1.
Consciousness, I will never understand you! Awareness is like a snorkeler, swimming a few feet below the surface. He looks down into the deep, into the vast ocean of his own unconscious world. Why does he see a bouquet of coral with clown fish darting to and fro among the orange blooms, and not see, say, a sunken ship? Why does the image of a luminous jellyfish appear unbidden and not, say, a shark? Why does he look and sometimes see nothing at all, unaware of even himself? Consciousness, I will never understand you!
2.
My wife, Nirmala, my son, Philip, and I spent February 2015 in Chennai, India, visiting my wife's relatives. Almost every morning, just before dawn, Nirmala and I would take a walk to the beach. Soon after we arrived at the beach, about three-quarters of a mile from my sister-in-law's place, we would watch the sun rise over the Bay of Bengal. The dawns experienced on a Chennai beach are always spectacular. Watching the dark silhouette of a passing kattumaram slowly brighten as it approached shimmering light spreading out from the horizon like an old-fashioned tie, my wife and I held hands in silence--This was the memorable beginning of February 10th. Returning home, I was lost in thought; my wife went ahead. As I absentmindedly hopped over a little wall that separated sand from sidewalk, I fell. I did not hit my head, I am sure of that. Uninjured except for a minor scratch, something strange occurred as I got up. A very regular rhythm in three-quarter time began playing in my head: ONE two three, ONE to three. My gait assumed the cadence of the music. When the melody came, I recognized it right away: it was a lied by Brahms, der Schmied. I hadn't heard that song for over thirty years--why did it returnr to me now, in India, of all places? Consciousness, I will never understand you!
Mridula, my wife's sister, lives in a comfortable condominium with her husband Jose on a relatively quiet street opposite the gardens of the international center of the Theosophical Society, a syncretic religious organization that was quite popular at the beginning of the last century. Right after we arrived from our walk, I went straight to the computer while Mridula brewed tea. All the words came back to me after I clicked on the link to the poem by Ludwig Uhland:
DER SCHMIED
von Ludwig Uhland
Ich hör' meinen Schatz,
Den Hammer er schwnget,
Das rauschet, das klinget,
Das dringt in die Weite
Wie Glockengeläute
Durch Gassen und Platz.
Am schwarzen Kamin,
Da sitzet mein Lieber,
Doch geh' ich vorüber,
Die Bälge dann sausen,
Die Flammen aufbrausen
Und lodern um ihn.
With a cup of piping-hot tea in my hand, I gazed admiringly at the screen--What a nice poem! The accompanying English translation, however, was atrocious. (Example: "Das dringt in die Weite" was translated as "That penetrates into the distance"--whoever translated that has no sense for poetry. In addition, the English version didn't rhyme.) I had no choice but to translate it myself:
THE BLACKSMITH
I hear him, my sweetie,
the hammer he's swinging,
the clanking, the clinking
echoes and swells
like pealing bells
through streets of the city.
Used to the din,
he sits at the furnace;
yet when I pass,
the bellows sough more
and the flames soar
and roar around him.
Not bad, I thought to myself, as I picked up the cup for another sip. Yuck! The tea was cold.
3.
After a few weeks, we returned to Baltimore. Der Schmied returned with me, stowed away in my head; the song made its presence known on many, often unexpected, occasions. The imagined performance inside me, I thought, was first-rate. I wondered if any recording matched my ideal version--Connected to YouTube, I proceeded to find out.
What follows is the result of that search. I invite you now to listen and evaluate three performance of the piece I found on YouTube, including the Norman/Barenboim version I hadn't heard for decades. After a brief discussion of the lied itself, we will focus on the pianist in each case; functioning as the bass to the soprano's treble, the piano, as is usual, sets the rhythm--and, in my ideal version, the piano is prominent, paramount and, well, loud.
Der Schmied, (The Blacksmith), by Johannes Brahms, Op. 19, Nr. 4
Der Schmied is the fourth of five lieder of Brahms's opus 19. It is an early work. The art song brilliantly evokes a nineteenth century genre scene of a blacksmith at his forge. The composer gave this rustic scene life and vitality by emphasizing the sound of the hammer pounding on the anvil. Brahms intended an effect more striking rather than subtle. The music for each stanza of the poem is identical, further emphasizing the repetitive motif which is present without variation throughout the composition. Brahms gets away with this regularity magnificently for one good reason: the lied is very short. If there were a third stanza, this lack of variation would begin to be boring. Brahms wanted to depict a brief, rural scene; if he varied the motif, this musical snapshot would lose its vivid, deliberately monotonous effect. In this brief piece, the pounding is part of the charm.
