Musical forms - Canon

Five attractive college kids go out on a camping trip out in the woods, way out in the middle of nowhere.  They stay in a cabin out by the lake.  The locals warn them of strange things that have been lurking around the cabin, but the kids laugh at them and go out to the cabin anyway.

You know that one by one, each of the five kids will meet a gruesome end, and at the end of the movie the trap will be reset for the next group of college kids unlucky enough to come by.

Or imagine perhaps this plot:

A young man, having just gotten out of a bad situation, is on the train heading off to start a new life.  On the train, he meets a young woman.  They talk, they laugh, they have a good time.  She gives him her phone number before getting off the train.  But when he gets to his destination, and checks his pocket, he finds that the slip of paper is gone.

You know that the rest of the movie will consist of him tracking down the girl, overcoming obstacles in his way, and at the end of the movie the two of them will be together again and they will live happily ever after.

Movies have forms.  There's the horror flick, the boy-meets-girl flick, action flicks, western flicks… each type of movie has its own schtick.  If we know what kind of movie we're about to see, we already  have a pretty good idea of how the plot will unfold.  We know what to expect, and when we see something happen on the screen, we know how it's going to fit in with the rest of the movie as a whole.

Music is the same way.   The songs you listen to on the radio, the majority of them are put together the same way.  They have a common structure - a common form.  

Form is a word you're going to hear a lot in this essay, so let's define what exactly form is.

Form refers to how many different sections there are within a larger piece of music, how they are arranged, and how they relate to each other.  

If I have two sections of music within a piece or song, for example, the second section might be a repetition of the first.  It may be an imitation or variation of the first.  It may be a development of the first - taking the musical ideas expressed in the first section and going further.  Or it may be a contrasting section, something that will be developed on its own later.  Or perhaps not.

As a point of illustration, here's one of my favorite indie rock songs.  

Animal Collective - My Girls

Maybe you liked this song, maybe you didn't.  Either way, that's OK.  Did this song surprise you in any way?  Was there anything strange about how this song was put together?

Well, no, not really.  It's a rock song, and it sounds like a rock song.  Broken up into sections, it sounds like this:

1.  Intro

2.  Verse  (There isn't much I feel I need…)

3.  Chorus  (I don't mean to seem like care about material things…)

4.  Repeat of verse

5.  Chorus (x2)

6.  Outro - song fades to nothingness

There's an intro, an outro, verse, and chorus.  The verse and chorus are two different sections that contrast with each other to give variety to the piece.  The into and outro are related to the accompaniment in both the verse and chorus.

It's a very typical rock song formula, in fact so typical that it has a technical name: thirty-two bar form.  (With a name like thirty-two bar form, it sounds like it ought to have something to do with drinking establishments, but sadly it doesn't.)  A lot of rock songs have an instrumental bridge in between the first chorus and the repeat of the verse - a chance for the guitarist to show off without the singer getting in the way - but this one doesn't.  You probably didn't pay too much attention to the structure of the song as you listened to it.  The way the song rolled out, you pretty much had an instinctive grasp of what was going to come next.

There isn't much I feel I need

But a solid soul, and the love I bleed

But with a little girl, and by my spouse

I only want a proper house

I don't care for fancy things

Or to take part in a pressured race

But to provide for one who asks

I will with heart on my father's grave

I don't mean to seem like I care about material things like social status

I just want four walls and adobe slabs for my girls

Whatever you thought of the song, it sure is a nice sentiment, isn't it?

Let's try something a bit different.  Same group, different song. 

Animal Collective - College

What did you think?  Did it follow the same form as My Girls?

Well no, it didn't.  There was no intro and no verse at the beginning of the song.  The vocals were on a neutral syllable, in three part harmony, often going into some fairly close harmony.  The style is more reminiscent of a college glee ensemble, or perhaps a barbershop quartet.  There's just one line: "You don't have to go to college."  And the song is over.

If you're left scratching your head, it's because the song didn't conform to any of the standard formulas that a song is supposed to sound like.  It didn't sound *like* anything.  I kinda think that was Animal Collective's whole point.  The focus is on the one line, not on anything else.

The scope of what counts as classical music is quite a bit broader than what counts as rock music.  Rock music has been around for about 60 years; the canon of classical music that is commonly performed today goes back about 400 years.  Moreover, the types of ensembles you'll encounter in classical music are a lot more varied in classical music than in rock or pop.  Rock music requires a guitarist, a drummer, a bass, and vocals.  A typical band is three to five people.  In classical music, on the other hand, you can have an ensemble consisting of a full orchestra plus chorus, a single instrumental soloist, or nearly anything in between.  And so, over the span of 400 years, a wide variety of music forms evolved to accommodate the type of piece being played, the number of instruments involved, the accumulated history of all the music that had been done up to that point, and the will and creativity of the individual composer, as artist and innovator.

The names of some of these forms may be familiar to you.  Binary form.  Ternary form.  Canon.  Fugue.  French overture.  Ritornello form.  Menuet and trio form.  Theme and variations.  Rondo form.  Sonata form.  If you don't recognize some of these terms, that's good.  Within a few months, you'll be familiar with all of them!

Let's start out with the simplest of all musical forms: canon.  Canons are also called rounds, as in "Row, Row, Row Your Boat".  A canon consists of one theme that is repeated over and over again.  Each voice comes in at a different time, resulting in harmony as different sections of the theme overlap with each other.  Often the theme of a canon is sung in unison (all together) at the beginning of the piece so that the theme is easier to pick out as individual voices come in.

