However, if you have the entire movement memorized, perhaps nothing would come as a surprise; you would presumably be expecting everything that occurs!
Or would you?
I discuss the "Waldstein" sonata every year when I teach musical form, and every time I hear it I am delighted/excited/amazed, and yes, even surprised, when we reach the recapitulation. Without getting too specific,1 Beethoven does some absolutely outrageous things during the recapitulation, and even though I know what's coming, it doesn't temper my visceral reaction of surprise when they happen.
Why is that?
It could be because I am slow of mind, incapable of remembering what's coming next. I won't deny that my brain is occasionally slower than I wish it were, but I think there may be another explanation for this, and it is related to dropping a heavy object on my toe last summer.
Here's what happened: I was helping one of my kids assemble an office chair in his room, and an extremely heavy part (the pneumatic gas cylinder – the central metal post upon which the chair rests) dropped onto my foot. I vividly remember that the pain was about as extreme as anything I had ever felt, but I don't remember the pain itself. Put another way, I remember that something really painful happened, and I remember the cause, but I cannot recreate the visceral quality of the experience itself, unless I were to drop something heavy on my toe again. I do not plan on doing this, although life being what it is, I'm sure something similar will occur at some point in the future… :(
Here's another analogy, this time involving no pain: There are some roller-coasters that I have ridden so many times that I know in advance what to expect, and yet they thrill me every time.
Remembering an emotional response is not the same as experiencing it. When I hear the first movement of the "Waldstein" sonata, I know what is coming next. I also know that in previous hearings I was astonished at various points in the piece by the ways in which Beethoven plays with our expectations, but this knowledge does not prevent my experiencing a similar level of astonishment — I can't believe he just did that! AGAIN! — every time I hear this composition.
This strikes me as one measure of a work's greatness; it can astonish, surprise, delight, or otherwise move you every time you hear it, even if you know what is coming next.
For composers, this is extremely valuable information! If we find ways to engage our listeners and play with their expectations, there's a chance our music will continue to have a similar effect on people for a very long time to come.
If you'd like to listen to the entire first movement of the "Waldstein" sonata, here's a video with scrolling score:
1. I often ask students to identify the various unexpected/surprising things that occur during the recapitulation of this sonata, which is why I am not being more specific here. I don't want to give too much away, because I would like students to discover these wonderful moments for themselves.↩
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17 comments:
Oh I remember the days of studying the Waldstein in theory class...It's strange I can now be writing about it of my own accord.
I've heard you use the analogy with the pain before and was immediately struck by it. Such a clever way to prove a point and so true of composition.
In class we often talk about finding ways to do the unexpected so that our listeners ears do not get retire from the experience, but it seems Beethoven thought of this on a whole other level.
Of course it would be foolish to go overboard and constantly do the unexpected. As a listener, I often want things to go when I hear them going. But what is so smart about the Waldstein is exactly as you said, it surprises you every time.
It is so hard to pinpoint exactly how he does this. I'm sure you could analyze it and find out the harmonic progression that throws the ear for a loop, but I don't think it CAN be analyzed how you rae surprised EVERY time.
What is the difference between what Beethoven has done, and what some other composer has done in inputting something unexpected into their score?
I think it is not so much the "point of unexpected" itself, but the juxiposition of this with everything else. How long has it been since something unexpected happens? What happens right before and after it? How much do we expect it to go somewhere else? Have you already done the same material going where we expect, and have now altered that?
So many questions...So few can be answered by a deceased composer...
It's interesting to think about the separation between one's intellectual knowledge of a piece of music and the emotional/musical impact that it has. Does one influence the other? Are we inclined to like pieces more after we "understand them" intellectually? Do those musical goose-bump moments happen because of how a composer plays with the intellectual aspects like form and harmony? Or is it all related to something else? Would a person who has no knowledge of form be as surprised and excited by Beethoven's ingenuity as a seasoned musician? All interesting questions.
On a slightly tangential topic, I feel as though Beethoven's "elements of surprise" stem from that fact that he was working within the rigid structure of large scale classical forms. Any departure from such a predetermined course would seem novel. By comparison, I feel as though it is much harder to create "unexpected" music today as the bounds of what people expect are so loose. Is it possible that we are experiencing an inflation of unexpectedness? In that for something to seem new and unexpected it needs to be so much more different from what came before than in Beethoven's day when modulating to a different key in the recapitulation was considered big news.
