The Inauguratory Theme

of the Adagio from Bruckner’s Symphony No. 9

as Paradigmatic of a “Second Practice”
of 19th Century Tonality

by

Peter A. VanDyke

1 June 2011

A thesis submitted to the

Faculty of the Graduate School of
the University at Buffalo, State University of New York
in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the
degree of

Master of Arts

Department of Music
 UMI Number: 1495474

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© Peter A. VanDyke

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ii
 iii

Contents

Abstract……iv

Prologue……v

I. Introduction……1

II. A Brief Review of Recent Efforts to Interpret the Theme……9

III. The Inauguratory Theme: Counterpoint and the “Dresden Amen”……18

IV. Semiotics, Improvisation, and Romantic Myth……38

Bibliography……43
 iv

Abstract

“The inauguratory theme of the Adagio from Bruckner’s Symphony No. 9 as

paradigmatic of a ‘second practice’ of nineteenth-century tonality”
by Peter A. VanDyke, Master of Arts, Music Theory, University at Buffalo.

Though few would argue against the notion of an inherently tonal quality

within the music of Anton Bruckner, recent decades have seen a profusion of

frustrated efforts to parse the seemingly ambiguous harmonic nature of his

symphonic compositions. Indeed, Bruckner’s compositional output has largely

defied comprehensive analytical attempts from either Schenkerian or neo-

Riemannian-functionalist perspectives. The difficulties encountered by music

theorists has led, in part, to a significant exclusion of the composer’s oeuvre from

discussion concerning Austro-Germanic music of the late-Romantic era. Yet,

there can be no denying Bruckner’s prominence as a composer, instrumentalist,

and teacher of harmony and counterpoint in Vienna through the waning years of

the nineteenth century.

Motivated by analyses by Derrick Puffett and Charles Smith, and

employing as its primary source the initial thematic statement from the third

movement of Bruckner’s final, unfinished symphony, this study chiefly refrains

from deciphering the harmonic framework of the music in favor of a contrapuntal

reading of essential voice leading. In addition to motivic analyses, justification for

such an approach derives from evaluation of the composer’s socio-cultural

background and musical training, which suggest that Bruckner was composing

from an inclination rooted as much in the Baroque, as it was pre-modern.

 v

Prologue

I offer as rationale for my deliberate use of a seemingly archaic, and

possibly obsolete, adjective in my title, “inauguratory”: the Oxford English

Dictionary defines the adjectival application of the word as “pertaining to

inauguration” that is, “initiating or causing to begin.” In addition, this august

resource offers the following as synonyms:

• Christened;

• Inaugural;

• Inaugurative;

• Dedicational.

In the body of this thesis, I propose that Bruckner, in the composition of the initial

theme to the third movement of his final and unfinished symphony, was culling

from a part of his musical heritage that predated expectations of harmonic

progression and chord voicing current in Vienna of his day. Furthermore, given

that Bruckner had resolved to “inscribe” the symphony to God and intended a Te

Deum as finale, it seems fitting to apply an inordinate descriptor to such a

sublime, semiotically lush phrase of music.

In concluding this component of my graduate studies, I express my

heartfelt appreciation to Dr. Martha Hyde, my advisor and principal reader, for

her patience and enthusiastic encouragement. Thank you, also, to Professors

Charles Smith, James Currie, and Richard Plotkin for their willingness to read

and/or discuss the work at various stages of completion. The germ for this study

resulted from a graduate seminar with Professor Smith on nineteenth- and early
 vi

twentieth-century chromatic music; sensing my genuine interest in this subject,

he continued as a wellspring of knowledge and insight.

For her tireless assistance in navagating a myriad administrative issues

encountered, I also must thankfully acknowledge Karen Sausner, director of

Student Programs for the Department of Music.

To my mother, Patricia Lyons Van Dyke, my deepest gratitude for her

indefatigable support on innumerable levels. The same, as well, to my eight

sisters and brothers who, though scattered across the United States, remained

available to me through periods of intellectual and spiritual uncertainty.

Finally, I offer remembrance for James Kurzdorfer, a masterful musician

and magnificent teacher and mentor. Jim always delighted in sharing with me

some fresh perspective on augmented sixths, set theory, or the wonderment of

tritone substitutes, and my life is so much richer for having known him as a

colleague and friend.

 1

As a focus for analysis, Bruckner has been a victim of the theoretical and
canonical preconceptions upon which the mainstream of analytical
practice has been based. Commonly adopted notions of thematic process,
and the influential prolongational model of tonality, both evolved in
response to a common practice that was considered to culminate in the
music of Brahms. Bruckner’s perceived tangential relationship to the
mainstream is thus more a matter of the shortcomings of theory than it is a
measure of Bruckner’s compositional practice…. [D]oing analytical justice
to Bruckner may involve nothing less than a wholesale revision of what we
consider the norms of “the classical-romantic tradition” to be.1

I. Introduction

The symphonic legacy of Anton Bruckner has endured a century’s worth

of vitriol and rejection. Indeed, principal among the composer’s most ardent

detractors (while yet professing a steadfast fondness for Bruckner as a friend)

was his former pupil, theorist Heinrich Schenker. Indeed, frequently cited in

discussion of Bruckner’s compositional style is the declaration as noted by

Schenker in Harmonielehre: “My teacher, a composer of high renown, used to

say… ‘Look, gentlemen, this is the rule. Of course, I don’t compose that way.’”2

Edward Laufer, referring to this assertion, and as if to defend Bruckner’s

symphonic legacy (as well as Laufer’s own extended analysis of the Scherzo and

Adagio of Bruckner’s Ninth), writes:

1
Horton, Bruckner's Symphonies, 22.
2
Schenker, Harmony, 177. The quotation is from a footnote in which he continues:
“What marvelous snarls of contradictions! One believes in rules which should be laughed
at; one pokes fun at them rather than ridicule one’s own belief in them! And if there are
rules which lack any reasonable sense—whence they ought to be considered
nonexistent—and if, for this very reason, a relationship, let alone a contrast, between that
alleged rule, on the one hand, and art, on the other, is out of the question, how odd it is to
behold this or that individual assuming the pose of a hero who allegedly transgresses the
rule! Can there be heroism more amusing, more lacking in substance? If they only knew
how whatever they write, even in their most audacious moments, is deeply rooted in rules
and norms, albeit quite different ones!”
 2

