Drozdov - Au tombeau de Rachmaninoff

Today, I'm sharing a short cycle of piano pieces paying homage to the life and legacy of legendary Russian classical composer Sergei Rachmaninov. Written by Russian-American pianist Vladimir Drozdov, Au tombeau de Rachmaninoff (Fr. "At Rachmaninov's Tomb") is written in three parts:

I. Dies Irae — Composed on the day of Rachmaninov's death, this piece is built around the dies irae theme originating from Gregorian chat and found in the works of many influential composers, most famously in Liszt's Totentanz (concert piece for piano and orchestra). Tender and somber in its expressiveness, the first piece is a mourning song.

II. Epitaphe — The second movement is exactly as the title indicates; Drozdov has written the metaphorical musical epitaph for Rachmaninov's tombstone. Rachmaninov's fondness for polyrhythm, superposing chords, and rapid flourishes are all present in this simultaneously violent and delicate writing.

III. Psalmodie du printemps (Fr. "Chant of the Spring") — The last piece of the cycle feels like a canzone, a simple song that (to me) symbolizes the acceptance of loss and celebration of Rachmaninov's life, as the person, the pianist, the conductor, and the composer. Drozdov again imitates the characteristics of Rachamaninov's own compositions, especially the Preludes, the Etudes-Tableaux, and the slow movement of his Piano Concerto No.3.

Hope you enjoy these pieces and leave your thoughts below!

Nørgård - Symphony No.6 "At the End of the Day"

Just learned about the music of composer Per Nørgård this week! I've been listening to an incredible performance of his Symphony No.6 "At the End of the Day" by the Danish National Symphony Orchestra (directed by Thomas Dausgaard) — it is violent, tragic, hopeful, haunting, jarring, expressive, and uplifting at intervals. I'll have to write more about this piece later, but for now you can find a perusal score on Issuu. Hope you enjoy this amazing piece!

Crumb - Makrokosmos IV - Celestial Mechanics

In the past I have not really enjoyed experimental contemporary piano music, but I was really intrigued by some of the sound effects and novel textures George Crumb created in writing Makrokosmos. The title is derived from a cycle of piano pieces (Mikrokosmos) by Béla Bartók, a 20th-Century composer Crumb deeply admired.

The four volumes of Makrokosmos are scored for amplified piano, which is similar to the prepared piano by John Cage (inserting items into strings like screws, bolts, etc. to create various timbral effects). The amplified piano instead requires the performer to use all aspects of the instrument. That is, rather than be limited by playing the piano using just its keyboard, Crumb calls for direct pizzicato (It. 'plucking') of the piano strings (capable on a grand piano by opening up the cover), muting the strings, producing artificial harmonics (by pressing lightly on the strings to change the available length for vibration), dropping various objects on the strings (e.g. metal rulers), scraping the strings with the fingernails, "ghost notes" (I don't know the actual name for this technique, but I have played around with this myself; playing some keys of the piano silently and allowing their sympathetic vibrations to impact the music played normally with other keys), and other extended techniques.

Though the first two volumes call for a single performer on solo amplified piano, but Makrokosmos IV (the fourth volume, Celestial Mechanics: Cosmic Dances for Amplified Piano, Four-Hands) calls for two performers on a single amplified piano (and at one point even calls for the page turner to participate in the music making). A wonderful program note has been written by Steven Bruns regarding especially the first two volumes of Makrokosmos (themselves masterworks of piano literature, augmenting the possibilities of the instrument and seriously shaping the direction of contemporary piano music). Rather than quoting the entire thing here — though I highly encourage you to go read the program notes — I will share some of the things Bruns has written for some context for these pieces.

As is true of most of Crumb’s music, the rhapsodic, quasi-improvisatory impression of many passages in Makrokosmos belies an extremely precise compositional design. The voluminous compositional sketches for the work reveal the composer’s meticulous planning, from the large-scale formal shape of each volume down to the smallest details. Chopin’s manuscripts confirm that the apparently “free” filigree* in certain passages is in fact the result of painstaking revisions. Crumb’s sketches illustrate a similar concern for a perfectly balanced musical conception. Just as pianists come to appreciate the intricate architecture of Makrokosmos in the process of rehearsal and performance, the design of each piece and of the whole crystallizes for listeners after repeated hearings. [1]

*Examples of the 'filigree' Bruns writes about include some of his Études: Op.10 No.4, No.5, No.7, No.8 or Op.25 No.1, No.2, No.6, No.11.

Makrokosmos IV is split into four pieces, each of which I've written a quick description of here:

I. Alpha Centauri — The opening piece of the cycle focuses predominantly on interlocking rhythms with atonal cluster chords and repeating notes. While Crumb begins to incorporate components of the amplified piano in this piece (such as string striking, etc.), they are used relatively sparingly; you can think of the opener as a sampler for these techniques. As the closest star to the Solar System, 'Alpha Centauri' represents the closest relationship to conventional piano playing.

