Saturday, September 09, 2023

an analysis of Matiegka's Op. 17 Sonate progressive

Matiegka’s Op. 16 and Op. 17 were both published in 1807. Stanley Yates described Matiegka as adopting sonata forms for all three movements in this work. I disagree.  Think the closing rondo should be interpreted as being a rondo (even though I understand why Yates concluded the third movement is best explained as a sonata form) for reasons I will get to later.


Yates has pointed out that “progressive” in the case of Op. 17 refers to a work that is more advanced than usual amateur works for guitarists but not as advanced as full-blown concert works such as Matiegka’s Grand Sonatas I and II. (Yates’ edition, page 12). The score you can find on IMSLP.org does not actually have metronome indications but does have the differentiated characters, which would implicitly include different tempi. Yates supplies the metronome markings he regards as most plausible for Matiegka’s indications.


However, Giulio Tampalini’s recording of Op. 17 has a basically steady, unvarying tempo throughout. For this reason I have included reference to Massimo Agostinelli’s recording of Op. 17 which I encourage you to listen to. Agostinelli does not observe the repeat signs in Matiegka’s score; Agostinelli’s tempo choices are significantly different from Yates’ suggestions but we’ll get to that later.


I mention it now because deciding what tempi the three themes in the first movement should have is important for performing the opening sonata form.  There are a series of Haydnesque jokes running through this sonata that, I intend to argue, depend on observing the contrasting tempi and character Matiegka indicates through the admittedly schematic notes on his themes. I think Agostinelli’s interpretation brings those jokes out more clearly than Tampalini’s does, though I like plenty of things about both interpretations. For reference purposes I am, however, sticking with Tampalini’s recording on Brilliant Classics, as I will throughout my discussion of Matiegka’s sonatas.


Sonate progressive, Op. 17: I. Cantabile
Giulio Tampalini’s performance
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfmTBiuTsaw

00:00 to 09:12
Matiegka specifies “cantabile”, “marcia” and “Allegro assai” for the three themes that appear in his exposition.  Stanley Yates recommends the following tempi:

Theme 1  q=100
Theme 2  
q-104
Theme 3 
q.=112 respectively.
Tampalini’s performance is a spritely roughly q=136 throughout.

Guitarists, particularly, who are unfamiliar with sonata forms will benefit from studying this work, which could not more literally label each theme when it appears in the score!  I also like the piece as music or I wouldn’t be writing so much about it but as a primer in sonata forms in the guitar literature Op. 17 deserves some attention, which I’m naturally going to give to it.

 

Exposition (first pass):     (00:00 to 02:50)
Theme 1 in G major         (00:00 to 00:35)
Theme 1 is twenty measures long and is divided into two ten-measure phrases that have subdivisions of two three-measure phrases followed by two two-measure phrases. These two ten-measure phrases create a perfectly conventional parallel period with phrase 1 ending on a half cadence and phrase two ending on an authentic cadence. The first theme is labeled “cantabile”, which tells us it should be played with a smooth, singing style. It would go without saying an Italian operatic style is required if we know how regularly interpretative instructions in scores defaulted to Italian in 18th and early 19thcentury scores. The way Giulio Tampalini creates a smooth, singing style is to use portamento, hammer-ons and pull-offs to glide from note to note where ever slurs appear in the score.

The initial lyric idea can be described, using Robert Gjerdingen’s work on galant schemas, as a compound “sol-fa-mi” gesture. We hear the melody start on D and it falls through C to B natural (thus the sol-fa-mi) within the first two measures. At a large scale this gesture is reflected in the first phrase of the theme.  After the staccatissimo chords we see the B natural rise of to C and this three-measure phrase is given a sequential response in which the D-C-B Is answered by C-B-A. across measures 1 through 6—this is the broader sol-fa-mi sequence.  


Not unlike the opening theme in Matiegka’s Op. 16 he uses three-measure phrases in sequence that are answered by two-measure phrases. His sequence of gently descending slurred thirds is eventually answered by a short two-measure “three blind mind” gesture (B, A, G) that is sequenced up to D, C, B before a flourish of eighth note dyads descends from a high tonic passage at the third fret of the first string (with E below) to a preparation for a half-cadence at measure 10.


The second phrase starts like the first but in a higher register and in sixths.  It is, otherwise, in many respects a conventional “answer” to the half-cadential call of Phrase 1.

The length of this theme and its parallel period nature are going to be important to keep in mind as we work through this sonata. In A Sonata Theory Handbook James Hepokoski points out that the expositional presentation of themes sets up an expectation for how and where and what the sequence of themes will be in the rest of the sonata movement. Any deviations in the form of, for instance, Theme 1 either in the development or the recapitulation will prove important in interpreting what a composer does with the norms and possibilities of a sonata form. Here we’ve got a twenty-measure Theme 1 in G major that has a lyric, operatic theme and a parallel period. 


Transition                        (00:36 to 01:00)
Matiegka’s transitions tend to be predictable guitarist-composer transitions. He starts with a four-measure lyric idea but after the initial transitional phrase he shifts to two or three four-measure energy-gain passages that use sixteenth note perpetual motion arpeggios to destabilize the tonic key and prepare the half cadence (what Hepokoski and Darcy have called “the medial caesura”) that sets the stage for the arrival of Theme 2 in the new key.

The first four measures of this transition have a lyric idea that is decorated by a sextuplet passage scale run. 


It may sound like a mere flourish this early in the work but it establishes a pivot from duple meter to triplets early in the transition for a reason, Theme 3 (when it appears) will be in compound meter. A transition in a sonata exposition doesn’t just set up a harmonic or melodic transition, it can also be used to set up subtle (or not subtle!) rhythmic/metric foreshadowing, which is what I propose Matiegka has done early in his first transition (which tells you there’s going to be a second transition leading to a Theme 3).

The second and third phrases in the first transition rely on sixteenth note arpeggios and a jump bass pattern. Measures 25-27 have a bass line running through D, E minor in first inversion, E minor becoming E major and predictably arriving at A major. The third phrase begins with the arrival at A major—from there Matiegka oscillates between A and D major or D minor before firmly landing on A at measure 33.


Theme 2 in D major         (01:01 to 01:47)
Theme 2 is labeled “marcia” and arrives at measure 34. Yates lists the tempo as quarter note gets 104 beats per minute for this theme, which is as boisterous as Theme 1 was cantabile. Each phrase in this new theme in D major is four measures long. If we map it out it would read as aa1ba2ba3.but if we reduced it to eight-measure level phrasing this theme could be described as an ABB’ structure. What is obvious at first hearing is that this contrasts at every possible level with the lyric two-phrase “cantabile” theme. As L Poundie Burstein put it in
Journeys Through Galant Expositions in many sonatas the contrast between a first and second theme is not necessarily a contrast between “characters” but a contrast in musical punctuation or, if you will, sentence structure.


This drastic contrast between Theme 1 and Theme 2 is going to be important to keep in mind when we get to the recapitulation but here we can settle for a relatively simple description of how the theme is structured. What is worth pointing out is that Theme 2 does not have a firm cadential arrival because …


Transition 2                     (01:49 to 02:20)
Literally the moment the perfect authentic cadence “should” be reached Matiegka does two things. First, from the forte of the final phrase of Theme 2 he drops to piano. Second, he kicks off the arrival point of a perfect authentic cadence with sixteenth note arpeggiation, a second transition that adds rhythmic energy but saps the volume out of the arrival point. A point Jason Yust makes in
Organized Time: Rhythm, Tonality and Form is that melody, harmony and rhythm can all occupy their own musical space-times and that resolution in one dimension of musical time can be subverted by a continuation in another.  In this case the harmonic and melodic resolutions are thwarted by an abrupt drop in dynamics and an abrupt increase in rhythmic activity. It’s the kind of rug-pull moment that suggests Matiegka absorbed a lot of influence from Joseph Haydn (we’ll get to just how extravagantly Matiegka drew upon Haydn’s music when discussing his Grand Sonata II and Op. 23).

During this perpetual motion Transition 2 Matiegka introduces a C, B, C#, D gesture amidst the sixteenth notes that is a schema Robert Gjerdingen has called the Quiescenza (it is the subject of chapter 13 in Music in the Galant Style). Conventionally this gesture appears twice and consolidates a cadence In a secondary or closing gesture. Here Matiegka follows up the double Quiescenza with an Aprile (discussed in the chapter on The Meyer in Gjerdingen).


Long ago one of my music theory professors said “the beautiful thing about music theory is you can disagree with me and we `could’ both still be right”. I mention that because I’m about to propose something that is easily debatable—Gjerdingen has pointed out that while the Quiescenza tends to end phrases and theme variations of the Meyer tend to start them but what Matiegka has done is jam his double Quiescenza and Aprile neither in any of his exposition theme beginnings or ends, instead he’s shoved them ostentatiously into the middle of his second transition. Gjerdingen has said that galant style music makes knowing use of schemas and musical tropes and that the game of composing and listening in galant aesthetics is where and how the tropes get used. Haydn was known to use familiar musical tropes in “wrong” places and I think that is what Matiegka tried to do in this second transition.


Matiegka’s Op. 17 is full of musical jokes that depend on some familiarity with a mixture of galant and proto-Romantic gestures, most of which can’t possibly land if listeners and performers aren’t conversant enough in the late 18th century conventions he learned that would allow for composer, performers and listeners to be in on the jokes. Using obvious ending and starting tropes in the middle of a secondary transition is an example of a musical joke that will mean nothing to us, but which could have been a joke his performer and audience would have been able to share with him. At any rate, it seems a plausible interpretation of Matiegka’s compositional decisions throughout Op. 17. And what do these misplaced musical tropes lead to?


Theme 3 in D major         (02:21 to  02:50)

This new theme is marked “Allegro assai” and is in 6/8. We get another dramatic contrast between themes. The lilting compound meter of Theme 3 contrasts with the marching Theme 2 and still more with the languid Theme 1. The bouncy third theme opens with call and response writing where the melody is taken up in thirds on the treble strings and is answered by a single voice in the bass strings in paired phrases.  It’s as though we’re hearing a soprano and mezzo-soprano issue a call to which a bass responds throughout this theme. Matiegka was particularly fond of antiphonal effects in his solo guitar music and this third exposition theme is a pretty good example. There are four phrases that can be grouped as eight measures, ten measures, and nine measures in length. 


Phrase 1 (measures 75-82 in Yates) is eight measures that subdivide into two four-measure call-and-response passages. If we “reduce” out the eighth notes the melodic core is an F#-G-E gesture in thirds that is answered by the bass rising up from 5 through to 1. After two cycles of this all the voices join for a IV-I-V passage with a melodic descent of B, A, G, F#, E. The V-I harmonic resolution withstanding, Robert Gjerdingen would likely point out that Theme 3 features a classic Prinner gesture (parallel motion evoking a IV-I movement and in pop music in Anglo-American contexts probably the most famous Prinner is in “Let it Be” by the Beatles and the next most famous Prinner would be at the end of each turnaround in the verses for Aretha Franklin’s rendition of “Natural Woman”).

