« Dewey and Merleau-Ponty | Main | Internal and External Properties: Whistler vs. Johns »
Saturday, August 14, 2004
Bad works, ironic performances
Posted by Jonathan Neufeld on August 14, 2004 at 07:37 PM in interpretation, music | Permalink
Ralph Vaughan Williams’s The Lark Ascending begins with quite a pretty theme that becomes unctuous and banal through repetition, pandering orchestral accompaniment, and a lack of development. Given this interpretation and judgment (the accuracy of neither is crucial to my argument), there are two ways one might perform the work. First, one might try to make the work the best that it can be. Call this the Dworkinian method of interpretation (after legal philosopher Ronald Dworkin). This would involve performing in what I take to be a relatively traditional way, in which the repeated theme grows and develops through the piece. In the first occurrence of the theme, one might produce a shimmering, thinner sound (less vibrato, the bow reaching less deeply into the string). As the theme develops, the tone could grow warmer and gain depth making the theme seem more mature as it loses its original naïveté. In its final iteration, a direct repetition of the opening solo, one could make the theme fully confident, as though conscious of its own beauty and freedom. (My account here was inspired by an excellent performance given by my friend David Hays last year in Springfield, Missouri. I am grateful to him for inspiring these specific thoughts.)
Second, one might play the piece with a negative emphasis on repetition rather than development. Call this the Ironic method of interpretation. This would involve playing the opening theme with the same sort of apparent innocence with which the Dworkinian performance began, but without ever making it richer or more confident—only perhaps louder. This would involve playing the last recurrence of the theme before the final solo, for example, very much against the grain of the previous performance and, no doubt, against the grain of Vaughan Williams’s intentions. It is to perform the work on something other than its own terms. (Note that this is different that performing the work as ironic.) Instead of making it sound as though the theme had developed and grown conscious and confident, the ironic performer could make it sound tired and hollow.
If my opening interpretation of The Lark Ascending (which is a little obnoxious, for the sake of brevity) is right, then the Dworkinian method seems to make the work better than it is. The ironic performance builds a critique of the work into a performance of it—it performs the work against its own grain. Does this make any sense? While I find the idea of an ironic performance compelling, I am not sure how coherent it is, and whether it is ever really to be recommended.
TrackBack
TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.typepad.com/services/trackback/6a00d8345159b669e200d83468b05669e2
Listed below are links to weblogs that reference Bad works, ironic performances:
Comments
Posted by: Tiger Roholt | Aug 15, 2004 11:55:49 AM :
Great post, J. There also seem to be what you call ironic performances that turn out to be good and interesting. But I'm thinking of examples outside of classical music: Devo's rendition of the Stones' "Satisfaction." Devo emphasized the repetition, made it sound very mechanical. Devo didn't perform the repetitious parts with the dynamics and subtleties that the Stones applied to them. But Devo's version was very fresh at the time [or so I gather--it was a bit before my time]. Also, I wonder what you would say about the degree to which such examples, in which performances of a given work vary so drastically from one another, put some strain on the traditional work/performance ontology. As I know you know, J., Ted Gracyk explores this last point, regarding Rock, in his "Rhythm and Noise; An Aesthetics of Rock."
Posted by: P.D. | Aug 16, 2004 10:00:04 AM :
I think the two possibilities you sketch out are both possible: We might think of the first as 'charitable'; it aims to produce an excellent performance that rises above problems with the composition. The other we might call 'brutal'; it aims to produce a performance that clearly exhibits problems with the composition.
I'm not sure, however, whether the brutal performance would be an 'ironic' (above and beyond your stipulation of what it means to be an 'ironic performance'). But maybe I have a tin ear for irony.
Is this analogous to the following case? Imagine two paintings of a rotting junk heap: One portrays it as beautiful, although no one looking at the heap itself would say it was beautiful. The other portrays it in a way that viewers might say was truer to the heap; it brings out whatever aesthetic quality the heap has.
Here I am inclined to say that the first, charitable interpretation is potentially ironic-- it's a junk heap, after all!
