Well, ready is a relative term, but here's the theme.
[theme: Mozart, Symphony No. 24]
Hello there, I'm Peter Schickele, and this is Schickele Mix, a program dedicated to the proposition that all musics are created equal. Or as Duke Ellington put it, if it sounds good, it is good. And it is good to report with gratitude that our bills are paid by this state-of-the-art radio station, which means they allow me to state my views about art.
Saw a nice cartoon in a magazine once. Two dinosaurs, great big brontosauruses, are foraging for food in a swampy field, and one says to the other, Beulah, come here and look! I found a pea the size of a brain! No, really! Now, I'm sure that Beulah and her friend assumed, inasmuch as they assumed anything, that there would always be dinosaurs. Just as many people assume that there will always be symphony orchestras.
But the symphony orchestra didn't exist before Haydn and Mozart, and there's no reason to assume that it will always be around, especially as a purveyor of interesting new utterances. Leonard Bernstein once said that Stravinsky's Symphony in Three Movements, written in the early 1940s, was the last great symphony. Maybe, maybe not. It certainly hasn't kept people from writing them, and some recent examples, such as John Corigliano's, have met with great success.
Today we're going to deal with a form or technique that is even more associated with the past than the symphony is, and that's the fugue. A brief fortune cookie definition of a fugue might be a piece featuring more or less strict imitation, by all the voices of the texture, of a short, striking, melodic idea, called a subject, that is used throughout the piece.
I guess even that's too long for a fortune cookie. How about Good Theme Worth Hearing Many Times? Whatever. Anyhow, the best way to describe a piece is to play it. I'll let Glenn Gould do that.
[music: J. S. Bach, The Well-Tempered Clavier, Vol. 1, No. 2 in C minor, Fugue (BWV 855); Glenn Gould]
The second fugue from Johann Sebastian Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, called the WTC by those in the know, played by Glenn Gould. This is presented as a sort of a reference point. On other editions of Schickele Mix, we trace the development of the fugue, Bach's mastery of it, and also his long shadow when it comes to other composers writing fugues. Today we're going to follow the form into the 20th century and ask the question, which happens to be the title of today's show, Is there a fugue in your future?
You won't want to miss the surprising answer to a question that has never been more timely, so stay tuned, won't you? Okay, I have been known to rant on about a pet peeve of mine, composers whose music doesn't sound at all like Bach until they write a fugue, at which point they're suddenly playing the organ at St. Thomas Church in Leipzig with 20 kids crawling around their feet.
During the 19th century, fugue writing came to be more and more regarded as an academic exercise, and only the more conservative composers, such as Brahms, made significant use of fugal techniques in concert pieces. But after the First World War, a wave of neoclassicism, second only to that of Beatlemania, swept over Western Europe and the fugue was back in.
Not only did composers write separate fugues and fugal sections in larger works, some of them actually emulated the Well-Tempered Clavier and wrote large collections of Preludes and Fugues in various keys. The results, in terms of my pet peeve, have been mixed. Some of the pieces genuflect, consciously or unconsciously, before the old master, but others achieve escape velocity and break free of the Baroque's powerful gravitational pull. How far out they get varies.
Okay, now two-thirds of the fugues in our first suite come from WTC wannabes, but they sound quite fresh and full of personality. In the first, it's partly because the subject is very un-Bach-y. It sounds sort of like a soft, new-age bugle call. And at least this pianist, who is not the composer, uses quite a bit of pedal, which is nice. It avoids that dry sewing machine articulation that is rightly or wrongly associated with Bach.
The second number in our suite does have that dry articulation, but it's in 5-8 time, which you didn't hear a whole lot of in 18th century Leipzig. In those days, meters were either duple or triple. Any organist trying to slip in a little 5-8 time would have been demoted to pumping the bellows. Our third piece is a delightful addendum. It's not from a large collection. In fact, it's by a miniaturist who would seem to be the antithesis of a Fugue composer.
His music tends to be simple, almost childlike, repetitious, sly, and about as unlearned-sounding as you can get. But here he proves that he can fugalize those qualities just fine. I call this suite The Well-Tempered Clavier Rides Again, which it does for about five and a half minutes. See you then.
[music excerpt: Shostakovich, Preludes & Fugues for Piano, Opus 87, No. 7 in A Major, Fugue; Tatiana Nikolaeva]
[music: Hindemith, “Ludus Tonalis,” Fugue No. 2 in G; Kabi Laretei]
[music: Satie, "Choses vues à droite et à gauche," "Fugue à tâtons"; Yan Pascal Tortelier, violin/Aldo Ciccolini, piano]
The Well-Tempered Clavier Rides Again. We began with Dmitri Shostakovich from his Preludes and Fugues for Piano, Op. 87. That was fugue No. 7 in A major, played by Tatiana Nikolaeva. I listened to a recording of Shostakovich himself playing that fugue, and he does use less pedal, but I like it with the pedal. I think it works very nicely.
