The Evolution of DSCH?

Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-75) engaged in a musical practice frequented by other composers. He included in some of his works a musical signature built from letters of a name, his own in this case, and corresponding with note names. J. S. Bach did this with his own name, B-flat, A, C, B-natural, Robert Schumann had his ABEGG Variations, and Schumann also composed a piano piece built from the last name of a close friends of his, GADE. For Shostakovich he used the first initial of his name followed by the German spelling of his last name, Schostakowitsch, to form his musical signature, DSCH. This signature appeared in some of his later works, most notably in his Tenth Symphony, Op. 93 (1953) and his Eighth String Quartet, Op. 110 (1960). But I believe there are two earlier appearances that foreshadow the use of this motive. They come from a time before Shostakovich mentioned anything about a motive, or developing one. So, I consider these earlier examples to be a playful stage in the development of DSCH.

To begin, neither of these early examples are the motive since there is a slight variation in the tonal cell. DSCH comes from the German spelling of Shostakovich's name, and he chose the German spelling of his name so it could fit musically. In German Es is E-flat, and he simply took the letter S and applied it to the German spelling of E-flat. In the German notational system, H is B-natural. So the motive translates musically to D, E-flat, C, B-natural. My first example comes from the middle section of the finale to his Sixth Symphony, Op. 54 (1939). In this example, the tonal cell (the pattern of tones and semitones), (0134) if you want to get post-tonal about it, is intact, but at the wrong pitch. Instead of D, E-flat, C, B-natural, the motive is a semitone high at E-flat, F-flat, D-flat, C. While a graduate student at Indiana University, I mentioned my observation to Shostakovich specialist Malcolm Brown, and he agreed with me. This is the earliest appearance of this tonal cell, well before DSCH entered Shostakovich's landscape and mind.

The next example comes from the second movement to his First Violin Concerto, Op. 77/99 (1948). In her book Shostakovich: A Life Remembered, Elizabeth Wilson states that the DSCH motive was used in the First Violin Concerto. But Wilson is not correct about this. Shostakovich is off by one semitone. In the second movement to the First Violin Concerto, the soloist double stops, in octaves, something that sounds similar to the D, E-flat, C, B-natural motive, yet the motive in the Concerto is actually D, E-flat, C, B-flat (not B-natural). Once again Shostakovich was close to using his musical signature, but he was off by one semitone at the very end. Yet, the personal and political implications at the time he composed his Concerto must be taken into account. Had Shostakovich considered the use of a personal motive at this point in his career? So far, there is not enough evidence to support this. This example, and the previous one, may suggest that this was a melodic cell Shostakovich favored and liked to use. Perhaps so much so that he decided to transform it into a melodic motive to represent himself.

Certainly by the time of his Tenth Symphony and Eighth String Quartet, Shostakovich crystallized this motive and its integration into these works. Particularly with the Eighth String Quartet, where he included so many quotations from previous works and dedicated the string quartet to the memory of his life. Shostakovich planned to commit suicide after he completed the quartet, and it stands to reason why he would represent himself through this musical signature.

Below is a collage of the motive as it appears in the Sixth Symphony, the First Violin Concerto, The Tenth Symphony, and the Eighth String Quartet.

From Bach to Queen?

A question of influence is always, well, questionable. Sometimes there is substantial proof through other primary sources that goes beyond the music that help confirm a question of influence, such as journals, letters, and correspondences. Other times the influence is rather substantial and/or strong enough that one can infer an influence without confirmation through external sources. Then there are times when an influence is detected but a lack of evidence prevents one from knowing for certain. The idea and concept of influence, quotation, modeling, and allusion go back centuries, yet the same questions enter when one questions a work influencing another. "Did A know B, and his/her work, and, if so, how well?" "Would A have heard the work of B, and, if so, how may it have influenced them?" The pinnacle question concerning this post is, "If the quotation is so slight and brief, fleeting, is this really an example of quotation, or merely a coincidence?"

Sometimes when I listen to music I pick up on some similarities I have heard in other works. It may be the melody, the harmony or chord progressions, or even the orchestration. Sometimes the similarities are substantial, and sometimes they are slight and happen in passing. The example for this post concerns the latter. And it is one that spans across centuries and genres.

The band Queen produced hit songs and albums in the 1970s at a time when rock was elevated to such terms as "art rock" and "avant-garde rock." Their 1975 album, A Night at the Opera, the title taken from a Marx Brothers comedy, was very successful and is littered with artistic influences from classical music. This style continued in the band's 1978 album Jazz, and was written by frontman Freddie Mercury. I have picked up on an unlikely source for the antecedent phrase for the opening verse to the song "Bicycle Race" from this album. And the potential influence comes from, of all things, a Bach cantata!

After the four-measure unaccompanied choral introduction to Queen's "Bicycle Race," the first two measures of the opening verse contains the same melodic contour and direction from the opening chorus to J. S. Bach's cantata, Was Gott tut, das ist wohlgetan, BWV 99 ("What God does is well done"). The example is a mere two measures, which causes me to question whether J. S. Bach is quoted by Freddie Mercury. But the two share such a melodic affinity with each other that I find it interesting. How well did Freddie Mercury know J. S. Bach and his cantatas? I have no idea. Was Freddie Mercury a secret admirer of the music of J. S. Bach? Not sure. I know Freddie Mercury studied art and classical music in his youth. But how much was he exposed to, how much of it did he retain, and did any of it influence the music we know today? Either this is a slight homage (or a wink and a nod) to Bach, or it is a whimsical coincidence. The Bach cantata in question is not even one of his more familiar cantatas to the general public. Here are excerpts from the two to hear for yourself.

