In this issue: The Anguish and Grandeur of Haydn's "Nelson Mass," performed by Trevor Pinnock and the English Concert
There's been considerable talk in Objectivist circles about value-sharing. I take value-sharing to mean the pooling of experience among Objectivists so as to minimize the amount of searching each of us has to do on our own to find values in the world. The primary values to be shared would seem to artistic ones, although I suppose worthwhile news publications, good restaurants, etc. would count, too.
In any case, it occurred to me that my contribution to value-sharing could be music. I occasionally have seen Objectivists write about music. Unfortunately what they usually discuss is the band Rush, which is certainly not to my taste, and which, even if it were, is only one possible value in a sea of musical possibilities. I think I can broaden the scope quite a bit (and I hope others will chime in as well).
I'm a musical collector, and my collection (about 1000 CDs) ranges over many genres. I love things ranging from Telemann to Tennessee Ernie Ford to Tuvan throat singing. In most of the genres I collect I do a fair amount of backround reading (liner notes, reviews, magazine articles, etc.) so I can usually deliver an informed opinion.
I hasten to add that I am not an undiscriminate eclectic. There are quite a few things I do not like or even violently dislike, too. I've known an Objectivist or two who connects to the drama and epic sweep of Wagner, but to me he's just an overblown wind-bag. And as much as I like so-called world music, I don't get very much out of most Celtic music, even though this (along with Latin music) is probably the biggest category of world music in the U.S. market.
I must add too that I am not an "expert" on the subject of music. I don't play a musical instrument. I have no musicological training. I can only just barely read music and pick out a melody on a piano. I do, however, come from a musical family. I have been exposed to more kinds of music than almost anyone I know. And I have a good ear and an excellent memory.
So I thought I would try writing a "column" of musical reviews, eight or ten albums a month, my poor health permitting, and we'll see if anyone else joins in the discussion. I would also appreciate feedback from anyone who's getting anything out of these reviews so that I will know whether to continue expending the effort. I would also be happy to make recommendations if anyone wants to know what a good album in a particular category would be. And of course, I'd love to know what music other Objectivists find especially good so that I might check it out for my own pleasure.
This time I will review one of my favorite classical albums. Next time we'll examine the arctic splendor of one of Scandanavia's leading folk groups, Hedningarna ("The Heathens"), with their new album, "Karelia Visa," and we'll have a look at the roots of rock 'n' roll with "The King's Recond Collection, The Original Versions of Songs Later Recorded by Elvis Presley," volume one.
So, all that having been said, let's get to it:
HAYDN, THE NELSON MASS, TREVOR PINNOCK AND THE ENGLISH CONCERT, Deutsche Grammaphon
Joseph Haydn (1732-1809) is a slightly neglected figure in the history of classical music, even though he is the father of the modern symphony and the string quartet. He is overshadowed by his contemporary, Mozart, and his student, Beethoven. For some he is the epitome of "good but not great."
I think this is unfair. While Haydn was not the boy wonder Mozart was or the mercurial genius Beethoven was, he was inventive, productive and possessed of a steady, benevolent and grand sense of life. One of his greatest works came in the twilight of his career when his patrons the Esterhazy family gave him leave to travel Europe and only asked him to write one setting of the mass every year for the prince's wife.
The problem in writing the 1798 mass was that the Esterhazy prince had let go a large portion of his servant-musicians. Haydn was left with neither horns (i.e. "French" horns) nor a wind section. So he came up with a startling solution. He scored the mass for strings, trumpets, timpani and organ. This gives the mass a huge, almost overwhelming sound.
The formal name of the mass is "Missa in angustiis ", which means "mass in straitened times." A more idiomatic translation might be "mass in time of anguish." Like Haydn's "Mass in Time of War," it was written during Napoleon's conquest of Europe. Things were pretty scary around the Esterhazy estate then, and the guns could often be heard in the distance. The nickname "Nelson Mass" comes from Lord Admiral Nelson, who defeated Napoleon at the Battle of the Nile in 1798. The mass seems to have been written before Nelson's victory, but Nelson later visited the Esterhazys and heard it, and it seemed to symbolize the terror and triumph of battle, so the name stuck.
