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Brahms Intermezzo 117.2

When I first saw the sheet music for today’s piece, I was a bit boggled. I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered a piece that sounded less like it looked! You might figure it for some sort of virtuosic toccata thing, all flash and texture, but no, it is slow, minimal melody with a lush, dark accompaniment.

The notation makes a little more sense if you think of Bach’s preludes. Do I grow predictable claiming everything is full of Bach? Very well, I grow predictable. This one is full of Bach: the layering; the figuration built out of a series of surprising chord changes, and the sense of counterpoint hidden in those changes; the walks around the circle of fifths.

Really, I don’t know how the twentieth century managed to stay so obsessed for so long with the idea of newness at all costs; all that paranoia about being derivative was really overblown, and I hope we’re growing out of it. The best art, it seems to me, always derives from the past, and escapes imitation through synthesis, not through obsessive novelty.


Learning this, I felt like Brahms was searching in some of the same places I am in my own composition: the piece is perpetually ambiguous and unresolved, yet within that ambiguity is a deep sense of order, an abundance of logical patterns. It’s a powerful tension, simultaneous ambiguity and order. The effect is strongly emotional, but it’s hard to name exactly what the emotion is. I’ll leave that as an exercise for the reader (one with no right answer)!

Intermezzo Op 117 No 2

Not everybody might think of ambiguity as being a compliment or a desirable thing, but I do. One of music’s magical abilities is to be ambiguous in the way that life is ambiguous, that the moment-to-moment experience of consciousness is ambiguous. We have a very natural desire to understand music, to try to figure out what it “means” and what we’re supposed to think about it. Music, however, doesn’t like to be pigeonholed that way. In real life, we don’t experience emotions one at a time, or in black and white — we usually make sense of them in retrospect, finding names and narratives only as we look back on experience. Music works that way as well, and gives us a way of distilling and becoming comfortable with all the confusingly multiple moment-to-moment ebb and flow of our minds and hearts. It is a way of looking back on our own experience without flattening it the way ordinary words can. It’s often hard to say even whether a piece is basically happy or sad — and that is a wonderful thing if you embrace it.

This is the second in a set of three pieces, the first of which was the first piece I posted in this blog. I don’t play the third yet, though I certainly mean to in the future — it is also a marvelous piece, and the three together are among my favorite music in this world.

Comments

Rich

Thanks, Paul, for the beautiful music and the insightful commentary. I was particularly drawn in by your third paragraph.

Really, I don’t know how the twentieth century managed to stay so obsessed for so long with the idea of newness at all costs; all that paranoia about being derivative was really overblown, and I hope we’re growing out of it. The best art, it seems to me, always derives from the past, and escapes imitation through synthesis, not through obsessive novelty. More on that train of thought some other time.

My initial reaction was, “right on, man.” Then for some reason my mind saw an analogy between progress in art, and progress in science, and my reaction tempered a bit. I was thinking of scientific progress through reductionism vs. through revolution. As I understand it people who think about such things have observed that most work and progress in science is made by carefully building upon previous work findings, in slow plodding steps. But then everyone once in a great while a fantastic new insight is made that departs completely (or nearly so) from previous thinking and starts a whole new path for countless others to plod for years to come.

I though of this when I read, “The best art…always derives from the past, and escapes imitation through synthesis.” I was left wondering if this isn’t a generalization of how 99% of progress is made in art, reserving the possibility that 1% of the time progress can truly be revolutionary?

Rich
Paul

once in a great while a fantastic new insight is made that departs completely (or nearly so) from previous thinking and starts a whole new path for countless others to plod for years to come

That idea was popularized by Thomas Kuhn in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, which remains somewhat controversial (and which I really ought to read sometime!).

I don’t know about science, but in music, it’s hard for me to think of a pre-20th-century composer we consider “revolutionary” who pathologically avoided the past.

Paul
pol gerbeau

Hi Paul,

I liked very much your interesting comment regarding ambiguous versus understandable music. However, I do think that both performers and listeners should understand what the music is saying, where we are and where are we going, the goal and the path of every piece/phrase, although, as in this Brahms Intermezzo, this could be a difficult task.

I enjoy very much your web&playing! Keep posting your repertoire!

//pol

pol gerbeau
Angela

Hi Paul,
Your rendition of this piece is wonderful as is all of your Brahms recordings. I do like the addition of the new audio logo as well.

Angela
Peter Carter

I was so pleased to find a new podcast from you. I have much enjoyed listening to your playing. I produce some pretty amateur podcasts for people who are learning English - hope I can include a short bit of your music in a future episode. I play the violin - orchestral concert next week of music by Bernstein, Aaron Copeland and others with indecent ideas about how far up the E string it is reasonable to play. Best wishes.

D

A double remastering, of both Brahms and Cantrell: I happened to have your web text in front of me as I listened to the podcast version, and hearing the one while seeing the other seemed to lead me deeper into your very subtle thoughts about ambiguity – in life or the subset of Life that is music.

The remastering is spectacular!

Joel Bacon’s recent skirting of the edges of programmatic interpretation of Mozart’s religious music (a daring tightrope act,which he pulled off well) discussed the psychological effects of different chords and tone sequences – I wished at the time you could have heard him, and more now – it would be a pleasure to listen in on the conversation, as it is to the podcasts.

D
Sedona

Paul,

Thanks very much for sharing this Brahms Intermezzo - it is beautifully played. I agree about the ambiguity - music takes us into regions words can’t express…

Sedona
Vladimir Orlt

You play beautifully…

I used to play this too… forgot the name. How vivid ‘unnamed memories’ can be when they return!

ignazio

Paul,
this blog is one of the most interesting things I’ve found in a long time.
http://ignazio.blogspot.com/2006/06/intermezzo.html

smb

Love the 117-2, the epitome of creative genius with the way the music breathes and weaves its own pathway. Good rendition although I just listened to the incredible recording by Glen Gould of this very Intermezzo. You are right - things are not always as they seem with Brahms. All those inner melodies and rythms are what makes this music so special. Good job.

smb
Didier da Silva

Hello Paul. Excuse my english, I’m a poor french music lover. Thanks for your play. It sounds very intimate, deeply, without effect. I love this. Here, the sun comes slowly. And in this uncertain light, your music is perfect.

Didier da Silva
Stephen

Maybe one with no wrong answer, not one with no right answer! Maybe that’s what you meant, or maybe you meant exactly what you said. Either way, I very much enjoy your comments and thoughts on these pieces, they’re well thought out and have actual substance to them.

Stephen