II. Beta Cygni — One of the stars of Cygnus the Swan, this gentler movement makes particularly enthusiastic use of artificial harmonics on piano strings. This requires the players to lightly place their fingers at different points along the strings in order to change what length of the string actually vibrates and produces a note. These notes are typically dynamically muted and have a softer texture or 'timbre.' The effect is that notes played on the piano (especially in the higher range) sound like natural harmonics on the harp. Explorations of the timbre of artificial harmonics with trills (alternating with sopra or full-tone notes) and harmonic glissandi (where the placement of the muting hand slides over the strings) also characterize this movement.

III. Gamma Draconis — From Draco the Dragon, this movement is far more violent than the two preceding it. Dropping metal rulers on the strings with haunting glissandi by strumming wide swaths of the piano strings directly, low artificial harmonics with lopsided 'time signatures' (rather, impressions of lopsided time signatures), rapid and brusque textures and rhythms, and polytonal imitations with half-step dissonances and divergent key centers make this movement particularly hair-raising.

IV. Delta Orionis — Orion the Hunter is the symbol of this final cosmic dance. Frequent pizzicato repetition, "ghost notes" as I described earlier (with changing combinations of silently depressed keys), artificial harmonic trilling from Beta Cygni, forearm cluster chords (literally whacking the keyboard with the forearm), knocking on different parts of the piano (also known as frappe), etc. are used throughout the movement. The "Cosmic Canons" combine conventional playing (on the keys), frappe, artificial harmonic glissandi, and string pizzicato across the soundboard. The surreal textures makes for an ethereal texture that is so hard to pinpoint — precisely Crumb's intention by expanding the scope of the piano's instrumental faculties.

I knew nothing about George Crumb to start with when I first heard his music, so I hope this provides some context! Leave your thoughts on the pieces below and see you in the next one!

[1] Bruns, Steven. "Makrokosmos I & II". Program note on DRAM. <https://www.dramonline.org/albums/george-crumb-makrokosmos-i-ii/notes>

Górecki - Three Pieces in Old Style

I've recently become more interested in orchestral music (the vast majority of my classical music playlists consisted of piano music in the past), and especially starting to learn more about orchestral strings.

As a wind player myself, I don't have the best grasp of the possibilities with string instruments, but some recent listening has given me a better idea. From Finzi's fantastic Clarinet Concerto, Op.31 and Eclogue, Op.10 (which I hope to cover soon) to Jenkins's Concerto grosso 'Palladio', I'm learning a lot.

I'm writing today about Henryk Górecki's Three Pieces in Old Style for string orchestra. I first listened to this cycle of pieces on CD a few weeks back (same stacks/stash as before) and was really drawn by the first and third pieces.

Composed in 1963 at the request of Tadeusz Ochlewski, editor in chief of the music publisher PWM Edition, Three Pieces in Old Style is another composition, after Chorale in the Form of a Canon, in which Górecki draws on Polish early music. In that period, these compositions were a kind of sidetrack or marginal music for Górecki, and he did not give opus numbers to either of them.

[The] Three Pieces in Old Style are, indeed, worlds apart from his radically avant-garde work from the early 1960s. They are refined stylisations of Renaissance melodies, maintained in modal scales, with no traces of dodecaphony or aggressive sound and clear melodic lines and lively rhythms. ... [The] finale is both the culmination of the whole and the expressive peak of the cycle, coming after the first piece, a subtle, lyrical song with beautifully captivating sound, and the second, a folk dance based on a rhythmic ostinato.

Regardless of the composer’s intentions, Three Pieces in Old Style remains one of his most frequently performed works. The cycle also proved extremely important in the context of his later work and the role that quotations from early music came to play in his compositions from the late 1960s and early 1970s such as Old Polish Music and Symphony No. 2 “Copernican”. [1]

From the standpoint of a harmonic analysis, there aren't many substantive remarks I can make without making things unnecessarily complicated. Górecki makes ample use of successive suspensions, and in the third piece uses parallel cluster chords (which completely defies Roman numeral analysis; I'm not going to write a thirteenth chord).

Now that we have the context for the pieces and their inception, let's have a listen!

First Piece

I really love the first piece of the cycle for its repetitive motif creating somewhat of a hemiola (superposition of two time signatures or pulses, in this case ⁶/₄ on ³/₂) and the use of natural minor chords. 

First Piece, mm. 1-4

The rhythmic simplicity and visual simplicity of the opening figure on the score belies the harmonic density of what Górecki has written. I don't have a good idea of how I would notate these chords:

First Piece, mm. 1-4 (condensed)

These closed chords use the tension of minor and major seconds, even as long sustains, to support a repeating melody throughout the first piece.

First Piece, melodic ostinato

Górecki also places different numbers of instruments on each of the drones to change the function of the chords being played — that is, while all of the original chord tones are present, some carry more weight than others as a result of partitioned instrumentation (rather than actual dynamics). It's a subtle way to drive harmony without changing the hushed texture.

