Bohuslav Martinů’s Chamber Works for Six or More Players Featuring Winds: A Survey and Conductor’s Analytical Study of La revue de cuisine and Jazz Suite

A document submitted to

The Graduate School of the University of Cincinnati

in partial fulfillment of the

requirements for the degree of

DOCTOR OF MUSICAL ARTS

in the Ensembles and Conducting Division

of the College-Conservatory of Music

March 26, 2012

by

Lauren B. Heller

B.M., University of Delaware, 2004

M.M, University of Delaware, 2006

Committee Chair: Glenn D. Price ABSTRACT

This document explores the body of Bohuslav Martinů’s chamber repertoire for six or more players featuring wind instruments in a prominent role, with an emphasis on two jazz inspired works from the group, La revue de cuisine and Jazz Suite. Martinů’s larger works, symphonies, operas, ballets, and smaller chamber works are the subject of large amounts of research and scholarly writing. However, his larger chamber works featuring winds have been studied less frequently. Closing this gap in scholarly study and analysis will allow those in the wind conducting profession to embrace this valuable literature.

The annotated guide and selected analysis serve to inform conductors and performers— wind and otherwise—about the history, content, and compositional makeup of these works, with the ultimate goal of increasing their accessibility.

ii

iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I thank all who have assisted me in my journey toward the completion of this document and this degree. Thank you to Dr. Glenn D. Price for stepping in at the last minute in a time of great transition and agreeing to serve as chair of this committee. I also wish to express sincere thanks to Dr. Stefan Fiol for serving as a reader and offering his valuable scholarly advice. My deepest gratitude goes to Dr. Terence Milligan, who has stuck with me through the transition of advisors and has contributed immeasurable amounts to the cleanliness of this document and to my success in general. I have heartfelt gratitude for Rodney Winther, without whom I would have never had the courage to begin a degree at this institution, and whose musical and personal guidance has been inspiring. My colleagues in the wind conducting studio, Jared Chase, Simon Tillier, Keith Phillips, Danielle Gaudry, Angela Holt, Boon Hua Lien, and Thanapol Setabrahmana, have given me a home in Cincinnati and have helped shape me as a musician and a person. For this I am tremendously grateful. Finally, I wish to thank my family, particularly the unnamed fourth reader of this document, Joan Heller, for their constant support of my academic and musical pursuits. It takes a village.

This document, though humbly undeserving, is dedicated to my eternal mentor and friend, George N. Parks. With pride.

iv CONTENTS

List of Figures ...... 2

1. Introduction ...... 3 Purpose of Study ...... 3 Development of Bohuslav Martinů’s Compositional Style ...... 5

2. Annotated Guide to Martinů’s Larger Chamber Works Featuring Winds ...... 15 Concertino for Cello (1924) ...... 15 Nonet (1925, fragment) ...... 17 La revue de cuisine (1927) ...... 19 Jazz Suite (1928) ...... 21 Sextet (1929) ...... 23 Les Rondes (1930) ...... 25 Stowe Pastorals (1951) ...... 27 Nonet (1959) ...... 29

3. Analytical Study of La revue de cuisine ...... 31 Background and Circumstances of Composition ...... 31 Movement I, Prologue ...... 34 Movement II, Tango ...... 42 Movement III, Charleston ...... 48 Movement IV, Final ...... 56 Conducting Considerations ...... 62

4. Analytical Study of Jazz Suite ...... 64 Background and Circumstances of Composition ...... 64 Movement I, Prelude ...... 66 Movement II, Blues ...... 76 Movement III, Boston ...... 82 Movement IV, Finale ...... 89 Conducting Considerations ...... 95

5. Conclusion ...... 97

Bibliography ...... 98

Appendix A: Complete List of Bohuslav Martinů’s Works for Winds ...... 100

Appendix B: Select Discography of Martinů’s Larger Wind Chamber Works ...... 104

1 LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 1 (Formal construction, La revue de cuisine, Prologue) ...... 34 Fig. 2 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, mm. 149-155) ...... 35 Fig. 3 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, mm. 214-219) ...... 37 Fig. 4 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, trumpet, mm. 1-2) ...... 38 Fig. 5 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, piano, mm. 127-133) ...... 38 Fig. 6 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, mm. 58-60) ...... 39 Fig. 7 (Formal construction, La revue de cuisine, Tango) ...... 43 Fig. 8 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Tango, cello, mm. 4-11) ...... 45 Fig. 9 (Two tango accompaniment patterns, Grove Music Online) ...... 46 Fig. 10 (C. Mack and J.P. Johnson, Charleston, from Oxford Dictionary of Music) ...... 49 Fig. 11 (Formal construction, La revue de cuisine, Charleston) ...... 49 Fig. 12 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Charleston, mm. 83-85) ...... 52 Fig. 13 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Charleston, mm. 49-50) ...... 53 Fig. 14 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Charleston, mm. 43-48) ...... 54 Fig. 15 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Charleston, mm. 59-62) ...... 54 Fig. 16 (Formal construction, La revue de cuisine, Final) ...... 57 Fig. 17 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Final, mm. 86-92) ...... 59 Fig. 18 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Final, piano, mm. 63-66) ...... 60 Fig. 19 (Formal construction, Jazz Suite, Prelude) ...... 66 Fig. 20 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 1-4) ...... 68 Fig. 21 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, m. 2, woodwinds) ...... 70 Fig. 22 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, m. 31, strings) ...... 70 Fig. 23 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 98-99, trumpets) ...... 70 Fig. 24 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 64-65, strings) ...... 71 Fig. 25 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 59-61, strings) ...... 72 Fig. 26 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 19-21, piano and strings) ...... 73 Fig. 27 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 46-47, piano) ...... 75 Fig. 28 (Formal construction, Jazz Suite, Blues) ...... 76 Fig. 29 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Blues, mm. 40-41, piano) ...... 78 Fig. 30 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Blues, mm. 45-48, piano) ...... 78 Fig. 31 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Blues, mm. 53-55, trumpet) ...... 81 Fig. 32 (Formal construction, Jazz Suite, Boston) ...... 83 Fig. 33 (Use of diminished triads and half-diminished seventh chords in Boston) ...... 84 Fig. 34 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Boston, m. 7, brass) ...... 85 Fig. 35 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Boston, m. 21, strings) ...... 86 Fig. 36 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Boston, mm. 45-46) ...... 88 Fig. 37 (Formal construction, Jazz Suite, Finale) ...... 89 Fig. 38 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Finale, mm. 116-119, brass) ...... 92 Fig. 39 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Finale, mm. 57-60) ...... 93

2

CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION

Purpose of Study

The purpose of this document is to examine the larger wind chamber works of

Czech composer Bohuslav Martinů (1890-1959), as they have not enjoyed the type of discussion and analysis as have his smaller chamber works. As a wind conductor my experience has shown me that the most frequently performed of Martinů’s chamber works are his smaller works for five or fewer players. However, the lesser-known segment of Martinů’s wind chamber music output for six or more players is expertly crafted and very representative of his style. Martinů’s larger wind chamber repertoire consists of eight works: Concertino for Cello (1924); Nonet (1925, fragment); La revue de cuisine (1927); Jazz Suite (1928); Sextet (1929); Les Rondes (1930); Stowe Pastorals

(1951); and Nonet (1959). The goal of this document is to increase the accessibility of this literature to wind conductors through two main products: an annotated guide to the above-mentioned works, and a conductor’s analytical study of two select works from the group—La revue de cuisine and Jazz Suite. These two works are paired because they share many of Martinů’s compositional features in common, including neoclassicism, jazz, and popular music, as well as germinal development, bitonality, rhythmic vitality, and distortion of meter.

The decision to focus upon Martinů’s larger chamber works featuring winds was not a casual one. The available research about his wind chamber music is mostly focused

3 on smaller chamber works. This includes: Sonata for flute and piano (1945), Sonatina for clarinet and piano (1956), Sonatina for trumpet and piano (1956), Sonata for flute, violin and piano (1937), Trio for flute, violin, and bassoon (1937), Les madrigaux for oboe, clarinet, and bassoon (1937), Promenades for flute, violin, and harpsichord (1939),

Madrigal-sonata for flute, violin, and piano (1942), Trio for flute, cello, and piano

(1944), and Wind Quintet (1930). Despite all of the literature concerning the above- mentioned works, there is little written about Martinů’s larger chamber works featuring winds. This is perhaps because the larger wind chamber works are not performed as frequently and therefore are less well known. Other than the Sextet, it is rare to hear of a performance of Martinů’s larger wind chamber works. The Sextet is probably better known because of its semi-standard instrumentation for modified woodwind quintet plus piano, as opposed to the less standard instrumentation of some of Martinů’s other works such as La revue de cuisine, which is scored for clarinet, bassoon, trumpet, violin, cello, and piano.

Another factor that prompted the desire to showcase this repertoire is the lack of available recordings. There are only two recordings of Jazz Suite available for purchase, one by members of the Prague Symphony Orchestra and one by Orchestre de Picardie.

Similarly, acquiring the printed music is difficult. The publisher Schott sells the score and parts for La revue de cuisine, but only offers Jazz Suite, Nonet (fragment), and

Concertino for Cello for hire (rental). These works are valuable to the wind repertoire but are not well known. By increasing the profession’s awareness of these works, the availability will surely increase as well.

4 Development of Bohuslav Martinů’s Compositional Style

It is said that a person’s musical being starts developing at the earliest of ages, when life is experienced almost exclusively through the senses. This was certainly the case for Bohuslav Martinů, whose early experiences influenced him throughout his life as a musician and composer. Martinů was born in 1890 in Polička, a small town in

Bohemia. His father was a cobbler who, after a series of devastating fires in the town, was assigned to the duty of watchman and bell-ringer in the tower of the church of St.

James. Martinů was literally born to the sounds of ringing church bells on a church Feast

Day. The Martinů family resided in a tiny one-room living space in the tower of St.

James for the first thirteen years of Bohuslav’s life, and it was here that he began to develop his unique view of the world. Certainly it is an unusual upbringing to be raised high above the street level in a cramped bell tower. Martinů’s biographers often cite this

“bird’s eye view” upbringing as a powerful source of inspiration for the young composer.

Years later, at age forty-four, Martinů wrote of his childhood home,

“I’ve always kept a picture postcard of Polička as seen from our tower-like home in my room. This view, and many others, are so firmly planted in the memory that I know them all to the last detail. On one side there’s the lake, on the other the cemetery and village stretching further and further into the distance. To the north there’s flat unwooded country, and below, the town itself, everything in miniature, with tiny houses and tiny people moving, creating a kind of shifting pattern. And above, boundless space where the sky kept changing as regularly as nature did below. Expanses of winter snow changed into russet fields, green patches and blue forests. The harsh atmosphere of winter began to melt away: the fields grew into a sea of golden grain and life moved from the town to the country where people became part of nature’s pattern along with trees, streams and birds. And at night there were storms and fires and I don’t know what else … These are impressions of home, my home, indelible and unforgettable.”1

1 Brian Large, Martinů (London: Duckworth, 1975), 1.

5 Miloš Šafránek begins his biography of Martinů by equating the “singularly detached quality of Bohuslav Martinů’s work and personality” with his unusual circumstances of living for the first part of his life.2

Martinů was a weak and sickly child, often relying upon his father to carry him on his shoulders up the one hundred and ninety-three steps from the ground to the top of the tower.3 Consequently, Martinů spent most of his time in the tower watching the town below and getting lost in his own thoughts and daydreams. In fact, Martinů rarely descended to the town in his first six years of life. He said later about this sheltered existence, “When you consider that I lived more or less in isolation except for spatial phenomena, it perhaps explains why I viewed everything differently.”4 Early musical influences in Martinů’s life included his father’s former cobbler’s assistant who lived with the family and would often entertain the Martinů children with simple songs. There were also early lessons with the Polička music teacher, a tailor named Josef Černovský, with whom Martinů studied violin twice a week. Černovský recognized Martinů’s interest in music and fostered it, giving him opportunities to play chamber music and to play in the town orchestra. Martinů later recalled his fondness for Černovský writing, “It was he who showed me the way to appreciate both music and art. His lessons were extraordinary. He was the first to acknowledge my gifts and the first to encourage me.”5

Martinů developed quickly as a violinist and gained valuable experience as a quartet member. He is said to have practiced many hours a day, a good number of which

2 Miloš Šafránek, Bohuslav Martinů: The Man and His Music (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1944), 2. 3 Jaroslav Mihule, Bohuslav Martinů (Prague: Státní Hudební Vyadavatelství, 1966), 8. 4 Brian Large, Martinů (London: Duckworth, 1975), 5. 5 Ibid., 7.

6 were devoted to practicing chamber music. This high level of exposure to chamber music during his developing years undoubtedly fostered Martinů’s interest in the genre, a genre that would become a significant portion of his compositional output. During the early part of his life Martinů was also impacted by his exposure to the theater. His father worked as a prompter for a town theater group and would often take Bohuslav to rehearsals with him. Polička had a strong theater tradition, so the experience was particularly enjoyable for Martinů. Certainly his future creation of twenty-eight operas and ballets must have been affected by this familiarity with the theater and the stage.

Martinů’s musical talents began attracting attention in Polička, and he soon outgrew his teacher there. In 1906 members of the town approached Martinů’s parents and encouraged them to send him to study at the conservatory in Prague. Remarkably, enough donations were collected to send Martinů and his mother to Prague the following year. With this move the next great stage in Martinů’s musical development commenced.

Living in Prague was a very different experience for Martinů, as he had never experienced life in a large city with so much cultural variety and excitement. As Mihule writes, Martinů was “enraptured first of all by its cultural vitality: the concerts of the

Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, the opera productions of the National Theater, the fine libraries, the Prague second-hand book shops, encounters with outstanding representatives of Czech culture…”6 Though exhilarated by all of the culture surrounding him, Martinů struggled at the Conservatoire. The extremely demanding and regimented course limited Martinů’s ability to pursue his wide variety of interests. He failed his requisite exams, did poorly even in composition classes and eventually switched his

6 Jaroslav Mihule, Bohuslav Martinů (Prague: Státní Hudební Vyadavatelství, 1966), 10.

7 studies from violin to organ, attending the Organ School in Prague for a brief time.

Clearly not meant for the regimented nature of music school, Martinů was more involved in the cultural scene of Prague, studying scores, regularly attending concerts and performances, and composing on his own.

It was in the concert halls of Prague that Martinů first experienced the music of

Strauss, Stravinsky, and Bartók. He was also exposed to Diaghilev’s Ballet Russe, which performed frequently at the Prague German Theater. Perhaps the most significant compositional influence during this time in Martinů’s life, one that would affect

Martinů’s musical style for many years, was the work of Claude Debussy. As a result of this new exposure to varied musical styles, Martinů’s early compositional voice was more derivative than original, with chromaticism echoing Strauss and Impressionism influenced by Debussy.7

Martinů’s four-year tenure in the second violin section of the Czech Philharmonic also affected his compositional growth. Playing with the Philharmonic allowed Martinů to experience music from the inside, as opposed to the outside, which he had experienced as an audience member. Václav Talich, the music director of the Czech Philharmonic, programmed new repertoire by composers such as Debussy, Ravel, Dukas, and Roussel, as opposed to the more frequently performed Germanic works of Beethoven and Brahms.

