Notes On A Silence

A small part of my world has just come unhinged.

Today I looked at the score for Beethoven's 9th Symphony for the first time in forever, and for what I believe to be the first time ever, I noticed how it ends.

It does not end with a strong, rapid set of chords that bring the piece to a rousing finish.

It ends with silence. Indeed, with an extended silence.

See for yourself:

There's the last chord, then a quarter rest - then a half rest to finish the measure. But the half rest has a FERMATA.

For those who don't know, the fermata is the symbol you see above each measure at the end which looks like a dot sitting under an arch. It means "hold this note longer than usual." Or in this case, "hold this silence longer than usual." There's no hard and fast rule for conductors or performers to tell them how long to hold a fermata. 

So the 9th ends with a silence which Beethoven wants the conductor and orchestra to hold for longer than the two beats of the half rest. How long? Well, in theory the silence could last forever (musicians,check me on this if I'm wrong). Conductors are at liberty to hold it for as long as makes sense to them, or for as long as feels right.

What's throwing me off is that I never knew that that fermata was there, so I never knew that the symphony ends in silence at all. Having heard the 9th Symphony more times than I can count, I may have never heard it rightly.

How could I? Silence doesn't record well - the only way you know that it is there is when it ends, when some sound comes after it. So I could listen to a thousand recordings of the 9th without ever knowing that it ends in silence, because nothing comes after that silence.

More to the point, how would I know as a member of the audience at a live performance that the symphony ends in silence? If I do not already know the score, will a conductor's gestures tell me, after that final thundering chord, "It's not over. Wait."?

In this performance by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Riccardo Muti clearly ends with the chord (start at 1:18:00 if you have, you know, less than 80 minutes to spare):

Conversely, Leonard Bernstein seems to take the silence to heart at the end of this performance by members of assorted orchestras on Christmas, 1989, which celebrated the end of the Berlin Wall. Indeed, whether due to exhaustion or to emotional fullness, he stands quietly even after the audience erupts in applause (1:25:00 and following).

Did this audience know that the symphony ends in silence? I can't tell.

This is pretty certain: Beethoven wrote all of his works for live performances, not recorded ones. With each, he wanted to evoke something from a live audience.  What was Beethoven after in crafting the ending we have here? Did he want, in the end, to evoke an awe that stuns men into silence?

I have no idea, yet. In order to have a clue, I need to read some conductors' tutorials or something. Meanwhile, the next time I conduct the finale of the 9th in my living room (come on, some of you have done it), I'll end with silence, and open myself to awe.

What do you think?

For Classical Music Lovers, And Others Willing To Experiment

(THIS IS MY 300TH POST PUBLISHED ON THIS BLOG. YAY, ME!)

My life, my world, just got better. Here's why:

In 1972-73, I spent 18 months as a soldier at USARBCO - the U.S. Army Base Command Okinawa - as a reporter for the base newspaper.

It was a great time. I was in my early 20s, I was half a world away from home, I was single, I was free to become whatever me I chose.

In part, that meant discovering more of the joys of classical music. And one of the high points of that particular journey occurred when I came across a recording in the PX of a symphony by a modern Swedish composer whom I had never heard of - Allan Pettersson.

It was his Symphony #7, conducted by Antal Dorati. I bought it, took it back to my apartment, and from its opening measures, was transported by some of the most arresting, dramatic, and at times heartbreakingly beautiful, music I had ever heard, in a single movement lasting some 40 minutes.

Allan Pettersson became a hero to me, and his seventh symphony my model of what a symphony should be - which became important as I struggled to compose one (it remains unfinished).

Some time after I moved to Pittsburgh, and began hanging out in the Music Room of the main Carnegie Library in Oakland, I was able to check out the score, and experience the thrill of watching the music take shape on the page as I listened to it.

I fantasized about hearing a live performance - but Pettersson was still so largely unknown that I never got my hopes up.

Indeed, for years I never even found a recording of any of his other works. After a point, I stopped trying.

Now comes the happy part. I've just learned that a lot of other people have discovered Allan Pettersson. Much more of Pettersson's work has been recorded, beginning with multiple recordings of the 7th (the original Dorati recording reappeared under different labels). Beyond that, his other works have entered the catalogue, including a CD box set of all 16 (!) of his symphonies, featuring two orchestras (the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra and the Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Saarbrucken) and seven conductors.



That set, which is definitely going on my Amazon wish list, dates from 2007. It will be joined by a competitor in 2018, when the Norrkoping Symphony Orchestra plans to release a box set of Pettersson's complete symphonies, including the unfinished and previously unrecorded 17th Symphony.

