The music of war: a listening guide to Prokofiev’s 6th Sonata, 1st movement (part 2 of 2)

Picking right where the first part ended, let’s go on to the development:

03:14 – above the long held chord quiet activity ensues, full of energy which is held in check for the moment. Believe it or not, but these are the first three notes of our dreamy second subject, played sharply and with each note repeated twice. It’s a two voice affair, with a second voice entering at a dissonant interval just as the first voice finishes at 03:15 (such a device is called ‘stretto’, meaning ‘narrow, tight’ in Italian, and, I’m guessing, related to ‘straits’). This second voice scurries up and down from 03:16 on, and the left hand makes its appearance with two quiet but tense chords at 03:19. This is followed by a quick exchange of repeated notes between the two voices at 03:20-03:23 (one could imagine two mechanical constructions communicating with each other).

This exchange leads directly into another stretto entrance at 03:23, this time higher in pitch and a bit louder (the second stage of what is to be a very long buildup). This time the scurrying up-and-down runs (from 03:25 on) are spread over a bigger area of the keyboard, and are accompanied/accentuated by slaps as they reach their highest points (03:26, 03:29, 03:31) and by the same two quiet but tense chords we had at 03:19 at their lowest points (03:28, 03:30, 03:32). Yet another exchanges of repeated notes takes place 03:32, more complicated this time, as at 03:35 it shifts half a tone higher and goes on for a bit longer (a more complex communication, if you wish). This leads into –

03:38 – the third stage of the buildup. The right hand continues with yet another stretto entrance, but this time it’s just the backdrop to a melody in the middle voice (which makes us suddenly realize we had no proper melody in the development prior to this; I really love the way Prokofiev does it – moving aside what previously was more than enough material to occupy center stage and making it but the accompanying layer to a new voice; it’s as if the focus has shifted and we understand the true proportions of things – or so we think). This melody, heard clearly from 03:39, is a fuller version of our second subject melody – the one which the repeating-notes stretti in the right hand are based upon – and it’s constantly accompanied by a motoric right hand, filling the gaps between the notes. After it’s finished, at 03:43, the right hand plays one more stretto entrance, to which an old acquaintance is suddenly and forcibly added at 03:45 – the main motif of the sonata. Just to sum up the levels of complexity at this point: a harmonic chord in the bass, a melody in the lower middle voice, two voices with repeating notes above it, and at the apex the opening motif of the movement (cool, isn’t it?).

03:46-04:00 – this entire section is a chaotic mess mixture of the various motifs: repeated notes in the middle voice, forcible notes in the bass, two appearances of the stretto motif (03:48, 03:52) and numerous appearances of the opening motif, both in the four-note and the shorter three-note version and also in an expanded five-note version, with the first note repeated one extra time (03:49, 03:51, 03:54, 03:59 for a few examples). All of this over a very big crescendo, which finally leads us to –

04:00-04:10 – and we thought our focus had shifted at 03:38 with the introduction of the melody in the middle voice… The second subject now appears in its full horrible splendor in the right hand, high above the rest of the proceedings and twice as slow (a device called ‘augmentation’), while all around it the rest of the motifs battle among themselves – I find the effect terrifying. You’ll recognize the various motifs by now, but note the augmented main motif at 04:00 and 04:04 (left hand) beside the usual shorter versions which abound. At 04:10 there’s a lull at the melody and the lower voices take over, going first up then down, followed by two quick upward arpeggios at 04:12-04:13 (snarls to me) and a final shriek by the main motif high above, at 04:13.

This leads us to 04:14-04:36 – the biggest climax so far. The full second subject (04:00 had just the first part of it) appear in the middle voice (played by the thumbs of the two hands in unison), gaining even more in weight and presence, while all around them chaos reigns. Note the quick upward runs at 04:15-04:16 and 04:20-04:21, each followed by a crashing chord at 04:16 and 04:22. These chords are marked by Prokofiev col pugno, meaning ‘with the fist’ in Italian, and they are literally to be smashed with your right-hand fist on the keyboard as a cluster of notes (and I find that they startlingly resemble the sound of dropping bombs or shells, especially after the whistle of the runs preceding them). Also worth noting is the barrage of repeating octaves in the left hand (04:24-04:26) hammered out for extra aggression, and the keyboard-crossing upward run at 04:31-04:34, capped with yet another shriek of the opening motif – which then closes the section with one last appearance deep below, at 04:35-04:36.

04:36-05:01 – a heavy-plodding section based on two motifs: the second subject melody appears once again, but this time it’s coupled with the bridge section motif – remember that quietly slithering line from 00:49? Well, it’s the same one at 04:38-04:41 and from 04:46 onward, just much louder, heavier and badder. This is all incredibly aggressive (just listen to the angry twirl at 04:45 or to the thuds at 04:54), and while performing it makes me feel like as if I were playing heavy metal – you really vent all your anger in a place such as this (something we rarely get to do as classical musicians; it’s a lot of fun). It gets even louder toward the end of the section, and then we get to –

05:02-05:11 – a shrieking section, based on the four-note descending motif of the closing section of the exposition (02:26), with bits of the second subject woven in (05:05, 05:08, 05:10). As aggressive as the one before (though it’s all sharp and biting here), there are even two glissandi (quick slides over the keys) at 05:06 and 05:09 for extra effect. There’s an obsessive, repeating quality to those shrieks, as if coming from an animal trapped in a cage and unable to break out.

Things start to calm down (though real calmness is still far away) at 05:12, with three repeats of the four-note descending motif embellished with trills (05:12-05:15), which then continue into a descending chromatic line surrounded by several repeats of the opening motif (05:15-05:20). The chromatic line then takes over, becoming calmer yet and getting accompanied by a softer series of chords (05:21-05:25). But then things explode one last time at 05:26. We hear a new motif, which is one very typical to Prokofiev – the ticking clock. Loud at first, it soon subsides and makes place to several melodic appearances of the opening motif (05:28, 05:33, and more slowly and cautiously at 05:41). Note the change of harmony at 05:38: becoming slightly inquisitive, as if questioning that these horrors could really have just happened. From 05:44 things begin to fall apart – the clock motif becoming fragmented and slowing down. And then, at 05:53 appears our old malicious friend, that last motif of the exposition (02:59), framing the development on both ends – whatever meaning we attribute to it, I find this idea wonderful as a storytelling technique. At 06:00 the right hand joins in, doubling the left, and together they slow down completely by 06:03.

And at 06:05, after two seconds of silence, all of the aggression of the opening is once again unleashed onto our ears – we’ve arrived at the recapitulation. 06:05-06:28 is a full repeat of the first 15 seconds of the movement, with two changes: the more obvious one is that the first sentence (06:05-06:13) is played one octave lower than in the opening, a darker, more condensed sound, which makes the return to the normal pitch at 06:20 seem all the more triumphant (even radiant, in an ugly way). The less obvious change is that at 06:05-06:13 Prokofiev swaps the first two beats in the left hand, the downbeat now being a harsh dissonance, and the second beat becoming a pure consonance. This leads to a skewed feel, as if the marching soldiers were now limping along lopsidedly (though things right themselves at 06:20).

