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UBC Theses and Dissertations

The first movements of Bruckner's third, sixth and seventh symphonies : a moment-by-moment approach to… Steinwand, Nicholas Robert 2015

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THE FIRST MOVEMENTS OF BRUCKNER’S THIRD, SIXTH AND SEVENTH SYMPHONIES: A MOMENT-BY-MOMENT APPROACH TO FORM   by   NICHOLAS ROBERT STEINWAND      A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY   in   THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES  (Music)         THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA  (Vancouver)     August 2015   © Nicholas Robert Steinwand, 2015     ii Abstract  To date, there has been mixed success in explaining Bruckner’s idiosyncratic style, and new methods are needed to explore his compositional techniques. This dissertation proposes an alternative way of studying the music, by examining the small, moment-to-moment gestures and changes in three first movements from his symphonies. The primary focus is on Bruckner’s manipulation of individual motivic, rhythmic, textural, and harmonic elements that create continuous shifts of tensions at the small-scale level, which sustain the expressive impact of the music. Instead of the teleology of traditional sonata form, these individual moments combine to create an overall dynamic flow in a larger, coherent structure described by Ernst Kurth’s theory of symphonic waves. Additionally, the phrase numbers Bruckner inserted in the autograph scores provide evidence of his organizational intentions. Of the works examined, the first movement of the Third Symphony (chapter 2) comes closest to a standard sonata form, but still displays Bruckner’s unique voice. The movement does not follow Hegelian conceptions common to symphonies by composers like Beethoven, but rather unfolds according to its own devices; the rhetoric is instead one of ebb and flow. The Seventh Symphony (chapter 3) moves further away from sonata form, with the tonal shifts in the first movement not creating drama as typically expected. Dynamic development is impelled by motivic processes rather than by the kind of tonal design that typically supports sonata form. Finally, the Sixth Symphony (chapter 4), long thought of by many as Bruckner’s most conventional use of sonata form, is instead one of the least standard, displaying freer unpredictable variational sections. Continual shifts from one motive or topic to another, ambiguous harmonies, and the wave structure all demonstrate that conceiving of the movement’s structure in terms of sonata form is insufficient. Bruckner managed to   iii develop a highly distinctive style that, when properly understood, reveals his innovation and creativity.     iv Preface !!This dissertation is an original, unpublished, independent work by the author, Nicholas Robert Steinwand.                                      v Table of Contents  Abstract ..................................................................................................................................... ii!Preface ...................................................................................................................................... iv!Table of Contents ...................................................................................................................... v!List of Figures .......................................................................................................................... vi!List of Musical Examples ....................................................................................................... vii!Acknowledgements .................................................................................................................. ix!Dedication ................................................................................................................................ xi! Chapter 1 – Bruckner Scholarship and the Problem of Analysis .............................................. 1!Introduction ........................................................................................................................... 1!Bruckner: A Historical Background ..................................................................................... 2!Bruckner: Analytical Methods .............................................................................................. 9!The Moment ........................................................................................................................ 24!Bruckner’s Measure Numbers ............................................................................................ 32!Kurth’s Symphonic Waves ................................................................................................. 37!Topics .................................................................................................................................. 43!Sonata Form ........................................................................................................................ 47!Bruckner: An Alternative Approach ................................................................................... 54! Chapter 2 – Symphony No. 3 in D minor, WAB 103, I:Gemäßigt, mehr bewegt, misterioso . 57!Background & Introduction ................................................................................................ 57!The Exposition .................................................................................................................... 69!The Development & Recapitulation ................................................................................. 103! Chapter 3 – Symphony No. 7 in E major, WAB 107, I: Allegro moderato ............................ 128!The Manuscripts & Editions ............................................................................................. 128!Questions of Form ............................................................................................................ 130!The Exposition .................................................................................................................. 139!The Development & Recapitulation ................................................................................. 157! Chapter 4 – Symphony No. 6 in A Major, WAB 106, I: Maestoso ........................................ 184!Background & Introduction .............................................................................................. 184!Part I (mm. 1–144, “Exposition”) ..................................................................................... 193!Part II (mm. 145–369, “Development & Recapitulation”) ............................................... 233! Chapter 5 – Conclusions: Reassessing Bruckner .................................................................. 254!Bruckner’s Originality and the Moment ........................................................................... 254!The Relevance of the Moment .......................................................................................... 268! Bibliography ......................................................................................................................... 276!   vi List of Figures  Figure 1.1: Sonata Form in Dormer’s revision of Koch’s Musikalisches Lexicon (1865) ..... 50 !Figure 2.1: Sonata Form Analysis of Bruckner Symphony No. 3/1 (1877) ........................... 66 Figure 2.2: Bruckner's Manuscript Numbers in Symphony No. 3/1 (1877) ........................... 92 Figure 2.3: Bruckner Third Symphony (I/1877): Waves Overview ....................................... 98  Figure 3.1: Sonata Form Analysis for Bruckner Symphony No. 7/1 .................................... 133 Figure 3.2: Bruckner's Manuscript Numbers in Symphony No. 7/1 .................................... 153 Figure 3.3: Bruckner, Seventh Symphony (I): Waves Overview .......................................... 175  Figure 4.1: Sonata Form Analysis of Bruckner Symphony No. 6/1 ..................................... 192 Figure 4.2: Motives and Measure Numbers, mm. 1–48 ....................................................... 205 Figure 4.3: Motives and Measure Numbers, mm. 49–100 ................................................... 215 Figure 4.4: Motive and Measure Numbers, mm. 101–144 ................................................... 221 Figure 4.5: Bruckner's Manuscript Numbers in Symphony No. 6/1 .................................... 223 Figure 4.6: Bruckner, Sixth Symphony (I): Waves Overview ............................................... 228 Figure 4.7: Motives and Measure Numbers, mm. 145–208 ................................................. 238 Figure 4.8: Motives and Measure Numbers, mm. 209–244 ................................................. 242 Figure 4.9: Motives and Measure Numbers, mm. 245–284 ................................................. 243 Figure 4.10: Motives and Measure Numbers, mm. 285–308 ............................................... 244 Figure 4.11: Motives and Measure Numbers, mm. 309–415 ............................................... 245                       vii List of Musical Examples  Example 1.1: Sixth Symphony, Finale, mm. 11–13 ............................................................... 14 Example 1.2: Sixth Symphony, Finale, mm. 14–19 ............................................................... 14  Example 2.1: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), introduction, mm. 1–4 .......................................... 70 Example 2.2: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), main trumpet theme, mm. 5–13 ............................ 72 Example 2.3: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), "consequent phrase," mm. 13–17 ......................... 74 Example 2.4: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), motives X, Y, and Z .............................................. 76 Example 2.5a: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), trumpet theme, mm. 9–12 ................................... 77 Example 2.5b: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), descending tetrachord, mm. 31–32 ..................... 77 Example 2.6: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), horn phrase, mm. 13–14 ....................................... 77 Example 2.7: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), reduction of mm. 31–38 ........................................ 79 Example 2.8a: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), motive X with added upbeat, mm. 32–33 ........... 80 Example 2.8b: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), opening trumpet motive, mm. 8–9 compared with motive Z, mm. 36–37 .............................................................................................................. 80 Example 2.9: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), reduction of mm. 94–104 ...................................... 84 Example 2.10: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), cello melody, mm. 129–137 ............................... 85 Example 2.11a: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), violin rhythm, mm. 95–96 ................................ 86 Example 2.11b: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), violin rhythm, mm. 103–104 ............................ 