The Impressionist characteristics of this new repertoire profoundly influenced Martinů’s compositional style.8 Mihule writes, “Impressionism fascinated him with its gentle human approach to the beauties of nature.”9

7 Brian Large, Martinů (London: Duckworth, 1975), 16. 8 Ibid., 26. 9 Jaroslav Mihule, Bohuslav Martinů (Prague: Státní Hudební Vyadavatelství, 1966), 19.

8 Perhaps the greatest impact during this stage of Martinů’s life emanated from a visit to Paris in 1919. Martinů had received a small stipend to travel to Paris to study composition with Albert Roussel who would become an extremely powerful source of influence on Martinů’s development. A 1918 Prague performance of Roussel’s impressionistic First Symphony deeply moved Martinů, and it was this experience that motivated him to study with Roussel. Martinů said of his time studying with Roussel in

Le Revue Musicale in 1937,

“…it was he, Roussel, who always managed to indicate, with the correctness and precision that was his wont, the right way ahead, the road that should be followed; he helped me to realize what should be preserved and what discarded… With him I found everything I had come to Paris to seek, and in addition his friendship was always a most valuable pillar of support. I came to him for advice, clarity, moderation, taste, and clear, precise, emotional expression, the characteristics of French art which I had always admired and which I wanted to understand as intimately as possible.”10

Martinů’s experience in Paris was so profound that he eventually emigrated to France in

1923.

It was in Paris that Martinů’s compositional style underwent significant developments. Prior to living in France, he was fascinated by Impressionist music, that of

Claude Debussy in particular. In 1924, however, Stravinsky relocated to Paris, and his music made its way to Martinů’s ears. Stravinsky’s approach to harmony, with its harsh usage of bitonality and polytonality spoke to Martinů. Stravinsky’s linear approach to the development of a piece of music also resonated with Martinů, who made a conscious decision to adopt Stravinsky’s musical idiom.11 The influences of Stravinsky’s L’Histoire du soldat and Les Noces are undeniable when examining the first work that Martinů

10 Ibid. 11 Brian Large, Martinů (London: Duckworth, 1975), 32.

9 wrote in Paris, Half Time. These musical influences remained a part of Martinů’s musical voice as he matured as a composer. Biographer Brian Large identifies these characteristics as “rhythmic flexibility, freedom from the barline, and preference for small rhythmic fragments stemming from a single motif and worked into the texture through a process of continual development.”12 Martinů was equally affected by the culture and pace of life in Paris. He was an avid reader and walker and developed a routine of visiting old bookstores during the day and walking through beautiful parks in the evening. Throughout his life Martinů saw himself as an artist whose medium was music—a member of the artist community as a whole.

Over time and by improving his command of the French language, Martinů became better integrated into Parisian culture. He became interested in the jazz idiom that was so popular in the city and began to incorporate jazz and popular dance forms and styles into his music. He utilized dances like the tango, waltz, Boston, and Charleston, and experimented with Dixieland jazz and the concept of collective improvisation. He was very mindful of composers’ use of jazz elements and wrote about the role of jazz in music in a Czech music journal in 1925,

“Elements of the jazzband are gradually penetrating into symphonic composition, following the path of all previous forms. Having thus passed through the creative process, they will then create a new form, as was the case with the polka in our country. But of course the difference is that Smetana did not write polkas the way one hears them sometimes in a village at a dance, whereas the majority of French modernists write quite normal foxtrots and so on, almost exactly the same as we hear in a night club, and often rather worse… I often recall the immensely pregnant rhythms of our Slavonic music, of the Slovak songs, of their typical rhythmical instrumental accompaniments, and it seems to me that it is not at all necessary to digress to the jazz-band. None the less I cannot deny its role in the

12 Ibid., 33.

10 overall stream which life is taking, which dictates whatever it needs in order to express itself.”13

Though he maintained his passion for French culture and music while living in Paris in the 1920s and 1930s, Martinů’s Czech voice grew stronger,. His developing interest in the music of the Czech people inspired him to compose works such as Špalíček (The

Chap-book), Staročeská říkadla (Old Czech Nursery Rhymes), and Kytice (Garland), all with strong ties to Czech music.14 The influences of Czech folk music—constant rhythmic vitality and Moravian tunes and cadences—remained a vital part of Martinů’s music throughout his compositional career. During this time Martinů’s affinity for older music influenced his work as well. Martinů had encountered English madrigals in 1922 and thus was intrigued to study Renaissance polyphony. His works at this time such as his 1930 Les Rondes show the influence of English madrigals, Bach, Corelli, and

Vivaldi.15

Martinů was extremely prolific in Paris, composing opera, ballet, orchestral work, and chamber music, and it was during this period that Martinů produced La revue de cuisine and Jazz Suite. His compositional output at this time was heavily weighted towards chamber music. In the three years around the end of the 1920s Martinů produced over twenty chamber works for a large variety of instrumental combinations, including his Sextet for wind instruments and piano. Once established in Paris, Martinů’s name and works gained recognition across Europe. Frequent performances of Martinů’s music

13 Jaroslav Mihule, Bohuslav Martinů (Prague: Státní Hudební Vyadavatelství, 1966), 24- 25. 14 Jan Smaczny, “Bohuslav Martinů,” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie. 2nd ed. (London: Macmillan, 2001), 940. 15 Ibid., 941.

11 attracted the attention of Serge Koussevitzky, conductor of the Boston Symphony;

Koussevitzky became a champion of Martinů and his music. After his successes in Paris, it was understandably difficult and emotional for Martinů to leave the city during World

War II.

Throughout his life Bohuslav Martinů often felt like an outsider looking in on communities. This began with his early life in the church tower in Polička and recurred when he moved to France, where he knew neither the language nor the culture. He felt this yet again in 1941 when he moved to America. In every setting in which Martinů felt like an outsider, he was forced to reinvent himself as a composer and start over in proving his musical worth to the culture around him. He said of his early experiences in

America,

“I set to work with great determination, but I had not counted with such a great change or with the reaction to all these events. I began work, but the result has not been good, I should also add that the new life here engulfs me greatly and does not allow me time to come to terms with myself.”16

Later he added,

“Believe me, the endless avenues and streets of New York are not exactly the best source of inspiration for this kind of thinking. They seem to fall in on you, hold you fast, and you feel you cannot get away from them. No, I can’t say that my recollections of New York are the happiest.”17

Despite the initial discomfort that Martinů felt in America, he grew accustomed to his surroundings and regained his compositional sense. It was in America that he ventured into a new genre of composition—the symphony. The debut of his First

Symphony, composed when he was fifty-two years of age, was a turning point in his

16 Jaroslav Mihule, Bohuslav Martinů (Prague: Státní Hudební Vyadavatelství, 1966), 44. 17 Ibid.

12 career; he saw this premiere as his chance to either succeed or fail at showing the

American public his voice as a composer. Following the successful premiere performance of the First Symphony, a relieved Martinů commented, “You can imagine how delighted

I was when the verdict was positive.”18 The success of this first venture into the symphonic form led Martinů to continue with the genre. It was during his time in

America, from 1941 until 1953, that he composed five of his six symphonies. Certainly

Martinů’s focus shifted from smaller to larger scale works during his time in the United

States. This does not imply that Martinů composed only large-scale works during this period. In fact, he composed several intimate chamber works during this time, including

Songs on One Page, Songs on Two Pages, and The New Špalíček, all of which have strong ties to his home in Czechoslovakia. These yearnings and echoes of home were an extremely important characteristic of Martinů’s compositional style. His dissatisfaction with America and yearning for home consumed him. He declared, “I am sick for home and yearn for our hills! My work is that of a Czech tied to the homeland by a cord nothing can cut. I detest America! How I long to escape!”19

Not all of Martinů’s experiences in America were negative. He gained critical acclaim and produced a substantial body of work during his twelve-year residence. It was

Martinů’s intention to remain in America for only five years. However, in 1946, while teaching at Tanglewood and having just completed his Fifth Symphony, the composer suffered a bizarre and serious accident in which he fell quite a long distance during the dark of night. As a result of the accident Martinů suffered memory loss and tinnitus. It took quite some time for him to recover from these injuries and a resulting feeling of

18 Ibid., 45. 19 Brian Large, Martinů (London: Duckworth, 1975), 101.

13 fogginess and depression. This accident forced Martinů to reside in America an additional two years, but he also maintained his European ties. Martinů held a composition teaching position at the newly formed Prague Conservatory, to which he traveled frequently.

The final years of Martinů’s life were spent mostly in Europe with occasional visits to New York. He received a Guggenheim scholarship to study in Europe which took him to Paris and then Nice. In 1957 he moved to Switzerland where he remained until his death in 1959. Martinů’s compositional style did not develop further in these final chapters of his life; he experienced a profound return of focus and affection toward his hometown of Polička and developed a new interest in existentialism and the human experience. One of Martinů’s biographers, Jaroslav Mihule, asserts that this sentimental and existential turn in Martinů’s final stages of composition were not by chance. Rather, he explains, Martinů was one of a certain type of artist who has an intuition that his end is nearing.20 The composer was suffering from cancer but was unaware of his own condition. Martinů composed actively until his death, but the seriousness and philosophical nature of his last works seem to hint that he knew his time on this earth and his life as an artist were nearing an end.

20 Jaroslav Mihule, Bohuslav Martinů (Prague: Státní Hudební Vyadavatelství, 1966), 57.

14 CHAPTER 2

ANNOTATED GUIDE TO MARTINŮ’S LARGER WIND CHAMBER WORKS

Concertino for Cello

Halbreich Number: H. 143 Composed: 1924 Instrumentation: Solo Cello, Piccolo, Two Oboes, Two Clarinets in Bb, Bassoon, Horn, Trumpet in Bb, Trombone, Two Percussion, Piano (Solo vcl, 1(picc)221-1110, perc (2), pno) Duration: 14:00 Publisher: Czech Music Foundation (CHF) Format: One movement divided into four sections, delineated by tempo and/or mood Difficulty: Difficult

Background:

Concertino is the first of Martinů’s works for larger chamber ensemble composed while he was in Paris. Martinů dedicated the work to Dutch cellist Maurits Frank (1892-1959), one of the leading cellists of the first half of the twentieth century. At the time of composition, Frank had just begun his tenure with the Amar Quartet, the German string quartet founded by Hindemith in 1921 and known for its dedication to the study and performance of new music. Concertino was premiered by members of the Czech

Philharmonic, Václav Neumann conducting, on March 24, 1949.

15 Considerations:

The Concertino is challenging because of its constantly changing moods and rhythmic complexity. Martinů’s inclusion of jazz-inspired elements adds to the rhythmic complexity of the piece and thus requires a rhythmically confident performance. Though the individual parts are not virtuosic by themselves, the complex interplay between the voices requires sophisticated performers. This work is only available for hire through

Schott Music.

16 Nonet

Halbreich Number: H. 144 Composed: 1925, fragment Instrumentation: Flute, Oboe, Clarinet, Bassoon, Horn, Violin, Viola, Cello, Piano (1111-1000, vln, vla, vcl, pno) Duration: 5:00 Publisher: Schott Music Panton Format: Single Movement, incomplete Movements: N/A Difficulty: Moderately difficult

Background:

Martinů composed Nonet (fragment) early in his residence in Paris, during a time that his biographers describe as one of growing individual mastership. There is debate about its actual date of composition, some claiming it to be composed between 1925 and 1926, and others, namely his biographer Šáfranek, who claim it was not composed before 1927.

Manuscripts sent to Martinů’s friends in Prague indicate that Martinů intended it to be performed there; however, other projects overshadowed the Nonet, and Martinů focused on other endeavors. The manuscript was lost and not discovered until the late 1960s or early 1970s. The work surfaced in Prague under private possession and contained only the final movement (Allegro moderato). Originally a three-movement work, the first and second movements have not been found. Nonet did not receive its first performance until

1971.

17 Considerations:

Though a brief work, Nonet is both technically and musically demanding for the players.

The texture tends to be quite dense and requires sophistication among the performers so that the piece does not become too heavy or muddled. The Nonet begins with an extensive oboe solo, requiring a confident and expressive player. Nonet (fragment) is only available for hire through Schott Music.

18 La revue de cuisine

Halbreich Number: H. 161a Composed: 1927 Instrumentation: Clarinet in Bb, Bassoon, Trumpet in Bb, Violin, Cello, Piano (0011-0100, vln, vcl, pno) Duration: 14:30 Publisher: Alphonse Leduc Format: Four-movement suite, extracted from ballet written for same instrumentation Movements: I. Prologue, II. Tango, III. Charleston, IV. Final Difficulty: Difficult

Background:

La revue de cuisine (The Kitchen Review) is a suite extracted from an eighteen-minute single-act ballet of the same title that Martinů composed in Paris in 1927. This was one of

Martinů’s first compositions to explore the jazz idiom. The original subtitle of the ballet was Pokušení svatouška hrnce (The Temptation of the Sanctimonious Mr. Pot). Božena

Neběská commissioned Martinů to write the ballet based on a scenario by Jarmila

Kröschlová, a choreographer in Prague. The story is a witty satire about a love triangle between kitchen utensils; the characters are Pot, Dishcloth, Broom, Lid, and Twirling-

Stick. This allegorical story has a long history, originating with a pantomime artist in the

18th century.21 The ballet premiered in Prague on November 17, 1927. The early Prague performances were fairly well received, and the work was highly successful in Paris.

21 Christopher Hogwood, ed. La Revue de Cuisine, Critical Edition (Paris: Alphonse Leduc, 2003), xv.

19 Martinů himself was quite proud of the piece, claiming that the combination of music and story was perfect.22

Considerations:

While all of the parts in this suite are demanding, it is crucial that the piano player be rhythmically strong and musically confident. All players need to be flexible and comfortable with playing in the jazz idiom. A good sense of internal time on the parts of all the players is also crucial. While there is certainly enough of a musical motor throughout the piece to perform it without a conductor, the rhythmic complexities combined with the practicalities of limited rehearsal time may necessitate one.

22 F. James Rybka, Bohuslav Martinů: The Compulsion to Compose (Plymouth, UK: The Scarecrow Press, 2011), 55.

20 Jazz Suite

Halbreich Number: H. 172 Composed: 1928 Instrumentation: Oboe, Clarinet in Bb, Bassoon, Two Trumpets in Bb, Two Trombones, Piano, Two Violins, Viola (0111-0220, 2 vln, vla, pno) Duration: 12:10 Publisher: Panton, Praha Format: Four-movement work Movements: I. Prelude, II. Blues, III. Boston, IV. Finale Difficulty: Difficult

Background:

Martinů composed Jazz Suite while in Paris and finished it in Polička on September 8,

1928. Though composed only one year after La revue de cuisine and also conceived in the jazz idiom, it is a much more serious work with more complex harmony, denser texture, and a neoclassical approach. Jazz Suite was very well received at its premiere at the Baden-Baden Festival in 1928.23 However, Schott refused to publish it, and according to the Czech catalog of Martinů’s works, even Martinů himself did not consider it worthy of being published.