06:29-06:54 corresponds to the Mordor horns section of the exposition (00:25-00:41), but with quite a change of mood. The melody is in the upper voice, and the marching feel is gone completely; the melody is accompanied instead by what was a calmly flowing line in the second subject section (02:02). Melodically this section consists once again of two short sentences (06:29-06:37, 06:42-06:49), but the buffer parts between those two become much more interesting – both sentences grow in volume and end up with an explosive chord (06:37, 06:49; relatives of those bomb-like ones from the development, though not played with the fist this time). After these chords there’s a gradual climb up back to the melody, first hardly discernible, then becoming clearer, as if dust were settling down after an explosion.

06:55-07:14 – this section is based at first on the second subject melody (you’re probably recognizing it by now), with the same flowing line for accompaniment we’ve had in the previous section, but already by 06:59 things start to go sour in the middle voices, and starting from 07:02 Prokofiev abandons his melody completely and embarks instead on one last buildup, towards one last climax. The hands grow more and more apart, as the right hand keeps climbing higher and the left hand keeps crawling down chromatically. Tension steadily rises, there is a slight slowing down in tempo as we get to the extremes of the keyboard (07:11-07:14), and then here it is –

07:15 – the final climax of the work. Prokofiev completely breaks away from the sonata from structure by this point and instead of making the recapitulation a simple repeat of the exposition, he lets it bear what is probably the heaviest, most ponderous moment of the entire movement. Those heavy chords are based on the clock motif from the end of the development (05:26), with bits from the second subject melody thrown in (in its loud and high-pitched version from the development). Things seem to quieten down at 07:21, only to return with full vengeance at 07:28. The sequence is repeated then: a semblance of a calming down at 07:31 (with a haunting, pale specter appearing at 07:34: a ghost-like reminiscence of 05:21), but the war is not to be done away with, and it returns yet again in full force at 07:43, followed by what seems once again to be a calming down (07:45-07:51). You’ll probably doubt its truthfulness by now, and you’ll be right: at the very end of the movement the opening motif returns for one last, triumphant appearance (07:52), and this highly dissonant movement ends with on a highly dissonant chord (07:55), which is left to fade away, unresolved.

*****

Well! That’s it :-). I hope you’ve enjoyed, though perhaps this is not the right word here – but I do hope that this guide managed to make this really complex and sometimes opaque music clearer. And if you’re then able to listen to this movement once again and get some enjoyment from it, then I’ve totally done my job.

I’ll end with a plug – should you like to get the CD, it’s on sale on all Amazon websites (both in a physical and a downloadable copy) among others, as well as on iTunes and other music distribution networks. And it’s not all aggression – though harsh sounds do appear throughout the three sonatas, the movement we’ve just discussed is probably the most dissonant of them all. In some of the others, plenty of softer, even lyrical music is to be found. And taken together these three sonatas have likely not been surpassed in Prokofiev’s piano output in terms of depth, colors, imagination and some incredible writing for the piano, all combined for a very strong effect..

See you next time! BG.

The music of war: a listening guide to Prokofiev’s 6th Sonata, 1st movement (part 1 of 2)

Hello everybody!

Today’s post marks a somewhat special occasion, as my new CD has been recently  released worldwide. I recorded the 6th, 7th, and 8th piano sonatas by Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953), which are commonly grouped together as ‘the War Sonatas’, having been composed between 1940 and 1944. To tie-in with the release, I decided to publish a listening guide to the opening movement of the CD – the first movement of the 6th sonata. And to really tie-in with the release, the YouTube clip below comes from the newly released CD (thanks to Orchid Classics for arranging this).

Since we’re once again discussing a sonata form movement (and in rather more depth than in the recent guide to Ravel’s Concerto in G), I thought I’ll do a quick recap of what a sonata form is and how it works before we delve into the music (you can also find an in-depth discussion here). The sonata form is a musical mold or a blueprint which could be used to construct a musical movement of almost any length – it’s highly flexible and modular, while at the same time being structured enough to provide the skeleton for even the longest movements. It’s also one of the most popular and longest-enduring musical forms with hundreds of works ranging from the mid-18th century to our days. The basic division of a sonata form movement is into three parts:

  • Exposition
  • Development
  • Recapitulation (often shortened to recap)

In the exposition the main themes/subjects/motifs are presented (more on it in a second), they are then developed, combined and clashed in the development, and reprised in the recapitulation, which is often a complete repeat of the exposition. The exposition itself is normally divided into four sections:

  • The first subject section (subject being just another word for a musical theme)
  • A connection section (a.k.a. a bridge or a transition, which leads into ->)
  • The second subject section
  • A closing section (formally called the ‘codetta’, meaning ‘little coda’ – which is Italian for tail)

The first and second subjects are the defining melodic elements of the movement (those are usually the tunes one could sing – though they’re not always singable, as we’ll see), and since some point in the 19th century, it became common practice to have two contrasting subjects in your movement – so if the first was energetic and quick, the second would be lyrical and slow (e.g.). The other two sections need not present new melodic material (though they may), and their function is more of a structural one – connecting, moving from one key to another, etc. Once again, please refer to the Mozart post linked above if you’d like a more thorough explanation.

The development is a free-form section, without rules – it’s quite often the least stable area of the sonata form movement: the subjects are combined and juxtaposed, buildups are built up, big climaxes are reached – exciting stuff. The recap would normally contain the same sections as the exposition, and would sometimes be followed by a coda – a closing section.

So, as you see, it’s a very organized way of writing music. But there’s also much freedom to be had – sections can be as short or as long as the composer wants them to, they can be expanded to include more material, or even be done away with completely. This is all rather theoretical at the moment, but will hopefully become clearer as we progress with the music. And so, without further ado, here’s the recording:

00:02 – now how’s that for a melody to sing? This is angular, aggressive, angry, persistent – and basically not a melody at all. It’s a sharply defined rhythmic motif – one longer note, followed by three quick descending ones, and immediately repeated, with the first longer note shortened (00:02-00:04); this group of eight notes (they are actually sixteen, as each note is doubled by an interval, like two voices moving in parallel paths) is repeated in full (00:05-00:07), and then repeated once again, shortened even more and with an extra helping of the three descending notes (00:07-00:08); and to end the sentence, we have a new four-note rising motif, with a snappy dotted rhythm (00:08-00:10), like a series of angrily barked words.

I would like to dwell on this short sentence some more, as it’s fascinating to see how much can occur in such a small stretch of time, and on how many different levels. (For me it’s one of the greatest hallmarks of classical music – things are happening all the time, no second is wasted, and the perception of time is often stretched to accommodate the amount of stuff packed into every bar.) We’ve spoken about the melody, but what happens in the left hand?