Phrase 2 brings back the antiphonal gesture followed by the prinner but delays the resolution to the authentic cadence by a blink-and-you-missed-it deceptive resolution to B minor at measure 91 that becomes a full subdominant harmony that course-corrects to a V-I resolution by measure 92.


Phrase 3 is the closing passage featuring a lot of I-V alternation above a D pedal point while the melodic line evokes a set of plagal cadences (aka “Amen” cadences in the melody despite the fact that harmonically Matiegka is giving us a parade of authentic cadential turns).


Across this exposition Matiegka has given us a 20-measure Theme 1, a 20-measure Theme 2, and a 27-measure Theme 3.  The “punctuation” of the themes are parallel period, ABB, and AA’B respectively. The homophonic Themes 1 and 2 contrast with each other significantly in character and tempo, while Theme 2 and Theme 3 contrast by way of homophonic and antiphonal textures.


The fact that there are three drastically different themes here should be a warning against a schematic “sonatas have two themes in contrasting keys” proverb you may have read or heard in music theory courses. I know I got the “sonatas have two themes” story. Having studied almost two dozen solo guitar sonatas from the early 19th century I would say that three-themed expositions are more normative than two-themed expositions.   Guitar sonatas composed and published in Vienna between 1808 and 1820 suggest that the guitarist composers in that time and place had no interest in hewing to the kind of masculine/feminine thematic contrast that would later be made famous by A. B. Marx.  That is yet another reason I find it useful to go through each of Matiegka’s guitar sonatas. He wrote more sonata forms than several of his guitarist contemporaries put together and this lets us see how varied and flexible approaches to sonata forms could be in a period before the big-name 19th century theorists had codified “sonata form” in contrast to what was, in the 18th century, often still identified as “grand binary form”. So we’ve established, easily, that this sonata exposition has three themes. The composer left us no room to doubt.

What we can doubt, though, is how well these three themes hold together. Maybe we’re supposed to get contrasting themes in a sonata exposition but it can seem as though Matiegka has overdone thematic contrast. Certainly it would sound to later 19th century theorists that Matiegka got the placement of this themes wrong. The bromide was to start with the masculine assertive theme and follow it up with a gentler feminine theme. Yet Matiegka’s first theme is gentle and lyric and 19th century pedagogues might also say there’s another problem, that Theme 2 and 3 seem to not cohere with the ideals of organicism that would dominate 19th century formal analytical norms that were yet to come. I’ve been slowly (too slowly?) making a case that these moments of thematic/transitional whiplash form the core of Matiegka’s “topic” for this sonata. He knows these themes don’t actually “fit” and he’s going to set them against each other.


Exposition (second pass)  (02:51 to 05:42)
This is reinforced by playing through the entire exposition as Matiegka requires. It is in the mandatory repeat that the whiplash effect should be most apparent.

James Hepokoski has written that the exposition tells us what themes appear in what order and that this creates an expectation of what will come. Development sections tend to revisit themes in order of appearance but with this sonata, with this exposition, the contrast between themes seems too severe to sustain across an entire development, however long or short it may be. Is Matiegka really going to attempt to develop each of these three themes? Can he do it? Will he bother? If he decides to develop two themes which will he choose? What about the drastic contrast between tempi in his themes? How will he navigate that? We know enough about sonata expositions and recapitulations to know all three themes are going to come back somehow but there’s some mystery as to what’s going to happen in the development.


Development                   (05:42 to 07:11)

It’s conventional for a development to start off with a return of Theme 1.  Hepokoski and Darcy would call this a “first order default” in Elements of Sonata Theory. And Matiegka goes with convention. The “cantabile” theme appears in D major at measure 102 and proceeds on a fairly normal path up to measure 115. At measure 116 (06:08), however, Theme 1 shows up in a new form, in G minor, and this minor subdominant mood prevails through pretty much the rest of the development; Matiegka fairly swiftly abandons the idea of developing any ideas from anywhere in his exposition at measure 122 (06:20).  James Hepokoski would say, perhaps, that this development is not even “half rotational” (which is to say half of the rotation connects in some way to the exposition order of themes 1 through 3); this would be a non-rotational development since after Theme 1 gets a pittance of development everything from the exposition is basically abandoned in favor of new material from measures 122 to the end of the development at measure 150.

Now, while I like this sonata I have a small complaint to make about it. If Matiegka wanted the rug-pull moment of a minor-key development to hit his audience more forcefully, he could have launched the development in D minor and, furthermore, if he wanted to commit to developing the “cantabile” Theme 1 in minor he could have easily done something like the following:


 

As you can see, his Theme 1 inverts beautifully and easily allows for contrapuntal development. I’ve presented an alternate ten-measure passage to show what he could have done with his Theme 1 in D minor at the start of his development before he shifted to the G minor form of the “cantabile” material. Since I’m including an annotated score of Matiegka’s published work you can compare and contrast what he did to what I’ve proposed. Now with that small complaint and musical suggestion out of the way, I’ll get back to the start of the development Matiegka actually wrote.


What Hepokoski advised about the expositional rotation is important here, Matiegka set up an expectation in a repeating exposition that Themes 1, 2 and 3 would appear in their order. We get a development that has started with Theme 1 but we’ll see he abandoned Themes 2 and 3 and devoted the second half of the developing to entirely new material. From measure 133 (06:40) Matiegka develops ideas that evoke the 6/8 of Theme 3 but all the ideas are new and have nothing to do with the exposition. What’s going to happen in the recapitulation?

 

Recapitulation                 (07:12 to 09:12)
Theme 1 in G major         (07:12 to 07:27)
We find out at measure 151. Matiegka brings back Theme 1 and instead of bringing back the staccatissimo four-chord gesture he introduces a half-note E major that disrupts the rhythmic flow of the first phrase in Theme 1.  Theme 1 has come back as we’d expect it to in a recapitulation but something is a bit harmonically and melodically “off”. Matiegka will complete Theme 1, won’t he? Maybe not. We should remember that in his Op. 16 Sonate facile Matiegka had no problem slicing Theme 1 in half in the recapitulation of his first movement; dropping his transition, and jumping straight to Theme 2.  He does the same thing here, only this time he’s shown us that his Themes 1 and 2 are not even in the same tempo. Just as Theme 1 seems ready to at least finish its first phrase at measures 159 and 160


Now before I move on to Theme 2 I have to mention something Stanley Yates points in his Matiegka edition (page 14) and which is in Matiegka’s original edition, the G on the sixth string at measure 151 is to be played by the thumb of the left hand and no barre technique is asked for. Yates has pointed out that early 19th century guitarists often preferred to take single notes on the sixth string with the left hand thumb. It’s not unheard of to use the thumb to even take a fretted note on the fifth string. So if your guitar teachers have ever told you to “never” use the left hand thumb to get certain pesky notes you now know that Matiegka actually tells you to use your left hand thumb at measure 151 of Op. 17. It’s physically impossible to play the first two beats of measure 151 as written if you try to use a barre chord here. Anyway, now Theme 2 is going to burst in with a new topic.


Theme 2 in G major         (07:28 to 08:09)
Theme 2 bursts in where Theme 1 was about to reach an authentic cadence. Tampalini’s consistency of tempo means this moment doesn’t come across as weirdly as it should if he had observed the tempo distinctions in the score the way Agostinelli did. This is a moment where you’ll want to hear Massimo Agostinelli’s interpretation to appreciate how differently they interpret this work and how abrupt and weird Theme 2’s return before Theme 1 can finish actually sounds.


Depending on how you hear and read the score here we can play with the idea that Theme 2, having been cast aside in the development, gets its revenge on Theme 1 in the recapitulation by showing up before Theme 1 can even reach its half-way point. Reinforcing the plausibility of this interpretation is that “Marcia” as a tempo or character indication never appears in the development but does appear with Theme 2 in the exposition and recapitulation.


Transition 2                     (08:10 to 08:39)
Theme 3 in G major         (08:40 to 09:09)

Transition 2 and Theme 3 come back more or less as we’d expect them to and it is at this point that we can recall that Theme 3 got a proverbial “nod” in the development with the tuplet passages from measures 133 to 147. It wasn’t as left out and so doesn’t have any grudge, and gets to run its course as we’d expect it to in a sonata movement.

Matiegka has given us an opening sonata form in which his Theme 1 is long but subjected to increasingly drastic cuts as the movement proceeds. This kind of “deformation” (as Hepokoski would call it) signals that this abrupt, comic excision is a motif that runs throughout the rest of the sonata.


I’ve mentioned this earlier, but where Giulio Tampalini takes movement 1 of Op. 17 at a steady tempo from start to finish (quarter note getting 130 beats per minute), Massimo Agostinelli’s performance, by contrast, treats the “cantabile”, “marcia” and “allegro assai” materials as having actually different tempi. Agostinelli’s “cantabile” gives the quarter note 100 beats per minute; the “marcia” 138 beats per minute; and the “allegro assai” gets a dotted quarter with 120 beats per minute.


To hear how Theme 2 cuts off Theme 1 listen to Agostinelli from 05:33 to 06:40 in his interpretation.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J88QG5uzVsU
00:00 to 7:52

Exposition                         (00:00 to 03:15)
Theme 1                           (00:00 to 00:55)
Transition                         (00:53 to 01:28)
Theme 2                           (01:29 to 02:13)
Transition 2                       (02:14 to 02:45)
Theme 3                           (02:46 to 03:15)
Development                    (03:16 to 05:32)
Recapitulation                  (05:33 to 07:52)
Theme 1                          (05:33 to 05:58)
Theme 2                          (05:59 to 06:40)
Transition 2                      (06:41 to 07:11)
Theme 3                          (07:12 to 07:52)

I like how Agostinelli highlights the contrast between the tempi of the three themes and, crucially, reflects these contrasting tempi in each subsequent transition. He also applies these contrasts in the development and recapitulation, which means the development begins with the slower “cantabile” tempi, which pervades the entire development and highlights the character contrasts between and across themes throughout the entire sonata form. In terms of who was most attentive to Matiegka’s tempo/character instructions in the score and making those come across in performance I prefer Agostinelli’s interpretation.  What I regard as Matiegka’s musical humor comes across more vividly in his version.

On the other hand, I also wish he’d repeated the exposition as indicated in the score but his performance is well worth your time if you want to hear a performance of Matiegka’s Op. 17 and the freedom guitarists can take in interpreting the contrasting tempi between the themes of the exposition for this first movement.


I realize there are advocates of classical music out there who will still insist that the great works in classical music are “timeless” and “universal” but I’ve written extensively about Wenzel Thomas Matiegka’s solo guitar sonatas and have made a case for how the first movement of Op. 17 should be understood as having a series of musical jokes in the score.  If you’ve stuck with me this far you shouldn’t be surprised when I say that there is nothing like musical joking to show how no music can plausibly be construed as “timeless” or “universal”. If I hadn’t spent decades listening to and studying the music of Haydn or spent the last ten years reading up on contemporary theories of formal analysis of 18th century music (witness the name-checking of books published by Oxford University Press), I couldn’t have even begun to suggest that Matiegka’s Op. 17, I has any musical jokes in it, let alone more than one musical stunt. 