I don't really have any answers to these questions. Just thought I'd through it out there.
Last year, when we studied Waldstein in theory, Lindsey and Tim in my studio (Dr. Volk's) were both playing the sonata. I cannot even begin to count the number of times I heard Waldstein that semester, but every time we got to the recapitulation I found it absolutely hilarious; I kept expected it to end, and each time it failed to I was surprised again! I have the same reaction each time I listen to Ives' Variations on "America" for organ; despite having heard this piece many many times, upon each listening I hear some new and humourous element that I absolutely never expected. Being new to the composition game, making use of the unexpected has been something that I've struggled with, but with each piece it becomes a little easier. Repeating the same motive exactly five or six times seemed like such an obvious thing to do at first, but now I realize that by shaking it up a little, I have a better chance of keeping a listener interested. That's one of the reasons that I have appreciate the format of 3100 classes: gaining feedback from other students has been instrumental in my understanding of the power of the unexpected.
Whether it be because he is my Trombone playing counterpart, because he's the hero of our time, or perhaps because he's so slick with his words - I agree with Aaron. To me? the Waldstein doesn't sound "unexpected." It just sounds absolutely delightful, and emotionally stimulating. As Michelle says, the recapitulation makes me laugh every time, and I cannot help but have that moment of "ahhhhhh" when the varied repetition of the second (or third, OR fourth... the theme that is very homorhythmic) theme comes in. However, to me this is not what makes a piece of music "unexpected.
When Chris Tonelli stands in front of a crowd and utters nonsense syllables for half an hour, that is unexpected (to the point of insanity). When Messaien uses additive rhythms, that is unexpected. Even when Berlioz uses the familiar "Dies Irae" from Gregorian Chant in his Symphonie Fantastique, even that I find is unexpected.
To me, Beethoven's variation and use of what appear to be non-related themes is done so seamlessly and so flawlessly, that it seems almost logical. Its the mark of a good composer, I would have to say. But unexpected? I think not.
It's really cool that the Waldstein sonata has the same effect on you every time you hear it. There are very few pieces that do this for me, one of them being Philip Glass's 8th symphony, first movement. Though, for me, it is like you said. Once I get to know a piece well and know what's coming next, I lose the emotional connection that I had when surprised by the unexpected in my first couple of listens.
As a composer, how would you know which plays on expectation would work? How do we make them last for generations? Clearly this has some period expectations but can there ever be universal expectations? Obviously everyone reacts differently but what expectations would reach the most people? Obviously not any kind of answer here, just though I'd share some questions.
I think playing with expectations is an interesting aspect of composing that I tend to not think about much in my own compositions, but am always aware of when listening to any and all other music. I find it perplexing when looking at my iTunes play counts and the fact that I keeps track of music that I have listened to hundreds of times over the past few months. I have "memorized" recordings and continue to listen to them, and they still surprise me when something happens unexpectedly. I think that this is one of the more attractive aspects of classical music, and all music in general, the fact that we crave to listen to it over and over until we know what is coming at every turn, but still want to take the musical journey. We are hard wired to expect V to go to I in tonal music, and when it resolves to say VI, it still doesn't sound "done" which is remarkable that we can fill in the information in fractions of a second and know that eventually it will come to a close - we will finally be musically satisfied. Or maybe not, we might listen to the piece a hundred more times to experience that violation of our expectations over and over again.
This is a topic that comes up often in class, and I am still trying to master. With only one project left, there are still a few ways I can "play with expectation". I think playing with expectation can be a personal choice, as some people like to recognize what they are about to hear instead of being surprised. I however, think it can be a very clever way of incorporating whole other levels of meaning to a piece. For example, I'm playing a piece called "jazzy" by Aaron Copland as part of my jury rep, and there is a very obvious play on expectations at the very end which comes off as comical to the listener. Around the end of the piece, the beginning reappears exactly as it had before but then the piece abruptly ends. This kind of play on expectation happens several other times in the piece and also creates a sense of comedy throughout. Playing with expectations can evoke other moods as well, but all in all is a great compositional technique. I am currently tweaking my final project so a little more of this will be incorporated.
