Six Poems by Sylvia Plath for Soprano and Piano (1975) by Aribert Reimann; Sylvia Plath;Neun Sonette der Louïse Labé für Mezzosoprano und Klavier (1986) by Aribert ReimannReview by: Richard K. WinslowNotes, Second Series, Vol. 47, No. 1 (Sep., 1990), pp. 229-230Published by: Music Library AssociationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/940570 .

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Music Reviews Music Reviews

"The Cable-Car" because of the scorrevole eighth-note figuration in irregular com- pound meters. In fast or slow songs, the piano writing is linear, most often in three or four evenly spaced voices. Instrumental color derives from pitch and gesture rather than sonority alone. Weisgall perhaps too often assumes that the listener will hear sustained notes in the piano. In fact, these tones would decay more quickly for lis- teners in the concert hall than for those at closer range, possibly detracting somewhat from the work's sumptuousness and inti- macy. Register is used with the greatest care, and octaves are saved for such heightened moments as the opening "Prologue" and "The Other Route." As in the best lieder, the piano part is composed of independent musical material that sometimes, but not always, doubles or at least contains the pitches of the vocal line.

Lyrical Interval is filled with emotionally rewarding music of richness and intensity. Both singer and pianist will find consid- erable musical and technical challenges; performed in its entirety, it requires vir- tuosos. The young baritone David Hamil- ton gave the work its first performance from memory together with pianist Stuart Raleigh at the Library of Congress on 18 Novem- ber 1985. Commissioned by the Koussev- itsky Foundation, Lyrical Interval is dedi- cated to the memory of Serge and Natalie Koussevitsky.

Exigencies of concert programming and the unfortunate penchant of many singers toward less demanding music may see Weisgall's Lyrical Interval rarely performed complete in the concert hall. But as with Perle's challenging Thirteen Dickinson Songs (1977-78), Copland's Twelve Poems of Emily Dickinson (1944-50), and Persichetti's Har- monium (1951), mini-versions of the work can be effectively fashioned. In fact, the practice of selecting from nineteenth- and twentieth-century cycles may more sharply direct our attention to the wonders of in- dividual numbers, even as it destroys the cyclic integrity of the work. In any case, Weisgall's Lyrical Interval merits both per- formance by the interpreter and study by the analyst, and it contributes significantly to this composer's already considerable repertory of American song.

BRUCE SAYLOR

Queens College City University of New York

"The Cable-Car" because of the scorrevole eighth-note figuration in irregular com- pound meters. In fast or slow songs, the piano writing is linear, most often in three or four evenly spaced voices. Instrumental color derives from pitch and gesture rather than sonority alone. Weisgall perhaps too often assumes that the listener will hear sustained notes in the piano. In fact, these tones would decay more quickly for lis- teners in the concert hall than for those at closer range, possibly detracting somewhat from the work's sumptuousness and inti- macy. Register is used with the greatest care, and octaves are saved for such heightened moments as the opening "Prologue" and "The Other Route." As in the best lieder, the piano part is composed of independent musical material that sometimes, but not always, doubles or at least contains the pitches of the vocal line.

Lyrical Interval is filled with emotionally rewarding music of richness and intensity. Both singer and pianist will find consid- erable musical and technical challenges; performed in its entirety, it requires vir- tuosos. The young baritone David Hamil- ton gave the work its first performance from memory together with pianist Stuart Raleigh at the Library of Congress on 18 Novem- ber 1985. Commissioned by the Koussev- itsky Foundation, Lyrical Interval is dedi- cated to the memory of Serge and Natalie Koussevitsky.

Exigencies of concert programming and the unfortunate penchant of many singers toward less demanding music may see Weisgall's Lyrical Interval rarely performed complete in the concert hall. But as with Perle's challenging Thirteen Dickinson Songs (1977-78), Copland's Twelve Poems of Emily Dickinson (1944-50), and Persichetti's Har- monium (1951), mini-versions of the work can be effectively fashioned. In fact, the practice of selecting from nineteenth- and twentieth-century cycles may more sharply direct our attention to the wonders of in- dividual numbers, even as it destroys the cyclic integrity of the work. In any case, Weisgall's Lyrical Interval merits both per- formance by the interpreter and study by the analyst, and it contributes significantly to this composer's already considerable repertory of American song.

