What is the 'composer's intention?'

[EigenUser]

I'm off to the gym, where I predict they will select music with the "intent" of getting people "pumped up"

Ah, so they play Mahler?

[Mirror Image]

Thank you, John. Didn't want to let your high five pass unnoticed.

You da man!

[Monsieur Croche]

Fair enough.

Look, I don´t claim that there is, or should be, an exact, mathematically precise and unmistakable correspondence between the composer´s intentions (if any) and the reactions of the listeners. That would be the top of madness. All I say is that in some cases the composer made his intentions quite, or crystal, clear. Of course one is free to disregard them, but let´s at least have the modesty to admit that maybe (just maybe) in such cases the composer is the best qualified person in the world to talk about his work. That is all.

That most of the composers, for the vast majority of their works in the canon of the repertoire, left us nothing about their intentions other than a completed work with its title that of a form (funny, that...) should not be lost on any here discussing, generally, "composer intent."

Ironic, innit?

[zamyrabyrd]

The problem is that since I have heard "Unser Katz hat Kätzerln ghobt" etc. I can hardly avoid the association when I listen to the piece. I have to pull myself together not to sing along...

Your saying that causes me to revise my opinion about Op. 110. I lived with it for years, trying to penetrate its mysteries but it never came out right for my own satisfaction. If as you say, the German public would have recognized the two folk tunes in the Scherzo, then that puts a different slant on it.

I just listened now to several versions of "Es ist vollbracht" from Bach's St. John Passion which is supposed be referenced in the Adagio by the viola da gamba's solo. Done by different players, the melody is hardly recognizable - but OK, if they say so.

I always felt without knowing the particulars, that the transition to G major from the repeat of the Adagio in G minor was supposed to be transcendental like passing to a different plane, as it were, also in its inversion of the fugue subject.

In short, there is probably some life sequence going on, possibly auto-bibliographical, the Scherzo being the chapter of a dissolute youth, perhaps, together with the tragedy of the Adagio. I still scratch my head about the fugue as a form transplanted to the Romantic sensibility, in other words, having a gradual build up and development rather than Baroque spinning out, to my mind, is a kind of misfit to begin with.

Having learned this piece many years ago without my teacher's being aware of its extra musical allusions made it even more cryptic. I would say that it is the absolute obligation of the performer to find out everything about a piece first if playing and performing it. The onus on the listener is much less. It is possible to enjoy a piece and not know what prompted it. But program notes, ad/or explanations do help a lot.

[Jo498]

Not sure about the exact details (we read the Schiller in 9th or 10th grade - a long time ago) but Schiller was a REALLY ANGRY YOUNG MAN when he wrote this and the piece is rather unconventional ("Sturm und Drang") compared to more "established" pieces of ca. 1780, so there could be several reasons for excessive or unconventional directions.

More generally, I think the most plausible position (and sforzando seems to arguing for something like that) is that a work of art has to some extent "a life of its own". It is not fixed by the intentions of the author but neither does "anything goes" hold. Embarassingly, I do not know the Brecht piece mentioned well enough but I also remember "Mother Courage" as a character who makes the best from a very dire situation.

Another "alternative interpretation" I find quite fascinating is one suggested by Harnoncourt (I think, not sure whether it is originally his idea)  in his booklet for Mozart's Abduction: He claims that Konstanze DID fall in love with the Bassa and her "tortures" are not primarily the separation from Belmonte and how to evade the advances by the Bassa but how to stay faithful to her betrothed (who is fairly wimpy in the opera...) despite having fallen for the Bassa. Maybe this imports to much COSI into the Abduction but it is far from ridiculous, I think, and worthy of exploration.
Of course, we cannot be completely sure what Mozart's (and Gottlieb Stephanie's) intentions were. But I do not think it matters so much.

[Florestan]

Not sure about the exact details (we read the Schiller in 9th or 10th grade - a long time ago) but Schiller was a REALLY ANGRY YOUNG MAN when he wrote this and the piece is rather unconventional ("Sturm und Drang") compared to more "established" pieces of ca. 1780, so there could be several reasons for excessive or unconventional directions.

I find the whole idea that just because actors don´t like to be told what to do (in which case they should have chosen other careers, anyway...) playwrights are not allowed to insert emotional cues in their plays and those who do just that are unprofessional, completely absurd.

