There are some pieces of music that, by their nature, should remain unfinished. No fourth movement that Bruckner could have composed this side of death would have fulfilled the deeper design that unfolded throughout all his work. That last adagio is already so otherworldly, and so overflowing with a sweet hunger for God, and with a deep longing for the timeless within time, that only eternity could bring it to its proper completion. And there are some artists who, by all rights, should write themselves into eternity. Bach is obviously the most perfect example, leaving that final great fugue on B-A-C-H in Die Kunst der Fuge abruptly unfinished; one senses that it had to be taken beyond time in order to be made perfect. But Bruckner too was an artist who required more of his art than time could supply.
Mahler (who regarded Bruckner as his master and \u201Cforerunner\u201D) once told Sibelius that a symphony should be a whole world, able to accommodate absolutely everything the composer can pour into it. For Mahler, this meant symphonies that are defiantly incongruous, enormous metropolitan farragoes of disparate parts, always somewhat ironic (even at their most pompous junctures), buoyant and wild but sophisticated and whimsical too, and shot through with Viennese urbanity. Bruckner\u2019s symphonies are also worlds unto themselves, but of a somewhat more pastoral and elemental kind. Whereas Mahler\u2019s music is what English is among languages, grandly and insatiably heterogeneous, Bruckner\u2019s music is for the most part pure German\u2014and not the lucid Hellenic German of Goethe or the nimble cosmopolitan German of Heine or the sharp acerbic German of Nietzsche, but the plain slow German of rural Upper Austria. It is a music full of sublimities: flowing streams and mountain winds and\u2014yes\u2014rolling thunders.
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A great part of Bruckner\u2019s difficulty with many of his contemporaries, of course, was the notorious absurdity of the figure he cut. It was all too easy for his early critics to caricature him as an oaf and a peon\u2014because, as it happens, it was not entirely a caricature. He was not a deeply cultured man; he was not a man of the city; he knew little about art or philosophy or literature. He was simply a musical genius, and nothing more. His manners, moreover, were untutored, to say the least, and if he possessed any sense of style he never let it show. The anecdotes are legion: His habit of wearing trousers with ridiculously short legs so as to leave his feet free for pedal-work at the organ. His infatuation with various beautiful young women and his bizarre belief that it could possibly be reciprocated. The tip he gave the rather patrician conductor Hans Richter to express his delight after the latter\u2019s rousing rehearsal of the fourth symphony (which Richter, kind man that he was, took with good grace and kept as a memento, pierced, on his watch-chain). And then, of course, there was Bruckner\u2019s deep, ardent, very Catholic piety, which in the artistic milieu of the late nineteenth century seemed to many the very essence of rustic buffoonishness.
Bruckner began sketching out his ninth symphony in 1887, but largely set those drafts aside while he worked and re-worked his seventh and eighth symphonies. He returned to the ninth in 1891 and by December 1894 had more or less completed the first three movements; by that point also he knew that this was to be his last symphony and that, in all likelihood, he would never finish it. In this he was correct: the fourth movement, which was to be a great fugue, exists now only in the form of gallingly fascinating fragments. Perhaps it was his sense that this work would be his leave-taking from the world\u2014he called the leading motif of the third movement his \u201CAbschied vom Leben\u201D (\u201Cdeparture from life\u201D)\u2014that prompted him to dedicate the work \u201Cdem lieben Gott\u201D (\u201Cto dear God\u201D); but in a sense God had always been the object of all his artistry.
As he had done with his eighth symphony, in the ninth he placed the adagio after the scherzo; and this was a fortunate decision, as the third movement was to be the last he composed, and it is only proper that he passed from this world\u2014as his notations read\u2014langsam, feierlich. It is doubtful that any further musical statement could possibly have improved on the effect of that final, ecstatic, and serene farewell. And, by the end, he was well aware that the fourth movement he contemplated was beyond his failing powers. He briefly considered attaching his earlier choral and orchestral Te Deum to the end of the work instead, and even tried to compose a plausible bridge. But the transition from the grandly somber D minor basis of the symphony to the radiant C major of the Te Deum was too jarring, and no sequence of modulations, however ingenious, could make a single coherent musical experience out of two such very different pieces. (And, frankly, the Te Deum is a somehow less spiritual work than the symphony as it stands.)
The symphony\u2019s first movement\u2014feierlich, misterioso\u2014announces in its opening bars, with their dark string oscillations and mournful horn melody, that this is sad music, twilight music, coming at the end of things; even the first great crescendo to which the opening builds is oddly elegiac, and yields to a lighter, more canorous, but still wistful middle section, which then in turn dissolves into a movingly melancholy D major theme. The second movement is the scherzo, though whether music as drivingly, rollingly propulsive as this initially is should still be called a scherzo is open to debate (is there such a thing as a \u201Csublime scherzo\u201D?). Whatever the case, it is powerful music, moved along on driving string figures, which bracket an interlude of extraordinary sweetness, and it leads beautifully\u2014almost by exhausting itself\u2014into the adagio. That final movement, with its opening, ascendingly chromatic theme\u2014the Abschied theme\u2014and its meltingly lyrical secondary themes, and its hugely dissonant climax, and then its final, artfully fragmentary descent into silence, is full of sorrow and rebellion and resignation and, at the very last, perfect peace.
Faith Alpher, an actress, comedian and Livermore local KKIQ radio personality will narrate Copland's "Lincoln Portrait." She holds a master's degree in communication and has utilized her gifts to inspire people around the world through her comedy. Known for her quick wit and energy, Alpher writes curriculum and speaks at high schools, colleges, universities, and businesses all over the country. She is also known for her ability to reach people across generations, cultures, and belief systems on an emotional level. Alpher has performed at the Bankhead several times, including her one-woman show, "Black Girl, Funny World," and in September 2021, "Got Faith."Soprano soloist, Heidi Moss Erickson, will accompany the orchestra for Copland's "Poems of Emily Dickinson." She performed with the symphony in May 2016 in Samuel Barber's "Knoxville: Summer of 1915." She and her husband, composer Kurt Erickson, produced a special recital as a gift to the symphony last season when in-person performances were not possible. She frequently collaborates with Erickson and has premiered many of his works. Moss Erickson holds a biology/music degree from Oberlin College, where she met fellow voice student Webber. She has been interested in the science of singing ever since she came down with a rare facial paralysis in 2007. She is also a champion of new music and received the prestigious "Best in the Bay" award in 2019 for her Richard Strauss recital.Finnish composer, Jean Sibelius' Symphony No. 3 completes the evening. This symphony's bold composition represented a shift from his first two romantic symphonies and was followed later by more austere works. This compact piece of many moods is written for flutes, clarinets, oboes, bassoons, horns, trumpets, trombones, as well as strings.The concert begins at 8 p.m. April 23, with a prelude talk at 7 p.m. To learn more, visit www.livermoreamadorsymphony.org or www.livermorearts.org, or call 925-373-6800.This story contains 361 words. ff782bc1db
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