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Blurring the Line Between Romanticism and Modernism: “Berg and His World” at Bard College

Writer's picture: Larry WallachLarry Wallach

A review of the first weekend of “Berg and His World” at Bard College, August 13—15:
Berg and Vienna

Review by Larry Wallach

The theme of Bard’s retrospective “Berg and His World” was clearly stated and
restated: Berg needs to be liberated from the so-called “Second Viennese School” and
seen in a wider context of Vienna and beyond. Too long has he been seen primarily as
a student of Schoenberg along with Webern; this perspective masks his individuality as
well as his stature, which, if anything, is as great or greater than that of his beloved “master.” The gauntlet was laid down right away by Leon Botstein, who gave the first
pre-concert talk: Berg gives us the best of both worlds, the expressive, content-oriented approach to composition as communication, and the formally strict, self-contained structural world of the music for its own sake.

Implication no. 1: Schoenberg and Webern over-emphasize the latter at the
expense of the former. Implication no. 2: other composers and artists than Schoenberg
had powerful influences on Berg’s urge to compose expressively (read “romantically”).
Implication no. 3: Berg was as much a romantic as a modernist. Result: Berg became
by far the most popular (hence, successful) composer of the three.

The musical offerings put forth to illustrate this thesis (or are there more than one?)
were so lavish, and for the most part so convincingly performed, that it seems churlish
to beg to differ, or to at least keep an open mind about the more traditional view of Berg
as someone whose development utterly hinged on his relationship with Schoenberg for a significant period of time, and whose continuing relationship remained an important (not to say crucial) force field within which he worked. (This position will be referred to henceforth in this writing as the contrarian one.) And in fairness, there were some wonderful Schoenberg performances to remind us of that composer’s virtues: songs from the Georgelieder, the little piano pieces op. 19, and the powerful Chamber Symphony no. 1. No weak links here; but also, no
twelve-tone works. Lecturers and panelists repeatedly underscored the fact that even though Berg used twelve-tone-rows, his approach was very different from Schoenberg’s. And so were the audible results.

Into the yeasty brew of music and historical-cultural point-making were tossed copious amounts of music by the lesser Viennese, some not much lesser and some very much so. Victor Ullman’s “Variations on a Theme of Schoenberg” would seem to support the contrarian perspective since this is one of the strongest works of that
composer, who was also a Schoenberg student, a fascinating study in how one of the briefest pieces (23” in length) can inspire an almost endless number of musical commentaries and expansions. In his enthusiastic demonstration of how much was packed into Schoenberg’s mighty miniature, Ullmann was constructing an homage, and also demonstrating how Schoenberg’s infamous “atonal” music could exist happily in a more tonal, not to say expansive, context.

Another unknown winner was Karl Weigl’s String Quartet no. 3. Here was a
genuinely unique voice, and to be sure a much more conservative one. Yet this work
was not to be confused with the late-tonal chromatic style found in many of the other
“tonalists,” including early Berg (early songs and piano pieces) and Webern (the 1907
Piano Quintet). Weigl’s love of well-profiled melodic phrases and driving, folk-based
rhythms made one wish to hear the work again, as well as the composer’s other pieces
(hoping that this is not the exception in an otherwise undistinguished oeuvre). The final
movement, powerfully rendered by the splendid ensemble-in-residence of the festival,
the Daedelus Quartet, had enough bite to foreshadow Shostakovich. If one were
looking for stylistic links to any of the Viennese holy trinity, they were not in evidence,
but Weigl, like others included in the program, was part of that same Viennese milieu,
and contributed to our understanding of how broadly inclusive that was. We were
constantly reminded that the “father” of all this was not Schoenberg, but Mahler, who
was also described at various points as a “saint” and even “martyr.” Bringing him into
the picture (the Adagio of his Tenth Symphony was heard Saturday night) makes the
immanence of Shostakovich seem more plausible.

The inclusion of another unknown work of no distinction at all inadvertently
strengthened the contrarian position: the Valse de Chopin of Joseph Marx. Undoubtedly
it was irresistable to the programmers, since the same Giraud text as translated by
Hartleben is set as no. 5 of Schoenberg’s towering masterpiece, Pierrot Lunaire. Poor
Marx! It was impossible to hear this garden-variety bit of mild Viennese decadence
without recalling the wildly imaginative, bitingly ironic, artistically daring and over-thetop
theatricality of Schoenberg’s unheard version. It was a dramatic example of the way
experiences like this festival can show the true stature of great works, intentionally or
otherwise.

