Wednesday, 2 July 2014

Liszt's spirituality and the B minor Sonata



 Introduction

In this essay, I will discuss the impact of religion on the work of the Hungarian composer and pianist, Franz Liszt. After discussing Liszt’s spiritual background and the strength of his faith, I will explore how his Piano Sonata in B minor may have been conceived with a hidden religious programme in mind. The programme is largely taken from Paul Merrick's discussion in his book, Revolution and Religion in the Music of Franz Liszt, although I have adapted it somewhat. For this blog post I have removed most of the footnotes. As I explained previously I think they look stupid in a blog.

Liszt’s religious background

Franz Liszt was born in 1811 to a relatively impoverished family in the German-speaking part of Hungary. Displaying prodigious abilities as a pianist, he moved to Vienna to study with Beethoven’s pupil Carl Czerny before embarking on a series of European tours. For Liszt, spirituality and in particular his Roman Catholic faith formed an integral part of his life. He was first drawn to the church during his teenage days in Paris, when he seriously considered abandoning his musical ambitions in favour of the seminary. As an adult, he turned back to religion in response to the revolutionary upheaval that swept across Europe. Moreover, he became interested in the idea of reforming Church music and developed an interest in Gregorian chant. In later life, Liszt became increasingly immersed in the Church. Thus, he began to live part of the year in a Spartan cell in the Vatican, and became great friends with Pope Pius IX. His close association with the pontiff and Cardinal Holenlohe eventually led him to take the four minor holy orders and become the Abbe Liszt.

Critics have often taken craven shots at Liszt’s faith, claiming that he was more interested in the flesh. For example Richard Wagner, who benefitted more than anyone from Liszt’s generosity, wrote of Liszt’s “pious fraud”, adding that anybody who fled into “this whole Catholic junk… must have much to atone for”.[1] However, this criticism simply does not bear scrutiny. In the case of Wagner, he believed in only one God; Richard Wagner. Indeed, the religious views of anyone else were entirely foreign to him. For others, the characterisation of Liszt as a lecherous womaniser is based on poor scholarship and driven by hidden agendas. For example, the slanderous tome “The Man Liszt”, written by Wagner’s biographer and chief proselyte Ernest Newman bases many of its “scholarly” conclusions on sources that have been proven to be works of fiction.[2] Liszt may not have been perfect, but his genuine Catholic faith cannot be denied.

Liszt wrote significant amounts of religious and spiritual works. He composed these throughout his life and chose numerous musical settings, from the oratorio of St Elizabeth to the impressionistic pianism of Les Jeux D’Eaux à la Villa D’Este and St François de Paule marchant sur les flots. Moreover, unlike composers of the past, who might have been motivated by patronage, Liszt was always a freelance composer whose only motivation in composing these works was the expression of his religious sentiment.

To examine the role that spirituality played in the creation of all of these works would require numerous volumes and is beyond the scope of this essay. Instead I will discuss how Liszt’s faith influenced what is probably his most important work; the Piano Sonata in B minor.

A Religious Programme for the Piano Sonata in B minor

Controversy

Liszt’s B minor Sonata stands as perhaps his greatest composition and is, in my opinion, the greatest romantic piano sonata. However, it has been a source of controversy since its first performance in 1857. Part of this is due to its unusual structure, with numerous commentators such as Sharon Winklhofer, Benjamin Arnold, Kenneth Hamilton, William Newman and Alfred Brendel offering differing analyses. However, an even greater debate has raged over the existence or non-existence of a programme to the work. Indeed, any person who dares suggest a programme opens themselves up to withering condemnation from other analysts.

I am unsure where these vehement denials come from but it probably has to do with a desire to “rescue” Liszt from the reputation of being a “mere” composer of programme music. Liszt, himself, was silent on the existence of a programme for the B minor Sonata, which in the opinion of prominent scholar Alan Walker is enough to “close the door on further discussion”. However, Liszt’s unwillingness to discuss a programme for the work should not be taken as evidence that it did not contain one. Indeed, Liszt was often cagey about discussing certain programmes, which he felt were best left unstated. For example, he once refused to tell a visitor the programme of the Totentanz, insisting that its content “must not be made public”. It is entirely possible that he felt the same way about the B minor Sonata, especially given the passionate debate on both sides.