BRUCE SAYLOR

Queens College City University of New York

Aribert Reimann. Six Poems by Sylvia Plath for soprano and piano (1975). Mainz: B. Schott's Sohne (European American), 1987. [47 p., $35.00; du- ration: ca. 25'.]

Aribert Reimann. Neun Sonette der Louise Labe fur Mezzosoprano und Klavier (1986). Mainz: B. Schott's Sohne (European American), 1988. [64 p., $49.00; duration: ca. 35'.]

These are big songs which, taken as cycles, comprise big music of sufficient character to challenge exceptional singers and pia- nists. These are difficult songs, requiring singers with unusual pitch sense and pia- nists with fluency in unusual and rapid- moving patterns. (One would not sight read this post-Berg material.) For both singer and pianist the notation seeks a non-metrical response-either, as in Six Poems, through the absence of barlines, or, as in Neun So- nette, through rhythmic intricacies that camouflage meter. These are songs that, in the hands of exceptional performers, might yield a tour-de-force performance because of the necessity for sustained inventive- ness. (The eighth song of Neun Sonette is in this sense overwhelming.)

In spite of their strengths, it is doubtful that these pieces will go into repertoire. Reimann so submerges the poetry in vol- leys of invention that the medium (voice with piano) becomes the message; poetic content disappears. The voice is turned into a source of sound rather than a source of verbal communication, sometimes with un- intended comic effect, as when the singer, forced to an extreme, must sound like a Wagnerian Rhine maiden. (Sylvia Plath?!) Whether I listened (on tape) to the words of Sylvia Plath, wonderfully sung in my na- tive English, or to the words of Louise Labe, wonderfully sung in French, unless I fol- lowed the score I could have no idea of the content. And even the score was not very helpful so swallowed up were the words in disjunct, pointillistic vocal lines and wildly inventive piano figures. Finally, to discover what was being sung I had to consult the original poems, which were beautifully printed at the front of each score.

Reimann is obviously aware of traditions in which verbal and melodic gestures are linked. In the Labe sonnets, he marks the rhyme schemes with recurring melodic fig-

Aribert Reimann. Six Poems by Sylvia Plath for soprano and piano (1975). Mainz: B. Schott's Sohne (European American), 1987. [47 p., $35.00; du- ration: ca. 25'.]

Aribert Reimann. Neun Sonette der Louise Labe fur Mezzosoprano und Klavier (1986). Mainz: B. Schott's Sohne (European American), 1988. [64 p., $49.00; duration: ca. 35'.]

These are big songs which, taken as cycles, comprise big music of sufficient character to challenge exceptional singers and pia- nists. These are difficult songs, requiring singers with unusual pitch sense and pia- nists with fluency in unusual and rapid- moving patterns. (One would not sight read this post-Berg material.) For both singer and pianist the notation seeks a non-metrical response-either, as in Six Poems, through the absence of barlines, or, as in Neun So- nette, through rhythmic intricacies that camouflage meter. These are songs that, in the hands of exceptional performers, might yield a tour-de-force performance because of the necessity for sustained inventive- ness. (The eighth song of Neun Sonette is in this sense overwhelming.)

In spite of their strengths, it is doubtful that these pieces will go into repertoire. Reimann so submerges the poetry in vol- leys of invention that the medium (voice with piano) becomes the message; poetic content disappears. The voice is turned into a source of sound rather than a source of verbal communication, sometimes with un- intended comic effect, as when the singer, forced to an extreme, must sound like a Wagnerian Rhine maiden. (Sylvia Plath?!) Whether I listened (on tape) to the words of Sylvia Plath, wonderfully sung in my na- tive English, or to the words of Louise Labe, wonderfully sung in French, unless I fol- lowed the score I could have no idea of the content. And even the score was not very helpful so swallowed up were the words in disjunct, pointillistic vocal lines and wildly inventive piano figures. Finally, to discover what was being sung I had to consult the original poems, which were beautifully printed at the front of each score.