Of course, a junk heap is not itself a composition, so I'm not sure whether the case is analogous.
Posted by: Jonathan Neufeld | Aug 16, 2004 1:34:12 PM :
You beat me to my first response with your last sentence, P.D. The intentionality of the object interpreted by a performer makes the case different. I could imagine that the junkiness of the heap was part of the point of the heap in the first place. In which case, an interpretation of the heap as beautiful would certainly read it against the grain. (This gives me a reason to like "ironic," by the way--it is neutral with regard to the valence of judgment built into an interpretive critique.)
But there is another, deeper difference caused by the interpretation of the work being a performance. In your example, the interpretations constitute different works. I am wondering if the very notion of performance-of-a-work demands "charitable" interpretation, rather than "brutal" or ironic. Someone like Bob Stecker might say that the aims of interpretation are different in my two performances (in Interpretation and Construction). In the case of performative interpretation, one tries to present the work charitably--the goal of performative interpretation of works just is to present them in their own terms. Insofar as ironic brutality creeps in, the aim of performance changes to something else--to present a critical view of the work in performative terms. The second event might be seen to become something more akin to a new piece of performance art borrowing heavily from the tradition of classical music performance.
This seems to be a bit of a stretch, though. First, intuitively it just seems like a performance of Lark, in an commonsense way and to insist on calling it something different just seems unnecessarily persnickety. (This is my persnicketiness, and now that I write it down it smacks of straw man.) Second, why would the aim ever be anything but presenting a critical (say “reflective” if you think there is an essential difference between critical and performative interpretation) view of the work in performative terms?
This leads me to a response to Tiger. Changing from aim of interpretation to ontology: In Stephen Davies’s terms (that Gracyk uses) it seems like the ontological thinness of the song "Satisfaction" allows for different versions with radically different sentiments. (Just for kicks, here's one by P.J. Harvey and Bjork.) Furthermore, the recordings of these versions have legitimate claims to be works in themselves. Another way of putting the objection to the ironic method of performance might be to claim that the thickness of classical works precludes radical sentimental deviation. To perform ironically, brutally, against the grain is not to show the requisite fidelity to the work.
In spite of all this, it seems to me that these objections can be overcome. A first step might be to claim, with Kivy, that performances are works in themselves. But this is a whole other can of worms.
Posted by: Andrew Kania | Aug 16, 2004 6:15:32 PM :
A brief comment: in your last paragraph, Jonathan, you say "the Dworkinian method seems to make the work better than it is". I take you mean it MAKES the work SEEM better than it is? But if it's a reasonable performance (substitute 'authentic' here if the term doesn't freak you out - all the right notes, in a style Vaughan Williams would have recognized, etc.) how is it making the work seem better than it is? It didn't stop you forming your negative assessment. Indeed, if someone formed that judgment after hearing ONLY 'Ironic' interpretations of it, you might think they'd been misled. But even then, given a bit of contextual background (e.g. "this piece is by Vaughan Williams"), you'd be able to tell it was an 'Ironic' performance.
As for whether Ironic performances are to be recommended, I've certainly engaged in them when reading through music with friends, or playing by myself (if those count as performances). But if you were, say, charging admission for a concert, I would think your Ironic performance would have to be pretty damn funny. Otherwise, why waste your audience's time with a piece you think is bad? (Of course, if an evil impresario is forcing you to play exclusively late-Romantic mush against your will, all in the name of filthy lucre, perhaps it'd be a clever protest.)
Posted by: Brian Soucek | Aug 18, 2004 2:27:45 PM :
Jonathan,
You say that the "ironic performance builds a critique of the work into a performance of it". I take this to mean that the ironic performance in your example is like a critical statement of the sort "This work is banal." I understand that last statement, though, to mean something like: "Performances of this work cannot be anything but banal." Otherwise, in what way is the WORK banal? (See, e.g., Wollheim's claim that a type has all and only those traits which its tokens have necessarily.)
Of course the ironic performer has every right to offer that interpretation or criticism. But your friend's Dworkinian performance seems to show that the ironic performer's interpretation is simply wrong--that his or her criticism is misplaced. After all, your Dworkinian friend gave a performance that is NOT banal. He thus disproved the charge that all performances of the work have to be banal.