If you have no expectations then those expectations cannot be subverted. On the other hand, if you have been in some way misinformed as to what you should expect then when a musical work fails to do what you’ve been told to expect you can decide the music “failed”. It is to the credit of recent theorists like Hepokoski and Darcy and others to point out that we’re past the point where we should only appraise music in terms of the normative expectations of 19th century theorists in the thrall of Beethoven.  Matiegka, I propose, has made a number of musical jokes throughout his opening sonata movement in Op. 17 and if the jokes don’t “land” for us it’s because we don’t know enough about the conventions of his era to understand that there was even the possibility for musical joking.

What music education can do is retrieve, where possible, the conventions and understanding of conventions that let us in on musical jokes from an earlier era of music. Music scholarship can retrieve the possibility of getting the jokes. We might still not find those jokes funny but that can be a whole new realm of conversation and study. If the jokes of comedians from half a century ago don’t strike everyone as funny it’s hardly a surprise if what Matiegka may have considered a good musical joke in 1808 in his Op. 17 Sonate progressive just seems like “classical guitar” music to people in, say, 2023.


Even if none of the would-be jokes land, this opening sonata movement has run its course and given us ideas of what might come in the next movements. Disruption and omission is the pattern we see in this first movement, which should make us alert to the likelihood that themes will get presented later on in this sonata that will be dramatically curtailed or omitted altogether.


Having told you as much as I have about the sonata I should show you the score, too.











Now let’s look at the second movement.

 

Sonate progressive, Op. 17: II. Andante
Yates prescribes a tempo of the quarter note getting fifty beats per minute. Conventionally “Andante” on many a metronome would be in the range of 76 to 108 beats per minute. Tampalini takes the faster standard while Agostinelli’s interpretation is significantly closer to Yates’ prescribed tempo. You’ll hear this in the way Tampalini gets through Theme 1 in slightly more than half a minute while Agostinelli plays the same theme in slightly less than one minute.

 

Giulio Tampalini’s performance
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2l9zF_i5KC8
00:00 to 04:31
Exposition (first pass)         (00:00 to 01:01)
Theme 1 in G major             (00:00 to 0:31)
Yates describes this slow movement as being “Mozart-like” (Yates, page 150). Matiegka presents us with a sixteen-measure theme in a parallel period. With a gently falling and rising walk-through-the-scale pattern that gives us a typical (but pleasing) half cadence/authentic cadence period. Matiegka was a guitarist but also a pianist and singer and here, I propose, he evokes on the guitar the mood of a singer accompanied by an instrument. What’s striking about this theme, from a guitarist composer, is how smoothly he shifts back and forth from chordal to single line and line-with-accompaniment textures. To change metaphors, it’s as though Theme 1 has a chorale element to it that is interrupted at key cadential moments by a solo voice. The second half of the parallel period introduces sixteenth note triplet arpeggios to decorate the core ideas from the first phrase.  For this movement I think Tampalini took things much too fast and Agostinelli’s interpretation is preferable but I do like the way Tampalini deploys portamento and glissando for expressive effect in this movement, particularly with the opening theme.


Theme 2 in D major             (00:32 to 01:01)

This sixteen-measure theme is similarly gentle and lyric as Theme 1 is. The rhythmic profile of the initial three-measure phrase so closely resembles the first two measures of the first transition from the opening sonata form I doubt it was accidental, even if it may not have been a conscious decision.


I think it was William Caplin who pointed out that in slow movements it was common for Haydn to fuse the end of a theme with a transition into another theme and for Mozart to abandon transitions altogether. In any event, Matiegka has no transition at all between his Theme 1 in G major and Theme 2 in D major. The mood is still lyric and gentle. Yet the phrases are grouped in three, four, three, two, two and two measure bursts (or, going more broadly—three, seven and six measure phrases if we bracket two-measure gestures as too short to count as phrases). 


Just because we’ve been given a second sixteen-measure theme doesn’t mean the phrases are square and divisible by 2. In fact, as Hepokoski and Darcy have pointed out in Elements of Sonata Theory, the secondary (“S”) theme in a sonata form is usually more loosely organized than a first/primary theme. Matiegka absolutely composes to the convention here. Especially in a slow movement a never-ending parade of four-measure square phrases would become boring quickly. Even for a composer generally regarded as conventional as Matiegka has been by musicologists and guitarists, it’s worth pointing out this obvious observation, he may have played it safe in a lot of ways but he knew to vary phrase lengths even when he was giving his players and audience what is, on paper, a simple sixteen-measure second theme.


While Yates designates measures to 32 as “Coda” (00:51 to 1:01), and Hepokoski “might” designate it as “C” material for the coda/closing zone of the exposition, I hear those measures as so inextricably bound to Theme 2 that I group them all together.

I understand the temptation and appeal of deciding that anywhere Matiegka goes with sixteenth note passages in fast movements or thirty-second note passages in slow movements that we’re looking at transitional or coda material. It is typical of Matiegka throughout his output but in this specific case I think it’s too clear that the six-measure coda is best thought of as the concluding phrase of another sixteen-measure theme. I base this not just on what I hear as the most natural way to hear the phrases.


In this second, slow sonata we get more evidence in favor of L Poundie Burstein’s axiom that thematic contrast in galant style comes from contrasting musical “punctuation”. Here the contrast is too obvious to ignore.  Matiegka has given us a Theme 2 with three phrases that are three, seven and six measures long and the closing third phrase introduces thirty-second note flourishes cementing D major as the new key.  The contrast in phrase lengths becomes more rather than less important in this slow sonata form where there are no transitions.

While this work was published in 1807 I think it makes more sense to examine Matiegka’s music in light of galant conventions since the landmark 19th century textbooks defining “sonata form” as distinct from what earlier theorists called “grand binary form” had yet to be written. Few things signal a debt to the norms of the galant era rather than the Romantic era that telling the guitar to play the entire exposition a second time from the top as Matiegka does here. That gets me, naturally, to


Exposition (second pass)    (01:02 to 2:03)

Tampalini took this movement way too fast, but I love that he repeated the entire exposition as the score indicates you should. We’re set up with a clear expectation that we have two themes and can look forward to how they will get developed or “if” they will get developed since in slow movements we could be dealing with what Hepokoski has called a “Type 1” sonata that has an exposition and a recapitulation but little or no development. Whether or not that’s the case we know from the first movement Matiegka gave us two whole themes and two transitions and abandoned all that material in his development. We might get a development here that doesn’t even use material from the exposition of this movement.


Development/Recapitulation (first pass)      (02:04 to 03:15)
Development                      (02:04 to 02:29)

What is a bit jarring about this development is Matiegka starts us off with an E dominant seventh chord, the V of A minor, to which he naturally goes (A minor, that is). Okay, but starting with the dominant of A minor has nothing to do with the keys we’ve been in so far. That, in itself, is not entirely strange. After all, Matiegka used an E to A minor flourish at the start of his development in Op. 16 which was also published in 1807 like Op. 17. 

What makes the rhythmic gesture weird is it has nothing to do with Theme 1 or Theme 2. What it clearly is a call-back to is the rhythmic pattern of the final measure of Theme 1 from the opening sonata form. Is that “cantabile” theme from the opening sonata form going to prevent Theme 1 and 2 from this sonata ever getting a word in? Over the twelve measures of three four-measure phrases that comprise the development of this sonata the answer is, well, yes. Neither of the themes in this slow sonata show up in any way in the development, or what passes for one.


Recapitulation                    (02:30 to 03:15)
Theme 1                             (02:30 to 02:43)
Theme 2 (in G major)          (02:44 to 03:02)
Coda                                   (03:03 to 03:15)

Theme 1 comes back with substantial ornamentation. What were eighth note and quarter note values in the exposition are transformed into rippling arpeggios outlining the melody in triplet sixteenth notes. Theme 1 traverses the eight measures of its first phrase and ends on a half cadence that evokes the authentic cadence gesture from the exposition but that’s it. Theme 1 leads by that half cadence directly in to Theme 2, which now appears in the tonic key.


Like the first sonata form before it, this slow sonata movement has given us a Theme 1 that is only runs half its course before Theme 2 appears. In this case Theme 1 isn’t cut short but flows elegantly into Theme 2. Whatever development these themes receive is in the decorations they get in the recapitulation, not in the short twelve-measure development section that took as back to a rhythmic gesture from the preceding movement. In the norms of the 19th century this would have been the place the slow movement ended but Matiegka is considered a bit of a throwback. So he does something that would have been normal in 18th century practice but was increasingly abnormal in the 19th century. He calls for a complete repeat of the development and recapitulation.


Development/Recapitulation (second pass)   03:16 to 04:27)
I think the work is more balanced when both repeats are observed as scored. That said, Massimo Agostinelli sold me on the idea that you can perform this slow movement with none of the observed repeats and preserve the proportional relationships of the two halves.






Massimo Agostinelli’s performance

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uOy_RWcDZKc
00:00 to 03:53

Exposition                           (00:00 to 01:49)
Theme 1                             (00:00 to 00:58)
Theme 2                             (00:59 to 01:49)
Development                      (01:50 to 02:27)
Recapitulation                    (02:28 to 03:57)
Theme 1                             (02:28 to 02:53)
Theme 2                             (02:54 to 03:53)


Besides having pretty themes, the advantage of playing both the exposition and development/recapitulation twice is to give the performer and audience a mono-tempo space to reset after the abrupt tempo and character changes of the first movement. There were a couple of moments pulling the rug out from under the listener in the opening sonata and the slow movement is intended to give us a steady, stable and beautiful middle movement. As was the case with many a Haydn piano sonata, Matiegka has all three of his movements in a single tonality.

 

While this sonata has a development and “could” be read as a Type 3 (“textbook”) according to Elements of Sonata Theory the lack of transitions and the fact that the brief development is 12 measures long suggests to me this is more plausibly read as a Type 1 or an expanded Type 1. Hepokoski and Darcy have described Type 1 as a sonata that has an exposition and a recapitulation but little or no development. 


When we get to the third and final movement we’re going to discover, by the end of this piece, that this slow central movement is an oasis of balanced form where everything is in its place and no really weird things happen and no comic omissions occur. I’ve kept coming back to that so you’ve had plenty of time to guess that Matiegka’s finale for Op. 17 is going to have a very big omission. It does and it’s signaled in the title.

 

Sonate progressive, Op. 17: III. Rondò moderato
A rondo is a form in which a refrain is juxtaposed with a variety of episodes and can be anywhere between five to nine parts. The number is generally an odd number because however many episodes you have the refrain comes back in the end.  A five-part rondo is usually ABACA (thought it can be ABABA). A seven-part rondo is conventionally ABACABA.  These tend to be the most common rondos. We’ll see what kind of rondo Matiegka gives us in this finale.