If there were fundamental musical principles which had evolved from the
nature of musical art, how could these arbitrarily be disregarded and
mocked? In fact, perhaps Bruckner … was not disregarding and scorning
these musical laws which were taught for good reason; rather, he was
intuitively obeying others which took precedence: laws whose existence
may not have been apparent to his technical consciousness. That is, there
were principles which Bruckner could readily enunciate to his pupils, just
as surely as there were those which he, like any great composer, could
know by intuition. The latter he could not have conceptualized, and hence
was unable and even unconcerned to explain them. He followed them
nonetheless.3

One might interpret a seemingly contrary assessment from Timothy Jackson’s

introductory statement to his discussion of Bruckner’s approach to composition in

the New Grove Dictionary:

Bruckner is one of the few front-rank composers to have adopted an

analyst’s perspective vis-à-vis his own and other composers’ music.
Although the literature has focused on his “obscurantist” side—his
religiosity and mysticism—there was a profoundly rational and analytical
aspect to his thinking, intimately connected with his composition and
revision processes.4

On the surface, Laufer’s and Jackson’s positions appear to contradict one

another starkly—perhaps essentially canceling each other. Rather, I suspect

each, in effect, is examining opposite sides of the same phenomenon. The fact

that Bruckner’s oeuvre has consistently defied theorists’ efforts to objectify its

composition to satisfy one analytical method or another may reflect more on the

analyst’s limitations than Bruckner’s liabilities as a composer. Julian Horton offers

this assessment:

It is perhaps emblematic of Bruckner’s location on the margins of musical

analysis that current debate over the applicability of established theoretical

3
Laufer, "Some Aspects of Prolongation Procedures in the Ninth Symphony," 209.
(Italics are Laufer’s.)
4
Jackson, Ҥ8. Metrical Part-Writing Theories, Composition and Revision Processes,"
471.
 3

models to his music should have developed at a time when their influence
has waned in the face of postmodern or ‘new’ musicological critiques.
Belated realization that the symphonies are, albeit problematically,
susceptible to voice-leading analysis, or that they stand in an analytically
profitable relationship with the topical and formal discourses of the
Beethovenian symphony, has ironically coincided with a fundamental
reappraisal of the aims and methods of analysis, amidst a general
redefinition of institutional priorities. It is a further irony that the admission
of Bruckner to the analytical canon has, at least partly, entailed critical
reappraisal of the limitations of the theories applied.5

Indeed, as Horton later emphasizes, “the source of … problems [in analyzing

Bruckner’s compositions] is analytical theory, not Brucknerian practice.”6

There have been numerous factors for dismissal of Bruckner from among

the greatest of nineteenth century Austro-Germanic composers. As a composer

and teacher in Vienna at the twilight of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, he was

caught amidst the contentious acrimony between disciples of Johannes Brahms

and apologists for Richard Wagner. Similarly, the appropriation of Bruckner by

the German National Socialists of the Third Reich generated a backlash of

antipathy toward the long-deceased composer. I am not interested in entertaining

or repudiating many of these in this paper, nor do I wish to engage in

musicological revisionism or reappraisal concerning Bruckner’s canonical status

in European music literature.7 Rather, my study is motivated by a desire to

pinpoint what makes the introductory theme from the Adagio of Symphony No. 9

5
Horton, 92.
6
Ibid, 95.
7
Horton’s study details numerous ideological obstacles, nationalistic and musicological,
significant to the acceptance of Bruckner and his music beginning in the composer’s
lifetime and continuing into the late twentieth century. Likewise, Edward Laufer provides
background to Schenker’s dismissive attitude toward Bruckner’s compositions as preface
to an application of Schenkerian methodology in analysis of the second and third
movements of Symphony No. 9.
 4

work as tonal music—despite apparent inconsistencies with traditional tonal

procedures. I sense, however, that at the root of analytical difficulties critics and

theorists appear to have held concerning Bruckner’s compositional practice is the

assessment that his music tends not to easily fit the analytical models commonly

applied in discussion of music from the Classical and Romantic eras. I fear the

tendency in such thinking has continued: if the composition does not fit the

prescribed analytical model, it must be flawed and, thus, of little value.

In addition to an intense, abiding fondness for the music of the Adagio

from Bruckner’s unfinished final symphony, much of what I present here has

been inspired by musicologist Julian Horton, composer Robert Simpson, and

theorist Derrick Puffett. Having stated this, I must likewise admit that much of the

work I offer has been prompted as much by an indefinable, almost intuitive,

curiosity concerning the workings of this music. Therefore, I have chosen to stray

from the more conventional norms of theoretical analysis into what Horton might

refer to as a “tonal ‘second practice.’”8 Therefore, I defer debate about the

harmony of the theme in favor of an emphasis on melodic voice leading and

rhythm. Given Bruckner’s provenance—the rural north-west region of early-

nineteenth century Austria, his formative musical education centered in large part

on traditional Austro-Catholic liturgy and music, a well acknowledged background

as a church organist and in improvisation on that instrument, and his lengthy

course of study under Viennese theorist Simon Sechter—I focus on thematic

8
Horton, 94.
 5

material studied from an essentially contrapuntal perspective.9 In so doing, I

approach the theme as a composition exhibiting attributes more commonly

associated with fugal traditions of the Baroque era and possibly springing from

Bruckner’s training in improvisation. Furthermore, my primary concern in this

study is the thematic material of the first seven measures of the Adagio, with

additional consideration of subsequent passages likely informed by these bars.

Therefore, the principal subject of my study is mm. 1-7, the inauguratory theme

of the Adagio from Bruckner’s Symphony No. 9.

Example I.1, mm. 1-7 (Reduction)10

For my analysis, I use the 1951 score edited by Leopold Nowak and

published in 1995 by Ernst Eulenburg Ltd. (see Examples I.2 and I.3). For

simplicity, however, I make use of a grand staff reduction drawn from Walter

Piston’s Harmony (shown as Example I.1); I find this choice justified as Piston’s

presentation corresponds to the reduction prepared by Puffett, as well as the

1903 piano reduction for two hands realized by Ferdinand Löwe. Furthermore, in

my analytical sketches I apply a notational methodology devised by Charles

9
In the past two decades, there has been renewed interest in Bruckner’s background, both
socio-cultural and musical. Hawkshaw and Jackson’s biographic entry in The New Grove
is a fine thumbnail sketch. Additionally, Simpson’s introduction is as elegant as it is
succinct; John Williamson’s and Andrea Harrandt’s essays which open Williamson’s
(ed.) Cambridge Companion are also recommended.
10
Piston, Harmony, 533. See also Puffett, “Bruckner’s Way,” 51; and Löwe, IX
Symphonie … für Klavier zu 2 Händen, 57.
 6

Smith, introduced in his chapter from Music Theory, Special Topics.11

11
Smith, “Prolongations and Progressions as Musical Syntax,” 139-74. In particular, I am
drawing from the open- and closed-note system Smith employs in his presentation of
musical figures (as an example, see Smith, 146, Figure 6.2).
 7

