Exposition the 2^nd Half

One of the lovely things that have always drawn me to the music of César Franck is, that even with his rich and sumptuously chromatic harmonic language, he was essentially a classicist. throughout his life as a composer his admiration of Mozart, Beethoven and especially Schubert; and the structure to the Choral #3 is a fine example of that filial devotion. Notwithstanding the fantasia-like, or improvisatory sounding nature of the the first forty-three measures, Franck has actually written what is basically the first half of the exposition of a sonata-allegro form exposition, even to the point ending this portion in the dominant.

However, here is where Franck makes a departure. This time the repeat of the opening, although still agitated, is now more subdued, quieter (p); instead of angry or stormy, the feeling is more nervous and uneasy — skittish. Therefore, the tempo can be a little quicker; more of a scherzo quality to it sans ritardando:

I like to use just flutes 8-4-2, box closed except for a for a VERY small touch of the swell pedal on the last measure. We also have the “Largamente” arpeggios; but, again it’s much different. Here we sense that Franck is leading up to a repeat of the chaos we heard earlier. No, he’s leading to a very impassioned restatement of the “chorale” :

NOW you can play it a little faster. “Never repeat something the same way.” Here, along with the fuller registration, an increase in tempo, however slight, increases the sense or urgency, a sentiment which permeates this piece. Of course, no one in his or her right mind would look at that forte marking and have anything more than 8 and 4 foot foundations with only a light reed or two. And the box must NOT be fully open. That should be saved for m. 58 when the theme soars to that high A. Even though it’s a literal restatement of mm. 30-34 the intensity is greater by virtue of the fact we are now a fifth higher, and psychologically whenever you raise the pitch the keenness of emotion is increased. But then, take a look:  within the space of three beats you have to diminuendo from this (piu) forte to pianissimo! If the organist is lucky enough, a decent swell box should be able to close up tight enough to produce the proper dynamic contrast; otherwise, the organist should be able to remove a stop or two at m. 60 by grabbing that e minor chord with one hand; and again at m. 61 whilst closing the box. In either case always save that final ½ inch for the last half of the chord so as to at least give the illusion of a true pianissimo. Then, suddenly, we’re back to the forte we had five measures ago, giving us the first complete statement of the chorale with the introduction of new (but extremely important later) material:

After the first three notes the decrescendo begins and Franck brings us down even further than before — meaning removing stops as well as closing the swell box — until he half-cadences at mm. 65 & 66:

There’s little in music that has the emotional, even jarring, effect as that of a cross relation; and the next 6 measures exemplifies that:

Again, a slight change of colour to bring the dynamic up from pp to p as we approach the climax to the chorale and the conclusion to the exposition. At this point the level of emotional intensity increases exponentially with a molto cresc. which had been prepared by the beginning of the phrase on the second half of measure 70. Whatever had been simmering inside Franck’s feverish mind has started to come to a head. In order to achieve the full impact of this climax, stops have to be added at this point, but with the box closed. At measure 72 the molto cresc. begins on the two eighth notes in the left hand on the second beat by just slightly opening the swell box and the addition of a light reed or a diapason (if the box didn’t close tight enough before). In any event save the full opening of the box for the forte and the high F on measure 74:

Again, think of the orchestra. Think of how a conductor gets that group of musicians to push the dynamics and pull the tempo, or pianist, or singer, or violinist. Don’t think like an organist!  This not organ music, it’s orchestra music. Listen to how Pierre Monteux or Charles Munch, or Jean Fournet conduct the “Symphony in d;” or how Vlad Perlmutter, or Aldo Ciccolini, or Stephen Hough play the “Prelude, Chorale and Fugue;” or Oistrakh & Richter or Francescatti & Casadesus play the violin sonata. Listen to tempo and dynamic fluctuations — the rubati — that are not called out in the score, but are obvious to the passionate and perceptive performer who understands the nature of the music. Then go back and play this section and do what you have to do, no matter how long it takes, to achieve and communicate that passion.

From measure 74 to measure 79, for me, is a journey from desperate crying out to almost complete resignation in 5½ measures:

Thus we come to the introspective conclusion to an emotionally and, dare I say, spiritually fraught exposition.