(note: this paragraph and the next are slightly more complicated and technical, so feel completely free to skip them.) You have probably noticed that the the music resembles a march more than anything else (I imagine endless lines of blank-eyed soldiers, marching past or towards you) – but what a weird march it is! You would normally expect a march to have a very steady, constant beat, to help with the marching. But not here – the third beat out of every four is empty, missing, giving us instead of a regular ‘one-two-three-four’ an oddly syncopated ‘one-two-…..-four. And not just in the left hand, but in the right hand as well, as the third beat falls on the shortened long note of the main motif – which is shortened precisely to leave the third downbeat empty (I mean the very beginning of 00:04 and 00:06 – there’s just an emptiness there, no right hand, no left hand – as if the soldiers all stopped on the Right! and froze on one leg for a beat before continuing to Left! Could be quite scary, if you imagine it). Later, in 00:07-00:08, the left hand finally plays all four beats, but instead of sounding normal as it should, it now sounds shortened, condensed (as the empty beat has been dispensed with) – this to coincide with the shortening of the motif in the right hand. 00:08-00:10 is nothing special, with the left hand steadily accompanying the right. (But do notice the abrupt ending in 00:10 – in the beginning we first had ‘one-two-…..-four’ for two bars, then one bar of ‘one-two-three-four’, and then, at 00:10, it’s suddenly ‘one-two-three!’, like a cut-off, categorical statement – very effective. And it’s quite a variety of rhythmical configurations for such a short sentence.)

Lastly I’d like to talk about the harmony – the very first chord we hear in 00:02 is a pure major triad – a clean, perfectly consonant sound. But immediately thereafter, at 00:03, we get the harshest dissonant one could create from four notes (that’s how many we’ve got there), which is further exacerbated by Prokofiev ‘freezing’ on that harmony (the empty third beat) – this serves as a virtual accent, as there’s nothing after that chord, letting us continue hearing it in our ears. Prokofiev also repeats the same harmony on the fourth beat (00:04), so on balance our first bars are one fourth pure consonance to three fourths harsh dissonance – a sweet mix, isn’t it? The first chord of the closing four-note motif (00:08) is a hard dissonance as well, though the very last chord (00:10) is a clean one – consonances make better ‘full-stop’ chords, or, as in this case, ‘semicolon’ chords – as we’re not nearly done yet.

If you listen to this first sentence again, you can now probably hear and feel how those elements – the melody, the rhythm and the harmony – combine to create the militant, triumphant mood (triumphant in an ugly way). Moreover, the sentence is perfectly balanced – first, two identical full bars, each one with a skipped beat in the left hand and the main motif in the right hand played twice per bar, once in full, once in a rhythmically shortened version. This is followed by a general condensing of the material (no skipped beats in the left hand, only the shortened version of the motif in the right hand), the tension is building up, and finally the snappy four-notes motif finishes things off for the moment – and we’re just 8 seconds in.

And here I’d like to add that for me in no other movement of these three sonatas – ten movements altogether – are the horrors of war as blatantly apparent as here. There’s nothing subtle here, nothing is hinted – you’re staring war in the face, and it’s ugly.

Let’s go on (finally). 00:10-00:17 – We have some new material. This is a kind of an appendix to the first sentence, not a new one. 00:10-00:12 gives us a rowdy motif (possibly with an element of laughter to it – of the mocking, malicious kind) which is answered at 00:12-00:14 by a booming, dissonant fanfare in a lower region of the keyboard (rhythmically, it’s ‘one-two-three!’, like at 00:10 – once again, a semicolon chord). And then, in 00:14-00:17 there is a sweeping upward passage in the right hand, accompanied by dotted rhythms in the left hand (dotted rhythms are – well, it’s easier to show: this is what they are, 05:55-06:03. They are called so because of the way they are notated in a musical score. Here’s an example, the first dot is circled in red):

Dynamically, the run starts out somewhat softer with an immediate crescendo afterwards (crescendo is the musical term for the volume getting louder), there’s another tension buildup, and it gets released into –

00:17-00:25 – a full repeat of the opening phrase (00:02-00:10), sounding even more triumphant then before. The only difference is the ending, at 00:23-00:25 – instead of the snappy four-notes motif from 00:09-00:10, we get the booming fanfare one from 00:12-00:14 (musical interchangeability :-)) – and this time it serves as a full-stop, bringing the entire section to a close. And yet, at the very last moment, the bass line in the left hand slides down – that single note between 00:25 and 00:26 – and brings us to the next section –

00:25-00:41. If you have been keeping the sonata form structure in mind, you might be wondering if this is the bridge – the connecting section between the first and the second subject. The truthful answer is that one cannot know for sure at this point – we’ll have to wait and see what happens afterwards: if this brings us to the second subject, then yes, if it brings us somewhere else, then no. As it is, this section is based on just two motifs – first, the descending three-note motif which we encountered right at the beginning of the movement (without the first long note); but whereas before it has been the melody (sort of), now it has become the accompaniment to the other line – a series of long, loud notes, sustained in the middle of the keyboard, while the three-note motif encompasses them from above and from below like snarls and shrieks. The effect is absolutely barbaric – a terrible force is on the march to the sound of horns (I immediately think about the armies of Mordor from the Lord of the Rings; and realizing that Prokofiev meant no imaginary creatures, but rather some very real human beings, makes it all the more chilling).

Melodically the sentence is divided into two short parts, 00:25-00:30 and 00:32-00:36, with the areas between and after serving as buffer or filler – no melodic notes there, just repetitions of our descending three-note motif. And then, after one last angry snarl in the basses at 00:38, we get the same upward run as at 00:14, complete with the dotted notes in the left hand. And, like at 00:18, it once again brings us to a full repeat of the opening phrase (00:41-00:48), and we can now know for sure that those barbaric horns at 00:25 were not the bridge section, but rather the expansion of the first subject section. This is a prime example of the flexibility of the sonata form – Prokofiev has constructed a complicated, multi-segmented section with quite a bit of different material, and yet, it’s all snugly encapsulated inside a clearly delineated structural block. Nice! But let’s move on.

00:49-01:21 – our bridge section. In the beginning (00:49-00:56) we’ve got a creeping, slithering chromatic line (chromatic means covering all the tones and semi-tones on the piano; basically advancing in the smallest increments possible from point A to point B. Chromatic scales got a distinct sound, and among other things they’re very good for crawling lines such as this). The two hands alternate note by note, and the melody is just in the thumbs of both hands, the other fingers providing dampened harmonic chords. The last four notes of the line get repeated three times (00:53-00:56), each time a bit louder (with a hint of a growing menace), then the phrase is repeated again at a higher pitch (00:56-01:00), this time ending with a bigger crescendo and even a tiny bit of triumph as the hands split and separate from each other (01:00-01:02). Our chromatic line is then repeated one last time, higher and louder still (01:02-01:05) and after a single octave in the bass (01:06), we get to the climax of this section: we’re showered with a cascade of highly dissonant descending chords (01:06-01:12) – like a carillon gone mad. There’s no melody to speak of, just harsh intervals. The line slows and quietens down gradually (01:11 onward), coming to a near-standstill at 01:16-01:20.

