The Ninth is only the beginning. Why we cannot help but listen to Beethoven today

Frank wrote:

...and you have every reason to

The discussion would be too long for the time I have available during this period, remind me next time we see each other....that way I will give you "great" satisfaction.

Anyway, it all revolves around "the compositional customs of his era"

Ahhh... ok! Let's take our time then

[not to brag - but a little bit - look, it takes me 1 hour 08 minutes to do Milan-Lodi by bike if I go easy]

Anyway, since the discussion has taken a turn of a certain finesse, I would like to say that, regarding architectural metaphors, bricks and cement are not comparable to rondo, sonata form, etc.

The most correct alignments in my opinion are:

bricks, cement, steel... = tonality, modality.... [material substance]

church, villa, theater, stadium... = fugue, sonata form, rondo, aria... [constructed form]

LucaCavaliere wrote:

.

The most correct alignments, in my opinion, are:

bricks, cement, steel... = tonality, modality.... [material substance]

church, villa, theater, stadium... = fugue, sonata form, rondo, aria... [constructed form]

...but if you reason in urban planning terms, the municipality, the church, the villa, the buildings and the green zones could be the "bricks" for architects to design "small towns"

I had written "this is a metaphor, and as such it should be understood" precisely because the game of metaphors is a game as pleasant as it is inconsistent. Cement, bricks, houses, avenues... All we need is someone to compare tonality to the laws of statics, and then we'll have come full circle! Let's not ask more of metaphors than what they give us. I spoke of bricks and houses, but I could have spoken of yeast and flour and cake tins. Let's focus on the meaning: what I want to signify is that tonality, sonata form, and all the other things are tools for composers, and not obstacles to be overcome or bypassed.

Frank wrote:

...but if you reason in urban planning terms, the municipality, the church, the villa, the buildings and the green zones could be the "bricks" for architects to design the "small towns"

mmm... in short.

You mean that something shaped can always be considered a "brick" compared to broader entities?... I can grant you that.

But, you see too, that you have to use quote after quote

[I was reasoning in structural terms, not urban planning terms]

But I like your urban planning jab, so then:

small towns, hamlets, metropolises = sonatas, suites, symphonies, cantatas . . .

@ RedScharlach

For goodness' sake!... everyone plays with whatever they want.

For me, metaphors are also a nice game; sometimes they are beautiful, sometimes poorly executed. But it is precisely because I pay attention to the meaning (at least, I try to) that I consider them seriously. Substantial.

Anyway, I fully agree with your conclusion: when you say that all of this are not obstacles to be overcome and bypassed.

While waiting for you, Luca, to go cycling in Lodi or for us to meet – I would naturally like to be there too – in Milan, I would like to make a few observations in the background, just to speak or write, and apologizing for my limitations.

Every time I hear people talk about form and Beethoven, the first thing that comes to mind is this sentence: "Form is the individual body of poetry (...); but shouldn't there also be a poetry that has deeply penetrated into the quick without the limits established by a form?"

This was the question that the poet Bettina Brentano asked Goethe and, through the greatest German poet, by reflection to the entire 19th century. As we well know, a great friendship developed between Bettina and Beethoven in 1810, consisting of long afternoons discussing music and poetry. It would not surprise me – on the contrary, it would please me – to think that the two also spoke of these things because the subject was common to both: the overcoming of form.

I have probably been wrong – or at least very reductive – in speaking of sonata-form: in reality, classical form was primarily that which constrained sonatas, quartets, and four-movement symphonies, referring in this to the ethos of Aristotelian drama; this is because one must not forget that a founding characteristic of German Classicism was precisely the longing for a return to the splendors of classical Greece.

The Aristotelian philosophy is based on four main themes, which are, moreover, the movements of classical-romantic sonatas and symphonies:

1) Interest in nature, understood as an ordered and self-sufficient whole organized according to the principle of rational necessity: Allegro written in sonata form.

2) The consideration of God as pure intelligence, guarantor of the order of the world, in which He does not intervene: Adagio written in lied form.

3) The consideration of man above all as a being endowed with intelligence, in full harmony with nature: Minuet or a Scherzo written in moderate form.

4) The consideration of the world as eternal: Final Allegro.

What Beethoven sought – and succeeded in doing to a large extent – was to break out of this form that in some way felt deeply restrictive to him. And his transgression of the given rules lay in this as well.

Today, for us posterity, it is obvious that everything can seem completely linear and predictable, but it certainly was not for a composer writing in the early 19th century who distinguished himself not only from his predecessors but also from all his contemporaries.

