Review Summary: Ars Longa Vita Brevis
Until recently, I, foolishly, had never cared for the music of Robert Schumann. I say foolishly because my strong opinions about the man were formed without actually having listened to his music. Principals and preferences had tainted my feelings, for Schumann had been an unforgiving and unfair critic of musicians he did not like, and many of the musicians he did not like, I do very much like. Because sometimes sh*t just happens, many of the insulting opinions Schumann held towards his forbearers such as Haydn and CPE Bach remain even today. I’m sure that if Schumann had been just some random music critic, then his opinions would have died with him. When I finally got around to dipping my toes into the rivers of Schumann, though, I quickly found out that he was oh-so much more than just an opinionated nobody.
A quick background; the death of Beethoven in 1827 left a gaping vacuum in the world of European music. The demigod himself had finally succumbed to his life long battle with chronic gastrointestinal issues, auditory failure, and liver disease. For the first time in a century, there were no immortals walking the earth. The custodians of ancient polyphony, Handel and Bach were long gone, the authors of the First Viennese School, Haydn and Mozart, equally dead, and The Master himself, as I mentioned, had just passed. Europe could do little but grieve for the foreseeable future.
But vacuums are meant to be filled, and within the next ten years three men had stepped forth to fill Europe’s musical void: Franz Liszt, Frederic Chopin, and Robert Schumann. After he passed, it was taken for granted that Beethoven had said all that could be said with the old forms, thus the musical minds of the next generation began experimenting with a post-classical idiom that eventually evolved into its own style with its own champions, and Robert Schumann was part and parcel of the first wave of what’s come to be known as the era of “Romanticism”. Along with Chopin and Liszt (and Brahms although he is of a later generation), the piano music of Schumann forms the heart of the post-Beethoven nineteenth century keyboard repertoire, a repertoire that focuses on freedom from form, unbridled virtuosity, mood, folk aesthetic, and most importantly, the fantastique which encompasses a preoccupation with: nature, the supernatural, dreams, distant/ancient lands, magic, nighttime, love, and fairy tales.
Nobody quite embodied the fantastique more than Schumann. There are so many words one could use to describe Schumann’s music, so I’ll only convey my favorite: strange, manic, daring, fiery, mad, lyrical, and originalisse. One need only take a brief look at the score for Schumann’s Toccata in C, Op. 7 to catch a glimpse of the fire. There’s the ceaseless 16ths, the forest of chromatics, the superhuman octaves, the manic polyphony, the frantic melody exchanging between hands, and much, much more. Although classical music lovers have long realized that Schumann was infinitely better at ordering miniature material than he was at ordering material over long movements in, say, a concerto or symphony (so much so that he’s often considered only a miniaturist), the Toccata in C is a flawless attempt at large scale motivic and thematic management.
Firstly, the Toccata in C is cast in sonata-form, the form in which the successful management of material is the number one priority. Schumann does everything perfectly; he presents the first theme in the tonic, repeats it, transitions to the second theme with motion music, presents the second theme in the dominant, transitions to the closing theme with motivic material from the first and second themes, presents the closing theme which is built from the transitory motivic material, transitions to the development, cycles through various keys and colors in the development, transitions to the recapitulation, treats the recap successfully in two ways, as a quasi-exposition/development with the addition of new material, and by conforming to the basic sonata principal that the second theme of the exposition returns in the tonic, and finally presents an
epic coda to end with for good measure.
I’m sure that if you are unfamiliar with music theory, let alone scary sonata-form, none of this means anything to you. But when you contrast Op. 7 with Schumann’s
many failures in sonata-form such as the first Piano Sonata in F#m Op. 11, the concerto in A, and much of the material in the symphonies (even though they are adored), it’s impossible not to be impressed with how dead on he is in the Toccata.
But what exactly is a “Toccata”？Coming from the Italian word
tocca for “touch”, a Toccata is a piece designed to show off a player’s prowess on the keyboard. Traditionally, Toccatas are difficult in the extreme to perform, (if you are familiar with Bach’s Toccatas you know what I mean), and Schumann’s Toccata in C is no different. In fact, Op. 7 is a showpiece of legendary difficulty. Almost every technical difficulty is thrown at the player, difficulties that demand absolutely murderous dexterity and strength. Schumann’s ability must have been quite formidable to have written something so hard; he conceived of the piece at the age of eighteen.
Now that we’ve talked about the style, the form, and the difficulty, let’s talk about the notes. Although Op. 7 is set in the classical tradition, it is certainly not a piece that requires the listener’s undivided attention; it is fantastique. You don’t have to pay attention to the motives or listen for an aural story to get what’s happening, for every single second of the piece jumps out at you, grabs you, and holds onto you until the very end. The five swaggering syncopated chords that open the work do just that. The rattling main theme that follows, and indeed the entire work, has a manic giddiness to it, rollicking back and forth as it does in literally endless sixteenths. The theme can only charm you with its syrupy sweetness. You feel like a kid on a sugar rush without end. I’d be making a mistake, however, if I painted the piece as one without personal expression. The second theme is exquisitely lyrical, yet still fizzes with fresh bubbles.
The development, my gosh the development, is one of the most insanely fun things I’ve ever heard. Still manic, Schumann paints deep purples and vibrant reds that wonderfully contrast with the bright yellows of the exposition. At one point Schumann introduces a new theme, octave right-hand sixteenths that venture up and down the keyboard in gradually increasing hills, that cannot fail to wow your pants off. The utterly hyper counterpoint that follows would practically be good club music, feverishly energetic as it is. Back in the recap, Schumann presents us with some extra flair not previously heard and then conforms to the sonata principal with the second theme presented in the tonic. Now for the coda. The coda opens with furious repeated notes that frenetically works its way up to absolute mania before gradually slowing down and ending on five noble chords. The coda makes the manic giddiness of the sonata proper feel like the tortious in The Tortious and the Hare. It’s
so feverous and
so frenetic that it borders on reaching the sonic-boom. Really. You’ll love it.
Schumann may or may not have had had a serious mental illness. Although certain aspects of his music and life certainly suggest as much, it is, obviously, impossible to know. Schumann passed most tragically in a mental hospital in 1856, two years after having attempted suicide by drowning. For decades, Schumann had long suspected “oncoming insanity”, and by 1854 he no longer felt he could guarantee the safety of his wife, the lovely Clara Schumann, or his children. Apart from one awfully sad interaction with Clara where he could but suck jelly off her fingertips, by the time he died, Schumann could no longer recognize friends or family. He had been stuck in an increasingly comatose state ever since his arrival to the ward. The most prominent theory is that he contracted syphilis as a young man, a disease which mimics the symptoms of severe mental illness by slowly rotting the brain from the inside out. Nevertheless, in his rather short life Schumann gave to the world his wonderful persona to a degree of the utmost familiarity, his music a snapshot of a man from long ago. The power of music, right？
Ars longa vita brevis.
