7
MUSICAL COURIER
January 26, 1922
A Little Primer of Basic Principles by
FRANK PATTERSON
(Copyright, 1922, by The Musical Courier Co.)
MODERNIST
NINTH INSTALLMENT
THE PERFECT
But remark that the second of these sevenths might be omitted. We would then have a flat sixth passing to the tonic, a very common progression. (Example 93.)
This whole passage, indeed the entire song, is worthy of carefui examination. It offers some interesting data on sequences, phrasing, and the proper rhythm leading to a new key or phrase. It is also a sane example of the beginning of modernism. The opening phrase is sixteen bars long, with no modulation except at the close.
Compare, too, the harmony of Richard Strauss’ “Aufforderung,” a song well worth studying because of the extreme beauty and originality of the melodic line, as it progresses upon simple harmonies!
Examine in this connection “Er ist’s,” by Wolf, and note how he uses a rest-point in the new key after each modulation, and compare this with Beethoven’s piano concerto No. 4, op. 58, last movement!
The student should now begin to write melodies, not as compositions to be performed or published, but as exercises pure and simple. Write them in clean cut sections of two, four, eight, sixteen or thirty-two bars. Experiment with the melodic line on simple chords sustained over several bars; experiment with modulation, sequence and rhythmic cadences; experiment with harmonic melodies, chromatic melodies and melodies in the whole tone scale! Learn to sketch without the piano, learn to arrange with or without the piano! Thus, and only thus, can you hope to be prepared for any emergency when inspiration comes.
Sketching and Arrangement
Sketching consists of setting down an outline of the work preparatory to ultimate arrangement in its complete form. It also consists of setting down for subsequent development all sorts of stray ideas which may prove useful at some future time. Sometimes it serves as an exercise in improvisation—on paper—which is quite a different thing from improvisation at the piano. Improvisation on paper is highly useful—one of the most valuable means of study. Improvisation at the piano is harmful unless used moderately and with great caution. Excessive sketching, unless every sketch is arranged and completed, may also become harmful for the reason that it is dangerous to get into the habit of rejecting every idea as unworthy of use.
For the student the principal objects of sketching are, first of all, development of perfect relative pitch—the ability to hear and recognize chords and melodies with the mental ear—and, secondly, a sort of visual evidence of the dual nature of all music: idea and arrangement. It is amazing how often students fail to recognize the most simple harmonies when they are arranged in various forms of arpeggio or repeated chords with passing notes in between; amazing, too, to what an appalling extent students wish to turn out their compositions cut and dried—melody, harmony and arrangement all complete. It is true that some things are conceived in this way, and it is possible, perhaps, for an experienced composer to write down a composition in its complete form without sketches. But for the student this can be nothing but cramping and dwarfing, limiting and narrowing his grasp of ultimate possibilities and finally placing him in a class far below what he might aspire to. This cannot be too strongly emphasized. The student must be determined to get every last ounce out of his every idea by presenting it in the most beautiful dress that he can devise for it.
The variation form, so popular with the classic writers, was no doubt the outcome of a desire to present an idea in various dresses—and the development section of sonata or symphony doubtless had a similar origin.
Modern and ultra-modern music, with its complex harmonic structure, must, of necessity, depend more and more upon some system of variation and development of a very restricted number of themes if it is to be followed and enjoyed by the average listener.
Now, sketching, and musical thought, or invention, or inspiration, is of two clearly distinct kinds: that which comes to the composer practically complete in all its essential details, and that which is only an outline of melody, and perhaps of basic harmony, but with no suggestion of the arrangement or accompaniment.
The “Tristan” prelude must largely have been conceived just as it stands, while the “Entrance of the Gods into Walhalla” (Rheingold) and the “Song of the Forge” (Siegfried) were undoubtedly built up and developed from a mere melodic idea.
The writer does not presume to tell composers how they should work or how the best results may be obtained. He is cautious, too, in pointing out that Haydn, or Beethoven, or Wagner did thus and so—for such suggestions may, and often do, exert an evil and deterring influence upon the sensitive, growing mind. But he must insist that the student, as long as he is a student (and Beethoven remained a student to the day of his death) should pursue certain courses in order to attain perfection. And one of the essentials (in music as in painting) is sketching and more sketching, arranging and rearranging, experimenting, improvising on paper.
