The Musical Thought and Spiritual Lives of Heinrich Schenker and Arnold Schoenberg [1 ed.] 1138287253, 9781138287259

Citation preview

In this stylishly written, profoundly argued, richly evidenced account, Arndt explores how Schoenberg, modernism’s most revisionist composer of Western art music, and Schenker, its commanding theorist dedicated to preserving our understanding of classical masterpieces, conducted their complementary, lifelong quests. Much more than a disquisition on modernist music and music theory, this is a rigorous exploration of contemporaneous kinds of faith in genius. Jonathan Dunsby, Eastman School of Music, University of Rochester, USA Schenker and Schoenberg – often regarded as polar opposites who embody a fissure in the history of Western music and the collapse of a common language – are brilliantly reevaluated in Matthew Arndt’s scholarly debut. Through a meticulous analysis of notated and written sources and a virtuosic interplay of disciplines and methods, Arndt delves beneath the surface of the usual narrative to sound out the musical thought and spiritual beliefs that shape the theory and music of both thinkers. As a result, what modern scholarship has divided is reintegrated, not only by melding the technical and metaphysical elements to illumine each other, but by drawing Schoenberg and Schenker so tightly together that, like repellent magnets held in tension, their proximity reveals the secret of the other’s meaning. This is a bold, brave, brilliant book. Danuel Chua, Hong Kong University, China

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The Musical Thought and Spiritual Lives of Heinrich Schenker and Arnold Schoenberg

This book examines the origin, content, and development of the musical thought of Heinrich Schenker and Arnold Schoenberg. One of the premises is that Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s inner musical lives are inseparable from their inner spiritual lives. Curiously, Schenker and Schoenberg start out in much the same musical-spiritual place, yet musically they split while spiritually they grow closer. The reception of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s work has sidestepped this paradox of commonality and conflict, instead choosing to universalize and amplify their conflict. Bringing to light a trove of unpublished material, Arndt argues that Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conflict is a reflection of tensions within their musical and spiritual ideas. They share a particular conception of the tone as an ideal sound realized in the spiritual eye of the genius. The tensions inherent in this largely psychological and material notion of the tone and this largely metaphysical notion of the genius shape both their musical divergence on the logical (technical) level in theory and composition, including their advocacy of the Ursatz versus twelvetone composition, and their spiritual convergence, including their embrace of Judaism. These findings shed new light on the musical and philosophical worlds of Schenker and Schoenberg and on the profound artistic and spiritual questions with which they grapple. Matthew Arndt, Associate Professor of Music Theory at the University of Iowa, holds a PhD from the University of Wisconsin–Madison, an MM from the University of Colorado at Boulder, and a BA with honors from Lewis & Clark College. He has previously taught at Mercer University, Lawrence University, and the University of Wisconsin–Madison. Professor Arndt primarily studies the application of insights from the history of music theory to music theory pedagogy, analysis, and criticism. He also studies technical aspects of sacred music from the Republic of Georgia.

Ashgate Studies in Theory and Analysis of Music After 1900 Series Editor: Judy Lochhead, Stony Brook University, USA

The Ashgate Studies in Theory and Analysis of Music After 1900 series celebrates and interrogates the diversity of music composed since 1900, and embraces innovative and interdisciplinary approaches to this repertoire. A recent resurgence of interest in theoretical and analytical readings of music comes in the wake of, and as a response to, the great successes of musicological approaches informed by cultural studies at the turn of the century. This interest builds upon the considerable insights of cultural studies while also recognizing the importance of critical and speculative approaches to music theory and the knowledge-producing potentials of analytical close readings. Proposals for monographs and essay collections are welcomed on music in the classical tradition created after 1900 to the present through the lens of theory and analysis. The series particularly encourages interdisciplinary studies that combine theory and/or analysis with such topical areas as gender and sexuality, post-colonial and migration studies, voice and text, philosophy, technology, politics, and sound studies, to name a few. For a full list of recent titles, please visit https://www.routledge.com/music/ series/ASTAMN György Ligeti’s Le Grand Macabre Postmodernism, Musico-Dramatic Form and the Grotesque Peter Edwards

The Musical Thought and Spiritual Lives of Heinrich Schenker and Arnold Schoenberg Matthew Arndt

First published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 Matthew Arndt The right of Matthew Arndt to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Arndt, Matthew. Title: The musical thought and spiritual lives of Heinrich Schenker and Arnold Schoenberg / Matthew Arndt. Description: Abingdon, Oxon: New York, NY: Routledge, 2018. | Series: Ashgate studies in theory and analysis of music after 1900 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017016009 | ISBN 9781138287259 (hardback) | ISBN 9781315268347 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Schoenberg, Arnold, 1874–1951—Criticism and interpretation. | Schenker, Heinrich, 1868–1935—Criticism and interpretation. | Music—20th century—History and criticism. Classification: LCC ML410.S283 A85 2018 | DDC 780.92/2—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017016009 ISBN: 978-1-138-28725-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-26834-7 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra Bach musicological font developed by © Yo Tomita

Frontispiece:  Heinrich Schenker and Arnold Schoenberg. Drawings by Tony Carter.

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Contents

List of examples List of audio examples Acknowledgements List of abbreviations Style

x xiv xv xvii xix

Introduction 1 Part I

Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s thinking about music

19

1 The eye of the genius 21 2 The obstacle of interruption 73 3 The trouble with problems 95 Part II

Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s thinking in music

117

4 Schenker the progressive 119 5 The cold shoulder 154 6 Zeroing in and zeroing out 180 7 The turning point 217 Conclusion 253 References Index

255 273

Examples

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5 1.6 1.7 1.8 1.9 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 2.8 3.1 3.2 3.3 4.1 4.2 4.3

Goethe’s conception of the genius, nature, and art 26 Schopenhauer’s conception of the genius, nature, and art 31 Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conception of the subject, the tone, and the genius 35 The genius’s view into the musical work for Schenker. FC, 1st ed., figure 1 39 Schenker, sketch for Free Composition, OC, 23/25 40 Schenker, sketch for Free Composition, OC, 23/43 46 Schenker’s conception of the course of culture. FC, 1st ed., figure 13 48 Schoenberg’s conception of the line of evolution 49 The spiral of the disciple and the straight line of the genius for Schoenberg 55 The first model for depicting interruption. FC, figure 21a 74 The second model for depicting interruption. FC, figure 21b 74 The perfect authentic cadence 78 Consonance and dissonance 80 The harmony and voice leading of Mozart, K. 332, I, second theme in recapitulation, actually mm. 177–192. MW, 2:11–12/2:1, figure 1 83 Schenker, sketch for Free Composition, OC, 20/84v 88 A piece of music with interruption 89 Schenker, “Liebe,” for “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes” (January 14, 1932), OJ, 94/14 (labeled 34/14). The aphorism continues with a few lines of text 90 The tone 98 Consonances and dissonances 100 The musical work as a presentation of the musical idea 108 Schenker, Étude, no. 1 of Two Piano Pieces, op. 1, presentation at beginning of exposition, mm. 1–4, OJ, 23/1 121 Schenker, Étude, end of recapitulation, mm. 38–44, OJ, 23/1 122 Schenker, “Mädchenlied No. 1,” continuation in exposition, mm. 15–18, OJ, 22/23. There are a few changes in pencil on

Examples  xi

4.4 4.5 4.6 4.7 4.8 4.9 4.10 4.11 4.12 4.13 4.14 4.15 4.16 4.17 4.18

4.19 4.20 4.21 4.22 4.23 4.24 4.25 4.26

the ink original, but they are neither clear nor consistent, so I follow the original 123 Schenker, “Mädchenlied No. 1,” continuation in recapitulation, mm. 60–63, OJ, 22/23 123 Schenker, “Heimat,” basic idea, mm. 10–13, OJ, 22/3 124 Schenker, “Heimat,” mm. 22–29, OJ, 22/3 124 Schenker, “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum,” version e of a–e, first strophe, mm. 1–9, OJ, 22/26 125 Schenker, “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum,” middle of coda, mm. 34–36, OJ, 22/26 126 Schenker, “Wandrers Nachtlied,” closing section, mm. 49–52, OJ, 22/6 127 Schenker, “Mondnacht,” repetition of basic idea in recapitulation, mm. 17–18, OJ, 22/2 127 Schenker, “Meeres Stille,” beginning of exposition, mm. 1–3, OJ, 22/3 128 Schenker, “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum,” middle of third strophe, mm. 25–26 with pickup, OJ, 22/26 129 Schenker, Syrische Tänze for piano four hands, book 1, no. 2, mm. 9–16, OJ, 23/10 130 Schenker, no. 2 of Two-Voice Inventions, op. 5, conclusion, mm. 25–28 with pickup, OJ, 23/4 131 Schenker, no. 5 of Five Piano Pieces, op. 4, end of exposition, mm. 17–21a with pickup, OJ, 23/4 131 Schenker, no. 1 of Two-Voice Inventions, op. 5, exposition, mm. 1–8, OJ, 23/4 132 Schenker, sketch for trio Scherzo, in contrasting middle in exposition, mm. 21–28, OJ, 23/20 132 Schenker, trio Allegretto, core 2 in contrasting middle, mm. 66–77, OJ, 23/18. Again there are a couple of changes in pencil on the ink original, but they are neither clear nor consistent, so I follow the original 133 Schenker, “Tausend schöne goldne Sterne,” continuation, mm. 5–10, OJ, 22/13 134 The formal design of Schenker, Fantasy, I 136 Schenker, Fantasy, I, exposition in A division, mm. 1–16, melody, OJ, 23/2 138 Schubert, Fantasy in C major, II, mm. 1–8, melody 138 Schenker, Fantasy, I, contrasting middle in A division, mm. 17–33 with pickup, melody, OJ, 23/2 139 Fantasy, I, recapitulation in A division, mm. 34–49 with pickup, melody, OJ, 23/2 140 Schenker, Fantasy, I, transition, mm. 50–82, melody, OJ, 23/2 142 Schenker, Fantasy, I, introduction in B division, mm. 83–100, melody, OJ, 23/2 143

xii Examples 4.27 Schenker, Fantasy, I, exposition in B division, mm. 101–170, melody, OJ, 23/2. Note: The first ending of the repeat is almost identical to m. 96, beat 2, through m. 100, shown in Example 4.26. The second ending is in Example 4.28 144 4.28 Schenker, Fantasy, I, contrasting middle in B division, mm. 171–286, melody, OJ, 23/2 145 4.29 Schenker, Fantasy, I, end of recapitulation in B division, mm. 377–416, melody, OJ, 23/2 146 4.30 Schenker, Fantasy, II, beginning of introduction, mm. 1–4, melody, OJ, 23/2 147 4.31 Schenker, Fantasy, II, theme, mm. 21–25, reduced, OJ, 23/2 (2:37 on recording) 148 4.32 Brahms, Symphony No. 3, III, beginning of primary theme, mm. 1–12, melody 148 4.33 Schenker, Fantasy, II, beginning of variation no. 17, mm. 161–164 with pickup, OJ, 23/2 (11:26 on recording) 149 4.34 Bach, Fugue No. 12 in F minor, from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 2, mm. 1–4 149 4.35 Schenker, Fantasy, II, culmination, mm. 241–248 with pickup, reduced, OJ, 23/2 (13:13 on recording) 149 5.1 Schoenberg (1966), “Ich darf nicht dankend,” introduction, mm. 1–3 166 5.2 Wagner’s Tristan chord and Schoenberg’s spirit chord 167 5.3 Mozart’s “Dissonance” Quartet and Schoenberg’s spirit chord 167 5.4 Schoenberg’s “Ich darf nicht dankend” as the successful realization of a vision and an unsuccessful attempt at self-realization 169 5.5 The clarification of G in Schoenberg, “Ich darf nicht dankend” 171 5.6 Seven strands of motivic development in Schoenberg, “Ich darf nicht dankend” 173 5.7 The harmony and voice leading at the end of Schoenberg, “Ich darf nicht dankend” 174 6.1 An intermediate degree of integrity in a regular musical work 182 6.2 Absolute integrity in Schoenberg, op. 19, nos. 1–4 186 6.3 Schoenberg (1968), op. 19, no. 1, primary theme (halfsentence), mm. 1–2 187 6.4 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, transition, mm. 3–4 with pickup 188 6.5 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, secondary theme, mm. 5–6 with pickup 189 6.6 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, bridge, mm. 7–8 189 6.7 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, contrasting middle/elaboration, mm. 9–12 190 6.8 Gestalten x, y, and z in Schoenberg, op. 19 191 6.9 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, secondary theme ⇒ primary theme, mm. 13–15 192

Examples  xiii 6.10 6.11 6.12 6.13 6.14 6.15 6.16 6.17 6.18 6.19 6.20 6.21 6.22 6.23 6.24 6.25 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7 7.8 7.9 7.10 7.11 7.12 7.13

Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, coda, mm. 15–17 193 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 2, introduction and basic idea, mm. 1–4 195 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 2, repetition and continuation, mm. 5–6 195 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 2, cadential phrase, mm. 7–9 196 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 3, antecedent, mm. 1–4 198 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 3, basic idea in consequent, mm. 5–6 199 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 3, contrasting idea in consequent, mm. 7–9 199 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 4, antecedent, mm. 1–6 200 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 4, episode, mm. 6–9 202 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 4, consequent, mm. 10–13 203 Schoenberg, Blauer Blick (ca. March 1910), SC, CR 64; and Schoenberg, Roter Blick (March 26, 1910), SC, CR 65 204 Dissolution in Schoenberg’s self-portraits and Blicke from 1910, SC, CR 13, 11, 15, 71, 12, 61, 63, and 65; based on Hoeckner 2002, figure 3, 192–193 205 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 5, basic idea, mm. 1–3 207 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 5, repetition ⇒ continuation, mm. 4–8 with pickup 207 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 5, continuation, mm. 9–11 with pickup 208 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 5, cadential phrase, mm. 12–15 209 Schoenberg’s new path to salvation 221 Schoenberg’s conception of a Rätsel 224 Schoenberg (1999), “Toter Winkel,” mm. 1–18, simplified 227 Schoenberg (1981), “Wenn Vöglein klagen,” mm. 1–6, simplified 229 A strand of motivic development in Schoenberg, “Wenn Vöglein klagen” 230 Schoenberg, “Wenn Vöglein klagen,” mm. 37–39, simplified 230 Schoenberg (1980b), “O daß der Sinnen doch so viele sind,” bass, mm. 16–35 231 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 6, introduction and presentation, mm. 1–6 233 Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 6, continuation and cadential idea, mm. 7–9 234 Schoenberg (1980a), “Du sollst nicht, du mußt,” basic idea, mm. 1–2 237 Four strands of motivic development in Schoenberg, “Du sollst nicht, du mußt” 238 Schoenberg, “Du sollst nicht, du mußt,” last continuation, mm. 22–24 239 Schoenberg (1977–1978), Moses und Aron, Act II, conclusion, mm. 1131–1136d 241

Audio examples

The audio examples can be accessed via the online Routledge Music ­Research Portal: www.routledgemusicresearch.co.uk. Please enter the activation word RRMusic and your email address when prompted. You will immediately be sent an automated email containing an access token and instructions, which will allow you to log in to the site. 4.1 Heinrich Schenker’s Fantasy for Piano, op. 2, I 4.2 Heinrich Schenker’s Fantasy for Piano, op. 2, II

16:09 13:45

Performed by Luiz de Moura Castro in The Music of Heinrich Schenker © Musical Heritage Society 1988

Acknowledgements

I owe this book to a host of people who have given their time, energy, and money over more than a decade. Above all, I thank the distinguished Schoenberg scholar and radiant human being Severine Neff, who encouraged me to write the book instead of continuing to publish articles, who has mentored and advocated for me, and who labored over the entire manuscript with me. A big thank you to Emma Gallon and Annie Vaughan for their editorial work at Routledge. I thank my former advisors, Leslie Blasius and Brian Hyer, for their work on my doctoral dissertation, which is the origin of the book as a whole, as well as my mentor Steven Bruns. I thank Robert C. Cook and Jennifer Iverson for filling in for me at the University of Iowa during a research leave in the fall of 2014 and for giving me feedback on Chapter 1. I also thank Ian Bent, James Bungert, Poundie Burstein, Charlotte M. Cross, Christine Getz, Jason Hooper, Daphne Leong, Roberta Marvin, Katherine Ramsey, and Robert Snarrenberg for their feedback on various parts of the project. A special thank you goes out to my anonymous readers for their feedback, which has been transformative. I thank Seth Monahan and Christopher Brakel for their help with engraving. I thank the Obermann Center for Advanced Studies at the University of Iowa, in particular Erin Hackathorn, Jennifer New, and Teresa Mangum, for making me a Fellow in Residence for the Fall 2014 semester and for all their assistance. I thank the other Fellows—Jonathan Doorn, Mary Lou Emery, Michael Hill, and Frank Salomon—for good conversations and feedback on my writing. I thank the School of Music, the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences, and International Programs at the University of Iowa for helping to fund research trips to New York, Riverside, and Vienna, as well as trips to present my research. I thank Eike Fess and Therese Muxeneder for facilitating my examination of Schoenberg’s musical manuscripts, paintings, notebooks, and glosses during my visit to the Arnold Schönberg Center in 2013. Mr. Fess and Ms. Muxeneder have gone above and beyond in providing information, materials, and translations.

xvi Acknowledgements A special thank you goes out to Tony Carter, who drew the portraits for the cover. Thank you to Luiz de Moura Castro for permission to feature his performance of Schenker’s Fantasy for piano, op. 2. The recording first appeared on The Music of Heinrich Schenker (MHS 522205H), copyright © 1988 the Musical Heritage Society; the latter was acquired by Passionato, LLC, but both firms went out of business in 2013. Thank you to the University of California, Special Collections & University Archives, UCR Library, University of California, Riverside, as the physical owners of Schenker’s diaries, aphorisms, and compositions in the Oswald Jonas Memorial Collection. Schenker’s notes for and diagrams from Der freie Satz, vol. 3 of Neue musikalische Theorien und Phantasien, copyright © 1935 Universal Edition A.G., Vienna, revised edition copyright © 1956 Universal Edition A.G., Vienna, UE 6869/69A, are used by permission. Images of notes from the Oster Collection are provided by the New York Public Library. Schoenberg’s music and poetry and quotations for epigraphs are used by permission of Belmont Music Publishers, Los Angeles. Schoenberg’s paintings, copyright © 2016 Belmont Music Publishers, Los Angeles / ARS, New York / Bildrecht, Vienna, are also used by permission. Stefan George’s Journey through Snow, in The Works of Stefan George, translated by Olga Marx and Ernst Morwitz, the University of North Carolina Studies in the Germanic Languages and Literatures, no. 78, copyright © 1974 the University of North Carolina Press, is used by permission of the publisher. Translations for the epigraphs to the Introduction and Chapter 7 are used by permission of Ian Bent and Lee Rothfarb, Columbia University Press— publisher of Schoenberg’s The Musical Idea, copyright © 1995—and Walter B. Bailey. The scriptural epigraph, taken from the New King James Version®, copyright © 1982 Thomas Nelson, is also used by permission. Portions of Chapters 1–2 first appeared in Theoria 20 (2013): 39–120, published by UNT Press, and Journal of Schenkerian Studies 6 (2012): 1–32, published jointly by UNT Press and the Center for Schenkerian Studies. Portions of Chapter 3 first appeared in Theory and Practice 37–38 (2013): 1–62, and are used here by permission of the Music Theory Society of New York State. I acknowledge with gratitude the diligent work of codeMantra project manager Rebecca Dunn and freelance indexer Paula Durbin-Westby. The index was graciously funded by subventions from the University of Iowa College of Liberal Arts and Sciences and the Society for Music Theory.

Abbreviations

CP

FC

FM HL

HL

HS

MI

Schenker, Heinrich. Kontrapunkt. Vol. 2 of Neue musikalische Theorien und Phantasien, 2 bks. 1910 and 1922. Reprint, Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1991. Translated by John Rothgeb and Jürgen Thym as Counterpoint, vol. 2 of New Musical Theories and Fantasies, ed. John Rothgeb, 2 bks. New York: Schirmer Books, 1987. Schenker, Heinrich. Der freie Satz. Vol. 3 of Neue musikalische Theorien und Phantasien. 1st ed. Vienna: Universal Edition, 1935. 2nd ed. Edited by Oswald Jonas. Vienna: Universal Edition, 1956. Translated by Ernst Oster as Free Composition. Vol. 3 of New Musical Theories and Fantasies. New York: Longman, 1979. German page number references are to the second edition. Schoenberg, Arnold. Fundamentals of Musical Composition. Edited by Gerald Strang with Leonard Stein. London: Faber and Faber, 1967. Schenker, Heinrich. Harmonielehre. Vol. 1 of Neue musikalische Theorien und Phantasien. 1906. Reprint, Vienna: Universal Edition, 1978. Translated by Elisabeth Mann Borgese as Harmony. Edited by Oswald Jonas. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1954. Schoenberg, Arnold. Harmonielehre. 1st ed. Leipzig: Universal Edition, 1911. 3rd ed. Vienna: Universal Edition, 1922. Translated by Roy E. Carter as Theory of Harmony. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978. German page number references are to the first edition except where indicated. Federhofer, Helmut. Heinrich Schenker: Nach Tagebüchern und Briefen in der Oswald Jonas Memorial Collection, University of California, Riverside. Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1985. Schoenberg, Arnold. The Musical Idea and the Logic, Technique, and Art of Its Presentation. Edited and translated by Patricia Carpenter and Severine Neff. New York: Columbia University Press, 1995.

xviii Abbreviations MW

OC

OJ SC SD SF SI

TW

Schenker, Heinrich. Das Meisterwerk in der Musik: Ein Jahrbuch 1–3 (1925–1930). Translated by Ian Bent, Alfred Clayton, William Drabkin, Richard Kramer, Derrick Puffett, John Rothgeb, and Hedi Siegel as The Masterwork in Music: A Yearbook. 3 vols. Edited by William Drabkin. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994–1997. The Oster Collection: Papers of Heinrich Schenker. New York: Music Division, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foundations. Reprint, New York: The New York Public Library, 1990. Citations in the form file/item. The Oswald Jonas Memorial Collection. University of California, Riverside, Special Collections & University Archives. Citations in the form box/folder, page number. Arnold Schönberg Center. Vienna. www.schoenberg.at. Schenker Documents Online. www.schenkerdocumentsonline. org. Schoenberg, Arnold. Structural Functions of Harmony. Edited by Leonard Stein. Revised ed. New York: W. W. Norton, 1969. Schoenberg, Arnold. Stil und Gedanke: Aufsätze zur Musik. Edited by Ivan Vojtěch. Frankfurt am Main: S. Fischer, 1976. Style and Idea: Selected Writings of Arnold Schoenberg. Translations by Leo Black. Edited by Leonard Stein. Rev. ed. Reprint, Berkeley: University of California Press, [2010]. Schenker, Heinrich. Der Tonwille: Flugblätter/ Vierteljahreszeitschrift zum Zeugnis unwandelbarer Gesetze der Tonkunst einer neuen Jugend 1–10 (1921–1924). Reprint, Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1990. Translated by Ian Bent, William Drabkin, Joseph Dubiel, Timothy Jackson, Joseph Lubben, William Renwick, and Robert Snarrenberg as Der Tonwille: Pamphlets/Quarterly Publication in Witness of the Immutable Laws of Music, Offered to a New Generation of Youth. 2 vols. Edited by William Drabkin. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004–2005.

Style

I omit citations, editorial additions, and obvious typos in quoted text. I omit capitalizations of common nouns in quoted translations, but I capitalize all untranslated German nouns. I omit cross-outs and the like in quoted text. I render all pitch names with regular capital letters. Emphasis in quotations is in the quoted text except where indicated. Two citations separated by a slash—e.g., HL, 1/1—refer to the original and the published translation for the purpose of comparison. A single citation of a translated work refers to the published translation. I omit dynamics, tempo, phrasing, and the like in many of the musical examples to avoid clutter. I signify distinct motives and Gestalten with separate letters, and I signify distinct “motive-forms” and Gestalten-forms “produced through variation” by adding primes or manipulating the letters. I do not use separate symbols for “variants” that “have little or no influence on the continuation” (FM, 8 and 9). I heuristically supplement Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s theories with William E. Caplin’s (1998) theory of formal functions, Hepokoski and Darcy’s (2006) theory of sonata form, and Janet Schmalfeldt’s (2011) theory of formal reinterpretation. I use a mix of Schenkerian and Schoenbergian Roman numerals, supplemented by chord symbols and by “Q” for fourth chords (quartal chords), fifth chords (quintal chords), and Viennese trichords (which are frequently voiced as altered fourth chords).

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Introduction

Art and theory are in essence a single, inseparable concept. —Heinrich Schenker (1916) Fundamentally the human mind is capable of only a single manner of thinking. —Arnold Schoenberg (1936)

This book examines the origin, content, and development of the musical thought of Heinrich Schenker (1868–1935) and Arnold Schoenberg (1874–1951), two of the most influential and intriguing musicians of the twentieth century. The first premise is that there is such a thing as their musical thought evident in their scores and writings, involving both their “thinking in tones and rhythms” (Schoenberg) and their thinking about “strange mysteries… behind tones” (Schenker).1 This premise is fully in keeping with their own attitudes that “art and theory are in essence a single, inseparable concept” and that “the human mind is capable of only a single manner of thinking.”2 The notion of musical thought is an old one, so this premise may seem undistinguished, but in fact it has been explored only to a limited extent. While Schenkerian theory (in the Anglo-American world) and Schoenberg’s music have become canonical, Schenker’s music and—to a lesser degree—Schoenberg’s theories have been neglected.3 This is not to say that Schenker and Schoenberg are both equally accomplished in both domains. Nor is it to say that their theories merely explain their compositions or that their compositions merely apply their theories. Theory and composition with Schenker and Schoenberg stand in a relation of mutual mediation, where their music relies on their theory (and subsequent analysis) for decipherment, while their theory—especially with Schoenberg— relies on their music for embodiment and transformation of its concepts.4 ­(Naturally, their music embodies other concepts as well.) The same relation of mutual mediation applies to theory and performance or listening—­ especially with Schenker—but I will consider only the theoretical end of this exchange.

2 Introduction The second premise of the book is that their musical lives—for ­Schoenberg, primarily in composition, and for Schenker, primarily in performance and listening—­are inseparable from their spiritual lives. This premise is in keeping with Schenker’s belief that “music mirrors the human soul” and S ­ choenberg’s belief that music actually gives humanity “an immortal soul” to begin with.5 Here again, music scholars have minimally explored this notion, inasmuch as they have too often historicized, politicized, or ignored spiritual matters. Curiously, Schenker and Schoenberg start out in much the same musical-­ spiritual place. During the nineteenth century, ethnic Jews flocking to ­Vienna are attracted to studying music as “the most effective and rapid means to establish themselves in the metropolis,” and ironically “Viennese Jews [become] the quintessential bearers, defenders, and ultimately inventors of a self-conscious Viennese late-nineteenth-century musical tradition” (Botstein 2004, 50 and 57). The Viennese ethnic Jews Schenker and ­Schoenberg continue this practice: They share a set of beliefs in art as a moral, spiritual practice; in music as an autonomous art; and in the masters of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, especially Johannes Brahms, as models for their own time, and accordingly they side with the critical modernists influenced by Karl Kraus in opposing “the corruption of musical culture in their own time.”6 They also start out with substantially similar artistic sensibilities, which I show to be embodied in their early music. But musically Schenker and Schoenberg split. These two Viennese Jewish critical modernist musicians clash bitterly over Viennese Jewish aesthetic modernist music, with Schenker rejecting it (especially Schoenberg’s music) as the destruction of tradition and Schoenberg upholding it (especially his own music) as a renewal of tradition, and they lock horns over a number of theoretical issues, such as what counts as a chord. While musically Schenker and Schoenberg split, spiritually they grow closer. For example, while it is common knowledge that in the early 1920s Schoenberg embraces an individualistic form of Judaism, as I will show, there is a parallel, simultaneous change with Schenker, who represents himself as more consistent in his Judaism than he actually is. Both of them identify with the prophet Moses, but Schoenberg does so in proclaiming the law of the emancipation of the dissonance, while Schenker does so in proclaiming the diametrically opposed law of the Ursatz (the originary statement). So it is that Schenker, while writing his crowning work, Free Composition, which explains the activity of the Ursatz, records in his diary on January 6, 1932, that his wife Jeanette “heads the index: With God!” From that point on, the phrase becomes an urgent refrain: It reportedly appears again in the manuscript in his wife’s hand and in his own script on the last page (which is later pasted into his diary), it heads his final diary, and it opens his final diary entry.7 And on May 31, 1922, while working out his new twelve-tone compositional method, which is to be underwritten by the emancipation of the dissonance, Schoenberg similarly dedicates a sketchbook: “With God.”8 These are also the last words of the libretto for his twelve-tone masterwork, Moses und Aron (Schoenberg 1957, [305]).

Introduction  3 The reception of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s work has sidestepped this paradox of commonality and conflict. Instead, it has chosen to amplify and universalize their conflict. A few writers have explained their conflict primarily in terms of opposing theoretical paradigms (Borio 2001, 274; Pieslak 2006; Peles 2010, 167). But starting with Carl Dahlhaus, many writers have interpreted Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conflict in terms of “a gulf which could hardly be imagined deeper” between their conceptions of musical coherence as tonal and motivic, respectively, attributable to their “­ directing their attention to different stages of musical history.”9 In this way, the reception has informed the notion of a “rupture” in music history at the beginning of the twentieth century consisting in a “collapse” of the shared language of tonality, and this notion has conversely shaped the reception.10 This notion of a collapse of tonality has been shown to have serious problems: the obvious continuance of tonal music post-1908; the ideological nature of the concept of tonality, which has served both modernist and reactionary agendas; the conflicted nature of tonality as both historical and psychological; and a greater degree of continuity between tonal and so-called “post-tonal” music than has previously been recognized.11 ­Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conflict cannot be attributed to their attention to different historical periods if the periods in question do not exist. This is not to say that a dissolution of tonality plays no role in Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s musical thought; certainly it does, as I will explain. But that is just the thing: It is an element of their thought, not a historical reality that conditions their work. Nevertheless, the prevailing musicological narrative has been that ­S chenker theorizes tonal music, while Schoenberg composes “post-tonal” music. In the United States and the United Kingdom, this narrative has shaped the development of music theory as an academic discipline, which at first consists of Schenker and sets (for “post-tonal” music). Although the discipline of music theory has outgrown this original binary division, the reception of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s work continues to hew to this narrative through its neglect Schenker’s music and Schoenberg’s theories and through the non-intersection of Schenker specialists and Schoenberg specialists.12 In repudiation of this falsely dichotomous reception, I argue that ­Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conflict is a reflection of contradictions within their musical and spiritual ideas. They share a particular conception of the tone as an ideal sound realized in the spiritual eye of the genius. The tensions inherent in this largely psychological and material notion of the tone and this largely metaphysical notion of the genius shape both their musical divergence on the logical (technical) level of theory and composition and their spiritual convergence, including their invention of the Ursatz and twelve-tone composition and their simultaneous return to Judaism.13 These findings shed new light on the musical and philosophical worlds of Schenker and Schoenberg and on the profound artistic and spiritual questions with which they grapple.

4 Introduction

Method As the motto quoted above already illustrates, there are several difficulties with understanding Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s thinking about music: While Schenker’s writings are generally more cogent than Schoenberg’s, in both cases their writings are often aphoristic or fragmentary, contradictory, figurative, and alien in the ways they combine “music theory” with history, sociology, philosophy, and poetry. Who or what is or is to be “with God”? What does God have to do with music? In the case of Schenker, scholars have tended to characterize certain aspects of his writings as extraneous to the canonical theoretical content. For example, Nicholas Cook (2007, 307 and 67) distinguishes between “the specifically theoretical content of Schenkerian theory” and “Schenker’s claims about the ultimate agency of music,” which “do not just defy common sense: they are vague and contradictory, or perhaps we should see them as simply rhetorical and figurative.” Robert P. Morgan similarly makes a distinction between “Schenker’s ideological-aesthetic position and his theoretical formulations,” his “specifically theoretical” formulations, again denying theoretical status to parts of his theoretical writings.14 But Schenker regards such things as his “long forwards or aphorisms” as necessary “to prove [himself] and [his] theory.”15 In the case of Schoenberg, scholars have interpreted his laconic and charged writings with reference to various ideologies ascribed to his canonical music, such as Wagnerism or modernism.16 A particularly common theme, again starting with Dahlhaus and persisting to this very day, is that Schoenberg’s theories are disingenuous attempts as self-justification or at least out of touch with his music. Dahlhaus writes that Schoenberg’s theories, with their “irritat[ing]” mixing of genres, “are characterized by a helplessness which prevents us from taking them at their word as being motives for compositional decisions.”17 Michael Cherlin characterizes Schoenberg’s theories as behind the times of “the music itself”: In many ways Schoenberg’s critical writings cling to a teleological world-view. Yet, Schoenberg’s abandonment or repression of tonality was concomitant with the development of a musical syntax that did not, and could not, end in perfection. Despite Schoenberg’s formidable contributions to theory and criticism, his intuitions and vision as a composer outstripped his capacity as a theorist and critic.18 Cherlin makes Schoenberg out to be Schoenberger than most but not the Schoenbergest. It is as Schoenberg reports, Many people call me Schoenberger; I have obviously not done enough to imprint my name on them. So then I have to defend myself: “Please, don’t compare; the comparative is too little—I can make no increase; so please, simply the positive: Schoenberg, I myself am the superlative.”19

Introduction  5 And Julie Brown (2014, 6) says of Schoenberg’s concept of the musical idea that “it was less a serious music-theoretical concept than a figure [of speech]… through which he constructed and reconstructed his compositional project.” So in both cases, wherever Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s theoretical writings are marked by the difficult aspects mentioned above, writers have tended to dismiss them—as not theoretical, not serious, and so forth. Just as we need a method for analyzing Schoenberg’s difficult music, so too we need a hermeneutic method for analyzing ambiguity, contradiction, figurative language, and hybridity in Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s writings. This is not to defend Schenker and Schoenberg; this is just to say that ­criticism requires analysis. This point cannot be overstated. Inadequate analysis has resulted in misinterpretations on all levels of their musical thought, from the technical to the metaphysical. I use an intertextual, deconstructive, synoptic, metaphorical, integrative, dialogical, post-secular method to analyze Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s writings. I am embarrassed to bedeck my work with all these badges and tarry from the work itself, but it is necessary so as to prepare the reader to consider my iconoclastic interpretations. The literary critical technique of intertextual reading is relevant for understanding ambiguity in Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s writings. An intertext is any text “the reader may legitimately connect with the one before his eyes.” It is not simply the source of an idea; rather, an intertext is based on varied repetition of “structural invariants.” “Intratextual anomalies— obscure wordings, phrasings that the context alone will not suffice to explain”—can signal an absent intertext.20 Music theorists will recognize the similarity of intertextual analysis to motivic, voice-leading, and twelve-tone analysis. Just as motivic labels already embody interpretation of context, so quotations of texts embody interpretation of intertextual contexts; in other words, I do not spell out my reasoning for every quotation. I read Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s writings on music across all periods and genres to find their structural invariants. I look to Goethe’s and Schopenhauer’s writings as intertexts. Above all, I use Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s writings as each other’s intertexts. Schenker and Schoenberg must be read in tandem, because they read each other as they write, perhaps more than they admit,21 and they pursue different sides of their shared contradictions. Schenker and Schoenberg are like repellent magnets, whose properties are only revealed when they are brought into proximity. Contradiction in Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s writings—when it is genuine and not merely apparent—can be a fundamental feature, an indicator of change, or simply a dead end. When it is a fundamental feature, I ­deconstruct the text, explaining the contradiction as a substructural invariant beneath the surface claims. When it is a dead end (or rather split end), I trim it away through “abbreviation,” a basic principle of art for Schenker and ­Schoenberg, and by extension of theory (Schenker, HL, 28; ­Schoenberg, HL, 359). Schoenberg contrasts science with art in that “science must

6 Introduction explore and examine all facts; art is only concerned with the presentation of characteristic facts.”22 Like Charlotte M. Cross in her article “Three Levels of ‘Idea’ in Schoenberg’s Thought and Writings” (1980) and her dissertation “Schoenberg’s Weltanschauung and His Views of Music: 1874–1915” (1992), I thereby aim for a synoptic view of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s thinking about music that weaves together widely dispersed strands of text through their invariants. Such a wide-angle view is not maximally fine-grained, but it reveals a certain wholeness that would not be visible otherwise. As Schoenberg says, “We must be at some distance from an object if we are to see it as a whole; up close we see just individual features, only distance reveals the general ones,” including what connects artists whose “personalities differ sharply from each other” (HL, 330 and 412). A concern for structural and substructural invariants across texts tends to find aphorisms and fragments at least as revealing as large-scale works. This point also applies especially to my analysis and interpretation of Schoenberg’s music, which are not only highly selective but almost inversely proportional in scope to that of the works. As for figurative language, George Lakoff and Mark Johnson have hypothesized that metaphor is a basic characteristic of thought, which means that apparent ornaments can be structural, as Schoenberg would agree.23 Lakoff and Johnson claim that we conceptualize things in more abstract cognitive domains through the projection of structure from more concrete domains, forming conceptual metaphors. A central component of metaphor theory is the notion of image schemas, which are basic patterns of objects and forces that are said to be derived from our interactions with the world. The physical relationships in image schemas are claimed to enable logical reasoning in other domains. Three important image schemas are sourcepath-goal, derived from our experience of moving through space; center-­ periphery, derived from being surrounded by other things; and part-whole, derived from having a body with various members. While recognizing that metaphor plays an important role in conceptualization, Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner (2008) have shown that mere cross-domain mapping cannot account for the full complexity of metaphor, nor can metaphor account for the full range of figurative language and thought. Fauconnier and Turner (2002, 2010) posit a general cognitive operation called integration or blending. Integration is the creation of mental spaces, or models for thinking and acting, through the blending of elements from two or more input spaces. The corresponding elements in the input spaces are connected by a generic space, which contains what the input spaces have in common. Generic spaces do not always need to be analyzed, because they merely spell out what is implicit in the counterpart connections. The generic space, the input spaces, and the resulting blended space form an integration network, or collection of interconnected mental spaces. According to ­Fauconnier and Turner, blended spaces can themselves become input spaces for further blends, and they can become entrenched patterns of thought.

Introduction  7 Several writers have applied blending theory to music analysis. In these analyses, the music typically occupies a single mental space, which is blended with the contents of some extramusical space to create musical meaning.24 I use blending theory not only in this way but mainly to analyze Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s concepts. In doing so, I draw on certain established conceptual metaphors and treat image schemas as a primary means of structuring mental spaces. Apart from Fauconnier and Turner themselves, who draw on image schemas to a certain extent, no other scholar to my knowledge has combined metaphor theory and blending theory in this particular way or applied blending theory to the history of theory.25 The findings of blending theory and metaphor theory imply that reason and knowledge are not entirely objective; rather, the way we think is shaped by our particular brains, bodies, and interactions with the world.26 What this means for understanding Schenker and Schoenberg, or indeed any historical theorist, is that nothing can be taken for granted, especially what constitutes music theory in the first place. It is all a matter of what is blended. Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s promiscuous mixing of genres, which has garnered them censure, is in fact characteristic of the fin-de-siècle Viennese liberal ethnic-Jewish community, which supports “the pursuit of a synthesis of the humanities, natural sciences, art, and culture such as scarcely can be imagined today, in which traditional and modern currents enriched each other” (Springer 2006, 364). As Cross (1980, 24) points out, “upon closer inspection, what might first be construed as philosophical tangents and religious overtones” in Schoenberg’s writings “prove essential to the issues at hand,” and the same is true for Schenker. Accordingly, we need to read historical theories, especially Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s, dialogically, listening carefully to all of a text’s metaphorical resonances and responding to the questions that it raises through its foreignness (Christensen 1993; Tomlinson 1993, 1–43). As Schoenberg says, “the only correct attitude of a listener has to be[:] to be ready to listen to that which the author has to tell you.”27 We need to refrain from jumping to conclusions about what is relevant or irrelevant, just as we refrain from interrupting people. The possibility of historical dialogue means that when we are faced in music studies with ultimate questions such as the existence and nature of God, humanity, and art—and in Schenker and Schoenberg studies, that means all the time—we do not need to choose between historicizing them (parroting instead of conversing), politicizing them (dominating the conversation), or ignoring them (cutting off the conversation). According to Lori Branch (2015), “if we live up to the insights of the religious turn” in humanities scholarship, especially the post-secular recognition that faith and knowledge are inseparable because of the uncertainties of language, “then we can engage ultimate questions not as buffered or distantiated selves but as persons in relation to these questions and writers who ask them, past and present.” We need not restrict ourselves only to what is provable. As Schoenberg says, “as little as someone who sets up a theory should insist that his theory

8 Introduction resolves all questions…, just so little should one maintain that such a theory is wrong, since after all it is merely incomplete” (MI, 91). We need only ensure that our claims are supported by our premises, method, and evidence. A notable example of such patient, critical engagement with ultimate matters is found in the work of Daniel K. L. Chua. His virtuosic “Beethoven’s Other Humanism” (2009), an article about Theodor W. Adorno and Ludwig van Beethoven that is roughly speaking a combination of history of theory with analysis and criticism, is the closest thing to a model for this book. Like Chua’s examination of Adorno’s and Beethoven’s musical thought, my examination of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s musical thought is neither a regurgitation nor a diatribe; I simply analyze it and trace its consequences, both good and ill. Schenker heads Chapter 1 of Free Composition—somewhat surprisingly in light of his dogmatism—with a quotation from Johann Wolfgang von Goethe that affirms the role of irony in theory, while Schoenberg somewhat similarly asserts in his Harmonielehre that “whenever I theorize, it is less important whether these theories be right than whether they be useful as comparisons to clarify the object and to give the study perspective” (FC, 3; Schoenberg, HL, 19). Now if Schenker and Schoenberg retain a certain degree of detachment in theorizing—in keeping with a certain skepticism towards language, which I explain in Chapter 1—all the more must I qualify my interpretations of their writings as lacking complete certainty, although I approach language more in a spirit of cooperation than suspicion. I analyze and interpret Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s music using a method based on my interpretations of their writings, focusing on what Schoenberg calls problems or unrest—new, unclear relations of tones. My analyses of problems are compatible with those of Jack Boss in his recent Schoenberg’s Twelve-Tone Music: Symmetry and the Musical Idea (2014), but my theoretical understanding of problems is quite different, as I explain in Chapter 3. ­Although I make every effort to orient my analyses and interpretations objectively toward “the plan upon which the work itself is oriented” (­ Schoenberg, HL, 30), insofar as this plan interacts with their theories, I  recognize the highly individualized perspective that I bring to the music, particularly in the intertextual connections that I make.28 In my defense, I affirm that the possibility of finding truth at all subsists only as long as the free interchange of various perspectives is given, regardless of whether this variety is to be traced back to the different standpoint of the observer or whether it rests on an error. (Ratz 1973, 10)

Overview To say that theory and composition with Schenker and Schoenberg are mutually mediating is to say that their theories are most basically theories of

Introduction  9 composition. In his Harmonielehre, Schenker, who identifies himself only as “an artist,” writes, “In contrast to other books on music theory, conceived, one might say, for their own sake and apart from art, the aim of this book is to build a real and practicable bridge from composition to theory,” meaning that he wants to initiate “a reform process” in theory and composition (Schenker, HL, v, xxv, and vii/xxvi). And in his own Harmonielehre, Schoenberg writes, “Courses in harmony and counterpoint have forgotten that they, together with the study of form, must be the study of composition.”29 He aims “to make things clear to himself,” not just to the pupil.30 To be sure, Schenker draws his examples exclusively from eighteenth- and nineteenth-century music (at least, the examples he commends), but that is just because he believes twentieth-century music sets a poor example (for itself). And Schoenberg likewise focuses on eighteenth- and nineteenth-­ century materials, but that is just because he proceeds historically, and “we do not yet stand far enough away from the events of our time to be able to apprehend the laws behind them” (HL, 417). Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s Harmonielehren represent the first installments of comprehensive, theoretical-pedagogical studies of composition in the tradition of Adolph Bernhard Marx’s four-volume Die Lehre von der musikalischen Komposition, practisch theoretisch.31 Although we have used Schenker’s theories for analysis, Schenker himself uses them to teach composition, as well as piano performance conceived as re-­composition.32 Schenker’s project is encompassed by New Musical Theories and Fantasies, of which Harmonielehre, completed in 1906, is the first volume; C ­ ounterpoint, written 1906–1922, is the second; and Free Composition, written 1922–1935 and initially conceived as part of Counterpoint; is the third.33 “The Decline of the Art of Composition,” drafted in 1906 and focused on the damage done by Richard Wagner, is also projected as part of New ­Musical Theories and ­Fantasies, but “since Schenker’s case against Wagner rested principally on the autonomy of music, rather than its subservience to a text or plot, that argument would not have provided sufficient grounds for discrediting the radically new music of Schoenberg and his school,” so he abandons it (Drabkin 2005, 12–13). Although Free Composition is meant as the capstone to New Musical Theories and Fantasies, the coherence of the volumes is far from transparent. Schenker often cites the earlier volumes in Free ­Composition, but their content is overshadowed by the Urlinie (the originary line) and the bass arpeggiation, as if by a freeway overpass with its concrete pylons, and the concluding section on form is generally regarded as “hastily thrown together” (Smith 1996, 192). Schoenberg first articulates his vision of a series of works forming an overarching theory of composition in a letter to his publisher in 1911: The components are to be Harmonielehre, a volume on counterpoint, a book on orchestration, a three-part study of form, and a synoptic work.34 Most of Schoenberg’s theoretical writings ­after Harmonielehre, completed in 1911, are connected to this grand project (Neff 1993–1994). Coherence, Counterpoint, Instrumentation, Instruction

10 Introduction in Form, partially drafted in 1917, sketches the remaining components, with coherence playing the unifying role. This sketch is then filled out somewhat by The Musical Idea and the Logic, Technique, and Art of Its Presentation, partially drafted 1934–1936 and corresponding to the earlier coherence section; Preliminary Exercises in Counterpoint, partially drafted 1942–1950; Fundamentals of Musical Composition, drafted 1937–1948 and focused on form; and numerous shorter writings. Structural Functions of Harmony, written 1946–1948, revisits the matter of harmony, but it is often unclear what comes from Schoenberg and what comes from his editor, Leonard Stein (Neff 2011). Neither of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s theories, then, attains complete expression—especially Schoenberg’s—and certain key components must be recovered from fragmentary traces. Part I reconstructs and deconstructs Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s theories of composition with respect to their shared conceptions of the tone and the genius mentioned above—an effort that is especially significant given the continued belief in genius to this day. This part is not intended as a comprehensive survey of their theories. Chapter 1 analyzes Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s understanding of the genius as the true artist who realizes the tone and the ideas of freedom, God, and immortality for themselves and others, a belief that draws on Goethe and Arthur Schopenhauer. Like Goethe and Schopenhauer, Schenker and Schoenberg metaphorize the state of pure, spiritual perception that is said to constitute the genius’s act of realization as a self-seeing inner eye, and they disavow the actual blindness of an eye that is turned entirely in on itself. The genius, who embodies this eye by realizing a vision of the tone, is in truth blind and blinding, alienated and alienating. I argue that these circumstances contribute to Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s divergent musical and convergent spiritual developments. Chapters 2 and 3 fill out Schenker’s and ­Schoenberg’s mature understandings of the logical level of a piece of music with respect to their concepts of interruption and problems, which both dramatize the realization of the tone and use the same image schemas, but with differing emphases on the ­ hapter 2 also begins organic significance of repetition versus variation. C to show how Schenker’s re-compositions in performance and listening play a role for him comparable to Schoenberg’s compositions in seeking God, while Chapter 3 gives an overview of the analytical framework used in Part II. Part II analyzes key pieces of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s music that develop the findings from Part I about their divergent musical and convergent spiritual lives and the themes of the genius’s blindness and alienation. This part is not meant to suggest that Schenker’s oeuvre is on a level with Schoenberg’s, nor is it a comprehensive survey, but it does offer explanations for why Schenker stops composing and why Schoenberg goes through the three style periods described by Ethan Haimo (2006, 354–355). Chapter 4 shows that Schenker, like Schoenberg, emancipates dissonances and solves problems in his music, and that Schenker’s rejection of suspended tonality

Introduction  11 (the absence of tonality) and Schoenberg’s embrace of it are complementary responses to this shared compositional experience. Chapter 5 draws a connection between this phenomenon of suspended tonality and S ­ choenberg’s alienation in his emulation of the genius, both of which start with “Ich darf nicht dankend,” op. 14, no. 1, toward the end of his transformation period. Chapter 6 shows how Schoenberg uniquely experiences the blindness of the genius at the end of his New Music period in the Six Little Piano Pieces, op.  19, which are linked intertextually with “Ich darf nicht dankend.” ­Chapter 7 illustrates how Schoenberg, shaken by this experience, tries to turn art into prayer in his reconstruction period starting with op. 19, no. 6, and how he continues to misread the genius’s blindness, supposing it to be a kind of paradoxical precondition of vision. The chapter culminates in a reconsideration of Schoenberg’s magnum opus, Moses und Aron. The conclusion, elaborating on an undercurrent of unease in Schoenberg’s music, suggests that at the ends of their lives, Schenker and Schoenberg both start to realize that God—if he exists—is not just an idea. *** This book affords a fresh understanding of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s musical thought and to that extent of twentieth-century musical thought, in which it plays a major role. Although it is known that the conservative Schenker is modernist and that the modernist Schoenberg is conservative, writers have not recognized their commonality as the very source of their conflict.35 While others have largely ignored Schenker’s music (while making arguments about his musical thought) and have been unable to analyze Schoenberg’s music in a unified way, I analyze Schenker’s and S ­ choenberg’s music—both tonal and non-tonal, including twelve-tone music—all with the same method. Some writers have acknowledged Schenker’s and ­Schoenberg’s ideals of the tone and the genius, but no one has undertaken to discover: what does it actually entail for them to earnestly pursue these ideals? What are the conditions of success or failure, and what are the consequences? This book offers possible answers to these questions.

Notes 1 Schoenberg, “Zu: Darstellung des Gedankens” (August 16, 1931), SC, T35.40, [1]; and FC, 9. More precisely, I should say “tones and rhythms of tones,” since “the material of music is the tone.” Schoenberg, HL, 19. Schenker goes so far as to say rhythm is from tones. FC, 32. 2 Schenker, diary entry, December 29, 1916, trans. Ian Bent and Lee Rothfarb, Schenker Documents Online (old site), www.columbia.edu/~maurice/schenker/ archives.html; and MI, 117. See also TW, 2:32; and MW, 3:8. 3 On the marginalization of Schoenberg as a theorist, see Dunsby (1997). 4 Theodor W. Adorno has a similar view of music and philosophy. See Goehr (2006, 43 and 49).

12 Introduction 5 FC, 19/xxiii; and Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler: In memoriam” (1912), in SI, 448. 6 Botstein (1997, 19). On critical modernism, see Janik (2001, 40). 7 Schenker, diary entries, January 6, 1932, OJ, 4/5, 3695; February 19, 1932, OJ, 4/5, 3707; September 6, 1932, OJ, 4/5, 3770; 1934–1935, OJ, 4/5, 3950; and ­January 4, 1935, OJ, 4/8, after 3970. 8 Schoenberg, “IV. Kleinen Skizzenbuch,” SC, MS74, Sk810, 1. 9 Dahlhaus (1973–1974, 214–215). For similar views, see Dunsby (1977, 31), W ­ ason (1985, 142), Moreno (2001, 91), Wright (2005, 51–57), and Arnold Whittall, introduction to Chapter 2, in Bent, Bretherton, and Drabkin (2014, 31). Hellmut Federhofer (1994) can be grouped with these authors, but with the difference that he sees Schoenberg as a would-be visionary whose self-serving theories pale in comparison to Schenker’s. 10 Morgan (1991, 8 and 6). With its ironic coupling of composers’ “free[dom] to ­follow their imaginations at will” with “isolation . . . from the larger social fabric” (ibid., 488 and 489), the notion of a collapse of tonality has resonated with Carl Schorske’s (1980) influential thesis that Viennese modernism represents an aestheticist retreat from the political sphere. However, Steven Beller (2001, 18–20) and Allan Janik (2001, 45) have revised Schorske’s thesis by proposing that Viennese modernism is by turns aestheticist and critical, and that it is overwhelmingly a response by ethnic Jews to the failure of Jewish liberalism. 11 See especially Wörner, Schneider, and Rupprecht (2012). 12 Several writers have attempted to combine different elements of Schoenberg’s theories with Schenker’s—see for example Epstein (1979), Schmalfeldt (1991), Moreno (2001), and Boss (1999)—but only with respect to tonal music. Others have explored their common adaptation of the thought of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Arthur Schopenhauer. See especially Neff (2006) and Eybl (2006). 13 My point is not just, as Nicholas Cook (2007, 171) puts it with regard to Schenker and Schoenberg, that “to be diametrically opposed you must be working within a common framework.” My point is that the framework itself is conflicted. 14 Morgan (2014, xix and xvi). See also Blasius (1996, 100) and Snarrenberg (1997, 133). 15 Schenker, diary entry, December 20, 1931, OJ, 4/5, 3689. 16 On the reception of Schoenberg in terms of various ideologies, see Tonietti (2003, 237). 17 Dahlhaus (1987, 82 and 88). See also Haimo (1997, 73) and Böggemann (2012, 110). 18 Cherlin (2007, 19 and 8). In one respect, I agree that Schoenberg’s intuitions as a composer outstripped his capacity as a theorist, but I come to this conclusion only by insights obtained through his theories. 19 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen und Sprüche” (1916–1936 and 1949), SC, T50.08, 11. 20 Riffaterre (1980, 626 and 627). Jennifer Shaw (2002, 36–38) likewise draws on Riffaterre in a study of Schoenberg. 21 Cook (2007, 170) makes a similar point. Schenker calls his Harmonielehre “a prerequisite for Schoenberg’s.” Schenker, letter to Emil Hertzka, July 9, 1923, in Bent, Bretherton, and Drabkin (2014, 117). See also Schenker, diary entry, April 22, 1915, OJ, 1/18, 916. Schoenberg professes, “I have not read his book; I have merely browsed in it.” Schoenberg, HL, 318. Schoenberg makes a careful study of Schenker’s writings in 1922–1923. Dunsby (1977, 27). In the margins in his copy of Schenker’s Beethovens IX. Symphonie (1912), Schoenberg accuses Schenker of stealing the phrase “neither read nor hear” from his Harmonielehre (1911): “He knows my book! That is stolen!!” SC, S6, 240. Schoenberg is referring to the following statement about Johann Sebastian Bach’s use of chords foreign to the harmonic system: “The rascal hid them in motets, which are written in the old clefs where a theorist cannot easily read them, and as passing tones where an aesthetician cannot easily hear them.” HL, 324.

Introduction  13 22 Schoenberg, “Brahms the Progressive” (1947), in SI, 399. See also Schoenberg, “Zu: ,Darstellung des Gedankens‘” (1923), SC, T01.15; Schoenberg, “‘Schoenberg’s Tone-Rows’” (1936), in SI, 214; and MI, 93 and 115. 23 See especially Lakoff and Johnson (1980), Johnson (1987), and Schoenberg, HL, 303. 24 The first such analysis is Zbikowski (1999). 25 A few writers have applied metaphor theory to the interpretation of Schenker and Schoenberg. See especially Saslaw (1997–1998), Zbikowski (2002, 126–130 and 317–318), and Watkins (2011, 163–244). 26 Lakoff and Johnson (1999) make a similar argument, but with reference to the body in general, not particular bodies. 27 Schoenberg, “What Have People to Expect from Music” (1935), SC, T18.07, 4. 28 Some readers may wonder at the absence of pitch-class set analysis in the book. Like Haimo (2006, 296–297), I find it to be of limited value in analyzing motives, for set class is only one out of many possible motivic features, and it is generally reducible to intervallic features. 29 Schoenberg, HL, 13. Volker Kalisch (1996, 122–124) observes that Schenker and Schoenberg, together with Hugo Riemann, are among the last advocates of a compositional mission for music theory. 30 Schoenberg, HL, 417. On the tension between theoretical and pedagogical aims in Schoenberg’s Harmonielehre, see Hinton (2012, 118–119). Schoenberg’s theory becomes more self-pedagogical and genuinely theoretical as he establishes his method of composing with twelve tones related only to one another. At this point, Schoenberg, like Schenker, embraces the term “theory” (Theorie) as opposed to just “study” (Lehre). Charlotte M. Cross, commentary in Schoenberg (2007, 167). 31 Although Schenker and Schoenberg have the same goal of studying composition, they have different approaches. In a word, Schenker observes, while Schoenberg experiments. They also have different conceptions of counterpoint, as I explain on p. 92n9. 32 Jackson (2001, 2). Schenker says unambiguously that his theory “is concerned on the creative side with artistic invention in accordance with nature, and on the recreative or listening side with empathetic artistic response,” i.e., “compositional phenomena,” not analysis. MW, 3:8. 33 Schenker refers to work on Counterpoint in his diary in August 1906. Ian Bent, “Kontrapunkt,” SD. He refers to work on Free Composition in a letter to Moriz ­Violin, December 21, 1922, transcr. and trans. William Drabkin, SD. 34 Schoenberg, letter to Emil Hertzka, July 23, 1911, SC. See also Schoenberg, “The Musical Idea; Its Presentation and Elaboration” (n.d.), in Schoenberg (2007, 187). On Schoenberg’s theory of composition, see Carpenter (1998). ­A lthough Schoenberg’s project crystalizes in 1911, Cross (1994) has found that ­S choenberg already sketches ideas for a theory of composition at the turn of the century. 35 On Schenker’s modernism, see Cook (2007, 89–139) and Watkins (2011, 163–191).

References Beller, Steven. 2001. “Introduction.” In Rethinking Vienna 1900, edited by Steven Beller, 1–25. New York: Berghahn Books. Bent, Ian, David Bretherton, and William Drabkin, eds. 2014. Heinrich Schenker: Selected Correspondence. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press.

14 Introduction Blasius, Leslie David. 1996. Schenker’s Argument and the Claims of Music Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Böggemann, Markus. 2012. “Concepts of Tonality in Schoenberg’s Harmonielehre.” In Tonality 1900–1950: Concept and Practice, edited by Felix Wörner, Ullrich Schneideler, and Philip Rupprecht, 99–111. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Borio, Gianmario. 2001. “Schenker versus Schoenberg versus Schenker: The Difficulties of a Reconciliation.” Journal of the Royal Musical Association 126 (2):250–274. Boss, Jack. 1999. “‘Schenkerian-Schoenbergian Analysis’ and Hidden Repetition in the Opening Movement of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata op. 10, no. 1.” Music Theory Online 5 (1). ———. 2014. Schoenberg’s Twelve-Tone Music: Symmetry and the Musical Idea. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Botstein, Leon. 1997. “Music and the Critique of Culture: Arnold Schoenberg, Heinrich Schenker, and the Emergence of Modernism in Fin de Siècle Vienna.” In Constructive Dissonance: Arnold Schoenberg and the Transformations of Twentieth-­ Century Culture, edited by Juliane Brand and Christopher Hailey, 3–22. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. 2004. “Social History and the Politics of the Aesthetic: Jews and Music in Vienna 1870–1938.” In Vienna: Jews and the City of Music, 1870–1938, edited by Leon Botstein and Werner Hanak, 43–63. N.p.: Wolke. Branch, Lori. 2015. “The Religious Turn: Postsecular Approaches for Literature and the Humanities.” Geneva Lecture, The University of Iowa. Brown, Julie. 2014. Schoenberg and Redemption. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Caplin, William E. 1998. Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions in the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. New York: Oxford University Press. Carpenter, Patricia. 1998. “Schoenberg’s Theory of Composition.” In The Arnold Schoenberg Companion, edited by Walter B. Bailey, 209–222. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Cherlin, Michael. 2007. Schoenberg’s Musical Imagination. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Christensen, Thomas. 1993. “Music Theory and Its Histories.” In Music Theory and the Exploration of the Past, edited by Christopher Hatch and David W. Bernstein, 9–39. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Chua, Daniel K. L. 2009. “Beethoven’s Other Humanism.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 62 (3):571–645. Cook, Nicholas. 2007. The Schenker Project: Culture, Race, and Music Theory in Fin-de-Siècle Vienna. New York: Oxford University Press. Cross, Charlotte M. 1980. “Three Levels of ‘Idea’ in Schoenberg’s Thought and Writings.” Current Musicology 30:24–36. ———. 1992. “Schoenberg’s Weltanschauung and His Views of Music: 1874–1915.” PhD diss., Columbia University. ———. 1994. “Schoenberg’s Earliest Thoughts on the Theory of Composition: A Fragment from c. 1900.” Theoria 8:113–133. Dahlhaus, Carl. 1973–1974. “Schoenberg and Schenker.” Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 100:209–215. ———. 1987. “Schoenberg’s Aesthetic Theology.” In Schoenberg and the New Music: Essays by Carl Dahlhaus, translated by Derrick Puffett and Alfred Clayton, 81–93. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Introduction  15 Drabkin, William. 2005. “Schenker’s ‘Decline’: An Introduction.” Music Analysis 24 (1–2):3–31. Dunsby, Jonathan. 1977. “Schoenberg and the Writings of Schenker.” Journal of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute 2 (1):26–33. ———. 1997. “Schoenberg and Present-Day Theory and Practice.” In Constructive Dissonance: Arnold Schoenberg and the Transformations of Twentieth-Century Culture, edited by Juliane Brand and Christopher Hailey, 188–195. Berkeley: University of California Press. Epstein, David. 1979. Beyond Orpheus: Studies in Musical Structure. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Eybl, Martin. 2006. “Schopenhauer, Freud, and the Concept of Deep Structure in Music.” In Schenker-Traditionen: Eine Wiener Schule der Musiktheorie und ihre internationale Verbreitung / A Viennese School of Music Theory and Its International Dissemination, edited by Martin Eybl and Evelyn Fink-Mennel, 51–58. Vienna: Böhlau. Fauconnier, Gilles, and Mark Turner. 2002. The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind’s Hidden Complexities. New York: Basic Books. ———. 2008. “Rethinking Metaphor.” In The Cambridge Handbook of Metaphor and Thought, edited by Raymond W. Gibbs, Jr., 53–66. New York: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2010. “Conceptual Integration Networks.” Rev. ed. Social Science Research Network. www.ssrn.com. Federhofer, Hellmut. 1994. “Heinrich Schenker (1868–1935) und Arnold Schönberg (1874–1951) als Musiktheoretiker.” Studien zur Musikwissenschaft 43:319–340. Goehr, Lydia. 2006. “Doppelbewegung: The Musical Movement of Philosophy and the Philosophical Movement of Music.” In Sound Figures of Modernity: German Music and Philosophy, edited by Jost Hermand and Gerhard Richter, 19–63. ­Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Haimo, Ethan. 1997. “Schoenberg and the Origins of Atonality.” In Constructive Dissonance: Arnold Schoenberg and the Transformations of Twentieth-Century Culture, edited by Juliane Brand and Christopher Hailey, 71–86. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. 2006. Schoenberg’s Transformation of Musical Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hepokoski, James A., and Warren Darcy. 2006. Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata. New York: ­Oxford University Press. Hinton, Stephen. 2012. “Schoenberg’s Harmonielehre: Psychology and Comprehensibility.” In Tonality 1900–1950: Concept and Practice, edited by Felix Wörner, Ullrich Schneideler, and Philip Rupprecht, 113–124. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Jackson, Timothy L. 2001. “Heinrich Schenker as Composition Teacher: The Schenker-­ Oppel Exchange.” Music Analysis 20 (1):1–115. Janik, Allan. 2001. “Vienna 1900 Revisited: Paradigms and Problems.” In Rethinking Vienna 1900, edited by Steven Beller, 27–56. New York: Berghahn Books. Johnson, Mark. 1987. The Body in the Mind: The Bodily Basis of Meaning, Imagination, and Reason. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Kalisch, Volker. 1996. “Zum Verhältnis von Analyse und Musiktheorie zu Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts.” In Zur Geschichte der musikalischen Analyse: Bericht über die Tagung München 1993, edited by Gernot Gruber, 119–130. Laaber: Laaber.

16 Introduction Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. ———. 1999. Philosophy in the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to Western Thought. New York: Basic Books. Moreno, Jairo. 2001. “Schenker’s Parallelisms, Schoenberg’s Motive, and Referential Motives: Notes on Pluralistic Analysis.” College Music Symposium 41:91–111. Morgan, Robert P. 1991. Twentieth-Century Music: A History of Musical Style in Modern Europe and America. New York: W. W. Norton. ———. 2014. Becoming Heinrich Schenker: Music Theory and Ideology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Neff, Severine. 1993–1994. “Schoenberg’s Theoretical Writings after the Harmonielehre: A Study of the Published and Unpublished Manuscripts.” College Music Symposium 33–34:172–190. ———. 2006. “Schenker, Schoenberg, and Goethe: Visions of the Organic Artwork.” In Schenker-Traditionen: Eine Wiener Schule der Musiktheorie und ihre internationale Verbreitung / A Viennese School of Music Theory and Its International Dissemination, edited by Martin Eybl and Evelyn Fink-Mennel, 29–50. Vienna: Böhlau. ­ roblems ———. 2011. “Editing Schoenberg’s Music-Theoretical Manuscripts: P of Incompleteness and Authorship.” In Arnold Schönberg in seinen Schriften: Verzeichnis—­Fragen—Editorisches, edited by Hartmut Krones, 193–216. Vienna: Böhlau. Peles, Stephen. 2010. “‘Was gleichzeitig klingt’: The Schoenberg-Schenker Dispute and the Incompleteness of Music Theory.” Music Theory Spectrum 32 (2):165–171. Pieslak, Jonathan. 2006. “Conflicting Analytical Approaches to Late Nineteenth-­ and Early Twentieth-Century Tonal Music: An Archaeological Examination.” Theory and Practice 31:97–131. Ratz, Erwin. 1973. Einführung in die musikalische Formenlehre: Über Formprinzipien in den Inventionen J. S. Bachs und ihre Bedeutung für die Kompositionstechnik Beethovens. 3rd ed. Vienna: Universal Edition. Riffaterre, Michael. 1980. “Syllepsis.” Critical Inquiry 6 (4):625–638. Saslaw, Janna K. 1997–1998. “Life Forces: Conceptual Structures in Schenker’s Free Composition and Schoenberg’s The Musical Idea.” Theory and Practice 22–23:17–33. Schmalfeldt, Janet. 1991. “Towards a Reconciliation of Schenkerian Concepts with Traditional and Recent Theories of Form.” Music Analysis 10 (3):233–287. ———. 2011. In the Process of Becoming: Analytic and Philosophical Perspectives on Form in Early Nineteenth-Century Music. New York: Oxford University Press. Schoenberg, Arnold. 1957. Moses and Aaron, Opera in Three Acts. Vocal score by Winfried Zillig, translated by Allen Forte. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. ———. 2007. “Two Undated Manuscripts from Schoenberg’s Gedanke Project: Commentary, Transcriptions, and Translations.” Translated by Charlotte M. Cross. Theory and Practice 32:153–201. Schorske, Carl E. 1980. Fin-de-Siècle Vienna: Politics and Culture. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Shaw, Jennifer. 2002. “Schoenberg’s Choral Symphony, Die Jakobsleiter, and Other Wartime Fragments.” PhD diss., State University of New York at Stony Brook. Smith, Charles J. 1996. “Musical Form and Fundamental Structure: An Investigation of Schenker’s Formenlehre.” Music Analysis 15 (2–3):191–297.

Introduction  17 Snarrenberg, Robert. 1997. Schenker’s Interpretive Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Springer, Käthe. 2006. “Philosophy and Science.” In Vienna 1900: Art, Life & Culture, edited by Christian Brandstätter, 363–369. New York: The Vendrome Press. Tomlinson, Gary. 1993. Music in Renaissance Magic: Toward a Historiography of Others. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Tonietti, Tito M. 2003. “Die Jakobsleiter, Twelve-Tone Music, and Schönberg’s Gods.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 5:213–237. Wason, Robert W. 1985. Viennese Harmonic Theory from Albrechtsberger to Schenker and Schoenberg. Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press. Watkins, Holly. 2011. Metaphors of Depth in German Musical Thought: From E.  T.  A.  Hoffmann to Arnold Schoenberg. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wörner, Felix, Ullrich Schneideler, and Philip Rupprecht. 2012. “Introduction.” In Tonality 1900–1950: Concept and Practice, edited by Felix Wörner, Ullrich ­Schneideler, and Philip Rupprecht, 11–22. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Wright, James K. 2005. Schoenberg, Wittgenstein and the Vienna Circle. Bern: Peter Lang. Zbikowski, Lawrence M. 1999. “The Blossoms of ‘Trockne Blumen’: Music and Text in the Early Nineteenth Century.” Music Analysis 18 (3):307–345. ———. 2002. Conceptualizing Music: Cognitive Structure, Theory, and Analysis. New York: Oxford University Press.

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Part I

Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s thinking about music

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1 The eye of the genius

To the genius it is given to see. —Heinrich Schenker (1926) A higher way of viewing things… represents the most precious origin of the genius’s accomplishment. —Arnold Schoenberg (1930)

Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s theories of composition address three levels: (1) the “purely material” tone, which becomes “logical” tone-art (music), (2) the “psychological,” and (3) the “metaphysical.”1 Schoenberg relates these levels as follows: The material of music is the tone; what it effects first, the ear. The sensory perception releases associations and connects tone, ear, and the world of feeling. On the cooperation of these three factors depends everything in music that is felt to be art.2 And these levels are united ideally by the genius. In the third and final volume of The Masterwork in Music, Schenker makes a statement about the genius that remains astonishing, not so much on account of its fanaticism, for which he is notorious, but on account of its fantastical imagery and ideas: The genius gathers the gazes of men unto himself; woven out of these gazes directed upward to the genius there arises, as it were, a mysterious cone of light, the most inspiring symbol of a great community of mankind. Without such a cone of light, the mass of mankind remains in a plane that extends in all directions hopelessly, desolately, to infinity.3 Schenker likely knows that people do not actually gaze up at any genius, yet he treats this image as the literal basis of the “as it were” figure of a cone of light. Furthermore, he also treats that image as a symbol for a community,

22 Thinking about music which means that the gazes must somehow literally be the community. What is so arresting about this statement, then, is that, as in a musical work as read by Schenker, there is nothing but figures and figures of figures.4 What could they all mean then? Schoenberg makes an equally astonishing statement in his eulogy to Gustav Mahler: We are still to remain in a darkness which will be illuminated only fitfully by the light of the genius. We are to continue to battle and struggle, to yearn and desire. And it is to be denied to us to see this light as long as it remains with us. We are to remain blind until we have acquired eyes. Eyes that see the future. Eyes that penetrate more than the sensual, which is only a likeness; that penetrate the supersensual. Our soul shall be the eye. We have a duty: to win for ourselves an immortal soul. It is promised to us. We already possess it in the future; we must bring it about that this future becomes our present. That we live in this future alone, and not in a present which is only a likeness, and which, as every likeness, is inadequate. And this is the essence of the genius—that he is the future. This is why the genius is nothing to the present. Because present and genius have nothing to do with one another. The genius is our future. So shall we too be one day, when we have fought our way through. The genius lights the way, and we strive to follow. Where he is, the light is already bright; but we cannot endure this brightness. We are blinded, and see only a reality which is as yet no reality, which is only the present. But a higher reality is lasting, and the present passes away. The future is eternal, and therefore the higher reality, the reality of our immortal soul, exists only in the future. The genius lights the way, and we strive to follow. Do we really strive enough? Are we not bound too much to the present? We shall follow, for we must. Whether we want to or not. He draws us upward. We must follow.5 Here, too, Schoenberg likely recognizes that people are not actually fitfully illuminated by any genius. Yet Schoenberg seems to take this image of seeing light as the literal basis for the figure of having eyes. Furthermore, he takes that image as a symbol for having a soul and living in the future. Or is it the other way around? As in a musical work by Schoenberg, every figure here refers to every other figure, and “there is no absolute down, no right or left, forward or backward.”6 What do they all mean? Who is the genius? This question is particularly pressing given that belief in genius has by no means gone away. As Darrin M. McMahon (2013, loc. 318 of 8330) puts it, despite our witnessing the dark side of the genius in totalitarian states

The eye of the genius  23 such as Nazi Germany and North Korea, and despite our recognition of the social nature of creativity, “genius is seemingly everywhere today, hailed in our newspapers and glossy magazines, extolled in our television profiles and Internet chatter,” only now genius is more of an aspiration of the many than a province of the few. McMahon (2013, 242) himself treats genius as if it were in part an empirical phenomenon like autism rather than purely a theoretical and social construct, and he affirms, quoting Ralph Waldo Emerson, that “‘we feed on genius,’… we need it as sustenance to survive.” He could just as well have quoted Schenker: “Among men, the true genius is… an elemental drive, so to speak: the hunger, thirst, and love of mankind as a whole.”7 McMahon (2013, loc. 158 of 8330) argues that an important reason for the persistence of belief in genius is “the stubborn desire for transcendence,” but the way that he formulates this insight clouds the issue. He correctly observes that the modern genius was born in the space opened up by what appeared to many as the absence of God. But while we have millennias’ worth of writings that attempt to analyze the concept of God, “we really know very little about what genius is” as a theoretical construct (Wellbery 1996, 121). The term “is often a kind of aporia. It refers to the ‘what’ which escapes the categories of comprehension and speech” (Bone 1989, 113). The same is true of the term “transcendence.” And this slipperiness is precisely why the concepts of genius and transcendence are relatively immune to the demythologization that afflicts the concept of God, for which they often substitute. In the case of Schenker and Schoenberg, the slipperiness of the term “genius” can be seen in its irreducible figurativeness. Understanding their conception of the genius, then—and perhaps something of present-day belief in genius, too—means not so much relating it to a supposed empirical phenomenon as attending to the term’s “functional placement within a discursive constellation” (Wellbery 1996, 122), similarly to how we understand a motive in a piece of music. This discursive constellation is not limited to the writings of Schenker and Schoenberg themselves. Schoenberg’s comment in his eulogy to Mahler that the genius draws us upward alludes to the conclusion of Goethe’s Faust, which Mahler sets in his Eighth Symphony, and which ends with the exclamation, “The eternal feminine / Draws us upward.”8 Schoenberg’s substitution is entirely in the spirit of Goethe, for no one does more to exalt the genius in German thought than Goethe (Schmidt 1985, 1:193–336). Goethe serves as a mentor for Schopenhauer, who has a “special importance for young intellectuals at the turn of the century” in Austria.9 In Goethe and Schopenhauer, as in Schenker and Schoenberg, we find an association between the genius and vision. For example, Goethe says that upon reading the work of the genius Shakespeare, he “stood like a blind person given vision in an instant by a miraculous hand,” and that “few eyes reach up so far, and it is thus little to be hoped that one could outsee him or indeed rise

24 Thinking about music above him,” and Schopenhauer says that “genius is the ability… to remain pure knowing subject, the clear eye of the world.”10 I am interested in tracing the concept of the genius and the figure of vision as they pass from Goethe through Schopenhauer to Schenker and Schoenberg. As I have mentioned, some work has been done on Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s adaptation of Goethe’s and Schopenhauer’s thought; however, these studies say virtually nothing about Goethe’s conception of the genius. Except for Cross (1980), who analyzes the concept itself, writers have tended to address Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conception of the genius only as an element of various philosophical, narrative, ideological, aesthetic, and cultural contexts for their theories.11 That we still have a ways to go is confirmed by the common translation of “das Genie” in Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s writings as “genius,” which overlooks that they are referring, almost without exception, to a person: the genius. Aided by my study of Schenker’s journals and unpublished writings and Schoenberg’s notebooks, I explain how their theories of composition depend on a conception of the genius as the true artist who realizes the idea of the tone in a piece of music in real time, attains self-realization, and points the way to the realization of mankind.12 This belief draws on those of Goethe and Schopenhauer and is founded on a myth of subject and object united in a metaphorical self-seeing inner eye, but with Schenker and Schoenberg, the emptiness of this myth begins to show itself, and the genius’s vision and communion implicitly revert to blindness and alienation.13 These circumstances impact their divergent musical development and their convergent spiritual development. I begin with an analysis of Goethe’s and Schopenhauer’s conceptions of the genius and then go on to explain Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s understanding of the genius’s realization of the idea, his self-realization, and his prospective and elusive realization of mankind.