Considerations:

The instrumentation of Jazz Suite is certainly one of its most unique features, and it requires flexible instrumentation in an ensemble wishing to perform it. While Martinů’s

23 Ibid., 56.

21 scoring is well crafted, it is crucial that the brass be sensitive to not overbalance the woodwinds and strings. As with La revue, the pianist must be strong and independent since the part contains an extended cadenza. There are also substantial solos for oboe and bassoon. Rhythmic complexity is the main challenge in this work, and a conductor is recommended to help negotiate this complexity. This work is available for hire only through Schott Music.

22 Sextet

Halbreich Number: H. 174 Composed: 1929 Instrumentation: Flute, Oboe, Clarinet in Bb, Two Bassoons, Piano (1112-0000, pno) Duration: 18:00 Publisher: Joshua Corporation (Panton, Praha) Format: Five-movement divertimento-format work Movements: I. Preludium, II. Adagio, III. Scherzo (Divertimento I), IV. Blues (Divertimento II), V. Finale Difficulty: Difficult

Background:

Sextet, composed in 1929 in Paris, is another of Martinů’s chamber works that utilizes the jazz idiom. It is said that he composed the work in just a few days—between January 28 and February 4, 1929, all while he was simultaneously working on two other large-scale works, an opera and a string quartet. The most unusual feature of this sextet is its scoring for piano and wind quintet with no horn, but rather two bassoons. There is no record of a performance of the Sextet around the time of its composition. In fact, it is likely that

Martinů himself never heard it performed.24

Considerations:

The unusual instrumentation of Sextet is a consideration when programming this work, as pre-existing wind quintets cannot perform it without an additional bassoonist. The most

24 Harry Halbreich, Introduction to Sextet by Bohuslav Martinů (Dobbs Ferry, NY: Joshua Corp., 1966), n.p.

23 significant consideration is the third movement, “Scherzo,” which is written for solo flute and piano. It is extremely virtuosic and requires a flute player of the highest caliber.

Indeed, the movement is published as a stand-alone work for flute and piano. The Sextet can be performed easily without a conductor.

24 Les Rondes

Halbreich Number: H. 200 Composed: 1930 Instrumentation: Oboe, Clarinet in C, Bassoon, Trumpet in C, Two Violins, Piano (0111-0100, 2 vln, pno) Duration: 15:30 Publisher: Kalmus Format: Six-movement set of dances Movements: I. Poco Allegro, II. Poco Andantino, III. Allegro, IV. Tempo di Valse, V. Andantino, VI. Allegro vivo Difficulty: Difficult

Background:

Les Rondes, originally titled Moravian Dances, was composed in 1930 and represents a good example of the Czech influence in Martinů’s writing. The work is a set of six instrumental miniatures, all dance-like in character. The piece highlights Martinů’s gift for chamber writing through delicate interplay between winds, strings, and piano. Les

Rondes was.

Considerations:

Les Rondes is particularly challenging because of the rhythmic complexity and shifting of metric feel throughout the work. Consequently, the use of a conductor can significantly assist the performers. The first movement may be difficult to read, as it is written in one beat per bar. Oboe and bassoon each play an important role, and the first violin part is quite virtuosic, but all of the parts require independence and virtuosity. As with most of

25 Martinů’s chamber works involving piano, the piano part requires a very strong performer. It is also important to note that the clarinet and trumpet parts are both written in C.

26 Stowe Pastorals

Halbreich Number: H. 335 Composed: 1951 Instrumentation: Two Descant-Recorders, Two Tenor-Recorders, Bass Recorder, Two Violins, Clarinet in C, Cello (0010-0000, 5 rec, 2 vln, vcl) Duration: 10:00 Publisher: Kalmus, Musica Rara Format: Three-Movement work Movements: I. Poco Allegro, II. Moderato (Poco Andante), III. Allegro poco moderato Difficulty: Moderately difficult

Background:

While Martinů was living in New England he became acquainted with the Austrian family of singers, the Von Trapps. After meeting them in Boston at a performance of one of his works, Martinů decided to compose a vocal piece for them. Following this composition and interaction, the Von Trapps, who resided in Stowe, Vermont, were the source of inspiration for another piece—Stowe Pastorals. The piece is dedicated to the

Von Trapp family, but whether or not they ever performed it is unknown. The premiere performance was on Basel Radio in 1952.25

25 F. James Rybka, Bohuslav Martinů: The Compulsion to Compose (Plymouth, UK: The Scarecrow Press, 2011), 207.

27 Considerations:

Aside from the obvious consideration of unusual scoring, Stowe Pastorals is fairly straightforward. It is less rhythmically complex than some of Martinů’s other chamber works and is quite tonal. The three movements are each fairly simple in construction, but still retain hallmark Martinů traits such as use of silence and use of syncopated rhythms.

The clarinet is scored as part of the string quartet, substituting for the viola. It is even printed this way in the score between the second violin and cello staves. This work can be performed easily without a conductor.

28 Nonet

Halbreich Number: H. 374 Composed: 1959 Instrumentation: Flute, Oboe, Clarinet, Bassoon, Horn, Violin, Viola, Cello, Double Bass (1111-1000, vln, vla, vcl, db) Duration: 16:30 Publisher: Kalmus Format: Three-Movement work Movements: I. Poco Allegro, II.Andante, III. Allegretto Difficulty: Difficult

Background:

Suffering from cancer but unaware of his condition, Martinů composed his well-known and well-regarded Nonet in 1959—thirty-five years after he sketched his first nonet.

Coincidentally, this nonet was written to commemorate the thirty-fifth anniversary of the

Czech Nonet. He wrote in a letter, “I started ‘pecking’ [on the piano], and I wrote a nonet for the Prague ensemble. Supposedly, they are excellent. It’s for flute, oboe, clarinet, fagot, horn, one violin, viola, cello and bass. SO it was fun after the hard work on the opera.”26 The outer movements have strong Czech influences, while the middle movement is a mix of melancholy and hopeful sentiments. Some say this is evidence of

Martinů’s unintentional foreshadowing of his own death. Nonet received its first

26 Ibid., 270.

29 performance at the Salzburg Music Festival on July 27, 1959, the Czech Nonet performing.27

Considerations:

Though each part is virtuosic, the challenge in this work is the intricate overlapping of the voices in true chamber fashion. Although certainly not necessary, a conductor is very useful when performing this piece. It is important to note that the horn part is written in

E-flat.

27 Jiří Berkovec, Introduction to Nonet by Bohuslav Martinů (Boca Raton, FL: Kalmus, n.d.), n.p.

30 CHAPTER 3

ANALYTICAL STUDY OF LA REVUE DE CUISINE

Background and Circumstances of Composition

When Martinů moved to Paris in 1923 he found himself in a foreign musical environment. Musical life in Paris was changing and beginning to include extra-European influences. Composers like Eric Satie and the group Les Six were experimenting with avant-garde approaches to composition, and the “hot jazz” movement, led by Bessie

Smith and Louis Armstrong, was popular28. Other styles such as ragtime and Harlem- style jazz were also prevalent, and classical composers began to incorporate this music into their classical compositions. One of the most notable examples of this was Darius

Milhaud’s La création du monde, which earned great acclaim for its fusion of musical influences. The musical scene was shifting from serious to more lighthearted, and the goal of music was to entertain. This was an adjustment for Martinů, and it took him time to acclimate himself to these musical surroundings. According to Martinů’s biographer,

Brian Large, it was the music of Igor Stravinsky, particularly his L’histoire du soldat and

Les Noces, that finally pushed Martinů into accepting the trends and composing in the idiom of his surroundings29. One of the works that Martinů created during this period was his ballet La revue de cuisine, composed in 1927.

The work, subtitled Pokušení svatouška hrnce (The Temptation of the

Sanctimonious Mr. Pot) began as an eighteen-minute single-act ballet for five

28 Brian Large, Martinů (London: Duckworth, 1975), 32. 29 Ibid.

31 characters—Pot, Dish-Cloth, Broom, Lid, and Twirling-Stick, and scored for six instruments—clarinet, bassoon, trumpet, violin, cello, and piano. Christopher Hogwood, editor of the ballet score, explains in his critical edition that the story for La revue de cuisine had a long history before appearing in Martinů’s ballet. A similar story line of mixed-up love affairs between kitchen utensils can be traced back as early as the eighteenth century to the pantomimes of Joseph Grimani. Furthermore, in 1926 a Prague- based company led by Jarmila Kröschlová had presented the same story in Vienna under the title Die Kuechenrevue.30 Kröschlová commissioned Martinů to write a fuller score for the ballet because she felt that the previous music consisting of a piano, two drummers, and gramophone recordings of popular music was ineffective. She sent

Martinů the scenario, description of characters, and approximate timings for each part of the story. In a letter that Martinů sent from Paris on April 26, 1927, he explained that this was sufficient, and he offered suggestions for where the spoken words, written by Jan

Löwenbach, could be placed.31 In the letter from Martinů to Kröschlová he defends firmly,

“I have also indicated a sort of piano sketch in the score to facilitate your work. But I caution that this cannot be regarded as a piano reduction – it is only a sort of outline so that you can have some sort of idea of the music to begin with. I think it would be best if you would listen to it with the orchestra before rehearsing it, because it is much better expressed by the combination of instruments, the timbre of certain instruments, the overall sound, and also the rhythm, which can’t be crammed into the piano reduction and which changes somewhat in the orchestra. Fundamentally, then – and I emphasize this – the piece is written for six instruments and no other arrangement will give you a clear idea, as you will find out for yourself when you hear the sound of the orchestra.”32

30 Christopher Hogwood, La revue de cuisine, Édition critique (Paris: Alphonse Leduc, 2003), xv. 31 Ibid., xvii. 32 Ibid.

32 The completed ballet premiered in Prague on November 17, 1927. Reviewer Mirko

Očadlík from the Czech periodical Tempo commented in his review, “It has few notes but they are worthwhile. Martinů uses his strongly developed visual sense to give shape to the music… The music was performed unimaginably well by members of the Czech

Philharmonic conducted by its concertmaster Stanislav Novák.”33 Martinů himself was quite proud of the work, expressing that the result of music and story was perfect.34 Two years after its initial composition, Martinů extracted several numbers from La revue de cuisine to create a four-movement suite by the same title. Alfred Cortot programmed the suite in his chamber music series in Paris in January of 1930, which prompted Alphonse

Leduc to publish the work in full score in 1932.35

33 Ibid., xxi. 34 F. James Rybka, Bohuslav Martinů: The Compulsion to Compose (Plymouth, UK: The Scarecrow Press, 2011), 55. 35 Ibid.

33 Movement I, Prologue

Though Martinů titled this movement Prologue it is actually a refashioning of the first three numbers from the ballet—“Prologue,” “Introduction,” and “Danse du Moulinet

Autour du Chaudron.” The movement is highly segmented and uses shared thematic fragments to connect each segment. The movement does not follow a standard classical form, but can be divided as follows: 36-measure prologue; 46-measure introduction; 25- measure A section; 48-measure B section; 12-measure false return of A section; 32- measure C section; and 20-measure coda. Both of the contrasting sections (“B” and “C”) are imitative in nature and highlight Martinů’s orchestrational skills.

Fig. 1 (Formal construction, La Revue de cuisine, Prologue)

In this movement, the internal formal structure points are delineated by orchestration. For example, the B section is divided into three smaller units: mm. 108-126, mm. 127-140, and mm. 141-155. The first unit features the clarinet as the leading line, with continuous accompaniment underneath it in the other voices; the second unit combines the violin and the cello as the leading line; and the third unit combines the clarinet and bassoon as the

34 leading line. Similarly, Martinů gives the trumpet the leading role in the false recapitulation of the A section, and then transfers the leading role in the C section to the piano, allowing the other voices to imitate fragments of the theme as accompaniment.

Martinů also creates familiar formal structure without the use of truly standard classical form through the use of standard formal devices, such as re-transition gestures to signal a return of a theme. The best example of this neo-classical device in movement I is from measure 149 until 156. Here Martinů uses harmonic language that leads to a repeated dominant-seventh chord, which signals a return to tonic and a return of the primary theme. It is the use of these traditional devices that allows the performer and listener alike to experience a sense of familiarity without the use of a standard form.

Fig. 2 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, mm. 149-155)

In addition to orchestration and neo-classical signaling devices, Martinů also uses tonality to aid in delineation of form. Each section of the movement begins in a different tonal area as follows: G Major – a minor – A Major – Eb Major – E Major – C Major – G

Major – Bb Major – G Major. Though Martinů uses fragments of the main theme

35 throughout the movement, he coordinates full statements of the theme with recurrences of

G Major tonality. This technique is effective in providing cohesion to the movement.

One further technique Martinů uses to delineate form is stark contrasts of tempo and/or texture. The prologue concludes with a written out ritardando in the piano, after which all motion ceases. Then, the introduction begins with a solo voice (cello), a very thin texture that gradually thickens throughout the section. The A section is marked

Tempo I° following an eight-measure Poco meno mosso. The beginning of the B section is characterized by a sudden change in dynamic and texture (solo clarinet). This is similar to the beginning of the next section, which begins with solo trumpet. The C section is marked by a subito piano with a thinning of texture, and a sudden thinning of texture also delineates the coda. Though varied, these sectional divisions all share the common trait of stark contrasts in tempo and/or texture, which is effective in unifying the movement.

The first section of the movement is a true prologue, with an initial statement of the theme that dissipates almost immediately into a non-thematic piano solo. Though without a theme, the playful character of the piano solo sets up the character of the music that is to come. It also demonstrates one of the key feature of Martinů’s music—rhythmic vivacity and distortion of barlines. Martinů’s use of accents and meter are quite unusual here. The piano’s first entrance on beat two of the fourth measure sounds convincingly as though it were on the primary beat of the measure. The music is a very familiar accompaniment figure with the downbeat being the root of the triad and the upbeat, the full triad. But rather than placing this on the primary beat, Martinů places it on the secondary beat of the bar. If one listens to the music without the aid of a score, the first six measures of the piece sound as though they are in the following meters: 2/4, 2/4, 3/4,

36 2/4, 2/4. This is different than the written meters: 2/4, 2/4, 2/4, 2/4, 2/4, 2/8. Martinů then proceeds to distort the sense of barline even further by introducing compound measures and by mixing simple and compound freely. The result is a total loss of the sense of barline and meter. Meter and regularity are not restored until the last five bars of the prologue. This musical effect—a very strong but skewed sense of rhythm—is a hallmark of Martinů’s compositional style.

Another example of metric shifting occurs in the opening bars of the introduction section, as Martinů cleverly shifts the accompaniment figure from the beginning of the primary beat in measures thirty-nine and forty, to the beginning of the secondary beat in measures forty-one through forty-five. He achieves a playful sense by keeping the melody in the cello regular, but shifting the feel of the accompaniment around it.

Similarly, Martinů manipulates rhythm in the closing six bars of the movement. Here he condenses and then expands the rhythmic call and response between the winds and the piano, which in turn distorts the sense of meter for the final four accented notes of the movement.