At that point, the ironic performance seems to lose its power, for its power came not from the beauty of the playing (or some such thing), but from the incisiveness of the criticism it contained. Since the ironic performer's criticism seems misguided, there is not much left to recommend his or her performance. In that case, the ironic performance becomes just a bad performance.
Posted by: Jonathan Neufeld | Aug 22, 2004 5:12:59 PM :
Thanks for the thoughtful comments.
Andrew,
“Makes the work seem better” is indeed what I meant—I didn’t mean to be ontologically brash. I assume by “evil impresario,” you mean “music director” or perhaps “programming committee.” Seriously though, the conditions under which one is pressured by outside forces to perform romantic mush are of course prevalent, especially in less-well-funded orchestras and venues. I think you are right that ironic performance probably would work only as a protest, but I am not sure that it would be merely clever. It would work best as a sort of protest against the state of performance of a particular work, the state of programming, etc., as well as an interpretation of the work. Which is to say, as a general policy it would not work well at all—as you say, one might be tempted to say that one had been misled if it were the only way it has been performed. But then, the same should be said of the Dworkinian performance. If beliefs about the work were settled and everybody agreed that the work was banal, then there would be no reason to perform it. So, the only place an ironic performance of the sort I am suggesting here would have a place is where there is active, ongoing consideration of a work by performers and audiences, or the possibility of the same created by disruptive (though still authentic—ontologically speaking) performances.
I hope be clear from these follow-up comments that I didn’t mean for the performance to be funny—perhaps I should use a word other than ironic. “Reflective” is wrong, since a Dworkinian performance is also reflective; “detached” doesn’t work, since that is both a technique of playing and a description of a mood; “Critical” is too charged for obvious reasons. Any suggestions? I could simply be clearer, I suppose…
Brian,
It doesn’t follow that a performance that emphasizes the banal properties of a work is itself banal. There can be a virtuosic performance of a non-virtuosic work, a brilliant performance of a dull work, and an good performance of a bad work, and, yes, an interesting performance of a banal work. So your second paragraph is not quite on target as it stands. Andrew pointed out that I was, after all, able to come to my judgment that the work is banal even after only hearing performances that treat it as though it is not. So it isn’t that the properties in question aren’t there in the performance, but that they are not emphasized by the performance—they are not its point. Every performance emphasizes certain characteristics of a work and not others and even some performances minimize certain characteristics. In neither case is it true that the performance, insofar as it remains a performance of the work, eliminates these characteristics. So your objection comes to, “since there is a performance that de-emphasizes the banal qualities of the work, it should be preferred to one that does not.” But the grounds for this judgment are exactly what I was after. Clarified (I hope not changed, but you will tell me if it is), my question is: does it ever make sense for a performer to bring out characteristics of a work that might not show the work in its best (most flattering) light? (It is hard to find words, since “best” might include “most accurate” in which case, if the negative judgment is right, would include the negative properties—hence my convoluted “against the grain” “in its own terms,” etc.). I don’t think the answer to the question is to be found in ontology, and I am inclined to think that it is connected with the sort of role performers are expected to play.
(By the way, Andrew, it's funny that you commented when you did. I thought of your "Ontology of Rock" talk at the ASA last year as I was composing my response to Tiger. Am I remembering correctly that your argument used a translplanted Vaughan Williams melody as an example?)
Posted by: Julie Kuhlken | Aug 24, 2004 7:56:45 AM :
I realise that this essay has now been posted for a while, and thus has built up a fair amount of insightful critique, but I still want to go back to the original thought and ask: What is it that the distinction between 'traditional' and 'ironic' performances should explain?
Initially, it seemed that it elucidated a problem of evaluation: the Dworkian approach making the piece better than it was. However, in that the ironic approach also improves the piece--even if at the risk of undermining the original intention--it also faces the same dilemma as 'traditional' performances: it potentially makes a composition sound more worthwhile than it technically is.