Example I.2, Symphony No. 9, Adagio, mm. 1-7

 8

Example I.3, Reprise of the Theme (mm. 77-83)

 9

II. A Brief Review of Recent Efforts to Interpret the Theme

What follows is not—repeat, not—a comprehensive analysis of the sort I

had attempted and, indeed, completed before Laufer’s magnum opus fell
into my hands. There is no need for one. In fact the wonderful thing about
a Schenkerian analysis is that, if well executed, except for purposes other
than comparison, etc., the piece need never be done again. But whereas
there can only be one Schenkerian analysis of a piece as complicated as
the Bruckner, there can be many analyses of it from other perspectives—
all of which may complement the Schenkerian approach in different
ways.12

Since 1997, the English-speaking musicologists and theorists have

witnessed publication of four significant attempts to understand the harmonic

complexities of Bruckner’s Adagio. Interestingly, the first three attempts exploit to

varying degrees the two prevailing methods for analyzing both diatonic and

chromatic tonal music: the approach developed by Schenker and the more

recent method that embraces a Neo-Riemannian model.

Both Laufer and Puffett set out nearly simultaneously with much the same

goal: to explain through a Schenkerian approach the harmonic nuances of

Bruckner’s symphonies using as examples movements from his Ninth

Symphony. While Laufer perseveres in his aims, grappling with both the Scherzo

and Adagio, Puffett admits a considerable measure of quandary, confiding that,

I decided that I couldn’t analyse [sic] the Adagio from a Schenkerian

perspective because I couldn’t analyse the first eight bars. (Terrible
confession! But it seems to me axiomatic that if a principle is going to work
for a piece of music as a whole it ought to work for the first eight bars…).13

Juxtaposed to the analytical approaches of Laufer and Puffett, each

exhibiting noteworthy undercurrents of influence by Heinrich Schenker, Frederick

12
Puffett, “Bruckner’s Way,” 11. (Italics are Puffett’s.)
13
Ibid, 9.
 10

Stocken’s strategy is to return to the theoretical principles that assuredly were

formative in Bruckner’s development as a teacher and composer: the

fundamental-bass theory of the eminent Viennese theorist and composer, Simon

Sechter. This approach, by contrast, essentially steps back into the history of

eighteenth- and nineteenth-century European music and hypothesizes a reading

of the Adagio from Bruckner’s Symphony No. 9 in light of Stocken’s own study of

the teachings of the composer’s final, and likely his most influential, teacher.

Most intriguing in Stocken’s undertaking is not the fact of the effort, but that it has

taken over a century since Bruckner’s death for anyone to have seriously

attempted a thorough application of Sechter’s principles concerning the

sequential model and intermediate fundamentals to the music of his most notable

student (aside from Schubert, who began a brief course of study with Sechter

immediately before the earlier composer’s death in 1828). Moreover, Stocken’s

enterprise, though I became aware of it after I was well underway with my own

attempts, was an inspiration—a validation of the notion of a “second practice” or

means to appreciating Bruckner’s theme. Likewise, even pertaining to the

intrinsic harmony of this music, Stocken’s is a source for considerable pondering:

It seems more than likely that the use of sequence in Bruckner’s mature
style has roots in Sechter’s sequential model…. The other lesson to be
taken from understanding the significance of Sechter’s sequence that is
central to the argument is that Bruckner may sometimes, or often, be
thinking in terms of … unusual third- or fourth-level chordal identities in his
compositional process when a more functional view of his harmony would
tend to identify chords simply as first- or second-level dominants in other
keys, both through habit but also because of what has since come to be
believed about hierarchies of tonal gravity of aural truth itself.14

14
Stocken, Simon Sechter’s Fundamental-Bass Theory and its Influence on the Music of
Anton Bruckner, 99.
 11

On the other hand, in fine-tuning the work initially presented in his

graduate dissertation, Kevin Swinden has sought to

…adopt a method that borrows freely from the traditional and new
approaches to nineteenth-century music, and attempt to bridge the
methodologies through the musical regions that they govern. In this
context, a region may be the result of Schoenbergian vagrant chords that
articulate a transient key, it may be more akin to a Schenkerian
prolongation, or more generally, it may be an area governed by a
particular harmonic function, following Charles J. Smith’s analytical
methods.15

For reasons I later elaborate more fully, an analysis that focuses solely on

the harmonic framework of this theme, to the exclusion of other compositional

considerations, seems to me deeply problematic. The exact nature of this

problem still somewhat eludes me, but I have come to believe that in this specific

theme Bruckner has tapped into an element of music that is essentially pre-tonal,

that is, before there were two principal modes only (major and minor), and prior

to a fundamental reliance on triads and chords. While numerous scholars have

discussed Bruckner’s compositional procedures, I focus specifically on two

whose work seems most relevant to my primary focus: Puffett, and an

unpublished analysis of the theme by Charles Smith, a cogent, three-level

rendering from a functionalist perspective. I choose this tack simply because I

see these as having most informed my analytic conclusions, and I perceive them

as being most germane to the analysis I present.

15
Swinden, “Bruckner and Harmony,” 206.
 12

Example II.1, Laufer’s Schenkerian Interpretation of mm. 1-716

While Laufer resolutely perseveres in his aim to reconcile Brucknerian

composition with principles of Schenkerian “Classicism“ (as shown in Example

II.1), Puffett’s solution to the conundrum cited above by Notes 12 and 13 is to

isolate and consider constituents of the Adagio from a motivic perspective. To

that end, he dissects the score, identifying thirty-three thematic “periods,” and

utilizes an admittedly pragmatic application of Schenkerian methods to analyze

each, both individually as well as in topical clusters. Example II.2, below, is

Puffett’s analysis of the measures I have identified as the initial theme from the

movement. It is important to note that in reconciling analysis of the obvious

chromaticism in mm. 2-6, Puffett identifies the augmented sixth harmonies in m.