Just knowing that there is now so much more Pettersson available makes the my life, my world, better.

I look forward to resuming my exploration of Pettersson's musical universe - and more than that, connecting with fellow Pettersson-philes (beginning, I hope, with "AP100", who, in 2011 - Pettersson's centennial year - set him/herself the challenge of listening to all of the composer's orchestral works).

For now, let me share with you the piece that introduced me to one of the 20th Century's leading symphonists: the 7th Symphony, performed by the Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra, under the direction of Antal Dorati. If it touches you the way it did me, you will also want more Allan Pettersson:

Fantasy in advance of a playoff game

The Steelers have a playoff game at 6:00.

I plan to go grocery shopping at 6:00, because I know the store will be empty.

I've often wished that I cared enough about football to fully enter the experience of watching a game with a group of Brothas.

But while I'm wishing, I may as well fantasize about what I would really love to have happen...

I'm at an extended family gathering. Nice sunny day, food everywhere. My wife and I arrive, and she gravitates toward the kitchen, where a bunch of women have congregated.

The sound of male voices pulls me toward the basement. The ManCave. Yeah, the Brothas are here, and they are whooping it up big-time.

"Whoa! Check him out, check him out!"

"No, wait. Listen, y'all, listen!. You got to hear this!"

The voices quiet, and I hear...an orchestra, with strings leading an upward line capped by a trill by the flutes. I know this music...it's Mahler's Second Symphony, one of my favorites!

Just as I enter, one brotha's enthusiasm pushes him to his feet.

"Did you hear that? Did you get that trill? I am telling you, nobody does Mahler like Lenny! Not Bruno Walter, not Herbert van Karajan. NO-BO-DY!"

He's blocking their view of Leonard Bernstein and the London Symphony Orchestra on the giant flatscreen TV, not to mention drowning out the high-end sound system.

"Man, sit down and let us listen to this thing!"

They acknowledge me with the reverse nod, "Sup, bruh," and make room for me on the couch.

And my heart leaps with joy. I am at home among my brothers like never before, not needing to pretend to care about a touchdown or a dunk shot. I am with Black men who are instead passionate indeed about crescendos and decrescendos and melody and harmony and counterpoint and orchestration...

Someone pushes a cooler toward me with his foot. I reach in, grab a beer, and pop it open. A root beer. No shame in my game.

As the symphony unfolds, we alternately high-five well-turned phrases, add our voices to the timpani, ("Boom, boom, boom!") and co-conduct our favorite parts. And sometimes we all quiet ourselves together because it is just too good to do anything but listen, listen, listen from the core of our beings.

And at the explosive, heaven-storming conclusion, some of us can't hold back.

We do chest bumps.

"Aufersteh'n, ja aufersteh'n! That's what I'm talkin about!!"

How the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra lost a sale

Last night, my wife and I went to a concert by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. The program consisted of Verdi's overture to "La Forza del Destino," a Concerto for Clarinet and Orchestra by Alan Fletcher (in its world premiere), and Strauss' "Ein Heldenleben."

Before the concert started, a message on the projector screens on either side of the stage announced that the weekend's performances were to be recorded for a CD. It gave the name of the record label producing the CD and I think it said the CD would be available in the fall.

I don't think I had ever attended a performance before that was being recorded for an CD, and I leaned over to Janet and joked, "If we clap loud enough, we might hear ourselves on the CD!"

Joking aside, the announcement created a sense of anticipation within me, as I believe it was intended to do. That anticipation was heightened at the end of the concert, when Janet told me that she had enjoyed "Ein Heldenleben." That meant that the coming CD might make a valuable addition of our collection.

As we went out into the lobby, I was ready to buy the CD, although it did not yet exist. I asked three different people if there was a way for me to sign on to a list so that I could be notified when the CD came out. None of them knew the answer, although the last person told me that someone at the PSO's store, "The Curtain Call," might know.

"The Curtain Call" is in a separate building, half a block away. The garage in which I had parked my car was closer.

I went to my car.

I read somewhere once about a rock concert that was recorded live. When audience members left the auditorium, they were able to buy fresh-minted CDs on their way out. I do not expect that alacrity of production from the PSO; I accept the fact that their CD will not appear for months. But I see no reason why they could not have had a table set up in the lobby, where a charming person could capture my credit card information and place me on a list to receive a copy of their new CD by mail when it becomes available.

Now it apparently falls on me to keep an eye out over the next several months for an announcement of the CD's availability; then, when it is available, to visit "The Curtain Call" - either going on my lunch hour, or making a special trip Downtown - to buy it.

The odds of all that happening are slim to none.

I was ready to give them my money last night. They should have been ready to take it.