THE LAND OF UNLIKENESS » Music

Igor Stravinsky and sacred/secular music

Shannon Berry — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 17:37:56 +0000

The following is a paper that is in progress. Any comments or criticisms are welcomed. Igor Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms, composed in 1930 for the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s 50^th anniversary, is in the vein of some of his earlier works, such as his groundbreaking and controversial The Rite of Spring. But Stravinsky’s symphony is doing more than reminding the listener of his earlier work. Rather it plays against and challenges rigid distinctions between sacred and secular music and gives insight into not only his approach to this dichotomy as a composer but may also reveal hints of his own spiritual complexity and ambiguity. However, before such a discussion can proceed, it should be acknowledged that the distinction between “sacred” and “secular” music is a complicated one, especially when one is dealing with a piece like the Symphony of Psalms, which would have had no liturgical function. However, the text is clearly derived from the Bible[1] and the tradition of the singing of psalms in Christian liturgical practice. The setting of the psalms in Latin, rather than in a vernacular language or in the Church Slavonic of Stravinsky’s own Russian Orthodox Church, also gives this piece of music an affinity to the larger tradition of Western Christian liturgical music, the majority of which has been traditionally set in Latin (though the use of the vernacular had grown with the rise of the Protestant Reformation).[2] Finally, Stravinsky’s own dedication of the symphony: “Cette symphonie composée à le glorie de DIEU…” (This symphony is composed to the glory of God…) further pushes this piece to the edge of that fine line that sometimes exists between sacred and secular music. Stravinsky’s own thoughts on the matter might shed a bit of light onto which side of that line this piece falls to…or perhaps they may make the waters at this border muddier. In pointing specifically to the psalms, of special interest in light of this discussion, he explains:The Church knew what the Psalmist knew: music praises God. Music is as well or better able to praise Him than the building of the church and all its decoration; it is the Church’s greatest ornament. Glory, glory, glory; the music of Orlando Lassus’ motet praises God, and this particular ‘glory’ does not exist in secular music. And not only the glory…but prayer and penitence and many other [actions] cannot be secularized. The spirit disappears with the form.”[3] Such a final assertion on his part, seems to indicate that with a breaking with the traditional “sacred” forms of the past such as “Masses, motets, passions, [and] cantatas”[4] he saw his Symphony of Psalms as outside of the realm of sacred music. And yet his dedication, “to the glory of God,” indicates that it is written in praise of God as well as for the Boston Symphony. Perhaps he thought, or even some hope, that some hint of “this particular ‘glory,’” that he rejects as possible in secular music, was emerging in his own symphony. And the listener can indeed hear him harkening back to the more liturgical forms mentioned above, and past them to the even earlier practice of Western plainchant, as at the beginning of both the first and second movements, one can almost hear the beginning of the psalm intoned. However, he also incorporates elements of his “exotic Russian music” first seen in his compositions for The Ballet Russes. Such a combination leaves the piece ambiguous as to its sacred or secular character, but Stravinsky may unintentionally and unconsciously be pushing this distinction to its breaking point if not making it almost impossible to make. The symphony is set in three movements, each connected to the three psalms used for the text: Psalm 38, verses 13 and 14; Psalm 39, verses 2,3, and 4; and the complete text of psalm 150, respectively. The first movement begins with the oboe and bassoon in a solo melody reminiscent of the opening of The Rite of Spring’s bassoon solo, which is a rearrangement of a Lithuanian folk tune. The Oboe solo at the beginning of the second movement is similar. But this only adds to the complexity of this piece. Stravinsky’s attempt to situate these movements in the “Russian folk tradition[5]” that he in many ways seems to have established in his work with The Ballet Russes, provides a sharp contrast to the text of the psalms for all three movements, which are in Latin. As he did with The Ballet Russes this may be an attempt to bring the “exoticism” of the Russian sounds to the West, whose sacred music was traditionally in Latin. It may also be another stab at blurring a borderline, in this case between East and West. The first two movements do indeed feel as if they are connected and tend to mimic one another. Both begin with two wind instrument solos (oboe and bassoon, oboe and flute, respectively) creating a folk-like melody as discussed above, followed by the entrance of the other instruments, and then a single vocal part (alto in the first movement and soprano in the second), seeming to intone the beginning of the psalm, in much the same way that a psalm chant would have traditionally been intoned in Western sacred music.[6] However, the second movement is not simply a parody of the first in regard to the arrangement of the voices. While in the first movement, the full choir joins the alto voice after the intonation in forte and with the same text, the second movement builds more gradually, adding only the alto to the soprano after four measures and giving the text an imitative quality. The tenor then enters, after six measures, with the same imitative text and the exact same notation as the soprano. Then again, mimicking the alto voice, the bass enters after four measures and with the same notation, creating a fugal structure that after dropping down to only the two lower voices and building up again through the same type of imitation, emerges with all voices singing the same text in fortissimo as the instruments also emerge strongly from what had been solos in piano.