2 and m. 4. Of distinct interest, however, is his application of pivots, particularly

with the pronounced downbeat arrivals of D major and B minor triads in m. 5 and

m. 6, respectively, before the climatic E major in m. 7. At this point, Puffett

appears to suggest tonicization of D major in a I-vi motion (D major to B minor),

the progression then pivoting on B minor to a ii-vi-V half-cadence in A major.17 In

addition, among the fascinating aspects of the music highlighted by Puffett’s

16
Laufer (Ex. 23), from Puffett, 10.
17
Here, as later in this paper, I, like Smith, employ the practice in which uppercase
Roman numerals denote major chords, while lowercase indicate minor chords.
 13

analysis, I most appreciate the consideration given to the counterpoint of the

opening measures as well as his citing the apparent Wagnerian references

Bruckner offers from the outset, specifically the “Grail” motif from Parsifal.18

These I will examine more fully in the next section, but I must admit that it was

my examining Puffett’s analysis and reading his accompanying narrative to the

analysis that prompted me to contemplate approaches outside those I would

normally rely on when undertaking a detailed study of the framework of a piece of

music. If I do have any significant criticism concerning Puffett’s efforts, it would

pertain to what I perceive as an overemphasis in relying on triadic progressions

to determine a tonal center. In the analysis I offer in this paper, I seek to advance

an argument suggesting that harmony and progression of vertical elements,

while significant—perhaps preeminent—in the composition of European art

music since the eighteenth century, may be of lesser consequence than other

foundational elements underlying certain specific and unique pieces of music.

18
In addition to the first seven bars, Puffett, 41-4, identifies six variations, in either the
violins or winds, on the “Grail” motif. Sketches accompanying Puffett’s period analyses,
designate partial “Grail” references as: (G); full or extended references are: G.
 14

Example II.2, Puffett’s Analysis of mm. 1-7 (& m. 8)19

19
Puffett, 51.
 15

Example II.3, Smith’s Analysis of mm. 1-720

I find functional elegance in Smith’s tri-level analytical sketch of the first

seven bars of the Adagio (shown as Figure II.3). Truthfully, of the several

analyses I have reviewed in the preparation of this thesis, to me, this

presentation makes the most sense. Likely, part of the ease I find in reading this

20
Smith, “Bruckner, Symphony # 9 (Draft Analysis).”
 16

analysis stems from having reviewed similar sketches prepared by Smith of

numerous, varied selections of chromatic music. In addition, I know that some

impetus for his completing this analysis was a result of frequent conversations he

and I have shared concerning Bruckner and this theme.

The elegance I detect in this sketch arises essentially out of its linearity;

without seeming overly banal, I see it as possessing the necessary elements

common to every satisfying narrative, exhibiting a beginning, middle, and ending.

Additionally, the linearity of the presentation readily illustrates the obvious

harmonic complexity of the music, especially in the ambiguities of mm. 3, 4, and

5. Even past the surface—or first level, the harmonic content of these three

measures seemingly could progress almost anywhere. By the third level, having

stripped away virtually all tones construed as embellishments, still there is no

clear statement of harmonic progression until the D major triad in m. 5. At that

point, Smith, like Puffett, suggests as the strongest harmony a IV-(ii)-vi-V

progression in the key of A major, though, honestly, Smith does not seem

thoroughly convinced of this: He does not sketch the figure as any sort of

cadential statement in A major. Rather, the progression simply tails off the right-

hand margin of the page. Otherwise, the only seemingly consistent statement of

marginally sustained harmony may be suggesting E as tonal center with a

presumed V progressing through a German sixth to the diminished iv in m. 4.

The progression then resumes at the mid-point of m. 6 with a first-inversion of a

presumed half-diminished vii7 preparing the E major triad in m. 7. Note also the

frequency of proposed chords presented in quotation marks. This is akin to the

 17

Schenkerian practice of parenthesizing elements of a musical line because they

are implied rather than stated outright. While I thoroughly understand and

appreciate from a musicological standpoint the esoteric—even uncanny—

tendencies afoot in nineteenth century Austria and Germany, I personally find

this custom unsatisfactory, especially in reference to Bruckner. Drawing once

more on Bruckner’s background and training, I doubt he was possessed of the

duplicitous nature of his age: If he had intended a half-diminished seventh chord

in first inversion, I suspect he would have written it as such. That said, I

nonetheless would greatly enjoy, at some future point, reading an accompanying

narrative to Smith’s functional analysis of this theme. I am confident that it would

be every bit as insightful and entertaining as Puffett’s.

Emboldened, therefore, by Puffett’s afore-cited cri de cœur on behalf of

“other perspectives” and inspired by Smith’s coaxing to scrutinize the myriad

facets of this theme, in the next sections I proffer my own interpretation of these

seven evocative measures.

 18

III. The Inauguratory Theme:

Counterpoint and the “Dresden Amen”

Perhaps it is the somewhat cryptic term itself which accounts for the fact
that, among all the branches of the “gray theory” of music, counterpoint
sounds the most theoretical, the most scientific…. The innocent layman
would rather link the term to higher mathematics or physics than to a thing
as live, serene and lovely as music. Just as melody must be a matter of
sheer inspiration…counterpoint is a matter of sheer speculation—the one
as close to nature as the other far from it.21

The study of counterpoint is above all the study of voice leading.

Wherever there is voice leading, wherever there exists motion and
direction of voices, in any style or period, there is counterpoint.22

Example III.1, the Melody and Bass of the Theme (mm. 1-7)

a. 1st Violins (Melody)

b. Cellos and Contrabasses (Bass Line)

Writing of the Adagio from Symphony 9, Simpson offers what is a most

poignant characterization of the introductory theme:

…the most tortuous music Bruckner ever wrote. It is a search for a way
out of the terrors and horrors of the first two movements and it is at the
same time a search for a tonality, beginning with an agonized minor ninth
that twists back on itself to an equally distressed major seventh.23

21
Toch, The Shaping Forces in Music, 133.
22
Salzer and Schachter, Counterpoint in Composition, xvii. (Italics are those of the
authors.)
23
Simpson, The Essence of Bruckner, 191.
 19

Indeed, the melody of the opening theme, presented by the first violins

and shown in Example III.1a, is sublimely straightforward as it is suggestive.

While the lower strings articulate the theme’s bass (shown as Example III.1b),

the second violins, violas, winds, and horns supply harmonic accents in the

middle voices or, at times, partially double phrases of the theme in unison with

the first violins.

My initial study of this theme, shown in Figure III.1, just months after

hearing a live performance,24 focused on its harmonic components: identifying

harmonic progression, sequences, and non-chord tones. Influenced in part by

Swinden’s work,25 I first posited preparation of a cadential statement at m. 7 by

means of augmented sixth chords and an interruption of dominant motion,

culminating in a subdominant to tonic progression in mm. 6 and 7.

