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College Music Symposium
Introduction
W Writers who address the relationship between music analysis and performance h
V V usually begun their discussions with analytic observations and then, after co
pleting them, have tried to draw conclusions from them about how to play the mu
being analyzed. Even though some of these writers deny the direct applicability of ana-
lytic findings to performative decisions, they still entreat their readers, whether impl
itly or explicitly, to regard analysis as a foundation for performance, as a way of ground
or validating performance objectively. In his review of Wallace Berry's Musical Str
ture and Performance, John Rink takes issue with the implicit belief of these writers t
what he calls 'serious analysis' can serve as a basis for performance.1 Rink, himsel
pianist, holds that "a unique kind of performer's analysis . . . quite distinct from w
we as analysts usually practice . . . forms an integral part of the performing proce
According to Rink, performer's analysis aims to discover, above all else, aural 'sha
and musical gesture. Acknowledging that informed intuition, more than any theoretica
system, guides such performer's analysis, Rink nonetheless clearly regards such un
tematic analysis as more suited to performers' needs than systematic analysis can e
aspire to become. He suggests, moreover, that theorists may have even more to ga
from building their analyses on performers' modes of musical awareness than perform-
ers can gain from the explicit analytic awareness of theorists.
Rink thus describes and endorses what many performers already do; but some th
rists may disagree with his apparent belief that what performers actually do is what th
ought to do. Berry, for one, advocates a view of performance as "critical discours
the perceived meaning of a score,"2 and argues that performers who do not ground the
conception of this meaning on musical analysis can rely only on what he regards as
vagaries of intuition, or on docile imitation of their teachers and other performers
considers analysis, therefore, to be "the inescapable basis for interpretive doing and not
doing."3
Many performers, if asked about Berry's views, might say they agree with them, at
least in principle. The fact that they almost never have the time, or the capacity, to carry
out such analysis does not imply an objection. But, as Rink points out, the ways per-
formers reach decisions and the ways we evaluate performances have no simple relation
to such convictions. In particular, any attempt to develop a comparison of performance
to critical discourse leads immediately to problems. Most obviously, critical discourse
makes explicit statements about texts and artworks, but performance cannot state any-
thing explicitly. While one can usually infer some of performers' thoughts about the
'John Rink, review of Wallace Berry, Musical Structure and Performance. Music Analysis 9/3 (1990), 3 19-39.
2Wallace Berry, Musical Structure and Musical Performance (New Haven and London: Yale, 1989):6.
3Berry,41.
of their behavior.
In his response to Berry, on the other hand, Rink underplays the ways that th
performer's analysis' that both guides and evolves through such experimentation ca
draw on 'serious analysis.' Imagining the music in all its detail, or finding in it a distinc-
tive musical shape or gesture, can often become a daunting task. And surely when t
music baffles the performer's intuitive or experimental capacities, an explicit awaren
of its components and of their harmonic, contrapuntal and motivic interactions can help
bring one's sound-image and technical image of the music into focus. But often a pe
former, in order to gain such focus from analytic awareness, must supplement it imagi-
natively in ways that neither Berry nor Rink bring into consideration.
To develop a realistic assessment of the possible role of analysis in achieving th
kind of imaginative specificity necessary for performance, both theorists and performer
themselves need to investigate not only the ways performers - especially ones they a
mire - actually reach decisions, but also what attitudes and habits of thought enab
them to make musical experience most vivid. Autobiographical information from p
formers will be more helpful than theorists' formulations of ideological programs i
assessing just what kinds of theoretical analysis have the most to contribute to performer'
analysis. As a performing pianist who also teaches theory and in some ways claims
analytic approach to performance, I propose to explore one performer's working an
decision-making processes - my own - in relation to these concerns.