As already mentioned, the music for each stanza is identical. I am convinced that Brahms composed the second stanza first. The way he composed the last line of the poem is a strong indication that this music came first. He emphasizes the "soar" or in the German version, "lodern." In each case, the word is put to music as a dotted quarter note, thus lasting a whole measure; the word then ends on a quarter note in the next measure at a pitch a quarter note a half-tone higher. In other words: the flames SO (1,2,3)-AR (1) around him, or LO (1,2,3) DERN (1) um ihn. No other notes are extended in the piece, which gives great emphasis on the "soar" or "lodern." This works very well; it makes the image of the roaring flames all the more vivid. The extra time designation lays great stress on the fire sweeping up around the blacksmith--We can almost feel the heat! In the first stanza, the extended note falls on "Gassen," or "streets" in my translation. A Gasse is a small Strasse, a minor street. It is joined with "Platz," or village square. The village square is, of course, more imposing than minor streets. The emphasis on "Gasse" is thus out-of-place. This is indeed a minor detail; I'm mentioning it only as an indication of the order of composition of the lied.
First Recording: Helen Watts, Geoffrey Parsons
Geoffrey Parsons, (1929-1995), was an outstanding Australian pianist, who had a prominent international career. He was especially known as an accompanist, supporting vocalists and instrumentalists as well. I admire this recording. The duration of this short piece is one minute and three seconds. The pianist's tempo is slow, as it should be in order to call to mind the regular beats of a powerful blacksmith's hammer. (Recall the tempo of the Anvil Chorus from Verdi's Il Travatore.) It is played forte, that is, played loudly throughout, as Brahms indicated. Parsons emphasizes the downbeat of measure one, and the first beat of measure three, five, etc. and plays the first beat of measures two, four, etc slightly softer, providing an acceptable degree nuance to the "monotonous charm" which the piece demands.
I do have one objection. In the second stanza, he begins the line, "Doch geh' ich vorüber," ("Yet when I pass,") softly and works up to a crescendo at the end of the piece, which is played fortissimo. This was not what I heard in my mind. I don't think the lines, "the bellows sough more/ and the flames roar" should be played any softer than the first three lines of that stanza. Parsons played it this way, presumably, for dramatic effect. (The only action in the poem, other than the blacksmith's pounding, is when his sweetheart passes by, which occurs at this point.) My mind's version of this lied emphasizes a mechanical rhythm of just about unvarying intensity throughout. Some dynamic variation is, of course, important, but I think the one Parsons adopted here is a bit more exaggerated than I'd like. This is a minor criticism; others might find Parson's interpretation to be just right.
Second Recording: Jessye Norman/Daniel Barenboim
This is the version I heard decades ago. (The recording was released in 1983, the year that I bought my copy. I listened to it a few times, then stored it away in a closet where it remains to this day.) Daniel Barenboim is certainly a great pianist; this version of the lied, however, is far from my ideal version. It's too fast, taking only forty-seven seconds, compared to the minute and three seconds of the previous version. The fast tempo evokes a blacksmith that is too light and perky, rather than being burly and powerful. Not the image of a blacksmith that usually comes to mind, at least to my mind.
Barenboim begins a crescendo with the fourth line of the first stanza, which I think is quite inappropriate. There's nothing quiet about "Das dringt in die Weite." I think I understand what Barenboim is doing. In music, to avoid boredom, you tend to vary the dynamics when something is repeated; the second version often is softer, an echo of the first, as it were. But this is a short, fast--but not too fast--piece; thus, playing it more uniformly conjures up an ideal blacksmith without giving the listener time to be bored. (If there were a third stanza, there would be a problem.)
The performance is too fast, too refined, too precious; the rustic "snapshot" effect of this genre scene is thus greatly diminished.
The Third Recording: Christa Ludwig/Gerald Moore
This is it! Although I never had heard it before, this was the version that played in my mind. Gerald Moore, (1899-1967), was known as the greatest accompanist of his generation, and, listening to this performance, one can understand why. Without a doubt he had the deepest understanding of the poem and the music. This is the slowest version; it takes one minute and twenty seconds, seventeen seconds longer than Parsons's version and a full thirty-four seconds longer than Barenboim's. The slow tempo makes the hammer sound heavier and the hand wielding it seem stronger. Now we fully understand why the sound of the hammer is so loud. The poem is narrated by the blacksmith's sweetheart who is undoubtedly more taken in by his masculinity here than in Barenboim's wimpier version. The dynamics are basically even throughout; the fortissimo is saved for the last line of each stanza--which begins, in each case, as noted earlier, on a prolonged note--just where the change in dynamics should be. The rustic nature of the piece comes across perfectly--We can see the scene with our mind's eye much more effectively here. Bravo, Gerald Moore!.