Fig. 3 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, mm. 214-219) Martinů’s treatment of melody and theme in this movement is representative of his customary style of melodic development, that of germinal development. The thematic

37 material in the movement can be divided into two main parts—the melodic material from measures 37 through 107, and the melodic material from the rest of the movement which is first presented in the opening two measures. The first melodic source material is the opening statement in the cello in measures 37 through 49 (see Fig. 4) Martinů never restates this melody as an entire unit, but rather uses fragments of it to create new melodic ideas. He uses the melodic fragment from measure 38 as a basis for imitation in measures 54-70 and again in the Poco meno mosso measures, 76-80. Additionally,

Martinů takes the melodic germ of a large ascending leap from measures 39 and 40 and uses this throughout the first half of the movement. He then expands this germ, creating a new melodic idea in the violin at measure 83.

Another important source of melodic material in this movement is the fanfare theme that is first stated by the trumpet in the opening two measures. Martinů does not return to this theme until about halfway through the movement in measure 100 when he begins to use it as a source for germinal development. He fragments the first two beats of the melody and uses this germ as an imitative device throughout the B and C-sections. He also uses the rhythmic component of the same melodic germ to create innovative accompaniment throughout the movement (e.g. piano, mm. 127-132).

Fig. 4 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, trumpet, mm. 1-2)

Fig. 5 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, piano, mm. 127-132)

38 Martinů employs a significantly large number of key areas within this single movement. He frequently shifts key area within a single melody or figure, such as the opening piano solo, which begins in C Major and concludes in C# tonality. Measure 37 then begins in A minor, but transforms into a polytonal section around measure 53.

Polytonality is a common feature in Martinů’s music, but here he uses it in a unique way.

Rather than several competing lines that are fixed in their own key areas, Martinů fragments melodic material and shifts the key area of each fragment, layering these fragments on top of each other to create a polytonal result. In measures 58 through 61, for example, the piano is functioning in A Major, concurrent to a thematic statement by the clarinet and cello in Eb Major. Martinů’s use of polytonality does not create a mood of turmoil or angst, but rather contributes to the excitement and exuberant nature of the music.

Fig. 6 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Prologue, mm. 58-60) Though Martinů does not follow traditional tonal progression with his multitude of key areas in this movement, he does employ a familiar sense of statement-departure-

39 return. The movement begins in G Major, but departs quickly to many key areas, some closely related, others more distant—C Major, C#, A minor, A Major, Eb Major, D

Major, E Major, Bb Major, and G minor. However, even after such a multitude of key areas, Martinů cleverly moves from Bb Major (m. 168) to its relative minor, G minor (m.

185), and then locks on D dominant to signal the return to G Major (m. 200). This initiation and return to G Major give the movement harmonic balance and a sense of tonal stability.

Martinů’s orchestration in this movement is a mix of traditional and non- traditional. His scoring of the trumpet, for example, is fairly traditional, primarily employing it for fanfare figures. The trumpet states the first fanfare theme in the opening three measures, but does not play another note until measure 136, at which point it briefly repeats a rhythmic figure to reinforce an ensemble crescendo to measure 139. Aside from the few measures at mm. 146-167, during which the trumpet plays a slightly more melodic role, the trumpet’s only role is to provide fanfare statements of the main theme and reinforce rhythm with simple rhythmic supporting parts.

Another notable feature of Martinů’s orchestration is his unique combination of timbres and his constant shifting of musical roles. Martinů combines wind, string, and piano timbres in all registers of the instruments and in various musical contexts. For example, the bassoon’s role shifts rapidly and frequently in the first part of the movement. It is first treated as an accompanimental bass voice blending with piano (mm.

41-45), then as a melodic treble voice blending with clarinet (mm. 68-76), and later as the leading voice in a trio with violin and cello in a transition passage (mm. 76-80). This type

40 of orchestration is particularly valuable for wind players’ musical development, as they are forced to adjust to wind, string, and piano timbres very rapidly.

41 Movement II, Tango

Jarmila Kröschlová provided the following description of the tango to Martinů:

“Love dance of the two couples” (3 minutes). The Dish-Cloth and the Lid, the Pot and the Twirling-Stick. A sentimental and passionate tango. This tango is written mainly for the Dish-Cloth taking into consideration his characteristics and rhythm. The Dish-Cloth courts the Lid, is passionate and languid, bold and simply polite. The Lid makes little response, but tolerates everything. Throughout these last two dances the Broom shows his displeasure.”36

Martinů’s musical representation of this dance is extremely vivid and dramatic.

Throughout the movement he first uses the cello, then trumpet, bassoon, and finally clarinet to represent the characters of the ballet, providing each with expressive melodies to sing on top of dance-like accompaniment.

The form of this movement is more clearly delineated than the Prologue. It can be classified as a rounded binary large form broken into smaller subdivisions of form. After a three measure dramatic opening statement in c minor, the cello sings a melancholy tune, and then elaborates it in a second statement. This first statement, eleven measures in length, comprises the first part of the A section. The remainder of the A section is led by the trumpet, which echoes a similar sentiment in two further statements of melody, totaling twenty-five measures. The trumpet’s final statement reaches a climactic solo moment, signaling the conclusion of the A section. The B section is preceded by a nine- measure transition and begins with a two-measure introduction. It is starkly different from the A section in character, tonality, and texture. The bassoon in its high range leads this twenty-one-measure section. Finally, a ten-measure transition leads to an abbreviated return of the A section. Martinů uses the same orchestration and tonality in the return as he does in the beginning of the movement, making it a true return.

36 Ibid., xvi.

42

Fig. 7 (Formal construction, La revue de cuisine, Tango) Martinů’s use of this form for the Tango is not a coincidence. Early tangos (prior to

1915) tended to use a tripartite form, while tangos after 1915 used a bipartite form.37

Martinů combined these two formal structures to create a rounded bipartite form for this movement.

Tonally, the Tango is unique. The A and Aˈ sections are based in a C-natural minor tonality, but both the melody and accompaniment have unique features. The first melody in the cello begins in C-natural minor, but shifts to a C phrygian tonality in the second phrase. Martinů’s inclusion of the lowered second scale degree contributes a feel of exoticism, which coordinates with the program of the music. The accompaniment to the trumpet melody is harmonically unusual. In measures 13 through 20 the left hand of the piano articulates C Major triads on the strong beats of the measure while the clarinet and bassoon play an ostinato on Bb/C. Though these pitches spell a C dominant seventh chord, the harmony does not function as such. Rather, the piano and winds function

37 Gerard Béhague, "Tango," In Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online. http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu/subscriber/article/grov e/music/27473 (accessed January 8, 2012).

43 exclusively in a harmonic sense, but are unified by their rhythmic role as a driving ostinato. Furthermore, as the trumpet’s melody progresses, each new phrase modulates higher to create a sense of forward motion. The bassoon and clarinet always play the interval of a major second, but shift from Bb/C up a tritone to E/F#, then up a fourth to

A/B. The fascinating aspect of this accompaniment is that the piano never modulates with the winds. Rather, the piano maintains its ostinato on C Major throughout the remainder of the A section.

Martinů cleverly shifts the C tonality from the A section into a dominant function, which hints at a modulation to f minor. However, the two-measure introduction to the B section is in a surprising F Major. This stark contrast to all of the sultry tonality that came before it is representative of the “sentimental” aspect of the tango. The B section remains in F Major until the transition to the Aˈ section begins at measure 72. Martinů signals a return to C minor through the addition of flats in the piano part as well as a C drone in the violin. Also of note in this transition is Martinů’s use of extended harmonies, ninths and eleventh chords in the piano part, an element that clearly marks the jazz influence in this work. The return of the cello’s passionate tango from the beginning of the movement is accompanied by a return to C minor, completing the rounded binary form of the movement.

In contrast to the Prologue, Martinů’s melodic writing in Tango is quite lyrical and does not utilize germinal development. Rather, the melodic writing is straightforward—melody and its accompaniment—and the development comes from the surrounding harmonies and the tension devices employed in the accompaniment. Though not a note-for-note transcription of the cello melody from the first phrases, the trumpet

44 melody in the second half of the A section is imitative of the character and mood of the first melody. This consistency of melodic line is in complete contrast to Martinů’s treatment of melody in the first movement, in which he explores melodic elaboration through the use of fragmentation and germinal development.

In addition to long lyrical lines, Martinů uses special treatment of rhythm to add to the dramatic element of this movement. Melodically, he employs a mix of duple and triple rhythms to create a feeling of improvisation in the melody, a jazz-inspired trait. For example, the first solo phrase of the cello includes several levels of rhythm and division of the beat—eighth notes, eighth note triplets, and quarter note triplets. This mix of rhythm in a single melodic line imitates the way a person might sing or speak his emotions, which in turn makes the musical line feel free and unmetered. It also creates a level of believability and persona in the characterization of the cello as one of the characters from the ballet, namely the Dish-Cloth.

Fig. 8 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Tango, cello, mm. 4-11) Martinů also uses rhythm in the accompaniment to create drama and tension. It is actually his rhythmic restraint that is so powerful. The steady plodding of the piano in the first thirty-two measures of the movement is insistent and unwavering. It creates a sense of tension building to a point of release in measure 33, which in turn creates a heightened sense of drama. The rhythm that Martinů elects for this accompaniment is not arbitrary; it is intentionally one of the two common tango accompaniment patterns38. Martinů

38 Ibid.

45 intentionally sets this movement in duple meter, a standard for tangos, and gives the accompaniment this specific rhythm to infuse authenticity into the tango.

Fig. 9 (Two tango accompaniment patterns, Grove Music Online)39 Martinů’s orchestrational choices in this movement differ dramatically from the

Prologue. Instrumental stereotypes are reversed, as the cello, trumpet, and bassoon function as the principal carriers of melody. For example, the violin, accustomed to serving a melodic function, serves a purely accompanimental role throughout the entirety of the movement. It only receives one small moment of melodic interest in measures 40 through 48, and that moment is simply a transitional one. Similarly, the piano only receives melodic material in moments of transition—measures 33 through 36 and again at measures 72 through 80. Martinů chooses to not give primary melodic material to either of these traditionally melodic instruments. Likewise, the clarinet only contributes a parallel line to the bassoon’s melody in the B section. Otherwise, the usually melodic clarinet is restricted to accompaniment.

The color choices that Martinů selects in this movement are noteworthy. He employs pizzicato strings at the transition into the B section to create a feeling of uneasiness and foreboding, which in turn gives the music forward motion. Following the transition, the violin and cello are orchestrated as harmonic accompaniment, playing pizzicato quadruple and triple stops, emulating the sound of a guitar. Here Martinů’s orchestration is a very clever nod to the origins of the dance. Another interesting orchestration decision is the use of a very high range of the bassoon to deliver the B

39 Ibid.

46 theme. He later combines this sweet color with middle range clarinet in measures 56 through 71, which blends well with the light trumpet countermelody in measures 62 through 71. One final unique color choice is the use of col legno in the violin in measures

72 through 79, mimicking the sound of the body of a guitar being struck.

47 Movement III, Charleston

Perhaps more than any other movement in La revue de cuisine, the third movement is representative of the social environment in which Martinů was living during the 1920s. Jazz and popular dance were flourishing, and Martinů chose, like many other composers, to immerse himself in the popular music of the time and incorporate it into his compositions. The Charleston was at the peak of its popularity and acceptance into the general population. It is described as “a lively social dance”40 that originated in black

America. The dance itself is described as including

“shimmying, exuberant and sometimes violent kicking and arm-swinging, and slapping of parts of the body with the hands, all of which were performed in the seemingly awkward posture of a half-squat, with hunched shoulders, knees together and toes pointing inward; the effect, however, was one of grace and lighthearted abandon. As a stage dance the Charleston’s movements included vigorous side kicks, flailing of the arms and swinging of the torso.”41

Musicians Cecil Mack and James P. Johnson are credited as some of the principal influences in the development of the Charleston, namely due to their composition

Charleston written in 1923. The following musical fragment from the composition demonstrates a primary rhythmic feature of the Charleston style, which Martinů used as a basis for this movement of La revue de cuisine.

40 Pauline Norton, "Charleston (ii)," In Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu/subscriber/article/grov e/music/05463 (accessed January 8, 2012). 41 Ibid.

48

Fig. 10 (C. Mack and J.P. Johnson, Charleston, from Oxford Dictionary of Music)42 As with most popular dances, this movement is constructed in a simple form, comprised of an introduction, a first section of the dance divided into two large segments, a second section of the dance, and a brief concluding tag.

Fig. 11 (Formal construction, La revue de cuisine, Charleston)

The unusual formal feature of this movement, however, is the proportion of the introduction as compared to the dance. The entire movement is only 101 measures long, yet the introduction comprises forty-two of these measures. Though written as an introduction to the third movement of the suite, this segment of music was originally demarcated from the rest of the Charleston number in the full ballet. In the ballet, these forty-two measures comprise a separate dance that eventually blends into the Charleston itself. Its plot connection is to serve as a duel between the Broom and the Dish-Cloth, and

Jarmila Kröschlová even delineated the dance with its own title “Duel.” Her scenario to

Martinů read, “Duel (1/2 minute). A dance featuring the Broom. The Broom can no

42 Ibid.

49 longer bear such disorder and must give vent to his anger. He challenges the Dish-Cloth to a duel. (The character-dance changes into a Charleston).”43 This delineation of the two dances explains the substantial proportion of the introduction within the Charleston movement of the suite.

Tonally, the movement is very straightforward. It begins on the same tonality with which the Tango concluded, C minor, the cello providing continuity between the two movements. Martinů uses gradually ascending pitch to connect C minor to an eventual pedal on D in measures 35 through 42, which signals the new key of G Major. The

Charleston is tonally grounded in G Major, with internal modulations at the end of each large phrase to the mediant, Bb Major. The movement concludes with a strong affirmation of Bb Major.

Martinů’s treatment of melody in this movement can be divided into two sections—the introduction, and the Charleston. His melodic development in the introduction utilizes gradual expansion of an initial motive to create increasingly longer melodic lines. The first melodic fragment is a searching seven-note motive in the bassoon. This motive is stated three times, each at a higher pitch level, the third statement resulting in an expanded fifteen-note statement. Martinů continues to expand the line until it seems virtually continuous. He then utilizes linear hocket between the bassoon and the clarinet, each of which dovetails the other’s part to create a continuous line of eighth notes. He briefly adds cello to the linear development and continues to raise the pitch level to add to the forward motion of the introduction. This technique, combined

43 Christopher Hogwood, La revue de cuisine, Édition critique (Paris: Alphonse Leduc, 2003), xvi.

50 with the thirty-four-measure accelerando (Poco a poco allegro), is highly effective in developing a small amount of melodic material to propel the music into the Charleston.

The use of melody in the Charleston is quite different from the introduction. Here the melody is stated immediately in its complete form, as opposed to developing a small amount of material into a longer melody. The melody is balanced into four-measure subphrases that combine to create eight-measure phrases. The phrases are then joined as a parallel period. The second period contains two instances of melodic extension at measures 71 and 72, and again in measures 77 through 80. Excluding the melodic extensions, the two periods are well balanced. This double period is repeated, and then followed by a third period of balanced eight-measure phrases, each also divided into four- measure subphrases. The final five measures function as a tag, or codetta to bring the

Charleston to a conclusion. Undoubtedly, Martinů composed the Charleston with regular melodies and balanced phrases to emulate the dance.