[some guy]

[T]here is probably some life sequence going on, possibly auto-bibliographical, the Scherzo being the chapter of a dissolute youth, perhaps, together with the tragedy of the Adagio. I still scratch my head about the fugue as a form transplanted to the Romantic sensibility, in other words, having a gradual build up and development rather than Baroque spinning out, to my mind, is a kind of misfit to begin with.

Well, what this sounds like to me is a made-up story substituting for the music itself. There's nothing in the music, qua music, that needs this substitution. That is, the piece makes "sense" without any made-up stories. I strongly doubt that thinking about this made-up story would aid in making for a better performance of the piece. That is, whatever else it does, it does not give any information about the piece.

Having learned this piece many years ago without my teacher's being aware of its extra musical allusions made it even more cryptic. I would say that it is the absolute obligation of the performer to find out everything about a piece first if playing and performing it. The onus on the listener is much less. It is possible to enjoy a piece and not know what prompted it. But program notes, ad/or explanations do help a lot.

But if you're referring now to the two folk tunes, those are not extramusical at all. They are also pieces of music. And I don't follow how the piece can be less cryptic if you know these two tunes as they exist outside the piece. But then, I don't follow how this piece is cryptic.

As for the obligation, I also don't quite follow the "everything" bit. It seems that performing a piece requires that you understand music and that you know how this piece works from start to finish. Not sure what else would help. Perhaps that Beethoven liked to make sudden and unexpected shifts. Or that he enjoyed building up and building up and building up to "something," we're not sure what, at first, and then giving us something else. (I'm looking at you, opening to the first movement of symphony no. 7.) But if you've listened to any amount of Beethoven, you already know that. And performing a piece by a composer without knowing any other pieces by that person might be a trifle premature.

Anyway, in a context that is all about raising expectations (CPT), it's surely not too much of a stretch to expect that the more unconventional minds will be all about fulfilling expectations in all sorts of strange and unexpected ways--or perhaps not at all, if that's possible. (After one has heard a piece a couple of times, the unexpected will be what you expect, of course, will come to seem to be entirely right and perfect. And it will seem even more perfect if it manages to retain its strangeness, too.)

[Monsieur Croche]

Your saying that causes me to revise my opinion about Op. 110. I lived with it for years, trying to penetrate its mysteries but it never came out right for my own satisfaction. If as you say, the German public would have recognized the two folk tunes in the Scherzo, then that puts a different slant on it.

I just listened now to several versions of "Es ist vollbracht" from Bach's St. John Passion which is supposed be referenced in the Adagio by the viola da gamba's solo. Done by different players, the melody is hardly recognizable - but OK, if they say so.

I always felt without knowing the particulars, that the transition to G major from the repeat of the Adagio in G minor was supposed to be transcendental like passing to a different plane, as it were, also in its inversion of the fugue subject.

In short, there is probably some life sequence going on, possibly auto-bibliographical, the Scherzo being the chapter of a dissolute youth, perhaps, together with the tragedy of the Adagio. I still scratch my head about the fugue as a form transplanted to the Romantic sensibility, in other words, having a gradual build up and development rather than Baroque spinning out, to my mind, is a kind of misfit to begin with.

Having learned this piece many years ago without my teacher's being aware of its extra musical allusions made it even more cryptic. I would say that it is the absolute obligation of the performer to find out everything about a piece first if playing and performing it. The onus on the listener is much less. It is possible to enjoy a piece and not know what prompted it. But program notes, ad/or explanations do help a lot.

This seems to me similar to many scenarios of so many video commercials advertising perfume:
Sunny day, waving grasses in a field, a tree in the middle ground, a few flowers scattered throughout the texture;
handsome man lopes in 3/4 slo-mo towards pretty woman running towards handsome fellow. her hair and her dress aswirl;
they meet, he picks her up lovingly and joyously, twirls her around then lowers her to the ground;
they embrace and kiss.

I'm sorry, all that elaboration and fantasy over a few drops of an essence, and my thought is similar to these 'meaning of music' stories as it is on those perfume ads... i.e.

Wow, it does all that?

[zamyrabyrd]

Well, what this sounds like to me is a made-up story substituting for the music itself. There's nothing in the music, qua music, that needs this substitution. That is, the piece makes "sense" without any made-up stories. I strongly doubt that thinking about this made-up story would aid in making for a better performance of the piece. That is, whatever else it does, it does not give any information about the piece.