86 Example 2.12a: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), "hard-edged" Bruckner rhythm, mm. 173–176 89 Example 2.12b: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), chant/lyrical rhythm, mm. 109–114 ................. 89 Example 2.13a: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), Miserere quotation, mm. 231–236 .................... 90 Example 2.13b: Mass in D minor, WAB 26, Gloria, mm. 100–103 ...................................... 90 Example 2.14a: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), retransition motive, mm. 415–416 .................. 114 Example 2.14b: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), motive from mm. 11–13 ................................. 114 Example 2.14c: Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), melodic contour, third theme, mm. 177–178 .. 114 !Example 3.1: Symphony No. 7/1, arpeggiation from C to G, mm. 233–263 ....................... 137 Example 3.2: Symphony No. 7/1, opening theme, mm. 3–11 .............................................. 139 Example 3.3a: Symphony No. 7/1, theme from mm. 7–9 .................................................... 141 Example 3.3b: Symphony No. 7/1, theme from mm. 16–18 ................................................ 141 Example 3.4a: Symphony No. 7/1, violin motive, mm. 42–43 ............................................ 144 Example 3.4b: Symphony No. 7/1, oboe motive, mm. 51–54 .............................................. 144 Example 3.5: Symphony No. 7/1, lead up to and entry of recapitulation, mm. 277–282 ..... 165  Example 4.1: Symphony No. 6/1, motive a and Phrygian relationships in the opening theme, mm. 3–6 ................................................................................................................................ 194 Example 4.2: Symphony No. 6/1, opening 24 measures, mm. 1–24 .................................... 195 Example 4.3: Symphony No. 6/1, motive b, mm. 15–19 ...................................................... 199 Example 4.4: Symphony No. 6/1, motive c, mm. 49–53 ...................................................... 206 Example 4.5: Symphony No. 6/1, stacked duplet and triplet rhythms, m. 50 ...................... 207 Example 4.6: Symphony No. 6/1, motive d, mm. 53–56 ...................................................... 208 Example 4.7a: Symphony No. 6/1, horn motive, m. 49 ........................................................ 209 Example 4.7b: Symphony No. 6/1, theme b fragment, m. 53 ............................................... 209 Example 4.8: Symphony No. 6/1, motive d’, mm. 61–64 .................................................... 210   viii Example 4.9a: Symphony No. 6/1, clarinet accompaniment, m. 61 ..................................... 211 Example 4.9b: Symphony No. 6/1, violin melody, m. 53 .................................................... 211 Example 4.10: Symphony No. 6/1, rhythm comparison of mm. 53 and 61 ......................... 211 Example 4.11: Symphony No. 6/1, motive e, mm. 69–73 .................................................... 213 Example 4.12: Symphony No. 6/1, motive f, mm. 101–102 ................................................ 218 Example 4.13: Symphony No. 6/1, motive g, mm. 111–112 ................................................ 219 Example 4.14: Symphony No. 6/1, motive h, mm. 141 ........................................................ 220 Example 4.15: Symphony No. 6/1, use of leading tones, m. 145 ......................................... 234 Example 4.16: Symphony No. 6/1, inversion of theme, mm. 296–298 ................................ 243  Example 5.1: Tristan und Isolde prelude, introduction, mm. 1–21 ...................................... 256 Example 5.2: Symphony No. 8/1 (1890), introduction, mm. 1–32 ...................................... 258 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  !    ix Acknowledgements    In some ways, writing these acknowledgements feels as daunting as the dissertation itself, for whatever words I chose to put to paper will never adequately express my gratitude to the many individuals and institutions that supported me throughout this journey. Without their assistance I would not have been able to complete this project. First, the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council and the Faculty of Arts at the University of British Columbia provided funding that supported my research and allowed me to travel to Vienna to study Bruckner’s manuscripts. While in Europe, Dr. Andrea Harrandt and the staff at the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek were most helpful and gracious in allowing me to examine source materials for the symphonies.   I am particularly grateful for the support of my advisor Professor Vera Micznik. All throughout this process she patiently read through my chapters and many revisions, while providing insightful comments and ideas that have helped to greatly enrich the final version of this dissertation. She has continually challenged and inspired me, and I am thankful for the opportunity I have had to work with her. Professors David Metzer and Alan Dodson read through drafts and offered many useful suggestions that opened my eyes to new ways of thinking about Bruckner, and which helped to further refine each chapter. I am also appreciative for the participation of my examining committee who offered their astute feedback, including Professors John Roeder, Jonathan Wiesenthal, and Paul Stanwood. Throughout my academic career, I have been fortunate to meet many colleagues who have offered both support and inspiration. In particular, my fellow musicology students Virginia Acuña, Kimberly Beck, Tyler Kinnear, and Daniel Mahlberg have all encouraged me and   x provided me with motivation to keep working towards the finish line.  There are many friends and family who have also supported me so generously during the time it has taken to complete this program and I am thankful for each of them. I would like to make special mention of those I have dedicated my dissertation to. My parents have provided an amazing amount of emotional and material support during my many years of post-secondary education. They have made personal sacrifices to help me succeed, and I in no way would have been able to make it this far without them. I feel extremely blessed to have been given such supportive and loving parents. Finally, this dissertation is also dedicated to my late Grandpa Detwiler who passed away as I was about to begin the writing process. While I was growing up he was an inspiration to me through his life and faith. In my eyes he was always one of the most intelligent people I knew, and he gave me the belief that I could accomplish this goal.                       xi Dedication    This dissertation is dedicated  to my parents, for their love and support,  and  to the memory of my  Grandpa Detwiler (1925–2011)  !!!                           1 Chapter 1 – Bruckner Scholarship and the Problem of Analysis   Introduction   Ever since his own time, Anton Bruckner’s music has been subject to much criticism. Many contemporaneous critics, for instance, found his works simplistic, a reflection of the perception of Bruckner as a “simple religious man,” while others accused his works of being too Wagnerian.1 Indeed, there seemed to be no middle ground, and the symphonies were either decried as formless monstrosities or were heralded as the pre-eminent example of what a “Wagnerian symphony” should be like. In many ways, this discourse affected the course of Bruckner scholarship for many years following the composer’s death, as critics attempted to prove either the value or triviality of his symphonies. Only after some time did scholars begin to reappraise Bruckner’s music, breaking from arguments of the past and attempting to evaluate his works on their own merit. Examining studies from Bruckner’s time up to the present day reveals both attempts to promote and discredit Bruckner, as well as a wide variety of approaches used by scholars who have endeavoured to interpret his works. Overall, the research confirms the difficulty analysts have had in conceiving of a method that explains how the symphonies operate.  One of the main problems for those studying the symphonies has been the difficulty of finding a method to interpret his music, which abides by fewer pre-existing conventions than music by other composers of the time. Adding to the difficulties is the realization that many of the analytical systems applied to composers such as Beethoven and Brahms seem not to be able to account for the variety of expressive and meaningful qualities and for the form of the music. As a result, this dissertation proposes that the small-scale processes, or !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1 John Williamson, “Introduction: A Catholic Composer in the Age of Bismarck,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bruckner, ed. John Williamson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 3.   2 “moments,” that unfold within Bruckner’s music, and the overall shapes (or, as we shall see later, waves) they outline at the large-scale formal level are different from those of most other composers and make this music’s expressive discourse unique.2 These ideas draw from and build upon the position and the concepts of the energeticists, primarily August Halm and Ernst Kurth. I explore Halm’s and Kurth’s viewpoints later in the chapter, but before delving further into their and others’ efforts to analyze and understand Bruckner’s music it is important to understand the surrounding cultural and intellectual trends within which the composer worked and was judged.  Bruckner: A Historical Background ! Vienna and its culture was an important backdrop, for it was here that Bruckner composed nearly all of the symphonies.3 In the latter half of the nineteenth century the city was a mosaic undergoing many changes. Though the Prussians had soundly defeated Austria during the Austro-Prussian War (or Seven Weeks’ War, 14 June – 23 August 1866), Vienna remained the capital of the Hapsburg Empire and was a melting pot of the varied citizens from across the realm.4 At the end of the War, Liberalism still reigned in Vienna but a stagnant economy and subsequent stock market crash in 1873 marked the decline of that !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!2 The idea of the “moment,” and what the term refers to when discussed in relation to Bruckner’s music, will be defined later in this chapter.  3 The second revision of the First, and the Second to Ninth Symphonies were all written in Vienna, while the “Study Symphony” (WAB 99) and the first version of the First were composed in Linz. The Symphony in D minor (WAB 100) was written primarily in Vienna, but finished while visiting Linz. For information on the dates of the symphonies, see Constantin Floros, Anton Bruckner: The Man and the Work, trans. Ernest Bernhardt-Kabisch (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2011), 221–223 and also Max Auer, Anton Bruckner: Sein Leben und Werk (Leipzig: Musikwissenschaftlicher Verlag, 1941), 453–454.  4 Andrea Harrandt, “Bruckner in Vienna,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bruckner, ed. John Williamson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 26.    