In order to make this exploration, I shall reconstruct some analytic observations th
I developed in order to solve specific problems in the performance of two pieces b
Robert Schumann, the Arabesque and the second piece of Kreisleriana. With the Ara
besque, the less overtly problematic of the two, I shall attempt simply to describe so
aspects of my own 'performer's analysis' as I recently studied the piece for the first tim
I shall try to clarify the ways this performer's analysis drew on articulate analytic aware
ness, and also how assessments of the music's character became necessary supplemen
to more objectively analytic observations. With the Kreisleriana, to be discussed in P
II, I shall explore how my analysis - more detailed in the delineation of musical para
eters - grew from my attempts to solve some editorial riddles.
Main Theme
, !^ P -^ Jp y /? f/ V r/ ^^°
I ^-L_
-L_ l[ If 1 I If I hIf i_-^f I U 1^=^ If Mr r l'L I # I
c/. Minorel
ri - -
l^ff 37| r^ i- lirf I if' ' -*^ Itf I H 1 \j fp '"^ Iirr ' If-
37| i- I '
- - dan - - - - do
Minore I
If one's playing of the theme of the Arabesque can seem monotonous in its unvarying
rhythm and texture, then one's playing of Minore I (Example 2) can seem even more
the texture of this E-minor episode is thicker, simpler, chordal rather than arpeggiated
its rhythm unfolds in undifferentiated eighth notes rather than in a dotted figure; and
subphrases are almost all two rather than four measures long. The characteristics of
main theme that one might associate most readily with the piece's title, Arabesque, seem
entirely absent from this B section. While I could not initially find a distinctive charact
for the opening theme through my fingers, I could find one all too readily, and too oppre
sively, for this contrasting music. I did not have to experiment technically with t
episode in the same way as with the theme, yet I felt much more dissatisfied from
start with the way I played it.
The simplest harmonic analysis began to help me somewhat: I began, for examp
to intensify the tonicization of the iv chord in measures 45-46, and to recognize t
departure of the ensuing E-minor half-cadence from the dominant-to-tonic patterning
the three preceding subphrases. I then sought to bring out the slowing of harmonic rhyth
in measures 54-56, where a single dominant harmony, by controlling three measur
produces a longer subphrase in order to pull the tonal center from B major, the epheme
ally tonicized dominant, back to E minor. By making the music quieter and more floatin
in measures 65-68 and then intensifying it again in 69-72, 1 differentiated the moment
relief of the G-major imperfect cadence in 67-68 from its dramatic negation in 71-7
intensified still more the four-measure subphrase (m. 77-80, only the second four-m
sure group in Minore I), with its chromatic suspensions, that leads back to E minor.
But making my fingers responsive to these harmonic changes did not fully dispel th
monotony of my playing in this episode, a monotony brought about in part by the espres
rubato on which I found myself insisting within almost every subphrase. Only whe
began to think deliberately of Minore I as obsessive, to regard its monotony as part of i
intentional aesthetic quality, did I begin to accept this insistent rubato and feel it
natural. I cannot reconstruct how this rubato actually changed under the influence of th
conception of the episode, but it must have changed somewhat, for I no longer felt awk
ward carrying it out.
One observation helped me especially either to arrive at or to confirm this view of th
character of the episode (I no longer remember which): the recognition of the motivic a
harmonic connection of the episode's opening gesture to the beginning of the contrastin
middle phrase of the theme (compare Example 1 , m. 1 7 with Example 2, m.4 1 ). Withi
the theme, this E-minor tonic-to-dominant progression sounds especially poignant,
way that seems to bring about the hesitancy of the next three measures. The first episo
begins with this same melodic and harmonic idea and returns to it twice, each time mor
intensely, as if the music cannot get away from it. Heard as obsessive, the painful mood
of Minore I can also be heard as a conflicting stratum of experience underlying the mor
fleeting yet more serene and nostalgic mood of the theme, and thus as an obsession tha
momentarily overtakes the theme in its central phrase. The recognition of the relations
of this central phrase of the theme to the music of Minore I helped me to make sense o
the ritard within this part of the theme: the music hesitates over the intrusion of a po
gnant or painful preoccupation.
Example 2. Minor e I
Etwas langsamer.