Reimann is obviously aware of traditions in which verbal and melodic gestures are linked. In the Labe sonnets, he marks the rhyme schemes with recurring melodic fig-

229 229

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NOTES, September 1990 NOTES, September 1990

ures, much in the style of a medieval com- poser such as Guillaume de Machaut. The intent of this music-in both cycles-is not so much to project the poetry as it is to probe the composer's responses. (Melo- drama lies just around the corner.)

These songs are, finally, virtuosic. Me- diocre performances might risk calamity; exceptional performances could very well be spellbinding.

RICHARD K. WINSLOW Antrim, New Hampshire

Lee Hoiby. Four Dickinson Songs for

high voice and piano; texts by Emily Dickinson. New York: Southern Mu- sic Publishing Co. (Presser), 1988. [Score, 23 p., $8.00.]

Lee Hoiby, one of America's most es- teemed and prolific composers, has re- cently produced a new set of four songs set to poems by Emily Dickinson. The songs are "A Letter," "How the Waters Closed," "Wild Nights," and "There Came a Wind Like a Bugle."

Those familiar with Hoiby's work know that in addition to an extraordinary knowl- edge of the piano virtuoso capabilities, he has a special ability to combine musical ges- ture, sonority, and word. In a flowing and lyric style that is essentially tonal, with modal, chromatic, and whole-tone inflec- tions, he is able to illuminate, shadow, il- lustrate, contradict, or simply frame the lines of a poem with telling music.

"A Letter" might be from a young per- son to someone senior and eminent. It mentions the writer's uneventful and un- inspiring home life, then requests advice about "how to grow." The narrator tells her story and makes her request calmly and evenly, with no unseemly dramatic tension or emphases. The vocal line flows in a con- fident cantilena, while the piano glides along with an easily accompanying counterme- lody. Perhaps young Emily is playing the piano as she composes the letter in her head.

She comments about her family's reli- gious piety in a gently ironic passage set to hymn music. In the following three mea- sures, over two sustained chords, the two- part melody gracefully descends in piquant suspensions. This passage illustrates Hoi- by's special musical persona-nobody but

ures, much in the style of a medieval com- poser such as Guillaume de Machaut. The intent of this music-in both cycles-is not so much to project the poetry as it is to probe the composer's responses. (Melo- drama lies just around the corner.)

These songs are, finally, virtuosic. Me- diocre performances might risk calamity; exceptional performances could very well be spellbinding.

RICHARD K. WINSLOW Antrim, New Hampshire

Lee Hoiby. Four Dickinson Songs for

high voice and piano; texts by Emily Dickinson. New York: Southern Mu- sic Publishing Co. (Presser), 1988. [Score, 23 p., $8.00.]

Lee Hoiby, one of America's most es- teemed and prolific composers, has re- cently produced a new set of four songs set to poems by Emily Dickinson. The songs are "A Letter," "How the Waters Closed," "Wild Nights," and "There Came a Wind Like a Bugle."

Those familiar with Hoiby's work know that in addition to an extraordinary knowl- edge of the piano virtuoso capabilities, he has a special ability to combine musical ges- ture, sonority, and word. In a flowing and lyric style that is essentially tonal, with modal, chromatic, and whole-tone inflec- tions, he is able to illuminate, shadow, il- lustrate, contradict, or simply frame the lines of a poem with telling music.

"A Letter" might be from a young per- son to someone senior and eminent. It mentions the writer's uneventful and un- inspiring home life, then requests advice about "how to grow." The narrator tells her story and makes her request calmly and evenly, with no unseemly dramatic tension or emphases. The vocal line flows in a con- fident cantilena, while the piano glides along with an easily accompanying counterme- lody. Perhaps young Emily is playing the piano as she composes the letter in her head.