[7] By contrast the third movement, has a very different structure. Rather than beginning with only wind instruments in a folk-like melody, the third movement begins with the instruments leading into the full choir which comes in in piano at the second measure, intoning the word “Alleluia.” This movement also, unlike the other two, contains the full text of psalm 150, which is described in the Liber Usualis as “A Solemn Chorus in Praise of God” and was traditionally placed at Lauds (Morning Prayer) of the Liturgy of the Hours for Easter Sunday, beginning with the antiphon, “Alleluia.” Again this is where Stravinsky seems to break with the psalm text of the other two movements, which do not begin with an antiphon. However, here, in the second measure of the third movement, the full choir enters singing the word, “Alleluia” almost as if he were having the full choir “intone” the antiphon before having them separate, as in the fourth measure the higher voices drop out, leaving only the lower two voices until the sixth measure, where once again the full choir is singing. Early in this movement Stravinsky plays with this two-voice structure, sometimes dropping to only the two lower voices (measures 4-6, 12-13, 20), the two higher voices (measures 52-62), and the two middle voices (measures 63-69). But what may be one of the most striking elements of this third movement, especially since it contains the full text of Psalm 150, is the breaking of the vocal line for an extended period of time. The voices drop out in the last measure of page 29 after having been singing in piano and do not pick up again until the entrance of the soprano in forte in the fourth measure of page 35. The effect is striking as the interim instrumental section builds to a swirling, rather chaotic tempest-like sound (again reminiscent of The Rite of Spring) after the calm of the piano voices. But into this swirling, the voices, break in in forte, slowly building and swirling themselves in dissonant harmonies and moving between piano and forte as the alto and then the tenor is added to the soprano just before the highest voice drops out in the fifth measure of page 37, leaving only the two middle voices almost chanting the words “Laudate Dominum in virtutibus Ejus, laudate in sanctis Ejus” in a series of eighth notes all on E. The speed of the voices here and textual richness of the orchestra give the piece a sense of urgency and desperation, which will dissipate into a calm and then build again after the repetition of “Alleluia” in the fourth measure of page 44. The effect of this swirling motion and chaotic, even threatening, quality juxtaposed against the words of the psalm, especially the repetition of the word “laudate” (praise), and lightened by more gentle moments cannot go unnoticed. Stravinsky seems unwilling to present simply “a solemn chorus in praise of God,” and instead seems to seek to show the tension and difficulty of such praise in the confusion grappling with life and its problems.[8] Indeed one struggles to think of such music in a liturgical setting, as it seems to wrestle with the very nature of what it means to pray. But that struggle may be the very thing that makes it “sacred.” However, in making such an analysis, one must remember Stravinsky’s statements about Latin and its phonetic quality dominating over and against its meaning. Yet, one cannot help but read meaning here, when the repeated word is “laudate” and the symphony itself is dedicated “to the glory of God.” Stravinsky’s weaving of all of these elements: his use of Latin, his reworking of folk tunes, his use of intonation for the first words of the psalms, his incorporation of the antiphon “Alleluia” in the third movement, and his use of the swirling, dissonance that characterizes much of his early work, may all be part of his unconscious attempt to bridge the gap between sacred and secular music, even though we have seen that he maintains the existence of that gap. The implements for building such a bridge may be contained in the idea of theosis, which is much more dominant in Eastern Christianity than in the West, which tends to make sharper divisions between what is “sacred” and what is “secular.” Theosis, which can be translated as “deification,” can also be thought of in the Western term “redemption” both being connected to the idea of becoming united with God. However, the Eastern Churches, including Stravinsky’s own Russian Orthodox Church, tend to have a much more holistic approach to this process, emphasizing the connection between body and soul as well as the redemption of the material world as well as the human body. Theosis, in short, affects all of life and is a “social as well as a personal force.”[9] Stravinsky seems to have seen music in this light after more deeply immersing himself in Russian Orthodoxy in the early 1920s.[10] According to Robert Copeland, Stravinsky seems to have suggested that music has a role in theosis when he said that its“essential aim…it to promote a…union of man with…the Supreme Being”….he exhibited a concern for music as an expression of the ultimate nature of being. He confirmed his continuing belief in the ultimate significance of music when he commented,…music is able to represent Paradise and become the ‘bride of the cosmos.’ Such an integrated and holistic understanding of the role of music not only in the Christian life, but in the cosmos as a whole, may undermine Stravinsky’s own sharp distinction between “sacred” and “secular” music as does his own composition of the Symphony of Psalms, which clearly merges secular forms (such as the symphony) and modified folk tunes with more traditional liturgical, and so “sacred” elements such as the Latin text and the intoning of the beginning of psalm verses. These alongside the swirling, chaotic and dissonant nature of the third movement and the praise of God in the midst of it, that is in the midst of life as it comes to us, suggest that Stravinsky sees traditionally secular music as somehow participating in the process of theosis and so in the process of redemption, not just of the human soul, but of all the material world, even if he will still maintain a rigid distinction between the two. And so by bridging this gap between the “sacred” and the “secular” he somehow brings the praise of God to the secular world. And so can truly dedicate his work “to the glory of God” reminding us with St. Ireneaus that “the glory of God is man fully alive” even perhaps alive as he writes or sings or plays a symphony.

