Lens of Charles Rosen, Research Paper Example

Exploring Classical Music through the Lens of Charles Rosen’s “The Classical Style”

In his book “The Classical Style,” author Charles Rosen invites readers to consider classical music through new perspectives. In the beginning of the book Rosen takes a moment to note the significance of his use of the lower-case “c” when writing the word “classical,” so as to distinguish between a wide-ranging body of musics and a more narrowly-defined and specific type of music. Rosen prefaces his discussion of classical music by attempting to place it –or, perhaps more accurately, the reader- in an extra-historical context. While it might be inviting, and even natural, to examine classical music through the lens of history, Rosen’s discussion demands that readers consider the music in a much broader and less chronologically-linear manner. The work of composers such as Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven did, of course, build on musical traditions and works that came before them, but it does a disservice to the music to consider it only in such rigid terms. The music created by these and other composers was not simply a building-block affair that added to the scaffolding crafted by previous generations; rather, it relied on invention and spontaneity as much as it did tradition. Moreover, the works of composers such as Mozart must be understood in relation to the works of other composers that influenced and informed his work and those that were influenced and informed by his work. These composers did not create their works in a vacuum, but rather in vibrant and lively creative milieu. Using Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor as a lens, this paper will attempt to offer a “Rosen-informed” perspective on Mozart and the larger context of the period and style in which he created his compositions.

Embracing and Rejecting Theories of Form

What seems fundamental to Rosen’s view of classical music is that it must be understood in a number of ways; it is not enough to simply read the notes on a sheet of music, nor to examine the tonal and thematic constructs of a given composition, nor to take stock of the entirety of a performer’s body of work. As Rosen describes it, the advent of equal temperament helped to broaden the palette with which composers could create, while also leveling no small measure of restriction on tonality. Equal temperament acknowledges the variations in natural overtones while also leaving them aside; this development bequeathed new tools on composers both directly and indirectly. It became possible to explore a range of expression within the context of equal temperament, while also highlighting the tension between equal temperament and natural intonation. As Rosen writes, “equal temperament resolves us from considering at length whether tonality is a ‘natural’ or a ‘conventional’ language” (Rosen, p23). Equal temperament acknowledges natural intonation, while it also “denatures and even deforms it” (Rosen, p23). According to Rosen, then, there question of whether or not tonality is natural or conventional language is moot; it is simply its own language, and must be understood as such.

What Rosen’s arguments and assertions about the language of music accomplish is to instill in the reader the understanding that it is indeed a language, but one with its own conventions, rules, and history. It is not directly comparable to the languages that are used for speech and writing, nor should it be. The development of equal temperament as an evolutionary process opened up new avenues for composers in the 18^th century, offering a richer vocabulary for expression. This brought forth what Rosen describes as “a new emphatic polarity between tonic and dominant” (Rosen, p24),  and this emphasis is seen and heard in the compositions of the great composers of the classical era. The use of modulation and resolution became in integral component of classical music, which again highlights the dichotomy of the technical and expressive sides of the music of the era.

At the core of Rosen’s discussion about classical music is a sense that rigid convention is too limiting to offer an effective lens through which to understand the music. Rosen rails against the limitations of Schenker, for example, asserting that Schenker’s theories of music “work only for tonal music, and they fit Bach, Handel, Chopin and Brahms better than they fit (Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven)” (Rosen, p33).  Rosen does not discount the importance or significance of analyzing and understanding the mechanics of music, but he is quick to note that such analyses do not offer a complete picture. Rosen’s view is that music is not a conventional language, and to see it as such is to ignore the importance of defying convention, a trait that is found in the works of the great classical composers. It is, of course, necessary to understand convention in order to defy it, but to attempt to fit all analysis or discussion of music into the context of music as a conventional language will invariably fall short. Schenker’s linear approach to analyzing music also largely ignores the significance of rhythm; as Rosen writes, “it makes no difference to one of (Schenker’s) analyses if a piece is fast or slow” (Rosen, p34),  a shortcoming which renders Schenker’s approach in inadequate at best.