4.
The subtleties of great art evoke different responses and interpretations. I would like to conclude with an interpretation of the poem that might have shocked his contemporaries. Brahms's version is innocent; a different, defensible view of the poem is much less so. Before we present this interpretation, let us quote the poem in its entirety once more:
THE BLACKSMITH
I hear him, my sweetie,
the hammer he's swinging,
the clanking, the clinking
echoes and swells
like pealing bells
through streets of the city.
Used to the din,
he sits at the furnace;
yet when I pass,
the bellows sough more
and the flames soar
and roar around him.
If the poet, Ludwig Uhland, wanted to indicate love-making for a nineteenth century audience, the imagery would have to be merely suggestive and well hidden. There is not even a hint of this interpretation in Brahms's version. His more innocent version undoubtedly reflects how nearly everyone reads this poem. One's conscious awareness is prone to read it one way, one's unconscious awareness another. That Uhland was able to depict sexuality in an implicit, nineteenth century way while hinting at its expression in a more explicit, twenty-first century way simultaneously is a remarkable achievement. All the more so since sexuality is hardly the first thing that comes to mind when one thinks of Ludwig Uhland, (1797-1862), a talented, folksy poet, several of whose poems remain quite popular today wherever German is spoken. Even if Uhland's conscious intentions had been more modest, this "immodest" interpretation is quite consistent with the imagery of this poem.
It would be very difficult for a composer to do this interpretation justice. Brahms's delightful version is likely to remain the best musical rendering of Uhland's poem that we will ever have. We all can live with that!
Consciousness, I will never understand you! Awareness is like a snorkeler, swimming a few feet below the surface. He looks down into the deep, into the vast ocean of his own unconscious world. Why does he see a bouquet of coral with clown fish darting to and fro among the orange blooms, and not see, say, a sunken ship? Why does the image of a luminous jellyfish appear unbidden and not, say, a shark? Why does he look and sometimes see nothing at all, unaware of even himself? Consciousness, I will never understand you!
2.
My wife, Nirmala, my son, Philip, and I spent February 2015 in Chennai, India, visiting my wife's relatives. Almost every morning, just before dawn, Nirmala and I would take a walk to the beach. Soon after we arrived at the beach, about three-quarters of a mile from my sister-in-law's place, we would watch the sun rise over the Bay of Bengal. The dawns experienced on a Chennai beach are always spectacular. Watching the dark silhouette of a passing kattumaram slowly brighten as it approached shimmering light spreading out from the horizon like an old-fashioned tie, my wife and I held hands in silence--This was the memorable beginning of February 10th. Returning home, I was lost in thought; my wife went ahead. As I absentmindedly hopped over a little wall that separated sand from sidewalk, I fell. I did not hit my head, I am sure of that. Uninjured except for a minor scratch, something strange occurred as I got up. A very regular rhythm in three-quarter time began playing in my head: ONE two three, ONE to three. My gait assumed the cadence of the music. When the melody came, I recognized it right away: it was a lied by Brahms, der Schmied. I hadn't heard that song for over thirty years--why did it returnr to me now, in India, of all places? Consciousness, I will never understand you!
Mridula, my wife's sister, lives in a comfortable condominium with her husband Jose on a relatively quiet street opposite the gardens of the international center of the Theosophical Society, a syncretic religious organization that was quite popular at the beginning of the last century. Right after we arrived from our walk, I went straight to the computer while Mridula brewed tea. All the words came back to me after I clicked on the link to the poem by Ludwig Uhland:
DER SCHMIED
von Ludwig Uhland
Ich hör' meinen Schatz,
Den Hammer er schwnget,
Das rauschet, das klinget,
Das dringt in die Weite
Wie Glockengeläute
Durch Gassen und Platz.
Am schwarzen Kamin,
Da sitzet mein Lieber,
Doch geh' ich vorüber,
Die Bälge dann sausen,
Die Flammen aufbrausen
Und lodern um ihn.