3 political philosophy.5 The last quarter of the century saw the rise of anti-capitalism and anti-Semitism, an environment that, by the mid 1880s, allowed for Wagnerian aesthetics and politics to thrive.6   This did not mean, however, that Richard Wagner and the New German School enjoyed a monopoly on music in Vienna. Indeed, when Bruckner first moved to the city, Johann Strauss Jr. was at his prime, and both waltzes and operettas were popular.7 Johannes Brahms had also established himself in Vienna, and the marked contrast of his style to Wagner’s caused great commotion between two camps: those that supported the forward-looking manner of Wagner and those who appreciated the more conservative and traditional approach taken by Brahms. The music scene was thus quite lively, and Bruckner found himself, whether or not by choice, positioned squarely within the Wagner camp.  Part of the reason why Bruckner was associated with progressive musical trends was his near idolization of Wagner. Otto Kitzler introduced Bruckner to the score of Wagner’s Tannhäuser, which they studied together near the end of 1862 and beginning of 1863.8 Bruckner then attended the Linz premiere of Tannhäuser on 12 or 13 February 1863, which !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!5 Liberalism championed ideals of freedom and equality, with origins in the seventeenth century as an argument against monarchial rule. As a consequence, Liberalism maintained that the power of government is derived from the freely given consent of the citizens. The political framework sought to promote legal equality, freedom of the press, and religious toleration. The end of this period of Liberalism in Vienna arrived with the election of the Christian Socialist Karl Lueger in 1897 as mayor of the city. Margaret Notley has written extensively on music and Liberalism in Vienna during latter part of the nineteenth century. See, for instance, Notley, “Brahms’s Chamber-Music Summer of 1886: A Study of Opera 99, 100, 101, and 108” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1992), 4–44, also Notley, Lateness and Brahms: Music and Culture in the Twilight of Viennese Liberalism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 15-35, 204–220, and Notley, “Bruckner and Viennese Wagnerism,” in Bruckner Studies, ed. Timothy L. Jackson and Paul Hawkshaw (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 54–71.  6 Harrandt, “Bruckner in Vienna,” 26. See also Notley, “Viennese Wagnerism,” 54.  7 Derek Watson, Bruckner (New York: Schirmer Books, 1997), 23.  8 Hans Redlich, Bruckner and Mahler (London: J.M. Dent and Sons, 1970), 77. Kitzler taught Bruckner composition, theory, and instrumentation.    4 had a great impact on him and from that point he became an enthusiastic devotee.9 One of the most visible signs of Bruckner’s admiration was the dedication of the Third Symphony to Wagner in September of 1873, but throughout his life Bruckner continued to hold the composer in high regard.10 The same symphony, in the first edition, also contained references to Wagner’s motives in the first and final movements. The Liebestod theme from Tristan und Isolde and the sleep motive from Die Walküre, for instance, are both found in the first movement.11 Similarly, the coda for the second movement of the Seventh Symphony, while not containing direct quotations, was written after Wagner’s death. Here sombre tubas and horns play in a section that Bruckner himself said was a funeral march for the deceased composer.12 Apart from his music, Bruckner also took the additional step of joining the Akademischer Richard-Wagner-Verein not long after the dedication of the Third Symphony, a move that would further tie him to the progressive camp in the eyes of the Viennese !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!9 Different accounts give varying dates for the premiere of the opera. Floros, for instance, states that the performance was on 12 February, while Watson gives the date as 13 February. See Floros, Anton Bruckner, 26 and Watson, Bruckner, 16.  10 For more on the dedication of the Third Symphony to Wagner, please see chapter 2.  11 Floros, Anton Bruckner, 118. Floros contends that these inclusions are allusions, since Bruckner uses the motives freely, rather than quoting them note for note. This implies Bruckner likely wrote the themes from memory, and was not concerned with being exact. For more on the issue of Wagner quotations in Bruckner’s symphonies see Constatin Floros, “Die Zitate in Bruckners Symphonik,” Bruckner Jahrbuch (1982/83): 7–18, Hans-Joachim Hinrichsen, “Bruckners Wagner-Zitate,” in Bruckner-Probleme: Internationales Kolloquium (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1999), 115–133, Wolfgang Kühnen, “Die Botschaft als Chiffre: Zur Syntax musikalischer Zitate der ersten Fassung von Bruckners Dritter Symphonie,” Bruckner Jahrbuch (1991/92): 31–43. Elisabeth Reiter, “Nochmals: Die ‘Wagner-Zitate’-Funktion und Kontext,” Bruckner-Jahrbuch (1994/95): 79–89, and Egon Voss, “Wagner-Zitate in Bruckners Dritter Sinfonie? Ein Beitrag zum Begriff des Zitats in der Musik,” Die Musikforschung 49, no. 4 (Oct.–Dec. 1996): 403–406.   12 Watson, Bruckner, 111. Robert Simpson seems to contradict the commonly held belief that Bruckner composed the coda in memory of Wagner, arguing that “[the] coda was not composed, as is often said, in memory of Wagner; it was, however, the thought that Wagner had not long to live that was its source.” See Robert Simpson, The Essence of Bruckner: An Essay Towards the Understanding of His Music (New York: Crescendo Publishing, 1967), 151. Floros, however, writes that Bruckner was reported to have told the music critic Theodor Helm that the Adagio was written “partly in anticipation and partly as a funeral march after the catastrophe had taken place.” See Floros, Anton Bruckner, 129.    5 musical world.13 Furthermore, Bruckner often expressed reverence toward his fellow composer. One time, for instance, Bruckner himself recalled that, when Wagner asked if he enjoyed his opera Parsifal, he knelt down, pressed his lips to the composer’s hand and declared: “O Master, I worship you!”14   Wagner’s response to Bruckner, on the other hand, was more measured. Derek Watson, for instance, observes that although Wagner was frequently busy and quite possibly distracted, he avoided doing even smaller favours for Bruckner. Watson writes: That Wagner never helped Bruckner personally is explicable, surely forgivable, given his multitude of cares over at Bayreuth. He could, however, have encouraged other conductors in his circle to take up Bruckner’s works (most of them did later); or he could have used his influence with publishers to have Bruckner’s scores printed; and he could have included some reference to Bruckner in his writings. He did none of these and thus appears to have been merely condescending to Bruckner (perhaps for diplomatic reasons) and like Liszt may have found his extreme adoration and obsequiousness somewhat fulsome.”15  Despite his seeming coolness there remains evidence that Wagner did have some respect for Bruckner. According to certain accounts, Wagner was claimed to have acknowledged the greatness of Bruckner’s symphonies and to have promised to arrange performances of them. These reports are problematic, however, as they come from supporters of Bruckner who were attempting to deal with the difficult issue of Wagner’s own views of the symphony as a genre, and consequently the veracity of such assertions is uncertain.16 On another occasion, after Bruckner’s final meeting with Wagner, the latter was believed to have commented that “I only know one composer who measures up to Beethoven, and that is Bruckner.”17 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!13 Hans-Hubert Schönzeler, Bruckner (London: Marion Boyars, 2001), 65.  14 Watson, Bruckner, 35.  15 Ibid., 29.  16 Notley, “Viennese Wagnerism,” 59.    6 However, once again this was only a report and Wagner’s true feelings cannot be fully ascertained. Whatever the case, it appears unquestionable that Bruckner was more enthusiastic about Wagner’s music than vice versa, and this veneration, combined with Bruckner’s musical style, ensured that the composer became associated with Wagner and his supporters.  As one of the most hostile critics of Wagner, Eduard Hanslick had no qualms about unleashing his wrath on another composer he perceived to be part of the Wagnerian circle. Hanslick had initially been friendly toward Wagner and even spoke highly of his opera Tannhäuser. The relationship eventually became fractured, however; at one point, for example, the caricature of Hanslick as Beckmesser in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg “mortally offended” the critic.18 As a result, Hanslick was apt to admire anyone whose music contrasted with Wagner, heaping praise on composers like Brahms who composed in a more traditional style. Bruckner thus provided an easy target for Hanslick, and he frequently attacked the composer’s music through his reviews. Hanslick even attempted to block Bruckner’s applications to teach at the University of Vienna in 1867. Even though he respected Bruckner’s ability as a theorist and organist, Hanslick wrote letters to officials regarding what he perceived as a lack of academic and teaching ability. Eventually, however, with the encouragement of the Education Minister von Stremayr and the favor of most of the professors, Hanslick had to give way.19 Despite Bruckner’s victory on this occasion, Hanslick was an ever-present concern for the composer, one whom Bruckner never really !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!17 Schönzeler, Bruckner, 79.   18 Erwin Doernberg, The Life and Symphonies of Anton Bruckner (London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1960), 73.  19 Redlich, Bruckner and Mahler, 19.   7 attempted to stand up to.20 For instance, Doernberg recounts how, after the Seventh Symphony was well received in Germany and Holland, Bruckner asked the Vienna Philharmonic not to play the work, for fear that attention from Hanslick and others of the Brahms circle would ruin the success the symphony had achieved thus far.21 Such accounts hint at the vitriol with which Hanslick wrote of Bruckner’s music, and, in some respects, shows why it may have been difficult for Bruckner to gain recognition for his symphonies.  On the other hand, Hanslick and much of Vienna viewed Brahms as the true successor of Beethoven.22 Whereas Bruckner’s symphonies contained “illogical, disjointed musical thinking,” Brahms was acclaimed for his proficient “musical logic."23 Just as the Brahmsians and Wagnerians were not fond of the music of the other side, so too were Brahms and Bruckner themselves not entirely enamored with each other’s compositions. Brahms, for instance, famously referred to Bruckner’s symphonies as “symphonic boa constrictors.”24 Commenting further, Brahms argued that, “everything is effect with him, affectation, nothing natural.”25 Bruckner, on the other hand, plainly said that he preferred his own music to that of Brahms.26 Despite the lack of admiration for the others’ works, both composers still spoke of the other with respect. In 1895, for instance, Brahms once went so !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!20 Carl Dahlhaus considers the polemics of Hanslick and the Brahms side “one of the sorriest chapters in the history of music criticism, mainly because they struck a man who, unlike Wagner, was largely unable to defend himself.” See Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, trans. J. Bradford Robinson (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 271.  