Time for some music.  Here's a great example of a canon, written by Renaissance composer Orlando di Lasso.  The text of the piece is "musica est Dei donum optimi", or in English, "Music is the greatest gift of God."  

Orlando di Lasso - Musica Dei donum

This is a canon in four, or for four voices.  It's for four voices because four voices are singing by the time the first voice makes its first repetition.

Mozart was also a fan of writing canons.  Although Lasso's Musica Dei donum is often performed by high school and college choirs, Mozart's canons are… not.

Mozart - Difficile Lectu (canon a 4)

Difficile lectu was written by Mozart in either 1786 or 1787.  This was not a piece ever meant for public performance; this was a piece written by Mozart strictly for his friends.  One friend of his, a Bavarian singer by the name of Johann Nepomuk Peyerl, had an accent that was rather strong by Viennese standards.  And so Mozart wrote a canon to poke fun at him.

The text of the canon is the following Latin-esque gibberish:

Difficile lectu midi mars et jonicu difficile.

However, the text as it would have been pronounced by Peyerl would have been different:

Difficile leck du mich im Arsch…   (leck du mich im Arsch = "kiss my ass")

In addition, the word jonicu, when repeated, flips itself over to become cujoni, which is Italian for "testicles".  Balls balls balls balls balls balls...

Here's another dirty little canon by our friend Wolfgang, this one for six voices.  This one is one of my favorites because of all the percussive consonants in the middle parts once all the voices come in.  It adds a certain rhythm to the piece.

Mozart - Leck Mich im Arsch (canon a 6)

Finally, an example of what fun things you can do with a canon besides repeat the same line over and over again until all the voices get tired or bored.  And demonstration that canons aren't just something for the history books.  Check out this canon by Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, for four trumpets, four trombones, and percussion.

Arvo Pärt - Arbos (1986)

You can probably tell that the trumpets are playing the same dotted rhythm over and over again: dum da-dum da-dum da-dum...  But what are the other parts doing?  Well, they're playing the same part as the trumpets... only slower.  The lower trumpet part is playing the part at half the speed, and the trombones are playing at one quarter the speed.  This kind of canon is called a mensuration canon.

You may have noticed that I've left one musical piece off the list.  What about the really famous canon, the one Pachelbel wrote?  Although that piece contains elements of canon in it, it's actually an example of a different kind of musical form, one popular during the Baroque era, called passacaglia.  We'll be getting into that next time!

Wolfgang Mozart - The Early Years

The young man we all know as Mozart - the son, not Leopold the father - was born on January 27, 1756 in Salzburg.  He was the youngest of seven children, five of whom died in infancy.  He had one sister, nicknamed Nannerl, who was five years his senior.

Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart.

Say what???  Johannes who?  And where's the Amadeus part?  Who is this guy?

Well, Mozart was a man fond of word play, especially so with his own name.  "Johannes Chrysostomus" is the name of the saint associated with the date of his birth, January 27.  Mozart never used this name in his lifetime.  "Wolfgangus" is his name all right, but it's the Latin version.  In Austria, he went by "Wolfgang", but in Italy, it was "Wolfgango".

And Theophilus?  That's a Greek name.  "Theo", meaning "God", and "philus", meaning "love of".  In German, "Theophilus" becomes "Gottlieb", which Mozart sometimes used; Latinized, "Theophilus" becomes "Amadeus".  And yet, "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart" was a name Mozart himself rarely used in his lifetime.  In place of Amadeus, he preferred Amadé or Amadè.  He would even play with his last name: he could be Mozart, die Mozartini, or even Trazom (Mozart spelled backwards).  About the only time he actually used his full middle name was to refer to himself in jest:

Wolfgangus.  Amadeus.  Mozartus.

At any rate - back to the child prodigy.

Much of what we know about Mozart's early life, we know from interviews taken with his older sister, Nannerl, late in her life.  In the third person, she relates how it came about that Leopold Mozart discovered that his son Wolfgang was a prodigy:

The son [Wolfgang] was at the time three years old when the father began instructing the seven-year-old daughter [Nannerl] on the clavier.  The boy immediately showed his extraordinary, God-given taken.  He often spent long periods at the clavier, picking out thirds, and his pleasure showed that they sounded good to him.

When he was four years old, his father, as if for a game, taught him some minuets and other pieces at the clavier.  It went so well and was so effortless that he had easily learnt a piece in one hour and a minuet in half an hour so that he could play them without mistakes and with the utmost delicacy.  He made such progress that when he was five years old he was composing little pieces, which he would play to his father who would write them down.

[….] As soon as he occupied himself with music he had no interest in other occupations, they were dead to him, and even childish nonsense and games with toys had to have a musical accompaniment if they were to hold his attention; when we, he, and I, were carrying his playthings and toys from one room to another, the one of us who was empty-handed had to sing a march, or play on the fiddle, as we did so.

In 1762, when Mozart was six, Leopold Mozart took the family to Vienna on what would be their first musical tour.  The purpose of the tour was, of course, to present his children in public, to gain the favor of the imperial family at the Viennese court, make a little money, and hopefully win enough favor with the court to earn his children future patronage.  And if, of course, opportunities should open up for Leopold Mozart himself - well, so much the better.  The Mozarts gave several performances in Vienna, including a private audience with Archduke Joseph (soon to be Emperor Joseph II) and the Empress Maria Theresa.