With a cup of piping-hot tea in my hand, I gazed admiringly at the screen--What a nice poem! The accompanying English translation, however, was atrocious. (Example: "Das dringt in die Weite" was translated as "That penetrates into the distance"--whoever translated that has no sense for poetry. In addition, the English version didn't rhyme.) I had no choice but to translate it myself:
I hear him, my sweetie,
the hammer he's swinging,
the clanking, the clinking
echoes and swells
like pealing bells
through streets of the city.
Used to the din,
he sits at the furnace;
yet when I pass,
the bellows sough more
and the flames soar
and roar around him.
Not bad, I thought to myself, as I picked up the cup for another sip. Yuck! The tea was cold.
3.
After a few weeks, we returned to Baltimore. Der Schmied returned with me, stowed away in my head; the song made its presence known on many, often unexpected, occasions. The imagined performance inside me, I thought, was first-rate. I wondered if any recording matched my ideal version--Connected to YouTube, I proceeded to find out.
What follows is the result of that search. I invite you now to listen and evaluate three performance of the piece I found on YouTube, including the Norman/Barenboim version I hadn't heard for decades. After a brief discussion of the lied itself, we will focus on the pianist in each case; functioning as the bass to the soprano's treble, the piano, as is usual, sets the rhythm--and, in my ideal version, the piano is prominent, paramount and, well, loud.
Der Schmied, (The Blacksmith), by Johannes Brahms, Op. 19, Nr. 4
Der Schmied is the fourth of five lieder of Brahms's opus 19. It is an early work. The art song brilliantly evokes a nineteenth century genre scene of a blacksmith at his forge. The composer gave this rustic scene life and vitality by emphasizing the sound of the hammer pounding on the anvil. Brahms intended an effect more striking rather than subtle. The music for each stanza of the poem is identical, further emphasizing the repetitive motif which is present without variation throughout the composition. Brahms gets away with this regularity magnificently for one good reason: the lied is very short. If there were a third stanza, this lack of variation would begin to be boring. Brahms wanted to depict a brief, rural scene; if he varied the motif, this musical snapshot would lose its vivid, deliberately monotonous effect. In this brief piece, the pounding is part of the charm.
As already mentioned, the music for each stanza is identical. I am convinced that Brahms composed the second stanza first. The way he composed the last line of the poem is a strong indication that this music came first. He emphasizes the "soar" or in the German version, "lodern." In each case, the word is put to music as a dotted quarter note, thus lasting a whole measure; the word then ends on a quarter note in the next measure at a pitch a quarter note a half-tone higher. In other words: the flames SO (1,2,3)-AR (1) around him, or LO (1,2,3) DERN (1) um ihn. No other notes are extended in the piece, which gives great emphasis on the "soar" or "lodern." This works very well; it makes the image of the roaring flames all the more vivid. The extra time designation lays great stress on the fire sweeping up around the blacksmith--We can almost feel the heat! In the first stanza, the extended note falls on "Gassen," or "streets" in my translation. A Gasse is a small Strasse, a minor street. It is joined with "Platz," or village square. The village square is, of course, more imposing than minor streets. The emphasis on "Gasse" is thus out-of-place. This is indeed a minor detail; I'm mentioning it only as an indication of the order of composition of the lied.
First Recording: Helen Watts, Geoffrey Parsons
Geoffrey Parsons, (1929-1995), was an outstanding Australian pianist, who had a prominent international career. He was especially known as an accompanist, supporting vocalists and instrumentalists as well. I admire this recording. The duration of this short piece is one minute and three seconds. The pianist's tempo is slow, as it should be in order to call to mind the regular beats of a powerful blacksmith's hammer. (Recall the tempo of the Anvil Chorus from Verdi's Il Travatore.) It is played forte, that is, played loudly throughout, as Brahms indicated. Parsons emphasizes the downbeat of measure one, and the first beat of measure three, five, etc. and plays the first beat of measures two, four, etc slightly softer, providing an acceptable degree nuance to the "monotonous charm" which the piece demands.
I do have one objection. In the second stanza, he begins the line, "Doch geh' ich vorüber," ("Yet when I pass,") softly and works up to a crescendo at the end of the piece, which is played fortissimo. This was not what I heard in my mind. I don't think the lines, "the bellows sough more/ and the flames roar" should be played any softer than the first three lines of that stanza. Parsons played it this way, presumably, for dramatic effect. (The only action in the poem, other than the blacksmith's pounding, is when his sweetheart passes by, which occurs at this point.) My mind's version of this lied emphasizes a mechanical rhythm of just about unvarying intensity throughout. Some dynamic variation is, of course, important, but I think the one Parsons adopted here is a bit more exaggerated than I'd like. This is a minor criticism; others might find Parson's interpretation to be just right.