Giulio Tampalini’s performance
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUA_xUxxQZ8
00:00 to 04:56

A (Refrain, G major)
Refrain part 1                      (00:00 to 00:12 and 00:13 to 00:22)

Refrain part 2                      (00:23 to 00:35 and 00:36 to 00:44)

This refrain is a plucky sixteen-measure theme that has two repeating eight-measure phrases.  They can be mapped out as a compound binary form ab ab a’b a’b with all the repeat signs observed. The melody is simple and folksy but the harmonies are not.  Take measures 3 and 4. We see eighth note block chords that move through G major to E minor in 1st inversion to D major in 1st inversion to C# diminished in 1st inversion (or A7 with the root omitted) leading to an A major chord in measure four that resolves to D (major, but this is implied as there is no third in the chord). Measure 5 has a melody in C above a diminished chord on the leading tone and is followed in the second half of the measure by a rolled F sharp half-diminished seventh chord (F#, A, C, E).  You can hear this as either a leading tone chord or, if in your listening you remember the D then this could be perceived as a leading tone chord or as a D7+9 by the second half of measure 5 in which the D is tacit in sound but persisting in memory.


Stanley Yates has described this refrain as having “folk-like” material (Yates, page 150). I agree but I add that the harmonies are not even remotely folksy. A “folksy” harmony at measure 5 would most likely be a C major chord even though that would be a hugely regressive harmony after the half-cadence at the end of measure 4. What is a routine and fairly predictable harmonic move in North American popular song for this melody is inconceivable for Matiegka in 1807 but it’s worth highlighting how different eras give musicians different conceptual options of what they “could” or “should” do with the harmony supporting a melodic line. So this far we have our first eight-measure half of the Refrain.


The second half of the refrain presents the initial four-measure phrase at the dominant instead of the tonic and it is answered by a reprise of the materials from measures 5-8 with the modification of every so slightly expanded V harmonies and a rolled chord at measure 15. Like the first half of the refrain this second half is repeated. This is the first and only time the Refrain will be presented across this finale.


Transition                            (00:45 to 01:02)

The first transition spans measures 17 to 32. The cadential arrival of the second half of the refrain on its second pass is simultaneously the start of the transition at measure 17. What you can see in the score is that all the phrases so far have been variations and derivations of tetrachords.  G, A, B and C are the core tetrachord. B, C#, D and E in measure 3 are a derived tetrachord that include secondary dominant harmony but in terms of melodic cells we’re dealing with a refrain in which Matiegka wants to keep all his melodic lines close, tight and simple. The melodic sequencing at the end of Theme 1 gives us C, E, D, C, B and then B, D, C, B, A and this shows that even when a flowing melodic sequence occurs it’s still bound by cycling through tetrachords along the way. I mention all that because the transition opens with a chorale and the notes in the tune are G, B, C, C, B, A.  Within the range of the Refrain and first transition Matiegka could positively be said to love the simple ideas he’s working with and a negative “positive” explanation is that he’s trying to get as much musical material as possible out of the simplest idea that he can before he gets to a new idea. 

This transition has a lot of melodic sequence, rhythmic drive and harmonic flexibility. Although I like Matiegka’s solo guitar music overall many of his transitions tend to be routine and uninspired, even hackneyed.  This opening transition from the Refrain to his first episode is one of Matiegka’s most inspired and charming transitions across his entire output and I want to highlight that before I get to the first episode. Transitional passages from 19th century guitarist composers tend to be the least interesting and inspired parts of their movements in general and sonata forms in particular so when I find a transition I think is effective and inspired in this literature I want to make sure I make my opinion known. You’re free to disagree, of course.


B (Episode 1, D major)         (01:03 to 01:42)

The first episode is in D major and spans measures 32 to 65. This quiet and gentle theme itself can be said to range from measure 32 to 45 because everything from measures 46 to 65 functions as a retransition back into the refrain.


The Episode is fourteen measures long and is a parallel period with two phrases that are eight and six measures in length.  This may ruin the ability of North American readers to hear the theme for what it is but Matiegka’s first episode reminds me a bit of “Frosty the Snowman” in measures 32 and 33.  This simple two-phrase parallel period couldn’t contrast more with the compound binary refrain at this point.  The refrain and episode have parallel periods but the refrain is a compound theme while the episode is simple. The other obvious contrast is that the two phrases in the episode are eight and six measures in length. The end of the episode comes too soon for a fully balanced sixteen-measure episode. The parallelism of themes has been kept but the episode ends “too soon” and a retransition explodes on to the scene before the second phrase of the episode would seem to have been able to run its course with a full eight measures to make the period fully parallel in length and not just melodic/harmonic function.


To keep coming back to L Poundie Burstein’s axiom about contrasting punctuation, 18th century composers put stock in contrasting phrase lengths, relationships and points of arrival than they did in the later early-19th-century contrast between “masculine” and “feminine” themes. We have never seen Matiegka string one theme after another having the same bundle of four-measure phrases and no theme has shared a structure with its neighbors. I know earlier generations of music theorists have posited that in sonata forms tonal contrast is the decisive factor but in the last thirty years theorists have moved away from this view as being too schematic and not adequately explaining what we can find in the actual music of the 18th and early 19th centuries.


From measure 46 through to measure 65 Matiegka bustles away in sixteenth note passage work. Matiegka gives as a tonic and dominant alternation in D major with busy harmonies that will drop out at measure 60 (01:35). From measures 60 to 65 Matiegka has what in rock guitar would probably be called a “circling ever circling” riff that allows the tonicized D major of the episode to give way to a melodic line based on the cell D,C#, E, C#, D.  Without any supporting harmony Matiegka can vamp away at this line and C# stops being the leading tone of D major and becomes a secondary leading tone to the dominant scale degree of G major that allows him to slide down a G major scale on his way to the return of the Refrain.


A (Refrain, part 1 only)        (01:42 to 01:52)

The refrain is back at measure 66 and proceeds eight measures to measure 73. No parts repeat and only the first half of the refrain returns. Synecdochical reprise, where a mere fragment of the theme stands in for the whole, is something we’ve seen Matiegka do quite a lot in just Op. 16 and Op. 17 in sonata movements and it’s not a real surprise to see him do it with the return of the refrain in this rondo. But even if we know that he has cut his refrain severely short we will still want to know why he’s don this.  What’s coming next for which he’s willing to play just eight measures of his refrain as a stand-in for what elapsed 32 measures of performance time in the opening of the rondo?


C (Episode 2, E minor)         (01:53 to 03:37)

It turns out the answer is his second episode, in E minor, which runs from measures 74 to 143. This episode dwarves every other part of the rondo. Stanley Yates correctly points out everything in this episode is a minor-key derivation of ideas from the refrain.  We differ on the matter of whether this should be viewed as a development in a sonata form (he does) or as simply an episode in a rondo that is so biggie-sized it does develop refrain ideas but not in a sonata-consistent way (which is, of course, my position). I’m going to come back to that difference of opinion later but for now I want to describe what this big episode does.

Episode 2 opens with an eleven-measure repeating compound phrase that is made up of two two-measure phrases and a four-measure phrase, each answered by a single-measure riposte in natural harmonics. The first two subsidiary phrases develop E minor versions of the refrain’s core idea in the treble strings on e minor and B respectively and the third subsidiary phrase presents a contrast phrase in the lower register that builds up to a half cadence (02:05 and 02:22 for passes 1 and 2).


Now the entire stretch from measures 85 to 97 can be heard as an extended half cadence extending the melodic line of the lower register that rounded off the first phrase of this episode (the half cadence is reached at measure 97 (02:38)). Measures 98 (02:40) to 107 bring back a version of the initial idea of Episode 2 and bring it to a firm close (02:51). This is followed, from measures 108 to 138 by a varied repeat of the preceding material. If these musical ideas were in triple meter instead of duple meter all of this could be heard as a big E minor menuet and it is essentially structured like one.  We can observe the aa ba’ba” pattern if we look at the score.  Here again we see Burstein’s axiom demonstrated that each theme that appears is differentiated by the punctuation used to delineate the phrases and larger formal units of a theme.


This central episode is the largest and most complex section of the rondo.  The fact that it so readily maps out in a single key and as a 2/4 variant of the form of a menuet is why I don’t think it can be read as any kind of development section of the sort we’d see In a sonata form.  I have never seen a sonata movement have a development that can be so fastidiously identified as a self-contained menuet.


While the refrain is folksy and jovial this E minor episode is bristling with uneven phrase lengths and where simple phrases do appear they are regularly punctuated by single-measure commentaries in natural harmonics. There’s an impudent mood to this episode, accentuated by the appearance of F natural at measure 130 near the end of the episode.

At measure 138 (03:30) Matiegka hits us with a G dominant seventh chord. The F natural clashes with all the F sharp we’d been hearing in the E minor episode but it has been partly anticipated by the phrygian turn at measure 130 in the second episode.  This prepares for a short retransition back to the refrain that takes place from measures 138 to 143 (ending at 03:37).  This retransition is brief and more of the usual Matiegka kind, maybe even more perfunctory than usual. In this work, though, I think the perfunctory has a point to it.


A (Refrain)                          (03:38 to 03:47)

Now at measure 144 (03:38) the refrain tune triumphantly returns with sixteenth note pulsating Alberti bass style accompaniment.  Once again only the first half of the opening refrain comes back and it is not repeated. But now that the refrain has come back it does lead, like it did in its original appearance, seamlessly into other material we’ve heard before.


Transition                           (03:48 to 04:03)

The first transition material comes back at measure 151 (03:48). Whereas when it first appeared it modulated to D major now we wonder whether it will keep us in G major since it would seem incompatible with 18th century or even early 19th century conventions to end in a non-tonic key after all this time. In this respect Matiegka does not break from convention. This returning transition stays in G major and reaches a firm half cadence that allows for whatever comes next to show up in the tonic key at measure164 (04:02).


B (Episode 1, G major)        (04:04 to 04:49)

Episode 2 returns!  In G major.  It’s on the basis of the non-modulating return of Transition 1 and the fact that Episode 1 returns in the tonic that persuaded Stanley Yates to describe this finale as a sonata rondo. I think the return of the B material is effective and charming but the simple fact is that Matiegka called this a rondo and yet by the end of this movement the refrain doesn’t come back. So is this finale a sonata rondo or is it a rondo and if it is a rondo why did Matiegka abandon the refrain and end with the reprise of his B material?  

First of all, I’m going to expand my existing argument that this finale is not a sonata of any kind. I’ve already pointed out how the central episode of the rondo has the structure of a menuet and that such tight, obviously formulaic structuring doesn’t appear in development sections of sonatas. Yates’ observation that the refrain and second episode coming back in G major resembles a sonata recapitulation is a very good one, yet I believe there is an argument to be made against interpreting it as functioning as any kind of sonata recapitulation.