Our journey has only begun, but, I hope you can see that this piece is not for the immature or the beginner, notwithstanding its technical accessibility. It goes so far beyond the ability to get the notes right, or even what organists consider expressive. Because, let’s face it, the one thing organists don’t learn is expressivity (see my series “So, What’s Wrong With the Organ Anyway?“).

We’re now getting to the good part. Stay tuned.

Part II:  Particulars

There are three major themes to the Choral #3 in a by César Franck, and we’ll peruse them one by one, beginning with the importance of choosing the right tempo followed by Franck’s harmonic language, the significance of his poignant use of dissonance via non-chord tones (especially appoggiaturas and suspensions), and how these dissonances influence the shape of the phase; and, as a result (with any luck) how the organist articulates the phrase; i. e., the things that any good singer, conductor, pianist/instrumentalist instinctively knows to do, but organists invariably don’t.  To be fair, a substantial reason is that organ presents physical and logistical complications which other instruments don’t have which can have an inhibiting effect on achieving the same level of expressivity.  They don’t make it impossible — just more problematic.

The opening theme (of which the first and last measures are the most important) is very agitated and leaves the listener very unsettled:

First, let’s discuss tempo.  As I mentioned earlier the Choral #3 in a is not exceptionally difficult to master from a purely technical standpoint.  As a result, there’s a propensity to “make it difficult” by rushing the “allegro” sections.  The opening suffers from this constantly with invariably disastrous results.  If there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the years it’s that speed does not necessarily create tension; and, in this case, it does just the opposite.  The secret is how you articulate the phrase that produces or relaxes the tension.  The entire exposition (including the”chorale” part of the Choral, which we’ll get to later) is very unnerving. However, if rushed you lose that agitation — that disquietude — which tells the listener that Franck is not a happy camper.

The beginning tempo marking says Quasi Allegro; NOT Allegro, and certainly not Presto — a tempo I hear far too often.   Too many times I’ve heard the opening played at ca. q=120 which, unfortunately, gives the impression of trying to make it sound technically more difficult than it is.  At that tempo you can barely distinguish the notes much less hear any sense of direction.  I find that tempos between q=88 and q=96, with bright articulation (not staccato but détaché) will give a legitimate sense of “agitato” and still vouchsafe the listener’s the ability to hear the notes.  Anything faster causes a loss of shape and merely sounds rushed; or, as I mentioned earlier, like the performer is trying to make something sound harder than it really is, or should be.  The other deleterious effect of rushing the tempo is that the pungency of the dissonances, upon which Franck is so dependent to express his most poignant thoughts and feelings, is lost.  Franck puts great importance on a multiplicity of non-chord tones; most significantly the appoggiatura and the suspension.

Let’s dig a little deeper.  After the first measure, which is a rapid succession of I-IV-VII°-I,  the tension increases through a series of keys via Neapolitan II-to-tonic (sans V) progressions until we arrive at an extended V⁹ resolving to an incomplete VII² (or a II°⁶⁄₄ if you like) :

Not only does Franck leave us hanging with a diminished triad; but, he resolves to that chord through a strategically placed, appoggiatura on the third beat.  And it’s through that appoggiatura, that accented dissonance, we feel the angst (the pain, if you will).  So, put some emphasis on it! Lean on it (after all the term appoggiatura comes from the Italian appoggiare meaning “to lean”).  Then to add to the tension there’s a modulation to the subdominant by way of a slow (“Largamente”), drawn out arpeggio of IV#⁶⁄₅(or German Sixth) of the subdominant to a complete V⁹ of IV via yet another appoggiatura:

Again one dissonance resolving into another.

Now, Franck, being the good classicist that he was, repeats this agitated opening.  This time the urgency is even more intensified because we’re fourth higher.  However, you don’t want to sound like a screaming meemie so you have to add something to give it some substance; i.e., a 16’  reed or coupler.  After Franck restates the opening material he extends it by adding two more of the secondary measures taking us all the way back down to where he was before and then through a broken diminished seventh chord (VII˚⁷/V) takes us all the way back up to another dissonant cadence; this time even more biting than the first:

Whereas in the first statement the appoggiatura consisted of a minor seventh resolving to a sixth, this time it’s the pain (yes, pain!) of a major seventh resolving to a sixth.  In both cases the resolution is to the disquietude of a diminished seventh chord.   One thing I learnt a long time ago you never repeat the same way as the first time, even if the notes are almost identical.  That is especially true here.  Not only do you add the 16’ to give the repeat more body, more substance, but when you approach that second cadence, SLOW DOWN and then really lean on that appoggiatura.  Make it hurt — because it’s supposed to!