Although Martinů gives the primary melody to the trumpet throughout the

Charleston, he also employs a unique melodic device—the simulation of collective improvisation. The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz defines collective improvisation as

“simultaneous improvisation by several or all members of a group, each contributing a line of equal importance to the others.”44 Though Martinů composed and clearly notated each voice, the nature of each instrument’s line is improvisatory, which contributes to an overall sense of collective improvisation. This style of improvisation was prominent in

44 Barry Kernfeld, ed. "Collective improvisation," In The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz, 2nd ed., Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu/subscriber/article/grov e/music/J095500 (accessed January 9, 2012).

51 early New Orleans style Dixieland and jazz music, and was certainly a style of music that

Martinů was exposed to while he was in Paris.

Martinů’s use of rhythm in this movement is indicative of his exposure to and familiarity with the popular dance forms of the time. Throughout the Charleston Martinů employs syncopated rhythms in both the melody and accompaniment to give the dance an authentic feel. The consistent rhythmic grouping of the dance divides each measure into three parts with the first and second parts each taking up three eighths of the measure, and the third part taking up the remaining two eighths, or one quarter of the measure.

Though the rhythm is not always notated as a syncopated rhythm, accents and articulation patterns create the syncopation. For example, the continuous eighth notes in the melody are frequently grouped in a 3+3+2 pattern, which aligns with the standard Charleston rhythm in the piano.

Fig. 12 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Charleston, mm. 83-85) Martinů further exploits the 3+3+2 groupings by augmenting the accent pattern in the second subphrase of each phrase, such as in measures 49 and 50.

52

Fig. 13 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Charleston, mm. 49-50) To create an illusion of improvisation in the melody line, Martinů varies the rhythmic durations, from regular note groupings of one, two, or three eighth notes, to quarter note triplets and, most distinctively, a quarter note quintuplet of a full-measure duration. This last rhythm is unique in its ability to make the measure feel as though it is dragging or being stretched out. This sense of loss of time allows the melodic voice, in this case the trumpet, to sound as though it is free and improvised. Martinů adheres to standard practice for this type of music by maintaining the strict and continuous underlying rhythm in the piano and violin, intending to imitate a rhythm section of a jazz band.

53

Fig. 14 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Charleston, mm. 43-48) However, in the second phrase of the period, at which point the instruments function in more of a collective improvisatory nature, the piano changes function from rhythm section timekeeper to equal melodic carrier. Here, Martinů adds more accents to the piano part and writes two measures of half note triplets, creating the impression of free time within the piano melody.

Fig. 15 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Charleston, mm. 59-62) Martinů’s orchestrational choices effectively embody the sound of the Charleston.

His use of muted trumpet adds an essential color to the melody, and because of his scoring of each melodic line in a similar range the instruments seem to be equal

54 counterparts in the moments of collective improvisation. In addition to this orchestrational borrowing from the jazz medium in the Charleston section of the movement, he also uses ingenious orchestration in the introduction. The cello begins as a drone, repeating the pitch “c” underneath the searching bassoon melody. Martinů changes the color of this drone by adding trills to each note, and then descends into steady pizzicato notes on every beat. This pizzicato line in the cello is a clever way to imitate a walking bass line, typically played by the bass player of a rhythm section in a jazz ensemble. The walking bass line, eventually broken up and handed off to the violin, signals the spirit of the impending Charleston, a very innovative orchestrational choice.

55 Movement IV, Final

The final movement of the suite La revue de cuisine corresponds directly to the final dance in the original ballet. Jarmila Kröschlová’s description of this finale is as follows: “Final dance. Foxtrot or shimmy (3 minutes). The Broom and the Dish-Cloth bring the Lid to the Pot, followed by the Twirling-Stick. All in exuberant merriment. The

Pot is happy. The Broom is satisfied with himself. The Dish-Cloth and the Twirling-Stick are extravagantly merry.”45 As the story is meant to combine all of the previous action and dances, so does the music of the Final. The movement begins with a nearly identical opening to the Prologue—a statement of the fanfare theme, slightly altered, in the bassoon followed by the displaced accompanimental pattern in the piano. This feature of thematic unity signals that the music and story are approaching resolution.

The formal layout of the Final is sectional, with thematic unity serving to link the sections. Following a twenty-five-measure introduction, Martinů expands upon the original theme of the piece for nineteen measures. After this A section a new theme is presented in the violin. The B section is eighteen measures in length and is interrupted by a four-measure statement of a foxtrot accompaniment in the piano (measures 63-66). A second elaborated statement of the B section, still led by the violin, segues into the C section at measure 86. Again, Martinů presents a new theme, but this theme is very closely related to the B theme, which assists with the formal continuity of the movement.

As with the B section, the C section repeats, but with slight variation—the second C section is surrounded on both ends by eight measures of the piano foxtrot. At measure

45 Christopher Hogwood, La revue de cuisine, Édition critique (Paris: Alphonse Leduc, 2003), xvii.

56 135 Martinů returns to the B section, this time with the melody shared between violin and cello. The return to “B” leads to closing material in measure 147, which in turn leads to the final statement of the C theme to complete the movement. Similar to the other movements of the suite, Martinů avoids standard classical form. However, his use of thematic continuity, repetition of ideas, and common signaling devices generate familiarity and predictability, while still allowing him formal freedom.

Fig. 16 (Formal construction, La revue de cuisine, Final) Tonally, the Final is straightforward to follow, but still interesting. The movement begins with a statement of the theme that is firmly in C Major, taken over by a C Major piano tonic-dominant accompaniment. Just as in the Prologue, the piano solo drifts away from C Major to a pedal on C# which Martinů uses to modulate to D Major for the A section of the movement. The A section remains in D Major until a sequence of chain suspensions in measures 37-44 results in a modulation to G Major for the first B section.

As is his custom, Martinů does not stay in G Major for long, and he modulates to F Major for the second B section. Following one additional modulation, this time by mediant relationship to D Major, Martinů reaches the ultimate goal of the work. From the C

57 section until the conclusion of the piece, there is no modulation away from D Major, and

D Major is affirmed repeatedly until the last measure of music. Although D Major is not the key in which La revue de cuisine began, it is closely related, and thus a logical arrival from the initial G Major from the Prologue. Martinů’s harmonic progression from beginning to end of the work as a whole aligns with his neoclassical approach to the piece. He elects not to use standard classical forms and tonal layouts, yet he used elements of these to instill a feeling of familiarity within the piece, which undoubtedly contributes to its success as a unified and cohesive work.

The most evident unifying device in this movement is Martinů’s use of melody.

First, he links the Final to the rest of the work by returning to the fanfare theme from the

Prologue, thus signaling impending resolution. Within the movement, however, Martinů uses melodic development ingeniously. The B theme in measure 45, though original, is closely related to the fanfare theme through the use of stepwise motion and centering on the tonic and dominant. The character of this theme is reminiscent of the fanfare theme, despite being a new theme. Furthermore, the C theme is a direct derivation of the B theme. This new theme begins as an augmented fragment of the B theme which, despite its nature as a contrasting lyrical melody, allows it to be cohesive with the B theme.

Moreover, Martinů further develops this melodic fragment and creates a countermelody in the trumpet that is a displacement and then diminution of the C theme.

58

Fig. 17 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Final, mm. 86-92)

He continues this use of germinal development in the closing material at measure 147, where he fragments the B theme and uses it in a cadential context to signal the return of C to finish the piece.

Along with continuity in formal design and melodic treatment, Martinů achieves additional cohesion through his treatment of rhythm in the Final. To begin with, Martinů uses a similar approach to rhythm in the introduction of the Final as he did in the introduction of the Prologue. However, in this movement the metric displacement and shifting of barlines is less jarring and slightly more regular. For example, in the first movement the fanfare statement lasts seven beats, and the piano enters on the eighth beat, which immediately displaces the piano rhythm so that it feels like it begins on beat two rather than beat one. By comparison, in this movement the fanfare statement lasts an even six beats, and the piano enters on the seventh beat. Hence, the piano solo does not begin on the weak beat of the measure and does not feel immediately displaced. Where in the first movement Martinů shifts the placement of the lowest pitch on the piano immediately after the solo begins, in this movement he waits until the ninth measure of the piano solo in measure 12 to begin shifting the placement of the lowest pitch. As a result of this

59 minor change Martinů is able to establish a relation to the first movement while still providing enough contrast to signal the finale of the work.

Another example of the rhythmic continuity in this movement is Martinů’s use of the foxtrot-inspired rhythm to introduce the B section in measures 63-66 and to move in and out of the C’ section (measures 111-116 and 127-134). This syncopated rhythm is reminiscent of the piano accompaniment in the Charleston section of the third movement, and even contains the same accent groups of 3+3+2, such as in measure 66. These moments of rhythmic contrast, with syncopation, quarter note triplets, and cross rhythms, demonstrate the jazz and popular music influences in Martinů’s life at the time he composed this work.

Fig. 18 (Martinů, La revue de cuisine, Final, piano, mm. 63-66)

Martinů’s orchestration in this movement is somewhat more standard than the previous movements. The piano generally supplies accompaniment, and even the significant solo moment at the beginning of the movement is accompanimental in character. The strings are in pairs for most of the movement with the exception of the beginning of the B section where the clarinet and violin are paired. Similarly, Martinů frequently pairs the two woodwinds throughout the movement. The trumpet’s role in the

Final is more supportive in nature, providing harmonic and rhythmic support to the melodic voices. The fleeting moments of melody that the trumpet does receive serve less of a primary melodic role and more of a countermelodic one; in the C section the violin carries the main melody while the trumpet echoes fragments of the melody at a softer

60 dynamic. Throughout the entire work Martinů gives the trumpet the most varied orchestrational role—from rhythmic and harmonic supporter to provider of fanfares to a lead melodic instrument. This variety in orchestration is evidence of Martinů’s true compositional ingenuity.

61 Conducting Considerations for La revue de cuisine

The most fundamental conducting consideration with this piece is simply whether or not to conduct it. This decision depends on the players’ comfort and ability levels as well as the time available to prepare the piece. The conductor should decide whether his role is to conduct, to coach, or both. Assuming the conductor has decided to conduct the piece, he should conduct the first five measures in the first movement and then allow the pianist to play unconducted through measure 36. To facilitate counting for the other players, it is best to mark each measure of the piano solo with a small gesture. There are few other conducting challenges in this movement. However, there are several opportunities for interpretation. At Poco meno mosso at measure 76 the conductor needs to decide whether the Poco meno mosso is a sudden change, or whether the five measures that follow it are a gradual lessening of the tempo. He must also decide whether measure

83 is suddenly faster, or whether measures 81 and 82 are an accelerando to the Tempo I°.

The second movement has several key conducting considerations. Initially, the conductor must decide if the first two notes will be dictated or conducted in tempo. He must also decide what Martinů intended by his tempo indications Lento, Poco andante,

Poco moderato, and Moderato. It is crucial that the correct tempi are selected so that the first forty-eight measures have musical direction towards the Andante section. An additional conducting consideration is whether or not to add a slight ritardando before the return to the Lento at measure 82. This is not indicated, but rather is implied by the slowing in rhythmic motion. Finally, the conductor must decide whether this movement should be performed attaca to the third movement. Martinů does not indicate whether to

62 do so, but the continuity of the cello on a C drone leads to the logical conclusion that the movements should be performed attaca.

The third movement contains the most significant conducting challenge: the thirty-four measure accelerando from the beginning to the vivo. The conductor must decide whether the movement will begin in two or four, and should pace the accelerando gradually, so that it feels organic, not contrived. If one elects to start in four, the rhythmic language of the cello guides one to switch the meter to two at measure twelve when the cello begins playing a steady bass line. This rhythmic steadiness will assist with the transition from four to two.

As with the first movement, the conductor should use minimal gestures at the beginning of the fourth movement. He should merely mark the measures from 4 through

21, then use measures 22 through 24 as a preparation for the ensemble entrance in measure 25. He must also determine whether the Allegretto at measure 26 is faster or slower than the Tempo di Marcia at the beginning of the movement, or whether it is just an indication of style change. Additionally, the conductor needs to decide if the Tempo I° at measure 62 refers to the Tempo di Marcia or the Allegretto tempo. One final anomaly is the indication at measure 135 of Tempo I°. This is curious because there has been no indication of slowing or accelerating since the previous Tempo I°. It is at the conductor’s discretion to decide whether Martinů intended tempo to be slightly brisker at this point, whether he intended for a slight slackening of the tempo leading up to this point, or whether it is simply a redundant marking. As with the previous decisions, it is imperative that the conductor base his choice on concrete musical reasoning.

63 CHAPTER 4

ANALYTICAL STUDY OF JAZZ SUITE

Background and Circumstances of Composition

Martinů composed Jazz Suite in Paris only one year after he composed La revue de cuisine. According to Dr. Miloslav Nedbal, who wrote the introduction to Jazz Suite,

Martinů “believed the coming of jazz to be an influx of a new healthy force in music which operated—mostly through its marked rhythmics—as a catalyst arousing it from stupor and lethargy of the fading romanticism.”46 In 1925 Martinů described the impact of jazz in Paris:

“In the vehemence and polymorphism of Parisian life, this phenomenon was at present not a mere coincidence, neither was it a coincidence that jazz-band shortly became a perfect master of the day. Some time its part in this century will be of interest as an example of how the period does enforce its expression. Hence an enormous rise of rhythmics prevailing over all the other components, hence the violent blow against the soft lyricism of impressionism.”47

During this time Martinů and librettist Ribemont-Dessaignes were commissioned to write a jazz opera Tears of Knife to be performed at the Baden-Baden Festival. When the libretto was rejected for being too eccentric, Martinů composed Jazz Suite as compensation for the failed opera.48 He began its composition in Paris and completed the four-movement piece in Polička in 1928. Unlike the failed jazz opera, Jazz Suite was a huge success.

46 Miloslav Nedbal, Introduction to Jazz Suite (Prague: Panton, 1970), n.p. 47 Ibid. 48 Ibid.

64 Though Martinů was undoubtedly influenced by jazz and popular music that surrounded him, he wrote Jazz Suite with a non-literal approach. It does not use standard jazz instrumentation; it calls for oboe, clarinet, bassoon, two trumpets, two trombones, piano, two violins, and viola. About half of the eleven instruments—clarinet, trumpets, trombones, and piano—are found in typical jazz settings. Thus Martinů is able to apply his unique compositional voice to the work by using jazz-inspired rhythmic and harmonic devices in the context of twentieth century neoclassicism. Biographer Brian Large asserts, however, that Jazz Suite is

“…not particularly interesting either as jazz or as a composition, possibly because Martinů was here little more than an explorer searching for a valid means of expression. The jazz phase was to pass, but not before he had extracted certain rhythmic and melodic elements which were gradually to be evolved into a distinctive style…”49

Regardless of its musical merit, Jazz Suite is undeniably a unique composition.

49 Brian Large, Martinů (London: Duckworth, 1975), 42-43.

65 Movement I, Prelude

The first movement of Jazz Suite, as with the first movement of La revue de cuisine, utilizes a non-traditional formal structure. Martinů avoids the use of standard classical form, but the movement is nonetheless sectional and easy to follow. He uses textural change to delineate sections of the movement, which provides the listener with structural reference points that aid the musical organization of the movement. On a large scale the movement can be divided into four sections—a forty-five measure A section, a twenty-five measure B section, a twenty measure C section, and a twenty-four measure concluding D section.