Goethe and Schopenhauer on the genius The figure of the genius explodes into prominence in the German-speaking world during the literary period known as the Geniezeit (the Genius Period, ca. 1760–1775)—first because the genius poet serves as the prototype of the self-made individual for the emerging bourgeois, and second because the Enlightenment, which strips religious and artistic tradition of its authority, conversely leads to the exaltation of the genius as another Creator and a source of beauty (Schmidt 1985, 1:1–10 and 224). As McMahon (2013, 74) puts it, “Geniuses offered assurance… that a privileged few could see where the many were blind.” But the genius himself, as formulated by Goethe, turns out to be blind. Schopenhauer reformulates Goethe’s conception of the genius in light of a dissipation of other sources of value, and we will find that Schenker and Schoenberg reformulate both in light of a dissipation of the subject.

The eye of the genius  25 Goethe on the genius Goethe’s conception of the genius is part of an integration network that also involves his conceptions of the subject and nature as these appear in his writings, especially his early lyric poetry, his scientific writings, and his aphorisms. As shown at the top of Example 1.1, the subject and nature comprise a metaphorical eye—for “the totality of what lies within and without is completed by the eye”—as a peripheral container and whole.14 With respect to the subject, the eye forms “inner light” as a central part, and conversely “the eye is formed by the light.”15 The formative acts of seeing and shining are movement of the part and the whole away from one another (imagine the circle ballooning out from the dot). Goethe—like Schopenhauer after him—reconceptualizes vision as a physiological process, such that the external world is internalized (Crary 1990, 74–75). As Goethe (1998, 146) puts it, “objects are only lifted out of nothingness by a human point of view.” But also, “light and the eye” are ultimately “one and the same,”16 and vision ultimately runs in both directions, because in what David E. Wellbery (1996, 183) calls “the specular moment,” epitomized by the mutual gaze of lovers, the subject imaginatively transfers the perceptual experience as a whole—the observing subject together with the perceptual object—into the part, the object itself (imagine the circle collapsing into the dot), and only in this way does the subject emerge as someone who sees himself (seeing himself). With respect to nature, the eye sees “life and development” from a central part to a peripheral whole and back.17 This movement appears to take place on two levels. First, the Urphänomen, which is “ideal as the ultimate we can know, real as what we know,” divides individual organisms off from itself and then reunites with them, becoming “identical with all instances.”18 Goethe writes, “What appears in the world must divide if it is to appear at all. What has been divided seeks itself again, can return to itself and reunite.”19 Second, the individual organism as a central part develops into “the organism… as a collection of independent living entities” through metamorphosis and unification, both “in the great sphere of nature” and “in the smallest compass.”20 “Metamorphosis… is like the vis centrifuga [centrifugal force],” causing an outward movement or “expansion” (shown with the outward arrow), where the part produces and becomes the whole through “procreation” of organisms and “growth” of the same as organs.21 Goethe writes, “Nature has neither core / Nor outer rind, / Being all things at once.”22 In procreation, the whole is the trajector (the thing that moves), and in growth, the part is the trajector. Unification “is a vis centripeta [centripetal force],” causing an inward movement of the whole or “contraction.”23 In short, Goethe describes the subject and nature as a rhythm of splitting and expanding

subject, eye shining, seeing, division, expansion

seeing, transference, unification, contraction

the subject and nature

nature = subject, light = eye

the perceiving subject

the acting subject

subject, eye

female other

subject

seeing

penetration

face of object sur

pure viewing,

shining,

subject, eye

the genius

with phallus

identification

castration

face of object sur

ordinary viewing nature (= subject)

nature = subject, light = eye

Example 1.1  Goethe’s conception of the genius, nature, and art.

The eye of the genius  27 alternating with contracting and merging (splitting and merging are also image schemas): To divide the united, to unite the divided, is the life of nature; this is the eternal systole and diastole, the eternal syncrisis and diacrisis, the inhaling and exhaling of the world, in which we live, move, and have our being.24 But the supposed self-identity of the self-creating subject for Goethe is undermined by its ineradicable self-difference as part and whole, object and subject. The alternation of splitting and merging does not eliminate this difference; it only turns the inherent contradiction into a permanent oscillation. Jacques Derrida’s (1997, 36) critique of the specularity of speech and writing applies equally to the subject in the specular moment, which is indeed embodied in Goethe’s writing: The point of origin becomes ungraspable. There are things like reflecting pools, and images, an infinite reference from one to the other, but no longer a source, a spring. There is no longer a simple origin. For what is reflected is split in itself and not only as an addition to itself of its image. The reflection, the image, the double, splits what it doubles. The origin of the speculation becomes [or turns out to be] a difference. What can look at itself is not one; and the law of the addition of the origin to its representation, of the thing to its image, is that one [the whole] plus one [the part] makes at least three [the whole and the part, reflected in the part]. Goethe’s narrative of the specular moment is an origins myth without an origin. It is also without an end, for if the split whole is reflected in the part, then the part must be split, too, which means that the whole is split again, ad infinitum. There is never anything that sees, and there is nothing to see. The all-encompassing eye is actually an empty hall of mirrors. This myth, which poses the other as the reflection of the self, dehumanizes both the other and the self. Goethe disavows the intrinsic lack in the self-seeing eye by displacing it onto a contingent blockage by a nested container, which differentiates the input spaces of the perceiving subject and the acting subject, shown in the middle of Example 1.1. The perceiving subject for Goethe (1998, 70; emphasis removed) involves a blocked centripetal movement of vision, where the surface of the object is the limit of “ordinary viewing.” According to Wellbery, the acting subject for Goethe involves a failed identification with the phallus, which we can understand as a blocked expansion with an additional verticality schema. Dependence on or containment by a female other produces castration, a cutting short of the phallus.25 For example, in “The Eagle and the Dove,” “the sinewy force” of an eagle’s right wing is “severed”

28 Thinking about music by an arrow, and he falls into a maternal myrtle grove to recover but never to fly again.26 The reader will notice an analogy between the gaze and the phallus in the two input spaces, a connection that is well established in feminist criticism (Jay 1993, 526). The reader will also notice that the woman comes into play in this scheme only as a source of lack. Although I will not pursue the issue, I want to acknowledge that Goethe’s conception of the subject is sexist, as is Schopenhauer’s after him, and one could argue the same for Schenker and Schoenberg.27 Perhaps a future study could develop the present findings in terms of feminist criticism. Goethe’s conception of the genius constitutes a blended space, shown at the bottom of Example 1.1, in which the subject is restored to its putative unity from both directions. The genius begins by seeing through to an Urphänomen in Anschauung or intuitive perception of nature, which is common to both science and art (Bishop 2009, 72). Anschauung becomes transference, “penetrating into the depths of the object as well as into the depths of his own spirit,” and seeing becomes self-seeing: “pure viewing of what is external and internal.”28 These inward movements of vision and transference entail a reciprocal outward movement of artistic creation as light, in what Hellmuth Sudheimer (1935, 221) calls a “rhythm of impression and expression.” As Goethe says of Herder, he descended into the depths of his feeling, rooted out all the high holy power of simple nature within, and now led it up in dawning, lightening, Orphic song, smiling here and there in the morning, over the wide world.29 According to Wellbery, artistic creation is also self-creation: The genius creates “a unity from within, a wholeness that radiates outward from an undivided point—or act—of conception.” In his act of self-fathering, the genius heals the wound of castration, internalizes the female other, “carves a path through life” as “the law of a historical cultural tradition,” and usurps the place of God (Wellbery 1996, 124 and 129). These processes are linked as an outward movement with an overcoming of blockage, where the part produces and becomes the whole.30 Subsequently, we are to follow the law and commune with the genius (Schmidt 1985, 1:193). In Goethe’s words, we are to “step reverently before the work of the master…. Come, taste, and see!”31 In his later writings, Goethe tempers the autonomy of the genius (Schmidt 1985, 1:336–353). First, he affirms a role for God in artistic creation.32 However, the notion of God here, in Angela Zeithammer’s words, is “a world-­ immanent, pantheistic idea of God.”33 Goethe (1998, 109) uses the term “God” to designate the ultimate that can be perceived and expressed: “To recognize and proclaim God wherever and however he may reveal himself, that is actually bliss here on earth.” The rhythm of impression and expression is still basic here. Second, Goethe affirms the relevance of tradition

The eye of the genius  29 for artistic creation (Beddow 1989, 106). However, the genius still seems to establish tradition in the first place. Gooethe makes the genius dependent, then, but only on other geniuses, just as we are all dependent on the genius. The notion of the genius’s creation as tradition, as a path followed over the course of historical time, determines the concept of the genius as, in Wellbery’s (1996, 129) words, “at once nostalgic and utopian”; that is, Goethe posits a state of division and lack in the present wounded subject and a state of unity and wholeness in the past and future genius. Wellbery writes, “The genius is either the figure who was or the figure who will be; his place is not in the present.” In Derrida’s (1997, 157) terms, the genius is a supplement that both restores and defers “the mirage of the thing itself, of immediate presence, of originary perception.” Already in Goethe we perceive the lineaments of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s panegyrics to the once and future genius. From Goethe to Schopenhauer The path from Goethe to Schopenhauer leads through Immanuel Kant, who, like Goethe himself in his late writings, attempts to rein in the notion of genius, but Kant inadvertently reinvigorates it.34 Kant (2004, 538) poses life’s central questions as: “What can I know?” “What ought I to do?” “What may I hope?” and “What is man?” the last question including the others. As to the first question, Kant claims that all knowledge is founded on impressions of objects, which are organized and reproduced in the imagination and combined in the understanding. While the mental representations depend on the subject for their unity, the subject conversely depends on its unified representations as the only sign of its presence; no direct, immediate knowledge of the subject is possible. Chua (1999, 192) compares the Kantian subject in its autonomy and invisibility to “an eye that… cannot see itself.” Similarly, no direct, immediate knowledge of the object, the thing in itself, is possible; all that is given is a set of representations. This division of essences from appearances allow Kant to affirm, in the face of the mechanistic phenomena of the natural world, the possibility of morality underwritten by freedom, God, and immortality, the supersensible ideas to which we are led in seeking to know what man is, but this division also prevents Kant from establishing the reality of these ideas. Moreover, Kant seems to rule out the possibility that God himself might weigh in on life’s questions (Byrne 2007, 166–167). Kant turns to aesthetic experience as a stopgap solution to this problem. According to Kant, aesthetic ideas as inconceivable representations are the counterparts to supersensible ideas as unrepresentable concepts, so the former can give us an intimation of the latter. The ultimate source of an aesthetic idea for Kant is nature, and the proximate source in the case of art is genius, which Kant (2001, 186)— in pointed opposition to the notion of genius as beyond rules—famously

30 Thinking about music defines as “the inborn predisposition of the mind (ingenium) through which nature gives the rule to art.” The take-away for Kant’s followers—including Schopenhauer—consists of two linked obsessions. First, in the wake of Kant’s ruling out of immediate self-knowledge, “a manifold and almost feverish endeavor emerged to recover this concept for philosophy as the guarantee of its highest claims” (Benjamin 1996, 121). And second, in the wake of Kant’s designation of aesthetic ideas as the counterparts to supersensible ideas and of genius as the source of aesthetic ideas, “the concept of genius rose to the status of a universal concept of value” (Gadamer 2004, 52). For the Romantics in particular, genius became “a Promethean substitute for divinity” (Bone 1989, 114). Schopenhauer’s genius resembles that of the Romantics (Schmidt 1985, 1:467). He contemplates the inner nature of the world and himself in nature and art, thereby eliminating alienation and suffering for himself and others. Schopenhauer on the genius Just as for Goethe all that lies within and without is completed by a self-­ seeing eye, so too for Schopenhauer (1966, 1:102 and 198) the ultimate reality is the will, which is “a special class of representations or objects” where we find “the miracle par excellence”—“this object coinciding with the subject”—and which knows itself as the metaphorical “one eye of the world.” More specifically, as shown in Example 1.2, “in a state of pure perception,” where “we no longer consider the where, the when, the why, and the whither in things, but simply and solely the what,” the subject as a peripheral container and whole sees and “sink[s]” into the object—or rather the perceptual image—as a central part, and conversely “the entire consciousness is filled and occupied by a single image of perception,” in such a way that the object, the part, “includes object and subject,” the whole (1:185 and 178–179). In this way, “the particular thing at one stroke becomes the Idea of its species,” an objectification of the will, “and the perceiving individual becomes the pure subject of knowing” (1:179). The acts of seeing (forming a mental representation) and sinking are inward movement of the part and the whole along a path, and the reciprocal act of filling is outward movement of the part. As with the subject for Goethe, the alleged self-identity of the will is undermined by its necessary self-difference. The will is perpetually driven toward itself as both source and goal. Schopenhauer (1966, 1:321 and 164) says that “the will… is a striving without aim or end,” in the sense that “every attained end is at the same time the beginning of a new course, and so on ad infinitum.” This striving is felt as a lack that produces suffering. Schopenhauer (1966, 1:309) writes, “All striving springs from want or deficiency…. That there is no ultimate aim of striving means that there is no measure or end of suffering.” But while Schopenhauer (1966, 1:309) acknowledges this lack, he also displaces it onto a blockage of the will: “Striving… is called will. We call its

pure subject, eye seeing, sinking

striving, seeing

the will

object (Idea) = pure subject, image = eye

the perceiving individual

the individual phenomenon

subject, eye

all Ideas

manifestation

striving,

omenon phen

veil of Maya

seeing inner nature

Idea

seeing

penetration

veil of Maya

seeing,

the genius

manifestation,

pure subject, eye

object = subject, image = eye

Example 1.2  Schopenhauer’s conception of the genius, nature, and art.

32 Thinking about music hindrance through an obstacle placed between it and its temporary goal, suffering; its attainment of the goal, on the other hand, we call satisfaction, well-being, happiness.” This additional blockage schema, conjoined with a nested-container schema, differentiates the input spaces of the perceiving individual and the “individual phenomenon of nature,” shown in the middle of Example 1.2 (1:165). On the one hand, the perceiving individual’s vision as actual movement is blocked by the “veil of Maya,” the illusion of individuality, and of the “origin and inner nature” of himself and the world he has only a “wholly obscure presentiment” as potential movement (1:352–353). Schopenhauer (1966, 1:279) compares time, an aspect of this veil, to “an endlessly revolving sphere.” The perceiving individual is mired in the concerns of the present moment, “the point of contact” with this sphere. On the other hand, the individual phenomenon, whose “kernel” is the will as objectified in an Idea, is blocked in its self-expression by other phenomena with their own Ideas (1:118). This blockage is in essence only “the sundering of a force into two qualitatively different and opposite activities striving for reunion” (1:144). Schopenhauer’s (1966, 1:149) most basic example of the individual phenomenon, one that is almost just the bare image schemas themselves with an additional verticality schema, is mere matter, the world rounded into a globe. The life of this… is now formed by the conflict between the force of attraction and that of repulsion. The former as gravitation presses from all sides towards the centre; the latter as impenetrability resists the former, either as rigidity or as elasticity. Schopenhauer (1966, 1:185–186) blends these spaces in his conception of the genius, who has “the ability… to remain pure knowing subject, the clear eye of the world…, the clear mirror of the inner nature of the world.” The genius’s gift of vision resides in the imagination, which “extends the mental horizon of the genius” (1:186). This vision overcomes the blockage of the veil of Maya. He “sees beyond the forms of empirical perception” (1:279). This vision correlates with the manifestation of the Idea or, in the case of music, the manifestation of the will itself. And this vision also allows the genius, working “from mere feeling and unconsciously, indeed instinctively,” to “repeat what is thus known in… the work of art,” so that we can “peer into the world through his eyes” (1:235 and 195). According to Schopenhauer (1966, 1:398), “seeing through the principium individuationis” (the principle of individuality) with the help of the genius leads toward “perfect sanctification and salvation” in denial of the will to live. More specifically, this self-denial represents a realization of that “freedom which in other respects, as belonging to the thing-in-itself, can never show itself in the phenomenon,” it produces that “which is denoted by the names ecstasy, rapture, illumination, union with God, and so on,” and it represents a realization of a kind of “immortality,” or at least a release from

The eye of the genius  33 mortality as a condition of the individual (1:288, 410, and 282). Thus, we see Schopenhauer’s genius pointing the way to salvation—that is, the realization (if also redefinition) of Kant’s supersensible ideas of freedom, God, and immortality—through self-knowledge and morality. From Schopenhauer to Schenker and Schoenberg But as Schopenhauer (1966, 2:137–138) himself reports, pure perception and the pure knowing that it is supposed to embody turn out to be a mirage that disintegrates upon scrutiny: Just as the eye, when it gazes for a long time at one object, is soon not able to see it distinctly any longer, because the outlines run into one another, become confused, and finally everything becomes obscure, so also through long-continued rumination on one thing, our thinking gradually becomes confused and dull, and ends in complete stupor. Such fragmentation of perception and consciousness, particularly under the conditions of modernity, led in the late nineteenth century to doubts about an individual self (Crary 1999, 58). For example, Ernst Mach, who credits Goethe, Schopenhauer, and others with establishing a “physiology of the senses,” declares, “The primary thing is not the self but the elements (sensations). The elements form the self” (Mach [1886] 1897, 1 and 17/19). As Austrian writers and others disseminated such a conception of a “vanishing subject” at the beginning of the twentieth century, panic began to spread. If there was no such thing as the self, the basis for decisions and actions seemed to have been removed. If there was no real distinction between subject and object, the familiar structures of language seemed to have been eroded. Many contemporaries felt virtually paralyzed, unable either to act or to speak. (Ryan 1991, 21) Around 1910 in middle Europe this sense of self-loss incited the need “to ferret out a naked human essence from under its lifeless qualities” and inspired “new visions of the artist-seer, the idea of a messianic restoration of the true nature of life” (Harrison 1996, 15–16). Such visions of the artist-seer are what we find in the Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conception of the genius, “the far-seeing one” (Schoenberg, HL, 26/26). Schenker and Schoenberg are particularly susceptible to this sense of selfloss as ethnic Jews, because the problem of Jewish identity “epitomize[s] the antagonism between convention and difference, normalcy and abnormalcy, consonance and dissonance, belief and unbelief that mark[s] the whole era” (Harrison 1996, 31). But I want to underscore that Schoenberg’s felt need for redemption in this situation, like Schenker’s, although it is exacerbated by

34 Thinking about music his status as an ethnic Jew, is not reducible to the need for Jewish “cultural redemption” that Brown (2014, 79) explores. It is a genuinely religious impulse taken up by the religion of genius, first analyzed in 1918 by the Viennese Jewish historian Edgar Zilsel, which flourishes especially in Austria and Germany in the first part of the twentieth century; its primary proselytzers include Richard Wagner and Otto Weininger, whom Brown singles out as particular influences on Schoenberg (McMahon 2013, 191). We now turn to Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s particular ontological, spiritual, and religious beliefs clustered around the genius.

The realization of the idea Schenker and Schoenberg conceive of the genius as the true artist who first of all realizes an idea. This conception draws on and develops those of Goethe and Schopenhauer, particularly as Goethe’s conception relates to his morphology. The subject and the tone As with Schopenhauer, “the observing subject” or the “spiritual eye”35 and the object or idea are ideally united in a state of “pure perception” for Schenker and Schoenberg.36 In this state, shown at the top of Example 1.3, the subject or eye is a peripheral container and whole, the object or image is a central part, and the acts of seeing and “sink[ing] into objects” or “impressions… without reference to their what, when, and how” are inward movements of the part and the whole along a path.37 This “miracle in the experience of a moment… allows one to feel past, present, and future” together (FC, 49–50/18). Schenker and Schoenberg focus on different aspects of this state in accord with their contrasting temperaments.38 The pistic Schenker, who prioritizes stability and laws, highlights a pure perception of the object in a mythic past: In the beginning there were only relations to things; then the word as fabrication stepped in between and subtracted from the things. Language creates associations, whereby sadly man believes himself relieved of the duty of engaging more closely with the things. Alienation from the depths of the things and complacency with the more comfortable words.39 The iconic Schoenberg, who prioritizes variety and freedom, highlights a pure perception of the subject in a mythic future: We are to remain blind until we have acquired eyes. Eyes that see the future. Eyes that penetrate more than the sensual, which is only a likeness; that penetrate the supersensual. Our soul shall be the eye. We have a duty: to win for ourselves an immortal soul. It is promised to us. We

subject, eye seeing, sinking

striving, seeing

pure perception

object (idea) = subject, light = eye

the tone

the subject

tone (= chord)

manifestation

latency

conscious unconscious

face of object sur

subject, eye

object (idea) (= subject)

tone color

pitch

ground tone (= tone)

seeing

penetration

ption, problem rru e t

seeing,

the genius and the work

manifestation,

subject, eye

ground tone = subject

in

Example 1.3  S chenker’s and Schoenberg’s conception of the subject, the tone, and the genius.

36 Thinking about music already possess it in the future; we must bring it about that this future becomes our present. That we live in this future alone, and not in a present which is only a likeness, and which, as every likeness, is inadequate.40 Note the references to duty (morality), which I will address in the third section. Note also the references to alienation: Like Schopenhauer, Schenker and Schoenberg regard life, whose goal is always another source, as a state of endless striving.41 Schenker, alluding to Goethe and Schopenhauer, writes, Will to live, compulsion to live: Human nature consists not in remaining in the moment but rather in being enticed by the next moment—an incidental goal; stretching alone is life. In itself, like child’s play—senseless (Faust’s life goal goes beyond Helen).42 Schoenberg simply refers to “that yearning” which “gives us no peace” (HL, 239). But “it would hardly be bearable if we knew the truth” (Schoenberg, HL, 366/326), so like Goethe and Schopenhauer, Schenker and Schoenberg misconstrue the constitutive lack in the metaphorical self-seeing eye or image as a contingent blockage, which together with a nested container differentiates the subject and the tone as input spaces, shown in the middle of Example 1.3. In the tone as an “idea… of nature” (MW, 1:105), which is also a ­creature that has “biological urges” and “seeks to propagate itself” (Schenker, HL, 6; Schoenberg, HL, 313), the ground tone (the fundamental) is a part and source that “begets the whole complex” and also develops into the tone as a whole and goal; it is “the one by which the total phenomenon is named.”43 “Development and procreation” (Schenker, HL, 44/31) are “vertical” movements along a path,44 for “life is movement” (MW, 1:95/51; Schoenberg, HL, 365/326). Through this procreation and development not only does the ground tone become a tone, but also the tone becomes a “triad” for Schenker or a “chord” for Schoenberg (TW, 8–9:49/2:117; emphasis removed; ­Schoenberg, HL, 23). But in the tone as a phenomenon, this chord is unconscious and perceived only as tone color. “Tone color is… the larger domain” or the container, “pitch a region thereof” or the nested container (Schoenberg, HL, 471/421). Manifestation is actual movement, working its way up through the overtone series, and latency is potential movement (Schoenberg, HL, 289). Correspondingly, in the subject, perception is movement, and this movement is curtailed at the boundary of the unconscious. Schenker alludes to these image schemas in the following quotation: The natural sciences teach that all objects consist of atoms. But it would also be time to recognize that the idea likewise consists of atoms…. Thus is explained the infinity of even the smallest idea, the difficulty of grasping its atoms, let alone composing. If one thinks of the idea as like a ball, then the average person’s understanding only grazes the surface

The eye of the genius  37 of the ball, which alone their eyes reach, so to speak, while the inner portion remains inaccessible and inscrutable. So people go around talking to one another about it. And only the poet, who is accustomed to enjoying infinity even in the smallest thing, thinks: “If you want to roam infinity, just go into the finite from all sides.”45 The limit of the average person’s vision (more on him later) is the blockage at the surface of the ball (the finite, particular appearances of the infinite, general idea); he hardly even unconsciously perceives the idea. Schoenberg similarly alludes to these image schemas in the following quotation: “The constitution of the ear, the organ predetermined to receive tone,… relates to the constitution of the tone somewhat as do well-fitting concave to convex parts” (HL, 19). The subject is concave; the tone is convex. Note that the tone and the subject are inversionally equivalent. This equivalence is why Schenker can even refer to “the tone as subject” (FC, 9). The genius and the ground tone Schenker and Schoenberg blend these input spaces in their conception of the musical work as ideally a self-expression of the genius and a realization of the ground tone (the tonic). Schenker writes, Music remains, apart from any question of synthesis or chaos, from the beginning until the end of time, the composing-out of a triad…. ­Nevertheless—and this something else—every breath of diminution attests to an individual, new, personal spirit! To reveal the eternal in ever new transformations, that is the calling of the genius! (MW, 1:159/89) And Schoenberg says that art is purely objective: “Art is exclusively: recording, perceiving,” “to recognize, and to express what one has recognized!!!”46 But also entirely subjective: “There is only one greatest goal towards which the artist strives: to express himself,” to express “a new man!”47 Contrary to the opinion that Schenker’s view of the genius is “consistent with the view of romanticism,” this objectivity is an important difference between Schenker’s genius and that of “the Romantic, who, beginning and ending with himself, precisely in this vicious circle violates the majesty of the object.”48 Like Goethe’s and Schopenhauer’s genius, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s genius is distinguished by his gift of vision. Schenker writes, “To the genius it is given to see” (MW, 2:202/122), and Schoenberg writes, “A higher way of viewing things (Anschauungsweise)… represents the most precious origin of the genius’s accomplishment.”49 In the case of music, the artist sees the tone in nature, perceiving its overtones partly unconsciously. Schenker says that music demands “comprehensive perception of the main harmonic tone” (Hauptklangs)—that is, the tonic—which is “a natural advantage enjoyed

38 Thinking about music by geniuses,”50 and Schoenberg says that “the cause of music demands… that the secret of the sounding tone be always pursued anew.”51 Contrary to the suggestion of some writers, this intuitive perception of the tone, and not analysis of the masterworks, is the primary correlate of Goethe’s Anschauung of nature for Schenker and Schoenberg.52 In and through perception of the tone as an idea of nature, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s artist conceives a particular musical idea, “a vision,” which on the material level is “the ground tone of the piece,” the tonic.53 The genius identifies with the ground tone in its urge for realization. Schenker writes that the artist harkens to the soul of the tone, as it were—the tone seeking a life content as rich as possible—and thus the artist, who is more of a slave to the tone than he suspects, submits to it as much as possible. (HL, 109/86) And Schoenberg describes the artist’s activity as a response to having “picked up the signal” of the tone’s incipient offspring, so that “he is merely the instrument of a will hidden from him” (HL, 350/313 and 416). On the face of it, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s subjection of the artist’s will to “the will of the tone” would seem to head off any conflict between the two, as well as any serious conflict between their theories (TW; Schoenberg, HL, 399). But whereas the tone is an eternal idea, the artistic “instinct” (Schenker, HL, 137; Schoenberg, HL, 416) undergoes a progressive “evolution” (Schenker, HL, 180/137; Schoenberg, HL, 30), and accordingly there is an “evolution of music” as well—at least for a time (Schenker, HL, 69/53; Schoenberg, HL, 21). Consequently, an irremediable contradiction arises between the absoluteness of the tone and the singularity of the artist’s encounter with the tone—a contradiction that is ultimately traceable to the contradictory, mythic union of subject and object.54 We will find this contradiction at the root of most of the differences in Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s theories of composition, for the pistic Schenker emphasizes “the absolute character of tonal life” (CP, 1:14), while the iconic Schoenberg emphasizes the artist’s need “to express something new and [previously] unheard that moves him” (HL, 447/400). It is as if their conflicting theories are two halves of one contradictory theory.55 To begin with, the pistic Schenker focuses on the absolute idea of nature, while the iconic Schoenberg focuses on the singular musical idea, but it is only half true to say that “for Schoenberg,… each vision of the totality must necessarily be a new vision,” while “in Schenker’s theory…, all great composers share one and the same vision” (Schmalfeldt 1991, 233–234). It is also the case that for Schoenberg all composers share a vision of the tone, and that in S ­ chenker’s theory each vision must be new, for the idea of nature and the musical idea are complementary concepts, even if they are contradictory.56 As Schenker puts it in his motto, “Always the same, but never in the same way.” Or again, paraphrasing Goethe, “The particular is actually the bearer of the general.”57

The eye of the genius  39 As with Goethe, so too for Schenker and Schoenberg the inward vision and “penetration of nature” by “the genius” entail a reciprocal outward movement as “a living work of art develops from a background to the foreground in the imagination of the genius, who gazes clairvoyantly into the depths and distance,” as shown at the bottom of Example 1.3. In other words, the musical idea sets “goals in the foreground” that are ­“mysteriously sensed and pursued.”58 Schenker depicts the genius’s view of the emerging musical work in Example 1.4. Example 1.4 on its own is somewhat ambiguous, looking a little more like a ziggurat than a view into the depths and distance, but the draft in Example 1.5—one of a few such—is more obviously perspectival. In the reciprocal inward and outward movements of art, the pistic Schenker highlights penetration of the object, saying that the artist is “to root himself in a material and out of this root to drive up both the life of the material and his own,” whereas the iconic Schoenberg highlights penetration of the subject: “A true feeling must not let itself be prevented from going constantly down, ever and anew, into the dark region of the unconscious, in order to bring up content and form as a unity,” this dark region being “the centre of spiritual movement and birth.”59

Example 1.4  T he genius’s view into the musical work for Schenker. FC, 1st ed., ­figure 1.

But while for Goethe nature is self-sufficient, for Schenker and Schoenberg nature comes into its own only in and through art. As Schenker writes, art provides for the procreation of isolated individuals along paths other than those possible in nature. This procreation is a spiritual one, a substitute for the lost milieu of nature, and it signifies an immortalization of nature itself, the landscape, etc.—contrary to Goethe’s erroneous opinion with respect to art.60

40 Thinking about music

Example 1.5  Schenker, sketch for Free Composition, OC, 23/25.

So only music “brings the harmonic tone (Klang) to expression, to consciousness,” through “association with nature,” “imitation of the tone,” which is at the same time procreation and development of the tone.61 In other words, reproduction of the tone is tonal reproduction. This consanguinity of nature and art has two significant consequences. First, while for Goethe there are only natural Urphänomene, for Schenker and Schoenberg the tone as a kind of natural Urphänomen is realized in the Ursatz for Schenker and tonality or non-tonality for Schoenberg as artistic Urphänomene. (I explain these Urphänomene and associated concepts in the following two chapters.)62 Second, while for Goethe and Schopenhauer, the genius already fully sees himself in nature, for Schenker (1933, 477) and Schoenberg, “the genius… clears up to self-sight” only in the completed work, which upon performance affords a kind of externalized introspection. Schenker writes, “Self-consciousness is based on accomplishments that stand before all eyes,”63 and Schoenberg writes, “Man is what he experiences; the artist experiences just what he is.”64 He describes artistic self-perception in visual terms: “The portrait need not look like the model but rather the painter.”65 In other words, all works of art for Schoenberg, including musical works, are somehow self-portraits, and I regard them as such in Part II.66 Improvisation For Schenker and Schoenberg, the ground tone’s movements of procreation and development and the genius’s movements of perception and self-­ expression all reflect and condition one another; that is what it means for these movements to be superimposed in the blended space in Example 1.3,

The eye of the genius  41 even though they are distinct. The ground tone cannot fully develop unless the genius simultaneously penetrates the idea and expresses himself, and vice versa. As Schenker says, “music mirrors the human soul in all its movements and metamorphoses” (FC, 19/xxiii). Schenker and Schoenberg draw an important conclusion from this reflectivity that Goethe and Schopenhauer do not in their own similar conceptions of the genius: Contrary to the opinions of some with regard to Schenker, the genius’s act of composition, reflecting the act of immediate perception, must likewise be immediate, improvisatory.67 This is not to say that to compose, say, a symphony, the genius must get together an orchestra and have the musicians read his mind, or some such thing. Rather, it is just to say that the piece premières in the mind as it is created. Schenker says that tracing out musical coherences in re-creation “must certainly take place in real time,” for “the genial, improvising, long-range vision of our masters, which I once called the soaring ear, itself presupposes time, entails time.”68 Schoenberg says early on that “notation = transcription = imperfection.”69 He later on comes to consider notation to be an inherent aspect of composition, but he still insists that “composing is a slowed-down improvisation; often one cannot write fast enough to keep up with the stream of ideas.”70 Recognizing the improvisatory nature of composition is of particular significance for analyzing Schoenberg’s music in Part II, because if penetration of the tone in the work occurs to a greater or lesser extent in real time, then it must be evaluated relative to the continuous evolution of perception. In sum, for Schenker and Schoenberg, “what is superior comes to the geniuses through an inner unity of idea, trial, and realization.”71 The next step is to explain how the genius’s deed ramifies in the spiritual domain as one of self-realization.

The realization of the self Schenker and Schoenberg tighten a series of analogies between art and the spirit (Geist) to the point of identity in a blend of art as spirituality.72 The input spaces of art and the spirit are linked by the generic space of a subject with a mental representation of a stimulus whose response is evaluated in some way. This scenario finds its most basic instantiation in psychology, which both Schenker and Schoenberg see as linked to music theory. With art, the standard of evaluation is fidelity to an object or a perception. With the spirit, the standard of evaluation is morality. Art and morality Morality for Schenker and Schoenberg means first of all “to apprehend all situations as particular, to distinguish them from one another,” where a situation can be described either objectively as something perceived or

42 Thinking about music subjectively as the perception itself.73 The pistic Schenker highlights the moral necessity of being true to things as they objectively are by sinking into them: “Just as men are already wonders in themselves, so too are the things of the world. Totally merging with the things thus in all cases amounts to serving the wonders.”74 Being true to the things also means being true to oneself for Schenker, because in a sense “man [is] only a modification of the things.”75 He suggests that being true to things as they are entails unifying separate moments in temporal consciousness with the spiritual eye: The workings of the human eye and seeing explain why we also aim for a unified point of view in the spiritual domain: in a sense, spiritual lines unite into a focus in a spiritual retina. Therefore the human drive toward synthesis is an organic function, as it were, like that of seeing.76 Note that Schenker conceives of temporal consciousness in terms of space and vision; it is not that Schenker’s concern with temporal consciousness is “masked by his predilection for spatial metaphors” (Korsyn 1988, 30). The iconic Schoenberg highlights the moral necessity of being true to one’s subjective vision, not moral rules, saying that “what really matters” is “the ability to listen to oneself, to look deeply into oneself…. He who really has principles, principles of humanity, lives according to his own inclinations” (HL, 413). Yet he also affirms the necessity of being true to things as they are, of “freely do[ing] what the thing requires.”77 For Schenker and Schoenberg, sinking into perceptions gives one a diffused sense of self, which allows one to love one’s neighbor literally as oneself, “to rise above oneself.”78 Schenker writes, “The goal of life presupposes a dissolved I, freed from all vanity.”79 And Schoenberg says that “the individual with the most primitive conceptual and perceptual powers regards only the members of his body and his senses as belonging to him,” but “at the highest stage” of “love for one’s neighbor… the individual… becomes a mere speck in the infinite.”80 So morality for Schenker and Schoenberg involves sinking into perceptions and conversely expanding out in love. In the blended space of art as spirituality, since morality means being true to a situation or perception, and since art analogously means being true to an object or perception, Schenker and Schoenberg conclude that “morality… is to be regarded as art,”81 that conversely “synthesis is love,” and that “in the true genius, man and artist balance each other;… his ethical powers take part in his artistic productions, as also vice versa.”82 In Schoenberg’s words, who fits is fitting, has virtue is virtuous. The virtuous is fit; what he does is fitting, virtuous, fit, tight (tauglich, tugendlich, tüchtig, dicht). So there can be a fit-er, a tight-er, a writer (ein Tüchtiger, ein Dichtiger, ein Dichter).83

The eye of the genius  43 The pistic Schenker highlights the poet’s or the artist’s fidelity to the laws at work in the perceived situation: “It is the affair of the poet alone to feel the corporeality of the situation and let its particular truth resound.”84 More specifically, he says that “the situations of life are fathomless, and only the gaze of the genius can reach down into them” and detect their prospective resolution.85 He says that geniuses “see into the future with an extended eye, as it were.”86 Resolving a life situation in music means letting the tones resolve melodically and harmonically back to the ground tone. Schenker writes, “With 1ˆ over I all tensions in a musical organism cease” (FC, 43/13). The iconic Schoenberg highlights the artist’s fidelity “to the laws of his nature”: “Integrity is a number that indicates the ratio of the artist to his work.” Non-geniuses attain “intermediate degrees” of integrity, but “the genius,” it seems, attains complete “integrity.”87 So whereas Schenker wants art to reveal, resound, and resolve life situations, Schoenberg wants art only to reveal and resound them. He writes, Art is the cry of distress of the one who experiences in himself the fate of mankind…. Who does not turn his eyes away in order to shield himself from emotions but rather opens them wide in order to approach what must be approached.88 Facing the hard truth in music means letting the tones duke it out, regardless of whether they resolve back to the ground tone. Schoenberg writes, Every chord… that is set beside the principal tone has at least as much tendency to lead away from it as to return to it. And if life, if a work of art is to emerge, then we must engage in this movement-generating conflict. (HL, 151) Here, we begin to see how Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s shared musical and spiritual conceptions set them apart according to their contrasting emphases on the absoluteness of the tone versus the singularity of the artist’s encounter. Freedom, God, and immortality Also in the blended space of art as spirituality, Schenker and Schoenberg identify the spontaneity, creativity, and ideality of art with the analogous supersensible ideas of freedom, God, and immortality. First, on freedom, Schenker writes, “Being involved in right and duty, as also in freedom and morality, is solely the prerogative of geniuses who gain access to such superior phenomena and such extremely difficult concepts of humanity-synthesis by means of the experiences forged in the synthesis of their own creations,” and Schoenberg says that the artist creates with ­“utmost freedom” (TW, 2:31; and HL, 126). But since

44 Thinking about music art is equivalently a product of the genius and the ground tone, the genius’s freedom for Schenker and Schoenberg is equivalently a kind of necessity. Second, Schenker and Schoenberg both affirm the common analogy between the artist and the Creator and privilege this relation to God. Schenker writes, “Only in creating art does man become the image of God,”89 and Schoenberg writes, “The concept of creator and creation should be formed in harmony with the Divine Model.”90 The pistic Schenker highlights the genius’s objective perception of God within: “The genius’s inner gaze is directed ever upwards, towards the Creator” (MW, 3:69). The iconic Schoenberg highlights the genius’s subjective conformity to God, saying that the artist “feels himself merely the slave of a higher ordinance, under whose compulsion he ceaselessly does his work.”91 But further, according to Schenker and Schoenberg, God himself actually creates through the geniuses; “their ‘higher commissioner’ has actually done it for them,” for “genius is possessedness, demonic nature, ‘God in one’s bosom.’”92 Schenker explains that in the case of music, God creates only the tone in general, and the genius completes this creation with the procreation and development of particular ground tones: “Let there be light” resounds within the genius, but only the first tonal organism has stirred therein, so when this organism becomes fruitful and multiplies according to its kind, this kind is nevertheless not the same as that of another tonal organism.93 And Schoenberg says that “the genial creation” is “God’s greatest creation.”94 Third, on immortality, Schenker and Schoenberg extrapolate from the “timeless” quality of art in its ideality to “eternal life” (MW, 1:1). A musical idea is timeless because in the genius’s view into the musical work, the whole of time as a dimension of space and the whole of space are reflected in a vanishing point. The pistic Schenker highlights the role of the absolute idea in securing immortality: “To partake of the cosmos and its eternal ideas—this alone signifies a life of beauty, true immortality in God” (FC, 161). So he privileges an objective “focal point” of the ground tone, the tonic triad, or the Ursatz.95 He declares that the geniuses, in the eye of an ultimate fusion,… bring the most distant points into tune with one another, as if they lay right next to one another… and all the numberless triads that whirl about, creating motives and created by motives, simply proclaim as with one voice the glory of the all-one triad from which they came and to which they shall return.96 The iconic Schoenberg highlights the role of the genius’s singular response in securing immortality: “Men, the highest men, such as Beethoven and

The eye of the genius  45 Mahler, will believe in an immortal soul until the power of this belief has endowed humanity with one.”97 So he privileges a subjective vanishing point, where every tone, motive, or Gestalt that the genius lays his eyes on, being an image of the musical idea, “functions not only in its own plane, but also in all other directions and planes, and is not without influence even at remote points.” Schoenberg describes the resultant equivalence of all dimensions as “heaven”-like, and he attributes the connectivity to the “law of the unity of musical space.” This law, commonly associated with twelve-tone music, also applies to “every classic composition.”98 Nevertheless, in order for every tone or motive to be able to serve as a vanishing point, it certainly helps if the ground tone does not dominate the scene, as for example in twelve-tone music. Here again, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s shared conceptions set them apart. Vision and image schemas The figure of vision plays a key role in Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s blend of art and the spirit more broadly, for the vanishing point in the genius’s blind view of the musical work is correspondingly blank, dimensionless and featureless, so when it reflects a whole within itself, this whole can just as well be the whole self and the whole work as also the whole world and God. We can obtain the same result from the standpoint of semiotics. As the objective vanishing point in a piece of music, the ground tone is both an empty sign and a meta-sign: It is a tone like all the others but without a corresponding point in the represented space, and it generates the other tones, whether perceptibly in tonal music or imperceptibly in non-tonal music, to form a coherent image.99 But if the work presents its ground tone or its idea, then the work itself can be an empty meta-sign that assimilates the self and the world. As Schenker succinctly puts it, “Being the likeness of itself, music flows… back into nature, into the human soul.”100 In this way, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conception of art as spirituality extends the application of the image schemas for art. Just as Goethe describes the subject and nature as a peristaltic movement of a peripheral whole and a central part, so too Schenker writes, “Genius—a peristaltic movement in the spirit, as it were.” This peristaltic movement now involves not only the genius as the work but also “God as nature.”101 Schenker writes, Man is confined between the largest and very smallest origins. Since both poles remain inaccessible to him in the same way, one can reasonably call the smallest origin at the same time the largest and vice versa the largest also the smallest. Or what is the same: the greatest origin, God, is contained in the smallest, just as the smallest again represents God.102

46 Thinking about music “The spirit of God lives in the objects,” the smallest origin, because God “has sunken into the ideas of the objects.”103 The average person’s way is blocked not only if he tries to see God in “the object,” “the inner kernel of man, as it were,” but also if he tries to “carry his soul… up to God” by expanding in love, because people “in the surface” “gnaw the root of the upright ones, and the surface devours all development.”104 But “the genius, taking root in the things,” conversely grows up like “a tree.”105 The genius’s movements of vision and expansion reflect one another. As Schenker says, “logically included in stretching is a view into the future.”106 He also indicates the connection between seeing and rising into God in Example  1.6, another perspectival draft of Example 1.4, writing, “Analogies to other domains, religious elevation to the Ur-God” (cf. FC, 160). And Schoenberg writes that the artist can “see within what only apparently happens without. And within, in him is the movement of the world; without penetrates only the echo: the work of art,” which expresses “the longing of mankind for its future form, for an immortal soul, for dissolution into the universe—the longing of this soul for its God.”107

Example 1.6  Schenker, sketch for Free Composition, OC, 23/43.

In summary, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s genius, somewhat like Goethe’s and much like Schopenhauer’s, realizes his moral duty and the supersensible ideas of freedom, God, and immortality, the main difference with ­Schopenhauer being that this realization takes place in and through the realization of an idea, not through denial of the will. In a word, the genius “saves himself through the genial deed” (Schenker 1933, 477). But what about the rest of us?

The realization of mankind The question of how in Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s minds mankind is to attain realization is the question of their religions, which have been subject to divergent interpretations. Some have argued for a more Jewish Schenker,

The eye of the genius  47 while one critic has argued implicitly for a more art-religious Schenker.108 Similarly, some have argued for a more Jewish Schoenberg, while others have argued for a more art-religious Schoenberg, whether Romantic, occult, irrationalist, anti-dogmatic, or mythic.109 Judaism and “art-religion” are not necessarily mutually exclusive, but nor is their marriage a happy one.110 Schenker and Schoenberg are of a generation of German-speaking ethnic Jews who, following a period of spiritual struggle, return to and reimagine Judaism from an individual standpoint in reaction to the German idealism in which they are steeped, relying on an inherent tension between halakha (the law and its layers of interpretation) and prophecy that allows for innovation. One of these Jews is the philosopher Franz Rosenzweig, whose vision of Judaism focuses on individuals finding their way back to the faith and becoming human through discussion of primary sources. A second is the philosopher Martin Buber, whose vision of Judaism similarly focuses on dialogue but as the mode of relation between the individual and God (Noveck 1963, 213–216 and 243–246). And Schenker and Schoenberg come to confess both the religion of genius and a kind of “transcendental Judaism” spurred by and inflected by this faith and focusing on individual inner experience of divinity.111 One author sees a combination of Judaism and art-religion in Schenker (Morgan 2014, 175–178), while others see a symbiosis of German philosophy and Judaism in Schoenberg (Mäkelä 1995; Jackson 1997, 282), but none of them present these combinations as particularly problematic. I am more in agreement with Robert L. Weaver, who finds “fundamental conflicts” in Schoenberg’s symbiosis that unfold over time; the same is true for Schenker’s.112 I examine these conflicts in Chapter 7 and the conclusion. Schenker and Schoenberg blend their conception of art as spirituality with their notion of religion in a conception of art as religion through the generic space of an inspired person with a text that prescribes the ritual formation of a series of mental representations. The input space of religion projects the additional elements of the proclamation of the law, the salvation of the people, and the trope of light versus darkness, which become the demonstration of laws, identification with the genius, and the future versus the present. Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s version of Judaism then represents a projection, back to the input space of religion, of perception trumping words and images. The genius and the non-genius Schenker and Schoenberg draw a fundamental distinction between the genius, who realizes himself, and the non-genius, who does not. The genius’s abilities are “not learnable and not teachable” but rather innate (TW, 1:112). Schenker writes, “The schools cannot pretend to breed composers (much less geniuses)…. Such sowing and reaping must be left to God,” and Schoenberg writes, “The genius already possesses all his future faculties from the

48 Thinking about music very beginning.”113 That the genius’s abilities are innate means that there is “an unbridgeable chasm” between “the geniuses” and “the non-geniuses” (TW, 2:141). Although Schoenberg does not always distinguish between the genius and the artist, he also affirms that artists “cannot all be geniuses,”114 contrary to the accounts of some writers.115 This distinction is of great significance, for Schoenberg emphasizes the virtually inevitable imperfection of art, and unless one recognizes that the standard of perfection is precisely the genius, one might suppose that the genius himself is imperfect, subject to failure.116 For both Schenker and Schoenberg, the distinction between the artist and the average person lies first of all in the average person’s stunted perceptual and spiritual capacity—their “lack of life instinct”—and consequently in their stunted cultural height.117 Schenker graphs the “course of culture” in the genius and the average person in Example 1.7 (FC, 161). By endorsing the first graph and rejecting the second, he shows that the cultural height of the genius is a fixed ideal that finds intermittent realization in blessed individuals and not a level that can be reached through the average person’s efforts. Schenker writes, “Man will learn to fly in the sky before he learns to raise himself up to the genius” (TW, 1:22). The graph combines the image schemas found in the tone and the musical work with an additional source-path-goal schema for the course of culture itself, leading intermittently from masterwork to masterwork (or age to age; the time scale is unclear). The graph shows depth versus time: the depth of the tone as perceived, both consciously (the ground tone, represented by the lower level) and unconsciously (the fifth partial, represented by the upper level), and the depth of the tone as imitated in the musical work (the upper line).118

Example 1.7  Schenker’s conception of the course of culture. FC, 1st ed., figure 13.

Schoenberg similarly describes the series of musical works that yield a “positive gain” in “the degree of penetration into what is naturally given” through imitation as tracing out “the line of evolution” or “the path of the techniques,” graphed in Example 1.8.119 The upper jagged line is “the historical evolution,” the lower jagged line is the line of the average person, and the diagonal line is the “reveal[ing]” of tone color, corresponding with “the natural evolution” that would happen “if artists always had the courage to go back to the primary source” (HL, 315 and 403). The first music, music with no depth at all, is the source. Schoenberg speculates that “the most primitive form of prehistoric music had at its disposal only a single instrument capable of producing only a single tone” (MI, 107). The solution of all

The eye of the genius  49

depth of the tone

the problems in the tone, “the precise accommodation of all overtones,” is “the ultimate goal,” but this goal is a moving target on account of the perpetual expansion of the tone (HL, 319 and 412). The limitlessness of the tone implies the endlessness of evolution. Schoenberg declares, “Evolution is not finished, the peak has not been crossed. It is only beginning, and the peak will come only, or perhaps never, because it will always be surpassed.”120 I say more about this evolution in Chapter 3.121

ion olut al ev sic f mu ion o t u l evo

imitation of tone color, dissonances

r natu

han dicr

imitation of close overtones, consonances

aft

insight of the genius

insight of the ordinary person

time

Example 1.8  Schoenberg’s conception of the line of evolution.

Schoenberg further describes the path of the techniques as “the path to the summit” of a “mountain” (HL, 70). Works of “genius,” which attain full “penetration of nature,” form peaks along the path (shown where the jagged arrow touches the diagonal line; HL, 325). Schoenberg writes, The highest pinnacles, which are most accessible to the observer, into which the capillaries lift the finest and best from the depths, these alone set forth the spirit of mankind…. One sees that they are related and how they are related, that they are coherent amongst themselves. (HL, 411–412) Namely, they are related in that “the ratio of the artist to his work,” the ratio between the heights of the upper two lines, actually “equals one” (HL, 366/326). According to Schoenberg, the way to the path of art leads straight up from the material: There is only one direct way of connecting to the past, to tradition, to the thinking of our forerunners: to start again from scratch, as if everything earlier were wrong, to get in touch again with the essence of things.122

50 Thinking about music For the one who relies on systematic rules, the way to the path of art is blocked, and his work reaches only the level of handicraft, but for the one who relies on his ear and his feelings, the way is open. Schoenberg writes, Does the pupil have need for the laws, so that he can know how far he may go? I have indeed just said how far he may go: as far as his nature drives him; and he must strive to hear his nature precisely if he wants to be an artist! If he only wants to be a craftsman, then a barrier will appear somewhere all of its own accord; the same barrier that keeps him from artistry will also keep him from going all too far. (HL, 415) By way of contrast, “the master proves his mastery by breaking through the barriers and becoming free” (HL, 396). Handicraft keeps half-pace with art in terms of its depth. Schoenberg insists, “The ordinary person… must always keep equal the distance above and below himself; and since those above him push forward, he must move along at a suitable interval behind” (HL, 416). But the depth reached by art at a given moment is eventually open to handicraft, to systematization. Schoenberg assures us, Whereas the distance between the onrushing, brilliant insight of the genius and the ordinary insight of his contemporaries is relatively vast, in an absolute sense, that is, viewed within the whole evolution of the human spirit, the advance of his insight is quite small. Consequently, the connection that gives access to what was once incomprehensible is always finally made. (HL, 30) There are only two substantive differences between Schenker’s course of culture and Schoenberg’s line of evolution. First, the iconic Schoenberg rejects the pistic Schenker’s absolute limit on perception and music at the fifth partial as “tak[ing] the known phenomena to be the only ones there are, to be the ultimate and immutable manifestations of nature, and explain[ing] only these, instead of contemplating nature comprehensively in its relation to our feelings and perceptions.”123 Second, because Schoenberg takes into account regular artists, who are “deficient in their service,” deficient in their integrity, he distinguishes between the historical evolution and a natural evolution (HL, 316). Schenker and Schoenberg consign the non-genius to a dark, soulless, bestial chaos. Schenker writes, “The masses lack the genial soul, they are not aware of a background, they have no presentiment of the future; their life is merely an eternally inorganic foreground, a continuous present without coherence, unwinding chaotically in empty, animal fashion.”124 And ­Schoenberg, as we read at the outset, says that “we are still to remain in a darkness which will be illuminated only fitfully by the light of the genius”— struggling, blind, eyeless, soulless, trapped in an empty present.125

The eye of the genius  51 The problem with religion One might suppose that the non-genius could turn to religion to escape suffering, but the problem with organized religion at first for Schenker and Schoenberg is that it is a generic, word-bound solution to an always particular perceptual and spiritual problem.126 Schenker claims that religion cannot effect salvation through moral action because it substitutes words—propositions, prescriptions, and prayers—for perceptual experience: Experience: proper path of people to the things, which sadly remains something fruitless. Words of warning, which should preserve the way of experience, collapse into the rule, precisely because they are only words. Thus neither the words nor the things take effect, and out of inability man is capable neither of hearing the words nor of having experience itself! Therefore no place in this world for true religion ([I do] not [say] worship), and just as little for moral rules.127 He characterizes religion as an addictive, low-grade, quick fix: People need it as just a one-time thing on account of their inability and desire for comfort and then as a repeatable, everyday thing; accordingly, everything that relates to the concept of God, to charity and love for one’s neighbor, is reduced to the shortest possible formulaic prayer, which is then blubbered for millennia.128 He explains that while the drug-like remedy of religion can provide degraded people with some measure of solace, it ultimately exacerbates their degradation: Unfortunately, the psychological trick of religion, however much it comforts one at first after the manner of alcohol or morphine, turns out in the long run to be only detrimental, for, to the same extent that it provides solace in a benevolent deity through empty delusion and obfuscation of the causes [of suffering] operating in the person himself, it hinders the person at the same time from gradually acquiring through struggle the understanding that would be needed to eliminate those causes.129 Schoenberg similarly rejects religion with “organizational fetters” because it reduces the world to words: “In… translation into the terms of human language, which is abstraction, reduction to the recognizable, the essential, the language of the world, which ought perhaps to remain incomprehensible and only perceptible, is lost.”130 Through this reduction, this filtering of the original perception, “religiosity unwittingly destroys morality.”131 For

52 Thinking about music example, in a fragmentary and almost illegible but telling note, Schoenberg evidently describes the Lord’s Prayer as corrupted into a naïveté that is actually[?] lying[?], saying not exactly the word of [i.e., proper to] the descendant. Doubtlessly the hope of our condition is that, besides our bread— But in the hands of the presbytery it becomes superstition, and it would not become less so, if it transmitted a prophecy of rolls; this however it […] not.132 Organized religion is too worldly for Schenker and Schoenberg. Faith in the genius For Schenker and Schoenberg, only the genius points out man’s path to salvation by establishing and fulfilling laws. This notion is similar to that of Goethe, but Schenker and Schoenberg pursue its consequences much further. The pistic Schenker emphasizes man’s emulation of the genius as objectified in the musical work through re-composition in performance and listening: “The masterwork is the only path for all those who have not been called” (MW, 1:7/1). The masterwork is the path to salvation because it demonstrates the genius’s fulfillment of moral laws without the limitations of words, as we read in the continuation of a previous quotation: In the true genius, man and artist counterbalance each other;… his ethical powers take part in his artistic productions, as also vice versa. The ideal of the genius in relation to art: to apprehend all situations as particular, to distinguish them from one another, and to address the presently given situation in accordance with nature, which dwells within it. Mankind, however, suffers precisely in not being capable of producing such an art. The study of the realizations in genial works is therefore recommended in order to learn the art of decision making. In their way the genius artists surpass even the religious founders, great philosophers, moralists, and politicians, who to be sure set out beautiful goals for mankind in beautiful words and thoughts but never—to speak pianistically—give the fingering to that end as well, that is, never teach the realization. If only Christ, e.g., had also been able to give the fingering needed for the realization of his main precept!133 To the extent that the situation to be resolved is unprecedented, the genius both fulfills and establishes its laws. Schenker writes, “Art is its own truth: the personal yet unconditional fulfillment of the laws to which it is bound. Once fulfilled in the work of the genius, they henceforth remain irrevocable for art.”134 Accordingly, the work itself is in effect a law. That is, the musical work not only allows but morally and—under ideal conditions—causally

The eye of the genius  53 requires that we flow along the path inscribed by the genius, through a kind of “soul canalization.”135 Schenker explains, Education in the work of the genius in music means in a sense stylizing one’s own blood in such a way that it keeps equal pace with the veins of the genius stylized through synthesis. For it is literally a question of understanding the work in its totality and in all its parts so that it would be impossible for the performer to contravene the rules explicitly set down by the master, even just on a whim. (MW, 2:205–206/124) In other words, the musical work allows and requires us to see the world through the eyes of the genius. Schenker declares, “Whoever hears what is organic in the musical figure stands with the creation and cannot fall; the composer’s miraculous view has become his own” (MW, 2:42/22). At the end of the day, though, Schenker looks to the future for salvation, not the past. He expresses the hope that with the genius of a new generation, “an eternal life of mankind will become visible” (TW, 1:21/20). (Why should it not be visible now? We will return to this question momentarily.) In looking to the future for salvation, Schenker resembles the iconic Schoenberg, who emphasizes man’s emulation of “the genius” as “the future form of mankind.”136 The genius establishes and fulfills “the laws of future generations” in the present, showing “that things nee[d] changing, and why, and how.”137 But this “law” inscribed in the musical work one “cannot put into words,” nor can one translate the genius’s “prophetic message revealing a higher form of life towards which mankind evolves.”138 It remains mysterious. Schoenberg writes, There must be, somewhere in our future, a magnificent fulfilment as yet hidden from us, since all our striving forever pins its hopes on it. Perhaps that future is an advanced stage in the evolution of our species, at which that yearning will be fulfilled which today gives us no peace. Perhaps it is just death; but perhaps it is also the certainty of a higher life after death. (HL, 263/239; translation modified) In any case, whatever this future fulfillment is, the genius “has already been drawn upwards” and he “draws us upward.”139 More specifically, musicians, “priests of art,” are to follow the genius’s law to help “mankind… evolve.”140 Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s belief in the genius is thus a religion, albeit a uniquely nonverbal one. The genius is more of a “saint” than the saints.141 Schenker writes, “Instead of reducing saints merely to memorialized individuals and canonizing geniuses, mankind does things backwards—to its own detriment.”142 The genius is also “a prophet,” in Schoenberg’s words, “a

54 Thinking about music man who wishes to raise others, too, to the heights of goodness that he feels in himself.”143 For example, Schenker writes, “As if he had descended from a musical Sinai where he had received the laws of synthesis from God’s hand, Mozart passed these laws on to humanity as signs of wonders.”144 Schenker confesses “the most fitting religion, faith in the geniuses as the masters of realization and through this religion true faith in the Creator, who planted the geniuses among men for the translation of the laws dwelling within them,” a translation not into words but into deeds.145 And Schoenberg characterizes himself as “an apostle” for faith in the genius, a faith to be transmitted directly to the eyes as light, not as words: We should have faith that our belief will transmit itself directly…. This fire should burn so brightly in us that we become transparent, so that its light shines forth and illuminates even the one who, until now, walked in darkness.146 Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s faith in the genius implies that the history of religion consists of a cyclical series of misunderstood attempts at reformation by “the genius.”147 Schenker writes: Christ died a Jew (see the Gospels), Luther a Catholic, and yet what has mankind done but made something entirely different from both!? He who came to fulfill the Old Testament was called the founder of an entirely new religion, namely the Christian, and then he who devoted himself to purifying the Catholic religion (which from the start was already itself only a misunderstanding) was again elevated to the founder of a new teaching, the Protestant!… At least religion will still tolerate free research in its bosom; and so, incidentally, it will arrive at establishing the truth—would one not thereby perhaps arrive at the place where the Jewish religion also found itself at the moment of the entrance of Christ? That is indeed what I think! Through misunderstandings mankind births a new religion out of the womb of the Jewish; Catholicism arises. After further falsifications of the truth, however, Luther protests against Catholicism—thus arises Protestantism, which already, as one can see, initiates a movement back to the origin. Now the modernists protest against Protestantism! If this goal were reached, then the circle would be completely closed, and one would again stand at the door of Judaism, and then again a second Christ would be necessary, who would tell the Jews that their Bible was merely a book of poetry and that all religion was contained in the two laws: “Love your neighbor as yourself,” and “Love God…” But then Christ would represent the eternal type of a first Protestant, since he would arise from time to time ever again with the aim of correcting human error, unfortunately always futilely.148

The eye of the genius  55 Although Schenker at this point portrays Judaism as the truest religion, it is in effect just one more stage in an endless, cyclical, “Protestant” movement driven by misunderstood geniuses, who “thought and preached one and the same thing.”149 Schoenberg similarly says that the genius sees an idea, but his apostles (non-genius artists) mistake this idea for the ever-new idea that they must find for themselves, and so they miss the mark: The apostle begins as the champion of a new idea and ends as the defender of one that has become old. So indeed he actively participates in the glory of triumph, but hardly in evolution. His line, so to speak, resembles a spiral. But the genius makes leaps, always the shortest way, and he leaves it to the apostle to fill in the gaps as penance for undeserved glory. The apostle’s own movement, however, since it follows not one drive but rather many attempts, has a certain torque. Thus the spiral.150 As shown in Example 1.9, this description distinguishes between the genius’s vision and the regular artist’s vision, not by means of a blockage schema as with the average person, but by means of multiple path and diversion schemas. The apostle tries to copy the genius by heading in the same direction that took the genius to the idea, but since he has a different starting point, this path leads astray. The genius keeps trying to knock some sense into people by taking the shortest path, but this diversion only results in a series of further misdirected attempts by the apostle. genius

apostle

Example 1.9  T  he spiral of the disciple and the straight line of the genius for Schoenberg.

56 Thinking about music The return to Judaism But Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s faith in the genius as “the redeemer” has a way of turning into despair.151 Schenker suggests that the genius, like the sun, arises ever again to shine on mankind: “As every day has its own sun, as it were, even so every individual generation has its own zenith, as it were, in this or that genius.”152 But if the genius is linked to his own generation, then it is only “at the hour when an idea comes into the world” that “mankind is dissolved in bliss” (FC, 22/xxiv). Thus, the flipside of the day of the genius or “the epoch of the genius” is the long, dark night of the non-genius or “epochs without the impact of an idea, which are condemned to decay” (FC, 60/28 and 183/161–162). Schenker says of his own day that “there is not a single genius in sight on the entire planet who can offer advice and help,” and he prophesies: “The task of deliverance must await a new generation. Then again, a pillar of fire will appear ahead of the people, again a Prometheus must appear, a genius, who will proclaim anew and substantiate the eternal-same.”153 These qualifications might seem odd. Why should the eternal-same need to be proclaimed again? It is not as though it has changed since the last time. Or to return to a question posed above, why should eternal life not be visible now? In truth, ­Schenker’s ­nostalgic-utopian qualifications represent a further displacement of the fundamental lack in the mythic self-seeing eye. The genius must always remain out of sight in order to sustain this myth. Schoenberg similarly says that “in our time (as perhaps always) there are no great men who can compose, but very many great men who prove this.”154 All we can do is hope for a future that will always be in the future. Schoenberg writes, “Modern music is written again and again; and the music of the future must always retreat before it.”155 Partly in yet another displacement of this lack, I argue, Schenker and Schoenberg both return to their native Judaism in the early 1920s.156 They both come to embrace an individualistic form of the Jewish faith that highlights the Mosaic laws against misrepresenting God, which they translate into musical laws, thereby affirming blindness to God as a way of explaining the genius’s invisibility. Yet they also continue to place faith in the light of the genius. There is a cognitive dissonance here that only begins to resolve at the ends of their lives, as I show in the course of the book. Contrary to the opinion that Schenker’s “views on Judaism and his own identity as a Jew that he recorded in his diary remained more or less consistent throughout his life” (Cook 2007, 223–224), his diaries suggest that in the years leading up to his reconversion, Schenker condones anti-Semitism and “even declaim[s] against the Semites,” affirming that “the Jews top the list as Germany’s enemies,”157 but around 1924–1925, Schenker starts to respond to anti-Semitism by “emphasizing [his] strong position in adhering to Judaism,” and, “when asked, confesse[s his] Jewish faith with pride and

The eye of the genius  57 love,” although unlike Schoenberg, he pointedly refrains from publicizing his faith.158 In 1929, he puts his confession in writing: My confession to Judaism is nothing other than a confession to depth in general, exactly as in music: in religion understood in the sense of ­Moses and Jesus, in music understood in the sense of the great masters. It is thus the same drive in parallel emanations. Orthodox Judaism presents an error within the truth, but with redemptive effect anyway, as long as the truth relates to this error with a hollowing-out effect, as long as it indeed remains an error. But in any case, the history of 2000 years proves that an error is more beneficial if it slips in with the confession of a truth than if it proliferates without such a confession.159 Judaism is true insofar as it negates its own words, hollows itself out so that it collapses into identity with art-religion in the blank depths of the genius’s vision. Schenker has for some time found this negative truth behind the commandment not to take the Lord’s name in vain. He writes, “There are concepts for which words are a shame! To these belongs above all the concept of God. This alone is the sense of the first [sic!] commandment: ‘You shall not take the name…’”160 More specifically, there is a parallel between the Jewish God and the Ursatz,161 which coincide at the vanishing point of the musical work. Being an empty sign, the Ursatz at the “focal point” reveals God by concealing him; it “prevents all false and distorted conceptions” (FC, 28/5; translation modified). Schenker’s return to Judaism coincides with his invention of the Ursatz in 1923–1925.162 In his proclamation of the law of the Ursatz, Schenker sees himself as a modern-day Moses: “If I could perform miracles like Moses… then it would become clear how similar the life task is that has fallen to me: to deliver the German musicians from the land of the Egyptians.”163 After a protracted attempt to create his own theosophical “philosophy, religion, that one absorbs with artistic organs” rather than with words,164 Schoenberg returns to Judaism privately around 1922–1923 and officially in 1933.165 Like Schenker, Schoenberg exhibits some “anti-Semitic traits” in the years leading up to his reconversion, which both sharpens and complicates the change.166 In any case, Schoenberg comes to agree with Schenker that “there appear to be ideas… that one can indeed think but not r­ eproduce— and must not!!”167 However, this truth is expressed most potently for ­Schoenberg in the prohibition of graven images, which he refers to explicitly in three works. In the case of music, this prohibition is enforced most clearly by twelve-tone music in its vigilant erasure of the ground tone.168 Like the Ursatz, then, a twelve-tone work conceals the God that it reveals. Schoenberg’s return to Judaism coincides with his invention of twelvetone composition in 1921–1923—and with his intense study of Schenker in 1922–1923.169 In his proclamation in 1925 of the law of the emancipation of

58 Thinking about music the dissonance, which regulates twelve-tone music,170 Schoenberg identifies with Moses, whom he calls in 1925 “the Chosen One” (Schoenberg 1980, 43). But this name is also that of the people’s “eye and ear” in his theosophical magnum opus, Die Jakobsleiter (1917–1922).171 And it is actually this Chosen One who sings Schoenberg’s first twelve-tone melody, sketched in his “With God” notebook.172 More generally, Schoenberg calls “having genius… a sign of chosenness.”173 As with Schenker, so with Schoenberg, art-religion and Judaism blur together in the eye of the genius. More on vision and image schemas In extending art into the domain of religion, Schenker and Schoenberg add to the scenario of the genius’s realization mankind as the peripheral container and whole looking in at “the center of a genius” shining outward.174 They add another verticality schema to determine the genius as above the non-genius (somewhat like an Escher staircase, the path leads up as both inward vision and outward growth), but they also reactivate the blockage schema to maintain the non-genius as cut off from and blinded to the genius. This configuration is what we find in the cryptic quotation about “a mysterious cone of light” with which we began the chapter. Mankind is to identify with the genius in his act of self-seeing by seeing and moving into the genius, but in fact mankind cannot and is confined to “a surface” (MW, 3:105/69). Elsewhere, we read that the genius would like to “show them the way to self-consciousness,” to show them that they “have to direct their gaze upward to something higher,” but “every path to something higher is blocked.”175 Schenker says that even if the light of the genius reaches mankind, the vision of mankind cannot reach the genius: “The radiant form draws the circle, like the sun, giving light and warmth, creating and developing new life,” but “the eye of mankind cannot endure the glare of their sunlight” (TW, 1:219 and 1:161). We find the same thing in Schoenberg’s eulogy to Mahler. Mankind is to “follow” the genius in his act of self-seeing by seeing and moving up and into the genius in such a way that “our soul shall be the eye,” but the light shines only “fitfully,” and we are “bound to the present.” Even if the genius could reach us, we could not reach the genius. Schoenberg says that the light of the genius “would blind us if we saw it.”176 The reciprocal inward movement of mankind and outward movement of the genius can happen only in the future. So in Die Jakobsleiter, God tells the Chosen One that he is “the vanguard of the spirit / which one day will draw the parts to itself” and “an image of the future / for the sake of which you develop yourself” (Schoenberg 1979, 2:46). *** Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s genius, like Goethe’s and Schopenhauer’s genius, is that visionary artist who embodies a self-seeing eye. This paradoxical conceptual metaphor, with its image-schematic complex of a whole that

The eye of the genius  59 collapses into the part and a part that explodes out into the whole, precisely describes the genius as he relates to himself, his work, the world, and mankind on the metaphysical level. In the case of music, the genius partially unconsciously sees an idea in a ground tone, and he realizes it in the musical work improvisatorially, thereby expressing himself and allowing the tone to develop. Because the genius’s view of the musical work collapses all of space and time into a single focus, the artistic act of revealing the tone is at the same time a moral act of revealing the truth of a situation; it is both free and necessary, an extension of God’s creation, and an entrance into immortality. The non-genius, however, cannot see to such depths and cannot reach such heights, and religion does not help, because it substitutes words for perception. Schenker and Schoenberg look to the genius for help, but they are still at a loss, because their problem is precisely their inability to see and be the genius. As Schenker puts it, “To be sure, this primitive human eye has been extended by the spiritual eyes of the geniuses, but since these are just spiritual eyes, they benefit the people not at all.”177 This inability represents a displacement of the lack in the self-seeing eye, but at the same time it implicitly confirms this lack. In effect, the eye of the genius pierces to such a depth and at the same time rests so directly upon itself that it shuts out everything and everyone else. The genius is so ultra-far-and near-sighted that he is blind, and his light is so bright that he is blinding. In that he “cannot return the gaze of an other” (Chua 2009, 583; emphasis removed), Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s genius is alienated and alienating on the psychological level, despite his acting in the name of love. And I believe this inadvertently inhuman model of humanity is more disturbing than their militaristic monarchist and Zionist ideologies as such, which have been the object of much criticism. To the extent that present-day belief in genius has something in common with Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s faith in the genius, this point is significant, because continued faith in “the genius of humanity” is premised on a democratization of genius that defuses its totalitarian tendency, if not its tyrannical tendency, without altering its status as “the highest human type” (McMahon 2013, 242 and loc. 232 of 8330). The genius’s blindness and alienation contribute to Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s convergent spiritual development, including their parallel, individualistic confessions of Judaism in the early 1920s. On the one hand, they disavow the genius’s blind vision by presenting it as a form of visionary blindness regulated by the laws of music and the Mosaic laws against misrepresenting God. On the other hand, their Judaism also offers them a way to begin to conceive of being “with God” apart from the genius. Likewise, the perpetually deferred originary perception, putatively buried in the tone and the subject, contributes to Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s divergent musical development on the logical level, according as their contrasting temperaments lead them to emphasize the absoluteness of the one or the singularity of the other: in the idea of nature versus the musical idea, tonality versus non-tonality, the Ursatz versus the emancipation of the dissonance, and—as we see in the next two chapters—interruption versus problems.