If you want made up stories, please refer to the flights of fancy on Chopin Preludes by George Sand, Hans von Bülow (an eminent pianist and conductor), and Cortot in the past century. Schumann himself wrote purple prose on the Symphonies of Beethoven, one of which I don't remember, claimed he saw Hero and Leander. I felt there was something transcendental in the transition from the G minor to the inverted fugue in the Major. So I went backwards. Why did he stick those two folk songs? was it something close to him and his life? Or are they just notes? I don't think the latter.

But if you're referring now to the two folk tunes, those are not extramusical at all. They are also pieces of music. And I don't follow how the piece can be less cryptic if you know these two tunes as they exist outside the piece. But then, I don't follow how this piece is cryptic. 

If you're satisfied with just the notes, then you are not looking for other levels of meaning. I am and that's why music is so meaningful to me, its multiple connections within and outside itself. Imagine playing Liszt without the rich associations of art and literature. Dull!

As for the obligation, I also don't quite follow the "everything" bit. It seems that performing a piece requires that you understand music and that you know how this piece works from start to finish. Not sure what else would help. Perhaps that Beethoven liked to make sudden and unexpected shifts. Or that he enjoyed building up and building up and building up to "something," we're not sure what, at first, and then giving us something else. (I'm looking at you, opening to the first movement of symphony no. 7.) But if you've listened to any amount of Beethoven, you already know that. And performing a piece by a composer without knowing any other pieces by that person might be a trifle premature.

I don't need to be talked down to. I know all the Piano Sonatas of Beethoven and played most of them, taught them, plus many of the Trios, Violin and Cello Sonatas with piano. I have also learned that what you think you know may be superficial after discovering other levels, cultural connotations being one of them, and that was the thrust of my post. I was not aware of the two folk tunes in the Scherzo and should have been, although I knew about the drinking song in passing.

[zamyrabyrd]

This seems to me similar to many scenarios of so many video commercials advertising perfume:
Sunny day, waving grasses in a field, a tree in the middle ground, a few flowers scattered throughout the texture; handsome man lopes in 3/4 slo-mo towards pretty woman running towards handsome fellow. her hair and her dress aswirl; they meet, he picks her up lovingly and joyously, twirls her around then lowers her to the ground; they embrace and kiss.

I'm sorry, all that elaboration and fantasy over a few drops of an essence, and my thought is similar to these 'meaning of music' stories as it is on those perfume ads... i.e.

Wow, it does all that?

Go ahead and have your fun. It's a really poor musical life without imagination, that's all!!!

[Florestan]

If you want made up stories, please refer to the flights of fancy on Chopin Preludes by George Sand, Hans von Bülow (an eminent pianist and conductor), and Cortot in the past century. Schumann himself wrote purple prose on the Symphonies of Beethoven, one of which I don't remember, claimed he saw Hero and Leander.

Berlioz also waxed poetically on them. You can read the whole thing here: http://www.hberlioz.com/Predecessors/beethsym.htm.

If you're satisfied with just the notes, then you are not looking for other levels of meaning. I am and that's why music is so meaningful to me, its multiple connections within and outside itself. Imagine playing Liszt without the rich associations of art and literature. Dull!

High five, Mrs. ZB!

[some guy]

I think that what I'm on about, anyway, is that "just" the notes is sufficient.

That is, while I'm not a huge Liszt fan, Liszt without the "rich associations of art and literature" is not dull at all.

That's the thing; if music has to be propped up with "rich associations" then it has somehow failed, as music. If it can get along just fine without them, then it's succeeded. Or perhaps it's not the music; it's the listener. If the listener can get along just fine without them, then the music has been enjoyed for itself, on its own terms.

The idea that music without the multiple connections is somehow lacking or insufficient is at the very least no part of my experience of it. It's always seemed to me to be just fine just as it is. My favorite symphony of Schumann's has a name, but I don't ever think of the Rhine when I listen to it. Apparently that seems somehow insufficient to some people, that I'm missing out on something if I don't. All I can say is that it certainly doesn't seem like I'm missing out at all. It's a lovely symphony, and I enjoy it thoroughly. And if someone were to come in the room and start making connections between the notes and locations or events outside the piece, I would find that very distracting.