; ® rnT?S3 /nTph /f
(HIIt »r <r > ir »r If T
i^'r *r [r * <r ^r ir * ir
1 r > 'r V'r »r 'r V'r »r 'r 'f 'f r '* 'P
The Transition
Regarding and playing Minore I as obsessive also helped me to come to terms with
the transition (Example 3, m. 89-104) from that episode back to the theme in its first
return. This transition may look more different on the page, and feel more different
under the fingers, than it actually sounds: its long melody-notes respond to the high
accented notes occurring on almost every even-numbered downbeat throughout Minore
I, and its inner voices perpetuate the constant pulsation of eighth notes, even if at a
slower tempo. Nevertheless, the melodic gestures of this transition, falling by step for
the first time and incorporating the rhythmic motive of the theme at the end of each
gesture, led me to conceive of the transition as embodying a different voice, or at least a
different attitude, from that of the Minore I episode: a voice that calls the obsessed one
back into the sphere of the theme; or an attitude of seeking reconciliation between epi-
sode and theme, a response to hearing them as being in conflict with one another. It is a
very searching passage, far more wide-ranging harmonically than any other passage in
the piece, and also much more fluctuating in tempo. In spite of all its fluctuations, I
eventually decided, after taking note of the dissonant harmonies at the end of each of its
subphrases (two six-fours, then two dominant sevenths), to play this transition as one
sixteen-measure phrase (beginning each subphrase somewhat 'early' in order to do so)
rather than as four four-measure ones. If one plays the transition this way, the search
that it undertakes does not lose its urgency.
Example 3. Transition
$* * <£. ■ ' *
*gg _ ,^^T
t f r f±t
' ® J^ 0^ III L_l^ l rf
Minore II
Recognizing the distinctive motivic relationship between the music of the first epi-
sode and the main theme led me to expect Minore II, the second episode (Example 4), to
Example 4. Minore II
cf. Minore I
Minore II \^ - ^"^T"^\
5= >J> J?3 -
|r1|-ir 5= '"'
iJ\ it O£ iiJ i
%b, *
i^ Tempo^I.
The Coda
No transition intervenes at this time at the juncture between the second episode and the
last occurrence of the theme. Perhaps the synthesis that Minore II achieves - what I am
metaphorically characterizing as the overcoming of the obsession - obviates the need
for such a transition. What then balances the transition, in the sphere of the main theme' s
last occurrence, is the sublime coda, for me one of the most affecting passages in all
Schumann (Example 5). Both melodically and harmonically with its calling pairs of
half-notes (m. 209, 211,213,215-16) over long-held harmonies while the middle voices
arpeggiate upwards in eighth notes, it refers to the transition. The coda thus remembers
the transition, even if the memory is only subliminal for the listener; and the resonance
of coda with transition deepens the serenity of the coda's final affirmation of C major, in
such marked contrast to the transition's mercurial shifts of tonal center.
I never felt any problem in playing the coda. From the beginning I felt physically
and emotionally identified with it as I played it, and was therefore motivated not so much
to experiment with different ways of playing it as simply to refine my auditory and
technical control over what I was already doing. Thus no problem with the coda im-
pelled me to analyze it.
Yet I did feel that I could never understand XhQ Arabesque at all fully without under-
standing something of how the coda works its magic: put one way, how it resolves
compositional issues raised earlier in the piece - if it completes a compositional process,
and if so, how; put another way, how it functions dramatically in relation to earlier
musical events. Even if I didn't need to resort to explicit musical analysis or critical
interpretation to play the coda, bringing these kinds of insight to bear on the coda might
focus my imaginative grasp of earlier passages in ways that would further help me in
playing them.
As a route to understanding the resolution brought by the coda, one might ask to
what extent the music would seem resolved without it. The theme, after all, reaches the
same perfect authentic cadence every time (Example 1 , m. 40 - although the holding of
the penultimate G always somewhat covers the resolution to the tonic). One might there-
fore think that the theme could stand alone, that it could just as well end the piece, and
that the coda, like so many other codas, only fulfilled a need for some kind of dramatic
balance.