Busoni, Zemlinsky, Korngold, and Pfitzner are composers who have shown up before
at these Retrospectives; they were parts of many composers’ worlds. Busoni is a
composer who sounds like himself primarily because he really doesn’t ever sound like
anyone else. But I’m still struggling to get a grip on what his music is really about; I find
it elusive. It was good to hear the Berceuse élégaique to be reminded of this; little of the
piece made any impression and I will not suffer if I don’t hear it again.

Zemlinsky and Korngold, on the other hand, are composers who just ooze talent,
ideas, and musical energy; Zemlinsky (Schoenberg’s brother-in-law and one-time
teacher) has never disappointed yet. In addition to the two wonderful short operas we
heard a few years ago (The Florentine Tragedy and The Dwarf) we have heard a great
String Quartet at the Schoenberg Festival, and this year, a Schumannesque but very
engaging set of early piano pieces after poems by Richard Dehmel, a somewhat later,
gripping song-cycle with texts by the same poet, and several additional songs
purporting to show his contribution to the Viennese obsession with Eros. Zemlinsky
apparently invested every note he wrote with unambiguous passion (he certainly had
that urge to communicate) as well as a beautifully polished formal and harmonic
technique. If Bard ever decided to do a Zemlinsky Festival, you couldn’t keep me away.

Korngold is perhaps more familiar than one expects, if like me you enjoy watching
Hollywood movies from the ‘30’s and ‘40’s. His film scores are worth careful scrutiny;
they are incredibly well-crafted to fulfill their purpose and elevate the films almost to the
level of operatic intensity without violating the necessary Hollywood illusion of
inaudibility. (See Claudia Gorbman’s essential book on the subject “Unheard
Melodies.”) Like Weigl, his style remained firmly planted in the pre-war
(WW I, that is) world of Strauss and Mahler, and the progressive or challenging
elements of composers like Zemlinsky are absent; when Korngold returned to Vienna
after the second war with the hopes of reestablishing his career as a composer of
concert music, he was ignored as hopelessly passé. That was in the ‘50’s when the
Darmstadt School was cranking up pronouncements that cast anathema upon any
music that had the slightest taint of tradition, much less a tonal center, and Boulez was
even writing off Schoenberg as too traditional in favor of Webern, the genuine
revolutionary. While Korngold’s music has finally achieved a life for itself in the concert
hall and opera hoouse, the prodigious talents of this composer (literally: the opera
Violanta was composed when he was 17) were not shown to good advantage last
weekend. The Violanta excerpts felt excessive, like two charlotte russes consumed in
succession, while “Mariettas Lied” came off as generic without its operatic context.

Pfitzner came off even less well; I admit a personal distaste: he was an artistic and
political conservative with a nasty streak who ended up supporting Hitler; but I try to
listen with an open mind, and both the Second Quartet that we heard at Bard years ago
and the instrumental sections of his cantata Von deutscher Seele (words not given;
probably a good idea) outlasted their welcome by quite a bit. The basic ideas were
attractive, and there are many musicians like Bruno Walter who had a healthy respect
for his talents, but what we heard displayed a lack of rigorous self- criticism. The man
needed an editor.

The “Teachers and Apostles” program on Sunday afternoon, which included the
aforementioned Ullmann discovery, beautifully rendered by Danny Driver, introduced us
to quite a crowd of followers, including Wellesz, Jemnitz, and Apostel (shades of
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego!), not to speak of the great philosopher Theodore
W. Adorno. Pre-concert speaker Sherry Lee took pains to make us understand that the
circle around Berg was not confined by time or space. On the basis of this music, it was
apparently wide but fairly shallow. Wellesz, an early Schoenberg student who went on
to write nine conservative symphonies (with which I am not familiar) showed no
perceptible Viennese influence; Debussy, Ravel, and possibly Honegger seemed to be
present (not likely in the latter case, owing to chronology). They were musical, pleasant,
and forgettable, but made the point that Schoenberg did not try to get his students to
emulate the master; like all good composition teachers, he understood that composers
need to find their own voices, and need to acquire enough technique
to help them do so.