OK, fine, composers are people, and they're interested in other things besides music. That seems to go without saying. But to posit that somehow a piece of music has to have a bunch of baggage from the composer's life or times in order for listening to it to be meaningful or satisfying just seems a trifle off, to me. The baggage from the composer's life or times--and I have read many composers' biographies many times with great pleasure--may be interesting and enjoyable and all that, but none of it has ever had the slightest effect, on me, for how thoroughly I enjoy the composers' music.

I like listening to music. I like eating and hanging out with friends and reading novels and watching TV shows and walking in parks, too. Who doesn't like a wee bit walking in parks now and again? But I don't need music to remind me of any of that, to evoke any of that, for it to seem a thoroughly complete and enjoyable experience for me. And if that seems like I'm missing out on a whole wonderful world of delight to you, then OK, I'm missing out on a whole wonderful world of delight. Doesn't seem like it to me, but OK. In any event, what I do think is that the whole wonderful world that I'm missing out on is simply not music, and when I'm listening to music, that's it for me, the music. It's enough and more than enough, all on it's own.

And I'm not missing out on any of those wonderful other things in life, either, not at all. I can and do have any of those other things any time I want, whether any music is playing or not. It's just that when music is playing, I do tend to be pretty much focussed on that to the exclusion of everything else. After all, as Mahler said, it's a whole world, and I don't think he meant that it reminds us of other things besides itself. But even if he did, oh well. It is a whole world, and it's pretty cool.

[some guy]

Berlioz also waxed poetically on them. You can read the whole thing here: http://www.hberlioz.com/Predecessors/beethsym.htm.

I would recommend that everyone read these, slowly and carefully, noting especially how little Berlioz relies on non-musical vocabulary to convey his ideas.

And rarely does he get any more specific than "tender" or "furious," spending the bulk of his exposition talking, as best as words can be used for this purpose, about the music itself, qua music, with all its effects, all its powers, being a result of how the notes and the rhythms have been put together.

This is perhaps the clearest expression of what Berlioz was on about: "The public – I mean the true public, which does not belong to any particular clique – is guided by its own feelings and not by narrow ideas or any ridiculous theories it may have conceived on art. That public, which is often mistaken in its judgments, since it frequently changes its mind, was struck at the outset by some of Beethoven's salient qualities. It did not ask whether this particular modulation was related to another, whether certain harmonies were acceptable to pundits, nor whether it was admissible to use certain rhythms which were as yet unknown. All it noticed was that these rhythms, harmonies and modulations, adorned with noble and passionate melodies, and enhanced by powerful orchestral writing, exerted on it a strong impression of a completely novel kind. Nothing more was needed to stimulate its applause. Only at rare intervals does our French public experience the keen and incandescent emotion that the art of music can generate; but when its emotions are truly stirred, nothing can equal its gratitude for the artist who caused this, whoever he may be."

After all, it was Berlioz who coined the phrase "genre instrumental expressif" to talk about what Beethoven did and what Berlioz thought it was he himself was also doing.

[Monsieur Croche]

I think that what I'm on about, anyway, is that "just" the notes is sufficient.

That is, while I'm not a huge Liszt fan, Liszt without the "rich associations of art and literature" is not dull at all.

That's the thing; if music has to be propped up with "rich associations" then it has somehow failed, as music. If it can get along just fine without them, then it's succeeded. Or perhaps it's not the music; it's the listener. If the listener can get along just fine without them, then the music has been enjoyed for itself, on its own terms.

The idea that music without the multiple connections is somehow lacking or insufficient is at the very least no part of my experience of it. It's always seemed to me to be just fine just as it is. My favorite symphony of Schumann's has a name, but I don't ever think of the Rhine when I listen to it. Apparently that seems somehow insufficient to some people, that I'm missing out on something if I don't. All I can say is that it certainly doesn't seem like I'm missing out at all. It's a lovely symphony, and I enjoy it thoroughly. And if someone were to come in the room and start making connections between the notes and locations or events outside the piece, I would find that very distracting.

OK, fine, composers are people, and they're interested in other things besides music. That seems to go without saying. But to posit that somehow a piece of music has to have a bunch of baggage from the composer's life or times in order for listening to it to be meaningful or satisfying just seems a trifle off, to me. The baggage from the composer's life or times--and I have read many composers' biographies many times with great pleasure--may be interesting and enjoyable and all that, but none of it has ever had the slightest effect, on me, for how thoroughly I enjoy the composers' music.