At that time, my analytic conclusion was that Bruckner opens the Adagio

with scale degree (hereafter, SD) 5 in the key of E (major or minor). However, at

this point the theme projects no clear statement of dominant harmony. On the

contrary, within the first three measures the music progresses through what

appear to be augmented sixth sonorities until arriving at an A diminished triad on

the second beat of m. 3. Interestingly, a diminished iv chord may function as a

dominant because it possesses the leading tone as its fifth (in this case, E♭). On

the musical surface, sketched in the first and second levels of Figure III.1, the

24
The Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by JoAnn Falletta, Kleinhans Music
Hall, Buffalo, N.Y., Saturday, January 26, 2008.
25
Swinden, "Harmonic Tropes and Plagal Dominant Structures in the Music of Anton
Bruckner.” Swinden specifically studies the Adagio from Symphony No. 9 in his sixth
chapter, 143-219.
 20

music then appears to progress to a French sixth of B major, but resolves instead

to a D major triad (a ♭III chord in B or a♭VII in E). The sketch of the third level

(also Figure III.1) explains this phenomenon in light of a deceptive cadence:

emergence of an E minor triad in mm. 1-2, progressing to the diminished iv (A°),

a progression that is interrupted, rather than resolved, at the downbeat of m. 5.

The D major triad in m. 5, which serves to impede further progression of

authentic harmony, might then function as preparation for the (minor) ii chord of

E on the second beat of m. 6, followed by the registrally climatic E major triad on

the downbeat of m. 7. I judged this preparation further advanced by the

progression from the D major through a B minor (minor v of E), followed by a fully

diminished E#7 (the leading tone of F#—ii of E). An unconventional progression

to be sure, but when simplified I sought to describe motion of the passage as:

• Minor tonic to dominant (iv°);

• Interruption of dominant harmony;

• Subdominant (ii) to major tonic.

It is significant that I use the term “subdominant” rather than the more current,

functional—or neo-Riemannian—term “predominant.” I do so intentionally for the

simple reason that, as suggested earlier, I suspect that the foundation for this

music is rooted in a way of thinking that is modal as well as tonal. Based on the

assumption that a chord that contains the leading tone may function as a

dominant, and that a chord (particularly a triad) containing SD 4 may function as

subdominant, my initial analysis concluded that, given its modal quality, this

theme closes with a plagal cadence, albeit tenuous and out of the ordinary.
 21

Figure III.1, an Initial Analysis of the Theme

Although doubts about the validity of this analysis persisted, I remained

convinced that the theme concluded with a cadential “amen,” however far it is

from the traditional “Amen cadence.” Furthermore, I was increasingly dissatisfied

with my analysis of the harmony in mm. 2-5, which I was coming to view as

overly contrived. Something of an epiphany came about, though, after rereading

Puffett’s interpretation, in addition to discovering Horton’s references of an

alternate “second practice” in addressing nineteenth- and early twentieth-century

Austro-Germanic music.26 I decided to set aside considerations of chordal

progression in the theme and instead explore other elements likely functioning as
26
See footnote 8. Additionally, Horton refers to this notion of a “second practice” again
on p. 110.
 22

underpinning to the theme. Returning to Bruckner’s academic and musical

background, I reasoned that an application incorporating principles of

counterpoint might better explain unique features of the theme. My initial

analysis, shown as Figure III.2, focuses solely on identifying possible points of

significance between the melody and the bass.

Figure III.2, Initial Contrapuntal Analysis

Ascent of a Perfect 4th

Octave Descent

Figure III.3, the Geometric Appearance of the Theme27

Ascent of a Perfect 4th

e

b <

E
th
Descent of a Perfect 5

One engaging aspect suggested by Figure III.2 is the implied geometric

form, shown in Figure III.3, of a symmetrically expanding wedge. Accepting the

first half note (B) as the initial pitch of the theme (regardless of its function within

27
In this figure, as later in the text, I employ the Helmholtz system of pitch nomenclature
when designating specific pitch registers.
 23

a specific key), and the outer voices at the downbeat of m. 7 (E) as significant

points of arrival (again, with minimum attention to scalar function), the overall

profile of theme begins on a single b expanding to E and e
. Two essential

factors further underscore the symmetry represented by Figures III.2 and III.3

and the sonority they indicate:

• In the “well-tempered” system intervals of a perfect 5th and a perfect 4th

are inversions of one another, and in this case ascent of the melody and

descent of the bass culminate at the octave;

• The tempo marking, “Langsam, feierlich” (langsam, slow; feierlich, with

solemnity, ceremoniously) indicates a remarkably slow pulse for the

theme that causes one to perceive the melody as containing no

extraneous or embellishing notes; even what could be interpreted as

passing or neighbor tones enjoy a full measure of duration.

Max von Oberleithner, a conservatory student and ardent supporter of Bruckner

in the composer’s final, difficult years, offers a poignant recollection concerning

the genesis of this theme and, in so doing, provides some indication of what

Bruckner sought to achieve in the opening of the Adagio:

It was in B major, and at one point—in the seventh bar—there was a

strong resemblance to the Grail motif from Parsifal. By then he had
completely transformed it, making its shape more significant. All that
survived was the rhythm of the first bar and the rising phrase that recalled
the Grail motif. The melodic step D#-G# in the upper voice at the first bar
had become a great sigh, B-C (a ninth).28

28
Johnson, Bruckner Remembered, 95.
 24

Figure III.4, the First Motif of the Theme (mm. 1-2)

In fact, I have come to hear two discrete motivic phrases within this theme,

both likely inspired by Richard Wagner. The first six beats, sketched as Figure

III.4, consist of the “agonized” leap of a ninth to which Simpson refers, resolved

by chromatic half step to the major seventh followed by a descending leap of an

octave.29 This extravagant figure, for all its agonized motion and clear allusions to

the opening bars of Tristan und Isolde (Example III.2), in fact ends a half step

lower than the initial B natural. Bruckner intensifies his musical drama by

expanding the range of the leaps and resolving this initial phrase of the theme a

semi-tone below, rather than a tritone above, his starting point. Additionally,

though Bruckner repeats verbatim the full inauguratory theme only one other time

(mm. 77-83, shown as Example I.3), these initial six beats serve as a resonant

leitmotif in the remainder of the movement, signaling returns or permutations of

thematic material at mm. 9-17, mm. 85-92, mm. 163-72, and the opening of the

coda: mm. 207-19.

