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If Paris was known as the capital of the nineteenth century, recent trends in musicology have encouraged some to turn their eyes away from this position in search of new scholarly frameworks. Many researchers have, on the one hand, moved away from capital-city studies and placed renewed emphasis on excavating the diverse regional cultural environments to fully account for a national musical landscape, in France and beyond.1 On the other hand, opera scholars in particular have championed a transnational approach to mapping performers’ careers, the circulation of repertoire, and the development of singing and staging practices.2 Neither approach entirely forsakes the capital, in fact, especially in the case of France. Rather, the highly centralized nature of nineteenth-century French cultural infrastructure has ensured that one of the tantalizing results of shifting the scholarly lens to different geographies is the revelation of new aspects of the significance of the capital’s musical practices when placed in relationship with others, and the parallel interrogation of the scope and source of Paris’s status and influence when inserted within a broader network.3 In other words, recent directions in French music history, in allowing for a more critical assessment of the place and function of the capital from new perspectives, still ignite rather than dim the lure of the musical context of Paris sui generis. Indeed, the monographs reviewed in this article highlight that this is for good reason. These three nineteenth-century studies unveil a multiplicity of the capital’s musical practices, sites, and figures that, just like new geographies, remain unfamiliar to musicologists despite the ubiquity of the capital in scholars’ eyes, and cast new light on Parisian musical history.
Since the introduction of modern revues in 1925, the genre faced near-constant political scrutiny in Budapest. Yet by the 1930s, the city had become the capital of Central European cosmopolitan nightlife. The closure of Hungary's borders after World War II ended any hope of reclaiming this international status. Under communism and the Stalinist totalitarian regime, the revue—despite its popularity—remained politically stigmatized. For the first time, entertainment was treated as a cultural matter rather than merely a law enforcement issue, but it was forced to conform to ideological expectations. Three attempts to legitimize the genre in the 1950s ultimately failed, shaping the trajectory of live entertainment in the era. By the 1960s, revues were officially accepted, yet their cultural significance had faded amid the rise of new entertainment forms.
Gypsy, the groundbreaking 1959 Broadway musical by Jule Styne, Stephen Sondheim, and Arthur Laurents, introduced the world of musical theater to one of the most formidable female characters ever to strut onto the stage: Madam (Momma) Rose. She embodies the archetypal “stage mother” whose lifelong journey to achieve fame, enacted vicariously through her daughters and their vagabond life across America, drives her to a “madness” akin to that of the quintessential operatic madwoman. Her famous mad scene, “Rose's Turn,” demonstrates the many analytical possibilities intrinsic to this character definition. The creators of Gypsy's Rose thus showcased the “Broadway musical madwoman” type: a female character who, like her foremother the operatic madwoman, is rife with gendered complexity that creates a fascinating opportunity for feminist analytical study. This Element's two-pronged approach uses the frameworks of feminist theory and musicological analysis to consider the importance, legacy, and reception of Rose's journey.
Keeping track of how appreciation and understanding of Tristan und Isolde has evolved, in live performance, recording and scholarly studies, is a formidable task. One path through the labyrinth is opened up by Wagner’s poetic text, in which the title characters express their disorientation, their alienation from communal norms. Stage directors and musicological commentators alike have found ways of dramatising the particular tensions between conformity and nonconformity that encapsulate the drama’s representations of love and death, in settings that balance magical interventions (the love potion) against the worldly intrusions of King Marke and his entourage. Surveying and critiquing accounts of the role that Tristan und Isolde has played at the heart of fundamental changes to musical form and style since the 1860s reinforces the value of arguing that the continued presence of modernist qualities in contemporary music – works by Schoenberg, Nono, Henze, Andriessen and Anderson are instanced - is a direct consequence of Wagner’s materials and methods, particularly in Tristan.
This chapter approaches Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde from the viewpoint of its temporal dramaturgy. It highlights the opera’s specificity by interpreting it as a tragedy of hearing: a tragedy in which the main characters, Tristan and Isolde, stuck in their melancholy, are bound to the discursive and plot-oriented forms of musical-operatic time, while the redemption they desire – aesthetically presented by Wagner through acoustic means – points musically beyond the opera’s temporal structures. These connections can be traced on the structural level and that of musical dramaturgy and musical form but also on the level of the characters’ psychology.
In the analysis of late tonal music, analytical approaches which attempt to understand tonal function on the one hand, and harmonic transformation viewed through a neo-Riemannian lens on the other, often stand in an uneasy relation. Through analysis of Act 1, Scene 3 of Götterdämmerung, this chapter attempts to bring neo-Riemannian theory closer to its origin in Hugo Riemann’s functional theory, and so to point the way towards a new theoretical frame for understanding the tonal function of chromatic music. We urge this return to Riemann because it enables twenty-first-century listeners and theorists to appreciate the complex power of tonality as a system which, like the great socio-economic, legal, religious and scientific systems that have endured into the twenty-first century, has an indefatigable ability to subsume anything that might seem to pose a challenge to it back into itself, as a source of further power.