I like listening to music. I like eating and hanging out with friends and reading novels and watching TV shows and walking in parks, too. Who doesn't like a wee bit walking in parks now and again? But I don't need music to remind me of any of that, to evoke any of that, for it to seem a thoroughly complete and enjoyable experience for me. And if that seems like I'm missing out on a whole wonderful world of delight to you, then OK, I'm missing out on a whole wonderful world of delight. Doesn't seem like it to me, but OK. In any event, what I do think is that the whole wonderful world that I'm missing out on is simply not music, and when I'm listening to music, that's it for me, the music. It's enough and more than enough, all on it's own.

And I'm not missing out on any of those wonderful other things in life, either, not at all. I can and do have any of those other things any time I want, whether any music is playing or not. It's just that when music is playing, I do tend to be pretty much focussed on that to the exclusion of everything else. After all, as Mahler said, it's a whole world, and I don't think he meant that it reminds us of other things besides itself. But even if he did, oh well. It is a whole world, and it's pretty cool.

.
A composer's analogous offspring are the composer's works.

Once your offspring is raised, with all your influences brought to bear on them over and done, did you do right if you need to send that once child now adult out into the world wearing clothes with explanatory notes with all the details of their upbringing and personal history pinned all over their clothing?

Of course not.

They will, it is to be hoped, have all on their own a presence, bearing, charisma and personality strong enough for people they meet to be able to both enjoy, and yeah, understand them.

[Florestan]

I would recommend that everyone read these, slowly and carefully, noting especially how little Berlioz relies on non-musical vocabulary to convey his ideas.

And rarely does he get any more specific than "tender" or "furious,"

Let´s see. All non-musical vocabulary is underlined.

About Symphony No. 1:

The scherzo is the first born in this family of delightful musical jests (scherzi), a form invented by Beethoven who established its tempo. In almost all his instrumental works it takes the place of the minuet of Mozart and Haydn, which is only half the speed of the scherzo and very different in character. This one is delightful in its freshness, nimbleness, and charm. It is the only really novel piece in this work, in which the poetic idea, which plays such a large and rich part in the majority of works which followed, is completely absent. This is admirably crafted music, clear, alert, but lacking in strong personality, cold and sometimes rather small-minded, as for example in the final rondo, which has the character of a musical amusement. In a word, this is not Beethoven. We are about to meet him.

About Symphony No. 2:

Everything in this symphony is noble, energetic and proud; the introduction (largo) is a masterpiece. The most beautiful effects follow in quick succession, always in unexpected ways but without causing any confusion. The melody has a touching solemnity; from the very first bars it commands respect and sets the emotional tone. Rhythms are now more adventurous, the orchestral writing richer, more sonorous and varied. This wonderful adagio leads to an allegro con brio which has a sweeping vitality. The grupetto in the first bar of the theme played by violas and cellos in unison is subsequently developed it its own right, either to generate surging crescendo passages or to bring about imitations between wind and strings, all of them at once novel and lively in character. In the middle comes a melody, played by clarinets, horns and bassoons for the first half, and rounded off as a tutti by the rest of the orchestra; it has a masculine energy which is further enhanced by the felicitous choice of accompanying chords. The andante is not treated in the same way as that of the first symphony; instead of a theme developed in canonical imitation it consists of a pure and innocent theme, presented at first plainly by the strings, then exquisitely embellished with delicate strokes; they faithfully reproduce the tender character of the main theme. This is the enchanting depiction of innocent joy, scarcely troubled by passing touches of melancholy. The scherzo is as openly joyful in its capricious fantasy as the andante was completely happy and calm. Everything in this symphony smiles, and even the martial surges of the first allegro are free from any hint of violence; they only speak of the youthful ardour of a noble heart which has preserved intact the most beautiful illusions of life. The author still believes in immortal glory, in love, in devotion... What abandonment in his joy, what wit, what exuberance! The various instruments fight over particles of a theme which none of them plays in full, yet each fragment is coloured in a thousand different ways by being tossed from one instrument to the other. To hear this is like witnessing the enchanted sport of Oberon's graceful spirits. The finale is of the same character: it is a scherzo in double time, perhaps even more delicate and witty in its playfulness.