Yoel Greenberg, in his book How Sonata Forms, proposed that sonata forms have three ingredients: 1) a medial caesura (a repeating (or repeatable) exposition); 2) a double return (conventionally known as a recapitulation of the opening theme in the tonic key; and 3) an end rhyme (Theme 2 and/or 3 come back in the tonic key that opened the sonata form. Greenberg points out that a sonata does not have to have all three of these to qualify as a sonata form but two or more versions of these ingredients are enough for a “bottom-up” way of categorizing a musical movement as a sonata. If we don’t have a repeating exposition but we have a “double return” and an “end rhyme” we have a sonata form.  On the other hand, some sonatas don’t have that double return but have the “end rhyme” where secondary themes return in the tonic key while Theme 1 never comes back.  Hepokoski and Darcy have called this kind of sonata Type 2 and it’s surprisingly common in early 19th century guitar sonatas. 


Yoel Greenberg’s three ingredients for what makes up a sonata can be used to look at whether or not we see these ingredients in this finale. Crucial to Greenberg’s thesis in How Sonata Forms in analytic application is his observation that the presence of any one of the three ingredients in itself is not sufficient evidence to say we’re dealing with a sonata form. We need at least two of the three ingredients or some form of all three ingredients before we can confidently identify a movement as being some kind of sonata form.  So how does Matiegka’s finale stack up in light of these three criteria Greenberg has given us?


We don’t have the repeating exposition in this finale that we’ve seen in his two earlier sonata forms in Op. 17. So we cross out one of the three ingredients in Yoel Greenberg’s list as not being present. While there is a refrain and a secondary theme in the dominant key the lack of the “medial caesura” gives us reason to doubt this is a sonata. In the previous two movements when there was an exposition Matiegka was insistent that the expositions be repeated in full.  The fact that he did not do that here argues that the “medial caesura” ingredient Yoel Greenberg says we can find in a sonata is missing.


Even stronger evidence against the “medial caesura” is the fact that the first episode in D major leads back to the refrain in G major seriously mitigates the likelihood that this is a sonata. In his two sonata forms Matiegka began his developments in the key of his secondary themes. He didn’t return to the tonic key after a retransition.


What this means is that if there “is” a “double return” of the kind that appears in a sonata rondo it would be at 66!  In a finale that is 204 measures long that double return comes before what Yates identifies as the development material (what I call Episode, a.k.a C). Just because the return of the Refrain at measure 144 is in about the place we’d expect a conventional double return to happen in a sonata form doesn’t mean it functions as the recapitulation of a sonata form in this case.  By contrast, if we abandon the idea that there is a double return and look at this as the rondo Matiegka told us it is, everything makes sense. It’s perfectly normal in a rondo for the refrain to come back every time in the key in which it originally appeared.


The case that this finale is a sonata rondo depends, I think, entirely on the observation that the AB block that closes the movement displays what Yoel Greenberg has described as “end rhyme”. The case that this is a sonata rondo depends more on the “end rhyme” of the first and second themes both ending the finale in the same key.  The finale ends with Episode 1 in the tonic key and that amounts to the strongest case that this is a sonata rondo.  I don’t think that case is particularly strong.  There’s no repeating exposition, the double return is attained too early in the form to work as a sonata and is too easily explained by the refrain doing what we expect it to do in a rondo, which is what Matiegka has told us this finale is. The only thing that “might’ be mysterious is why Matiegka abandoned the refrain after reprising Episode 1 in the tonic key. 


That is, finally, the big question about this finale.  This rondo is a rondo and not a sonata. I’ve made a case for why it isn’t a sonata rondo but I am sympathetic to Yates’ observation that the end of this rondo sure acts like a sonata recapitulation would. As I hear it, however, Matiegka set up an expectation that this finale is going to be a jovial and grand seven part rondo (ABACABA). Then when he’s finished the penultimate episode it’s … just over.  The finale and the sonata as a whole are done just like that. Matiegka never developing Themes 2 and 3 in his initial sonata movement turned out to be a clue, as did Theme 2 bursting in on Theme 1 before it could finish in the recapitulation of the opening sonata form. We know from his Op. 16 that his finale had a refrain that was clipped more and more the closer he got to his final measure.  Here in Op. 17 we see that he takes things a step further and just abandons the refrain at precisely the point where he led us to believe he’d finish his rondo.


It may not seem funny to us in 2023 but I propose Matiegka decided on a failed rondo as his finale to make a musical joke, and that his strategic refusal to develop themes within the conventions of sonata forms in the first two movements gave us clues that something about the finale was going to misfire.  He chose to leave his Theme 2 and 3 undeveloped in his opening sonata. He brought back ideas in his slow movement without developing either of his two themes in the slow central movement. All along the way he chose to present themes and not develop them. In the finale he develops ideas from the refrain at comic length in the central second episode of the rondo and then “forgets” to bring the refrain back at the end of his finale and has his refrain and episode presented as if they were recapitulation materials in a sonata form … only he told us it’s a rondo.

 

Stanley Yates’ Matiegka edition is great, by the way. Just because I differ with him on technical and formal issues in analyzing Matiegka’s approach to musical form doesn’t mean his edition isn’t a goldmine for study. If you haven’t picked it up and you want to study Matiegka’s music in more detail I enthusiastically recommend it.

 

It’s in this finale that Giulio Tampalin and Massimo Agostinelli’s interpretations overlap most.

Massimo Agostinelli’s performance
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbRmA-wp6bU
00:00 to 05:16

A (Refrain)                          (00:00 to 00:40)

Transition                           (00:41 to 00:58)

B (episode 1)                      (00:59 to 01:39)

A returns                            (01:40 to 01:50)

C (Episode 2)                      (01:51 to 03:49)

A returns                            (03:50 to 03:59)

Transition                           (04:00 to 04:20)

B returns and coda              (04:21 to 05:16)

 

Now I’ve made my case for why I think the finale is a rondo. Here’s the score so you can see for yourself and you can decide whether or not you agree.






 

today Mark Driscoll tweets that livestream isn't church and your pastor isn't online but in the spring of 2009 he was excited to announce week-delay DVD rebroadcast of his sermons to Mars Hill satellite campuses



https://twitter.com/PastorMark/status/1700547651056640348

Church isn’t a building, it is the gathering of saints—usually in a building. Livestream isn’t church. Your pastor isn’t online. Go to church this weekend.

9:32 AM · Sep 9, 2023

 

IF there’s anything I’ve observed about Mark Driscoll over the span of 25 years it’s that he has a pragmatism as principle streak. While he’s got a single building as a church campus in Arizona he’s set on the idea that livestream isn’t church. Back in 2009 he was excited to announce to Mars Hill Church that his preaching would stop being live satellite simulcast and would start being rebroadcast at non-Ballard campus via DVD. He was so excited he spent several minutes explaining the change.


In all the decades there have been transcripts of Mark Driscoll sermons this didn’t seem to make the cut.  I had to go dig up the sermon audio myself and transcribe it. It’s a useful testament from Mark Driscoll himself that his views on the relationship between pastors, their audiences, and technology could evolve on the basis of pragmatic brand development considerations.  I documented this material back in March 2014 and Mars Hill has long since dissolved; with the media library being a bit tricky to find if you haven’t kept tabs on it since the dissolution. What’s worse is that, as anyone who has tried to follow links from the old Mars Hill days will have found out, many former Mars Hill domain links skew toward gambling and pr0n sites so if you’re reading Wenatchee The Hatchet posts  in 2023 it’s advisable to not just click away on links. Given the history Mars Hill had of deploying robots.txt to preclude archive.org being able to, you know, archive, Wenatchee The Hatchet has had the sometimes tedious task of preserving material for the public record as it was getting purged by Mars Hill public relations.


What you are about to be able to read is from the guy who just tweeted that your pastor isn’t online and you should go to church this weekend.  Back in later 2009 if you went to Mars Hill Church and weren’t at the Ballard campus where he preached, you were not only not going to see him in person, you’d be hearing him preach on a screen a sermon he preached the previous week.  Does “that” count as more of “church” than a pastor who livestreams a sermon or homily in real time?  So let’s revisit what Driscoll said about the week delay procedure Mars Hill introduced in the spring of 2009.

https://wenatcheethehatchet.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-start-of-week-delay-broadcasting-at.html

https://web.archive.org/web/20111010010057/http://marshill.com/media/trial/humble-pastors/

http://marshill.com/media/trial/humble-pastors/prophets-priests-and-kings#downloads

https://web.archive.org/web/20111019054549/http://cdn.marshillchurch.org/files/2009/05/03/20090503_humble-pastors_sd_audio.mp3

http://marshill.com/media/trial/humble-pastors/prophets-priests-and-kings#downloads

 

Prophets, Priests and Kings

Trial: 8 witnesses from 1 & 2 Peter

May 3, 2009

1 Peter 5:1-5

 

starting about 5:30

This leads to an enormous change in how we do things. You may know that today we use satellite television technology where we live satellite the sermon to our various campuses but (you may have noticed, as well) we're on the Left Coast, left in EVERY way. We're over here on the Left Coast and on the Left Coast we're behind the other time zones.

 

So we need to find a way to sync up the sermon with every time zone so we're going to a week delay of the sermon beginning this month. Here's how it'll work.  I'll preach Sundays at Mars Hill Ballard as I always do.  We'll take the best sermon--and, yes, they're not all good. Some of them aren't good at all, and some of them, SOME weeks there's a good one.  Some weeks, you just take what you get.

 

And sometimes, you know, one sermon's better than the other. We'll edit it. We'll take out the technical difficulties, things that I said that could get me picketed, we'll fix it, for Jesus, and then we'll send it out to the campuses. They'll play it back and once it's played back at all the campuses on week delay THEN we'll put it online.  It won't go on the internet until it's played at all the campuses. And that's how it will work.

 

There are eight reasons for this. I'll tell you why.

 

Again, different time zones. To go to different states, potentially different nations we need a different delivery method.

 

Number two,  it does allow the bust sermon.  Currently over half of the church is on video. The majority of Mars Hill is on video, not at Ballard where I preach live. Going forward, if we attain our goal of reaching 50,000 only ten percent MAXIMUM will be at Ballard hearing the sermon as I speak it.  Ninety percent of the church will be watching it on week delay on video so I want to get the best sermon to the majority of our people.

 

Number three, campuses get a better preparation timeline. By getting the sermon in advance they can put together their music for Sunday, kids ministry, small group discussion questions, pastoral care and follow-up. Right now they have no idea where the sermon is going because I have no idea where the sermon is going. They keep asking, "Tell us what you're going to talk about."  I don't know! Preaching happened. That's how it works, I just go and sometimes they're having a really hard time putting a service and following it up and I understand this and that will help.

Number four, it's cheaper. Right now the television satellite technology requires a lot of gear that we're able to sell to turn some profit. It requires the renting of satellite time, downlinks, dishes on campuses.  All of this can be eliminated it saves, literally, over the course of our history, will save us millions of dollars. It's a big savings and it makes facilities much easier.

