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This chapter reconsiders ways to interpret the musical gesture of the turn figure in Mahler’s Ninth Symphony by comparing it with Richard Wagner’s use of the same gesture in Parsifal – a work that proved crucial for Mahler’s development as a composer and as a conductor. In Parsifal, the descending second is associated with suffering and pain (‘Strafe’, ‘Klage’, ‘Qual’), but also with the possibility of redemption (‘Erlöse, Rette mich!’). As in the Adagio of Mahler’s Ninth, the melodic turn is omnipresent in Parsifal. This chapter concentrates on three specific moments where this orchestral gesture seems to express the unspeakable: Kundry’s narrative of Herzeleide’s death, her description of the gaze of Christ on the cross (both in Act 2) and her baptism by Parsifal in Act 3. Comparing these moments in Parsifal with similar instants in Mahler’s Ninth highlights their essentially theatrical and transformative nature: where verbal language reaches its limits, physical and musical gestures take over, transforming the silence of the words into material movement.
Wagner’s music had theorists continuously scratching their heads. Its fabled newness challenged not only established analytical systems to flex their theoretical muscles but also called for wholly new approaches. This chapter examines early attempts (c.1880–1910) to come to terms with Wagner’s formal and harmonic challenges – crystallised, as ever, in the iconic Tristan chord. Early efforts, by such figures as Karl Mayrberger, Cyrill Kistler, Max Arend, Cyrill Kynast and Emil Ergo, were focused on identifying the most suitable model of tonal harmony among Hauptmann’s, Sechter’s and, later, Riemann’s influential systems and expanding its reach to encompass Wagner’s progressive harmonies. In these discussions, Wagner’s musical structures became nothing less than a battleground for the validity and theoretical prowess of rival conceptions of harmony. It was left to a younger generation of theorists, chief among them Georg Capellen and Ernst Kurth, to reject these nineteenth-century models altogether and to reformulate extended theories of harmony on new foundations.
Wagner’s ‘relationship with music theory’, Alexander Rehding drily notes in his contribution to the present volume, ‘was complicated’ (p. 205). One could say something similar about music theory’s relationship with Wagner. On the one hand Wagner’s music, and especially its harmonic structure, has long served as a touchstone for theoretical models both old and new. At the same time, however, music analysts more often than not have appeared intimidated by the complexity of Wagner’s works, their multi-layeredness and their sheer unwieldiness. Already in 1981, the late Anthony Newcomb noted in the first of a series of remarkably forward-looking articles on Wagner analysis that American music theory was ‘unwilling to touch messy Wagnerian opera with [its] bright Schenkerian tools’.1 To be sure, much has changed since then: not only have Schenkerians (or at least some of them) embraced Wagner, but also the toolbox of both North American and global music theory has expanded considerably over the last three or four decades, not to mention how much broader the perspective of music theory and analysis in general (what they are, what they can do and what they can be about) has become. Still, a survey of general music theory journals or analysis of conference programmes from the past two decades quickly makes clear that Wagner’s music is not exactly one of the discipline’s main preoccupations.
Recent studies applying William Caplin’s form-functional theory to Richard Wagner’s music have focused on Das Rheingold and later music dramas. However, his earlier Lohengrin, the final work he titled ‘romantische Oper’, proves an ideal candidate for such a study, since it still retains certain conventions (such as subtly disguised ‘numbers’ and a fairly clear harmonic palette) while pushing the boundary on others (such as scenes built as ‘dialogue cycles’ and pervasive use of diminished-seventh harmonies). This study first focuses on the principal Leitmotivs of the work, those associated with Elsa, Ortrud, the Grail and the Frageverbot (forbidden question), examining their theme types and loosening features, then exploring their transformations in different appearances throughout the opera – particularly Elsa’s motive. It then considers selected passages constructed in ‘rotational form’, in which one or more of these leitmotivs are used as the backbone for the cyclic form.