About Symphony No. 3:

As will be seen, the subject here is not battles or triumphal marches, as many, misled by the abbreviated title, might expect, but rather deep and serious thoughts, melancholy memories, ceremonies of imposing grandeur and sadness, in short a funeral oration for a hero. I know few examples in music of a style where sorrow has been so unfailingly conveyed in forms of such purity and such nobility of expression.

The first movement is in triple time and in a tempo which is almost that of a waltz, yet nothing could be more serious and more dramatic than this allegro. The energetic theme on which it is built is not at first presented in its complete form. Contrary to normal practice, the composer has initially provided only a glimpse of his melodic idea, which is only revealed in its full power after a few bars' introduction. The rhythmic writing is extremely striking in the frequent use of syncopation and, through the stress on the weak beat, the insertion of bars in duple time into bars in triple time. When to this irregular rhythm some harsh dissonances are added, as we find towards the middle of the development section, where the first violins play a high F natural against an E natural, the fifth of the chord of A minor, it is difficult not to shudder at this depiction of indomitable fury. This is the voice of despair and almost of rage. Yet one wonders, Why this despair, Why this rage?

There is no comparable oddity in the rest of the score. The funeral march is a drama in its own right. It is like a translation of Virgil's beautiful lines on the funeral procession of the young Pallas:

    Multaque praeterea Laurentis praemia pugnae
    Adgerat, et longo praedam jubet ordine duci.
    Post bellator equus, positis insignibus, Aethon
    It lacrymans, guttisque humectat grandibus ora.

    The ending in particular is deeply moving. The theme of the march returns, but now in a fragmented form, interspersed with silences, and only accompanied by three pizzicato notes in the double basses. When these tatters of the sad melody, left on their own, bare, broken and lifeless, have collapsed one after the other onto the tonic, the wind instruments utter a final cry, the last farewell of the warriors to their companion in arms, and the whole orchestra fades away on a pianissimo pause.

Following normal practice the third movement is entitled scherzo. In Italian the word means play, or jest. At first sight it is hard to see how this kind of music can find a place in this epic composition. It has to be heard to be understood. The piece does indeed have the rhythm and tempo of a scherzo; these are games, but real funeral games, constantly darkened by thoughts of death, games of the kind that the warriors of the Iliad would celebrate around the tombs of their leaders. Even in his most imaginative orchestral developments Beethoven has been able to preserve the serious and sombre colouring, the deep sadness which of course had to predominate in such a subject.

For all its great variety this finale is nevertheless built on a simple fugal theme. Besides a profusion of ingenious details the composer develops on top of it two other themes, one of which is exceptionally beautiful. The melody is as it were derived from a different one, but its shape conceals this. On the contrary it is much more touching and expressive, far more graceful than the original theme, which has rather the character of a bass line and serves this function very well. This melody returns shortly before the end, in a slower tempo and with different harmonies which further enhance its sad character. The hero costs many a tear. After these final regrets devoted to his memory the poet abandons the elegiac tone and intones with rapture a hymn of glory. Though rather brief this conclusion is very brilliant and provides a fitting crown to the musical monument.

I stop here. Anyone can read the whole thing and judge for himself.

[Sergeant Rock]

After all, as Mahler said, it's a whole world, and I don't think he meant that it reminds us of other things besides itself. But even if he did, oh well. It is a whole world, and it's pretty cool.

You've misquoted Mahler, and in my view, completely missed his point. He actually said (translated): "A Symphony must be like the world - it must contain everything". Not that the symphony is a whole world, no, rather that it contains everything in the world. Everything you claim music doesn't. You and Mahler are not on the same page.

Sarge

[Florestan]

Hector Berlioz on Beethoven´s Fifth (excerpts)

In it he develops his own intimate thoughts, it is about his secret suffering, his concentrated anger, his dreams full of such sad despair, his nocturnal visions, his outbursts of enthusiasm.

The first movement depicts those turbulent feelings which move a great soul seized with despair – not the calm and concentrated despair which has an air of resignation, nor the sombre and silent despair of Romeo learning of the death of Juliet, but rather the terrifying fury of Othello when he hears from the mouth of Iago the poisonous calumnies which convince him of Desdemona's crime. At times the mood is one of frenzied delirium which breaks out in terrifying cries, at others one of exaggerated despair which can express nothing but regret and self-pity.