60 Thinking about music

Notes 1 Schoenberg (1994, 5). Interestingly, Cross (1980) comes to this conclusion about Schoenberg’s theory apart from the explicit listing of levels cited here. 2 HL, 19. See also a letter to Walter E. Koons, April 21, 1934?, SC. 3 MW, 3:105/69. 4 “The totality of the foreground is… nothing but a figure.” MW, 2:18. 5 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler” (1912, rev. 1948), in SI, 24/470–471; translation modified. Cf. Matthew 6:22–23 and Luke 11:34. 6 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (2)” (ca. 1948), in SI, 223. 7 Schenker, diary entry, August 20, 1911, in HS, 302. 8 Goethe (2010, 513). Interestingly, Goethe (1998, 21) calls Veni Creator Spiritus, which features in the first part of Mahler’s Eighth Symphony, “a call addressed to genius.” 9 Luft (1983, 54). On Schopenhauer’s relationship with Goethe, see Zimmern (2000, 39–45). 10 Goethe, “Zum Schäkespears Tag,” in Goethe (1909–1912, 2:138 and 139); and Schopenhauer (1966, 1:185). 11 A couple of notable studies are Cook (2007, 65 and passim) and Hauer (1998). 12 In tracing the crystallization of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conception of the genius back to about the time of their Harmonielehren, I concur with William Pastille (1984, 33) and others. Christian Hauer (1996, 8) and I find that Schoenberg’s conception starts to take shape in “Ich darf nicht dankend,” op. 14, no. 1 (1907), which I examine in Chapter 5. Further, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s music shows some signs of emulating the genius as far back as the late 1890s, as discussed in Chapters 4 and 7. 13 By opposing vision and blindness, I do not mean to suggest that persons without functioning eyes necessarily cannot see. But there is such a thing as not being able to see, and I am calling that blindness. 14 Goethe, draft of “Theory of Color” (1810), in Goethe (1988, 335n14). 15 Goethe, “Theory of Color” (1810), in Goethe (1988, 164). 16 Goethe, “Theory of Color,” in Goethe (1988, 164). 17 Goethe, “Problems” (1823), in Goethe (1988, 43). 18 Goethe, selections from Maxims and Reflections, in Goethe (1988, 303). 19 Goethe, “Polarity” (1893), in Goethe (1988, 156); and Goethe (1998, 56). Goethe describes the tone in much the same way. Goethe, “Theory of Tone” (1810), in Goethe (1988, 299). 20 Goethe, “The Purpose Set Forth” (1817), in Goethe (1988, 64). 21 Goethe, “Problems,” in Goethe (1988, 43); and Goethe, “The Metamorphosis of Plants” (1790), in Goethe (1988, 84, 96, and 95). 22 Goethe, “A Friendly Greeting” (1820), in Goethe (1988, 38). By extension: “There’s nought without and nought within, / For she is inside out and outside in.” Goethe, “Epirrhema,” in Goethe (1983, 159). 23 Goethe, “Problems,” in Goethe (1988, 43); and Goethe, “The Metamorphosis of Plants,” in Goethe (1988, 84). 24 Goethe, “Zur Farbenlehre,” in Goethe (1985–1999, 23/1:239). See also Goethe (1998, 33 and 76). Cf. Acts 17:28. That the thought world, featuring the ­Urphänomen, and the outside world are two aspects of the same thing is a key notion in Steiner’s influential interpretation of Goethe’s thought. Covach (1996, 259). 25 Wellbery (1996, 158). The horror of nothing to see in the specular moment perhaps becomes the threatening “horror of nothing to see” in the female genitalia. Irigaray (1985, 26). 26 Goethe, “The Eagle and the Dove” (1772–1773), trans. in Wellbery (1996, 160).

The eye of the genius  61 27 On Schopenhauer’s misogyny, see Battersby (1989, 107–111). On Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s gender views, see especially Biddle (2011, 109–156) and Brown (2014, 125–164). 28 Goethe, “Einleitung [in Die Propyläen],” in Goethe (1985–1999, 18:461–462); and Goethe (1998, 70); emphasis removed. 29 Goethe, letter to Gottlieb Friedrich Ernst Schönborn, June 1–July 4, 1774, in Goethe (1985–1999, 28:375–376). 30 The overcoming-blockage schema is posited by Candace Brower (2000, 331). 31 Goethe, “Von deutscher Baukunst,” in Goethe (1985–1999, 18:116). Cf. Psalm 34:8. 32 Goethe, letter from Rome, September 6, 1787, in Goethe (1985–1999, 15:424). 33 Zeithammer (2000, 103). See also Goethe (1998, 166). 34 On the whole, Goethe himself sees Kant as illuminating rather than subverting his own ideas. Goethe, “The Influence of Modern Philosophy” (1820), in Goethe (1988, 29). 35 Schoenberg, HL, 18; and Schenker, diary entry, June 25, 1916, OJ, 2/3, 306. Schoenberg references Schopenhauer at this point. 36 Schoenberg, “The Relationship to the Text” (1912), in SI, 142. 37 Schenker, diary entry, November 1911, OJ, 1/10, 192; and Schoenberg, HL, 18. 38 On Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s temperaments, see Almén (2005, 42–54). 39 Schenker, diary entry, September 17, 1912, OJ, 1/11, 225b. Cf. John 1:1. 40 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 471. Also relevant is the following comment: “Certainly, one should not be satisfied with one’s time, but not because it is no longer the past, but rather because it is not yet the future.” Schoenberg, “Notizbuch II” (1910), SC, Diary 1910 (I) [sic], [10]. 41 I use the term “alienation” somewhat similarly to Jacques Lacan (1978, 210). Lacan understands the subject to be intrinsically alienated as a result of identifying with an absent object of desire. I take Schenker and Schoenberg to be alienated as a result of their specular conceptions of the subject. 42 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes” (1917–1934), OJ, 21/5, 18. 43 Schoenberg, HL, 65/56–57. Morgan (2014, 72 and 66) somewhat similarly identifies “the biological nature of the tone and the spiritual nature of harmony” as “inseparable” in Schenker’s Harmonielehre. However, Morgan associates the former with “tones, motives, and tonal system” and the latter with Stufen, not recognizing that the tonal system is composed of Stufen and Stufen of tones. See Schenker, HL, 152. 44 FC, 10; and Schoenberg, HL, 23. 45 Schenker, diary entry, November 22, 1915, OJ, 1/19, 1046.42–43. A day earlier, Schenker paraphrases a similar extract from Schopenhauer’s Nachlass: “Schopenhauer: Reading and learning are treading and exploring the surface of a ball, thinking the vertical penetration into the inside.” Schenker, diary entry, November 21, 1915, OJ, 1/19, 1046.42. 46 Schoenberg, “Notizbuch I,” SC, Diary 1910 (II), [9]; and Schoenberg, letter to Wassily Kandinsky, January 24, 1911, in Schoenberg and Kandinsky (1984, 23). In the same letter, Schoenberg denies that art is “objective,” but he seems to be thinking of objects recognized through concepts, not of sensations. Ibid., 23. See also HL, 18. 47 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 454; and HL, 400. 48 Morgan (2014, 71) and Schenker, diary entry, December 6, 1916, in HS, 305. 49 Schoenberg, “Adolf Loos zum 60. Geburtstag,” in Adolf Loos zum 60. Geburtstag am 10. Dezember 1930 (Vienna: Richard Lanyi, 1930), SC, Book A 34, 60. See also Schoenberg, “The Relationship to the Text,” in SI, 142. 50 MW, 2:45/23. The translation “harmonic tone” is meant to evoke the identity of tone and triad. Schenker frequently uses the term “Klang” in this way. See for

62 Thinking about music example MW, 1:12/2; MW, 1:187–188/104–105; MW, 2:12/2; FC, 39/10; FC, 42/12; and FC, 57/25. 51 Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony,” in SI, 269. 52 See for example Neff (2006, 35). 53 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 215; and Schenker, HL, 52/38. Robert Snarrenberg (1997, 71) somewhat similarly claims that for Schenker “the composer of genius both perceives the Idea and invents in accordance with it,” this Idea being a Hegelian Idea of the triad determined in and through its realization. And Cross (1980, 29) somewhat similarly claims that the musical idea for Schoenberg “occurs as a perception of the nature of the relationships of musical tones.” 54 This contradiction can be seen as the culmination of a tension between “universal laws of sound sensation” and “variable laws of musical aesthetics” in music theory and psychology leading up to the time of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s Harmonielehren. Hui (2013, xiv and xviii). 55 Susan McClary (1991, 105) argues somewhat differently that Schenker and Schoenberg emphasize opposite aspects of the creative genius: Schenker privileges a rational, masculine role for the artist, while Schoenberg privileges an irrational, feminine role. While it is true that Schenker thinks that music should be demonstrably “rational,” this rationality is always retrospective, for he also values “a wonderful, mysterious irrationality” in music, meaning that the artist is led by “instinct.” Schenker, HL, 173; and Schenker (2005, 98). See also Schenker, HL, 21. Schoenberg similarly supposes that music should be rational, but only in historical retrospect. HL, 30. However, pre-theoretical writings of Schenker and late writings of Schoenberg allow for a certain rational deliberation in composition. Karnes (2008, 110–116 and 188–190). 56 The sources that have been most helpful for me in understanding Schoenberg’s concept of the musical idea are Cross (1980), White (1984), Covach (1992), Covach (1996), Carpenter and Neff (1997), and Patricia Carpenter and Severine Neff, “Commentary,” in MI, 1–86. 57 MW, 2:23. Cf. Goethe (1998, 76): “The general and the particular coincide. The particular is the general made manifest under different conditions.” 58 Schoenberg, HL, 325; MW, 3:20/7; and FC, 68. See also MW, 2:53. Janna K. Saslaw (1997–1998, 22–23) has drawn attention to Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s use of the container, part-whole, and center-periphery schemas, but only as separate things and only with regard to tonal music. The conjoined part-whole and source-path-goal schemas relate to the paired “unity of parts and whole” and “growth” attributes of organicism that Nadine Hubbs (1991a, 145; 1991b, [0]) analyzes in Schenker and Schoenberg. The blockage and nested-container schemas relate to Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s thematization of concealment or hiddenness in music, explored by Snarrenberg (1992) and Richard Kurth (2003). 59 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 78; and Schoenberg, “Franz Liszt’s Work and Being” (1911), in SI, 444. 60 Schenker, diary entry, July 14, 1915, OJ, 1/18, 983–984. 61 MW, 2:195/118; Schenker, HL, 176/133; and Schoenberg, HL, 313. But see Schenker, HL, 3. Regarding imitation of the tone, see Cramer (2002). 62 Neff (2006, 35). Neff does not mention non-tonality. Also, Neff refers to the tone in nature as the Grundton. It is true that the ground tone (the tonic) of a piece of music is found in nature, but in nature it is just a tone, not a tonic. 63 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 83. 64 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik] (1910), SC, T14.15, 162. 65 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Konzert-Taschenbuch] (1910), SC, T14.13, 106. These aphorisms are dated 1911 in Krones (2011, 346), but the originals appear

The eye of the genius  63 in “Notizbuch I” and “Notizbuch II” (1910). See also Schoenberg, “The Relationship to the Text,” in SI, 145. 66 On music and art in general as self-portraiture, see Schoenberg, letter to Alban Berg, August 5, 1930, in Schoenberg (1964, 143); and Bagust (1997, 56). 67 John Rink (1993, 8) and John Koslovsky (2010, 57) have claimed that improvisation for Schenker is merely like composition in elaborating a plan through diminution or having a flow of motives. Rink cites the following statement by Schenker about sonata form: “The masters… were able to traverse the path of the exposition with giant strides, as if improvising, creating thereby the effect of a dramatic course of action.” FC, 136. However, Schenker might be comparing composition here to improvisatory performance, which is his model for improvisatory composition. Or “wie improvisierend” might mean “as an improvisation” rather than “as if improvising.” FC, 208/136. This one ambiguous statement does not outweigh Schenker’s many unambiguous statements to the effect that great composition is improvisation. See for example TW, 1:221; MW, 1:2–19 and 2:23; and FC, 7, 18, and 138. 68 FC, 32/6. Michael Cherlin (1988, 131) and others have argued that there is a conflict between such temporal creation and spatial creation. To the extent that these kinds of creation reflect the artist’s deployment of tones in time and the ground tone’s emergence in space, this conflict would stem from the basic contradiction between the absoluteness of the tone and the singularity of the artist’s encounter. 69 Schoenberg, letter to Ferruccio Busoni, August 24, 1909, SC. 70 Schoenberg, “Brahms the Progressive,” in SI, 439. See also SF, 175. 71 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 13. 72 Cook (1989, 429, 425, and 424) somewhat similarly claims that Schenker and Schoenberg both see the genius’s act of creation as “result[ing]” from an act of “integrity” and thus “self-realization.” 73 Schenker, diary entry, November 22, 1913, in HS, 304–305. 74 Schenker, diary entry, June 25, 1916, OJ, 2/3, 304. 75 Schenker, diary entry, March 26, 1915, OJ, 1/17, 889. 76 Schenker, diary entry, July 15, 1915, OJ, 1/18, 985. 77 Schoenberg, “Grundsätze” (March 14, 1923), SC, T03.02, 1. 78 Schenker, diary entry, January 30, 1916, OJ, 2/1, 121. 79 Schenker, diary entry, July 3, 1916, OJ, 2/3, 321. 80 Schoenberg, HL, 224–225. Or again, “The cell thinks of itself, the primitive of its family, the average of the nation, the great of mankind.” Schoenberg, “Notizbuch II,” SC, Diary 1910 (I), [18]. On the artist’s connection with the world for Schoenberg, see Cross (1992, 174–193 and 427–447). 81 Schenker, diary entry, September 9, 1916, OJ, 2/4, 416. 82 MW, 1:118; and Schenker, diary entry, November 22, 1913, in HS, 304. 83 Schoenberg, “Notizbuch II,” SC, Diary 1910 (I), [25]. 84 Schenker, diary entry, July 1911, OJ, 1/10, 140–141. 85 Schenker, diary entry, August 12, 1915, OJ, 1/18, 997. 86 Schenker, diary entry, July 22, 1912, in HS, 303. 87 Schoenberg, HL, 364–366/325–326. See pp. 64–65n115–116 below on the genius versus the non-genius artist. 88 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 159. 89 TW, 5:44/1:212. Cf. Genesis 1:26–27. 90 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 215. 91 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler: In memoriam,” in SI, 447. See also Schoenberg, “On revient toujours” (1948), in SI, 109. 92 MI, 89; and TW, 1:18. The reference to “demonic nature” probably stems from Goethe, who “relates the ‘Daemonic’ to genius and geniuses.” McMahon (2013, 147). The quotation “God in one’s bosom” appears to be an abbreviation of a

64 Thinking about music pair of lines from Goethe’s (2010, 77) Faust: “The God who dwells in my bosom / Can deeply stir my innermost.” 93 TW, 3:17/1:113. Cf. Genesis 1:3–28. 94 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 160. See also MI, 89. 95 FC, 28/5. Although the Ursatz for Schenker is both vertical and horizontal, it is virtually a point, virtually timeless, because it has no repetition, which is what articulates time. See FC, 118. 96 MW, 2:94–95/53. Cf. Revelation 5:11–12, but also cf. Genesis 3:19. 97 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler: In memoriam,” in SI, 448. 98 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 220, 223, and 220. 99 On the vanishing point as an empty sign and a meta-sign, see Rotman (1987, 19). 100 Schenker, “Was wird aus der Musik?,” Sonntags-Beilage der National-Zeitung (May 28, 1933), OC, 30/5, 1. 101 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 183 and 268. 102 Schenker, diary entry, November 28, 1915, OJ, 1/19, 1046.45–46. 103 Schenker, diary entry, November 1911, OJ, 1/10, 192 and 191. 104 Schenker, diary entry, June 20, 1916, OJ, 2/2, 298; and Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 277 and 124. 105 Schenker, diary entry, April 18, 1916, OJ, 2/1, 199. See also MW, 1:118. 106 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 101. 107 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 159; and Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 464. Michelle L. Stearns (2006, 181) somewhat similarly links Schoenberg’s notion of God and the world collapsing into the mind of the genius to a more abstract “structure of unity” that “collapses in upon itself.” Cross (1980, 29) also discusses the genius’s perception of the cosmos, immortality, dissolution into the universe, and communion with God. Citing an essay by Schoenberg on Hauer’s theories, she ascribes the genius’s perception of the cosmos to an inherent homology between the mind and the cosmos. ­However, in the essay in question, Schoenberg denies that this homology facilitates perception of the cosmos: “We are obviously as nature around us is, as the cosmos is…. Here, however, it is always possible for me to keep humanity as near or as far off as my perceptual needs demand…. In the case of the cosmos all this would really be very hard to manage, if not impossible.” Schoenberg, “Hauer’s Theories” (1923), in SI, 209–210. 108 See for example HS, 310; Botstein (2003); and Reiter (2015) versus Pastille 1995. Although Pastille’s article consists entirely of quotations, the title makes his position clear. 109 See for example Mäckelmann (1984) and Ringer (1990) versus Dahlhaus (1987). 110 Schenker, diary entry, January 28, 1917, OJ, 2/6, 578. 111 Frank Salomon, personal communication. 112 Weaver (1981, 293). Although Weaver presents a false dichotomy between an undifferentiated Judaism and idealism, he has some important insights into Moses und Aron, which I discuss in Chapter 7. 113 FC, xxii; and Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 22/468; translation modified. 114 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 452. 115 See for example Cross (1992, 187–188), in reference to passages such as HL, 325. I understand Schoenberg’s occasional synonymous references to the genius or the artist versus the non-genius or the average person as a heuristic distinction that allows him to believe in actual geniuses, even though the “perfect integrity” of the genius, where “all activity stops,” is all but impossible. Schoenberg, HL, 326. The more precise distinction of genius, non-genius artist, and average person is more internally consistent and more consequential, as I will show. 116 Wolfgang Sabler (2005) and Kurth (2010, 180) interpret Schoenberg’s Die glückliche Hand, op. 18 (1913), as dramatizing the failure of the genius. That is

The eye of the genius  65 inadvertantly true, but Schoenberg interprets his own artistic experiences not as a failure of the genius but as a failure to be a genius, as I explain in Chapters 5–7. Tellingly, Schoenberg regularly refers to imperfection in connection with the artist but never with the genius. 117 Schenker, diary entry, September 17, 1916, OJ, 2/4, 427. 118 On the limit of the fifth partial, see Schenker, HL, 25. Blasius (1996, 100) remarks on Schenker’s general reliance on closure or limitation for synthesis. 119 Schoenberg, HL, 30–31, 414, and 412. With regard to positive gain in evolution, Schoenberg writes, “Every change is actually a step forward, even if it looks like a step backward.” Schoenberg, “Notizbuch I” (1910), SC, Diary 1910 (II), [30]. 120 Schoenberg, HL, 97. At times, Schoenberg suggests that we may solve all the problems in the tone. But even if we do, the evolution of music will still continue. Schoenberg, HL, 225 and 239. 121 Cross (1980, 31) has a different interpretation of evolution for Schoenberg that epitomizes the similarities and differences between our perspectives on Schoenberg’s conception of the genius. She considers the comprehensible part of the cosmos to be the immediate goal of self-expression, and she considers the perceptible whole to be the eventual goal of objective knowledge and self-­k nowledge. In my view, whatever is perceptible at a given point for Schoenberg is intrinsically comprehensible at least by means of intuitive analysis in the musical work (see Chapter 3), so there is no difference between the “goal” of “­ self-­expression” and the rest, “for everything else is included in it.” ­Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 454. I say more on this point in Chapter 7. 122 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen und Sprüche,” SC, T50.08, 3. See also Schoenberg, “Die heutige Jugend” (ca. 1931), SC, T03.55. 123 HL, 319. In Peles’s (2010, 167) view, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s differing views on the evolution of music are tied to a fundamental conflict in their view of “the nature and task of music theory.” Peles claims that for Schoenberg, “if music history is ever-changing in perpetuity then music theory must" change, too, in the questions it pursues. However, music history for Schoenberg is ever-­changing primarily in that “we see composers of all periods continually learning new secrets,” achieving “further penetration” of the tone, and theory is open-ended only in perpetually catching up with this penetration. HL, 313. 124 FC, 26/3. At one point, Schenker poses the problem of the non-genius’s bestial existence in Schopenhauerian terms: “What is the individual being to nature other than merely the passing form of a certain idea?” Schenker, diary entry, October 8, 1916, OJ, 2/4, 460. 125 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 24/470–471; translation modified. 126 To be clear, this claim is limited to ca. 1905–1925 for Schenker and ca. 1907– 1923 for Schoenberg. 127 Schenker, diary entry, September 17, 1912, OJ, 1/11, 225b. 128 Schenker, diary entry, April 20, 1915, in HS, 335. 129 Schenker, diary entry, January 9, 1916, in HS, 339. 130 Schoenberg, letter to Kandinsky, July 20, 1922, SC; and Schoenberg, “The Relationship to the Text,” in SI, 142. 131 Schoenberg, “Notizbuch II,” SC, Diary 1910 (I), [48]. 132 “Einer Naivetät die eigentlich[?] lügen[?] sagen nicht gerade Nachfahres Wort ist. Zweifellos ist die Hoffnung unser Zeitalters dass es außer unser Brot / Aber in der Hand der Philisters wird sie zum Aberglauben und es würde nicht wenig werden, wenn es eines Wahrsagen den Brötchen zuschicke, dies es nicht aber zu  […].” Schoenberg, “Notizbuch I,” SC, Diary 1910 (II), [48]. The passage ­begins with the noun phrase quoted here. Cf. Matthew 6:9–13 and Luke 11:2–4 but also especially John 6:35. 133 Schenker, diary entry, November 22, 1913, in HS, 304–305.

66 Thinking about music 34 MW, 3:106/70. On the genius’s lawfulness, see Alpern (1999, 1494–1495). 1 135 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 279. This is a one-word aphorism. 136 Schoenberg, diary entry, February 2, 1912, SC, T26.02, 8. Schoenberg elaborates on this notion at length in “Genie” (November 17, 1935), SC, T33.27. 137 Schoenberg, HL, 325; and Schoenberg, “Franz Liszt’s Work and Being,” in SI, 446. 138 Schoenberg, HL, 342; and Schoenberg, “Criteria for the Evaluation of Music” (1946), in SI, 136. 139 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 470 and 471. 140 Schoenberg, letter to Frank Pelleg, April 26, 1951, in Schoenberg (1964, 287). 141 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler: In memoriam,” in SI, 447. See also HL, 4n1. 142 Schenker, diary entry, September 20, 1913, in HS, 336. 143 Schoenberg, “Franz Liszt’s Work and Being,” in SI, 443. On the genius as a prophet, see Cross (1980, 32; 1992, 199–200). 144 TW, 1:64. The God of Abraham performs “signs and wonders.” Psalm 135:9, etc. The genius creates signs of wonders, i.e., scores of works. 145 Schenker, fragment (n.d.), OC, 12/596. Elsewhere, Schenker advocates for “the new religion of geniuses.” Schenker, “German Genius in Battle and Victory” (1914), trans. Ian Bent and William Drabkin, SD. 146 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 449. Cf. Isaiah 9:2 and Matthew 5:16. 147 “Religion is invented by the poor (by the genius, who steps out from the ranks of the poor).” Schenker, diary entry, September 16, 1914, OJ, 1/16, 710. Schenker calls Moses a “genius” and Jesus a “religious genius.” Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 253 and 245. 148 Schenker, diary entry, 1910, OJ, 1/9, 114–115. The internal quotations allude to Mark 12:29–31 and especially Matthew 22:37–40. 149 Schenker, diary entry, October 20, 1911, OJ, 1/10, 176. 150 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 163. 151 TW, 1:4. Apart from the notion of redemption, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s conception of the genius does not draw on the concept of the Messiah. S ­ chenker scorns this notion as “nonsense.” Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 220. It is true that the religion of genius apart from Schenker and Schoenberg often appropriates the concept of the Messiah, conflating the problem addressed by the genius, “that the self is divided from the self and that the self is divided from the world,” with the problem addressed by the M ­ essiah, which many understand to be that “your iniquities have separated you from your God.” But the notion that “the Messiah” for the Jews “was a genius” makes the same anachronistic conflation. Currie (1974, 9 and 16) and Isaiah 59:2, New King James Version. 152 Schenker, diary entry, February 7, 1917, OJ, 2/6, 591. 153 Schenker, diary entry, March 30, 1919, trans. Scott Witmer, SD; and TW, 1:19. Cf. Exodus 13:21–22. 154 Schoenberg, [“In unserer Zeit”] (n.d.), SC, T53.22. 155 Schoenberg, “Zukunftsmusik” (September 29, 1923), SC, T03.07. 156 Both Schenker and Schoenberg are evidently raised by faithful Jewish mothers and spiritual but not religious fathers. Schenker says that for his father, “the spiritual went before everything else, whether it might express itself in a profession or in literature,” and he says of his mother that “already in her parents’ house there was that specifically spiritual atmosphere which is particular to the Jews.” Schenker, diary entry, December 23, 1917, OJ, 2/9, 813 and 812. On Schoenberg’s parents, see Stuckenschmidt (2011, 18). 157 Schenker, diary entries, June 26, 1924, transcr. Marko Deisinger and trans. ­Stephen Ferguson; and June 4, 1923, transcr. Marko Deisinger and trans. Scott Witmer, SD. See also Schenker, diary entries, September 7, 1919; and March 5,

The eye of the genius  67 1923, transcr. Marko Deisinger and trans. Scott Witmer, SD. There are a few counterindications for this period. See Reiter (2015, 281–282). 158 Schenker, diary entries, April 11, 1925, transcr. Marko Deisinger and trans. Scott Witmer; and October 29, 1930, transcr. Marko Deisinger and trans. William Drabkin, SD. On Schenker’s reticence toward confession, see Reiter (2015, 284). 159 Schenker, “Mein Bekenntnis zum Judentum,” in “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes” (August 19, 1929), OJ, 21/5, 162–163. Both Schenker and Schoenberg hold Jesus in the highest regard as a Jewish teacher. See Schoenberg, “Moderner Psalm No. 9” (January 28, 1950), SC, T69.13. 160 Schenker, diary entry, October 1, 1915, OJ, 1/19, 1046.2. The internal quotation is from Exodus 20:7. 161 Schenker, diary entry, May 17–21, 1933, in HS, 320. The Ursatz is ultimate only in that it embodies the tone and the genius, who create the Ursatz in the first place. FC, 10. So the parallel between God and the Ursatz is best understood as an analogy between elements of Schenker’s actual theology, not as the very substance of “a kind of theology.” Botstein (2003, 14). 162 On the development of the concept of the Ursatz, see Pastille (1990). 163 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” 287–288, OJ, 21/5. See also FC, 1st ed., 5, trans. in Snarrenberg (1992, 113). 164 Schoenberg, letter to Kandinsky, August 19, 1912, SC. 165 See Schoenberg, letter to Berg, October 16, 1933, SC. 166 Felix Greissle, interview with George Perle (1970–1971), SC, 25–26, quoted in Brown (2014, 85). Brown discusses Schoenberg’s Jewish self-hatred in ways that are suggestive for Schenker as well. 167 Schoenberg, “Schopenhauer u. Socrates” (July 23, 1927), SC, T02.09, [1v]. 168 On the erasure of the ground tone in twelve-tone music, see Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (2)” (ca. 1948), in SI, 246. 169 Schoenberg’s first twelve-tone composition is the Waltz, no. 5 from Five Piano Pieces, op. 23 (1921–1923). SC. 170 Schoenberg introduces the term in “Opinion or Insight?” written in 1925 and published in 1926. Falck (1982, 108). 171 Schoenberg (1979, 2:37). White (1985, 1) and others have noted such an intertwining of musical and spiritual identities. 172 The melody is in mm. 361–363 of Die Jakobsleiter, sketched on September 2, 1917. Tonietti (2003, 214). Tonietti (2003, 216) suggests that “The Chosen One” is one of the sinners in Die Jakobsleiter. But Gabriel does not point out any error in the Chosen One, which he does in the sinners. He does say that the Chosen One is “impure,” but that may be just because he is real, for “reality is impure.” Schoenberg (1979, 2:15/38) and Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 450. 173 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen und Sprüche,” SC, T50.08, 8. See also Schoenberg, “Seit es Juden gibt” (1933), SC, T15.10. 174 Schenker, diary entry, October 30, 1912, in HS, 304. 175 Schenker, diary entry, September 11, 1914, OJ, 1/15, 699–700. The context is a comparison of present-day man to the poor in spirit referenced by Christ. 176 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 470–471. 177 Schenker, diary entry, May 12, 1917, OJ, 2/7, 670.

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The eye of the genius  69 ———. 1999. Suspensions of Perception: Attention, Spectacle, and Modern Culture. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Cross, Charlotte M. 1980. “Three Levels of ‘Idea’ in Schoenberg’s Thought and Writings.” Current Musicology 30:24–36. ———. 1992. “Schoenberg’s Weltanschauung and His Views of Music: 1874–1915.” PhD diss., Columbia University. Currie, Robert. 1974. Genius: An Ideology in Literature. London: Chatto & Windus. Dahlhaus, Carl. 1987. “Schoenberg’s Aesthetic Theology.” In Schoenberg and the New Music: Essays by Carl Dahlhaus, translated by Derrick Puffett and Alfred Clayton, 81–93. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Derrida, Jacques. 1997. Of Grammatology. Translated by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Falck, Robert. 1982. “Emancipation of the Dissonance.” Journal of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute 6 (1):106–111. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 2004. Truth and Method. 2nd ed. Reprint, London: Continuum. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. 1909–1912. Der junge Goethe. 6 vols. Edited by Max Morris. Leipzig: Insel. ———. 1983. Selected Poems. Edited by Christopher Middleton. Boston: Suhrkamp/ Insel. ———. 1985–1999. Sämtliche Werke. Briefe, Tagebücher und Gespräche. 40 vols. ­Edited by Dieter Borchmeyer et al. Frankfurt am Main: Deutscher Klassiker. ———. 1988. Scientific Studies. Edited and translated by Douglas Miller. New York: Suhrkamp. ———. 1998. Maxims and Reflections. Translated by Elisabeth Stopp and edited by Peter Hutchinson. London: Penguin Books. ———. 2010. Faust-Dichtungen. Edited by Ulrich Gaier. Stuttgart: Philipp Reclam. Harrison, Thomas. 1996. 1910: The Emancipation of Dissonance. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hauer, Christian. 1996. “La crise d’identité de Schönberg et la rencontre avec un texte de Stefan George: Le lied op. 14/1 comme oeuvre-clé.” Dissonanz/Dissonance 47:4–8. ———. 1998. “De la tonalité à la ‘série miraculeuse’: Espaces musicaux; ou, De l’identité narrative de Schönberg.” In L’espace: Musique/Philosophie, edited by Jean-Marc Chouvel and Makis Solomos, 253–263. Paris: L’Harmattan. Hubbs, Nadine. 1991a. “Schenker’s Organicism.” Theory and Practice 16:143–162. ———. 1991b. “Schoenberg’s Organic Vision.” Paper Presented at the MTSNYS-­ ASI Meeting, Columbia University, October 6, 1991. SC. Hui, Alexandra. 2013. The Psychophysical Ear: Musical Experiments, Experimental Sounds, 1840–1910. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Irigaray, Luce. 1985. This Sex Which Is Not One. Translated by Catherine Porter with Carolyn Burke. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Jackson, Timothy L. 1997. “‘Your Songs Proclaim God’s Return’: Arnold Schoenberg, the Composer and His Jewish Faith.” International Journal of Musicology 6:281–317. Jay, Martin. 1993. Downcast Eyes: The Denigration of Vision in Twentieth-Century French Thought. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kant, Immanuel. 2001. Critique of the Power of Judgment. Translated by Paul Guyer and Eric Matthews. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2004. Lectures on Logic. Translated by J. Michael Young. Cambridge: ­Cambridge University Press.

70 Thinking about music Karnes, Kevin C. 2008. Music, Criticism, and the Challenge of History: Shaping Modern Musical Thought in Late Nineteenth-Century Vienna. New York: Oxford University Press. Korsyn, Kevin. 1988. “Schenker and Kantian Epistemology.” Theoria 3:1–58. Koslovsky, John. 2010. “Tracing the Improvisatory Impulse in Early Schenkerian Theory.” Intégral 24:57–79. Krones, Harmut, ed. 2011. Arnold Schönberg in seinen Schriften: Verzeichnis—­ Fragen—Editorisches. Vienna: Böhlau. Kurth, Richard. 2003. “Schönberg and the Bilderverbot: Reflections on Unvorstellbarkeit and Verborgenheit.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 5:332–372. ———. 2010. “Immanence and Transcendence in Moses und Aron.” In The Cambridge Companion to Schoenberg, edited by Jennifer Shaw and Joseph Auner, 177–190. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lacan, Jacques. 1978. The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psycho-analysis. Vol. 11 of The Seminar of Jacques Lacan. Edited by Jacques-Alain Miller and translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: W. W. Norton. Luft, David S. 1983. “Schopenhauer, Austria, and the Generation of 1905.” Central European History 16 (1):53–75. Mach, Ernst. [1886] 1897. Beiträge zur Analyse der Empfindungen. Jena: Gustav ­Fischer. Translated by C. M. Williams as Contributions to the Analysis of the ­Sensations. Chicago: Open Court. Mäckelmann, Michael. 1984. Arnold Schönberg und das Judentum: Der K ­ omponist und sein religiöses, nationales und politisches Selbstverständnis nach 1921. ­Hamburg: Karl Dieter Wagner. Mäkelä, Tomi. 1995. “Arnold Schönberg—Ein religiöser Modernist? Von der Jakobsleiter-­Vision zum Überlebenden aus Warschau.” In Musik und Religion, ­edited by Helga de la Motte-Haber, 163–187. Laaber: Laaber. McClary, Susan. 1991. Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. McMahon, Darrin M. 2013. Divine Fury: A History of Genius. New York: Basic Books. Morgan, Robert P. 2014. Becoming Heinrich Schenker: Music Theory and Ideology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Neff, Severine. 2006. “Schenker, Schoenberg, and Goethe: Visions of the Organic Artwork.” In Schenker-Traditionen: Eine Wiener Schule der Musiktheorie und ihre internationale Verbreitung / A Viennese School of Music Theory and Its International Dissemination, edited by Martin Eybl and Evelyn Fink-Mennel, 29–50. ­Vienna: Böhlau. Noveck, Simon, ed. 1963. Contemporary Jewish Thought: A Reader. N.p.: B’nai B’rith Department of Adult Jewish Education. Pastille, William. 1984. “Heinrich Schenker, Anti-Organicist.” 19th-Century Music 8 (1):29–36. ———. 1990. “The Development of the Ursatz in Schenker’s Published Works.” In Trends in Schenkerian Research, edited by Allen Cadwallader, 71–85. New York: Schirmer. ———. 1995. “The God of Abraham, Aquinas, and Schenker: Art as Faith in an Age of Unbelief.” Indiana Theory Review 16:105–144. Peles, Stephen. 2010. “‘Was gleichzeitig klingt’: The Schoenberg-Schenker Dispute and the Incompleteness of Music Theory.” Music Theory Spectrum 32 (2):165–171.

The eye of the genius  71 Reiter, Andrea. 2015. “A Literary Perspective on Schenker’s Jewishness.” Music Analysis 34 (2):280–303. Ringer, Alexander L. 1990. Arnold Schoenberg: The Composer as Jew. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Rink, John. 1993. “Schenker and Improvisation.” Journal of Music Theory 37 (1):1–54. Rotman, Brian. 1987. Signifying Nothing: The Semiotics of Zero. New York: St. ­Martin’s Press. Ryan, Judith. 1991. The Vanishing Subject: Early Psychology and Literary Modernism. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Sabler, Wolfgang. 2005. “La main heureuse d’Arnold Schönberg ou le génie terrassé.” In Le monde germanique et l’opéra: Le livret en question, edited by Bernard Banoun and Jean-François Candoni, 125–138. Paris: Klincksieck. Saslaw, Janna K. 1997–1998. “Life Forces: Conceptual Structures in Schenker’s Free Composition and Schoenberg’s The Musical Idea.” Theory and Practice 22–23:17–33. Schenker, Heinrich. 1933. “Erinnerungen an Brahms.” Deutsche Zeitschrift 46:475–482. ———. 2005. “The Decline of the Art of Composition: A Technical-Critical Study.” Translated by William Drabkin. Music Analysis 24 (1–2):33–129. Schmalfeldt, Janet. 1991. “Towards a Reconciliation of Schenkerian Concepts with Traditional and Recent Theories of Form.” Music Analysis 10 (3):233–287. Schmidt, Jochen. 1985. Die Geschichte des Genie-Gedankens in der deutschen Literatur, Philosophie und Politik: 1750–1945. 2 vols. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Schoenberg, Arnold. 1964. Letters. Edited by Erwin Stein and translated by Eithne Wilkins and Ernst Kaiser. London: Faber and Faber. ———. 1979. “Die Jakobsleiter.” Edited by Jean Christensen and translated by Jean Christensen as “Jacob’s Ladder.” In Arnold Schoenberg’s Oratorio Die Jakobsleiter, 2 vols., 2:6–32 and 33–50. PhD diss., University of California at Los Angeles. ———. 1980. “Du sollst nicht, du mußt.” No. 2 of Vier Stücke für gemischten Chor, op. 27. In Sämtliche Werke, div. 5, ser. A, vol. 18, edited by Tadeusz Okuljar, 42–43. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. Schoenberg, Arnold, and Wassily Kandinsky. 1984. Letters, Pictures and Documents. Edited by Jelena Hahl-Koch and translated by John C. Crawford. London: Faber and Faber. Schopenhauer, Arthur. 1966. The World as Will and Representation. 2 vols. 1819 and 1844. Translated by E. F. J. Payne. 2nd ed. New York: Dover. Snarrenberg, Robert. 1992. “Schenker’s Senses of Concealment.” Theoria 6:97–133. ———. 1997. Schenker’s Interpretive Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stearns, Michelle L. 2006. “Unity, God and Music: Arnold Schoenberg’s Philosophy of Compositional Unity in Trinitarian Perspective.” PhD diss., St. Mary’s College. Stuckenschmidt, H. H. 2011. Schoenberg: His Life, World and Work. Translated by Humphrey Searle. Reprint, Richmond: One World Classics. Sudheimer, Hellmuth. 1935. Der Geniebegriff des jungen Goethe. Berlin.

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2 The obstacle of interruption

The Urlinie’s passing motion automatically entails its unity and indivisibility. —Heinrich Schenker (1935) Repetition… is a biological law of life, physical life as well as spiritual. —Heinrich Schenker (1935)

On the logical level in Schenker’s mature theory of composition, the realization of the tone is not just a matter of the Ursatz, which is regarded as his core construct. It is also matter of interruption—where the Urlinie restarts at its penultimate point—for Schenker calls interruption “the sole basis of the large sonata form,”1 which he considers “the highest representation of absolute music.”2 The concept of interruption is the keystone to Schenker’s compositional theory, permitting him to make a decisive attempt at communion with the geniuses through re-composition of their most exalted masterworks. But Schenker’s concept of interruption presents something of an obstacle to understanding, in that he describes and depicts interruption in seemingly contradictory ways. On the one hand, Schenker prefaces Example 2.1 with ˆ 2ˆ seems like a first attempt of the Urlinie” (FC, the comment that “the first 3– 71/36). Example 2.1 shows the first harmonic-contrapuntal progression with only two whole notes but the second progression with three whole notes. This comment and this representation could give the impression that the first progression is incomplete. On the other hand, Example 2.2 shows the first harmonic-contrapuntal progression with an overarching set of beamed notes but the second progression with embedded notes. Schenker says that Example 2.2 shows how “with regard to the unity of the Ursatz, the first stand of 2ˆ over V is more essential than the second” (FC, 72/37). This representation and this comment could give the impression that the second progression is a diminution. (This impression is heightened by the parentheses around its notes, though these do not feature regularly in depictions of interruption.) But the first harmonic-contrapuntal progression cannot be both complete and incomplete, nor can the second progression be both a

74 Thinking about music diminution and not a diminution. Schenker also sometimes combines elements from Examples 2.1 and 2.2, bringing these seeming contradictions into relief.3 Taken together, these depictions of interruption resemble the Necker Cube, which shifts its orientation depending on how one looks at it. How exactly does Schenker conceive of interruption? Is one of the two harmonic-­contrapuntal progressions the Ursatz and the other one not? Or does the resemblance to the Necker Cube rather suggest that both progressions somehow reflect the Ursatz?

Example 2.1  The first model for depicting interruption. FC, figure 21a.

Example 2.2  The second model for depicting interruption. FC, figure 21b.

The reception of the concept of interruption has been clouded by the common misconception that Schenker’s central concern is hierarchy. For example, Peter H. Smith asserts, “No one who has engaged music from a Schenkerian perspective would likely deny that notions of hierarchy are ­basic to Schenker’s approach” (2013, 1). I deny it. This is not to say that there are no hierarchical relations in music for Schenker; certainly there are, because they are first of all in the tone. But that is just the thing: The tone is basic to his approach, not hierarchy in itself. Schenker is sometimes willing to forgo hierarchy in his analyses (Cohn 1992b, 157), but he never forgoes the tone. Nevertheless, this notion of hierarchy, stemming from the American abandonment of Schenker’s organicism in favor of scientism (Cohn 1992a,  12; Snarrenberg 1994, 49), has been decisive for theorists interpreting or drawing on his theories, who have responded to the obstacle of interruption in one of three ways: (1) privileging the first harmonic-contrapuntal progression as superordinate,4 (2) privileging the second progression as superordinate and/or complete, perhaps including the initial tonic triad,5 or (3) simply finding the concept or Schenker’s explanation of it logically or empirically flawed.6 In this third camp, Smith (2013, 27) has even argued that Schenker’s contrasting depictions of interruption do not show a uniform transformation at all; rather, they show “traces of hierarchical weighting,” i.e., different

The obstacle of interruption  75 hierarchies in different situations. For Smith, there are only two camps: those who uphold hierarchy, and those who do not. Smith (2013, 5) challenges the anti-hierarchy camp “to explain the obvious signs of super- and sub-ordination of the branches in these graphs.” I accept his challenge, but I reject the premise that Schenker’s notation has an obvious interpretation. Smith himself allows that two different kinds of notation of interruption can have “the same meaning,” which means that there is not an obvious, one-to-one correspondence between Schenker’s analytical notation and its meaning. The contested reception of interruption itself clearly shows that there is not an obvious interpretation at hand here. How can we be sure what Schenker means? Only attention to the demands of tonal life can make sense of Schenker’s seemingly contradictory descriptions of interruption. Smith’s (2005, 117) suggestion that the concept of interruption reflects Schenker’s valuation of “continuous tonal evolution” is true, but this valuation is only half of the story. Schenker is equally committed to both harmonic-linear unity and melodic-­formal repetition, highlighted respectively by Examples 2.2 and 2.1, as expressions of tonal life. Interruption not only caps a sustained effort to theorize the fusion of harmony and content but also dramatizes the realization of the tone. First I examine two precedents for interruption, and then I examine interruption itself.

The perfect authentic cadence In Harmonielehre, Schenker’s conception of the tone as a living idea of nature that procreates, develops, and manifests itself in a piece of music entails a commitment to both melodic repetition and harmonic unity. On the one hand, the motive realizes the tone’s urges primarily through repetition as procreation.7 On the other hand, the key realizes the tone’s urges as community of tones generated or developed by the ground tone (HL, 84). Harmonic progressions unified by Stufen (scale degrees) at different scales of magnitude carry out this process of generation or development (HL, 152). Schenker hopes that the perfect authentic cadence can satisfy the demands for both repetition and unity. The principles of unity and repetition come to be in tension with one another in Schenker’s later writings (McCreless 1989, 222–223; Cohn 1992b), but there is already a tension between them in Harmonielehre, because the need for repetition, “an inherent and inviolable principle in music,” extends from the motive, “the most elemental part of content,” to the form, the melodic content as a whole, which must follow a unified harmonic course (HL, 21/14 and 282/212). On the need for formal repetition, Schenker writes, If one learns what a small series of tones signifies only if and when it is presented again, then it is evident that a chain of several small series

76 Thinking about music likewise reveals its meaning only through repetition. This is the origin of the two-part form A:A, or—to designate it more precisely—A1:A2. (HL, 10/9) Schenker takes this form as the prototype or foundation for all other forms. The one-part form is a deviation from the two-part form as the norm (HL, 14), and the two-part form underlies the apparent three-part form. ­Schenker writes, “A true three-part form would have to consist of three different members, reading thus: A:B:C—a form which is simply unthinkable in music and probably ruled out for all time. But if the three-part form in music cannot read otherwise than A1:B:A2, then one must obviously recognize behind it only the two-part form, namely A1:A2, as the original and fundamental form,” with its “associatively connected segments (Gliedern) A1 and A2” (HL, 12/10–11). The apparent three-part form is then the basis of “sonata form, with its exposition, elaboration, and recapitulation” (HL, 15/11). But whereas repetition is necessary for the form in order to bring about “final satisfaction,” according to Schenker repetition is not at all necessary for the harmony, which need only complete a circuit around the tonic, effecting “an enlargement of its sphere through a drawing in of other Stufen of the key.”8 In the case of most sonata-form movements, for example, “the content develops from the ground of the main key to the key of the first overfifth…. And contrariwise the ‘reprise’ then brings the inverse span from the first overfifth to the tonic” (HL, 328/247). So the tone places two entirely different demands on a piece of music: melodic or formal repetition and harmonic unity. How are these qualities to be integrated, produced in tandem? Harmonielehre, in which Schenker attempts to theorize such an integration, also reflects that most integrative of forms, sonata form: Just as a sonata-­form movement presents and elaborates tonally conflicting themes in the exposition and elaboration and reconciles them in the recapitulation, so ­Harmonielehre presents and elaborates the conflicting themes of form and harmony in the theoretical part and attempts to reconcile them in the practical part. We can elaborate this reading of Harmonielehre as a sonata-form movement by noting that the theoretical part ends with an example from A ­ nton ­Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony showing a 20-measure dominant pedal point in B major, while the practical part begins with an example showing a tonic triad arpeggio from Chopin’s Prelude in B minor (HL, 274–277, only in the original, and 211). Harmonielehre, it seems, is in B major-minor. Harmonielehre tries to reconcile its themes of form and harmony in the perfect authentic cadence. Schenker introduces this cadence by reflecting on the feeling of absolute satisfaction aroused by the first theme of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 10 in C major, K. 330, which Schenker

The obstacle of interruption  77 analyzes as a period, but which we would analyze as a sentence with a repeated continuation phrase: Let us first of all observe the consequent of the Mozart example. Here our satisfaction is indeed the most absolute. How does this come about? Obviously, on account of two causes, which lie together at the core of its idea and condition one another—the one formal, the other harmonic. To begin with, since the consequent has brought the repetition demanded by our need for association, our formal requirements have been fully met, so that no uncertainty, no doubt remains in our mind—insofar as just this one idea comes into consideration, of course. But also, it now becomes possible for the harmonic element, which is represented here by the Stufe progression IV–V–I, to arouse in us, only just through the cooperation of the form, the feeling of complete satisfaction. To be sure, this IV–V–I Stufe progression can occur at any time— at the beginning or in the middle of an idea as well as at the end…. ­Considered just harmonically and apart from any question of form, the Stufe progression I–IV–V–I conveys its effect by speaking first of all in favor of a tonic and second also in favor of its key. However, if it so happens in addition that the tonic coincides with the end of the form and thereby also signifies a return to the harmonic point of departure, as is the case in the consequent of the Mozart example, then we see the driving powers finally at their goals—form as well as harmony have come full circle—and therefore we speak in such cases of a perfect ­authentic cadence. (HL, 287–288/216–217) Schenker’s definition of the perfect authentic cadence departs from its conventional definition as a particular kind of harmonic arrival closing a phrase that ends on the tonic. This much is included in his definition, for immediately after the above quotation Schenker distinguishes this cadence from the imperfect authentic cadence on the basis of their ending tones: The end of the antecedent in this example offers us a somewhat weaker degree of satisfaction. To be sure, the Stufe progression is the same as in the consequent, but inasmuch as the melody at the moment of the tonic’s arrival brings merely the third of the tonic triad and not the ground tone itself, the authentic cadence here is only imperfect. (HL, 288/217) But also, a cadence must come at “the end of the form” in order to be a perfect authentic cadence; in the case of a period, it must come in the consequent. As shown in Example 2.3, Schenker wants to blend harmony and form by

78 Thinking about music virtue of their shared looping source-path-goal schemas—the “driving powers” come “full circle” to their “goals”—and he evidently attempts to link this abstract blend to a concrete, recognizable musical event by means of his unconventional definition. form

harmony

antecedent, consequent

I

V repetition

IV progression

I in consequent

perfect authentic cadence Example 2.3  T  he perfect authentic cadence.

But the set of concrete features by which the perfect authentic cadence can be recognized—its harmonic and melodic profile—is itself the conventional definition that Schenker departs from. Accordingly, Schenker immediately backtracks in an apparent effort to salvage the recognizability of the perfect authentic cadence: One could accordingly be tempted to think that perhaps the perfect authentic cadence only belongs at the end of the consequent, whereas an imperfect one on the contrary always belongs at the end of the antecedent. While this may occur in most cases, nevertheless such a connection between form and authentic cadence is in no way unconditional, and a perfect authentic cadence can also appear at the end of the antecedent. (HL, 288–289/217) He goes on to say that only a formal “resting point, however minimal,” is needed for an authentic cadence, be it perfect or imperfect (HL, 218), which contradicts his earlier statement that “the end of the form,” the maximal resting point, is needed for a perfect authentic cadence. In sum, Schenker is misled in thinking he can use the perfect authentic cadence to reconcile harmony and form, for either his definition includes this reconciliation but cannot isolate a recognizable event, or his definition does isolate a recognizable event but has nothing to do with this reconciliation: His perfect authentic cadence is in fact deceptive.

The obstacle of interruption  79

The Urlinie In the second stage of his theoretical career, represented especially by Counterpoint (1910 and 1922), The Will of the Tone (commonly known as Der Tonwille, 1921–1924), the first two issues of The Masterwork in Music (1925–1926), and several analytical books, Schenker develops the notion of harmonic unity through the concepts of consonance and dissonance, and he attempts to wed unity and repetition in accordance with this new understanding through the concept of the Urlinie. Consonance and dissonance In Counterpoint and the first two issues of The Will of the Tone (1921–1922), Schenker presents a theory of counterpoint that, “being purely a theory of voice leading, demonstrates tonal laws and effects in their unconditioned aspect.”9 These laws remain in effect in free composition, for “free composition is essentially a continuation of strict counterpoint” (TW, 1:21). In Schenker’s theory of counterpoint, there are only two laws of “tonal life”: consonance and dissonance, which are embodied in the triad and the passing tone. He writes, From the triad and the passing tone stem all the phenomena of tonal life: the triad can become a Stufe; the passing tone can be modified to become a neighbor note, an accented passing tone, an anticipation, a dissonant syncopation, and the seventh of a tetrad. (TW, 2:3/1:51) Schenker’s conception of consonance and dissonance is a blend of the triad (i.e., the tone) and the passing tone by virtue of their shared sourcepath-goal schemas, as shown in Example 2.4. The tone has a looping quality, in that it begets and develops into itself. The consonance takes on this looping quality, in that it is said to be its own cause, purpose, and meaning, as well as that of the dissonance. The above quoted passage continues, Dissonance must be understood as purely contingent on consonance and thus the consonance of nature alone must be understood as the ultimate ground of all artistic possibilities in music and acknowledged at the same time as the ultimate goal of all that strives in passing. (TW, 1:51) In the same vein, Schenker writes: It comes down to this: the consonance is its own justification; it rests in its euphony, signifying itself as both origin and end. This is not true, however, of the dissonance, for which we always demand further justification of its existence; far from resting in itself, the dissonance instead presses

80 Thinking about music urgently beyond itself; it can only be understood in relation to—i.e., by means of and in terms of—a consonant unity, from which it follows that only the consonant unity represents the origin and end of the dissonance. (CP, 1:153/111) The consonance’s unity, which is sensed as euphony, consists in its manifestation of a tone in the guise of a triadic interval. Consonance is the plenitude and meaningfulness of the tone.

the triad

the passing tone

ground tone = tone = triad

procreation, development

consonance

dissonance

consonance

consonance

dissonance

consonance and dissonance Example 2.4  Consonance and dissonance.

But although Schenker claims that the dissonance is contingent on the consonance, in truth the opposite is the case. The dissonance is “the origin of the origin” (Derrida 1997, 61), for it is the dissonant passing tone that concretizes the supposedly self-generating, autotelic, and self-referential nature of the triadic consonance. The dissonance, the “path” or “bridge” that joins consonance to consonance as both source and goal, embodies the track or trace of the absent consonance or pure meaningfulness signified by the consonance itself; ultimately it marks the intrinsic lack in the state of pure perception. Schenker cannot admit as much, but he affirms that the dissonance helps secure the consonance’s unity: “The transient independence increases the value and power of the unity of the two [voices], a unity that was intended from the beginning and is indeed once again asserted” (CP, 1:183–184). The logical and “psychological significance of the passing dissonance” extends

The obstacle of interruption  81 from securing the unity of the consonance in strict counterpoint to securing “the unity of… ‘Stufen’” in free composition (CP, 1:247/183–184; translation modified), through composing out—that is, the simultaneous development of the same harmony in the vertical as well as the horizontal direction—to the extent that it is capable… of setting up a relation of downbeat and upbeat to the same harmony. (CP, 2:59/58) On the grandest scale, a section or piece of music composes out its tonic triad as both origin and end by means of the passing dissonance.10 And what is the prerequisite for the dissonant passing tone’s projection of unity? The basic moral of this problem runs as follows…: In the beginning is the consonance, agreement! Only after a consonance does opposition, the dissonance, follow, until finally agreement has the last word!11 For the consonance to have the last word means that there is no further discussion, no more dissonance—in other words, no repetition. Repetition of a passing motion would belie its connection with the self-generation of the consonance or the triad, because one cannot come into being twice. Schenker does not say so explicitly, because to do so would be to admit the consonance’s dependence on the dissonance. Rather, he says that “the repetition of a series of tones… calls attention to that series and, for that reason alone, highlights it as a factor disruptive to the general equilibrium of the entire melody”; it is accordingly unconditionally prohibited in both the cantus firmus and the counterpoint, especially in second-species counterpoint, where one encounters the dissonant passing tone (CP, 1:100, 163, and 217). Significantly, this prohibition is by no means universal in the broader theory and practice of species counterpoint.12 Just as significantly, repetition is not included among the many modifications identified by Schenker that the passing dissonance may undergo in free composition (CP, 1:184–194). And yet Schenker continues to affirm “the repetition of a series of tones as the driving principle of all music for all times” (CP, 1:34/22). Indeed, according to Schenker, all life involves repetition as procreation. He writes, “The law of procreation… is the law of repetition” (TW, 1:21; see also TW, 1:175). Thus, Schenker is faced with the quandary that harmonic unity and melodic repetition are both indispensable yet antithetical. The Urlinie To resolve this conundrum, Schenker turns to the Urlinie, which arrives on the scene in the explanatory edition of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 28 in

82 Thinking about music A major, op. 101 (1921), and undergoes extensive development in The Will of the Tone and the first two issues of The Masterwork in Music. Schenker describes the Urlinie as the partner of the key and the mother of the motive and hence the mediatrix between harmony and form: The Urlinie bears in itself the seeds of all the forces that shape tonal life. It is the Urlinie which, with the cooperation of the Stufen, indicates the paths to all composing out…. It is also the Urlinie which gives life to the motive and to melody. (TW, 1:22/1:21) As the mother of the motive, “the Urlinie begets repetitions of a concealed, most sublime sort in its primal womb” (TW, 1:21). Not only are these repetitions hidden, but also the Urlinie itself ultimately remains mysterious. Schenker writes, “The fullness of its mysteries and true face is so great that no one can succeed in unveiling it in its entirety.”13 That being the case, however, we are not much further along in understanding the integration of harmonic unity and melodic repetition with the concept of the Urlinie than we were without it; essentially, all Schenker has done is recast their impasse as the inscrutability of the Urlinie. It is not until the second issue of The Masterwork in Music that Schenker develops his concept and depiction of the Urlinie extensively enough to offer a more concrete illustration of how harmony and form might work together. Schenker opens the volume with an essay devoted to the Urlinie that begins by returning to the music that he used twenty years earlier in Harmonielehre as the initial example of the two-part form (HL, 9), namely the secondary theme in the first movement of Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 12 in F major, K. 332. This period is particularly suitable for illustrating his ideas about harmony and form, since it bears the same basic organization as the paradigmatic sonata form, with its two parts ending respectively on V and I. The thrust of Schenker’s essay is that the Urlinie’s capacity for integration or synthesis is attributable to its nature as a Zug or linear progression. ­Schenker writes, “The Zug is the sole bearer of coherence, of synthesis” (MW, 2:11/1). Schenker’s explanation of the music and his accompanying depiction in ­Example 2.5 suggest that harmonic unity is provided by a fifth-Zug C–F, ˆ 4– ˆ 3– ˆ 2– ˆ 1ˆ , a passing motion that composes out the tonic triad, marked 5– while melodic or formal repetition is provided by the fourth-Zug C–G of the ­antecedent and the answering fifth-Zug of the consequent, marked with slurs. Schenker writes: From the third-Zug C–A, only C is to be extracted as the head tone ­(Kopfton), which first moves ahead with B in m. 5 (the fourth Stufe appears here as well); this motion leads to an amalgamation of the two third-Züge into the higher unity of the fourth-Zug C–G in mm. 1–8, which is answered by the complete fifth-Zug C–F in mm. 9–16.

The obstacle of interruption  83 The totality, mm. 1–16, thus expresses the tension of a fifth-Zug: the upper voice presents the fifth-Zug, the bass the arpeggiation F–C–F; together, these represent the harmonic tone F’s living of life to the fullest, coherence of the Züge and diminutions, tension of the content, synthesis. (MW, 2:12/2) Schenker says that the Zug’s coherence is engendered by “a mental tension between the beginning and the end of the Zug” (MW, 2:11/1). What he is getting at is that the Zug coordinates harmony and content by holding them both in a state of tension until they are closed simultaneously.

Example 2.5  The harmony and voice leading of Mozart, K. 332, I, second theme in recapitulation, actually mm. 177–192. MW, 2:11–12/2:1, figure 1.

But there is a problem here: Schenker describes and depicts the fifth-Zug C–F as starting at two different times. As the repetition of the fourth-Zug C–G, the fifth-Zug begins in m. 9, but as the passing motion that composes out the tonic triad, the fifth-Zug begins in m. 1. However, as the bearer of tension between its starting and ending points, a Zug cannot start twice; it cannot reintroduce its tension. Either the fifth-Zug begins in m. 1 together with the fourth-Zug, in which case it cannot be a repetition, or it begins in m. 9, in which case it does not span the whole. Thus, the Urlinie as a tension-­ bearing Zug cannot resolve the tension between harmony and form.

84 Thinking about music

Interruption In the final stage of his theoretical career, represented especially by the third issue of The Masterwork in Music (1930) and Free Composition (1935), ­S chenker codifies the Ursatz—the Urlinie combined with the bass ­arpeggiation—and he arrives at the concept of interruption, which finally integrates formal repetition and harmonic unity. The Gliederung of the Urlinie The Urlinie displaces the motive in primacy, in that no motive can subsist apart from the Urlinie and its diminutions (Simms 1977, 117–118; van den Toorn 1996, 374), but the magnitude of this shift should not be overestimated. Schenker’s well-known tirade in Free Composition against the motive “in the usual sense”—that is, as used superficially “in the German music-drama, in program music, and in the sonata forms of the lesser talents”—echoes his complaint in “The Decline of the Art of Composition,” written directly after Harmonielehre, about the use of the motive as “a musical atom in itself” without organic connection to the whole.14 Moreover, Schenker’s more basic commitment to repetition remains unaltered. He still regards repetition as “a biological law of life, physical life as well as spiritual,” and as “a sign of organic life in the world of tones, as if the original and copy were connected by bonds of blood” (FC, 118 and 154/99). Echoing his earlier statements in Harmonielehre, Schenker writes, “A series of tones… reveals itself only through parallelisms” (FC, 195–196/127). Conversely, Schenker regards pieces that “lack a repetition” as deficient: “Their content only just suffices for preludes, which—as the name implies—merely prepare for pieces founded on repetition” (FC, 184/119). We will find that interruption satisfies this need for melodic repetition, but first we need to understand Schenker’s concept of “the Gliederung of the Urlinie,” which is the topic of the section in Free Composition that contains Schenker’s discussion of interruption (FC, 71/36). According to Schenker, each form of the Urlinie has its own form of Gliederung or organization into ˆ 1ˆ form members, which takes place in the first middleground layer: The 3– ˆ 2ˆ  3– ˆ 2– ˆ 1, ˆ the 5– ˆ 1ˆ form uses the interuses the interruption configuration 3– ˆ 2ˆ  5– ˆ 1, ˆ and the 8– ˆ 1ˆ form uses the non-­interruption ruption configuration 5– ˆ 5– ˆ 1. ˆ While “Gliederung” can mean “division,” as Oster and configuration 8– others have translated it, that translation is incorrect in this context, because the Urlinie is indivisible. Schenker writes: The Urlinie’s passing motion automatically entails its unity and indivisibility. Whatever the middle- and foreground may bring in the way of new upper voices, Gliederungen, forms, and the like, nothing can set itself against the fundamental indivisibility of the Urlinie. This represents the greatest triumph of that coherence which is attainable in music. (FC, 41–42/12)

The obstacle of interruption  85 It is really quite remarkable that so many have been content to speak of a Gliederung as the division of a line that cannot be divided. Rather, S ­ chenker says that “Gliederung… rests on a repetition” (FC, 183/118). In the case of an interruption, what is repeated is the indivisible Urlinie itself.15 For exˆ 2ˆ  3– ˆ 2ˆ – 1ˆ configuration, “the first 3, ˆ which is the head tone of ample, in a 3– ˆ 1, ˆ is bound up with the second 3ˆ as the head tone the entire Urlinie Zug 3– ˆ 16 In other words, there are two of the reinitiated Zug that now leads to 1.” runs of the one underlying Ursatz that coincide with the final 1ˆ over I. The dual appearance of a series of chords, as distinguished from that of a single chord, is an unfamiliar feature of Schenker’s theory of free composition, yet it is unmistakable. For example, unfolding can involve such a dual appearance, unfolding being the horizontalization of either “one chord” or “a series of chords” so as to connect the upper voice to an inner voice and back.17 To say that the Ursatz in a piece with interruption appears twice is akin to saying, with Frank Samarotto (2005), that the Ursatz undergoes “bifurcation”; however, contrary to Samarotto’s interpretation, the first 1ˆ over I is not deleted. Schenker specifically denies this possibility: To man is given the experience of ending, the cessation of all tensions and aims. In this way we have a natural need to lead the Urlinie downward ˆ just as we must also let the bass fall back until it reaches the ground tone 1, to the ground tone of the harmony; with 1ˆ over I all tensions in a musical ˆ 2. ˆ 18 organism cease. Thus an Urlinie can never end, for example, with 3– The Ursatz must reach the ground tone not only to achieve its desired end but also to secure its very origin, for “the Ursatz signifies the harmonic tone stepping forth into life through a vital, natural power” (FC, 57/25). No ground tone, no music. No goal, no content. On the path to the goal there are in the art of music as in life obstacles, setbacks, disappointments, long roads, detours, expansions, and interpolations—in short, delays of all kinds. Therein lies the seed of all artistic delaying, with which a fortunate inventor can bring ever new content into play. In this sense we almost hear in the middleground and foreground a dramatic course of events. (FC, 29/5) Schenker applies this principle of the goal’s necessity for content and tension directly to interruption: Interruption… creates not only more content but also the effect of a delay, a retardation, on the way to the ultimate goal, 1ˆ over I. Interruption is able to produce this effect only because it carries within itself the Ursatz, which attains its fulfillment despite all detours. (FC, 72/37)

86 Thinking about music We also need to understand what is being interrupted. In keeping with the mistranslation of “Gliederung” as “division,” there has been a widespread tendency to think of the Urlinie and the Ursatz themselves as being interrupted, i.e., discontinued.19 But Schenker says that “at the first stand of 2ˆ over V, the voice leading undergoes an interruption.”20 There is a break in the voice leading, the continuous motion along tonal paths, not a break in the paths themselves. That these issues are separate for Schenker becomes clear when we compare the divider, the first V in an interruption configuration, with the applied divider, which also produces an “interruption of the voice leading” but is “used apart from a Gliederung”—that is, it is simply appended to a harmony “as its emanation of a fifth.”21 The divider and the applied divider are mirror images of one another: After the divider, the music shifts to a tonal path (the second run of the Ursatz) at its starting point, whereas after the applied divider, the music shifts from a tonal path at its ending point. To be sure, Schenker sometimes refers to an “interruption of the Zug” that makes up the Urlinie, but this phrase must be understood as an elliptical reference to an interruption of the voice leading and a concomitant retardation of the Zug (FC, 73/38 and 200/130). The object of interruption has been obscured first because Schenker introduces the concept in §87 but only names the object in §90, and second because he uses the term “interruption” ˆ 2ˆ  3– ˆ 2– ˆ 1,” ˆ before he uses it literally, metonymically, as in “the interruption 3– ˆ 2ˆ  3– ˆ 2– ˆ 1” ˆ (FC, 36 and 73/38). as in, “An interruption takes place through 3– When one understands that Schenker is talking about an interruption of the voice leading produced by a duplicatory Gliederung of the Urlinie, then it becomes clear that Schenker’s statements about interruption do not privilege one harmonic-contrapuntal progression over the other one, either consistently or inconsistently. First, as I mentioned in the introduction, ˆ 2ˆ seems like a first attempt of the Urlinie” Schenker says that “the first 3– ˆ 2ˆ is a first attempt; he says that it (FC, 71/36). He does not say that the first 3– “seems like” (erscheint wie) one, because the second run of the Urlinie begins before the first one ends. Second, Schenker says that the first “2ˆ over V acts as the limit of a first advance of the Urlinie” (FC, 71/36). Again, he does not say that the Urlinie itself reaches a limit; he says that the “first advance” (ersten Vortreibens) reaches a limit. With the final 1ˆ over I, the Urlinie advances ˆ 2ˆ represents a course already further. Third, Schenker says that “the first 3– run, as it were; only the 1ˆ is still lacking” (FC, 72/37). This statement does ˆ 2ˆ is not imply anything about hierarchy; rather, it just means that the first 3– a partially completed passing motion and not a neighbor motion, as the text states directly afterward: “The first 2ˆ remains true to the law of the passing tone in the space of a third and accordingly never takes on the character of a lower neighbor note” (FC, 72/37). And finally, as I mentioned in the introduction, Schenker says that “with regard to the unity of the Ursatz, the first stand of 2ˆ over V is more essential than the second” (FC, 72/37). Again, the issue here is not hierarchy but rather “the unity of the Ursatz,” the harmonic unity that the Ursatz bestows upon a piece of music. The first 2ˆ over V is more essential for this unity because it binds together the tonic triads that

The obstacle of interruption  87 frame the entire piece. The very reference in this quotation to two stands of 2ˆ confirms that there are two runs of the Urlinie. Nevertheless, it is true that the text seems balanced on a knife edge, ready to topple in favor of one harmonic-contrapuntal progression or the other. This precariousness reflects the Schenker’s struggle in developing a Zug-­ focused conception, which necessitates such hierarchical distinctions, into a Gliederung-focused conception, which does not. Two drafts of Schenker’s discussion of interruption reconstructed by Nicholas Marston are not framed in terms of Gliederung, and in these drafts Schenker appears to favor the second progression (Marston 2013, 346–349). Marston calls attention to the fragment reproduced in Example 2.6, in which Schenker asks point blank where the Urlinie is: ˆ ˆ ˆ ˆ ˆ   5–4–3  2 (5–4–3–2)1 Read like so?  or  5(4 − 3  2) (5 − 4 − 3 − 2 − 1) I III V I



Urlinie here

ˆ then merely 1. ˆ or here until 2, In Marston’s (2013, 350) view, “we can perhaps even point to the sheet reproduced in [Example 2.6] as recording the very moment of his change of mind” to favoring the first progression. But with his penciled-in revisions to the second option, Schenker may answer his question differently: He writes “thus”; slurs all the Stufen with the word “unity”; adds carets to the first scale-degree numbers, showing that they are also members of the Urlinie; rewrites the first 5ˆ and slurs it to the second, showing how the latter is bound up with the former as the head tone of the Urlinie; and writes a slur leading ˆ 22 Where to? To 1, ˆ naturally! from the first 5ˆ down past 2. The drama of the Ursatz By interlocking two equivalent runs of the one Ursatz, interruption brings to an end Schenker’s quest to reconcile harmony and form, succeeding to a certain extent where the perfect authentic cadence and the Urlinie by themselves fell short. The first occurrence of the Ursatz provides harmonic unity, as illustrated in Example 2.2, while the second, equivalent occurrence provides formal repetition, as illustrated in Example 2.1. In response to Smith’s challenge, I say: There is no way to depict both of these aspects at once, so Schenker focuses on different aspects in different situations, depending in part—as Smith himself demonstrates—on what aspects are most prominent in the music at hand. Schenker’s understanding of a piece of music with interruption is a blend of his conceptions of the tone and the Urlinie, as shown in Example 2.7. Schenker

88 Thinking about music

Example 2.6  Schenker, sketch for Free Composition, OC, 20/84v.

identifies the tone with the Urlinie on account of its acts of tonal procreation and development as “the first melody” and “the first passing motion,” which, like the tone, involve source-path-goal schemas.23 As the first melody, the Urlinie is subject to the law of repetition, where the Urlinie is both the source and the goal, and repetition or procreation is movement along the path. As the first passing motion, the Urlinie is subject to the laws of consonance and dissonance, where the consonance is both the source and the goal, and the passing motion from the head tone to the ground tone or development is “movement, straining toward a goal, and finally also the fulfillment of this path” (FC, 28/4). The composing out of the Urlinie thereby “means the ultimate actuality of a tone, thus the ultimate concretion of a triad, which this unfolding liberates from mere conceptualization, mere abstraction” (MW, 2:42/2:22). In the blended space, shown at the bottom of Example 2.7, the tone and the Urlinie with their acts of tonal procreation and development come together in a single scenario: a dual appearance of the Ursatz with an interruption of the voice leading. The processes of repetition and composing out are intertwined here in that they both begin with the first tonic triad and end with 1ˆ over I. Interruption manifests the tone in a way that the Urlinie on its own cannot, because in the temporally unfolding “drama of the U ­ rsatz,” the first occurrence of the Ursatz, while still only partially complete, a part, repeats itself in the second occurrence of the Ursatz, “the whole,” and in so doing it completes itself and paradoxically becomes the whole, in precisely the same way that the ground tone produces and becomes the tone as a whole, and the tone the triad (FC, 210n/137n14 and 28/5; emphasis mine). Moreover, the first run of the Ursatz is dramatically halted, just as the tone as a phenomenon is halted from

The obstacle of interruption  89 the tone

manifestation,

the Urlinie as a melody Urlinie

development, procreation

latency

tone (= triad)

the Urlinie as a passing motion consonance, head tone, ground tone

ground tone (= tone)

repetition = procreation

passing motion = development

passing motion

repetition,

rup inter tion

Urlinie and ground tone

Urlinie and head tone

a piece of music with interruption Example 2.7  A piece of music with interruption.

manifesting itself, only here there is an overcoming-blockage schema, for the Ursatz “attains its fulfillment despite all detours” (FC, 72/37). Thus, the concept of interruption both settles and transcends the issue of harmonic unity and formal repetition, as if the ­concept—like the “goals in the foreground”— had been “mysteriously sensed and pursued” all along.24 ***

90 Thinking about music Interruption in Schenker’s eyes effects a dynamic realization of the ground tone of a piece of music through its unique and long-sought integration of form and harmony. With the perfect authentic cadence that completes the Urlinie in a piece of music with interruption, “we see the driving powers finally at their goals—form as well as harmony have come full circle” (HL, 288/217)—and thus we see the ground tone’s “living of life to the fullest” (Sichausleben; MW, 2:12/2), only now Schenker believes that it is neither the cadence nor the Urlinie in itself that effects this realization but rather the duplicatory Gliederung of the Urlinie with its dramatic interruption of  the voice leading. Interruption is not a matter of Schenker privileging one branch of a piece of music over another out of an overriding concern for hierarchy, nor is it a matter of him trying to reconcile a “nineteenth-century organicist” approach with “eighteenth-century music” (Smith 2005, 116). On the contrary, interruption, the sole basis of sonata form for Schenker, is a matter of bringing about what Hepokoski and Darcy (2006, 232) call the goal of eighteenth-century sonata form: “tonic presence and the precipitation of the tonic as a crystallized reality,” which is Schenker’s goal for all music. There is a contradiction here, but it is the foundational contradiction that the part produces and becomes the whole, that one plus one equals at least three. Schenker doubles down on this contradiction in the remarkable diagram in Example 2.8, dated January 14, 1932, which alludes to what is at stake for him. This Dr.-Bronner-esque diagram of “love” builds on the analogy between the “Ursatz” and “God,” “1 indivisible,” to suggest that the dual appearance of the Ursatz in the “first layer,” allegorized here as “Adam” and “Eve,” where “2  =  1,” allows for the divinity of man, allegorized as the “child,” where “1 = divine,” in the genius’s peristaltic movement of the spirit, where “1 = 2 = 1 = 2.”

Example 2.8  Schenker, “Liebe,” for “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes” (­ January 14, 1932), OJ, 94/14 (labeled 34/14). The aphorism continues with a few lines of text.