Rosen discusses the theories of form both to elucidate their fundamental components and precepts and also to underscore the ways in which their conventions are often defied. What seems to gall Rosen the most is the idea that rigidly–defined forms are the only ways which music can be constructed, or that examples of compositions that veer from such forms must be viewed as anomalous. Using the example of the sonata, Rosen asserts that it is often “couched in the form of a recipe” (Rosen, p31) as if the only thing needed to create music is the proper set of instructions or the rote absorption of musical forms or their components. Rosen cautions against the notion that composers “arranged (their music) into easily understandable forms like sonatas and rondos so that the dim-witted public could grasp it without too much difficulty” (Rosen, p31). In this view, the imposition of form over a piece of music is done to separate the elements of that music which deviate from the form; such an exercise should allow the remaining or underlying form to be better seen and understood.

This approach to analyzing and understanding music is entirely antithetical to Rosen’s view. At best, the process of learning about and understanding forms should offer some insight; it is, at best, a first step towards understanding a piece of music, rather than the final –or worse, the only- step in the process. Such a form-based approach trivializes both the efforts of the great composers and the efforts of those who wish to understand and appreciate their works. It is certainly helpful to understand forms, but it is counterintuitive to use those forms as sieves through which to strain ever composition. These forms can be seen in whole or in part in the works of the great composers, but they are at most just some of the many tools at their disposal. A composer may find the embrace of and adherence to forms may be useful at times, but the rejection of or deviation from those same forms may be just as useful. It does a disservice to composer and audience to assess classical compositions solely in relation to form and convention.

Style as Substance: Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven

What Rosen seems to reject most vociferously is the notion that classical music must be understood in its normative sense, and that the ways that the great composers deviated from the norm are somehow superfluous. The modernist emphasis on notation and music in its written form disallows a full appreciation for the significance of individual interpretation, improvisation, and other elements that make music dynamic and vital. Rosen argues against viewing music as something that is mechanical and constructed, a view which undermines much of what makes music so powerful, so emotionally evocative. If Schenker sees form as the substance of music, the deviations from form are merely stylistic flourishes. Rosen upends such an approach; without diminution of the importance of form, Rosen argues that what the great composers did with form is what elevates their work above that of their predecessors and contemporaries. In short, where the great composers are concerned, style is substance. Rosen concentrates on Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, the towering giants of classical music, to elucidate his points.

In virtually every example Rosen offers of the compositions of these classical masters, he focuses on the ways in which they deviate from convention and form as means of expression. In Haydn’s Symphony No. 62 in D major, for example, the last movement opens in the wrong key. While this is resolved quickly, the effect is both jarring and captivating, forcing listeners to reconcile what they are hearing with what they expected to hear. In lesser hands such an approach might come across as little more than gimmickry; in the context of the piece, however, it sets up a tension/resolution dynamic that pushes the final movement forward.  This approach also aligns neatly with Haydn’s own words about his approach to music; he described some of his compositions as comprising “an entirely new and special style” (Rosen, p116). Rosen is quick to note that such proclamations were often dismissed as “mere sales talk” (Rosen, p116);  in Rosen’s view, however, there is more than a little substance to Haydn’s assertions about style. As Rosen writes, Haydn’s “new and special style” did indeed represent a revolution, asserting that “the relation between principal and accompanying voices is transformed before our eyes” (Rosen, p117), and, presumably, our ears. Such an assertion underscores Rosen’s larger thesis about the danger of overvaluing form to the detriment of individuality.