And then at 01:22, above the held interval in the bass, the second subject appears – a distant melody, sad and forlorn and beautiful, played by both hands in unison. I cannot but think of Wilfred Owen’s ‘Pity of war’ in this place – for me this is the musical embodiment of that idea. The unison line splits into three voices at 01:30, the middle voice adding a counterpoint to the upper voice melody and the bass line appearing down below, reminding us that all is not well. Then at 01:38, the first half of our melody is repeated with more presence in the middle voice, the upper voice accompanying it with a few separated notes, this half-line ending uncertainly at 01:45-01:47.

At 01:47-02:02 the full line is repeated with several variations, in the same three-voice configuration we had at 01:30. The middle voice is becoming more prominent (note the long up-and-down line at  01:48-01:54) and there’s an unexpected dotted-rhythm interplay between it and the upper voice at 01:56-01:58, bringing a note of urgency and nervousness into the previously calm line. This is joined by the lower voice with a short but noticeable upward arpeggio (broken chord) at 01:59.

At 02:02 a new, calmly flowing line appears, passing into the lower voice at 02:06, as the right hand plays three prominent bell-like notes (02:06, 02:08, 02:10). Immediately after the third note our main melody re-appears above, making the flowing line below its accompaniment. A small additional quirkiness is in the fact that the melody is offset by one note, entering as it were just a bit too late, and making it ever-so-slightly out of sync with the bass, and adding to the flow (the two hands are then re-synced at 02:13).

02:17 – calmness is over. This is the closing section to the exposition; a quick upward line made of sharp notes alternated between the two hands snaps us out of the slightly dreamy mood that preceded it. This is further emphasized by the relative harshness of 02:20-02:24, which contains a preparation of what is to come – in its middle voice we can hear a line of four descending notes which will serve as the backbone of the forthcoming climax. The quick upward line is repeated at 02:26-02:27, followed by a short buildup at 02:27-02:31 which contains the same four-note motif, repeated twice (02:27-02:29, 02:29-02:31). And finally things erupt in an explosive manner at 02:31. Something bad is upon us, and the outer chords sound the alarm, like low and high heavy bells, while the middle voice hammers out incessantly the descending four-note motif. 02:38-02:41 – still more harshness and clamor, the four-note motif especially insisting at 02:42-02:45, where it’s isolated and for all to hear. Things slow down at 02:45, as if the motor propelling the four-note motif had run out of fuel, and the section ends with a few slow notes in the bass at 02:51-02:55.

But then Prokofiev adds one final touch before moving on to the development. Just as things seem to have calmed down, a dark, somewhat scary motif of repeated notes appears in the bass at 02:59 (not to detract from the seriousness of the music, I’m reminded a bit of a Hollywood technique – showing us one last giant ant queen or man-eating locust creeping out of the dark, just as we thought they were all annihilated. Though of course the place we’re at in the sonata form structure – just before the beginning of the development – suggests in itself that the big events are yet to come. And however we look at it, it’s a very effective and highly atmospheric place). At 03:05 the single voice splits into two, with quite a scary effect as the lowest voice enters at a higher volume, before gradually slowing and dying away through several repeats of a three-note ascending chromatic motif. At 03:09 this motif is repeated one last time, slowly, in the middle of the keyboard, and now we’re truly ready for the development.

(I’ve split the post in two due to its length; the second part follows right away.)

A Frenchman in New York: a brief listening guide to Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G (part 1 of 3)

Hello everybody!

Ravel in 1928

Today’s post, as the titles suggests, will be a brief listening guide to Maurice Ravel’s (1875-1937) Piano Concerto in G. Ravel wrote the concerto in 1929-1931 following an in- and ex-tensive tour of the States in January-April 1928. The tour was a big success, and he felt invigorated rather than exhausted by the experience (saying “it’s incredible how rejuvenated I am”). His fascination with jazz (“Personally I find jazz most interesting: the rhythms, the way the melodies are handled, the melodies themselves”) received a further boost during the tour, as he visited New Orleans with its jazz scene, and while in New York went to hear jazz in Harlem together with George Gershwin. Whether any of this had a direct influence on the concerto is a guess of course, but the concerto is very jazzy at times – rhythm and texture mostly, though there are a few conspicuous melodies too. But as with all great composers, the personal musical stamp is always present – even when it’s jazz, it’s jazz Ravel-style. 

From a performer’s point of view, the concerto is a sheer joy to play – the first and third movements are exuberant, energetic, fun and quirky, light fingered, and at the same time have those moments of melancholy which are Ravel’s trademark (and – it’s a secret, don’t tell – these two movements are not terribly difficult). And then there’s the second movement… but we’ll get there tomorrow.

I didn’t like to listen to the concerto as a child – it seemed a total mess, I could never figure out what was going on there, I didn’t connect with any of the melodies, and the second movement was impossibly long-winded and boring (though even then I felt that magic of that wonderful moment towards the end of the 2nd movement when, like a sudden ray of moonlight, the major key appears), But working on it now I was (and am) enjoying myself so much, that it seemed to me prime material for a listening guide – a work which one could enjoy more if one was acquainted with its structure and inner mechanism. So, here we are. I won’t go into such a level of detail as I did with the Mozart or the Bach – we won’t finish it this year otherwise! – but I will try to outline the structure – melodies, sections, etc – as well as comment on the orchestration and piano technique. (edit: nonsense. See the length of the post below.)

There is a whole lot of good recordings of the concerto on YouTube, but as Martha Argerich’s live recording with Temirkanov from Stockholm in 2009 was taken down (this would have been my first choice), I’ll go with her recording with Claudio Abbado on DG, which is currently online.

Here’s the first movement:


27:14 – to let us know we’re in fun/quirky/unusual territories, the concerto begins with a single whip-crack (nothing like a whip to catch your attention – where’s the mosquito?)

27:15-27:29 – the main theme of the concerto, played on the piccolo and accompanied by the piano and the strings (and a bit of snare drum and triangle). All the adjectives I used to describe the outer movements above – energetic, light fingered, fun, etc – apply to this melody, and in addition, it’s nearly pentatonic (meaning it mostly uses only five out of the seven notes of the scale – like Chinese music; I say ‘nearly’ as the melody does include a few occurrences of the sixth note – but still, Ravel creates a specific, slightly exotic sound-scape right from the beginning). The piano is playing figurations, and a very cool thing is going on there: the two hands are both playing simple arpeggios – but in different keys! This, too, contributes to the quirky sound. The strings help with syncopated pizzicatos (a technique of playing whereby the musicians pluck the strings with their fingers – a bit like playing the guitar – instead of using the bow).