The obstacle of interruption  91 I have already suggested why Schenker’s conception of the genius is bankrupt on the metaphysical level; his concept of interruption, despite its integration of form and harmony at the broadest scale, is similarly unsatisfactory on the logical level, and for similar reasons. Much as the genius reduces love, a particular relation, to a general, vacuous self-relation, interruption reduces the differing halves of a sonata-form movement to a repetition; consequently, the concept often cannot faithfully represent transposition of the secondary-theme zone.25 In its disregard for the integrity of this formal part, the concept of interruption is emblematic of ­Schenker’s abortive theory of form, which purports to “discard the concepts and terminology of conventional theory” in favor of the single perspective of the Urlinie (FC, 133). Schoenberg’s criticism of the Urlinie as “at best, one cross-section of the whole,” which has been characterized as based on misapprehension, is in truth perspicacious: Other perspectives are indeed necessary.26 Schenker himself continues to employ conventional concepts of form in analysis (Hooper 2011, 59). He also deploys them in composition, as we will see in Chapter 4. For these reasons, in Part II, I employ Schoenberg’s theory of form, which is more closely allied with conventional concepts, not Schenker’s, except as it concerns motives. I employ both of their theories of harmony, but for sake of space, I discuss long-range voice leading only a little, and I refer to only a single instance of a quasi-interruption. My aim in outlining the concept of interruption has been not so much to set up my analyses but to explain the realization of the tone for ­Schenker in his re-compositions through performance and listening, the means of identification with the genius and union with God. It is only once these means become clear for him and are put into practice that the vacuity of the genius’s love also begins to become clear. Schenker seems to me to be struggling with this issue when he writes on January 1, 1935, three days before his death: The vacuum is the grave of living love. Only he who has filled it somewhat has lived, at least for the duration of the filling. Hence longing for that which has filled it, when the filling is over and the vacuum again grins with the depth of the grave!27 Schoenberg similarly begins to perceive the vacuity of the genius’s love through his music, as we will see in Chapter 6. But now, we will examine the analogue to the concept of interruption in Schoenberg’s theory of composition, which has been equally contested and misunderstood.

Notes ˆ 1ˆ Urlinie (FC, 1 FC, 74/39. With the exception of a schematic example with an 8– figure 27b), all of Schenker’s depictions of sonata form in Free Composition involve interruption. 2 Schenker (2005, 43). 3 See for example FC, figures 24 and 34b.

92 Thinking about music 4 See for example Ernst Oster, FC, 37n7; Eybl (1995, 98); and Priore (2004, 118). Irna Priore regards a continuous 5ˆ prolonged into the recapitulation as a type of interruption, so with respect to this proposed type, she falls in the second camp. 5 Allan Keiler (1983–1984, 227) and others favor the second progression as both complete and superordinate. See for example Brown (2005, 89). Charles J. Smith (1996, 267 and 269) and others favor the second progression as merely complete. See for example Samarotto (2005). 6 Peter H. Smith (2005, 111) and others argue that the concept of interruption represents a contradictory attempt by Schenker to reconcile “an organicist conceptualization” with “the architectonic realities of sonata form.” Smith and others have identified backgrounds without interruption in various sonata-form movements. By way of contrast, Joel Galand (1990, 60) and David Gagné (2008, 226–227) do not distinguish the two progressions in rank or completeness. ­Nevertheless, they agree that Schenker contradicts himself on the matter. 7 HL, 6–7. Schenker explicitly identifies the motive’s procreative urge with an urge of the tone, not the artist as has sometimes been supposed. HL, 29. 8 HL, 323/243. Schenker is referring to the harmony in a theme, but he extends the same principle to an entire piece. HL, 245–249. 9 CP, 1:21/14. Schenker calls the “conflation of counterpoint and composition study… the original and fundamental error, which sadly has been passed down to our time.” CP, 1:3/2. As can be expected, Schoenberg takes strong issue with ­Schenker’s claim for the absoluteness of counterpoint: “Poppycock!!! That is Schenker’s basic error: for counterpoint was self-evidently originally composition study.” Schoenberg, annotation of CP, SC, Book S8 Bd. 2, 1:3. 10 On the tonic triad as origin and end, see especially MW, 2:53. 11 CP, 1:248/184. Cf. John 1:1–5. On the repression of dissonance as the negative but necessary partner of consonance, see Cohen (1993). 12 This prohibition is not followed by Mozart, for example. Mancini (1989, 210). 13 TW, 2:6/1:54. Cf. Exodus 33:20 and 34:35. 14 FC, 99; and Schenker (2005, 100). ˆ 5– ˆ 1ˆ, there is a varied repetition of the fourth Zug in the fifth 15 In the case of 8– Zug. 16 FC, 73/38. The word “entire” (ganzen), which could give the impression that the first Zug is somehow greater, could be there just to clarify that the first Zug is complete. Alternatively, it could be meant to evoke the unity of the Ursatz, discussed below. 17 FC, 87/50. See FC, figures 43b4–5, c4–5, and d3–4. 18 FC, 43/13. More generally, “a step of a second as an Urlinie is unthinkable,” as ˆ 2ˆ . FC, 41/12. would be the case with 3– 19 See for example Morgan (2014, 26). 20 FC, 72/37. At one point, Schenker considers calling a simple delay an interruption, specifically the delay following the first 3ˆ in a piece of music in ternary ˆ 2ˆ  5– ˆ 1ˆ. Schenker, draft of Free Composition, OC, 20/37. form using 5– 21 FC, 175/113. For example, in the fugal fourth movement of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 29 in B major, op. 106, the second entry occurs in the dominant A major “according to the law of the divider, but without returning to D,” since it is only an applied divider. FC, 176/113. 22 Marston (2013, 346–347) shows that Schenker uses carets vs. no carets in his drafts to make hierarchical distinctions in interruption configurations. So Schenker’s use of carets across the board here and in Free Composition suggests that he stops making those distinctions. 23 TW, 8–9:49/2:117. In Free Composition, Schenker again refers to the Urlinie as “the first definite melodic succession of tones” and “the first passing motion.” FC, 28/5 and 41/12.

The obstacle of interruption  93 24 FC, 68. Galand (1990, 46 and 53) similarly finds that “the concept is already implicit in much of [Schenker’s] earlier work,” although Schenker “had not yet entirely coordinated his linear perspective with a theory of formal articulation.” 25 William Marvin (2012–2013) addresses this problem. 26 Schoenberg, gloss on TW, 1:49 in the original, in Joseph Rufer, The Works of Arnold Schoenberg, trans. Dika Newlin (London: Faber and Faber, 1962), 178–179, quoted in Dunsby (1977, 30). 27 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes.” OJ, 21/5, 220.

References Brown, Matthew. 2005. Explaining Tonality: Schenkerian Theory and Beyond. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Cohen, David. 1993. “Metaphysics, Ideology, Discipline: Consonance, Dissonance, and the Foundations of Western Polyphony.” Theoria 7:1–85. Cohn, Richard. 1992a. “Schenker’s Theory, Schenkerian Theory: Pure Unity or Constructive Conflict?” Indiana Theory Review 13 (1):1–19. ———. 1992b. “The Autonomy of Motives in Schenkerian Accounts of Tonal Music.” Music Theory Spectrum 14 (2):150–170. Derrida, Jacques. 1997. Of Grammatology. Translated by Gayatri Chakravorty ­Spivak. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Dunsby, Jonathan. 1977. “Schoenberg and the Writings of Schenker.” Journal of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute 2 (1):26–33. Eybl, Martin. 1995. Ideologie und Methode: Zum ideengeschichtlichen Kontext von Schenkers Musiktheorie. Tutzing: Hans Schneider. Gagné, David. 2008. Review of Peter H. Smith, Expressive Forms in Brahms’s Instrumental Music: Structure and Meaning in His “Werther” Quartet (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005). Journal of Schenkerian Studies 3:223–227. Galand, Joel. 1990. “Rondo-Form Problems in Eighteenth-and Nineteenth-­ Century Instrumental Music, with Reference to the Application of Schenker’s Form Theory to Historical Criticism.” PhD diss., Yale University. Hepokoski, James A., and Warren Darcy. 2006. Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata. New York: Oxford University Press. Hooper, Jason. 2011. “Heinrich Schenker’s Early Conception of Form, 1895–1914.” Theory and Practice 36:35–64. Keiler, Allan. 1983–1984. “On Some Properties of Schenker’s Pitch Derivations.” Music Perception 1 (2):200–228. Mancini, David L. 1989. “Using Species Counterpoint in the Undergraduate Theory Curriculum.” Journal of Music Theory Pedagogy 3 (2):205–221. Marston, Nicholas. 2013. “The Development of Schenker’s Concept of Interruption.” Music Analysis 32 (3):332–362. Marvin, William. 2012–2013. “‘Und so weiter’: Schenker, Sonata Theory, and the Problem of the Recapitulation.” Theory and Practice 37–38:221–240. McCreless, Patrick. 1989. “Reading Schenker’s Kontrapunkt.” Intégral 3:201–225. Morgan, Robert P. 2014. Becoming Heinrich Schenker: Music Theory and Ideology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Priore, Irna. 2004. “Further Considerations of the Continuous 5ˆ with an Introduction and Explanation of Schenker’s Five Interruption Models.” Indiana Theory Review 25:115–138.

94 Thinking about music Samarotto, Frank. 2005. “Schenker’s ‘Free Forms of Interruption’ and the Strict: ­Toward a General Theory of Interruption.” Paper Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society for Music Theory, Boston and Cambridge. Schenker, Heinrich. 2005. “The Decline of the Art of Composition: A Technical-­ Critical Study.” Translated by William Drabkin. Music Analysis 24 (1–2):33–129. Simms, Bryan R. 1977. “New Documents in the Schoenberg-Schenker Polemic.” Perspectives in New Music 16 (1):110–124. Smith, Charles J. 1996. “Musical Form and Fundamental Structure: An Investigation of Schenker’s Formenlehre.” Music Analysis 15 (2–3):191–297. Smith, Peter H. 2005. Expressive Forms in Brahms’s Instrumental Music: Structure and Meaning in His “Werther” Quartet. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. ———. 2013. “Hierarchy, Interruption, and the Interpretation of ABA’ Forms.” Journal of Schenkerian Studies 7:1–30. Snarrenberg, Robert. 1994. “Competing Myths: The American Abandonment of Schenker’s Organicism.” In Theory, Analysis, and Meaning in Music, edited by Anthony Pople, 29–56. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. van den Toorn, Pieter C. 1996. “What’s in a Motive? Schoenberg and Schenker ­Reconsidered.” The Journal of Musicology 14 (3):370–399.

3 The trouble with problems

We shall have no rest, as long as we have not solved the problems that are contained in tones. —Arnold Schoenberg (1911)

Just as in Schenker’s mature theory of composition, the realization of the tone on the logical level is not just about the Ursatz but about interruption, so in Schoenberg’s, this realization is not just about the Grundgestalt (the basic shape), which is regarded as his core construct, but first of all, as it always is for him, about problems or unrest.1 Schoenberg relates problems and the Grundgestalt as follows: The continuation of the musical idea… can only happen thus: that the unrest—problem—contained in the Grundgestalt or in the motive (and formulated by the “theme,” or not, if none has been stated) is shown in all its consequences. These consequences are presented through the destinies of the motive or the Grundgestalt. How the Grundgestalt changes under the influence of the forces struggling within it, in this movement to which the unrest leads, how the forces again attain a state of rest, this is the realization of the idea, this is its presentation.2 Problems—unclear relations of tones to ground tones leading to movement aimed at clarification—are present in the tone, the dissonance, and the motive and/or the Grundgestalt. These three cases are distinguished according to whether “ground tone” means fundamental, root, or tonic. Unclear relations of overtones to the fundamental produce unrest in the artist and lead him to seek clarification through imitation of the tone (HL, 314). Dissonances are unclear relations of tones to roots that demand resolution or assimilation, and they are also identified with “more remote overtones” (HL, 46). And in a particular piece of music—specifically in the motive and/ or the G ­ rundgestalt—unclear relations of tones to the tonic produce unrest or imbalance, and their clarification and the restoration of balance are the presentation of the musical idea. Relations of tones to the tonic can be more specifically relations amongst tones, chords, and keys.3 Here again,

96 Thinking about music the determining factor is whether the related tones are fundamentals, roots, or tonics. So problems are central to Schoenberg’s theory of composition in that they bind the tone to its imitations, to its realization, and they are central to the analyses in Part II. But like Schenker’s concept of interruption, Schoenberg’s concept of problems is troublesome to understand. Schoenberg never limits problems to music with tonality—that is, music that employs “the art of combining tones in such successions and simultaneities that the relation of all events to a ground tone becomes perceptible”—just as he never limits music to tonality.4 He says that “a piece can also be intelligible to us when the relation to the ground tone… is merely hinted at,” in which case it is said to feature “fluctuating tonality” (schwebende Tonalität), “yes, even if it is erased,” in which case it features “suspended tonality” (aufgehobene Tonalität), incorrectly called atonality.5 However, Schoenberg also never explains how a piece of “non-tonal music” (music with suspended tonality) might involve a problem.6 Indeed, in a fragment entitled “Zu: Darstellung des Gedankens” (“On the Presentation of the Idea”—one of three fragments with this title), he seems to say that in twelve-tone music, relations of tones to ground tones are not a problem: The question of tonality can only be decided in accordance with the laws of the presentation of the idea. Compositions that are in every sense made tonally proceed so as to bring every appearing tone into direct or indirect relation to the ground tone, and their technique aims to bring this relation to expression in such a way that doubt about how the tone is related can never come up for long. This way is not only how the individual tone is handled but also how all tone progressions, harmonies, and progressions of harmonies are constructed. Composition with twelve tones related only to one another (incorrectly called atonal composition) assumes familiarity with these relations, does not see in them a problem still to be solved and worked out, and in this sense works with entire complexes, similar to how language works with comprehensive terms whose scope and significance are assumed to be generally familiar.7 And as with Schenker’s concept of interruption, Schoenberg’s laconic and seemingly conflicting statements on problems have given rise to equally disparate, partial explanations. Some writers say that problems are restricted to tonal music, calling them “tonal problems.”8 Others disagree, but none have understood problems in tonal and non-tonal music in the same way.9 Both sides point to “Zu: Darstellung des Gedankens” as evidence of a dichotomy between these kinds of music.10 Just as what seem to be contradictions in Schenker’s account of interruption turn out to be misinterpretations due to inadequate attention to the

The trouble with problems  97 conditions of the tonal life, such is also the case with Schoenberg’s statements on problems. His published and unpublished theoretical writings show that problems embody that division between the tone in its reality and in its ideality which must be overcome for the tone to develop fully, in both tonal and non-tonal music.11 Interruption and problems are analogous in their dramatic realization of the tone, but they differ in their contrasting emphases on the organic significance of repetition versus variation. The first section explains problems in the tone; the second, problems in the dissonance; and the third, problems in the motive and/or the Grundgestalt.

The tone Throughout his career, Schoenberg affirms that “the tone is the material of music,” the object and means of imitation as realization.12 He says that “the cause of music demands… that the secret of the sounding tone be always pursued anew,” and that “we shall have no rest, as long as we have not solved the problems that are contained in tones.”13 Problems in the tone, shown at the top of Example 3.1, are those spots where the ground tone is blocked in “striv[ing] to push its own overtones through,”14 in such a way that the tone as a phenomenon is divided from the tone as an idea. Correspondingly, “the ear… abandon[s] the attempt at exact analysis” of tone color as pitch (HL, 20). At the next stage of the evolution of perception, shown at the bottom of Example 3.1, the pitch region will grow through increased familiarity with remote overtones imitated in the musical work, but also the tone as a whole will expand as new tone color appears, “widening the circle of ideas” (HL, 3rd ed., 25n/424).

The dissonance The division between the tone in its reality and in its ideality reproduces itself in art for Schoenberg in the opposition of consonances and dissonances, the basic components of harmony, which include what are incorrectly called non-harmonic tones and non-functional simultaneities; “there are no non-harmonic tones, for harmony means tones sounding together (Zusammenklang).”15 In reality, consonances are “free” as to their appearance, whereas dissonances are “restricted” in that they require preparation and resolution (HL, 320). But ideally, “dissonances are nothing else but more remote consonances,” so they can become familiar and be “emancipated,” “becoming consonances” in reality (HL, 66, 323, and 66). In emancipating dissonances, art becomes more like nature, while nature becomes more like its true self. Schoenberg shifts from conceiving of the process of emancipating dissonances as perpetual to conceiving of it as completed.16 At the time of ­Harmonielehre, although Schoenberg aims at emancipating all dissonances, he does not think that this has happened. “Even today,” writes the

tone (= chord)

manifestation

latency

the tone

tone color

pitch

ground tone (= tone)

latency

tone (= chord)

tone color

ground tone (= tone)

Example 3.1  The tone.

ne new to color

pitch

new pitch

manifestation

the tone at the next stage of evolution

The trouble with problems  99 composer of Erwartung, “I feel that here, too, there are certain conditions on which my choice of this or that dissonance depends” (HL, 70). He gives an example of a chord from Erwartung where “the ear expects” a certain ­“resolution,” although the resolution is absent (HL, 418). This is example illustrates how emancipating dissonances takes place gradually as we “get acquainted with them,” such that their requirements “are more and more disregarded” (HL,  323 and 316). Emancipating dissonances or expanding the class of ­consonances means revealing the laws governing new harmonies to be “the same laws that obtained in the older harmony, only correspondingly broader, more generally conceived,” and this systematization requires observation of the new means in musical works over time; it cannot “go ahead of the works, prescribing a path for them that they will perhaps never take” (HL, 70 and 331). Since there is no limit to the tone, and since “there are no limits to the possibilities of tones sounding together, to harmonic possibilities,” there is no end to the process of emancipating ­dissonances (HL, 322). But in his later writings, Schoenberg introduces the term “the emancipation of the ­dissonance” to refer to a completed process for all dissonances.17 “The law of the emancipation of the dissonance” is tied to twelve-tone music, for it is through this law that “the appearance of dissonances is regulated” in this music.18 Schoenberg describes the basis of this emancipation in contrasting ways, placing increasing emphasis on his own role and the role of theory ­(prescribing a path for music? Falck 1982). At times, he says that the comprehensibility of the dissonance “is considered equivalent to the consonance’s comprehensibility.”19 But at other times, he says “it was assumed that the comprehensibility of the dissonance can be ensured, given certain favourable circumstances.”20 We will reconcile these contrasting descriptions in due course. Schoenberg’s conception of consonances and dissonances is structured by the image-schematic complexes shown in Example 3.2, which are identical to those for the tone, for again consonances and dissonances are overtones. Schoenberg distinguishes consonances and dissonances as “close” and ­“remote” and distinguishes members of these categories as “direct” (imitations of the tone) or “indirect” (imitations of imitations), which again means “more or less close” (HL, 320). The full or partial “accommodation of… overtones” in the harmonic system is actual or potential movement along a path respectively (HL, 319). The consonances are fully accommodated, but the dissonances are not; “they are only superficially annexed” (HL, 330). According to Schoenberg, accommodation of overtones has proceeded through the overtone series more or less in ascending order, beginning with the unison (the ground tone) and proceeding to the octave (the second partial), the fifth (the third partial), and the third (the fifth partial; HL, 65–67). The “limits” of the system problematically “impede” this accommodation (HL, 322 and 25). The major scale, made up of “a ground tone (­fundamental) and its nearest relatives,” accommodates the first six partials, whereas the chromatic scale, used especially in non-tonal music, accommodates the first

tone = chord annex.

consonances and dissonances

accomodation

diss. cons.

ground tone = tone

tone = chord annex.

emancipating dissonances

dissonances new

cons.

ground tone = tone

Example 3.2  C  onsonances and dissonances.

onsonanc wc es ne

accomodation

diss.

The trouble with problems  101 21

thirteen. The perpetual process of emancipating dissonances, wherein we “receive these sounds into the system as members with equal rights and privileges,” involves “expand[ing] the conception of what is euphonious, suitable for art,” so that more overtones are classed as consonances, and introducing new dissonances involves expanding the whole.22 The completed process of emancipating dissonances simply involves regarding the potential movement of accommodation as somehow actual.

The motive and the Grundgestalt The division between the tone in its reality and in its ideality, which is found in both nature and art, works itself out within a musical work in the opposition of the ground tone to itself in the guise of other tones. Realization of the tone or presentation of the musical idea for Schoenberg takes place in and through imitation of the tone and involves varied repetition of the motive and the Grundgestalt. The motive and/or the Grundgestalt contains a problem of unclear relations of tones, which is solved through the self-assertion or the self-denial of the ground tone in tonal and non-tonal music, respectively. Imitation of the tone As a tone perceived at a particular historical moment, the musical idea for Schoenberg has a certain limiting depth determined by the evolution of perception, and to reach this depth is in a sense “the goal” of the musical work.23 This depth seems to be what Schoenberg has in mind when he writes, “It is indeed not improbable (perhaps it is even certain) that inherent in every idea and in the way it is elaborated there is something that indicates boundaries to be reached but not overstepped.” However, even if the ground tone manifests its full depth, it almost never perfectly and conclusively manifests the tone in general, which continues to deepen in the artist’s ear while he is composing. Schoenberg explains that “it is difficult, yes, almost impossible to fashion an absolutely compelling and final close,” because the “boundaries to be reached but not overstepped” are “not in the idea… alone, but in ourselves as well…, keeping up with the spirit of the times” (HL, 127). There is almost always a sliver of tone color unaccounted for by the music, an “undissolved residue,” which means that “the ratio of the artist to his work” is virtually always unequal, and the genius is virtually always absent.24 Realization of the tone takes place in and through imitation by scales and chords in the form of rhythmicized melodic and harmonic progressions in the horizontal and vertical dimensions of “musical space,” forming a metaphorical image.25 Schoenberg says that “the task in the evolution of music” is “presenting an idea in all its deepest and richest consequences in such a way that all the individuality that arises from it becomes visible on a multiform surface: projected onto a plane, so to speak.”26 In other words, this image projects tonal relations from the “domain of the ground tone,” which is a more abstract aspect of musical space.27

102 Thinking about music The motive and the Grundgestalt For Schoenberg, presentation of the musical idea by melodic and harmonic progressions involves varied repetition of the main motive, through which “all new Gestalten… come about” (MI, 137). A motive is the smallest part that “is recognizable as present throughout,” and a Gestalt is a part with “a characteristic feature.”28 All new Gestalten can also be traced to the Grundgestalt (that is its definition), and it is generally easier to do so, because the Grundgestalt typically already contains variations of the main motive, which may be rather remote (MI, 169; see also MI, 135). For example, in Schoenberg’s Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19, no. 1, which I analyze in Chapter 6, the Grundgestalt is the basic idea, m. 1, which contains four different motives. All the following Gestalten can readily be traced to this Gestalt, in that they contain all and only these motives, but it is difficult to say which one is the main motive. Although motives and Gestalten are concrete, their features, both abstract and concrete, can also be treated as motives or Gestalten, which explains why Schoenberg sometimes refers to the row as a motive or a Grundgestalt.29 As imitations of the tone, the motive and the Grundgestalt and their products are images of the whole, and their logically ordered appearance ideally serves to “show the idea from all sides,” translating the material aspect of the idea into the logical aspect of the presentation.30 Schoenberg writes, Musical art… consists of producing large and small images, which cohere by means of this motive, which in their individual contents likewise cohere with it, and which are assembled so that the logic of the total image is as apparent as that of its single parts and of their combination. (MI, 149) In variation, “that form of repetition in which a number of the constituents are repeated without change, while a number of others are omitted and possibly replaced by different components,” the ear is able to comprehend new parts through their coherence (shared components) with preceding ones (MI, 155). In this way, variation can effect a gradual attainment of the full depth of the idea. At the same time, variation itself effects tonal procreation and development. Schoenberg writes, “The motive reproduces itself by repeating and engendering new shapes from itself” (Schoenberg 1994, 37). And again: “Repetition in music, especially when linked with variation, shows that different things can arise from one thing, through its development, through the musical vicissitudes it undergoes, through generating new figures.”31 Thus, the motive or the Grundgestalt can be “regarded as the germ of the whole,” but in truth “everything emanates from the tone.”32 This difference is worth underscoring, because it is often assumed that the motive or the ­Grundgestalt actually generates the music for Schoenberg and that this

The trouble with problems  103 tenet is a fundamental conflict with Schenker.33 It is not a tenet, and there is no such conflict. For both theorists, composition is the realization of a determinate vision in real time. However, it is true that Schenker emphasizes repetition as tonal procreation while Schoenberg emphasizes variation (Simms 1977, 118). Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s forked interpretations of procreation can be chalked up to their temperaments: Schenker, highlighting the absoluteness of the tone and by extension the motive as a kind, associates repetition with the furtherance of the species (HL, 6–7), while Schoenberg, highlighting the contingency of the artist’s play with motives, associates variation with the production  of new organisms. This difference is significant, because it plays into the difference between interruption, which involves one, grand repetition, and problems, which involve many variations. Unclear relations of tones According to Schoenberg, the motive and/or the Grundgestalt contains a problem of unclear relations of tones to the tonic, “a certain unrest that will give rise to further motion.”34 Without such a “problem” (or “without solving it?”), Schoenberg tells us, “everything that is said about the motive is inapplicable”—that is, there would be no need for variation as clarification and procreation, because the idea would be immediately manifested.35 However, we need to be clear about what it means for a relation of tones to be unclear. On the one hand, the very appearance of other tones calls the ground tone into question, regardless of their particular relation. ­Schoenberg writes, “Every succession of tones produces unrest, conflict, problems. One single tone is not problematic because the ear defines it as a tonic, a point of repose. Every added tone makes this determination questionable.”36 On the other hand, new relations of tones—which involve dissonances—are unclear by virtue of their unfamiliarity. For example, Schoenberg says that there is “a great number of more-than-five-tone chords, the resolving ­tendencies of which have not yet been systematically investigated,” and “the relation of ­ resent [such] which is difficult to account for.”37 The musical work is “to p new tone relations for discussion and to work out their consequences,” because the musical idea always involves new depths of the tone.38 Taking both of these factors into account, Schoenberg distinguishes between a weaker unrest produced by familiar relations, which require only counterbalancing, and a stronger unrest produced by new relations, which first require clarification through variation. The weaker unrest is found in self-contained melodies, such as Mozart’s “Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja” (Neff 1999, 71), and the stronger unrest is generally “formulate[d]” in themes, such as the primary theme of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 21 in C major, op. 53,I (MI, 181). Schoenberg explains, “A melody re-establishes repose through balance. A theme solves the problem by carrying out its consequences. The

104 Thinking about music unrest in a melody need not reach below the surface, while the problem of a theme may penetrate to the profoundest depths” (FM, 102). Schoenberg describes three methods of connecting motives and Gestalten with one another through varied repetition, which are distinguished in part by the kind of unrest involved.39 First, “the most primitive of the three methods,” which is suitable for popular music or individual parts such as introductions and closing sections, is “stringing together,” where “the connection, even where the difference is apparently great, depends on the frequent repetition of components,” and accordingly “variations will not lead very far.”40 For example, Franz Léhar’s “Love Unspoken” has a pair of Gestalten whose coherence, consisting of a shared passing third, is clarified simply by the pair being “repeated again and again,” and their variations are clarified in that “the rhythm remains (almost) unchanged.”41 Stringing together presupposes a minimal amount of unrest, “a certain unproblematic quality or problem-solved quality, a c­ ertain restfulness between the constituents of the units, which just allows for continuation without demanding it.”42 Second, polyphonic music employs “unravelling,” where the Grundgestalt as a contrapuntal combination of motives is varied, but the motives themselves are generally not.43 For example, Johann Sebastian Bach’s Invention in C ­major, BWV 772, varies a combination of subject and countersubject through textural inversion, rhythmic displacement, and other means (Neff 1999, 74–78). Third, homophonic music employs “development,” also called developing variation, where the motive or the Grundgestalt is varied successively “through interrupted or uninterrupted stepwise accumulation of Gestalten (often also interrupted through back-formations).”44 In his twelve-tone music, Schoenberg often uses both unravelling and development: variation of the contrapuntal arrangement of the row as well as its motives.45 I demonstrate this hybridity in Chapter 7. The phenomenon of interrupted development followed by back-­formations is as ubiquitous in Schoenberg’s music as leaps and gap-fill in species counterpoint. For example, in op. 19, no. 1, the four contrasting motives are eventually linked together. Yet this phenomenon has often been overlooked or equated with stringing together.46 Similarly, “juxtaposition” of different parts in “stringing together” can be confused with “juxtapos[ition]” of parts related by far-reaching “variation,” where stages of development are omitted.47 But in stringing together, “changes whose content is hard to comprehend will scarcely ever be used,” and “the logic is usually not very profound if ‘larger leaps’ are taken,” so the coherence is “generally understood.”48 “Jump[ing] quickly to the remoter stages of development” is not generally understood; it presupposes an “educated listener” who “is able to discover the intervening stages for himself” (Schoenberg 1960, 30). For example, motive-­form a'' in mm. 7–8 of Schoenberg’s op. 19, no. 2, analyzed in Chapter 6, involves simultaneous rhythmic change, intervallic expansion, permutation, and extension of a retrograde inversion of a' in m. 4. Since the problem in the motive and/or the Grundgestalt for Schoenberg involves new relations of tones, conversely it does not involve familiar

The trouble with problems  105 relations. According to Schoenberg, when a piece of music solves a problem, it is to a certain extent solved for good, and the unrest is diminished.49 As problems have been solved and weakened, “the evolution of music has taken the path of producing ever new kinds of ‘unrest’” or “stronger unrests.”50 So when Schoenberg seems to say in “Zu: Darstellung des Gedankens” that twelve-tone music does not find relations of tones problematic, he is only referring to familiar relations, whose free use allows one to deal with the problems of new relations, as becomes clear in the remainder of the fragment: If a tone C appears, then its tonal (primary) relations are familiar to the understanding of the listener, and this tone can immediately enter into new relations…. New relations already appear with more than 4 tones…. The course of the piece serves, then, to bring nearer to the understanding through frequent repetition and many-sided presentation everything that cannot be grasped with the first hearing…. Roughly speaking, the following happened in tonal composition:…. The presentation of the idea proceeded in such a way that certain problems were worked out just as much in the one dimension as in the other. The same can be said of “CW12T” [composition with twelve tones] (and therewith it is shown that the true laws of art—correctly understood—are eternal).51 New relations of tones in twelve-tone music are problems that require clarification through variation, just as the familiar relations once did. Further evidence of problems in twelve-tone music appears in a notebook entry by Schoenberg that seems to refer to a problematic pair of tone rows as unclear overtones desirous of procreation: The problem of a musical idea consists of the tension in the overtones if 2 or more tones appear simultaneously and…. A… desire for reproduction work [sic] in a musical idea, once one row of overtones has met its contrasting companion.52 Here we are reminded that tones are related as offspring or overtones of a ground tone. From the perspective of the tones themselves, the need for clarification of new relations is both the desire for procreation and “the desire of the children to be conceived and born” (MI, 109). Tonal and non-tonal music The difference between tonal and non-tonal music for Schoenberg, then, is not in the presence or absence of problems but in the perceptible “reference” to the ground tone: tonal music refers to the ground tone, while non-tonal

106 Thinking about music music does not, at least not “direct[ly]” (HL, 432). Just as one does not have to define “house” every time one uses the word, so the parenthetical explanation or resolution of familiar dissonances can be omitted, and with the total emancipation of dissonance in twelve-tone music, “the chords are not presented for discussion,” not supposed to resolve, although the composer will “sometimes need to make specific reference to the unfamiliar relations” through the resolution of dissonances.53 At the same time, what counts as referring to the ground tone may depend on the evolution of perception: “Tonal is perhaps nothing else than what is understood today and [so-called] atonal what will be understood in the future.”54 Accordingly, Schoenberg also uses the term “tonality” more broadly to mean “the particular way in which all tones relate to a ground tone,” regardless of whether this relation is perceptible.55 In this sense, there is just a difference between pieces of music “in the emphasis or non-emphasis on the tonality.”56 By Schoenberg’s way of thinking—and this is a crucial point—the lack of reference to the ground tone in non-tonal music transforms the phenomenon of unrest. In a piece of tonal music, rebellious tones introduce unrest by calling the ground tone into question—in terms of both our perception and its power— and the ground tone restores peace by crushing the rebellion, although in truth the ground tone is the instigator, since the rebels take after their ruler. Schoenberg muses, Perhaps… the rebellious ambitions of the subjects spring as much from the tyrant’s urge to dominate as from their own tendencies. The tyrant’s urge is not satisfied without the ambitions of the subjects. Thus, the departure from the head tone is explained as a need of the head tone itself, in which, in whose very overtones, the same conflict is contained on another plane, so to speak, as a model. Even the apparently complete departure from the tonality turns out to be a means for making the ­victory of the ground tone so much the more dazzling. (HL, 171/151; translation modified; see also MI, 121) In a piece of non-tonal music, although other tones still call the ground tone into question, for familiar relations the answer is assumed as understood and left unmentioned, so paradoxically it is the imperceptibility of the ground tone as such that represents rest, or “a new (new kind of) consolidation that is equivalent to a state of rest,” and it is the mere hint of the ground tone in new, unclear relations that represents unrest, an arousal of the ground tone’s lust for power (MI, 103). To solve the problem, the ground tone must work through its megalomania and follow its “most urgent yearning,” which is “to lose itself in, to become part of a higher entity” (HL, 50 and 116n). (One is tempted to say, it must go through a twelve-half-step program.) In the words of Andreas Jacob (2000, 14), “the ground tone… here finds its fulfillment in annulment, so to speak.” In short, a piece of tonal music solves

The trouble with problems  107 its problem by erasing all doubt about the ground tone, whereas a piece of non-tonal music solves its problem by erasing all trace of the ground tone as such. This finding about the nature of unrest in non-tonal music is consistent with Cherlin’s (1993) finding that Schoenberg’s twelve-tone music does not just abandon but actively represses tonality and with Richard Kurth’s (2001, 246 and 247) finding that “moments of apparent tonal function” in this music are “imbalances in the suspension of tonality.” In this regard, Schoenberg writes of twelve-tone music, “Even a slight reminiscence of the former tonal harmony would be disturbing, because it would create false expectations of consequences and continuations.”57 This finding is also consistent with the finding that deviations from symmetrical formations are a source of unrest in Schoenberg’s non-tonal music, both serial (Peles 2004, 60; Boss 2014, 20) and non-serial (Lewin 1981, 17; Jenkins 2007, 60), and it explains why: because symmetrical formations—especially symmetrical scales, inversionally symmetrical chords, and transpositionally symmetrical chords—are tonally ambiguous.58 This finding allows us to see that, similar to how Schenker’s references to the interruption of the Urlinie must be understood as shorthand for the interruption of the voice leading and the retardation of the Urlinie, S ­ choenberg’s references to “renounc[ing] a tonal centre” in his music are best understood as shorthand for “the negation of a tonal centre’s domination.”59 Likewise, Schoenberg often does not mention that “the relation of all tones to one another” in twelve-tone music is “assured by the circumstance of a common origin,” which is the ground tone.60 To put this another way, relations of tones to one another represent relations to the ground tone, similar to how a chord on a circle represents two radii. Again, “Tones are related through their common relation to the ground tones that represent what is the same in them.”61 This finding also allows us to make sense of Schoenberg’s seemingly inconsistent statements regarding the comprehensibility of dissonances: if one can hold the ground tone responsible for disturbing the peace, then one can assume that consonances and dissonances are equally clear—that is, regard them as equal in the eyes of the law—even though they are not really. Schoenberg’s conception of the musical work as a presentation of the musical idea is structured by the set of image-schematic complexes in E ­ xample 3.3, which are very similar to those in Examples 3.1 and 3.2, for again the musical idea is a tone. The piece represents a trek through musical space. Ideally, the musical work covers the whole area opened up by the idea. “The ground tone, or the ground tonality” (the tonic, or the tonic region), is “a living central and whole body that puts forth a certain number of members, by means of which it is able to exercise its vital functions”; that is to say, it is a central part that produces and becomes the work as a peripheral container and whole (MI, 120–122/121–123). Familiar relations of tones are contained in the inner area, whereas new, unclear relations are contained in the outer area.62

108 Thinking about music the problem

unclear tones centripetal force

motion, centrifugal procreation force

musical space, musical work

ground tone = idea

the solution in a non-tonal piece

motion

musical space, musical work

newly clarified tones

centripetal force

return ground tone = idea

newly clarified tones

musical space, musical work motion

the solution in a tonal piece

ground tone = idea

Example 3.3  T  he musical work as a presentation of the musical idea.

As with consonances and dissonances, Schoenberg distinguishes relations of tones in general as “direct (closely related)” and “­ indirect (distantly related).”63 The problem consists of “remotely related tones” that present “an obstacle to intelligibility”—that is, they appear as dissonances that cannot be traversed freely.64 These remotely related tones produce “imbalance”: a motion that will give rise to further motion through their “centrifugal tendencies,” which oppose “the attraction of the tonal center.”65 In tonal music, this motion is troubling because it threatens to go too far, whereas in non-tonal music, this motion is troubling because it does not go far enough. At the solution of the problem, the complex adds an overcoming-blockage schema.66 Clarification of the new relations means “penetrating to the most remote consequences of an idea,” which corresponds with “penetration into what is given in nature.”67 That is to say, there is an intuitive analysis of the tone by way of its imitation that goes beyond conscious analysis of the tone

The trouble with problems  109 in perception—for “to grasp what happens in a piece of music means nothing else but to analyse quickly” and “unconsciously.”68 This penetration ­correlates with the closure of the “form,” i.e., “the termination of the unrest of opposing forces that occurs if these reach a balance with one another.”69 In a piece of tonal music, reaching a “balance of… centrifugal and centripetal forces” entails “a cyclical harmonic motion, which goes out from the ground tone and returns to it,”70 whereby, in Schenker’s words, tonality’s “central and primordial force subdues all opponents, which it bore from its own womb.”71 For example, in Schoenberg’s “Wenn Vöglein klagen,” op. 8, no. 6, analyzed in Chapter 7, an unclear, dissonant chord in B minor with G as a possible root spurs a move to G major and back with a conclusive ­cadence leading directly from G to B, both clarifying and subordinating G.  In a piece with fluctuating tonality, the music is torn back and forth, and there is a genuine question whether “the victory” will “go to one of the ­r ivals” on the periphery (HL, 153). For example, Schoenberg’s “Voll jener Süße,” op. 8, no. 5, “wavers principally between D and B major,” and the supertonic C (D) wins out in the end (HL, 383). And in a piece of nontonal music with suspended tonality, reaching such a balance entails restoring an equilibrium, in which the music, having “fill[ed]” the form like “a gas,” is equally disposed toward the ground tone and toward the other tones (HL, 127). For example, in Schoenberg’s op. 19, no. 2, the music is initially pulled toward C, but through the clarification of the new relations, C is balanced chromatically with B and B.72 Both interruption and problems dramatize the realization of the tone, and both involve the image-schematic complex analyzed above, with some variation. I want to push this connection one step further: In homophonic music, the working out of a problem (the clarification of tonal coherence) is generally accompanied by interrupted development followed by back-­ formations (the clarification of motivic-thematic coherence). This process is modeled most clearly by “the ‘secondary theme’ in the sonata and symphony,” whose connection to the primary theme “will be clarified in the ­future” (MI, 264/265; translation modified). Thus, the concepts of interruption and problems also share the same prototype of sonata form. *** Problems for Schoenberg are what the tone must solve in order to reach its potential, regardless of whether a piece of music has tonality. Problems in the tone, the dissonance, and the motive and/or the Grundgestalt are linked by a basic image-schematic complex that undergoes variation as the tone takes on various guises. This image-schematic complex also structures ­Schenker’s parallel concept of interruption, but interruption privileges repetition as procreation, while problems privilege variation. Schenker himself discusses problems of competing tones; he says that a piece of music “basically presents a genuine and continual conflict between the system and nature,” i.e., tones that want to be in the system or achieve

110 Thinking about music a higher rank in the system (HL, 379/288; see HL, 252; cf. Schoenberg, HL, 151). Moreover, his music, like Schoenberg’s, deals with unrest. For these reasons, the analyses in Part II focus on problems, not only on the logical level but also, for Schoenberg, on the psychological and metaphysical levels: the problem of alienation and metaphorical blindness. With regard to alienation and blindness, tonal and non-tonal music are not equivalent, even though they are wholly analogous on the logical level. Imitation of the ground tone through its erasure accurately illustrates how the ground tone itself is blank, just as its flipside, the eye of pure perception, is blind. So it is, as we discover in Part II, that not only does Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s music drive ineluctably toward suspended tonality as it incorporates more and more overtones, but also Schoenberg embraces suspended tonality precisely at the moment when he begins to emulate the genius.

Notes 1 Student Josef Rufer’s most recent recollection is that Schoenberg uses the term “Grundgestalt” by 1919. Raff (2006, 54). 2 MI, 226/227. See also Schoenberg, “New Music, Outmoded Music, Style and Idea” (1946), in SI, 123. 3 Dineen (2005) somewhat similarly outlines a method of clarifying a “tonal problem” by identifying the positions it occupies in a multilayered musical space, but I diverge from Dineen in several respects, primarily because he does not connect problems with the musical idea. 4 Schoenberg, “Probleme der Harmonie (Notizen)” (January 1927), in Jacob (2005, 2:788). See also HL, 29; and Schoenberg, “Opinion or Insight?” (1926), in SI, 261. 5 Schoenberg, HL, 146/128 and 430/383. In Structural Functions of Harmony, Schoenberg renders “schwebende Tonalität” as “suspended tonality,” and he does not mention aufgehobene Tonalität. SF, 111. But I follow Carter’s translation of “schwebende Tonalität” and “aufgehobene Tonalität” respectively as “fluctuating tonality” and “suspended tonality.” Only Andreas Jacob (2000, 13), Richard Kurth (2000, 2001), and Benedikt Stegemann (2003, 19) seem to have embraced the identity between aufgehobene Tonalität and what has been called “atonality.” 6 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen und Sprüche,” SC, T50.08, 8. 7 Schoenberg, “Zu: Darstellung des Gedankens” (November 12, 1925), in Jacob (2005, 2:699). 8 See especially Patricia Carpenter and Severine Neff, “Commentary,” in MI, 62–86; and Carpenter (2005). Murray Dineen (2005) and David Bernstein (2003) have followed Carpenter and Neff in this regard. However, Dineen (2000, 56–59) has also pointed to evidence that a couple of students of the Second Viennese School may have understood twelve-tone music in terms of problems. 9 Cross (1980, 26) has suggested that problems for Schoenberg are integral “not only to works he considers ‘tonal’ in the traditional sense (i.e., all tones relating to one fundamental tone), but to works composed according to the twelve-tone method as well.” However, she implies that a problem in a piece of twelve-tone music would be an unclear relation of tones “to the basic set of twelve tones,” not an unclear relation of tones to a ground tone. For analyses of problems in nontonal music, see especially Jenkins (2007, 35–92), Quaglia (2008), and Boss (2014).

The trouble with problems  111 10 MI, 14; and Boss (2014, 9). See also Carpenter (1998, 219–220). 11 On dialectical opposition in Schoenberg’s musical thought, see Cherlin (2007, 45). 12 Schoenberg acknowledges that doubts have been raised about “the overtone theory,” but he says that “since no man is able to prove and examine everything himself, [he], too, [has] to get along with the existing knowledge as long as I may and can believe in it.” HL, 20. Subsequently he affirms without qualification that “all musical phenomena can be referred to the overtone series.” Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony” (1927, rev. 1934), in SI, 271. 13 Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony,” in SI, 269; and HL, 314. 14 HL, 432/385. The context is bass tones, but same principle applies to tones in general. 15 HL, 318; emphasis removed. It should be noted that, while all chords are overtones, not all perceived overtones necessarily appear as chords. 16 Stephen Hinton (2010, 576) describes this shift as one from writing music in which dissonances are “expressive” to writing twelve-tone music, in which dissonances are “constructive.” 17 Schoenberg, “Opinion or Insight?” in SI, 258. 18 Schoenberg, “My Evolution” (1949), in SI, 91; and Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (2),” in SI, 247. According to Schoenberg, twelve-tone composition itself is not a law or a system but a method. Schoenberg, “‘Schoenberg’s Tone Rows,’” in SI, 213; and Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 218. 19 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1)” (1941), in SI, 217; emphasis mine. Although this description is at odds with his earlier writings, in a sense it is a consequence of the identity of overtones with their imitations: If pitch is the mode of appearance of clearly perceived overtones, then consonances and dissonances must be equally comprehensible, because they both have pitch. 20 Schoenberg, “Opinion or Insight?” in SI, 261; emphasis mine. 21 HL, 22/24. See Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony,” in SI, 271. Because of the connection between the chromatic scale and suspended tonality, Schoenberg sometimes uses the term “twelve-tone composition” in a broad sense to refer to music without tonality. Cross (2005, 236n7). However, to avoid confusion, I do not use the term in this sense. 22 HL, 322 and 21. Also relevant here is Schoenberg’s aphorism: “Unnaturalness— that which is contrary to nature, beyond nature—is only disagreeable when it becomes a habit: but then it is naturalness again.” Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 160. 23 HL, 126. There are also more “superficial… ideas” with more modest limits. MI, 135. 24 Schoenberg, “Franz Liszt’s Work and Being” (1911), in SI, 442; and HL, 366/326. 25 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 220. See HL, 26 and 289. 26 Schoenberg, “Jede blinde Henne” (ca. 1930–1931), SC, T03.42, 3. 27 HL, 169/150. Patricia Carpenter (1988, 345) recognizes this duality of musical space. 28 Schoenberg says that “Gestalten and Grundgestalten are usually composed of several motive forms,” which suggests that they are typically short, but he does not rule out the possibility of their being long. MI, 169. According to ­Schoenberg’s student Erwin Stein (1964, 94), “a Gestalt can be short or long and embrace all groupings that can be sensed as unities, such as phrases, half-­ sentences, periods, and the like.” 29 FM, 9; Schoenberg, “Twelve-Tone Composition” (1923), in SI, 208; and Schoenberg, “My Evolution,” in SI, 91.

112 Thinking about music 30 MI, 97. Because the idea and its presentation are of distinct natures, Rudolf Stephan’s (1985, 131) apothegm that “the presentation of the idea is the idea itself,” oft quoted in German criticism, is only partly true. It is true that the idea is only fully manifest in its presentation, but it is fully determinate apart from its presentation. Schoenberg writes, “A real composer’s conception, like the physical, is one single act, comprising the totality of the product.” S ­ choenberg, ­“Folkloristic Symphonies” (1947), in SI, 165. See also Schoenberg, letter to ­Kandinsky, August 19, 1912, in Schoenberg and Kandinsky (1984, 54). 31 Schoenberg, “For a Treatise on Composition” (1931), in SI, 266. 32 Schoenberg, HL, 144/127 and 128; emphasis mine. At one point, Schoenberg floats a distinction between the main motive or main theme as “seed” in “the old symphony” and the main motive along with other motives as “building blocks” in “the modern symphony.” Schoenberg, draft for a lecture, in Schoenberg (1993, 9 and 11). In general, however, Schoenberg asserts that the motive is always more of a building block than a seed. MI, 109. 33 See for example Eybl (2006, 55). 34 MI, 153. At one point, Schoenberg distinguishes between tonal and rhythmic unrest. MI, 103. But rhythmic unrest would again be tonal, because he considers rhythm in music to be a property of tones. Schoenberg (1994, 11); and Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 226. 35 Schoenberg, “Formungselemente” (n.d.), SC, T51.18. 36 FM, 102. At one point, Schoenberg (1994, 28/29) suggests that even an individual tone could be a motive that contains a problem: “Is it a third, fifth, ground tone, etc.?” 37 Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony,” in SI, 281. 38 Ibid., in SI, 269. Here, one may note Schoenberg’s pithy dictum: “Art means New Art.” Schoenberg, “New Music, Outmoded Music,” in SI, 115. Stephan (1985, 133) interprets the reference to new tone relations as “Schoenberg attempt[ing] an entirely different manner of argumentation, in order to legitimate what he has made.” Markus Böggemann and Ralf Alexander Kohler (2002, 2:435–436) make the same claim about the last chapter of Harmonielehre. But Schoenberg’s argument does not change at either of the points suggested. He already refers to the necessity of the “new idea” in his first published set of aphorisms, and he continues to do so for the rest of his life. Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 163. 39 On these three methods and on varied repetition, see especially Heneghan (2006, 100–111 and 219–241). 40 Schoenberg, “Der musikalische Gedanke, seine Darstellung und D ­ urchführung” (July 6, 1925), SC, T37.08, 4; and MI, 159. Schoenberg says that “as a rule,” stringing together in art music is confined to individual parts. Schoenberg, “Der musikalische Gedanke,” SC, T37.08, 4. For a possible exception, see Heneghan (2009). 41 MI, 301. On Léhar’s “Love Unspoken,” see MI, 306. Cf. Neff (1999, 69). 42 Schoenberg, “Der musikalische Gedanke,” SC, T37.08, 4. 43 Ibid., 5. Following Schoenberg himself in his essay “Bach” (1950), in SI, 397, I use the term “unravelling” as the English equivalent of “Abwicklung” rather than “unfolding,” which has been used by some writers. See for example MI, 137. 44 Schoenberg, “Der musikalische Gedanke,” SC, T37.08, 5. On back-formations, see also MI, 137, 155, 159, and 265. 45 Schoenberg feels “an affinity with Bach,” who similarly combines polyphonic and homophonic methods. Heneghan (2005). However, “it would be stretching a point to call it a happy mixture.” Schoenberg, “Twelve-Tone Composition,” in SI, 207. On development in Schoenberg’s twelve-tone music, see Haimo (1997).

The trouble with problems  113 46 Neff (2009, 78) interprets the following statement by Schoenberg as referring to a “hypothetical situation” involving stringing together: “A very significant ­degree of remoteness from the initial Gestalt is to be found in those variations that introduce a subordinate idea.” MI, 159. But the situation is not hypothetical; it is true of all secondary themes except those in monothematic sonata forms. MI, 265. 47 MI, 159; and Schoenberg, “New Music: My Music” (ca. 1930), in SI, 103. 48 MI, 301; and Schoenberg, “Folkloristic Symphonies,” in SI, 164. 49 Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony,” in SI, 269. See also Schoenberg, “Kriterien des musikalischen Kunstwerks (Notizen zu einem Vortrag)” (1927), SC, T41.04, MD4. 50 MI, 106/107. Accordingly, the distinction between melody and theme changes over time. FM, 103. 51 Schoenberg, “Zu: Darstellung des Gedankens” (1925), in Jacob (2005, 2:700–702). 52 Schoenberg, “Notebook III” (n.d.), SC, T67.02, [4–5]. 53 Schoenberg, “Zu: Darstellung des Gedankens” (1925), in Jacob (2005, 2:700). 54 Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony,” in SI, 284. Cross (1980, 34n17) also points out that Schoenberg sees tonality in a narrow sense as evolving; however, she understands the term “tonal” in a narrow sense to refer to the comprehensible relation between musical tones, not the perceptible relation to a ground tone. 55 Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony,” in SI, 220/270; translation modified. ­Böggemann and Kohler (2002, 2:434), taking note of these different meanings of the term “tonality,” claim that they are in “plain contradiction.” See also ­Böggemann (2012, 109). To be sure, Schoenberg says “the word ‘tonal’ is incorrectly used if it is intended in an exclusive rather than inclusive sense,” which might seem to imply that these senses are contradictory, but in context he just seems to be saying that it is not only tonal music in the narrow sense that is consistent “with the nature of tone”—i.e., tonal in the broad sense. HL, 432. 56 Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony,” in SI, 284; see also HL, 432. At times, Schoenberg uses the term “key” in an equally broad sense to mean everything produced by the ground tone. In notes for “Problems of Harmony,” Schoenberg contrasts “a key-emphasizing method of composition” with “a style that leaves the key unemphasized.” Schoenberg, “Probleme der Harmonie (Notizen),” in Jacob (2005, 2:782). But see HL, 388–389. 57 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 219. To be sure, Schoenberg is speaking hypothetically here; nevertheless, the hypothesis is born out in his music. 58 Boss calls such a symmetrical formation, which may or may not appear in a piece, the Grundgestalt, which is different from my understanding of the Grundgestalt as a part. Despite recognizing that such formations accompany resolution of motivic conflicts (which he analyzes in terms of twelve-tone theory), Boss does not recognize that they also provide tonal closure. For example, in a discussion of the first movement of Schoenberg’s String Quartet No. 4, op. 37, Boss (2014, 279) seems to identify a symmetrical formation in the juxtaposition of inversionally equivalent head motives. He contrasts this motivic reconciliation with an “unresolved conflict between key areas,” which he cites Kurth as arguing for. Actually, what Kurth (2000, 149) seems to argue for is “closure in a suspended B tonality,” precisely through what Boss (2014, 283) himself calls “D minor and B major… ‘canceling the other out.’” The final chord, which fuses both tonic and dominant in both keys, has an inversionally symmetrical series of interval sizes: sixth, fifth, third, fifth, sixth. 59 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 217 and 244; emphasis mine. See also HL, 394n–395n and 432.

114 Thinking about music 60 Schoenberg, “Problems of Harmony,” in SI, 284. 61 MI, 146/147. 62 The nested container of familiar relations seems to be what Schoenberg has in mind by setting off the closest regions (keys) in the chart of the regions, which represents musical space during “the tonal period.” SF, 68. The original versions of the chart of the regions set off groups of regions with ovals rather than a rectilinear outline, but the impression of nested containers remains. Neff (2011, 200–201). The same nested-container schema may be behind Schoenberg’s earlier description of close and remote keys in terms of a series of circles. HL, 155. 63 Schoenberg, “Probleme der Harmonie (Notizen),” in Jacob (2005, 2:784). Schoenberg distinguishes regions in similar terms. SF, 21. 64 Schoenberg, “My Evolution,” in SI, 87. See also SF, 113. 65 Schoenberg, “New Music, Outmoded Music,” in SI, 123; SF, 2; and HL, 150. 66 Saslaw (1997–1998, 23) has suggested that the problem and its solution in a piece of tonal music involve a counterforce schema, a head-on meeting of opposing forces, which both initiates motion and brings it to a halt. However, as I have just pointed out, opposing forces for Schoenberg pull the music in different directions; as far as I am aware, they do not meet each other head on. 67 Schoenberg, “Brahms the Progressive,” in SI, 439; and HL, 315. 68 HL, 133 and 134. See also Schoenberg, “My Evolution,” in SI, 87. 69 Schoenberg, “Form in Music” (n.d.), in Jacob (2005, 2:684). 70 Schoenberg, “Form in Music,” in Jacob (2005, 2:685); and Schoenberg, “Entwicklung der Harmonie” (n.d.), in Jacob (2005, 2:754). Centrifugal forces also balance one another, paradigmatically the dominant and subdominant. HL, 24 and 132; and MI, 311. 71 Schenker, “Das Tonsystem” (n.d.), OC, 31/404. 72 Incidentally, blockage and overcoming-blockage schemas also structure Schoenberg’s conception of the resolution of dissonances. HL, 45 and 49.

References Bernstein, David W. 2003. “‘Paths of Harmony’ in the First Movement of Brahms’s Cello Sonata in E minor, op. 38.” Current Musicology 75:169–183. Böggemann, Markus. 2012. “Concepts of Tonality in Schoenberg’s Harmonielehre.” In Tonality 1900–1950: Concept and Practice, edited by Felix Wörner, Ullrich Schneideler, and Philip Rupprecht, 99–111. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Böggemann, Markus, and Ralf Alexander Kohler. 2002. “Harmonielehre.” In Arnold Schönberg: Interpretationen seiner Werke, edited by Gerold W. Gruber, 2 vols., 2:420–436. Laaber: Laaber. Boss, Jack. 2014. Schoenberg’s Twelve-Tone Music: Symmetry and the Musical Idea. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Carpenter, Patricia. 1988. “Aspects of Musical Space.” In Explorations in Music, the Arts, and Ideas: Essays in Honor of Leonard B. Meyer, edited by Eugene Narmour and Ruth A. Solie, 341–373. Stuyvesant: Pendragon Press. ———. 1998. “Schoenberg’s Theory of Composition.” In The Arnold Schoenberg Companion, edited by Walter B. Bailey, 209–222. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. ———. 2005. “Schoenberg’s ‘Tonal Body.’” Theory and Practice 30: 35–68. Cherlin, Michael. 1993. “Schoenberg and das Unheimliche: Spectres of Tonality.” The Journal of Musicology 11 (3):357–373. ———. 2007. Schoenberg’s Musical Imagination. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

The trouble with problems  115 Cross, Charlotte M. 1980. “Three Levels of ‘Idea’ in Schoenberg’s Thought and Writings.” Current Musicology 30:24–36. ———. 2005. “Schoenberg’s Gedanke Manuscripts: Part of the Theoretical Explanation of Composition with Twelve Tones?” Tijdschrift voor muziektheorie 10 (3):234–246. Dineen, Murray. 2000. “Schönberg’s Viennese Tuition, Viennese Students, and the Musical Idea.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 2:48–59. ———. 2005. “The Tonal Problem as a Method of Analysis.” Theory and Practice 30:69–96. Eybl, Martin. 2006. “Schopenhauer, Freud, and the Concept of Deep Structure in Music.” In Schenker-Traditionen: Eine Wiener Schule der Musiktheorie und ihre internationale Verbreitung / A Viennese School of Music Theory and Its International Dissemination, edited by Martin Eybl and Evelyn Fink-Mennel, 51–58. Vienna: Böhlau. Falck, Robert. 1982. “Emancipation of the Dissonance.” Journal of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute 6 (1):106–111. Haimo, Ethan. 1997. “Developing Variation and Schoenberg’s Twelve-Note Music.” Music Analysis 16 (3):349–365. Heneghan, Áine. 2005. “An Affinity with Bach.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 7:99–123. ———. 2006. “Tradition as Muse: Schoenberg’s Musical Morphology and Nascent Dodecaphony.” PhD diss., Trinity College Dublin. ———. 2009. “The ‘Popular Effect’ in Schoenberg’s Serenade, op. 24.” In ­Schoenberg’s Chamber Music, Schoenberg’s World, edited by James K. Wright and Alan M. ­Gillmor, 37–51. Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon Press. Hinton, Stephen. 2010. “The Emancipation of Dissonance: Schoenberg’s Two Practices of Composition.” Music and Letters 91 (4):568–579. Jacob, Andreas. 2000. “Das Verständis von Tonalität in Arnold Schönbergs theoretischen Schriften.” Musiktheorie 15 (1):3–18. ———. 2005. Grundbegriffe der Musiktheorie Arnold Schönbergs. 2 vols. Hildesheim: Georg Olms. Jenkins, J. Daniel. 2007. “Issues of Form in Schoenberg’s Atonal Period Vocal ­Music: Three Case Studies.” PhD diss., University of Rochester. Kurth, Richard. 2000. “Moments of Closure: Thoughts on the Suspension of ­Tonality in Schoenberg’s Fourth Quartet and Trio.” In Music of My Future: The Schoenberg Quartets and Trio, edited by Reinhold Brinkmann and Christian Wolff, 139–160. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ———. 2001. “Suspended Tonalities in Schönberg’s Twelve-Tone Compositions.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 3:239–265. Lewin, David. 1981. “A Way into Schoenberg’s opus 15, number VII.” In Theory Only 6 (1):3–24. Neff, Severine. 1999. “Schoenberg as Theorist: Three Forms of Presentation.” In Schoenberg and His World, edited by Walter Frisch, 55–84. Princeton: Princeton University Press. ———. 2009. “Juxtaposing Popular Music in Schoenberg’s Second String Quartet, op. 10.” In Schoenberg’s Chamber Music, Schoenberg’s World, edited by James K. Wright and Alan M. Gillmor, 65–96. Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon Press. ———. 2011. “Editing Schoenberg’s Music-Theoretical Manuscripts: Problems of Incompleteness and Authorship.” In Arnold Schönberg in seinen Schriften:

116 Thinking about music Verzeichnis—Fragen—Editorisches, edited by Hartmut Krones, 193–216. Vienna: Böhlau. Peles, Stephen. 2004. “‘Ist Alles Eins’: Schoenberg and Symmetry.” Music Theory Spectrum 26 (1):57–86. Quaglia, Bruce. 2008. “Tonal Space and the ‘Tonal Problem’ in Schoenberg’s op. 11, no. 1.” In Musical Currents from the Left Coast, edited by Jack Boss and Bruce Quaglia, 236–255. Middlesex: Cambridge Scholars. Raff, Christian. 2006. Gestaltete Freiheit: Studien zur Analyse der frei atonalen Kompositionen A. Schönbergs—auf der Grundlage seiner Begriffe. Hofheim: Wolke. Saslaw, Janna K. 1997–1998. “Life Forces: Conceptual Structures in Schenker’s Free Composition and Schoenberg’s The Musical Idea.” Theory and Practice 22–23:17–33. Schoenberg, Arnold. 1960. “The Orchestral Variations, op. 31: A Radio Talk.” The Score 27:27–40. ———. 1994. Coherence, Counterpoint, Instrumentation, Instruction in Form / Zusammenhang, Kontrapunkt, Instrumentation, Formenlehre. Edited by Severine Neff and translated by Charlotte M. Cross and Severine Neff. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Schoenberg, Arnold, and Wassily Kandinsky. 1984. Letters, Pictures and Documents. Edited by Jelena Hahl-Koch and translated by John C. Crawford. London: Faber and Faber. Simms, Bryan R. 1977. “New Documents in the Schoenberg-Schenker Polemic.” Perspectives in New Music 16 (1):110–124. Stegemann, Benedikt. 2003. Arnold Schönbergs musikalische Gedanken: Analysen zu ihrer klanglichen und tonalen Struktur. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Stein, Erwin. 1964. Musik: Form und Darstellung. Translated by Horst Leuchtmann. Munich: R. Piper & Co. Stephan, Rudolf. 1985. “Der musikalische Gedanke bei Schönberg.” In Vom musikalischen Denken: Gesammelte Vorträge, edited by Rainer Damm and Andreas Traub, 129–137. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne.

Part II

Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s thinking in music

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4 Schenker the progressive

My compositions, true “treasures,” as unique in today’s world as my theory! —Heinrich Schenker (1931)

Schenker, known today as a theorist, is respected as a composer by several other composers at the turn of the twentieth century. Schenker shows his compositions to Johannes Brahms, who reportedly offers to recommend the first movement of his Fantasy for Piano, op. 2 (1898), to Simrock but soon becomes deathly ill.1 Schenker attracts the attention of Eugen d ­ ’Albert, who successfully recommends his Five Pieces for Piano, op. 4 (1898), to ­Breitkopf  & Härtel and programs two of them.2 Schenker also gains the respect of Karl Goldmark, who reportedly writes “a really glowing recommendation to Peters” (which comes to naught) and refers him to ­Ferruccio Busoni, who gives Schenker feedback and helps to promote his music.3 ­Busoni calls the Fantasy “imaginative, altogether significant, thoroughly interesting, of great tension and finest elaboration” and the Syrische Tänze “splendid, original, atmospheric, Secessionistic,” and “ingenious.”4 He successfully recommends the Fantasy to Breitkopf & Härtel, and he programs Schenker’s Syrische Tänze as orchestrated by Schoenberg.5 Contrary to the long-held belief that Busoni or someone else recommends Schoenberg to Schenker to orchestrate the work and/or arranges for him to do it,6 Schoenberg does so on his own initiative, because he likes the work so much.7 Schoenberg subsequently invites Schenker to help him form his Society for Creative Tone-Artists (Vereinigung schaffender Tonkünstler).8 Schoenberg specifically tells Schenker, “I would like to know your standpoint not as a critic but as a creator.”9 I would also like to know Schenker’s standpoint as a creator, particularly as it relates to Schoenberg’s. If Schenker’s music warrants the attention of Brahms and Schoenberg, then maybe it warrants ours, too. But while Schenker’s compositions, which consist of eight published collections and dozens of unpublished pieces,10 may be treasures, they are also in a sense buried: Although scores of writers have purposed to study ­Schenker’s musical thought, few have studied his thinking in music, his

120 Thinking in music writing of scores. Patrick Miller has written an introduction to S ­ chenker’s published compositions, and Benjamin McKay Ayotte has studied a particular voice-leading transformation in Schenker’s vocal music—that is all.11 This lacuna would be astonishing if it were not a symptom of the prevailing narrative: Schenker theorizes tonal music, and Schoenberg composes ­“post-tonal” music. Comparative examination of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s writings in Part I has already shown that the theoretical aspect of this dichotomy is false: Schenker and Schoenberg both theorize music in much the same way—just music, not music of this or that period. Unlike Schoenberg, Schenker sees the evolution of music as having come to an end with its mastery of the fifth partial; however, he sets this absolute limit only in Harmonielehre (but see HL, 27). Even as late as in “Das Tonsystem” (sometime between 1902 and 1905), he leaves open the question whether music will use the higher reaches of the overtones series, whether this beyond that impends such an expansion and revolution for music will ever open up for us, whether a genius will ever be found strong enough to burst our fetters, or whether on the contrary the limitation of our capacity for comprehension will rather remain an eternal and probably also definitive heritage of man.12 His music is even more progressive in this sense: Harmonic and formal analysis of Schenker’s published and unpublished music shows that it embodies the same processes as Schoenberg’s contemporaneous music.13 Although a progressive treatment of dissonance and tonality is not as extreme as with Schoenberg, we can surmise that it is important to Schenker, because he says that he is “very proud” of a particular piece in which he has “breached modernism.”14 This finding would suggest that the compositional aspect of the prevailing dichotomy is also false: To a certain extent, Schenker and Schoenberg have a shared compositional path, which prefigures their theories of composition. Furthermore, this evolutionary path leads to a crisis point: One must either pull back, like Schenker, or continue climbing the overtone series until the ground tone (the tonic) disappears from view, like Schoenberg. Accordingly, Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s mature musical stances represent not just complementary halves of a single contradictory theory, as I suggested in Part I, but complementary developments from a point of relative unanimity. Thus, Schenker’s compositions are treasures in another sense: They enrich our understanding by helping to dissipate erroneous presuppositions. First, I ­explain the interconnected harmonic processes in Schenker’s music; then I show how they are integrated with formal processes by way of an analysis of Schenker’s other new musical fantasy: his Fantasy for Piano, an epic piece that illuminates the dynamics and tensions of Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s turn-of-the-century aesthetic.15

Schenker the progressive  121

Harmony Schenker’s music, like Schoenberg’s contemporaneous music, solves problems, emancipates dissonances, and blurs the ground tone.16 These processes are interlinked and are frequently connected to affect, text expression, and—in the case cited above—Schenker’s own evaluation of the music. Solving problems In his first published composition—Étude, no. 1 of Two Piano Pieces, op. 1 (1892)—Schenker solves a paradigmatic problem such as one finds in Brahms: the ground tone of an apparent six-three chord, which is progressively strengthened.17 Example 4.1 shows the beginning of the exposition, where the problem is introduced. In m. 1, a neighbor note E produces an apparent E-major six-three chord. In the last division of the measure, the chord is upgraded to an apparent five-three chord. In m. 3, it is upgraded still further to a neighboring VI at the climax of the first phrase, mm. 1–4. Example 4.2 shows the end of the recapitulation, where the unrest reaches a peak and is then solved. E leads away from G by tonicizing A (II) in m. 38, which nevertheless promptly collapses into the penultimate V in mm. 39–41. D absorbs a couple of final surges up to E, enlarging and explaining the opening neighbor motion, before handing the reins over to the tonic G.

Example 4.1  Schenker, Étude, no. 1 of Two Piano Pieces, op. 1, presentation at beginning of exposition, mm. 1–4, OJ, 23/1.

122 Thinking in music

Example 4.2  Schenker, Étude, end of recapitulation, mm. 38–44, OJ, 23/1.

In his unpublished “Mädchenlied No. 1,” Schenker solves a similar problem: the ground tone of a six-four chord, which is later strengthened.18 Example 4.3 shows the end of the exposition, where the problem is introduced. In m. 17, an anticipation of F in V in G minor turns what would be V/V into a bizarre VII (F minor). At the climax of the song, m. 43 (not shown), the voice reaches a registrally, metrically, and rhythmically accented F, and the following measure brings a half cadence on V (F major) in B minor. This unfolding of the unrest corresponds with an unfolding expression of anxiety; the climactic word is “klagen” (“complain”). Example 4.4 shows the end of the recapitulation, where the problem is solved: V comes earlier, so it ropes F into its proper role. The unrest in Schenker’s unpublished song “Heimat” (designated op. 6, no. 1), conveys a particular interpretation of the text. In the first stanza, the poet “yearningly” (“sehnsüchtig”) hears the strange “roaring” ­(“Gebrause”) of tall poplars outside his parents’ house. At these words, as shown in

Schenker the progressive  123

Example 4.3  S chenker, “Mädchenlied No. 1,” continuation in exposition, mm. 15–18, OJ, 22/23. There are a few changes in pencil on the ink original, but they are neither clear nor consistent, so I follow the original.

Example 4.4   Schenker, “Mädchenlied No. 1,” continuation in recapitulation, mm. 60–63, OJ, 22/23.

­ xample 4.5, there is a strange chord involving an incomplete neighbor note E F and a passing tone A in E major in mm. 10 and 12. In the second stanza, the poet hears the familiar sound of his mother unlocking the door, and his yearning dissolves in the light of her lamp. As shown in Example 4.6, F becomes the tonic E in E major in m. 23 for the statement, “Und höre sacht die Thüre klinken” (“And hear the door lock softly clink”), and the motive E–A–G in mm. 25–26, later taken up by the piano, clarifies that the F–A chord in mm. 10 and 12 was II (F major) with a suspended fourth that resolves in the next chord (F–A–A = E–A–G). Schenker’s setting, in which the strange chord is domesticized, suggests a reading of the poem as a metaphorical meditation on embracing something foreign. The unrest in Schenker’s unpublished song “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum” similarly expresses a particular interpretation of the text. The text describes a memorable dream about a blooming myrtle tree. The poet wishes that her real flowers were myrtle blossoms and fantasizes about how her love would then take her to the dance and marry her. The music perhaps

Example 4.5  Schenker, “Heimat,” basic idea, mm. 10–13, OJ, 22/3.

Example 4.6  Schenker, “Heimat,” mm. 22–29, OJ, 22/3.

Example 4.7  Schenker, “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum,” version e of a–e, first strophe, mm. 1–9, OJ, 22/26.

126 Thinking in music illustrates the contrast between the myrtle blossoms and the real flowers with two problematic dissonances: B–F and G–A, shown in ­Example 4.7 with the rest of the first strophe. B–F combines with an arpeggiating C to form a Viennese trichord, emphasized with a hairpin. At the word “blühenden” (“blooming”) in m. 4, a transposition of this chord D–C–G appears, confirming an association with the flowers. The opening dissonances develop towards one another, and as they do so, we see the dream flowers and the real flowers transform into each other. In m. 7, the dyad G– A likewise appears as part of a Viennese trichord A–D–G, this one voiced in fourths. In m. 9, marked “ausdrucksvoll,” (“expressively”), the Viennese trichord C–B–F adds a mid-register F, approaching the voicing from m. 7, and the dyad G–A adds E, clarifying its own connection to m. 7. In the coda, marked “sehr ausdrucksvoll” (“very expressively”), the two opening dissonances are reconciled in the two identical altered fourth chords shown in Example 4.8: A–D–G in m. 34 and C–F–B in m. 36. Schenker’s setting seems to suggest that, even if the poet’s dream comes true, it might not turn out quite the way she expects; as reality steps up to realize one’s dreams, one’s dreams get modified, too.

Example 4.8  Schenker, “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum,” middle of coda, mm. 34–36, OJ, 22/26.

Emancipating dissonances As “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum” shows, Schenker has a special interest in the altered fourth chord or more generally the Viennese trichord. The clearest instance is perhaps in the closing section in the unpublished song “Wandrers Nachtlied” (designated op. 6, no. 3), shown in Example 4.9. The final cadential progression in mm. 51–52 is basically IV–I in D major, but a passing tone C turns IV (G major) into a Viennese trichord G–D–C, which is emphasized with syncopation and a fermata. The climactic passage of the unpublished choral piece “­Mondnacht” (designated op. 3, Heft 1, no. 1), shown in Example 4.10, has several instances of the Viennese trichord in different parts of the texture. Notice the anomalous use of divisi in the alto to produce the first one. The tremulous trichords are well suited to the text here, “und von Schauern sanft umweht” (“and by

Schenker the progressive  127 shudders softly fanned”). The beginning of the unpublished song “Meeres Stille” (like “Wandrers ­Nachtlied,” designated op. 6, no. 3), shown in ­Example 4.11, has an altered fifth chord C–G–D and its mirror inversion G–D–A in m. 2, like a reflection in the calm water. Both the Viennese trichord and mirror inversion form a particular link with Schoenberg’s compositional practice.

Example 4.9  Schenker, “Wandrers Nachtlied,” closing section, mm. 49–52, OJ, 22/6.

Example 4.10  Schenker, “Mondnacht,” repetition of basic idea in recapitulation, mm. 17–18, OJ, 22/2.

128 Thinking in music

Example 4.11  Schenker, “Meeres Stille,” beginning of exposition, mm. 1–3, OJ, 22/3.