Alexander Jemnitz, another Schoenberg student, did imitate his master in the Trio for
violin, viola, and guitar. Sherry Lee, in the pre-concert talk, tripped up when she failed
to acknowledge that Schoenberg had in fact also composed a work including guitar,
and was corrected by a helpful member of the audience (not me!). She should have
known better: it is a marvellous and important work, a turning point in his career, and
contains one his first uses of a tone-row. This is the Serenade op. 24, and it is scored
for the very striking ensemble of mandolin, guitar, two clarinets, and three strings.
Jemnitz’s first movement was clearly an hommage to the Serenade’s first movement,
also a march; and once again, the teacher outshines the student by many magnitudes
of brightness. In this demonstration of Schoenberg’s influence, the contrarian point of
view received another pillar of support. The audience enthusiastically acknowledged
the fine performance, especially the virtuosic contribution of guitarist William Anderson.

In view of his status as both student of Berg and one of the most influential modern
writers on music and philosophy, particular interest attached to Theodor W. Adorno’s
epigrammatic songs, which were technically polished, pleasing miniatures with a
Webern-esque tautness as well as a light touch. Adorno wrote a book of essays about
his beloved teacher, essential reading for anyone seriously interested in the subject.
Adorno’s works for string quartet are also worth an occasional performance. Measured
against the other composers on the program, he comes off very well; and yet he was
self-critical enough to realize that his greatest talents lay elsewhere.

The remaining works on this program were by the three who, at least before last
weekend, were commonly referred to as the Second Viennese School. On this
program, Schoenberg’s op 19 piano pieces, Webern’s op 7 violin pieces, and Berg’s
String Quartet simply put all else in the shade. Danny Driver made no effort to enlarge
or inflate Schoenberg’s evanescent, corruscating gems. He kept a modest dynamic
range and utilized a glowing spectrum of quiet colors and fleet tempi to make his point,
which is that these apparently modest little works cut to the quick; no wonder Ullmann
was so inspired. Similarly, violinist Soovin Kim and pianist Alessio Bax found every
scintilla of expressiveness in the incredibly concentrated phrases of the Webern pieces;
this composer found a point on the musical compass unknown to his predecessors, and
one really must use a special adjective to describe it: Webernesque. I think we are long
past the moment when such music needs to be described as schematic, excessively
formal, favoring structure over communication; away with all that! This is the
purest blood of the body of music you can find anywhere, and the performers
understood every drop.

It was good to hear the estimable Daedelus ensemble in Berg’s earlier quartet,
which is programmed less often than the more well-known and now notorious Lyric
Suite, heard in a fabulous performance on Friday night. This work, composed
seventeen years earlier, indeed shows Berg sitting right on that tonal-atonal fence
alongside his master whose Second String Quartet appeared in the same year. A
composer sitting next to me noted that it was clearly the work of one steeped in song,
and it was instructive to hear it in the same weekend as the youthful songs and piano
pieces as well as the Piano Sonata op 1 of which Jeremy Denk gave a definitive
performance on Friday night. The juxtaposition suggested how quickly and dramatically
Berg found his voice under Schoenberg’s tutelage. Denk showed that this sometimes
rhapsodic-sounding sonata has a clear structural backbone without ever sounding in
the least bit rigid; in fact, the flexible shape of each phrase projected in macrocosm
across the entire structure, whose component parts and tonal movements emerged as
if by Mozart. Helping out was the firm delineation of the contrapuntal structure
unclouded by overpedalling, and a strong and securely-defined touch that kept the
complex textures flowing and clear. Similar virtues were evident in the Daedelus’s
renditions of both Berg quartets; in fact, the standards of performance overall have
been remarkably high.