How Eroica?

Much has been said and written about Beethoven's Eroica Symphony. From its formal ambiguities, numerous instances of harmonic instability, and hermeneutic readings, the Eroica Symphony provides much to talk about. The focus of this post relates to the coda section from the first movement. I'm unaware if much has been discussed about this, and if anyone knows of an publications please send them my way.

Get out your Dover score of Beethoven's Symphonies Nos. 1-4 and follow along. I'm discussing the coda beginning on page 134, bottom system, third to last measure to page 137, top system, fourth measure. I'm specifically interested in the trumpet parts on page 136, top system, fifth measure in continuing to the lower system, third measure in.

This section of the coda is particularly interesting because after all the fragmentation and harmonic instability surrounding the main theme we finally hear the main theme in a balanced and harmonically stable presentation. Scott Burnham writes, "In the culminating passage of the coda, from 631 to the end, the first theme is provided with a regular harmonic underpinning of tonic and dominant and regular four-plus-four phrasing. The power of this square treatment of the theme is precisely in its presentation: the theme becomes more like a real theme, for now it is an actual melody. That is to say, in its previous manifestations the first theme acted more as a bass line in motivating harmonic development; now it is freed from its compulsion to act as an unstable, driving force and is able to enjoy a truly melodic character (Burnham, Beethoven Hero, pp. 18-19)." The simplicity of the melody and its regular phrasing provide a sense of arrival and resolution. But I remember some scholars talking about how the trumpet avoids its high G climax (page 136, top system, seventh measure in) and interpreting this as an anti-hero or that the hero of the symphony has delayed his rise to power and stature. I want to say I read this later in Beethoven Hero, but I can't recall with certainty. But it may have been elsewhere too. If anyone can help with this, let me know.

Why would Beethoven deny the listener the satisfaction of such a climax and resolution? Putting the hermeneutic readings aside, I turn my attention to the orchestration. Adam Carse, a long-forgotten and neglected musicologist from the past, provides a simple answer based on the trumpets available to Beethoven at the time. Carse writes, "The first trumpet could have continued the tune perfectly well in open notes. . . Beethoven broke it off because his rule was not to write the high G (twelfth note of the harmonic series) for a trumpet crooked in any key higher than D. The high G on our E flat trumpet (sounding B flat) is rather shrill, and Beethoven avoided it throughout the Eroica, although there are several places in the score where he would have written it had the trumpet been crooked in a lower key. I know of only one instance in which Beethoven broke his usual rule, and that was at the height of the storm in the Pastoral Symphony (bar 85); there an E flat trumpet screams out its high G, as was quite appropriate in such a stormy situation" (Carse, "Beethoven's Trumpet Parts," The Musical Times v. 94 [1953], p. 32). From this account, Beethoven was not providing the listener with an added layer of interpretation, he was merely avoiding a "shrill" note on the E flat trumpet.

Once the keyed, or valved, trumpet was introduced during the late 18th century and perfected throughout the 19th century, this issue of tuning, intonation, and timbre became less of an issue. With this came alterations to this moment in the symphony. Editors chose to write the part by continuing the melody in the dominant for the trumpet, and an earlier generation of conductors performed and recorded the symphony this way. Conductors like Fritz Reiner, Herbert von Karajan, and Leonard Bernstein performed and recorded this altered version, and later conductors, most of whom focus on "authentic" performances, like Georg Solti, Bernard Haitink, John Eliot Gardiner, and Nikolaus Harnoncourt held to the original version. And then there is Paavo Järvi who performed a hybrid of the two. This is another subject that interests me; the interpretive decisions made by conductors and how they inform and/or alter our perception and interpretation of a work (I would like to design a class on this). The following video provides three different recordings of this excerpt: first the original version, then the altered version, and finally the hybrid version. Again, this begins on page 134, bottom system, third measure from the end in the Dover score of Beethoven's Symphonies Nos. 1-4.

Mahlerites Rejoice!

In may of this year, the David Zinman cycle of Mahler symphonies was released. The 15-CD set includes recordings of all ten symphonies, including the discarded Blumine movement of the First Symphony, and Clinton A. Carpenter's performance version of the Tenth Symphony. Also included in the set is an 80-minute documentary on the rehearsal and recording of the Sixth Symphony.

Zinamn has held successful stewardships with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra and the Tonhalle-Orchester Zurich, his current position. With the latter orchestra, Zinman recorded all of the Beethoven symphonies using Jonathan Del Mar's critical edition, and this cycle garnered critical acclaim and raised the visibility of Zinman and the Tonhalle-Orchester Zurich. The use of Del Mar's critical edition and Zinman's direction present a refreshing take on Beethoven's symphonies, including the use of early-19th century performance practices that are absent even in most period instrument recordings.

Having heard Zinman's Beethoven cycle, I was intrigued to hear his approach to Mahler. Zinman began his Mahler cycle in 2007, and four years later all the symphonies have been released. So far I have listened to the first three symphonies, and I can describe Zinman's interpretation using two words, balance and clarity. Every motive, whether combined with other motives or intertwined with other motives, comes to the fore, demonstrating a remarkable command of the score and the different groups of the orchestra. I intend to present a symphony by symphony review of the set. Stay tuned!