The character of the adagio is rather reminiscent of the allegretto in A minor of the seventh symphony and of the slow movement in E flat of the fourth. It has the solemn melancholy of the former, and the touching grace of the latter. The theme played first by the cellos and violas in unison, with a simple pizzicato accompaniment in the double basses, is followed by a passage for wind instruments which keeps returning in identical form and in the same key from beginning to end of the movement, whatever the successive changes undergone by the first theme. This persistent repetition of the identical phrase, constantly repeated with the same simple and deep sadness, gradually stirs in the mind of the listener an indescribable feeling, without doubt the most intense of its kind that we have experienced.

The scherzo is a strange composition. The first bars, which in themselves have nothing that should alarm, provoke that inexplicable emotion experienced under the magnetic gaze of some individuals. Everything here is mysterious and sombre; the orchestral effects, all more or less sinister in character, seem to belong to the world of thought of the famous scene of Blacksberg in Goethe's Faust.

Critics have nevertheless sought to diminish the composer's merit by asserting that he had merely resorted to a commonplace device in making the brilliance of the major mode follow the darkness of a pianissimo in a minor key, that the triumphal theme was lacking in originality, and that interest flagged as the movement progressed instead of increasing. We would answer: is it because the transition from piano to forte, and from minor to major, are known devices that there is less genius in creating such a work?... How many other composers have not tried to achieve this same effect? And how can their efforts compare with the gigantic hymn of victory, in which the soul of the poet musician, liberated from earthly shackles and suffering, seems to soar radiantly to heaven?...

[Monsieur Croche]

If you're satisfied with just the notes, then you are not looking for other levels of meaning.

I beg to differ: There are plenty of composers, teachers and performers who get many other levels of meaning from just the notes. There are some for whom a score, and music, is a direct and very meaningful thing that needs no translation.
-- [I would never omit knowing and having a rounded and general history of the era from which the piece is, which includes style as well, but N.B. that general.]

A piano teacher and a very fine musician, during one lesson I was taking with her, went off on a quite a lengthy tangent about all the various stories about Chopin's pieces, and all those questions like 'was it really rainy and was he depressed and which one of the preludes then is 'the raindrop?' [Hint, if there is a raindrop prelude, what little historic info there is collates and points to another prelude presently not known as the raindrop' lol.] At the end of that tangent, she said,

"Me, I don't care if he had a toothache when he wrote it."

Analogies, for some to a far greater degree than for others, can help get more understanding of the character, or disposition of a piece. I think if analogies are used, that once they have been effective, they are thereafter needed less and less.

It is good to know the sources of this or that popular song tune, tunes of the day or other music as quoted within a piece; the reason is not because they had 'a personal meaning' for the composer, but most importantly to connect with anything highly characteristic about the tune, or characteristic as connected with its lyric. I.e. knowing the character - witty, wry, bawdy, sentimental, etc. -- of those tunes can very much help guide the performer to bring an articulation of that particular character to the interpretation.

That said, so many musician's ears are 'caught' by a tune or melody for it's innate and unique musical qualities -- or 'just its notes,' without weight given to the lyric at all; this, without any other documentation, leaves thinking the composer referenced anything other than a bunch of notes which caught their ear as having good potential for use in their piece as a mere yet wild conjecture.

Musicologically, if their ain't a document about those ditties having any other meaning to the composer, if there is nothing with adequate provenance like a written document in the composer's own hand or a very reliable contemporary interview -- so we know for certain "what the composer said about that" -- there is nothing to be legitimately made of it other than "the composer used some known popular melodies in this work." Truly, if the composer saw fit to say nothing about those tunes, why should anyone else make anything more out of it?

I would think that a student pianist coming to the Beethoven Piano Sonata no.31 op. 110, with the cumulative experience and technique enough to begin to approach and study it in the first place, and without ever having heard it, would by then have enough musicianship to understand the character of the tunes, themes, or interpretive aspects that in their working through it from the score alone they would not need any extramusical information or biographical anecdotes to 'make it right.'

I'm of the mind that just as you don't have the liberty to have at the score to alter it, re-write it, change notes, etc. that you have no more 'right' to add or impose mere suppositions to it, at least as a performer or when writing about the piece. [Listeners are free to listen and think whatever they wish or however they do.]

[Karl Henning]

Now it can be revealed:

In Out in the Sun, in the duet between the bass clarinet and baritone saxophone, I slipped in a quick allusion to "I Got Rhythm."

By which I intended to suggest that I got rhythm.

[some guy]