Ziyad Abdelfattah

History of Western Music II

Final
I: Ives The Alcotts
Until recently, I had only a passing familiarity with the works of Charles Ives; I
had heard a few of the pieces in Volume IV of his song collections. The Alcotts, to me,
is a fully realized vision of techniques I had only glimpsed before. I heard echoes of
common practice tonality within a few seconds of crashing dissonance (and that
juxtaposition exists over larger time scales as well). I heard daring registral
experimentation and creative musical quotations ranging from Beethovens Fifth to
traditional religious tunes.
Ives appeals to everything I enjoy about Impressionismits ability to evoke
visual scenes and flashes of colorwhile broadening the sonic palette beyond anything
Debussy or Ravel would have attempted. Glancing at the score, the boundary-pushing yet
mostly-sonorous nature of The Alcotts is clear. This piece has rhythm but little meter
(no time signature). It has discernable harmonies and hummable melodies but clashing
key signatures between the right and left hands. It feels as though every inch of musical
possibility is explored at some point in the piece.
I also cannot think of another piece of music that takes as its subject and
inspiration a recent philosophical figure. The transcendentalists to whom the Concord
Sonata is dedicated provide excellent philosophical underpinnings for this music, and
also give the pieces a uniquely American flavor. I can feel Ives calling forth the idea that
there is some innate truth in the universe that is not accessible through direct observation,
especially in those sections where the music becomes a little more chaotic and difficult to
wrangle into aural submission. The end, in which a sweet Bb and later C major emerges

from a dense forest of pounding block chords is most illustrative of this tendency. Prior to
hearing this, I did not know such a combination was possible in this way.

II: Modernism
If Modernism is the crossroads between the past and the future, Stravinskys Rite
of Spring is a prime example. The familiar elements of concert music are present, such as
instrumentation, but precedents are violated in subtle ways, as in opening melody of Part
I, which is played with the bassoon but in a strikingly unusual register. As in Ives The
Alcotts, discussed earlier, there is always something relatable to established practices
and musical norms. Individual voices in the Rite of Spring would fit in most eras of
Western music, but when played together they form the tumultuous soundscape that
makes it instantly recognizable. Ive also given a lot of thought to the famous pattern of
accents during the pounding section. At first it was nearly impossible to hear it in 4/4, but
now I find it equally impossible not to, and perhaps that is the point. There are many
instances in the Rite of Spring of musical elements that shock upon first exposure, but
assimilate themselves into the listeners ear after a few listens. In that way, Stravinsky is
jolting us into the modern era of tonality.
Bartks String Quartet No. 2 accomplishes much the same function, although
with more solidified links to the past in my opinion. Like the Rite of Spring, its power to
expand the listening palette comes from heavy use of repeating motives, which we
gradually accept more. This is not to say that the whole piece feels jarringon the
contrary, there are many perfectly sonorous portions. But on the whole, the melodies are
digestible whereas the harmonies tend to be more challenging. Of course, many of those

melodies are derived from rural folk runes, the appropriation of which can also be
considered a means of simultaneously reaching into the past and engaging with the
future. The listener is not expected to necessarily possess intimate knowledge the folk
oeuvre, but the inclusion of vaguely familiar sounds creates an interesting tension with
the totally new compositional techniques Bartk brings to the table.

III: The Second Viennese School

I would love to speak positively of the music of Arnold Schoenberg. When I
express blithe negativity toward any kind of music, I feel closed-minded and unreceptive.
However twelve-tone or generally atonal music simply does not appeal to me,
aesthetically speaking. My distaste for it does go beyond a mere gut reactionI believe
dissonant music works best (and is most rewarding to absorb and analyze) when there is
at least some tonal anchor against which the dissonance comes to the fore. Completely
atonal music is a chaotic soup of sound, shapeless and ultimately meaningless. If that is
the intent of the composer, so be it, but that does not make such music worthy of
reverence.
Twelve-tone music is at least more interesting in that there is an internal logic that
guides each piece. And isnt common practice tonality, strictly speaking, just as arbitrary
as any other invented system? Perhaps, but it would seem that there is something innately
pleasing in grouping chords based on the overtone series.
Works like The Book of the Hanging Gardens are not altogether unpleasant to
listen to, but they feel like they gain their potency mostly from performance

