paul hillier - arvo part - magister ludi

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Arvo Prt: Magister Ludi Author(s): Paul Hillier Source: The Musical Times, Vol. 130, No. 1753 (Mar., 1989), pp. 134-137Published by: Musical Times Publications Ltd.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1193820Accessed: 21-06-2015 06:48 UTC

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Arvo Part - Magister Ludi Paul Hillier

All music emerges from silence, to which sooner or later it must return. At its simplest we may conceive of music as the relationship between sounds and the silence that surrounds them. Yet silence is an imaginary state in which all sounds are absent, akin perhaps to the infinity of time and space that surrounds us. We cannot ever hear utter silence, nor can we fully conceive of infinity and eternity. When we create music, we express life. But the source of music is silence, which is the ground of our musical being, the fundamental note of life. How we live depends on our relationship with death; how we make music depends on our relationship with silence.

Arvo Part's music accepts silence and death, and thus reaffirms the basic truth of life, its frailty compassionately realised, its sacred beauty observed and celebrated. He uses the simplest of means - a single note, a triad, words - and with them creates an intense, vibrant music that stands apart from the world and beckons us to an inner quietness and an inner exaltation.

*

The prize-winning cantata Meie Aed (My Garden) was the first work to bring Part's name to prominence in the USSR. Written in 1959 for children's choir and orchestra, it is an exuberantly tonal piece, melodious and quick- witted, and stands firmly rooted in the Estonian choral tradition which thrives to this day.

From prominence Part moved to notoriety as a composer of atonal music. Completed in 1966, the Symphony no.2 uses a 12-note row whose intervals create a regular pattern (counting semitones: 12321232123). The melodic enunciation of this row is countered by two contrasting textures: chordal clusters and a rapid staccato semitone figure distributed to create an irregular pointillistic effect. But then come sudden bursts of tonality - a full wood- wind chord of B major is announced after the first com- plete statement of the row, and this is only the first of many instances. The end of the work is heralded by a melody in A minor, harmonised simply, and reaching a brief con- clusion in B major.

The Symphony no.3 (which I had the good fortune to hear recently in Estonia) is a powerful work lasting some 20 minutes. Tonality emerges as a necessity, often asserted in some resonant gesture, but also arising inevitably from the chant-like motifs that frequently occur. The work is a richly woven patchwork quilt that gradually unfolds to reveal a strong and emotionally compelling structure. The 134

tendency to pare away inessential development, to isolate the significant musical thought and place it in just the right context now becomes especially apparent. With hindsight this work will inevitably be viewed as transitional, and as such offers a fascinating experience; but if this is all it will be a shame, for it needs to be heard for its own sake - and there is one climactic solo which will linger in the imagination of anyone who hears it.

Not long after this, Part realised a need to search for a new musical language and, much to the surprise of those just getting used to his music, he stopped composing.

*

Arvo Part emerged from his silence of some seven years with a new style of music, characterised as 'tintinnabuli'. This word refers to the ringing of bells, music in which the sound materials are in constant flux, though the overall image is one of stasis, of constant recognition. Listening to a good sonorous peal of bells you may notice that, apart from the rich jangle of overtones, the reiteration of lower notes creates an undertow of strange pitches that both belong and do not belong, revealing melodic numeration and variation known as 'ringing the changes'; and at its simplest there is the single tolling bell with its ominous insistence. Each of these phenonemena is present in some way in Part's tintinnabuli music.

In this music, Part takes the sound of the triad as a phenomenon of nature. It rings constantly through the tintinnabulation, and is both the means of originating sounds and the audible result of such work. This triad has little to do with structural tonality; there is no sense of modulation, or of the tension and release normally associated with tonal harmony. It is simply the ringing out of one sound based on a central note. The music does not develop (in the usual sense of this word). It expands and contracts - in short, it breathes.

The use of a tonal centre is akin to the use in modal music of a drone (sounded or implied), but with the important difference that the full triad is a constant presence. The tonal centre may shift (it does so in the larger works) but it is always to a closely related pitch, usually maintaining the same diatonic scale, so that there is the impression of looking at the same view from a different position.