Second Recording: Jessye Norman/Daniel Barenboim
)
Barenboim begins a crescendo with the fourth line of the first stanza, which I think is quite inappropriate. There's nothing quiet about "Das dringt in die Weite." I think I understand what Barenboim is doing. In music, to avoid boredom, you tend to vary the dynamics when something is repeated; the second version often is softer, an echo of the first, as it were. But this is a short, fast--but not too fast--piece; thus, playing it more uniformly conjures up an ideal blacksmith without giving the listener time to be bored. (If there were a third stanza, there would be a problem.)
The performance is too fast, too refined, too precious; the rustic "snapshot" effect of this genre scene is thus greatly diminished.
The Third Recording: Christa Ludwig/Gerald Moore
This is it! Although I never had heard it before, this was the version that played in my mind. Gerald Moore, (1899-1967), was known as the greatest accompanist of his generation, and, listening to this performance, one can understand why. Without a doubt he had the deepest understanding of the poem and the music. This is the slowest version; it takes one minute and twenty seconds, seventeen seconds longer than Parsons's version and a full thirty-four seconds longer than Barenboim's. The slow tempo makes the hammer sound heavier and the hand wielding it seem stronger. Now we fully understand why the sound of the hammer is so loud. The poem is narrated by the blacksmith's sweetheart who is undoubtedly more taken in by his masculinity here than in Barenboim's wimpier version. The dynamics are basically even throughout; the fortissimo is saved for the last line of each stanza--which begins, in each case, as noted earlier, on a prolonged note--just where the change in dynamics should be. The rustic nature of the piece comes across perfectly--We can see the scene with our mind's eye much more effectively here. Bravo, Gerald Moore!.
4.
The subtleties of great art evoke different responses and interpretations. I would like to conclude with an interpretation of the poem that might have shocked his contemporaries. Brahms's version is innocent; a different, defensible view of the poem is much less so. Before we present this interpretation, let us quote the poem in its entirety once more:
THE BLACKSMITH
I hear him, my sweetie,
the hammer he's swinging,
the clanking, the clinking
echoes and swells
like pealing bells
through streets of the city.
Used to the din,
he sits at the furnace;
yet when I pass,
the bellows sough more
and the flames soar
and roar around him.
This poem is more sexually suggestive than meets the ear. The change in tone begins with the third line of the second stanza. I translated "Doch geh' ich vorüber" with "Yet when I pass"--the German word "doch" often translated as "yet" is much more emphatic. It indicates something out of the ordinary, in other words: when others pass by, nothing happens; yet when I pass by, the bellows sough more, etc. (The bellows imagery occurs while the piano continues to depict the blacksmith at his anvil. Obviously, he can't hammer and work the bellows at the same time. The music pictures him in one position simultaneously as the poem depicts him in another--this I half-jokingly refer to as an example of cubism in music.) In my interpretation, when the blacksmith is working the bellows and sees his girlfriend pass, he pumps faster, causing the flames to leap and soar around him. The sexual imagery is obvious; the blacksmith fancies that he is making love to his girlfriend, and, well, pumps harder. The flames of passion follow.
If the poet, Ludwig Uhland, wanted to indicate love-making for a nineteenth century audience, the imagery would have to be merely suggestive and well hidden. There is not even a hint of this interpretation in Brahms's version. His more innocent version undoubtedly reflects how nearly everyone reads this poem. One's conscious awareness is prone to read it one way, one's unconscious awareness another. That Uhland was able to depict sexuality in an implicit, nineteenth century way while hinting at its expression in a more explicit, twenty-first century way simultaneously is a remarkable achievement. All the more so since sexuality is hardly the first thing that comes to mind when one thinks of Ludwig Uhland, (1797-1862), a talented, folksy poet, several of whose poems remain quite popular today wherever German is spoken. Even if Uhland's conscious intentions had been more modest, this "immodest" interpretation is quite consistent with the imagery of this poem.
It would be very difficult for a composer to do this interpretation justice. Brahms's delightful version is likely to remain the best musical rendering of Uhland's poem that we will ever have. We all can live with that!
I hope you have enjoyed reading this essay; I welcome your comments. This is the last of a four-part series exploring various musical genres. The other three are posted on my blog and can found by googling the title followed by my name, Thomas Dorsett:
Music is Music! Part 1: Beautiful Hurts
Music is Music! Part ll: Gospel
Music is Music! Part lll: Jazz (Throw It Away!)
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