27:29-27:38 – a transition passage. A new, syncopated rhythm is added and repeated several times, each time with more instruments and more volume. The piano is playing glissandos – slides up and down the keyboard. A nice idiosyncratic touch – the transition section is 9 bars long (8 is the most common length of a simple musical phrase), so instead of the predictable 2+2+2+2, we get 2+2+3+2 – and as a consequence the piano player has to drag out one of the glissandi (that’s the correct way of saying glissandos) for an extra bar – nothing important, just a small behind-the-scenes thing. As we progress with the transition, the tension keeps and keeps mounting, by the end of it the whole orchestra is playing and we finally arrive into –

27:38-27:57 – a full repeat of the main theme, played by the trumpet and accompanied by honk-like sounds from the horns and trombones and by pizzicati from the strings (and the harp, but it’s not really audible behind the much harsher sound of the brass; I do wonder though if the sound would be different were the harp not playing – might well be). The whistles at 27:46-27:49 are done by the piccolo together with the triangle. The strings take over at 27:50, adding much body to the sound (the brass was loud, but not earthy – and in this case the strings are, aided by the timpani); there’s a big crescendo (an increase of sound) at 27:53–27:55 – and then, rather suddenly, the sound dies away, and the last two bars of the melody are played by a lone cor anglais – a relative of the oboe, with a unique timbre, haunting and beautiful – accompanied by pizzicati in the strings.

27:58-28:13 – a piano solo. New material, quite Spanish-sounding with its guitar-like strums. I hesitate to call this a melody, as it ain’t quite one; but it’s a new section for sure, with new texture, mood and sound.

28:13-28:17 – aahh, that‘s pure Gershwin. A short 5-note motif is repeated twice, first played by the E-flat clarinet (a relative of the ‘standard’ clarinet, but with a higher pitch and a shriller, more piercing sound – and with a more strongly marked personality too, which I guess is why Ravel chose it for this spot) and then by a muted trumpet – a jazz instrument par excellence. Add to this a few syncopated cymbal notes and a repeated two-note motif played on the wood-block, inject a ‘blue note’ into that 5-note motif, stir a little bit – and you get the most wonderfully exotic jazz sound you could imagine. A total contrast with the Spanish character of the previous section.

28:18-28:32 – piano solo again. This time we do have a melody – a new one, and one which defies easy characterization – only by its end (28:29-28:32) does it acquire a clearer jazz character; we’ll return to it later, when it gets repeated by the orchestra towards the end of the movement. The left hand imitates the wood-block with its repeated two-note motif.

28:32-28:39 – the jazzy motif again – this time repeated three times – first played by the piccolo, and then once again by the E-flat clarinet and the muted trumpet. Wood-block and cymbals are back, but this time we get the addition of a harp playing glissandi – and it is audible this time, certainly adding to the ‘mix’.

28:39-28:55 – the melody from 28:18 once again, repeated a fourth higher, and in dialogue with a muted horn, which fills the empty spaces in the piano’s line quite beautifully (perhaps not the best word; but notice 28:44-28:46 especially, as well as the end of the section). The ending is different now, with repeated notes on the piano dying away, as it leads into a new theme –

28:56-29:14 – a new theme played by the piano, and it’s a new mood once again – that’s a lot of different material for such a short amount of time; its organization is unclear at this point, just one thing seemingly coming after another; let’s see if things get clearer later in the movement. But either way this theme with its singing quality is the first serious candidate for a second subject ( Mozart post). The theme is punctuated twice – at 29:01 and 29:08 – with some of the mood of the previous sections coming back in – the piano’s imitation of the wood-block is almost uncanny, I find; and the strings add a lush background.

29:15-29:29 – a continuation of the theme; and if before we had a moment of pure Gershwin, this whole section is pure Ravel – not a trace of jazz, but instead much melancholy or sadness perhaps, and those gentle pastel colors. Really beautiful.

29:30-29:46 – a repeat of the second subject – the theme is played by the bassoon, and the  punctuation places (29:34 and 29:40) include the wood-block, cymbals, triangle and dry rolling passages on the piano besides the entire woodwind section. At 29:42 the trumpet suddenly takes over, there’s a big crescendo, a sweeping upwards passage on the piano (29:45) and –

29:47-30:01 – some action at last! Very fast passage-work with repeated notes on the piano, with the strings and the woodwinds helping a bit (you can hear the woodwinds doubling the piano each time the melody goes up). You’ll probably have noticed that this section basically consists of a short phrase (4 bars) which is repeated four times at slightly different pitches – at 29:47, 29:51, 29:54 and 29:58 – this is called a sequence, and is a very common device.

30:01-30:19 – more action. Good! Now, this entire section is a three-part sequence with two punctuating places in between:

  1. 30:01-30:04 – repeated notes and syncopated rhythms in the piano; the motif is taken from the main theme (you can hear that bit at 27:23) so we may safely assume we’re in the development section of the movement (again, referring to the Mozart post for explanations on the sonata form). The orchestra provides rhythmic support. A very satisfying place to play – you can really hammer out all those notes.
  2. 30:05-30:08 – first punctuating passage – our beloved 5-note motif repeated three times on the piano, surrounded by a long, held chord in the orchestra. (Something I forgot to mention while discussing the 5-note motif above: this music is in double meter (2 or 4 depending on whether it’s a fast or a slow section) – so by its nature a 5-note motif will skew the perceived meter, adding to the jazzy feeling. The interesting thing is, if you repeat a 5-note motif three times, you get 15 notes – but as we’re in normal 4-note bars, Ravel needs an extra note to balance things – and we get it, at 30:08, just after the end of the third repeat of the motif.)
  3. 30:09-30:12 – as in No. 1, just a bit higher in pitch and louder.
  4. 30:12-30:16 – as in No. 2
  5. 30:16-30:19 – as in No. 3 and louder still, but truncated in the middle, as if impatiently, and taken over by the brass for a second before moving onto the next section.

30:19-30:36 – sounds like a rhythm jam session to me (one of those ‘man, let’s get crazy’ type); not an easy place to play, either technically or rhythmically (the rhythm shifts every 2-3 bars). A short interlude at 30:26-30:28, with the horns quickly running through a part of the motif we had at 29:47.

30:37-30:45 – a descending 3-note motif establishes itself out of the chaos, and is repeated again, and again, and again (working itself into a frenzy) – first in full bar lengths (leaving the 4th note as a rest), and then, condensed, without any breaks – and joined in the end by the trumpets for extra whoomph.

30:46-30:54 – a virtuoso passage in the piano, played unisono (the two hands playing the same line, just an octave apart) – I wonder how difficult or not it is for the conductor to catch the pianist in the end (I wonder indeed, as I have to play it in three weeks; the seemingly shapeless passage is in fact studiously shaped – it’s 12 notes repeated twice, then 8 notes repeated twice, and finally 4 notes repeated twice).

30:54-31:14 – we’re back! It’s the main theme, and this section is a full repeat of 27:38-27:57, played by the orchestra together with the piano (so, the recapitulation, if you’re following the sonata form). The ending is played by the oboe rather than the cor anglais this time.

31:14-31:31 – a repeat of the Spanish theme, with more elaborate strumming in the right hand and the Tam-Tam and cymbals keeping the piano company on the downbeats.

