So here's a discursion on score fidelity...
And before I begin I want to be clear here, I understand the vital importance of fidelity to the score, so much so that at times, like literally all of us in classical music, I have been guilty of overestimating its importance, so this is not in any sense whatsoever meant as a slap on anybody's wrist - though there's a guy on the conductor listserve who's incredibly obnoxious about score fidelity and seems unable to listen to any conductor who isn't Toscanini or Levine. How's that working out for him these days?...
I was discussing with a very good friend about the Missa Solemnis and what it takes to get the printed page into the concert hall. The problem with the Missa Solemnis is, it's almost literally impossible to realize Beethoven's vision: it's just too hard. Look at the markings in the Gloria.
Lots of conductors make a giant showboat of the 'In Gloria Dei Patris' fugue, and make their choruses strut their stuff. The problem with that is threefold:
- The choir has to keep something in the tank for the Credo, which is a mammoth showpiece, and after the Gloria they're mostly exhausted.
- There's no sense in having fast choral counterpoint in two movements, by the Credo fugue, the chorus would have already proven that's what they can do, and the shock is gone.
- So... in the Gloria fugue, Beethoven writes Allegro ma non troppo e ben marcato. It's clearly supposed to be in a march tempo. Perhaps a parade just like the Turkish section of Beethoven 9, but whatever it is, it's not supposed to be nearly so fast as many, MANY conductors take it.
The problem is that the next section is probably supposed to be a showboat section for soloists. Beethoven is a notorious inferno for vocal soloists. Beethoven writes both poco piu Allegro and in cut time. It's possible that Beethovne meant only a little faster, as the score clearly states, but given that Beethoven's clearly trying to build wild excitement, the only other possibility is to look at the time signature. He writes Poco Piu Allegro but also 2/2, cut time. In other words, MORE THAN TWICE AS FAST. The final change to Presto, in context, is not nearly as dramatic as the change from choral to solo.
It should be obvious, this is a nearly impossible marking to realize, and has always been, but very few performances realize both sections in the markings. In just about every performance, nobody tries. It's either Maestoso the whole way through the In Gloria Dei Patris, or it's Molto Allegro the whole way through, and even the Molto Allegro performances are never as fast as Beethoven seems to want the solo section.
On the other hand, in the Credo, the beginning is Allegro ma non troppo, and nearly half the performances are much too fast for that marking (though some are also quite a bit slower). But then, you get to the big moment when the chorus ascends: Et Ascendit. Once again, the tempo goes alla breve, and it's almost impossible. Gardiner, who steamrolls through every slow marking, comes closest, Bernstein comes fairly close too, and is at least much better about following Beethoven's tempi.
But there's no question, THIS is the moment when the chorus is demanded to step on the gas. But then... once again, the et vitam virturis is supposed to be relatively slow and subdued, and many, many performances are much too fast, and already showing off. It's only when we get to the second fugue that the chorus is supposed to do a series of virtuoso runs and from which Beethoven demands equivalent coloratura techniques to any trained Baroque opera singer. It is almost impossible to realize, but Beethoven clearly wants one and ONLY one moment when the entire chorus goes berserk, because he knew that 50% of choral rehearsal must go into exactly that passage.
This is not how nearly everybody plays it. They either keep things at a comfortable speed, or they do virtuosity everywhere. Neither is what Beethovne wanted, and neither captures nearly so much diversity of expression as his own idea. But... such is the world, and just about everybody who sells themselves a personally in touch with the composer's vision is wrong about it. My interpretation could certainly be wrong, but that's OK, because I've reconciled myself to it.
A score is, quite literally, a theory. Like a mathematical proof, it is a schematic that does not give information on any practical, real life application. And like legalistic originalism, a reading of the law itself means nothing without stare decisis - the practical wisdom of precedent, where the same law runs through decades of interpretations that are tailored to the specifics of that performer's capabilities.
As a listener, I see the concept of score fidelity as a temptation that, when viewed in only two dimensions, can ruin music appreciation and robs music of its ability to increase a listener's quality of life. But at the same time, without the score, classical music is nothing. A score is both the basic fact of classical music, and the millstone that squelches individuality in performers, alienates thousands of musicians from classical music and tens of millions of listeners who can't tell any difference between one performer and the next.
I've come to look to insistence to score faithfulness more forgivingly than I did even five years ago; just like in every other genre of music, not every sway to the winds of fashion is worthwhile, without a grounded conception, we get cult-like devotion to insipidity - and whether that insipidity is Teodor Currentzis, Taylor Swift, or President Trump, that is a sad state of affairs where people look to the cult leader to shut their brains off, not turn them on.
A compromise HAS to be reached, so one of the ultimate qualities I look for in performance is musicians who, while not necessarily following the score letter by letter, are clearly engaging deeply with it - taking the markings into consideration, interpolating them into their own interpretation that neatly tucks away the limitations of human fallibility.
One example: Bluebeard's Castle is a work that's meant an enormous amount to me since I was a teenager who thought himself quite literally unlovable. When I began to follow the score, I realized the only person who truly followed the score is Dohnanyi - who is an evolutionary miracle of music who's able to follow the most complicated markings as though there's no trouble at all. But I also noticed that some of my favorite conductors who directed very famous versions of Bluebeard: Kubelik, Fricsay, Kertesz, were not even considering the markings, and to me, it sounded that way: their readings were flat on the page (there are many other performances where Kubelik and Fricsay come closer than nearly anybody, try Tchaikovsky 5...). On the other hand: Sawallisch, Dorati, Solti, Rattle, Ivan Fischer, they all clearly kept the markings in mind, and while they didn't follow them totally, they clearly tried their best to direct fallible forces to something that approximated the printed page, and in each case the results were incredibly exciting.
There are certain things which under no circumstances can be captured by markings on the page. The metronome marking for the Hammerklavier Sonata's opening is notoriously impossible, literally unplayable until today's human computers. Unless you are a human automaton, squelching any human feeling at all, a performance of the opening in Beethoven's conception has to allow for danger, wrong notes, dropped notes, lots of rubato, and lack of rhythmic coordination. A Beethoven score cannot possibly tell you which technical sloppiness is permissible and which isn't, but in any performance, some things are never meant to be controlled. To control them is to play God, to view music as no different than automation and clocks. No musician may do that without it ceasing to be music, and no musician has the moral right to even try. Anybody who believes they do is asking to be exploited by charlatans.
(Schnabel doing #29...) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7U0eISeT92k
