7
April 19, 1923
MUSICAL COURIER
PRACTICAL INSTRUMENTATION
For School, Popular and Symphony Orchestras
By FRANK PATTERSON
Author of The Perfect Modernist
[Sixteenth Installment]
(This series of articles was begun in the issue of Januai'y 4)
Copyrighted, 1923, by The Musical Courier Company.
All of which is said, not in criticism of the conductors, for that is not (at present) the business of the writer, but to impress upon the mind of the student the great necessity of marking the parts of his score in such a way that the attention of the conductor will be brought upon their most prominent features. Such passages as this trombone counterpoint should be marked “outstanding.” They are sometimes marked “marcato” or “sentito,” but “outstanding” is better for American writers and players, because our conductors and orchestra players in America are all familiar with English, but not all familiar with Italian.
Having this symphony in hand, it may be well to consider a few more passages from it as illustrative of the problems that will confront the student in the making of almost every score. First of these is the joining of parts where a passage reaches the outer limit of one instrument and must be taken up by another. There is such a passage in the introduction of the first movement of this symphony. (See Ex. 40.)
Ex. 40
The passage begins with horns and bassoons in octaves, but in the second bar the bassoon cannot easily reach the top C and is dropped an octave the horns might, indeed, go down into the lower octave, but the tone is not good and soon loses its force, so first the third horn is raised an octave, then the fourth horn, and the trombones enter, and finally the tuba, to carry out the effect as nearly as possible. A perfectly smooth effect it is not, and never can be. It is only in very rare cases that a joint of instruments can be made without being noticeable. At the same time the composer should never sacrifice his idea to his orchestral limitations, which must be made the best of.
Tschaikowsky did some things that are puzzling to the student, and particularly puzzling to such ardent admirers of his music as is the writer. Such a thing is found on page 246 of this score (4th symphony), where sweeping runs lead into a return of the principal motive. (See Ex. 41.)
This is one of the commonest of devices for introducing a fortissimo, and has generally been found effective. But the antiphonal flashes of wood and strings as here used so weaken the whole thing that the effect is lost. This method seems greatly to have appealed to Tschaikowsky, but nothing can be said in support of it. It is childish, and what would be a fine swift flight of brilliant fancy becomes the foolish trick of a boy. Instead of sweeping up to a magnificent climax it is halting, lame and ineffective.
Sweeping runs and tremolo passages have always been the essential basis of “agitato” dramatic music. A mere allegro, no matter how fast or agitated it may be, need not necessarily have the same effect. Wagner used the sweep in the storm music at the beginning of the Die Walkure, and Schubert has a similar passage in his Erl King (in fact, the two passages are almost exactly alike). But it was used long before that by Bach in his Passion, and has become by this time common property, a part of the standard vocabulary of musical expression. The Bach passage accompanies the words, “And then, behold! the veil of the temple was rent.” (Ex. 42.)
(To be continued next week)
Joints and Antiphons.
With all the complexity of other scores, no writer gets inore exactly what he wants (or what we want) than Tschaikowsky, and there is no doubt that when the present mad rage for the incomprehensible wears out, a good many writers will “discover” Tschaikowsky, and his work will probably have a great deal more influence in the future than it has just now. This much we can all learn from him, that it is a good thing not to say more than one has to say, that, with just so much melody, just so much counterpoint, just so much harmony, the score is complete, and overloading can only have the effect of weakening one or the other of these essential features.
The climax of this movement we have been examining (page 77 of the score), consists of nothing whatever but the melody and the harmony and a sort of obligato on the trombones. (Ex. 39.)
Ex. 39
Tschaikowsky is not nearly as popular in Europe as he is in America. In America he is the most popular of all symphony composers, the reason for which may well be that our American natures are little given to intrigue and have little love for complexities. If anything appeals to us as a race it is plain dealing and vigor.
The writer would not care to take it upon himself to suggest how composers should compose, but might go so far as to urge upon his readers a careful consideration of the significance of Tschaikowsky. In view of the evident delight Americans take in the simplicity and directness of Tschaikow-sky’s musical speech, is it not passing strange to find American composers (writing, presumably, for Americans—for who else?) adopting the style of a whole group of moderns whose wrinkled and wizened indigence clothes itself in the paltry rags of contrapuntal buffoonery and harmonic monstrosity?
Tschaikowsky, who has, absurdly enough, been called pathological, was supremely healthy. He has something to say, and he says it in plain, simple language, like Wagner, like Beethoven, like any of the really great. He is not “afraid” (as many a composer appears to be, as many a student certainly is) to accompany a plain melody with plain harmony. And that, if there ever comes to be an Amernicanism built up upon old American ideals, is what American music will be like. Not idiomatically or rhythmically like Tschaikowsky. No. But as direct, straight-forward, honest and unashamed.
There is no better example of Tschaikowsky’s directness than in the passage above given, this great climax. In it there are two parts, solidly, but not excessively, harmonized. The melody is given to first and second violins, two flutes and two clarinets—the counterpoint is played by three trombones which rise, in the fourth bar, to a descending chromatic passage similar, but in slower tempo, to the chromatics in Exs. 35 and 34. And, it may be added, as the horn passage in Ex. 35 is rarely sufficiently brought out by conductors, so this trombone passage is similarly neglected. It is not at all improbable that Tschaikowsky calculated his balance for the smaller body of strings customary in Russian orchestras forty years ago. It is, at all events, quite certain that he expected conductors to take the trouble to carry out his intentions. The listener ought not to be required to strain his ears to get the inner parts, or to study scores or text books to know where to look for them. In passages like this the melody will take care of itself; it is above all and over all, and it is of such a vigorous melodic nature, such a good tune, that it would force itself upon the consciousness were it half as strongly orchestrated. In fact, it is really this that covers up the inner part, really this fact of the attention being so powerfully drawn to the progress and intense appeal of the development of this melody.