The tintinnabuli style developed by Part is not just a distinctive sound, but a very clearly defined technique. Not only does it proceed systematically in a purely musical sense, but in the vocal works (a large proportion of his


music is vocal) the text yields up the individual melodic shapes and rhythms as well as the phrase-lengths and larger details of form. Part has said that the words write the music for him. In a sense this is true, but like all systems this one is only as good as the person using it. The skill lies in creating the appropriate situation for such a system to work in: seeing what parameters of pitch and metre, what combination of voices and instruments will yield the best results. Part's success lies not only in having created this system - which has the beauty of simplicity and the simplicity of beauty - but he has revealed time and again an uncanny instinct for the right application of his ideas. Each work grows organically from the seed of a particular vision. In each work fresh use is found for the tintinnabuli style, so what seems to be a restrictive or limited means of composing is shown to be an abundantly rich source of musical possibilities. A study of the actual workings of this technique follows in a brief survey of three works: Missa sillabica, Tabula rasa and Stabat mater.

*

Although not quite the earliest work in the tintinnabuli style, the Missa sillabica offers a fine example of the basic technique and how it can be subtly varied in the different sections of the Mass. The Kyrie is written in a two-part texture, the basis of the tintinnabuli style. It consists of a melodic voice proceeding by step up or down the scale, and an accompanying voice - the tintinnabuli part - which sounds only the notes of the D minor triad (see ex. 1). Thus we have the basis of melody - scales and arpeggios - and thus we witness two different ways of expanding upon the tonal centre, two contrasting principles perpetually joined together. (Although we may refer to two separate voices as in polyphony, it should be clear that the tintinnabuli part, whether sung or played, is homophonically conceived.)

Ex. la

A r

lb

vL n (CL.)

The melodic voice always begins or ends on its tonal centre. In the first section of the Kyrie (tonal centre: D) it begins on the third note of the scale (F) as the word 'Kyrie' has three syllables: the next word 'eleison' starts on the fourth note (G) as there are four syllables. In the second section - Christe eleison - the same principle is applied, but approaching the tonal centre from below. The tintinnabuli voice uses only the notes in the triad of the tonal centre (in this case, D minor). The composer selects that note in the arpeggio adjacent to the melodic voice, alternating the nearest above and the nearest below.

In the Gloria this technique is extended, the texture is now three-part with two melodic voices, the upper one based on A, and the lower one remaining on D. The tintin-

nabuli part follows the upper voice (still using the D minor arpeggio). The lower voice introduces an alternative melodic formula beginning on the tonal centre and mov- ing away in accordance with the number of syllables. There are thus four melodic types or 'melodic modes': two starting on the tonal centre and either ascending or descen- ding from it, and two starting above or below the tonal centre and rising or falling to it (see ex.2). Ex. 2a

A d

2b

T i' |b ll ll I B . - u - - *I || Glo-ri-a in ex-cel-sii De-o et.- Lau- da-mu& te, be- ne- di- ci-mus te, adoramus

Already in the Gloria's three-part texture this technique is yielding unpremeditated harmonies whose effect is not dissonant but which form clusters of tones and semitones that cause the tonal centre to vibrate with an unsuspected immanence. This process is further enrich- ed in the Credo where the texture becomes four-part. In this section high and low pairs of voices alternate, creating a sense of antiphony. In each pair the upper voice ascends from A while the lower voice descends onto D. Each voice is accompanied by a tintinnabuli part.

The Sanctus demonstrates well how a shift of tonal centre can respond to the text. The music is now based on F and the mood of exultation is further enhanced by the use of full choir and instruments, effectively in eight parts (though in fact four doubled at the octave). The Agnus returns to the mood of the Kyrie (time is nearly vertical) though the texture is three-part. The final salutation 'Ite Missa Est' restores all melodic voices to a D tonal centre and has the same texture as the Sanctus.