In discussing how the music of the High Baroque eventually gave way to that of the classical style, Rosen asserts that the ornamentation in Baroque music was, in a sense, allowed to evolve into a more important component; as Rosen writes of Beethoven, “the trill lost its decorative status: it is no longer an ornament, but an essential motif” (Rosen, p380).  If Beethoven took this idea to its logical (or, more accurately, artistic) extreme, Haydn too saw the power in transforming ornamentation into central musical themes. In Haydn’s “revolutionary” Quartets op. 33 we hear an “accompaniment figure changing imperceptibly and without a break into the principal melodic voice” (Rosen, p117). Such a musical device was, in Rosen’s view, without precedent and wholly effective, underlining his thesis about the significance of style relative to form. This sly trick by Haydn neatly encapsulates the growing importance of what had once been mere musical ornamentation; it is as if Haydn is declaring as much in notes rather than words.

Rosen describes Mozart’s music as a deft balance between the structures of convention and form and the expressive possibilities of dramatic deviations from both. Where Haydn often purposefully included sections in his music that were unexpected, surprising, and even jarring, Rosen asserts that Mozart’s music was often more effectively dramatic for its ability to better straddle the line between the expected and the unexpected. This ability was something that Mozart would cultivate and expand on over the course of his career, and nowhere are his talents on greater display than in his Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor K. 466. After reading Rosen, it is perhaps possible to both evaluate and appreciate this concerto more fully than ever before, as Rosen’s words shine a light on the ways that Mozart’s composition plays with form and style in such exciting ways.

According to Rosen, the bulk of Mozart’s technical achievements in the context of the concerto were behind him by the time he wrote Piano Concerto No. 20. This claim is not intended to diminish Mozart’s accomplishments in his later concertos; rather, writes Rosen, they served as opportunities for Mozart to determine how much “emotional weight the genre would bear.” There is little doubt that Mozart’s intention with this concerto was to effect an intensely emotional response in the audience; by starting in the key of D minor, the composer all but telegraphs the emotional message to come. In describing the Concert in D minor, Rosen tells readers that “we leave the history of the concerto as a specific form” (Rosen, p227-228); Mozart’s contributions to the form so transcend the realm of ornamentation or flourish that they fundamentally subvert the form’s entire convention. This does not mean that the concerto is unrecognizable as such; it still contains the underlying and familiar three-part structure. Within this familiar framework, however, Mozart finds new forms of expression that are, in their way, as revolutionary as Haydn’s earlier “special style.”

The emotional weight of the opening key is further intimated by the rapidity with which the drums and horns are introduced, heightening the emotional and dramatic tension within the first few bars. This rapid ascent into the body of the first movement sets up a contrast that works both within the context of the composition and in the context of Rosen’s thesis; it is a new, even convention-defying choice of instrumentation for Mozart, and illustrates just how effective it can be for a composer to defy convention. What Mozart does in the Concerto in D minor is utilize the strengths and conventions of the concerto form to his own ends, and as a result the concerto is considered to be among his most significant works. To highlight the import of the concerto in the classical era, Rosen is quick to point out that Beethoven himself was fond of performing it and also wrote a number or credenzas for Mozart’s piece.

Looking at the Concerto in D minor through the perspective of Rosen, all the elements that make it so special are those that someone like Schenker might view as mere ornamentation. While it is useful and helpful to read the concerto from the page, if for no other reason than to revel in the beauty of the concerto’s structure, it is also necessary to hear it performed to truly understand its power and historical significance. If a Schenkerian analysis of the Concerto in D minor requires one to strip away all but what he considers the most essential elements of a piece in order to best understand it, a Roserian view requires that one set aside the conventional elements at least briefly in order to understand how ornamentation both transcends and uplifts those elements. What makes this concerto so powerful and timeless are its rhythmic intensity, dynamic changes, shifts in mood, and the moments where tension builds to a climax and is released, sometimes in unexpected ways.

The tension that builds ion the first movement is deftly built and released a number of times, before the piano is finally heard. Throughout the piece Mozart relies on a dazzlingly complex interplay of tonal and rhythmic values.  The melodic lines in the first movement do not so much end and begin as they overlap each other, creating an impression of deceleration countered by acceleration, all laid over an underlying pulse that conjoins the disparate parts.  At times it seems as if the entire piece might come apart; each time te music is punctuated with a flourish of timpani that redirects the listener back into the underlying rhythmic structure.