Milan Kundera has well outlined this Beethovenian achievement and result: "Beethoven is the greatest architect of post-Bachian music. He inherited the sonata conceived as a cycle of four movements (...) All of Beethoven's artistic evolution is marked by the desire to transform this grouping into a true unity (...) however, he seeks to introduce the maximum amount of formal diversity into this unity. Several times he inserts a great fugue into his sonatas, a sign of great courage, since in a sonata, the fugue was considered so heterogeneous at that time (...). The Quartet Opus 131 is the pinnacle of architectural perfection."

As for Opus 111, it is true that the first movement is in sonata form, but Thomas Mann refers to the second movement: "(...) The characteristic of this tempo is indeed the great detachment between the bass and the song, between the right hand and the left, and there is a moment, an extreme situation in which it seems that that poor motif remains suspended, abandoned and solitary above a dizzying abyss – an instant of pale elevation followed immediately by a fearful humiliation, almost a tremulous dismay at the fact that such a thing could happen. But many things happen before one reaches the bottom. And when one arrives and while one is arriving, after so much anger and obsession and reckless insistence, something unexpected occurs that is moving in its sweetness and goodness. The well-known motif that takes its leave, and is itself an entire farewell and becomes a voice and a sign of goodbye, this re-sol sol undergoes a slight modification, taking on a small melodic expansion. (...) It is like a painfully loving caress on the hair, on a cheek, a last look into the eyes, quiet and deep. It is the blessing of the object, it is the phrase terribly pursued and humanized so that it overwhelms and descends into the heart of the listener like a farewell, a farewell forever, so sweet that the eyes fill with tears. 'Do not think of the never!' it says. 'God was – always in us.'(...)." And then: "(...) why did Beethoven not add a third movement to Opus 111? (...)

A third movement? A new recapitulation (...) after this farewell? A return (...) after this parting? Impossible. Everything was done: in the second"

tempo, in this enormous time the sonata had reached its end, the end of no return. And when he said "the sonata" he was not only referring to that sonata in C minor, but meant the sonata in general as a traditional artistic form; here the sonata ended, here it had fulfilled its mission, touched the goal beyond which it was impossible to go, here it nullified itself and took its leave (...) a farewell as great as the entire composition, the farewell from the Sonata.(...) »

Sciarrino defines all this as: "Beethoven's original grit" which "remains perceptible in his music even today" and which makes "Beethoven act as a watershed" between the before and after of him and makes him identifiable as the prototype of the musical evolution that will lead the history of music to the Avant-Gardes of the twentieth century where there, yes, form and rules are completely distorted and overcome.

Thank you truly to everyone, you are wonderful

Pappanoinweb ... you can listen again and there is also Giovanni Bietti with his lessons,

hi Daniele

since I won't quote your entire intervention, I say that I agree with you on the point you make regarding the 'form' (together) of the symphony in its four traditional movements. Now I understand what you meant by 'classical form'.

In that case.... Yes: Beethoven brought it to new configurations that we all know.

Unfortunately, however, I didn't understand Bettina Brentano's sentence (after not understanding Frank's response ... should I be worried )

«Form is the individual body of poetry (...); but shouldn't there also be a poetry deeply penetrated into the core without the limits established by a form? »

is there anyone who wants to explain it to me better?
io understand it like this: shouldn't there (couldn't there) be a poetry so beautiful and well-made (I am inclined to say) that it could afford to be formless?

Anyone who wants to read some comments on the Ninth can find them on the dedicated page of my website.

Today, a text written by Luca Cavaliere was added, whom I thank publicly.

http://www.flaminioonline.it/Guide/Beethoven/Beethoven-Sinfonia9.html

LucaCavaliere wrote:

Alas, however, I did not understand Bettina Brentano's sentence (after not understanding Frank's answer... should I be worried?)

"Form is the individual body of poetry (...); but shouldn't there also be a poetry deeply penetrated into the core without the limits established by a form?"

is there anyone who wants to explain it to me better?

io understand it like this: shouldn't there (couldn't there) be a poetry so beautiful and well-made (I am inclined to say) that it could afford to be formless?

It would certainly be lovely and more interesting if a man of letters were able to answer you.

Mine can only be a response of a general nature. As with all arts and forms of culture, especially from the second half of the nineteenth century onwards, the need to write and to poet in a new, anti-traditional way—even from a technical-formal aspect—became increasingly alive and widespread, because the moods, problems, and customs of the people of that time were changing profoundly in reflection of the shifting political-social situations.

