Berio's Sinfonia

When I'm seeking out new music to listen to, my first step in considering a work is to scour the internet to see what others have said about it, then try to decide whether it sounds like I would enjoy it. However, my true reaction upon hearing the music rarely conforms with what my research leads me to expect. Usually this discrepancy is due to the fact that music is difficult to describe in words (hence the prevalence of audio clips in these articles) and because everyone has different aesthetics and thus different responses to the same music. However, occasionally the divergence occurs because my own tastes surprise me.

I recently sought out a recording of Berio's Sinfonia out of intellectual curiosity. From what I had read, it sounded like one of the works I usually dismiss as experimentation for experimentation's sake, written by a composer more interested in presenting novel or shocking ideas than creating an engaging experience. I expected to be amused by it, and to fill a gap in my knowledge, but nothing more. Instead, I instantly fell in love.

What won me over was the schizophrenic third movement of this work, which is written for eight voices (two sopranos, two altos, two tenors and two basses) and orchestra. It's wild, exciting, and sometimes very funny. It also really rewards repeated listening and close examination, as there are countless easter eggs hidden throughout. There is plenty of music out there where studying the score may reveal an enormous amount of pattern and structure but ultimately makes me think, "So what if he used huge tables and complex mathematical operations to generate the notes? It just sounds random in the end." But in the Sinfonia, each nugget I discovered made me smile and contributed to my enjoyment of the overall work.

Okay, enough words; you want to hear this thing! Here's the opening of the third movement.

The very beginning of the movement sounds like a chaotic jumble, as if the different sections of the orchestra don't know what piece they want to play. But after ten seconds or so the orchestra seems to come to agreement as they settle into a familiar sounding work.

This is the scherzo from Mahler's "Resurrection" symphony! Okay, so in the Berio piece, it appears that the orchestra is directly quoting Mahler. But what's with all the other stuff going on? Let's listen to what the voices are saying. As the movement begins, all the voices shout "Peripetie", which just happens to be the title of the fourth movement of Schoenberg's Fünf Orchesterstücke. Let's hear what that sounds like:

So the opening of the Berio is taken from Schoenberg! In fact the entire Berio movement is full of bits and pieces taken from dozens of famous classical works (likely to be recognisable to an audience well-versed in the classical repertoire). Meanwhile, the voices sometimes comment on the orchestra's activities, sometimes sing along, sometimes wax philosophical and extensively quote text by Samuel Beckett. Through it all, Mahler's scherzo attempts to play continuously from start to finish, but it is constantly interrupted by the scraps of other works. Sometimes these works manage to temporarily overcome the Mahler completely, but it never gives up.

Here the Danse de la terre (Dance of the earth) from Stravinsky's Le sacre du printemps gradually encroaches on the Mahler and eventually obliterates it completely. However when it seems to pause to catch its breath, it finds that underneath it all the Mahler is still doggedly pressing onwards undeterred. After a few more blasts to try and scare it away, it finally gives up, with the first tenor using a quote from Beckett ("the earth would have to quake, it isn't earth...") to comment on the disappearance of the Danse de la terre. The voices constantly make references, some direct and some almost opaque, to the musical quotations.

The tenor goes on, "one doesn't know what it is, maybe a kind of competition on the stage, with just eight female dancers..." which describes the Double pas-de-quatre from Stravinsky's ballet Agon. Indeed, we now hear this very piece as a new contender challenging the Mahler. At the same time, we additionally hear the beginning of the third movement of Debussy's La mer interrupting also. To me, it sounds like the urgent bassline of the Debussy in the lower strings is trying to goad the somewhat similar but unflappable bassline of the Mahler.

Here are clips of all the relevant passages quoted in the above excerpt, so you can hear how Berio has combined them.

Mahler: Symphony no. 2 "Resurrection"

Stravinsky: Le sacre du printemps

Stravinsky: Agon

Debussy: La mer

Perhaps my favourite fragment of the movement is the following drunken waltz:

The strings barge in, cutting off the Mahler with a lush waltz from Strauss's opera, Der Rosenkavalier. But after just a couple of bars, the orchestra suddenly changes its mind and switches to a very similar passage in Ravel's La Valse. As the dance gets more and more agitated, it slips back and forth seamlessly between the two, creating a grotesque hybrid. The effect is completely disorienting to those familiar with the two works, and may be more successful than either Strauss or Ravel were in exploring the intoxicating nature of the waltz.

Here are clips of the two waltzes, and a score reduction showing how Berio intercuts between them.

Strauss: Der Rosenkavalier

Ravel: La valse

A particularly chaotic moment in the movement features a scene from Berg's opera Wozzeck. Here is the Berio excerpt:

In the corresponding passage of the original Mahler, the orchestra recovers from the angry outburst and quickly returns to its initial mood. Berio however allows no such easy resolution, and the outburst is followed by the dreadful rising chords from Wozzeck's climactic scene where the protagonist drowns.

The eight voices are especially agitated here, variously shouting "Stop!" and "Keep going!" as well as acting out the dialogue from the scene (although they confuse what language the opera is in). Finally the orchestra reaches a tense discordant chromatic cluster which seems to have all the anxious energy bottled up inside it. After a few seconds, we hear a cleansing tone from the tam-tam, and the voices start giggling nervously, and all the tension is released.

The following passage of the Berio contains a particularly facetious joke:

The first tenor says, "I have a present for you," and, on command, the orchestra plays an abrupt chord. What type of a present is that?! Well, before we return it to the store, let's investigate where this chord came from.

It is, in fact, the exact same chord which opens the first movement of Boulez's Pli selon pli. The title of this movement? It's called "Don", which is French for "present"! Ho ho ho!

While this article was written to highlight some of the games which Berio plays with musical quotations, I wouldn't want to leave you thinking that this movement is nothing but an amusement. Somehow, the juxtaposition of all these elements in this almost absurd pastiche yields something with surprising emotional weight. I'll end this article with two passages which I feel exhibit the more sentimental aspects of the movement.