Fig. 19 (Formal construction, Jazz Suite, Prelude) Martinů utilizes texture as the primary compositional device to delineate sections.

For example, the B section is marked by a modification in texture from a combination of strings, trombones, and woodwinds, to only piano and strings. This dramatic contrast alerts the listener’s ear to the presence of new material. Similarly, the shift from the B section to the C section is marked by a thinning of texture. The end of the B section is

66 scored for tutti ensemble with each voice quite active. The start of the C section, in contrast, transforms the wind writing to less rhythmically active staccato eighth notes, reduces the strings to isolated pizzicato notes, and eliminates half of the brass instruments. Again, this dramatic alteration of texture creates a structural marker. The final section is also delineated by a thickening in texture. The transition to the D section is created by a rapid increase in scoring through the building of active woodwind and piano parts and the final inclusion of busy brass parts at measure 90, all of which transition into the final allegro section of the movement at measure 91.

Martinů’s use of tonality in the Prelude is unusual because of its lack of consistency. Throughout the movement there are frequently alternating moments of tonality and bitonality. In a vertical sense, Martinů does not use functional harmony in a traditional way. The movement is not centered on a single key area, nor does it evolve from one key area to another closely related key area. Though there are many moments of vertical alignment of chords, these chords do not serve as part of a functional harmonic progression. Martinů’s extreme use of chromaticism in this movement often distorts any sense of vertical harmony; however, he places melodic material and motivic units in clearly defined keys. This creates linear tonality that, although constantly changing, gives the listener a tonal reference. Each statement of a theme is in a clearly defined key, but it is the rapid changing of key areas along with competing key areas in the accompaniment that eliminates a strong sense of tonality throughout the movement. As an example, the initial statement of the theme in the woodwinds is in Bb Major, and the accompaniment in the pizzicato strings is in an undefined key area. The accompaniment is more gestural than pitch driven, and is constructed based on a chromatic shrinking of interval size.

67

Fig. 20, (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 1-4) The first statement of the theme is punctuated by a C dominant-seventh chord in measure ten, but this C7 chord does not function as a dominant. Rather, Martinů uses the C pitch center to transition to the next statement of the theme in measure twelve- a statement in C

Major. These opening thirteen measures demonstrate all of the unique features of

Martinů’s use of tonality in this movement: bitonality with melody versus accompaniment in the opening statement; use of familiar chords in a non-functional setting in measure 10; and melodic use of tonality that does not align with vertical tonality.

Though tonality is not utilized in a traditional way in this movement, there are elements of functional harmony that do aid the construction. Whereas Martinů employs a

C dominant-seventh chord in an untraditional way to modulate to a statement of the theme in C Major in measure twelve, he uses more traditional cadential harmony to transition to other statements of the theme in other parts of the movement. One example

68 is his use of an A Major triad at the end of measure 19 that signals a cadence in D Major in measure 20. The thematic statement in measure 20 is in fact in D Major. Similarly,

Martinů embellishes F tonality with non-chord tones in measures 69 and 70 to signal dominant function, which he uses to cadence in Bb Major in measure 71.

However, just as frequently as Martinů applies traditional harmonic cadential gestures, he also applies less traditional means of modulating to new pitch centers. The

Prelude is so highly chromatic that Martinů often uses linear chromaticism to shift tonal centers. For example, he shifts from the tonal center of A Major in measure thirty to a tonal center of G Major in measure 46 through an ascending chromatic unison line in the strings in measures 44 and 45. Martinů uses a similarly subtle chromatic linear means of shifting tonality in measures 89 through 91 where he again modulates from A Major to G

Major. It is Martinů’s combination of chromatic linear modulation and mixing of traditional and non-traditional harmonic functions that offers him the ability to incorporate so many key areas (Bb Major, C Major, D Major, A Major, and G Major) into a movement that is only 115 measures long.

Martinů employs melody in a non-traditional way as well. There is a high degree of motivic unity throughout the movement, but the theme itself is not clearly defined. The first statement of the theme is in the woodwinds in the opening bars of the piece; however, the end of the theme is ambiguous with its continually shifting chromatic nature. Because of this ambiguity Martinů is able to fragment the theme and use these fragments throughout the movement as a unifying device. Likewise, he uses the generally jagged melodic shape of the theme as another unifying melodic device. He fragments the first two measures of the theme in measures 12 and 13 in the woodwinds and piano, and

69 again in measures 20 and 21 in the strings. Later Martinů uses a small fragment of the second measure of the theme in the strings in measure 31. Though this melodic material in the strings appears to be new, it is based on the original material. This is an example of

Martinů’s favored melodic technique- germinal development.

Figs. 21 and 22 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, m. 2, woodwinds, m. 31, strings)

Another recurrence of thematic fragments appears in the final allegro section of the movement. Here the music appears to be unrelated to the original theme, but the violin parts in measures 93 and 94 and the trumpet parts in measures 98 and 99 reveal fragmentation and imitation of the theme. Amidst the dense texture and high level of chromaticism Martinů achieves melodic continuity in subtle ways.

Fig. 23 (Martinů, Jazz Suite Prelude, mm. 98-99, trumpets) Martinů’s other means of melodic unity is echoing of melodic contour throughout the movement. A clear example of this melodic imitation is in the jagged intervals occurring in the accompaniment line under the opening statement of the theme. Though the theme and accompaniment are based in different tonalities, they are unified by their

70 common use of large leaps. This unifying device pervades the movement and gives stability to an otherwise unstable movement.

Fig. 24 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 64-65, strings) Although there is a single theme in this movement, Martinů includes a secondary thematic fragment that he uses at key structural moments. This secondary material is the two-measure motive used at the transition from the B section to the C section, at measure

83, and again in the final measures of the movement. The pesante material cannot be considered an independent theme because it is never fragmented, imitated, or utilized in any other form, and its shape is based on the same contour and widening intervals upon which the main theme is based. However, the unique character of this melodic material, slower, heavier, and always stated in unison, makes it memorable, and thereby aids in unifying the movement.

Martinů’s use of rhythm is distinctive as well, as in his juxtaposition of simple rhythms that fall on the beats with highly syncopated jazz-inspired rhythms. This is first evident in the main theme, which begins seven beats of on-the-beat accents and is followed immediately by syncopated rhythms. The first thirty measures of the movement are less heavily syncopated than what follows, and Martinů uses a highly syncopated transition in measures 27 through 29 to shift to the more syncopated style of the

71 remainder of the movement. The string line that begins at measure 30 is a series of syncopated rhythms, but Martinů cleverly juxtaposes a strict rhythm in the wind parts.

Despite the seemingly disparate feel of these two rhythms, Martinů was likely imitating the rhythmic content of a jazz ensemble, in which the rhythm section maintains a steady pulse and strict rhythm while the melody instruments are free to syncopate and distort the sense of pulse.

The use of cross rhythms, a feature also borrowed from jazz, is prevalent throughout the movement as well; it contributes to a key stylistic feature of Martinů’s music: the distortion of barlines. An interesting example of Martinů’s use of cross rhythm is his shifting of the syncopated rhythm sixteenth-eighth-sixteenth-eighth, which feels as if it were in 3/8, to various other meters. In measures 37 through 40 Martinů places this rhythm across alternating 2/8 and 3/8 measures. Later, in measures 78 through 81, he transfers this same rhythm to 4/8. His maintenance of the same rhythmic cell over altered meters results in cross rhythms as well as distorted barlines. He achieves a similar effect in measures 59 through 61 by superimposing a 3/16 pattern over 4/8 meter through the use of accents.

Fig. 25 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 59-61, strings)

72 Martinů also utilizes unexpected accents and shifting of melodic fragments to create a sense of shifting barlines. The main theme, for example, is first stated as an anacrusis to the first beat of the measure. However, Martinů shifts this theme in the second statement in measure 12 so that it is an anacrusis to the third beat of the measure.

For the third statement he returns to the original placement of the theme but adds accents in the piano on the upbeats, which shifts the feeling of the downbeats. This constant shift in metric feel demonstrates one aspect of Martinů’s unique style of rhythmic composition.

Fig. 26 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 19-21, piano and strings) The orchestration of the Prelude is distinct for several reasons. First the instrumentation itself is unique. In this small orchestra of eleven instruments Martinů elected to include only some of the orchestral woodwinds and brass. He chose single woodwinds (oboe, clarinet, and bassoon) and double brass (trumpets and trombones) but omitted flute and horn. Furthermore, the string section is seemingly incomplete, consisting of two violins and a viola, but no cello or bass. Though there is no account of why Martinů chose this particular instrumentation, one can speculate that it was to fuse classical and jazz elements.

73 One orchestrational device that Martinů uses in the first part of this movement is alternation of instrument families. By setting melodic statements consecutively rather than concurrently Martinů is able to maintain a thinner texture. This provides much needed contrast to the extremely thick texture that pervades the movement. Almost all of the instruments are playing for the majority of the Prelude. This thick texture may be an allusion to the occasionally busy sounds of jazz, but may also serve the simple role of providing contrast to the few unison moments of the movement. Though there is frequent use of grouping by instrument family in this movement, there are moments of clever integration, such as the section extension in measures 62 through 69. Prior to this moment each family of instruments functions almost independently. However, to provide a strong transition into the C section of the movement Martinů integrates the woodwind, brass, and piano parts.

A final distinctive orchestrational feature in the Prelude is the inclusion of stride piano effects interspersed throughout the movement. Stride piano playing, a style that developed in the context of ragtime, began in the late nineteenth century and was made famous by James P. Johnson. According to author and American music historian Charles

Hamm, Johnson’s playing “encompassed full chords in the right hand, often spanning a tenth, with a more flexible left hand that often moves in broken octaves and even larger intervals, giving rise to the name of “stride” piano for this kind of playing.”50 Martinů imitates this style of piano playing in the Prelude several times- measures 46 through 58 and measures 71 through 75. By including this style of piano playing Martinů employs elements of the jazz world to which he had so recently been exposed.

50 Charles Hamm, Music in the New World (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1983), 528.

74

Fig. 27 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Prelude, mm. 46-47, piano)

75 Movement II, Blues

Although the second movement is called Blues it does not follow any standard blues forms. Rather, the form is sectional and non-traditional, a feature that is common in

Martinů’s work of this period. The movement can be roughly divided into four sections: an A section in which a melody is stated twice, first by bassoon followed by oboe; a B section that offers a new theme and new orchestration led by the strings; a short Aˈ section that refers back to the opening; a C section that is distinguished by changes in texture, tempo, and dynamics; and a final A” section that recalls material from both the A and B sections and returns to the texture of the opening.

Fig. 28 (Formal construction, jazz Suite, Blues) Martinů’s use of tonality in the Blues movement is unusual. He does not incorporate a true blues scale nor does he follow any blues harmonic progression. Rather, he alludes to the blues through mood and the sporadic use of blue notes. The opening bassoon/oboe melody, for example, does not adhere strictly to a Bb blues, but does lean on the blues note Db several times to give an essence of blues to the melody. Similarly,

76 the accompaniment underneath this bassoon/oboe melody is not built with traditional blues progression chords, but the strings do provide a pedal second inversion Bb triad that hints at Bb blues. What is particularly unusual about Martinů’s tonality in this section is the piano part. The top voice of the four-voice piano scoring remains on a pedal

F throughout, coinciding with the viola pedal F, while the bottom three voices ascend by semitone at the interval of a perfect fourth. The result is increasingly smaller intervals between the pedal and the remaining voices, which creates an increasingly dissonant accompaniment. The resulting chords in the piano do not serve a vertical harmonic function, but the chromatic nature of the line does contribute to the overall blues essence of the movement.

Martinů subtly reemphasizes the blues note Db by linking the A section to the B section on this pitch. The oboe melody elides the two sections on a C# while the harmony takes over for the B section with the enharmonic C# tonality. Although the harmonic progression from the A section to the B section does not seem to follow a traditional direction, Martinů is able to connect the two through a clever use of the blues note Db/C# from the original key of Bb blues. Martinů maintains the relationship of a minor third when he modulates to g minor at measure 45. This common harmonic relationship gives unity to a harmonic structure that is otherwise very dense and difficult to decipher. As

Martinů endeavors to not take his music too seriously, he concludes the movement with an unexpected second inversion G Major triad. Although this is seemingly abrupt, the use of a major triad after a long period of G minor is another nod to the blues and its characteristic mixing of major and minor thirds.

77 A final notable feature of Martinů’s tonal language in this movement is his use of bitonality. It can be seen even within the piano part itself at measure 40, in which the left hand functions in Eb Major while the right hand functions in C Major.

Fig. 29 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Blues, mm. 40-41, piano) What makes this bitonality intriguing is Martinů’s clever transformation of dense bitonal sounds into more familiar and functional harmony, such as in measures 45 through 53 in the piano. Here Martinů transforms the piano line from two independent hands and tonalities, G minor then D Major in the left hand and G minor and A diminished in the right hand, to a unified D Major seventh chord in measure 51, and a D ninth chord in measure 52. Through this segment of music Martinů demonstrates a clever integration of his fondness for bitonality with more functional harmony as well as jazz-inspired harmony.

Fig. 30 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Blues, mm. 45-48, piano)

The melodic construction of this movement is both similar and dissimilar to the construction of the first movement of the suite. In both movements Martinů uses essential elements of the melody to create new melodic material; in this case, semitones and mixing of minor and major thirds. However, unlike the highly fragmented melodic language of the first movement, the Blues movement incorporates fully formed melodies.

78 The recurrence of melodic material is a highly neoclassical element of Martinů’s writing in this movement and aids in the formal design and continuity. In the A section Martinů states the primary theme in the bassoon and then elides this melody with a repeated, though truncated, statement of the melody in the oboe. This construction is unlike the typical germinal development that Martinů employs in many of his works. In the B section Martinů achieves similar continuity by stating a theme in the strings based on similar intervals as the primary theme and then repeating the same melody at a higher pitch level and with the added color of the oboe in measure 36. Furthermore, the melody in the C section, though new, is closely related to the previous themes due to its foundation on semitones. The C theme utilizes semitone motion similar to the A and B themes, but does so in the opposite direction. By doing so, Martinů achieves thematic unity throughout the movement. Finally, Martinů achieves melodic unity in the movement through the muted trumpet motive that recurs throughout the Blues. This simple theme is constructed of mixed major and minor thirds, which is a strong indicator of the blues element.

Due to the tempo and mood of the Blues movement, the rhythmic vitality is more subtle than in the other movements. However, the rhythmic choices are deliberate and reference both Martinů’s own style as well as the jazz and blues styles he was emulating.

The rhythmic nature of each theme in the movement is syncopated, though this syncopation is more sostenuto in character, unaccented, and vertical. Long syncopated lyrical melodies are pitted against very strict and plodding rhythms in the accompaniment. This is most likely an allusion to blues music, in which the accompaniment remains steady and rhythmic while the melody is free to sing above it.

79 Despite the insistent and steady accompaniment, Martinů achieves variety and directional interest by slightly altering the accompanimental rhythm each time it recurs.

For example, the viola begins the movement with a two-measure repeated ostinato of eighth notes followed by a quarter rest and quarter note. In the middle of the movement this rhythm is altered to become steady quarter notes in the second violin with a three eighth note hemiola ostinato in the first violin (measure 66). Finally, by the time the steady accompaniment returns to the viola at the end of the movement, Martinů has developed it into a six-beat triplet ostinato reminiscent of the original accompaniment pattern.