Bettina Brentano, with this question of hers, was visionary because she anticipated what would become a need a few decades later: the need to break free from the traditional metrics—and thus from the form—of poetry, to create a new one that, in its content, could manage to enter into the core of the new problems and the new figures that the evolution of society proposed.

The evolution prophesied by the poetess would begin to bear its greatest fruit at the end of the nineteenth century when poets and men of letters coming from different currents: Scapigliati, Decadentists... were nonetheless united in the common negation of traditional formulas, giving rise to a radical renewal that denied not only the validity of traditional metric forms, but also the old spirit, the civilization of the "fathers" and, obviously, above all, the Romantic one.

This was the first step; then came the Avant-gardes of the second half of the 20th century here as well, and Poetry, like all Arts, emerged from all formalism.

dear Daniele

Thank you for replying to me. I am glad that your response is, as you say, "of a general nature." This is not a flaw but a virtue; precisely because the question posed by Frau Brentano allows for a discussion open to all arts and forms of culture.

I'll cut it here because we have wandered far from 'The Ninth is only the beginning'.

Later today I will open a new discussion in 'thoughts and words in freedom'

Last night I listened to the juxtaposition of a properly Baroque piece with pieces of Contemporary music. Without getting into the merits of the pieces and the artistic idea behind them, in general, in my opinion, the audience found themselves facing a very strong "transition."

In my opinion, there was truly a huge gap that I am not sure even Beethoven would be able to truly bridge thoroughly in an analogous situation. I don't know if I explained myself correctly.

I haven't had the chance to listen to the link proposed by Terenzio yet, but those who were at the concert or have already listened to it... do you feel or not feel this sort of listening fracture?

I am aware that the opposition between re-listening (Beethoven) and listening (Francesconi) contributes significantly, but in purely perceptive terms, how did you experience it?

The gap exists and, on the other hand, how could it not exist when talking about music composed centuries apart?

From my point of view, in general, it is always very desirable to pair pieces from different eras, especially with contemporary pieces. The transition is always - or often - very strong, but it serves to make the audience get used to considering the historical evolution of Western music as what it is, namely something that, in its enormous diversity, still finds its common roots in the first Christian chants and the first secular monodies.

In particular, however, the pairing of Beethoven with contemporaries, from my point of view, has the merit of highlighting the function Beethoven had within the history of music: the final result reached by the composer from Bonn in just a few decades is that of composing music that projects itself directly onto the twentieth century and not just onto Romanticism, which advances for reasons we have already extensively discussed.

With Beethoven, a fracture occurs in the musical world that will create the prerequisites for the twentieth century and everything that followed. This is why it is right to speak of "Beethoven and the contemporaries" in the broadest possible sense.

In this regard, it is not so much - or not only - the Ninth that is the beginning, but rather Beethoven's entire late production.

Great Daniele, but if I wanted to play devil's advocate regarding:

>the final result reached by the composer from Bonn within just a few decades, is that of composing

> music that projects itself directly onto the twentieth century and not just onto Romanticism that advances for reasons we have already extensively discussed.

i say that however today we are no longer in the twentieth century, we are a century later. Therefore, this attitude of Beethoven's music (which you described) is certainly traceable, but it is, for example, completely devoid of timbral development. Thus, rhythmically it surpasses Romanticism and arrives at the early 1900s. But now we are in the 21st century. It begins to be hard for him too... obviously exquisitely relative to this aspect.

What do you think?

I think you are right!

However, it is undeniable that if Beethoven had not existed, the history of music would have been very different from that moment onward and, therefore, if we have this music today, it is because first - much earlier - there was Beethoven.

if we are at this music today it is because first of all - much earlier - there was Beethoven.

This is certain! I have no doubt

But it would also apply to Monteverdi and others. I only wanted to refer to the issue of perception somewhat ostentatiously displayed by Frank

In truth, very few others, and Monteverdi surely among them, who can be counted on the fingers of one hand.

If many great composers were missing from music history, absolutely nothing would change in terms of evolution; we would unfortunately certainly have much less beautiful music, but it would not be influential on its evolution.

Monteverdi set the tone for the music that goes from the end of the sixteenth century to the end of the eighteenth century. Beethoven set the tone for the music that did not start after him, but exactly a century later.

«In truth, very few others and Monteverdi certainly among these, who can be counted on the fingers of the first hand»

.