Bibliography

Copeland, Robert M. “The Christian Message of Igor Stravinsky” The Musical Quarterly. 68.4 (October 1982), 563-579.Stravinsky, Igor. Symphony of Psalms for Chorus and Orchestra. London: Boosey and Hawkes Inc.,1948.Taruskin, Richard. “Russian Folk Melodies in ‘The Rite of Spring.’ Journal of the American Musicological Society. 33.3 (Autumn, 1980), 501-543.Walsh, Stephen. “Stravinsky’s Choral Music” Tempo, New Series. No. 81 Stravinsky’s 85^th Birthday (Summer, 1967), 41-51.

[1] The introductory notes for the score explain: “The words of the Psalms are those of the Vulgate and should be sung in Latin.” [2] It should also be noted, however, that though Stravinsky thought of Latin as a “sacred” language (according to Robert Copeland), he also composed in the language for reasons beyond religious devotion: “What a joy it is to compose music to a language of convention, almost of ritual, the very nature of which imposes a lofty dignity! One no longer feels dominated by the phrase, the literal meaning of the words. Cast in an immutable mold which adequately expresses their value, they do not require any further commentary. The text becomes purely phonetic material for the composer. He can dissect it at will and concentrate all his attention to its primary constituent element—that is to say, on the syllable. (qtd. in Robert M. Copeland “The Christian Message of Igor Stravinsky.” The Musical Quarterly 68.4 (October 1982) 572). [3] Copland, “The Christian Message,” 568. [4] ibid. It should also be noted that at different points in history each of these formats was considered a break with an earlier liturgical tradition. Motets freely interpreted the traditional, modal plainchant of the psalms; the Baroque masses, though set to traditional text became so unwieldy as to be much more performance pieces than practical music for liturgical worship, etc. [5] It should be noted that the folk tune that Stravinsky modified for the opening of The Rite of Spring has been connected to a Lithuanian folk melody rather than a strictly Russian one. Bela Bartok also explained when commenting on Stravinsky’s work: “It is also notable that during his “Russian” period, from Le Sacre duPrintemps onward, he seldom uses melodies of a closed form consisting of three or four lines, but short motives of two or three measures, and repeats them “a la ostinato.” These short recurring primitive motives arevery characteristic of Russian music of a certain category” (qtd. in Richard Taruskin. “Russian Melodies in ‘The Rite of Spring.’” Journal of the American Musicological Society, 33.3 (Autumn, 1980), 501. [6] In the traditional singing of the Psalms, which would have occurred predominately in the Liturgy of the Hours (though also in the Gradual/Responsorial Psalm of the Mass). The psalm would have been accompanied by an antiphon assigned to the particular day or liturgy. This antiphon (not part of the psalm itself) would have been intoned by a cantor. Then the first half of the first verse of the psalm would also have been intoned by the cantor before he or she was joined by the rest of the choir. Here there is no antiphon, but Stravinsky may be drawing upon the tradition of intoning the first part of the first verse of the psalm by keeping it in a single vocal part. [7] As Stephen Walsh explains: “In the Symphony of Psalms Stravinsky makes great concessions to the religious character of his texts, even to the extend of writing substantial passage in fugal counterpoint.” (“Stravinsky’s Choral Works,” 44). [8] It is of this section that Walsh seems to be writing when he explains: “The magnificent orchestral writing, texturally some of the richest to be found in Stravinsky…is a vital and independent framework for the psalm-settings, while the setting themselves have a harmonic depth that recalls Zvezdoliki, but is cleaner, bolder, and altogether more decisive.” (“Stravinsky’s Choral Works,” 44). [9] The Christian message (569). [10] ibid.

