Beethoven Ninth Symphony Programme Notes Choral Works Notes by Ivars Taurins Choosing music to complement Beethoven’s mighty Ninth Symphony is a daunting task. The symphony is of such arching proportions, scope, and scale that most other works dim in its luminosity. My focus, therefore, in choosing the three choral works to precede it was the inspiration of the symphony’s “special” moments: the struggles of the opening Allegro ma non troppo, searching to find its voice and purpose; the hymn-like reverence and lyricism of the slowly unfolding Adagio molto; or the unearthly sense of wonderment Beethoven creates in his musical depiction of the vast, starry heavens in the Finale. Rheinberger’s Abendlied, written when he was only sixteen, expresses the same sense of mystery, awe, and hope as Beethoven creates in his setting of Schiller’s text “Über Sternen muss er wohnen” (Above the stars must he dwell)—Luke’s “lumen ad revelationem” (light of revelation) to unite mankind in peace and harmony. Reflecting on Job’s trials and tribulations, and the universal question of “why?” in his motet Warum ist das Licht gegeben, Brahms utilizes age-old forms of canon*, prosodic counterpoint*, and Lutheran chorale as “confining” forms of composition. The outward simplicity of the results belies the skill and craft with which this motet, dedicated to the great Bach scholar Philipp Spitta, is constructed. The work takes us on a journey from troubled, questioning, intense darkness and doubt to joy, peace, understanding, and light. Notes on Valediction, by the composer, Jeffrey Ryan As a composer who loves writing for voices, I am always on the lookout for words that inspire music in my imagination. When I found Norma West Linder’s Valediction many years ago, it immediately spoke music to me. Linder’s poem opens with its protagonist entering the garden of death, late in life, and uses plant symbolism to tell of past pain and future promise. Tulips, a symbol of courtship in many cultures, are closed; roses, a symbol of romantic love, have vanished. It is the birch tree, the symbol of renewal and rebirth, that reaches out in embrace. Musically, two related gestures—a sad yet comforting rocking, transforming into larger, joyous circular lines—serve as the building blocks of this setting for a cappella* choir.

*see the Glossary below for definitions of the asterisked terms

Notes on Beethoven Symphony no. 9 by Allen Whear The Ninth Symphony was performed for the first time on May 7, 1824 in the Kärtnertor Theatre in Vienna. Contemporary accounts and those recollected later differ in some details, but from their consensus one gets an image of the occasion. The orchestra— massive for the time and place: 46 strings, double woodwinds, four horns, trombones, &c.—along with four soloists and chorus, was headed by the violinist Ignaz Schuppanzigh, and the overall direction came from the choirmaster Michael Umlauf. Beethoven stood by his side with score in hand throughout the performance, giving tempo indications at the beginning of each movement. Now almost completely deaf, his exaggerated motions were out of synch with the music; Umlauf had privately warned the musicians to ignore Beethoven’s direction. There had been only two full rehearsals, in addition to some sectionals. Soloists and choirmaster had pleaded unsuccessfully with Beethoven to alter some of the difficult high notes. The audience in the packed hall broke into applause frequently during the performance (not just between movements, but at key moments such as the timpani entrance in the Scherzo). In his deafness Beethoven could not hear the crowd’s reaction, so the contralto soloist Caroline Unger had to turn him around to see the ovations. Ten years had passed since a new symphony by Beethoven had been heard, and the Ninth was the product of an even longer gestation. In his early twenties Beethoven had expressed an interest in setting the ode “An die Freude” by Friedrich Schiller, originally written in 1785. Its themes of freedom and universal brotherhood appealed to Beethoven not only in his youth, but also throughout his life, despite Schiller’s works being banned in Vienna for many years. After the defeat of Napoleon and the Congress of Vienna in 1815, Europe saw the restoration of many monarchies and a general reactionary repression of Enlightenment principles. These events are thought to have reawakened Beethoven’s desire to make a strong personal and perhaps political statement, to use his art to revive the ideals of revolution and reform, and to apply them in a spiritual context. Beethoven’s sketchbooks reveal various starts at setting Schiller’s ode over a period of several years. In the period following the Seventh and Eighth Symphonies, a number of ideas for a new symphony or two were recorded, such as a symphony in “ancient modes,” a “German Symphony,” or something on a theme of Greek myths. The Choral Fantasy of 1808 anticipates the finale of the Ninth Symphony in its use of soloists and a chorus in variation form in its final sections, an idealistic text, and an overall musical progression from dark and mysterious to triumphant and optimistic. Even the principal melody of that work resembles that of the Ninth’s Finale. A commission from the Royal Philharmonic Society in London in 1822 finally galvanized Beethoven’s speculative ideas, and once the