21 Doernberg, Life and Symphonies of Bruckner, 75.  22 Schönzeler, Bruckner, 65.  23 Floros, Anton Bruckner, 129.  24 Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, 271.  25 Doernberg, Life and Symphonies of Bruckner, 88.  26 Ibid., 89.    8 far as to tell Richard von Perger, the new conductor of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, that it was his duty to perform a choral work by Bruckner in his first year.27 While not exactly enamoured with each other’s compositional techniques, Brahms and Bruckner nonetheless managed to maintain a degree of civility that was absent from the larger Brahms versus Wagner debate.  There were, of course, musicians and composers who were more open to Bruckner’s music, with Gustav Mahler being one of the more prominent artists. The two formed an acquaintance as early as 1877, as Mahler was among the friends who gathered around Bruckner to support him after the disastrous premiere of the second revision for the Third Symphony in December 1877.28 Soon after the concert, Mahler worked with Rudolf Krzyzanowski to adapt the symphony into an edition for piano duet; this version was then published along with the full score in 1878, and so pleased Bruckner that he gifted Mahler the manuscript score of the Third Symphony (1877 edition).29 By all accounts the two composers had a cordial relationship; Bruckner was said to always welcome Mahler as a visitor to his house, and after Mahler accepted an appointment in Hamburg in 1893 they continued to write each other.30 While Mahler became increasingly critical of Bruckner’s music later in life he continued to promote the symphonies, performing the Fourth through Sixth in Vienna (1899–1901) and presenting all of the symphonies in order during 1908 while he was in New York.31  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!27 Ibid.   28 Redlich, Bruckner and Mahler, 117. For more on this concert, see chapter 2.  29 Ibid., 117–118.  30 Watson, Bruckner, 52.  31 Ibid. See also Redlich, Bruckner and Mahler, 118. Redlich also notes that Mahler donated the   9 Bruckner: Analytical Methods ! Just as there were those who either promoted or criticised performances of the symphonies, early analyses also often tended to either venerate or attack the music. Among Bruckner’s contemporaries, a negative view of the symphonies is, naturally, best exemplified by Eduard Hanslick. Of the Eighth Symphony, for instance, Hanslick wrote that   Bruckner begins with a short chromatic motive, repeats it over and over again, higher  and higher in the scale and on into infinity, augments it, diminishes it, offers it in  contrary motion, and so on, until the listener is simply crushed under the sheer weight  and monotony of this interminable lamentation . . . Everything flows, without clarity  and without order, willy-nilly into dismal long-windedness.32  Hanslick begins by attacking Bruckner’s creativity and originality, believing that a fully developed theme is replaced by a short motive. What is worse, the motive is not elaborated in any meaningful way, but is simply varied in an elementary fashion and at considerable length until the audience is “crushed” by the mass of its incessant repetition. Adding to Bruckner’s inability to construct a theme is his ineptitude at assembling the musical materials he does create. Hanslick suggests that, unlike the masters of symphonic form, Bruckner cannot gather all the elements of his symphony together into a coherent structure. This only serves to exacerbate the repetition observed earlier, for without the proper form the work wanders without direction.  Furthermore, Hanslick argued that “[the] nature of the work consists – to put it briefly – in applying Wagner’s dramatic style to the symphony.”33 As discussed above, much of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!royalties he earned from his own first four symphonies to Universal Edition, in order to help publish and promote Bruckner’s music.  32 Eduard Hanslick, “Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony,” in Hanslick’s Music Criticisms, trans. and ed. by Henry Pleasants (New York: Dover Publications, 1978), 288–289. Hanslick’s original review appeared in the Neue Freie Presse on 23 December 1892. The entirety of the original review can also be found in August Göllerich, Anton Bruckner: Ein Lebens- und Schaffens-Bild, vol. 4:3, Wien 1890–1896, ed. Max Auer (Regensburg: Gustav Bosse, 1974), 290–294.    10 Hanslick’s criticism clearly stems from the fierce debate between supporters of Brahms and Wagner in Vienna at the time.34 This is clearly seen in not only the above quotation, but also elsewhere in the review of the Eighth. Hanslick contends, for instance, that Bruckner “falls continually into Wagnerian devices, effects, and reminiscences; he seems even to have accepted certain Wagnerian pieces as models for symphonic construction, as, for example, the Prelude to Tristan and Isolde.”35 Yet Hanslick’s arguments are not easily justified. For example, Bruckner’s beginning with a short motive that repeats (see mm. 1–50), which Robert Simpson describes as the first theme containing “grim disquieting fragments,” does not have much in common with a compositional technique like Wagner’s “endless melody” as the motive is subject to periodic phrasing and eventually coalesces into a complete theme.36 Further, Korstvedt’s observes that Bruckner uses a device “canonized in Tristan,” where a key is asserted by sounding the dominant seventh even when the tonic triad is not present (as in mm. 21–22) cannot be viewed as grounds for Hanslick’s accusations of “formlessness” and “longwindedness.”37 It is clear, as Korstvedt observes, that Hanslick is attempting to apply to the music standards that Bruckner simply was not interested in following. As Korstvedt writes, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!33 Hanslick, “Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony,” 288.   34 Contrast, for example, Hanslick’s review of Bruckner’s Eighth with his appraisal of Brahms’s Third Symphony. Here, rather than associations with the modern and maligned Wagner, Hanslick draws associations to composers with historical authority. For instance, at one point Hanslick writes that “[while] the thunder of the old Beethoven is still heard receding in the distance, we hear the voices of Mozart and Haydn as if from celestial sanctuary. The Symphony No. 3 is really something new.” And also, “here there are suggestions of the romantic twilight of Schumann and Mendelssohn.” See Ibid., 211.  35 Ibid., 288. 36 Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 161. Connections of the first theme to Wagner are also made by Floros, who believes that the theme is related to the Dutchman’s Aria in Act I of Der fliegende Höllander. See Floros, Brahms und Bruckner: Studien zur musikalischen Exegetik (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1980), 182–226.  37 Benjamin Korstvedt, Anton Bruckner: Symphony No. 8 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 30.   11 Hanslick’s abjuration of Bruckner’s sublime had a certain aesthetic logic…[his]  commitment to what he called ‘the musically beautiful’ epitomizes the position of  those who rejected Bruckner on principle. For Hanslick, ‘the primordial stuff of  music is regular and pleasing sound,’ which should operate ‘logically’ on the mind;  this is hardly the stuff of sublimity. In fact, the musical sublime, which depends on  inducing states of emotional intensity in the listener, found no welcome place in  Hanslick’s scheme.38  Hanslick, then, had a particular view about what a musical composition should be, and his opposition to Bruckner’s music flowed in part from his commitment to organicism. His perspective could not accommodate the kinds of innovations Bruckner introduced. In any event, the fact that Bruckner’s symphonies frequently came to be viewed and analyzed in terms of Wagner’s music had negative connotations and has since hindered Bruckner’s own distinct compositional voice from being heard.   In the late nineteenth century other, more sympathetic theorists provided alternative explanations for the compositional processes in Bruckner’s symphonies. Among them, August Halm (1869–1929), an empiricist who preferred to study the musical surface, believed that melody, harmony, and rhythm could all “demonstrate the musical logic that gives a work global coherence.”39 Halm further contrasted the ideas of corporeality (Körperlichkeit) and spirituality (Geistigkeit).40 In his view, corporeality in music arises through the use of rhythmic and melodic facets in an architectural fashion and by “tracing distinctive shapes in the music’s imaginary space” with thematic gestures.41 On the other !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!38 Korstvedt, Symphony No. 8, 66.   39 These ideas are expressed in some of Halm’s essays; see, for example, August Halm, Von Form und Sinn der Musik: gesammelte Aufsätze, ed. Siegfried Schmalzriedt (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1978). Halm’s ideas are also discussed in Lee Rothfarb, “August Halm on Body and Spirit in Music,” 19th-Century Music 29, no. 2 (2005): 123. 40 Rothfarb notes that if we allow for some latitude in the translation of Körperlichkeit, the term can also mean “concreteness.” Thus, Halm uses the word to refer to something tangible, as opposed to the unseen or hidden world of Geistigkeit. See Ibid.   41 Ibid., 123–124.   12 hand, spirituality is a characteristic of music that happens subterraneously between the notes, and is a process that is not readily apparent; transformations in the music happen essentially between the lines.42 For Halm, corporeality is preferable to Geistigkeit, for music is already spiritual by nature and does not require further spiritualization in the compositional process. Bruckner’s symphonies provided a prime example of corporeality, in which Halm found a sense of spatiality, of ebb and flow, and an unfolding of epic scenes. Bruckner “provides for the aural immediacy of the ‘lush present’ on the musical surface, a ‘naturalness’ (Naturhaftigkeit), instead of developing concealed, aurally remote relationships, or even less immediately apparent ones.”43 Halm was drawn in by a teleological process that was in contrast to the type found in Brahms or Beethoven. Rather than a more organic teleological drive, Bruckner’s unfolds in a succession of different scenes or episodes, each with its own character and function. The unfolding and connection of these various scenes thus creates, in the words of Werner Korte, an “epical pattern” that unfolds in “epic serenity.”44  Halm’s conception of an unfolding succession of various scenes was influential on Ernst Kurth’s notion of symphonic waves. Kurth attempted to defend the composer’s music by arguing that an understanding of form in Bruckner’s symphonies could not be achieved by studying actual themes and groups. Rather, waves occur throughout a particular movement, serving as “energetic events.”45  To be sure, themes in Bruckner are important, but Kurth !