Come By My Side

DWM — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 22:49:40 +0000

new tune now available.

Come By My Side . mp3 (right click to download)

A burgeoning catalog of our tunes can be found on our Audiography page.

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Song for Melody Gardot

DWM — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 07:30:50 +0000

Needless to say, she’s beautiful and totally kills in concert. However, I’ll let Aron explain this song…

A Song for Melody Gardot – recorded 8/18/08, mixed 8/24/08

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For All of Womankind

DWM — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 07:26:48 +0000

The Land of Unlikeness, which sometimes performs live, solo and duo, under the name Gooddust, has two songs, just recorded, for those of you heading back to school tomorrow. I’ll post them separately for those of you who have a slower connection and use RSS or are subscribed via iTunes – a good idea if you haven’t done so already.

For All of Womankind – recorded 8/18/08, mixed 8/23/08

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Cosmic Aesthetics: Begbie, von Balthasar, and some musings on modernity’s implications for theological aesthetics

DWM — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 16:06:16 +0000

If the Enlightenment and subsequent periods of modernity have done anything to alter what it means to be human, they have set humanity at a distance from the world, positing a radical degree of separation between the created order and Aristotle’s rational animals. Where God factors into this rift, and how one structures the dialogue between Philosophy and Theology, depends largely on how one schematizes God in relation to Being. It was Hans Urs von Balthasar who adroitly drew out the ramification of the human mind’s prodigality when he said, “[T]he human person himself would stand as the synthetic element, not only between [Church and world/Faith and Reason], but secretly above both.”¹

Yet, while the debates over modernity and its theological consequences drew on, the distance between humanity and world stretched ever wider, matched only by modernity’s maw, engulfing the world quicker than Christianity could respond and, some would argue, in ways Christian scholars and clergy didn’t know how to respond to. Christian (sub)culture was born, an enclave of fear of and loathing for the secular, an a-theism which Christian subculture bore to life and gave authenticity and integrity to the more it removed itself form the world.

The frequently brutal dismissal of the Church’s authority also in worldly matters of politics, of the planning of the world, and above all in matters of the spirit and science, does indeed correspond in part to an increasing falling away of the educated and of the masses from the Christian faith, but in part also to a process (acknowledged and justified by the Church herself) in which the natural orders and areas of knowledge assume autonomy, as was demanded by the Vatican Council itself in clear distinction between the natural and supernatural orders: duplex ordo cognitionis, proprio objecto, propria methodo.

In the most recent Books & Culture, and his new book Resounding Truth, Jeremy Begbie argues that, while the Christian subculture removed itself from the world, the world is not so easily shaken off, as if it were an old coat or bad dream. In fact, at the heart of the Christian truth is the deep understanding of the world as a gratuitous and ex nihilo “expression of divine love.”² As such, interaction with this world, this given reality, is sacramental, inasmuch as it is a graced reality. For the arts, this demonstrates a truth that reformed thinkers in the Dutch tradition like Begbie and Wolterstorff have been declaring for nearly the past 3 decades, that the experiences of the arts and artistic making are fundamentally “ways we engage the physical world… physical things… [that] have ultimately arisen through the free initiative of God’s love- they are part of the ordo amoris.”