Things have become very disconcerting by this time; and we feel a need for some quietude.  Such is not to be.  In fact, the angst is just beginning.  After this discomfited opening Franck then brings us once again to the “Largamente” arpeggio.  This time, however, he takes us through three, increasing the tension each time by moving up a step on the first two until we get to the third arpeggio.  Now, between each of these cadences Franck has inserted a fermata; however, that does not give the performer an excuse to take a coffee break between cadences.  Franck is leading up to something and at each point, to increase the sense of anticipation the organist needs to: 1) shorten the pauses successively 2) add more to the organ (16’ reeds or another 16’ coupler) 3) stretch out that third arpeggio (“Piu Largamente”).  At this point one should have on nearly the full organ, so that at measure 19 it sounds as if the final apocalypse has just occurred and all hell has exploded forth:

The three measures are ostensibly the same tempo as the beginning (“Quasi Allegro”), but this time agitation gives way to pure chaos until measure 22 when Franck finally pulls himself together and and gradually calms down — not relaxed or at peace, just calmer.  Here, notwithstanding Franck’s lack of tempo indication begins an abruptly slower tempo.  Even though the note values are longer, it still cries out to be slower followed by a gradual ritardando and diminuendo which really begin at measure 24 (unlike at measures 25 and 26 as indicated in the printed score) until Franck finally cadences in a minor:

By this point the organ should be pianissimo.  The cadence itself is significant.  Franck ends this  first part with a troubled plagal cadence via an altered IV⁷ (like the earlier German sixth) again, this time going directly to the Tonic recalling the almost identical cadence used to end the second movement of the Piano Quintet in f twelve years earlier:

The second theme, the “Chorale,” is broad yet introspective.  Although not dissimilar in format to that of a Bach Lutheran chorale, from which Franck ascertained his inspiration, this chorale does not give one a sense of repose or faith affirmed; rather, one feels that there are troubling, unanswered questions here:

The “chorale” must be extremely deliberate and pensive, somewhere between  q=50 and q=56 with substantial rubato.   There is a singularly confessional quality to this chorale and it needs to be approached that way.  The writing is austere and unadorned; the harmonic language stark and straightforward.  Even in its most chromatic moments Franck eschews much of his characteristically fluid part writing for a more block-chord style.   It’s imperative that the tempo be this slow (notwithstanding the lack of a specific tempo marking):  first, it provides a distinct contrast from the agitation of the first part; second, it gives the interpreter greater freedom of expression via the greater flexibility intrinsic to a slow, emotionally evocative tempo.  Sometimes you just have look past what is dictated on the page and FEEL what’s right; things like implied tempo and rubato, concepts that were apparently understood during Franck’s time.  This is the section where the organist has to use the  expressive capabilities of the instrument in the manner of the orchestra or a choir/singer, or any other more intrinsically expressive (less mechanically inhibiting) medium.

That does not preclude the organ from being just as — or more — expressive than other instruments, it just requires more extra-musical activity.  Okay, let’s get specific:  for example take the very beginning of the “chorale” (mm. 29-31):

First, the mf dynamic is misleading to me.  This should start off piano with just a very light reed (e. g., oboe, cor anglais) and soft foundation or string to round it out on the Swell with the box closed.  Now, any good conductor or singer would know to emphasise that g minor chord ever so slightly, but emphasise it just the same.  It’s a very poignant dissonance.  This is very easily achieved by the conductor/singer/etc. by a slight crescendo to g minor which is then played tenuto to give it the required emphasis in order to achieve the necessary poignancy of that whole chord (especially the Bb) against that tied over A.  However, in order for the organist to affect the same, he or she has to have the swell pedal poised at just the right point so that at the slightest touch the first one or two slats are open at precisely the point of the g minor chord (also holding the chord slightly longer) with the effect of a miniature sforzato and then brought back to the Tonic.  This is not easy, and it requires a considerable amounts of practise to get something just right that almost any other musician can achieve with almost not effort at all.  Similarly for the next three measures:

The effect of I² functioning as a II² of VII going to V⁶⁄₅ of VII is quite dramatic and be given even more  of a crescendo.  Feel the yearning of the melodic arch and the intense harmonic language behind it!  Stretch the tempo.  You almost can’t be too emphatic.  Moreover, remember this is only the first phrase.  Measures 29-34 are ostensibly in one breath.  With the second phrase Franck becomes even more intense almost immediately taking us out of a minor and into the remote key of c minor.  From there he takes us further away by way of reaching an impassioned climatic moment in f minor!