But much bigger things would be in store.  The Mozarts had received such a favorable reception in Vienna that Leopold decided it was time for the Mozart children to receive a much wider audience.  And so, in 1763, the Mozart family began the Grand Tour - a three year tour that would take them to Munich, Mannheim, Frankfurt, Cologne, Brussels, Amsterdam, London, and Paris… among other places.

Symphony #1 in E-flat, K 16 (Movement I: Molto allegro)

Mozart wrote his first symphony in London in 1764, at the age of eight, during the Mozart family's grand tour of Europe.  At the time, the family was staying at a house in Chelsea, just outside of London, and Leopold Mozart was very ill with a throat infection.  Forbidden to play the harpsichord, for fear of disturbing his father, Wolfgang relieved his boredom by writing his first symphony.

For those of you who are already familiar with Mozart's works, the theme from the first movement of his first symphony may sound very familiar.  It's almost the same theme as his Piano Concerto #22 in E-flat, K 482, a piece that he would write 21 years later.

What's remarkable about this early piece is that it already bears all the hallmarks of a more mature Mozart: knowledge of form, cleanness of execution, and expressive restraint.  But what's even more remarkable: the kid was only EIGHT YEARS OLD when he did this.

What were *you* busy doing when *you* were eight?

The Mozart family returned to Salzburg in November 1766.  From a financial standpoint, the tour was less than successful.  Although the value of even just the gifts and trinkets the Mozarts had received from noble patrons was considerable, considerable too was the cost of putting on the tour.  Leopold wrote that the savings from the tour were negligible: "There was nothing to be saved, because we have to travel in noble or courtly style for the preservation of our health and the reputation of my court."  However, the impact of the tour on Wolfgang Mozart's musical development was considerable.  Their stay in London was of particular importance, as it was there that he met Carl Friedrich Abel and Johann Christian Bach (the son of Johann Sebastian Bach), from whom he learned form and technique for writing symphonies.  Although the symphonies Mozart wrote at this early stage in his career were not as sophisticated as his later symphonies, they were easily the equal of any of the major composers of symphonies in Europe at the time.

After returning to Salzburg in 1766, the Mozarts spent a year and a half in Vienna, and then, in December 1769, Leopold and Wolfgang left for Italy.  Nannerl and Mozart's mother remained behind in Salzburg for this trip.  Nannerl had just turned 18, and was therefore too old to be showing off in public as a child prodigy.  Wolfgang, on the other hand, was 13.  The reason for continuing Wolfgang's education in Italy was obvious - Italy was the center of the Catholic Church, a source of major innovations in music over the prior two centuries, home to numerous duchies, papal states, and republics, but above all, *the* place one wanted to be if one was in the opera writing business.  Leopold's goal in taking Wolfgang to Italy was to learn to write church music, gain influential friends and acquaintances that could hook him up with a high-ranking patron, and to expose Mozart to the culture of opera.

Overture from Mitridate, rè di Ponto (K. 87)

Mitridate was the first of three operas the young Mozart would write in Milan.  Mitridate was written during his first tour through the city in the fall of 1770, when Mozart was just 14 years old.  The overture to the opera is in three parts.  The first section, written in an abbreviated kind of sonata form, is lively and upbeat.  Two themes are introduced, the first in D major, the contrasting theme in A major.  As is typical in sonata form, the second of the two themes is restated in the key of the first before the section draws to a close.  The second section is a slow, quiet dance that provides a rest from the rigors of the first section.  Finally in the third section, we have a quick, agile little romp in triple meter that leads us to the close of the overture, re-energized and ready to hear what the opera has in store for us.

Mozart wrote Mitridate in just a few months, no small feat for anyone, let alone a boy of 14 years writing his first full opera.  And the idea of an Austrian coming down to write an opera - in Italian - did not sit well with many in Milan.  However, the opera was an unexpectedly great success.  In a letter to his sister Nannerl back in Salzburg, Mozart wrote:

Dearest sister!

I haven't written anything in a long time because I was busy with my opera.  As I have more time now I want to be more attentive to my duties.  The opera, thank the Lord, is a success as the theater is full every nigh, which astounds everyone and many are saying that as long as they have lived in Milano they have never seen a first opera so full."

Finally, a little ear candy.  Something you may have heard before...

Alleluja, from Exultate juibilate (1773), KV 165

(Diana Damrau)

The Exultate was written specifically for the castrato Venanzio Rauzzini, who had played the part of Cecilio in Mozart's opera Lucia Silla earlier that year.  This is Mozart at his most exuberant - we can hear the success of his three Italian operas in this piece, and the hope of even better things to come.  Even though this is a sacred work, the operatic influence is clear: listen to the wordplay around the emphasis in the word "Alleluja" (Alleluja, Alleluja…), the ornamentation in the soprano line, and, of course, the most unhumble and diva-esque high C at the very end!

In one sense, the three trips to Italy had been a great success.  Mozart had written three well-received operas, a number of string quartets and shorter pieces, and had established a name for himself in Italy.  His reputation, however, did not convert itself into a promise of patronage from a wealthy benefactor for young Wolfgang, nor did it result in a more lucrative permanent appointment for Leopold, our deputy capellmeister from Salzburg.  And so, in 1773, the Mozarts returned to Salzburg.  Wolfgang found employment with the Prince-Archbishop Hieronymus Colorado as a court musician - a position that neither Mozart nor the Archbishop would end up being particularly happy with.  Mozart would have to make several other journeys before finding a permanent home and fame in Vienna.

