Form in Music

&c.

FORM IN MUSIC.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.

THE question as to how far the analytical and critical study of a work of art aids or hinders the appreciation of its more emotional and spiritual factors is one that has been asked over and over again, chiefly by those who have but imperfectly realized the complex character of the human organism, and still more imperfectly understood the aim of such analysis and criticism.

Music appeals to us in a threefold way, which may be described under the headings of (i) Physical Sensation; (ii) Emotion, or feeling; (iii) Intellect (i.e. critical judgment, based upon certain reasoning powers within us).

Physical Sensation.

The first of these agencies, that of physical sensation, is without doubt the lowest of the three, and is one we share with the rest of the animal creation, upon whom—as we all know—certain sounds seem to have a distinct and immediate effect—often that of pain. So with us: the impression made upon the multitude of listeners by the noisy sonority of such a work as Tschaïkowsky’s 1812 overture is, for the most part, purely physical; it is but an action on the nerve-centres that is often confused with the second of the headings indicated above, viz., emotion.

Emotion.

This, however, lies on a much higher plane than mere physical sensation. It is more subjective, and is the response of something in our own consciousness to some (often indescribable) quality in the music to which we are listening. Our feelings go out at once in sympathy with, it may be, the mournful simplicity of the opening chords of the Dead March in Saul, or the intense human passion of the Prelude to Tristan. Each is the means of producing in us a mood, and creates an atmosphere, to which only those who are dead to musical influences altogether can be entirely impervious.

Association.

But, in judging of the emotional effect of a work, the factor of association has to be taken into account, and it is a truism to say that we are often tempted to estimate a poem or a musical work quite out of all proportion to its real value as a work of art, simply because it is associated, perhaps, in our thoughts with certain events or crises in our own lives, or is the expression—probably the very imperfect expression—of some sentiment with which we are in sympathy and accord.

Intellect.

Here then, in order that we may the better arrive at a just and critical appreciation of that to which we may be directing our attention, comes the necessity for the employment of the intellectual faculties of our nature. To judge a composition simply from the manner in which it works upon our feelings, is no better than judging a picture or a poem merely from our sympathy with its subject."* We here are called upon to exercise our judgment, to decide upon such questions as style, symmetry, and balance of design—to say, in fact, whether the composer has put his thoughts into the most convincing shape, into that form which will best convey their meaning. In this, as we have no external objects with which to compare works of musical art, in order to test their truth (as is the case with the arts of sculpture and painting), we have to fall back to some extent upon whatever inherent sense of fitness and proportion we possess. Here, however, we can be materially aided by a careful study of the many masterpieces of the great writers, in which certain definite underlying principles have been clearly and progressively exemplified, and which it is safe to regard as a guide in our own efforts at conscious criticism.†

Symmetry.

It is an axiom that every object of nature, and consequently every work of art, must have some sort of intelligible shape or form, through the medium of which it reaches our mind and sense. This is true whether we are considering a planet or a butterfly, a cathedral or a miniature, a Shakespeare drama or a simple ballad.

Need for Form in Music.

In music, the need for clearness of form is even more urgent than it is in literature, where, apart from the design of the whole work, isolated sentences and even individual words may, and do, convey some sort of meaning in themselves, simply through their being the recognised expression or description of certain ideas and objects familiar to us in our daily life. Such, however, is not the case with music. No one particular set of notes can ever be said to represent either a concrete object or an abstract idea,‡ except by an arbitrary act of will on the part of composer or listener; hence it is that music unallied to words must largely depend for its intelligibility upon questions of Form, Design, Shape, or whatever term we may care to use in order to describe this necessary element in its existence.

Evidences of Form.

The evidences of Form in music are various, but they all have the common object just alluded to. Among the more prominent of these evidences are:—

Melody and Harmony.

Other evidences of design are to be found in the two ingredients of music we usually describe as Melody and Harmony, Melody here meaning an arrangement of single sounds in succession, giving, by their rise or fall and by their special groupings, the impression of what may be described by the much-abused word, Tune. However, a melody without any kind of support would, save in isolated instances, be intolerable to modern ears; hence we find it associated with what is termed Harmony. This may take the form of an accompaniment of more or less subordinate chords, or it may be what is known as contrapuntal or polyphonic in character, i.e., it may consist of other melodies running side by side with the principal one, as is the case notably in fugal writing.