characteristics unrelated to the harmonic implications of the atonality (for example, the
singing style or the piano texture). In other words, there is plenty to enjoy about it, but the
total lack of recognizable harmony feels like a missed opportunity.
I am of course open to the possibility that my ears are not equipped to parse the
sounds to the extent required for true Schoenbergian appreciation. For example, when I
hear the opening melodies of Weberns Symphony op. 21, I can feel my brain futilely
attempting to cram it into a box of tonality. That is certainly the wrong approach, but the
complete abandonment of harmony feels like an insurmountable obstacle to me thus far.

IV: 20th Century Opera

Initial Reactions:

Wozzeck:
o Creepy (obviously) but with surprising moments of apparent sweetness in
the music. I like Sprechstimme in opera a lot; I feel it bridges the gap
between musical performance and acting. Conversely, I always found

Italian recitative to be overly melodic for its largely expository function.

Moses und Aron:
o Sounds like the stuff of nightmares, especially when the chorus comes in.
Hard to tell if this is the feeling meant to be evoked, or if that is the
inevitable product of twelve-tone. Yes, it is Old Testament God speaking,
and so should be somewhat daunting and scary. Maybe went overboard

into spooky territory.

Billy Budd:

o Feels very American somehow, despite the fact that Britten is a Briton.
A lot of that comes from the flute response to the singing, which strikes

me as military in the way of traditional American songs.

Doctor Atomic:
o Very cool premise for an opera, though I prefer more interaction between
the singer and the orchestra. It felt in this case like the orchestra was
merely a base on which the Oppenheimer character was building an
admittedly impressive vocal performance.

I believe Wozzeck is a particularly effective work of expressive drama; its a prime

example of the dissonance and occasional cacophony of the early 20th century lining up
perfectly with the story. As a small illustration, take the moment where Wozzeck throws
the bloody knife into the lake (There, down to the bottom it sinks, like a stone in dark
waters). As the knife descends into the deep, Wozzecks vocal line mournfully dips into
the lower register to mirror it. A more strictly melodic performance style may not have
captured this parallel as elegantly.
The orchestra, free from some of the more restrictive bounds of 19th century/earlier
practice, is also able to convey psychological states with more specificity than ever
before. Sometimes I feel that diatonic tonality essentially limits emotional valence to
major vs. minor; Wozzeck is a far richer expressive experience.

V: The Divide of 1950

Without the immediate aftermath or prelude to a World War to dominate the

intellectual and artistic landscape, the post-1950s musical world strikes me as a
moderated form of the early 20th century. Musical experimentation becomes less about
dissonance and atonality and more about conceptual innovation (take the minimalist work
of Steve Reich, which is intellectual and far out but fundamentally pleasant to listen
to). I am also particularly interested in the new possibilities of electronic music and
recording techniques. For example, the latter half of the 20th century was the first time it
was possible to have audio signals directly affect other channels of sound (for example,
the volume level of one instrument can control some parameter of a separate instrument).
Also, we see the first forays into resampling of recorded material, whereas previously the
only sampling practice that could occur was musical quotation.
I cant say for sure whether post-1950 developments in music have been good
for music as a whole, largely because I dont think theyve had much of an impact either
wayat least not on the music that most people actually listen to. Since recordings make
music so much more accessible for a mass audience, we have seen a clear bifurcation
between popular music and music la Terry Riley and Philip Glass. Sure, some
influences from the academic realm may bleed into the popular, but I believe the most
impactful musical developments of the 20th century are nowhere to be found in a book
focusing on the most esoteric music ever made. Music as it is actually made today (on
computers using ProTools, Logic, and Reason) receives approximately three sentences in
the Norton textbook.