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!42 Rothfarb gives Halm’s example of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata in D minor, Op. 31, no. 2. The first movement begins with a slow, ascending triad; this theme subsequently appears again in m. 21, only now in a quick tempo at an f dynamic. Halm argues that the process by which this transformation occurs is not readily apparent, and would thus be an example of Geistigkeit in music. See Ibid., 124.  43 Ibid., 136.  44 Ibid., 138.  45 Ernst Kurth, Ernst Kurth: Selected Writings, ed. and trans. by Lee Rothfarb (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 151–152.   13 asserts that one cannot gain a complete understanding of either the thematic material or form by examining themes in isolation; instead, one must examine how the symphonic process works through a gradual unfolding of waves, that is, large dynamic gestures that convey the large scale expressivity of music. Form, Kurth says, must be grasped synthetically rather than analytically.46 The process begins in one of two ways: either the initial theme appears in full at the beginning of a movement and subsequently unfolds gradually, or the theme starts in a fragmentary state that is gradually built up as the movement progresses. In either case, this initiates a procedure through which waves overlap and lead into each other. The waves can intensify or abate, but regardless, a surging characteristic is inherent in all waves. Moreover, it is impossible to choose and analyze a single wave individually, for its function cannot be adequately determined except in the context of the overall structure. Kurth explains that [it] is possible to isolate a wave only in individual instances, e.g. in the case of initiatory waves or at apexes. Even then, however, isolating a wave would be more happenstance. For the inner tension directed toward  the subsequent and overall context still remains essential – a break is still not a termination – and the growth, logic, and beauty of such a component structure would not be understood if we were to examine that structure purely on its own.47  It is important to note that Kurth also hears different levels of waves in the music that function similarly but occupy varying dimensions within the movement. The first operates at the local level, is part of a short-range formal segment, and is referred to by Kurth as a “constituent wave.” These localized waves gradually combine to create larger “developmental waves,” which in turn build to even more substantial “symphonic waves.”48 As a result, not only can waves overlap with each other but they also combine to create even !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 46 Ibid., 152.  47 Ibid., 177. 48 Lee A. Rothfarb, Ernst Kurth as Theorist and Analyst (Philadelphia: University of Philadelphia Press, 1988), 191.    14 larger wave structures. In this vein, Kurth provides an analysis of symphonic waves taken from the fourth movement of Bruckner’s Sixth Symphony. As an example of but one of these waves, mm. 14–19 may appear simply to be a fading away of the previous measures. Specifically, the violins repeat a D–E motive that echoes the final two notes of their phrase from mm. 11–13 (see examples 1.1 and 1.2). In the context of Kurth’s waves, however, the motivic fragments   Example 1.1 - Sixth Symphony, Finale, mm. 11–1349   Example 1.2 - Sixth Symphony, Finale, mm. 14–1950   !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 49 From Kurth, Selected Writings, 157.  50 From Ibid., 158.   15 are not a fading away but are rather “initiatory gestures in the midst of the ebbing away.”51 The D–E gesture of the violins – a reversal of the falling E–D that ended the previous measures – suggests instead “a feeling of anticipation arising from the current passage directed toward imminent events, and toward the whole. The wave lapses with the will to continuation – vitality permeating the most concealed elements.”52 Naturally, there are further characteristics of this wave that Kurth examines, but this brief example illustrates how each wave has particular characteristics that both give it a specific individual function and a role within the movement as a whole.  Bruckner’s music has not always been studied extensively in the years since Kurth’s and Halm’s analyses, particularly outside of Europe. Nevertheless, Julian Horton notes that since the centenary of the composer’s death in 1996 perceptions of the composer in the English-speaking world have “shifted radically,” leading to a resurgence of analytical studies.53 Scholars have adopted a variety of perspectives for looking at the music, ranging from examinations of sonata deformation, Bruckner’s orchestration and sound, his harmonic vocabulary in a context other than Wagner, and so forth.54 While these studies can and have !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 51 Kurth, Selected Writings, 159 (italics added by Rothfarb).  52 Ibid., 159 (italics added by Rothfarb).  53 Julian Horton, “Recent Developments in Bruckner Scholarship,” Music & Letters 85, no. 1 (2004): 83. 54 For information about Bruckner and sonata deformation, see Julian Horton, “Bruckner’s Symphonies and Sonata Deformation Theory,” Journal of the Society for Music in Ireland 1 (2005–2006): 5-17; Julian Horton, Bruckner’s Symphonies: Analysis, Reception and Cultural Politics (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 152–160; and Warren Darcy, “Bruckner’s Sonata Deformations,” in Bruckner Studies, ed. Timothy L. Jackson and Paul Hawkshaw (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 256–277. Studies of Bruckner’s orchestration can be found in Christian Ahrens, “’. . . sehr viel interessante Ideen in wirkungsvoller Instrumentation…’ Anton Bruckners Klangkonzeption im Adagio Siebenten Symphonie,” in Herrn Univ.-Prof. Dr. Moritz Csáky zum 70. Geburtstag herzlich zugeeignet, ed. Erich Wolfgang Partsch (Vienna: Musikwissenschaftlicher Verlag Wien, 2001), 355–369; Dieter Michael Backes, “Marginalien zu Anton Bruckners Klangkunst: Spuren fremder Klangbilder in Bruckners Symphonik,” in Bruckner-Symposion: Musik ist eine bildende Kunst-Im Rahmen des Brucknerfestes Linz 2002, ed. Erich Wolfgang Partsch (Linz: Anton-Bruckner-Institut Linz, 2005), 129–151; and Ingrid Fuchs, “Aspekte der Instrumentation der   16 provided valuable insights into Bruckner’s music, they have also lost sight of the unique ideas proposed by the energeticists.  In exploring the form of the symphonies, for instance, Benjamin Korstvedt responds to early criticisms that Bruckner’s symphonies are formless. This was a common perception in the late nineteenth and earlier twentieth centuries, espoused by the likes of Gustav Dömpke and Max Kalbeck, who contended that Bruckner “lacks the feel for the primary elements of musical formal shape.”55 Korstvedt, however, provides his own analysis and a general overview of form in the symphonies. He contends that the expositions in sonata form movements, for example, are similarly constructed, consisting of three theme groups. The first theme provides the primary thematic material and introduces the tonic key, the second theme group, referred to by Bruckner as the Gesangsperiode, is more lyrical, while the final section closes the exposition. Each group is distinct, self-contained, and frequently contains multiple sections.56 However, while the symphonies can be characterized in terms of a coherent form, the structure does not come across as classical or traditional. Indeed, Korstvedt contends that the contrasts in Bruckner are created so sharply and are preserved so well throughout the course of a work that individual sections “remain too autonomous to submit easily to the impression of seamless formal totality.”57 He invokes Charles Rosen’s !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Symphonien Brahms’ und Bruckners,” in Bruckner-Interpretation. Bruckner-Symposion Linz 1982, ed. Othmar Wessely (Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt Graz, 1983), 133-144. Articles on Bruckner’s harmonic language include Anthony F. Carver, “Bruckner and the Phrygian Mode,” Music & Letters 86, no. 1 (Feb. 2005): 74-99; Crawford Howie, “Bruckner: A Disciple of Wagner?” Soundings: A Music Journal 4 (1974): 42-57; and Kevin Swinden, “Bruckner and Harmony,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bruckner, ed. John Williamson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 205–227.    55 Benjamin Korstvedt, “Between Formlessness and Formality: Aspects of Bruckner’s Approach to Symphonic Form,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bruckner, ed. John Williamson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 170.  56 Ibid., 175.  57 Ibid., 188.   17 idea of the “Romantic fragment” as a concept that could help explain this characteristic of the symphonies, suggesting that these sections could be “imperfect and yet complete,” and that they are, in the words of Rosen, “a closed structure, but its closure is a formality: it may be separated from the rest of the universe, but it implies the existence of what is outside of itself not by reference but from its instability.”58 Each fragment is, according to Korstvedt, entirely self-sufficient, a closed structure that stands on its own in isolation. Although Korstvedt’s proposition of the notion of the fragment is interesting, he does not develop the idea further for Bruckner, and rightly so, because Bruckner’s moments can rarely be said to be “complete” or “closed structures” inserted into an ongoing process, but they are rather part of, and outline, the overall dynamic process of waves.  In addition, Korstvedt’s analysis adopts the traditional terminology employed by those who first criticized the symphonies for being formless. That is to say, he uses the terminology and concepts of sonata form to explain certain movements of the symphonies, rather than attempting to devise a system that can explain their uniqueness. He dissects Bruckner’s supposed sonata form movements down to specific typical characteristics, such as the three-part exposition or the recapitulation. This gives the impression that Bruckner employed a type of standardized framework for his symphonies, and further minimizes the individuality of each movement. Yet as we shall see in the course of this dissertation, the three movements discussed here are quite distinct in the ways they employ form. The first movement of the Sixth Symphony, for instance, shares more in common with other genres and does not so easily fit into all of the standardized categories that are suggested. Korstvedt does recognize, however, that the music seems to be at odds with the “formal conventions !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!58 Further information on Rosen’s concept of the Romantic fragment can be found in Rosen, The Romantic Generation (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 41–115.   18 and patterns derived from standard sonata form,” and that Bruckner was “less concerned with formal organicism than many of his critics.”59 As this dissertation will show, while there are distinctive units or sections in the music based on the skeletons of sonata form, they still contribute to the dynamic shape and energy of the movement in ways that often contradict sonata form principles. This suggests that the theories of the energeticists may be a more appropriate starting point for an analysis of Bruckner’s music.  