April 26, 1922	MUSICAL COURIER	7
PRACTICAL INSTRUMENTATION
For School, Popular and Symphony Orchestras
By FRANK PATTERSON Author of The Perfect Modernist
[Seventeenth Installment]
{This series of articles was begun in the issue of January 4)
Copyrighted, 1923, by The Musical Courier Company.
writing in the strings, either because the bass is too low (or too loud) or that the tenor is too high. The following example will better illustrate the defect. (See Ex. 44.)
Ex. 44
On the last beat in the first bar there is an octave in the bass, and another octave above that to the lowest note of the chord, and this open space from F to F is just at that part of the scale that is most necessary to sonority. On the first beat of the next bar there is an octave in the bass, then a fifth, then another octave—and this octave in the next beat becomes a ninth, and in the next beat a tenth.
This method of part writing has been abandoned by common consent and it is well to avoid it. Raff, on the other hand, went to the other extreme (see his Lenore symphony), giving motion to the basses far down in the scale and producing a sonority that soon becomes tiresome and makes his work too heavy, too sweet. On the other hand, thirds at the lower end of the scale, which sound disagreeably thick on the piano, may be written for horns and bassoons with excellent effect, just as they can in a chorus of male voices, because these notes have upper overtones that give an impression almost as if they were written an octave higher. This is the case with any solo male voice, which may be written below the accompaniment. And there is a passage in Parsifal where the soprano and tenor move in consecutive parallel fourths which sound like consecutive parallel fifths (in most cases) because of the powerful overtones of the tenor voice. It is safe to say that the harmony should begin at least as low down as F, the fourth line of the bass clef, except, of course, where a special effect is intended.
Returning again to Bach, we find an impressive string effect at No. 60 (of the Passion), and wonder, at the same time, why the composer did not set the parts lower, or perhaps transpose the alto and the tenor. (See Ex. 45.)
Ex. 45
A modern writer might even set the whole passage down an octave, and in that form, or something like it, we recognize a common piano accompaniment. If the student will give himself the trouble to try these chords on the piano he will see how they might be filled in, yet it would be a mistake to suppose that, in the orchestra, the upper voice would be better lowered. It would not. And this is one of the points wherein the orchestra differs so materially from the piano that the piano is not a good guide. The violins on those upper notes are strong, bright and sonorous. The violin is at its best just where the piano, as an accompanying instrument, begins to be thin. And this motion, which, on the piano, sounds jerky—one wants to play it in notes of equal length, or triplets, sustained with the pedal—is highly effective on the orchestra. At the same time it must not be supposed that the writer is proposing to make a rule. There are no rules in art, and the talented composer will do all sorts of things that are not commonplace with splendid effect.
{To be continued next week.)
Bach’s Passion Music
Ex. 42
Here the chords are played by clarinets and bassoons, so that it is evident the impression is not gained by power of tone. It is true that the organ is also called for. But the organ never adds force to an orchestra. It would be more likely to diminish an agitato effect than to increase it.
The runs or sweeps are played by the cellos and basses in octaves. Not that the basses can play these rapid passages with any clarity, but, as Wagner said when Wilhelmj complained that a passage was impossible: the effect intended was that of a good player trying to play it. But Wagner himself disposed of the matter more effectively in The Mastersingers by giving the basses the notes of the open chord instead of the run, i. e., the first, third, fifth and last notes, or the first, fourth, sixth and last, or some other simple combination depending upon harmony, rhythm and speed. The actual notes are not heard, and the listener will never know that all of the instruments are not playing the sweep in unison.
This procedure was already suggested by Bach in another passage in the Passion, though how much of the orchestration is pure Bach and how much the work of his various editors it is׳ hard to tell. At all events, here is the passage. (Ex. 43.)
Where the bass reaches its lowest open string it turns back, taking, instead of E, D, C of the descending scale with the cello, E, G, C of the chord. The irregularity is not heard, and the impression is that of an unbroken scale.
This entire passage is worthy of careful study: the staccato notes on the wood, the sustained pianissimo trombones, the tremolo strings—it is almost modern (only the modern would have a seething inner counterpoint in the strings, the brass muted, English horn, double bassoon and bass clarinet to make it more reedy, and a harp and celesta stuck in somewhere about, with perhaps a glissando on the piano and a wheezing tremolo on the suspended cymbal).
One feature of the orchestra music of early classic composers which has entirely disappeared is the open or high writing of the upper voices, and the space between the harmony and the bass. This has already been mentioned with regard to the Schubert quintet (Ex. 27) but in many cases it is more apparent than real and, judging by the sound, very deceptive. The chords, for instance, in this example (Ex. 43) seem to be complete, the octave of the bass being played by the trombone, but the effect is not as full as one would expect to find it in a more modem score. Perhaps this results from the manner of