First Piece, episode "A" opening

First Piece, episode "A" opening (condensed to reflect relative weights)

Thus, we could actually start to write a harmonic analysis (though I won't attempt it here). As the piece progresses, note how the harmonic contour changes with these voicings. Stacked sustains (see below) also provide both harmonic direction and also a degree of ambiguity.

First Piece, stacked sustains in episode "B" opening

What I most love about the First Piece is the harmonic ambiguity between a minor and d minor because of Górecki's skillful use of the d Dorian mode (d minor with raised sixth #6 to B natural). Let's work with the first appearance of episode "B" -- at 0:56, we feel solidly in d minor, even though the bar prior feels like it has settled on a minor. At 1:04, it shifts again to a minor, helped along by the B natural in the first bar of episode "B" and the lowest pitch being A₃. At 1:09, the use of E₃ on beat 3 shifts the feel back to d minor, but the sustained G major at 1:11 sets us up for the a minor release in the next bar at 1:15. Thus, we can't really conclude that the piece is in either d minor or a minor -- it is simply in d Dorian: a prime example of how to write convincingly in a different mode.

Here's a brief listening guide / road map to the piece, with two distinct repeating episodes:
(0:00) Introduction with long tones lasts four bars, setting up motivic clustered chords.
(0:19) First instance of episode "A" with heavier C₄-F₄ voicing.
(0:56) First instance of episode "B" -- note the stacked sustains.
(1:15) Second instance of episode "A" with heavier C₄-E₄ voicing and accented suspensions in violas.
(1:53) Second instance of episode "B" -- note the divisi of first violins to include a higher voice.
(2:12) Third instance of episode "A" with the second split of the first violins playing the same motif twice here (different octaves each time).
(2:51) Third instance of episode "B" truncated to a four-bar phrase. For the first time, all the string enter on the same unison D₄, and slowly break off into their own sustains throughout the descent. In the final bars, basses enter, rounding out the sound and providing a true sense of climactic energy as the unresolved G major blossoms.

Second Piece

The second piece, in C Mixolydian (B♭ accidental on C major), reminds me of a gavotte or bourrée some other dancelike piece, and it is reminiscent of an older style in spite of the the Mixolydian mode (major with flattened seventh). I also think I find this movement less captivating than the others because the repetition is so stark, in part due to the faster pace. For that reason, I'll leave you to listen to it. The major feature is this melodic ostinato.

Second Piece, melodic/harmonic ostinato

(3:17) First statement of opening melody and episode "A".
(3:42) Shift from ⁴/₄ to ³/₄ but retaining the motif signals episode "B". New harmony with D major and B♭ major also are introduced here.
(3:58) Interesting transition here keeps the harmonic motion in ³/₄ but the time signature changes into ⁴/₄, making...
(4:04) ...the reentry of episode "A" particularly unexpected.
(4:26) Episode "B" reentry.
(4:42) Similar harmonic transition as at 3:58 but with heavier articulations and dynamics.
(4:47) Blending of episode "A" contour and feel with episode "B" harmony with raised third of the supertonic (F#).

Third Piece

Someone in the comments of the video I've linked above suggests that the first and third pieces of the cycle are "proto-ambient" music, but I'm not sure I necessarily agree with that statement entirely.

While the third piece especially relies on drones (exactly what it sounds like, long sustains on unmoving notes), which are common in ambient music, I think it's more austere and purposeful (rather than atmospheric or ambient) in its simplicity, especially as Górecki specifies for all to play without vibrato with tutti senza vibrato. Even "minimalism" doesn't quite capture it; Górecki's phrases are drawn out, while minimalist music more frequently repeats shorter ideas.

Either way, whatever you'd like to call it, I really enjoy the beautiful dissonances and resolutions over the course of this piece. I also really like Górecki's use of the Dorian mode here as well (minor with raised sixth, so iv becomes IV in the mode), sitting on G major which feels like a dominant to C but subverting the cadence to d minor, suddenly but retroactively revealing the subdominant function of G major.

The constant shifting between the tonic centers of a and d does not feel jarring but rather transcendent, rising above musical boundaries of harmony within this diatonic language. In fact, the diatonic writing Górecki displays here makes these pieces of the titular "Old Style" — other pieces by Górecki, it turns out (I did not know this), rely on serialism, intense atonality and polytonality, and other hardcore 20th-Century composition techniques.

The drones on D₂, E₃, F₄, G₅, and A₆ (visualized below so you can appreciate the wide range) serve as a translucent harmonic framework, setting the mode of d Dorian.

Drones of the Third Piece visualized in bass, treble, and alto clef

(It's insane regardless of what clef you look at it in)

Third Piece, episode "A" × 2

Another brief listening guide:
(5:30) Opening of Third Piece. First instance of episode "A".
(5:50) We're now finished with the first half of episode "A". This marks the first statement of the second five-bar phrase (²/₂ × 2 + ³/₂ × 3).
(6:15) Second instance of episode "A".
(6:39) Second instance of episode "A", second five-bar phrase. The E₄—D₄—|C₄—D₄—E₄ motion in the first split of the second violins always gives me chills.
(7:11) First instance of episode "B": A traveling parallel cluster chord catches us (or perhaps just me) by surprise.

