Ives' Concord Sonata

For this blog post, we turn once again to Charles Ives. This time, we will examine his Second Piano Sonata (Concord, Mass., 1840-60). The term “Sonata” is used loosely for this piece for it doesn’t fit the traditional Sonata form in the slightest. In fact, it doesn’t fit much of anything. Upon first glance, one would be hard-pressed to understand anything about a peace that contains mostly chord clusters, severe polyphony, and supposedly pointless references to past works. But there is a method behind Charles Ives’ madness, a method explained in his supplement to the Sonata, “Essays Before a Sonata”

In those extensive notes, he laid out not only his own philosophy toward music and composing, but those of the Sonata’s subjects and how each is intertwined. These were complicated people, perfect subjects for a complicated piece of work. For this post, I will focus on Ives’ interpretations on these philosophies and how he saw the people outlined in it, for I feel adding my own interpretation will only serve to cheapen Ives’ intentions.

The first movement is named for writer Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ives described Emerson as an explorer, a rebel, and a spiritualist. Ives compares him to Mother Nature, who repeats as much as she explains: not at all. He describes Emerson’s writing as a group of sentences based on the larger unity of particular aspects of a subject, resulting in a lack of unity. He goes further in explaining this: “His habit, often in lecturing, was to compile his ideas as they came to him on a general subject, in scattered notes, and when on the platform, to trust to the mood of the occasion, to assemble them.” This first movement, in a way, is kind of the same idea: a group of musical ideas thrown together based on an underlying idea. And what is that idea?

Emerson was a staunch believer in the Divine; he believed all things were connected to God, and as such, all things were Holy. There is, indeed, an ethereal sense of wonder present throughout the composition. This sense is suggested through chord clusters, rising and falling figures, and the general sense of calmness attached to them that contrasts with the rest of the movement’s air of chaos. The most notable instance of this occurring happens at around the 14:29 mark, which leads us into a section of a fearful yet soothing calm (accompanied by an optional Viola for some reason). Perhaps this is not the cleanest analysis of the movement ever given, but Ralph Waldo Emerson was a very complicated man, as shown by Ives’ analysis of him being three times as long as the other gentlemen.

The second movement, after Nathaniel Hawthorne, starts off as a quick vivace, vivacious, and relentless, and it continues throughout the movement. Ives himself describes this movement as “…but an ‘extended fragment’ trying to suggest some of his wilder, fantastical adventures into the half-childlike, half-fairylike phantasmal realms”. Ives describes Hawthorne as dripping in the Supernatural, a quality that the chord clusters in the extreme upper octaves seems to possess. But he was also a conservative man, a devout Christian who deeply believed in the power of guilt. There are several moments of quiet complacency throughout the piece, most notably around 5:20, which feels more like a moment of contemplation. But that contemplation wouldn’t last long as we are thrust without warning back into another wild section. One of the most notable features of this movement is its passionate use of chord clusters, the largest of which requires the use of a 14 ¾ inch pole. Such passion was the way of Nathaniel Hawthorne: a passionate, spiritual Christian who never leaves any indication of what he’ll do next.

The third movement is unquestionably the most tonal of the movements. After authors Bronson and Louisa May Alcott, this tonalism reflects the duo’s Christian and moral outlooks. But Ives doesn’t take it much further than that. The philosophy that the Alcotts followed was mostly frowned upon by Ives as he felt that Bronson glorified his over all elses. So instead, he focused on the house they lived in. What results is a beautiful and nostalgic work that demonstrates Ives’ artistic side. Though it still contains Ives’ trademark writing style, the often soft, homesick piano conjures up images of tranquility that causes the movement to transcend its sheet music and become a piece of art unto itself. With the beauty of God as its background (or as Ives would better agree with, with the beauty of Bronson Alcott as its background), this movement captures the spirit of 19th-century New England beautifully.

The fourth and final movement is centered around the controversial poet and philosopher, Henry David Thoreau. Though during his life, he was an easy target because of his personality, Ives assures us that Thoreau was a kind, loving, humorous man (albeit a little rude), citing his letters to the daughter of Ralph Waldo Emerson (incidentally, all four men in this Sonata knew each other; this will be further explained in the final paragraph). He was a man close to nature, and the piece in fact begins in a way similar to the opening of the 9th movement of Olivier Messaien’s Eclairs sur l’Au-Delà (Plusieurs Oiseaux des arbes de Vie)

And speaking of woodwind instruments, this piece contains a brief optional flute solo at 8:46 of the piece, a reference to Thoreau being a flute player. Ives compares him to Beethoven in his ability to play the music, not just the notes, shown on the page. And just like his skills in the art of Strum und Drang, so was his personality a master. Though usually reclusive, Throeau was known for having violent outbursts, especially when passionate about a cause; one of such cases occurs starting around 6:19 in the piece. But these are only a few aspects to a complicated individual. One who was better content with the rule of God and nature than that of man.