 

Here's what's happening. Our new campus which we're hoping to launch in Federal Way needs a facility. Olympia needs a permanent facility. Shoreline needs a bigger facility. And as we expand it becomes very difficult and limiting to do satellite. It requires a permanent installation.  Schools, community centers, theaters, they don't allow that because it's their building and they don't want the infrastructure of their technology adjusted in any way and rightfully so. By going to week delay it allows WAY more flexibility to use innumerable facilities and move quickly from one to the other.


Last few reasons why we're doing this.

 

Number six, technical simplicity. Right now it's like a dish on your home and your cable. If the wind blows hard and it shifts we lose signal.  Also, if it snows we have a real problem. We call them interns. We put them up on the roof with a broom and they're literally dusting off the satellite dish hoping not to fall off the church and meet Jesus prematurely. You can always tell who the interns are who do the short straw. They're the ones on the roof during the snow storms. This makes it more simple. It's easy playback technology.

 

Number seven, it allows translation and close caption. Right now I THINK my sermons are on TV in Korea. They translate the redneck jokes into Korean. I don't understand this.  Apparently there ARE redneck Koreans and what this allows, this allows us to translate to different languages and also potentially to do closed caption for those who are hearing impaired. It allows us

more flexibility.

 

Now this leads to the last question. Some have asked, "Why not do a Wednesday or Thursday night service, capture the service, and then play it back?" Couple of reasons. One, I travel during the week.  I've got book deadlines, media deadlines. It really would be a big imposition on the Ballard campus.  Additionally, I don't have as much time to prepare the sermon. It won't be as good and if I don't do a good job the majority of the church is stuck with the worst sermon. Also, some have asked, "Well, why not do Saturday night?"  And I won't.


But, after he said all that in 2009, now he tweets that livestream isn’t church and your pastor isn’t online.  Since Puget Sound was practically a ground zero for covid-19 outbreaks and Gov. Inslee locked down on a lot of gatherings livestream church was often the only way to keep church going. Driscoll, of course, relocated to Arizona and has his own take on various issues but I’m setting all that aside compared to his own self-accounting regarding technology and homiletics. Is livestreaming a full church service “not” church? If it’s not church what would Driscoll say about his own preaching rebroadcast at the U District campus a week after he preached a sermon at Ballard? This is an obvious case of the pot calling the kettle black if Mark Driscoll were attempting to stake out a coherent and consistent position.

 

As Mike Gunn said in a vodcast in late 2022, Mark’s been the kind of guy who would say childrens’ ministry would not be the tale wagging the dog at Mars Hill before he had kids … and then when Mark Driscoll became a dad it was as though suddenly having a great childrens’ ministry was hugely important.  (47:10 is where you want to be for this statement)  Amen, Mike!   Yeah, we’ve met this guy.  He is “present”. 


This means for those of us who pay attention to the past as well as the present and future Driscoll’s present-ism means he means what he says at exactly the moment he says it but he has a demonstrable history of doing 180 degree turns on issues and acting and speaking like either his old position didn’t matter or he just saw the light.  He’ll berate the “seed of Chucky” interpretation of Genesis 6 during his Mars Hill years but then he’ll read, what, a couple of books by Michael Heiser and endorse the view he scoffed.  Some of us have kept in mind that there have been a range of interpretations of Genesis 6 and not make fun of the views we don’t subscribe to. Augustine pointed out that the angel/human hybrid take was normative in early Christian doctrine but few subscribed to it.  If you want to get into how and why that interpretive shift happened there are academic monographs on the topic but I’m not going to bore you with those. I have a reading list for that if you want to get into that.


If livestream isn't church then I don't see how recording your sermons on DVD and rebroadcasting them a week later at satellite campuses counts as a preacher preaching to his congregation. At least in a livestream the pastor or priest is directly speaking to the congregation in the flesh and via internet.  For those who don't know this, the week delay rebroadcast Mark Driscoll described in the 2009 sermon quoted above was the norm from about May 2009 through to the December 2014 dissolution of the corporation known as Mars Hill Church.  If livestream "isn't" church was what Mark Driscoll did for half a decade to the campuses of Mars Hill where he didn't preach in person actually preaching? 

POSTSCRIPT 9-10-2023
Back in his Mars Hill years Mark Driscoll sometimes joked that it was a fertility cult.  I couldn't laugh at jokes like that because it seemed like the kind of joke that was made in earnest.  There have been secularist and progressive writers who as far back as the 1990s pegged Driscoll as waging culture war but in postmodernist branded terms. Driscoll's old Daily Evergreen rants from his college days are what he seems to have ultimately come back to in his fifties.

Have kids. One of the best ways to affect the culture is to overwhelm the future with who you're sending into it. The rainbow people don't multiply much (besides STDs) with their Romans 1 lifestyle.
8:25 AM · Aug 29, 2023

He did used to say he had himself a fertility cult.  Admitting it via tweet is just what it is.  Kids whose parents "sort of" planned for them to be born may be better off in the long run than kids who were brought into the world by parents who took (or take) their cues on reasons to parent from the Mark Driscolls of the world.  After all, even Nazi stumpers could say one good boy of Aryan stock could impregnate twenty willing girls were it not for the problematic dogma of monogamous pairing.  That's the thing about breeding to win culture wars, its history is not particularly distinguished in any good way, last I checked. 
POSTSCRIPT 9-13-2023


Pastor Mark Driscoll
@PastorMark
Why is it always the KJV guys who send me self published books on the apocalypse
4:31 PM · Sep 10, 2023
If self-publishing your book on a book of the Bible is supposed to be a sign of incompetence what are we supposed to make of Mark Driscoll self-publishing New Days, Old Demons?  Or has Mark Driscoll's legacy of double-standardized testing ensured that when he self-publishes it's timely and prophetic witness for a pathetic age and not equivalent to the implied ravings of KJV guys who self-publish their books on the apocalypse. 

After all, at the relevant Amazon page it says:
New Days, Old Demons is a prophetic study of sex, gender, woke politics, and how progressive Christianity is just a rebranding of ancient paganism. The same demons that were active in the days of Elijah are active today castrating the men, mutilating the children, closing the churches, and silencing the Bible teachers.

We’re fighting back by self-publishing this book when nobody else would because it’s a prophetic message for pathetic times. This book reads like the book of Revelation meets a death metal band in a cage fight on Halloween.
Maybe those KJV guys sending Driscoll self published books on the apocalypse have simply come to understand him as a fellow prophet and traveler.  Sure, they're not G. K. Beale or Richard Bauckham but, hey, they can self-publish as well as Mark Driscoll can.

Tuesday, August 29, 2023

Ethan Hein on Stevie Wonder's "Don't You Worry `Bout A Thing" a couple of thoughts on harmonic language and contrapuntal variation in the song

So Ethan Hein has written about another Stevie Wonder song and while I don’t have a lot I am going to write I can’t not write about this masterpiece of a song, seeing as this year is the 50th anniversary of the release of Innervisions and this song is on that album. First, go read Ethan Hein’s post:
https://www.ethanhein.com/wp/2023/dont-you-worry-bout-a-thing/

Monday, August 28, 2023

Ethan Hein has been writing about musical borrowing in and out of classical music and I can't not share a few case studies from liturgical vocal music and classical guitar repertoire

Ethan Hein has been blogging about musical borrowing in classical music and popular music.  He discussed the changing nature of musical borrowing of the Dies Irae (plainchant) as distinct from settings of the Dies Irae liturgical text (an important distinction to keep in mind that is a given for those of us who sing and do the church music thing in church life but which needs introduction for those who don't).


https://www.ethanhein.com/wp/2023/dies-irae/

https://www.ethanhein.com/wp/2023/musical-borrowing-syllabus/

Sunday, August 27, 2023

a sprawling links for the weekend post, variations on a ground bass--counterpoint under fire in the 1470s. laments about a loss of Catholic liturgical music that was lambasted in the years it was being written, and how fifteen C. musicians defended their jobs at the expense of ordinary musicking people

https://mereorthodoxy.com/musical-localism-and-the-rebirth-of-culture

...

The ethnomusicologist Thomas Turino has written on this distinction, which he takes to be more fundamental than any genre distinction, between “participatory” and “presentational” kinds of music. “If we briefly consider the products of the music industry over time,” says Turino, “we can glimpse cosmopolitans’ gradual shift in thinking of music making as a social activity to music as an object.” He talks about what it was like interacting with Peruvian festival music of the 1980s, before (or athwart) the arrival of the various technologies that have enabled our presentational era. “For them,” says Turino, “a recording is to ‘music’ what, for us, a photograph is to the person in the snapshot: a representation of something else, not the real thing.”

 

It is worth asking for a moment where and how the change occurred in music. Here I depart a great deal from other traditionalists and conservatives who talk extensively about music, particularly the late Roger Scruton, as well as the various others who have written on the topic such as E. Michael Jones and Julian Johnson. For many of these thinkers, the moment of decline occurred somewhere in the twentieth century or perhaps the nineteenth, and the culprit was, variously, dissonance, a rejection of long-standing norms of form, professionalism, and, most of all, the rise of commercial recording technologies that allowed music to become abstracted from live, public performance.

 

Here I am much more radical: Classical music is not the solution to our problems; it is the problem. I consider the shift from Palestrina to Monteverdi, from Bach to Haydn, as far more fundamental than the shift from Wagner to Schoenberg or from tonality to atonality or from Rachmaninoff on shellac to the Beatles on vinyl.

...


Well, to go by Rob C Wegman’s The Crisis of Music in Early Modern Europea 1470 to 1430, classical music, in the sense of being elite music produced by elite for elites that was bankrolled by a system of indulgences has always been the problem.  I know John Ahern knows about this book because I discovered it reading a couple of his blog posts at Ad Fontes Journal online.

Thursday, August 24, 2023

Alan Jacobs is still going through Jacques Ellul's work, Princeton Theological Seminary has published a book on Ellul recently, and the theme of building cities as legacies of defiance as a theme in Jacques Ellul and a sermon by Richard Sibbes

 Longtime readers of Wenatchee The Hatchet know I've cited Ellul's work prodigiously in blogging about the former Mars Hill Church, and made a case, drawing upon Propaganda, that Mark Driscoll is best understood as a propagandist rather than a pastor.  I stand by all of that.


I do wonder, not that Alan Jacobs reads this blog (that I know of), if he knows of Matthew Prior's relatively recent book about Ellul that is available by Wipf & Stock
Confronting Technology: The Theology of Jacques Ellul was published back in 2020 and is part of the Princeton Theological Monograph series.

There's more than one series, maybe, because I read a great little book by Charles Twombly from PTS on perichoresis and personhood in the writings of John of Damascus that, eventually, will have some relevance to my follow-up to Ragtime and Sonata Forms, working title is still Perichoresis in Musical Time and Space.  But first, I admit, I must slog through Jason Yust's Organized Time. ;)  His book is more into some of the literal math of temporal organization in graph/chart form whereas I've leaned toward a chain of blocks as visual metaphor for temporal/spatial correspondences of large chunks of musical timespace.

