Imitations of Iberia
Emmanuel
Chabrier (1841-1894) - Rhapsody: “Espana”
Edouard
Lalo (1823-1892) - Symphonie Espagnole
Nikolai
Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908) - Capriccio
Espagnol
Maurice
Ravel (1875-1937) - Bolero
Running
my baleful gaze over the corpus of Music,
I can’t help noticing that it seems there’s
more “Spanish” music written by foreigners
than by natives. Other than because foreign
composers happen to outnumber the natives,
why? More to the point, what’s the
attraction? If I were to go off half-cocked,
I’d say “sex”. However, the real - and far
less interesting! - reason is that while
other countries were busy developing their
own, indigenous musical styles, Spain was
busy making stylistic soup. As with any
soup, the secret is in the spices. For Spain
the spice was the North African influence.
Sidestepping the looming history lesson,
the upshot was a family of styles inter-related
by the juiciest blend of steamy sensuality,
rampant rhythm and erotic exoticism. In
short, a Venus’ Fly-Trap for any red-blooded
composer, not to mention quite a few pink-blooded
innocents.
Surprisingly,
Chabrier was one of the latter -
this cautious soul stuck with his civil
service job until he was nearly 40. Only
two years into his composing career, he
brought home from a Spanish holiday a hatful
of café-flamencos and the like. Judging
by the fresh-faced fizziness of the resulting
“Espana”, Mme. Chabrier had steered
him clear of the seedier quarters. As befits
a rhapsody, one glorious tune spills into
the next with effortless ease. Yet, there
is form: distinguished by snippets of the
opening tune, the central episode does double-duty
as prelude to the sumptuously varied reprise
- which itself does double-duty as a rudimentary
development section. Add a soupçon
of French polish and lashings of luscious
orchestration and, perhaps deservedly, you
have the best-known of all “Ersatz Espana”!
Although
Lalo was French, he can at least
claim Spanish descent, affording us the
chance to argue whether his Spanish sound
is artistic or genetic in origin. In all
but name, his Symphonie Espagnole
is a five-movement violin concerto. Contesting
the title of “Spanish National Instrument”are
the guitar and the castanets. The violin
isn’t even in the reckoning. However, in
the right hands and given the right music,
its convincing replication of the throbbing,
throaty tones of a flamenco singer could
easily fuddle your judgement. Whilst the
first and fourth movements seem to glimpse
Spain all the way from Germany, in the case
of the latter from the banks of Schumann’s
Rhine, Lalo leaves no doubt of the perspective
of the remainder. In place of Chabrier’s
picture-postcard glitter, Lalo invests his
score with an earthier luminescence.
Comprising
mirrors enclosing bits of coloured glass
a kaleidoscope produces, by these simplest
of means, the most marvellously coloured
patterns - a close analogy to Rimsky-Korsakov.
However, anyone can work a kaleidoscope.
Rimsky-Korsakov's skill at shaking orchestral
instruments is arguably unparalleled. It
was surely Sadko, Op. 5, a disgracefully
neglected masterpiece, that prompted his
recognition as an “ultra-modernist” (?),
earning him a Professorship and setting
him on a course which led in 1887 to the
Capriccio Espagnol, the second most
famous ersatz Spanish music.
A
glittering Alborada, or "morning
dance", explodes fit to wake the dead, never
mind the sleeping. The Variazioni on
a gorgeously romantic tune provide a relatively
conventional interlude, rudely interrupted
by the Alborado's return. It is newly
clothed, principally via the staggeringly
simple device of swapping certain instrumental
roles. A sudden crescendo heralds Scena
e Canto Gitano. Balancing the Variazioni,
the Scena features a series of solo
cadenzas, each sporting a different percussion
halo, on the subsequent Gypsy Song.
Mid-flight (where Dean dragged Torville
like a matador's cape!), the Fandango
stamps in. In one astonishing sequence,
Rimsky repeatedly establishes one sonority,
then overlays it with another - a veritable
counterpoint of colour!
Ravel
may not be able to claim Spanish ancestry,
but as a Basque he has proximity on his
side. Although inhibited (some say “repressed”),
he wrote some of the sexiest music ever.
He was sensitive to the poetic, yet fascinated
by mechanical toys and clocks. This probably
explains his affinity with that most poetic
of machines, the piano. Alborada del
Gracioso started life as a piano piece
- one of the Miroirs - although if
you didn’t know that, you wouldn’t believe
it! Such is his phenomenal talent for his
other instrument, the orchestra, that he
paints the picture perhaps most truly evocative
of Spain in this entire programme. Vivid,
in a way that would defeat even Chabrier,
as the dance music is, it’s the slow core
of the work that really astonishes. Here
lies most starkly exposed the Moorish influence.
Here we feel the fearful violence of the
passions simmering in, and sometimes erupting
from, the music of Spain.
To
a degree, those conflicts in Ravel’s character
came to a head in Bolero, which was
written for a ballet by Ida Rubenstein.
Set in a singularly sleazy tavern, a single
dancer holds the floor. Gradually, others
join in, and in the steamy heat things get
erotically competitive. Inevitably, alcohol
and ardour combine to ignite fury, knives
are unsheathed, and the curtain falls. Ravel
disliked this scenario: he wanted to accentuate
the music's mechanical rather than sexual
potential. Did he ever consider how closely
related these are?
Music’s
development depends largely on composers
building on their predecessors’ ideas. Apart
from Messiaen, in a two-minute movement
ofTurangalila-Symphonie, I can think
of no-one who’s taken the idea of Bolero
and made anything of it other than sheer
tripe (I choose my words carefully). Bolero,
let's face it, is quintessential
tripe: over an invariant, asymmetrical four-bar
rhythm, the same theme cycles relentlessly,
the first half twice, the second half twice,
and those four segments four times over.
Tempo, rhythm, tonality (C majeure, naturellement)
all utterly unwavering, only orchestration
and amplitude change, the former ticking
over precisely at each segment’s start,
the latter remorselessly increasing. Finally,
as your shredded programme disintegrates,
everything changes! The tune finally
plays right through, tempo and tonality
lurch, and the “heavy metal” move in for
the kill. Tripe? Oh, yes indeed!
But, it's also breathtakingly bold, original
music, a “one-off” par excellence.
Note
originally commissioned by the Vancouver
Symphony for a concert given on 29 November
2003
.
© Paul Serotsky
29, Carr Street,
Kamo,
Whangarei 0101,
Northland,
New Zealand
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