As such, I wonder whether the distinction is not as useful in making clear the fact that quality is doubly indexed, to both composition and performance, and that performance is itself a kind of evaluation. One would never play a piece ironically unless one had already decided it was beyond hope from a Dworkian perspective. But, and this is perhaps what I would be curious to hear your response to Jonathan, one doesn't even play a piece ironically unless one believes there is enough in the original composition to make the ironic transformation worthwhile. In fact, an important question your distinction raises is the following: what is the difference between a truly bad composition and a bad composition that can be performed ironically in an interesting way?
[Weblog Coordinator: in the succeeding comment, Julie added:]
PS I obviously meant 'Dworkinian', not 'Dworkian'.
Posted by: Jeremy Pierce | Aug 26, 2004 7:54:14 AM :
Do you think this is the same sort of thing as when the X-Files wrote episodes to make fun of themselves? They still portrayed the characters as in character, but they overdid it to make it silly. I know it's different in writing something new and then doing that, whereas your real intent was to take something already written and do it ironically. Still, it seems similar.
Posted by: Julie Kuhlken | Aug 31, 2004 9:14:41 AM :
Jeremy,
I am going to assume that you are directing your question to my comments...
Unfortunately, I only watched the early years of X-Files, so I am not sure about the specific example you bring up, but I can imagine what you describe as being the trajectory of the show: originally, it was the ironization of a certain conspiracy theory culture, and so it would be no surprise that it would eventually become the ironization of its own ironization. I think based on the logic I am putting forth about irony, it would eventually run out of steam (as the ironization of an ironization of...)and be simply too bad to even bother ironizing. If this holds as an understanding of the logic, the question still remains as to what tips the scales to exhaustion.
Posted by: Jonathan Neufeld | Sep 12, 2004 5:44:49 PM :
Julie,
Thanks for the comments, and I am sorry I have taken so long to get to them. I agree that there is a difference between works that are work playing (ironically or traditionally) and those that are not worth playing. And I agree that, as a performer, I make a decision that there is something worthwhile to be said about the one (and with the one) and not about/with the other.
As the beginning of an answer, I am temped by at least what I take to be the spirit Adorno's too-strong formulation in Aesthetic Theory: “Adequate performance requires the formulation of the work as a problem..." This seems to me to be especially appropriate to performing a work ironically. Performers are in a unique position to problematize works, and it seems to me that performing ironically is one way of doing it. It may well be the case that the poor old Lark Ascending would eventually fall into the “not worth performing” category if the ironic performer's views win out. Whether a work is worth performing at all depends not only on the work, but whether there is anything worthwhile to say about the work to a contemporary audience (or whether the work has anything worthwhile to say to a contemporary audience). If they all think it is bad (for good reasons) and not worth playing, and I as the performer agree (for good reasons), there is no reason to perform. If I think it is bad, but audiences doesn't (for whatever reasons), then I might have a reason for performing it ironically. If we all think it is good (for good reasons), then there are any number of reasons for performing it--revisiting why we think the work is valuable, celebrating the work, calling attention to possibilities within the work, etc. The performer’s role, in the positive case, is perhaps to keep our evaluation of works from becoming mere repetition of “dead dogma,” to steal a phrase from Mill. All of this, I think, precludes a categorical answer to the question, “What is the difference between a truly bad composition and a bad composition that can be performed ironically?”
I realize that this all depends on a deeply historical yet critical and cognitive notion of both reception and performance for which I have given no argument at all. Hmm. To be continued, I guess.
Posted by: Mai | Sep 19, 2004 12:49:17 PM :
Jonathan, apologies for only getting around to reading your blog now. What a LOT of very thought-provoking comments & responses! Great looking site, by the way--is it great looking by intention or meant to be banal and accidentally great looking? :)
I'm going to put my musicology hat on (ehem) & go back to the musical-technical basis for your distinction between Dworkian/Ironic interpretations. It seems to me that the one emphasizes a kind of teleology of performance (making the theme ever sweeter, piu dolce=more vibrato, most likely), a teleology that is supposedly absent in the score, and the other promotes a kind of bypass in adjustable helpings of expressivity (i.e. same vibrato, same level of intensity).