Schenker also has a special fondness for rhythmic figuration that produces the Viennese trichord and other dissonances. He often uses pedal points, for example A in m. 7, beat 2, of “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum” (Example 4.7), A in m. 17 of “Mondnacht” (Example 4.10), and D in m. 2, beat 1, of “Meeres Stille” (Example 4.11). He often uses unresolved suspensions, for example C, G, and B in m. 4, beat 2, and D and E in m. 7, beat 1, of “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum” (Example 4.7). And he sometimes very strangely retains passing tones after they resolve. The most vivid example is C in m. 1, beat 3, of “Meeres Stille” (Example 4.11), a passing tone that sounds together with its resolution B.19 Another example is E in m. 3, beat 2, of “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum” (Example 4.7), a passing tone that is retained in the piano as the voice continues to D.20 All of these figures involve some kind of vertical overlap of tones that are normally horizontal. Sometimes, Schenker overlaps not simply tones but entire chords, in the sense that two chords have equal claim to being active. In m. 26, beats 1–2, of “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum” (Example 4.12), the chord seems to be a composite of the preceding V79 and the following I. In m. 16 of the Allegro fuoco from Schenker’s Syrische Tänze (Example 4.13), the chord seems to be both V and I at the same time. In the climactic conclusion of the second of Schenker’s Two-Voice Inventions, op. 5 (Example 4.14), the harmony is undecidable at points and involves freakishly remote chords like the Neapolitan minor (II). This is the piece that breaches modernism. It is a short step from using dissonances in overlapping chords to using them freely as emancipated dissonances. In the fifth of Schenker’s Five Piano Pieces, op. 4 (1898), the inverted fourth chord D–E–A or A–D–E appears in m. 1, m. 2, mm. 20–21a (Example 4.15), m. 63, and mm. 64–65, the restatement of mm. 1–2. This chord, which appears with either the tonic D or the dominant A as the ground tone, is analogous to the overlapping tonic and

Schenker the progressive  129

Example 4.12  Schenker, “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum,” middle of third strophe, mm. 25–26 with pickup, OJ, 22/26.

dominant chords described above. A transposition E–A–B–E also appears melodically in the bass in m. 19. In the exposition of the first of Schenker’s Two-Voice Inventions, op. 5 (Example 4.16), the altered fourth chord D–G– C or its inversion C–G–D (reached through a voice exchange) appears in m. 2, beats 1–2, and m. 6, beats 1–2.21 These dissonances are emancipated in that they are no longer referred horizontally to other verticalities but are independent verticalities with their own horizontal extension. Sometimes, Schenker makes the verticalizing of the horizontal as such a focus of the music, more specifically the verticalizing of scales. In a sketch for a trio Scherzo (Example 4.17), a chromatic scale starting in mm. 23 bifurcates and forms a chain of 7–8 suspensions with itself in mm. 25–27. Later in the same movement, there is a succession of whole-tone-related chords C–D7–B–C7 over a whole-tone ostinato D–C–E in mm. 54–66. This succession, representing I in C major, leads to V7/VI, G–B–D in mm. 66–67, which together with the ostinato presents every member of WT(0) except F. Blurring the ground tone As the Scherzo sketch already suggests, the result of working out unrest and emancipating dissonances is that Schenker frequently blurs the relation to the ground tone, often by means of symmetrical scales. In mm. 17–18, beat 1, of “Mondnacht” (Example 4.10), all the tones except the pedal point A are in OCT(1, 2). Although the pedal point clarifies that the music is in D minor, the soprano and tenor lines hint respectively at B minor and G minor. Schenker is fascinated by the hexatonic scale in the form of hexatonic poles. In mm. 66–69 of a trio Allegretto (Example 4.18), there is a progression in

130 Thinking in music

Example 4.13  Schenker, Syrische Tänze for piano four hands, book 1, no. 2, mm. 9–16, OJ, 23/10.

C major that uses HEX(3, 4) for all the chord tones. In mm. 70–74, this pattern is sequenced and varied in D minor, using HEX(1, 2) for all the chord tones except E. In mm. 74–90, the music remains in HEX(1, 2) and oscillates back and forth between the hexatonic poles B major and F minor, erasing all ­ aterial. In the unpublished Stufe implications as it liquidates the thematic m women’s choral piece “Tausend schöne goldne Sterne,” designated op. 8, no.4

Example 4.14  Schenker, no. 2 of Two-Voice Inventions, op. 5, conclusion, mm. 25–28 with pickup, OJ, 23/4.

Example 4.15  Schenker, no. 5 of Five Piano Pieces, op. 4, end of exposition, mm. 17–21a with pickup, OJ, 23/4.

Example 4.16  Schenker, no. 1 of Two-Voice Inventions, op. 5, exposition, mm. 1–8, OJ, 23/4.

Example 4.17  Schenker, sketch for trio Scherzo, in contrasting middle in exposition, mm. 21–28, OJ, 23/20.

Schenker the progressive  133 by an unknown hand (Example 4.19), the climax is a succession of the hexatonic poles E major and C minor in m. 10, whose main Stufe identities are undecidable.22 The climax emphasizes the two main, complementary verbs in the text: The poet wants to “ask” (“erbitte”) all the stars to go away except the two loveliest ones, which “incline” (“neigen”) themselves to the poet. Schenker thus uses the ambiguous hexatonic poles as a symbol of the two lovers lost in each other’s gaze.23 The poetic image recalls Goethe’s specular moment, the basis of his conception of the genius. There is a hint here of an association between erasing the ground tone and trying to see with the eye of the genius.

Example 4.18  Schenker, trio Allegretto, core 2 in contrasting middle, mm. 66–77, OJ, 23/18. Again there are a couple of changes in pencil on the ink original, but they are neither clear nor consistent, so I follow the original.

134 Thinking in music

Example 4.19  Schenker, “Tausend schöne goldne Sterne,” continuation, mm. 5–10, OJ, 22/13.

Form In an oeuvre otherwise constituted of songs, dances, character pieces, incidental music, and fragments, Schenker’s epic Fantasy, op. 2 (1898), stands out as his compositional magnum opus, just as his three-volume New ­Musical Theories and Fantasies stands out as his theoretical magnum opus. A harmonic-formal analysis reveals the harmonic processes described above integrated with motivic development, as described by both Schoenberg and Schenker himself: In several of the parts and in the work as a whole, an initial “problem” or “conflict” tied to a contrast in a “group” of “ideas” is resolved as the motives and Gestalten are “explained,” “brought into proximity,” and “joined.”24 For “each motive is set a special mission in the overall course of the harmonies and keys,” such that the unified “assemblage of a group from several motives” goes hand in hand with “a secure progression of harmonies and, above all, a secure tonal design” (Schenker 2005, 100 and 92). In the Fantasy, ­a lthough the ground tone secures its command in the end, it also betrays its vulnerability. Overview It has been said, as if to minimize Schenker’s role in his own composition, that Busoni “played a major role in the evolution of the Fantasie,” which “embodies all Busoni’s suggestions” for “drastic formal revisions.”25 On the contrary, Busoni plays a minor role, and Schenker does not follow Busoni’s suggestions for the form. The Fantasy is composed of two movements, the first in C major and the second in C minor, although they start out respectively in E major and A major. The first movement is composed

Schenker the progressive  135 of two ternary-form parts joined by a transition, and the second is composed of a theme and variations with an introduction. The two ternary-form parts and the theme and variations originate as three independent pieces, and Busoni suggests combining them as three movements of a single work.26 Schenker instead combines them into two movements, and he adds the transition and introduction parts. Busoni, failing to perceive the two-movement design (which may not be explicit in the manuscript), criticizes “the connective parts between the three movements” as “excessively spun out,” but he “admire[s] how [Schenker] establish[es] organic coherence and unif [ies] the three parts.”27 We will see how Schenker establishes this organic coherence through motivic and tonal development. Elsewhere, Busoni disavows giving compositional advice on the work: “My advice concerning pianistic matters is not of a compositional nature: an artist of your kind no longer requires such.”28 So all that Busoni is known to have contributed is (1) the idea of combining the three separate pieces, and (2) pianistic advice; everything else is evidently Schenker’s creation. It has also been said that “there is no evidence of Schenker’s engagement as a composer with the issues of ‘cyclic form’ [sonata form] which were occupying him as a theorist by the early 1900s” (Cook 2007, 84). On the contrary, Schenker engages with issues of sonata form precisely by turning away from it. Although Schenker (2005, 45 and 67) declares sonata form to be the highest form, he is not interested in the form as a general type but in “the organisation of specific works,” for “inventing new problems” and bringing the work to “perfection” are the main thing. For some artists, the content demands sonata form, and for ­others—such as “a  Schubert, a Schumann and a Chopin,” who are still undisputed ­geniuses—sonata form does not come naturally (Schenker 2005, 65). Moreover, Schenker (2005, 45) seems to suspect that composers of sonata-­ form pieces in his day work “from a preconceived scheme.” Turning away from sonata form is in keeping with Schenker’s content, which is generally more lyrical than dramatic, and it allows him to distance himself from the errors of his time. The formal design of the first movement of the Fantasy, which is diagrammed in Example 4.20, is a kind of inversion of sonata form. In a piece in sonata form, the outer divisions (the exposition and recapitulation) are related by repetition, and the outer sections within those divisions (the primary and closing themes) are sometimes contrasting, but in the first movement of the Fantasy, the outer divisions (the ternary-form parts, which I call A and B) are relatively contrasting, and the outer sections within those ­divisions (the exposition and recapitulation) are related by repetition. As we will see, Schenker makes up for the lack of repetition between the outer divisions by relating the A division and the transition in the first movement to the introduction in the second movement by repetition (with much variation and condensation).

136 Thinking in music A (ternary) exposition (period) antecedent consequent (sentence) 1 13 14 16 E : PAC E D : PAC

contrasting middle (fugue) exposition episode

subject entries

17 26 e

29 30 C

26 29 a : DC

transition (sentential) introduction basic idea

continuation

50 59 E c: early dom.

59 61 c

61 67 c

introductory theme (sentence) 87 94 C: abandoned

closing section ! bridge 94 100 C B

B (ternary) introduction introduction 83 87 C

bridge

cadential 75 77 G: PAC?

closing section/ standing on V 77 82 G/e C

exposition (binary) lead-in theme (period)

pre-core

core

101 16 B

117 131 C: EC

132 139 C D

140 170 D C: PAC

standing on the dominant 271 278 C

subject entries

episode

171 190 c E

215 240 E

241 271 E C: dom. arrival

recapitulation (binary) lead-in theme ! bridge 287 305 305 335 B f f C: abandoned

theme (period) 335 349 C: EC

recapitulation (period) antecedent consequent (sentence) 34 46 47 49 E : PAC c E : EC

70 75 g G

67 70 c g

contrasting middle (fugue) exposition episode 191 214 E

episode ! retransition 31 33 d : abandoned

pre-core 350 357 C D

core 358 395 D C: HC

subject entry 395 402 C

retransition 279 286 C B closing section 402 416 C

Example 4.20  The formal design of Schenker, Fantasy, I.

There are two noteworthy precedents for Schenker’s negation of sonata form in the first movement of the Fantasy, one theoretical and one compositional. First, in Marx’s evolutionary Formenlehre, the final stage, coming even after the pinnacle represented by sonata form, is the fantasy, where “we have become free.”29 Second, the Fantasy shares its formal unconventionality, its title, its ground tone C, and its evocation of a legend with Robert Schumann’s Fantasy, op. 17.30 The first movement of Schumann’s Fantasy deviates from sonata form by casting the exposition as a ternary form (where PSC becomes ABA'), the elaboration as a contrasting middle, and the recapitulation as a restatement of the ternary form where the B section is transposed from D minor and F major to C minor and E major.31 By freeing himself in the fantasy as Marx suggests and by taking after Schumann in his free approach to form, Schenker in effect follows Schoenberg, who writes, “There is only one direct way of connecting to the past…: to start again from scratch,” for “the narrowness of our powers of imagination and conceptualization would impose restrictions upon our true spiritual and instinctual nature,” but the genius “proves his mastery by breaking through the barriers and becoming free.”32 Schenker’s Fantasy also connects to the past by starting from scratch with respect to its themes. As we will see, the exposition in the A division of the first movement, the theme of the theme and variations in the second movement, and the fugue subject of the final variation are all fresh assemblages of motivic

Schenker the progressive  137 ingredients literally from Bach to Brahms; Wagner’s Tristan chord also makes an appearance.33 I invite the reader to follow the melodic examples with the recording on the online portal, which substantiates my remarks about harmony, texture, and expression.34 The first movement The exposition in the A division, mm. 1–16 (Example 4.21), is the Grundgestalt of the entire Fantasy, and it intimates the problem for the whole.35 The Grundgestalt uses the motives and Gestalten of Franz Schubert’s quotation of “Das Wanderer,” D. 489, in the second movement of his own Fantasy in C major, D. 760, mm. 1–8 (Example 4.22). It is almost as if the legend in Schenker’s Fantasy is the legend of the Schubert’s wanderer. The repeated notes and steady eighth-note pulse give a feeling of walking, while the dotted rhythms and unusually slow quarter-note beat project a sense of nobility. The basic idea, mm. 1–2 with the pickup, rises and falls in a magnificent arch, sending out rumbling echoes of o/2 when it lands. The chromatically altered step C–B in m. 2 in o/2 finds a further echo in D–C in m. 3 in o'', a direct development of o. D and to a certain extent C prove to be problematic for E, the ground tone of the A division. The antecedent, after tonicizing F minor with the help of D in m. 11, cadences in D major in m. 13. Note also how D and C undercut the restatement of the basic idea in mm. 14–15. The music needs to clarify these tones, and at the same time, the music needs to explain the coherence of the non-Schubertian q, which rises like a question mark through an ambiguous Viennese trichord D–G–A in a bare-octave texture in m. 7, and whose development q' accompanies the cadence on D in m. 13. To a lesser extent, the music needs to explain p, whose development p' accompanies the tonicization of F minor in m. 11. The problem for the A division, the subtonic D and secondarily the flat submediant C, prefigures the global problem for the work as a whole, the subtonic B of the global ground tone C and secondarily the flat submediant A. The contrasting middle of the A division, mm. 17–33 with the pickup ­(Example 4.23), sets about clarifying C and D by launching into a fugue in the parallel minor key E minor, in which these tones are diatonic. The music also explains the coherence of p and q with other motives and with each other. The stately subject in mm. 17–18 links developments of q back to o, a retrograde of o'', and p'' (compare m. 16). The episode in mm. 26–29 (not shown) links a retrograde inversion of p' back to an inversion of o' (compare m. 1). At the climax of the section, a fortissimo, stretto statement of the subject in mm. 29–30, q''' finally takes on the likeness of p'/2 (compare mm. 15–16). At this moment of connection between p and q, the music also modulates from C major to D minor, connecting the two problematic tones. C in mm. 31–33 refuses to capitulate to D as its leading tone, thereby setting up a recapitulation reharmonized in C minor.

Example 4.21  S chenker, Fantasy, I, exposition in A division, mm. 1–16, melody, OJ, 23/2.

Example 4.22  Schubert, Fantasy in C major, II, mm. 1–8, melody.

Schenker the progressive  139

Example 4.23  Schenker, Fantasy, I, contrasting middle in A division, mm. 17–33 with pickup, melody, OJ, 23/2.

The recapitulation in the A division, mm. 34–49 with the pickup (­ Example 4.24), begins with a dirge-like quality, as if the confrontation with D and C had cost E its life (at least temporarily), but it also brings fresh turmoil.36 The theme appears deep in the left hand under fluctuating figures in the right hand like falling leaves. In m. 36, there is a renewed clash between D and C as II is superposed over I.37 And precisely here, q''' gives rise to a rolling motive r, which like D will require further explanation. Over the course of the continuation, mm. 38–40, B gets the upper hand over C, in that I7 in C minor sounds more and more like I in E major, embellished by C as a neighbor note to B. The time is not ripe for C, nor for its struggle with B. The remainder of the recapitulation brings the problematic D and C under the dominion of E and offers an explanation of the recently revealed r. E turns a sonorous D-major triad in m. 42 into an embellishment of V7/ IV (E7). And in mm. 45–46, C is simultaneously illuminated as a resolution of the Tristan chord, an alternate submediant of E, and the leading tone to C. In the concluding idea, mm. 48–49, r is explained as a midpoint between p and an inversion of o'. The echoes of o/2 in the wake of the basic idea in the A division return in force at the head of the transition, mm. 50–82 (Example 4.25), in the form of the rambunctious new Gestalt s, which produces the sharply dissonant D–E–G chord in m. 50 and D–A–E Viennese trichord in m. 51. The neighbor note D and its chords are hammered so fiercely that they demand further explanation, as does s. The developments of s sweep through almost the entire section, linking back to preceding motives and Gestalten and their forms as if checking them off a list: n, o', and r in m. 53, p' in m. 56, q in mm. 58–59, o in m. 70, m in m. 75, and o/2 in m. 79. In addition, s'' serves as an accompaniment for a variation of the Grundgestalt in mm. 59–66. Meanwhile, D–A–E is inverted about F to form G–D–A in mm. 56–58, which has a different pair of common tones with

Example 4.24  Fantasy, I, recapitulation in A division, mm. 34–49 with pickup, melody, OJ, 23/2.

Schenker the progressive  141 D–E–G. Schenker contrives to give two different functions to G–D–A in C minor: II7 in mm. 56–57 and V79 in m. 58.38 D is further bolstered by a quasi-cadence on II7 in m. 67. During the unusual “standing on the supertonic” in mm. 67–70, D–A–E returns as an embellishment. P ­ umping up its chord to a dominant seventh in m. 70, D points the music toward another unusual cadence: a perfect authentic cadence in G major in m. 77 that is undercut by V in E minor. The implied D–G–A chord in mm. 81–82 represents an approximate mirror inversion of the opening D–E–G chord about F, as the recollection of s in mm. 81–82 makes clear, while the D–G–A chord that it slides to in m. 82 is a revoicing of G–D–A. The opening dissonances are thus explicated and linked in a new way through their mirror inversions. The introduction to the B division, mm. 83–100 (Example 4.26), brings developments of the new motives t and u into play and ushers in the main problem. Until m. 89, the harmonic changes are misaligned between u and u' in the melody and t' in the accompaniment. On account of this misalignment and the insubstantial melody, the introductory theme never really gets going, and it peters out with an abandoned cadence in m. 94. The ground tone C remains unconfirmed, and it yields readily to B when the latter pops out with t'' in mm. 98–99. B taunts C by recalling r' from mm. 37–40, where B easily bested C. But this time, C will not take B’s abuse lying down. The exposition in the B division, mm. 102–170 (Example 4.27), presents the problem more fully and sets to work on it. In the first part of the binary form, a revving introduction in B major, mm. 101–116, again taunts C with a fragment of r', but C grabs G as its dominant, turning the apparent Gm7 in mm. 110–116 into V7 in mm. 117–118 to launch a jaunty theme based on s'''' in mm. 117–131. In the consequent, B in m. 127, seizing the chance to form VII, inserts itself into the ascending bass, which problematically delays C until m. 128 and mangles its chord. (This disruption coincides with the introduction of v, which is held in reserve until the second struggle with B in the theme and variations.) The tumultuous second part, mm. 132–170, leads through D ­major. D forms a symmetrical augmented triad with B in mm. 144–147, which together with other vagrant chords in mm. 148–158 counteracts the pull of B in such a way that D can coopt B as an altered fifth A in m. 159, turning what would otherwise be VII into II and leading the music back to C.39 The crucial augmented triad in mm. 144–147 coincides with a link between t''/2 and s''''/2. But there remains a split between t and u, first seen in the introduction of the B division, which was where B broke out in the first place. Like the contrasting middle of the A division, the contrasting middle of the B division, mm. 171–286 (Example 4.28), tries to clarify the problematic subtonic (in this case, B) with a fugue starting in the parallel minor key (in this case, C minor), and at the same time it connects t and u. The tortuous subject hammers an inversion of t''/2 into u' in m. 174, at which point a new Gestalt w pops up in mm. 175–178, although developments of w promptly connect with a couple of preceding motive-forms: an inversion of q''' in mm. 195–196 and s''''/2 in mm. 211–214. Meanwhile, B major appears not only as V in E major

Example 4.25  Schenker, Fantasy, I, transition, mm. 50–82, melody, OJ, 23/2.

Schenker the progressive  143

Example 4.26  Schenker, Fantasy, I, introduction in B division, mm. 83–100, melody, OJ, 23/2.

in m. 178 but also, extraordinarily, as V in E major in m. 219, a paradox that seems like a joke (see the “scherz.” marking in m. 215) unless one can perceive B as the subtonic of C. For if B is the subtonic of C, and E and E are both mediants of C, then B can be the dominant of both E and E. The music seems to spell out these tonal relations with motivic relations. The remote V in E major in m. 219 coincides with an inversion of r, remote from the prevailing w and its developments. But with the return of C major, the link between B and E, w''' in mm. 267–269 is reinterpreted as an inversion of r. Similar to the recapitulation in the A division, which began like a dirge, the first part of the recapitulation in the B division, mm. 287–416, shows the contestants C and B worn down by the preceding battle. In the introduction in B major, the mediant D sinks to D in m. 295, turning what had been a sprightly I in mm. 109–116 in the exposition into a swooning VI7 in mm. 295–305. C takes the stage in mm. 305–306, but only at a pianissimo “sotto voce,” and only as the dominant of F, as if C is out of breath and ready to collapse. C accordingly fails in its initial attempt to launch its theme in mm. 305–335. The rest of the first part and the beginning of the second part, mm. 335–376, are like those in the exposition, mm. 117–158.

Example 4.27  Schenker, Fantasy, I, exposition in B division, mm. 101–170, melody, OJ, 23/2. Note: The first ending of the repeat is almost identical to m. 96, beat 2, through m. 100, shown in Example 4.26. The second ending is in Example 4.28.

Example 4.28  Schenker, Fantasy, I, contrasting middle in B division, mm. 171–286, melody, OJ, 23/2.

146 Thinking in music Where things get particularly interesting is m. 377 toward the end of the recapitulation (Example 4.29), where B, ready for the trial this time around, retains its hold on the chord instead of succumbing to D as in m. 159, thereby instigating a raucous confrontation with C. B unfurls a dominant seventh chord in mm. 377–381. C responds with a full-chord press: chords on its dominant, mediant, and tonic in mm. 381–389, showing B as part of the series of thirds B–G–E–C both horizontally and vertically.40 This move turns the tables on B, which first took hold through the series of thirds C–A–F–D–B in mm. 96–98. The newly emboldened C now makes an audacious move, showing B as part of a series of fifths, each of which is an applied flat ninth, B–E–A–D in mm. 389–393.41 As C draws its net around B, an altered version of the fugue subject in mm. 395–402 makes a pair of extraordinary motivic connections. First, an inversion of w''' in mm. 395–396 circles back to its origin in t''/2. Second, the subject as a whole circles back to the basic idea of the Grundgestalt by producing a flickering apparition of n and o at their original pitch level in the upper voice of the compound melody. At the conclusion of the subject, C lays hold of B in the VII–I progression in mm. 401–402, thereby correcting the mangled progression in mm. 127–128 and 345–346. C then struts up and down the staves in triumph in mm. 402–416 with its underling E in tow.

Example 4.29  Schenker, Fantasy, I, end of recapitulation in B division, mm. 377–416, melody, OJ, 23/2.

Schenker the progressive  147 But this triumph is not the end of the story. B insidiously traces out a subset of WT(0) with C–E in mm. 401–402. And without G there to rule out the possibility—G is nowhere to be heard except as a thickening of the chords in mm. 411, 413, and 415—C–E as part of WT(0) implies a continuation by A, still ringing in the mind from the apex of the subject in m. 398, to form A+ (VI). This subliminal augmented triad is strengthened by the association between t''/2 and augmented triads in mm. 144–147, 156–158, 362–365, and 374–376. And this symmetrical substitute for I, especially following a substitute for V, undermines the tonality. The implied A emerges when the second movement begins in A major. The second movement In the second movement, we want to observe the rearrangement of Bach and Brahms mentioned earlier, the continued development of parts of the Grundgestalt, the resurgence and quelling of B, and secondarily the quelling of A. The main tonal polarity this time is between the tonic and subtonic minor regions instead of the tonic and subtonic major. But I will not weary the reader with an exhaustive analysis. We will focus our attention on the introduction, the theme, and the final variation. The introduction or “Preludio” consists of two variations of the Grundgestalt that array the main ground tones A, B, and C. In the antecedent of the first variation, mm. 1–4 (Example 4.30), a B-minor triad in m. 2 loosens the grip of the ground tone A by acting as a pivot chord. A failed consequent, mm. 5–14 (not shown), leads farther afield by tonicizing the corresponding B-minor triad in m. 6 before turning to C minor. The second variation, mm. 14–20, recalls the one heard in the transition in the first movement and similarly serves as a transition between the introductory theme and the theme proper.

Example 4.30  Schenker, Fantasy, II, beginning of introduction, mm. 1–4, melody, OJ, 23/2.

The theme, mm. 21–25 (Example 4.31), which formulates the problem, is also a variation of the Grundgestalt. It uses the same motives as the beginning of the primary theme (also in C minor) of the third movement of Brahms’s Symphony No. 3, mm. 1–12 (Example 4.32). The theme shows the recently minted p''' as a combination of m and m', but it also brings back v, which the first movement left hanging. Motive v in m. 23 with its climactic B is harmonized by a diminished seventh chord that seems to point to F minor, and v in m. 5 is similarly harmonized by a diminished seventh chord that seems to point to B

148 Thinking in music minor. In the variations, B minor becomes a persistent trouble spot, tonicized in variations 5–11 from several angles, and both v and B require explanation.

Example 4.31  Schenker, Fantasy, II, theme, mm. 21–25, reduced, OJ, 23/2 (2:37 on recording).

Example 4.32  Brahms, Symphony No. 3, III, beginning of primary theme, mm. 1–12, melody.

The final variation (no. 17) is a fugue whose subject, mm. 161–164 (­ Example 4.33), rewrites the subject of Bach’s Fugue No. 12 in F minor from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 2, mm. 1–4 (Example 4.34), so as to introduce the new motive-form t'''. The culmination, mm. 241–248 (Example 4.35), then brings the theme back over t''', revealing a latent connection with v. Similarly, the implicit tonicizations of IV and VII in the theme are realized: V79/IV in m. 243 leads to V79/VII in m. 244, a transformation of IV, which in turn leads to VII. The troublesome ground tones B and A churn over C in mm. 241–245 like louring storm clouds. At last, B in m. 245 mutates chromatically to B in m. 246, showing these tones as alternative inflections of the seventh scale degree. As the unyielding C finally absorbs B through B in m. 246 and its fifth G absorbs A in m. 247, an embellishment of the melody brings back o/2: What was the first sign of trouble in the Grundgestalt is now a proclamation of victory. The statements of t''' in the accompaniment conclude with an inversion of m' and n, the motive-forms with which the movement began. “Form as well as harmony have come full circle” (HL, 288/217).

Example 4.33  Schenker, Fantasy, II, beginning of variation no. 17, mm. 161–164 with pickup, OJ, 23/2 (11:26 on recording).

Example 4.34  Bach, Fugue No. 12 in F minor, from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 2, mm. 1–4.

Example 4.35  Schenker, Fantasy, II, culmination, mm. 241–248 with pickup, reduced, OJ, 23/2 (13:13 on recording).

150 Thinking in music Let us review the development in this mammoth piece. In the A division of the first movement, D (with C) is a problem for E, foreshadowing the problem of the whole, and q, p, and r are unclear motives and Gestalten. In the transition, D and more specifically D–E–G and D–A–E are unclear dissonances, and s is an unclear Gestalt. In the B division, B is a problem for C, and t, u, and w are unclear. In the second movement, B (with A) returns as a problem for C, now focusing on minor instead of major, and v returns as an unclear motive. *** In Schenker’s music, as in Schoenberg’s early music, solving problems is tied to emancipating dissonances and blurring the relation to the ground tone, and these processes are integrated with development of a ­Grundgestalt. In the case of Schenker’s Fantasy, the problematic B is made more consonant in such a way that it can substitute for B, as in the first movement, m. 401, or alternate with B, as in the second movement, mm. 245–246. The substitution in the first movement points toward a whole-tone scale; the alternation in the second movement points toward a chromatic scale. We have seen how the whole-tone relations subtly diminish the power of C in the first ­movement. In the second movement, the power of C is undiminished by the chromatic relations; nevertheless, the brutality of its reiterations in the theme and in the concluding ostinato reveals the repressive nature of its rule. Like the music in the Fantasy, Schenker and Schoenberg face the alternatives of repressing or accepting the suspension of tonality as the eventual outcome of solving problems and emancipating dissonances. One can either draw an absolute limit to the evolution of perception and music and stop composing, as Schenker does, or one can damn the torpedoes and go ahead, come what may, as Schoenberg does. To be sure, there are other factors in Schenker’s change from composition to theory, but they do not suffice as an explanation. Despite his evident talent, Schenker recognizes “that I equal no master, let alone surpass one,” and he reports that he “felt the duty to set in the world what [he] alone knew.”42 But what he implicitly knew about music as a composer was different from what he explicitly dogmatized as a theorist. Why does he change his mind? On another occasion, Schenker reports that “when I saw how Brahms was misunderstood, I suffered so much that I dropped everything and set about writing my theoretical works.”43 This explanation seems to allude to the politicized reception of Brahms in fin-de-­siècle ­Vienna as outdated in comparison to modern composers taking after ­Wagner (Notley 2006, 8). Schenker is critical of Wagner in his first major theoretical work Harmonielehre and especially in “The Decline of the Art of Composition,” while he praises Brahms as the last master (HL, 174; Schenker 2005, 114 and 34). But his reverent allusion to both Brahms’s Symphony No. 1 and Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde in his Fantasy potently

Schenker the progressive  151 illustrates his earlier ecumenical position, which he shares with Schoenberg, that both Brahms and Wagner are progressive.44 Here again, why does he change his mind? The findings here suggest: He comes to think that he himself has misunderstood Brahms as progressive when he represses his own progressive tendencies.

Notes 1 Schenker (1933, 478). Schenker may get acquainted with Brahms through Julius Epstein. Miller (1991, 179). 2 Breitkopf & Härtel, letter to Schenker, November 9, 1897, in Bent, Bretherton, and Drabkin (2014); and Eugen d’Albert, letter to Schenker, January 17, 1898, in ibid., 17. 3 Schenker, letter to Busoni, May 18, 1897, in ibid., 9; and Busoni, letter to Schenker, May 17, 1897?, in ibid., 9. 4 Busoni, letters to Schenker, February 19, 1898, in HS, 81; undated, in HS, 81; and February 11, 1900, in HS, 82. Busoni approaches Schenker in an undated letter, in HS, 77. 5 Breitkopf & Härtel, letter to Schenker, May 3, 1898, in Bent, Bretherton, and Drabkin (2014, 21). A program for the première of the Syrische Tänze on November 5, 1903, is in ibid., 42–43. 6 This opinion seems to originate with Charlotte E. Erwin and Bryan R. Simms (1981, 25–26), and it has been perpetuated to this day, for example by Arnold Whittall, introduction to Chapter 2 in Bent, Bretherton, and Drabkin (2014, 30). 7 On August 27, Schenker receives a proposal from Busoni to program the work. Bent, Bretherton, and Drabkin (2014, 35n1). Schenker replies that “some three years ago… Schoenberg… asked me if he might orchestrate the pieces,” and that he referred Schoenberg to Universal Edition, who owned the work, and he asks Busoni whether he would find Schoenberg’s orchestration acceptable. Ibid., 36. Bent, Bretherton, and Drabkin date this reply ca. September 1, 1903, but this dating is inaccurate, because the letter chronologically precedes one dated August 30, 1903, in which Schenker tells Busoni that his “thoughts are quite different” from before, and that he would “prefer to make the score myself, regardless of whether or not Schoenberg has already done it.” Ibid., 36. Schenker apparently asks Schoenberg about the status of the work, and on September 12, Schoenberg reports that he has indeed been working on the orchestration for “thirteen full working days” and immediately raises the matter of a fee. Ibid., 39. (It is not unheard of for Schoenberg to begin work before reaching an agreement.) At this point or earlier, Schenker acquiesces, but after making an offer of payment, he apparently keeps his distance from Schoenberg. It is likely that Schenker holds a grudge against Schoenberg for insinuating himself into the project, especially after the “largely disastrous” première. Ibid., 42. 8 Schoenberg, letter to Schenker, January 1904, SC. 9 Schoenberg, letter to Schenker, February 10, 1904, SC. 10 Ayotte (2008, 12 and 20–21). Most of Schenker’s musical manuscripts and copies of his published compositions are housed in the Oswald Jonas Memorial Collection (OJ). 11 Ibid. and Miller (1991). 12 Schenker, “Das Tonsystem,” OC, 31/393. 13 Both Schenker and Alexander Zemlinsky study composition with Johann Nepomuk Fuchs, and Schoenberg studies with Zemlinsky. However, I have not been able to find any of the processes examined here in Fuchs’s music.

152 Thinking in music 14 Schenker, letter to Julius Röntgen, April 13, 1901, quoted in Ayotte (2008, 17). 15 I am alluding, of course, to Schenker’s New Musical Theories and Fantasies. 16 On the connection between emancipating dissonances and blurring the ground tone in Schoenberg’s early music, see Haimo (2006, 21–22). 17 The texture of the Étude recalls the beginning of Brahms’s String Quintet in G major, op. 111, which analogously develops an apparent E-minor six-three chord. Severine Neff, personal communication. On six-three chords in Brahms, see Smith (1997). 18 Here, too, Brahms provides a model, setting the same text in his op. 107, no. 5 (1887). Severine Neff, personal communication. 19 C is also the seventh of the preceding V7, so it could also be interpreted as an anomalous pedal point, but that would not make it any less strange. 20 The passing status of E is confirmed by the restatement of m. 3 in m. 22, when it is not retained. 21 Also, the form E–B–E appears in m. 10, beat 2. 22 The chord is notated D–G–C to participate in a passing motion E–D–C–B in mm. 10–13, but a footnote specifies that the chord stands for E–G–C. 23 Schenker uses the same image, albeit more indirectly, in the unpublished song “Der Himmel hat keine Sterne so klar” (OJ, 22/24), which similarly ranks the beloved’s eyes greater than the stars: At the word “Augenpaar” (“pair of eyes”) in m. 6, the music touches on the flat submediant minor region. 24 Schenker (2005, 56, 45, and 101). The latter passage pertains to cyclic form, but it is more widely applicable. On groups, see especially HL, 241–245. 25 Cook (2007, 84). Cook goes a step further than Patrick Miller (1991, 182), who claims that Busoni “was probably responsible for shaping the final outcome of the piece.” 26 Busoni, undated letter to Schenker, in HS, 80. The letter is dated 1897 by Jeanette Schenker. 27 Busoni, letter to Schenker, February 19, 1898, in HS, 81. In the same letter, ­Busoni recommends getting rid of variations 6 and 7 on account of their subjectivity. Schenker keeps them but adds a footnote saying that they can be omitted in performance. 28 Busoni, letter to Schenker, August 31, 1897, in HS, 79. 29 Marx (1868, 3:336). Thank you to Jason Hooper for this observation. 30 Miller (1991, 181). Schenker heads his Fantasy with the marking “a modo di leggenda”; Schumann marks the second part of the first movement “im Legendenton.” 31 For a different view of the form and a survey of earlier studies, see Ponce (2014). 32 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen und Sprüche,” SC, T50.08, 3; and HL, 396. 33 Schoenberg specifies that one may reuse motives in different contexts, and he does so, as I discuss in Chapter 8. HL, 127. 34 The audio examples can be accessed via the online Routledge Music Research Portal: www.routledgemusicresearch.co.uk. See the List of Audio Examples (p. xii) for log-in details. 35 I realize that this is passage is rather large for a Grundgestalt. I find it analytically fruitful to regard it as such, but an argument could be made for a smaller one as well. 36 Cf. the dirge-like second movement of the “Eroica,” in C minor after E major. 37 There is a similar but less intense clash between a prolonged V and I in m. 35, beats 1–3. 38 G, D, and A are also the tones of the original q in m. 7, as an inversion of q in mm. 58–59 reminds us.

Schenker the progressive  153 39 D can also be considered the inversional balance to B around C, effecting a large-scale turn in the introduction and exposition C–B–C–D–C. 40 Incidentally, the VII7–V–III progression here is also unified by the OCT(1,2) collection. 41 I follow Schoenberg in reading diminished seventh chords as incomplete dominant ninth chords. HL, 193. 42 Schenker, diary entry, October 4, 1931, in HS, 21. Cook (2007, 85) makes a somewhat similar point. Schenker’s theoretical work also complements his editorial work in recovering composers’ intentions. HS, 20–21. 43 Hans Wolf, “Schenkers Persönlichkeit im Unterricht,” Der Dreiklang 7 (1937): 182, trans. in Miller (1991, 194). 44 Schoenberg, “Brahms the Progressive,” in SI, 398–441.

References Ayotte, McKay. 2008. “Incomplete Ursatzformen Transferences in the Vocal Music of Heinrich Schenker.” PhD diss., Michigan State University. Bent, Ian, David Bretherton, and William Drabkin, eds. 2014. Heinrich Schenker: Selected Correspondence. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press. Cook, Nicholas. 2007. The Schenker Project: Culture, Race, and Music Theory in Fin-de-Siècle Vienna. New York: Oxford University Press. Erwin, Charlotte E., and Bryan R. Simms. 1981. “Schoenberg’s Correspondence with Heinrich Schenker.” Journal of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute 5:23–43. Haimo, Ethan. 2006. Schoenberg’s Transformation of Musical Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marx, Adolf Bernhard. 1868. Die Lehre von der musikalischen Komposition, praktisch theoretisch. 4 vols. 4th ed. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel. Miller, Patrick. 1991. “The Published Music of Heinrich Schenker: An Historical-­ Archival Introduction.” Journal of Musicological Research 10 (3–4):177–197. Notley, Margaret Anne. 2006. Lateness and Brahms: Music and Culture in the Twilight of Viennese Liberalism. New York: Oxford University Press. Ponce, Adriana. 2014. “Form, Diversity, and Lack of Fulfillment in the First Movement of Schumann’s Fantasie op. 17.” Music Theory Online 20 (3). Schenker, Heinrich. 1933. “Erinnerungen an Brahms.” Deutsche Zeitschrift 46:475–482. ———. 2005. “The Decline of the Art of Composition: A Technical-Critical Study.” Translated by William Drabkin. Music Analysis 24 (1–2):33–129. Smith, Peter H. 1997. “Brahms and Motivic 6/3 Chords.” Music Analysis 16 (2):175–217.

5 The cold shoulder

I always and again went to this mirror With all my wishes, my ideas and dreams, So that they could at last be realized— They always looked, however, pale and dark. —Stefan George (1907)

The blurring of the ground tone produced by solving problems and emancipating dissonances, already observed in Schenker’s music, crosses a line at the end of Schoenberg’s period of transformation (1899–1909).1 His song “Ich darf nicht dankend,” op. 14, no. 1 (completed December 17, 1907), is evidently his “decisive,” “first step” in writing non-tonal music and emulating the genius,2 a fact that only Christian Hauer recognizes.3 Part of the reason the significance of this song has escaped people is that it actually ends with a tonic triad, which is rather unusual for a non-tonal piece. This B-minor triad has caused a stir, because everywhere else in the song, the successor to the preceding altered fourth chord, A–D–G, is a regular fourth chord, A–D–G. Some say that this triad is just “wrong,” or at least abnormal.4 Others have conflicting reactions. Hauer finds that “the coherence of the work” is ensured by motivic unity as opposed to tonality, in such a way that the tonic triad is not “called for by what precedes it,” but he also finds the curious chord appropriate for the text, which ends with a question.5 If the chord fits the text but does not seem to fit the music, which reflects the text, then there is a good chance that the theory is wrong, not the chord. Is it really reasonable to impugn a chord as wrong or uncalled for because it is a variation instead of an exact repetition? An overriding false assumption in these judgments is that non-tonal music lacks a tonic, that if a tonic triad appears in what would otherwise be a non-tonal piece, then it must be wrong, because it is not even supposed to exist.6 But as we have seen, non-tonal music for Schoenberg still has a ground tone (tonic); it is just that the music will “leave the question entirely open” to the ear of which tone is the ground tone (HL, 146/128). (It may still be identifiable through score analysis.) Nevertheless, while there have been

The cold shoulder  155 many spurious studies that purport to show that Schoenberg’s non-tonal music actually does have tonality, only one study by Neff (2006, 184) on the Second String Quartet has suggested how Schoenberg’s music can have a tonic but not tonality. Not coincidentally, Neff is one of the few writers to suggest that the B-minor triad is integral to “Ich darf nicht dankend.”7 There is also disagreement about the expressive meaning of the absence of tonality: One critic has suggested that it signifies imperfection, while others have suggested that it signifies a higher or transfigured world (a more perfect world?).8 So if we can broaden our understanding of suspended tonality to encompass the unusual, initial case of “Ich darf nicht dankend,” then perhaps we can also better understand its significance for Schoenberg. There are also gaps in formal and text-music analysis of the song. Some formal analysis has been done, but only Christian Raff has conscientiously applied Schoenberg’s theory of form to this task, and only for the first half of the song.9 And even though the song’s full title is “Ich darf nicht dankend… aus: Waller im Schnee (Stefan George),” text-music analysis has mostly ignored George’s broader poem cycle.10 Schoenberg does not always identify poem cycles in his titles; conversely, he sometimes identifies collections that are not cycles, so the reference to Waller im Schnee cannot be written off as automatic.11 A more thorough harmonic, formal, and text-music analysis, drawing on Schoenberg’s writings and paintings, shows that the altered fourth chord and the tonic triad that it nullifies in “Ich darf nicht dankend” are tied to the poet’s and Schoenberg’s desolation. This association between suspended tonality and alienation—between blankness and blindness—continues in his later music.12 The first section analyzes the text; the second, Schoenberg’s relation to the text; and the third, the music.

The text George’s poem cycle Waller im Schnee (Journey Through Snow) is one of three seasonal cycles—fall, winter, and summer—that form the first part of the book Das Jahr der Seele (The Year of the Soul, first published in 1897). In this book, George puts aside the mythical and historical settings of his earlier works (Norton 2002, 206), and the poet addresses individuals who resemble people that George is attracted to (Schultz 2005, 80 and 82). However, the poems are not love poems. Rather, Das Jahr der Seele, like its predecessors, embodies an aim of self-realization in the shaping of a transcendent poetic vision (Faletti 1983, 11–14). But the book also “eulogizes” this aim (Norton 2002, 210). For like Schenker and Schoenberg, George follows Goethe and the Romantics in replacing organized religion with genial art aimed at a unity of subject and object while yet sensing its emptiness. In the words of Margarete Susman (1910, 45–47), a member of George’s circle of devotees, the subject, sunk into the indifference point [of subject and object], feeling itself at home only in the undetermined absolute, can accordingly

156 Thinking in music grasp the ultimate value only in itself, and only insofar as its depth is sufficiently great. Thus, the individual determination as capability mixes with the pure subject. It becomes the genial individual, who has to realize himself. But “the individual lived only off of himself, related only to himself; all substance dissolved within; the world disintegrated—and so the bitter longing indeed awakened for a world, for substance, for religion, for the lost counterpart.” So “it is from now on with all high spirits,” such as George, “the same reason that drives them to the threshold of the all-holiest and back again or only lets them sink down thereupon as something broken.” The sense that everything has dissolved, that nothing is substantial, is the sense of alienation. In Das Jahr der Seele, the aim of self-realization in the shaping of a poetic vision figures as the poet’s goal of connecting with a second person. George ([1928] 1974, 119) writes that “in this book the I and the You represent the same soul to an almost unprecedented extent.” The poet, the I, is himself aware of his identity with the You and longs for the specular moment when he would see himself seeing himself in her.13 The poet and the second person thus represent the real self and the ideal self. The poetic vision for Waller im Schnee (George [1928] 1974, 127–131) is associated with spring; just as the vision is not realized until the cycle is over, spring does not come until winter is over. The second person shows the poet the glimmering beauty of nature in winter and makes him long to have a hidden spring appear and to connect with her, but the second person rejects, disappoints, disregards, and abandons him, even as spring arrives. This rejection and disappointment represent alienation. It is necessary to examine the poems in considerable detail, because the cycle is an intertext not only for op. 14, no. 1 (1907), but also for op. 19 (1911), analyzed in the next two chapters. Schoenberg undertakes a brief period of intensive painting in 1907–1912 that spans the composition of both works,14 and as a prelude to a more particular consideration of his relation to the text, I will discuss a number of pictures from 1909 and 1910—especially his fantastical paintings, with which alone he is satisfied15 —that mirror and play with images in the poems. The ten poems in the cycle are organized into six narrative groups. In the first group—the first poem—the poet describes his titular journey, which represents a “pilgrimage to the center of the self” (Faletti 1983, 102): The stones, which jutted in my road, have all Been spirited away and softly shrined In banks of snow. To distant skies it swells, The flakes are weaving at a ghostly pall, And when they touch my lashes with the wind, They seem to flicker as when weeping wells.

The cold shoulder  157 I look to stars, for no one guides my quest, They leave me lonely in the spectral night. I wish that I could slowly sink to rest, Unconscious of myself in drifts of white. But if the tempest whirled me to the edge, The gusts of death decoyed into their keep, Once more for door and shelter I should make. Perhaps that hidden there beyond the ledge Of mountains, lies a hope of youth, asleep. A first and tender breath—and it’s awake! The snow covers everything: “the stones… have all been spirited away,” and “the flakes are weaving at a ghostly pall.” This covering of snow both contains and blocks off goals of solace: “rest… in drifts of white” that would entail death, and especially a “hope of youth” in the coming spring, which is ­“hidden… beyond the ledge / Of mountains.” The poet’s blocked journey through snow is mirrored by spring’s blocked emergence from the snow. N ­ ature also mirrors the poet’s sadness and isolation: The “flakes” “flicker” on his “lashes… as when weeping wells,” and the stars resemble the lonely poet’s eyes. Schoenberg’s painting Nachtstück [II] (Nocturne), with a path leading into the distance at night, calls to mind a nocturnal journey through snow.16 The high vanishing point and the slanted horizon give the sense that the path leads over a ledge. The elevated vanishing point, which is characteristic of Schoenberg’s art, also contributes to his manipulation of perspective, where “the eye as a fixed viewpoint finds itself in or at the back of the image” (Budde 2004, 16), and “paths leading into the depths… at the same time come out of the depths” (Oberhuber 2004, 99). This effect is congruent with the role of nature in the cycle as a mirror of the soul. One of Schoenberg’s Blicke (Gazes) shows a gaunt face, flushed from crying, with a white halo and glowing eyes, somewhat like the weary poet, sad and alone in the snow, looking to the stars.17 In the second group—the next two poems—the poet recalls to a second person how she invited him to go on the journey and how they used to enjoy nature in winter: I feel as if a glance had slit the dark. So shyly you elected me to go With you, your voice and gesture moved me so, That I forgot our path was steep and stark. You praised the grandeur of the silent earth In silver leaves and frosty rays, unsown With infelicities and strident mirth. We christened her the pale, the chaste, the lone,

158 Thinking in music And to her strength and majesty averred: The sounds which floated through the stainless air, The shapes which filled the skies, were lordlier Than any night in May had yet conferred. We took the usual path with joy and fear Time and again in late and moonlit hours, As though we wandered, wet with dripping flowers, Into enchanted woods of yester-year. You led me to the valley spells enchain With languid perfumes and a naked light, And showed me from afar where tombs incite A dreary love to grow in frosts of pain. The second person moves the poet with the beauty of nature in winter and, like the poet, mirrors nature in winter: The person who “shyly… elected” the poet reflects “the pale, the chaste, the lone” earth, and her “glance” that “slit the dark” reflects the “frosty rays.” At the heart of nature in winter is a forested valley that still contains “frosts” and even “tombs” but also has a phantasmally spring-like and not particularly chaste character: The poet and the second person are enchanted by “languid perfumes and a naked light” and seem to be “wet with dripping flowers.” This imaginary flowering valley echoes the poet’s “hope of youth” hidden beyond the mountains. The sensual, floral imagery suggests that the poet’s hope is to unite with the second person, for spring to come. One of Schoenberg’s landscapes seems to show a glittering and majestic snow-covered ledge crowned with bushes, like the wintry landscape that inspires the poet.18 There is again a path, now running along the base. This painting resembles a mirror image of one version of Fleisch (Flesh), which shows a reclining female body with a glowing core, the arms stretched up invitingly.19 In particular, the wavy ledge resembles the curvaceous upper outline, the base of the ledge resembles the lower outline, and the bushes on the ledge resemble the hands. Alternatively, the drawing shows two figures walking toward a pass.20 In all these respects, Fleisch calls to mind the carnal valley hidden beyond the snow-covered ledge. In the third group—the text of the song—the poet complains to the second person that he cannot connect with her either physically or emotionally: I may not kneel and thank you who were lent The spirit of the fields which nurtured us, And when I try to ease your wistfulness, You draw away in token of dissent. And is it still your cruel plan to keep Your sorrow—kin to mine—in secrecy, And only walk abroad with it and me Along the river glazed with shining sleep?

The cold shoulder  159 The poet is still on the journey through snow, walking “along the river glazed with shining sleep,” which recalls the “hope of youth, asleep,” but now he is accompanied by the second person.21 The reappearance of the second person shows that she is not an actual, separate person: Her sorrow is “kin” to the poet’s, although she refuses to acknowledge this kinship. Again she mirrors nature in winter: She is of “the spirit of the fields which nurtured us,” but she is cold and cruel, rebuffing the poet like the drifts of snow. Literally, the poet says, “If my solace tries to nestle up to your melancholy, / Then it will jerk in a warning gesture.” (Will sich mein Trost an deine Wehmut schmiegen, / So wird sie zucken um ihm abzuwinken.) Basically, the poet cannot connect with the second person any more than spring can come in winter. The left panel in Schoenberg’s painting Gruppe vor knieendem Christus shows a pair of individuals who resemble the morose poet and the aloof second person.22 The man stands near a shadowy, rising path, like the poet’s path, and he raises his hand to his mouth apprehensively as he approaches the woman.23 The woman is bathed in light and kneels on the ground with hands folded reverently, like the second person, who is of “the spirit of the fields which nurtured us.” Like the poet who cannot see or realize himself in the second person, the man cannot see the woman’s face, and he is faceless. The divided pair of individuals echoes the pair of trees in the corner, just as the bushes in the landscape painting mirror the walking figures in Fleisch. The painting Bund (Alliance) shows a pair of hands emerging from a unified background, clasping, and reuniting through an exchange of blood vessels, which is like the poet’s aim of uniting with the second person, who is also himself.24 In the fourth group—the next poem—the poet narrates a disappointing connection with the second person through worship: That evening, when the candles had been lit For you, I said a benediction and Gave you a diamond, the most exquisite Of all my gifts, placed on a velvet band. But you know nothing of the solemn rite Of burnished candelabra, tier on tier, Of vessels breathing clouds of stainless white To warm the temple, somber and austere Of niches brimming with their angel throngs Reflected in the lustre’s prismed glass, Of ardent prayers told with faltering tongues, Of darkness sighing with a faint: Alas! And nothing of desires that awake Upon the festive altar’s lower rows. Uncertain, cold, and dubious, you take The jewel born of glitter, tears, and glows.

160 Thinking in music The pilgrimage reaches its destination here, a temple of the all-holiest, representing “the center of being,” and correspondingly the poetic year reaches its midpoint: This poem is the central poem of the thirty-one poems in the three seasonal cycles (Faletti 1983, 112). The temple recasts nature in winter. The pure white snow becomes “clouds of stainless white,” the stars become candles, and the frozen river becomes stained-glass windows, while the cold, darkness, and gloom remain the same. The trees with “silver leaves” become the “burnished candelabra,” the lordly shapes in the sky perhaps become angels, and the sensuous valley becomes “the festive altar’s lower rows.” The diamond—a finely wrought, precious nugget—represents a poem.25 In fact, it represents this very poem. The self-referentiality of the poem is suggested by the change of tense from past to present (“I… / Gave you a diamond…. You take / The jewel.”), which gives the impression of the narrative catching up with and merging with the action. Correspondingly, the poet finally connects with the second person—she does in fact take the diamond—and he sees himself in her, but it turns out that at his core, he is cold-hearted and afraid (“uncertain, cold, and dubious”). As Schoenberg says, the “truth” is “hardly bearable,” and in what follows, the poet blocks it out, persisting in his efforts to connect with the second person as if more could be expected from her (HL, 326). One of Schoenberg’s self-portraits shows a sneering face that calls to mind the second person’s cold, dubious reception of the diamond.26 The face is red and melting, as if seen through tears by candlelight, or as if flushed and weeping. In the fifth group—the next three poems—the shattered poet, not knowing who else to turn to and having lingered in the temple to where it becomes a house, complains to the second person that he cannot connect with her through domestic comforts: I taught you to discern the winning peace Within these walls, the quiet rays which fall From lamp and hearth, the croon in nook and niche, You have the same and vague amaze for all. I cannot fan your pallor into flame, And in the room beside I kneel and break My silent thoughts with doubt I cannot tame: Will you awaken—ever? Oh awake! But when I venture to approach the door, You still are lost in dreams, your eye upon The emptiness of space, just as before. Your shadow blots the carpet’s same festoon. And there is nothing now to stem the plea I never practiced and I know is vain: O Mother—great and sad—concede to me That solace spring within this soul again!

The cold shoulder  161 Your beauty while you mourn, my loyalty Compel me to remain and cherish you. That I may share your grief more perfectly I try devoutly to be mournful too. With tender words I never shall be met. Up to the latest hour that holds us twined, I must accept with stoical regret The bitter destiny of winter’s find. The flower in its pot of sallow clay Against my window, sheltered from the frost, Sags on its stalk as though it died away And ill repays the loving care it cost. To free my mind from memories of bloom And lavish destinies it had before, I take a whetted blade and cut the stem Of the pale flower with the ailing core. Why shall I keep what only serves to pain! I long to have it vanish from my sight… And now I lift my empty eyes again, And empty hands into the empty night. The second person, mirroring nature in winter, becomes more withdrawn as nature becomes less immediate. If she is cold and cruel in the snow, or raw nature, and just cold in the temple, or stylized nature, then she is cataleptic in the house, or domesticated nature: The second person has “the same and vague amaze for all” and will not even acknowledge the poet’s presence. While this image of catalepsy is new, the poet’s question “Will you awaken—ever? Oh awake!” echoes the line “A first and tender breath—and it’s awake!” referring to the “hope of youth” in spring. The poet confirms the association between solace from the second person and spring by crying: “O Mother—great and sad— concede to me / That solace spring within this soul again!” The second person’s refusal to acknowledge the sameness of her sorrow is renewed here in her refusal to meet the gaze of the poet, which is the same as hers: “your eye upon / The emptiness of space” is echoed by the lines “And now I lift my empty eyes again, / And empty hands into the empty night.” But while the poet again longs to connect with the second person, he resigns himself to “the bitter destiny of winter’s find,” their permanent separation. The poet implicitly compares the second person’s sorry condition to that of his potted flower: Just as the second person is morose despite the poet’s solicitousness, so the flower “sags on its stalk” despite his “loving care,” painfully reminding him of its earlier “bloom,” like their happy days in the enchanted valley. And yet, was the flower ever truly hale? Just as the valley was full of tombs, so the flower has an “ailing core.”

162 Thinking in music Schoenberg’s Grünes Selbstportrait shows a sallow, downcast face with a lazy eye that evokes the cataleptic second person.27 Schoenberg’s Braunes Selbstportrait shows a sad face skewed to its left, as if it is straining to furrow its brow and pout its lips, like the poet “try[ing] devoutly to be mournful too.”28 In the sixth and final group—the last two poems—the poet bids farewell to the second person: Your magic broke when veils of azure blew From green of graves and certainty of grace. Now let me—gone so soon—a little space, As to the heart of sorrow, pray to you. To rapid parting you must needs agree, For riven is the water’s frozen rind, Perhaps a bud will be tomorrow’s find! I cannot take you into spring with me. Where the sunrays swiftly slash Palls of death on naked land, Waters in the furrows stand, In the sodden mires flash And to rivers run united, I have lighted pyres for you And for memories of too Brittle joys which now are blighted. And I leave the blazing shrines For my boat, and take an oar, There a brother on the shore Spreads his flag and gayly signs. Thawing wind is swept in powered Gusts across the fallow plain, With the withered souls the lane Shall again be overflowered. The poet has been longing to unite with the second person and longing for spring, but ironically now that winter is finally ending, it means the end of the second person, too (and the beginning of the “brother on the shore,” who features in the summer cycle). The sense of change and loss is reflected in a quickening of the lines in the final poem. In a sense, the seasons invert, as the image of the flower shows: Whereas the drooping flower in winter supposedly conceals a vibrant soul of spring, the blossoming flower in spring will conceal a pallid soul of winter—”With the withered souls the lane / Shall again be overflowered.”

The cold shoulder  163 Another version of Schoenberg’s Fleisch shows a body with its legs consumed by flames, as if the glowing core had caught fire, which could serve as an image of the poet lighting funeral pyres in the spring.29 Or it could show a pair of figures walking down a forest path. The density of these correspondences between Schoenberg’s paintings and Waller im Schnee attests to a strong affinity between Schoenberg and the poet, which we will examine momentarily. The text of “Ich darf nicht dankend” can be understood only in connection with Waller im Schnee, because the poem is only a small part of a larger narrative, and it serves as a vivid microcosm of this narrative: It begins by recalling the poet’s inspiration (“the fields which nurtured us”), it narrates the most dramatic instance of the second person’s repulsion of the poet (“you draw away in token of dissent”), and it ends by alluding to the coming spring, when “the river glazed with shining sleep” will awaken. And if the poem can be understood only in connection with the cycle, then the same is true of Schoenberg’s setting, which directly references the cycle.

Schoenberg and the text Why is Schoenberg drawn to the text of “Ich darf nicht dankend”? Let us consider suggested reasons in light of the broader poem cycle. One hypothesis is that Schoenberg identifies with the forsaken poet in relation to his troubled marriage.30 Schoenberg’s wife, Mathilde, has an affair that comes to light in August 1908, and it is quite possible that Schoenberg’s relationship with Mathilde is already strained in December 1907 when he composes the song and that his feelings of isolation resonate with those in the poem. ­However, this connection is tenuous, because as we have seen, the text of “Ich darf nicht dankend” is not a love poem. Albrecht Dümling, having argued that Schoenberg learns about Waller im Schnee through a performance of some songs from a setting of the cycle in February 1904, concludes that ­Schoenberg, after the departure of his mentor Mahler from Vienna on D ­ ecember 9, 1907, turns to Waller im Schnee as “the lament of a lonely artist who is going to lose his friend,” as it is characterized in the 1904 program notes, and that “he now turned to George as the model of the isolated artist creating the future and no longer caring for a contemporary audience.”31 Dümling may be right; however, neither of his claims specifically addresses Schoenberg’s understanding of the poem cycle upon revisiting it in ­December 1907, which may be the first time he has read the whole thing. Looking back, Schoenberg says he was ­“inspired” by George’s poems at this time, not by Mahler’s departure, nor by George himself.32 Schoenberg identifies with the poet’s “grave interior crisis” (Hauer 1996, 7). More specifically, the text of “Ich darf nicht dankend” as a microcosm of Waller im Schnee prefigures Schoenberg’s mature artistic identity as articulated in Harmonielehre and other writings.

164 Thinking in music Schoenberg’s identification with the poet comprises a conceptual blend of his implicit self-understanding and his implicit understanding of the poet. These input spaces are connected in four main ways in view of their instantiation of the generic space of an artist inspired by nature who aims to realize a vision and to realize himself but who in some way fails to do the latter. First, Schoenberg is inspired by the tone, more particularly by previously unheard tone color. Tone color, a hazed-over overtone, is analogous to nature in winter, a glazed-over landscape. Second, the tone as an idea of nature is individuated in a musical work’s ground tone (tonic), which in a sense is the musical idea. The latent ground tone is analogous to the hidden spring. Third, by realizing a vision, Schoenberg hopes to see himself, to attain integrity, and thereby to realize himself, to win an immortal soul. Schoenberg makes this all-encompassing aim vivid in the following poem: He suddenly sits opposite himself. Examines himself. Cuts himself open. Rips his heart out. Laughs: “Oho! You have a blue heart; now I understand everything.” Seek thus the spirit, genius, character, abilities, good, bad, fate, soul.33 Schoenberg’s aim to see himself, to attain integrity, to find the spirit and be a genius, is analogous to the poet’s aim to connect with the second person, to see himself in her, to ease her sadness. Fourth, ­S choenberg is alienated in seeking to be a genius, for imperfect integrity is the norm, and perfect integrity, just seeing that one has a blue heart, is not much better. This sense of alienation, even in realizing an idea, is analogous to the poet’s sense of rejection and disappointment, even as spring arrives. Based on these connections, Schoenberg identifies with the poet, which is to say that he tightens the analogies to identities in the blended space.34 Note that while Schoenberg understands the poet as representing an artist actually inspired by and working with nature, according to Karla Schultz (2005, 81) and others, nature for George is only a figure for the artist’s soul. Also note that Schoenberg’s self-understanding becomes solidified in part through its function as an input space in this blend, i.e., through his engagement with the text. In Hauer’s (1996, 7) memorable formulation, “the text was a catalyst, a developing liquid, that revealed realities in the film of Schoenberg.” Schoenberg articulates his self-understanding only during his “intuitive aesthetic” or New Music period (1909–1911), when he roots out all formulas, planning, and revision in an attempt to attain perfect integrity (Auner 1997, 120; Haimo 2006, 349), but the ideals that he formulates are neither entirely new nor entirely fulfilled by his new music (Boss 2015, [10–11]). At the beginning of his New Music period, Schoenberg says that he has “had an inkling for several years” of the

The cold shoulder  165 music he is urged to write, and that his new music still falls short.35 So I use his later formulations, especially from Harmonielehre, to describe his earlier inklings. Schoenberg further emphasizes “the removal of all shackles of tonality” in his aesthetic.36 Accordingly, his permanent turn to suspended tonality in working with the poem “Ich darf nicht dankend” indicates the profound impact that the poem has on his artistic identity.

The music Since Waller im Schnee represents a knowingly futile attempt by George to realize himself by realizing a vision, and since Schoenberg identifies with the poet along much the same lines as George, it follows that “Ich darf nicht dankend,” whose text is a microcosm of Waller im Schnee, represents a consciously ineffectual attempt by Schoenberg to realize himself by realizing a vision. This vision is the musical idea. The problem in the musical idea and its solution entail a suspension of the tonality, which is tied to Schoenberg’s sense of alienation. It is fitting that the forlorn piece refers to B minor, because there is a tradition that associates B minor with, on the one hand, melancholy, gloom, and patient submission to God or fate, as in funeral hymns, and, on the other hand, wailing, violence, and even devilry.37 This duality might be ascribed simply to conflicting voices within the tradition; however, the contrasting characteristics are perhaps better regarded as different responses to or forms of spiritual sickness, suffering, and darkness. One critic writes, “The story is told of a violoncellist Hoffmann from Dresden, who always became sick when playing in B minor. Thus, this softest key captivates the whole soul and can crush it.”38 It is entirely possible that Schoenberg has access to this tradition, and it seems to be referenced by Johann Nepomuk Fuchs, the teacher of Schoenberg’s teacher.39 B minor with its dreadful associations crops up again and again in the following chapters. The problem The Grundgestalt of “Ich darf nicht dankend” is the introductory idea, mm. 1–3, shown in Example 5.1. The problem consists of the altered fourth chord A–D–G in m. 1, which is marked for our notice as the first thing that happens, by its rhythmic and metric accents, and by its textural isolation. Given that the piece is non-tonal, this chord is unrestful because when it resolves, the resulting Vadd9 points directly to the following I. But given that the piece is also establishing the phenomenon of suspended tonality and its norms for the first time, it will be more illuminating to speak about the problem in more general terms as a new, remote, unclear tonal relation.

166 Thinking in music

Example 5.1  Schoenberg (1966), “Ich darf nicht dankend,” introduction, mm. 1–3.

Although Schoenberg discusses the regular fourth chord in Harmonielehre, he does not mention the altered fourth chord, which implies that he thinks of it as new, because Schoenberg believes that “technique, the means of art,… ought to be, wherever possible, occult knowledge, to which he alone has access who finds the way himself,” and that whereas “the older means” are “in the public domain,” “there is perhaps still a copyright on [the newer techniques], a quite arrogant right of ownership, that refuses to open the road to those who will not make the effort themselves.”40 In fact, Schoenberg appears to lay claim to the altered fourth chord by exercising his copyright and by writing his name on it, so to speak. This chord or more generally the Viennese trichord appears in Schoenberg’s music throughout his career (Cone 1974, 29). He often uses instances with the tones A and E (D), which are his initials: A–Es (A. S.; Stuckenschmidt 2011, 526 and 534). The version in “Ich darf nicht dankend” bears Schoenberg’s signature both in these tones and in G or As (A. S.).41 The chord effectively imitates remote, unclear overtones (specifically the seventh, tenth, and thirteenth partials of B) by downplaying pitch and bringing out tone color, because the upper tones, a perfect fourth apart, tend to fuse into a sound with the pitch of the upper tone (because the two tones fit the harmonic series of a tone with the same pitch class as the upper tone), but the outer tones, a major seventh apart, tend to fuse into a sound without a clear pitch (Cramer 2002, 25), so the total sound has a shimmering, diffuse quality. As a new, personal, colorful technique that appears sporadically in his tonal music and then regularly in his iconoclastic non-tonal music, the altered fourth chord shows itself to be a prototypical new harmony for Schoenberg: The true tone poet writes what is new and unfamiliar in a new chord only to express something new and [previously] unheard that moves

The cold shoulder  167 him. That [thing] can also be a new harmony, but I believe rather: a new harmony is an instinctively discovered symbol that proclaims the new man who expresses himself therein…. With Wagner that is easy to trace…. The literature is thrown out, the results of education are shaken off, the inclinations come forward, the obstacle turns the stream into a new course, the one hue that earlier was only a subordinate color in the total picture spreads out, a personage is born. A new man! (HL, 447/400) The reference to Wagner alludes to the revolutionary Tristan chord, whose common features with the altered fourth chord in “Ich darf nicht dankend” are diagrammed in Example 5.2.42 Wagner associates the Tristan chord with a yearning for Nirvana and the feeling that “everything is alien” to him.43 The altered fourth chord in “Ich darf nicht dankend” has a similar sense for Schoenberg, which I will say more about shortly. It is tantalizing and ephemeral, and I call it the spirit chord. Another precedent for the spirit chord is the “newness” in Mozart’s “Dissonance” Quartet, as diagrammed in E ­ xample 5.3.44 Part of the newness of the spirit chord lies in its condensation of these precedents, making the fourths conjunct, instead of disjunct as in the W ­ agner, and simultaneous, instead of successive as in the ­Mozart. “Ich darf nicht dankend,” which is saturated with the tone color of this personalized chord, marks the moment when for Schoenberg as an artist “a ­subordinate color in the total picture spreads out, a personage is born.” We have already seen how in the first movement of Schenker’s ­Fantasy, which likewise alludes to the Tristan chord, solving the problem blurs the ground tone at the final cadence. Here, we will see that opening the flood gates on the spirit chord nullifies the ground tone at the final cadence, breaking the shackles of tonality.45 It is in this sense that suspended tonality is indeed associated with a higher, spiritual world.

Example 5.2  W  agner’s Tristan chord and Schoenberg’s spirit chord.

Example 5.3  M  ozart’s “Dissonance” Quartet and Schoenberg’s spirit chord.

168 Thinking in music Looking again at Example 5.1, the spirit chord in m. 1 is “indirect (distantly related)” in that it is separated from the tonic triad B–D–F in m. 3 by its resolution, a regular fourth chord A–D–G in m. 1–3, which represents the lowered third, raised fifth, and ninth of Vadd9.46 Inasmuch as the spirit chord is dissonant and imitates remote overtones, while the tonic triad is consonant and imitates close overtones, the separation between the spirit chord and the tonic triad represents the division between the ground tone in its ideality and in its reality. The tone G in the spirit chord in m. 1 is also new and remote. G is a part of the chromatic scale in that it proceeds by a chromatic semitone to G in m. 1, and “the chromatic scale” is “new.”47 The continuation of this motion is the melodic line G–G–F in mm. 1–3, in which G is separated from F by G, just as the spirit chord is separated from the tonic triad by the dominant chord. The effect of separation is amplified by the rhythm, in that the melodic line is divided by a quarter rest in m. 2. The spirit chord is brought about by Gestalt a in m. 1, which contrasts with Gestalt b in mm. 1–2.48 Gestalt a is characterized by unity—a single pickup (motive x in mm. 2–3), no repeated notes, and no octave ­displacement—and it serves as an image of the ground tone in its ideality and unity. Gestalt b is characterized by division—two pickups (motive-forms y and y' in mm. 1–2), repeated notes, and octave displacement—and it serves as an image of the ground tone in its reality and division. Schoenberg and the music As delineated in Example 5.4, Schoenberg’s attempt to realize himself in the song constitutes a conceptual blend of his self-understanding through the text (itself a blend) and the music, where the textual narrative joins with the musical development to become a dramatization and a real-life event.49 Schoenberg connects the text and the music with respect to a heuristic notion of the ideal and the real as a generic space, extrapolated from his conception of the subject and the tone. Ideally, the ideal and the real are unified, which involves a looping source-path-goal schema, where the source and the goal are identical, implying that movement along the path runs in both directions. But in reality, the ideal and the real are divided, which involves an additional blockage schema and an optional deflection schema, where the movements along the path block one another, and one of them might glance away. I have modeled my representations of these schemas after Schoenberg’s painting Bund of the hands emerging, colliding, and reuniting. In the first input space, this notion of the ideal and the real structures spring (vision) and winter (reality), in that spring is blocked by the snow, while winter is seemingly warded off from the vernal valley by spells. This notion also structures the poet (the real self) and the second person (the ideal self, the spirit), in that when the poet approaches the second person, the second person halts the poet and recoils.

The cold shoulder  169

ideal divided from real

ideal unified with real

text

music

spring (vision) hidden in winter (reality) second person (ideal self, the spirit) divided from poet (real self) allusion to coming spring (vision realized) rejection and disappointment (alienation) narrative (microcosm of cycle)

spirit chord, G , a (ground tone, overtones) divided from tonic triad, F , b (ground tone) spirit chord emancipated, G –F , a ⇔ b tonic triad emaciated (g. t. forsaken) development

song drama and life

Example 5.4  S  choenberg’s “Ich darf nicht dankend” as the successful realization of a vision and an unsuccessful attempt at self-realization.

In the second input space, this notion structures the ground tone with its overtones, which is ideally unified, but the spirit chord and G are separated from the tonic triad and F. Similarly, as I will demonstrate, throughout the song, when a and b approach one another, a glances away and develops in a new direction. This shared notion of the ideal and the real establishes two overlapping but distinct sets of analogies between the text and the music, the “parallelism on a higher level” that Schoenberg speaks of: (1) as the successful realization of a vision, and (2) as an unsuccessful attempt at self-realization.50 As we will see, the successful realization of a vision corresponds with the solution of the problem: The spirit chord is partly emancipated, and this chord and G connect directly with the tonic triad and F, while a and b develop into one another (i.e., trace out their coherence), as indicated with the double-arrow symbol. The surprising entailment, which corresponds with the unsuccessful attempt at self-realization, is that the tonic triad is emaciated, nullified. The ground tone is forsaken, and the tonality is suspended. The solution We will now look in detail at the working out of the unrest, highlighting its dramatization of the poetic narrative. This musical drama may be likened

170 Thinking in music to an animated version of Gustav Klimt’s contemporaneous The Kiss (­ 1907–1908), with swirling colors and motifs giving form to the characters, except that it would be called The Cold Shoulder. First, let us get an overview of the formal design. “Ich darf nicht dankend” has been called a two-part strophic song, although some analysts have also observed that mm. 26–30 represent a return to the opening, which is inconsistent with strophic form.51 The tonal design is also inconsistent with strophic form: The first part cadences on F minor, and the second part on B minor. Rather, the song begins as a small binary made up of two periods and becomes a small ternary when the expected consequent in the apparent second part, mm. 22–25, becomes a continuation, followed by a recapitulation. These transformations take place when the second person declines to respond to the poet’s question. Although the question is not completed until m. 28, its grammar is sufficient at m. 23, and the rising intonation, higher tessitura, wider intervals, and stronger dynamics in the voice mm. 22–23 suggest the prosody of a question. The form of the song depicts the poet’s dilemma using the same pair of image-schematic complexes described above: mm. 1–16 try to map onto mm. 17–30 as a varied repetition when the poet asks the second person to acknowledge their sameness, but the sought-after varied repetition recoils to mm. 26–30 when the second person ignores the poet.52 The music solves the problem first of all by partially emancipating the spirit chord. Statements of the spirit chord flood the song in two waves for the two parts, reaching peak rates in mm. 12 and 24. These peaks of color intensity match peaks of feeling and accent. The poet is rejected in m. 11 at the words “so wird sie zucken” (“you draw away”) with an accented chord after a crescendo, and he desperately implores the second person in mm. 22–23 with the words “und nur mit ihm und mir dich zu ergehen” (“and only walk abroad with it and me”) as the piano crescendos to the climax of the song on the downbeat of m. 25. The increased familiarity with the spirit chord allows for an omission of its typical resolution in its last appearance in m. 30 and thus an abbreviation of the progression to the tonic triad.53 In this way, the spirit chord and the tonic triad are drawn into a close, direct relation.54 In a similar fashion, the music clarifies and stabilizes G, as outlined in Example 5.5. To begin with, the music repeatedly highlights G and thereby makes it more familiar. G is the apex of the introduction, mm. 1–3. G is the apex of the basic idea in mm. 3–5 and the basic idea in mm. 26–28. And A (G) is the apex of the continuation in mm. 22–25 and the cadential idea in mm. 28–30. No other tone in the song has this degree of emphasis. ­Furthermore, the music clarifies G through recontextualization. The ˆ 6– ˆ 5ˆ in the tonic minor melodic line G–G–F in mm. 1–3 functions as 6– ˆ 2– ˆ 1ˆ in the v minor region. This reregion, but in mm. 5–7, it functions as 2– contextualization helps to explain G by making it diatonic instead of chromatic. Finally, the melodic line G–G–F and the line E–E#–F# as in m. 25 make up one of three inversionally symmetrical pairs of lines identified by

The cold shoulder  171 Neff (1979, 99–115), the others being E–D and C–D as in m. 10 and (here I depart slightly from Neff’s reading) A–A–B and C–C–B as in mm. 3 and 11, which contract to A–B and C–B as in mm. 30 and 18. These other lines may be seen as developments of the first, explaining it by analogy. The clarification of G allows the music to abbreviate the melodic line G–G–F, first by eliminating the space between G–G and G–F in mm. 11–24 and then by omitting G in mm. 23–30. In this way, G enters into a close, direct relation with F.

Example 5.5  The clarification of G in Schoenberg, “Ich darf nicht dankend”.