Anyway, I have The Meaning of the City, and I am a little puzzled that Jacobs spent so little time on Ellul's observation that Jerusalem was a city that was captured and claimed by David that David did not build or found. An Augustinian re-reading of Ellul would say all earthly cities function as the City of Man (including Jerusalem) and that momentary phases of repentance don't exactly change the long-term nature of cities. 

That Cain chose not to be a wanderer across the face of the earth but to found a city is pretty important to Ellul's polemic.  Descendants of Cain created the lyre and pipe, as well as forged instruments of bronze and iron. If you've read a few Ellul books the relationship of the lineage of Cain to technique is not hard to spot but sometimes Ellul digresses into purple prose that is a bit more allusive and elusive than plainspoken. Now Ellul, being the Christian anarchist that he was, didn't bring up David and Jerusalem to say believers should seize cities a la some kind of 2023 dread of Christian nationalist stuff.  His point was that people of faith may capture or "capture" cities but they do not found them. Founding a city is part of the City of Man, to stay Augustinian, and when biblical texts mention a man re-founding Jericho at the cost of two sons  The relevant biblical texts are ... 
Joshua 6:26
26 Joshua laid an oath on them at that time, saying, “Cursed before the Lord be the man who rises up and rebuilds this city, Jericho.  “At the cost of his firstborn shall he lay its foundation, and at the cost of his youngest son shall he set up its gates.”
1 Kings 16:34
In Ahab’s time, Hiel of Bethel rebuilt Jericho. He laid its foundations at the cost of his firstborn son Abiram, and he set up its gates at the cost of his youngest son Segub, in accordance with the word of the Lord spoken by Joshua son of Nun.
And because I actually do like reading Puritans I commend to you the Richard Sibbes sermon called "The Unprosperous Builder", from Volume 7 of his complete works.  Sibbes preached that there are some men so covetous of glory and renown they will sacrifice their own children in the most literal and also in other ways to assure their own legacies. Some men are so heedless of curses and warnings they go out and seek to rebuild Jericho, whether in the literal way described in the biblical texts or metaphorically.  At this point in my life I am reminded that there's some preacher in the Seattle area who claimed to dig the Puritans but as I've read some of those Puritans I see this thread where any actual Puritan pastor would think the Seattle bro was too depraved and self-seeking to ever be fit for ministry to begin with.  But, ahem, I digress.

I admit I wanted an excuse to plug Richard Sibbes while I discussed Alan Jacobs discussing Jacques Ellul since the motif of the city ties it all together. 

another passing thought reading through Philip Ewell's recent book

 He mentions early in the book how Spain was basically erased from the history of Western music.  That immediately got me thinking about Richard Taruskin in The Ox saying the guitar is basically not part of the Western literate musical tradition.  So ... that could sort of back up Ewell's claim since anyone who knows the least bit about the six-stringed guitar knows the Spanish perfected it and did a lot to codify its technique.  Yes, there were French and Italian and Austrian guitarists who did a lot, too, and I'm not forgetting the Russian seven-stringed tradition, which is well worth checking out, too.
But for classical guitarists the idea of never learning an etude by Sor is basically a non-starter.  In contrast to mainstream classical music Sor's influence is very nearly inescapable. Fortunately his guitar method is well worth reading and he claimed, for those who read it, that he transcribed the closing fugue from Haydn's Creation oratorio as a solo guitar piece.  Anyone who could transcribe a B flat major double fugue and not transpose it was no slouch on the instrument.  Editions Orphee published Mark Delpriora's reconstruction of Sor's claim.


While I do like me the Prelude and Fugue in B flat major by Igor Rekhin for solo guitar, the Haydn transcription is, for the time being, the best fugue in B flat major for solo guitar in the repertoire that's something you can hear.  

That Matiegka Op. 17 post/series is still incubating.  I just realized this week there's some Robert Gjerdingen observations about the uses of the quiescenza I need to add to my thoughts on the expositional second transition in the first movement. 

If in symphonic music and chamber music the hegemonic influence is German, I've not-really-joked that in guitar music Spain has the hegemonic influence, which is why I like to highlight guitar music written by Bulgarian, Yugoslavian, Bohemian, Russian, Polish, and Japanese composers (okay, so, Takemitsu mostly from Japan).  Let's not forget Brazil and Argentina (Villa-Lobos (obviously) and Guastavino). 

Saturday, August 19, 2023

John Borstlap on the need to define words properly, such as modern and modernism

While throughout his blog and his comments at Slipped Disc and in his book The Classical Revolution he has hinted that he found it a bit unfortunate Roger Scruton put as much stock as he did by traditional religion, there are moments when I read John Borstlap write about music, aesthetics and ideas ... and, if you’ll pardon the joke, I wonder how many neo-Calvinist presuppositionalist Christian polemics he has read in his life. Bear with me, I’ll explain things soon enough. I read Borstlap’s blog post from last month in the last few weeks and will quote all of Borstlap’s text and skip the Krier quotes:

 

http://subterraneanreview.blogspot.com/2023/07/progressive-conservative.html

In the culture wars concerning modernity and tradition, concepts like 'modern', 'tradition', 'conservative', 'progressive', 'value' and so forth, appear to have different meanings in different contexts, with the result that meaning is often blurred by political motivations in the background. In fact, their meaning is shifting all the time, and thus become tools for other meanings which are different from their origins.

Tradition: simply the sum of successful solutions to problems of aesthetics, practices, value. 'Our heritage has come down to us without a testament' (René Char), which means: we should never stop being critical of what we have inherited of our civilisation. This critical stance is the motor of development and keeps traditions alive and accessible.


Progress: anything which means an improvement. This is entirely dependent upon context.
Modern: that which is contemporary, which is 'now'. It is a historical category and has no meaning as to value.


Modernism: the ideology which has, in the last century, created a world view which is very different from most of the past, and in which technology, science and progressiveness for its own sake have taken priority over humanist values as were developed since the Renaissance. It is a prescriptive ideology (hence its nature as 'ideology') and often not open to critique, which is discarded as 'conservative'. But attempts to recapture successful solutions to problems, which have been discarded because of not fitting within a modernist world view, can be progressive in terms of improvement, when a civilisation has developed towards extremes which undermine its capacities for development. With conservatism in the sense of wanting to freeze historic moments, it has nothing to do. Nothing has done classical music more damage than the misunderstanding that this art form is a 'conservative' one.

…

Only if notions like modernity, modernism, progress and tradition are understood in their original and true meaning, can a vision be developed which offers a perspective on improvement: the only serious meaning of progress.

Sunday, August 13, 2023

incubating post

Matiegka's Op. 17 is a ton more work than Op. 16 for a couple of reasons.

First and simplest, it's a longer work, especially in the public domain IMSLP accessible form. 14 pages is a chunk, more than twice as long as the six-page score for Op. 16.

Second, as I've been listening to the Giulio Tampalini and Massimo Agostinelli's recorded performances there are just too many things each performer brings out of Op. 17 into their interpretations to limit my analysis to one or the other.  Tampalini observes repeats in the score Agostinelli doesn't and that makes it more attentive to the score at one level. On the other hand, while omitting the structural repeats Agostinelli's performance is more intriguing in terms of highlighting the tempi contrasts Matiegka indicated in the score for the first movement and does so to what I regard as an intentionally comic effect (on Matiegka's part and I'll get to that when I finally complete the post).  

I'm also a bit daunted by how it doesn't seem anyone has written in the English language about Matiegka's Op. 17 beyond a few paragraphs and here I'm planning on doing a fairly deep dive into the entire three-movement work and highlight the way Matiegka played freely with sonata forms and large-scale organization.  There's actually two sonata forms in this one so that will be a fun opportunity to highlight the contrast between a big "opening movement" sonata form and a slow second movement sonata form.  Stanley Yates is right to highlight the second movement as a slow Mozartian middle movement sonata form and it will be a great opportunity to discuss what William Caplin and others have described as slow sonata forms that omit transitions entirely.

But I'm still doing wool-gathering for the post proper.  I did, however, want to give a little update because despite the muggy, oppressive August weather we're having I did make some progress this weekend toward that Matiegka 2023 blogging goal and I look forward to having a post ready by a bit before the end of this week. 

Daniel Kleven recommends a couple of treatises on the evangelial left/progressive evangelicalism

Ethan Hein on Bach's Duet in E minor BWV 802 reminded me of David Yearsley on the F major BWV 803 and his proposal that Clavier Ubung III was a rebuttal to the nascent galant ethos

...

What is it about visiting Bach’s imaginary world that is so soothing? I recognize that if I were to actually visit eighteenth-century Thuringia, I would hate it. In his book Bach Against Modernity, Michael Marissen argues that Bach had very little in common philosophically with most of his present-day admirers. (If you can’t or don’t want to read the whole book, Valerie Stivers hits the main points in this review.) Bach was a pre-modern person whose Lutheranism was extreme by current standards. He was aware of Enlightenment-style thinking that elevated reason, and he was emphatically not on board with it. As Marissen puts it, “a great many music lovers do not, strictly speaking, value Bach for the things he may, strictly speaking, be about.” In order for me to enjoy his music, I have to downplay or ignore major components of Bach’s worldview. 

Valerie Stivers says that when we listen to Bach without understanding his stern religious message, we miss the point.

Knowing what to look for, I can sometimes hear the relentlessness of the divine order in the music’s superstructure, and feel the tension between its power and the futile activities of the fallen humanity whose cares the composer illuminates. To know that the music takes a negative view of human activity explains the strains of bitter mockery one sometimes hears. Elsewhere, the essential futility of our endeavors deepens the music’s tragedy and enhances its compassion. To grasp the emotional subtleties without the religious framework seems more difficult at the very least. And to be unaware of the intricacy of the theology, and the impressiveness of its musical expression, also seems like a loss.

Aspects of the worldview revealed in Bach’s music are threatening to our way of life and worldview, and would be unpopular if audiences understood them, and they aren’t, in every circumstance, for everyone. An argument for continuing to listen to him that grounds his greatness in the particulars of his historical and cultural milieu would be more convincing, because it would open up genuine if difficult dialogue with alien values.

By this logic, Bach is your stern and merciless Lutheran dad, giving you big stacks of difficult music to practice so you don’t go to hell. When I play through something like the prelude from the G Minor Lute Suite, I feel a serenity that seems like the thing religious people feel when they pray. But there’s also a penitent aspect to it. I’ve been indulging myself in all that sinful pop music, and now it’s time for something rigorous. Bach looks at me disapprovingly and says, okay, time to systematically work your way through every possible permutation of this musical idea. I don’t worry that I will literally go to hell. But I can feel the residual cultural guilt, along with the residual glow of approval when I work through Bach successfully.