Other scholars still maintain that Bruckner used sonata form, but attempt to show how the composer altered a standardized framework to create his own new version of the form. Warren Darcy, for instance, suggests adopting James Hepokoski’s “sonata deformation” theory developed in his writings on Strauss and Sibelius. Hepokoski asserts that by the late nineteenth century certain deformational features began appearing “in dialogue with the generic expectations of the sonata,” and Hepokoski and Darcy use the term “deformation” to refer “to a striking way of stretching or overriding a norm.” 60 These deformations originated in the music of such composers as Beethoven, Schubert, and Mendelssohn, whose works Bruckner examined during the course of his studies. As a result, Darcy asserts that Bruckner then went about developing his own set of deformational procedures.  Darcy shows several characteristics of deformation, one of which can be highlighted here. For instance, he points to Bruckner’s alteration of the traditional “redemption paradigm” trajectory of some symphonies. Instead of the traditional “redemption” of a movement from the minor to the major via a secondary theme and the recapitulation, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!59 Korstvedt, “Between Formlessness and Formality,” 184–185.    60 Warren Darcy, “Bruckner’s Sonata Deformations,” in Bruckner Studies, ed. Timothy L. Jackson and Paul Hawkshaw (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 257. See also James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 614–621.   19 Bruckner delays the moment of redemption until the coda, and the second theme does not function as a catalyst for the process. Darcy also notes that the second theme group creates an “alienated” zone that achieves a suspension of linear time. The second themes are often repetitive and circular, and frequently are isolated from the movement by means of unexpected keys. Thus, the theme group is “kept away from a place of resolution,” and the second theme is often not fully resolved even in the recapitulation as Bruckner “fails” to resolve the themes to the tonic. He therefore sets the second theme apart from the rest of the movement, a process which Darcy suggests is Bruckner’s signifying that the theme group “cannot possibly be realized in the here and now.”61 The ultimate result of Bruckner’s sonata deformations is that the emphasis and weight of the movement is shifted to the coda, presenting a “do or die” situation in which the entire movement must be resolved in the final moments. Furthermore, Darcy argues that Bruckner’s deformations, rather than being amateurish and unsuccessful attempts at mastering sonata form, are constructed exactly to take advantage of delaying the resolution until the coda. Ultimately, Darcy writes, “much of the drama in the work arises from the way in which this drive is delayed, blocked, or hindered. The telos itself constitutes the final rebirth or revelation of the movement and perhaps of the entire symphony.”62  Darcy’s statement regarding the telos hints back to the views of the energeticists, specifically to Kurth’s notion that there are waves that flow throughout the movement. At the same time however, the idea of deformations is not an entirely satisfactory way to explain the first movements since sonata form is not always an apt description for the first movements. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 61 Darcy, “Bruckner’s Sonata Deformations,” 274.  62 Ibid., 276.   20 As we will see in chapter 4, the Sixth Symphony opens with a movement that is more fantasy-like, and it thus becomes difficult to apply any concepts of deformations that pertain specifically to sonata form.   Some scholars, rather than concentrating on demonstrating continuity and how the music can fit into a specific form, have attempted to explain the virtues of Bruckner’s music precisely in terms of its fragmentations and discontinuities. Joseph C. Kraus, for example, notes the presence of harmonic discontinuity in Bruckner’s music. He argues that an ambiguous passage from the second theme area of the exposition in the Eighth Symphony actually comprises three streams, based around the keys of G, G-flat, and A. Each stream is continuous in and of itself, but when put together, they continually disrupt one another and interrupt the telos of the passage.63 However, Kraus notes that in addition to these interruptions there are also other unique, non-linear uses of time in the Eighth. He points to the apotheosis at the end of the Finale as an example of non-linear vertical time, which is marked by an experience of stasis that transforms time into a “timeless temporal continuum, in which the linear interrelationships between past, present and future are suspended.”64 As the apotheosis combines thematic material from all of the previous movements, Kraus contends that this suggests a fusion of not only past and present, but also the future since Bruckner likely intended that the symphony would have additional performances.  Furthermore, programmatic comments made by Bruckner, such as the death-clock at !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!63 Joseph C. Kraus, “Musical Time in the Eighth Symphony,” in Perspectives on Anton Bruckner, ed. Crawford Howie, Paul Hawkshaw, and Timothy Jackson (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2001), 260. 64 Ibid., 266. “Non-linear vertical time” is a term derived from Jonathan Kramer’s book The Time of Music. Non-linear time “is static and associated with right-brain activity, and can be linked to the metaphorical state of ‘being.’” Vertical time, meanwhile, is “an unusual experience of stasis where one’s very sense of the passage of time is suspended. See Kraus, “Musical Time in the Eighth,” 259 and also Jonathan Kramer, The Time of Music: New Meanings, New Temporalities, New Listening Strategies (New York: Schirmer, 1988), 1–65.   21 the end of the first movement and the death march and transformation in the Finale, seem to suggest a subtext of death and transformation for the Symphony. As Bruckner was a devout Roman Catholic, Kraus argues that the nature of transfiguration after death, culminating in the eternal bliss of heaven, further implies a sense of stasis and timelessness. This suggestion of an apotheosis and subsequent stasis of time, however, is somewhat controversial since there remain difficulties in decoding the programmatic meaning of a work that has not been specifically identified by the composer. Indeed, Kraus himself admits that he remains “somewhat dubious” about the programmatic interpretation he provides, and that Bruckner may have only commented on programmatic associations because of a desire to make the symphony more accessible to a wider audience.65  Like Kraus, Christopher Lewis also notes the presence of discontinuities in Bruckner’s music. Lewis approaches the concept of discursive temporal organization in the symphonies through analogies to narrativity. For example, he argues that the Adagio from Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony manipulates its narrative and temporal elements in much the same way as Maurizio Nichetti does in The Icicle Thief.66 This film contains three different narrative threads that are set in three distinct time periods as well as in three different types of reality. Each of these threads is independent, but they still influence one another and become increasingly interconnected as the film progresses. Similarly, Lewis contends that !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!65 Kraus, “Musical Time in the Eighth,” 267. Further studies on temporality in Bruckner can also be found in Siegfried Mauser, “Formbildung und musikalische Zeitwahrnehmung: Analoge Konzepte bei Franz Schubert und Anton Bruckner,” in Bruckner-Symposion: Anton Bruckner—Persönlichkeit und Werk. Im Rahmen des Internationalen Brucknerfestes Linz 1992, 16.–20. September 1992, ed. Othmar Wessely, Uwe Harten, Elisabeth Maier, Andrea Harrandt, and Erich Wolfgang Partsch (Vienna: Musikwissenschaftlicher Verlag Wien, 1995), 195–200; Manfred Wagner, “Bruckner und das Problem der Zeit,” Musik und Kirche 66, no. 4 (July–Aug. 1996): 221–225; and Hans Zender, “Zur Konstruktion der Zeit in Bruckners 5. Symphonie,” Musik & Ästhetik 14, no. 55 (July 2010): 87–98. 66 Christopher Lewis, “The Mind’s Chronology: Narrative Times and Harmonic Disruption in Postromantic Music,” in The Second Practice of Nineteenth-Century Tonality, ed. William Kinderman and Harald Krebs (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1996), 119.   22 the Adagio of the Seventh Symphony also contains three distinct threads. In the first part of the movement, much as in The Icicle Thief, the tonal threads “complement and interrupt one another . . . while at the same time each establishes an intrinsic coherence that transcends its function as part of the whole.”67 Consequently, Lewis notes that this allows for the formation of complex chromatic passages from the combination of two or more of these harmonic threads.  Lewis in particular, I believe, realizes that the narrative and temporal characteristics of the symphonies are quite different from those of their contemporaries. More specifically, the idea that Bruckner’s music might unfold according to the composer’s own idiosyncratic principles has not been extensively discussed, including the possibility that the conventional arrivals or main articulations of a specific form may not be the main point of these works. In such a case, it is rather the nature of events and the way in which they unfold that characterizes the music. It seems that Bruckner’s style relies on small, moment-to-moment gestures and changes that provide the impetus for a dynamic movement of energy that propels the music forward. As a result, this dissertation aims to elevate the relevance of “the moment,” by studying the way in which his musical discourse unfolds from one idea to the next. These moments can be applied to sonata form skeletons, but their essence will consist not of how accurately or wrongly they fit the sonata form mold, but, rather, on the individuality of these processes. Their preciseness of shape and function or their lack thereof is what makes the music unique. The goal of this dissertation, then, is to examine “the moment” in three first movements of Bruckner’s symphonies, in order seek how the temporal aspects of Bruckner’s music might be explained. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!67 Ibid., 124.   23 With the idea of the moment in mind, each of the following three chapters examines the first movement from one of Bruckner’s symphonies: the 1877 edition of the Third (chapter 2), the Seventh (chapter 3), and the Sixth (chapter 4). Of note, I have purposefully avoided engaging at great length with the issue of different editions throughout the dissertation, as my intent is not to debate which version of a particular symphony is the “authoritative” one but rather to focus on the analytical issues. Additionally, the larger issues of the variants of Bruckner’s scores have been thoroughly discussed, for example, by Korstvedt, Cooke, and others.68 Therefore, I do not discuss the problems with the editions here unless it is absolutely necessary for the understanding of one of the movements I analyze. Instead, a potentially constructive approach to explain Bruckner’s style would be to focus on the progress of the music by following the individual moments themselves as well as the ways in which they move from one to the other. This can be accomplished through the study of the processes undergone by the individual motivic, rhythmic, textural, and dynamic, harmonic, and contrapuntal elements, which provides a basis for an examination of their !