Boys Don’t Cry?
Gustav Mahler in 1907.
If you’re over a certain
age, you may recall a popular French song entitled Les Trois Cloches,
made famous by Edith Piaf and Les Compagnons de la Chanson. It’s more
well-known by its English title, The Three Bells and in 1959 it became a
huge hit for an American vocal trio called The Browns. At the time, I was very
young, but the song appealed because it had a good tune, lovely harmonies and
was hopelessly sentimental. Of course, the mawkish lyrics had much to do with
that, and it’s easy to understand why songs or opera arias can arouse emotions,
even tears. But I often wonder how music can create a huge emotional impact
without the help of words. Perhaps Hans Christian Andersen hit the nail on the
head when he wrote, “Where words fail, music speaks.”
I remember as a teenager
becoming hopelessly weepy every time I listened to the yearning and passionate
slow movement of the Rachmaninov Second Piano Concerto, though I could never
understand why. Some years ago, UK’s Classic FM published a list of what was
considered the “saddest music ever written”. Predictably, it contained the
well-known lament from Purcell’s opera Dido and Aeneas. This
incidentally, was my very first professional engagement, not singing the role of
Dido you understand, but playing the cello part in the orchestra.
The Classic FM list also
contained some purely instrumental works which included the slow movement from
Elgar’s Serenade for Strings, Albinoni’s Adagio and the slow
movement of Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony. Oh yes, and there was the slow
movement from Mahler’s Fifth Symphony, which leapt to fame after Luchino
Visconti used it his 1971 movie, Death in Venice.
Where does sad music get
its sadness from? Do you ask a composer or a cognitive psychologist? I suspect
that few composers would know. But we have to be careful here, otherwise
there’s a risk of over-simplifying and dividing music into “sad” and “happy”
which of course would be nonsense. There are countless shades of meaning
between and beyond these two words and as Beethoven wrote, rather pompously
perhaps, “Music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy.”
It used to be thought that
a minor key produces a sad effect but I don’t think that explanation holds much
water. The well-known song My Favourite Things is in a minor key, and
it’s anything but sad. The Rachmaninov movement which got me so lachrymose as a
teenager is in a major key. And so for that matter, is the last movement of
Mahler’s massive Third Symphony which is almost guaranteed to bring a tear. But
whether it’s a tear of melancholy, sadness, joy, elation or ecstasy, I shall
leave it to you to decide.
Gustav
Mahler (1860-1911) Symphony No. 3 (last movement) -
Czech
Philharmonic Orchestra cond. Václav Neumann, (Duration: 21.06; Video 720p)
This movement, although
undeniably introspective and poignant, is in the bright sunny key of D major and
was composed between 1893 and 1896. It’s probably the longest symphony ever
written, running for about an hour and a half. Unusually, it has six movements
instead of the more conventional four. Mahler originally gave each movement a
title, implying that they were mildly descriptive. Strangely enough, before the
symphony was published in 1898, he dropped all the titles, so he must have had a
major change of mind.
The great conductor Bruno
Walter wrote, “In the last movement, words are stilled, for what language can
utter heavenly love more powerfully and forcefully than music itself?” The
broad sweeping lines of the melodies touch the emotions in all sorts of ways and
seem to grow organically, beginning very softly with a hymn-like melody which
slowly builds to a loud, majestic and triumphant conclusion.
Samuel
Barber (1910-1981) Adagio for Strings. -
Detroit Symphony Orchestra, cond. Leonard Slatkin (Duration: 08:47; Video 720p
HD)
Barber was one of
America’s most celebrated composers of the twentieth century. This piece was
originally the slow movement of his String Quartet in B minor, written in
Austria during 1935 and 1936. It would have probably remained obscure had not
the conductor Arturo Toscanini urged Barber to arrange it for orchestra. It has
since become hugely popular and been used in several feature films.
When the BBC launched a
competition to find the “saddest music in the world”, Barber’s Adagio
came at the top of the list. Incidentally, the word “adagio” simply means
“slowly” and this is an intense work which grows in power and volume from the
start. Notice how the melody develops and how Barber uses silence for dramatic
effect in the long pause after the climax at 05:58. For a moment, it seems like
the end of piece. But it isn’t. Instead, Barber takes us back to that quiet
place where we began our melancholy journey.