Leopold Mozart - Trumpet Concerto

Enjoy!

Leopold

Most people who have a hankering for classical music have seen That Movie.  You know the one.  The one starring a young Tom Hulce, that guy with an obnoxious laugh?  Play by Peter Shaffer?  Yeah, that movie.

Amadeus.

It contains more than a few inaccuracies, of course.  Mozart was not the giggling "eternal child" portrayed in the movie - although he certainly did have a particular fondness for bathroom humor.  Salieri may have spent the last year and a half of his life in a mental institution, but he didn't poison Mozart.  Nor was he responsible for Mozart's death.

But the really sad thing is, the movie leaves out so much.  Mozart's childhood.  His travels around Europe.  But most importantly - it leaves out the story of the man who made Wolfgang Mozart who he was.  His teacher.  His coach.  His tour manager.

His father.

So who was Leopold Mozart, anyway?

Leopold Mozart was born in Augsberg, in what is now Bavaria, in 1719.  Leopold was one of these characters born into a family that was anything *but* musical.  The Mozart family, in Augsberg, was known as a family of artisans and masons.  Leopold's father, Johann Georg Mozart, was a master bookbinder by trade; his father, Franz Mozart, was a master mason.  

Johann may have decided on a different career path from his father, but he was no dummy.  When his guild master died, Johann somehow managed to be the one to marry his widow, thus giving him his old master's guild license.  After his first wife died in 1718, he met Anna Maria Sulzer and married her the next year.  Leopold was the first of eight children, five of whom survived to adulthood.

Being devout Catholics, Johann Mozart sent his son Leopold to school at the local Jesuit gymnasium, St. Salvator, for his early education.  The idea his parents had, apparently, was that young Leopold should become a priest.  While at St. Salvator, Leopold studied logic, science, and theology, and appeared in no fewer than eight student productions as a singer and actor.  He was, initially, a good student: he graduated from St. Salvator in 1735, at the age of 16, magna cum laude.  It appears, however, that Leopold was held back from graduation for one, possibly two years.  We don't quite know why, but his graduation was behind schedule.

In 1736, Johann Mozart died, leaving behind a widow with five hungry mouths to feed.  At this point, young Leopold had a choice to make.  He could do the responsible thing: take up his father's trade as a bookbinder, make a living, and do his duty as man of the household to support his mother and five siblings.  He could choose to try to make a living doing what he loved to do - make music.  Or, he could go back to school and continue his studies.

So what did he do?  Did he follow his dreams?  Well…  no.

Leopold went back to school.  He did not go back to the Lycaeum at St. Salvator, where he had withdrawn from after the death of his father.  Rather, he enrolled at the Benedictine University in Salzburg the next year, in 1737, as a student of philosophy and jurisprudence.  However, everything came to a screeching halt in 1739.  Young Leopold, you see, had simply had enough.

Leopold Mozart, a Swabian of Augsburg, has from the beginning of the civil year hardly attended Natural Science more than once or twice, and has thereby rendered himself unworthy of the name of student.  A few days before the examination he was called before the Dean and informed that henceforth he would no longer be numbered among the students.  Having heard this sentence, he offered no appeals, accepted the sentence, and departed as if indifferent: therefore he was not called for further examination.

Now Herr Mozart decided it was time to follow his dream.  He was about to become a musician for real!  Leopold Mozart found employment as a chamberlain and musician for a member of the local Salzburg nobility, Count John Baptiste Thurn-Valsassina et Taxis.  The next year, in 1740, he published his first work: a set of six trio sonatas, Op. 1, who he dedicated to his new boss, a man who had saved him from "the harsh darkness of necessity and smoothed the path to the horizon of good fortune."

All was not well in Augsberg.  Momma Mozart?  Let's just say, she was *not* happy.

It's not that she was doing poorly.  Two of Leopold's brothers had chosen to take up their father's bookbinding business, and Anna Mozart herself came into an inheritance in 1744 that gave her some financial comfort.  It was the principle of the thing.  Leopold Mozart?  Leave Augsberg, defy his own father's wishes that he become a priest, refuse to carry on the family business, all so that he can become some…  MUSICIAN????  The rascal!!!

Karma has a way of being a harsh mistress.

Leopold Mozart married his wife, Anna Maria Pertl, in 1747.  Shortly after the wedding, Mozart petitioned the city of Augsberg for, and had received, renewal of his citizenship status with the city of Augsberg in hopes of convincing his dear old mum that he might someday return.  You see, his mother had given each of his siblings a dowry, and Leopold wanted his.  In 1755, Leopold wrote a plaintive letter to his publisher:

All of my brothers and sisters have now married; and each has received 300 florins as an advance upon my mother's future legacy.  I have not received anything.

Leopold made several attempts to collect on his dowry, but each one was met with failure.  He and his mother never spoke again.  Even when Leopold would travel to Augsberg to give public performances, his mother refused to come.

In the meantime, Leopold's career was busy going nowhere.  In 1743, Leopold had gained employment in the court of Salzburgs' Prince-Archbishops as a 4th violinist.  (Bet you didn't know there was such a thing, did you?)  In 1758 - fifteen years later - he received a promotion.  To 2nd violinist.  In 1763, he finally obtained the position of deputy kapellmeister - but from that point on, he was passed over for promotion time and time again.  He rose no higher.