It's interesting to think about the difference between what we know about a piece, and how we react to it. It's something I've never really thought about but when I listen to the repertoire I play, say Colors for Trombone by Bert Appermont. If I hear a recording of Joe Alessi playing it, I will get goose bumps every time he plays rehearsal R (I think) because of the incredible build of sound leading to the most involved and violent part. I know it's coming every time, but it's always interesting. I guess I always knew that expectation can have the effect of gratification, but never considered the value that it can have opposed to taking that gratification away when playing with the unexpected. It can be just as powerful, or more powerful.
Great post Dr. Ross! I remember in Intro to Composition one of the points you repeatedly stressed to us was to try to vary each repetition of a musical motive or idea, so that the idea never becomes stale or stagnant. In other words, you were telling us to play with the listener's expectations, as this is what keeps the listener engaged and interested. This has resonated with me since then, and it has become one of my priorities when composing. I think it's fun to surprise the listener with unexpected colours, textures or ideas. Just recently, after the Gower Band performed by band piece at the Kiwanis Festival, a woman came up to me after the performance and said that the climax of piece completely took her by surprise and that she was startled (in a good way) by the sudden chaos and drama in that section. I was extremely humbled to know that my music had resonated with her in this way. I find sometimes that playing with expectations can be difficult though, especially when trying not to deviate too far from the main musical material and not taking the music on a completely different path. This is something I am constantly working on as a developing composer.
I think that music, like books or movies, can successfully play with varying degrees of expectation because regardless of what happens, there is a set of minimum expectations each piece must follow. A sonata is just a type of piece, just like a romcom is a type of genre. Though a romcom can have twists and turns, it is still expected to loosely follow the trope set by their predecessors. Though some definitely are more intriguing than others, all of them are expected to end in a similar way. Beethoven really plays with our expectations in this piece. But regardless of how the piece unfolds, we should expect a exposition, development and recap. And we should expect the piece to end. No matter how many times Beethoven wants to bring back that first theme, even if it's LITERALLY 8 bars from the end, it has to come to a close. Movies and music, like many things in life, need to come to an end. The credits need to roll. The audience needs to go home. There are just some expectations that you can't break. On an unrelated note, I liked the point about remembering an emotional response not being the same as experiencing it. It's a good but concise reason as to why we continue to enjoy pieces that are familiar to us.
I've really enjoyed this set of posts on playing with expectations and think it offers some insight into how a composer can create more engaging music. I couldn't agree more with your thoughts on a great compositions ability to captivate an individual time after time, and have found this trait to be prevalent in most successful works of art. Learning how to play with a listeners expectations is a skill I have been working on over the past year, and I believe it has made significant improvements in a number of my compositions. By keeping this concept in mind while I write, I feel I am able to stretch more out of a few ideas, and prevent my piece for becoming overburdened with excessive unrelated material. To me, playing with a listeners expectations effectively is one of the greatest challenges a composer will face during the process of writing, and it can really make or break a piece.
Like your reoccurring reaction to the Waldstein Sonata, It has always interested me that even though someone may know the outcome of a movie, piece of music, or novel, they often choose to revisit the work for its beautifully crafted moments. This to me is a sign of great art that will stand the test of time, and I think it is important for any composer looking to broaden their palette, to reflect on how their predecessors played on what the audience was expecting. Often when I listen to a piece for first time I try and take note of what moments surprised me, and how the surprising moment was achieved. By actively listening for the different techniques past composers used, I’ve found I can begin to better understand what methods will be successful in my own compositions, and develop my skills in playing with expectations.
One compositional concept I have recently been working on is getting better at playing with the listeners’ expectations. I often tend to stray away from ideas a bit too early, not allowing the full establishment of a sensibly coherent section. I introduce completely new ideas instead of building on old ones. However, other times I find that I am excessively repetitive with my ideas, and no matter how cool they sound to me, they are most likely stagnant and boring to the listener. Finding the balance between developing ideas and introducing new ones takes practice. It’s taking me a while to become better in this area, but I am quite happy with how it is turning out so far. I believe one of the things that help me in this area was listening to works of composers or bands that inspire me. Listening for how often they make small manipulations to ideas (keeping the audience’s interest) has certainly benefited my own compositional practice. Another thing that has had a profound impact is our weekly compositional one-on-one lessons. The advice that I have received has really helped me to understand “the listener” as an appreciator of music with their own sets of assumptions, interests, and expectations.