The Programme

At this point, it would be prudent to outline the case for a religious programme. Here I largely rely on Merrick's work. The B minor Sonata was composed between 1852-1853, while Liszt was serving as Kapellmeister in Weimar. This was a time when Liszt increasingly returned to the Catholicism of his youth, after the terrible events of the 1848-1849 European revolutions. It also marked the beginning of a period in which Liszt composed many religious and programmatic works, including the Male-Voice Mass, the Fantasy and Fugue on ‘Ad nos’ by Meyerbeer, Faust Symphony, Prometheus (symphonic poem no. 5), Psalm 13, the Dante Symphony, the Gran Mass and Hunnenschlacht (symphonic poem no. 11). It is odd that in a period of such programmatic and religious fervour, Liszt would compose a work of “absolute music”.

The religious programme that best fits the B minor Sonata in outline and scope is one which reflects the Holy Bible, in particular the story of Adam and Eve from the Book of Genesis. It can be aptly summarised by the following, taken from a lecture given at Cambridge:[3]

It began with an alleged rebellion of Satan against God in which angels fell. By direct acts of God, Adam and Eve were created, apparently as adults, not only innocent but fully righteous. Their descendants were intended to restore the number of the angels depleted by the heavenly revolt. Moved by envy, Satan persuaded our first parents to disobey one absolute command of God, that they were not to obtain knowledge, and so brought about their fall from original righteousness, in consequence of which they transmitted to all their offspring, by natural generation, a corrupted nature wholly inclined to evil, an enfeebled will, and also the guilt of their sin. Thus all mankind lay under the curse of sin both original and actual, justly the object of Divine wrath and destined to damnation. In order to restore his thwarted purpose God sent his Son who, assuming human nature, was born on earth, whereon was wrought the drama of his death and resurrection. Jesus, pure from all defect of original and actual sin, alone fulfilled the conditions of a perfect sacrifice for human sin. By this God’s legitimate anger with guilty mankind was appeased and his honour satisfied; he was graciously pleased to accept his Son’s sacrifice, enabled to forgive sin, and man was potentially redeemed.


Supporting Evidence in the score

Liszt chose to open his Sonata by presenting three of his primary motifs; Creation, Man and Satan.


The first motif can be said to represent Creation due to its tonal ambiguity. Although the opening hints at G minor, the descending scale figures based on the Phrygian mode and Gypsy scale fail to confirm this. Thus, the search for a key can be likened to the beginning of creation, when the earth was without form and void. The second and third motifs can be said to represent Man and Satan respectively due to the way they combine throughout the work. Indeed, the way they lock horns at various points of the work, for example during the first subject area of the exposition at bar 32, appears to be a depiction of Man’s struggle with the Devil.



Motif 2 can be said to represent Man due to the presence of the “cross motif”, which was a figure Liszt had borrowed from the Gregorian chant Crux Fidelis. It was clearly very important to Liszt, who used it in many works including the Hunnenschlacht. In discussing the symphonic poem, Liszt noted how he built a chorale around the motif in order to illustrate “the idea of the final victory of Christianity in its effectual love to God and man”.[4] Thus, it is clear that his use of the motif had religious significance. According to Merrick, Liszt used the motif to represent the path to God, the path walked by Man to redemption. If Motif 2 represents Man, then Motif 3 can only represent Satan. Indeed, there is something very sinister and diabolical about the third motif, with its marcato repeated notes that Liszt himself described as “hammer blows”.

The next point in which Liszt’s spirituality manifests is at the second subject area, which introduces a Grandioso theme in D major.     


There is something very chorale-like about this theme, which is once again built on the cross motif. It is exultant and seems to represent either the Divine or Man’s bliss in the Garden of Eden before the Fall, which follows shortly after. In order to show the serpent’s temptation of Eve, who in turn seduced Adam, Liszt did something ingenious, by transforming his Satan motif into a fully-fledged ‘Love’ theme at bar 153.



To illustrate the Fall of Man, we are subjected to considerable tonal restlessness as the piece moves towards the development, which is in two parts and of considerable length.
In the second part of the development we find an Andante Sostenuto, which is itself a sonata in miniature.

 
Why did Liszt include a self-contained sonata, complete with its own theme and key area, in the middle of the development section?

The answer lies in the programme, with both the theme and the key being of great religious significance. First, let us consider the tonality of F# major. This was a key which Liszt clearly associated with the Divine, and he used it very consciously to highlight this association. Consider for example the Benediction de Dieu dans la Solitude, Les Jeux D’eaux a la villa d’Este and the final chorale from the Variations on Bach’s Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen, all of which are in F# and all of which are full of religious symbolism.