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!68 For the Sixth and Seventh Symphonies this is not a great problem, as Bruckner did not make extensive revisions to either work. The reason for using the 1877 revision of the Third Symphony is explained in chapter 2. For more information about Bruckner’s revisions of these symphonies and the editions available, see Deryck Cooke, “The Bruckner Problem Simplified. 3: Symphonies 3 and 4,” The Musical Times 110, no. 1514 (Apr. 1969): 362–5, and Deryck Cooke, “The Bruckner Problem Simplified. 4: Symphonies 5–9,” The Musical Times 110, no. 1515 (May 1969): 479–82. See also Benjamin Korstvedt, “Bruckner Editions: The Revolution Revisited,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bruckner, ed. by John Williamson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 121–37; Paul Hawkshaw, “The Bruckner Problem Revisited,” 19th-Century Music 21, no. 1 (Summer 1997): 96-107; Benjamin Korstvedt, “The Bruckner Problem Revisited (A Reply),” 19th-Century Music 21, no. 1 (Summer 1997): 108–9; Margaret Notley, “Bruckner Problems, in Perpetuity,” 19th-Century Music 30, no. 1 (Summer 2006): 81–93; and Peter Gülke, “Die mögliche und die unmögliche Vollendung: Bruckners Fassungen oder-kein Ende,” Österreichische Musikzeitschrift 51, no. 5 (May 1996): 330-335; Some articles that examine the revisions and the various issues that may arise include Peter Benary, “Metamorphosen der Sinfonien Anton Bruckners: Zum Problem der Fassungen und Revisionen,” in Metamorphosen: Buch zum Festival-Internationale Musikfestwochen Luzern 2000, eds. Erich Singer, Karina Wisniewska, and Rudolf Bossard (Bern: Benteli Wabern-Bern, 2000), 138–144; Rüdiger Bornhöft, “Zu Anton Bruckners dritter Fassung der Dritten Symphonie,” Studien & Berichte: Mitteilungsblatt der Internationalen Bruckner-Gesellschaft 28 (1987): 8–14; Leopold Nowak, “Die 1. und 2. Fassung von Anton Bruckners 3. Symphonie,” Studien & Berichte: Mitteilungsblatt der Internationalen Bruckner-Gesellschaft 15 (1979): 24-29; and Horton, Bruckner’s Symphonies, 196-222.   24 semantic implications characteristic to each particular moment, manifested as “topical discourse.”69 This in turn will lead to a better understanding of the overall dynamic processes that characterize this music.  The Moment  Here we must pause and examine specifically what the concept of a “moment” means within the context of this study. Throughout history, the term has carried different meanings for both philosophers and musicologists, and it is therefore necessary to examine these various conceptions in order to arrive at a definition that can be applied to Bruckner’s music. Søren Kierkegaard (1813–1855), for instance, viewed the concept of the moment (or Augenblick) from a religious perspective.70 He considered the incarnation of Christ as the “initialising moment for all significant moments that follow,”71 for the eternal as timeless comes into time and space and it is from this which all successive experiences of Augenblick are derived. Here the contrast between eternal and the temporal is emphasized, as the incarnation represented the embodiment of an eternal God in the temporal realm of mankind. Consequently, Kierkegaard contended that human history subsequently took on new meaning and was no longer comprised of “arbitrary events” but now had purpose. As Koral Ward explains, “the moment represents not so much an instant of time but a certain experience of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!69 I am using the notion of topics according to, among others, Leonard Ratner in his book Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (New York: Schirmer Books, 1980), 9–29. See the discussion on topics later in this chapter for more information.  70 The idea of the moment is explored most fully in two of Kierkegaard’s works; see Søren Kierkegaard, Philosophical Fragments or A Fragment of Philosophy (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1985), and Søren Kierkegaard, The Concept of Anxiety (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1980).  71 Koral Ward, Augenblick: The Concept of the “Decisive Moment” in 19th- and 20th-Century Western Philosophy (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2008), 11.   25 being in time.”72 The idea that “arbitrary events that have a purpose,” that they are a series of momentary experiences of time, has contributed to my own conception of the moment.  Martin Heidegger (1889–1976), in his work Being and Time, focuses on the temporal domain; each moment in the present holds the possibility of becoming a point that leads to an experience of “a sudden and fleeting yet momentous event,” in which is also implied “some kind of sight or insight [Einblick].”73 Heidegger uses the word in a particular sense, to define a moment that stands out from the ordinary temporal dimension. In fact, it both escapes and goes beyond temporality.74 In Being and Time, he argues that [the] phenomenon of the Moment can in principle not be clarified in terms of the now. The now is a temporal phenomenon that belongs to a time as within-time-ness: the now “in which” something comes into being, passes away, or is objectively present. “In the Moment” nothing can happen, but as an authentic present it lets us encounter for the first time what can be “in a time” as something at hand or objectively present.75  Thus, Heidegger considers the Moment the “authentic present,” the “now” which has consequences for further nows. As Ward explains, Augenblick involves more than simply progressing from one moment to the next, and it in fact “holds a change more far reaching than the next ‘now’ moment of time…[it] implies a temporal passing away or transcendence of time.”76 For Heidegger, “the Moment brings existence to the situation and discloses the authentic ‘There.’”77 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!72 Ibid, 11–13.   73 Ibid., 98. See also Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, trans. Joan Stambaugh (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996).  74 Ibid., 101.  75 Heidegger, Being and Time, 311 (italics in the original).  76 Ward, Augenblick, 103.  77 Heidegger, Being and Time, 319.   26  What I found valuable in Heidegger for my conception of “the moment” is that an everyday perception of time makes the present the central focus of significance and reality, and because of this, the progression of time is a series of actual facts that can be observed. The authentic present, or Augenblick, constructs the present “in terms of possibilities freely chosen and determined.”78 Heidegger criticizes the notion of ordinary time, typically seen as a series of “nows” in which each individual moment is seen as belonging to a specific point along a line. Rather, central to Heidegger’s notion of Augenblick is that the authentic Moment rises above the normal, everyday flow of time.79 Yet as it transcends beyond normal time, it deemphasizes what we commonly perceive as a progression from one moment to the next. I have adopted some of these ideas for Bruckner’s music, as his musical “moments,” like Heidegger’s, both draw attention to themselves above the normal flow of the music, while at the same time are constantly suggesting new open possibilities. The concept of Augenblick also appears in Adorno’s aesthetic theories. In his book Negative Dialectics, Adorno rejects the Hegelian conception of the whole in favor of negative dialectics, refuting the notion that opposing ideas must somehow reconcile and find resolution.80 Instead, history is viewed as fragmented and discontinuous, being comprised of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 78 Michael Gelven, A Commentary on Heidegger’s Being and Time (DeKalb, IL: Northern Illinois University Press, 1989), 189.  79 Heidegger’s concept of Augenblick also involves a strong element of the apocalyptic. As Ward observes, Heidegger’s view promotes the philosophy of the moment, for he conceives that the social and political realms of a given time are in a state of crisis that seemingly moves toward destruction. This climaxes in a particular moment (Augenblick), in which the present cannot be retained but must give way to the future, a future in which a “new order” emerges. Heidegger argued that there are only a few people who can access the actual Augenblick itself; one must not only be properly situated within the historical continuum, but must also be able to recognize that “now” is the aforementioned culmination point in the state of crisis. See Ward, Augenblick, 98. 80 Theodor Adorno, Negative Dialectics, trans. E.B. Ashton (New York: Seabury Press, 1973).    27 phenomena that do not lead directly or smoothly towards a predetermined end.81 At the same time there can be elements, such as models or ideals, which assemble into “constellations,” with possible configurations consisting of vastly different materials that still manage to form a coherent entity. Elsewhere, while discussing the essay, Adorno argues that the fragment gains importance, for in it the totality is illuminated without itself establishing the presence of the whole.82 This can serve as a basis for all artworks, and in Aesthetic Theory Adorno writes that  [the] strict immanence of the spirit of artworks is contradicted on the other hand by a  countertendency that is no less immanent: the tendency of artworks to wrest  themselves free of the internal unity of their own construction, to introduce within  themselves caesuras that no longer permit the totality of the appearance. Because the  spirit of the works is not identical with them, spirit breaks up the objective form through which it is constituted; this rupture is the instant of apparition.83  The “apparition” as “moment” thus gains importance; we need not focus on the totality because each individual moment provides its own illumination or insight, shedding light on the whole.  Apart from philosophers, the concept of the moment has also been explored by musicians and music scholars, perhaps most notably by Karl Stockhausen (1928–2007) with his conception of moment form.84 A work written in this style is ideally comprised of a number of moments that do not necessarily flow from one to the next; they are instead each self-contained entities. One could, theoretically, switch the individual moments around !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!81 Max Paddison, Adorno’s Aesthetics of Music (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 35.   82 Berthold Hoeckner, Programming the Absolute: Nineteenth-Century German Music and the Hermeneutics of the Moment (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002), 15.  83 Theodor Adorno, Aesthetic Theory, trans. Robert Hullot-Kentor (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), 88. See also Hoeckner, Programming the Absolute, 16. 84 Stockhausen used moment form for works including Kontakte (1958–1960), Mikrophonie I & II (1964–1965), Stimmung (1968), and Samstag aus Licht (1981–1983).   