Listening Journal No. 2

Stanislaw Moniuszko’s Halka

Stanislaw Moniuszko (1819-1872) had a similar effect upon Polish opera as his contemporary, Gioachino Rossini, did on Italian opera, even though there was never an established “Poland” during Moniuszko’s lifetime. His oeuvre contains eight completed operas, seven operettas, five masses, four ballets, and two string quartets. But he is generally remembered for three of his operas: Hrabina, Straszny Dwór, and Halka. Moniuszko worked mainly with Polish librettists including Wlodzimierz Wolski (Hrabina, Halka) and Jan Cheçinski (Straszny Dwór, Paria).
In his early years, Moniuszko often traveled to St. Petersburg where he befriended composers Mikhail Glinka and Modest Mussorgsky, as well as, the conductor Hans von Bülow. Later in his life, Moniuszko journeyed to other European countries where he met Rossini, Bedrich Smetana, and Franz Liszt. All of these new acquaintances promoted Moniuszko’s music and a few of them even organized premieres outside of Poland.
Much of the success of Moniuszko’s works and the iconic image of him as the “Father of Polish National Opera” came posthumously. Parks, stamps, and currency still bear his name and image. Much of Moniuszko’s compositional output is considered to be firmly within the Polish Canon of Music, despite his almost total obscurity in the rest of Western Music.
Moniuszko’s Halka is one of his most popular works. It is the tragic tale of a young maid (Halka) who is in love with an aristocrat, Janusz. Janusz abandons Halka and her child to marry Zofia, the daughter of the Esquire. Meanwhile, Jontek, who is in love with Halka, is trying to win her over by convincing her that Janusz is a terrible person. Though despite their efforts, Janusz still marries Zofia and Halka does not fall in love with Jontek. Penniless and heart-broken, a distraught Halka laments over the death of her child and the loss of her love, Janusz. The opera ends with Halka throwing herself into a ravine and drowning at the bottom.
This recording features the Choeurs de la Radio-Télévision de Cracovie, and Stefania Woytowicz (Halka), Wieslaw Ochman (Janusz), and Andrzej Hiolski (Jontek) singing the parts of the lead characters. It was performed by the Orchestre Symphonique de la Radio Nationale Polonaise with conductor Jerzy Semkow. The orchestra comprised of strings, woodwinds (flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons), brasses (horns, trumpets), percussion (timpani) and a few uncommon instruments like the harp and tambourine. With these forces, Moniuszko allowed himself a full palette of sounds to achieve the emotional range of his opera.
The first notable characteristic of this work is that it is sung in Polish. Following the sense of nationalism established in Romantic Era, Moniuszko chose the language of that the consumers of his music spoke instead of the Classical Era standard of using Italian. His patrons could understand and relate to the opera more so than if it was in a different language.
Yet, Moniuszko’s reputation in the rest of the Western World is greatly impaired, almost to the point of total obscurity, by the use of the Polish language. Throughout Europe, the common languages used in the popular operas, and other vocal works, of the era were generally written English, Italian, French and/or German. These languages were more widespread in Europe than, for example, Polish, Svenska, and Danish. Moniuszko greatly limited the number of possible consumers by choosing Polish as his language of choice.
Language aside, Moniuszko’s Halka has the colorful inclusion of the Polish musical tradition of Chopin, the orchestral emotional dynamic of Weber, and the melodic muse of a Rossini opera. But the music tastes and styles that prevailed in Poland at the time tended to border on conservative and almost to the point of uneducated. The music that the Polish populace was consuming, during this time, were works the responded to their needs. The transcendent music of Chopin was not what they were looking for, and so the Polish people found, in Moniuszko’s work, music that spoke directly to them.
The melodies that Moniuszko employed are reminiscent of the folk music of Poland. Moniuszko, much like Chopin, utilized dotted-eighth sixteenth note pattern throughout much of the opera. As opposed to Western European forms, the music has a strong emphasis on the second beat. Moniuszko explored Polish dance-forms and folk melodies throughout his operas. Act I even ends with a mazurka, but unlike those of Chopin, the intention of this mazurka was to be danced. Shortly after the prelude to Act III, there is another Polish dance, this time a góralskie. During these dances, Moniuszko utilized only the orchestral forces that not only gave the singers a break, but allowed for the cultural aspects to be that much more apparent. Moniuszko followed the musical forms of these dances exactly, and there is no use of rubato. Tempi are exact for the sole purpose of the performers on stage had to dance to these works.
