Vivaldiana by Gian Francesco Malipiero

“When was this piece written?!” When I first began listening to Vivaldiana, I had to check our list of journal options again to make sure I had chosen from the right unit, because the work has none of the Romantic Era sounds I expected. Instead, the work’s repetitive melodic motives, harmonic movement, instrumentation, etc. sounded purely Baroque.
A little bit of research into Malipiero told me that I shouldn’t be so surprised to find Baroque music bearing his name, since he is known to have been an early musicologist. Malipiero specialized in Italian Baroque composers such as Monteverdi and Vivaldi. In fact, at the time he was preparing this piece, Malipiero was editing and publishing a compilation of Vivaldi’s music (Grove Music Online listed this piece as an arrangement, but I have been unable to verify its unoriginality, nor identify any Vivaldi concerti that match the music). The Vivaldi-esque sounds I hear are no amateur period imitation: they are the work of a Baroque Era expert and a Vivaldi expert.
Vivaldiana is a three-movement orchestral work. The first, “Adagio-Allegro,” moves from a slow to a fast tempo, the slow tempo lasting less than a quarter of the movement. The second, “Andante piu lento un poco,” is relatively slow throughout. The third, “Allegro molto,” is faster than the first movement throughout its entirety. Several distinctive stylistic elements in Malipiero’s work gave it its baroque sound. Harmonic movement is very simple, as in other baroque works, and is filled out by using arpeggiated chords. The melody is driven by repeating motives and shared between different voices, and the repetitive style is very baroque, without the developmental elements that became popular in romantic writing. Malipiero did not give rhythm as much importance as many Romantic Era composers had given it. Unlike the large form works of many of his Classical Era and Romantic Era predecessors, Malipiero’s work is lightly orchestrated, and deals primarily with woodwinds and strings. However, unlike Vivaldi’s, winds in Malipiero’s orchestra play more than a soloist role, often creating part of the texture. Also, Vivaldiana lacks the basso continuo that was characteristic of Vivaldi’s compositions. Overall, however, Malipiero’s work has much of the sound of Vivaldi’s work.
I found Vivaldiana to be both a convincing and an enjoyable Baroque style work. Malipiero seems to master baroque style so well that I can only come to the conclusion that when he diverged from it, as in his orchestration, he did so purposefully. I think those who enjoy baroque music would equally enjoy this twentieth-century work, even with its few stylistic differences.
I stated before that I had been unable to verify whether this work was originally Malipiero’s or an arrangement from Vivaldi’s own work. In either case it is commendable as an enjoyable work with a baroque sound, however, it would detract from my high estimation of Malipiero’s writing abilities if most of the work was originally Vivaldi’s. Perhaps the issue of authorship is part of the reason that this work is excluded from the canon. I think I know of another, more important, reason for its exclusion however. While this work gives insight into early musicology and (perhaps) the ability of twentieth-century composers to imitate baroque sounds, it is not representative of most of the writing happening during that time period.

Response to Ben Cross on Isaac Albéniz' Suite Española

Ben has done an excellent job analyzing Albéniz’ piano suite, and as I read his listening journal his thoughts sparked an interest in listening to and learning more about Albéniz’ work.

When Ben mentioned that Albéniz was instrumental in distributing the folk music of Spain, I decided to learn a bit more about how folk music was used in Albéniz’ work. I know that many nationalistic composers have achieved a national sound without even using folk music. In Albéniz’ case, it was clear that he used traditionally Spanish dance forms to achieve a Spanish sound, but did he use folk music in other ways? It turns out that Albéniz’ did not actually use recognizable folk tunes in his music, unlike his teacher Felipe Pedrell, but took rhythms and harmonies from the folk music that was around him in Spain and used them all throughout his music.

I disagree with one of Ben’s opinions, that Albéniz’ characterization of Spain makes the country seem as boring like a drive across Kansas. As Albéniz was intentionally writing nationalistic music, he must have sought to portray distinct regional flavors in such a way that a Spaniard would be able to hear his country in each piece, no matter which Spanish region or style was implied. With that said, is contrast even a primary goal of nationalistic music? Certainly, composers don’t desire the similarity of their works to bore an audience, but a certain level of similarity is necessary to make the works cohesive. When I hear a Lied, I recognize the genre right away; if the same is true for a Spanish piano piece, then we can consider it a success on Albeniz’ part.

Although I think Ben has a point in suggesting that Suite Española doesn’t stand out as much as most works in the canon, I would like to offer another explanation for the suite’s exclusion from the canon. My research suggests that Albéniz’ four-book composition, Iberia, throws a shadow on the Suite Española. Much like the suite, Iberia’s collection of twelve impressions attempts to capture the essence of the nation in sounds and rhythms. However, Iberia was written nearly a decade after the suite, and Albéniz’ compositional style had significantly matured. When he was writing Iberia, Albéniz was reaching the end of his career and dedicated most of his energies to music composition; Iberia, which took three years to compose, is what Grove Music Online calls a masterpiece (“Albéniz, Isaac”). Suite Española, in contrast, was a set of pieces written in large quantity over a short period of time so that Albéniz could play his own pieces in concert. Thus, it seems Iberia was a much more important work to Albéniz himself, and one he was more likely to see as representative of his best compositional ability. When a work such as Iberia attempts to accomplish much the same purpose as Suite Española and demonstrates the composer’s more mature style, it makes sense that the earlier piece gets much less recognition.

Finding out about Iberia made me wonder about another comment that Ben made – was Felipe Pedrell the most notable influence on the compositions of Albéniz? I was unsure at first about this idea because I read on Grove Music Online that Joaquín Malats heavily influenced the final two books of Iberia, and Iberia seems to have been Albéniz’ most notable musical composition. As I continued researching and thinking about Pedrell’s influence, I realized that Iberia might owe much of its existence to Pedrell. If Pedrell did indeed turn Albéniz toward nationalistic music, then his teaching was a necessary motivation for both Suite Española and Iberia.

Like Ben’s, my overall experience with Albéniz’ Suite Española was enjoyable – perhaps it was even more enjoyable for me, because the suite reminded me of the piano music I fell asleep to as a young child. The dancing melodies and limited use of block chords lull me into a state of relaxation normally – in fact, sleepiness has been a significant obstacle to the completion of this listening journal response. In my opinion, the Suite Española does not merit inclusion in the canon, but this in no way lessons the aesthetic value of the pieces. I would recommend them to others as a pleasing and relaxing listening experience. It bears mentioning that some works included in the canon are not relaxing experiences (and weren’t intended to be).