Third Piece, episode "B" opening

Here, we see the first traces of Górecki's fondness for serialism. This program note states it nicely:

It is only in the third piece that the expression of successive phrases in the old Polish song comes closer to that which we know from Górecki’s serial music. In this piece, the composer overlaps the string parts, starting the melodic line in each instrument with a different tone of the Dorian scale. This can recall for the audience Górecki’s serial speculations, and results in a dense, emotionally intensive eight-part harmonic structure. This finale is both the culmination of the whole and the expressive peak of the cycle. [1]

(7:51) Second statement of episode "B".
(8:41) After a startling silence, episode "A" returns. The absence of the drone gives this restatement a grounding and firm sense of resolution.
(9:10) Episode "B" cluster chords return.
(9:33) The rearticulation of the cluster chord and its seamless melting into G major gives me goosebumps.
(9:44) Resolute crescendo to the closing on d minor.

I hope you enjoyed this cycle of string orchestral pieces as much as I did. Share this post if you did and leave your thoughts below!

[1] Three Composers / Ninateka. Three Pieces in Old Style. Accessed in English at <https://ninateka.pl/kolekcje/en/three-composers/gorecki/audio/trzy-utwory-w-dawnym-stylu-na-orkiestre-smyczkowa>.

Hovhaness - Symphony No. 6, Op. 173 "Celestial Gate"

I have so far heard only one piece by American composer Alan Hovhaness, but I have found yet another wonderful composer to start adding to my playlists. Hovhaness's music merges influences from both Eastern (especially his native Armenian, but also of many other Asian countries) and Western (American and European) cultures and musical traditions.

I recently listened to Hovhaness's Symphony No.6, Op.173 "Celestial Gate" from the same trove of delightful CDs as I first heard Revueltas's Sensemayá, Schreker's Nachtstück from Der ferne Klang, and Elliott Carter's Variations for Orchestra. The heavenly (or, quite aptly, "celestial") melodies and textures, with heavy yet lush orchestration and breathtaking harmony (usually conveyed by the strings) — and alternatively sinister and chaotic sections wedged between — make for a well-rounded single-movement experience.

Unfortunately, I don't have a copy of the score for this beautiful symphony, but instead I'll provide a listening guide here from what I picked out listening to it. Some of the melodies or motifs I can pick out by ear, but my guesses at instrumentation or orchestration may not be completely accurate! I would suggest first listening to it "fresh" without any additional primers, so you can experience the chills and the warmth as well, and then have a listen with the guide.

Introduction and First Episode (light)

(0:00) The introduction features a bassoon solo making a rather mysterious call into the silence.

(1:16) A beautiful string swell picks up seamlessly from the bassoon solo.
(1:35) Breathtaking clarinet incantation [1]. I aspire to play the clarinet like this.

Transcribed clarinet solo, concert pitch

(some rhythms, articulations, and dynamics are guesses)

(2:40) Beautiful string swell much like what preceded the clarinet solo.
(2:57) Oboe enters halfway through the clarinet solo phrase (third line), and clarinet reenters (fourth line). Similar lyricism and "incantations" appear throughout the symphony.
(3:37) Another beautiful string swell, reaching the highest pitches heard so far.
(3:53) The energy starts to pick up from here. Oboe enters with the clarinet motif, and others instrument groups begin to develop it.
(4:05) Cellos (or perhaps violas) enter on the same motif, sequentially shifted to start on the minor sixth.
(4:11) Cellos (or perhaps with basses) enter on the same motif, down two octaves. From this point forth, the motif appears several times in new keys, including at 4:38, 4:49, 5:01, etc., frequently in canon.
(5:22) This beautiful tutti marked by the clarinet motif rapidly develops into a cinematic, almost choral, expanse.
(5:37) This woodwind tutti replays the motif over altered harmonies, using superposed Phrygian, Aeolian, and Mixolydian modes. It's a surprising combination, but Hovhaness uses it very effectively.
(6:00) Solo violin echoes the clarinet solo from 1:35, supported only by high string voices.

Second Episode (dark)

(7:05) The music quickly turns stormy and sinister, with cellos repeating the bassoon line from the opening.
(7:37) An episode of interspersed chaotic (perhaps aleatoric) string figurations interrupts the cellos.
(8:05) Cellos return with the same bassoon line.
(8:22) A second episode of chaotic strings again interrupts the cellos.
(8:49) Cellos and basses return together, with the bassoon line again. At this point, the symphony feels like a film score, with violent flashbacks represented by the string orchestral interruptions.

Third Episode (light)

(9:27) String swell starts off far slower than before, but the dynamic rises sharply.
(9:50) Another breathtaking statement of the clarinet line by none other than the French horn.
(10:15) A trumpet picks up where the horn left off to incredible effect, sparkling over the string backdrop.
(10:31) Horn resumes, finishing off a beautiful solo before the trumpet wraps its solo as well.
(10:57) Yet another string swell, adding sharps to its key before it settles.