Moniuszko’s opera is filled with these cultural references. He has dance-forms, like the mazurkas and polonaises, and other dances rooted in the folk traditions, like the kujawiak and krakowiak. The kujawiak being a dance in a triple-meter originating in the central region of Kujawy, that involves couples dancing in a circle. The krakowiak is a dance in a fast duple-meter full of syncopation whose steps resemble that of horses. It is a couples dance led by a male dancer/singer, who indicates the step patterns and sings the melody.
Similar to Weber, Moniuszko used the orchestra as a participant equal to the singers for dramatic effect. Moniuszko’s knowledge of the orchestra and his orchestration abilities are apparent throughout the whole of the opera. The overture opens with a line passing from the flute and clarinet, to the double reeds and then the low strings. The whole range of the orchestra is used while gradually shifting in orchestration. This idea of repeating an identical line while changing the instruments used is constantly throughout the opera. With this technique, Moniuszko allows for a slight crescendo as the line descends while retaining the audiences attention through the subtle timbral shifts.
But just clever orchestrational techniques are not the only thing Moniuszko had at his disposal. He used his orchestra almost as its own character. Unlike Rossini’s unbalanced roles of the singers versus the orchestra, Moniuszko’s idea is at the middle of the spectrum for opera writing with Rossini at one end and Wagner at the other. Moniuszko, like Weber, found an effective balance between the two groups that results in a highly dramatic result without losing the action and dialogue of the storyline.
The choir has a strong presence, becoming its own entity. Halka is not opera buffa, yet the choir acts in a similar fashion to the genre. It is there to create emphasis and provide commentary to the action of the lead roles. Moniuszko approached his choir much like he did his orchestra. He used the choir in various combinations throughout the work including having just the tenors and basses or the sopranos and altos. The choir would double the soloists’ lines or intersperse their own material within the soloists’ interaction.
With all of these advantages, one begins to wonder why works by Moniuszko, like Halka, are not placed within the Canon along with his contemporaries. The main reason for this was his lack of forward progress in terms of compositional innovation. Moniuszko was very conservative with his compositions during a time when composers stressed originality and imagination. This lack of “forward thinking” allowed Moniuszko to connect to his musically-uneducated audience in a way that Chopin could not. Moniuszko showed his great understanding and warmest regards for the Polish musical tradition throughout his opera. The inclusion of many dance-forms, folk melodies, and “Polish” rhythms all show his fluency within these genres. Yet, Moniuszko did not explore these genres beyond the established traditions. His mazurka in Act I is a textbook example of a mazurka with its triple-meter and emphasis on the second beats. It has the dotted-eighth sixteenth note figure that is common within mazurkas. Instead of expanding upon these set musical traditions and integrating them into his work, Moniuszko simply just placed them into his works. When his opera needed a dance, he composed a standard mazurka following all of the conventions of the time. Moniuszko just included Polish music in his works as oppose to fully integrating the Polish character into them.
Even with his limited innovations to the opera genre, Moniuszko became the icon of Polish opera. Halka was a work conceived entirely through the Polish culture. Moniuszko‘s librettist, Wlodzimierz Wolski, adapted the story from a work by Kazimierz Wójcicki, a famous Polish author. The use of a Polish story, with Polish dances, and a Polish text struck a deep chord with the Polish community. The music was written above their level of comprehension, it was written directly for them. Moniuszko was reaching out to the masses not the intellectual few, as Chopin was.
Like all operas, I prefer to watch one than listen to it. The visualization of the work as a whole has a far greater impact upon me than just listening to the opera. Monuiszko’s Halka is no exception. Although my comments tended to address the musical content of the opera, the perception of the work as a whole could have had an entirely different impact upon my opinions. A staged version could have just as easily had the same effect on me or I could have understood Moniuszko’s insistence on remaining within fairly standard forms. Regardless, this work has just as much right to be an established work within the Canon as many of Rossini’s operas do. Being Moniuszko’s crowning achievement in the way of establishing Polish nationalistic opera, Halka had (and still does have) an great impact upon those in Poland. If its only hindrance, in the way of being in the Canon, is due to the language it is in than Halka has no longer any reason not to be there along side the operas of Rossini and Weber.

Listening Journal No. 1 (con't.)