In the second movement a key change to B flat major is explicated by the piano, inciting a mood shift from the denser, more dramatic opening movement. This section is surprisingly delicate, threatening to disappear within itself before remerging with a swell of strings. The piano then shifts to a more turbulent pattern of notes, hinting at the theme while also playing off the rhythmic subtleties. As strings, timpani, horns, and piano build to a climax in this section  Mozart again surprises with a key change to G minor and yet another change in mood, one that is both delicate and foreboding.  As the middle section gives way to the third and final movement, the solo piano again emerges, and Mozart continues to modulate through contrasting key changes so effectively and even sharply that they are both rhythmically and harmonically contrapuntal.

Part of what makes the Concerto in D minor so effective is the way it utilizes this rhythmic and harmonic motion. Within each measure can be found a sense of movement; these elemental rhythmic components combine to produce an effect of near-constant movement, even within the quietest passages. Underlying this more overt sense of motion is the slower, evolutionary movement through a number of keys; the concerto begins in D minor, practically demanding a sense of resolution and setting up the dramatic and emotional tension of the piece. It is not until the concerto nears its climax that it finally moves to the D major, which provides a startling contrast to the earlier movements. In lesser compositional hands, this structural approach could have been agonizing for listeners, as the use of minor keys incited a desire for stability and resolution. In this concerto, Mozart demonstrates s a flawless sense of both technical mastery and dramatic flair, knowing exactly when to relieve the building tension. By the time the concerto races to its conclusion, the transition to the D major does not just release the tension from the preceding movement; it serves as an emotional payoff for the entire piece.

If the Concerto in D minor exemplifies the pinnacle (or, if not the pinnacle, then at least one of the high points) of Mozart’s compositional works, then Beethoven’s respect for the piece exemplifies the importance of the interrelationships between the two composers. Rosen is careful to avoid viewing the history of classical music solely through a chronological lens, wherein one composer built on the works of previous composers in a linear fashion. At the same time, however, it must be acknowledged that, as viewed through the lens of history, the collective works of Beethoven have come to represent for many the high point of an historical and artistic era. Rosen warns against placing too much emphasis on analyzing classical music in terms of eras or periods or groups or schools; each has its place, but what underlies them all are the specific contributions of individual artists who transcended, rather than simply built upon, musical conventions.

Rosen underscores his perspective by describing how Beethoven “never express(ed) anything but veneration for Mozart, even when he condemned the frivolous moral outlook of the opera libretti” (Rosen, p382).  Like Beethoven, Rosen finds it necessary to look past the artifice of forms and conventions to find the underlying humanity in which music is rooted. This does not mean that Beethoven rejected form or tradition; quite the opposite is true. In his earlier years as a composer he did not hesitate to imitate the styles and works of Haydn and Mozart –nor of Hummel, Weber, or Clementi. Like any great artist, however, Beethoven took what he learned from his influences to create his own style, and it was this individual style that has lifted him into the pantheon of great classical composers.

What makes Rosen’s work on classical music so important, yet so accessible is the manner in which he humanizes his subjects and subject matter. A musical historian such as Schenker is concerned with boring down through the details to get at the core compositional elements on the written page. Rosen eschews such an approach; more to the point, he completely subverts it. Instead of stripping away the details, Rosen begins on the page and works outward, traveling from one element to another, and stopping long enough to show the significance of each. What may appear to be ornamentation is now understood to be elemental; moreover, Rosen details the evolution of tonality and structure that made it possible for composers such as Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven to create their works. In “The Classical Style,” readers are shown how the mechanics of music and the artistry of the human spirit intersected to create a musical style that transcends history.

References

Rosen, C. 1997. The classical style. New York: W.W. Norton.

YouTube. 2014. Mozart Piano Concerto No.20 in D minor K.466. [online] Available at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6gBfARL6vA&list=PLCVKTWswaLB581t1Ahrr1cdF0PlVln0_Q [Accessed: 7 Feb 2014].