If you’re beginning to see parallels between two or more of the men described in this sonata, it’s by no means coincidence. What binds these men together, other than their place of origin, is their belief in Transendentalism. The basic belief of Transendentalists is that societies and their institutions (read: governments) corrupted the purity and soul of the individual, which explains their fascination with nature and solitude, not to mention their abolitionism. This ideal is represented in the Sonata not by chord clusters, not by asymmetry, not even by polyphony, but by a quote, an “oracle” as Ives describes it: the opening bars to Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5:

This section repeats itself in various forms throughout the sonata, some display themselves obviously (such as the “family piano” section in the “Alcott” section), while others are so subtle one might miss them (such as in the Flute Solo in the Thoreau movement). On a side note, “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean” can also be heard toward the end of the Hawthorne movement.

And it’s this piece that shows just how passionate Charles Ives was in his music. To him, music was art and, citing Professor Strut, "The nearer we get to the mere expression of emotion,...the further we get away from art." Of course, hardly anyone during his time agreed with this philosophy, but Ives didn’t care at all what they thought. In fact, the introduction to his Essays is essentially a proverbial middle finger to his critics:

"These prefatory essays were written by the composer for those who can't stand his music—and the music for those who can't stand his essays; to those who can't stand either, the whole is respectfully dedicated."

Charles Ives’ Concord Sonata was not simply a dedication to four controversial men: it was music ahead of its time written for men ahead of their times.

Ives & Contemporaries

During the early portion of the 20^th century, there were a group of composers known as the “American Five”. The American Five was the American answer to (read: shameless Eagleland ripoff of) other composer groups of the time, most notably Russia’s “The Five”. The five men were a group of modernist composers, determined to break from European tradition to find a decidedly American style. What these men came up with has left a legacy whose effects are still being felt to this day. Atonalism is rampant in each of their catalogues, as well as aleatory elements, Serialism, Polytonality and Polyrhythm, among other elements. This group consisted of John J. Becker, Henry Cowell, Wallingford Riegger, and the two men this post will be detailing today, Charles Ives and Carl Ruggles.

Each member of the American Five had their own methods of composing, and these two men are no exception. Ives employed mostly polyphony in his works while Ruggles was contempt with non-serialistic dissonance. But there are times when the two men’s’ works converge and sound almost indistinguishable from one another. Such is the case with their tone poems: Ives’ Three Places in New England and Ruggles’ Sun Treader.

One does not normally associate Charles Ives with Patriotic Music. And it’s true: one would not expect to hear something like this:

in the American songbook. But this poem, Ive’s first major Orchestral Set, is still as American as Apple Pie because the piece is a Melting Pot of American folk tunes.

The 1^st movement, simply titled “The ‘St.-Gaudens’ in Boston Common (Col. Shaw and his Colored Regiment)”, pays tribute to the African Americans who served for the Blue Coats during the Civil War, specifically to the 54^th Massachusetts Regiment. He does this by inserting references and paraphrases to Negro Spirituals like “Massa’s in the Cold Ground” and “Old Black Joe”.

Even if one doesn’t recognize the tunes presented, anyone with a good enough knowledge of Spirituals would recognize the influence. Another way this movement pays tribute to the era is through patriotic songs of the time, like “Marching through Georgia” and “The Battle Cry of Freedom”, among others:

Of course Fort Wagner was held by the Confederates and Negro suffering still flourished, both represented through the polytonicism and chromaticism found in this movement.

On a side note, Ives was very focused on Politics (though whether or not he was Pro-Civil Rights is not known). In fact, he lobbied for a proposition for a 20^th Amendment that would give the People more say in the government. He was unsuccessful, but one can sympathize with his plight, especially when one considers the actual 20^th Amendment to the Constitution.

The second movement, “Putnam’s Camp, Redding, Connecticut”, is also militaristic: in the form of a military band, that is. This pays tribute to the 4^th of July Parades of Ives’ time, borrowing from such blatantly American tunes as “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean” and “Yankee Doodle” among others, in addition to the previously mentioned tunes.

What truly makes this a standout Charles Ives composition is its chaotic use of polyphony. In order to simulate the several Bands one typically finds in a Parade, Ives scores the movement so that various tunes are played at the same time, often in different tempos, keys, and even time signatures. A particularly standout example occurs at 3:44, with a conglomerate of tune playing at the exact same time (ex. The Strings playing “The Battle Cry of Freedom”, the Brass joining in with “Hail Columbia”, etc.)