All of which must be done with great care, greater care than would be necessary in actual composition—for in composition one is borne along on a flood of emotion, while sketching must be done with cool deliberation and self-examination, and consciousness of the basic harmonic structure.
The sort of thing that may be done is shown by the following variations on a single phrase, with a single basic harmony:	(Example 94.)
Ex. 94
J			J J		5־^ ^־r	rr
[*&====			J J . —©—J			
Tonic.
[Owing to limited space, the completion of this example has had to be left to the next installment. This will complete the outlines of composition as known to the ancients. What the moderns permit themselves will be outlined and commented upon in the installments to follow.—The Editor.]
[“The Perfect Modernist” succeeds in making musical composition appear very simple, robbing it of its mysteries. As the reading progresses it appears more and more that accomplishment results rather from practice than from understanding. One may know how to do it and yet be unable to do it for want of technical facility. All that the teacher can do is to reduce the science to its lowest common factor and leave the rest to practice and patience.—The Editor.]
In the matter of sequence it appears that only a certain number of repetitions of the same phrase in different keys may be used effectively. The following example will serve to illustrate this (Example 90) :
Ex. 90
I § » < T^r	¥Jv J	^ Jv *״-!
>):* AT3 r.		ÜJ&:
	—tl i	V**-
1־	1־-]■^ l\	f	־1	
$ r	1-7 9 17 MTm g =5j =a ־«—	-Wf-׳—:		
	y b J’l «Q	fili. J,	
				
If this sequence is continued one more bar (beyond A) the effect is not good, for the reason, perhaps, that it is too much of a strain on the imagination to accept any more alterations. So far, the key is indefinite, and I really believe that the explanation of such a passage is that the listener keeps an open mind and waits unconsciously for a cadence, a resolution, a point of rest, a phrase ending, where the key will be at least partially determined. The continuation might be as shown above (A).
It does not seem to matter whether the resolution in such passages is in the principal key of the piece or not. If a phrase ending is properly brought about, the mind would seem to accept it as being in the proper key. (This ending is on the dominant of F minor.)
All melody is a matter of memory. A more or less distinct impression is retained of the opening phrase, key, rhythm, etc. In popular music the tune never gets far away either from the opening phrase or from the key. If other keys are introduced they are always nearly related keys or keys which are obviously alterations of chords in the principal key. The effect is of a long suspension which one expects to resolve back into the original key, which it always does.
In the early days of canon this problem of memory was solved by the extreme simplicity of both melody and harmony. As Ziehm has pointed out, a whole round or^ canon often consisted of but one bar of music. Here, for instance, is “Three Blind Mice,” with the parts al! set together (Example 91) :
This is actually the way the thing sounded after all the voices had entered, and it went on and on, over and over, without the least variety, until the singers were tired.
People like familiar things best. Musicians maybe bored by a Chopin recital or a performance of “Lucia” or “Trovatore,” but the untrained music lover who makes audiences (and will make your audience if you ever have one) is not. He likes it because it is easy to follow.
Wagner understood this when he invented his system of motives. While repudiating form in the old sense, he had an instinctive understanding of the essential features of form and the sole object of form, which is to aid the memory.
It is, therefore, evident that that unity which can alone aid the memory is a basic integral attribute of all music. This point, applied to the problem of the above sequence and like passages, offers a possible explanation of the fact that after three or four progressions they must come to a point of rest or cadence. In such a cadence it must be evident to every listener that the music is moving straight away from the key. Each progressive sequence brings it further away. The mind demands that it should come to a pause. It is not so much that it must reach the key of the start, or some key related to the key of the start, as that it should come to rest. The mind is easily deceived and assumes, if the rhythm of the cadence is properly worked out, that the original or a nearly related key has been reached. It might be called a deceptive cadence (if that term had not been otherwise used), and I do not actually believe that tonality has anything to do with it, for I am unable to believe that even the musical listener, except in the rare case of absolute pitch, can remember the original key.
This does not apply to the recapitulation—the repetition of the first part to close— for such a repetition in a different key will present a different color and will not be satisfying.
The bridge passage returning to the original key can be made very attractive— and in Dvorak’s “Humoresque” he uses such a passage to give the impression of a modulation where there is none.
In Wolf’s “Erstes Liebeslied Eines Madchen” there is a parallel passage of two dominant seventh chords. (Example 92.)
* *
Ex. 91
Three blind mice