Then we heard the second fugue from Hindemith's Ludus Tonalis, another collection of Preludes & Fugues, played by Kabi Laretei.
And then finally, from a piece by Erik Satie called Choses vues à droite et à gauche, which is Things Seen from Left and Right Without Glasses, we heard the Fugue à tâtons, which according to this liner note means The Feeling One's Way Fugue. Now, some of Satie's other fugues sound as if he had named his cat Bach just to get satisfaction from pulling its tail. There is a sort of an anger in them.
As a matter of fact, here's what Satie said about chorales. He said, my chorales equal those of Bach with this difference. There are not so many of them, and they are less pretentious. That certainly is a basically unpretentious little fugue and a delightful one. My name is Peter Schickele, and the show is Schickele Mix from PRI, Public Radio International. Now let's follow the fugue into the modern symphony orchestra.
All three selections in our next suite are parts of longer symphonic works whose other parts aren't fugal. In other words, the comparatively strict imitative procedure and contrapuntal texture of a fugue is used as a contrast to the surrounding material. In the first number, the composer himself labeled this section fugue, but some others have said, hey, that's not really a fugue, the counterpoint is rudimentary, and much of it doesn't sound like counterpoint at all, it's more like melody and accompaniment.
Well, you know, I think it's one of those damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don't situations. If you write a fugue that doesn't sound anything like Bach, which this one certainly doesn't, people say it's not really a fugue. But if you write one that does sound like Bach, you've got the host of Schickele Mix grumbling about apron strings. Fortunately, most composers are too egocentric to listen to anyone but themselves. You can decide for yourself.
The second selection is a double fugue. The first subject is worked out by the instruments, and then when the chorus comes in, they have a new subject, which of course fits with the first one. That's what double fugues are all about. And the third and last selection kicks up its heels a bit. The Fugue in the Orchestra Suite is a little under 12 minutes long.
[music: Stravinsky, Symphony of Psalms, Part 2; CBC Symphony Orchestra/The Festival Singers of Toronto/Stravinsky]
[music excerpt: Hindemith, "Symphonische Metamorphosen nach Themen von Carl Maria von Weber, 2nd Mvt."; Israel Philharmonic Orchestra/Bernstein]
The Fugue in the Orchestra Suite began with a section from Roy Harris' Third Symphony, the Fugue section that was performed by Howard Hanson conducting the Eastman-Rochester Symphony Orchestra. Then came the middle movement of Stravinsky's Symphony of Psalms, with Stravinsky himself conducting the CBC Symphony Orchestra with The Festival Singers of Toronto.
And then finally, the little fugato section, and a fugato really means a small fugue or more properly the exposition part of a fugue but the whole thing isn't worked out like a full fugue would be. Very often in larger pieces it's more of a fugato section than a full fugue. And this is from Hindemith's Symphonic Metamorphosis on Themes of Carl Maria von Weber. That was the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Leonard Bernstein. You know, I've always wanted to write a piece based on that piece, so that I could call it Symphonic Metamorphosis on Themes from Symphonic Metamorphosis on Themes by Carl Maria von Weber by Paul Hindemith by Peter Schickele.
But I figure, hey, what piece could live up to that title?
And it's Tidbit Time. I only have one thing to say about this tidbit. I've used it before on the show, it's true, but that was in the original German. Now we're going to hear it translated into English.
Two things to say about this tidbit. We heard it before in German, now we're going to hear it in English. And you can very clearly hear the technique called augmentation in this piece. The subject performed at one-half speed and also at one-quarter speed, so it lasts two and four times as long as it did before. Three things to say about this tidbit. We heard it before in German, now we're going to hear it in English. It uses augmentation very clearly, and it's one of the most unusual fugues ever written.
[music: Toch, "Geographical Fugue"; Camerata of Los Angeles Chorus/Mitzelfelt]
So, what did you expect? The Spanish Inquisition? That was The Geographical Fugue by Ernst Toch. He wrote it in 1930 and later translated it into English. He explains that he changed some of the towns or some of the geographical terms because they sounded different in English than in German. That was the Camerata of Los Angeles Chorus conducted by H. Vincent Mitzelfelt.
I'm Peter Schickele. The show is Schickele Mix from PRI, Public Radio International.
Okay, we heard a double fugue in the Stravinsky Symphony of Psalms. Now I'm going to lay a triple fugue on you. It's called Three Windows, and it's from the No Sun in Venice suite by the Modern Jazz Quartet. John Lewis wrote this as the score for a movie called On ne sait jamais in the original French, although I saw the movie, and as I remember, you don't hear much of the music in it. And three of the pieces in the suite are associated with three of the principal characters. And then the last number in the suite is a triple fugue in which each subject is derived from one of the character pieces.