By this point a few more stops should have ben added.  Even Franck, who up until now had left expression up to the performer has indicated that the high F needs to be approached with some kind of crescendo.  From there the performer brings the organ down to true pianissimo, a single flute or string stop, ending the first half to this so far rather traditionally “sonata form” structured exposition by cadencing in the Dominant key of e minor.  Further harmonic analysis is unnecessary at this point.  Just understand, again, that Franck’s harmonic language, as colourful as it is, is fully functional and the emotional content which comes from its heated chromaticism is simply a result of the beauty of Franck’s extraordinary musical mind.

Part I Setting the premise

I saved learning the Chorale #3 in a by César Franck until later in life for very personal reasons, mostly regarding my reverence of mon Maitre as a composer and an organist.  The Third Chorale is Franck’s last major work.  Some consider it (as do I) his very last work — deathbed work, so to speak.  And it’s very evident to me that he was very much aware that this was so.  Knowing this, I made a conscious decision to hold off learning this psychologically and spiritually overwhelming work until I was mature and life-experienced enough to to it justice.

Technically the a minor is the least demanding of the three chorales.  Any second or third year organ student with a solid piano background can master this piece in a matter of weeks.  However, fathoming its profoundly emotional and spiritually fervent content, well, that’s another matter altogether; and, it is this aspect of the piece which makes it the supreme challenge of any serious organist.

We have this image, as perpetrated by his students, Vincent d’Indy in particular, of César Franck as this placid, spiritually serene, retiring man; a patient, equanimous teacher, mentor and friend.  However, Franck was an highly conflicted man.  A failed concert pianist (his father, like the fathers of so many prodigies, tried desperately to make young César the equivalent of another Mozart or Mendelssohn), his unassuming disposition prevented him from taking to the glamour of the concert stage. He married into a family which expected him to be another Delibes, Messager or Adam, writing for the theatre being the fashion in those days rather than the concert stage or the church.  Franck was never comfortable with the concert stage.  He played recitals primarily as a means of promoting his own compositions; otherwise he was more than content to simply guide his students, compose, and improvise at the organ console.  He was a man of great faith, and to his students and close friends he was both disarmingly modest, though not without wit, rather ingenuous; yet, his music, I believe, belies much of this image.  The harmonic language in Franck’s later works, from the 1878 Piano Quintet in f and on, is not only complex because it’s chromatic, rather — unlike Liszt and Wagner whose chromaticism were essentially “colouristic,” for its own sake — Franck’s chromaticism was primarily functional: facilitating modulation, his expanded use of cyclic development, and his constant use of counterpoint tell me that this was no guileless dullard, but a well disciplined, musically sophisticated, psychologically complex man.

The Chorale in a embodies the culmination of Franck’s musical/spiritual thinking and life experience.  It is his “Schwanengesang,” so to speak, and it needs to be played with that in mind; hence, the need for a certain amount of life experience — especially disheartening, even painful, life experience.

Music stirs the emotions.  That much is true: however, as to which specific emotions, that is strictly a personal matter for each individual.  Therefore, allow me to make this caveat:  The emotions to which I allude are strictly my own impressions; i.e., what this piece says to me and how I envision its meaning.  Although I will try to limit highly subjective feelings, it is not entirely possible in light of the deeply passionate nature of the music.  To me the Chorale in a gives us an insight into Franck’s struggle with his faith as he approaches death.  Now, that may seem to be a bit extreme; but, it is not all that uncommon for people of strong and heartfelt faith to raise questions about what they’ve believed over the years.  Soul searching is a troubling process and often creates more questions than answers.  The a minor Chorale is full of questions and agonising deliberations; much of it — as we shall see even from the very opening — tortuous.

We’ll discuss the particulars in Part II.