The greatest challenge, in terms of performance quality, comes in the orchestral
repertory, where rehearsal time must be in limited supply given the vast quantities of
complex music the orchestra is obliged to learn. Here, too, the performers made heroic
efforts. On Saturday night, they took on great challenges in the form of Berg’s
orchestral scores, both early (Altenberg Lieder, Three Pieces op. 6) and late (Violin
Concerto). Berg’s orchestral pieces, which combine the symphonic grandiosity of
Mahler with the concentration and complexity of Schoenberg’s Five Pieces op. 16,
adding layers of allusiveness and lyrical pessimism all Berg’s own, are perhaps overwritten;
it is hugely difficult to sort out and to display a through-line to the forms,
especially the final March. The energetic performance was described in the Times (by
Steve Smith) as “shakey” which was also my impression; more important, the cohesive
forces in the first and last movements were not on clear display, owing to insufficiently
differentiated balances.

At the other end of the spectrum, the Violin Concerto (1935) received a world-class
performance in which each individual player seemed to make a heart- felt contribution.
The scoring, of course, is lighter and the narrative easier to
follow; but soloist Akiko Suwanai, conductor Botstein, and the players in the orchestra
collaborated with sensitivity to ensemble, gesture, and expressivity that perhaps offered
the strongest support for the view being put forth of Berg as a romantic urgently
impelled to communicate. The rarely-heard Altenberg Lieder op. 4 were given an
impassioned reading by soprano Christiane Libor, whose rich warm sound balanced
and blended well with the complex and colorful scoring.

The following night we were to hear a superb performance of a much more complex
and problematic work, the Chamber Concerto for violin, piano, and winds of 1925.
Although the two concerti were offered in reverse chronological order, one could
reassemble the process by which Berg came to the point of producing a more or less
conventional concerto without sacrificing one bit of his individuality. The Chamber
Concerto has always been a puzzling or hermetic work, full of cryptic signs and
structural complexities in which an innocent listener can easily get lost. Fortunately, the
brilliant soloists and wind players were able to go beyond the daunting task of playing
the notes properly to delineate the expressive curve of this unique composition. Pianist
Jeremy Denk once again clarified things for the listener both structurally and
emotionally, abetted by his violinist colleague Soovin Kim, whose impassioned playing
never met a note it felt neutral about. Botstein held the proceedings together firmly, and
the winds maintained proper balance and beautiful sonority, so that one could enjoy the
sounds and gestures while finding one’s way through the formal maze.

On the same program were other “classics” for chamber orchestra, pre-war before
intermission and from the 1920’s after it. This including Schoenberg’s Chamber
Symphony no. 1 in a bright, clear, and energetic performance that might have been a
bit too driven in the slower sections, but that held interest throughout, along with
Hindemith’s Kammermusik no. 1 that could have been the palate- cleanser between
two hyper-chromatic contrapuntal Viennese dishes. Hindemith’s Dada-tilted score was
as much fun as it was supposed to be, meaning that the humor and energy did not
seem dated, and the performance allowed us to hear how totally different his concept of
the chamber orchestra was from those of his Viennese colleagues. Aside from a
somewhat blurred piano solo, the performers kept the rhythmic drive moving steadily
forward with emphasis on the mass of sound rather than individual lines. The presence
of xylophone at the beginning and siren at the end served as demarcation moments
that did not feel at all incongruous with the goings-on in between.

Antony Beaumont, in his pre-concert lecture, made the valuable point that works
such as this were crafted to sound good in the new transmission media of radio and
phonograph, which reproduced sharply articulated sounds more clearly than traditional
string-based orchestral sonorities. Inclusion of the Hindemith made for excellent
programming, musically speaking, but raised the question of its relation to Berg: here
was a younger colleague whose rise to prominence occurred after World War I and who
represented an aesthetic stance, “Neue Sachlichkeit” or musical objectivity, that had no
influence whatsoever on Berg or his artistic allies.

As was pointed out in the panel discussion, Berg only rose to prominence later in his
career, after the performance of Wozzeck (composed in 1922, premiered in 1925 when
Berg was already 40), when he was too well-formed to be influenced significantly by
younger musicians and newer trends. His subsequent works were therefore “out of
time” in the sense that they reflected little of the aethetic developments of the moment,
with the exception of the inclusion of a film in Lulu, Berg being an avid movie fan.
It is not possible to mention all the excellent performers and speakers who joined forces
to impell the ears and hearts of those attending to a higher level of musical and cultural
consciousness; and this report concerns only the first of two weekends! Prudence
dictates drawing a line here, however, with the intention of continuing with part 2 next
week.

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© 2024 by Larry Wallach.

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