Now, let us turn to the theme. The first half of the development is more “traditional” in character, with the Man motif being its primary vehicle. This state of flux depicts Man after the Fall and the section ends with the return of the Satan motif at bar 310, again locked in battle with the Man motif. It is at this point that the Andante Sostenuto appears. It is very unusual to introduce a new theme during the development. However, given where we are in the programme, it makes sense. Thus, the new theme must represent the redemption of Man through the coming of Christ. The later reappearance of the ‘love’ theme in the Andante Sostenuto shows Satan’s attempt to tempt Jesus, while the drama which follows, prominently featuring both the ‘Love’ and ‘Divine’ themes, points to the Crucifixion.

The recapitulation depicts the path of Man after Christ, with the fugato subject built on a combination of the Man and Satan motifs representing a movement towards God.The rest of the piece sees the gradual neutralisation of the Satan motif, and the triumph of the Divine theme, symbolically shown through a shift from the minor to the major mode. The work ends with a series of three chromatically rising pianissimo chords which symbolises Man’s final ascent to Heaven.

I think that this programme fits the work exceptionally well. Although it cannot be definitively proven that this is what Liszt had in mind, it is certainly plausible.

Conclusion

Religion was a major influence on the life and work of Franz Liszt. Indeed, apart from music, it was the most significant influence. In this essay, I have outlined Liszt’s religious background and the strength of his faith. I have highlighted the presence of a significant amount of sacred music amongst his compositional output. Finally, I have shown how the influence of religion probably extended to ostensibly secular works, and demonstrated how the Piano Sonata in B minor might reflect a hidden religious programme.


Bibliography

1) Hamilton, Kenneth. Liszt: Sonata in B minor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996.
2) Marek, George. Cosima Wagner. London: Julia MacRae Books, 1981.
3) Merrick, Paul. Revolution and Religion in the Music of Franz Liszt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987.
4) Merrick, Paul. ‘Teufelsonate’:Mephistopheles in Liszt’s Piano Sonata in B minor. The Musical Times, 2011.
5) Walker, Alan. Franz Liszt The Virtuoso Years 1811-1847. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983.
6) Walker, Alan. Franz Liszt The Weimar Years, 1848-1861. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989.
7) Walker, Alan. Franz Liszt The Final Years, 1861-1886. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996.


[1] George Marek, Cosima Wagner, (London: Julia MacRae Books, 1981), 71.
[2] See Alan Walker’s discussion of Olga Janina, whose novel Souvenirs d’une Cossack was described by Newman as “one of the most valuable documents we possess for the reconstruction of the real Liszt”, and which Walker proved to be fictitious. Walker, “Of Cossacks and Countesses”, The Final Years, 171-190.
[3] J.S. Bezzant, lecture given at Cambridge in 1963, quoted in Merrick, “Liszt’s Cross motif and the Piano Sonata”, Revolution and Religion, 293.
[4] Merrick, “Liszt’s Cross Motif”, Revolution and Religion, 285.

Sunday, 29 June 2014

Concert Review – Sviatoslav Richter, Moscow, May 9 1957




The following is a review I wrote for a concert Sviatoslav Richter gave in May 1957. 
Obviously, I didn't attend this concert so the review is based on the recording I have of it. 
If I remember correctly, Glenn Gould attended this concert and was greatly taken by Richter's playing. 
Maybe one day, I'll review one of the concerts (or more accurately lecture-recitals) that Gould gave during this time.

The review:

Sviatoslav Teofilovich Richter was born on March 20 1915 in Zhitomir in the Russian Empire (now Ukraine), but spent his formative years in Odessa.  Despite receiving some basic instruction from his father, who was a professor of piano, he was largely self-taught, preferring to read through opera scores than practise scales. He made his debut as a 19 year old at Odessa's Engineers' Club, which is remarkably late for a great pianist. This would be the only time he performed in his hometown. After studies in Moscow with the legendary pedagogue Heinrich Neuhaus, Richter embarked on an extraordinary career that would see him ranked amongst the greatest pianists of the 20th Century.  