But don't composers precisely set out to curb the performer's expressivity by writing things such as "espressivo" (flail around) or "molto espressivo" (flail around more) or "tranquillo" (look pensively at ceiling)? I don't know the score to Lark Ascending but I can't imagine it is devoid of such markings. And it WOULD have to be devoid of markings for the expressive control to be entirely the performer's, and hence for the interpretation to be entirely the performer's.
Which brings me to one last question: if there really are no expressive markings, nor dynamics, nor indications of tempo, etc, then is it possible VW wrote an intentionally banal work? This seems entirely possible to me, but then again, i've only heard this work in performance by one or another of the Juilliard clones who excel at making everything sound like Brahms!
Posted by: Theodore Gracyk | Oct 2, 2004 5:20:37 PM :
This debate is too delicious for me to remain silent, so here's my initial thought on it. In the original post, Neufeld aligns the distinction between Dworkian/Ironic by opposing interpretations that "make the work seem better” than it is with those that highlight the works' weaknesses.
But isn't this really a three-fold model? (You're going to need this to answer Andrew Kania's argument that the Dworkian performance proves that the WORK isn't banal.)If the Dworkian makes it better than it really is, and the ironic exploits faults, there must be the "middle bear" position of "just right." (There doesn't have to be just ONE way to perform it that counts here; there can be a range of interpretations that strike knowledgeable listeners as right.)
But now we run up against historical practice and the problem of perception. "Lark Ascending" might turn out to be an interesting composotion along lines OTHER than structure -- isn't it program music, after all? Music for which we excuse all sorts of compositional failure for the sake of the program? What earlier audiences might find daring in it now seems old hat, so we notice the banality that was the price of the program. We have a clash between sonic authenticity and expressive authenticity, so it is increasingly impossible to render the piece "just right" relative to ALL of the composer's intentions. To render the piece in a way that still counts as a performance (that gives the token all the features of the type) becomes increasingly impossible, and the ironic performance (that still counts as a performance of the same work) becomes possible only after we reach a historical junction where at least some intentions cannot be realized, so that EVERY performance that counts as such must sacrifice some of what was once demanded in the range of "best," thus freeing performers to monkey with it.
Anyway, that's one possibility for saving the ironic performance from the quicksand of performer's intentions. Perhaps what I'm stressing is that we have to stop thinking that a WORK sets "its own terms" for performance. Only a composer's intentions can do that, where I still want to distinguish between the work and the composer's intentions with respect to that work.
Another thing that worries me is the divide between the classical and non-classical cases (already cited in serveral replies). "Lark Ascending" is historically situdated in a performance tradition where composers determine much of what happens in performance. As such, it may be correct that repetitions become banal or tedious, program or no program. "Satisfaction" is from a different tradition, and its "composers" (somehow I hate to call Keith and Mick "composers) radically underdetermine its performance. (In fact, it's first arrangement by the Rolling Stones was folk-rock!) So differences in how works operate does matter greatly here. As mere WORKS, all popular compositons will strike us as relatively banal, repetitive, etc. That is, from a classical perspective, they're structurally "baby music" (to use the description of Mozart given to Leonard Bernstein by a musician from India).
I endorse the importance Julie Kuhlken's question: "what is the difference between a truly bad composition and a bad composition that can be performed ironically in an interesting way?" To which I reply: the weight of tradition (or just plain cultural context, if you don't like putting the weight of tradition onto the shoulders of the Rolling Stones). And that's why I'm not sure Kuhlken should say "one doesn't even play a piece ironically unless one believes there is enough in the original composition to make the ironic transformation worthwhile." The SONG "Satisfaction" may not be the object of ironic comment, since there's so little THERE. When Kurt Cobain sings a snatch of the Youngblood's "Let's Get Together," he's being ironic, but not about the song. He's being ironic about hippies, isn't he? He's using the song to invoke its cultural context, in order to contrast THAT context with his own. And his using the song ironically is consistent with his LIKING the song, which may be something less than his regarding it as containing enough to be worth transforming.