But by this time, Leopold had another project he was working on.  His daughter, Nannerl, and his son, Wolfgang.

For what it's worth, you know how in the movie Saliere claims that the Commendatore, in Mozart's opera Don Giovanni, is  Mozart's dead father Leopold, come back from the grave to accuse his son?

Wrong.  The Commendatore came back to haunt Don Giovanni because the Commendatore had walked in on Don Giovanni having his way with the Commendatore's daughter - for which Don Giovanni shoved a sword through his gut.  The libretto for Don Giovanni was written by an Italian by the name of Lorenzo da Ponte.  A man whose destiny it would someday be to become... a greengrocer in Astoria, New York.

But that's a story for another day.

Franz Joseph Haydn

Let us tackle our first composer from the Classical period.

Franz Joseph Haydn was born in 1732 in Rohrau, Austria, a small town near the Hungarian border.  Haydn’s beginnings were quite humble.  He was the second of twelve children born to Mathias Haydn, a wheelwright and amateur folk musician, and Maria Haydn, who had worked as a cook in the employ of Count Harrach of Rohrau.  Although his father was known as a master craftsman, he was neither particularly wealthy nor particularly well educated.  

Haydn’s musical talents and appreciation for music were made known to his parents as a toddler, when he would sing along with his father and pretend to play violin.  Recognizing Haydn’s talent, and knowing that they had no financial means to help Haydn develop his talent and secure his career as a musician, Haydn’s parents apprenticed him to a relative, Johann Matthias Frankh, the schoolmaster and choirmaster in Hainburg, when Haydn was only six years old.  For Haydn, life with Frankh was little better than life with his parents.  As a child, he was frequently ill-fed, ill-clothed, and made fun of by the other children for his poverty.  Later in life, Haydn remarked of his stay in the custody of Frankh that he often received more beatings than food.  

It was under Frankh, however, that Haydn began his musical training, learning to play harpsichord and violin, and singing treble in the church choir.  His voice was sufficiently good to attract attention, and in 1739 he was accepted by Kapellmeister Reutter of the Cathedral of St. Stephen in Vienna as a choirboy.  Life continued to be extremely rough for the young Haydn.  As before, he was poorly fed; Haydn found himself singing on the streets frequently to beg for pennies to buy food.  In 1749, when Haydn was 17, life got even more difficult for him.  His voice had changed, and was no longer capable of singing the treble parts in choir.  A prank in which Haydn cut off the pigtail of a fellow choirister was the final straw.  Out Haydn went onto the street without a penny to his name.

Haydn worked odd jobs at first, giving private lessons and performing as a street performer, all the while continuing his study of composition.  Two years later, he had built himself enough of a reputation to earn a commission to write an opera (now lost).  In 1754, Haydn got his big break: he became an accompanist and manservant to composer and singing teacher Nicola Porpora. Although Porpora was just as stingy and just as abusive as his previous employers had been, Porpora had the connections with the nobility that Haydn needed to advance his career.  In 1759, Haydn became music director under Count Morzin; when Morzin went broke two years later in 1761, Haydn was snapped up by Hungarian Prince Paul Esterházy to become Vice-Kapellmeister in his court.  Although Prince Paul Esterházy died the next year, his successor, Prince Nicholas Esterházy was sufficiently impressed by Haydn to retain his services. Finally, Haydn had made it big.

To say that Haydn was prolific is a gross understatement.  Haydn is often called “Father of the Symphony” for good reason.  Not only was he one of the first symphony writers (the symphony being a musical form born out of the Classical era), but his sheer output of symphonies blows every other composer clean out of the water.  During his lifetime, Haydn wrote no fewer than 106 symphonies - the earliest in 1759, the latest, his “London” symphony, in 1795.  (Although the “London” symphony is referred to as Symphony 104, two other symphonies, usually referred to as “A” and “B”, were discovered during the 20th century, bringing the total number up to 106.) Haydn also wrote 68 string quartets, fourteen Masses, several operas, fifteen piano trios, numerous concerti and piano compositions, and two oratorios: Die Schöpfung (The Creation) and Die Jahreszeiten (The Seasons).

As a composer, Haydn is known as “the father of the symphony”, and “the father of the string quartet”. But during his lifetime, Haydn was known for two things. While he was Kapellmeister at the Esterházy court, he was known as “Papa” by the musicians under his employ.  It wasn’t just that he was the boss - he was a genuinely nice guy who frequently interceded with Prince Esterházy to ensure his musicians were treated fairly.  One prominent example is found in Haydn’s Farewell Symphony (#45), written in 1772.  The Farewell Symphony is an airance of grievances.  During the summer of 1772, Haydn and the Esterházy court orchestra were lodged in the Prince’s summer palace in Esterháza. Most of the musicians’ wives were left back home in Eisenstadt, and the prince’s stay in Esterháza was lasting much longer than expected. Papa Haydn, acting on behalf of his musicians, wanted to suggest to the Prince that perhaps it was time to let the musicians go home to be with their families.  Of course, Haydn couldn’t just tell the Prince; he had to be more subtle.