I should say, by the way, that I don't know which way Lewis worked here. I don't know if the character pieces came first and then he worked out the fugue or vice versa. The liner notes imply that the fugue came first, but my hunch, and it's only a hunch, folks. Unfortunately, I've never met John Lewis. My hunch is that the fugue subjects were fashioned from the three character pieces. Anyway, here's the beginning of Michel's theme, called The Golden Striker. These are going to be very short snippets, everybody.
I just want you to know where the subjects come from before I play the whole fugue. The Golden Striker begins...
[music excerpt: Lewis, Various excerpts from "No Sun in Venice"; The Modern Jazz Quartet]
Now he takes just those first three notes, and puts them in the minor, and then extends it for his first subject.
[music excerpt: Lewis, Various excerpts from "No Sun in Venice"; The Modern Jazz Quartet]
The theme of the cortege is associated with the old man, Baron von Berger. Lewis doesn't use the beginning of the theme. He takes a phrase from the middle. Listen to the vibraphone here.
[music excerpt: Lewis, Various excerpts from "No Sun in Venice"; The Modern Jazz Quartet]
Now, he simplifies that to one,
and extends it for the second subject. Here it is in the piano.
Okay, the music associated with the other young man, Sforzi, is called The Rose Truc. Here's how it starts.
Now here Lewis just takes two little fragments. He keeps the notes and rhythm of the first one. And he keeps the rhythm of the second but changes the notes. And once again extends it for the fugue subject.
[music excerpt: Lewis, Various excerpts from "No Sun in Venice"; The Modern Jazz Quartet]
And of course, big surprise, all three subjects fit together. We hear all three simultaneously many times. I love this whole album, and I wish we had time for all four of the cuts we've heard from, but we don't. So here's the triple fugue that ends the suite, Three Windows.
[music: Lewis, “No Sun in Venice,” “Three Windows”; The Modern Jazz Quartet]
Three Windows, from No Sun in Venice, The Modern Jazz Quartet, composed by John Lewis, who was on piano, Milt Jackson on vibes, Percy Heath on bass, Connie Kay on drums.
The Modern Jazz Quartet developed a wonderful fugue technique. Basically, a fugue consists of expositions where the theme is stated, and then episodes in which it's sort of developed and usually goes to a different key. And they worked out a way where the expository places are composed, and then they improvise during the episodes. It's a very satisfying thing, formally, I find. Also, I like it, you know, I have a thing that I don't like.
I don't like pianists who comp too much, who play chords, play these crunchy chords under solos. It's often too busy for my taste. It's one of the reasons I love the old Gerry Mulligan piano-less quartet, was that you didn't have that comping. And what I like about John Lewis is that he does other melodic lines often behind Milt Jackson when Jackson is improvising instead of chords.
It's interesting to see John Lewis play, or at least the times I've seen him, because he's really very melodic. And his right hand is going around improvising the melody, and the left hand sort of hovers above the keyboard, but it hardly ever drops, hardly ever plays anything. That was No Sun in Venice. Now that piece ends on a rather somber note. And I know that some of you are listening to this show while you're driving, and I don't want you to fall asleep. So let's hear one of the most invigorating fugues written in the 20th century.
[music: Barber, Piano Sonata, Fugue: Allegro con spirito; David Allen Wehr]
That's a zinger, isn't it? The last movement of Samuel Barber's piano sonata, Fugue: Allegro con spirito, played by David Allen Wehr. And you know, we are early here. We've got a little bit of time left over. So let's do play one of the other pieces from the Modern Jazz Quartet piece, No Sun in Venice. Here's the opening number, The Golden Striker.
[music: Lewis, “No Sun in Venice,” “The Golden Striker”; The Modern Jazz Quartet]
The Golden Striker, from No Sun in Venice, The Modern Jazz Quartet. Not a fugue, just a very nice filler.
When I put this program together, I thought of it as the fugue in the 20th century. But it isn't, you know. It's the fugue in the first half of the 20th century. The latest piece on this show, No Sun in Venice, was written in 1957.
And the kinds of classical music that have flourished since then, post-Webern serialism, minimalism, and the so-called new romanticism, have not been fugue-friendly. And I don't really see that changing. So my answer to the question, is there a fugue in your future, would have to be, don't hold your breath. Of course, what do I know? I thought the polka would die with Lawrence Welk, but if you travel through Wisconsin, you'll find out that it's still a viable art form. There's something about a good melody on top, an independent bass line on the bottom, and harmonizing notes in the middle, that just always seems to work.
For instance,
[theme: Mozart, Symphony No. 24]
That's Schickele Mix for this week. Our program is made possible with funds provided by this radio station and its members. We'll tell you in a moment how you can get an official playlist of all the music on today's program with record numbers and everything. Just refer to the program number. This is program 55. And this is Peter Schickele saying goodbye and reminding you that it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that certain je ne sais quoi. You're looking good. See you next week.