Fourth Episode (dark)

(11:16) Repeated articulations on the same note by horn slowly work from a dark to a bright, brassy tone in its mid-low register, finally flaring out into a menacing statement of the bassoon's opening line, with dissonant string cluster chords and tense trilling and pizzicato interjections augmenting that mood.
(12:14) Hovhaness's mastery of exquisite orchestration is on full display here. His use of the chimes is chilling, and the delay of high horn (12:26) until the greatest dissonance peaks is perfect, and the high timpani adds to the tension. Rather than pushing an entire section of strings into the altissimo range, he picks just a few to add some shimmer. I'm sure there are plenty more that I can't pick out just from listening, but it's really fantastic writing.

Fifth Episode (scherzo)

(13:22) After palindromic dynamics bring the energy back down, pizzicato strings introduce a new section to the symphony. The indistinguishable time signature and the interjections by timpani constantly resetting the stress within each phrase makes for an interesting, if difficult to follow, pulse. This goes on for several minutes, with half-step dissonances created as other string voices join in.
(14:48) Flute enters with a new melody here, which sounds like it could be in 3/4 ... but it is still quite unclear.
(15:24) Another chaotic string section serves as a transition between the earlier buoyant pizzicato interlude and a new episode.

Sixth Episode (light) and Coda

(15:52) The bassoon reasserts its presence with a new figure, with similarities to the opening.
(16:15) Horn joins the bassoon with a short remark.
(16:26) The strings appear from nothing with a series of chords carrying a heartwarming melody.
(16:44) Trumpet joins the relaxed chorale with its own lyrical melody.
(17:24) The strings begin to restate the last chorale idea accompanied by horn.
(17:32) The trumpet and horn continue exchanging lines of the chorale, backed by strings.
(18:18) The chorale restarts with woodwinds joining the texture.
(18:56) Trumpet solo continues. The lyricism in Hovhaness's writing is spectacular.
(19:28) The clarinet returns with a solo figure, accompanied by tutti violins.
(19:50) Subdued string and woodwind tutti. Alternating chords continue for a few moments.
(20:18) Solo flute states a beautiful, though heartbreaking line, echoing an earlier violin statement.
(20:52) Alternating chords continue as before, at once wistful and heavenly in their ethereal texture.
(21:25) Harp softly rings over a sustained F major in strings, fading out to the end of the symphony.

Hope you enjoyed this wondrous symphony. Share this post if you enjoyed listening along and leave your thoughts in the comments!

[1] Simmons, Walter. AllMusic: Alan Hovhaness - Symphony No. 6 ("Celestial Gate"), for small orchestra, Op. 173.

Bolcom - The Garden of Eden - III. The Serpent's Kiss

Today, I'd like to share a piece by a living composer, William Bolcom! Bolcom is an American pianist and composer, and one of my favorite cycles of piano pieces is his The Garden of Eden, a set of four piano rags (ragtime style).

By far the most entertaining of the four pieces is III. The Serpent's Kiss, a rag fantasy with huge contrasts in mood and style from start to finish. Bolcom's surprising use of hand percussion (knocking or tapping the key fall or piano frame), heel stomping, and other surprises livens up the piece. Bolcom includes the following performance notes before the score, which are very insightful:

I really love this spectacular live performance by South Korean classical pianist Yeol-Eum Son (손열음). Even though she is classically trained, her rendition "crackles" with excitement and the secco (It. 'dry') articulations are right on. I don't want to spoil it; just go watch it! Enjoy!

If you enjoyed this piece, share this post and leave your comments below!

Royer - Pièces de clavecin - Le Vertigo

I randomly happened upon this piece on YouTube today and thought I would share it.

From listening to some (admittedly overplayed) pieces from the Baroque era (Vivaldi's Four Seasons; Bach's Harpsichord Concerto No.1, BWV 1052; etc.), I had wondered whether the metallic tone of the harpsichord was ever really taken advantage of. I remember reading about its poor projection in concert halls and that its metallic tone was basically the only thing that was audible in larger orchestral pieces.

But, finally, today I found a piece that really brings the "metal" out of the harpsichord. Interestingly enough, it comes from a French Baroque era composer by the name of Pacrance Royer, who wrote a whole book of Pièces de clavecin. From this book, I stumbled into Le Vertigo (Rondeau). I really enjoy the performance by French harpsichordist Jean Rondeau (what an awesome and fitting name!). The ending is ... unexpected — and I really like the video itself.

If, after watching the performance video, you'd like to follow along in the music, it starts on page 19 of the typeset edition by Nicolas Sceaux via IMSLP.org.

I didn't know before that Royer is known for his virtuosic harpsichord writing, but the last piece in the book, La marches des Scythes, is the most well-known. If you like a particular piece from Pièces de clavecin (perhaps Le Vertigo), leave it in the comments!

