Program Notes

Béla Bartók (1881-1945)

Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta (1937)

Scored for double string orchestra, piano, celesta and harp, xylophone, timpani and percussion

After World War I, Bartók's music had been fiercely dissonant and fervently atonal. It relied on rhythmic elements of the composer's beloved Hungarian folk music blended with the harmonic sound world of Schoenberg. But by the 1930's, his music changed direction. Now it had solidified into a style that was so diverse and eclectic as to defy description. The Hungarian folk elements were still prominent, but were now simply part of a larger picture. These elements melded with a sensuality that Debussy would be proud of, orchestral color that might have shaken Ravel, formal construction that Mozart could have learned from and musical poetry that might have made Richard Strauss stand in awe. It was also music that was considerably kinder to its audiences, and the very music that makes him the most often-performed 20 th century composer.

In fact, during this period, Bartók seems to have adopted many of the ideals of Neo-Classicism that were popular at the time. Many composers were looking to the clarity and conciseness of the 17 th and 18 th centuries, and adopted a more traditional approach to harmony and form, yet adapted them to their own individual styles. This is what Bartók did, but added it to the synthesis of styles already mentioned. It was music of profound originality and spoke with all of the strength of Bartók's powerful spirit. One of the works that exemplify the music of this period is the Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta .

Commissioned in 1937 for the tenth anniversary of Paul Sacher's Basle Chamber Orchestra, it is constructed according to the forms of a Baroque sonata, and begins with that well-known Baroque standard the fugue. Bartók gives specific instructions for the orchestral set-up. Two string sections sit on opposites ends of the stage, to the left of the conductor are the piano, celesta, drums and timpani, and at his right are the harp, xylophone, cymbals and bass drum. From this unusual combination, Bartók creates a lavish sound world and music of rich imagination. The composer and educator Halsey Stevens perfectly described the work: “It is one of the most intensively organized of all [Bartók's] compositions; the subject of its opening fugue generates the entire work, and yet it is at the same time so spontaneous and so communicative that only the rare listener is likely to be aware of its complexities.” The movements of the work, and the work itself, follow an overarching cycle actually worked out mathematically. Along with the opening melody, which is used in some form throughout the four movements, the work has an amazing unity of construction.

The melody for the first movement fugue is played by violas on both sides of the stage. The theme subject begins in A and is taken up in turn by the rest of the strings. Each time the tortured chromatic melody is played it moves alternately higher and then lower at the interval of a fifth, eventually reaching the distant E-flat. The tension created thus far reaches a climax marked by a cymbal crash. Once the music becomes calm again, the fugue melody is inverted and the process is reversed. With a brief utterance from the celesta, the music moves back toward its starting place, the note of A, and the cycle is complete.

The second movement is an allegro using a variation of the same theme used in the fugue for its basis. It exploits the two string choirs pitting them in constant imitation, answering each other across the stage. The music is fierce, driving, inexorable, and the piano and harp serve to point up the mercurial barrage. Some interesting string effects also add to the astonishing scene.

The xylophone ticks that introduce the third movement usher in the disquieting sounds of an eerie nocturne. Portions of the first movement's melody are used throughout. Bartók's intense imagination is given full range here with string glissandi, sliding timpani pitches and agitated trills. Then, in a thrilling climax, piano, harp and celesta seem to spiral wildly out of control, getting louder and louder, and are joined by the strings. The music finally reaches a violent culmination, subsides, rebuilds and subsides once more finally coming to rest on the opening theme now accompanied by swirling celesta. The movement calmly winds down with quietly battering timpani and ticking xylophone to a shatteringly dismal conclusion.

The finale enters boldly onto the scene with strumming strings and a remarkable syncopated version of the fugue theme, which has become a Bulgarian dance. This, and the dances that follow, go a long way to dispelling the gloom of the previous movement and remain positive and jaunty throughout. One should be prepared to change their foot tapping rhythms fairly frequently, though. Toward the end, something of the mystery and uncertainty of earlier movements creeps back in. A Romanian folk scale in C is heard, and the music regains its rhythmic romp and ends with firm confidence.