For those who don't know, the Catholic mass is a popular rite to set to music. It comes in a set order of sections: a "Kyrie" where God's mercy is asked for, a "Gloria" where God is praised, a "Credo" which is a statement of faith, etc. A little abbreviation or "editing" of the mass is permissable, and some settings do not include all the sections. I mention this because one of the most important things to know about classical music (Western and non-Western) is the way in which well-known frameworks or patterns serve as the basis of individual interpretation and improvisation.
It is futile to try to convey in words the exact sound of the Nelson Mass. Its opening Kyrie begins with a terrifying, organ-dominated fanfare somewhat reminiscent of the first movement of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. The imprecation for the Lord's mercy (Kyrie eleison) seems directed toward a foreboding Old Testament personage, while the plea for mercy from Christ (Christe eleison) is directed at a more loving New Testament figure. The soprano who leads the prayer, Felicity Lott, has a gorgeous golden voice, just slightly mannered, but not arch or shrill as in the manner of the worst stereotype sopranos.
The Kyrie is the most striking movement, although the Gloria is ravishingly joyous and the Benedictus comes to a climax of anguish perhaps unequalled between the opening of Bach's St. John Passion or in Brahms's German Requiem. The trumpets and drums pound behind the chorus in a rhythm again reminscent of Beethoven's Fifth. Things end on a grand note, as in much religious music, because Christ always rides in to the rescue.
Since the Nelson Mass isn't long enough to fill an entire CD there is also a setting by Haydn of the Te Deum, which is kind of a mini-mass praising God. It is very bouncy and benevolent, almost jazzy in its rhythms. It is scored for a standard orchestra without the organ.
Now I want to add two notes not directly related to this piece in anticipation of questions Objectivists might have:
First, why should an Objectivist listen to religious music? The answer as Rand mentions in her Introduction to _The Fountainhead_ is that the high moral concepts appropriated by religion do have real referents. Worship, reverence, sanctity and the like are rightfully directed at man, not God. If you keep this in mind - and if your Latin is as bad as mine - it is a simple matter to ignore the overtly religious message and just experience the grandeur.
Second, isn't most classical music "malevolent" in its sense of life and therefore better avoided in favor of something positive (like Rush)? The answer to this question is an emphatic No. If a generalization about "most" classical music is possible, then it would be that most of it is boring, not malevolent. (This is because the bulk of classical music was written by second-raters as background noise for aristocratic parties.) But the famous stuff, like Beethoven, is not especially malevolent either. I am not sure where Rand got the idea that it was, unless it was from the fact that it isn't always jolly. But then, neither are Rand's novels.
Art must encompass both the anguish and the triumph of life. Most great composers, like Rand in her novels, include the anguish as a prelude to the triumph. This can be easily seen in works like Beethoven's Fifth, which is commonly thought of as dark because of its opening. One needs to listen to the whole symphony to judge it, not just the opening. (Even the first movement isn't gloomy throughout.) Furthermore, even the darkness in great music is glorious. It impresses upon life a sense of grandeur even in suffering, that echoes Rand's notion of a pain that only goes down to a certain point.
This may not be true of some modern composers, like maybe Stravinsky, who are more bent on mockery than anything else, but it still holds for many other moderns, even ones like Shostakovich, for whom mockery and irony are substantial aesthetic elements. Shostakovich's music communicates to me the suffering of a great soul living in a monstrously absurd situations, i.e. Stalin's Russia. It does not seem to me to spit on greatness as such.
But compared to the moderns, Haydn is uncomplicated. His music is the epitome of decency and emotional grandeur.
One last note: it is tempting to save money by getting a bargain version of a classical piece that sounds intriguing. My advice is: Don't do it unless you get a chance to listen to it first or unless you are familiar with the orchestra from other recordings. Musicians and conductors are very much not interchangable.
For "Real Audio" sound samples from CDNow, click here.