If someone who enjoys rollercoasters were to ride a good rollercoaster 50 times in their life, spread out over many years, they would likely enjoy it most times. However, if someone were to ride that same rollercoaster 50 times in a row, they would likely get sick of it quickly. While it’s true that remembering an experience is not the same as experiencing it, if there isn’t enough time in between those experiences it can ruin your enjoyment. Without taking breaks, your brain is not given the opportunity to think about other things, to reflect properly on the experience, or to allow the memory to change over time. All of these things effect how exciting that experience can be when repeated.
This can easily be applied to composition. When we look at a piece like the Waldstein Sonata, part of the reason why the recapitulation can always be so exciting is because it was properly set up, and you are given time before and after to distance yourself from the experience. If the Waldstein Sonata was only the recapitulation section repeated over and over again it would not have the same effect. In a rollercoaster you have the slow ascent before the big descent which gives enough time for tension to be created. Whether you’ve ridden that rollercoaster 50 times or never, you can’t help but feel the tension on the ascent, and the satisfying (or terrifying) excitement as you fall before eventually slowing down at the end of the track.
In music, composers play with this by building up tension and giving a delayed resolution, but the most generally liked compositions always have a satisfying release of tension. There are times where it can be good to play with expectations when it comes to tension and release but overall you shouldn’t mess with your audience too much, as it can take them out of the experience, unless of course if that’s what you want to happen. The effective use of tension and release is what separates the works that people dismiss from the works people continually come back to.
I remember listening to the Waldstein Sonata for the first time in your theory class and thinking it was absolutely hilarious. This sonata is just so weird and different from the other Beethoven Sonatas. Every time I listen to it I can’t help but smile when I hear that 16th note ostinato opening. I think I love this sonata so much because I just love when music has this “cheeky” type of sound. Though I’ve heard the sonata many times, remembering this cheekiness is never the same as experiencing it, and doesn’t put the same sort of smile on my face. I also love writing in this “cheeky” style. Recently I finished a composition which I started three times (scrapping the first two attempts entirely). I had trouble starting the piece until I decided to stop taking the piece so seriously and just have fun with it. I came up with motives which were very rhythmically surprising, and these interesting rhythms immediately put a smile on my face as soon as I heard them from the Finale playback. I had constant interruptions between players, tossing notes and ideas back and forth between the instruments with abrupt shifts in dynamics and articulation. As soon as I started composing with this style, my head was filled with ideas and I think this proves how powerful the element of surprise can be when writing a composition.
I think that one of my biggest issues with subverting the listeners expectations is keeping the piece itself coherent. It’s really easy to catch a listener off guard by throwing in something random and entirely new, but it can also very easily disrupt flow and completely ruin the structure of the piece if it doesn’t make sense. The “Waldstein” Sonata works and is still coherent while being surprising, because the surprises are set up well, and mostly unusual continuations and derivations of material that’s been presented earlier. If the material isn’t derived from something that’s already been presented, it’s so much more likely to feel out of place, and you definitely wouldn’t be able to get 3 minutes of unexpected continuations in the recap like Beethoven does in the Sonata.
However, as much as expectations need to be subverted to keep the listeners attention to a degree, I think there’s also a point where it becomes too much. Personally, the “Waldstein” hits my limit for that, if not goes past it. I think that the music itself is fantastic, and I think it’s cool that it could actually be dragged out for that long, but after the second time that I expected it to end and it kept going, I kind of just found myself asking “why”. After being teased for an ending multiple times, I just wanted it to happen and I wanted to get that sense of release that comes with the ending and couldn’t fully enjoy the rest of the movement because, while good, it wasn’t what I wanted. Additionally, after building up all of that expectation, the ending itself almost felt underwhelming and less satisfying than some of the anticipated endings from earlier in the recap. Therefore, I feel like subverting expectations should have a clear musical purpose outside of just keeping the audience entertained.
This has unlocked a memory from what I believe was second year theory, because I now fully remember analysing this in class at one point.
I always try to add elements of surprise in my pieces, but not too many so that the piece lacks some sort of structure. For example, for my most recent advanced comp seminar project (which I did end up naming "Aliens" after), I composed this one part where there's a sudden silence for a measure and then a dramatic fortissimo high sequence in the flute with high strings playing underneath it. That part only comes back once though, because if I put it in more times than that, its presence would become somewhat predictable. Not to mention, it first happens close to the end of the piece.
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