Haydn - Farewell Symphony (no. 45) - 4th mvt: Presto - Adagio

The final movement of the Farewell Symphony starts out much like any other final movement of a Classical-era symphony might.  The tempo is fast, and the theme is presented by the strings and echoed by the full orchestra.  But then, something unexpected happens.  About three minutes into the piece, the tempo slows way down.  One by one, the musicians in the orchestra stop playing, snuff out the candles which have been lighting their scores, and walk off the stage.  In the end, the full orchestra dwindles down to merely two violins, who play a short duet - and then the piece is over.

Prince Esterházy got the hint.  The day after Haydn presented his Farewell Symphony to the prince, he decided that perhaps it would be a good idea to depart for Eisenstadt after all.

Haydn was also known as a practical joker.  The final movement of his String Quartet in E flat, op. 33 no. 2 ends with a musical joke.  The movement is set in what’s called rondo form.  A rondo is something like a song with a chorus.  It features one main theme, the rondo theme, which is repeated numerous times throughtout the piece.  In between repetitions of the rondo theme, other musical ideas are presented and developed, each one in the end returning back to the rondo theme.  The rondo theme is like the chorus of a song, the glue that holds the whole movement together.  Because it is repeated numerous times throughout the piece, it serves as both a point of departure and a point of return.  A rondo typically ends with a concluding section, called a coda, that puts an end to the process of departure and return and provides a satisfying end to the piece.

Haydn - String Quartet in E-flat, Op. 33 No. 2 - Rondo

The finale of the String Quartet op. 33 no. 2 certainly starts out as a typical rondo.  But then Haydn decides to pull a fast one.  At 2:30, after playing the rondo theme, the piece just stops.  Just as you’re about to think, “what the hey, is this the end of the piece already, or what?” Haydn continues on with something that sounds like it might be a coda, but sounds way too tentative to be convincing.  Haydn gives the audience a few seconds of silence, to think that the piece may have just ended … and then restates the rondo theme yet again!  Whenever I listen to the piece, I hear the audience laughing at this point: ah, how droll, Maestro Haydn!  You pulled one off on us, what a splendid joke!    

Haydn milks the joke for all it’s worth, parcelling out the rondo theme one little bit at a time. But he’s not done yet.  The music gets quieter and quieter, drawing the audience in closer and closer.  Then, after a few seconds of silence, he repeats the first motif from the rondo theme… and this time, the piece actually *is* over.  Certainly, Haydn wouldn’t just leave us hanging there, waiting for the end of the theme, would he?  

Actually, yes he would.

Haydn was also a pious man.  A staunch Catholic, he would often pray the rosary when confronted with a difficult case of writer’s block.  At the beginning of each of his compositions, he would usually write “in nomine Domini”, and end with “laus Deo”.  Haydn’s sacred works include the oratorio Die Schöpfung (The Creation) and fourteen masses.  The most famous of his masses, the Missa in Anguistis, also known as the Lord Nelson Mass, was composed for the Esterházy family in 1798.  

Haydn - Missa in Anguistis (Lord Nelson Mass): Kyrie, Gloria

1798 was a particularly dark year - hence the title Missa in Anguistis, or Mass for Troubled Times.  In 1792, France under Napoleon had declared war against the Austro-Hungarian Empire.  To try to contain the threat of populist revolt, most of the remaining monarchies in Europe, including Prussia, Britain, Spain, Naples, and the Netherlands, declared war against France.  By 1797, Napoleon had forced Spain and the Netherlands to sign peace treaties, and had won a series of major battles against Austria on Austrian soil.  Austria was forced to sign a treaty with France that gave them Belgium, the Rhineland, and much of Italy.  Although in 1798 Austria was no longer at war, tensions remained high.

It was against this backdrop that Haydn composed the Missa in Anguistis.  The Kyrie starts out in the dark, brooding key of D minor.  Typically the tone of the Kyrie in a mass is submissive, humble, even guilty.  But in this mass, the Kyrie has a tone of fear, anguish, and deep uncertainty.  This is not a plea for God to save us from some intangible evil, but from the very real fear of war and forced surrender.  In contrast, the Gloria, set in D major, is exultant, putting all fear of war aside.  Though war may rage, God still reigns over His creation, and His creation, let us never forget, is good!

Finally, a bit of ear candy. Haydn didn’t write many concertos, and quite a few of the concertos he did write are now lost.  One concerto that has survived is his Trumpet Concerto in E flat, written in 1796.  It was written for Haydn’s friend Anton Weidinger, who invented a keyed trumpet that, unlike the regular trumpets of the day, was capable of playing pitches in the lower registers of the instrument.  The virtuosity that Weidinger’s trumpet made possible would have amazed audiences in Haydn’s day. Although his trumpet was later abandoned in favor of the modern valved trumpet, Haydn’s Concerto for Trumpet remains a perennial favorite and standard piece of the concert repertoire.

Haydn - Trumpet Concerto (1796) - 3. Finale - Allegro

Classical classical music?

Classical music.

So what is classical music, anyway?  Besides what they play on NPR stations in between listener pledge drives?  "For a pledge of just $50, that's less than $5 a month, you can get this lovely collection of Beethoven symphonies, performed under the direction of Maestro Schickele at the University of Southern North Dakota at Hoople..."

There's a tendency to think of classical music as a personal musical preference, as one genre out of several alternatives.  There's rock, country, jazz, pop... and there's classical.  But classical music has a history that distinguishes it from all the rest.  In rock, for example, there's no question that the music of Tame Impala in 2013 is different from Nirvana in 1993, which in turn is very different from The Who in 1973 or Bill Haley and the Comets in 1953.  It's obvious that the style of these artists is very different, so much so that perhaps it's only by convention that we lump them all in the same genre.  But yet, this only represents 60 years of musical history. Millions of people alive today remember them all, and some of them will still be around in 2033 to listen to whatever comes next.  