172 Thinking in music Meanwhile, a and b develop into one another. This process involves seven strands of development, which are delineated in the seven systems of Example 5.6. First, as the poet articulates his dilemma at the beginnings of the two parts, mm. 2–5 and 17–19, a and b draw near to one another but do not coincide.55 Second, b approaches a in mm. 5–11 by way of a retrograde of x'.56 As the second person rebuffs the poet’s advance in m. 11 at the words “so wird sie zucken” (“you draw away”), x'' eludes b''' by inverting the last step of x'. And as the second person refuses to acknowledge the nearness of her sorrow in m. 20 at the words “nie deines Leides Nähe zu gestehen” (“to keep / Your sorrow—kin to mine—in secrecy”), a variant of x'' in m. 20 in a sense withdraws still further. Third, right at the outset, in mm. 1–3, a combines with itself to generate Gestalt A, which is another means by which a distances itself from b. In the end, however, A develops back into a in m. 30.57 Fourth, as the poet tries to nuzzle up to the second person in mm. 9–10 at the words “will sich mein Trost…” (“and when I try to ease…”), b'''' embeds A' within itself. Fifth, as the first part draws to a close, a momentarily merges with b in m. 12–13.58 Sixth, right after this momentary union, A is extended to AA in m. 16, once again propelling a away from b. But as the poet questions the second person in mm. 17–23 with the words “verharrst du bei dem quälenden Beschlusse…” (“and is it still your cruel plan…”), AA and y develop into one another, producing by proxy another momentary union of a and b. Seventh, immediately after this connection is made, during the distressing silence following the poet’s question, AA expands into AAA in mm. 24–25, once again knocking a out of the reach of b.59 But at the last minute, a and b come together again in two ways: a variant of b'''' in mm. 28–30 embeds A''' within itself, and a and y develop into one another in mm. 25–28. The result of all this harmonic clarification and motivic development is the following: As shown in Example 5.7, since the spirit chord in the final ­cadence in m. 30 now separates F795 in mm. 25–29 and the B-minor triad, the latter are stripped of their Stufe titles—just as the poet is bereft—and the tonality is suspended.60 This effect depends on the inversionally symmetrical hexachord formed by the union of the spirit chord and the tonic triad. This effect also depends on the strange voicings of F795, which make it sound more like GmM7 and prevent it from being perceived as V. G, having been excised from the melodic line G–F, now floats freely below the similarly detached B; this tonal constellation will appear again in op. 19.61 Moreover, the prolongation of F795 across the beginning of the recapitulation makes what would otherwise be an initial I Stufe in m. 26 into a passing B7. Finally, the inert quality of the final tonic triad is also related to the lack of any Urlinie; from beginning to end the piece prolongs 5ˆ (Forte 1978, 160 and 162). A very similar cadence to a tonic triad from a quasi-submediant chord, which is at the same time a Viennese trichord like the spirit chord, takes place in the last movement of the String Quartet No. 2 in F Minor, op. 10, written shortly after “Ich darf nicht dankend” (Neff 2006, 184). These

Example 5.6  S  even strands of motivic development in Schoenberg, “Ich darf nicht dankend”.

174 Thinking in music

Example 5.7  The harmony and voice leading at the end of Schoenberg, “Ich darf nicht dankend”.

two pieces are the only non-tonal pieces by Schoenberg ending with a tonic triad. Like starlight from receding galaxies that will eventually elude our telescopes, these triads demonstrate the presence of something that later becomes all but undetectable: the ground tone in non-tonal music. *** The suspension of tonality—accomplished in “Ich darf nicht dankend” for the first time and in an almost unparalleled manner—is not only an inevitable condition due to the emancipating of dissonances, as Schenker’s music foretold, but also a fitting emblem of the alienation that comes with the quest to see with the eye of the genius. In a way, this connection between suspended tonality and a sense of abandonment by the genius holds for Schenker as well, only with opposite valuation of the music. For Schenker believes that “the atonalists… must be atonal; they do not want to be.” Their “inability,” which reflects the absence of the genius, requires it.62 Schoenberg would agree that “the artist must…. It is nothing to do with what he wants,” and he would concede that his compositions are imperfect.63 But his sense of alienation is not just one of imperfection. For as we see in the next chapter, like the poet in Waller im Schnee, Schoenberg does in fact momentarily see himself perfectly clearly, and he winds up even more disconsolate than before.

Notes 1 On this period, see Haimo (2006, 354). 2 Schoenberg, “My Evolution,” in SI, 86. The reference here is to “the Two Songs, Op. 14.” Elsewhere, Schoenberg refers to the “first step” as some songs on “poems of Stefan George” composed after he stops initial compositional work on the Chamber Symphony No. 2, op. 38, which is fall 1907 (he continues with orchestration until August 1908). Schoenberg, “How One Becomes Lonely” (1937), in SI, 49. These George songs comprise “Ich darf nicht dankend” and Das Buch der hängenden Gärten. So the intersection of Schoenberg’s published accounts

The cold shoulder  175 of the first step in writing non-tonal music (op. 14 and some George songs) is “Ich darf nicht dankend.” However, at one point, Schoenberg, raising the bar, attributes the “first step” to “parts of my Second String Quartet, and . . . some [!] of my fifteen Songs after Stefan George, Op. 15.” Schoenberg, letter to Harry L. Robin, July 27, 1947, SC. 3 See especially Hauer (1996, 5 and 8; 1998, 256 and 259). Allen Forte (1978, 159) and Timothy L. Jackson (1989–1990, 48n34) both mention that op. 14 represents a first step, but they do not single out op. 14, no. 1. 4 Haimo (2006, 236). Haimo follows Edward T. Cone (1974, 32–33). See also Morgan (1991, 69). 5 Hauer (1996, 6). Dahlhaus (1980, 318) has a similar view. Jan Maegaard (1972, 2:71–72) suggests that the motive statement containing the chord is “relationally poorer” than the others, but that the chord is nevertheless “tonally logical.” 6 For example, Cone (1974, 32–33) calls the B-minor triad the “‘tonic’” triad with scare quotes. Forte (1978, 163), although he recognizes the B-minor triad as the tonic triad according to a tonal reading, does not even register it as a pitch-class set according to an atonal reading. 7 Neff (1979, 99–115). Shaw (2002, 1:186) agrees with Neff. Jackson (1989–1990, 47) sees the triad as the endpoint of a large-scale contrapuntal structure. 8 Cherlin (2007, 8) versus Covach (1995, 28), Hauer (1998, 258), and Brown (2014, 116). 9 Maegaard (1972, 2:69–72 and supplement:11), Pfisterer (1978, 151–163), Raff (2006, 175–180), and Haimo (2006, 237–240). 10 Dahlhaus (1980, 317–319), Jackson (1989–1990, 41–42), Hauer (1996, 6–8), and Shaw (2002, 1:187–188). 11 See “Waldsonne,” op. 2, no. 4; and for example “Sehnsucht,” op. 8, no. 3. 12 This claim is restricted to Schoenberg and his music; I am not saying that nontonal music always conveys alienation. 13 I say “he” because the poet represents George. I say “she” because the second person is called “Mother.” 14 Adams (1995, 6). I build here on Adams’s (1995, 10) observation that Schoenberg’s music and paintings from 1908–1912 share the general qualities of “self-­focus, alienation, and horror.” 15 Schoenberg, letter to Carl Moll, June 16, 1910, in Auner (2003, 80). 16 Schoenberg, Nachtstück [II] (before October 1910), SC, Naturstücke, CR 148. 17 Schoenberg, Blick (May 1910), SC, Eindrücke und Fantasien, CR 61. 18 Schoenberg, Landschaft (1910), SC, Naturstücke, CR 145. 19 Schoenberg, Fleisch (ca. 1909), SC, Eindrücke und Fantasien, CR 75. 20 Severine Neff, personal communication. 21 In the published version of “Ich darf nicht dankend,” “eisigkalten” (“ice-cold”) substitutes for “eisigklaren” (“ice-clear”), but Schoenberg corrects this typo in the extant fair copy. Schoenberg, “Ich darf nicht dankend,” SC, MS 14, 388, and H 4, 3. 22 Schoenberg, Gruppe vor knieendem Christus (before October 1910), SC, Fragmente und verworfene Werke, CR 332. 23 Women frequently symbolize a troubled ideal in Schoenberg’s non-tonal music. Brown (2014, 125–164). 24 Schoenberg, Bund (May 1910), SC, Eindrücke und Fantasien, CR 72. 25 Schultz (2005, 82) and Faletti (1983, 111). In Rudolf Steiner’s interpretation of Goethe’s morphology, in light of which Schoenberg likely reads George, the crystal is a “symbol of supersensible knowledge.” Köhler (1985, 247). 26 Schoenberg, Selbstportrait (1910), SC, Eindrücke und Fantasien, CR 71. Eberhard Freitag (1973, 39) similarly remarks that Schoenberg’s “menacing” Blicke are “signs of a cut-off communication.”

176 Thinking in music 27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

50

51 52

Schoenberg, Grünes Selbstportrait (October 23, 1910), SC, Selbstportraits, CR 15. Schoenberg, Braunes Selbstportrait (March 16, 1910), SC, Selbstportraits, CR 12. Schoenberg, Fleisch (ca. 1909), SC, Eindrücke und Fantasien, CR 76. Jackson (1989–1990, 42). Shaw (2002, 1:188) concurs. Jackson (1989–1990, 40) interprets the combined texts of the op. 14 songs as a narrative of Schoenberg’s marriage. This interpretation is difficult to reconcile with the text of “Am Strande,” which was to have been part of op. 14: The poet addresses the land, not a second person. Dümling (1997, 111–112). Schoenberg, “How One Becomes Lonely,” in SI, 49. Schoenberg, “Dichtung: Er sitzt plötzlich…” (n.d.), SC, T53.18. While Schoenberg’s alienation and his marital problems are separate issues, at least after the Gerstl affair they may reinforce one another. See Schoenberg, “Draft of a Will” (ca. 1908), in Auner (2003, 54). Schoenberg, letter to Busoni, ca. August 18, 1909, in ibid., 70. Schoenberg, letter to Busoni, August 24, 1909, in ibid., 75. See also Schoenberg, “My Evolution,” in SI, 88. Steblin (2002, 295–298). This tradition persists into the twentieth century. See Beckh (1977, 171 and passim). Ferdinand Hand, Aesthetik der Tonkunst, vol. 1 (Leipzig: C. Hochhausen & Fournes, 1837), 216–229, quoted in Steblin (2002, 298). At the head of a passage in B minor in The Daughter of Hell, Fuchs writes, “Gravely and mysteriously.” Johann Nepomuk Fuchs, Die Tochter der Hölle: Fantastische Burlesque in 3 Acten, nebst ein Vorspiel von W. Hess (n.d.), Österreichische Nationalbibliothek Musiksammlung, Mus.Hs.6265, 15. HL, 413. The regular fourth chord, composed of two perfect fourths, is no longer new: “It will never again produce an impression just like that made by its first appearance.” HL, 402. Thank you to Lawrence Earp for this observation. Thank you to Charles Dill for noticing the similarity of these chords. Richard Wagner, letter to Mathilde Wesendonk, March 3, 1860, in Wagner (1987, 486). Schoenberg, “Zur Frage des modernen Kompositionsunterrichtes,” Deutsche Tonkünstler-Zeitung 27/21 (1929): 695, SC, T14.26. Interestingly, when Schoenberg abandons tonic triads the following year in “Unterm Schutz,” op. 15, no. 1, the final chord is this exact same altered fourth chord. Schoenberg, “Probleme der Harmonie (Notizen),” in Jacob (2005, 2:784). HL, 247. According to Schoenberg, chromatic pairs, which he calls cross relations, are frequently involved in problems. MI, 67. Raff (2006, 176–177). Raff considers b to be a remote development of a, whereas I understand the reverse to be the case on account of their associations. My analysis of the song as the realization of a vision and an enactment of the textual narrative bears some similarity to Christopher M. Barry’s (2013, 28) analyses of early twentieth-century lyric Lieder as trying to “capture and re-enact” an original “present” moment. Schoenberg, “The Relationship to the Text,” in SI, 145. Somewhat like me, Christian Martin Schmidt (1997, 91) argues that the text in Schoenberg’s music can refer to music, yielding “music about music,” but he takes the phenomenon of music about music to be “essentially backwards directed and related to what is already existent, thus to the past.” Maegaard (1972, 2:69 and 72), Pfisterer (1978, 152), and Raff (2006, 175). Raff does not comment on the return to the opening. Interestingly, the formal reinterpretation of the second part has an analogue in the non-linear composition of the song. The original manuscript suggests that after writing the first part, mm. 1–16, Schoenberg writes the vocal line for mm.

The cold shoulder  177

53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

16–23, writes mm. 24–28 in full, and only then goes back and completes mm. 16–23 before finally writing mm. 29–30. Schoenberg, “Ich darf nicht dankend,” SC, MS 77, Sk281. Schoenberg discusses similar abbreviations of formulaic cadential progressions. HL, 359. Cone (1974, 33) points out this abbreviation but doubts its relevance. Raff (2006, 176–178) explains the beginning of this strand. Maegaard (1972, 2:70) observes this retrograde. However, he and others lump the developments of b and x' together as a single motive. Raff (2006, 178–179) explains the beginning of this strand, too. He notes that A' is prepared by A–A–A–B in the bass in m. 3. Haimo (2006, 239) notices this connection. AAA is prepared by C–D–E–F–F–G–A in the bass in mm. 21–23. Forte (1978, 161 and 163) calls attention to the fifth-Zug D–G in mm. 25–28 and the lack of resolution of the tritone A–E in mm. 28–29. Severine Neff, personal communication. Schenker, diary entry, January 3, 1924, transcr. Marko Deisinger and trans. Stephen Ferguson, SD; translation mine. Schoenberg, “Problems in Teaching Art” (1910), in SI, 365.

References Adams, Courtney S. 1995. “Artistic Parallels between Arnold Schoenberg’s Music and Painting (1908–1912).” College Music Symposium 35:5–21. Auner, Joseph. 1997. “‘Heart and Brain in Music’: The Genesis of Die glückliche Hand.” In Constructive Dissonance: Arnold Schoenberg and the Transformations of Twentieth-Century Culture, edited by Juliane Brand and Christopher Hailey, 112–130. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. 2003. A Schoenberg Reader: Documents of a Life. New Haven: Yale University Press. Barry, Christopher M. 2013. “Song as Self: Music and Subjectivity in the Early Twentieth-Century Lyric Lied.” PhD diss., University of Wisconsin–Madison. Beckh, Hermann. 1977. Die Sprache der Tonart in der Musik von Bach bis Bruckner. 3rd ed. 1937. Reprint, Stuttgart: Urachhaus. Boss, Jack. 2015. “‘Away with Motivic Working?’ Not So Fast: Motivic Processes in Schoenberg’s op. 11, no. 3.” Music Theory Online 21 (3). Brown, Julie. 2014. Schoenberg and Redemption. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Budde, Elmar. 2004. “,Ut musica pictura—ut pictura musica‘: Musik und Bild; Ein Rückblick nach vorn zu Arnold Schoenberg.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 6:8–16. Cherlin, Michael. 2007. Schoenberg’s Musical Imagination. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cone, Edward T. 1974. “Sound and Syntax: An Introduction to Schoenberg’s Harmony.” Perspectives of New Music 13 (1):21–40. Covach, John. 1995. “Schoenberg’s Turn to an ‘Other’ World.” Music Theory Online 1 (5). Cramer, Alfred. 2002. “Schoenberg’s Klangfarbenmelodie: A Principle of Early Atonal Harmony.” Music Theory Spectrum 24 (1):1–34. Dahlhaus, Carl. 1980. Die Musik des 19. Jahrhunderts. Vol. 6 of Neues Handbuch der Musikwissenschaft, edited by Carl Dahlhaus. Wiesbaden: Akademische Verlagsgesellschaft Athenaion.

178 Thinking in music Dümling, Albrecht. 1997. “Public Loneliness: Atonality and the Crisis of Subjectivity in Schönberg’s opus 15.” In Schönberg and Kandinsky: An Historic Encounter, edited by Konrad Boehmer, 101–138. Amsterdam: Harwood. Faletti, Heidi E. 1983. Die Jahreszeiten des Fin de Siècle: Eine Studie über Stefan Georges „Das Jahr der Seele.“ Bern: Franke. Forte, Allen. 1978. “Schoenberg’s Creative Evolution: The Path to Atonality.” The Musical Quarterly 64 (2):133–176. Freitag, Eberhard. 1973. “Schoenberg als Maler.” PhD diss., Westfälischen Wilhelms Universität zu Münster. George, Stefan. [1928] 1974. Das Jahr der Seele. Vol. 4 of Gesamt-Ausgabe der Werke: Endgültige Fassung. Berlin: Georg Bondi. Translated by Olga Marx and Ernst Morwitz as The Year of the Soul, in The Works of Stefan George, 2nd ed., 115–161. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press. Haimo, Ethan. 2006. Schoenberg’s Transformation of Musical Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hauer, Christian. 1996. “La crise d’identité de Schönberg et la rencontre avec un texte de Stefan George: Le lied op. 14/1 comme oeuvre-clé.” Dissonanz/­Dissonance 47:4–8. ———. 1998. “De la tonalité à la ‘série miraculeuse’: Espaces musicaux; ou, De l’identité narrative de Schönberg.” In L’espace: Musique/Philosophie, edited by Jean-Marc Chouvel and Makis Solomos, 253–263. Paris: L’Harmattan. Jackson, Timothy L. 1989–1990. “Schoenberg’s op. 14 Songs: Textual Sources and Analytical Perception,” Theory and Practice 14–15:35–58. Jacob, Andreas. 2005. Grundbegriffe der Musiktheorie Arnold Schönbergs. 2 vols. Hildesheim: Georg Olms. Köhler, Rafael. 1985. “Der Kristall als ästhetische Idee: Ein Beitrage zur Rezeptions-­ und Ideengeschichte der zweiten Wiener Schule.” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 42 (4):241–262. Maegaard, Jan. 1972. Studien zur Entwicklung des dodekaphonen Satzes bei Arnold Schönberg. 2 vols. and supplement. Copenhagen: Wilhelm Hansen. Morgan, Robert P. 1991. Twentieth-Century Music: A History of Musical Style in Modern Europe and America. New York: W. W. Norton. Neff, Severine. 1979. “Ways to Imagine Two Successive Pieces of Schoenberg: The Second String Quartet, opus 10, Movement One; The Song, ‘Ich darf nicht dankend,’ opus 14, no. 1.” PhD diss., Princeton University. ———. 2006. “Presenting the Quartet’s ‘Idea.’” In Arnold Schoenberg, The Second String Quartet in F-Sharp Minor, opus 10, edited by Severine Neff, 125–185. New York: Norton. Norton, Robert E. 2002. Secret Germany: Stefan George and His Circle. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Oberhuber, Konrad. 2004. “Schönberg und der Raum.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 6:95–101. Pfisterer, Manfred. 1978. Studien zur Kompositionstechnik in den frühen atonalen Werken von Arnold Schönberg. Neuhausen-Stuttgart: Hänssler. Raff, Christian. 2006. Gestaltete Freiheit: Studien zur Analyse der frei atonalen Kompositionen A. Schönbergs—auf der Grundlage seiner Begriffe. Hofheim: Wolke. Schmidt, Christian Martin. 1997. “Das Verhältnis zwischen Text und Musik bei Schönberg: Musik über Musik.” In Semantische Inseln, musikalisches Festland: Für Tibor Kneif zum 65. Geburtstag, edited by Hanns-Werner Heister et al., 85–94. Hamburg: Von Bockel.

The cold shoulder  179 Schoenberg, Arnold. 1966. “Ich darf nicht dankend.” No. 1 of Zwei Lieder für Gesang und Klavier, op. 14. In Lieder mit Klavierbegleitung, div. 1, ser. A, vol. 1 of Sämtliche Werke, edited by Josef Rufer, 107–108. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. Schultz, Karla. 2005. “In Praise of Illusion: Das Jahr der Seele and Der Teppich des Lebens; Analysis and Historical Perspective.” In A Companion to the Works of Stefan George, edited by Jens Rieckmann, 79–98. Rochester: Camden House. Shaw, Jennifer. 2002. “Zwei Lieder für eine Singstimme und Klavier op. 14.” Translated by John A. Phillips with the assistance of Benjamin G. Cohrs. In Arnold Schönberg: Interpretationen seiner Werke, edited by Gerold W. Gruber, 2 vols., 1:181–195. Laaber: Laaber. Steblin, Rita. 2002. A History of Key Characteristics in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Century. 2nd ed. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Stuckenschmidt, H. H. 2011. Schoenberg: His Life, World and Work. Translated by Humphrey Searle. Reprint, Richmond, U.K.: One World Classics. Susman, Margarete. 1910. Das Wesen der modernen deutschen Lyrik. Stuttgart: Strecker & Schröder. Wagner, Richard. 1987. Selected Letters of Richard Wagner. Translated by Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington. London: J. M. Dent & Sons.

6 Zeroing in and zeroing out

The geometric point is an invisible essence. It must therefore be defined as an immaterial thing. Materially speaking, the point equals zero. In this zero, however, are hidden various “human” characteristics. In our minds, this zero—the geometric point—is bound up with the highest degree of brevity, i.e., with the greatest degree of restraint, which nevertheless speaks…. The size and shape corresponding to the ground tone of the point is variable. This variability, however, should not be understood other than as a relative, inner coloration of the inner, basic essence, which yet always purely resonates. —Wassily Kandinsky (1926)

In his New Music period, starting with no. 3 of the Three Piano Pieces, op. 11, and no. 5 of the Five Pieces for Orchestra, op. 16 (Haimo 2006, 337–338 and 344–345), Schoenberg responds to his sense of abandonment with abandon: He attempts “to let nothing get in the way of the stream of [his] unconscious sensations,” so as to embody the freedom of the genius.1 This attempt comes to a head in nos. 1–5 of the Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19, which burst forth at the end of this period on February 19, 1911. Schoenberg’s Six Little Piano Pieces have undergone an enormous amount of analysis. This prodigious level of scrutiny is a testament to the electric, captivating quality of this “haunting, seemingly indestructible set of gems” (Shawn 2002, 119). But also, the music has generally served as a compact, canonical testing ground for all manner of disparate, subjective analytical premises that disregard the mutual mediation of Schoenberg’s theories and compositions. Notable exceptions to this trend are Olli Väisälä’s (1999) analysis of no. 2, based on Schoenberg’s theory of harmony, and Raff’s (2006, 265–292) analyses of nos. 1, 2, and 4, based on Schoenberg’s theory of form. Analysis of the work has also largely eschewed criticism, except to echo tenets of Schoenberg’s organicism as its rationale. For example, one analyst writes, If the work reveals its truest essence in every detail, then this essence is revealed in a precise form proper only to it. Such a form… demands from

Zeroing in and zeroing out  181 the listener that their musical perception not only register the articulation of large-scale sections but also be able to set the smallest events in the smallest space and in the briefest time in relation to one another. (Schmidt 1993, 77) Conversely, criticism of the work has largely forgone analysis, ironically sometimes echoing the same organicist tropes. For example, one critic refers to “the limits of analysis in grasping the innermost mysteries of these pieces,” and he concludes, “One is unavoidably left only with the feeling that this set of pieces… will reveal their innermost nature only if we give ourselves over to their own inner logic” (Fearn 2002, 1:277 and 281). There have been exceptions to this segregation of analysis and criticism, but there has been no critical analysis of the work as a whole based on Schoenberg’s own theories. If “art is exclusively: recording, perceiving,” for Schoenberg, as he writes in 1910, then what perception does he record in these pieces, coming at a crucial juncture in his oeuvre?2 Daniel Albright (1981, 34) has suggested that the pieces record “the fear that the quest for spiritual realism, the most severe possible presentation of the idea, would demand such brevity that music would exhaust itself in a single telling instant, contract to zero.” As to the course of the pieces, Allen Shawn (2002, 122) has called no. 4 “the eruptive climax of the set” and no. 5 “sadly retrospective.” I wish to integrate and extend these observations: aided by my examination of Schoenberg’s notebooks and paintings from the time, I suggest that the music does contract to zero at the end of no. 4, and I argue that this zeroing in on a single instant of pure self-seeing and fulfillment of the demand of perfect integrity is actually a zeroing out, a moment of emptiness and blindness, which the music subsequently reflects upon.3 The music both answers the impasse reached by “Ich darf nicht dankend” and reaches one of its own, providing—as we see in Chapter 7—the impetus for Schoenberg’s reconstruction period (1911–1951), much as “Ich darf nicht dankend” set the stage for his New Music period.

Zeroing in During his New Music period, Schoenberg struggles with the practical impossibility of achieving absolute integrity. In nos. 1–5 of the Six Little Piano Pieces, he circumvents this impossibility by means of a kind of infinite interruption that zeroes in on a singularity at the end of no. 4 where the tone and its imitation are absolutely identical. This process involves motivic and tonal development both within and across the pieces. The mathematics of integrity Let us return to Schoenberg’s arresting statement in Harmonielehre that “integrity is a number that indicates the ratio of the artist to his work….

182 Thinking in music

color f tone o n io t rcep n of pe evolutio boundary of idea

tone color, remote overtones

time

insight at end of piece

imitation of tone color, dissonances

evolution of music

insight at beginning of piece

depth of tone

There is only one state of complete integrity, namely, whenever this fraction equals one and all movement thus stops.” As we have seen, in the case of music, the measure of the artist (the perceived depth of the tone) is virtually always greater than the measure of the work (the recorded depth), because the tone is constantly deepening, even during the presentation of an idea, so “intermediate degrees” of integrity are the norm (HL, 366/326.). Example 6.1, which can be thought of as a blown-up portion of Example 1.8, shows a schematic graph of such an intermediate degree of integrity in an improvisatory musical work, where musical time is a subset of historical time. The only way one can attain complete integrity is if there is no temporal separation between the perception of the tone and its imitation, or between the conception of an idea and its realization, which is to say if the music is durationless and thus motionless. Regarding this requirement, Schoenberg’s later statement seems apropos, that “theory must always be somewhat stricter—reality does not concern itself with it very much,” for Schoenberg is well aware that composers whom he regards as geniuses, such as Mahler, did not write durationless music (to say the least; MI, 89). Nevertheless, this requirement “reveals the goal toward which one strives and the criterion by which to judge one’s efforts” (HL, 326).

Example 6.1  A n intermediate degree of integrity in a regular musical work.

This criterion presents a dilemma for Schoenberg. On the one hand, it shows all his works as failures and leaves him desolate: “My works will always reveal to me only their imperfection, their comparative—measured by me—failure.”4 On the other hand, even if perfection were attained, again,

Zeroing in and zeroing out  183 “it would hardly be bearable if we knew the truth,” which is that even the genius is alienated (HL, 366/326; translation modified). This dilemma is vividly depicted in Die glückliche Hand, op. 18 (1910–1913), whose time of composition encompasses that of the Six Little Piano Pieces: In the beginning, a man is pinned to the ground by a huge, bat-winged hyena that is gnawing on his neck, and in the end, after creating a gem in a single instant, he is again pinned down by the demonic beast. At first, Schoenberg tries to avoid the first horn of this dilemma by minimizing error. He writes, A disheartening fact: purity is impurity attenuated to the utmost degree. These are indeed all only approximate values: 0 = x-x or ∞-∞ or even x/∞, and if we take them as only partially real, then there is always a remainder that compels acknowledgement: as little compromise as possible is the utmost that we can attain.5 He minimizes error first of all by minimizing repetition and maximizing development, for the longer a piece takes to present its idea, the bigger the compromise. He also minimizes error by minimizing composition: Following a surge of creativity in 1909, he writes only the unfinished Three Pieces for Chamber Orchestra and some music for Die glückliche Hand in 1910. To be sure, the pressures of writing Harmonielehre, teaching, making ends meet, and tending to his family all crowd out the delicate process of composition. But he still finds plenty of time for painting. Some writers have suggested that Schoenberg turns to painting to reach his artistic ideal of immediate self-­expression.6 It is better to say that he turns to painting, which is not his “own artistic field,” in part to avoid attempting to reach this artistic ideal and failing.7 But two notebook entries from late 1910 show him preparing to test his mettle—his ratio—once and for all, no matter the cost. First, at the age of 36, Schoenberg writes: At a certain middle age, man does not need to pester fate about his future. He must already know how it will be as long as he has correctly understood his past. As pure as this was, so everything further will be. Naturally, he cannot know every event that will take place, but he can know how it will turn out. Then a rule will be able to be recognized; a ratio will show itself that remains always the same…. I am persuaded that certainly the clinker or the jackpot can be dredged up. The capabilities and inclinations of the one tear into their clinker, just as those of the other tear into their jackpot. So what is the point of all this activity? Perhaps only: to satisfy the urge for activity—?!8 The notion of dredging up the clinker or the jackpot connects with ­Schoenberg’s conception of art as involving a penetrating, inward movement of perception and a complementary, outward movement of expression. The

184 Thinking in music regular artist can only go so far, which is to say he runs into the clinker—an impenetrable, worthless mass. The genius reaches the goal, the jackpot. Note the incredulous question mark plus exclamation point—Schoenberg seems to sense the emptiness of this goal, the second horn of his dilemma. ­Second, he writes: “Highest objectivity, which alone cannot be deflected: to be struck down and only thereby to think through uninterruptedly.”9 With a strong scent of Schopenhauer, Schoenberg here describes the genius’s act of perception with pure objectivity as a kind of kamikaze mission, where diving into the object, because it involves transcending the individual subject, in a sense means getting killed. In these notebook entries, we can see Schoenberg gearing up for an ultimate trial, which is to take place in the Six Little Piano Pieces. Nos. 1–5 as a whole Bryan R. Simms and Haimo have claimed that Schoenberg’s Six Little ­Piano Pieces represent just the opposite: a backing down from his artistic ideal through a return to earlier harmonic, expressive, and formal features, especially motivic development and an alleged reprise in no. 4; however, the evidence does not wholly support the notion of a stylistic return, nor is the conclusion of a backing down justified.10 Simms (2000, 85) writes, “The harmonic language in every piece reverts to the familiar four- and five-note sets from 1908 and 1909.” This claim is not entirely accurate, and it conflates harmony and texture. There is an abundance of “chords with six or more tones,” the last and most advanced category in Schoenberg’s Harmonielehre (HL, 411), as for example D–E–G–B–C–F in no. 1, m. 8, and even where such chords are not sounding in the texture, they can often be extrapolated, as for example A–C–D–F–G–B–B–D in no. 2, mm. 2–3 (Väisälä 1999, 247). Simms continues, “The expressive content of the pieces is familiar, ranging from the playful no. 4, to the lyrical no. 3, to the wistful no. 1.” We will address the expression in due course, but for now suffice it to say that Simms’s assessment is unsupported and by no means universal. As for a return to earlier formal features, although Schoenberg renounces motives and themes in theory in 1909–1910,11 he does not entirely relinquish them in practice, not even in op. 11, no. 3, which has been characterized by some writers as the epitome of athematicism.12 He withdraws the notion of athematicism precisely because the theory does not match the music. Schoenberg says that I soon took it back, for indeed coherence in music can rest on nothing other than the motive, its transformations, and its developments…. Not all that does not glitter is not gold, and something can be thematic that does not seem so in the least.13 Harmonielehre, written largely in the second half of 1910,14 already reinstates the terms “motive” and “theme,” but it still excludes “motivic work”

Zeroing in and zeroing out  185 (unvaried repetition, including transposition and mirror forms), which does not return until “Das Komponieren mit selbstständigen Stimmen” (“Composing with Independent Voices”) in 1911 during his reconstruction period, when he starts to employ motivic work in unfolding.15 The third edition of Harmonielehre reinstates “motivic work,” specifically in connection with polyphony (HL, 3rd ed., 10/14). That Schoenberg throws out the terms ­“motive” and “theme” together with “motivic work” in 1909 but recuperates “motive” and “theme” in 1910 apart from “motivic work” suggests that his concept of the motive becomes more inclusive—and closer to his music. More specifically, at the beginning of his compositional career, Schoenberg conceives of the motive as an approximately one-bar unit, but with the taking back of the notion of athematicism, “a broadening of the concept of the motive appears, which brings it to its limits” (Raff 2006, 58 and 64), namely the concept of the motive as the smallest recognizable repeated part (MI, 169). Simms (2000, 82 and 84) perceives “motivic particles” or “submotivic particles” in Schoenberg’s New Music, but he does not recognize that these smallest recognizable repeated parts are by definition motives.16 With an eye to the motive as the smallest recognizable repeated part, what has seemed to some to be a lack of development in Schoenberg’s New Music shows up as just rapid development, a phenomenon that Schoenberg repeatedly draws attention to.17 I will show that Schoenberg uses development throughout the Six Little Piano Pieces, both where Simms and Haimo observe it (nos. 2–4 and 6) and where they do not (nos. 1 and 5). Schoenberg also uses themes, which are not always what they seem to be. The alleged reprise in op. 19, no. 4, is a repetition within a single thematic unit, while there is a genuine reprise in no. 1 that neither Simms nor Haimo recognizes. Nevertheless, while the Six Little Piano Pieces are continuous in technique and expression with Schoenberg’s earlier New Music, Simms (2000, 84) is correct that they exhibit a certain stylistic “consolidation” in their relative economy of means. What are we to make of this consolidation, if not a backing down? I propose: Schoenberg is on some level aware in advance of the outcome of his attempt to attain absolute integrity. This outcome, as I explain in Chapter 8, is a reorientation, the incipience in no. 6 of his reconstruction period, when economy of means becomes paramount. So the stylistic consolidation in op. 19 is a matter of bridging from his second style period to his third, somewhat as op. 11, begun two years earlier to the day, bridged from his first style period to his second.18 Schoenberg is urged on in his effort by his newfound artistic and spiritual comrade, Wassily Kandinsky, to whom Schoenberg writes on January 24, 1911, “Art belongs to the unconscious! One must express oneself! Express oneself directly!” and who responds on January 26, “I am very pleased that you speak of self-perception. That is the root of the ‘new’ art, of art in general, which is never new, but which must only enter into a new phase—­‘Today!’”19 As one of the requisites of immediate self-expression, S ­ choenberg ­essentially improvises nos. 1–5, writing them in a single day. The spare, sometimes even

186 Thinking in music monophonic texture contributes to their improvisatory air. So, too, do “the broken melodic phrases, the nervous rhythmic movement, and the avoidance of traditional lyrical flow” (Fearn 2002, 1:272). But what makes this attempt unique is Schoenberg’s implicit exploitation of two possibilities that he mentions in Harmonielehre: “the idea could be spun out still further or new ones attached” (HL, 127). In nos. 1–5, as I will show, the idea is spun out through the attachment of new ideas. This spinning out through attachment involves an instance of self-reference: nos. 1–4 dramatize their own conception and realization, and no. 5 dramatizes the immediate aftermath. In theory, this self-reference goes on to infinity, but in practice there are only four genuine iterations of nos. 1–4 within itself (nos. 2–4, nos. 3–4, no. 4, and the end of no. 4). Consistent with the music’s self-embedding, there is a progressive reduction of durations: After no. 1, which has the equivalent of 43 slow quarter notes, no. 2 has 36 slow quarter notes, no. 3 has 27 very slow quarter notes, no. 4 has 24 quick quarter notes, and the end of no. 4 is theoretically a durationless instant. As we will see, the only literalistic reenactment of the music’s conception occurs in no. 1, but the music dramatizes itself more figuratively in different ways, including especially a progressive embedding of Gestalten from piece to piece. The self-embedding of the music is analogous to the dual appearance of the Ursatz in a piece of music with interruption, with one important difference: For Schenker, interruption need not be infinite, but for S ­ choenberg, the self-embedding must be infinite for the music to catch up with the evolution of perception. Since every iteration is in principle infinitely deep, it is to a certain extent equivalent to its predecessor. Accordingly, as shown in Example 6.2, the idea actually recalibrates itself to the tone at each iteration, in such a way that all the instances drive toward a virtually durationless point at the end of no. 4, where idea and realization, perception and recording, man and music converge, and Schoenberg attains absolute integrity.20

I

II

III

Example 6.2  Absolute integrity in Schoenberg, op. 19, nos. 1–4.

IV

Zeroing in and zeroing out  187 No. 1 Like the “fleeting” ( flüchtig) “will-o-the-wisp” thirty-second-note figures in no. 1 that appear out of the blue and disappear again (Fearn 2002, 1:274), the “airy” piece “sounds on the whole like a section out of a larger work”— which it is, even though it is also a self-contained piece (Dörr 2001, 170 and 169). This duality is reflected in the formal design. On the one hand, the piece has what could be called a small ternary form, which is typically the form of a section. But on the other hand, the piece also has an incipient sonata form, which is typically the form of a whole piece (Raff 2006, 265–283). The basic idea, m. 1 (Example 6.3), is the Grundgestalt.21 The problem is F and its dissonant, six-tone chord D–B–E–G–C–F in m. 1, beat 2.22 This chord could be heard as a composite of EmM7 and a G fourth chord, but it is obscure, primarily because it includes three instances of registrally ordered interval 1 (as pitch interval 13), an interval that Schoenberg treats as unstable.23 When F resolves to F in a “questioning” manner (Musca 2007, 117), eliminating an instance of registrally ordered interval 1, the music takes on an “earthbound” quality (Dörr 2001, 170), because F points to the initial B as the ground tone: The melody in m. 1 arpeggiates a tonic triad. The music’s task is to elucidate the coherence of motives a–d and at the same time to clarify and stabilize F (in relation to E and G) and the problematic chord in order to free the music from the grasp of B. We will see that B is the ground tone of both no. 1 and the set as a whole.24 A varied repetition in m. 2 (Example 6.3) completes the brief primary theme as a half-sentence and intensifies the unrest. All the motives are retrograded, and b is developed in b'. Motive-forms b' and a switch places, which calls attention to common features with c and d, respectively: the descending step in b' and c and the descending leap in a and d. Also, b' and a present an augmented transposition of c. Nevertheless, much about the motives remains unexplained. Accordingly, the imbalance is heightened by an extension of the arpeggiated tonic triad in the melody in m. 1 to a tonic seventh chord in mm. 1–2 and by the music’s tumble into a rhythmically accented tonic triad in m. 2.

Example 6.3  Schoenberg (1968), op. 19, no. 1, primary theme (half-sentence), mm. 1–2.

188 Thinking in music The transition, mm. 3–4 with the pickup (Example 6.4), features development of a and b, liquidation of c and d, and redirection of the unrest. Motive-­ form b' is developed in b'' in mm. 2–3, c and d are reduced to traces in m. 3, and an expanded inversion of a and b combine in Gestalt a + b in m. 3.25 “Convergent motion,” such as we find in the figure that includes a + b, “is a most interesting surface detail” in the pieces (Greenbaum 2009, 47). But we will find that convergent motion is also a deep characteristic that links the pieces together, and it serves as an image of the contraction of nos. 1–4. For this reason, the “fleeting” figure in mm. 3–4 represents a half-formed thought of the whole. Its sense of convergence is offset by its rhythmic broadening and its bifurcation into two voices. Similarly, the quelling of B at the cadence in m. 3, beat 2, through C’s capturing of the leading tone A as its seventh B is offset by the troubling tilt toward D in the D-minor triad in the right hand in m. 4.

Example 6.4  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, transition, mm. 3–4 with pickup.

The brief secondary theme, mm. 5–6 with the pickup (Example 6.5), which takes the form of a mere antecedent, furthers the unrest and starts to explain F. The problematic F from the transition in m. 4 continues upward by a half step, thereby strengthening D with DMadd9 in m. 4 (G = F), much as it strengthened B in mm. 1–2. But while B unfolded gradually in the primary theme, D takes the secondary theme by storm. The turmoil is conveyed by the higher range, wider intervals, and quicker rhythm of the melody and by the churning polyphonic texture. However, along with its motivic mediation through the overlap of a, and b, and the newly developed c' in m. 6, the music manages to dissolve D in a symmetrical whole-tone chord in m. 6, the conclusion and climax of the theme—perhaps even the climax of the entire piece.26 At the same time, the music manages to defuse a B-minor tonic triad in the melody in m. 6 by using the retrograde of b instead of the prime as in m. 1. With this brief respite, we get the first inkling of an explication of F, particularly in relation to G, and an indication that F and F will undergo a role reversal.27

Zeroing in and zeroing out  189

Example 6.5  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, secondary theme, mm. 5–6 with pickup.

The bridge, mm. 7–8 (Example 6.6), continues to clarify F and the motives. The melody seems to arpeggiate B79, as if a mischievous “glimmering apparition” were “smiling ironically” and sabotaging the preceding resting point in m. 6 by tonicizing its bass E.28 But together with a linking of a retrograde inversion of a + b with both c' and a variant of d through their overlap, the music once again dissolves its tonal tendencies in an accented, syncopated chord, D–E–G–B–C–F–B–F in m. 8.29 Like the problematic chord in m. 2, with which it has five common tones, the dissonant, eight-tone chord in m. 8 is obscure: It has two instances of registrally ordered interval 1, and it is unclear whether B–F belongs to the chord. However, it could be a composite of GMadd6 (the result of a strong progression from B79 in m. 7) and a doubly altered fourth chord (F = E). If so, the chord shows another side of F, draws F closer to G, and helps to put F on an equal footing with F.

Example 6.6  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, bridge, mm. 7–8.

The contrasting middle/elaboration, mm. 9–12 (Example 6.7), distills a + b, c', and d into separate textural elements that bring E, F, and G into

190 Thinking in music a new constellation. First, liquidating repetitions of d present GMadd6, a reduction of the dissonant chord in m. 8.30 Second, an overlapping pair of inversions of c' in mm. 10–11—the second one liquidating—situate F as the fifth of a B-minor triad. Third, inversions of b and a + b cadence in E ­m inor. By settling onto G, F, and E, the music suggests that the sound of these tones together can be restful, perhaps because of the balanced E-diminished triad formed by the ground tones.31 However, the relation of F to E is still indirect, because F and E do not actually sound together.

Example 6.7  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, contrasting middle/elaboration, mm. 9–12.

The contrasting middle/elaboration represents a visionary state following a flash of inspiration. The static, shimmering GMadd6 disrupts the prevailing temporality, so that “things once seen become invisible, things invisible become seen.”32 The inner vision that arises is the Gestalt in the melody, whose diatonicism, placid rhythm, tenor range, and gap-filling movement suggest its ideal character. But most importantly, as shown in Example 6.8, this Gestalt x, defined by its convergent contour and its final half step, is the Grundgestalt for the entire set. Gestalt x is somewhat more abstract than the Gestalten proper to each piece, and it has a somewhat different function: The job of x as the vision is simply to sound again in its entirety, with the aid of development, so as to realize the vision. ­Development of x consists in embellishment, mainly with forms of y, defined by its contour and its prefatory third. Gestalt x has a number of incomplete restatements along the way, and these restatements with their growing layers of self-similar embellishment are loosely correlated with the music’s increasingly dense self-dramatization. Furthermore, the degree of completeness and fullness of x is correlated with the music’s vitality. The secondary theme ⇒ primary theme in the recapitulation, mm. 13–15 (Example 6.9), features a further reconciliation of motives, a further justification of F, and a decisive suspension of the tonality. The theme begins as the secondary theme in m. 13, but m. 13 winds up sounding like an ­“extended pickup” to the primary theme in mm. 14–15 (Raff 2006, 280). The theme links a variant of b'' with a variant of c', and an inverse variant

Example 6.8  Gestalten x, y, and z in Schoenberg, op. 19.

192 Thinking in music of d  cinches its coherence with a. Along with all this melodic mediation comes a solidification of F, which sounds almost continuously during the theme. While F in m. 1 resolved to F, G (F) in m. 13 resolves to F. And while F in m. 10 seemed to be the mere fifth of a B-minor triad, F in mm. 13–15 is the dominant of B major. However, F actually helps to cancel the tonic-dominant polarity, because the chords in m. 13 fuse B79 and F79.33 F also helps to nullify D from the secondary theme zone, because the composite chord A–G–D–A–E–F in m. 13, beat 1, subsumes, revoices, and weakens DMadd9 from m. 5. Most importantly, F helps to tranquilize the ground tone B, which is caught in m. 14, beat 2, as C between G79 pulling it up and D7 pulling it down. The balanced diminished seventh chord containing the ground tones G and D is completed at the cadence in m. 15 by B and E, the ground tone of EM7. Accordingly, the theme has the effect of a “sigh and release of tension.” The texture inverts and lightens at the cadence, the chords flipping up over the melody. But the theme also has the effect of a “hymnlike moment” followed by a “collapse,” with its chorale texture and sinking register and dynamics (Shawn 2002, 114 and 117). This effect is in accord with the theme’s presentation of an incomplete x', a development of the lofty x featuring an elaboration by y' (see Example 6.8).

Example 6.9  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, secondary theme ⇒ primary theme, mm. 13–15.

The coda, mm. 15–17 (Example 6.10), recalls earlier moments and solves the problem. Like the cadence in the transition in m. 3, beat 2, the cadence at the end of the recapitulation in m. 15 is embellished by b' in mm. 15–17. Instead of F resolving over EmM7 as in m. 1, here EmM7 resolves over F. But E is also in the chord of resolution, so E and F are reconciled, completing the union begun in the contrasting middle/elaboration. The countermelody in the coda reflects the melody in the contrasting middle/elaboration by featuring b and a + b, only here b emerges within an augmentation of c, driving home their coherence. As in mm. 6 and 13, F resolves to F in m. 17, sealing their role reversal. Perhaps the solution is a bit of an overcorrection: F will cause difficulties in the next three pieces. The countermelody arpeggiates DmM7, which combines with the fourth chord F–B–D (E) to form a T10

Zeroing in and zeroing out  193 of the problematic chord in m. 1, revoiced to substitute an instance of registrally ordered interval 11 for 13. Motives a, b, c, and d have all been linked, the problematic F has been clarified and stabilized in relation to E and G so as to defuse B, and the music has begun its mission to realize x.

Example 6.10  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 1, coda, mm. 15–17.

No. 2 The formal design of the slim, twitchy no. 2 has been subject to conflicting, inaccurate interpretations. Two writers say that it has a binary form, referring to the similarity between mm. 3 and 6 (Grandjean 1977, 17; Boge 1985, 57), while another calls it a “developmental ternary,” evidently thinking of mm. 4–5 as a contrasting middle (Simms 2000, 85), while still another says that it has either a binary or a ternary form (Schmidt 1993, 109–110). The problem with these interpretations is that they account only for melodic similarity or difference; they do not even take into account the constituent parts of binary and ternary forms, which are incompatible, let alone all the melodic and harmonic features that define these parts. Most glaringly, these interpretations cast mm. 7–9 as a coda, but that is not possible, because the harmony has not reached its resting point. The marking “exactly in time” (genau im Takt) in m. 7 confirms the ongoing movement. Rather, the piece is a sentence with an introduction and an additional cadential phrase. The design is very similar to that of no. 6, as I show in the next chapter. One reason the design is difficult to identify is that “the melody and ­ ecause ostinato… are easily confused with one another” (Adams 1993, 337) b of their “convergence,” their development into one another (Raff 2006, 284). Another reason the design is so obscure is that the piece is both linear and approximately symmetrical about the middle of m. 5.34 The retrograde relation is particularly clear between the basic idea and the continuation, the former starting with D–B and ending with C–A, and the latter doing the opposite. This duality of linearity and mirror symmetry is an inspired illustration of the music’s simultaneous action and self-­dramatization, a form of self-reflection. The pervasive “blinking blips” of staccato thirds (Barkin, 1997), echoed in the melody, have led a number of writers to continually put forward

194 Thinking in music the notion that the piece is “a play of major and minor thirds” (Stephan 1958, 36), as if there were nothing but thirds in the piece; or that the third “G–B is the basis of the composition” (Delaere 1995–1996, 357), as if the accompaniment were the main thing. Such notions reduce the harmony to its most immediate characteristic, but for Schoenberg, every musical event ­“functions not only in its own plane, but also in all other directions and planes, and is not without influence even at remote points.”35 In contrast to these writers, Väisälä (1999, 248), attending to the entirety of the horizontal and vertical dimensions, argues persuasively that the harmony “is based on three consonant harmonies,” one at the beginning and one at each of the two cadences. The G–B thirds have also led writers to put forward the incorrect notion that the piece refers in some way to G major, sometimes interpreting the harmony in m. 9 as a kind of plagal cadence with either a C–G motion or an octave-displaced C–B motion.36 This interpretation ignores that C, G, and B are all in different voices. John Covach correctly interprets the piece “as invoking the key of C, but disrupting our sense of tonality in a way that prevents it from being situated securely in any key.” He goes on to suggest that it would… be possible to demonstrate that the “logic” according to which the material for the piece is unfolded develops against a background created by common-practice tonality and expectations, and that all this occurs without the piece itself being tonal.37 That is basically what I am going to do, while also extending Väisälä’s insights into the harmony and Raff’s insights into the motivic development.38 The Grundgestalt is the basic idea of the sentence in mm. 3–4 with the pickup (Example 6.11). The accompaniment, prepared by the introduction in mm. 1–2, is comprised of motive-forms a and a', while the melody is comprised of b and b'. (I redefine such labels for each piece.) Although a and b are highly contrasting, the third D–B in m. 2 hints at their coherence. In addition, a' takes on the contour of b', but with melodic fourths instead of thirds. Motive a seems to have an upbeat that stops short of a downbeat (Kelterborn 1993, 106). This rhythmic imbalance draws attention to the last part of the measure, where F appears in m. 2. F is “problematic,” in that it is unclear whether F is a chord tone, because it forms an instance of registrally ordered interval 1 with G (Väisälä 1999, 246). Including F, the seven-tone chord A–C–D–F–G–B–B–D would be a composite of AM7 (D = E) and GM7.39 And F is unrestful, because when it implicitly resolves to G, the chord is reduced to a mere composite of AM and GM, which as VI and V in C minor point to the ground tone C. So in m. 4, the harmony resembles a dominant triad with a pedal six-four chord yanking the music toward C. The piece’s mission is to make plain the coherence of a and b—the melody and accompaniment—and at the same time to clarify and stabilize F and the problematic chord in order to wrest the music from the clutches of C.

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Example 6.11  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 2, introduction and basic idea, mm. 1–4.

The rather terse repetition of the basic idea, m. 5 (Example 6.12), redoubles the unrest. F7 or G7, which represents a first step in steadying F by making it a root, yanks back against C a tritone away. However, the counterforce is excessive, for now the implied G-major triad and F7 point to B as VI and V7 in B minor.40

Example 6.12  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 2, repetition and continuation, mm. 5–6.

The continuation, m. 6 (Example 6.12), develops b toward a and begins working out the problem. All four mirror forms of b' are chained together in such a way that b' takes on the harmonic thirds of a.41 The music would crash into a B-minor tonic triad at the cadence in m. 6, echoing the B-minor triad in m. 2, but fortunately, two overlapping statements of b, the second one incomplete, fill out the B-minor triad with a B-diminished triad and a B-diminished triad, balanced, symmetrical chords that muddy the impression of B as a tonic. This “sullying crunch” further strengthens F by putting it deep in the bass (Barkin 1997), and it suggests that the restoration of balance will involve counterposing B and B (C). The cadential phrase, mm. 7–9 (Example 6.13), develops a and b into each other and solves the problem. The cadence in m. 9 features a fragment of the new motive-form a'' in the accompaniment and a condensation of b in the rump melody that can also be heard as a condensed fragment of a''. This

196 Thinking in music motivic reconciliation coincides with a harmonic reconciliation. The thirds in mm. 7–8 compose out a descent from G–B in m. 1 or m. 7 to C–E at the cadence in m. 9 (Väisälä 1999, 248), which would be V–I, but this “dump” into the tonic C is offset in such a way that the tonality is suspended (Barkin 1997). The cadential chord is a composite of CM7, BM7 (E = D and B = A), and the beginnings of BM, which vanishes from sight as it rises into the stratosphere.42 The ground tones C, B, and B form a balanced chromatic scale segment, and two balanced augmented triads, E+ and B+ answer the two diminished triads in m. 6.43 The cadential chord shows F in a new light, and it also includes a transposition of the problematic chord in m. 3, with five common tones, but without any instances of registrally ordered interval 1. In sum, as the melody and accompaniment motives develop into one another, F is clarified and stabilized as the dominant of B, which helps to counterbalance C.

Example 6.13  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 2, cadential phrase, mm. 7–9.

As shown in Example 6.8, the sentence in no. 2, not including the additional cadential phrase, presents an incomplete x'', a development of x' in no. 1 that adds z: a “somewhat drawn out” (etwas gedehnt), ascending, quasi-stepwise motion leading to the third tone of x''. The incomplete x'' in no. 2 makes it one tone further than the incomplete x' in no. 1, but there is again a sense of the music being sapped of its vitality: The melodic intervals generally contract, the register sinks, and the dynamics diminish. No. 3 No. 3 is characterized by “two opposing polarities in conflict, whose characteristics change in the course of the piece and become similar through their mutual influence” (Schmidt 1993, 115). This conflict is embodied most obviously by the disparate textures and dynamics in mm. 1–4: forte chords

Zeroing in and zeroing out  197 in the right hand and pianissimo octaves in the left. The meters and phrase structures of the two hands in mm. 1–4 are also somewhat independent: The right hand generally follows the written meter and takes the form of an antecedent, while the left hand generally follows a displaced meter with the quasi-downbeat on beat 2 and takes the form of a sentential antecedent.44 But the conflict is most basically a matter of competing tones as well as contrasting motives that are gradually reconciled. B in the “earthbound” left hand is the ground tone, and G in the “upward striving” right hand is the main competitor.45 The conflict is introduced over the course of the antecedent, mm. 1–4, and it is resolved over the course of a consequent, mm. 5–9. The Grundgestalt is the basic idea of the antecedent, mm. 1–2 (Example 6.14).46 The initial chord in the right hand in m. 1, D–F–B–C, raises the question of whether it is DM7add6 or Bmadd9. Meanwhile, B in the left hand in m. 1 puts in its own claim on D and F as the third and fifth of B+. F shows itself to be a problem when, unable to take the pressure of the competing claims in the five-tone chord B–D–F–B–C, it resolves to G in m. 1. Far from settling things, this move tonicizes a strident GMadd4. At the same time, B pulls against the upward force of G by falling to its subdominant E, which can claim G as its third. G fights back by enlisting its own subdominant C in m. 1 and reaching over C to a radiant G-major triad on the downbeat of m. 2. G perhaps means to call again for corroboration from the accented F in m. 2 as its leading tone, but F, perhaps unnerved by the audacity of G or swayed by B in the bass in m. 2 and not recognizing its own strength as FmM7, yields to F in m. 2, which forms Fmadd9. This chord hardly registers as a dominant, as it lacks a leading tone, but it is enough to rile up B, which surges toward its dominant F on the downbeat of m. 3. The task of the piece is to illuminate the coherence of motives a, b, and c and to bolster F and the problematic chord so as to settle the brawl between B and G without letting either get the upper hand. Although the basic idea has common features with mm. 3–4 (Example 6.14), the motivic relation with mm. 5–6, is closer, so mm. 3–4 serve as a contrasting idea. The contrasting idea features development of b and c and the attainment of a provisional resting point. An inverse variant of c in mm. 2–3 temporarily shifts the motive into the written meter and includes a remote retrograde of b, which is echoed in m. 3. The metric shift and the inclusion relation would draw a connection between b and c. But at the same time, b is shifted away from the downbeat and developed in b' in mm. 3–4. The resulting fifth D–G in m. 3 would similarly draw a connection between b' and c, but the following fragment of c in mm. 3–4 omits the fifth, and then c' in m. 4 expands the fifth to a minor sixth E–C. (Motive-form c' is immediately liquidated by leveling off.) Corresponding to the back and forth between b and c, F in the bass in m. 3 launches an incomplete BM7 into the right hand in m. 3, momentarily occupying the territory of G. G bounces back immediately afterward with another G-major triad in m. 3. The symmetrical augmented

198 Thinking in music

Example 6.14  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 3, antecedent, mm. 1–4.

triads at the cadence in m. 4 do not help to halt to the tonal tussling, because their combination is dissonant (with three instances of registrally ordered interval 1), and they resolve to I7 in B major. The basic idea in the consequent, mm. 5–6 (Example 6.15), begins to reconcile the motives and clarifies F. Accordingly, the texture, dynamics, meter, and phrase structure become more homogenous, although the texture is still somewhat polyphonic. Motive a develops successively into a' and a'', which melds with a retrograde of b and overlaps with b'', developed from b. Accompanying these connections, F in m. 5, a half step below G, leaps to B, in contrast to F in no. 2, m. 2, which implicitly resolved to G in m. 3. It seems that F has found some backbone. Through this stabilization, F (G) participates in a VI7–I7 progression in C minor in m. 5, shadowed by the same Stufen in B minor, which allows B to elicit its mediant D in m. 5, a previously unheard tone (at least with this enharmonic identity). However, D reverts to a neighbor note E in m. 6. The contrasting idea, mm. 7–9 (Example 6.16), continues to reconcile the motives and clarifies D (a spin-off of the problematic F), thereby restoring balance. Accordingly, the texture becomes even more homogenous: monodic instead of polyphonic. A variant of b'' in m. 7 incorporates a variant of a'' and a fragment of c', and a retrograde variant of c becomes an inverse variant of b'. At the same time, the strained attainment of E in m. 7 invites a reinterpretation of E as D again, as it is written at the end of the measure.

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Example 6.15  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 3, basic idea in consequent, mm. 5–6.

E as a ground tone opposes and mediates A and C (forming a symmetrical augmented triad) as well as B and G (forming a symmetrical diminished triad) in such a way that when G and B appear in m. 9, they are at peace. The final chord, a clear composite of BM7 and G, is a T8 of the initial part of the problematic chord in m. 1 (Stuckenschmidt 1971, 89).

Example 6.16  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 3, contrasting idea in consequent, mm. 7–9.

The consequent recalls not only G–B from no. 2 but also B–D from no. 1, m. 1, and it is “in the spirit of the hymnlike statement near the end of piece no. 1” (Shawn 2002, 121), which has a similar texture and rhythm. Accordingly, as shown in Example 6.8, the consequent presents a very incomplete x''', a development of x'' in no. 2 that elaborates the embedded y' in mm. 5–9, originating in the hymn-like statement in no. 1, with a doubly embedded y in mm. 5–7 and in mm. 7–9. No. 4 The climactic fourth piece is characterized by “volatile” changes of tone (Shawn 2002, 122); it exhibits “the nervous, the witty, the soothing, the vehement, the abrupt” (Krieger 1968, 35). This quicksilvery quality, together with the rapid tempo and the light texture, has led some to make “the

200 Thinking in music mistake of assuming a merely whimsical juxtaposition of moods.”47 But the music’s mutability, rapidity, and delicacy reflect rather its ever-intensifying self-­reflection, compression, and haste as it approaches the point of singularity in the final measure. In this regard, several analysts have remarked on nested and/or self-similar structures in the piece.48 Far from being whimsical, the piece is “grand” and “dramatic” with its double-dotted rhythms and tense syncopations.49 The piece is a period with an episode, not—as has often been supposed—a small ternary. Unlike a contrasting middle, the episode, mm. 6–9, overlaps with and “interrupts” the antecedent (Krieger 1968, 33), and it delays and compresses the consequent. The Grundgestalt is the basic idea, mm. 1–2 with the pickup (Example 6.17). B in m. 1 might be the ground tone of BmM7, but because it forms a cross relation and an instance of registrally ordered interval 1 with B in m. 2, it is forced to resolve downward to A in m. 2, which casts the harmony in mm. 1–2 as I–(IV)–Iadd4 in F major.50

Example 6.17  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 4, antecedent, mm. 1–6.

The overemphasis on F in the basic idea seems to spur the music to f light in the rhythmically active contrasting idea, mm. 3–5 with the

Zeroing in and zeroing out  201 pickup ­(Example 6.17), which develops b and c and presents the problem. ­Motive-form b' in mm. 2–3 is chained together with b'' to form Gestalt B. Motive-form c' extends c into an inverted fourth chord and adds Cm M7 and BmM7 (completed by the melody), which are patterned after the apparent BmM7 in m. 1. But the composite, eight-tone, dissonant chord D–F–G–C– E–G–B–D–F–A, with two instances of registrally ordered interval 1, is unclear and problematic.51 There is also a rhythmic unrest here, as mm. 4–5 feature unresolved syncopation at the level of both the division and the beat (Morrison 1992, 78). The chord is somewhat familiar as a revoicing of the lightning-flash chord in no. 1, m. 8, except for A, which turns out to be particularly problematic.52 As in nos. 2 and 3, F also causes some difficulties. M. 6 with the pickup composes a cadential idea (Example 6.17), which delineates the unrest.53 Like its enharmonic equivalent B in m. 1, the problematic A in mm. 4–5 cannot hold its own, and it resolves to B in m. 5, thereby disturbing the precarious balance between the ground tones B, C, and perhaps D in mm. 4–5, as if knocking over a chain of dominos: B in m. 5 is tonicized by A, and B in turn tonicizes C in m. 5, which captures D in m. 6 as its supertonic. At the same time, however, the newly developed b''' demonstrates a coherence with c' in mm. 4–5 through its inclusion of D–C–G. (The grace note D also serves to clarify the connection with b'' in m. 3; it is subsequently dropped.)54 Upon making this insight, the music counteracts C and B and reaches a slight resting point in the symmetrical, diminished triads in m. 6, which represent remote variants of c. The piece’s undertaking will be to uncover the coherence of a, b, and c and to clarify and stabilize F and especially A and the problematic chord so that they do not tip the balance in favor of any particular ground tone, especially B, which is arguably the ground tone of the piece, despite its late arrival.55 The episode, mm. 6–9 (Example 6.18), develops b and c and furthers the unrest. The phrase replays a scenario seen in nos. 2 and 3: F in m. 6 clashes with G a minor second above. The languid resolution of F to F in m. 6 ­allows F to exploit F as its leading tone E. F and F (E) insinuate themselves into the diminished triads in m. 6 to form an implied I7–V79 –I progression in F minor in mm. 6–7, disrupting the balance reached by the preceding cadential idea while also showing another side of F. The melody subsequently drifts through an octatonic collection to A minor in mm. 8–9.56 But the music dissipates the force of both F and A in the polychord in mm. 8–9. At the same time, it makes a connection between G–A–B in the new B' in m. 7 and F–G–A, the ground tones in the new c'' in m. 8 (and a transposition of B–C–D in c' in mm. 4–5).57 However, the chord also hints at the ground tone of the piece, since all the tones are diatonic to B minor.

202 Thinking in music

Example 6.18  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 4, episode, mm. 6–9.

Analysts have perceived that the Gestalten are related through contour in manifold ways, and no one has failed to notice that the consequent ­(Example 6.19), true to its definition, is a varied repetition of the antecedent.58 But no one has recognized that the consequent is also a condensed, reduced restatement of the entire piece. This self-embedding is in keeping with the music’s self-reflection. The antecedent is reduced to the basic idea in m. 10, both of them starting with F, and the episode is reduced to the contrasting idea in m. 10, both of them starting with F.59 The consequent is in some respects embedded in its own cadential idea, mm. 11–13, first of all in that the dyad F–F undergoes further condensation in m. 11. There is also a twofold condensation of a weak-weak-strong rhythm found across the three phrases of the piece, the three subphrases of the consequent phrase, and the three measures of the cadential idea (Cooper and Meyer 1960, 175). In addition, the main accents in the last three subphrases (the consequent) fall on their final tones—the second B in m. 10, G in m. 10, and B in m. 13—and correspondingly the main accents in the last three measures (the cadential idea) fall on their final tones—F in m. 11, B in m. 12, and B in m. 13. The final B can then be considered a reduced restatement of the cadential idea within itself, and as such it can be ascribed either to b''' or to a (to b or not to b, that is the question mark in Example 6.19). Actually, there is a linkage here between all three main motives: The offbeat chords in mm. 2, 8, 11, and 12 get progressively longer and metrically stronger, which implies that B in m. 13 is an offbeat chord—that is, a form of motive c—shifted all the way onto the downbeat (Leong 2011, 133). Two other important motivic connections in the consequent are that a variant of b in m. 10 becomes a variant of a, and A–F in m. 10 is echoed by F–D in m. 10, confirming a coherence between a and b'.60 The proliferation of motivic connections in the consequent corresponds with the profusion of harmonic relations, through which the tonality is suspended and the problem is solved. To begin with, B in m. 10 is stabilized as the ground tone of BmM7, which keeps F in check. F is further offset by

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Example 6.19  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 4, consequent, mm. 10–13.

F in the pair of fourth chords in m. 11. The peculiar stepwise arpeggiation from F in the lower chord to the problematic F in the upper chord provides a model for a similar arpeggiation (not resolution!) from the problematic B (A) in m. 12 to B in 13. The chord in m. 12, A–G–B (C)–F–B–G, is a combination of A, Gm, B altered fourth chord, and Gm.61 Its ground tones include T8 of those of the problematic chord in mm. 4–5, with which it shares four common tones, but it has no instances of registrally ordered interval 1 smaller than a double octave. The chord thus represents a final clarification and stabilization of B (A), such that it no longer threatens to resolve to B, even when it moves there, because they are both chord tones. B also is part of a balanced chromatic series of ground tones G–G–A–B–B in mm. 12–13, which helps to erase the tonality.62 Along with this harmonic clarification comes a recapitulation and resolution of the unresolved syncopes in mm. 4 and 6 (Leong 2011, 133). The piece’s overall drama can be understood in terms of the attempts of “two persons of different temperament” to complete a form of x.63 As shown in Example 6.8, the initially confident antecedent presents an incomplete, misshapen variant of x''' in mm. 1–6 with no doubly embedded y'. The embedded Gestalt z in mm. 3–6 is obscured by the anomalous F–G and D–C in m. 3 (which perhaps represent tardy, ineffectual attempts to restore the missing y'), and at the unclear A in mm. 4–5, the antecedent seems confused as to whether it is ascending stepwise through z or rather descending stepwise through E– D–D–C–A (B) in mm. 3–4. This confusion delays and weakens the antecedent, which is overtaken by the episode. The slow, languorous episode manages to produce only y in mm. 6–9. Like the preceding z, y is obscured by the anomalous F in mm. 6–7, a consequence of the unstable F in m. 6, and so like the antecedent, the episode is delayed and weakened. The consequent (the same character as the antecedent), determined not to be put off course again, forcefully and hastily lays down a complete x''' in mm. 10–13, which includes a

204 Thinking in music variant of y' in m. 10 where the last tone is the same as the third. (This variant corrects the overemphasis on F discussed earlier.) Interestingly, the tones of x''' are the same as the chromatic scale segment in mm. 12–13, which perhaps contributes to the effect of the music collapsing into a durationless point in m. 13 as it finally completes a fully developed version of x. This moment must present only the ground tone. The music here fully realizes the idea of the tone, and only the ground tone is its own perfect imitation. The music here contracts into a dimensionless point, and only the ground tone is a central part that is also the whole. In this respect, the ground tone is the counterpart of the eye, and at this moment of perfect integrity, ­Schoenberg sees only his eye seeing itself see itself ad infinitum. Schoenberg here achieves the state forecast by his pair of paintings Blauer Blick and Roter Blick from 1910 (Example 6.20), which form a virtual diptych of a face in profile uttering and gazing at an eye. This eye seems to be the other eye of the person, which means that he is looking at himself (looking at himself). M ­ oreover, the process of dissolution in Schoenberg’s self-portraits and Blicke that Berthold Hoeckner (2002, 191) perceives culminating in the enucleated eye in Roter Blick (see Example 6.21) represents a purification of painting as, in S ­ choenberg’s words, “making music in colors and forms”:64 like the G ­ rundgestalt, the central eyes in Schoenberg’s paintings always show the greatest degree of internal contrast, in hue and even topography, and the dissolution of the face and the blending of new hues as one approaches the periphery are like the development of the Grundgestalt out into the piece, the reconciliation of its tensions, and the imitation of new tone color. So by showing a complete dissolution of the face and uniformity of tone, Roter Blick anticipates a piece of music in which the presentation of the idea is immediate.65

Example 6.20  Schoenberg, Blauer Blick (ca. March 1910), SC, CR 64; and Schoenberg, Roter Blick (March 26, 1910), SC, CR 65.

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Example 6.21  Dissolution in Schoenberg’s self-portraits and Blicke from 1910, SC, CR 13, 11, 15, 71, 12, 61, 63, and 65; based on Hoeckner 2002, figure 3, 192–193.

Zeroing out The moment of self-seeing and fulfillment at the end of no. 4 is also one of blindness and emptiness, because it is entirely self-referential and thus meaningless. No. 5 experiences this void as a kind of death, and it falters and flails helplessly before it succumbs to its fate. Enucleation No. 4 has “a feeling of great violence” as it approaches B in m. 13 (Shawn 2002, 122), the counterpart of the eye, which makes sense, because a disembodied eye presupposes an act of enucleation. In this regard, Hände (Hands) from 1910, which shows a hand reaching up to pluck an eye out of a head, and Blick and Vision from 1910, which show the subsequent bleeding of light from an empty eye socket, are also premonitory emblems of this moment.66 The image of enucleation—blinding oneself to see oneself—vividly confirms that the light of the genius “would blind us if we saw it,” since the genius is himself blind.67 Blind and alienated, as can also be explained in semiotic terms. According to C. S. Peirce, meaning is triadic, with a sign, an object, and an interpretant (i.e., a mental interpretation of the sign as the object; Atkin 2013). By this way of thinking, the perfectly self-referential B in m. 13, by eliminating any difference between itself as a sign and as an object, also eliminates a mediating interpretant and becomes utterly meaningless. Moreover, since this

206 Thinking in music tone is what it says, B itself is nothing. Zeroing in on B is a zeroing out. And since Schoenberg invests his whole self in this void, he faces what Viktor E. Frankl (1984, 111) calls “the existential vacuum,” the shattering sense that one’s life has no meaning. No. 5 Schoenberg’s glimpse into this abyss, his experience of the genius’s blind vision, is a terrifying premonition of “how it will turn out” for him: If life has no meaning, then he is already spiritually dead, just waiting for his body to catch up.68 As Schenker says, having arrived at an analogous glimpse of the void by means of interruption, “the vacuum… grins with the depth of the grave.”69 Accordingly, as if struck with a fatal, degenerative illness, the “retrospective” no. 5 looks back wistfully on nos. 1–4 (Shawn 2002, 123), stumbles through “a hazy, all but clouded-over world” (Dörr 2001, 184), and looks toward its approaching end with a growing sense of impotence and alarm, “as if running out of time” (Shawn 2002, 123). We will see that the sense of degeneration and impotence is conveyed by the motivic development, the gestures, and the formal design. The piece is a malformed sentence: a presentation that becomes a continuation, a continuation proper, and a cadential phrase. The Grundgestalt—the basic idea, mm. 1–3 (Example 6.22)—exhibits an exceedingly feeble motive a in m. 1, which is completely overshadowed by the “full” (voll) two-voice accompaniment: a countermelody consisting of motive-forms b in m. 1 and b' in mm. 2–3 and a bass line consisting of a retrograde variant of b in m. 1 and an inverse variant of b' in m. 2. The countermelody is so much more prominent that analysts frequently mistake it for the melody, overlooking the distinction between the voices provided by the differing stems. It is as if the melody tries to recall the Grundgestalt of no. 4 but cannot get past the first note, at which point the accompaniment takes over and continues with a fractured version of the original, a sixth or a third lower.70 Just as in no. 4, so, too, in no. 5 there is a slight overemphasis on F with B in m. 1 resolving to A in m. 2, the third of a prolonged F-major triad in mm. 1–2. This F chord is offset by what appears to be a G chord of shifting quality.71 The close of the countermelody (harkening back to no. 1, m. 2), settles into a D-diminished triad in mm. 2–3, which in itself would be symmetrical and restful, but the passing tone G in m. 2 inclines us to hear it as V7 in E major. The rest of the piece will develop the tensions introduced here between melody and accompaniment, between a and b, and between E, F, and G (as in no. 1). The basic idea is so anemic that the repetition, mm. 4–8 with the pickup (Example 6.23), already accelerates statements of a, becoming a continuation. Motive a develops step by step into b in mm. 5–8.72 But just then, b slips away as the countermelody presents b'' in mm. 7–8, developed from a simultaneous variant of b in the bass.73 Meanwhile, the melody passes through a

Zeroing in and zeroing out  207

Example 6.22  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 5, basic idea, mm. 1–3.

stepwise series of ground tones (tonics), also a continuation feature, while the accompaniment continues to present G chords of varying quality. The leading tone D in m. 3 resolves to E in m. 3, which itself immediately resolves to F in m. 4, echoing F in m. 1.74 F mutates to F in m. 5, which resolves to a fleeting G in m. 5. A in mm. 6–8, since it is rhythmically and metrically accented and appears alone, is also susceptible to being interpreted as a ground tone (HL, 130–131). While all the leading tones pull the melody upward, all the ground tones pull it downward, which contributes to the sense that the melody is “laboriously climbing a mountain” (Schmidt 1993, 143), or better just a slight incline. The harmony of the whole texture would reach something of a resting point in the altered fifth chord in m. 8, but the chord could also be V7 in G major with a pedal G, leaving things rather unsettled.

Example 6.23  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 5, repetition ⇒ continuation, mm. 4–8 with pickup.

The first regular continuation subphrase, m. 9 with the pickup (Example 6.24), furthers the pattern of a trying and failing to merge with b, and it formulates the problem. The mutation of A to A heightens the ambiguity of the five-tone, dissonant chord F–C–G–D–A, which could now be Vadd94 in B minor. As in no. 4, mm. 4–5, the melody seems to hesitate and falter at the unclear A in no. 5, m. 9. The hairpins under A underscore its tension.

208 Thinking in music And as in no. 4, A in no. 5 proves to be a problem when it breaks the tension by resolving to B. The melody only just touches B before collapsing to F; it “runs out of breath halfway up” the incline (Schmidt 1993, 143). B in the melody, which represents the resolution of the preceding F chord and the termination of the stepwise series of ground tones E–F–G–A–B in mm. 3–9, threatens to take over. And exactly at this point, a'' develops into a retrograde variant of b'', but b again evades a by developing into b''' (Schmidt 1993, 144). The task of the rest of the piece will be to close the gap between a and b, between the melody and accompaniment, and to account for A and the problematic chord, so as to ward off B.

Example 6.24  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 5, continuation, mm. 9–11 with pickup.