Missa Solemnis was completed the next year, he fully concentrated on a new symphony in D minor. Thus the longstanding intentions to set Schiller’s ode and to write a new symphony crystallized into a single project, which was completed by February, 1824. The first movement begins nebulously, a nearly blank canvas, with ambiguous tonality because of the open fifths: is it major or minor? As more instruments join in, building momentum, the melodic fragments coalesce and plunge headlong into a powerful, tragically-tinged theme in D minor. Next to his sketch of this theme, Beethoven wrote, “reminds us of our despair.” The movement proceeds in an expanded sonata form, with groups of organically related themes rather than single contrasting ones, but without the traditional exposition repeat. At the recapitulation, the theme is in D major, but with the mode-defining F-sharp in the bass, over a powerful timpani roll, so the moment is robbed of stability and relief. The entire symphony has been described as a symbolic journey, or a struggle, from D minor to D major, finally achieved in the Finale. In the coda, a chromatic, trembling ostinato in the strings underlies a funereal march built from fragments of the principal theme, growing inexorably towards a final unison statement. The Scherzo customarily came third in the symphonic design, but here, as in his “Archduke” Trio, Beethoven reverses the order of the inner movements. Throughout his middle period Beethoven had expanded the scherzo, but this surpasses all previous models in complexity, fusing sonata and scherzo forms. Tovey’s description of this scherzo as “satiric drama” is justified at once by the unusual introduction, where a Dminor triad is outlined, but elliptically, with the timpani supplying the third of the chord. The principal theme is in the form of a fugato, with a driving dotted figure – the “Amsterdam” rhythm, last heard so persistently in the Seventh Symphony – building to full force. A legato second theme breaks through, but the rhythm persists. After this exposition is repeated, a development section features temporal experiments. By now we are accustomed to four-bar phrases, so Beethoven switches to three-bar groups. This sets up Beethoven’s joke: the timpani loudly interrupts the softy prancing orchestra with the motto rhythm. It tries four times, unsuccessfully, to alter the mood, then plays it a fifth time, half-heartedly, seemingly giving up. This entire development is repeated, and then a transition passage speeds up into the Trio. Although the pulse is unchanged, the metre is now duple (only two notes per beat instead of three), the dotted rhythm has disappeared, and the mode is now major, so all feels more relaxed. The smooth, long lines, simple harmonies, and gentle repetitions create a pastoral mood, a respite from the driving force of the Scherzo proper, and perhaps a brief glimpse of the Elysium of the Finale. This trio shares some characteristics with the equivalent part of the Second Symphony, and its contours hint at the “Ode to Joy” theme to come. All of the preceding structure except the Trio is repeated in the da capo, followed by a coda that very briefly revisits the pastoral trio before ending abruptly.

As in the Fifth Symphony, the Adagio has two contrasting themes, the first of which is varied or highly embellished at each recurrence, the second reappearing with only minor alterations. The broad principal theme in B-flat major, initially presented by the violins, proceeds patiently, spun out in regular phrases echoed fragmentally by the woodwinds. Then a more ardent, sweeping theme in D major (Andante moderato) takes flight from the second violins and violas. As in the Scherzo, this might be interpreted as a yearning for the world of the Finale to come. The final variation of the first theme builds twice to a climax crowned by fanfares, the second time plunging briefly into the mysterious colour of D-flat major. Finally, a sense of serenity is restored as the movement ends quietly. The contemplative mood of the Adagio is shattered by the cacophonous start to the Finale, which Wagner dubbed the “terror fanfare.” The orchestral basses respond with a wordless recitative. One by one, the first three movements are briefly revisited and rejected by the basses. After the Adagio is quoted, the basses wander harmonically, trying to steer in another direction. Encouraged by fragments of a D-major theme in the woodwinds, they gain confidence, and the now iconic “Ode to Joy” theme is at last quietly and plainly stated in its entirety. A series of variations ensue, beginning in the strings embellished by bassoons, building to a triumphant statement by the full orchestra. Again, the terror fanfare interrupts. Now the bass soloist enters with a true recitative, singing Beethoven’s own words: “O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!” (O Friends, not these sounds!). Finally theme and text are joined, “Freude, schöner Gotterfunken …” (Joy, beautiful spark of divinity …), with the chorus responding “Deine zauber…” (Your magic …) initiating another series of variations. The most controversial variation is in the style of a military march, for tenor solo and male chorus with wind band and percussion in the “Turkish” style. The music matches the heroic flavour of the text “Laufet, Brüder, eure Bahn, / Freudig, wie ein Held zum Siegen” (Run, brothers, run your course, / joyful as a hero going to conquest). This develops into a fugue, culminating in a majestic tutti restatement of the “Ode to Joy” chorus, underscored with intricate counterpoint. Beethoven had selected three verses and three choruses from Schiller’s 1803 revision of the ode, altering their order to create what Maynard Solomon terms “a line of development from terrestrial to divine.” The verses quoted to this point deal primarily with mankind and brotherhood, or the earthly. “Seid umschlungen, Millionen!” (Be embraced, ye millions!) looks heavenward, and Beethoven introduces new music to highlight the difference. An archaic, sacred-music sound is created by male voices and trombones, followed by an episode recalling Palestrina’s style for “Ihr stürtz nieder, Millionen?” (Do you fall before him, millions? /World, do you sense the Creator?). Then instruments and voices alike in their highest ranges create an atmosphere of mystical wonder, whispering “über Sternen muss er wohnen” (above the stars he surely dwells). Next a brilliant double fugue, with variants of the “Ode to Joy” and “Seid umschlugen”