There are several unique orchestrational features of the Blues movement. The movement is scored for reduced forces—oboe, bassoon, one trumpet, piano, two violins, and viola. He eliminates the clarinet, one of the trumpets, and both trombones. This decision to eliminate the strident clarinet and most of the brass creates a more subdued and somber mood. The second movement is the only movement of the entire suite that does not use all eleven instruments. Martinů also uses the instruments in less traditional roles, scoring the strings as accompaniment for nearly two-thirds of the movement, and giving the primary melodic roles to the bassoon, oboe, and piano.

What is particularly noteworthy of the bassoon line is the high tessitura in which it is scored. The first statement of the theme by the bassoon is written in the tenor clef, and the last note elides with the oboe on F in measure nineteen. It is unusual for the bassoon to be scored so high that it meets with the oboe in the lower part of the oboe register. This scoring choice is effective in the emulation of the blues because the placement of the bassoon in the high register offers a vocal quality with more resistance

80 in the tone than if it had been scored in a more moderate range of a higher pitched instrument.

A final orchestrational feature of the movement is the restriction of the trumpet to a muted color. The trumpet does not serve its traditional roles of either fanfare or melody, but rather serves as a muted echo to the blue mood generated by the other melodic instruments. This color is highly effective in providing variety and contrast to the other instrumental colors.

Fig. 31 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Blues, mm. 53-55, trumpet)

81 Movement III, Boston

The formal structure of the Boston movement is the most clearly defined of Jazz

Suite; the four main sections of the movement are delineated by both thematic material and texture. The A section consists of a fifteen-measure introduction followed by a thirteen-measure statement of the A theme. This is followed by a dramatic shift in texture from tutti to solo piano as well as the introduction of the B theme in measure 29. The B section includes statements of the B theme as well as recurrences of the A material. In stark contrast to the previous two sections, the C section is characterized by a significant reduction in texture, from tutti to violin duet. This transparent texture of no more than three voices is maintained until a return to the introductory material occurs in measure

82, marking the nine-measure codetta that concludes the movement.

As with much of Martinů’s work from this time period, the formal structure is sectional and easy to follow, but it does not adhere to any standard classical forms. This movement, however, is a bit more traditional in its use of two primary themes and an additional melodic motive, each of which recurs to give the movement structure. This adaptation of classical techniques is a prime example of Martinů’s interpretation of neoclassic form.

82

Fig. 32 (Formal construction, Jazz Suite, Boston) Another feature that distinguishes this movement from the rest of Jazz Suite is its harmonic organization. On the surface the dense harmonies of Boston suggest polytonality. Although there are moments of this, such as in the piano part from measure

46 through measure 51, the piece is actually organized around a single tonal structure— the octatonic scale. The melodies and harmonies in this movement both stem from the octatonic scale—a series of alternating half steps and whole steps. The A theme that begins with the anacrusis to measure sixteen is an example of melodic use of the octatonic scale. Measures 15 through 17 utilize the pitches C, D, and Eb, which comprise the first three notes of an octatonic scale built on C. This grouping of pitches is then transposed up a step in the next two-measure subphrase, measures 18 and 19, and then up an additional half step in the last subphrase, measures 20 through 22. Use of portions of the octatonic scale pervades the movement and recurs each time there is a statement of the A theme. Martinů also employs the octatonic scale in each of the string lines in the C section of the movement beginning at measure 56. Although the exact melody is not recycled from previous themes, the tonal foundation is the same, which generates unity among all of the thematic material.

83 What gives the movement an especially high level of cohesion is the harmonic use of this same tonal collection. The octatonic scale contains within it two diminished triads as well as a half-diminished seventh chord. Martinů uses these harmonies as the foundation for the harmonic language of the movement. The prevailing harmonies are diminished triads and half-diminished seventh chords, which appear throughout the movement and are heard from the very first chord—a B half-diminished seventh chord.

Measure Chord 1 Bø7 3 Gø7 5 F#°7 6 Dø7 7 Fø7 8 F#ø7 9 g°7 16 c° 19 d° 23 Bø7 28 F#ø7 46 Bbø7 50 Eø7 53 Bø7 70 d°

Fig. 33 (Use of diminished triads and half-diminished seventh chords in Boston) In Boston there is a clever use of bitonality to create jazz-inspired harmonies.

When Martinů employs bitonality in this movement, he selects keys that, when combined, result in extended jazz harmonies such as ninth and eleventh chords. For example, in measure sixteen the winds form F Major tonality while the strings form C diminished tonality. Superficially unrelated, these harmonies actually combine to create an F9 chord. The same is true three measures later. When the winds create G Major, the strings create D diminished, but they form a G9 chord when combined. With his use of a unified melodic and harmonic pitch set foundation as well as the careful use of bitonality

84 to create extended jazz harmonies Martinů successfully instills order in what could otherwise be a harmonically unstable movement.

Despite the complex tonal construction of the thematic material in Boston the return of these themes and motives throughout the movement can be easily traced. The first recurring material Martinů presents is not a theme, but rather a melodic motive, which will be referred to as the “X motive.” The X motive is a four-note grouping of ascending semitones and is first stated in measure 7 as a triplet plus a half note. This motive is repeated an additional six times throughout the introduction. Martinů also mimics the X motive in the clarinet in measure 23, altering the rhythm to become four eighth notes, but retaining the ascending semitone motion. The X motive appears two other times- at the very end of the A section, measures 27 and 28, and at the start of the codetta, measures 82 through 84.

Fig. 34 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Boston, m. 7, brass) In addition to the X motive Martinů presents two themes in Boston. The first, the

A theme, is stated for the first time in the strings at the anacrusis to measure 16. This theme recurs twice during the B section- at measure 39 and again at measure 48. The second, the B theme, is stated for the first time in the piano at measure 29 and again at measure 46. To build cohesion in Boston, Martinů uses the B theme as a basis for the C

85 section, which is otherwise non-thematic. He fragments the B theme and uses it as a means of development and extension in the C section, a clever way of integrating the otherwise disconnected C section of the movement. Use of two primary themes is a standard means of constructing a movement, but Martinů’s simultaneous use of these themes is not standard. Traditionally one would expect to hear the second theme fully stated and often repeated before the first theme returns. However, Martinů restates the first theme almost immediately after the initial statement of the second theme. This nontraditional presentation of thematic material is another example of Martinů’s singular approach to neoclassicism.

Rhythmic treatment in this movement is, as in the other movements, a defining feature of the music. The chief rhythmic attribute is syncopation, especially extended sequences of off-the-beat accents. The end of the first theme, measures 20 through 22, is a clear example of this as it concludes with three consecutive syncopations.

Fig. 35 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Boston, m. 21, strings)

Another example is the second theme and the countermelodic echoes in the trombone and bassoon that follow. Both the theme and the responses in the winds are built on a series of consecutive syncopations. This same rhythmic pattern also pervades the string parts in the C section, unifying all three large sections of the movement through rhythm and syncopation.

86 Another rhythmic feature of this movement is the loose interpretation of the popular dance inspiration for the movement, the Boston. In the years following World

War I the Boston, also known as ‘valse Boston,’ became widely known in Europe.51 It was a triple meter dance in a moderate tempo that some say was responsible for replacing the fast Viennese waltz as the public’s favorite type of waltz.52 Martinů’s interpretation of the Boston in Jazz Suite is not literal in any sense, but his use of triple meter and occasional waltz-inspired rhythms such as dotted quarter-eighth-quarter are referential enough to honor the dance form and make the connection between his modern composition and the popular music that surrounded him.

There are several noteworthy orchestrational features of the Boston movement, namely texture, color combination, and range. Unlike the previous movement, Martinů utilizes all eleven instruments in Boston, but varies the texture frequently to provide diversity in sound. Measures 11 through 22, for example, do not use brass or piano at all.

Most significant is the C section, which is scored for just three voices—two violins and viola. Though a good portion of the scoring is by instrument family, Martinů also uses unique colors and color combinations to enhance the orchestrational range. To support the B theme in the piano he combines bassoon and a single trombone and pairs this unique combination with pizzicato triple stops in each of the string voices. These moments of color change offer much needed contrast to the very dense scoring that saturates the movement. Martinů also uses unusual ranges to vary the orchestration. The bassoon and viola both reach to the high ends of their registers, bassoon to tenor clef and

51 Julia Sutton, et al. "Dance," In Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu/subscriber/article/grove/music/ 45795 (accessed January 18, 2012). 52 Ibid.

87 viola to treble clef. When combined and then merged with the other voices, this creates an unusual color. This is best seen in measure 46 in which the viola and first violin are in unison while the bassoon and second violin are in unison an octave lower. Here Martinů has taken the bassoon out of its role as a woodwind instrument and replaced it as a member of the string section. This type of orchestration represents a hallmark of

Martinů’s writing.

Fig. 36 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Boston, mm. 45-46)

88 Movement IV, Finale

Although the Finale of Jazz Suite is increasingly frenetic, it has the most regular formal design. The movement has no introduction, and no true coda. Two main themes dominate, and the layout of these themes is very balanced. Martinů uses an overall symmetrical arch form as the structure for the movement, beginning with several statements of the A theme, transitioning to several statements of the B theme, interrupting with the central piano cadenza, and then inverting the presentation of the themes, B and then A, to conclude the piece. Such a regular formal design is quite unusual for Martinů’s work of this period but harkens to his penchant for neoclassicism and a desire for order and balance.

Fig. 37 (Formal construction, Jazz Suite, Finale) Though the formal layout is quite balanced and regular, Martinů’s trademark diversity in orchestration and thematic manipulation gives the movement variety and interest.

As with many of Martinů’s works, the tonality in this movement is irregular.

While the A theme functions in an A minor/C Major tonality, the accompaniment is

89 seemingly unrelated. Martinů was fond of second inversion triads. Consequently, the first chord is a C Major triad in second inversion; however, the accompaniment does not follow the prescribed functional harmony by being in C Major. Rather, it is more linear in its cohesion, relying on semitone neighboring tones as the basis for regularity. The result of such frequent semitone motion is a very dissonant quality; however, Martinů unexpectedly aligns the melody and accompaniment on the very last note of the first statement in measure 9 with a full C Major triad in root position. This tonal alignment provides a structural marker and begins the second statement of the A theme by the trumpet in measure ten. This second statement is based on the same tonality as the first, but the third statement, heard in the violins in measure 15 is transposed down a third from the original key. The fourth statement, presented by the viola in measure 20, is transposed to yet another key area, up a step from the previous statement.

Martinů uses tonality again as a structural marker to divide the A section from the

B section through use of an incomplete F Major triad in measure 29. The B theme, heard first in the viola in measure 31, is centered around F while the accompaniment expands on the pitch A. As the B section increases in chromaticism Martinů settles on F# minor as the basis for the tonality. The second statement of the B theme at measure 46 is firmly rooted in F# minor. For the third statement of the B theme Martinů modulates up another half step from F in the first statement to F# in the second and now to G in the trumpet statement at measure 51. One further step in the tonal sequence arrives on a unison Ab in measure 64, which signals the piano cadenza. This sequence of tonal progression is what makes the otherwise chaotic and chromatically dense music logical and orderly. The fourth section, a return to the B section, is tonally centered on E, while the final section, a

90 return to the A section, progresses in a similar fashion to the first A section, developing from C tonality to F tonality. Since Martinů prefers second inversion triads to root position triads, he concludes the entire work with a second inversion F Major triad.

Martinů’s use of melody in the Finale is more conventional than any other movement of Jazz Suite. Two main themes are presented, and each is restated at varying key levels and in varying orchestrational settings. The A theme is nine measures in its first full statement, but Martinů truncates it to five measures in the second statement by the trumpet in measure 10. A fourth truncated statement by the violins in measure 15 is only four measures, and a fifth statement by the viola in measure 20 is only three measures long. When Martinů returns to the A theme in the last section of the movement, he presents a variation on the theme, transforming the first three quarter notes into a series of eighth notes and altering the contour slightly. This new version of the A theme is retained, however, throughout the last section of the movement and is stated two more times in measures 111 and 123. Although Martinů transforms the A theme slightly, he retains enough of the original melody so that it is recognizable and creates a sense of return at the end of the movement.

Martinů’s treatment of the B theme is similar to his treatment of the A theme. The first statement of the B theme is nine measures long in the viola, measure 31. The viola restates the theme in measure 32, but this statement is only six measures. The third statement of the B theme is by the violins in measure 46 and is only five measures, while the fourth statement by the trumpet in measure 51 is six measures. The break in trend at the fourth statement can be explained by Martinů’s shift to 3/4 from 4/4 time. The meter change actually results in a statement that is exactly the same number of beats as the

91 previous statement. When Martinů returns to the B theme after the piano cadenza he alters it slightly, just as he does with the A theme upon return. The first return to the B theme is an augmented statement in measure 79 by the bassoon and strings. Finally, a second statement is altered even more in the oboe and clarinet at measure 90. Despite his creative use of melodic alteration, Martinů adheres to a fairly strict use of thematic material in the Finale, a feature that helps bring the larger work to a satisfying close.

One of the most consistent features of Martinů’s writing in Jazz Suite is his incorporation of similar rhythmic features to each movement. The Finale is no exception and features many of the same syncopated rhythms that the previous movements also include.

Fig. 38 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Finale, mm. 116-119, brass) Another recurring feature is Martinů’s shifting of the barline and changing meter while retaining the same rhythmic structure. This occurs in the Finale at measure 50 where the meter changes from 4/4 to 3/4 but the rhythms remain regular, resulting in the melody shifting by a beat. The melody at measure 51 in the trumpet begins on beat one, but is expected to begin on beat two. This shifting of the barline is a trademark of Martinů’s rhythmic language.

As expected, Martinů’s orchestration in the Finale is quite varied, ranging from tutti to solo piano. What is unique about the orchestration in this movement are Martinů’s

92 choice of instrumental combinations to create new colors as well as his use of simulated collective improvisation. There are two prime examples of his unique color combinations—the use of the viola as part of the woodwind section at the beginning of the movement and the use of the bassoon as part of the brass section in the middle of the movement. Martinů pairs the viola and the oboe to present the melody at the beginning of the piece, and he combines this melody with an interlocking countermelodic accompaniment in the other two woodwinds. Martinů alters the activity of the viola and oboe after five measures, making it more difficult to determine which voice is primary and which is secondary. Another example of a unique color combination is the call and response at measure 57 between the strings, oboe, and clarinet and the brass and bassoon.

It is unusual that Martinů chose to include the high register bassoon with the trumpets and trombones, but it is this deliberate orchestrational decision that imparts on the music

Martinů’s signature sound.

Fig. 39 (Martinů, Jazz Suite, Finale, mm. 57-60)

93 A final outstanding orchestrational feature of the Finale is the simulation of collective improvisation from measure 102 until the end of the piece. Although the individual lines of music are shared by several instruments and are rhythmically regular, the combination of all of these independent lines gives the impression of collective improvisation, a reference to the underlying jazz inspiration for the entire work.