A second continuation subphrase, mm. 10–11 (Example 6.24), sees a again pursuing b, and it exacerbates the sense of impotence and unrest. The descending half step E–D in the new motive-form a'''' in m. 11 emulates the descending half steps in b''', especially E–D in m. 9. F–C in m. 10 and E–D in m. 11 constitute sinking, diminishing echoes of B–F in m. 9. It is as if the melody, unable to accelerate its statements of a any further in the continuation proper, climaxes prematurely and then sputters to a stop, with B minor now overtaken by G major. In the cadential phrase, mm. 12–15 (Example 6.25), a finally lays hold of b, and the problem is solved as the music expires. The sinking, shrinking instances of the new a''''' represent a “cry of despair” (Musca 2007, 135)— despair over the melody’s own weakness. The last, fragmentary instance of a''''' in mm. 14–15 merges with b'''. Meanwhile, the melody and accompaniment tumble through their own chord changes, coming dangerously close to converging on B. This turbulent harmonic motion is driven in part by the problematic A or B, which resolves in every direction to show different sides of itself: to B in m. 12, to G in m. 13, and to C in m. 14. The accompaniment continues moving in G major in mm. 12–13, while in the melody the ground tones move by minor third, F–G–C (B) in mm. 12–14. When C (B) sinks into the bass in m. 14, it threatens to absorb Dm7 in Bø79, just as D absorbed Am in m. 13. However, just as B acquires an implied Bø7 in m. 14, D thwarts B by acquiring its own implied Dø7. The combined chord B–F

Zeroing in and zeroing out  209

Example 6.25  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 5, cadential phrase, mm. 12–15.

(E)–A–D–A (G)–C in m. 14 is also a doubly altered fourth chord, a paraphrase and clarification of the problematic chord in m. 9. The music splays outward in m. 15 in a cadence that fuses what would be V9 and I in E major, suspending the subsidiary tonality of E as well. In no. 1 during the vision, the radiant cadence on E in m. 12 seemed to say, “There must be, somewhere in our future, a magnificent fulfilment as yet hidden from us.” But in no. 5 after the vision has been realized, the miserable cadence on E in m. 15 seems to say, “Perhaps it is just death” (HL, 239). The music’s degeneration also appears in its loss of embellishment of x, as shown in Example 6.8. Even though x was uniquely perfected in no. 4 and cannot be reestablished, the music continues to dwell on x in no. 5, because it has nothing else to do. The melody up through its collapse in m. 9 presents an incomplete variant of x that sheds all the embedded instances y and y' in x''' and uses only z, broken up by a couple of embellishing tones. Then a'''' in mm. 10–11 and a''''' in mm. 12–15 are identical with incomplete statements of x without even z. *** Schoenberg succeeds in nos. 1–5 of the Six Little Piano Pieces where he failed in “Ich darf nicht dankend.” Through the presentation of a uniquely composite musical idea, he attains absolute integrity, but he thereby experiences the blankness and blindness of the tone and the genius, and the music withers in dread. We can consolidate this account by observing how the Six Little Piano Pieces harken back to the earlier song, not simply because they allude to the frightful B minor, but because they allude to Waller im Schnee, the cycle that includes the poem “Ich darf nicht dankend.” Nos. 1–5 and the first five groups of poems all take place in winter, whereas no. 6 and the sixth group take place toward or in the following spring (in the case of the Piano Pieces, February and June 1911). No. 1 and the first group both present a vision. (“Perhaps that hidden there beyond the ledge / Of mountains, lies a hope of youth,

210 Thinking in music asleep.”) No. 2 presents blinking blips and a dip into a sullying crunch; the second group presents twinkling crystals and a carnal valley. (“You praised the grandeur of the silent earth.” “You led me to the valley spells enchain.”) No. 3 and the third group both present opposing forces that are actually similar. (“And is it still your cruel plan to keep / Your ­sorrow—kin to mine—in secrecy…?”) No. 4 and the fourth group both present a disappointing ritual sacrifice of a glowing orb: an eye and a diamond. (“Uncertain, cold, and dubious, you take / The jewel born of glitter, tears, and glows.”) No. 5 and the fifth group are both about impotence and death. (“The flower in its pot of sallow clay… / Sags on its stalk as though it died away.”) And as I show in the next chapter, no. 6 and the sixth group both present a funeral and a new path. (“I leave the blazing shrines / For my boat, and take an oar.”) We can also consolidate this account by noting certain associations between the pieces based on their ground tones and problematic tones. The ground tones of nos. 1–5 form a double neighbor motion B–C–B–B–B, which suggests B as a ground tone for the set.75 The problematic tones form the series F–F–F–A (and F)–A, which resembles an embellished arpeggiation of a dominant chord, threatening to resolve to the tonic. Both series of tones group the initiatory no. 1 by itself, the medial nos. 2–3, and the concluding nos. 4–5, where no. 5 is the initial fallout of no. 4. But we see in the next and final chapter that the repercussions of the fortississimo zero in no. 4 reach far beyond no. 5, through Schoenberg’s entire life. Starting with no. 6, Schoenberg embraces a new kind of visionary blindness that he hopes will shield him from the blind vision that he experiences in no. 4.

Notes 1 Schoenberg, letter to Busoni, August 24, 1909, SC. 2 Schoenberg, “Notizbuch I,” SC, Diary 1910 (II), [9]. 3 Lisa Ann Musca (2007, 135 and 123) has somewhat similarly suggested that “the quest for subjective identity develops urgency” in no. 4 and leads to “a consummate breakdown” in no. 5. But Musca’s study is based on the different premise of “the historical impossibility of the free individual’s existence within rational bourgeois society.” 4 Schoenberg, letter to Moll, June 16, 1910, in Auner (2003, 80). Contrary to the notion that Schoenberg believed “he had fulfilled the objectives of his new aesthetic” (Heneghan 2008, 305), Schoenberg says only that he has “succeeded in approaching an ideal of expression and form,” not that he has reached that ideal. Schoenberg, program notes, January 14, 1910, in Auner (2003, 78). 5 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 162. 6 See for example Neighbour, Griffiths, and Perle (1983, 38). Joseph Auner (1997, 119) suggests more circumspectly that Schoenberg turns to painting to escape “the constraints of inherited technique.” 7 Schoenberg, letter to Moll, June 16, 1910, in Auner (2003, 80). Jane Kallir (1984, 40) and others have suggested that Schoenberg also “may subconsciously have turned to painting as a way to confront and overcome his anguish” over the Richard Gerstl affair. 8 Schoenberg, “Notizbuch II,” SC, Diary 1910 (I), [12–14]. The notebook begins with the date October 8, 1910.

Zeroing in and zeroing out  211 9 Ibid., [24]. 10 Simms (2000, 84–86) and Haimo (2006, 351; 2010, 104–105). 11 Schoenberg renounces “‘motivic work’” in a letter to Busoni tentatively dated August 13, 1909. SC. From his later recollections, one can conclude that he means to renounce motives and themes in general. See Schoenberg, “My ­Evolution,” in SI, 88; and Schoenberg, letter to Josef Rufer, April 8, 1950, SC. 12 Both Raff (2006, 233–265) and Boss (2015) find motivic development in op. 11, no. 3. Raff also finds an elaborative reprise of two themes. 13 Schoenberg, letter to Rufer, April 8, 1950, SC. 14 A contract with Universal Edition is dated June 17, 1910. Simms (1982, 155). Although Schoenberg works on Harmonielehre into the summer of 1911, the initial manuscript is already in the hands of the publisher at the start of that year, thus by the time of the composition of the Six Little Piano Pieces. See Schoenberg, letters to Hertzka, January 8, 19, and 23, 1911, SC. 15 HL, 203 and 384; and Schoenberg, “Das Komponieren mit selbstständigen Stimmen,” in Jacob (2005, 2:667). 16 Simms (2000, 67) cites Schoenberg’s statement that one can treat a feature of a motive as a motive (FM, 9) as evidence that Schoenberg distinguishes particle from motive without having a term for it. Simms seems not to recognize that “feature” is a technical term (MI, 163). Simms’s particles are independent; they are simply motives. Schoenberg’s features are not, even when they are regarded as motives; for example, o/2 in Schenker’s Fantasy depends on o. 17 Schoenberg, “Why New Melodies Are Difficult to Understand,” in Simms (1977, 115–116); Schoenberg, “Der musikalische Gedanke,” SC, 37.08, 1–2; Schoenberg (1960, 30); Schoenberg, “New Music: My Music,” in SI, 102–104; and Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 240. 18 On connections between op. 11, nos. 1 and 3, see Boss (2015). 19 Schoenberg, letter to Kandinsky, January 24, 1911, in Schoenberg and Kandinsky (1984, 23); and Kandinsky, letter to Schoenberg, January 26, 1911, in ibid., 25. Regarding Schoenberg’s friendship with Kandinsky, see ibid., 135–140. Schoenberg may be motivated in part by a mixture of reverential praise from and competition with his student Anton Webern. On Webern’s praise, see letters in Brown (2011, 141–144). On Schoenberg’s competition, see Haimo (2006, 340). 20 This convergence can be seen as the ultimate manifestation of Schoenberg’s self-described “tendency toward compression.” Schoenberg, “Analyse der ­Kammersymphonie” (1949), in SI (German edition), 440. 21 Raff (2006, 267). I follow Raff in several of the particulars of my motivic and formal analysis of no. 1. 22 In the fair copy, a pedal marking under D and a ritardando starting with C ­indicate that the chord is to dilate a little. Schoenberg, Sechs kleine ­Klavierstücke, op. 19 (1911), SC, MS 19. This tonal disturbance is prepared by a metric disturbance caused by the syncopated rhythm in opening pickup. On this metric disturbance, see especially Samson (1977, 192). 23 On registrally ordered intervals in Schoenberg, see Väisälä (1999, 232–233). Schoenberg suggests that “fourth chords are transformations like other vagrant chords of multiple meaning. They refer to degrees according to the degrees by which they are introduced and by which they are followed. Thus, the main root progressions are the same as that of other vagrants: V–I, V–VI and V–IV.” Schoenberg, “A ‘Theory’ of Fourths” (1939), SC, T37.02, 2. All other things ­b eing equal, I assume that the bass prevails as the root. 24 Starting with Hugo Leichtentritt (1951, 443–450), several other writers have also presented pieces from op. 19 as alluding in some way to B as a ground tone. 25 Motive-form b'' takes on the syncopated rhythm of d in m. 2, and a + b has the quick rhythm of c.

212 Thinking in music 26 The preceding F in m. 6 is the highest tone in the piece, and in the manuscript and fair copy, no moment has stronger dynamics. Schoenberg, Six Little Piano Pieces, SC, MS 19. The statements of c' in mm. 5–6 make the connection to c in m. 2 clearer on account of their spans of a fifth. 27 Jonathan Kramer (1988, 179) observes this role reversal. James M. Baker (1990, 181) makes a similar observation. 28 Shawn (2002, 117) and Schmidt (1993, 91). The retrograde inversion variant of a + b here replaces b with b''. 29 The inverse and prime variants of c' in m. 8 have expanded spans of a seventh, further clarifying their connection to the original c in the pickup to m. 1. 30 Motive d in m. 9 borrows the quick rhythm of c. 31 Schoenberg mentions forming chords out of ground tones, specifically diminished chords, in HL, 366. 32 Cherlin (2007, 182) uses these words to describe the static, shimmering F-major triad in mm. 251–252 of Verklärte Nacht. 33 For clarity’s sake, I am using the conventional chord symbol B79, although Schoenberg would perhaps think of the chord as an added-tone chord. Schoenberg uses a similar superimposition in his String Quartet No. 4, op. 37, I, mm. 280–284. Kurth (2000, 150). 34 On this symmetry, see especially Grandjean (1977, 17). 35 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 220. 36 See for example Raff (2006, 286) and Lewandowski (2010, 208). 37 Covach (1995, [26]). Starting with Hermann Erpf (1927, 189), several other authors have also presented the piece as referring in some way to C. 38 Raff (2006, 283–287). As before, I follow Raff in several of the particulars of my motivic analysis. 39 The melody also arpeggiates a B-minor triad and B7, reminiscent of no. 1. 40 Schoenberg says that “a modulation may occur” in the repetition of the basic idea, as here. MI, 235. 41 On the mirror forms of b', see Wille (1966, 42–43). 42 Stephan Lewandowski (2010, 208) also discusses major seventh chords in the piece. 43 Many have noted this correspondence, but I owe the insight to Gene Biringer. 44 Dagmar Schmidt (1993, 120) calls attention to the conflicting meters. 45 Dörr (2001, 177). Kurth (2000, 148) and several other writers starting with Georg Krieger (1968, 33) identify one or both of these tones as primary. Deborah Stein Wilson (1975, 40) makes a similar claim about G–B and B–D. 46 Schmidt (1993) points out the trace of b in m. 1. 47 Cooper and Meyer (1960, 174). For example, Simms (2000, 85) and Forte (2008, 51) call the piece “playful.” 48 On nested and/or self-similar structures in no. 4, see especially Cooper and Meyer (1960, 174–177), Morrison (1992, 77–81), Morris (1993, 209–223), and Hascher (2008, 77–84). 49 Fearn (2002, 1:278). Viktor Ullmann, a pupil of Schoenberg, thinks the piece so grand that he writes multiple versions of a set of variations and a double fugue on it. Comparison with the opening of Brahms’s Rhapsody in B minor, op. 79, no. 1, may help to convey the seriousness of the piece, as well as the tonality, discussed below. 50 Starting with Leichtentritt (1933, 410), a few other writers have named F as a ground tone in the piece. 51 The pianissimo dynamics and damper pedal contribute to the imitation of remote overtones. 52 The stacking of C and B seventh chords should also be familiar from no. 2, m. 9. 53 The delimitation function is indicated by the recitative-like cadential progression. Krieger (1968, 33) and others have remarked upon the recitative-like character of the piece.

Zeroing in and zeroing out  213 54 In addition, the contraction of the seventh D–E in m. 3 to the fourth C–G in b''' in m. 6, which is close to the original third C–A in m. 2, clarifies the connection between b and b'. 55 Kenneth L. Hicken (1984, 36) and Albert Jakobik (1983, 68) similarly perceive B as a ground tone in the piece. 56 Forte (2008, 54) remarks on the octatonic collection. 57 In addition, the atavistic augmented fourth G–C in m. 8 (from F–B in m. 2) confirms the derivation of c' and c'' from c. A is a plausible root of the fourth chord because it is the lowest tone; it is also the ground tone of the prevailing region. 58 On contour in no. 4, see especially Leichtentritt (1951, 447) and Morris (1993, 209–223). 59 Raff (2006, 291) has a different interpretation of how the consequent has a reduced restatement of the episode. Others have pointed out the recollection of isolated motives or features. 60 The coherence of a and b' is first suggested in the episode by F–F in mm. 6–7 being echoed by A–G in m. 7. 61 B is a plausible root of the fourth chord because it is rhythmically accented. 62 The consequent combines five kinds of symmetry: a diminished triad, an augmented triad, fourth chords, a chromatic scale segment, and a tritone (between the initial F and the final B). The seed intervals of minor third, major third, perfect fourth, semitone, and tritone are the intervals of the motives in the Grundgestalt. 63 Krieger (1968, 34). It is tempting to hear the stern but dreamy first character and the intrusive, languid second character as versions of Schoenberg and Richard Gerstl. There is evidence that Gerstl is on Schoenberg’s mind in no. 2, at any rate. See Phleps (2001). 64 Schoenberg, letter to Leopold Stokowski, September 30, 1949, SC. See also Schoenberg, letter to Otto Kallir, June 5, 1945, SC; and Schoenberg, “Museum Talk on Painting” (1949), SC, VR41. 65 A pair of analyses of no. 4 based on premises utterly different from one another both convey something of the music’s condensation as it approaches B in m. 13. First, Dörr’s (2001, 179) graphic analysis shows no. 4 as a “fluctuating compression” that converges on a single point. Second, according to Xavier Hascher’s (2008, 81 and 83) transformational analysis, “a recursive hierarchical structure with three levels is introduced, where each network at a given level (except the last) is in turn embedded into a higher-level network” through “contraction.” 66 Schoenberg, Hände (before October 1910), SC, Eindrücke und Fantasien, CR 73; Schoenberg, Blick (May 1910?), SC, CR 66; and Schoenberg, Vision, SC, Eindrücke und Fantasien, CR 80. On enucleation, see Hoeckner (2002, 194). 67 Schoenberg, “Gustav Mahler,” in SI, 471. 68 Schoenberg, “Notizbuch II,” SC, Diary 1910 (I), [13]. 69 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes.” OJ, 21/5, 220. 70 Greenbaum (2009, 56) points out this resemblance. 71 The ground tone of an augmented sixth is a diminished fifth below for Schoenberg. HL, 246; and SF, 35. 72 The expanded interval F–A in mm. 5–6 is prepared by E–F in mm. 4–5. 73 The embellishment B–C–B in mm. 7–8 is prepared by F–G–F in m. 5, while the expanded interval B–E in mm. 7–8 is prepared by G–B in m. 1. 74 This double leading-tone resolution between subphrases is similar to the one in no. 4, mm. 4–5, A–B–C. 75 As David Lewin (1968, 4) has pointed out, Schoenberg writes such a large-scale double neighbor figure in the primary-theme zone of the first movement of his String Quartet No. 1 in D minor, op. 7: D–E–C–D in mm. 1, 30, 54, and 65.

214 Thinking in music

References Adams, Courtney S. 1993. “Techniques of Rhythmic Coherence in Schoenberg’s Atonal Instrumental Works.” The Journal of Musicology 11 (3):330–356. Albright, Daniel. 1981. Representation and the Imagination: Beckett, Kafka, Nabokov, and Schoenberg. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Atkin, Albert. 2013. “Peirce’s Theory of Signs.” In Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Summer 2013 Edition, edited by Edward N. Zalta. plato.stanford.edu/ archives/sum2013/entries/peirce-semiotics/. Auner, Joseph. 1997. “‘Heart and Brain in Music’: The Genesis of Die glückliche Hand.” In Constructive Dissonance: Arnold Schoenberg and the Transformations of Twentieth-Century Culture, edited by Juliane Brand and Christopher Hailey, 112–130. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. 2003. A Schoenberg Reader: Documents of a Life. New Haven: Yale University Press. Baker, James M. 1990. “Voice Leading in Post-Tonal Music: Suggestions for Extending Schenker’s Theory.” Music Analysis 9 (2):177–200. Barkin, Elaine. 1997. “A Song of Ing.” In E: An Anthology—Music Texts & Graphics (1975–1995), 53. Red Hook, NY: Open Space. Boge, Claire Louise. 1985. “The Dyad as Voice in Schoenberg’s opus 19: Pitch and Interval Prolongations, Voice-Leading, and Relational Systems.” PhD diss., University of Michigan. Boss, Jack. 2015. “‘Away with Motivic Working?’ Not So Fast: Motivic Processes in Schoenberg’s op. 11, no. 3.” Music Theory Online 21 (3). Brown, Julie. 2011. “Understanding Schoenberg as Christ.” In The Oxford Handbook of the New Cultural History of Music, edited by Jane F. Fulcher, 117–162. New York: Oxford University Press. Cherlin, Michael. 2007. Schoenberg’s Musical Imagination. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cooper, Grosvenor W., and Leonard B. Meyer. 1960. The Rhythmic Structure of Music. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Covach, John. 1995. “Schoenberg’s Turn to an ‘Other’ World.” Music Theory Online 1 (5). Delaere, Mark. 1995–1996. “Les formes dites ‘miniatures’ dans la musique atonale viennoise: Essai de démarcation à partir d’une analyse de l’op. 5/2 de Berg et de l’op. 19/2 de Schönberg.” Ostinato rigore: Revue internationale d’études musicales 6–7:345–359. Dörr, Jessica. 2001. “Musikalische Graphiken zu den expressionistischen Sechs kleinen Klavierstücken op. 19 von Schönberg.” In Ästhetische Bildung, Musik und bildende Kunst: Außereuropäische Musik im Unterricht, edited by Gregor Pongratz and Christoph Khittl with Christoph Schmidt, 167–188. Essen: Die blaue Eule. Erpf, Hermann. 1927. Studien zur Harmonie-und Klangtechnik der neueren Musik. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel. Fearn, Raymond. 2002. “Sechs kleine Klavierstücke op. 19.” Translated by Christina Dudler. In Arnold Schönberg: Interpretationen seiner Werke, edited by Gerold W. Gruber, 2 vols., 1:269–281. Laaber: Laaber. Forte, Allen. 2008. “Schoenberg’s opus 19 no. 4: A Set-Theoretic Perspective.” In Proceedings of the Symposium “Around Set Theory: A French/American Musicological Meeting, Ircam, October 15–16 2003,” edited by Moreno Andreatta, Jean-Michel Bardez, and John Rahn, 49–61. N.p.: Editions Delatour France / ­Ircam–Centre Pompidou.

Zeroing in and zeroing out  215 Frankl, Viktor E. 1984. Man’s Search for Meaning: An Introduction to Logotherapy. Translated by Ilse Lasch. New York: Simon and Schuster. Grandjean, Wolfgang. 1977. “Form in Schönbergs op. 19, 2.” Zeitschrift für Musiktheorie 8 (1):15–18. Greenbaum, Matthew. 2009. “Dialectic in Miniature: Arnold Schoenberg’s Sechs kleine Klavierstücke opus 19.” Ex tempore 14 (2):42–59. Haimo, Ethan. 2006. Schoenberg’s Transformation of Musical Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2010. “The Rise and Fall of Radical Athematicism.” In The Cambridge Companion to Schoenberg, edited by Jennifer Shaw and Joseph Auner, 94–107. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hascher, Xavier. 2008. “Using K-Nets towards a Transformational Analysis of Schoenberg’s op. 19, no. 4.” In Proceedings of the Symposium “Around Set Theory: A French/American Musicological Meeting, Ircam, October 15–16 2003,” edited by Moreno Andreatta, Jean-Michel Bardez, and John Rahn, 63–96. N.p.: Editions Delatour France/Ircam–Centre Pompidou. Heneghan, Áine. 2008. “Schoenberg’s Compositional Philosophy, The Three Piano Pieces, op. 11, and His Subsequent volte-face.” In Musical Currents from the Left Coast, edited by Jack Boss and Bruce Quaglia, 299–314. Middlesex: Cambridge Scholars. Hicken, Kenneth L. 1984. Aspects of Harmony in Schoenberg’s Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19. Winnipeg: Frye Publishing. ­ erman Hoeckner, Berthold. 2002. Programming the Absolute: Nineteenth-Century G Music and the Hermeneutics of the Moment. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Jacob, Andreas. 2005. Grundbegriffe der Musiktheorie Arnold Schönbergs. 2 vols. Hildesheim: Georg Olms. Jakobik, Albert. 1983. Arnold Schönberg: Die verräumlichte Zeit. Regensburg: Gustav Bosse. Kallir, Jane. 1984. Arnold Schoenberg’s Vienna. New York: Galerie St. Etienne and Rizzoli. Kelterborn, Rudolf. 1993. Analyse und Interpretation: Eine Einführung anhand von Klavierkompositionen: Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schumann, Brahms, Schönberg, Bartók. Winterthur: Amadeus. Kramer, Jonathan. 1988. The Time of Music: New Meanings, New Temporalities, New Listening Strategies. New York: Schirmer. Krieger, Georg. 1968. Schönbergs Werke für Klavier. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Kurth, Richard. 2000. “Moments of Closure: Thoughts on the Suspension of Tonality in Schoenberg’s Fourth Quartet and Trio.” In Music of My Future: The Schoenberg Quartets and Trio, edited by Reinhold Brinkmann and Christian Wolff, 139–160. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Leichtentritt, Hugo. 1933. “Arnold Schönbergs op. 19.” Die Musik 25 (6):405–413. ———. 1951. Musical Form. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Leong, Daphne. 2011. “Generalizing Syncopation: Contour, Duration, and Weight.” Theory and Practice 36:111–150. Lewandowski, Stephan. 2010. “‘A Far Higher Power’: Gedanken zu ideengeschichtlichen Vorgängermodellen der pitch-class set theory.” Dutch Journal of Music Theory 15 (3):190–210. Lewin, David. 1968. “Inversional Balance as an Organizing Force in Schoenberg’s Music and Thought.” Perspectives of New Music 6 (2):1–21.

216 Thinking in music Morris, Robert D. 1993. “New Directions in the Theory and Analysis of Musical Contour.” Music Theory Spectrum 15 (2):205–228. Morrison, Charles D. 1992. “Syncopation as Motive in Schoenberg’s op. 19, nos. 2, 3 and 4.” Music Analysis 11 (1):75–93. Musca, Lisa Ann. 2007. “The Piano Fragment and the Decomposing of the Musical Subject from the Romantic to the Postmodern.” PhD diss., University of California, Los Angeles. Neighbour, Oliver W., Paul Griffiths, and George Perle. 1983. The New Grove Second Viennese School. New York: W. W. Norton. Phleps, Thomas. 2001. “,Das Schaffen des Künstlers ist triebhaft‘: Über das Bewusstsein von Zahlen in Schönbergs kleinem Klavierstück op. 19, 2.” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 162 (1):16–23. Raff, Christian. 2006. Gestaltete Freiheit: Studien zur Analyse der frei atonalen Kompositionen A. Schönbergs—auf der Grundlage seiner Begriffe. Hofheim: Wolke. Samson, Jim. 1977. Music in Transition: A Study of Tonal Expansion and Atonality, 1900–1920. New York: W. W. Norton. Schmidt, Dagmar. 1993. Arnold Schönberg: Seine Klavierstücke op. 19 und das Phänomen des Expressionismus. Balingen-Endingen: Uli Molsen. Schoenberg, Arnold. 1960. “The Orchestral Variations, op. 31: A Radio Talk.” The Score 27:27–40. ———. 1968. Sechs kleine Klavierstücke, op. 19. In Sämtliche Werke, div. 2, ser. A, vol. 4, edited by Eduard Steuermann and Reinhold Brinkmann, 13–20. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. Schoenberg, Arnold, and Wassily Kandinsky. 1984. Letters, Pictures and Documents. Edited by Jelena Hahl-Koch and translated by John C. Crawford. London: Faber and Faber. Shawn, Allen. 2002. Arnold Schoenberg’s Journey. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Simms, Bryan R. 1977. “New Documents in the Schoenberg-Schenker Polemic.” Perspectives in New Music 16 (1):110–124. ———. 1982. Review of Arnold Schoenberg, Theory of Harmony, translated by Roy E. Carter (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978). Music Theory Spectrum 4:155–162. ———. 2000. The Atonal Music of Arnold Schoenberg, 1908–1923. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stein Wilson, Deborah. 1975. “A Study of Schoenberg’s Six Little Piano Pieces (Sechs kleine Klavierstücke), op. 19.” Master’s thesis, The University of Michigan. Stephan, Rudolf. 1958. Neue Musik: Versuch einer kritischen Einführung. Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht. Stuckenschmidt, H. H. 1971. “Opus 19, Nummer 3: Eine Schönberg-Analyse.” Orbis Musicae: Studies In Musicology 1 (1):88–90. Väisälä, Olli. 1999. “Concepts of Harmony and Prolongation in Schoenberg’s op. 19/2.” Music Theory Spectrum 21 (2):230–259. Wille, Rudolf. 1966. “Reihentechnik in Schönbergs Opus 19, 2: Ein Beitrag zur Vorgeschichte der Reihenkomposition.” Die Musikforschung 19 (1):42–43.

7 The turning point

Remorse remains: but it explains nothing, for it does not name its cause. It is not without repentance, but without a visible image. —Arnold Schoenberg (1915)

In 1911, following his composition of nos. 1–5 of the Six Little Piano Pieces, Schoenberg reaches a nadir of depression. In a letter to Karl Kraus, ­Schoenberg writes: “I am at the moment so depressed on account of many disappointments and many other troubles that there is absolutely nothing I feel like doing.”1 In particular, Schoenberg is composing “remarkably slowly…, more slowly than ever before…. As yet I have no idea why that is.”2 Externally, Schoenberg faces rejection by the Viennese public, financial problems, family health problems, the death of his hero Gustav Mahler, and a death threat from a neighbor. But the main problem, which gradually comes into focus, is internal. Upon receiving financial assistance solicited by Berg, Schoenberg responds: “I’m happy, but depressed. I’m pleased and worried—whether I am the person I thought I was and would have to be, to deserve so much effort.”3 And in another letter to Berg, he writes: “I am unusually depressed…. I’ve lost interest in my works. I’m not satisfied with anything any more. I see mistakes and inadequacies in everything. Enough of that, I can’t begin to tell you how I feel at such times.”4 Schoenberg takes little heart in Berg’s subsequent encouragement, saying that his misery stems from an insight: This is an inner matter I have to deal with—or not—by myself. I have experienced it very, very often before and it was always followed by periods of self-delusion (as I must call it now) that made life easier for me…. It’s a kind of persecution complex; an insight can persecute one too.5 Not only is he dissatisfied with his music, as usual, but this time he cannot fool himself into thinking that it will be better next time. The nature of this persecutory insight and his response to it, his modified strategy for being a genius, are the subject of this chapter.

218 Thinking in music Schoenberg describes such a sorrowful insight of both a familiar, particular nature and a deeper, general nature in the poem “Wendepunkt” (“Turning Point”): To continue on this path was not possible. A ray of light had illuminated a sorrow of both a general as well as a particular nature. Being dependent not only on its constitution but also on the whims of external contingencies, a soul can as little respond insensitively to a godsend as previously it could to misfortune. In a sudden change, the soul responds with joyous exhilaration, then rises with a mighty soaring movement, dreams of blissful fulfillment, sees itself as victor, storms on, feels its power growing more and more, and, in the illusion that it can possess a world which it already considers its own, gathers together all that lies within its ability, in order to reach a heavenly height in one mighty advance. What should have happened out of necessity is taken care of by chance: just when the amassed power should burst out, it falters; a small but insidious incident—a speck of dust in the clockwork—can obstruct its deployment. After the collapse comes despair, then sorrow. The sorrow is first of a particular, then also of a general nature. Starting with external incidents, the soul first believes the cause lies there, then seeks it in its own constitution. This is the actual culmination of the collapse. But this does not mean an end; on the contrary, it is a beginning; a new path to salvation appears, the only, the eternal way. To find this path was the purpose of all previous experience. (Schoenberg 1979b, 202) This allusive poem, marked as a melodrama for Schoenberg’s Chamber Symphony No. 2, op. 38 (1906–1939) but never set, has been subject to widely divergent, inaccurate interpretations as to its meaning.6 Common to most interpretations is a dating of around 1916, but the folio on which the text is written (1181–4) is an insertion after p. 118 of the sketchbook, along with a folio of two connected leaves of manuscript paper (1185–8), and some of the notation on these manuscript leaves unquestionably dates from 1911. It could thus very well be that the text also originates from before 1916.7

The turning point  219 Christian Martin Schmidt (2002, 47) is alone in surmising, without further comment, that “its content speaks for the earlier date.” Also common to most interpretations is a reading of the poem as narrating an emotional rollercoaster, sorrow–happiness–sorrow, and perhaps again happiness. But the poem is called “Turning Point,” not “Turning Points.” It is about a single turn from an old path onto “a new path to salvation” on account of a sorrowful insight. And if we look for what this change might be, we can notice that “between 1911 and 1922, the composer was almost exclusively engaged with projects that would give both literary and musical expression to his concern with what he described to Kandinsky as the ‘belief in something higher,’” starting with Herzgewächse, op. 20, and leading to his reconversion to a form of Judaism.8 Also in 1911, Schoenberg’s reconstruction period begins to take hold, when he reintroduces traditional techniques, planning, and revision into composition. I argue for a different exact beginning of this period than Haimo, but both of us place it in 1911.9 The temporal convergence in 1911 of (1) Schoenberg’s letter about a sorrowful insight, (2) work on the chamber symphony found together with the poem, (3) the beginning of his preoccupation with spiritual matters, and (4) the beginning of his reconstruction period make it highly likely that this poem about a sorrowful insight and a fundamental change of course is also from 1911. But what is the catastrophe narrated in the poem, and what can this event tell us about Schoenberg’s musical and spiritual transformation? Schoenberg’s musical and spiritual turning point in 1911 has not received a great deal of scrutiny. There is something of a tendency in Schoenberg criticism, taking after Schoenberg himself, to depict his life and work as a straight line of development. Moreover, it is only recently that Haimo has identified three main style periods for Schoenberg.10 Prior to Haimo’s work, Schoenberg’s oeuvre was divided into tonal, “atonal,” and serial music, and writers have focused on the chronic shortage of structural functions from about 1908 to 1921 rather than the acute crisis in 1911. As for the musical side, some have ventured that Schoenberg cannot “live up to the uncompromising demands of his own aesthetic beliefs,”11 and/or that he rejects these “intolerable demands” (Haimo 2006, 350). It is true that Schoenberg changes his mind, but he seems to do so precisely because of his disappointing experience of finally meeting these demands. In Schoenberg’s words, “Longing is the only positive happiness; fulfillment is disappointment.”12 I argue that the mighty advance and collapse described in “Wendepunkt” are embodied respectively in nos. 1–4 and no. 5 of the Six Little Piano Pieces, that Schoenberg’s reconstruction period and his new path to salvation are both inaugurated by no. 6, and that his new strategy for emulating the genius is plagued by the same problem of alienation as the old. First, I analyze Schoenberg’s musical-spiritual turning point, showing how its two aspects are united. Then I show the continuity and discontinuity between his old aesthetic and his new one with respect to the figures of vision and blindness

220 Thinking in music through analysis of works across Schoenberg’s oeuvre, and how Schoenberg’s music expresses “an angst and an agonized search, an uncertainty,” that he cannot put into words (Kaiser 2003, 117). Finally, I tie Schoenberg’s story back to Schenker’s.

Learning to pray Schoenberg’s disappointment in nos. 1–5 of the Six Little Piano Pieces leads him to a new path to salvation through prayer. He learns especially from Honoré de Balzac’s novel Séraphîta, which contrasts prayer with worship of words and images. Turning self-expression into prayer instead of idolatry for Schoenberg means making Rätsel—images with hidden meanings that can still be descried through presentiment. This new aesthetic involves a refiguration of blindness but a continued belief in the visionary genius. The turning point Schoenberg puts everything into nos. 1–5 of the Six Little Piano Pieces— stakes everything on them—so he is utterly shattered by the emptiness of his fulfillment. His hollow victory feels like a failure. This disaster is the crucial event recounted in “Wendepunkt”: the soul’s “sudden change” to a “mighty soaring movement… to reach a heavenly height in one mighty advance” is Schoenberg’s improvisatory presentation of a uniquely composite musical idea to reach the cultural height of the genius after not completing a piece for more than a year, the “ray of light” that “illuminated a sorrow” is the blinding light of the genius, and the “collapse” is the subsequent degeneration. Schoenberg recognizes well enough that he did not reach heaven, but he does not recognize that this is because the genius is a mirage, for music tells “secrets one does not even admit to oneself.”13 He still believes in the genius; he just doubts whether he is a genius, “whether I am the person I thought I was.”14 It is not so much that Schoenberg affirms “the impossibility of perfection,” but that he sees imperfection even in this sole instance of perfection, precisely so as to uphold the possibility of perfection.15 Employing blockage and overcoming-blockage schemas, Schoenberg diagnoses his problem in “Wendepunkt” as “a speck of dust,” which “obstruct[s]” his “path” “just when the amassed power should burst out,” and which reflects the limits of his “constitution,” and he finds a “new path to salvation,” an immaterial path, involving a “godsend” or grace, as shown in Example 7.1. This new path is one of prayer. Directly after his downfall on February 19, 1911, Schoenberg makes plans for a major work on “learning to pray,” which through many evolutions becomes the unfinished Die Jakobsleiter.16 In the first stages, he considers writing an oratorio text, then by the spring of 1911 he considers adapting

The turning point  221

d sen go d

advance, collapse

idious incident ins

burst out

heavenly height, salvation

soul

Example 7.1  Schoenberg’s new path to salvation.

August Strindberg’s “Jacob Wrestling,” and then he considers adapting part of Balzac’s novel Séraphîta, which Webern seems to introduce to him in a letter dated March 9, 1911.17 It is especially this novel that shapes Schoenberg’s thinking about prayer. In late 1911, Schoenberg numbers Balzac amongst “great men” such as Plato and Christ, and in 1912 he calls Séraphîta “perhaps the most glorious work in existence.”18 Séraphîta tells the story of a mysterious hermaphrodite by this name who leads a couple to God. In her parting instructions, Séraphîta describes prayer as traversing “the path to heaven,” a path trodden especially by the “genius”: Some receive the gift of form, some the gift of numbers, others the gift of harmony. All these gifts are steps of progress in the path of light. Yes, he who possesses a single one of them touches at that point the infinite. Earth has divided the Word—of which I here reveal some syllables— into particles, she has reduced it to dust and has scattered it through her works, her dogmas, her poems….19 Whatsoever sends us back upon ourselves, whatsoever strikes us down and crushes us, lifts or abases us,—that is but a resounding of the divine world. For both Balzac and Schoenberg, the genius is a more highly developed soul (either reincarnated or living in the future) and a “prophet” who acts with

222 Thinking in music “virtue” and freedom (from the constraints of “time” and “place”), connects with “God,” and inspires others to do so as well (Balzac [1840] 2010, 2:140– 144/no page number; translation modified). But Balzac gives Schoenberg a way to think of his crushing defeat as a stage of development and so hold onto the hope that he can be a genius after all, or at least take the same path. Séraphîta enjoins the couple to pray like the genius: Such souls [i.e., geniuses] go beyond the human spheres at a bound and rise at once to prayer. So, too, with those whose souls receive the fire of faith. Be one of those brave souls! God welcomes boldness. He loves to be taken by violence; he will never reject those who force their way to him.20 Know this! Desire, the torrent of your will, is so all-powerful that a single emission of it, made with force, can obtain all; a single cry, uttered under the pressure of faith, suffices. Balzac’s conception of prayer resembles Schoenberg’s conception of the genius’s act of self-expression. Prayer is a movement of the central “soul” to “the universe” or “God,” who is himself “the one centre.” In other words, prayer completes the peristaltic movement of God, “who, from his impenetrable centre, issue[s] all things and recall[s] all things to himself.” Prayer reaches God by an “emission” of “desire.” (This imagery hearkens back to Goethe.) But Balzac’s conception uses nested-container, blockage, and ­overcoming-blockage schemas with the figure of vision in a new way. The “soul” and “spirit” are contained “in” the subject, and “the veil of flesh” or “matter” is “round” the subject, blocking its “vision” and “light.” Prayer “cuts its way through” “the material world” and “clasps it in a circle of light,” allowing “the eyes of [the] mind” to “possess” the whole and making the “invisible” “visible.” Prayer’s penetration of the material world also “lifts it outside of forms,” which are delimited by “space” and “time.” ­Images and words are both confining as forms, regardless of their content, but prayer surpasses the “worship of images” and “formulas” (Balzac [1840] 2010, 2:144–149/no page number; translation modified). Taking after Balzac, Schoenberg determines that his old path was obstructed because it was idolatrous: he tried to reach God in the material form of the musical work, which reflects his equally limited constitution. But he determines that he can turn the act of self-expression into prayer by overcoming the materiality of art. “‘The material is a devil,’ which one must first drive out through technique, if one is to enter into the higher sphere of the spiritual,” Schoenberg writes in 1912.21 How might one do that? Rätsel For Schoenberg, the technique of overcoming the materiality of art is making Rätsel, images that indicate something beyond themselves, primarily through

The turning point  223 conflicting signs that cancel each other out, just as the world is a Rätsel that points beyond itself to God. In this way, the act of self-­expression can become prayer without art being an idol—or so the theory goes. Schoenberg writes to Wassily Kandinsky in a letter dated August 19, 1912: We must become conscious that there are Rätsel around us. And we must find the courage to look these Rätseln in the eye without timidly asking about “the solution.” It is important that our creation of such Rätsel mirror the Rätseln with which we are surrounded, so that our soul may endeavor—not to solve them—but to decipher them. What we gain thereby should not be the solution, but a new method of coding or decoding. The material, worthless in itself, serves in the creation of new Rätsel. For the Rätsel are an image of the ungraspable. An imperfect, that is, a human image. But if we can only learn from them to consider the ungraspable as possible, we get nearer to God, because we no longer demand to understand him. Because then we no longer measure him with our intelligence, criticize him, deny him, because we cannot reduce him to that human inadequacy which is our clarity.22 Schoenberg’s description of the artwork as a Rätsel resembles an earlier aphorism about the artwork as a labyrinth (Kurth 2003, 345). But there is a crucial difference: At every point in the labyrinth, “the expert knows the entrance and exit,” has “clarity,” but with the Rätsel, we do not know the solution, do not have clarity.23 Schoenberg’s reference to courageously looking Rätseln in the eye rather than timidly asking about the solution similarly resembles an earlier aphorism in which he describes the artist as one “who does not turn his eyes away in order to shield himself from emotions but rather opens them wide in order to approach what must be approached.” But again there is a decisive difference: in the earlier case, the objective is “to grasp the construction,” but with the Rätsel, the objective is to perceive the ungraspable.24 In the case of music, Schoenberg’s notion of making Rätsel adds the nested-­container, blockage, and overcoming-blockage schemas in Balzac’s understanding of prayer to those already in Schoenberg’s conception of the genius’s deed, as shown in Example 7.2.25 “The idea” is “hidden behind the sounding phenomenal form,”26 i.e., the “presentation, out of which the idea rises unambiguously, but without it having to be expressed directly,” and conversely “presentiment demands entry” through “a window to the standpoint of awareness.”27 “The idea” as “light” is to “penetrate the hull of the form” as a Rätsel, just as “prayer” according to Balzac “penetrates everywhere like light.”28 There is paradox here, because “form in the arts, and especially in music, aims primarily at comprehensibility,” namely of that depth of the tone able to be imitated in the work, but the form as a Rätsel aims at the

224 Thinking in music

presentiment

lem

manifestation

rm fo

pro b

hu ll o f

subject

idea = subject

Example 7.2  Schoenberg’s conception of a Rätsel.

comprehensibility of the idea’s incomprehensibility.29 To say that the idea now goes beyond what can be understood is to say that it somehow stays in touch with the artist’s world of feeling beyond the initial conception, remaining eternally new—or eternally the same, as Schenker says. Schoenberg writes, In all great masterworks, I feel in countless places the attraction of the newness such as one could hardly have felt more strongly at the time of their origin…. For the truthful-new remains as new as it was on the first day.30 In other words, the gap bridged by the idea as it rises beyond its presentation in a Rätsel is the same gap that has always opened up for Schoenberg between the artist and his work—that is, between the ever-increasing depth of the world of feeling stirred by the tone as such and the fixed depth of the tone that is attainable in the musical work. To insist on this gap between idea and presentation, between artist and work, is to say that Rätsel are necessarily “imperfect.” During his New ­Music period, Schoenberg tries to eliminate rather than bridge this gap; he aims for immediacy and perfection, for identity of perception, idea, and presentation. He says that “in the real work of art… everything was born at the same moment. Feeling is already form, the idea is already the word.”31 But during his reconstruction period, he has to “renounce perfection,” which

The turning point  225 is to say he insists on the temporal separation of vision and realization and thus the gap:32 The concept of creator and creation should be formed in harmony with the Divine Model; inspiration and perfection, wish and fulfillment, will and accomplishment coincide spontaneously and simultaneously. In Divine Creation there were no details to be carried out later; “There was Light” at once and in its ultimate perfection. Alas, human creators, if they be granted a vision, must travel the long path between vision and accomplishment; a hard road where, driven out of Paradise, even geniuses must reap their harvest in the sweat of their brows.33 So art must be imperfect, but the artist can still be perfect, a genius! The flip side of the paradox that the Rätsel both hides and shows the idea is that one is to “rejoice over one’s blindness with seeing eyes.”34 In nos. 1–5 of the Six Little Piano Pieces, Schoenberg experiences blindness as the terrible truth of the genius’s vision, but he seems to take exactly the opposite lesson: that vision is to be the redemptive truth of the genius’s blindness. How exactly are vision and blindness related across Schoenberg’s work? Hoeckner (2002, 194) argues that an aim of blindness enters in with “the revolutionary renunciation of a central tonal perspective” but that vision regains the upper hand with “the regressive regime of an omnipresent, panoptical Grundgestalt.” By way of contrast, Kurth (2003, 334) argues that an aim of blindness prevails from early on in Schoenberg’s affirmation of the prohibition of graven images. I agree with Kurth that there is an aim of blindness from early on, and I agree with Hoeckner that an aim of vision prevails, but I have a different understanding of how these notions apply. Schoenberg goes from seeking to realize a vision of the absolute by blinding himself to the world (except as it reappears in the work) to renouncing such an idolatrous image in the wake of the trauma in no. 4 of the Six Little P ­ iano Pieces and affirming blindness to God (affirming that God is invisible). Seeing, being, and proclaiming what cannot be seen, the genius is now to be what Kandinsky (1977, 8) calls “the invisible Moses.” But in both cases, Schoenberg misreads the genius’s blind vision as a visionary blindness that is yet to be realized.35

Blindness to the world In a few pieces prior to his reconstruction period—i.e., prior to his musical-­ spiritual breakdown and reorientation—Schoenberg thematizes blindness to the world and vision of something transcendent: a dark force, eternal nature, and one’s true self. We can count “Ich darf nicht dankend” amongst these pieces: The poet’s attempt to see his true self, represented by his attempt to connect with the second person, goes hand in hand with the “visual

226 Thinking in music vacuum” represented by the snow-covered landscape (Faletti 1983, 104–105). Indeed, only in “Ich darf nicht dankend” does Schoenberg’s conception of the visionary genius start to jell. Notably, all of these pieces somehow deal with B minor and its associations with spiritual sickness, suffering, and darkness. Sometimes suffering is what blindness is supposed to overcome, but sometimes blindness itself is dreadful, which hints a diffuse unease on Schoenberg’s part. Toter Winkel Around 1899, Schoenberg writes a fragment for string sextet based on Gustav Falke’s poem “Toter Winkel” (“Blind Spot”): Dark water, dark hill, Black sky, heavy and deep, Over the field on weary wings A moist breath comes forth. Still town and still harbor, Sails hang heavy and limp, Market and streets silently sleep, Slowly the tide ebbs into the sea.36 The poem depicts two aspects of a dark, still nocturnal scene: a seaside with rolling fog, and a harbor town with an ebbing tide. The poem uses parallel terms and construction to highlight common features of the seaside and the town. There is also a chiasm between “dark water” and “sea,” which highlights how the dark water surrounds and unites everything. It is as if the water, an underlying, vaguely disquieting reality, becomes visible only when everything else becomes invisible and still, when one is blind to the world. And that seems to be why Schoenberg is attracted to the poem. The fragment consists of an exposition, mm. 1–18, a contrasting middle, mm. 19–28, and what might be the start of a recapitulation, mm. 29–34, but because the music breaks off it is difficult to determine the formal type of this passage.37 For the same reason, it is difficult to say with certainty how the music relates to the text. But the exposition (Example 7.3) seems to paint the first stanza, where the muted, syncopated pedal point F in the black key B minor conveys the dark water, the “somewhat sluggish” (etwas schleppend) bass melody conveys the fog rolling in over everything, and the flittering figures in the violins evoke little lapping wavelets. Two remarkable features of the piece are the pervasive F, constantly shown in different lights, and the modulation in the second and third parts through A, C, E, and F minor, whose ground tones form a diminished seventh chord first heard in mm. 7–9 (Thieme 1979, 177–179). The chord is part of a IV7–V79/V–I (neighboring six-four) progression in A minor in mm. 7–8, but the six-four chord is obscured by the pedal point F, or perhaps it is

Example 7.3  Schoenberg (1999), “Toter Winkel,” mm. 1–18, simplified.

228 Thinking in music turned into II7 in E minor, and when the diminished seventh chord returns in m. 9, it sounds more like V79 in E minor. Nothing more is heard from A minor for the rest of the section. This abortive move to A minor and this prolongation of the diminished seventh chord set up the subsequent modulation through its tones as ground tones, starting with A. The instigator here, the unclear tone that needs to be shown from all angles, is F. By fixing his gaze on the troubling dominant, a tone that one would think ought to be clear by this point in history, and on a strangely stable diminished seventh chord, Schoenberg takes after the poem’s fixation on the ominous water, something seemingly obvious whose essence appears only when everything is unusually dark and still. Wenn Vöglein klagen Schoenberg’s favorite of his Six Orchestral Songs, op. 8, “Wenn Vöglein klagen” (1904–1905), sets a poem by Petrarch as translated by Karl August Förster, which deals with closing one’s eyes to the world:38 When little birds cry, and in green branches Little summer breezes tremble with gentle sighs, When light waves of dark murmuring rise And weave round fresh, flowered banks, I sit and write, devoted in love, And the one shown by heaven and Held by the earth I still see in the flesh, And my sighs incline sweetly into the distance. “O! why do you bleed to death before your time?” She says, full of compassion. “Why only spill Painful floods from troubled eyes? Don’t cry for me; I died to enjoy An eternal existence, and onto eternal glows I opened my eyes, when I seemed to close them.” (Schoenberg 1981) The poet’s lover sees heaven when she closes her eyes on the earth. In Schoenberg’s evident interpretation, in order to see the lover in peace and to find peace himself, the poet must likewise turn his eyes from the world with its apparent divisions. He must feel himself at one with others in their sickness and suffering. He must “clos[e] his eyes in order to perceive what the senses do not mediate.” He must “experienc[e] in himself the fate of mankind.”39 The apparent division that Schoenberg’s setting focuses on overcoming is that between the little birds and the poet, and he uses B  minor to convey their distress.

The turning point  229

Example 7.4  Schoenberg (1981), “Wenn Vöglein klagen,” mm. 1–6, simplified.

The introduction, mm. 1–5 (Example 7.4), begins with an imitation of a bird cry: two statements of motive a (i.e., Gestalt A), which emphasize a problematic G in m. 2. G seems to be a neighbor note to F# in B7 (I7), but the rhythmic-metric accent and the preceding F as a leading tone leave open the possibility of G+add9. This seemingly obtuse interpretation gains plausibility from the following chords BM, DM, and FM in mm. 3–5, which on the whole are more readily understood as ascending thirds from G than as Stufen in B minor. The Grundgestalt, m. 5 with the pickup (Example 7.4), adds motive b, which imitates the poet’s inclining sighs, and it formulates the problem.40 G  in m. 6 is more disturbing than in m. 2, because it forms a cross relation with the implied ground tone G, and it raises the question whether the chord is actually Aø7. The music needs to explain G to fortify B and needs to link b and a, just as the poet needs to feel at one with the little birds, to close his eyes to the divisions of the world. As the song proceeds, G causes considerable unrest. The first places the music goes to are G major in mm. 9–12 (not shown), its own flat submediant major region E major in mm. 13–14, and G minor in mm. 15–16, utilizing the problematic Aø7 as II7.

230 Thinking in music Example 7.5 shows how b, the sigh motive, links up with a, the birdcry motive, through a connection of B'''' and A''. The unifying Gestalt in mm. 28–30 is the climax of the piece and sets the lover’s climactic revelation that she enjoys “ein ewig Dasein” (“an eternal existence”), an existence that, in Schoenberg’s setting, the poet now claims for himself through his felt union with nature, i.e., the birds.

Example 7.5   A strand of motivic development in Schoenberg, “Wenn Vöglein klagen”.

The peaceful coda in the tonic major region B major, mm. 38–47 with the pickup, the first phrase of which is shown in Example 7.6, deepens the motivic union and overcomes the troublesome G. Gestalt B''' in mm. 37–38 is echoed by A' in mm. 38–39 in such a way that A' seems to be a remote variant of B'''. Also, a variant of a in mm. 38–39 connects directly with b. Similarly, the cadence in m. 38 that elides with the beginning of the coda directly connects the ground tones G and B, somewhat as in “Ich darf nicht dankend,” but with a plagal cadence instead of a cancelled authentic cadence.41 And in mm. 43 and 45 (not shown), G appears as G+M7 and G+7, confirming the G+add9 in m. 2 that seemed so preposterous. Through the broadening out into 9/4, the broadly voiced chords, and the quiet dynamics, the coda paints the heavenly vista revealed when the lover closes her eyes and when the poet takes after her.

Example 7.6  Schoenberg, “Wenn Vöglein klagen,” mm. 37–39, simplified.

The turning point  231 O daß der Sinnen doch so viele sind In 1905, Schoenberg writes a perpetual canon for mixed chorus on a poem by Goethe about blocking out senses, which in Kurth’s translation reads: O that there are so many senses! They bring confusion into happiness. When I see you, I wish to be deaf, When I hear you, I wish to be blind.42 Kurth (2003, 343) claims that “the notion of sensual ‘Verwirrung’ [confusion]… is proffered in the aphorism as a positive rather than a negative attribute.” But confusion is not positive here. The poet first states a problem: There are too many senses, and they disturb happiness with confusion. The poet then proposes a solution: He wishes to use one sense at a time. The poet wishes to be blind except when looking at his lover, who in Goethe’s lyric poetry is a reflection of the self (Wellbery 1996, 16): He wishes to be blind to the world. Although the harmonic implications of the canonic melody are not confirmed in the other voices, it is noteworthy that the final subphrase in the final entry in the bass, mm. 34–35 with the pickup (Example 7.7), which sets the phrase “wünsch’ ich blind zu sein” (“I wish to be blind”), outlines a B-minor triad. The subphrase is rather like Schoenberg’s setting of the couplet “Am

Example 7.7  Schoenberg (1980b), “O daß der Sinnen doch so viele sind,” bass, mm. 16–35.

232 Thinking in music Tag, wo lieber blind ich wär gegangen, / Um nimmer klein’re Schönheit zu erblicken” (“On that day, when I would rather have gone blind / So as never to see lesser beauty”) in B minor in the contemporaneous “Voll jener Süße,” op. 8, no. 5 (1904–1905). In both cases, blindness to the world is proposed as a possible solution, but the morose B minor suggests that the solution itself is problematic. That is, blindness to the world actually opens onto a hellish abyss, not a heavenly vista, and that is what leads Schoenberg to embrace another kind of blindness.

Blindness to God In a few pieces during his reconstruction period—i.e., from op. 19, no. 6, onward—Schoenberg thematizes blindness to God, an aspect of making Rätsel as prayer. Some of the pieces continue to highlight the black ground tone B, which reminds Schoenberg of his musical-spiritual mission. In a note for his article on a new twelve-tone notation, in which each tone is to be named after a famous musician, Schoenberg declares, “B should be named after me (because I can finally count on my commitment!).”43 But in the end, his unease, also flagged by B, leads him to waver in his faith in the genius. Op. 19, no. 6 Criticism of op. 19, no. 6, composed on June 17, 1911, has fixated on Schoenberg’s writing the piece in response to the death and funeral of Mahler on May 18 and 22.44 The piece is indeed funereal, with its opening chords imitating death knells. But it is first of all—this cannot be stressed enough— one of the Six Little Piano Pieces, and as such it both continues and reflects on their story. It is not only Mahler who is being mourned but also the music itself, which so to speak died at the end of no. 5. There are reminiscences of nos. 1–5, such as the G fourth chord in mm. 1–2, also heard in no. 1, m. 1, and the neighbor motion D–E–D in mm. 2–3, also heard in no. 1, mm. 15–17. But such reminiscences are not of the essence, because they occur throughout the set (Schmidt 1993, 156–162). Rather, the piece eulogizes the work—and by extension the old artistic path—by recounting its gradual development and precipitous disintegration in six subphrases corresponding to the six little pieces.45 These six subphrases form a sentence with an introduction and an additional cadential idea.46 The formal boundaries are softened by the music’s asynchrony with the written meter (Lewin 1981, 111), and the minimal material and articulation draw attention away from the future and toward “the inception and fading” of events, thereby evoking “the process of memory and the passage of time” (McKee 2005, 125). There is a portrayal of a single, still moment of reflection, an “evocation of ephemerality” (Muxeneder 2009, 442). Georg Krieger (1968, 36–37) is spot on when he writes, “One hears the chords wafting near and slowly drawing away like light clouds before the abstract

The turning point  233 background of a fleeting, hardly divided moment.” This reflective moment is more specifically one of prayer (McKee 2005, 138; Muxeneder, 2009, 442). The introduction, mm. 1–2 with the pickup (Example 7.8), cries “out of the depths” (Barkin 1997a, 46), “as if coming from a void” (Muxeneder 2009, 440). The depths are suggested by placing the music underground, i.e., under the ground tone B, and the emergence from nothing is suggested by the extreme softness and stillness. An incomplete B7 and a G fourth chord “covering up from under” form a “melancholy and weary” “‘pressed flower’ chord progression,” motive a.47 This memorializing introductory idea corresponds to the introduction of the vision in no. 1. It also recalls the juxtaposition of G and B chords in “Wenn Vöglein klagen” and “Ich darf nicht dankend” leading up to the Six Little Piano Pieces.

Example 7.8  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 6, introduction and presentation, mm. 1–6.

The basic idea and Grundgestalt, mm. 3–4 with the pickup (­ Example 7.8), introduces the other main motive, b, and the problem. While motive a is thick, static, and associated with crying out of the depths, b is thin, active, and hopeful; it “points upwards to heavenly registral heights,” and specifically to E, whose major key is associated with heaven. Eric ­McKee (2005, 125 and 143) calls b the “God motive” on account of its later associations in Moses und Aron (1923–1937), I­ srael Exists Again (1949), and Moderner Psalm, op. 50c (1950). Therese Muxeneder, however, calls b

234 Thinking in music the “pain motive” because of its later associations in A Survivor from Warsaw, op. 46 (1947).48 Which is it, God or pain? Both, in a sense: E is to be sure associated with God in heaven, but painfully it cannot be grasped, because it is a dissonant neighbor note and suspension over the held D, forming an instance of registrally ordered interval 1 (as pitch interval 13) and an unclear eight-tone chord G–C–F–A–D–F–B–E. E is unrestful, because it disrupts the balanced augmented triad formed by D and the ground tones G and B, and when it resolves, it “counter[s]” the ­“waning” of B by making D out to be its mediant (Barkin 1997b). The piece needs to bring b and a together and to clarify E so as to quell B. In other words, the music has to reach God from the mournful pit into which it has been cast. The repetition, mm. 5–6 with the pickup (Example 7.8), develops b and furthers the unrest. B7 in mm. 1–5 progresses through a strong progression to an incomplete E9 in mm. 5–6, strengthening the problematic E, while the G fourth chord in mm. 1–5 similarly progresses to a C fourth chord in mm. 5–6. The complete presentation, mm. 3–6, features increasingly dense attacks, just as nos. 2–3 presented increasingly elaborate developments of x. The first continuation subphrase, m. 7 (Example 7.9), continues to develop b and heightens the unrest still further.49 This subphrase “appears as a moment of ‘disturbance’ of the extremely inward directed meditations that close off the rest of the piece” (Fearn 2002, 280). The sense of disturbance comes from the superstrong progression from E9 to an unopposed DMadd9, tonicized by the leading tone C, and the sense of breaking out comes from the wide intervals and the stripping away of a. In the corresponding fourth piece, the music broke through to “a magnificent fulfilment” of sorts (HL, 239). The melody in no. 6, m. 7, recalls this breakthrough by presenting an incomplete statement of x (see Example 6.8).

Example 7.9  Schoenberg, op. 19, no. 6, continuation and cadential idea, mm. 7–9.

The turning point  235 The second continuation subphrase, m. 8 (Example 7.9), begins to solve the problem. E is shown here in a new light as the flat submediant of A, the ground tone of AMadd4 (G = A), which “interlock[s]” with its T11, GMadd4 (Barkin 1997a, 50), reached through a strong progression from DMadd9, so they cancel each other out. Also, the momentary fourth chord C–F–B–E extends the fourth chord F–B–E in the problematic chord in mm. 3–4, thereby further clarifying E. The balanced pair of Madd4 chords and the clarification of E suggest a cadence, but the dissonance—the chords are packed with registrally ordered interval 1—and the “exact” (genau) continuance of the pulse suggest that it is a weak one, just as the end of no. 5 was not the end of the cycle. The subphrase also recalls the impotence and death in no. 5: It is “scrunched up” in a clot of dark tone color and abruptly snuffed out (Barkin 1997b). The cadential idea, m. 9 (Example 7.9), solves the problem. The incomplete B7 from the opening is nullified by its T11, B7, following the model of the previous measure, but with the total chord dominated by registrally ordered interval 11. Meanwhile, an ambiguous form of the God-pain motive alights on the sorrowful depths motive (Trauer 1986, 634), but E with its heavenly associations is thereby replaced with A, which is associated with the grave (McKee 2005, 134). What is the expressive implication here? To answer this question, let us consider that this sixth subphrase corresponds to the sixth piece itself, which is why it sounds like the beginning. This self-narration is akin to the self-dramatization in nos. 1–4, but whereas the self-dramatization was infinite and converged with itself, the self-­ narration consists of a single iteration, and the action and narrative stop just short of converging. The syncopation and pickup in m. 9 point to a following downbeat as a point of convergence that never arrives.50 So in contrast to the music at the end of no. 4, which collapses into a single, self-referential, triple-forte tone, the music at the end of no. 6 diffuses out over eight tones in five octaves and fades to silence. “Like a breath” (wie ein Hauch) m. 9 is marked—that is, not like a voice. The silent blank after the final bar line in no. 6 stands in for the remainder of the idea beyond the form as a Rätsel.51 B at the end of no. 4 was a symbol, wholly signifying itself, whereas no. 6 is an allegory, signifying something other than itself in a partial way.52 The symbol is instantaneous and simultaneous with its object, “a ray that catches our eye and shoots through our entire essence in a straight line from the dark ground of being and thinking,” whereas the allegory is linear and retrospective; it “entices us to look up and trace the path taken by the idea concealed in the image” (Creuzer 1973, 4:541). No. 6 with its final silence represents a renunciation of its polar opposite, no. 4 with its final blast.53 This renunciation is a prayerful affirmation of blindness to God. In theory, such a prayer “can obtain all,” as Balzac puts it, but in practice, the bitter result of such a prayer—as the music’s motivic development suggests—is that man’s sorrow over separation from God can only hope to be eased in the grave, because the genius lives in the future, not the present. The music is “hanging in there just barely” (Barkin 1979, 26).

236 Thinking in music Schoenberg also expresses his wan hope for salvation at this time in his paintings Christus-Vision and Begräbnis von Gustav Mahler.54 Muxeneder perceives the former as a “Resurrection scene” on account of the rising movement from the dark, open grave to the light, but she also notes—­ without remarking on how strange it is—that the risen Christ is shown as “a dead person.” His head hangs limp, his arms are outstretched, and his feet are crossed, as if he is still nailed to the cross. There is a pointillistic “dematerialization,” generalization, and conflation of the Crucifixion and Resurrection. The visionary figure here is not Christ in the flesh but the genius sloughing off the mortal body to gain an immortal soul, shown here as a wind-blown “gold-red light formation.” Accordingly, the painting shares features with Begräbnis von Gustav Mahler: the pointillism, the wind-blown trees (like the escaping soul), and the open grave (Muxeneder 2009, 437). “Du sollst nicht, du mußt” There come to be strong associations between making Rätsel, twelve-tone music, and Schoenberg’s Judaism. The use of a tone row and its mirror forms reaches back to the practice of the Dutch contrapuntists, which Schoenberg regards as Kabbalistic, transmitting secret knowledge to be deciphered.55 Schoenberg’s “Du sollst nicht, du mußt,” op. 27, no. 2 (1925), an early twelve-tone work, illustrates these associations. It sets his idiosyncratic paraphrase of the prohibition of graven images: You shall make for yourself no image! For an image limits, bounds, grasps, that which should remain unbounded and inconceivable. An image demands a name; you can take this only from the small. You shall not worship the small! You must believe in the spirit! Immediately, unsentimentally, and selflessly. You must, Chosen One, must, if you wish to remain such! (Schoenberg 1980a) A few writers have remarked on how Schoenberg’s setting leaves the row ambiguous, and they associate this obfuscation of the row with the text’s prohibition of images.56 The row is clearest in its final statements, mm. 21–24, where it is entirely linear, but it could still be confused with its inversion or its rotation. The manipulations of the row and its ambiguity both contribute to making the piece a Rätsel, as does the occlusion of the ground tone.

The turning point  237 The piece comprises four statements of a basic idea, the Grundgestalt (mm. 1–2), followed each time by a different continuation. In keeping with Schoenberg’s restoration of traditional techniques, the piece unravels the Grundgestalt, which is the first row statement, through ever-new contrapuntal combinations of the row with itself. The basic idea focuses on the prime form and its combinatorial inversion, and the continuation focuses on the retrograde and its combinatorial inversion. The Grundgestalt, mm. 1–2 (Example 7.10), features an imbalance: Motives a and b are entirely horizontal and point to C, while motive c is entirely vertical and verges on AM7add4.57 Both C and A are good candidates for the ground tone of the piece: Every section begins with C in one of the voices, and every section ends with A in one of the voices. Schoenberg symbolizes the divine with C, even in non-tonal music (Krones 2006), and A is associated with the grave. The implication seems to be that the piece has to avoid tonicizing C and A, just as it must avoid making an image of God, whom we will know only in the grave. The restoration of balance will not involve emancipating any particular dissonance (since they are already emancipated) but just clarifying C and A, the actual troublemakers, so that no resolution to them takes place. At the same time, the piece has to reconcile motives a, b, and c.

Example 7.10  Schoenberg (1980a), “Du sollst nicht, du mußt,” basic idea, mm. 1–2.

There are four main strands of motivic development, which in the end are tied together (Example 7.11). In the first strand, a gives rise to Gestalt d in mm. 7–8, which combines with b to form e. In the second strand, b and a fuse into Gestalt f in mm. 4–5, which develops into a variant of e in mm. 13–14. In the third strand, a form of b becomes a variant of f'' in m. 24.58 Fourth, c develops into a variant of b' in m. 24. Notably, motive-form c' sets the word “Geist” (“spirit”) in m. 15, incorporating an inversion of the spirit chord from “Ich darf nicht dankend.” So c' becomes b', b' becomes f'', and f' becomes e, and in this way the motives of the Grundgestalt are linked and explained.

238 Thinking in music

Example 7.11  Four strands of motivic development in Schoenberg, “Du sollst nicht, du mußt”.

Along with this motivic clarification comes a clarification of the harmony and a restoration of balance. At first, the initial hint of C threatens to boil over or lead to other tones. Most prominently, the first variation of the basic idea, mm. 9–11 (not shown), begins much like the basic idea in mm. 1–2, but it makes the harmony explicit, and it turns momentarily toward B. But in the final continuation, mm. 22–24 (Example 7.12), an initial foray by C is immediately and forcefully negated, and the final chord rules out A as its ground tone, even though A is the lowest tone. The piece keeps the ground tone, the row, and the idea hidden, conveying the spirit by guarding it from falsifying images, as the text demands. Moses und Aron Schoenberg’s Moses und Aron deals with Moses’s struggle to convey the idea of God without images, his insistence on blindness to God. It is one of three major unfinished religious works on original texts, the other two being Die Jakobsleiter and Modernen Psalm, not to mention his abandoned choral symphony, which morphs into Die Jakobsleiter. Why does Schoenberg leave them unfinished? This question is particularly urgent in the case of Die

The turning point  239

Example 7.12  Schoenberg, “Du sollst nicht, du mußt,” last continuation, mm. 22–24.

Jakobsleiter and Moses und Aron, given that Schoenberg leaves them aside for many years yet expresses a strong intention to finish them, saying that otherwise his “life task would be fulfilled only fragmentarily.”59 Many writers have argued that Schoenberg abandons these works, especially Moses und Aron, because of reaching “an impasse in his attempt to express the inexpressible through music,” just as Moses lacks the words to express his idea of God, and their debate has been about whether and how the works, while following the prohibition of graven images by breaking off, might nevertheless express God negatively or even negate God.60 But Schoenberg does not need to break off; as “Du sollst nicht, du mußt” demonstrates, he has already folded this commandment into his aesthetic of creating Rätsel.61 He explicitly rejects the equation of Moses’s God-idea with the musical idea: “That’s late-19th-century stuff, but not me.”62 That’s his old path, where he tries to see God in the work itself, not his new path where he tries to hide God in the work. Like many others, Marc M. Kerling (2003, 295, 292, and 294) argues incorrectly that the unfinished religious works are “‘complete’ fragments” that break off in the attempt to “express the inexpressible,” but he innovatively suggests that they reflect a “dialectic of doubt and hope.” Kerling (2003, 297–298) concludes that the sought-for “‘communion with God’… is not realized in any of the works.” Yet he celebrates this shortcoming: “The search, in the metaphor of the path, which is already the goal in the oratorio [Die Jakobsleiter] and the opera [Moses und Aron], protects interpretation from those mystical inflations that retrospectively marginalize the substantiveness of an open-ended, on-the-move search for God.” Kerling (2003, 295) is onto something when he perceives skepticism in these works, but he conflates Schoenberg’s faith in the genius and his Judaism into a generic “faith in God,” which obscures his findings. He also conflates path and goal, which are distinct image schemas with different roles

240 Thinking in music in Schoenberg’s musical thought. It is particularly important to distinguish Schoenberg’s two faiths in the case of Moses und Aron, because the opera is in a sense about their conflict. Only after addressing this conflict and its treatment in the opera can we address Schoenberg’s skepticism. Recall that Schoenberg’s return to Judaism is in part a response to the invisibility of the genius. More specifically, it is a development along his new path to salvation: Not only does Judaism come to ground and focus his efforts to learn to pray, but it also seems to codify his affirmation of blindness to God in the prohibition of graven images. But there are problems with reconciling his faith in the genius and his Judaism. The God of the genius is basically a supersensible idea; although activity is ascribed to God, he is known only in the realization of an idea. But God in the biblical narrative that Schoenberg adapts for his masterwork is a person.63 To the extent that Schoenberg’s Moses “love[s his] idea and live[s] for it,” while Aron acknowledges God’s activity, they ironically allegorize the religion of genius and “the pure, true, Mosaic monotheism,” respectively.64 This allegory seems to be what Schoenberg has in mind when he says that “the subject matter and the treatment of it are purely of a religious-­philosophical kind,” and when he tells Walther Eidlitz that “my Moses… is not human at all” and that “my [A]ron rather more resembles your Moses.”65 Eidlitz’s ­Moses in Der Berg in der Wüste (The Mountain in the Desert), like the biblical Moses, professes to see and be with God as a person.66 The dramatic (and allegorical) conflict between Schoenberg’s Moses and Aron gets worked out in two contradictory ways. In Act I, Moses is called to proclaim “the one, eternal, omnipresent, invisible, and inconceivable God” (Schoenberg 1977–1978, 8), who appears in the burning bush, but Moses has a speech impediment, so he is assisted by Aron, who explains and demonstrates the idea of God to the Hebrew people using miraculous signs. In Act II, Aron’s presentation of Moses’s idea leads to the orgiastic worship of the golden calf. Moses comes down from Mount Sinai with the tablets of the Law to find the aftermath of the orgy. He condemns the golden calf, which disappears, and he berates Aron for making the people an idolatrous image. Aron tells him that the tablets are also an image, whereupon Moses smashes them in despair. Aron and the people are led away by a pillar of fire or cloud, which Moses also condemns as an image. Act II shows the triumph of Aron and the tragic downfall of Moses, who in his “vanity or hubris” condemns the tablets and the pillar of fire, even though the tablets are God’s word, and the pillar of fire, like the burning bush, is a sign of God’s presence: His vanity is nakedly revealed by contrast between the episodes of the golden calf and the fiery pillar, both of which for Moses are false. The first disappeared miraculously at Moses’ word, but in the presence of the fiery pillar, which he can neither destroy nor accept, he falls crying “O Word, thou Word, that I lack.”

The turning point  241 But then in the uncomposed Act III, Moses castigates Aron before a council of elders, and Aron dies, which illogically “reverses the ending of the second part.”67 It is this contradiction—not the impossibility of expressing the inexpressible or a dialectic of doubt and hope—which directly prevents Schoenberg from completing the work, and he writes the libretto for Act III in this way because he is “not prepared to accept the position to which his art had led him” at the end of Act II.68 More precisely, he is not prepared to accept the defeat of Moses, allegorically faith in the genius, in favor of Aron, allegorically Mosaic monotheism. Let us look more closely at the point to which Schoenberg’s art leads him at the end of Act II. What has gone unnoticed about the much-discussed passage where Moses collapses in despair (Example 7.13) is that the concluding phrase features a VI–II7–V progression in B minor, which is remarkable given the non-tonal context. Schoenberg even permutes tones 8 and 9 of a retrograde inversion of the row in mm. 1132–1133 so as to give a metric accent to the ground tone C to match that on F in m. 1133. Furthermore, Schoenberg allows for this asymmetrical progression by using a partition of the row that, as Boss (2014, 391) has explained, is unique in the opera and completely removed from the partition at the beginning of the opera and its associated symmetries. What is the meaning of this peculiar ending?

Example 7.13  Schoenberg (1977–1978), Moses und Aron, Act II, conclusion, mm. 1131–1136d.

This anomalous passage harkens back to earlier pieces that we have looked at. The sustained, treble F and the iambic rhythm bear a resemblance to the beginning of “Toter Winkel” (Example 7.3). And a deeply negative affect— expressed through two-tone sobbing figures, a collapsing melodic line, and reference to the miserable key of B minor—is found in both works, as well as op. 19, no. 6, despite the different kinds of blindness involved, because in the end, the difference is not so significant.