The text determines not only the melodic substance (and thereby the harmonic as well), but also the rhythms of the work in all its respects. The exact formulation of this varies from work to work, but the setting is always syllabic and uses equal note-lengths except for the ends of phrases. These cadential points are always established by the punc- tuation, and different lengthenings may apply to commas and to full-stops. Sometimes it is the initial syllable of the final word that is lengthened, sometimes the whole word; sometimes the initial word or syllable is also lengthened. Whatever the particular scheme, it is adhered to completely.

This approach is obliquely reminiscent of John Cage's removal of personal choice (and therefore taste) from the job of composition, so that the composer's task is 'to ask the right questions'. Part does apply personal taste of course and the end results are very different, but the obliteration of the ego is a philosophical or spiritual goal shared by both composers.

While it may be a little austere for concert performance, the Missa sillabica is a perfect setting for church use (if the

135


Latin text is not a problem), and as such is to be highly recommended - the instrumental parts may be played on the organ.

*

In Part's vocal works the music emanates from the words themselves. In his instrumental works the music issues from a single note. The double concerto for two violins, string orchestra and prepared piano (which has a kind of obbligato function), entitled Tabula rasa, provides a good example of music based on one note, elaborated melodical- ly and with the constant application of the tintinnabuli principle.

The work has two movements, Ludus ('game') and Silentium, which complement one another. The first is a gradual melodic and intensification of a dynamic gesture, while the second, about twice as long, also expands a melodic line, but so slowly that the music is heard as a long unwinding into silence. With a searing fortissimo A on both solo violins, four octaves apart, the Ludus begins. This intense initial utterance is like a wiping clean of the slate. Nothing is left after it but silence (for eight minims) out of which music tentatively distils. It may be describ- ed in some detail: working in pairs and starting with the first violins divisi, the tutti strings repeat the note A four times accompanied by the tintannibuli notes C and E, all in equal crotchets; this pattern descends through the strings down to the fundamental A reiterated by the double-basses. The second violin enters with an animated tintinnabuli figure, answered in triplets an octave lower by the first soloist, as the piano announces the triad of A minor at a low pitch. The tutti strings then reverse the pattern of their entrance, ascending to leave the second soloist to sound the high A four times, the piano playing tintannabuli notes. All is piano and pianissimo. This is followed by silence for seven minims.

This completes the first of nine sections which elaborate further variations from the opening note. Each section is longer than the last by alternately four and five bars, while the pauses between sections grow progressively shorter (eight minims, seven, and so on down to one). So far the only pitches sounded are those of the A minor triad. Begin- ning with the second section, each section adds two new pitches (one above A, one below) to the stock of notes in use. First, B above and G below are added, then C above and F below, and so on until step by step a two-octave sweep has been created in the eighth section, followed by a candenza. This gradual melodic extension is accompanied by a general rhythmic intensification and a steady increase in the dynamic range. As the stock of melodic notes is increased, their interaction with the tintinnabuli notes produces increasingly more complex groupings of tones. Similarly the two soloists' figuration ranges ever more widely as new pitches 'become available'.

The cadenza introduces rapid fff arpeggios and tremolandos as the piano picks out a three-octave descen- ding scale, doubled or echoed by the other instruments. This scale is arrested on the penultimate note, B, leading 136

to the ninth section which introduces two chromatic pitches - F# and E b. The resultant chords pulsate loudly while the soloists articulate rapid arpeggios; but A minor, never entirely abandoned, reasserts itself first through the tutti strings and then the soloists. Finally an A minor triad, sustained for a long while, brings an end to all movement.

The second movement, Silentium (senza moto), begins with a piano arpeggio which immediately places the new tonal centre as D. This arpeggio recurs throughout the movement at intervals that grow steadily longer by one bar at a time. The material is utter simplicity. The first soloist, the first tutti violins and the cellos create and ever- widening melodic arc, starting on D and adding first the pitch above and then the one below, then the second pitch above and so on, always proceeding by step and return- ing through D. While the cellos play dc/, the first violins proceed more slowly with o c, and the first soloist slower still with o. d o in a slightly different pattern. The other parts function as tintinnabuli voices (the two soloists later exchange roles). Finally the cellos describe their melodic arc again (grown to four octaves), then taken over by the double-basses whose descent towards a final low D merges into inaudibility. The last note actually sounded is a low E, the penultimate.