Rhythm, Melody, and Harmony interdependent.

Harmonic nature of many Themes.

As all these factors, Rhythm, Melody, and Harmony, are so inseparably bound up with one another, it is a little difficult at first to think of them separately and individually. The notes of many a fine theme seem to be harmonic in their very nature. Take, for instance, the two following extracts, which are clearly formed upon the common chords of E flat and C major respectively, and are as naturally supported by those chords as if they sprang into existence from them:—

Take, again, the initial phrase of Schubert’s well-known song, Whither? Here, in an equally marked manner, the melodic outline is clearly that of two chords, the Tonic and the Dominant:—

Instances could easily be multiplied to enforce this fact, but those that have been given are quite sufficient to illustrate the point.

Rhythmic Shape often dependent upon harmonic forms.

Again, the inter-relation of Rhythm and the two components we have been considering—Melody and Harmony—is shewn in the fact that rhythmic shape largely depends (as will be seen in a later chapter) upon the employment of Cadences, which, in their turn, are dependent upon special chord-progressions and even, to some extent, upon a special outline of melody. Hence it is that, until men’s minds grasped the idea of grouping chords so as to form such cadences or resting-places, definite, clear-cut rhythm was impossible—as can easily be seen on reference to any example of mediæval contrapuntal writing.

Character.

Another very palpable evidence of design in the musical art is that of Character, by which it is possible to classify works under certain clear and easily-recognisable headings, such as Sonata, Overture, Symphony, Cantata, Opera, Oratorio, Song, Ballad, or the various kinds of dance. Largely, of course, the nature of the composer’s ideas will influence the title of his work and determine under which heading it shall fall; but this is by no means all. The nature and temper of an idea, or set of ideas, used in an oratorio need not, of necessity, differ widely from the nature and temper of an idea, or set of ideas, used in a symphony; but the way in which these thoughts are presented, the manner of their development, and, indeed, the whole tenour of the composer’s dealings with them, will be utterly different; a result that is to a large extent due to variation in the structural plan of the two classes of composition.

Need for study of Form.

Hence it is evident that if we are to be able to estimate, with any regard to correctness of judgment, any work we may be called upon to hear or study, we must take some account, at least, of these important elements of design and of structure, without which a work of art would be a shapeless mass of incoherence, unable to tell its own tale through neglect of one of the fundamental laws of Nature.

To those who will take the trouble to understand a little of the methods of the Masters, the lines upon which they worked, the inevitable process of evolution observable in their writings—to such students, and to those only, will music in a very special sense become what it indeed is, an object of serious and refined enjoyment that appeals to the emotions through the intelligence, not a plaything for the senses alone;* a worthy field for the exercise of those higher faculties of our nature with which we should approach all great and good work in whatever form we meet it.

* W. H. Hadow. Studies in Modern Music, Vol. II.

† It should be clearly understood that the word criticism is never used in this volume in the sense of hostile judgment, but simply as an indication of an attempt to balance the probabilities of strength and weakness in a work of art.

‡ No account is, of course, taken here of the crude form of Programme Music represented by such works as The Battle of Prague, et hoc genus omne.

* Percy Goetschius. Lessons in Music Form.

CHAPTER II.

ACCENT, TIME AND RHYTHM.

Accent.

IT is so evident as to be almost axiomatic, that Accent lies at the root of all intelligibility in music. If we take any series of sounds such as the following, it is practically an impossibility to sing or play them without laying more stress upon some than upon others:—

The accents placed both above and below this passage will shew two obvious ways in which this might be done, the first, as at (a), indicating a stress upon the first of every two notes; the second, as at (b), upon the first of every three.

Duple and Triple Measurement in Music.

We see here an evidence of a fact that underlies the whole question of musical accentuation, viz., its ultimate division into groups of two or three—in other words, into Duple or Triple† measurement.

Time. Unity of Design.