A harmonic analysis of this piece would be a good exercise for a beginning music theory student, but maybe I'll do it for fun and edit this post later — for now, hope you enjoy this fun piece!

Revueltas - Sensemayá

Silvestre Revueltas (1899-1940) was a Mexican composer and violinist, whose artistic motivations propelled him into revolutionary musical undertakings. Sensemayá (1937) may be his best-known work, though I only listened to it for the first time this past Thursday while working through a massive collection of classical music CDs I was given. I had first heard of the piece in a TwoSet Violin video (Sightreading Devillish [sic] Time Signatures); that was my only exposure until recently.

Historical Context

Revueltas was first influenced to write Sensemayá after listening to a recitation of a poem of the same name by Cuban poet Nicolás Guillén. Guillén and Revueltas became close friends through La Liga de Escritores y Artistas Revolucionarios (LEAR) (League of Revolutionary Writers and Artists) in Mexico in the late 1930s. They not only shared political opinions and a passion for activism, but also were closely allied as artists — Guillén the poet and Revueltas the composer [1].

Their friendship was galvanized after the Spanish Civil War broke out in 1936. Revueltas was the president of LEAR at the time and helped LEAR organize the 1937 Congreso de (Congress of) Guadalajara, which Guillén attended after his first invitation to LEAR earlier that year. Ultimately, because of their shared philosophies on art and interest in each others' work, they began "cross-fertilizing" each other's work and breaking down the insularity of letters and music [1].

(I won't go into more detail on the relationship between Revueltas and Guillén, but this amazingly detailed article in Ethnomusicology Review takes a deep dive.)

Sensemayá — The Poem

The poem written by Guillén is inspired by an Afro-Cuban chant for a sacrificial snake, which he used as the subtitle ("canto para matar una culebra" or "chant to kill a snake"). "The word sensemayá is a combination of sensa (Providence) and Yemaya (Afro-Cuban Goddess of the Seas and Queen Mother of Earth). The poem poeticizes an Afro-Caribbean snake dance rite conducted by the practitioners of the Palo Monte Mayombe religion." [1].

The religion operates in concordance with nature, and it places strong emphasis on the individual’s relationship to ancestral and nature spirits and its practitioners. The Palo mayombero specialize in infusing natural objects with spiritual entities to aid or empower humans to negotiate the problems and challenges of life. ... In the poem, the snake is portrayed not only as the snake on earth to be killed, but as the sacred Infinite represented by the Snake itself — a spiritual entity with which the mayombero or Palo infuses the snake. The killing of the snake, a sacred creature, symbolizes renewal, fertility, growth, and wisdom. This is because snakes shed their skin annually, linking them to the rainbow, heavens, gods, and the earth for African and pre-Christian civilizations.

The poem was meant to be listened to rather than read on paper [2], and this is really clear from the cadence, pace, and rhythm of Guillén's recitation, which I highly encourage you to listen to here [3]. Revueltas might have heard a rhythm like the one below in Guillén's recitation, thus deciding to use a lopsided ⁷/₈ time signature as the foundation of the piece.

Since I do not know Spanish, I decided to read a transcription and translation of the poem [4]. The combined images I visualize from the works by Guillén and Revueltas are both terrifying and enticing at once. The images of metaphoric glass eyes ('con sus ojos de vidrio') and a snake slithering through the grass unseen ('caminando se esconde en la yerba') is powerful. I feel that I can better appreciate the cultural significance of the text — because of its connection to the Palo Monte Mayombe religion — after reading the translation.

Sensemayá — The Orchestral Work

Now that we have the context laid down, let's have a listen and follow along! I like one particular recording [5] by Eduardo Mata with the New Philarmonia Orchestra best, but I've also linked to the 2012 Ukrainian premiere [6] by Hobart Earle with the Odessa Philharmonic Orchestra and the 1962 American performance by Leonard Bernstein with the New York Philharmonic [7]. All of the links in the text are to the Mata recording, my personal favorite, though the Bernstein recording is a classic!

(0:05) Revueltas depicts the eponymous snake through winding contours of woodwinds slurs, especially ominous as it first emanates from a single bass clarinet. Revueltas's choice use of both standard percussion (xylophone, cymbals, tom-toms, glockenspiel, celesta, gongs, bass drum, and piano) and cultural Mexican/Latin percussion instruments (claves, raspador, maracas, small "Indian" drum, and gourd) is established in the opening of the piece as well [8]. Originally, the piece was scored for a small chamber orchestra, but it was reworked for a larger orchestra in 1938.

Opening, with woodwind sixteenth notes (W) and first percussion ostinato (P)

The piece also opens with the accents-only part of the rhythm I described earlier. In this case, the 'rest' in the line of the poem is emphasized with a note in its place. This forms the first percussion ostinato (P).