Posted by: Derek Allan | Oct 2, 2004 10:30:20 PM :
I was puzzled by Theodore Gracyk's suggestion that there might be a kind of music ('program music') 'for which we excuse all sorts of compositional failure for the sake of the program'.
I am not sure what the force of 'excuse' is here, but speaking for myself (and I am presumably part of 'we') I cannot think of any work in the history of Western music (or in other traditions as far as I know them) where compositional failure is redeemed by 'the program' to which it is written. That would surely be rather like arguing that a third rate opera could be redeemed by the libretto.
Posted by: Theodore Gracyk | Oct 6, 2004 4:21:09 PM :
As a clarification for Derek, let me note that I'm not trying to be original in saying what I said. I was paraphrasing an argument found in Peter Kivy and, before him, Eduard Hanslick. One of Kivy's examples is Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique: "musical perculiarities abound in [it]; and they don't make sense--musical sense--until they make narrative sense." It has various "gaps and defects as absolute music" that we do not regard it as having once we organize it in relation to the program. (Kivy mentions examples such as seemingly pointless repetitions in Berloiz.) There are similar examples in the symphonies of Mahler and Shostakovich. As symphonies, they frequently puzzle, either by incorporating strange passages, by pointless repetition, or by other compositional techniques that listeners find incomprehensible. Various texts are cited to justify their quirks by providing narrative sense where musical sense seems to be lacking. The case of the third rate opera is different, for AS OPERA a third rate opera would have to be a third rate opera with the libretto already taken into account. But a composer (whether Berlioz or Philip Glass)who offers something called a "symphony" invites us to appraise it against the tradition of other symphonies, a tradition in which musical sense is not already tied to narrative sense. I don't know about you, but has anyone ever claimed to appreciate Shostakovich's "Leningrad" symphony EXCEPT in relation to a program?
Posted by: Derek Allan | Oct 6, 2004 11:19:38 PM :
My thanks to Theodore for responding.
However, now that Theodore has spelt out his arguments more fully, I have to say that I find them even more questionable. First, phrases like ‘musical peculiarities’, ‘musical sense’, ‘seemingly pointless repetitions’, ‘compositional techniques that listeners find incomprehensible’ seem to me very question-begging. Is Theodore talking about music or a mathematical proof? In music, ‘peculiarities’ may well be striking and effective; ‘making sense’ may simply mean that the music is derivative and predictable; ‘repetitions’ may or may not be pointless musically – and views on that will differ; and what great composer has not been accused at some time of ‘incomprehensible compositional techniques’? (“Too many notes, Mozart!”)
Some thoughts on the general question at stake: First, I would not want to isolate ‘program music’ from the broader category of music ‘set’ to words or ideas. So ‘program music’ covers a vast area, including centuries of church music (like the wonderful William Byrd masses I’m listening to as I type – whose Latin text, incidentally, is completely lost on me) and of course opera and ballet.
But the relationship between words (or ideas) and music in such cases seems to me considerably more subtle than much current theorising suggests. Words and music can indeed work together, and sometimes do so wonderfully well. The mistake lies in thinking that this alliance is like a military alliance where the weaknesses of one can be made up for by the strengths of the other. In my view, music, like all artforms, necessarily follows its *own* imperatives first. Whether or not accompanied by words, music needs above all to ‘make sense’ in its own terms, as music, or it is worthless whatever one chooses to do with it. That’s why I gave the example of a third rate opera – my point being that poor music cannot be rescued even by an excellent libretto. (One would probably be better off in such a case presenting the thing as a play.)
The idea that the relationship between words and music is closer than this has led to the widespread view – in my view quite misleading – that there is something called ‘absolute music’ – music in its ‘pure’ state, ‘purged’ of the discursive meaning provided by words (or ‘a program’). But that kind of meaning is never *in music* anyway. Music is *always* ‘absolute’ in the sense that it follows its own imperatives first – just as painting and literature do. If music can be successfully linked to another artform – eg to literature via an opera, or to dance via a ballet – well and good (if one wants to do that), but if it fails as music, no amount of literary or choreographical genius will change that.
