The D is Silent

In his latest film, Django Unchained, Quentin Tarantino embarks on his own take of the spaghetti Western. Or is this a spaghetti Southern, or Southwestern, since it is set initially in Texas, then travels through the South from Mississippi to Tennessee, to South Carolina, only two years out from the start of the Civil War. No doubt the spaghetti Western as a genre influenced Tarantino's vision, but the interesting twist is that this Western takes place prior to the Civil War and focuses on Dr. King Schultz, a court-appointed bounty hunter (played remarkably by Christoph Waltz) who buys Django (played by Jamie Foxx), a slave who can recognize a trio of brothers Schultz seeks to hunt down. As with most of Tarantino's films, there is a glorification of violence in Django Unchained, yet the film also possess strong leading characters that find you drawn to the protagonists, and drawn, and reviled, by the antagonists. Additionally, the music used in the film brings up several topics.

The film opens with an original title song "Django" with lyrics by Franco Migliacci and Luis Bacalov, and music composed by Migliacci. This is a tradition in Western films dating back to High Noon (1952). Much of the music used Django Unchained is anachronistic for when it is set. The closest to being chronologically correct is "In the Sweet By and By" (1868) sung by Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson) near the end of the film. The remainder of the popular music was a mix of genres spanning decades from the 1970s on. As in other Tarantino films, he resorts to pre-existing music rather than an original score, much like Kubrick did.

Classical music has its place in this film as well. In what precedes what will go down as probably the most hilarious KKK scene in film history, we see the KKK ride on horseback through the night as they raid the wagon of Dr. Schultz and Django in an isolated valley. During their gallop it would make sense, and be expected, to hear Richard Wagner's "The Ride of the Valkyries" from his opera,
Die Walküre (1857/76), because of its association with the KKK riding in at the end of The Birth of a Nation to reclaim the South from black control. But Tarantino takes us in a different direction by accompanying the KKK raid with the "Dies irae" from Giuseppe Verdi's Requiem (1874). This excerpt is known for its strong hammerstrokes and thunderous hits on a bass drum specially built to be wider and deeper than standard bass drums. The Dies irae text describes the Day of Wrath where souls are judged before God for eternal salvation or damnation. The music appropriately reflects the menacing KKK, but the textual connection can play double duty. Does the text refer to the KKK passing judgement on Dr. Schultz and Django for their trickery, or does it reflect the KKK riding into their own judgement made by Dr. Schultz through his trickery to ambush them in the valley? The Verdi initially had me associating the former until it was discovered that Schultz lured the KKK into the valley to attack them, and namely take out Big Daddy. In the newly-formed context, it is Schultz who has made the ultimate judgement upon the KKK.

The other two examples of classical music come as rare diegetic examples in a Tarantino film. Diegetic meaning the music is part of the world of the film, there is a source for the music, and the characters are aware of the music, and often interact with it. The first one comes when Dr. Schultz and Django arrive at Candie Land. As they enter the Big House of the plantation, a young girl is shown playing Giovanni Battista Martini's (1706-84) celebrated Gavotte on the violin. This coquettish display of musicianship by a young girl demonstrates a transplantation of European culture to the New World. Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a Francophile, but he does not speak they language, he only engages in its customs and culture. As Dr. Schultz is being led up the stairs to meet with Candie, he is informed of his Francophile ways, and his preference to be addressed as Monsieur Candie, and Schultz begins speaking French. He is then told that Candie does not speak the language, and if Schultz were to speak French to him, Candie will be embarrassed. Even though some manners of custom and culture are transplanted, they are not taken whole stock.

The other diegetic example of classical music comes after it has been arranged to purchase Django's wife (more about her shortly) from Candie. As Dr. Schultz and Django wait in the library, a lady performs an arrangement of Beethoven's Bagatelle no. 25 in A minor (WoO 59), better known as
Für Elise. As she plays this on the harp, we enter Schultz's mind as he has flashbacks to witnessing a slave being ripped apart by a pack of dogs. The music spurs these flashbacks to such a level that Schultz becomes aggravated and tells the harpist to stop playing. When she continues to play into the Strum und Drang section with several stressed diminished chords, Schultz physically stops her from playing Beethoven, calling out the composer by name. Here Tarantino engages in a film tradition by associating the music of Beethoven with violence. Some notable pairings of Beethoven and violence can be found in Psycho (1960), A Clockwork Orange (1971), Die Hard (1988), Immortal Beloved (1994), and Elephant (2003). Given his extensive knowledge of film, I believe Tarantino, and his music supervisor, were aware of this strong connection and consciously chose Beethoven for this particular moment. 

As for Django's wife, whom he travels far to rescue and reunite with her, there is a special musical connection with her. Her name Broomhilda is a bastardization of the Valkyrie, Brünnhilde, the heroine to the German national epic, and Wagner's Ring Cycle, Der Ring des Nibelungen. While on their travels, Dr. Schultz gets to know Django and about his wife. He learns that Broomhilda speaks German, and upon learning her name, he tells Django about the power and history behind her name. What takes Wagner 16-17 hours to do across four operas to tell, Schultz explains the tale of Der Ring des Nibelungen to Django in a concise nutshell. Schultz says that every German knows about Brünnhilde and the story of Der Ring des Nibelungen. He mentions Brünnhilde being the daughter of Wotan, the God of the gods. She disobeys him and he places her on a mountain surrounded by a circle of fire. Only a brave, fearless hero can penetrate the fire and win her love. This of course serves as a vehicle and metaphor of Django's plight to reunite with his wife.