This chapter demonstrates that despite Wagner’s claims that traditional operatic compositional schemes limited the composer’s ability to project drama successfully, he relied on these procedures in the operas from Die Feen through Lohengrin, and continued to use them thereafter in the mature music dramas. Analysis of Wagner’s first six operas demonstrates that Wagner utilised the formal conventions of Italian opera, including clearly articulated cabalettas, far more frequently than has previously been noted. The conventional Italian form accounts for one-third to one-half of musical numbers in these works. The chapter includes close analysis of four numbers (from Die Feen, Der fliegende Holländer, Tannhäuser and Lohengrin) and tabular presentation of all of Wagner’s appropriations of this formal convention in the first part of his career. The chapter further identifies vestiges and transformations of la solita forma in the later music dramas, concluding with speculation on why these formal devices have eluded critical commentary until now.
Revisiting selected passages from Siegfried and Parsifal, this chapter argues that the archaic surface of Wagner’s late counterpoint – the result of contrary motion, constructed symmetries, stepwise motion and rhythmic uniformity – relies less on historical styles than on a musical ‘laboratory situation’. Through a combination of nineteenth-century counterpoint pedagogy and historical and contemporary models (including some of Wagner’s own earlier works) with aspects of memory studies and Adorno’s ideas on late style, the chapter shows how a composed image of ‘counterpoint’ creates acoustic and analytical conditions that draw attention to the constructive elements of Wagner’s late style.
This chapter reconsiders ways to interpret the musical gesture of the turn figure in Mahler’s Ninth Symphony by comparing it with Richard Wagner’s use of the same gesture in Parsifal – a work that proved crucial for Mahler’s development as a composer and as a conductor. In Parsifal, the descending second is associated with suffering and pain (‘Strafe’, ‘Klage’, ‘Qual’), but also with the possibility of redemption (‘Erlöse, Rette mich!’). As in the Adagio of Mahler’s Ninth, the melodic turn is omnipresent in Parsifal. This chapter concentrates on three specific moments where this orchestral gesture seems to express the unspeakable: Kundry’s narrative of Herzeleide’s death, her description of the gaze of Christ on the cross (both in Act 2) and her baptism by Parsifal in Act 3. Comparing these moments in Parsifal with similar instants in Mahler’s Ninth highlights their essentially theatrical and transformative nature: where verbal language reaches its limits, physical and musical gestures take over, transforming the silence of the words into material movement.
Wagner’s music had theorists continuously scratching their heads. Its fabled newness challenged not only established analytical systems to flex their theoretical muscles but also called for wholly new approaches. This chapter examines early attempts (c.1880–1910) to come to terms with Wagner’s formal and harmonic challenges – crystallised, as ever, in the iconic Tristan chord. Early efforts, by such figures as Karl Mayrberger, Cyrill Kistler, Max Arend, Cyrill Kynast and Emil Ergo, were focused on identifying the most suitable model of tonal harmony among Hauptmann’s, Sechter’s and, later, Riemann’s influential systems and expanding its reach to encompass Wagner’s progressive harmonies. In these discussions, Wagner’s musical structures became nothing less than a battleground for the validity and theoretical prowess of rival conceptions of harmony. It was left to a younger generation of theorists, chief among them Georg Capellen and Ernst Kurth, to reject these nineteenth-century models altogether and to reformulate extended theories of harmony on new foundations.
Wagner’s ‘relationship with music theory’, Alexander Rehding drily notes in his contribution to the present volume, ‘was complicated’ (p. 205). One could say something similar about music theory’s relationship with Wagner. On the one hand Wagner’s music, and especially its harmonic structure, has long served as a touchstone for theoretical models both old and new. At the same time, however, music analysts more often than not have appeared intimidated by the complexity of Wagner’s works, their multi-layeredness and their sheer unwieldiness. Already in 1981, the late Anthony Newcomb noted in the first of a series of remarkably forward-looking articles on Wagner analysis that American music theory was ‘unwilling to touch messy Wagnerian opera with [its] bright Schenkerian tools’.1 To be sure, much has changed since then: not only have Schenkerians (or at least some of them) embraced Wagner, but also the toolbox of both North American and global music theory has expanded considerably over the last three or four decades, not to mention how much broader the perspective of music theory and analysis in general (what they are, what they can do and what they can be about) has become. Still, a survey of general music theory journals or analysis of conference programmes from the past two decades quickly makes clear that Wagner’s music is not exactly one of the discipline’s main preoccupations.
Recent studies applying William Caplin’s form-functional theory to Richard Wagner’s music have focused on Das Rheingold and later music dramas. However, his earlier Lohengrin, the final work he titled ‘romantische Oper’, proves an ideal candidate for such a study, since it still retains certain conventions (such as subtly disguised ‘numbers’ and a fairly clear harmonic palette) while pushing the boundary on others (such as scenes built as ‘dialogue cycles’ and pervasive use of diminished-seventh harmonies). This study first focuses on the principal Leitmotivs of the work, those associated with Elsa, Ortrud, the Grail and the Frageverbot (forbidden question), examining their theme types and loosening features, then exploring their transformations in different appearances throughout the opera – particularly Elsa’s motive. It then considers selected passages constructed in ‘rotational form’, in which one or more of these leitmotivs are used as the backbone for the cyclic form.