themes worked out simultaneously, makes a symbolic reconciliation of the earthly and heavenly. Then soloists and chorus begin what will be the final statement of the opening text, “Freude schöner Gotterfunken.” But at the arrival of “Alle Menschen” Beethoven halts the momentum for an ecstatic episode by the vocal quartet in the distant and ethereal key of B major, savouring the words: “All men become brothers.” With an accelerating series of the notes B-A, the orchestra returns for the final time to the longsought home key of D major, and the remaining phrases are nothing less than a triumphant celebration. The influence of the Ninth Symphony on the future of music cannot be overstated. There were some dissenting voices at the time. Louis Spohr, for example—a distinguished violinist and composer well acquainted with Beethoven—found the work monstrous and tasteless, and not just upon first hearing it. But no symphonic work of the next several generations—from Schumann and Mendelssohn, to Brahms, Bruckner, Mahler, Shostakovich and beyond – was not in some way influenced by this work, not to mention its impact on the Romantic movement and the operas and tone poems of Berlioz, Liszt, and Wagner. Try to put yourself in the world of Biedermeier Vienna and listen with ears more comfortable with the symphonies of Mozart and early Beethoven and the operas of Salieri and Rossini. If possible, forget for the moment the now ubiquitous “Ode to Joy” theme – endlessly exploited for symbolic and commercial use—as the symphony begins its long quest towards that ideal plane. Then consider how this “brand new” work of unprecedented length, formal complexity, technical difficulty, and massive orchestration was intended not merely to entertain but to make a sublime statement. ©Allen Whear 2011 / Not to be reproduced or printed without permision of the author.

GLOSSARY Audience members often ask about the meaning of musical terms included in our programme notes, or in the concert listings. We offer a new feature: a glossary of terms. If there are particular terms that puzzle you, let us know and we will try to include them in a future issue (send to [email protected]). We begin with a few terms included in the notes for the Beethoven programme. Canon It is important to note the spelling — the “two-n cannon” is rarely heard in music, except for its famous inclusion in Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture! The “one-n canon” refers to a compositional technique in which two or more people sing or play the same music but

start at different times. In extreme examples, the canon lasts for the entire piece. A famous example is Pachelbel’s Canon, in which three violinists play exactly the same music from beginning to end, but with a staggered start. If they all began together, you’d have a single melody played by all three in unison. In works that are not strict canons from beginning to end (such as the Brahms motet), composers use the same technique for certain passages, to create a dialogue between two or more vocal or instrumental parts. Prosodic counterpoint Classical music written in several parts has two fundamental aspects: harmony and counterpoint. They can be conceived as vertical (harmony) and horizontal (counterpoint). Harmony offers the basic pillars of sound: chords, for example, with several notes played simultaneously. Counterpoint involves two or more independent musical lines: they interact with each other, even creating harmony, but their real purpose is to maintain individual melodic lines. Sometimes the counterpoint is imitative, as in the canon or fugue. Sometimes it’s quite free. The composer’s challenge is to write counterpoint in which the separate voices maintain their individuality, but work well together. The listener’s challenge is to try to hear the independent parts while still hearing the whole piece — akin to appreciating both the trees and the forest. Bach was a master of counterpoint, and Brahms considered Bach his teacher. Now add “prosodic” to the mix. “Prosody” is a term used in linguistics meaning patterns of stress and intonation in speech. In poetry it is used to consider the musical aspects of metre and rhythm in verse. In music it is conversely used to consider the influence of stress and intonation in song texts on the shaping of the melody. Prosodic counterpoint, then, is counterpoint in which the shape of the individual lines is determined by the natural intonation of the text — and in Brahms’ hands, makes for choral music that is both complex and expressive. a cappella The Italian phrase a cappella means “for or of the chapel.” When used in the baroque period it referred to music written “in church style,” usually quite serious and contrapuntal. By the end of the eighteenth century it came to denote music for voices without instrumental accompaniment, whether sacred or secular, and the term is still used in this way today in both classical and popular music.