She comments about her family's reli- gious piety in a gently ironic passage set to hymn music. In the following three mea- sures, over two sustained chords, the two- part melody gracefully descends in piquant suspensions. This passage illustrates Hoi- by's special musical persona-nobody but

he could have written it. Emily's request to be told "how to grow" follows.

The text of "How the Waters Closed" speaks of the last moments of a boy who drowned, leaving his hat and coat behind on the bank. Hoiby's music gives this brief musing an extra depth of meaning, pro- viding ominous and sweetly dissonant pools of sound. The text is simple: we weren't there, we can't know his descent into the depths of the pond, or what he felt. Water lilies cover him now. The slow steady pulse of the music, the repetition of the first phrase, the full faintly bitter sounding chords rising in whole tones underneath the water lily text, the trailing off and sinking at the end-all of these add depth to the somewhat gnomic text. With a measure or two of connecting tissue in the piano be- tween the lines of the poem, the music sug- gests a disturbing and tragic subtext at which the words barely hint. In two pages a new dimension has been revealed with great economy of means.

In "Wild Nights" the jaunty and soaring vocal line is initially set with passagework in the piano part that darts and whizzes around with crazed abandon, craftily fit to the hand and to the sense of the text. The voice is carried aloft and surrounded by the madcap piano-work, which outlines pun- gent harmonies with a deft and angular rhythmic profile. At the words "rowing in Eden," the passagework smooths out into triplets, and the voice settles into longer note values. At the end of the wild night, the piano and voice relax together and come into the "harbor" in a knowing and assured way.

In "There Came a Wind Like a Bugle," the heralding annunciation of the voice part is set with rushes and uproars of scales and crinkling broken-chord passages, wellings up of low broken octave passages in both hands. The voice is borne dizzily along by a buzzing, diving, and ascending piano line that never lets up until the last line-"and yet abide the world." The phrase is twice repeated, and the voice finds its place within a striding long-lined piano-apotheosis that finally subsides into quietness. Here wide intervals abound in line and harmony; the texture is always clear and translucent.

These ingenious and lovingly made songs appeal to heart and intellect. Hoiby's music reveals "influences," but they are so thor- oughly fused that it is almost an imperti-

he could have written it. Emily's request to be told "how to grow" follows.

The text of "How the Waters Closed" speaks of the last moments of a boy who drowned, leaving his hat and coat behind on the bank. Hoiby's music gives this brief musing an extra depth of meaning, pro- viding ominous and sweetly dissonant pools of sound. The text is simple: we weren't there, we can't know his descent into the depths of the pond, or what he felt. Water lilies cover him now. The slow steady pulse of the music, the repetition of the first phrase, the full faintly bitter sounding chords rising in whole tones underneath the water lily text, the trailing off and sinking at the end-all of these add depth to the somewhat gnomic text. With a measure or two of connecting tissue in the piano be- tween the lines of the poem, the music sug- gests a disturbing and tragic subtext at which the words barely hint. In two pages a new dimension has been revealed with great economy of means.

In "Wild Nights" the jaunty and soaring vocal line is initially set with passagework in the piano part that darts and whizzes around with crazed abandon, craftily fit to the hand and to the sense of the text. The voice is carried aloft and surrounded by the madcap piano-work, which outlines pun- gent harmonies with a deft and angular rhythmic profile. At the words "rowing in Eden," the passagework smooths out into triplets, and the voice settles into longer note values. At the end of the wild night, the piano and voice relax together and come into the "harbor" in a knowing and assured way.

In "There Came a Wind Like a Bugle," the heralding annunciation of the voice part is set with rushes and uproars of scales and crinkling broken-chord passages, wellings up of low broken octave passages in both hands. The voice is borne dizzily along by a buzzing, diving, and ascending piano line that never lets up until the last line-"and yet abide the world." The phrase is twice repeated, and the voice finds its place within a striding long-lined piano-apotheosis that finally subsides into quietness. Here wide intervals abound in line and harmony; the texture is always clear and translucent.

These ingenious and lovingly made songs appeal to heart and intellect. Hoiby's music reveals "influences," but they are so thor- oughly fused that it is almost an imperti-

230 230

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