29
See footnote 23.
 25

Example III.2, Vorspiel, Tristan und Isolde, mm. 1-330

Example III.3, “Dresden Amen”31

^ ^ ^ ^ ^
[SD: 1 ---------- 2 3 4 5 ------ ]

[G: IV --------- ii ---------- V43 I ]

The second segment of the theme, also implying likely Wagnerian

influence, represents a five-measure allusion to the “Dresden Amen,” a

distinctive liturgical setting most commonly attributed to Johann Gottlieb

Naumann.32 Cecil Barber offers the following concerning traditional performance

of this honored setting:

The slow tempo (which can scarcely be too slow); the gradual crescendo
on that unique ladder of sixths, and the subsequent diminuendo on the
final chord, which should be held lunga: …if it is done at all decently, the

30
From Millington, “Tristan und Isolde,“ 816.
31
From Barber, “The Dresden Amen,” 718. Designation of scale degrees and the
harmonic analysis are my own.
32
A native of Dresden, Naumann held posts as court composer of sacred music and
Kapellmeister of the city’s royal chapel between 1764 and 1801.
 26

Amen sounds magnificent—there is no other word—notably after

a…benediction.33

Bruckner was hardly alone in using this setting within the context of

orchestral composition. Indeed, Felix Mendelssohn motivically employed the

“Dresden Amen” with considerable effect in the first movement of his

“Reformation” Symphony (see Example III.4). Furthermore, while one might

legitimately question the extent of Bruckner’s awareness of Mendelssohn’s

oeuvre, there is little doubt regarding Bruckner’s familiarity with that of Wagner.

Given Bruckner’s background as an Austro-Catholic church musician and his

outspoken admiration for Wagner’s work, Bruckner would certainly have been

familiar with Wagner’s use of this particular setting as a leitmotif in Parsifal

(shown as Example III.5).

Example III.4, the “Dresden Amen” in Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 5, Op.

10734

Example III.5, the Grail Motif from Parsifal35

33
Barber, 718.
34
See Heuss, “The ‘Dresden Amen’ in the First Movement of Mendelssohn’s
‘Reformation’ Symphony,” 441. See also Barber, 719.
35
From Millington, “Parsifal,” 891.
 27

I want to argue that it is essential to appreciate, as Examples III.3, III.4,

and III.5 illustrate, that the “Dresden Amen” relies on diatonic harmony. By

incorporating chromatic nuances and modal indeterminacy within a distinctly

diatonic trope, Bruckner’s quotation of this cadential setting is tremendously rich

simply because he chooses not to quote the motif and then move on to its

variation or a second statement. Rather, in six measures, he coaxes the figure

through a series of metrically asymmetric chromatic sequences before revealing

it diatonically, expressing for the first time and at a moment of highest tension,

what unfolds as the overarching tonic sonority of the movement. Furthermore,

even at the point at which Bruckner commits the theme to diatonic harmony (the

third beat of m. 6), preparation and resolution of the “Amen” motif is

unconventional (shown in Figure III.5):

• A half-beat before introducing the diatonic subject, Bruckner inaugurates

the ascending figure of parallel sixths with SD ♯1;

• Progressing then through diatonic SD 2, 3, 4, and 6, the ascent resolves

on SD 1, a major seventh above SD ♯1 and a third above the penultimate

tone.

A comparison of Example III.3 and Figure III.5 reveals the unique approach

Bruckner applies in alluding to what, in his day, would have been an immediately

recognizable subject.
 28

Figure III.5, the “Dresden Amen” as Conclusion of the Theme (mm. 6-7)

^^^^^ ^
SD: ♯1-2-3-4-6---1

Few listeners would dispute that the E major triad on the downbeat of m. 7

is a significant point of arrival; most would likely assume that this would be an

appropriate point for a cadential progression in the movement’s opening phrase.

Rather, the listener perceives a disconcerting complication at the downbeat of

the preceding measure: the aforementioned, unequivocal arrival on the D major

triad—a chord not commonly highlighted by a key signature of four sharps.

Indeed, such anomalies that resist harmonic explanation prompted my looking

beyond harmonic principles in explaining why this opening phrase is so effective.

 29

Figure III.6, the Theme Presented Hypothetically as a Figured Bass

♭6 ♭7 8-♭9 ♯6 5-6 7-8

♯4 ♭4-♭5 ♭5 5-♯4 ♯6 ♯4-♭3 5-♯4
♭3 ♭3 ♭4-♭3 2-♭3 ♯4 ♭2-♭3 ♭3 2-♭3

As mentioned above, my effort to understand this theme prompted a shift

in my approach from harmonic to contrapuntal considerations; specifically, I

decided to approach the theme as possessing the compositional texture best

described as fugato.36 Focusing then on the voice leading of the outer voices, I

considered analyzing the theme from the perspective of a figured bass

accompaniment (see Figure III.6) as perhaps transcribed from an improvised

realization. While this approach produces a seemingly unwieldy result, it

nonetheless does serve to isolate, and further emphasize, a marked symmetry

within the theme’s lowest voice, as shown in Figure III.7. In fact, designating the

ascending leap of the perfect fifth as the midpoint of this thematic phrase and

accepting the enharmonic equivalence of major and minor intervals, the bass line

of the theme clearly projects a symmetrical retrograde of itself.

36
Karp defines “fugato” as “a section of a non-fugal work in which a theme is developed
through a set of imitative entries.”
 30

Figure III.7, Bass Movement in mm. 2-7

a.

-8ve

b. +P5th

-major 6th -minor 7th

c. +P5th

-P5 th -major 2nd -minor 3rd -P5th

d. -P4th +P5th -P4th

-major 2nd -major 2nd -minor 3rd -major2nd

Furthermore, Figures III.6 and III.7 suggest another provocative

connection with Bruckner’s musical training: that of an improviser on the church

organ. In an ironically titled essay, Crawford Howie illuminates a facet of

Bruckner’s musical life for which there exists little concrete documentation—in
 31

large part because there is no record of the composer ever transcribing his

improvisations at the instrument:

The Fugue in D minor WAB 125, one of the contrapuntal exercises which
Bruckner submitted to the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde examiners in
November 1861, gives us some idea, albeit in embryonic form, of what a
Bruckner improvised fugue would have been like, containing as it does
examples of "false entries,” diminutions, augmentation, inversion and
organ points.37

Equally intriguing are discussions by writers who examine Bruckner’s

compositions from backgrounds in conducting and orchestral performance, often

invoking architectural metaphors. As an example, Egon Wellesz’s depiction well

represents this metaphorical approach:

If one approaches Bruckner from the point of view of musical

architecture—which does not always necessarily coincide with the
symphonic scheme—one will be able to observe, from an analysis of his
works, that in every movement he reaches several climaxes, round which
all the rest is grouped. Not from the manipulation of the theme are these
summits achieved, as in the classical symphony, but the theme in its full
power is revealed for the first time when these summits are reached, as
the thought which is the goal of the development. The arrival at such a
summit does not always follow a single upward surge, but more often
comes after several shorter passages. When, therefore, it appeared that
an intermediate climax weakened the effect of the main theme, it was very
often decided to make an heroic cut. With such a cut the scheme of the
symphonic form might well be damaged, but the total effect heightened.
From the peculiarity, just described, in Bruckner's architecture, it is clear
that passages could be deleted without the composer's making intolerable
concessions. If we—to employ a parallel easily comprehensible—may
compare a classical symphony to a Greek temple, we may also compare
the constructive plan of a Bruckner symphony to that of a Gothic
cathedral. In the first pair juxtaposed one can think of no alteration that
would not disturb the essential form. In the second, the form is composed