Known for many concerti for soloist and orchestra, it is curious that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart wrote a concerto for two instruments, particularly the two different instruments of flute and harp. Although his Concerto for Flute and Harp in C Major, K. 299 features two dissimilar instruments, it is (and was) not completely unheard of to write double concerti and to sometimes engage unusual combinations of soloists. Examples can be traced back to many of Vivaldi’s concerti and Bach’s Concerto for Violin and Oboe in C minor, BWV 1060 up to the present era with Hindemith’s Concerto for Trumpet and Bassoon and Ligeti’s Double Concerto for Flute and Oboe. Interestingly, apart from Bach’s Violin and Oboe Concerto, many double concerti are not considered within the “Canon of Western Musical History,” even though concertante works of the Baroque, that paired an even greater number of soloist forces against the orchestra, have carved a niche into the canon repertoire.
One idea as to the double concerto’s lack of inclusion into the Canon might stem from the notion that a concerto (as most people today understand it) is a time for one soloist to essentially show off their musical prowess; the idea of a “tag along” soloist, who shares the spotlight (or sometimes outshines), makes the double concerto an unacceptable alternative to solo concerti. Yet this one factor cannot completely explain why the double concerto as a genre is almost disregarded in favor of the typical solo concerto. For Mozart’s Concerto for Flute and Harp there may be plenty of reasons why it is not often considered to be contained within the standard Canon. The first is that Mozart wrote two other works for solo flute and orchestra that are often favored over the double concerto.
Structurally, the double concerto follows the established concerto format of the Classical era, although each movement, oddly enough, contains a cadenza. Its three movements are marked as Allegro, Andantino, and Allegro, and when the soloists are playing the orchestra is removed. Many factors could have led Mozart to score in this manner. Due to the harp’s limited projecting ability, it is extremely difficult to hear the harp over a tutti orchestra whereas the flute has no problem in this regard. Another possible, and slightly more musical, idea is that the harp is agile and can insinuate an underlying harmonic backdrop where the flute can rest a melodic line on top of it. This would negate the need for full orchestral texture supporting the soloists.
This piece is typical of the Classical era, with its Mozaztian melodies and carefully crafted balances. Yet, almost every composition of Mozart’s falls into this category. The sheer volume of output and the shared similarities between most of his pieces tends to allow for a disregard of compositions that are, in their own respect, just as able to be contained within the Canon.
Yet, despite its Mozartian melodies and careful consideration for balance and symmetry, the concerto remains mainly in obscurity when compared to his other works. Another plausible explanation for this could be the lack of able harpists and the avoidance by composers of the harp in their orchestral compositions. The harp was going through major changes in production throughout the Classical era and into the early Romantic period, and since it was not a common instrument, obscurity is more likely. Mozart’s compositions earned him great fame within his life-time with countless performances. If this double concerto, due do its need of an uncommon instrument, was not performed often, it is possible that Mozart’s generation lost it among the throng of Mozart’s output leading future generations to disregard it as well.
This concerto, if to be argued to be contained within the “Canon,” would probably be placed there for one aspect: its use of an unusual (in that time) combination instrumental soloists. Nothing is truly remarkable about the material of the piece that would place it instantly within the “Canon” along with the other standard Mozart compositions. And apart from the flashy harp arpeggios, the piece does not seem to have the same allure as his other concerti do.
This particular concerto has all the Mozartian qualities present in all his concerti. The balance between the phrases and the overall form of the movements share much in common with most of Mozart’s other concerti, yet this concerto lacks much of the allure and polished “perfection” that they have.
The flute line is rather uninteresting in comparison with the intricate harp arpeggios, and since the soloist tend to play when the orchestra is not, this unexciting flute line is all the more apparent. The flute tends to remain within a small range and is lacking the elaborate scalar passages that the flute is capable of playing.
The themes that Mozart incorporated into this concerto lack the “catchiness” of the typical melodies he used in his concerti. There is nothing really memorable or remarkable about this concerto, except for the combination of soloists.
This concerto was commissioned and written for a friend of Mozart’s. It was also one of the few pieces written in Mozart’s more mature style where he did not receive compensation for his work. This lack of payment could explain the lack of any memorable qualities in this concerto. Due to this quite un-Mozartian characteristic, this concerto has become more of an oddity than a standard within the Canon.

Listening Journal No. 1

With its relatively large orchestral forces, Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf’s Symphony No. 1 in C major, “Die 4 Weltalter” (The 4 Ages of Man) is programmatic. Scored for flute, two oboes, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, harpsichord, timpani, and full string sections, the symphony was constructed in four movements and reflected back upon the ancient Roman poet, Ovid, and his Metamorphoses. Each movement of the symphony related to one of the four ages of man: the Golden Age, the Silver Age, the Bronze Age, and the Iron Age.