80 years ago, there was no such thing as rock music.  80 years ago was 1933 - the depth of the Great Depression.  Irving Berlin had a hit song, "Easter Parade", that was published that year.  In the same year, Béla Bartók premiered his Piano Concerto No. 2 in Frankfurt.  And Bartók is considered to be a modern composer!

Go back another 80 years. It's 1853.  Stephen Foster is all the rage, with songs like "Camptown Races" and "My Old Kentucky Home, Good Night".  In 1853 Franz Liszt wrote his masterwork, the Piano Sonata in B minor.

Back another 80 years. In 1773, Mozart wrote his Symphony #25 in G minor. In 1693, Johann Sebastian Bach was 9 years old.  He would begin studying music under his brother Johann Christian Bach the following year.  In 1613, the first performance piece commonly recognized as an opera - Euridice, by Italian composer Jacopo Peri - celebrated its 13th birthday.

The history of classical music goes back over 1000 years.  We have musical scores that date all the way back to the 8th century.  We have records of individuals, famous and noted in their time, who lived and wrote music even earlier than that, although their music has since been lost.

And yet, this thousand-plus years of musical history all goes under one common name: classical music.

Classical music????  Where did that name come from, anyway?  Among "classical" music aficionados, classical isn't a type of music.  It's a specific period of music, lasting from approximately 1750 to 1820.  

In the classical music biz, we divide the entirety of classical music (properly termed concert music) into a number of different musical periods.  In chronological order, these are:

• Medieval - from antiquity up to about 1400.  This was the era of Gregorian chant.  Polyphonic music began to develop towards the end of the medieval period.
• Renaissance - from 1400 to 1600.  This period saw increased use of instrumentation in performances, multiple simultaneous melodic lines, and the use of supporting instrumentation in the bass.
• Baroque.  Ah yes, the Baroque!  This was the time of Bach, Vivaldi, and Handel.  The Baroque era saw the invention of the opera, the development of counterpoint, the establishment of major and minor keys, the use of the harpsichord and organ - so many wonderful things!  The Baroque period lasted from 1600 (the year Jacopo Peri composed Euridice) to 1750 (the death of J.S. Bach).  The year 1750 is a fuzzy line, however, as by then a shift in compositional style was already well underway.
• Classical - from 1750 (or so) until 1825.  Haydn and Mozart fall into this category.  The Classical era saw the birth of the symphony as a musical form.  (Bach didn't write a single symphony!  Did you know that?)  The first pianos were built.  Many of the wind instruments began to be more frequently used.  
• Romantic - from 1825 until the early 20th century or so.  During the Romantic period, differences in national style were accentuated.  Many Romantic era composers used folk music as inspiration for their work.  The idea of the theme of a piece was no longer restricted to just a tune, but could be a rhythmic motif - as in Beethoven's Symphony #5, or an idea or mood - as in Gustav Mahler's Das Klagenlied.
• Impressionist.  Impressionism as a musical movement appears in France from about 1875 to 1925.  Properly speaking, it's part of the Romantic movement, but it's easy to pull it out because it's so, well, French.  Debussy, Ravel, and Satie fit the bill.
• 20th Century.  A bit of a misnomer.  Quite a few composers, such as Rachmaninov and Mahler, continued to write stylistically Romantic music well into the 20th Century.  But the 20th century saw an utter explosion of musical innovation: from the atonal and 12-tonal works of Berg, Stravinsky, and Weber, to quintessentially American composers such as Gershwin, Copland, Bernstein, and Ives, and then forward to the minimalism of Terry Riley, John Cage, Steve Reich, Henryk Górecki, and John Adams.
• 21st Century.  It's a bit early to say what the 21st century will be known for.  But composers like Adams, Salonen, and Dutilleux are still at it and writing.

Next time - the guy who put the Classical symphony on the map!

Major and minor modes

What's the difference between major and minor?  Well, I think if you asked most people, they'd say something like this:

If it's in major, that means it sounds happy.  It's upbeat.  Fun.  Something you'd want to dance to.  Songs in a minor key sound sad and gloomy.  Like a funeral dirge, or a haunted house or something.

That sounds clear enough.  Based on that description, it ought to be easy to tell the difference between a song that's in a major key, and one that's in a minor key.  Listen to these two songs and see if you can figure out which one is which:

Gloria Gaynor - I Will Survive

The Beatles - Yesterday

Obviously, I Will Survive is the one that's in the major key, and Yesterday is the one in the minor key.

Wrong.  It's actually the other way around.  I Will Survive is in A minor.  Yesterday?  F major.

So what is the difference?

Prior to the Renaissance, the distinction between major and minor didn't exist, as such.  What we refer to as major and minor scales simply weren't in common use.  During the Renaissance, Europe experienced a renewed fascination with Greco-Roman art, architecture, and civilization.   Renaissance scholars looked back to the Greeks for inspiration, and noted their fascination with music.  If music is something so powerful that it can move the gods, surely the music we create today ought to be just as powerful and moving!