242 Thinking in music It is as with Schoenberg’s three “sorrowful maxims” from the same year he begins writing the libretto for Moses und Aron (1928), which are sorrowful for only slightly different reasons. In the first, apparently greater half of my life, I said: “That can’t be?—That can’t be!” As I got older, however: “Sadly, that can’t be.” But I feel I will soon say: “That can’t be, thank God!”69 The first maxim alludes to Schoenberg’s old path, his quest to see the absolute in art as such, in defiance of the virtual inevitability of imperfection. The second alludes to his sorrowful insight: that can’t be. The third conveys a certain unease with the very thought of his old path and thus with his new path as well, which has the same “goal” of unilateral “unity with God” (Schoenberg 1957, [305]). I submit that it is this unease or skepticism that takes shape in the irreversibly desolate end of Act II, which in turn results in the contradiction that directly prevents Schoenberg from finishing Moses und Aron. The same unease probably also prevents Schoenberg from finishing Die Jakobsleiter, whose concluding scene, following Balzac, in effect makes prayer into wish-fulfillment and God into an automaton.70 Modernen Psalm may be a different story, as I touch on in the Conclusion. To grasp Schoenberg’s unease more fully, let us consider another difference between his Moses and the biblical Moses. In Act III of Moses und Aron, Moses criticizes Aron for striking a rock to bring forth water instead of speaking to it as he was commanded. This passage represents an attempt by Schoenberg to reconcile an apparent inconsistency in the Bible that he says “haunt[s]” him.71 Exodus 17:1–7 records an incident in which the people are thirsty, Moses asks God what to do, God tells Moses to strike the rock before the elders, and he does so: problem solved. Numbers 20:1–13 records a similar incident, involving a new generation of Israelites, in which the people complain about their whole life, Moses and Aaron retreat in exasperation, God tells Moses to speak to the rock before the people, Moses berates the people and strikes the rock, and God tells both Moses and Aaron that they will not enter the promised land. So what exactly does Schoenberg write out of the story? It seems strange that God punishes Moses so severely for striking the rock in the Numbers incident, when that is precisely what God asks Moses to do in the Exodus incident, but it is not just a matter of striking versus speaking, as Schoenberg supposes.72 By striking the rock both times, Moses demonstrates a failure to recognize the difference between the two situations. In the first case, the primary need of the people, who have just witnessed the

The turning point  243 power of God in their deliverance from Egypt, is water, so God has Moses fill this need in private. In the second case, the primary need of the people, who have grown up in the wilderness, is faith, so God asks Moses to demonstrate his power in public. Moses turns this occasion into an opportunity to bolster his own authority (Helfgot 1993). With this incident in mind, the analogy between Schoenberg and the biblical Moses as Jewish prophets and lawgivers goes deeper than even Schoenberg realizes. Just as Moses has an encounter with God in the burning bush and subsequently leads Israel out of captivity, so ­S choenberg has a disturbing glimpse of his true self in 1911 that jolts him out of his captivity to idolatry. But just as Moses brings forth water as a sign of his authority, not just as a blessing to a jaded generation, the same is true of Schoenberg and his music. Like water from a rock, his music is amazing, flowing, and refreshing, but it also signals his compulsion to be the ­Chosen One, the genius. And Schoenberg himself senses this. His reluctance to complete Moses und Aron with Moses vindicated is a question of following not the prohibition against graven images but the commandment, “You shall have no other gods before Me,” for the genius’s idea of God stands in the place of the person of God. But Schoenberg cannot quite find words for his disquiet, only music.73 And so just as Moses after forty years in the wilderness brings Israel to the promised land but does not enter, Schoenberg after forty years in a wilderness of mysticism (1911–1951) gives us a body of edifying work, but we can take lessons from it that remain clouded to him. *** In the wake of the fiasco of the first five Little Piano Pieces, Schoenberg has the sorrowful insight that it is impossible to continue along his old musical-­ spiritual path. Inspired by Balzac, he tries to turn art into prayer by making Rätsel, which do not attempt to present God directly but still allow presentiment to apprehend him. This new path to salvation involves a change from seeking blindness to the world to affirming blindness to God while yet ­believing in the visionary genius. Schoenberg thematizes these kinds of visionary blindness in several works and betrays a certain unease by ­associating them both with suffering, evoked especially by the dreadful key of B minor. He declines to consummate his new path, leaving the major religious works Die Jakobsleiter and Moses und Aron unfinished, yet he cannot put his finger on what bothers him. As Schoenberg says, “Remorse remains: but it explains nothing, for it does not name its cause. It is not without repentance, but without a visible image.”74 As I have explained earlier, Schenker similarly tries to avoid a falsifying image of God with the Ursatz, which unifies everything in a blank vanishing point, and he similarly thereby attempts to integrate his faiths in the

244 Thinking in music ­German genius and the Jewish God as a modern-day Moses. There is nothing comparable to Schoenberg’s turning point, his burning-bush moment, because it takes Schenker much longer to perfect his approach to resurrecting the past masterwork through interruption than it takes Schoenberg to perfect his approach to incarnating the future genius through a kind of infinite interruption in the Six Little Piano Pieces. Nevertheless, like Schoenberg, ­Schenker brings forth a kind of water from a rock, his profound and powerful insights, not merely for the “strengthening of our lives” (FC, 6), but so as to position the genius in the place of God (“What the Creator is for the genius, who receives from him the gift of grace, that the genius is for the masses”), and to position himself at that same “Archimedean point from which I can clearly recognize and judge both the world of the geniuses and the rest of the world.”75 I hope I have begun to show in this book how tracing such parallels helps to illuminate Schenker and Schoenberg as individuals, especially by giving us one way to examine and discuss their spirituality, which is naturally quite elusive, much as their general theories help to vivify music in its particularity. After all, life is about relationships, and Schenker and Schoenberg as internally conflicted individuals are formed in part through their antagonistic relationship. In the conclusion, I examine the end of their story and some of its implications for us.

Notes 1 Schoenberg, letter to Karl Kraus, ca. summer 1911, in Auner (2003, 97). 2 Schoenberg, letter to Berg, August 25, 1911, in Berg and Schoenberg (1987, 11). 3 Schoenberg, letter to Berg, September 29, 1911, in ibid., 22. 4 Schoenberg, letter to Berg, December 21, 1911, in ibid., 60. Incidentally, Schoenberg’s expression of dissatisfaction with his music comes just days after he completes Herzgewächse, op. 20, his first composition in many months. Although its ending, as I will explain, bears witness to Schoenberg’s reconstruction period, its style is generally that of his New Music period, which he is trying to get away from. 5 Schoenberg, letter to Berg, December 28, 1911, in ibid., 62. Brown (2014, 48) interprets Schoenberg’s depression as “about the indifferent, if not negative reception of his latest works,” citing Schoenberg’s comment that “perhaps it’s because of the revolting news I hear from Vienna about my works, etc.” ­Schoenberg, letter to Berg, December 21, 1911, in Berg and Schoenberg (1987, 60). But when Berg presses the issue, Schoenberg comes out and says, “This is an inner matter,” i.e., not an external matter, and clarifies that his cycle of depression and delusion “has nothing to do with success and failure.” Schoenberg, letter to Berg, ­December 28, 1911, in ibid., 62. His earlier speculation is likely meant to minimize the problem and close off discussion. 6 Dale (2000, 145), Duncan (2002, 178), Schmidt (2002, 47), Shaw (2003, 208), Auner (2003, 135), Neff (2010, 214), and Therese Muxeneder, Introduction to Chamber Symphony No. 2, SC. Ena Steiner (1980, 210) has a similar interpretation to that of Auner. 7 Christian Martin Schmidt, introduction to Schoenberg (1979b). Neff (2010, 214) simply dates the poem “sometime between 1911 and 1916.”

The turning point  245 8 Lessem (1979, 166). Cross (1992, abstract) somewhat similarly observes that Harmonielehre is more philosophical than religious in tone and finds that Schoenberg’s world view becomes “primarily religious” “by 1915,” but she does not identify any particular turning point in 1911. 9 Haimo (2006, 351; 2010, 104–105) implies that he sees Schoenberg’s op. 19, nos. 1–5, as the first inkling of his reconstruction period. 10 Haimo (2006, 354–355). Auner (1991, 150–221; 1997, 113) earlier recognized Schoenberg’s New Music period. And Stephan (1985, 130) somewhat similarly pointed to a return to traditional techniques starting with Pierrot lunaire, op. 21 (1912), as the most significant development in his compositional career. 11 Auner (1997, 119). Auner cites Schoenberg’s reference in Harmonielehre to “the average person” living “not according to his own inclinations, but according to principles,” as evidence of a struggle between heart and brain already in 1910. HL, 413. But Schoenberg considers himself to be an artist, not an average person. This comment rather articulates a critique similar to that in his aphorism about the apostle following not a continuous drive but rather an old idea. Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 163. 12 Schoenberg, [“Sehnsucht”] (n.d.), SC, T53.26. 13 Schoenberg, diary, January 28, 1912, in Schoenberg (1986, 14). 14 Schoenberg, letter to Berg, September 29, 1911, in Berg and Schoenberg (1987, 22). 15 Cherlin (2007, 7). Schoenberg’s views on perfection are complex and somewhat conflicted. See Schoenberg, letter to Busoni, August 24, 1909, in Auner (2003, 74); and HL, 326. 16 Schoenberg, letter to Richard Dehmel, December 13, 1912, in Schoenberg (1964, 36). 17 Stuckenschmidt, Arnold Schoenberg, 235; and Anton Webern, letter to Schoenberg, March 9, 1911, in Brown (2014, 207n13–208). 18 Schoenberg, “Franz Liszt’s Work and Being,” in SI, 446; and Schoenberg, letter to Kandinsky, August 19, 1912, in Schoenberg and Kandinsky 1984, 54. On Séraphîta, see also a letter to Alma Mahler, November 11, 1913, in Auner (2003, 367n40). The Liszt article is published in a weekly periodical in October, 1911, so it is likely written shortly beforehand. 19 Cf. John 1:14. 20 Cf. Matthew 11:12. 21 Schoenberg, “Parsifal and Copyright” (1912), in SI, 493. 22 Schoenberg, letter to Kandinsky, August 19, 1912, in Schoenberg and Kandinsky (1984, 54–55). 23 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 160. 24 Ibid., SC, T14.15, 159. 25 With regard to the musical work as a nested container and part, one may note Schoenberg’s aphorism: “I jump not into the water as a whole but only into a small part.” Schoenberg, “Aphorismen und Sprüche,” SC, T50.08, 14. 26 Schoenberg, “Notizen zu Kunstwert” (n.d.), SC, T36.21. 27 Schoenberg, “Zu: Darstellung des Gedankens” (1923), SC, T01.15. 28 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 240; and Balzac ([1840] 2010, no page number). 29 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 215. Schoenberg expresses this paradox in the following aphorism: “Not much reason is necessary to explain everything in the simplest way, but infinitely more: to recognize everything as an inexplicable wonder.” Schoenberg, “Wunder: Nicht viel Verstand…” in Concertgebouw[kalendar] 1920–1921, SC. 30 Schoenberg, “Zur Frage des modernen Kompositionsunterrichtes,” 695, SC, T14.26. 31 Schoenberg, “Problems in Teaching Art,” in SI, 369. The article first appears in a journal dated 1911, so it is dated 1911 in SI, but it is reprinted in Die Wage 13/52 (1910): 1179–1182, so it is dated 1910 in Krones (2011, 401).

246 Thinking in music 32 Schoenberg, letter to Eduard Steuermann, February 10, 1950, SC. 33 Schoenberg, “Composition with Twelve Tones (1),” in SI, 215. 34 Schoenberg, “Gewissheit” (1920), in Schoenberg (1964, 10). Cf. John 9:39. The context for this phrase is a reflection by Schoenberg on his artistic evolution, but it also applies here. 35 Chua (2009, 584) makes a similar point. Schoenberg finds blind vision elsewhere, in a naive spiritual blindness. He writes, “The coarse, inexact mathematics of the mind: where presentiment ceases to be knowledge, the eye opens to spiritual blindness, and the voice completes the deception in the ear.” Schoenberg, “Stimme: Die grobe, ungenaue Mathematik…” (ca. 1920–1921), in Concertgebouw[kalendar] 1920–1921, SC. 36 Schoenberg (1999); and Schoenberg, “Toter Winkel,” MS 91, U167–U169, SC. Contrary to the transcription in the Sämtliche Werke edition, Schoenberg substitutes “Straßen” for “Gassen.” For discussion of the piece’s dating, see Bailey (1984, 38–44); and SC. 37 Ulrich Thieme (1979, 177) is of the opinion that the piece is equally ascribable to D major and B minor. Bailey (1984, 40) suggests that the emphasis on F speaks in favor of B minor. The full harmonic course of the first part confirms Bailey’s assessment. The bass melody is an elaborated arpeggiation from the tonic to the dominant with an applied third-divider: B–D in mm. 1 and 4 and B–D–F in mm. 5, 8, and 16. 38 On Schoenberg’s feelings about the piece, see Holzer (2000, 90). 39 Schoenberg, “Aphorismen” [in Die Musik], SC, T14.15, 159. 40 Liquidating repetitions of B''' in mm. 18–20 passionately set the line “Und fernher meinen Seufzern hold sich neigen” (“And my sighs incline sweetly into the distance”), confirming an association between b and sighs. 41 This progression is varied in m. 45 to end the coda. 42 Schoenberg (1980b) and Goethe, “O daß der Sinnen doch so viele sind,” translated in Kurth (2003, 342). 43 Schoenberg, “Zu: Eine neue Zwölfton-Schrift,” SC, T22.14. The article in question is written in 1924. 44 This notion originates with Schoenberg’s student Egon Wellesz (1969, 31). Schoenberg expresses great satisfaction with Wellesz’s book. Schoenberg, letter to Wellesz, January 25, 1921, SC. 45 I am indebted to Severine Neff for helping me think through the harmony in this piece. 46 Cf. Neff (1995, 917). 47 Barkin (1997b), Dörr (2001, 186), and Shawn (2002, 126). Leichtentritt (1951, 444) and others also mention the possibility of B7 here. 48 Muxeneder (2009, 440). I draw on Muxeneder’s insights into the motivic development. 49 The inverse variant of b takes on the quasi-minor ninth between the statements of a in m. 6. Neff (1995, 917–918). 50 Schoenberg’s following work, the mystical Herzgewächse, op. 20 (1911), similarly ends with a pickup to nothing. Root (2006, 72). Erwartung, op. 17 (1909), also has motion right up to the final bar line, but it sounds more like an al niente than an upbeat, especially since it coincides with the closing of the curtain. 51 Barkin (1997a, 51) places fermatas after the final bar line, seeming to sense the integral role of this blank. 52 On the symbol versus the allegory, see Todorov (1982, 198–221). 53 My interpretation of a renunciation in no. 6 bears a remote resemblance to ­A lbrecht von Massow’s (1993) suggestion that no. 6 represents a “farewell” to tonality and a decisive “new orientation” to atonality. Oliver Wiener (2004, 189)

The turning point  247

54

55 56 57 58 59 60

61 62 63 64

65 66 67

68 69 70

criticizes von Massow’s interpretation and instead connects no. 6 to Schoenberg’s expressed aim of making Rätsel on account of the piece’s contradictions. This aim of making Rätsel is precisely Schoenberg’s new orientation. Schoenberg, Christus-Vision (June 1911), SC, Eindrücke und Fantasien, CR 79; and Schoenberg, Begräbnis von Gustav Mahler (after May 22, 1911), SC, Naturstücke, CR 153. Christus-Vision was thought to date from 1919, but the image reads only “June 191”; the last digit is cut off. Muxeneder (2009, 437n33) dates it from 1911. See Tonietti (2003, 232) and Schoenberg, letter to Albert Einstein, January 1, 192[5], SC. See especially Kurth (2003, 370). Kurth (2001, 247) hears “imbalances in the suspension of tonality” in the piece as well, but he considers them “liminal,” not “structural.” A variant of b' without expansion in the tenor in m. 24 makes the connection clearer. Schoenberg, letter to Henry Allen Moe, January 22, 1945, in Schoenberg (1964, 232). Risinger (2000, 290). The most influential of these interpretations is Adorno 1998; but the first is perhaps Zillig 1957. Zillig (1959, 13) also suggests that Schoenberg cannot complete Die Jakobsleiter because he cannot recapture his initial state of inspiration, and George Steiner (1967, 139) and Koichi Yamaguchi (1984, 12) suggest that Schoenberg struggles with Moses und Aron in view of the nightmare of the Third Reich. These are indeed challenges, but they are not insurmountable. Schoenberg completes Chamber Symphony No. 2 decades after his initial inspiration, and he confronts the horrors of the Third Reich in A Survivor from Warsaw. Kurth (2010, 180) makes a somewhat similar point. Schoenberg, letter to Rufer, June 13, 1951, in Schoenberg (1964, 288). I follow Schoenberg in referring to the Bible rather than the Torah in this context. See for example Schoenberg, letter to Walther Eidlitz, March 15, 1933, in ibid., 172. Schoenberg (1977–1978, 468–469) and Schoenberg, letter to Frank Pelleg, April 26, 1951, in Schoenberg (1964, 287). Brown (2014, 188) speculates that the “somewhat heroic” Aron represents Schoenberg’s “younger self,” concerned with cultural redemption from being a Jew, while the stricter Moses represents Schoenberg’s “more recent self,” concerned with atoning for this denial of his heritage. I see this concern for atonement reflected not in the character of Moses versus Aron but simply in the composition of an opera on a biblical story. Schoenberg, letter to Rufer, June 13, 1951, in Schoenberg (1964, 288); and Schoenberg, letter to Eidlitz, March 15, 1933, in ibid., 172. Eidlitz’s Moses declares, “O thee eternal God, thee I have seen! / The joy swells in my soul to the extreme. / Thou spoke to me, and thou inclined thy face. / I looked aloft—and I the light could take!” Eidlitz (1923, 54). Cf. Exodus 33:11. Weaver (1981, 301). Bernard Zelechow (1992, 365) similarly finds that “Schoenberg’s Moses is apparently more arrogant than the biblical Moses.” And Cherlin (2007, 235) similarly finds that “Schoenberg misreads his own character” by trying to cast Aron as a villain in Act III. Weaver (1981, 302). Boss (2014, 331) also connects Schoenberg’s resistance to completing the opera to a dramatic contradiction between the last two acts. Schoenberg, “Meine Leidsprüche” (1928), in “Aphorismen und Sprüche,” SC, T50.08, 12a. The people demand, “Lord God in heaven, / Hear our supplication, / … Give us eternal love and salvation,” and God dutifully replies, “The Lord God in heaven / Hears your supplication / … Gives you eternal love and salvation.” Schoenberg (1979a, 2:32/50).

248 Thinking in music 71 Schoenberg, letter to Eidlitz, March 15, 1933, in Schoenberg (1964, 172). See Newlin (1968, 215). Bluma Goldstein (2000, 172–173) argues that Schoenberg’s revision of these accounts is one of several that paint Moses as virtuous at the expense of Aron. But Schoenberg’s Moses is not entirely virtuous; he is hubristic. 72 Schoenberg (1957, [305]) makes speaking versus striking into emblems of faith in the idea versus images (presentations). 73 Exodus 20:3, New King James Version. Zelechow (1992, 362) remarks that Schoenberg “remained mostly psychologically blind to the possibility of embodying the commandments.” 74 Schoenberg, “Death-Dance of Principles” (1915), in Bailey (1984, 100). 75 Schenker, “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 87 and 263.

References Adorno, Theodor W. 1998. “Sacred Fragment: Schoenberg’s Moses und Aron.” In Quasi una fantasia: Essays on Modern Music, translated by Rodney Livingstone, 225–248. London: Verso. Auner, Joseph. 1991. “Schoenberg’s Compositional and Aesthetic Transformations 1910–1913: The Genesis of Die glückliche Hand.” PhD diss., The University of Chicago. ———. 1997. “‘Heart and Brain in Music’: The Genesis of Die glückliche Hand.” In Constructive Dissonance: Arnold Schoenberg and the Transformations of Twentieth-­Century Culture, edited by Juliane Brand and Christopher Hailey, 112– 130. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. 2003. A Schoenberg Reader: Documents of a Life. New Haven: Yale University Press. Bailey, Walter B. 1984. Programmatic Elements in the Works of Arnold Schoenberg. Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press. Balzac, Honoré. [1840] 2010. Séraphîta. 2 vols. Paris: Hippolyte Souverain. Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley as Seraphita. Reprint, Champaign, IL: Project Gutenberg. www.gutenberg.org/etext/1432. Barkin, Elaine. 1979. “Arnold Schoenberg’s opus 19/6.” In Theory Only 4 (8):18–26. ———. 1997a. “Play It as It Lays.” In E: An Anthology—Music Texts & Graphics (1975–1995), 45–52. Red Hook, NY: Open Space. ———. 1997b. “Concerning a Performance of Arnold Schoenberg’s opus 19/6.” In E: An Anthology—Music Texts & Graphics (1975–1995), 55. Red Hook, NY: Open Space. Berg, Alban, and Arnold Schoenberg. 1987. The Berg-Schoenberg Correspondence: Selected Letters. Edited by Juliane Brand, Christopher Hailey, and Donald Harris. New York: W. W. Norton. Boss, Jack. 2014. Schoenberg’s Twelve-Tone Music: Symmetry and the Musical Idea. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brown, Julie. 2014. Schoenberg and Redemption. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cherlin, Michael. 2007. Schoenberg’s Musical Imagination. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chua, Daniel K. L. 2009. “Beethoven’s Other Humanism.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 62 (3):571–645. Creuzer, Georg Friedrich. 1973. Symbolik und Mythologie der alten Völker, besonders der Griechen. 4 vols. 3rd ed. Reprint, Hildesheim: Georg Olms.

The turning point  249 Cross, Charlotte M. 1992. “Schoenberg’s Weltanschauung and His Views of Music: 1874–1915.” PhD diss., Columbia University. Dale, Catherine. 2000. Schoenberg’s Chamber Symphonies: The Crystallization and Rediscovery of a Style. Aldershot: Ashgate. Dörr, Jessica. 2001. “Musikalische Graphiken zu den expressionistischen Sechs kleinen Klavierstücken op. 19 von Schönberg.” In Ästhetische Bildung, Musik und bildende Kunst: Außereuropäische Musik im Unterricht, edited by Gregor Pongratz and Christoph Khittl with Christoph Schmidt, 167–188. Essen: Die blaue Eule. Duncan, Michelle. 2002. “Music and Memory: Schönberg’s Second Chamber Symphony and History.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 4:173–181. Eidlitz, Walther. 1923. Der Berg in der Wüste. Leipzig: E. P. Tal. Faletti, Heidi E. 1983. Die Jahreszeiten des Fin de Siècle: Eine Studie über Stefan Georges „Das Jahr der Seele.“ Bern: Franke. Fearn, Raymond. 2002. “Sechs kleine Klavierstücke op. 19.” Translated by Christina Dudler. In Arnold Schönberg: Interpretationen seiner Werke, edited by Gerold W. Gruber, 2 vols., 1:269–281. Laaber: Laaber. Goldstein, Bluma. 2000. “Schoenberg’s Moses und Aron: A Vanishing Biblical Nation.” In Political and Religious Ideas in the Works of Arnold Schoenberg, edited by Charlotte M. Cross and Russell A. Berman, 159–192. New York: Garland. Haimo, Ethan. 2006. Schoenberg’s Transformation of Musical Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2010. “The Rise and Fall of Radical Athematicism.” In The Cambridge Companion to Schoenberg, edited by Jennifer Shaw and Joseph Auner, 94–107. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Helfgot, Nathaniel. 1993. “‘And Moses Struck the Rock’: Numbers 20 and the Leadership of Moses.” Tradition 27 (3):51–58. Hoeckner, Berthold. 2002. Programming the Absolute: Nineteenth-Century German Music and the Hermeneutics of the Moment. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Holzer, Robert R. 2000. “Schoenberg Sets Petrarch: Schopenhauer, Mahler, and the Poetics of Resignation.” In Schoenberg and Words: The Modernist Years, edited by Charlotte M. Cross and Russell A. Berman, 65–101. New York: Garland. Kaiser, Leander. 2003. “Eine ästhetische Religion? Schönberg und der moderne Irrationalismus.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 5:109–117. Kandinsky, Wassily. 1977. Concerning the Spiritual in Art. Translated by Michael T. H. Sadler. Reprint, New York: Dover. Kerling, Marc M. 2003. “Radikale Unausdenkbarkeit: Skepsis, Hoffnung und Grenze in Arnold Schönbergs Modernen Psalmen.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 5:276–298. Krieger, Georg. 1968. Schönbergs Werke für Klavier. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Krones, Harmut. 2006. “Musik und Religion(en) bei Arnold Schönberg.” In Musik zwischen ästhetischer Interpretation und soziologischem Verständnis, edited by Tatjana Böhme-Mehner and Motje Wolf, 85–99. Essen: Die blaue Eule. ———, ed. 2011. Arnold Schönberg in seinen Schriften: Verzeichnis—Fragen— Editorisches. Vienna: Böhlau. Kurth, Richard. 2001. “Suspended Tonalities in Schönberg’s Twelve-Tone Compositions.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 3:239–265. ———. 2003. “Schönberg and the Bilderverbot: Reflections on Unvorstellbarkeit and Verborgenheit.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 5:332–372.

250 Thinking in music ———. 2010. “Immanence and Transcendence in Moses und Aron.” In The Cambridge Companion to Schoenberg, edited by Jennifer Shaw and Joseph Auner, 177–190. ­Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leichtentritt, Hugo. 1951. Musical Form. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lessem, Alan Philip. 1979. Music and Text in the Works of Arnold Schoenberg: The Critical Years, 1908–1922. Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press. Lewin, David. 1981. “Some Investigations into Foreground Rhythmic and Metric Patterning.” In Music Theory: Special Topics, edited by Richmond Browne, 101–137. New York: Academic Press. McKee, Eric. 2005. “On the Death of Mahler: Schoenberg’s op. 19, no. 6.” Theory and Practice 30:121–151. Muxeneder, Therese. 2009. “Transzendierung von Trauer und Schmerz im Schaffen Arnold Schönbergs.” In Wiener Musikgeschichte: Annäherungen—Analysen— Ausblicke: Festschrift für Harmut Krones, edited by Julia Bungardt et al., 435–442. Vienna: Böhlau. Neff, Severine. 1995. Review of Catherine Dale, Tonality and Structure in Schoenberg’s Second String Quartet, op. 10 (New York: Garland, 1993); and Mark ­D elaere, Funktionelle Atonalität: Analytische Strategien für die frei-atonale Musik der ­Wiener Schule (Wilhelmshaven: Florian Noetzel, 1993). Notes [ser. 2] 51 (3):914–918. ———. 2010. “Cadence after Thirty-Three Years: Schoenberg’s Second Chamber Symphony, op. 38.” In The Cambridge Companion to Schoenberg, edited by ­Jennifer Shaw and Joseph Auner, 209–225. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Newlin, Dika. 1968. “Self-Revelation and the Law: Arnold Schoenberg in His Religious Works.” Yuval 1:204–220. Risinger, Mark P. 2000. “Schoenberg’s Modern Psalm, op. 50c and the Unattainable Ending.” In Political and Religious Ideas in the Works of Arnold Schoenberg, edited by Charlotte M. Cross and Russell A. Berman, 289–306. New York: Garland. Root, Gordon Nelson Anthony. 2006. “Tonal Analogues: The Interaction of Text and Music in the Works of Arnold Schoenberg.” PhD diss., University of California, Santa Barbara. Schmidt, Dagmar. 1993. Arnold Schönberg: Seine Klavierstücke op. 19 und das Phänomen des Expressionismus. Balingen-Endingen: Uli Molsen. Schmidt, Christian Martin. 2002. “Zweite Kammersymphonie op. 38.” In Arnold Schönberg: Interpretationen seiner Werke, edited by Gerold W. Gruber, 2 vols., 2:40–48. Laaber: Laaber. Schoenberg, Arnold. 1957. Moses and Aaron, Opera in Three Acts. Vocal score by Winfried Zillig, translated by Allen Forte. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. ———. 1964. Letters. Edited by Erwin Stein. Translated by Eithne Wilkins and Ernst Kaiser. London: Faber and Faber. ———. 1977–1978. Moses und Aron, Oper in drei Akten. In Sämtliche Werke, div. 3, ser. A, vol. 8, parts 1–2, edited by Christian Martin Schmidt. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. ———. 1979a. “Die Jakobsleiter.” Edited by Jean Christensen. Translated by Jean Christensen as “Jacob’s Ladder.” In “Arnold Schoenberg’s Oratorio Die Jakobsleiter,” 2 vols., 2:6–32 and 33–50. PhD diss., University of California at Los Angeles.

The turning point  251 ———. 1979b. “Wendepunkt.” In Sämtliche Werke, div. 4, ser. B, vol. 11, part 2, edited by Christian Martin Schmidt, 202. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. ———. 1980a. “Du sollst nicht, du mußt.” No. 2 of Vier Stücke für gemischten Chor, op. 27. In Sämtliche Werke, div. 5, ser. A, vol. 18, edited by Tadeusz Okuljar, 42–43. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. ———. 1980b. “O daß der Sinnen doch so viele sind.” In Sämtliche Werke, div. 5, ser. A, vol. 18, edited by Tadeusz Okulja, 4–5. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. ———. 1981. “Wenn Vöglein klagen,” op. 8, no. 6. In Sämtliche Werke, div. 1, ser. A, vol. 3, edited by Christian Martin Schmidt, 103–118. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. ———. 1986. “Attempt at a Diary.” Translated by Anita Luginbühl. Journal of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute 9 (1):7–51. ———. 1999. “Toter Winkel.” In Sämtliche Werke, div. 6, ser. B, vol. 22, edited by Dorothee Schubel, 109–113. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. Schoenberg, Arnold, and Wassily Kandinsky. 1984. Letters, Pictures and Documents. Edited by Jelena Hahl-Koch and translated by John C. Crawford. London: Faber and Faber. Shaw, Jennifer. 2003. “At the Crossroads: Schönberg’s Wartime Compositions and His Crisis of Faith, 1914–1918.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 5:187–212. Shawn, Allen. 2002. Arnold Schoenberg’s Journey. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Steiner, Ena. 1980. “The ‘Happy’ Hand: Genesis and Interpretation of Schoenberg’s Monumentalkunstwerk.” The Music Review 41 (3):207–222. Steiner, George. 1967. Language and Silence: Essays on Language, Literature, and the Inhuman. New York: Atheneum. Stephan, Rudolf. 1985. “Der musikalische Gedanke bei Schönberg.” In Vom musikalischen Denken: Gesammelte Vorträge, edited by Rainer Damm and Andreas Traub, 129–137. Mainz: B. Schott’s Söhne. Thieme, Ulrich. 1979. Studien zum Jugendwerk Arnold Schönbergs: Einflüsse und Wandlungen. Regensburg: Gustav Bosse. Todorov, Tzvetan. 1982. Theories of the Symbol. Translated by Catherine Porter. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Tonietti, Tito M. 2003. “Die Jakobsleiter, Twelve-Tone Music, and Schönberg’s Gods.” Journal of the Arnold Schönberg Center 5:213–237. Trauer, Edgar. 1986. “Neun Takte von Arnold Schönberg: Ein sprachlich-musikalisches Gleichnis.” Die Drei 56 (9):633–639. von Massow, Albrecht. 1993. “Abschied und Neuorientierung: Schönbergs Klavierstück op. 19, 6.” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 50 (2):187–195. Weaver, Robert L. 1981. “The Conflict of Religion and Aesthetics in Schoenberg’s Moses and Aaron.” In Essays on the Music of J. S. Bach and Other Divers ­S ubjects: A Tribute to Gerhard Herz, edited by Robert L. Weaver, 291–303. Louisville: ­University of Louisville. Wellbery, David E. 1996. The Specular Moment: Goethe’s Early Lyric and the Beginnings of Romanticism. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Wellesz, Egon. 1969. Arnold Schönberg. Translated by William Henry Kerridge. Reprint, New York: Da Capo Press. Wiener, Oliver. 2004. “,… Mahler als Sprachrohr benüzt‘? Zur Analyse von Arnold Schönbergs op. 19, Nr. 6 und Anton Weberns op. 21.” In Musiktheorie zwischen Historie und Systematik: 1. Kongress der deutschen Gesellschaft für Musiktheorie,

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Conclusion

The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, And saves such as have a contrite spirit. —Psalm 34:18, New King James Version

Schenker’s re-compositions and Schoenberg’s compositions put the genius’s love to the test and show it to be false, despite what they claim. And while Schoenberg’s music bears witness to an unwitting discord with himself, Schenker’s music bears witness to an unwitting concord with Schoenberg. To adapt a turn of phrase by Adorno (1998, xi), the music they compose and re-compose understands them better than they understand it. Music is both more and less than they think it is, which is to be born in mind in the worthy, ongoing task of adapting Schenker’s and Schoenberg’s musical thought for our own purposes. Music is more than the recording of a perception, even when it merely sounds a tone, as at the end of Schoenberg’s op. 19, no. 4. Music is as unruly as the wind; its possibilities and meanings are not bound by our theoretical concepts and historical categories, and it can transform these and us. Music has a surplus beyond what we bring to it; it offers us “an experience (attained through interpretive work) of an ‘other’ where prejudices are challenged, leading to change” (Cumming 2000, 304). This experience of an “other” is its connection with the spirit. More particularly, as George Steiner (1991) has eloquently argued, great art, including great music, reflects God’s presence or perceived absence. But music is also less than God. Schenker and Schoenberg are right that God cannot be reduced to words, but as Schoenberg’s music understands, neither can God be reduced to an idea. Although the evidence is not abundant, I believe in the end both Schenker and Schoenberg begin to realize as much.1 In the last year of their lives—when, “With God!” has become a refrain for Schenker, and when Schoenberg writes a set of “Psalms, Prayers and other Discourses with and about God”2—they both remark with apprehension on the autonomy of God, a notion that is consistent with many forms of Judaism but not with the religion of genius. Reflecting ironically

254  Conclusion on his belief that “in every begetting, in every growth, God is brought forth, God grows too,” Schenker writes, “In the beginning, man creates his God; at the end of his life, he becomes aware that God, his creation, remains, only he, the creator, sinks into nothing! What anguish, what disappointment!”3 And Schoenberg, in contrast to his earlier attempt to put words in God’s mouth in Die Jakobsleiter, hardly dares put them in his own mouth in one of his modern psalms, writing, “My Lord, who am I, to dare say: I profess that I believe in you? Who am I to believe that it makes any difference to you whether I am devoted to you or whether I deny you? Who am I to make so much ado about my religion.”4 What anguish, indeed, to feel one’s insignificance before God! Their hearts are broken, but if the ancient psalmist is to be believed, then for that very reason we may hope they are indeed with God.

Notes 1 Zelechow (1992, 366) makes a similar point about Schoenberg. 2 Schoenberg, letter to Oskar Adler, April 23, 1951, SC. 3 Schenker, aphorism, March 1932, in “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes,” OJ, 21/5, 280; and Schenker, aphorism, August 31, 1934, in ibid., OJ, 21/5, 262. 4 Schoenberg, “Moderne Psalmen” (1950–1951), SC, T69.13.

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Index

Page locators in italics refer to examples

A, grave associated with 235, 237

abbreviation 5–6 acting subject 26, 27 Adams, Courtney S. 193 Adorno, Theodor 8, 253 Albright, Daniel 181 alienation 10, 30, 36, 61n41, 110, 155–6, 174; Schoenberg’s experience 11, 155, 164, 181, 205–6, 209, 225 altered fourth chord 126–9, 126, 127, 154–5, 165–7, 166, 176n45, 189, 189, 209, 209 analysis: hermeneutic method 5–8; intuitive 108–9 Anschauung 28, 37–8 antecedent and consequent 77–8, 78, 82; in Schenker’s Fantasy for Piano, op. 2, 137, 138; Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 (Schoenberg) 188, 197, 198, 200, 200, 202–4, 203 applied divider 86 artwork 35, 37, 39, 39–40, 45; as law 52–3; as Rätsel 222–5 athematicism 184, 185 Auner, Joseph 210, 245n11 average person 35–7, 46, 48, 55, 64n115, 245n11, see also non-genius Ayotte, Benjamin McKay 120 Bach, Johann Sebastian 12n21, 112n45, 147; Fugue No. 12 in F minor (WellTempered Clavier, Book 2) 148, 149; Invention in C major, BWV 772, 104 back-formations 104 Bailey, Walter B. 246n37 Balzac, Honoré de 220, 221–2, 235, 242 Barkin, Elaine 193, 233, 234, 235 Barry, Christopher M. 176n49

bass arpeggiation 9, 84 Beethoven, Ludwig van 8, 44–5; Works: Piano Sonata No. 21 in C major, op. 53, 81–2; Piano Sonata No. 28 in A major, op. 101, 81–2; Piano Sonata No. 29 in B major, op. 106 92n21 “Beethoven’s Other Humanism” (Chua) 8 Benjamin, Walter 30 Berg, Alban 217 blended space 6–7, 26, 28, 164; art as spirituality 41–5; Urlinie and head tone 87–8, 88, 89 blindness 110, 219–20; of genius 10–11, 24, 45, 56, 225; to God 56, 225, 232–43; Schoenberg’s experience 11, 155, 164, 181, 205–6, 209, 225; to the world 225–32 blockage schema 36; for non-genius 50, 58; overcoming 26, 89, 108, 114n72, 220, 222–3; perceiving subject 26, 27–8, 30–3, 31 B minor 165, 175n6, 209, 212n49, 226, 228, 232, 243 Böggemann, Markus 113n55 Bone, Drummond 23 Boss, Jack 8, 113n58, 241, 247n68 Botstein, Leon 2 Brahms, Johannes 2, 119, 121, 150–1; Symphony No. 3, 147, 148 Branch, Lori 7 Breitkopf & Härtel 119 Brown, Julie 5, 34 Bruckner, Anton: Seventh Symphony 76 Buber, Martin 47 Budde, Elmar 157 Busoni, Ferruccio 119, 134, 135, 151n7, 152n27

274 Index C, divine associated with 237 castration 26, 27–8 center-periphery schemas 6, 62n58, 109, 204 centrifugal forces 25, 108, 108–9, 114n70 centripetal forces 25, 26, 27, 108, 109 Cherlin, Michael 4, 107, 247n67 Chopin, Frederic: Prelude in B minor 76 chord 35, 36; altered fourth chord 126–9, 126, 154–5, 165–7, 166, 176n45, 189, 189, 209, 209; spirit chord 166, 167–8, 169; Tristan chord 137, 139, 167; Viennese trichord 126–9, 127, 132, 137, 139 chromatic scale 99–101, 111n21, 129, 132; in “Ich darf nicht dankend” 168 Chua, Daniel K. L. 8, 29, 59 cognitive domains 6 coherence 3, 9–10, 45, 49–50, 137; motivic 102, 104, 109; tonal 41, 82–4 composition: improvisatory nature of 40–1, 63n67; musical life in 2; theories of 8–9, 13n31, 21 conceptual metaphors 6–7, 58–9, 164, 168; see also image schemas conscious perception 35, 36, 42 consonance 49, 79–81, 80, 98–9, 100 contraction 25, 26 contradiction 5–6, 38, 73–4, 96–7, 113n55 convergent motion 188 Cook, Nicholas 4, 12n13, 12n21, 12n56, 135 Cooper, Grosvenor W. 199–200 counterforce schema 114n66 counterpoint 79, 81, 92n8, 104 Covach, John 194 creation 28–9, 59, 63n68, 225; see also procreation Creuzer, Georg Friedrich 235 Cross, Charlotte M. 6, 7, 24, 62n53, 64n107, 65n1, 110n9, 113n54 culture, course of 48, 48, 50 Cumming, Naomi 253 Dahlhaus, Carl 3, 4, 12n9 d’Albert, Eugen 119 Darcy, Warren 90 Das Jahr der Seele (The Year of the Soul) (George) 155 “Das Wanderer,” D. 489 (Schubert) 137 deconstructive readings 5, 10 Delaere, Mark 194 Der Berg in der Wüste (Eidlitz) 240

Derrida, Jacques 27, 29, 80 development 59, 172, 173, 185; interrupted 104, 109; perfect authentic cadence 75–8, 78, 87, 90; as procreation 36, 39–40, 44, 88 dialogic reading 5, 7–8 dialogue 47 Die Lehre von der musikalischen Komposition, practisch-theoretisch (Marx) 9 diminution 37, 63n67, 73–4, 84 dissonance 49; close and remote 99, 114n62; completed vs. perpetual process of emancipating 99–101; as contingent on consonance 79; emancipation of in Schenker’s music 10–11, 126–9, 127–9 passim, 150; emancipation of in Schoenberg’s music 2, 10–11, 57–8, 59, 97–101; justification required 79–80; problems in 97–101, 100, 103; tone color 49; Urlinie and 79–81, 107 divider 86 division 25–7, 26 Dörr, Jessica 187, 206, 213n65 Drabkin, William 9 Dümling, Albrecht 163 Dutch contrapuntists 236 E, heaven associated with 233 Eidlitz, Walther 240 Emerson, Ralph Waldo 23 Enlightenment 24 enucleation 205–6 eternal-same 56 euphony 80, 101 evolution, line of 48–50, 49, 182 evolution of music 55, 55, 65n123; line of 48–50, 49, 182 evolution of perception of tone color 41, 97, 98, 101, 106, 150, 182, 186 expansion 25, 26 eye, spiritual 3, 42, 222 eye of the genius 3, 37, 133; in Goethe 23–4, 25–9, 26; in Schopenhauer 24, 30–2, 31; self-seeing inner eye 10, 21–2, 24, 28, 58–9; see also genius; subject; vision Faletti, Heidi E. 156, 225–6 Falke, Gustav 226 Fantasy for Piano, op. 2 (Schenker) 119, 120, 134–50, 136–49 passim;

Index  275 antecedent and consequent in 137, 138; B division of first movement 136, 141, 143, 143–6, 144–6, 150; contrasting middle sections 135–6, 136, 139, 141, 145; exposition sections 135, 136, 137–9, 138–9, 141, 143, 144, 145; first movement 134–47, 136, 138–9, 144, 150; fugue sections 136, 137–41, 139, 146–50, 149; Grundgestalten 138, 137–40, 142, 146–8, 147, 149, 150; overview 134–7; recapitulation sections 135, 136, 137–9, 140, 143, 146, 146; second movement 147–50, 147–50; ternaryform parts 135, 136; transition 135, 136, 139, 142, 147, 150 Fantasy in C major, D. 760 (Schubert) 137, 138 Fauconnier, Gilles 6–7 Fearn, Raymond 181, 186, 187, 234 Federhofer, Helmut 12n9 female other 26, 27–8 figurative language 4–6, 22 fingering, figure of 52 foreground 39, 39, 40, 84, 85 form 10, 91; harmony blended with 77–8, 78; in Schenker’s music 134–50; Schoenberg’s theory 155; sonata form 73, 76, 82, 90, 135, 187; three-part 76; two-part 75–6, 82 Förster, Karl August 228 freedom, God, and immortality 10, 29, 33, 43–6, 59 Fuchs, Johann Nepomuk 165 fundamental 95; see also ground tone future 61n40; genius located in 22, 29, 59, 221–2, 235; as location of salvation 53, 221–2; subject perceived in mythic 34–6, 35 Gadamer, Hans-Georg 30 generic space 6, 41, 47, 164, 168 Geniezeit (Genius Period, ca. 1760–1775) 24 genius 10; absent 101, 174; alienation of 10, 24, 59, 156, 174, 182–3; as another Creator 24, 44, 244; as artist-seer 33–4; blindness of 10–11, 24, 45, 59, 225, 240; dependence on 28–9; faith in 33–4, 52–5, 59, 66n151, 253–4; future, location in 22, 29, 59, 221–2, 235; Goethe on 23–9, 26; ground tone and 37–40, 39, 40, 59; innate abilities 47–8; love, reduction

of 23, 42, 91, 253; part-whole schema 25–7, 26; as past and future 22, 29, 59; present-day belief in 10, 22, 59; as pure, knowing subject 10, 24, 26, 28, 30–4, 31, 35; realization of mankind and 21, 24, 46–58; religion and 33–4, 54–5; Schopenhauer on 30–3, 31; self-realization 24, 41–6, 155–6; self-seeing inner eye 10, 21–2, 24, 28; as source of aesthetic ideas 29–30; take shortest path 55, 55; totalitarian tendency 22–3, 59; tradition established by 28–9; as visionary 23–4, 225–6; see also eye of the genius genres, mixing of 4, 7 George, Stefan 154, 155–65, 209–10 Gestalt, defined 102; see also Grundgestalt Gliederung of the Urlinie 84–7, 90 God 23, 28–30, 44, 91; blindness to 56, 225, 232–43; freedom, God, and immortality 10, 29, 33, 43–6; genius as substitute for 29–30; seeing and rising into 46, 46; Ursatz, parallel with 57, 67n161, 90, 243–4; “With God!” 2, 4, 58, 59, 253 “God motive” 233–4 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 5, 8, 45, 155, 222, 231; Anschauung 28, 38; on eye of the genius 23–9, 26; lack, displacement of 27–9; path to Schopenhauer 29–30; on Shakespeare as genius 23–4; Works: “The Eagle and the Dove” 27–8; Faust 23 Goldmark, Karl 119 Goldstein, Bluma 248n71 graven images, prohibition of 57, 225, 236, 240 Greenbaum, Matthew 188 ground tone 35, 39, 98, 101, 164, 212n31; consonance and dissonance 79–81, 80; erasure/blurring of 57, 96, 106–7, 110, 129–33, 150, 154; genius and 37–40, 39, 40, 44, 59; imperceptibility 45, 106–7; in nontonal music 45, 174; opposition to itself 101; procreation and 36, 44, 80, 103, 105, 108; in Schenker’s music 121, 121; in Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 (Schoenberg) 187, 190, 190, 192–204, 199, 203, 207–10, 212n50, 213n55, 213n71; three meanings 95–6; triad

276 Index and 79–80, 80, 89; see also tone; tonic; zero (geometric point) Grundgestalt 95, 134, 229; Fantasy for Piano, op. 2 (Schenker) 138, 137–40, 142, 146–8, 147, 149, 150; “Ich darf nicht dankend” 168, 169; motive and 101–9, 111n28; Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 (Schoenberg) 186, 187, 188, 190, 191, 194, 197, 200–2, 204 Haimo, Ethan 10, 184, 185, 219 halakha 47 harmonic-contrapuntal progression 73–4, 86–7, 88 harmonic tone (Klang) 37–8, 40, 61–2n50 Harmonielehre (Schenker) 9–10; in B major-minor, sonata form 76; perfect authentic cadence 75–8, 78, 87, 90; “reform process” 9 Harmonielehre (Schoenberg) 8, 9, 13n30, 97, 163, 165, 211n14; altered fourth chord 166–7; mathematics of integrity 181–4, 182; motives and themes 184–5; regular fourth chord 166, 176n40 harmony 10, 76–8, 78, 97; in Schenker’s music 120–4; Ursatz and 86–7; voice leading 172, 174 Harrison, Thomas 33 Hauer, Christian 60n12, 154, 163, 164 head tone 82, 85, 88, 89, 106 Hepokoski, James A. 90 Herder, Johann Gottfried 28 hexatonic poles 129–30, 133, 133 Hoeckner, Berthold 204, 225 homophonic music 104 “Ich darf nicht dankend… aus: Waller im Schnee (Stefan George),” op 14. no. 1 (Schoenberg) 11, 60n12, 154, 181, 209, 225–6, 230, 233, 237; altered fourth chord 154–5, 165–6, 166; B-minor triad 154, 155; The Cold Shoulder image 169–70; G, role of 166, 168, 169, 170–1, 171; music 165–74; music, Schoenberg and 168–9, 169; problem 165–8, 166; seven strands of development 172, 173; solution 169–74, 171, 173, 174; spirit chord 166, 167, 167–8; strophic form 170; text 155–65, 169 idea 29–30, 112n30, 182; absolute 44, 225; incomprehensibility 223–4; realization of 34–41

Idea 30–2, 31, 62n53 ideal 25, 60n24 identity 27, 30, 156, 210n3; art and spirituality linked 41, 57; Jewish 33, 56–7 image schemas 6–7, 10, 58, 62n58; center-periphery 6; Idea 30–2, 31; movement 36–7; non-tonal music 99, 100, 110; part-whole 6, 25–7, 26, 58–9; presentation of musical idea 107, 108; source-path-goal 6, 48, 48–50, 49, 79–80, 89, 99, 239–40; splitting and merging 25–7; verticality schema 27, 32, 58; vision and 45–6 imitation 95–6, 99, 101; tracing line of evolution 48–50, 49 improvisation 40–1, 59, 63n67, 182, 185–6 individual phenomenon 30–2, 31 input spaces 6, 27–8, 35, 36, 47, 164 integration networks 5, 6–7, 25 integrity: absolute 186, 186; mathematics of 181–4, 182; ratio of the artist to his work 43, 49, 101, 181–3 interruption 10, 35, 59, 73–94; blend of tone and Urlinie 87–8, 88; contradictions in Schenker’s theory 73–4, 96–7; first harmoniccontrapuntal progression as superordinate 74, 87; Gliederung of the Urlinie 84–7, 90; goal and 85, 88; harmonic-contrapuntal progression 73–4, 86–7, 88; models 73–4, 74; perfect authentic cadence 75–8, 78, 87, 90; second progression as superordinate and/or complete 74, 87, 92n5; Urlinie 73, 79–83; Ursatz and 87–91, 89, 244; voice leading and 86, 88; Zug (linear progression) 82–3, 85–7 intertexts 5, 8, 11, 156 Jackson, Timothy L. 176n30 Jacob, Andreas 106 “Jacob Wrestling” (Strindberg) 220–1 Jews, ethnic Viennese 2, 7, 12n10, 47 Johnson, Mark 6 Judaism: art-religion and 47, 57–8; individualistic form 2, 47, 56; Rätsel 220, 222–5, 224, 232, 243, 247n53; return to 56–8; Schenker and Schoenberg return to 2, 3, 56–8, 240 Kaiser, Leander 220 Kallir, Jane 210n7

Index  277 Kandinsky, Wassily 180, 185, 219, 223, 225 Kant, Immanuel 29–30, 33 Kerling, Marc M. 239–40 key 113n56; Stufen (scale degrees) 75, 76, 133 Klang (harmonic tone) 37–8, 40, 61–2n50 Klimt, Gustav 170 Kohler, Ralf Alexander 113n55 Korsyn, Kevin 42 Kraus, Karl 2, 217 Krieger, Georg 199, 200, 232–3 Kurth, Richard 107, 113n58, 225, 231, 247n57 Lacan, Jacques 61n41 lack: of average person 48, 50; Goethe’s displacement of 27–9; Schenker’s displacement of 36, 56, 59, 80; Schoenberg’s displacement of 36, 56, 59; Schopenhauer’s displacement of 30–2 Lakoff, George 6 language 8; religion substitutes words for perceptual experience 50, 59; Schenker’s view 34, 36–7 latency 35, 36, 89, 98 law, work of art as 52–3 laws, musical 6, 45, 57–8; unity of musical space 45; Ursatz 6, 57 Léhar, Franz 104 Lessem, Alan Philip 245n8 listening 7, 10, 104; re-composition through 10, 52, 91 Lord’s Prayer 52 love 23, 42, 91 “Love Unspoken” (Léhar) 104 Luther, Martin 54 Mach, Ernst 33 Mahler, Gustav 44–5, 163, 182, 217, 232, 236; Eighth Symphony 23, 60n8; Schoenberg’s eulogy to 22, 23, 58 major scale 99 manifestation: as actual movement 36; Rätsel 224; of tone 35, 36, 80, 89, 90; of will 31, 32 mankind: genius points way to realization 21, 24, 46–58; love for 23, 42; see also non-genius Marston, Nicholas 87 Marx, Adolph Bernhard 9, 136 materiality 3, 21, 222–4 McClary, Susan 62n55

McKee, Eric 232, 233 McMahon, Darrin M. 22–3, 24, 59 melody 77, 81, 82, 88, 89, 101–4, see also Urlinie (originary line) mental representations 29–30, 47 mental spaces 6–7 metamorphosis 25, 26 metaphor 5–7, 101; conceptual 6–7, 58–9, 164, 168 Meyer, Leonard B. 199–200 Miller, Patrick 120 modernism 2, 11, 12n10, 33, 120, 128 morality 34–6, 41–3, 50–1 Morgan, Robert P. 4, 12n10, 61n43 Moses 2; as “Chosen One” 58, 67n172, 243; identification with 57–8, 225, 243, 247n64; see also Schoenberg, Arnold, musical works motive 75, 95, 112n32, 211n11, 16; defined 102; in Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 (Schoenberg) 184–90, 193–8, 201–3, 206–8; Urlinie displaces 84; see also Grundgestalt movement 25, 35, 36, 43, 108; passing motion 73, 81–4, 86, 88, 89, 152n22; see also development; source-pathgoal image schemas Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 54; “Der Vögelfanger bin ich ja” 103; “Dissonance” Quartet 167, 167; Piano Sonata No. 10 in C major, K. 330, 76–7; Piano Sonata No. 12 in F major, K. 332, 82, 83 Musca, Lisa Ann 208, 210n3 musical idea 5, 165; presentation of by melodic and harmonic progressions 101–2; unclear relations of tones and 103, 105, 108 musical life 2, 10, 24, 43, 45, 75 musical space 45, 101, 107, 108, 110n3 music history 3, 65n123 music theory 3, 6–7, 41 mutual mediation 1, 8–9, 180 Muxeneder, Therese 232, 233–4, 236 nature: God as 45–6; Goethe on 25–7, 26; penetration of 26, 31, 35, 39, 48–9, 108; Schopenhauer on 30–2, 31; as selfsufficient 25, 27, 39; tone as idea of 38 Necker Cube 74 Neff, Severine 154–5, 170–1 nested container schema 27, 32, 62n58, 114n62, 245n25; in Balzac 222–3; subject and tone as input spaces 35, 36

278 Index non-genius 36–7, 46–50, 64n115, 245n11; in apostle role 54, 55, 55; blockage schema for 50, 58; limited insight 48, 48–50, 49; morality 43; see also average person; mankind non-harmonic tones 97 non-tonal music 62n62, 96, 97, 105–9, 108; dissonance 99–101; ground tone 45, 174; image schemas 99, 100, 110; motive and Grundgestalt 105–9, 108; symmetrical formations in 107, 113n58; tonic triad in 154–5, 172, 174; see also twelve-tone music notation 41, 75 Oberhuber, Konrad 157 object 29–34, 39, 46; as Idea 30–2, 31; subject sinks into 30, 31, 34, 35, 42; subject united with 24–5, 38; surface of 26, 35, 36–7, 46, 58, 61n45 origins 27, 80; see also Urlinie (originary line) ornaments, as structural 6 other 26, 27–8, 253 overtones/partials 105, 111n12, 111n19, 120; close and remote 95, 97, 99, 114n62, 166, 168; fifth partial as limit 48, 48, 50; unconscious perception 37, 48–9, 49 “pain motive” 233–4 part-whole schemas 6, 58–9; Goethe’s 25–7, 26, 38, 45; interruption and 88, 90; motive and Grundgestalt 102, 107; Schopenhauer’s 30–2, 31 passing motion 73, 81–4, 86, 88, 89, 152n22 passing tone 79–81, 80, 123, 126, 128 Peirce, C. S. 205 Peles, Stephen 65n123 penetration 26, 28, 31, 35, 39, 222; of nature 26, 31, 35, 39, 48–9, 108; of subject 34–6, 35, 39; of tone 41, 65n123, 108–9 perceiving subject 25–7, 26, 30–3, 31 perception 40–2; conscious and unconscious 35, 36; pure 10, 28, 30, 31, 33–4, 35, 80, 110 perfect authentic cadence 75–8, 78, 87, 90, 141 performance, as re-composition 9, 10, 52–3, 91 phallus 26, 27–8

phenomenon 30–2, 31, 36 pitch 35, 36, 97, 98, 166 polyphonic music 104 post-secular 5, 7 prayer 52, 220–5, 242; in op. 19, no. 6, 232–3; see also Rätsel presentation of musical idea 95–6, 101, 102, 105, 107, 108, 112n30, 181–2, 204, 206, 209; Rätsel and 220, 223–4, 233–4, 240 Priore, Irna 92n4 problems 8, 10, 35, 59, 95–116; balance and imbalance 103–4, 107–9; direct and indirect relations of tones 99, 108; in the dissonance 97–101, 100; motive and Grundgestalt 101–9; new relations of tones 103–10, 108; presentation of musical idea 95–6; in Schenker’s music 121–2, 123, 124; Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 (Schoenberg) 187, 192–7, 193, 196, 201–4, 207–8, 208, 210; tonal and non-tonal music 105–9, 108; in the tone 97, 98; unclear relations of tones 8, 95, 101, 103–5, 108, 150, 165, 166 procreation 25; development as 36, 39–40, 44, 88; ground tone and 36, 44, 80, 103, 105, 108; repetition as 73, 75, 81, 89, 103; Schenker and Schoenberg not in conflict 102–3; spiritual 39–40; tone and 36, 44, 75 Raff, Christian 155, 176n48, 177n57, 180, 185, 193, 194 Rätsel 220, 222–5, 224, 232, 243, 247n53 Ratz, Erwin 8 re-composition 9, 10, 52–3, 73, 91 religion 7, 155; apostle, role of 54, 55, 55; degradation caused by 51–2; faith in genius as 33–4, 53–4, 66n151, 253–4; Lord’s Prayer 52; substitutes words for perceptual experience 50, 59; see also spirituality repetition 10, 73, 81; form and 75–6; Gliederung and 84–5; not necessary in harmony 76, 77; perfect authentic cadence 75–8, 78, 87, 90; as procreation 73, 75, 81, 89, 103; in Schoenberg 102–3; Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 (Schoenberg) 183, 185, 187, 187, 190, 195, 195, 206–7, 207; two-part form 75–6, 82; see also variation

Index  279 resolution 95, 97, 99, 106 Romantics 29–30, 37, 155 root 95; see also ground tone Rosenzweig, Franz 47 row 102, 105, 236 Ryan, Judith 33 salvation 32–3, 52–3, 220–2, 221, 235 Samarotto, Frank 85 scale degrees; see Stufen (scale degrees) Schenker, Heinrich: aphorisms and fragments 4, 66n135, 90, 254; breaches modernism 120, 128; course of culture 48, 48, 50; fingering, figure of 52; on freedom, God, and immortality 43–5; genius as cone of light 21–2; God as nature 45–6; improvisation, creation as 40–1, 63n67; Judaism, return to 2, 56–8, 240; Judaism and art-religion in 47, 57; as pistic 34, 38–9, 42–4, 50, 52; redemption, need for 33–4; religion rejected by 51, 54–5; thinking in music 119–20; Writings: Counterpoint 9, 79–80; “Das Leben als Lobgesang Gottes” 90, 90; “Das Tonsystem der Musik” 120; “The Decline of the Art of Composition” 9, 84, 150; Free Composition 2, 8, 9, 39, 40, 46, 84, 88; The Masterwork in Music 21, 79, 82, 84; New Musical Theories and Fantasies 9, 134; The Will of the Tone (Der Tonwille) 79, 82; see also Schenker, Heinrich, composition theory; Schenker, Heinrich, musical works Schenker, Heinrich, composition theory: composition as focus 9, 13n31; harmonic-linear unity 75, 86–7; hierarchy not privileged 74–5, 90; melodic-formal repetition 75; perfect authentic cadence 75–8, 78, 87, 90; on repetition 73; suspended tonality, rejection of 10–11; tone as central focus 74–5; on triad 37; voice leading 79, 83, 86, 88, 90; see also interruption; Schenker, Heinrich; Urlinie; Ursatz Schenker, Heinrich, musical works 91; dissonance, emancipation of 10–11, 126–9, 127–9 passim, 150; dissonances in overlapping chords 128, 129, 131; form 134–50; ground tone, blurring 129–34, 150; harmony 121–33, 121–34

passim; passing tones 123, 126, 128; pedal points 125, 128, 129; rhythmic figuration 128; solving problems 121–6, 121–6 passim, 134, 137–41, 147, 150; suspensions 123, 128–9, 150; verticalizing of the horizontal 129, 132; Viennese trichord 126–9, 127, 132, 137, 139; Works: “Der Himmel hat keine Sterne so klar” 152n23; Étude, no. 1 of Two Piano Pieces, op. 1, 121, 121, 122; Five Pieces for Piano, op. 4, 119, 128, 131; “Heimat” (designated op. 6, no. 1) 122–3, 124; “Mädchenlied no. 1” 122, 123; “Meeres Stille” (designated op. 6, no. 3) 127–8, 128; “Mir träumte von einem Myrtenbaum” 123, 125, 126, 126, 128, 129; “Mondnacht” (designated op. 3, Heft 1, no. 1) 126, 127, 128; Scherzo 129–30, 132, 133; Syrische Tänze 119, 128, 130, 151n7; “Tausend schöne goldne Sterne” (designated op. 8/4) 130, 133, 134; Two-Voice Inventions, op. 5, 128–9, 131, 132; “Wandrers Nachtlied” (designated op. 6, no. 3) 126, 127, 127; see also Fantasy for Piano, op. 2 (Schenker); Schenker, Heinrich Schmidt, Christian Martin 176n50, 219 Schmidt, Dagmar 180–1, 189, 196, 207, 208 Schoenberg, Arnold: alienation and blindness experienced by 11, 155, 164, 181, 205–6, 209, 225; aphorisms and fragments 4, 6, 111n22, 223, 231; artistic identity and self-understanding 163–5, 168; athematicism 184, 185; blindness to God in works of 232–43; coherence 9–10; depression 217–19, 244n5; dissonance, emancipation of 10–11, 57–8, 59, 97–101; evolution, line of 48–50, 49, 182; on freedom, God, and immortality 43; graven images, view of 57, 225, 236, 240; as iconic 34–5, 38–9, 42–5, 50, 53; Judaism, return to 2, 57–8, 219, 240; Mahler, eulogy to 22, 23, 58; on morality 42–3; musicalspiritual turning point 219–20; New Music period (1909–1911) 11, 164–5, 180–1, 185, 224; paintings 156–63, 181, 183, 204–5; prayer and self-expression 220–5; Rätsel and

280 Index 220, 222–5, 224, 232, 243, 247n53; reconstruction period (1911–1951) 11, 181, 185, 219; redemption, need for 33–4; religion rejected by 51–2; Schenker, study of 12n21, 57; scholarship on 154–5; segregation of analysis and criticism 180–1; selfexpression 37, 65n121, 185–6, 222–3; self-pedagogical theory 9, 13n30; theory, dismissal of 1–5; three style periods 10–11, 154, 164, 181, 219; two faiths in conflict 239–40; on uncertainty of theory 7–8; unfinished music 238–9, 243; Paintings: Begräbnis von Gustav Mahler 236; Blauer Blick 204, 204; Blick 205; Blicke (Gazes) 157, 205; Braunes Selbstportrait 162; Bund (Alliance) 158, 168; ChristusVision 236; Fleisch (Flesh) 158, 163; Grünes Selbstportrait 162; Gruppe vor knieendem Christus 158; Hände (Hands) 205; Nachtstück [II] (Nocturne) 157; Roter Blick 204, 204; self-portraits 160–3; Vision 205; Writings: “Das Komponieren mit selbstständigen Stimmen” 185; Fundamentals of Musical Composition 10; The Musical Idea and the Logic, Technique, and Art of Its Presentation 10; notebooks 105, 181; Preliminary Exercises in Counterpoint 10; Structural Functions of Harmony 10; “Wendepunkt” 218–19, 220; “Zu: Darstellung des Gedankens” 96, 105; see also Harmonielehre (Schoenberg); Schoenberg, Arnold, musical works Schoenberg, Arnold, musical works: Chamber Symphony No. 2, op. 38, 218, 219, 247n60; Die glückliche Hand, op. 18, 64–5n116; Die Jakobsleiter 58, 220–1, 238–9, 242, 243, 247n60, 254; “Du sollst nicht, du mußt,” op. 27, no. 2, 236–8, 237, 238; Erwartung, op. 17, 99, 246n50; Five Pieces for Orchestra, op. 16, no. 5, 180; Herzgewächse, op. 20, 219, 246n50; Israel Exists Again 233; Moderner Psalm, op. 50c 233, 238, 254; Moses und Aron 2, 11, 233, 238–43, 247n64; The Musical Idea and the Logic, Technique, and Art of Its Presentation 10; “O daß der Sinnen doch so viele sind” 231, 231–2; Six Orchestral Songs, op. 8, 228; String

Quartet No. 2 in F minor, op. 10, 155, 172; A Survivor from Warsaw, op. 46, 234, 247n60; Three Piano Pieces, op. 11, no. 3, 180, 184; Three Pieces for Chamber Orchestra 183; “Toter Winkel” 226–8, 227, 241; “Voll jener Süße,” op. 8, no. 5, 109; “Wenn Vöglein klagen,” op. 8, no. 6, 109, 228–30, 229–30, 233; see also “Ich darf nicht dankend… aus: Waller im Schnee (Stefan George),” op. 14, no. 1 (Schoenberg); Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 Schoenberg, Mathilde 163 Schoenberg’s Twelve-Tone Music: Symmetry and the Musical Idea (Boss) 8 “Schoenberg’s Weltanschauung and His Views of Music: 1874–1915” (Cross) 6 Schopenhauer, Arthur 5, 10, 23–4, 65n124, 184; on genius, nature, and art 30–3, 31; genius as knowing subject 24; path from Goethe to 29–30; path to Schenker and Schoenberg 33–4; realization of the idea 34, 36–7, 40–1, 46 Schorske, Carl 12n10 Schubert, Franz 137, 138 Schultz, Karla 164 Schumann, Robert: Fantasy, op. 17, 136 secondary-theme zone 91 seeing 25, 26, 31, 35, 46, 46 self-difference 25–7, 26, 30 self-dramatization 190, 193, 235 self-expression 183, 185; as goal of genius 37, 65n121, 222–3; prayer and 220–5 self-realization 24–5, 41–6, 155–6, 169; art and morality 41–3; freedom, God, and immortality 43–6, 59 semiotics 45, 205 Séraphîta (Balzac) 220, 221–2 Shawn, Allen 181, 192, 199, 205, 206 Simms, Bryan R. 184, 185, 193, 211n16 Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 (Schoenberg) 11, 102, 156, 180–2, 184–216, 232–6; no. 1, 102, 104, 180, 187–93, 187–93 passim; no. 2, 109, 180, 193, 193–6, 195–6; no. 3, 184, 196–9, 198, 199; no. 4, 180, 181, 185, 199–204, 200, 202, 203, 205, 225, 253; no. 5, 181, 206–9, 207–9, 232; no. 6, 11, 185, 193, 209, 219, 232–6, 233,

Index  281 234; antecedents and consequents 188, 197, 198, 200, 200, 202–4, 203; B as ground tone 187; basic and contrasting ideas 198, 200, 203; cadential phrases 188, 190, 192–3, 193, 194, 195–6, 196, 197–8, 198, 208–9, 209, 234; contrasting middles/ elaborations 190, 192, 193; convergent motion 188; expression 184; form 187, 193; Gestalten/Grundgestalt 186, 187, 188, 190, 191, 194, 197, 200–2, 233; God-pain motive, no. 6, 233–4; ground tones 187, 190, 190, 192–204, 199, 203, 207–10, 212n50, 213n55, 213n71; interrupted development 104; motives and themes 184–90, 193–8, 201–3, 206–8; Nos. 1–5 as a whole 184–6, 220; organicist tropes 180–1; problems 187, 192–7, 193, 196, 201–4, 207–8, 208, 210; recapitulation 190, 192; repetition, use of 183, 185, 187, 187, 190, 195, 195, 206–7, 207; self-reference in 185–6, 202; zeroing in 181–204, 204; zeroing out 204, 205, 205–9 Smith, Charles J. 9 Smith, Peter H. 74–5, 87, 90, 92n6 Snarrenberg, Robert 62n53 Society for Creative Tone-Artists 119 sonata form 73, 76, 82, 90, 135, 187 soul 22, 34, 50, 58, 221 source-path-goal image schemas 6, 36, 48, 48–50, 49; consonance and dissonance 99; triad and passing tone 79–80, 88, 89; see also movement specular moment 25, 27, 60n25, 133, 156 spirit chord 166, 167, 167–8, 169 spirituality 2–3; art as 41, 43, 45, 47; convergence of Schenker and Schoenberg 2, 10, 24, 59; faith in genius 52–5; see also religion Springer, Käthe 7 Stearns, Michelle L. 64n107 Stein, Leonard 10 Steiner, George 253 Stephan, Rudolf 112n30, 112n38, 194 Strindberg, August 220–1 stringing together 104, 113n46 striving 30–2, 31, 38, 53, 88 structural invariants 5–6 Stufen (scale degrees) 75–7, 76, 133, 172 subject: acting 26, 27; autonomy of 28, 29; direct knowledge of impossible

29–30; nature and 25–7, 26; penetration of 34–6, 35, 39; perceiving 26, 27–8, 30–3, 31; sinks into object 30, 31, 34, 35, 42; tone and 34–7, 35; united with object 24–5, 38 Sudheimer, Hellmuth 28 suffering 30–2, 31 supersensible ideas 29–30 surface of object 26, 35, 36–7, 46, 58, 65n45 Susman, Margarete 155–6 symmetrical formations 107, 113n58, 127, 129 synoptic view 5, 6 systematization 50, 99 temporality: depth versus time in tone 48–9; genius located in future 22, 29, 59, 221–2, 225; subject and object, perception of 34–6, 35; tone in real time 24, 41 theme 91, 95, 103; see also Six Little Piano Pieces, op. 19 (Schoenberg) theory 1–7; contradictions in 73–4, 96–7; history of 3, 4, 7–8; psychological level 21, 41, 123, 126; self-pedagogical 9, 13n30 Thieme, Ulrich 246n37 “Three Levels of ‘Idea’ in Schoenberg’s Thought and Writings” (Cross) 6 tonality: absence of 10–11, 155; collapse of 3, 12n10; fluctuating 96, 109; as foreground 39; perceptible reference to ground tone 96, 105–6; Schoenberg’s use of term 113n55; suspended 10–11, 96, 109, 110n5, 150, 172 tonal life 38, 75, 79, 82, 96–7 tonal music 3, 105–9, 108; return 77, 108 tone 10, 89; absoluteness of 38, 43, 103; consonance and dissonance 79–81, 80, 88; depth versus time 48–9, 182; harmonic tone (Klang) 37–8, 40, 61–2n50; head tone 82, 85, 88, 89, 106; imitations of 95–6, 99, 101; as input space 35, 36; intuitive perceptible reference to ground tone 37–9; key as community of tones 75; limitlessness of 48–9; manifestation of 35, 36, 80, 89, 90; passing tone 79–81, 80, 123, 126, 128; penetration of 41, 65n123, 108–9; procreation and 36, 44, 75; psychological and material notion of 3, 21, 224; in reality and in ideality

282 Index 3, 97, 101, 168, 169; realization of 35, 37, 73; realization in real time 24, 41, 63n68; across time 97, 98; subject and 34–7, 35; tonal life 38, 75, 79, 82, 96–7; unclear relations of 8, 101, 103–5, 108, 165, 166; see also ground tone tone color 35, 36, 49, 97, 98, 164; evolution of perception of 41, 97, 98, 101, 106, 150, 182, 186 tonic 95–6; see also ground tone tonic triad 74, 76–7, 81–3, 88; in non-tonal music 154–5, 172, 174; see also triad Tonietti, Tito M. 67n172 “Toter Winkel” (Falke) 226 tradition 2, 28–9 transcendence 23, 47, 184, 225 transference 26, 28 transposition 91 triad 36, 37, 44, 79, 205; ground tone and 79–80, 80, 89; see also altered fourth chord; tonic triad; Viennese trichord Tristan chord 137, 139, 167, 167 Turner, Mark 6–7 twelve-tone music 3, 45, 96, 245; “Du sollst nicht, du mußt,” op. 27, no. 2, 236–8, 237, 238; emancipation of the dissonance 2, 10–11, 57–8, 97–101; Gestalten 102; new relations of tones 103–10, 108; row 102, 105, 236; Schoenberg’s return to Judaism at time of 57–8; see also non-tonal music Ullmann, Viktor 212n49 unconscious perception 35, 36, 37, 48–9, 49 unification 25–8, 26 unravelling 104, 112n43 Urlinie (originary line) 9, 39, 79–83, 172; blended space 87–8, 88, 89; consonance and dissonance 79–81, 107; diminution 37, 63n67, 73–4, 84; dual appearance of series of chords 85, 88; head tone 82, 85, 88, 89, 106; indivisibility of 73, 84; as passing motion 73, 81–4, 86, 88, 89, 152n22; retardation of 85, 86, 107; two runs of 86–7, 87; Zug (linear progression) 82–3, 85–7

Urphänomen 25, 28, 40, 60n24 Ursatz 2, 3, 39, 40, 44, 59, 64n95; dual appearance of series of chords 85, 88; God, parallel with 57, 67n161, 90, 243–4; harmonic unity and 86–7; interruption and 87–91, 89, 244 Väisälä, Olli 180, 194, 211n23 vanishing point, musical 44–5, 57, 157, 243–4 variation 10, 97, 102–5, 109; see also repetition veil of Maya 31, 32 verticality schema 27, 32, 58 Viennese trichord: Schenker’s use of 126–9, 127, 132, 137, 139; Schoenberg’s use of 166, 172 vision 23–4, 58, 219–20, 222, 223; of genius, vs. that of regular artist 55; ordinary vs. pure viewing 26, 27; rising into God 46, 46; seeing 25, 26, 31, 35, 46, 46; of tone 38; see also eye of the genius voice leading 79, 83, 86, 88, 90, 107 Wagner, Richard 9, 34, 137, 150–1, 167 Waller im Schnee (Journey Through Snow) (George) 155–65, 209–10; narrative groups 156–60 Weaver, Robert L. 47 Webern, Anton 211n19, 221 Weininger, Otto 34 Wellbery, David E. 23, 25, 27, 28, 29 Wellesz, Egon 246n44 “Wenn Vöglein klagen” (Förster) 228 wholeness 6, 36; see also part-whole schemas Wiener, Oliver 246–7n53 will 30–3, 31, 36, 38 “With God!” 2, 4, 58, 59, 253 Zeithammer, Angela 28 Zelechow, Bernard 247n67 zero (geometric point) 180–1; mathematics of integrity 181–4, 182 Zillig, Winfried 247n60 Zilsel, Edgar 33–4 Zug (linear progression) 82–3, 85–7, 92n16