Thus a beautiful, subtle work is created by the interlock- ing of several closely related patterns or ideas: these arise from the steady assembly of a melodic scale, the tintinnabuli principle and the harmonic clusters that it forms, and the use of proportional, additive and reductive time procedures.

* The Stabat mater is a double trio for three voices and three strings. The text consists of 20 stanzas grouped in pairs following the rhyme scheme AAB/CBB. Part divides them into four groups - 4,6,6,4 - with an instrumental ritornello of much faster music between each group. The work begins and ends with a slow unwinding of the A minor triad (the voices singing 'Amen') which forms the basis of this piece (see ex.3). In the opening and closing sections the dominant note-length is a dotted semibreve; during the stanzas it is a minim, and in the ritornellos a quaver. Thus there are nine (3x3) sections in all, and three distinct speeds.

Ex. 3 sva, I ,,

id r j I , < i ? I I ?. No of intervah and _ -V pitches: 1 2 1 * I a a t 1I

A diagramatic representation of the violin's opening pasage, imitated by viola and cello beginning on C and E repectively

We examined earlier the four modes of generating melody from a text. In the Missa, as in several other shorter works, the melody in any voice either rises or falls. But in longer works (such as the Passio) it becomes desirable to have a more frequent change in the melodic direction, and accordingly this takes place with each word. Such is the case in the Stabat mater, but with one added refine- ment which takes its cue from the rhyme scheme in which the third line detaches itself from the previous two. The


melodic voice begins on the tonal centre for the first two lines (alternately rising and falling), but starts above and below that note for the third line (see ex.4). All four melodic modes can now be present in each melodic voice. An interesting innovation in the technique occurs when a single voice sings a tintinnabuli part, following the 'rules', but no melodic part is actually sounding.

Ex. 4 Tenor

'., I Jl i.."f Ji JI .J.. J ol Ji r" ..1 Sta- bat mater do- lo- ro- e a jux- ta cru- cem lac- ri- mo- ?a dum pen- de- bat fi- li- us

From the first to last the tintinnabuli voices remain in A minor, but the melodic voices gradually climb through the arpeggio using each note in turn as their tonal centre. Throughout the first section they begin on A, but at the beginning of the second section the soprano moves onto C and reverses the distribution of the melodic modes; other melodic and rhythmic variations are also introduced. The tenor begins the third section on E, and now the voices sometimes exchange melodic and tintinnabuli roles within a stanza. The fourth section begins with the soprano on high A (and the rules prescribe an unavoidable high C) but now the melodic basis moves back down through the arpeggio, stanza by stanza, until the final stanza is sung in unison (tenor at the octave below) - a magical effect that ushers in the high string music with which the work began, though now the singers sing 'Amen' in turn and the strings descend to a low A minor triad to bring the work to a close.

Most would agree that the presence of the composer during the preparation and performance of one of his works lends a special authenticity to the occasion. The precise implications of this thought raise a host of questions, par- ticularly for anyone in the field of early music, but in con- temporary music it is naturally assumed that the composer is useful to explain what he wants - as if the score is not enough, no matter how complex its instructions. A page of music by Arvo Part is empty of all but the notes themselves and occasional dynamic markings. There are few accidentals, no crescendos or rallentandos, no verbal instructions and often just one basic rhythm. Either this music is very simple, or so complex that nothing suficient can be said!

My approach to the music was encouraged by my experience of working with medieval and renaissance polyphony which has similar 'limitations'. Nevertheless, some of the scores posed questions which would obvious- ly benefit from discussion with the composer (this applied to the scores on hire only: those for sale contained all the information that was needed).