31:32-31:39 – the jazzy 5-note motif, played this time by the piano solo, intrudes very loudly. It’s played once in normal rhythm, and then several times twice as fast (a compositional device called ‘diminution’). It dies away in the lower areas of the keyboard and connects to –

31:39-32:22 – a weird place. Remember that strange melody from 28:18? Well, this is it, just played by the harp. I say weird, because having a 30-seconds long harp solo in the middle of an 8-minutes long movement is, well, weird (but I have a feeling that weirdness is exactly what this place is about; see below at 32:29). It’s punctuated by an angelic chord in the strings at 32:06-32:10 and then continues at 32:12 as if it had all the time in the world.

32:23-32:28 – 5-note motif again, played by most everybody (the motif itself is played by the piccolo, E-flat clarinet and trumpet like before, just with a tremolo added – that’s this fluttering sound you’re hearing – the rest of the orchestra accompanies. The pwwwam in the end is produced by the trombone.)

32:29-32:59 – the horn repeats the strange theme from 31:39 – and it’s outright eerie. The horn part is written in the highest reaches of the instrument, giving it a constricted, slightly strangled sound, and it is accompanied by very fast passages in the woodwinds and lush chords in the strings – an exceptional moment in terms of orchestration, really memorable. (And I could imagine the previous occurrences of this theme being just build-up for this moment.) In the end everything dies away, and the piano starts its cadenza –

33:00-33:49 – a cadenza is a part of a concerto when the solo instrument is left alone (so, technically 27:58 is a mini-cadenza as well), usually after the recapitulation and before the coda. Ravel does something unusual here – a cadenza is usually a free treatment of various themes from the movement, combined and juxtaposed for good effect, but here the piano basically plays the second subject of the concerto in full (compare with 28:56) – just with a different texture: figurations in the left hand and trills in the right. A very beautiful texture it is, and it definitely shows off the piano (which a cadenza should do) – but structurally, we’re still in the recapitulation. Like a double function. (In truth, I find it cool, like every non-standard thing in this concerto). The melody is firstly in the middle voice (played by the left hand thumb) and then passes to the right hand after a beautiful glissando at 33:23 (that’s the pure Ravel section from 29:15).

33:49-34:13 – the orchestra joins in and doubles the piano in a repeat of the second subject – a lush, romantic, very 19th-century moment. Both orchestra and piano gradually pick up pitch, speed and volume, getting to a small climax around 34:06; from there the piano takes over with a quick downwards passage, and the coda begins.

34:13-35:02 – The build-up part of the coda is a repeat of all the material we had in the development, just in truncated form:

  1. 34:13-34:25 – the first part, based on the section from 29:47. There’s much tension – it starts down below, not too loudly, though full of energy which seems to be just waiting to burst. The drive is huge.
  2. 34:25-34:29 – the next part is based on the section at 30:01, just without the punctuating passages (we had enough of those already)
  3. 34:30-34:42 – this is based on 30:19 (the crazy rhythm jam session). The trumpets begin with the interlude from 30:26 (where it was played by the horns), and the piano picks up from there for even more shifting rhythms craziness.
  4. 34:42-34:48 – based on the 3-note descending motif section from 30:37.
  5. 34:48-34:56 – the piano continues with the 3-note descending motif, while the trumpet and the woodwinds alternately play bits and pieces from the main theme of the movement (in condensed rhythms, so it might not sound like it right away).

34:57-35:03 – final build-up – rising arpeggios in the piano while first the horns and then the woodwinds continue to play a short part of the main theme.

35:03-35:10 – sheer madness 🙂 you’ll keep hearing that short part of the main theme above everything, but everyone’s just trying to make as much noise here as possible (a very happy type of noise, but still).

35:10-35:12 – a descending scale to finish things off. Even there, at the very last moment, Ravel finds an opportunity for the idiosyncratic – the first four notes seem to imply a standard major scale – but the last four are from the phrygian mode (can’t explain it quickly – basically, another scale, vastly different from a major one – if anything it’s a variation on the minor one, with the second note of the scale being half-a-tone lower. It’s not important to understand that, but I’m sure you’ll notice the very strange sound of the last four notes – so this is where it comes from.).

And if we go back and look at the structure, we’ll realize there are two ways of looking at it – on the one hand, we had a long exposition, a short but distinct development, a recap with a cadenza and a coda – so, all is fine, But, on the other hand, you could say that from 27:14 to 30:54 we had a bunch of themes, motifs and sections, and then from 30:54 till the last part of the coda all of those get repeated. So, not even a binary form (which is a-b – so two different sections), but rather a-a’ (a’ meaning ‘a with variations’). Now, I’m not saying this is it (I certainly never read anything like that about this movement), but it is kinda there if you care to look at it this way. So, food for thought.

***

And we’re done! The first movement that is. 2nd and 3rd to follow later this week. And please kindly disregard the word ‘brief’ from this post’s title – we’re at just under 3,000 words, so brief it ain’t.

But isn’t it wonderful music?

Quick fun: Mozart’s Sonata K280, 3rd movement

Hello everybody!

Last time we saw one way of putting a piece together – namely by stitching different sections one after another, with each section having its own tempo ( = speed, for those who are joining us now), meter and character. This is sometimes called “Through-composed”, and is in fact not the most common way of constructing works, though you can encounter through-composed works ranging from the 15th to the 21st century.

Today I’d like to show you another way of building a musical composition, and this one will serve us for many guides to come. Please let me introduce the Sonata form. She’s Italian, about 250 years old*, but is very well preserved and has made numerous public appearances well into her 230s (and is still called upon today in times of need). Though she may appear slightly intimidating to those unacquainted with her (which adds to her air of mystery), she’s actually really nice, and a true and loyal companion to those who know her well.

Now, seriously, the Sonata form is a structure – a blueprint or a mold of a musical piece, into which the actual music (melodies, harmonies, rhythms) is poured. One would not necessarily be aware of its existence solely by listening (a bit like not being immediately aware of the skeleton of a human or an animal), but it is what holds together the many pieces written in Sonata form, and over the years it has proven itself to be one of the most reliably successful types of musical architecture.

So, what is it like? I’ll first do a dry breakdown (you don’t need to process all this information right now – it will be much easier when we apply it to an actual piece of music):

Outer structure:
A movement written in Sonata form will almost certainly** contain three basic sections:

    1. Exposition
    2. Development
    3. Recapitulation

The exposition, as its name suggests, will introduce the main themes of the work (usually two), those will be developed in the development (like, duh) and the recapitulation (often shortened by musicians and/or lazy bloggers to ‘recap’) will be a more-or-less straightforward repetition of the exposition. And that’s it. (There are two optional sections – an Introduction, to come before the exposition, and a Coda (‘tail’ in Italian), to come after the recap – but those are not obligatory and need not appear in every Sonata-form movement.)

Inner structure:
The exposition has an inner sub-division as well. Normally it will contain:

    1. A first subject section
    2. A connecting section (a.k.a. as a bridge or a transition, which leads into the ->)
    3. Second subject section
    4. Codetta (meaning ‘little coda’, acting as a closure to the exposition).

The first and the second subject are basically two melodies that will form most of the melodic material of the movement (the term melody might be misleading, as some of those ‘subjects’ are not melodies one could sing, really [though some of them are, certainly], so the more neutral ‘subject’ is usually used). The transition and the codetta might contain new melodic material as well, though they need not, and if they do, it will usually be less ‘melodic’ than that of the main subjects. 