The final movement, “The Housatonic at Stockbridge”, is based on only one tune, the hymn “Dorrnace” (isolated recording unavailable). It is also the most lyrical of the movements, and not just because it was arranged as a song in 1921. The piece has almost a Debussey-esque air to it, most notably in the Muted Violins throughout the movement and in the Violas and English Horn, suggesting a choir singing the above hymn. Further suggesting this Angelic setting is the fact that this movement is the only one with a set tonic, in Db Major. There’s hardly any dissonance in this movement until near the three minute mark, which is a conglomerate of the other two movements that builds up into a climax that ends the piece in an open cadence in the sub-dominant.

And that’s kind of the underlying motive that links these mind of what links these ovements: each one tells a story. Ives weaves together several musical devices in each movement to create an episode, each one united under a unifying narrative. This is something actually common of a lot of Modernist music: many of them are like paintings: they tell stories mostly without relying on written text. And Ives was by no means the only one to do this.

Carl Ruggles, another member of the American Five, was also a painter, and not just a literal painter, either:

His most famous work, “Sun Treader”, based on a single line from the Robert Browning poem “Pauline” (Sun-treader, light and life be thine forever), this piece captures the essence of the poem flawlessly. The piece is jarring, it’s frustrating, and it is restless, just like the narrator of the poem.

http://intercapillaryspace.blogspot.com/2007/04/robert-brownings-pauline.html

In the above blog post, the poem has been interpreted as being about the narrator’s inability to focus on the narrative of poetry. Ruggles’ use of his trademark dissonance is also a good way to visualize the narrator’s internal conflict. In the poem, the Narrator’s mind is restless, always going from one idea to another. Such is what Ruggles also suggests, with various leaps and falls and wild shifts in dynamics scattered throughout the piece. All these elements come together to create a narrative that is shared with the poem on which it is based. Sun Treader: a poem as unforgiving as a star in the sky.

Charles Ives and Carl Ruggles were friends in real life, even though their composition styles usually differed. They were mostly ignored throughout their lives by a nation who desired only the status quo. Their compositions were performed only either extremely late into their lives or after those lives were done. But they didn’t care about what anyone said about them. None of the American Five did. They composed what was in their hearts and none of them was going to let anyone else get to them.  And it was their compositions that would shape American Classical music to this very day. The American Five: their presence was overlooked, but their legacy cannot be overstated.       

A look at Experimentalism

When I chose to take this class, I had no idea on what to expect from it. After the first day, however, I somehow had less of an idea of what to expect from it. I inspected the examples of Avant-Garde art presented to me by our teacher with a mixed sense of wonder and confusion. Often times I would ask myself just what the hell I was looking at and at least once, I had to leave the classroom because it was too much for me. When the presentation had finished, we were asked to label what we felt were the differences between “Avant-Garde” music and “Experimentalism” music. For my post, I will explore moreso the latter, as I feel it relates most directly to my experiences in during that first class.

Avant-Garde music is music of experiments and new ideas. First developed during the dawn of the 20^th century, it was a departure from the norm. Experimentalism, though, is a departure of the norm of Avant-Garde. Some composers, such as John Cage and David Nicholls, felt like Avant-Garde was too rooted in tradition. “…(An) extreme position in the tradition”, Nicholls noted, but a position nonetheless. 

The term “Experimentalism”  first came into use around 1955. In my observation, two words can be used to describe it: “audacious”. Experimental music is Music with an unforeseeable outcome.

Take the John Cage piece 4’ 33” for only one example. First written in 1952, no two performances are ever the same. Why?

Because not a single note of music was ever written down. Three movements, all tacet, the performer sitting there doing nothing, letting the environment perform for them.

It certainly must’ve been a shock to those who first heard this piece. In a way, this is John Cage trolling the audience. To this day, there are some people who refuse to call 4’33” music.

4’33” is but one example of Experimentalism, music so unusual that people don’t know what to make of it. And it is only one of countless ways Experimentalism is so audacious.

And it’s not only performances that are so unusual, but also the way it is notated. Even in Avant-Garde music, standard music notation is typically adhered to. Experimentalism however, though standard notation is used, it is still a whole other matter entirely. In common forms, the sheet music consists of a few ideas plus a list of instructions that wouldn’t be out of place in Ikea. Other manuscripts, though,

…look as though they belong in a museum.

There is no doubt about it: from electronic pieces for loudspeakers to a series of sequences repeated ad nauseum, Experimentalism is unpredictable. Not to say Avant-Garde music isn’t audacious in its own right, but Experimental music is even more so. There is a sense of security with Avant-Garde that is incinerated with Experimentalism:  the listener comes in expecting one thing and ends up getting something completely different.

I had a similar experience in my first Avant-Garde class. I came in expecting a straight forward explanation of the class and what was expected of us. And that’s exactly what I got…after one of the most in-your-face Power Points I had ever experienced.  It was audacious and unpredictable, just like Experimentalism. And I walked out feeling shaken, but better prepared for what I may hear and see next. And I look forward to it.

I had no idea what I would get myself in to that first class period. This is also true for Experimentalism: there’s no telling what will happen.