Working with Part in fact proved not only practical in the obvious sense, but enlightening in a more fundamental way. First there were details of scoring to clarify - many of the works offer various options with regard to the number and type of instruments, and our early discus-

sion centred on these possibilities. As with the music itself and its compositional process, there are open choices to be made, but in choosing one thing it soon became clear that other questions had thereby been decided. I was also naturally curious as to the composer's idea of tempos. The realisation of a particular atmosphere was clearly of great significance, and so the actual tempo might change ac- cording to the building, the performers and all other variables. Of special importance were the silences between phrases, which in turn affected the phrases themselves: the notes are (relatively) easy, yet performers can so easi- ly make things hard for themselves.

In this respect one should not overlook Part's earlier career as a 'professional' composer of film music and also many years spent as a sound engineer at Tallinn radio. He has a keen ear and makes extremely practical suggestions about all aspects of a performance or recording - including the positioning of the artists and the quality of light. Yet he never imposes his ideas on the performers; he does not have to, as his suggestions are so innately appropriate. On the other hand, he has an open mind about many details of a work and will hear alternatives and still not always insist on one, though a preference once stated will naturally be respected.

Pirt has the ability to characterise his music in a physical gesture: to illustrate the opening of 'An den Wassern' he tore off a narrow strip of paper and cast it into the air, to drop flutteringly to the ground. But perhaps of greater value is his sense of humour and generosity of spirit. (He once arrived at a rehearsal with renewed alterations to the organ part, and slices of fruit cake for everyone.) Work- ing last year with a group of student singers, his approach was not to instruct with musical terms, but rather to talk about what lay behind the music. The Kyrie of the Missa for example - we who have nothing ask God for what we truly need. (How does the music express this? Pictorially it does not, though there is certainly an emotional framework befitting the situation.) He then explained briefly how the words compose the music.

Each phrase must 'live' - it seems so obvious, yet it might be overlooked in a music so superficially empty. Gregorian chant and early polyphony must live in the same way - fervently, not overtly as an extension of the per- former's persona, but from an inner state of heedfulness.

*

Part's music is once again being performed in Estonia where, until recently, it was forbidden. Meanwhile, his reputation continues to grow rapidly in the West. Within the next two years, most of the works in tintinnabuli style will have been recorded and plans are underway to record the earlier music as well, beginning with the three sym- phonies. As for new works, it is agreed not to talk about them until they are ready.

Paul Hillier will conduct a performance of Arvo Pirt's St John Passion at St Luke's Church, Chelsea on 21 March at 8p.m.

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Article Contentsp.134p.135p.136p.137

Issue Table of ContentsThe Musical Times, Vol. 130, No. 1753, Mar., 1989Front Matter [pp.121-180]Letters to the EditorBerlioz's Marche au supplice [p.128]Schenker's 'Counterpoint' [p.129]Mozart's: C Minor Mass [p.129]Byrd and Clemens Non Papa [p.129]Dr Greenhouse Allt [p.129]Peter Wishart [p.129]

[Acknowledgement] [p.129]An Interview with Arvo Prt [pp.130-133]Arvo Prt: Magister Ludi [pp.134-137]Analysis and Interpretation in the Performance of Handel's Concerti Grossi, op.6 [pp.138-141]Hans Rott and the New Symphony [pp.142-147]Mozart's "Das Veilchen" [pp.149-164]London Diary for AprilMusicrostic 1 [p.156]MT Christmas Quiz: Answers and Winners [p.157]MT Fifty Years Ago... [p.158]Book ReviewsMusic and Nazism [p.159]New Insight [pp.159-161]La Stupenda [p.161]Books Received [p.161]

Record ReviewsBartk Quartets [p.162]Kreisler [pp.162-165]

Music in Britain: March Highlights [p.166]MT a Hundred Years Ago... [p.166]Music in London [pp.167-174]ObituaryDenis Matthews [p.174]Dennis Arundell [p.174]Karl Geiringer [p.174]Romola Costantino [p.174]

Church and Organ MusicNew Wine in an Old Cask: The Rebuilding of the Oriel College Organ [pp.175-177]London Organ Recitals [pp.179-181]Royal College of Organists [p.182]Examination Results [pp.182-183]

Book Reviewuntitled [p.181]

Back Matter [pp.184-188]

paul hillier - arvo part - magister ludi

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