Theodore reminds me that my views are at variance with those of Kivy and Hanslick. I shall just have to bear that as best I can. But I have never thought that issues in art criticism or art theory are resolvable by appeals to authority.
Posted by: Theodore Gracyk | Oct 15, 2004 5:47:56 PM :
Derek, I don't mean to appeal to authority when I mention people (e.g., Kivy or Hanslick). I'm trying to orient anyone who's reading to the existing literature. But when you say "Music is *always* ‘absolute’ in the sense that it follows its own imperatives first," you seem to agree very closely with Hanslick's view. And I certainly apologize if I made it sound as if a musical structure is like a mathematical proof; the "surprise" of Haydn's "Suprise Symphony" is its violation of our quasi-mathematical expectation, so that the surprise makes musical sense AS a surprise. Haydn if full of little jokes that depend on our sense of what *should* happen musically, only to challenge us to think about why his twists of tradition are nonethless legitimate (Justin London has published a fascinating essay on one of them). But the point I was making was that some composers seem to let extra-musical consideratins drive the compositon.
But do I understand you, Derek, to be saying that my understanding of the libretto is of no relevance to my appraisal of an opera? So that the mismatch of words and music would not be a reason to regard a work as bad?
Posted by: Derek Allan | Oct 15, 2004 11:46:44 PM :
Theodore
Thank you for your reply. Apologies if I misunderstood your reference to Kivy etc.
You write: “But do I understand you, Derek, to be saying that my understanding of the libretto is of no relevance to my appraisal of an opera? So that the mismatch of words and music would not be a reason to regard a work as bad?”
I think such a mismatch might well affect one’s opinion of an opera. But the reasons for that do not, in my view, justify the conclusion – which many might draw – that there is something called ‘absolute’ music.
I would argue that an opera – like a song – is an *alliance* between words and music. A good composer will try to ensure that the alliance is as close as possible because that will give him maximum dramatic effect – the music will reinforce the text, and vice versa. It can be a very powerful combination if it works (and of course it often doesn’t...). That’s why the composer of operas is always on the look-out for a ‘good story’ and a good librettist – by which he means a story whose general tone will ‘fit’ the kind of music he writes, and someone who can tailor the scenes and the text to an even closer fit. (Hence the frequent to-ings and fro-ings between composer and librettist – to make the ‘fit’ as close as possible).
A rough parallel is the illustrated art book. If the text is well written, and the reproductions are well chosen and well placed, text and images reinforce each other. Another happy ‘alliance’.
The mistake, in my view, lies in thinking that the music in an opera or song (or ballet) is somehow a different, ‘impure’, ‘adulterated’ – less ‘absolute’ – form of music because it is accompanied by words (or dance). When one hears an ‘orchestrated’ version of an opera (ie without words) it is true that one sometimes ‘misses’ the words. But what exactly is one missing? I think it is that particularly dramatic effect that often occurs when the alliance between words and music is well crafted. My first encounter with ‘Carmen’ was an orchestrated version. At that stage I never ‘missed’ the words. Now I sometimes do – because now I have heard it sung, and I sometimes miss the dramatic effects I know are possible. But the music itself is no less ‘pure’ – no less music – for all that. Nor less ‘absolute’.
So, of course (to answer your specific question) an opera would be harmed by a mismatch of words and music (eg a comic text set to tragic music). But that would simply be because the opportunities of a happy alliance would have been squandered – like an art book where the illustrations are ill chosen and badly placed.
What easily misleads us in all this, in my view, is our tendency to think of each art form – music, literature, visual art – separately. That’s a perfectly sensible and justifiable thing to do – because each follows its own imperatives. But it can lead us to conclude that when they *join forces*, as they do in opera or ballet for example, they have somehow changed into something else – an impure kind of music (and literature and dance?). Hence the mistaken conclusion that, for example, a Bach sonata is ‘absolute’ music, while the music for ‘Carmen’ or ‘Swan Lake’ is not. To my mind, that is simply one of the many ‘optical illusions’ that lie in wait for us in art theory.