37
Howie, "Bruckner—the Travelling Virtuoso," 305. The catalog designation Howie
employs in referring to this particular D minor Fugue (“WAB”) indicates that the
transcription is included in the Werkverzeichnis Anton Bruckner collection.
 32

of many single parts, and the total effect remains practically undisturbed
even though little changes are made in the composition of the parts.38

Figure III.8, the Melody, mm. 1-7

| +minor 7th | +minor 3rd | +minor 9th | +minor 10th (/3rd) |+minor 7th |

In an effort to accentuate this notion of architecture-in-form, I return to the

melody of the theme in order to illustrate how I hear the relation between the

theme, articulated by the first violins, and the development of the “Dresden

Amen” motif (see Figure III.8). As illustrated above, I identify, from the a# at the

third beat of m. 2 through to the e´´´ at the downbeat of m. 7, five ascending

phrases, each between 31/2 and four beats in duration. I view the first four of

these, each exhibiting significant chromaticism, as preparatory to the diatonic,

ultimate motivic statement of the final half measure. Of these four preparations,

the first and third register intervals of a minor seventh and a minor ninth

respectively while the second and third are of a minor third.39 The final four beats

present a less tempestuous (following the spectacular preceding ascents), yet

still dynamic, ascent of a minor seventh. Interestingly, the alignment of these

intervallic ascents within the thematic melody also suggests a retrograde. The

analysis shown in Figure III.9 places this pattern within a contrapuntal context.

38
Wellesz, "Anton Bruckner and the Process of Musical Creation," 284. Puffett, in p. 12,
also alludes to architectural metaphors applied in reference to Bruckner’s compositions.
39
In fact, as illustrated in Figure III.6 and below in Figure III.8d, the penultimate ascent
preparing the diatonic statement of the “Amen” motif is a dramatic minor tenth. For
purposes of symmetry, however, it is convenient to describe the interval as equivalent to
a minor third.
 33

Figure III.9, Contrapuntal Analysis of mm. 2-7 (Outer Voices)

+minor 7th +minor 9th +minor 7th

rd rd
+minor 3 +minor 3

-minor 2nd -minor 3rd

nd th
-major 2 +P5 -major 2nd

Immediately conspicuous in my analysis is that I have broken the

symmetrical progression in the bass that I had identified in Figure III.7d (two pairs

of major second [or, enharmonically, minor third] descents on either side of a

perfect fifth ascent). My justification for shifting emphasis to the A♭ at the

downbeat of m. 4 is solely utilitarian: as much as I would have preferred to

maintain the symmetry I had sketched in Figure III.7, that is not how I hear the

motif as it develops. Furthermore, the reader will notice that I have pinpointed the

interval between the A♭ in the bass and the B㽇 in the melody as a tenth (or

third); again relying on enharmonicism, I support this by considering the B㽇

equivalent to C♭̶a minor third above A♭. Further elaborating the outer voice

motion outlined in the previous two figures, Figure III.10 highlights each of the

preparative phrases leading to the “Amen” figure (which begins at the third beat

of m. 6), culminating with the downbeat of m. 7.

 34

Figure III.10, Expanded Counterpoint of the Second Motif (mm. 2-7)

a. Mm. 2-3, 1st Preparation of the “Amen” Motif

+minor 7th

-major 2nd

b. Mm. 3-4, a Transitional Event40

+minor 3rd

-minor 2nd

40
This phrase is of interest because not only is it the shortest and encompasses the least
motion within, and between, the respective outer voices, but also because herein the
symmetry of the bass progression, illustrated in Figure III.6 c and d, is ruptured briefly.
For these reasons and most especially given the obvious block-like quality of the
composition of this motif (as if to suggest an improvisation), I consider these 3
beats a
transition between the first and second preparations of the eventual “Amen” motif.
 35

Figure III.10, continued

c. Mm. 4-5, 2nd Preparation of the Motif

+minor 9th

+P5th

d. Mm. 5-6, 3rd Preparation of the Motif

+minor 10th (or 3rd)

-minor 3rd

e. Mm. 6-7, Realization of the “Amen” motif

+minor 7th

-major 2nd

Figure III.11 illustrates two other noteworthy phenomena occurring within

this seven-measure theme. First, there occurs a subtle voice crossing between

the first and second violins at the outset of the first preparation of the “Amen”
 36

motif. In this phrase the leap within the theme (presented by the first violins) from

a♯ to d㽇 at the third beat of m. 2 is mitigated—softened—by the second violins‘

articulation of c♯. The second is the introduction of contrapuntal sixths (that

“unique ladder” referred to by Barber41) at the second beat of m. 6, thereby

establishing the motivic significance of the “Dresden Amen” as an intrinsic

component of the Adagio.42

Figure III.11, Contrapuntal Dialogue within the Theme between the 1st & 2nd
Violins (with Cellos Representing the Bass)

| | |
Voice crossing Parallel sixths

To conclude this section of my discussion on a contrapuntal examination

of the initial theme of the Adagio, we discover that by focusing on the primary

elements of this opening theme, specifically the voice leading of the melody and

bass, the harmonic complexities of the composition become considerably less

ambiguous. Earlier I had referred to the framework of this theme as being

fugato.43 In that sense then, one might regard this as a short composition of

polyphony wherein harmony emerges as a consequence—rather than the

41
See footnote 33.
42
I previously had referred to this parallel sixths figure in my discussion concerning
chromatic and diatonic scale degrees of the theme’s final ascent (see Figure III.5).
43
See footnote 36.
 37

cause—of voice leading, which may in effect thwart or frustrate conventional

development of harmonic progression.