The major and minor scales came about as a result of a re-examination of Pythagorean tuning during the Renaissance era.  During the Renaissance, they took Pythagoras' ideas and stretched them even further.  We already know that a 2:1 ratio in vibrational frequency will give two notes exactly one octave apart.  A 3:2 ratio ratio will give two notes that are a fifth apart - the relationship between C and G.  By extension, that means that a 3:1 ratio will give two notes that are a fifth apart, but separated by an additional octave - the difference between a bass C and an alto G.

What happens if we extend the sequence?  Start with 2:1, then 3:1, then go all the way up to 6:1?  It turns out we get something like this:
When you put all six notes together, it sounds pretty good, doesn't it?  All six notes blend into each other.  The last three notes are particularly important.  When you put a C, an E, and a G together, what you get is a major triad.  Triad, because there are three notes, and major, because the three notes have frequencies in the ratio of 4:5:6.

What happens if we pick a starting note, and then go to frequencies that are 1/2, 1/3, and so on?  I'll start on a soprano C here and see what we get.

As the bass goes down, we get the notes F, A♭, and C, which are related by a ratio of 1/6 : 1/5 : 1/4 (or 10:12:15, if you don't like fractions).  This is called a minor triad.  

Isn't that interesting?  We usually think of major and minor as being opposite to each other.  But, in fact, they're actually closely related.  More like brother and sister!

We've already got a scale to go with the major (C-E-G type) triad: it's the major scale.  C D E F G A B C.  Now we need a scale to go with the minor triad.  The scale that we need has the same notes as the C major scale, but starts on A instead.  Let's compare the two scales.  I've taken the liberty of labeling the notes that form the major and minor triads.

Like the major scale, the minor scale is defined by a pattern of intervals:

• Major scale: W W H W W W H
• Minor scale: W H W W H W W

where H is a half step, and W is a whole step.

Let's take what we've learned and build a pair of scales.  Let's build the scales for D major, and D minor.  To build these two scales, we'll need the patterns listed above, plus one rule: in any scale, each of the lettered notes has to be used exactly once.  You can add a sharp or a flat as necessary, but you have to use each letter exactly once.

So let's start with D major.  We'll write down the letters of the scale: D E F G A B C D.

Two notes require fixing.  D to E is a whole step, which is good.  E to F, though, is only a half step, and we need a whole step.  So we raise the F to F#.  For the next note in the scale, we need a half step.  F# to G fits the bill.

G to A... whole step.  Check.  A to B... whole step.  Check.  But that C is out of place.  We need a whole step for the next note up from B, but C is only a half step.  So we raise the C to C#.  B to C# is a whole step... check.  C# to D is a half step... check.  We're done!

What about D minor?  Same process.  Write down the letters of the scale: D E F 

G A B C D.  Let's see which ones we need to adjust.

D to E is good.  E to F is a half step, that's good.  F to G, G to A, those are both whole steps, good.  A to B? We need a half step here - lower the B to a B♭.  B♭ to C is a whole step, as is C to D.  So we're done.

Let's try another one.  Let's do B♭major, and B♭ minor.  Write down the letters of the scale first: B C D E F G A B.

For the B♭major scale, you should end up with the B and the E flatted.  For the B♭ minor scale, you have to flat the B, D, E, G, and A.  You get to use all the black keys!  Cool!

I love the key of B♭minor.  It's so strange, so mysterious, so spooky.  When played slow, it has a deep, mournful feel.  Listen to this gem in B♭minor by Chopin:

Frederic Chopin - Piano Sonata #2 in B-flat minor, Op 35.  III: Marche funebre

One more.  This one will be tricky.  Let's do D♭ major and minor.  D E F G A B C D.

Major scale: Obviously the D is flatted.  D♭ to E♭ is a whole step, E♭ to F is another whole step.  F to G♭, a half step.  A♭, B♭, C, D♭.  We're done!

Notice that D♭ major has five flats, just like B♭ minor.  And it's the same five notes in both scales that are flatted.  We have a word in music for this kind of relationship: enharmonic.  The keys of D♭ major and B♭ minor are enharmonic to each other because the two scales share all the same notes.  Another use of the word enharmonic is to describe two different notes that have the same pitch.  For example, the notes C# and D♭ are enharmonic to each other.  So are F♭ and E. 

Now the minor scale.  D♭, E♭, F♭...  Wait a minute.  F♭???  Sure.  F♭ and E are enharmonic - two different names, but the same note.  This looks mighty strange, though. Usually we try to avoid referring to E as F♭, because it's confusing.

G♭, A♭, and now a half step...  what now?  A half step up from A♭ is A, but we've already used the A in our scale.  So what do we do?  Call the next note B-double-flat?

We could if we wanted to.  There do exist signs for double-sharp and double-flat, and they are used with some frequency.  But there's a much easier solution to the problem.  Since writing out a scale for D♭ minor is difficult, why not instead call it C# minor and see if the problem goes away?

There we go.  Much better!

We've covered an awful lot today, so I think it's time to wind things down and recap.  Here's what you need to remember about the major and minor modes.

• Major and minor have nothing to do with the mood of a piece.  A happy piece can be in a minor key, and a sad piece can be in a major one.  It happens.
• Both the major and the minor scales are formed by a specific sequence of whole and half steps.
• Every major key has an enharmonic minor, and vice versa.  When we're talking about enharmonic scales, what we mean is that the scales share all the same notes, but start and end on different pitches.

Whew!  A little bit of music next time, and then we'll continue on to meter and rhythm.