"Everything begins
in mystique and ends in politics," said
French poet Charles Péguy. This
sentence, which begins chapter 11 of
The Rest is Noise, may sum up
the entire book, and the music of the
twentieth century. Alex Ross, music
critic for the New Yorker and blogger
has written a comprehensive study of
classical music after the 19th century,
which looks less at the music itself
than at the political and social context
surrounding composers, as well as their
inter-relations. Not that the music
doesn’t count, but Ross focuses more
on the "why" than the "what".
Beginning with Richard
Strauss conducting Salome in 1906, an
event that "illuminated a musical world
on the verge of traumatic change," Ross
sketches out the complex history of
modern music. In what, at times, is
more a series of articles than a single
coherent narrative, Ross looks at all
the main currents of musical thought
and fashion, and gives the reader an
excellent understanding of why certain
composers wrote the music they did.
For music does not exist in a vacuum;
it depends on the cultural context of
the times. Modernism didn’t just happen
overnight, but can be seen as an organic
result of what came before. From Wagner
to Mahler, the seeds of twentieth-century
music had been sprouting before the
beginning of the century. Of course,
no arbitrary boundary, such as a date,
can separate musical styles, and Ross
shows just how music evolved around
the cusp of the twentieth century.
Ross flits around in
time and space, grouping composers by
location and affinity, sometimes going
forward, sometimes moving backwards
in time, to give a bird’s-eye-view of
the music that was being created. From
Germany to France, from the United States
to Russia, he looks at the many styles
of classical (as well as, briefly, jazz
and rock) that grew and morphed into
the next style. Yet to this reader,
something strange results from this
type of analysis. This narrative suggests
just how much this music depended on
fashions, fads, on the desire, among
some composers, to be different for
difference’s sake (it "begins in mystique
and ends in politics"). While I appreciate
much music of this period, I remain
perplexed by the respect given to, for
example, severe atonal music, which
offers no satisfaction to the listener.
Reading Ross, I get
the feeling that much of this music
was created more as a counterpoint to
other, earlier tonal forms of music,
and less out of some desire to write
music that pleases. With a variety of
systems and gimmicks, many composers
simply let the music write itself: Schönberg,
perhaps, with his twelve-tone series,
or Cage, with his embracing of randomness,
are two such examples. Reading about
the systems and tricks of these and
other composers does not make me want
to hear what they wrote.
At times, Ross tries
to actually describe the music he is
discussing. This is strange; reading
something like, "The viola offers wide-ranging,
rising-and-falling phrases," or, "the
strings play restlessly swirling lines
while the brass carve out the whole-tone
chords." He also gives blow-blow descriptions
of some works, such as Britten’s Peter
Grimes and Stravinsky’s The Rite
of Spring. In a way, this is like
describing the color blue to a blind
person; there’s no way to give an impression
from music through words on a page.
And that’s probably the weakest part
of this book: even though it’s not intended
to make you hear music, you simply want
to as you read about all these different
composers. Ross has included a playlist
at the end of the book, Suggested Listening
(unfortunately hidden between the notes
and index), and his web
site contains excerpts from many
works that you can listen to.
Ross’s writing shines
when he writes about the few composers
who, if pages are any indication, seem
to move him most: Sibelius, Shostakovich
and Britten. These three get much deeper
treatment than others, with Sibelius
especially getting a thirty-page biographical
essay which could be seen as anachronistic,
since Sibelius’s music, while being
written in the twentieth century, is
certainly rooted in the 19th. His analysis
of music during the Nazi era in Germany,
and in the United States during the
Cold War period, are especially interesting
for their historical information. Yet
sometimes it seems that the politics
is more important than the music, and,
without hearing what’s being discussed,
this analysis becomes academic.
At times, it’s not
clear how much Ross actually likes the
music he’s writing about; he is very
detached, and gives few qualitative
opinions. But it’s clear that he knows
his subject, down to the details, and
the interesting juxtapositions of biography
and politics make this an extremely
interesting read, especially to understand
these composers in context. This is
a long book, but, at times, I wished
it were longer. Ross, on his blog, mentioned
how much had to be cut from his manuscript,
and it’s a shame that there’s not more.
Especially since some composers get
short shrift, or are ignored entirely.
Charles Ives, perhaps one of America’s
most unique composers, gets just a couple
of pages, and such names as Vaughan
Williams, Walton and Hovhaness barely
get a mention. He also manages to ignore
totally the vibrant musical culture
of twentieth-century Scandinavia, which
has seen, since Sibelius, a number of
world-class composers.
Nevertheless, this
book is a delightful read, and it deserves
a place on the shelves of any music-lover
who is interested in the history of
the twentieth century and how it influenced
music. While it’s only words about music,
it can help listeners understand the
complex relationships between composers
and their times. After reading this,
it’s time to go out and listen.
Kirk McElhearn