Dear Daniele... Out of curiosity: three fingers remain. Who are these three?.... One I imagine is Wagner. Or am I wrong?

«obviously exquisitely relatively»

Dear Tiger... What is it? An example of timbral processing?

LucaCavaliere wrote:

«In truth, very few others and Monteverdi surely among these, who can be counted on the fingers of the first hand»

.

Dear Daniele... Out of curiosity: three fingers remain. Who are these three?.... One I imagine is Wagner. Or am I wrong?

I said on the fingertips of the first hand but, from how I see it, that hand is not completely covered. In reality, I think that only 3 composers can be said to act as a watershed in the history of music, and they are Claudio Monteverdi, Ludwig van Beethoven, and Arnold Schönberg.

From my point of view, the history of music is made up of innovator composers and synthesizer composers relative to their historical period of life and composition.

Among the synthesizers, there are those who, while not being bearers of pronounced changes, have nonetheless contributed to the evolution of something; and others, whose absence would deny us so much beautiful music but who, from an evolutionary standpoint, did nothing that had not already been codified by their predecessors. To give a very illustrious example: Mozart and Mendelssohn have in common the fact of being child prodigies and both being synthesizers, but Mozart played a very important role in the evolution of theatrical music, the piano concerto, and the symphony. Whereas Mendelssohn is the typical great composer of whom one could say that his absence would have deprived us of much beautiful music but would not have absolutely influenced historical evolution.

In the group of innovators, namely those who have contributed more than any other to the historical evolution of music, the three I named rise and distinguish themselves.

I will pass over Beethoven because we have already spoken extensively about him in these forum pages and I think it is clear why one can speak of a before Beethoven and an after Beethoven.

Until the end of the Renaissance, musical evolution occurred in stages under the push of important composers who, with their innovations, brought music from Christian chant and profane monody to the affirmation of polyphony, the ars antigua and the ars nova, the madrigal, reform and counter-reformation, Renaissance music, just to briefly summarize the most important stages. With Monteverdi everything changes, and for good reason he was defined as the creator of modern music. He affirmed a conception of music as an essentially expressive act, as a means to reveal the affects of the human soul. With him, one passes from Renaissance aesthetics to Baroque: the former placed the pinnacle of perfection in the form and harmony of the structure; the latter saw in all aspects of musical style the possibility of bringing the varied and contrasting world of psychology to the forefront. This transition brought about, on a stylistic level, the replacement of compositional practice based essentially on imitated counterpoint of Flemish descent—prima pratica—with a freer writing that modeled itself moment by moment, employing increasingly complex stylisms depending on the texts treated—seconda pratica. For all intents and purposes, Monteverdi was the first great crossroads in the history of music, the first composer of whom one can speak of a before and an after.

Arnold Schönberg was the first, with the development of dodecaphony, to emerge from the long tonal tradition of Western music and who also set the stage for what happened afterward, starting from Boulez's revolt against Schönberg himself—the famous phrase pronounced a few weeks before his death: "Schönberg is dead"—to all the avant-gardes that followed him and to today's atonal music itself. For this reason, one can also speak in this case of a before Schönberg and an after Schönberg.

As for Richard Wagner, he was certainly a great and important innovator, both of music and of theater; however, although his influence was enormous on the entire culture of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, he did not have followers, but rather mere epigones, since his aesthetic experience had a strong impact on composers such as Bruckner, Mahler, Wolf, Richard Strauss and, also, initially, on Schönberg himself; therefore, in this case, one cannot speak of a before and an after, but only of a very important stage within the evolutionary scope of the history of music.

Attention, however: to these three crossroads of music, a fourth is added which is anomalous and paradoxical: Johann Sebastian Bach.

If we had to place Bach among the two categories mentioned above, it would be inevitable to insert him among those of the synthesizers. Bach was certainly the supreme perfectionist of the final synthesis of all that Renaissance and Baroque tradition. But then, if we look back with the benefit of hindsight at how things went, we have"

assisted and we assist, through his direct relationship with the musicians of the eras, from those posthumous to even the most modern ones. This is because if it was true that in his lifetime he opposed the gallant style—which was in vogue to refer exclusively to the music of the past—his absolute genius in the abstractness of invention projected itself into the future. Beethoven first connected to him in his extreme style, and then Arnold Schönberg: his serial research is based also and above all on Bach. Therefore, one cannot speak of a before and an after Bach, but his absolute importance in the historical evolution of music a posteriori is undeniable.

I would pay a little tribute to Webern, he practically wrote the second half of the '900