(0:14) Revueltas starts with a really sparse texture and slowly stacks up juxtaposed musical elements. On top of W and P, he sets up the ostinato bass line (B):

Ostinato bass line in bassoon (B)

Entrances of bassoon on B and

claves with accented beat 7 of P

The ostinato bass line addition is joined by accents on beat 7 of each bar with the claves, further reinforcing P. The placement of an accented percussion attack in the 'rest' of the "¡Mayombe-bombe-mayombé!" rhythm emphasizes it, solidifying the ⁷/₈ pulse (⁴⁺³/₈).

(0:23) The first melodic strain (M1) comes from tuba solo — I wouldn't be surprised if this is a common excerpt for tuba players auditioning for orchestras. Revueltas marks dynamics in the solo very specifically to emphasize dissonant peaks. The phrase lasts twelve bars, and can be felt in three four-bar chunks (implied by the rehearsal numbers).

First melody in tuba (M1)

Entrance of tuba on M1 and addition of double bass to B

(0:44) A single muted horn makes a dissonant call (H1), signaling a repeat of the first melody (M1) in the tuba, joined by muted trumpet solo and English horn to sharpen the texture.

First horn call (H1)

H1 signals repeat of M1

(0:48) Here, the melody starts a bar late and takes eleven bars to complete instead of twelve as before. It also swaps segments of the initial statement of M1, which changes the groupings (no longer in groups of four).

(1:13) Revueltas repeats M1 for a third time in the introduction with more (and varied) instrumentation. He replaces the bass drum with the raspador on P, a scraped percussion instrument related to the more familiar instrument in Latin music, the güiro [9]. He also doubles the clarinets and adds first flute to W; adds first oboe, first piccolo (besides Sousa's "The Stars and Stripes Forever," I don't know of another piece that calls for more than one piccolo), and E♭ clarinet to M1; doubles bassoons and increases the dynamic on basses for B; and adds muted trombones on P, further sharpening the texture.

So far, I've left out ideas that were introduced earlier, but let's take a look before and after rehearsal number 8 with all motifs shown:

Third repetition of M1 with bolstered instrumentation

(1:38) The melody fades into nothingness and a new episode begins. A new motif takes center stage, marking the first appearance of all the strings (except basses). A new string ostinato pattern (S) also seems to reflect the cadence of the poem's opening:

String ostinato pattern (S)

You can hear that a lot changes here. In addition to H1 becoming a main melodic feature in this fragmented section, S enters as a melody, more woodwinds have sixteenth notes (W), and P is transfused into the violin and viola parts.

We also see the addition of new trombone patterns. The first (T1) is a recurring rhythm in both brass and percussion, while the second (T2) happens only in trombones (although related fragments do show up in other instruments). A new horn call (H2) is also added, during which T2 appears.

First trombone pattern (T1)

Second horn call (H2)

Second trombone pattern (T2)

Entrances of S, continued H1, exchanging instrumentation on P,

and new patterns T1, T2, and H2

(1:38 again) From the highlighted score, you can see that Revueltas throws each successive new idea with a slight delay. First we hear S repeated three times, H1, an exchange between T1 and S, the strings picking up P, T1 again, and the staggered entrances of H2 and T2.

More melodic fragments are scattered throughout the woodwinds and brass over the next short section, closing with a triplicate repetition of S (2:21) before the next episode begins.

(2:29) Dropping to a lighter instrumentation again, Revueltas uses the softer dynamics to emphasize the gritty and aggressive trombone line (T3) that stings the listener. This motif resemble yet another verse of Sensemayá, progressing along in the poem. Although Revueltas continues to weave musical ideas that are not related to or derived from the recitation, like the new melody (M2) played by trumpet solo, he works them together compellingly.

Aggressive trombone line (T3)

New melody (M2) played by trumpet solo

Entrances of T3 and M2

(2:43) As the section progresses, high woodwinds (flute solo and E♭ clarinet) are added to M2, violas and cellos enter on S pizzicato (plucking the strings), and horns enter on S legato (slurred or connected):

Viola and horn on modified S figure

More instruments on M2 and entrance of violas/cellos/horn on S

(3:10) After a series of extremely dissonant chords (note the piano entrance)...

...(3:18) Revueltas changes the time signature for the first time (⁹/₈ = ³/₄ + ³/₈), drops the ostinato bass line, and adds yet another rhythm from the Sensemayá recitation, occurring seven times in a row(!). The sensemayá triplet motif makes its first appearance here. (There is also a clave in the full score excerpt.) Though the lyrics do not exactly match the text that Guillén wrote in terms of syllable stress, the relationship is clear:

Modified T3 and the sensemayá motif with lyrics

Modified T3 and sensemayá motifs in full score

This massive first climax roughly marks the halfway point.

(3:39) After reducing to minimal percussion and transferring T1 to a small "Indian" drum (along with the full P pattern on tom-toms and the partial on claves), Revueltas slowly writes earlier motifs into the music.

Halfway point similar to opening, building up the texture

(3:52) He then begins to work a ⁷/₁₆ time signature into the ⁷/₈ feel, suddenly interrupting the original texture with dry double reed (oboes, English horn, and bassoons) staccato pecking (⁷/₁₆). He also brings T1 back to the brass (trumpets) and a new horn call motif (H3).

