notes that run So fleet they scarce are more than one,         10 Yet changingly the trills repeat And linger ringing while they fleet, Sweet to the quick o’ the ear, and dear To her beyond the handmaid ear, Who sits beside our inner springs,         15 Too often dry for this he brings, Which seems the very jet of earth At sight of sun, her musci’s mirth, As up he wings the spiral stair, A song of light, and pierces air         20 With fountain ardor, fountain play, To reach the shining tops of day, And drink in everything discern’d An ecstasy to music turn’d, Impell’d by what his happy bill         25 Disperses; drinking, showering still, Unthinking save that he may give His voice the outlet, there to live Renew’d in endless notes of glee, So thirsty of his voice is he,         30 For all to hear and all to know That he is joy, awake, aglow, The tumult of the heart to hear Through pureness filter’d crystal-clear, And know the pleasure sprinkled bright         35 By simple singing of delight, Shrill, irreflective, unrestrain’d, Rapt, ringing, on the jet sustain’d Without a break, without a fall, Sweet-silvery, sheer lyrical,         40 Perennial, quavering up the chord Like myriad dews of sunny sward That trembling into fulness shine, And sparkle dropping argentine; Such wooing as the ear receives         45 From zephyr caught in choric leaves Of aspens when their chattering net Is flush’d to white with shivers wet; And such the water-spirit’s chime On mountain heights in morning’s prime,         50 Too freshly sweet to seem excess, Too animate to need a stress; But wider over many heads The starry voice ascending spreads, Awakening, as it waxes thin,         55 The best in us to him akin; And every face to watch him rais’d, Puts on the light of children prais’d, So rich our human pleasure ripes When sweetness on sincereness pipes,         60 Though nought be promis’d from the seas, But only a soft-ruffling breeze Sweep glittering on a still content, Serenity in ravishment. For singing till his heaven fills,         65 ’T is love of earth that he instils, And ever winging up and up, Our valley is his golden cup, And he the wine which overflows To lift us with him as he goes:         70 The woods and brooks, the sheep and kine He is, the hills, the human line, The meadows green, the fallows brown, The dreams of labor in the town; He sings the sap, the quicken’d veins;         75 The wedding song of sun and rains He is, the dance of children, thanks Of sowers, shout of primrose-banks, And eye of violets while they breathe; All these the circling song will wreathe,         80 And you shall hear the herb and tree, The better heart of men shall see, Shall feel celestially, as long As you crave nothing save the song. Was never voice of ours could say         85 Our inmost in the sweetest way, Like yonder voice aloft, and link All hearers in the song they drink: Our wisdom speaks from failing blood, Our passion is too full in flood,         90 We want the key of his wild note Of truthful in a tuneful throat, The song seraphically free Of taint of personality, So pure that it salutes the suns         95 The voice of one for millions, In whom the millions rejoice For giving their one spirit voice. Yet men have we, whom we revere, Now names, and men still housing here,         100 Whose lives, by many a battle-dint Defaced, and grinding wheels on flint, Yield substance, though they sing not, sweet For song our highest heaven to greet: Whom heavenly singing gives us new,         105 Enspheres them brilliant in our blue, From firmest base to farthest leap, Because their love of Earth is deep, And they are warriors in accord With life to serve and pass reward,         110 So touching purest and so heard In the brain’s reflex of yon bird; Wherefore their soul in me, or mine, Through self-forgetfulness divine, In them, that song aloft maintains,         115 To fill the sky and thrill the plains With showerings drawn from human stores, As he to silence nearer soars, Extends the world at wings and dome, More spacious making more our home,         120 Till lost on his aërial rings In light, and then the fancy sings.