 38

IV. Semiotics, Improvisation,

and Romantic Myth

“Nothing ought to come again. Why should it? What childish wishes!
…Very well, it was lovely in Paris and lovely in Rome and lovely in Arles.
But is it any less lovely today, right here? Paradise isn't Paris and
peacetime, Paradise is here. It lives up there on the mountain and in an
hour we'll be in the midst of it and will be the thieves to whom it was said:
This day you will be with me in Paradise.”44

There is a sense of great Germanic romance in the story of Anton

Bruckner: the inelegant rural rube arriving in Vienna to be derided by the most

refined of his contemporaries, his youth well passed, speaking a most vulgar

dialect, exhibiting the most gauche of habits and a paucity of sophistication.45

Indeed, legend arose insinuating that Bruckner never composed anything of

substance or value until his fortieth year.46 There has been speculation

periodically proposing tendencies toward Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder or

other neurological afflictions.47 Remembrances by friends and former students

frequently emphasize an idiosyncratic personality fraught with often debilitating

self-doubt, an acute sense of inferiority especially concerning Wagner and

Brahms, the Austro-Germanic musical Titans of the day, and a zealous, austere

Catholic piety. At times, it is amusing to ponder the nearly epic lore that

44
Hesse, “Klingsor’s Last Summer,” 169.
45
Adolph Hitler, also a native of Upper Austria, professed an intense spiritual kinship
with Bruckner: not only did they share geographic origins, but in his reading of
Bruckner’s years in Vienna, Hitler, who had attempted a career in fine arts prior to
service in the First World War, perceived a shared rebuff of innate artistic talent by
contemporaneous urbanites of the Hapsburg capital and seat of fin de siècle Austro-
Hungarian prestige.
46
Simpson, 11-28, undertakes to thoroughly refute this myth.
47
While Simpson, in brief mention of Bruckner’s personal peculiarities, chooses to
deliberately refrain from extended discussion on the subject, Horton, 223-57, offers
considerable consideration on “psychobiography,” particularly as to the likelihood such
study may have affected reception and interpretation of the symphonies.
 39

developed among some in the decades following Bruckner’s death. Take, for

example, the following summation of the composer’s biography:

Let us consider this steady development: The nameless boy, favored by no

external circumstances, sets himself a goal—he will be a teacher. He
achieves it. Now he will be a music teacher besides. This also he achieves.
Now he will be a teacher of higher forms; he succeeds. Then, organist;
again he succeeds. Now he wills to be a composer; he feels in himself the
strength to achieve the highest. He succeeds in remolding his life on a
totally new basis; and in the sphere of art he mounts from work to work until
in the Adagio of the Ninth Symphony he reaches classical greatness and
perfection.48

Yet, as the depth of my immersion into Bruckner’s story intensified, I found

myself increasingly reminded of Hermann Hesse’s fictional Klingsor, from a

novella written in 1919. Superficially, no one could have been more dissimilar

from Hesse’s portrait of an aging, libertine painter confronted with mortality and

the violent onset of the twentieth century than was Anton Bruckner. Rather, it is

in the expression of heavenward yearning where I discern symmetry between

Hesse’s profligate and the ascetic Bruckner; just as Klingsor’s impassioned

articulation of Paradise is fervent as it is lyric, so too is there an intense, prayerful

eloquence in the music of Bruckner’s Adagio.

This theme invites hermeneutic evaluation. Indeed, the motif from which, I

maintain, the theme was drawn (whether one chooses to refer to it as the

“Dresden Amen” or the “Grail motif” is immaterial) lends itself exquisitely to an

awareness of profound longing abating to tranquil assent. There is no doubt that

Mendelssohn, Wagner, and Bruckner each possessed a firm understanding of

the connotative signification endowed to such a figure of music—and how one

48
Wellesz, 269.
 40

might adeptly manipulate the nuances of that significance. Knowledge of motivic

figures like this was their vernacular and the strength of their craft. Theorist

Constantin Floros, in an analysis nearly as gushing as Wellesz’s above-noted

thumbnail summary of Bruckner’s life story, writes,

…[T]he Ninth Symphony, which Bruckner is known to have wanted

dedicated to the “good Lord,” must be mentioned as a convincing example
of devotional symphonic music. What is quite remarkable about this
seemingly expressionistic work is the wealth of quotations worked into the
Adagio. They justify viewing the movement as an autobiographically
inspired composition, which expresses premonitions of death by a devout
man, his religious beliefs and his hope for God’s mercy.49

The quotations within the Adagio to which Floros refers are not only the

previously mentioned allusions to Wagner or the “Dresden Amen,” but to a

tendency in Bruckner’s compositional practice to quote earlier work from his own

pen. One could debate endlessly whether or not such a modus operandi is

necessarily autobiographical or simply a judicious application of ideas. As

interesting as it may seem, I think such a course ultimately is a disservice to

Bruckner’s music. Rather, I return to Simpson’s profoundly empathetic

appreciation of Bruckner. “It was at the organ,” Simpson writes,

that his timidity fell away from him; the caution we find in his early written
music was not, we may be sure, to be found in his improvisations, and it is
certainly significant that he wrote no organ music of any weight. The
instrument became a function of himself, and he rarely wanted to play
composed music on it, whether his own or others…. There is a deep
psychological reason for this, and it is naturally connected with his
timorous attitude to composing itself. In the organ loft he was virtually
unseen, and free; orchestras and choirs consisted of other people, and
had to be written for—knowing he would have to commit his thoughts to
them in permanent form he became, in a deep sense, shy, both of them
and himself.50

49
Floros, “On Unity between Bruckner’s Personality and Production,” 295.
50
Simpson, The Essence of Bruckner, 12.
 41

Further, Simpson adds,

We must not forget that his greatest psychological difficulty was in

committing music to paper; in the organ loft he had no problems and, no
doubt, improvising must have been a solace….51

Moreover, in a later parenthetic, he concludes,

It would be wonderful to have tape recordings of Bruckner’s organ

extemporizations; on the other hand, we should perhaps be thankful that
such devices did not exist in his day, for he might never have bothered to
write anything down.52

My notion of the inauguratory theme’s possible genesis as instrumental

improvisation is not rooted in my reading of Simpson. Rather, the idea evolved

from conversations with pianists versed in jazz and blues improvisation and my

own recollections as a guitarist in the world of blues and gospel performance. A

prevailing theme that emerges is the essential knowledge of patterns (or

sequences) and, often, the ability to shift in and out of block fingerings. Simply,

the more skilled a player is at these seemingly esoteric, yet tremendously

practical, bits of proficiency, the greater the likelihood of that player’s success in

improvisation. That coupled with a good ear, and an open mind allowing for an

occasional glint of inspiration.

From a reading of Simpson’s account of Bruckner’s relationship with the

organ one might surmise that the hours Bruckner allotted to the instrument, in

either Vienna or the beloved priory church of St. Florian, essentially were

moments of liberation. Likewise, it is imaginable that those times provided

opportunities to explore or map out musical avenues that may have become full-

51
Ibid, 15.
52
Ibid, 16.
 42

scale compositions. Again, however, because of Bruckner’s disinclination to

transcribe or document that facet of his musical life, such considerations must

remain speculative.
 43

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