Harry Partch's The Bewitched

This is the comic I thought of when first listening to Henry Partch’s The Bewitched.



I enjoy percussion music, but have never really be exposed to it, which is why I benefited from reading the insight Nick, as a percussionist, gave about the music. While I wouldn’t quite call serialism the “sliced bread” to Partch’s The Bewitched being “the best thing sense,” I would certainly say The Bewitched is the best thing since a lot of things in the twentieth-century.

I will admit, the first time I listened to the music, I didn’t get it. I thought it was fun, what with all the unusual percussion sounds and playful experimentation with various timbres and pitches. I let it sit for a while, until I decided to listen to it on my iPod while walking back from class through the Linda Hall Library parking lot. As I began listening, my eyes wandered more than usual. I noticed a beautiful tree with its boughs hanging, creating an umbrella-like sitting area. Straying from the usual path I take, I continued on and found a gorgeous flower garden that I had never noticed. To think that I had been attending this school for three years now, passed through this library parking lot countless times, and have never noticed! The sound swirled around me as I smelled the fresh flowers and felt the cool damp air on my skin. In that moment I remembered what Nick had said about the album:

“In the album notes Partch explains that we are all under some kind of spell. We are the products of our environments, cultural conditioning, and systematic brainwashing. While it may be impossible to completely untangle ourselves from such a bewitchment, pure experience and liberation can be found by breaking free into the moment.”

The concept of this freedom is heard in the solo part, the Witch herself, sung by a female vocalist. Her solos are flowing, with sudden dynamics and a pure tone, with occasional breaks to emphasize points. She is accompanied by the “Lost Musicians.” Partch’s inspiration for the sound of the instruments against the soloist is that they serve her as a Greek Chorus would; not only accompanying on instrument, but with sporadic body percussion as well.

The titles to the movements are wonderful, and give excellent imagery when linked with the music. My favorite is “Three Undergraduates Become Transfigured in a Hong Kong Music Hall,” not only for the song, but the title also. (Though my favorite title is hands-down “Visions Fill The Eyes Of A Defeated Basketball Team In The Shower Room .”) As one might guess, it is filled with Eastern inspirations, and on occasion include Eastern instruments. In this way, I would consider Partch Neo-Romantic in creating a specific scene and conveying it so precisely through the music.

The music to me now feels like the most natural music in the world. It is so free! The only place that mattered when I finally understood was in that moment, listening to that exact note and admiring that particular flower.
In many ways, I can understand why The Bewitched is not in the canon. I think that likely a large role in its small audience is because of the limitations on performing it. It’s nearly impossible to find venues to perform it properly, since so many of the instruments are inventions of Partch. Logistics aside, the concept of “living in the moment” is so incomprehensible to most listeners today. We, as a society, rarely take the time to, well, stop and “smell the roses”… sometimes literally!

Schoenberg’s A Survivor from Warsaw

A blast from the trumpets attacks my ears. It startles me. The sound of a snare drum rolling chills me. Woodwinds build up my tension, showing no sign of letting up. The strings saw out a repetitive sequence of notes, tightening the bind.

I’m frightened… and I’ve been playing the piece for weeks now.

Last year’s Schoenberg festival here at the University of Missouri-Kansas City had my ears ringing after every orchestra rehearsal. I hated it playing it. Most of his works made little sense to me during rehearsal, and I couldn’t practice it alone because it made absolutely no sense alone. The exception was playing A Survivor from Warsaw, for its narrative, even without a narrator, was clear and piercing.

With Schoenberg’s crusade for twelve-tone method arising in the majority of his work, not many pieces were received well by the general public. A Survivor from Warsaw, a cantata for orchestra, choir and narrative, is one of Schoenberg’s most well-known and widely accepted pieces. In his coupling of text with the twelve-tone music, its depth and power became better appreciated and understood than ever before. This is due in no small part to the piece’s chilling text that looks at the inside of the Nazi concentration camps during World War II.

Schoenberg was born to Jewish parents in 1874, setting the stage for what he was to compose later in life. Though he later converted to Protestantism (believed to be due to the anti-Semitism rising in Europe), he still sympathized for his people (Frisch, 1999). Yet, the inspiration of creating a work dedicated to the Jewish victims of Nazi Germany did not originate with him. It’s believed that the idea originally was suggested by dancer and choreographer, Corinne Chochem. Though she later abandoned the idea for reasons speculated but not established, Schoenberg continued to work on the piece (Strasser, 1995).

The piece premiered November 4, 1948 at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque. It was performed by a community choir and orchestra of amateur musicians with great enthusiasm and dedication (some driving 120 miles to attend rehearsals). The audience of around sixteen hundred responded with equal fervor for the performance, applauding until the piece was played again (Strasser, 1995). Survivor continued to meet success in its performances time and time again, as its content was fresh in the minds of the post-war world.