First bar of ⁷/₁₆ (⁷/₁₆ motif) and following bars

(4:02) These ideas are slowly expanded, bar by bar, until the time signature is literally alternating between ⁷/₈ and ⁷/₁₆. In doing so, both old ideas (P, T1, W, and B) and new ideas (H3 and ⁷/₁₆) meet in the middle. Revueltas also introduces a string flourish (F) that makes only two appearances.

Mixing of old (P, T1, W, and B) and new (H3, ⁷/₁₆, and F1) ideas

(4:15) Revueltas then weaves the second melody (M2) into the ever-changing time signature, all over the alternation between the old rhythmic motifs (P, T1, W, and B) and the new ⁷/₁₆ motif.

M2 over constant alternation between ⁷/₈ and ⁷/₁₆

(4:38) Revueltas brings in one more new trombone idea (T4, which actually shows up in oboes, English horn, and both piccolos) before the second climax of the piece. This one has an identical pattern to the "la culebra muerta" verses of original poem. Its two occurrences allow for the exact mapping of both rhythmically identical verses.

New trombone idea (T4), also appearing in other instruments

Transition into the second climax with T4

Now that we have collected all the main trombone ideas, we can see that the entire poem is encoded in these musical fragments:

Sensemayá: the poem embedded in the composition

(4:54) The second climax brings the strangest rhythmic anomaly of all. As if the time signatures constantly switching didn't flip you on your head already, Revueltas writes an absurd ^5½/₈ time signature!

Beginning of second climax, in ^5½/₈

Conductor Hobart Earle points out that Revueltas could have written it as ¹¹/₁₆ ... so, why ^5½/₈? Revueltas has, looking at it one way, appended a ⁷/₁₆ bar to a bar of ²/₈. Rather than marking it in ¹¹/₁₆, which obfuscates the pulse of these three bars, Revueltas offers the performer a suggestion to feel the bar as ^5½/₈ = ²/₈ + ^3½/₈ (where ^3½/₈ is the same as ⁷/₁₆).

In addition to the rhythmic complexity, the chords (in red) preceding the ⁷/₁₆ motifs are quite dissonant as well. Accounting for the transposition of each of the instruments involved, here is what that chord looks like:

Accented dissonant chords of second climax

(4:59) This leads into a four-times repeated discordant chaos of glissandi and another exchange between a different version of T3 and the sensemayá motif. Alternating high and low sforzando chords sit between the melodic glissandi and bass notes between other glissandi.

Continuation of second climax, with break

(5:10) After this suspenseful climax, Revueltas writes a four-bar transition into the final melodic gesture. Combining all of the first rhythmic motifs (P, T3, W, and B), Revueltas writes a huge molto crescendo, dynamically broadening into the coda. Note the return of the "¡Mayombe-bombe-mayombé!" rhythm in the trumpets, which also reappears in the final stanza of the original poem.

Transition into final climax (heavy vertical line)

(5:19) This grandiose climax superimposes both melodies M1 and M2 and "¡Mayombe-bombe-mayombé!" S over the original rhythmic backdrop (P, T1, W, and B). See if you can find both M1 and M2 in the score.

Final melodic gesture

(5:32) The discordance keeps growing throughout the next several bars, with so much rhythmic activity that the beat becomes difficult to find. Without any motivic coloring, here is what the score looks like:

(5:50) The piece returns with the string flourish (F) and horn call (H3) from earlier before a series of brass punches over B.

Closing of Sensemayá

(5:56) With a final flashing sensemayá motif, the piece comes to a close.

I hope you enjoyed this detailed analysis of Sensemayá! Share this post if you enjoyed it and leave your comments below!

[1] Zambrano, Helga (2014). Reimagining the Poetic and Musical Translation of “Sensemayá”. Ethnomusicology Review, UCLA.
[2] Sykes, Kathleen (2019). "The Musical Poetry of Sensemayá". Utah Symphony Orchestra.
[3] Guillén, Nicolás (1958). Recording of "Sensemayá" radio recitation via YouTube. Uploaded by Riva, Manuel Rodríguez (2013).
[4] Guillén, Nicolás (1934). "Sensemayá" (West Indies, Ltd.). Translation by Jones, William Knapp. University of Pennsylvania.
[5] New Philharmonia Orchestra, dir. Mata, Eduardo, Sensemayá (Revueltas, 1938).
[6] Odessa Philharmonic Orchestra, dir. Hobart Earle (2012), Sensemayá (Revueltas, 1938).
[7] New York Philharmonic, dir. Leonard Bernstein (1962), Sensemayá (Revueltas, 1938).
[8] Schwarm, Betsy. "Sensemayá: work by Revueltas". Encyclopedia Britannica.
[9] Reco-reco - Wikipedia (2019).

All score and part excerpts taken from the 1949 G. Schirmer Edition (New York) via IMSLP.org.