The development has no prescribed structure, and can vary a lot between each work. With some composers/works it will contain the most interesting music in the movement, whereas with others it will be short and bear less musical weight. It’s something best approached on a per-development basis.

The recap is an altered repeat of the exposition. There is one inherent alteration that is almost always present (see 01:52 in the guide), and for the rest, the composer might include as many variations and deviations from the original material as he’d like – though usually all four sections of the exposition will be present.

So that’s the basic outline (of course, many many variations are possible, but this is a good place to start). Before we dig into the Mozart, I’d like to offer an additional way of looking into the structure of the sonata form – it doesn’t replace the one above, but rather co-exists with it, while possibly providing a better explanation of the driving force behind the form – and it requires looking at the relationship of the various keys inside the movement. This is a slightly more tricky concept to explain (we’ll need first to define what a musical key is), so feel free to jump from here to the guide itself – but it’s also quite a basic one, and I think might prove useful to us in the future (and I did end up using the key concept in the guide).

So, keys. If you imagine a piano keyboard (here’s a picture: )

…you will see that it is built from groups of seven white and five black keys which are repeated again and again (so for instance, one group could be all the notes from A to A, and no matter from which note you start, the interval (= distance) between it and its next occurrence is called an ‘octave’ [from ‘octava’, Latin for eighth – meaning that the upper A is the eighth white note one encounters starting from the lower A***])

In tonal music, which is most of the music written between 1600 and 1900 and a significant part of the music written after 1900, not all the notes inside any single octave are equally important. Instead there is a stable hierarchy of sounds, including one most important note (which is like a musical home base/center of gravity), two notes that are nearly as important (the fourth note and the fifth note above the base note – so D and E respectively, if one starts with A – each one with a different function), with the rest having their own places too. I won’t go too deeply into this, as it would then become long enough for a separate post (which would be quite boring, as it’s rather technical stuff), and the small details don’t matter so much to us. The one thing that is of interest is that within each key we have one supremely important ‘home’ note (called the Tonic – though there’s no gin anywhere), which defines the ‘sound’ of the key, and also its name – a key based on, say, C would be called C major or C minor.

Knowing this, one could look at the Sonata form the point of view of keys:

  • Exposition:
    • The first subject is (almost) always in the main key – the subject announces the key to the listeners, establishing the home base.
    • The transition, which wouldn’t be of much interest if we looked at it from a purely melodic point of view, suddenly becomes much more important, as it now has a crucial mission – to get us out of the home key as quickly as possible (like Gandalf having to get Bilbo out of his house by the second chapter of ‘The Hobbit’, otherwise we wouldn’t be having all the interesting and dangerous adventures). It moves (the musical term is ‘modulates’) to a new key and establishes it as the new home base. Generally, the new key will be based on the second most-important note of the scale – the fifth above the tonic (called the Dominant, as a noun).
    • The second subject will be then in the new key, establishing it even more,
    • as will be the codetta.
  • The development will usually be an area where one leaves the safe harbor of either key and goes exploring. Not necessarily – but most key-related drama will usually take place in the development (where it joins the melodic perturbations – so the development is quite often the area of least stability in a sonata movement). Towards the end of the development the composer would usually start to gravitate towards the first home key, stopping just one step short of getting there (a cliffhanger) —- and we go on to
  • The recapitulation
    • which would then start with a return both of the first subject and the main key (to give us as much as possible a feeling of a homecoming).
    • The transition in the recap is a curious thing. If the composer would just copy it from the exposition (something he may well do with the first subject), he would once again arrive at the key of the dominant – something which he really doesn’t want to do now. It is the main key of the work that is our area of interest in the recap (slightly like Bilbo who, after getting back to the Shire, had to deal with his furniture being sold at an auction and other such domestic affairs, but wouldn’t go adventuring again; at least no till the Lord of the Rings :P). So, the composer now has to write new music, in order to make the transition modulate from the home key into the… home key (which is sometimes more of a feat than it sounds).
    • The second subject would now appear in the home key (so, transposed from the exposition),
    • as would the codetta, firmly finishing the movement in the home key.

So there we are. We have two different looks at the sonata form, one from the melodic / structural point of view, one from the underlining point of view of keys. And in order to put this in practice (it’s high time, as the post is getting rather long), I’ve chosen the shortest, cleanest sonata-form movement I know of – the third movement of Mozart’s Sonata in F major, K.280 (ah, I forgot about this little conundrum – the word sonata has a double meaning – it is both the structure we just discussed, and a name for a work of several movements (= parts), at least one of which is written in sonata form. A standard sonata (as a work) would have three movements – fast, slow, fast – the first usually being in sonata form, the second and/or third only sometimes so).

***

Here it is, performed by Sviatoslav Richter in Prague,  in 1966:

00:00-00:41 is our exposition. The inner division would be:

00:00-00:08 – the first subject. It consist of two elements – a pointy, jumpy one, with a repeated-notes motif in the beginning (00:00-00:02) followed by a virtuoso passage (00:03-00:04) – these two forming the first half of the section; the first element is then repeated one octave lower (00:04-00:06) (this might demonstrate what I meant at the footnote below regarding octaves), and there’s another brilliant passage, upwards this time (00:06-00:07) with quick three chords forming the cadence (00:08). You could think of the two halves of the phrase as a question and an answer (the answer repeating the first half of the question, like we all sometimes do). All this is in our main key of F major, and as you see, fairly microscopic :]

00:08-00:19 – the transition. We have a new texture here – the left hand playing repeated notes, the right hand a slightly longer melodic element (the writing reminds very much of writing for woodwinds – the left hand imitating a bassoon and the right hand being two oboes). This element is played twice – 00:08-00:10, and then 00:10-00:12 an octave higher. We’re still in F major, but now comes the modulation: it is so light-footed and quick it’s really hard to catch, but the main part of it is the four short upward passages at 00:12-00:14, with the longer twirling passage at 00:15 already starting the cadence in the new key – C major (the dominant, or fifth note above the tonic, as expected). The cadence is then underlined by three repeats of the last two chords at 00:16-00:19, each one echoed by two imitating notes in the left hand (I find this sort of noteplay wonderful – as if the voices were calling to each other: “You’re there?” “I’m here!” “We’re here!” “You’re there?” “We’re here!” “I’m here!”)

00:20-00:35 – the second subject section. We’re now in the new key of C major, though the first, very rhythmical, element starts slightly off-key (00:20-00:22) lending a somewhat uncertain, questioning character to the otherwise very brave and energetic (and slightly woodpecker-ish) motif (note the same motif of three repeated notes we had in the beginning, here with an added rhythmical spice). But we’re getting into C major proper right away at 00:22, with a wonderful sense of resolution and stability (the very active left hand compensating for its 2 seconds of silence, and giving a solid support to the jumpy right hand). This lasts precisely 4 seconds, and at 00:26 the first motif of the second subject returns, now in both hands (you can just hear the second woodpecker joining in), but still with its slightly questioning character – and the resolution, when it comes now, is even fuller (and louder), the left hand playing in the lowest region of the keyboard (Mozart’s keyboard, this being 1774, was quite a bit shorter than that of the modern piano). Note the small variation in the right hand between 00:24 and 00:29. To close off the second subject section, we have yet another virtuoso passage going downward, repeated twice, at 00:31 and 00:33.