As the church shrunk back from the world, both Catholics and Protestants had difficulty articulating this Christian view on the arts and the world. Begbie points out that the retreat from the physical often took the form of looking for an underlying spiritual value or meaning: “Commonly, the thrust seems to be to look beyond the material sounds to the order or beauty they reflect or point to rather than to welcome them as valuable embodiments of God-given order and beauty in their own right, with their physical character intrinsic to that value.” Later, even the spiritual would lose cred, and the hermeneutic tendency would look for meaning in the individual’s psychological experience of art – think here of those like Clive Bell and Sylvia Plath.

As art become more abstract, so too artists and the public alike more often practiced abstraction in seeking the underlying essence of the artifact from its physical boundaries. Even theologians programmed this dichotomy of the physical from the meaningful and spiritual.³ Yet all of this misses or regrets what is most characteristic of art, that it plays with and in the physical realm, that it is transmitted to us not by spiritual means, but by and through creation: “[B]earing in mind the long-standing legacy of thinking about music … which has arguably suppressed a great deal of music and led to unnecessarily negative attitudes toward it (not least in the church), we might do well to regain a sense of music’s profound physicality – its embeddedness in God’s given material world.” Although Begbie is addressing music in particular here, his argument easily extends to the other arts.

Furthermore, re-situating our relationship to art as physical helps us relearn the physical world in general as well as the human body itself, the last act of the original creation: “Our own bodies… are intrinsically part of musical experience. To insist that Christians are to be spiritual is indeed quite proper, but to be spiritual is not to renounce the body per se.” The acceptance of the body as creation and thus necessarily and constitutively part of this thing we call art has a dual fecundity. First, as it emphasizes not only artistic creation, but rather experience in general as a physical act, it leads us to an intimacy with art we may have hitherto reserved for the artist herself. And second, it explodes the individual nature of art, emphasizing the communal aspect of physicality, the “koinonia” of the created order. Begbie draws on the thought of Bonhoeffer to explicate the image of the Christian community, one not of cheap harmony, but of polyphony, sometimes difficult to grasp, but always rewarding. The emphasis is relatedness being part of the overall aesthetic creation, rather than the Romantic image of the artist as sole-creator in defiance of the heavens and the masses. “True enough, the self is always and already a social product… and yet the self is centered when addressed and treated as a distinct you by another person or other persons… Such is the ecstatic love at the heart of the Triune God in which we are invited to share.”

I would add that it is not only the community of believers or simply humanity that we join when we participate in creation and acknowledge our place within the created order. For, if even the stones would cry out in praise should humanity fall silent (Luke 19), it seems only “natural” that they also welcome our joining in the polyphony of the worldly community. The elements of creation seem to be actively awaiting commune with the other members, a vision that the land artist Andy Goldworthy seems to have focused on with his lens. His work carries a sense not only of an order or form inherent to nature, to physicality, but also the yearning of the natural for the supernatural koinonia to which Begbie alludes. The question is if and how one might speak of stones and wood and leaves singing in the polyphony.

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HUVB, “On the Task of Catholic Philosophy in Our Time,” Communio 20 (1993): 148; although von Balthasar was not the first or last to issue this warning.
B&C (September/October, 2007): 28-31.
Begbie cites P. T. Forsyth here.

Wizard Music for Potter Fans

DWM — Sun, 12 Aug 2007 18:22:31 +0000

As our readers seem to have a penchant toward Potter-y, I imagine many will enjoy one of Joel Garver’s recent posts on a rock concert at the Free Library of Philadelphia. The artists in performance took their names from characters and themes of the Harry Potter series. Wizard rock, as Joel points out, is quite a growing phenomenon.

What’s more, you can download some of the songs for free.. a whole album, actually, of which two of the songs, tracks 5 and 14, are based on the Harry Potter series. The album, called Fanfiction by the Shorthand Phonetics, can be downloaded by ctrl+clicking here, and included such magical hits as “All too Platonic” and “Lady Hermione’s Library is On Fire because of the Burning Minds Sparking Each Other to Ignite and It’s Consuming My Flammable Ashen Heart”

enjoy

P.S. this post from kottke.org on Chinese adaptations of Harry Potter is hilarious.