This grouping of sounds into stronger and weaker pulses, or beats, produces what we know as Time, and the desire that the mind has for a certain element of unity in design has led those who have written music to maintain, for the most part, one distribution of accent throughout an entire composition, or at any rate throughout a large section of it.

Diversity.

Within these limits there is, it need hardly be said, plenty of room for requisite diversity, as will be seen by the following example:—

where in no two instances are the details between each strong accent and the next of identical pattern.

The various kinds of Time.

The various kinds of time in common use illustrate in a twofold manner this universal instinct of accentuation in twos or in threes. Firstly, if we take the measure, or bar, as the unit, we have, in the times usually described as Duple and Triple, clear evidence of the fact, e.g.:—

, &c., in reality is made up of two bars of Duple Time, as indicated by the dotted lines in the following example.

Here we have, undoubtedly, an accent occurring on the first of every two pulses, although, in actual performance, that upon the 3rd pulse of the bar is slightly less marked than that upon the 1st.

Simple and Compound Times.

Secondly, this grouping in twos or threes is further exemplified in the two varieties of each of the above times known usually by the terms Simple and Compound, where the sole difference in effect is one that depends entirely upon the way in which each pulse or beat is subdivided—whether into two, or into three. Thus, we find that, in the simple form of a time, each beat is represented by two smaller notes. e.g.:—

the first of each two being more strongly emphasized than the second; whereas, in compound time, each beat is represented by three shorter notes, e.g.:—

the first of each three being more strongly emphasized than the remaining two.

Stronger and Weaker Bars.

Lastly, observation will shew that complete bars or measures frequently group themselves, in regular alternation, into weak and strong, or strong and weak, more usually the former, e.g.:—

This grouping of the bars in sets of two is so general in musical phrases of normal construction as to be almost universal; and, the quicker the speed of the music, the more readily will their varying weight—so to speak—be felt by the listener. (See Figs. 60 and 61.)

The triple accentuation of complete bars, i.e., where a strong bar is led up to, or followed by, two weaker ones, is decidedly rarer, and is met with mostly in passages proceeding at a high rate of speed. Perhaps one of the most notable instances is to be found in the Scherzo of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, where the following passage occurs:—

Another striking example of this triple grouping of bars is afforded by the chief theme of a chorus in Dr. F. H. Cowen’s Cantata, The Sleeping Beauty, which runs thus:—*

In order to prevent misconception, it should be stated, in conclusion, that the regular alternation of weaker and stronger bars spoken of above is of necessity often disturbed in the case of involved or complex rhythms. Moreover, it is important to observe that the strongest point of a musical phrase rhythmically, (not always emotionally), is its final bar—that containing the cadence (See Chapter III.)—to which everything else leads, and in which it finds its completion and consummation.

† Quadruple measurement, as will be seen later, is only another aspect of Duple.

* Neither of these extracts can exactly be said to be written in Three-bar Rhythm (see Chapter III., page 14), as—the Tempo being so rapid—the effect of each is actually that of Compound Triple Time, three bars of the original in reality forming only one bar. For instance, Dr. Cowen’s theme might well have been written thus, so far as the result upon the listener is concerned:—

CHAPTER III.

ACCENT, TIME AND RHYTHM (continued).

Rhythm: the term often misapplied.

Rhythm, Quadruple Rhythm, and so on; or, as likely as not, it is regarded as synonymous with Accentuation, and the particular way in which notes are grouped between the successive strong pulses is often regarded as giving the Rhythmic shape and impulse. Thus, the following passages:—

would be described as being different in Rhythm—whereas, what is really meant is that their pulsation or lilt is different.

Rhythm, although it necessarily includes the two factors of Accent and Time, goes further than either, and demands for its expression and realization the grouping of measures or bars into sets, these sets being defined, or marked off, by a species of musical punctuation which is the result of the employment of Cadences.

Cadences.

A Cadence may be described as the completion or termination of a musical period, and is formed by some special chord-progression which gives to the mind the impression of a breathing-place—so to speak—in the course of the music.

These breathing-places are of various kinds, analogous in some measure to the different stops in literature, the chief of them being—

Here the mental effect produced is that of completion, or repose, and approximates to that of the full-stop in literary writing, e.g.:—