There exists, under various names and guises since the late nineteenth century, a common subject position constructed among Western gay men that engages power, agency, embodiment, sexual experience and marginalized identity in a way that sheds light on the essence of Wagner’s musical idiom and its lasting force in Western culture. Through analysis and close reading of instrumental passages from the end of the opening prelude to Lohengrin and the prelude to Act II of Die Walküre, this article constructs a non-essentialist gay-male subjectivity to explain the emotional force that Wagner’s use of tonality, harmony, theme, form and timbre achieve from this particular viewpoint. More specifically, the article traces the various teleologies of Wagner’s compositional practice and the ways in which these musical teleologies reinforce the explicit textual and dramatic centralities of sex and power in Wagner’s work, themselves dependent on these same centralities in contemporary culture.
Building on work by Karol Berger, this chapter analyses the lengthy final scene of Act 1 from Wagner’s Die Walküre (starting at Sieglinde’s re-entry right before ‘Schläfst du, Gast?‘) through the lens of the formal pattern common in Italian operas of the first half of the nineteenth century and known as la solita forma. The model not only serves to identify the various formal types Wagner uses over the course of this scene but also reveals an intense interaction between form and drama: the formal cues of the different stages of la solita forma, each with its specific dramaturgical implications, are shaped by the shifting dynamics in the game of seduction and recognition between the enamoured siblings Siegmund and Sieglinde.
While the music of Richard Wagner has long served as a touchstone for music-theoretical and analytical models both old and new, music analysts have often been intimidated by the complexity of his works, their multi-layeredness, and their sheer unwieldiness. This volume brings together ten contributions from an international roster of leading Wagner scholars of our time, all of which engage in some way with analytical or theoretical questions posed by Wagner's music. Addressing the operas and music dramas from Die Feen through Parsifal, they combine analytical methods including form-functional theory, Neo-Riemannian theory, Leitmotiv analysis, and history of theory with approaches to dramaturgy, hermeneutics, reception history, and discursive analysis of sexuality and ideology. Collectively, they capture the breadth of analytical studies of Wagner in contemporary scholarship and expand the reach of the field by challenging it to break new interpretative and methodological ground.
Received wisdom has it that the Marxist intellectual and political theorist Antonio Gramsci wrote little about music. Nevertheless, scattered across his Quarderni del carcere (1929–35) are a small number of trenchant comments on Italian opera, which Gramsci probed for its role in creating the civil society of a unified Italian state – a state whose failures led to the rise of the Fascist regime that kept him imprisoned for the last decade of his life.1 In Mary Ann Smart’s words, ‘Gramsci saw the popularity of opera in Italy as both a substitute for and an impediment to the development of his preferred vehicle for Romantic sentiment, a popular literature that demanded a solitary and reflective mode of consumption diametrically opposed to the experience of the opera house.’2 Opera’s melodramatic excess partly accounted for what Gramsci saw as the Risorgimento’s failure to be a truly popular movement in Italy; from an infirmity on the aesthetic plane sprang many of the irresolvable cultural and political schisms that beset unified Italy.
The hugely discrepant valuations of the alterities of opera and racial slavery – differing additionally between the period under consideration and our own – would seem to preclude their being addressed in the same article. The former has been lauded as the ne plus ultra of human artistic expression. The latter was embraced as an essential economic driver, and morally, spiritually and legally sanctioned by the finest Anglo philosophical, religious and legal minds of the time. That the enslaved decried and rejected their capture and enforced labour – through suicide, rebellion, flight, sabotage and cultural separation – has long been clear. The use of the profits, obtained through the sale of commodities that slave labour produced, to fund musical activities, including opera, has remained hidden. By using the published lists of subscribers (issued as books and fans) for the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, and combining that information with what can gleaned from demographic, genealogical and slavery sources, the extent to which the opera was dependent upon families whose wealth lay in plantation ownership or other forms of profit allied to it is established. The proportion is higher than might be supposed. Three families – Lewis, Young and the Heywood sisters – are spotlighted in case studies of box subscribers.