In the first movement, Dittersdorf depicted the Golden Age. According to Ovid, this was a time characterized by justice, peace, and faithful devotion to the gods without force. In this movement, Dittersdorf created a stately march-like character capturing the characteristics of Ovid’s Golden Age. Marked “Larghetto,” the first movement begins with a noble theme announced by the strings and then by the tutti ensemble. Dittersdorf utilized what seems to resemble a sonata form, with a repeated exposition, for the basis of this movement. Curiously, in the middle “development” section, Dittersdorf only used the upper strings and bassoons saving the tutti ensemble for the recapitulation of the first theme at the end of the movement.
Ovid describes Man proceeding to the Silver Age following the Golden Age. During this time, Zeus, created the seasons and thus man discovered and cultivated the arts of agriculture and architecture. Given the nature of the programmatic facet of this movement, it is interesting that Dittersdorf once again opted for the sonata form with a repeated exposition. The use of the sonata form was characteristic of the Classical era and was, for all intents and purposes, the perfect form for compositional expression. The sonata form has inherent balance of sections and the developmental section allowed the composer to explore their compositional techniques. With the second age of man dealing with architecture, it makes sense that Dittersdorf constructed a second movement using one of the most commonplace formal designs upon which to lay his music.
The third movement is related to the Bronze Age. Ovid claimed that within the Bronze Age, warfare and impiety replaced the justice and peace of the Golden Age. Dittersdorf’s third movement is the first (and only movement) in this symphony that is in minor and in the style of a minuet. Dittersdorf made almost exclusive use of the dotted-eighth note followed by a sixteenth note figure throughout the entirety of this movement. The primary material is carried mainly in the strings and harpsichord while the winds interject a few long notes above the string texture.
Of all four movements, the fourth movement is the most unique in terms of style, orchestration, and depiction of the programmatic aspects of the work. Modeled after Ovid’s Iron Age, Dittersdorf captures the poet’s impious, war-like and materialistic in quite a different way than the other movements. The opening rhythmic accelerando followed by the only occurrence of the heralding trumpet motive introduces this rhythmically driven movement. The soft strings coupled with the forceful timpani attacks push to a powerful climax. Softer and not-so-rhythmically-driven material follow in the development almost alluding to the first movement character.
Taken at face value this piece seems like a typical Classical symphony with balance and symmetry controlling much of the compositional aspects of the piece. Yet while all of that is true, Dittersdorf, in 1783, was paving the road for programmatic composers, like Richard Strauss, Berlioz, and Debussy, nearly fifty years prior to Berlioz’s highly-programmatic Symphonie fantastique. While most Classical composers of the day were writing most absolute music, Dittersdorf was attempting to depict episodes or events within his music. He was, at least in his first six symphonies, already trying to break through the conventionalities of absolute music that were infamous by the composers in the Classical era.
That all being said, without prior knowledge of Ovid and his Metamorphoses, any attempt to understand the first symphony beyond face value is hindered greatly. Each movement has a particular character and without any prior knowledge, the listener would probably miss the subtle shifts from one movement to another.
In all honesty, the last movement and its relationship with the other three movements is the most intriguing, and without it, the piece would have lost all of its connection with its point of inspiration. The heralding trumpet and the fast, rhythmically driven material all allude to a march-like or battle-like atmosphere that Ovid assigned to this fourth age of man.
Interestingly enough, even though the primary source of inspiration was that of an ancient Roman poet, the same essential model could be juxtaposed upon the era(s) before and during Dittersdorf’s lifetime as well. Prior to the Enlightenment, religion was, basically, uncontested and adhered to by all: the Golden Age. Then the revolutions began, and the individual sought personal self-worth: the Silver Age. Revolutions continued and borders changed, yet the Church still had influence over the masses: the Bronze Age. When the debris cleared, borders became more fixed and moral codes for self replaced the morals codes established by the Church, and thus a focus on the “self” as oppose to the “group” began leading to greed and impiety: the Iron Age. Granted some of it is a stretch – Dittersdorf, like so many composers, was using an allegorical and ancient theme as a commentary on the situation of life in his time.
Dittersdorf’s Symphony No. 1 in C major, “Die 4 Weltalter” (The 4 Ages of Man) definitely has the potential to be placed in the “Canon of Western Musical History.” It has catchy themes and easily understandable forms. It has interesting orchestrational choices, for the time it was written. Yet the main reason this piece - and the other five symphonies under the subtitle “after Ovid‘s Metamorphoses” - is for Dittersdorf’s attempt at programmatic music in an era saturated in absolute music nearly fifty years before programmatic works became commonplace.