I find this interesting because I'm, full disclosure, a Christian and not just a Christian but an actual Calvinist who likes to read Puritans like Richard Sibbes and looks forward to reading Richard Muller's Post Reformation Reformed Dogmatics.  I've been on a bit of an off-line marathon of reading through the Swiss Reformed theologian and pastor Emil Brunner on the one hand and the Anglican political historian John Neville Figgis on the other (contrary to what some guys in Moscow, Idaho would tell the world an evangelical Anglo-Catholic could and did advise fellow Christians to reconcile themselves to a secular pluralist state back in 1911 by way of Churches in the Modern State--I recently finished David Nicholls book on Figgis and other early 20th century British pluralists).  In other words, colloquially it's generally understood that Calvinists and Puritans are even more stringently fastidious than earthy Lutherans about entertainments.  

And yet I blitzed through Rumiko Takahashi's Inuyasha this summer and had a blast.  Radiant is the Blood of the Baboon Heart is a pretty worth wrap-up for anyone who knows what "Go Team Venture" means, in my opinion.  And if you get what this reference means ... 

"Just so you all know, I'm not running for my life, I just realized I forgot to get in my cardio routine today, and I'm doing it now while I'm thinking about it."

... you have to have seen a fair amount of the Black Dynamite cartoon.

Barry Webb, in his fantastic commentary on The Book of Judges, pointed out that the book is disturbing at multiple levels because of stuff like the Levite and his concubine, for instance, and because the demise of Eglon is straight up toilet humor. There are tons of things in biblical literature contemporary readers can and will find troubling and offensive ... but then I just name-checked enough animated films and shows that would be inconceivable to 18th century Lutherans I don't doubt someone like J. S. Bach would find it impossible to be a fan of the films of Hayao Miyazaki.  Yet in the 21st century we are, I think, saturated with film.  

One of the threads in Rethinking Bach I've appreciated is highlighting that Bach had a musically humorous side to him, discussed by David Yearsley in his entry in the book. Yearsley pointed out that J. S. Bach's son Emmanuel felt obliged to point out his father's lively and comic music in protest of the stern Lutheran image that was getting propagated in the wake of his father's death.  I am starting into Bach Against Modernity and I expect I shall enjoy it but there's something that probably needs saying, which is that Lutherans inveighing against lottery reason hardly means Lutherans were humorless or that they couldn't revel in earthy humor.  It probably doesn't need much rehearsal for people who have read Jeffrey Burton Russell's books on the devil in Western thought to recall how scatalogical Martin Luther's rhetoric could get. The way in which academics now imagine Lutherans to have been what academics imagined Puritans were a century ago is a curious moment for me, and I mention that to note that Percy Scholes wrote an entire book debunking what he regarded as Anglo-American historical malpractice against Puritans on the topic of music. 

But now I get to David Yearsley's fun book Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint, particularly pages 95-110. If you take the time to read it you'll learn about how even among otherwise orthodox Lutherans strict counterpoint was viewed as a kind of musical alchemy that was thought, potentially, to unlock the secrets of the cosmos. The odds that Bach was the kind of Lutheran who would subscribe to such a view is a bit debatable.  Yearsley proposed that Bach as anti-Enlightenment polemicist took aim at ideas promoted by one Johann Adolph Scheibe, who ripped into J. S. Bach for writing tortured music rather than clean, elegant, dignified fare. Advocates of nascent Enlightenment thought, Yearsley shared, complained that Bach's counterpoint was too learned and not conversant enough with the enlightenment of the day. There were complaints that Bach would apply strict contrapuntal development to downright inane or hackneyed material rather than please the senses and the mind.  Yearsley proposed that Clavier Ubung III can be thought of as a grand-scale musical riposte to the Enlightenment advocates of Bach's time who were claiming the old man needed to get with the program. Bach lived in an age where galant style was becoming popular and by the aesthetics of the new galant ethos his music was over-wrought and over-thought.  Yearsley suggests that it is in light of such public polemics in which Bach's music was subjected to vigorous (if not always rigorous) criticism that Clavier Ubung III can be understood as a kind of musical, ahem, unidigital salute.

Duetto No. 2 in F major starts as simple and direct as can be and hews to all the ideals of simplicity and directness that the nascant galant style could ask for.

But that's just up to 41 seconds into this particular performance. Not a second later Bach introduces absurdly tortured chromatic writing on the same core materials that opened the Duetto. Yearsley pointed out that the start of the duetto has everything Johann Adolph Scheibe could have asked for but the A material in the duetto gets subjected to in-your-face chromaticism in the B section, which is a lot larger than the A section.  Bach, Yearsley proposed, did an epic rug-pull on Scheibe's ideal of musical beauty that is simple, elegant, direct and unforced. 

John Neville Figgis once quipped that the flesh and blood people who make history are never as simple and flat as historians want them to be.  Yearsley has made an interesting proposal that Bach's Clavier Ubung III as a whole but the Duettos particularly, can be heard and read as rebuttals to the bottles of ink being spilled by polemicists like Mattheson and Scheibe who claimed Bach was behind the times and needed to drop all that stupid puzzle music and write music appealing to the heart.  The learned church musician needed to write stuff that the new bourgeois audiences and amateurs who were buying music wanted to play to entertain guests, not do these weird musical stunts where a tortured chromatic subject is set in canon against its own retrograde stuff.  That Bach's political sympathies were autocratic and his religious views would lean toward authoritarian is not a big surprise.  

I'm starting into John Neville Figgis' The Divine Right of Kings and he opened early with an observation that the joke of the concept is that it wasn't developed in the medieval period at all but a relatively new invention of the sixteenth century.  He has a dry observation early in the book about how early 20th century thinkers laughed about how stupid the idea of the full sovereignty of a monarch is but any theory of political sovereignty will seem idiotic to those who don't subscribe to that theory's central tenets.  What a historian needs to ask about the invention of the divine right of kings in the sixteenth century is what real-world political problem was the theory attempting to address, and what alternatives were at hand?  Figgis proposed that the concept of the divine right of kings modified earlier notions of the unitary sovereignty of the state developed in Roman ideas of the state on the one hand, and papal supremacy on the other, shifting the consolidated/autocratic claims of papal supremacy away from the pope to, you probably guessed it, the king.  Figgis pointed out that the divine right of kings and the sovereignty of the king/prince was invented in the sixteenth century by Protestant polemicists who wanted their kings to not be beholden to popes.  

Not everyone took that route--the Swiss, for instance, leaned toward a city-state and covenantal concepts of distributed government (I was reading a sermon Emil Brunner gave about an anniversary of Zurich being included in the Swiss confederation earlier this year, and he pointed out that it was a credit to the Zwinglian/Bullinger strand of Protestantism that they didn't go all in for the divine right of kings when people were doing that in England, France and Germany).  I've been mulling over an idea in the last few years about how art-religion of the overtly Germanophile and Anglophile varieties evolved as it did whereas there doesn't seem to be something comparable in the Swiss traditions.  Maybe when Zwingli and Bullinger banned music altogether from churches in their rejection of the entire patronage system of indulgences used to bankroll mensural polyphony there were secondary effects of creating, as Charles Garside Jr suggested in Zwingli and the Arts, a realm of secular music that didn't have to serve the throne or the altar.  

The Anglican theologian Jeremy Begbie has proposed over a couple of decades of writing that as unpopular as the Swiss Reformed tradition featuring Calvin, Zwingli and Bullinger has tended to be (with high flyer Anglicans particularly, and I can't help but mention the late Roger Scruton as an example), we shouldn't ignore this alternate strand of Christian thinking about music and theology precisely because the highbrow Anglican and Germanophile art-religious impulses in Western music education have been so strong we need to remember alternative schools of thought.  He hasn't made that case overtly but it's something I'm extrapolating from his work. I have to get it back from the music director of my church but William T Dargan has made an interesting, if admittedly speculative case, that the lining out tradition in black American churches emerged in the low church and Calvinist traditions of Anglicanism that spread out into the American colonies. Metrical psalmody (so loathed by Scruton) and the lining out tradition were low church customs that found a home in the nascent African Methodist Episcopal and primitive Baptist traditions.  It's too bad I don't have Dargan's book on me because I've meant to blog about it for years.  Given the way life has been in the real world I'll have to keep that on the back burner but Lining Out the Word is well worth grabbing!  If you can find it in a university library it's worth reading just for the amazing discography.  That spate of blog posts I did linking to tracks from Wade in the Water Volume 2 is because I found out about the Smithsonian series via Dargan's book.

For long-time readers of the blog my idea has probably snuck up implicitly but I'll make it more direct--comparing notes across histories of music, liturgical practice and Christian traditions may give us opportunities to see how and why some ideas we may disagree with evolved as they did.  I think it's telling that much African American popular styles developed in what Dale Cockrell described as lowbrow musical theater contexts on the one hand and in the realm that Anthony Heilbut described as black Pentecostalism. Because so many music scholars default to highbrow and their art-religions default to "high flyer" rather than "storefront" (except in pop music where the situation is utterly reversed) I think it's helpful and beneficial when musicians and scholars compare notes across the often scholastically preserved and promoted divides.  Thus, I've been having fun blogging in response to Ethan Hein's blog posts.  What we have in common is an interest in questioning a few of the received wisdoms of music.  We're also both guitarists and Taruskin used to say the guitar was not really in the musical mainstream of what's conventionally called classical music.  Yeah? Well, I'm reminded of Matanya Ophee telling fellow guitarists we shouldn't have any inferiority complex about what we can bring to conversations about music.  So there. :) 

Anyway, all that said, Yearsley's proposal is that Bach's music was heard as more humorous than we've allowed ourselves, via musicology, to hear it as being in its own time and place. Bach was an anti-modernist as we'd understand modernity, yes, but now that Bach's music has been canonized all these centuries it may take generations of scholarship to recover the way that the canonized composer was seen as unhip, uncool, out of touch with the nascent Enlightenment ideas of his era and was scolded for subjecting alternately trivial and tortured musical ideas to too-much-technique. 

I've been a bit sparser in blogging this year but I get inspired now and then.  The Yearsley book is not cheap but if you want to read a fascinating account of the debates about counterpoint in Bach's lifetime and how Bach responded to it musically (basically never by written statements), Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint is a must-read.


Sunday, August 06, 2023

a not-so random thought as I'm working through Phil Ewell's book, does he know that Russian composers have published the first two cycles of 24 preludes and fugues for solo guitar in the 1990s and 2010s?

 He mentioned his work as a music theorist and scholar of Russian music so ... not that Ewell reads Wenatchee The Hatchet but if someone wanted to pass along that I think it could be fun if he checked out Nikita Koshkin's 24 Preludes and Fugues for solo guitar I'd appreciate it.  It might interest Ewell to know that the two big cycles of preludes and fugues for solo guitar that have been published (so far) have been by Igor Rekhin and Nikita Koshkin in the 1990s and 2010s respectively.  

Atanas Ourkouzounoov: Fragments retrouvés

This nine-movement work clocks in at just shy of 21 minutes. It's worth checking out.  People who've read me since, oh, 2006, know that Ourkouzounov is one of my favorite contemporary guitarist composers.