The Tangled Path of Composers' Revisions

One of the key “secrets” of the Marlboro Festival experience is the time one has here to study, practice, and rehearse in a way that is not possible at other times and places.

Over the last few weeks, in preparing for rehearsals with colleagues here on a “standard” piece I’ve performed several times over the years—Beethoven’s Piano Trio in C minor, Op. 1, No. 3—I became frustrated, for the nth time, with the ambiguous or insufficient markings left to us from the original editions (the autograph being lost). There are so many questions, and no way to know what Beethoven was thinking, or why there exist so many unresolved ambiguities.

No way to know… except that, a quarter of a century later, Beethoven returned to this work, re-imagining it as a string quintet, published in 1819 as Op. 104. What is remarkable about this transcription—apart from its inherent richness and freedom—is how carefully the Master hews to his model while never missing an opportunity to clarify, re-think, flesh out details of phrasing, dynamics, and articulation.

Let me share an instructive example right on the first page. Consider the thrilling phrase that begins in Bar 19—is it piano? is it forte? are the sforzandi in the piano and violin parts “static”, or do they indicate growth? what is that lone, long hairpin doing in the cello part, and is it only there because, even on Beethoven’s instruments, the cello was disadvantaged and needs to grow here to be heard in good balance?…

All very problematic and open-ended and more questions are raised than answered… but now look at the quintet version:

At the beginning of the phrase, in Bar 19, all instruments are clearly marked piano. There is a general crescendo that begins in 21, marked in every part and with Beethoven’s patented continuation marks to boot, themselves leading in the clearest way to a general forte in 25.

What a relief to understand exactly how Beethoven wants this phrase to go. But the follow-up question immediately arises: does this revision/reimagination trump the original version? or should they be treated as separate entities, allowing that Beethoven simply saw things differently all those years later?

For me, the best answer is to decide on a case-by-case basis: where something truly different seems to be intended, vive la différence and let each stand on its own; but where—as here—a later revision is obviously intended to clarify/refine notation that was ambiguous or sloppy in the first place, by all means learn from the later improvement and import it back into the original, in the reverent hope that LvB would heartily approve.

Don Carlo(s?)

Very, very, very interesting to hear the French version of Don Carlo at the Met recently. So different from what one is used to, and yet, of course, so similar. The proverbial “long-lost twin”?… Bravo to Yannick and all our colleagues in this magisterial “true ensemble” opera.

Here is one passage (the entrance of the Grand Inquisitor) that sounds equally captivating and unnerving in any language:

Messiaen's luminous Vingt Regards

The very next night after my Shostakovich concert at Wigmore Hall, I went back to hear a young Latvian colleague, Reinis Zariņš, perform Messiaen’s Vingt Regards sur l’Enfant Jésus in its entirety, by memory, a feat I hope someday to accomplish myself. It was a deeply compelling performance, presented with aplomb and a tremendous sense of time and drama, yet without a hint of showiness or show-off-ishness. The whole evening was emblematic of the axiom that music is at its most powerful when performed with utter conviction. Hats off.

Live Not By Lies

In June of last year, English rock star Winston Marshall caused a sensation—by leaving his band, Mumford and Sons, but also by his impassioned and eloquent letter explaining his decision. I found it moving to read it and to learn how much he was sustained by my father’s timeless essay, “Live Not by Lies”.

I was pleased and honored to be Winston’s first guest on his new podcast at the Spectator. We touched on several trends in Western culture, including a growing intolerance of free speech. Video below.

Tracking Michelangelo’s text

Think of the elaborate journey of Michelangelo’s texts, from conception to being heard in a Shostakovich setting centuries later (the Suite on Verses by Michelangelo Buonarroti, Op. 145). To adequately represent that journey, and to help the listener follow along intelligently, I created, with invaluable help from Marlboro’s head librarian Koji Otsuki and the baritone Simon Barrad, the below PDF, which tracks the text through four crucial iterations.

First comes the original Italian—Michelangelo’s own “Rime”. Next—the inspired Russian translation of them by the poet Abram Efros. These Efros texts are the ones Shostakovich actually sets in his great Op. 145 suite. Third, we’ve placed my transliteration of the Russian into phonetic English, so the non-Russian-reading listener may always know where exactly we are in the work. And finally comes Simon Barrad’s excellent translation of the Russian into English, to give an English-speaking listener the closest possible sense of the text that governs and shapes Shostakovich’s masterwork.