Django Unchained provides much discussion about the music alone. Overall, I was very impressed with what Tarantino accomplished. There was a mix of new and old camera and cinematography methods, the cast was varied between established faces and older faces (Don Johnson and [even though it took me a while to recognize him] Tom Wopat). Some of the slavery scenes were difficult to sit through, and the N word was peppered throughout the film. Yet Tarantino manages to pull this off in great comedic ways at times where you  do not feel so guilty or uncomfortable laughing at it. Though there is quite a bit of stylized blood and violence (it is a Tarantino film after all), this ultimately is a happy, Western, (fairy tale).

CSO Gives Philip Glass World Premiere

The Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra is no stranger to world premieres. Sure, they do not happen every year, but it is certainly exciting when one takes place. Perhaps the most historic was the invitation by Eugene Goossens for composers to submit fanfares during the 1942-43 season, which gave us one of Aaron Copland's most recognizable works, Fanfare for the Common Man. Last night (30 March) the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra gave the world premiere of Philip Glass's Second Cello Concerto "Naqoyqatsi," a work based on the music Glass composed for the film Naqoyqatsi. Leading the orchestra was Dennis Russell Davies, a long-time interpreter of Glass who has recorded all of Glass's symphonies and other works; an apt choice. Matt Haimovitz performed as soloist, and his introduction to me, like many others, was through his initial 1991 release with Deutsche Grammphon performing the Lalo and Saint-Saëns cello concertos. Since his three Deutsche Grammophon albums Haimovitz took an unusual turn in his career, notably sharing the music of Bach in restaurants, pubs, and bars. The concerto billed the first half of the program, and the second half featured the Sixth Symphony of Bruckner. Mr. Davies is also a renowned interpreter of Bruckner, and leads the Bruckner Orchester Linz in recordings of the symphonies. During the Classical Conversation lecture before the performance, it was noted that Mr. Davies pairs the music of Glass and Bruckner in Europe, so tonight's billing was within his wheelhouse.

I attended the pre-concert lecture, Classical Conversations, and heard Mr. Glass speak about his work, Dennis Russell Davies, and Bruckner. Glass mentioned that he originally conceived the music for Naqoyqatsi as a cello concerto, which may explain the extensive sections for solo cello performed by Yo-Yo Ma. The concerto form of the film score certainly reduces and extracts from the latter, and one section of the film is placed out of order in the concerto. For those who are familiar with the film, the communication of the music associated with the images remains clear.

Glass has long been associated with the minimalist movement, but during the pre-concert lecture he talked about his disdain toward this term to describe his music as a whole. He acknowledged it applies to the music he composed circa 1966-76, but the music composed since then does not fit the mold. The term minimalism, and the style associated with it, has followed the three major founding members of this style: Terry Riley, Steve Reich, and Philip Glass. The creation and flourish of this movement is chronicled in Robert Fink's 2005 book, Repeating Ourselves: American Minimal Music as Cultural Practice. In lieu of Minimalism, Glass said he prefers to describe his music as, "Music with repeating structures," which opens a can of worms. The pinnacle style marker of Minimalism is repetition. Exactly what he meant by "repeating structures" was not clear. Was is repeating like in sonata form when the exposition repeats as part of the recapitulation? Hardly not since Glass does not always adhere to sonata form, especially in his film scores. Is it repeating rhythms and material, like an ostinato? Perhaps, but then this begins to venture into the classification of minimalism. There are those who argue that the concept of minimalism was generated in the 18th century, with J. S. Bach being one example of this style. It appears Glass cannot shake the early classification of his music or escape the muddy waters of describing his music.

The concerto is in five movements with two interludes, one connecting the second and third movements and the other connecting the third and fourth movements. Much of the energy of the piece is contained in the orchestra. This is more of a lyrical concerto rather than a flashy one. There are a couple of moments of virtuosity for the solo cello, but one of these was unfortunately covered up by thick orchestration. Both interludes are performed by the solo cello with light accompaniment. The first interlude is accompanied by cymbal rolls and tam-tam. The second, as described by Peter Laki in the program notes, "with minimal accompaniment," by harp (emphasis mine; there is that pesky minimal term again). Interludes existed in the film score, and Glass mentioned in the pre-concert lecture that Reggio, the director of the Qatsi trilogy, referred to these as "tissues," as in connective tissues. Glass spent a brief moment on written cadenzas in the pre-concert lecture and their role. Hearing him speak of them, and later listen to them, I was reminded of the cadenzas in Beethoven's Fifth Piano Concerto and Shostakovich's First Violin and First Cello Concerto, all of which connect and lead into the last movement. If you are familiar with the film score you will definitely enjoy the concerto. And if you are new to the music of Philip Glass you will probably ponder the direction of the music, but like it nonetheless. It was a thrill to have Dennis Russell Davies lead the world premiere of this work with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra. He brought a level of intensity and energy to the performance, and when he assumed his triadic power pose on the podium, you knew something great was to come from the orchestra. The premiere was recorded and will appear on the Orange Mountain Music label, a label devoted to the music of Philip Glass.

Here is a brief clip leading up to the world premiere:


To close, Glass mentioned in the pre-concert lecture that he will premiere a work with the Cincinnati Ballet in 2014. It is unclear whether this will be the Spring of the 2013-2014 season or the Fall of the 2014-2015 season. But something to look forward to nonetheless.

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!