Richter began his recital with the Schubert B flat Sonata D960; the composer’s last word in this form. It was completed alongside its sister sonatas in C minor D958 and A major D959 during a period of frenzied productivity shortly before Schubert’s death in 1828. It was a piece that Richter obviously identified with, and he performed it many times.

The first movement is very long; one of the longest in the repertoire and Richter opens with an extremely slow tempo. In lesser hands this could make it seem interminable, however, Richter had an extraordinary ability to hold large scale form together; as if he had fixed his sights on the horizon and never wavered from this point of reference. He succeeds in maintaining the line throughout, so that, rather than the slow tempo reducing the tension, it serves to increase it. Moreover, it adds to the piece’s solemn mood and imbues it with more lugubrious undercurrents; as if Schubert were reflecting on death. It also gives new meaning to the famous trill which ends the first phrase, by giving added weight to the fermata that follows it. There is no feeling of serenity here that one can hear in the performances of other pianists.

The question of whether to take the first movement repeat has long sparked debate, with Alfred Brendel arguing that the similarity of the exposition to the recapitulation and the difficulty of programming all three sonatas (which he sees as a trilogy) in one evening pointed against it.
Richter, on the other hand, believed in absolute textual fidelity, and in his notebooks deplored artists such as Murray Perahia and Glenn Gould for skipping repeats. Personally, I do not find Brendel’s argument very persuasive and agree with Andras Schiff’s assessment that omitting the repeat is like severing one of the Sonata’s limbs. Here as elsewhere, Schubert’s ‘heavenly length’ suggests, not a failure to adopt greater economy of means, but a desire to express a grand sense of vastness in music. The upshot of all this, however, is that it takes Richter 12 minutes to get to the development, and 23 minutes to finish the movement.

The second movement builds on the gravitas and introspection of the first. Richter seamlessly transitions into it by practically beginning attacca. To Richter’s mind, this is clearly Schubert coming to terms with his own mortality and the sense of pathos is palpable. I also like how Richter plays the insistent left hand ostinato which ushers in the second subject with a slight accelerando. Later Schubert modulates to the major mode and Richter plays with a calm serenity that was wholly missing in the first movement.

The third movement scherzo is a bit of a letdown. Richter’s tempo is decidedly fast; too fast for my taste.  A slower tempo would help ease the listener out of the hypnotic state he’d put us into without any jarring.

In the fourth movement, Schubert’s writing is episodic; alternating sanguine playfulness with outbursts of passion. Richter was a force of nature; the Marlon Brando of piano. Like Brando, he had a wild energy that could hit you like a Mack truck. However, in this instance he was able to keep everything under control in spite of Schubert’s passionate flights of fancy.

The second half of the recital began with Liszt’s Pensée des Morts, from the Harmonies Poétiques et Religieuses. It is a sadly neglected work that is rarely performed in public. When programmed alongside the Schubert B flat, it serves to highlight the influence Schubert had on Liszt. Even the writing appears to be Schubertian and it mirrors the vocal quality and steady rhythm of Schubert’s opening before turning into a typically Lisztian storm of repeated chords, tremoli and octaves.
Richter was a great Liszt player whose recordings of the Sonata, Concerti and Etudes are amongst the very finest on record. He does not disappoint here, delivering the most coherent reading of the piece I’ve heard. In particular, the skill with which he balances gigantic climaxes with moments of quiet introspection once again underscores his genius as a structuralist. Moreover, he eschews cheap sentimentality, a common failing of lesser interpreters. 

Next on Richter’s programme was Liszt’s Second Polonaise. This piece has none of the fervent patriotism that is apparent in the polonaises of Chopin. Neither is it as deep musically as the Pensée des Morts.
Instead, it has a more improvisatory feel to it, somewhat akin to his Hungarian Rhapsodies, though it is no way near as demonstrative.
I think the essence of the piece is its rhythm and it really requires lots of rubato, brio and panache à la George Cziffra to be effective (Rachmaninoff also make a stupendous recording). These are not qualities one would usually associate with Sviatoslav Richter, and for that reason this was the least successful performance on the programme.

 Richter closed his recital with the enigmatic Nuages Gris. This is late Liszt - Liszt at his most uncompromising. In his late works Liszt challenged the primacy of tonal harmony and set the scene for its final disintegration some years after his death. This is very solemn music that reflects what Brendel called Liszt’s “bitterness of heart”. Richter excels in this music; giving it just the right concentration of severity and mystery. It’s a shame he didn’t play more late Liszt.