00:35-00:41 – the codetta. Note the complete change of texture between the mischievous fast runs of the last seconds and the relatively well-behaved first seconds of the codetta (00:35-00:38, where the texture again reminds of woodwinds, and we have the same sort of call-and-answer game between the two hands). This obviously cannot last for long, and at 00:38 he bursts again into short passages, finishing the exposition with a last, happy repeat of the repeated-notes motif we had both in the first and the second subjects.

00:41-01:22 – is a full repeat of the entire exposition. Those repeats are quite common in sonata form movements, and modern opinions divide – some say it’s an inherent part of the structure and not playing them is a blasphemy, while others take a more relaxed approach and say it should be left to the discretion of the performer (Brahms, who once conducting his first symphony in Germany (I think it was Hamburg, but I’m not certain), omitted the repeat of the exposition, was asked why, and calmly replied: “well, they have heard it this season already.” So there you go.) In a movement that lasts about a minute and forty-five seconds, repeating makes a lot of sense.

01:22-01:37 – is the development. I’m serious, it’s fifteen seconds long. And yet Mozart manages to pack a lot of various stuff into it. We begin with the second subject, which is now in minor (hear the change in mood?). The woodpecker motif is answered at 01:24 with quite a vehemence in the left hand passages. It is then repeated at 01:26, being even further off-key (more uncertainty), and at 01:28 Mozart bursts into a longer section of passages. He takes the fist half of what the left hand had just played (01:24), and repeats it four times, switching hands: r.h (02:28), l.h. (01:29), r.h. (01:30), l.h. (01:31). Harmonically, these four repeats form two groups (or sequences, again like a call and an answer, repeated twice, and passing though various keys on the way, without stopping in any). It is followed by more sequences – a short, imploring motif at the right hand, repeated four times (01:33-01:35), which is then repeated by the left hand (01:35-01:37). We have come a long way from the lightness and wit of the exposition, and the change in mood is almost palpable – we have righteous anger, supplication, defiance and whatnot.

Which all evaporate without a trace at 01:38, as we’re back at the first subject and back to F major- meaning we’re already at the recap! Wait, but wasn’t he supposed to prepare the return or something, make a smoother transition and so on? Well, yes, he was supposed to, I guess, but, you know, he probably just wasn’t in the mood! – and him being the composer he can basically do whatever his muse/genius/intuition/sense of humor suggests him to do. And, as we said, the movement is really tiny, so many things can be done away with.

The recap is really really simple. We have a full repeat of the first subject section (01:38-01:46) and then just a small change in the transition (if you remember, that’s the one required alteration, as he doesn’t want to modulate into C major now, but rather stay in F major, the home key). The change comes at 01:52, when he takes the four short passages in the right hand (01:50-01:52) and repeats them again, only higher (but not an octave higher – that wouldn’t help – just a fourth higher, a fourth being an interval encompassing four notes, which is exactly what he needs in order to get from the fifth note of the scale (C), where he arrived at after the first four passages, to the eighth (F). [That’s a very technical point, so you needn’t spend too much thought on it, but if you’d like, just go to the keyboard picture above and count the notes – from F to C and from C upwards to F – including every time the C and the F in your calculations]).

The rest of the movement is a repeat of the exposition, just transposed to the home key of F major. Second subject is at 01:59 and the codetta at 02:14 (but wait, there’s one interesting thing there – when the woodpecker motif is repeated in both hands at 02:06, he moves to a lower region of the keyboard instead of moving to an even higher one, like he did in the exposition. The reason is purely technical/mechanical – you might remember me saying his keyboard was shorter than ours. Well, he simply didn’t have any higher! so by necessity he had to jump down – which gives that entire sections a darker color (especially at 02:13-02:14, when he goes really low). He then recoups the lost altitude by jumping up an octave and a half in the transition to the codetta at 02:14, as opposed to just a half-octave jump at the exposition, at 00:35). The movement ends at 02:21 (the last bar being a slightly prolonged version of the last bar of the exposition, which was really quite abrupt, and would probably not do for a proper ending; compare 00:39-00:40 with 02:19-02:21).

The rest is a full repeat of the development and the recap – those were less common than repeats of the exposition, but not rare by any means in Mozart’s or Haydn’s sonatas (much rarer in Beethoven’s, as Beethoven often added mighty codas after the recap, which would not work well combined with a repeat),

And that’s it! It’s a wonderful, quirky movement, full of energy, joy-of-life and humor (and a small portion of drama), and to think that it is firmly rooted in a nearly perfect example of the sonata-form blueprint makes it, to me, even more marvelous. But that could just be me, dunno :]

Till next week. And if you liked it and think any of your non-musicians friends might enjoy it – please feel very free to forward the link (this is half a blatant solicitation, half a very earnest wish to spread this very cool music).

***

*Lest I be accused of serious ignorance in all things History-of-Music-al, I’ll add that the Sonata existed in the Baroque period as well (so we should be adding about 100-120 years to her already venerable age), but back then it meant several different types of compositions, none of which could truly be considered an ancestor of the Sonata form we discussed today (which emerged in the Classical period, formally counted from 1750), so for our needs we might safely say she’s 250, and not make her blush even more.

** In truth, I don’t know of any sonata-form movements that don’t contain these three sections, but then again, there’s a huge lot of music out there and a I don’t know a very large part of it, so I’m leaving myself an escape path just in case.

*** The upper A and the lower A (and all the A’s on the keyboard) are to our ears one sound, just repeated at different pitches (higher/lower). This relationship between the various notes on the keyboard is based on a physical phenomenon, without which, I would wager a guess, music as we know it would not exist. The phenomenon is that if you take two strings, one exactly twice as long (or as short) as the other, and make them vibrate, they would produce what to our ears would seem as the same sound, a perfect consonance, just with the shorter string sounding higher than the longer one. You can produce other musical intervals with different lengths of strings: the one between A and E (the middle of the octave +1 note) is based on a 2:3 length ratio, for example. It’s a fascinating and/but huge subject; so I’ll leave it here for now. Let me know if you’d like me to write more about this.

The letters, by the way, (A, B and so on) are not arbitrary designations, but are the actual names of the different notes in English; the black ones are called ‘flats’, if below the white note, or ‘sharps’ if above (those are also the terms used by musicians to describe notes that are out-of-tune – a flat note is too low, a sharp one is too high) – so the black note above D would be D-sharp, and the one below G would be G-flat, and as you might guess, a D-sharp can also be defined as E-flat and a G-flat as F-sharp – depending on the key we’re in. Slightly mind-warping at first, but one gets used to it fairly quickly :]