The First and the Third
Richard Strauss (1864 - 1949)
Symphonic Poem: Don Juan
Four Last Songs
1. Frühling (Spring)
2. September
3. Beim Schlafengehen (Going to
Sleep)
4. Im Abendrot (In the Glow of
Evening)
Richard Wagner (1813 - 1883)
Overture: Tannhäuser
Prelude and Liebestod, from Tristan
und Isolde
By dubbing Strauss “Richard the Third” because
“there could be no ‘second’ after Wagner”,
Hans von Bülow certainly risked the posthumous
wrath of Michel-Richard de Lalande (1657-1726)
and Richard Farrant (1525-80), to name but
two (go on, name some others!). However,
he also ignited a bonfire of inanities,
a cascade of often crackpot comparisons
that culminated in the supposed correspondence
between Strauss’s Nazi sympathies and Wagner’s
anti-semitism. I say “supposed” because
neither case is anywhere near cut-and-dried
- yet a few folk, for this very reason,
shun Strauss’s music. Wagner is a far more
popular target for shunners, seemingly because
he was a far less “savoury” character than
Strauss. I wonder, why hasn’t Gesualdo’s
music ever been similarly shunned? After
all, isn’t murdering your wife a rather
more serious sin? If so, then surely it’s
all irrelevant to what really matters -
the music.
As if to prove the point, here you are,
with your prejudices safely tucked away
for the night! Compare Strauss with Wagner
if you like, but don’t overlook your chance
to compare “youth” with “maturity”. In his
teens, Strauss struggled to bloom
in Schumann’s shadow. Transplanted by Alexander
Ritter into the light of the Liszt/Wagner
school, he found the fertile field of freedom
he needed for his embryonic idiom to flourish.
Still only 24 when his Don Juan seriously
seduced the “serious music” scene, Strauss
injected a new vigour, a vitality that scorched
the pants off his illustrious seniors -
and everyone else within earshot. The day
my hackles don’t bristle at the sound of
those rampant horns will be the day they
cart me away. Yet, betwixt the freely evolving,
frenzied ritornelli representative of the
Don prowling for prey lie expanses of that
exquisite lyricism that would become his
hallmark. In the shock of the Don’s downfall,
chillingly realised in both line and colour,
the master musical dramatist is already
evident, lurking behind the gaudy façade
of the youthful orchestral showman . . .
. . and 20 years later, with the operas
Salome and Elektra, he was
shocking the pants off folks (quite literally,
in the former!). These marked the climax
of an era in which opera gradually superceded
symphonic poem as the outlet for his dramatic
bent. With Elektra’s deadly dance (which,
incidentally, stole a considerable march
on Stravinsky’s) came the death of Strauss
the Shocker. Backing out of this blind alley,
he reverted to good, old-fashioned Romanticism.
Nevertheless, certain characteristics threaded
his entire life: his facility for fluent,
luminescent melody and love of the silvery
soprano voice, served royally in his operas
and a constant stream of songs. The Four
Last Songs (which aren’t, not
quite!) also mark the climax of an era,
this time one in which the tumult was not
of his making, but from which he again emerged
into comparative calm. In one way, it’s
a shame these weren’t his very last utterance
- few are afforded the opportunity of a
sunset such as is expressed, through Hesse’s
and especially Eichendorf’s words, by Strauss’s
achingly serene music. At the end, as we
hear the quotation from Death and Transfiguration,
we can only give thanks that he didn’t waste
it.
Wagner had no trouble blooming: he
was fertilised by childhood seminal experiences
- Weber’s Der Freischütz and Beethoven’s
Ninth Symphony, the latter kick-starting
his compositional career. Within seven years,
aged only 22, he’d written his first two
operas. Another five years on, and he was
busy fleeing creditors. This and his infamous
sexual shenanigans would become his regular
secondary preoccupations. Hot on the heels
of the roaring success of Rienzi
(1842) and the not-so-roaring success of
Der fliegende Holländer came Tannhäuser,
these latter two consolidating his stylistic
break with the tradition of Weber. He would
write Lohengrin, Rheingold,
Walküre, the bulk of Siegfried,
and a fair chunk of Götterdämmerung
before he got to Tristan und Isolde
(1859) - so you could say that this last
is a mature work!
Whilst Tannhäuser’s plot concerns
a straight shoot-out between the forces
of “sacred” Love and “profane” Lust, Tristan
und Isolde’s is much more a psychological
struggle between “legitimate” and “illegitimate”
Love (poor old Lust doesn’t really get a
look in). The binding thread is that for
their pains the lovers end up dead. If that
seems a bit pointless, remember - this is
opera.
In the Tannhäuser Overture, Wagner
illustrates the “sacred” aspect through
solemn, rounded tones of the Pilgrims’
Chorus, and the “profane” through the
fiery, sexual shimmering of the Venusberg
music (I’m tempted to add, “Choose your
poison”!). All very nice, all very exciting
- all very obvious. The really neat
touch is that he carries through into the
return of the Pilgrims a whirring
fragment of the Venusberg. That this
sounds uncannily like a persistent viral
infection is exactly his point, for in the
plot this is precisely what brings about
the hero’s downfall.
The Prelude and Liebestod are two
of Tovey’s famous “bleeding chunks”, chopped
from a Wagner opera by Wagner himself. He
clearly didn’t share Tovey’s objection,
but why did he do it? I suspect that his
purpose was commercial. After all, his method
maximised his profit potential - nothing
wonderful, just a simple “snip of the scissors”
to dispense with the intervening (some would
add “tedious”) two and a half hours.
But the idea of doing it, now - that was
wonderful! Whilst lacking dynamic contrast,
the passages beautifully balance “longing”
against “fulfilment”. Wagner’s pursuit of
the romantic notion of “love-redemption
in death” was never more eloquently expressed
than in this tale of illicit liaison. The
Prelude conveys unrequited longing
through harmonic tensions, rising dissonances
resolving only onto further dissonances,
tensions that are kept from bursting only
by sheer physical restraint. The ecstasy
of “redemption” - in this performance utterly
uncensored! - is projected with nerve-tingling
passion. Arching phrases slide over one
another in burgeoning harmonic - and rhythmic
- tension. The time for hesitation and restraint
is past: the fervently abandoned music rises
to a properly brief climax (apposite word!),
before dissolving in protracted benediction.
The Prelude’s rising dissonance finally
finds its heart’s desire - resolution onto
consonance.
Note
originally commissioned by the Vancouver
Symphony for a concert given on 29 May 2004
© Paul Serotsky
,
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