94 Conducting Considerations for Jazz Suite

Many of the conducting considerations in Jazz Suite are directly related to coaching considerations. For example, in the first movement it is essential that the conductor navigate the meter changes from measures 35 through 40 while maintaining the integrity of the rhythms. Despite changing meters and shifting barlines, the conductor must ensure that each rhythmic gesture be executed as Martinů intended, so that his characteristic vibrant rhythmic complexity is evident to the listener. Next, the conductor should decide how much of an accelerando to conduct in measures 40 through 45, ensuring that the return to the Tempo I° in measure 46 is not too jarring. Additionally, the conductor must decide if the first pesante in measure 69 is a style indication or a style and tempo indication. It is the author’s opinion that the first pesante should be conducted heavily and slowly, as Martinů indicates Tempo I° at measure 71, implying that the previous tempo was different, that is, slower.

The remaining three movements require several conducting considerations. In the beginning of the second movement the conductor should take special care to conduct a dry rhythmic accompaniment without hindering the musical freedom of the solo bassoon.

The third movement requires artistic decisions by the conductor regarding tempo.

Measure 29 indicates Poco vivo, but Martinů gives no other indication of tempo. It is at the conductor’s discretion to decide how much faster this section of the music should be performed. The main conducting challenge in the fourth movement is conducting the first part of the music, which is marked at 152-160 beats per minute, cleanly and without unnecessary vigor. At such a fast tempo the conductor must be careful to maintain the

95 light and playful nature of the music and not impart unintended heaviness to the music. It may be helpful to at times conduct two beats to the measure instead of four so that the music can remain light. The final conducting challenge is executing the very rapid accelerando in measure 101 that takes the music from 96 beats per minute to 116 beats per minute. This accelerando is extremely fast and only covers a difference of twenty beats per minute, so the conductor should practice executing the accelerando with complete accuracy so that the finale is lively rather than frenetic.

96 CHAPTER 5

CONCLUSION

Martinů’s compositional voice is certainly a unique one, complete with an array of influences from his native Czech music to Stravinsky, Roussel, jazz, and popular music. His strong Czech identity, combined with his habit of slowly assimilating himself into his surroundings, gives his music a versatile and international quality. It is the unique manner in which he incorporates these influences that is so exceptional. This is evident in the two works examined in this document—La revue de cuisine and Jazz Suite. These two works share several of Martinů’s compositional characteristics: neoclassicism; germinal development; bitonality; rhythmic vitality, including distortion of barlines and highly syncopated rhythms; untraditional orchestration; and incorporation of jazz and popular music. Such an assortment of commonalities is the reason for pairing these two pieces. Both works contain neoclassical elements of structure and form; both use a technique of germinal development to create thematic unity; both have moments of modality, tonality, and bitonality; both use a markedly active rhythmic language; both are scored for unique combinations of instruments and combine the instrumental colors in innovative ways; and both are based on jazz and popular music. Yet, Martinů’s implementation of these musical elements in each piece is vastly different. It is Martinů’s remarkable ability to use his techniques in new and original ways that truly displays his compositional genius.

97 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Béhague, Gerard. "Tango." In Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu/subscriber/article/grov e/music/27473 (accessed January 8, 2012).

Entwistle, Eric Anthony. “Martinů in Paris: A Synthesis of Musical Styles and Symbols.” PhD diss., University of California Santa Barbara, 2002.

Halbreich, Harry. Introduction to Sextet by Bohuslav Martinů. Dobbs Ferry, N.Y.: Joshua Corp., 1966.

Hamm, Charles. Music in the New World. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1983.

Harrison, Kathleen. “The Treatment of the Trumpet in Selected Jazz-Influenced Classical Chamber Works of the Twentieth Century.” Master’s Thesis, Southern Illinois University Carbondale, 2009.

Hogwood, Christopher. La revue de cuisine, Critical Edition. Paris: Alphonse Leduc, 2003.

Kernfeld, Barry, ed. "Collective improvisation." In The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz, 2nd ed. Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu/subscriber/article/grov e/music/J095500 (accessed January 9, 2012).

Kilburn, N. Chamber Music and Its Masters in the Past and Present. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1932.

Large, Brian. Martinů. London: Duckworth, 1975.

Martinů, Charlotte. My Life with Bohuslav Martinů. Prague: Orbis Press Agency, 1978.

McCalla, James. Twentieth-Century Chamber Music. New York: Routledge, 2003.

Mihule, Jaroslav. Bohuslav Martinů. Prague: Státní Hudební Vyadavatelství, 1966.

Nedbal, Miloslav, Introduction to Jazz Suite. Prague: Panton, 1970.

Norton, Pauline. "Charleston (ii)." In Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu/subscriber/article/grov e/music/05463 (accessed January 8, 2012).

Pettway, B. Keith. “The Solo and Chamber Compositions for Flute by Bohuslav Martinů.” DMA diss., University of Southern Mississippi, 1980.

98 Rybka, F. James. Bohuslav Martinů: The Compulsion to Compose. Plymouth, UK: The Scarecrow Press, 2011.

Šafránek, Miloš. Bohuslav Martinů: The Man and His Music. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1944.

Šafránek, Miloš. “Bohuslav Martinů.” Musical Quarterly 29/3 (1943): 329-354.

Slonimsky, Nicholas, and Laura Kuhn, eds. “Bohuslav Martinů.” Baker’s Biographical Dictionary of Musicians. 8th ed. New York: Schirmer, 1992.

Smaczny, Jan. “Bohuslav Martinů.” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie. 2nd ed. London: Macmillan, 2001.

Sutton, Julia, et al. "Dance." In Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu/subscriber/article/grov e/music/45795 (accessed January 18, 2012).

Svatos, Thomas David. “Martinů on Music and Culture: A View from his Parisian Criticism and 1940s Notes.” PhD diss., University of California Santa Barbara, 2001.

Walter-Clark, Kimberly. “Bohuslav Martinů’s Three Works for Flute, Violin, and Keyboard.” DMA doc., University of Houston, 1999.

Walzel, Robert L., Jr. “Bohuslav Martinů: An examination of selected chamber music involving the clarinet.” DMA doc., University of North Texas, 1997.

Winther, Rodney. An Annotated Guide to Wind Chamber Music: For Six to Eighteen Players. Miami: Warner Brothers, 2004.

99 APPENDIX A

COMPLETE LIST OF BOHUSLAV MARTINŮ’S WORKS FOR WINDS

Chart by Halbreich’s Number

Halbreich’s Title Year of Place of Instrumentation Number Composition Composition 2 Posvícení (Village 1907 Polička Fl, str (3 vln, vla, 2 vcl, Feast) cb) 139 Quartet for Clarinet, 1924 Paris 0010-1000, vcl, side Horn, Cello and Side drum Drum 144 Nonet No. 1 1925 Paris 1111-1000, vln, vla, vcl, (incomplete) pno 161 A La revue de cuisine 1927 Paris 0011-0100, vln, vcl, pno (The Kitchen Review) 172 Jazz Suite 1928 Paris 0111-0220, 2vln, vla, vcl 174 Sextet 1929 Paris 1112-0000, pno 174 A Scherzo for Flute and 1929 Paris Fl, pno Piano 187 Wind Quintet 1930 Paris 1111-1000 200 Les Rondes 1930 Paris 0111-0100, 2vln, pno 215 Divertimento 1932 Paris Vln, vla, 2ob, pno, strings 217 Serenade No. 1 1932 Paris 0010-1000, 3vln, vla 218 Serenade No. 3 1932 Paris 0110-0000, 4vln, vcl 252 Concerto for Flute, 1936 Paris Fl, vln, 1222-2100, pno, Violin and Chamber str Orchestra 254 Sonata for Flute, 1937 Paris Fl, vln, pno Violin and Piano 265 Trio for Flute, Violin 1937 Nice Fl, bsn, vln and Bassoon 266 Les Madrigaux 1938 Nice Ob, cl, bsn 274 Promenades 1939 Paris Fl, vln, harpsichord 291 Madrigal-Sonata 1942 New York Fl, vln, pno 300 Trio for Flute, Cello 1944 Ridgefield, Fl, vcl, pno and Piano CT 301 Fantasie for 1944 Ridgefield, Theremin, ob, str Theremin, Oboe, CT quartet, pno String Quartet and Piano

100

Halbreich’s Title Year of Place of Instrumentation Number Composition Composition 306 Sonata for Flute and 1945 South Fl, pno Piano Orleans, MA 315 Quartet for Oboe, 1947 New York Ob, vln, vcl, pno Violin, Cello and Piano 322 Sinfonia Concertante 1949 New York Vln, vcl, ob, bsn, 0020- 2000, pno, str 325 Mazurka-Nocturne 1949 Renova Ob, 2 vln, vcl (Haute Savoie) 334 Serenade 1951 New York 2 cl, vln, vla, vcl 335 Stowe Pastorals 1951 New York 5 rec, cl, 2 vln, vcl 353 Concerto for Oboe and 1955 Nice Ob, 2021-2100, pno, str Small Orchestra 356 Sonatina for Clarinet 1956 New York Cl, pno and Piano 357 Sonatina for Trumpet 1956 New York Tpt, pno and Piano 365 Divertimento for Two 1957 Rome 2 rec Recorders 374 Nonet No. 2 1959 Schönenberg- 1111-1000, vln, vla, vcl, Pratteln cb 376 Chamber Music No. 1 1959 Schönenberg- Cl, vln, vla, vcl, hp, pno Pratteln 379 Festival of Birds 1959 Schönenberg- SSAA children’s Pratteln chorus, tpt 383 The Prophecy of 1959 Nice SAB, TTBB chorus, tpt, Isaiah, Cantata for vla, pno, timp Soloists, Male Chorus and Instrumental Accompaniment

101 List by Year of Composition

1907 Posvícení (Village Feast) for flute and strings 1924-5 Nonet for flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, horn, violin, viola, cello and piano (fragment) 1924 Quartet for clarinet, horn, cello and side drum 1927 La Revue de cuisine 1928 Jazz Suite 1929 Sextet for flute, oboe, clarinet, two bassoons and piano 1929 Scherzo for flute and piano 1930 Wind Quintet 1930 Les Rondes, six pieces for oboe, clarinet, bassoon, trumpet, two violins and piano 1932 Divertimento for violin, viola, oboe, piano and strings 1932 Serenade No. III for oboe, clarinet, four violins and cello 1932 Serenade No. 1 for clarinet, horn, three violins and viola 1936 Concerto for flute, violin and chamber orchestra 1937 Sonata for flute, violin and piano 1937 Les Madrigaux for oboe, clarinet and bassoon 1937 Trio for flute, violin and bassoon 1939 Promenades for flute, violin and harpsichord 1939 Field Mass, cantata to word by Jiří Mucha and extracts from the Psalms, for baritone soloist, male voices, woodwind, brass, harmonium and percussion 1942 Madrigal-Sonata for flute, violin and piano 1944 Trio for flute, cello and piano 1944 Fantasie for theremin, oboe, string quartet and piano 1945 Sonata for flute and piano 1947 Quartet for oboe, violin, cello and piano 1949 Sinfonia Concertante for violin, cello, oboe, bassoon and chamber orchestra 1949 Mazurka-Nocturne for oboe, two violins and cello 1951 Serenade for violin, viola, cello, and two clarinets 1951 Stowe-Pastorals for five recorders, clarinet, two violins and cello 1954 Hymn to St. Jacob, text by Jaroslav Daněk: cantata for mixed choir, soloists, strings, horn and organ 1955 Oboe Concerto 1956 Sonatina for clarinet and piano 1956 Sonatina for trumpet and piano 1956 Legend of the Smoke from Potato Fires, chamber cantata to words by Miloslav Bureš, for soloists, mixed choir, woodwind, horn, accordion and piano 1957 Divertimento for two recorders 1959 Nonet for flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, horn, violin, viola, cello and double bass

102 1959 Festival of Birds, text from Třebiň manuscript, for children’s voices and trumpet 1959 Prophecy of Isaiah, two-part cantata to words from the Bible, for soloists, male voices, viola, trumpet, piano and timpani 1959 Chamber Music No. 1 for clarinet, violin, viola, cello, harp, and piano

103 APPENDIX B

SELECT DISCOGRAPHY OF MARTINŮ’S LARGER WIND CHAMBER WORKS

Arcis Quintet. Piano Sextet. Calig, 1997. (SX)

Bohemian Ensemble Los Angeles. Intermezzo: Works of Martinů. Summit, 1999. (RO)

Boston Symphony Chamber Players. The Boston Symphony Chamber Players. RCA Red Seal, 1969. (NO)

Chamber Music Palm Beach. Illuminations. Klavier, 2003. (NO)

Chicago Pro Musica. The Medinah Sessions. Reference Recordings, 1988. (LR)

Chicago Pro Musica. Weill/Bowles/Martinů/Varèse. Reference Recordings, 1993. (LR)

Columbus State University Wind Ensemble. Journey. Summit, 2004. (CC)

Czech Nonet, The. Bohuslav Martinů. Panton, 1972. (SX, NI)

Czech Nonet, The. Bohuslav Martinů. Praga, 1995. (NO)

Czech Nonet, The. Dvorak Octet-Serenade. Campion Records, 1999. (NO)

Czech Philharmonic Orchestra. Le raid merveilleaux. Supraphon, 2004. (LR, full)

Dartington Ensemble. The, Martinů. Hyperion, 1993. (NO, LR)

DePaul Wind Ensemble. Forget Me Nots. Albany Records, 2004. (CC)

Ensemble Wein-Berlin. Nonets. Deutsche Grammophon, 1989. (NO)

Fukačová, Michaela and the Odense Symphony Orchestra. Bohuslav Martinů. Kontrapunkt, 2010. (CC)

Holland Wind Players. Made in Paris. Et’Cetera, 2004. (CC)

Jílek, Zdeněk and members of the Prague Symphony Orchestra and Prague Wind Quintet. Works Inspired by Jazz and Sport. Supraphon, 1972. (JS, LR, SX)

National Chamber Players. Nonets and Septets. Klavier, 1997. (NO, NI)

104 Östgöta Symphonic Wind Ensemble. Concertos for Cello and Winds. BIS, 2002. (CC)

Philharmonic Wind Quintet. Mládí. BIS, 2011. (SX)

Sinfonia Lahti Chamber Ensemble. Bohuslav Martinů. BIS, 1994. (NO, NI, LR)

Smith, Fenwick et. al. Martinů: Chamber Music with Flute. Naxos, 2010. (SX)

Solisten des Orchesters der Deutschen Oper Berlin. Kabinettstücke mit Trompete. FSM, 1991. (LR)

Solistes de l’Orchestre Philharmonique du Luxembourg. Bohuslav Martinů. Timpani, 2001. (RO, NO)

Večtomov, Saša and the Collegium Musicum Pragense. Compositions for Cello and Orchestra. Supraphon, 1977. (CC)

Wallfisch, Raphael and the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra. Cello Concertos/Concertino. Chandos Classics, 2009. (CC)

Zukovsky, A. and members of the LA Philharmonic. Otiose Odalisque. Summit, 1998. (LR, SP)

Key: CC = Concertino for Cello (1924) NI = Nonet (fragment) (1925) LR = La revue de cuisine (1927) JS = Jazz Suite (1928) SX = Sextet (1929) RO = Les Rondes (1930) SP = Stowe Pastorals (1951) NO = Nonet (1959)

105