Admittedly, I am still no fan of Schoenberg, but A Survivor from Warsaw is an exception to my usual aversion for his works. I believe this is in part because of the subject, just as it is believed to be a significant factor in its popularity with its original audience. I wondered if perhaps it was also because the piece had an underlying harmonic progression, difficult to discriminate with the naked ear. Alas, I only found literature identifying the notation to be created through his famous twelve-tone method (Bailey, 1998). However, A Survivor from Warsaw was composed during Schoenberg’s mature twelve-tone method era. The mature twelve-tone method, as opposed to its preceding era, was “relatively stable, involving the common use of a substantial number of procedures in a large number of compositions spanning a long stretch of his career” (Bailey, 1998). Schoenberg was still known for his fearlessness to experiment. But, during his mature twelve-tone era, Schoenberg’s works did not stray so far from tonality as did his previous works. This gave the piece much more fluidity, and making it not nearly so distracting for the listener. What catch my attention as the more experimental element of A Survivor from Warsaw are his rhythms. They resemble syncopations, but feel lopsided at times, especially when the text is describing walking or counting.

I am surprised that Schoenberg’s A Survivor from Warsaw is not already included in the canon. Schoenberg’s work in creating the twelve-tone method, while there is controversy in its value, is undoubtedly a vital milestone in the development of twentieth century music. Considering the virtuosity and popularity of A Survivor from Warsaw, I would claim it to be a respectable piece to add to the canon.

Kodály: Psalmus Hungaricus

(What I think of when I hear "Kodály".)


Alicyn’s statements of being “immediately enraptured” by Kodály’s Psalmus Hungaricus captured my attention in her journal entry. I have been compelled by many different pieces in 20th Century music, especially Stravinsky, but not yet “immediately enraptured”. As soon as I began listening to the Hungarian oratorio of Psalm 55, I shared her reaction.".

Kodály is known to have four characteristics in each piece, including Psalmus Hungaricus. These four points in his musical thinking are “vocalism and notably the principle of melody stemming from the word; taking folk music as a starting point; the historical connection with the past; and finally, adherence to the principle of the classical spirit. Just these four factors together illuminate the principle on which Kodály’s work as a composer, scholar and educator was based.” (Szabolsci, 1972) Let us discuss these four points in detail:

First, his use of melody to emphasize the text is reflected not only in the vocals, but the instrumental. The piece opens with a brass ensemble countered by strings, creating a sound both soothing and powerful. As Alicyn discussed, the opening preps the listener for the text. The brass ensemble announces the beginning of the piece with strong conviction, just as the psalmist will ask for punishment for the wicked. The strings quickly reply with a distinct single note with grace, then move into a swelling, sweet melody, praying for protection and redemption. The solo voice cries out as powerful as the brass and as sweetly as the strings, “Listen to my prayer, O God! Do not ignore my plea!” (Psalm 55:1, NIV) Kodály’s use of “klangfarbenmelodie”, as Alicyn mentioned, does become apparent, as he frequently has long and beautiful orchestral interludes. This seems strange for an oratorio for the orchestra to play such a prominent role, but the interpretation of mood in the text is so clear, the interludes do not seem strange at all.

Kodály’s attribute in basing his music from folk music, not surprisingly, is mostly in the uncovering of the folk music of Hungary, his homeland. Hungarian music holds origins in Eastern music as well as Western. The Eastern style emerges in the Hungarian folk music through their use of pentatonic and modal scales and distinct rhythmic patterns, all of which Kodály draws from in his music. This resurrection of Hungarian music is also seen in a more direct sense in the main subject of Psalmus Hungaricus. It is an original theme by Kodály, but has a recognizable inspiration of a historical Hungarian song by Sebestyén Tinódi, Summary of the History of Eger, from 1553. (Bonis, 1983)

But Kodály did not stop at included attributes of Hungarian music. Kodály made adopted music techniques forgotten by 20th Century audiences. A favorite of his was the style of the Gregorian chant, borrowing concepts from Palestrina, heard unmistakably in many of the a capella tuttis in Psalmus Hungaricus. (Szabolsci, 1972)
Finally, Kodály was revered as a Neoclassic composer. Saying he was Neoclassic is somewhat misleading, since he used not only styles from Renaissance as mentioned, but from Baroque and Romantic as well. (Bonis, 1983)

Again, I have met with a very collaborative composer of the 20th Century. Kodály, like Szymanowski, created works with a “Stone Soup” recipe. The interesting part for me is that it, unlike Szymanowski, Kodály is not so blatantly obvious about his hodgepodge of inspiration. While King Roger is no doubt still a great piece, it is not so fluid about its execution as Psalmus Hungaricus. Dare I say I would include Psalmus Hungaricus in the canon? Without going back on my saying before that the canon should be extremely selective, the Psalmus Hungaricus is a piece so well executed in being both collaborative in styles of the past and representing the 20th Century, I would include it.