But Schumann's German designation for this final section, "Zum Schluss," is trans-
lated literally "In Closing:" it suggests the idea of cadential articulation much more
strongly than does the term 'coda' - tail - with its connotation of something added as a
terminal embellishment to the music. It suggests what any Schenkerian analyst would
soon recognize: that the cadence of the theme, not so much because of its held G as
because of its low register, is not a completely satisfactory resolution for the theme's
opening. The sense of incomplete resolution, of resolution made gesturally but never
fully achieved in the theme, partly motivates the explorations of the two Minore epi-
sodes. Both episodes, in fact, cadence in the register of the theme's opening, thus prepar-
ing for its return while also reinforcing the need for ultimate resolution in this register, a
need that the coda addresses.
Examole5. Coda
ZumSchluss.1
Langsam. a = 58 >
i^^^B"^
Schumann's treatme
'serious analysis' of
a serious analysis is c
they can learn from
registral changes th
ingly. Perhaps many
anyway, and won't n
ciently into account
indirectly but much
or dramatic understan
a performer's grasp
For while a perform
music, in the way t
understanding in or
In its fusion of con
obsession, the Minore
of the piece, and the
ciliation between th
cally, between the c
coda no longer has to
reconciliation by no
has already been fou
pany, the achievemen
But heard in another way, the music of the coda still searches for something, and its
final phrase, ending on e' rather than c' leaves something open. Its two-note melodi
gestures refer, as I have already said, to the transition; but also to the crucial appoggia-
turas in Minore II. In focusing on this gesture, separating it from the other elemen
linked to it either in the transition or in the second episode, the coda achieves a new leve
of calm; yet the gesture itself, in its isolation and its diatonic but dissonant harmoniza-
tion, becomes more pleading than ever before. In one way, these ef- d1 appoggiaturas call
for full and richly supported melodic closure on cf; but in another, they beg to keep the
music open, insisting on again and again rather than allowing the melody simply
close. The return of the opening motive of the main theme as the final gesture of t
Arabesque secures for the ef, in its openness, a cadential role. Without the return of the
opening idea, the melodic line could slowly work its way to a long-held cf; but with that
return, a final affirmation of the c1 becomes only a grotesque possibility (try playing cf
instead of e' as the final melodic pitch!). The motive of the Arabesque - itself an ara
besque in its ornamental movement, a symbol of freedom and fantasy - returns at th
last moment to affirm an ongoing life, a life that especially resonates from this pie
beyond the moment of its conclusion. Understanding in this way the role of the opening
theme's return at the last moment of the coda, I am led to reflect further on the character
and potential of the theme itself, and so I am led to play this theme more quietly, more
fleetingly, less simply lyrically, than I otherwise might.
Conclusion
These comments obviously do not represent what a theorist would call a thorough
"analysis" of the Arabesque; but they do try to represent some ways in which a performer's
work can draw upon and lead to explicit analytic observations of different kinds. They
also arrive at what one might fairly call an account of the piece, a telling of it that draws
on both analytic and characterological descriptions of its musical events. The search for
such descriptions might begin with problems encountered by a performer in the initial
stages of the "performer's analysis' Rink proposes. In trying to find satisfying ways to
play the theme and the first Minore episode of the Arabesque, for example, I not only
come to some first analytic observations about these passages, but also find descriptive
terms that help me to encapsulate, or at least approximate, their musical character.
Eventually, my observations about the main theme and the ensuing Minore I must both
feel appropriate in themselves for these passages, and contribute to an intelligible narra-
tive or dramatic understanding of both their opposition and their succession in order for
me to draw conviction from them for my performance. Ultimately, I seek an understand-
ing of the entire sequence of musical episodes in the Arabesque, in terms through which
I can harness the characteristics of my own playing to the evolving character of the
music. Ideally. This understanding can develop from any kind of observation on which I
can reliably draw, however indirectly, in order to focus my sound-image of the music:
analytic, characterological, biographical, literary, to name the most obvious for Schumann.
Like any critical understanding, such 'performer's explication' is unlikely ever to