28 without affecting the overall flow of the music. Indeed, moment form eschews the traditional beginning to end movement inherent in most compositions, and should give the impression of simply starting “in the midst of previously unheard music,” also sounding as though the music could continue on endlessly.85  As a result, the composition is not heard as a totality, but instead as a series of unrelated, individual moments.   Moment form is further explored in Jonathan Kramer’s book The Time of Music, where two basic types of time in compositions are identified. The first is linearity, in which sections of the piece have their characteristics dictated by implications arising from earlier events. Nonlinearity, on the other hand, is non-processive, and is “the determination of some characteristic(s) of music in accordance with implications that arise from principles of tendencies governing an entire piece or section.”86 Within the category of nonlinearity, Kramer identifies a type of music that is remarkably discontinuous, which he labels “moment time” after Stockhausen’s concept of moment form. Thus, there are many similarities between the two: in both the moments are self-contained sections heard as separate entities rather than as participants in the overall progression of the music, there is no beginning or closure to the piece, nothing in subsequent sections logically follows from an earlier point in the music so that the order of moments seems arbitrary, and so forth.87 With these characteristics in mind, Kramer ultimately posits a definition of moments as “self-contained entities, capable of standing on their own yet in some nonlinear sense belonging to the context of the composition.”88 Of course, moments in Bruckner’s compositions differ in that !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 85 Jonathan Kramer, “Moment Form in Twentieth Century Music,” The Musical Quarterly 64, no. 2 (Apr. 1978): 180.   86 Kramer, The Time of Music, 20.   87 Ibid., 50, 58.    29 they are not “capable of standing on their own,” and their order is pre-determined, but the emphasis on the “now” and its implications are interesting to consider in the tradition of the concept of the moment.  Finally, Berthold Hoeckner, in Programming the Absolute: Nineteenth-Century German Music and the Hermeneutics of the Moment (2002), studies the moment as revealed through German music and musicology. He notes that in the German language the idea of “moment” can have two meanings: either as an instant (Augenblick) or as a part (Bestandteil). Augenblick refers to a temporal category, while Bestandteil indicates a particular detail. Hoeckner further observes that [the] paradox of the musical moment is its place at the intersection between part and whole in the material realm, and between instant and process in the temporal realm. However short the instant, it may touch eternity; and however minute the detail, it may encompass all.89  Thus, for Hoeckner the moment is a conceptual category, one that operates at the level of music history and culture, also at the same time touching on phenomenological and philosophical concerns.90   There is a certain amount of freedom contained within Hoeckner’s conception of the moment, and I draw on this in part for my own definition. First, when describing “the moment,” I am speaking more of a philosophical and phenomenological category than a term that can be defined explicitly in musical terms. As a consequence, I use the term moment rather broadly to refer to different instants or parts of the music that draw attention to themselves. As suggested by Hoeckner, the moment is fluid and can allude to a variety !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!88 Ibid., 207.   89 Hoeckner, Programming the Absolute, 4.  90 Ibid.   30 musical constructs that are in some way noteworthy. The term could refer to a temporal event, such as the unfolding of a theme or motive, or a particular detail such as a striking key change, a rhythmic formula, or a musical topic. Thus, there is flexibility as to what elements make up a particular moment, as well as some freedom regarding how long a moment can last. At the same time, however, there are limits to how far an individual moment can extend.  Halm, as we may recall, believed that Bruckner’s movements unfold in a series of “epic scenes.” This suggests that there is a succession of scenes, and consequently moments, throughout the course of a movement. As the music continually progresses, new moments are continually revealed, taking the place of older ones. Discussing Edmund Gurney’s conception of the experience of music, Jerrold Levinson writes that “[whereas] one can have a single sweeping perception of the whole of an arabesque or facade, with music one can have only a series of perceptions of the parts of a work as it unfolds in time, but never a single perception of the work in its entirety. The experience of music is fundamentally a matter of individual momentary impressions.”91 Of course, Gurney and Levinson are speaking not just of Bruckner’s symphonies but also of musical works as a whole, and whether these theories apply to other composers is a debate beyond the scope of this dissertation. Still, the description is an appropriate representation of the moment in Bruckner, describing a series of events that take place on the musical surface. Considering the other philosophies presented here helps to further refine the definition of the moment. Kierkegaard believed Christ to be the initializing moment for all moments that follow. This particular moment had such an impact that anything coming after was not insignificant but was given a new meaning. While not all moments in Bruckner’s !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!91 Jerrold Levinson, Music in the Moment (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997), 3–4.    31 symphonies will claim such significance, from Kierkegaard’s philosophy I draw the notion that the moments are not necessarily all self-contained sections that do not influence one another, as would be the case in moment form. Rather, even though they often sound disjunct and unrelated, a particular moment can still hold implications for future events in the movement. This also relates to Heidegger’s idea that while a moment may be sudden and fleeting, they can offer some kind of insight. One moment may, for example, present a theme in a different guise, or perhaps with a different harmony, that affords a different perception of what has come before. Additionally, Heidegger deemphasizes a normal sense of progression from one moment to the next, arguing that an authentic Augenblick or moment rises above so-called ordinary time. One can apply the same line of thinking to the moment in Bruckner’s music as well, for as we will see in the first movements the music often does not logically progress from one moment to the next. Instead, there are frequently sections that appear as though they are breaking the typical sense of progression and are establishing their own sense of time.  All of the individual moments could make the music seem overly fragmented, but here Adorno’s negative dialectics suggests that this is a perfectly acceptable aesthetic. Bruckner’s moments do not have to lead smoothly and steadily towards an end, but can assemble into individual constellations or groups that can still be considered a coherent unity.92 This idea of fragmentation is likewise echoed in Stockhausen and Kramer, but my conception of the moment in Bruckner’s symphonies does not extend quite as far as is suggested by moment form. While there is the sense that moments can be self-contained entities that are able to stand on their own, in Bruckner they are not created in such a way as !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!92 Kurth’s theory of symphonic waves, discussed below, further aids in explaining how the seemingly disparate moments can coalesce into an organized structure.     32 to be interchangeable. For Stockhausen and Kramer, the positioning of sections in a piece may be arbitrary, but in Bruckner they are arranged so that there is still a definitive beginning, middle, and end. Even though the moments can sound disjunct they are logically ordered to create processes of intensification, which in turn generates an overall structure.   Bruckner’s Measure Numbers ! In many of his sketches and manuscripts Bruckner included numbers under each measure that can provide additional insight for the current analysis. The first eight measures of a movement, for instance, might be numbered one through eight, the next four one through four, and so forth, while others may have numberings in more unusual places.93  The meaning of these measure numbers has been a matter of debate among scholars. For some, the numbers are a byproduct of Bruckner’s obsession with counting.94 Max Auer, Leopold Nowak, and Deryck Cooke, for instance, are among those who contend that the numbering of scores is due to the composer’s psyche.95 Still another, Hans Redlich, writes that [the] mania for counting and adding up figures is probably coresponsible with  Bruckner’s lifelong habit of counting through every composition, numbering each  bar… Bruckner’s pedantic insistence on counting every bar may also be responsible !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!93 For each of the movements I analyze, I have consulted the manuscripts and provide the numbers as written by Bruckner in these sources. The specific scores I used for the numbers are: Anton Bruckner, “Wagner Sinfonie No. 3 D-moll,” autograph score of the Third Symphony, 1873–1878, Mus.Hs. 19.475, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna Austria; Anton Bruckner, “Sinfonie No. 7 E-dur,” autograph score of the Seventh Symphony, Mus.Hs. 19479, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, Austria; Anton Bruckner, “Siebente (7.) Symphonie E-Dur, 1 Satz (Ende),” autograph sketches from the end of the first movement, Mus.Hs. 3164, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, Austria; and Anton Bruckner, “VI. Sinfonie,” manuscript copy of the Sixth Symphony, 1879–1881, Mus.Hs. 19478, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, Austria. An examination and listing of Bruckner’s numbering for all nine symphonies can be found in Edward Murphy, “Bruckner’s Use of Numbers to Indicate Phrase Lengths,” Bruckner Jahrbuch (1987/88): 39-52. It should be noted, however, that Murphy does not provide a comprehensive overview of the manuscripts, but is rather selective in the sources he uses.  94 After suffering a nervous breakdown in 1867, Bruckner developed a counting mania and was known to count anything, such as the windows on a building or the leaves on a tree, often multiple times until he felt the number was absolutely correct. See Murphy, “Bruckner’s Use of Numbers,” 39.    95 Timothy L. Jackson, “Bruckner’s Metrical Numbers,” 19th-Century Music 14, no. 2 (1990): 102.   33  for his clinging to the rigours of 4+4-bar periods and for his partiality for rather stiff  regularities of periodization–a tendency that  brought him sometimes dangerously  near to rhythmic monotony and to a structural four-squareness comparing  unfavourably with the rhythmic flexibility of the Viennese classics.96  Both Jackson and Horton, however, have challenged the view that the numbers were part of a numeromania. They argue that if this was simply part of Bruckner’s compulsive behavior, then the manuscripts from the late 1860s, the period of his most intense mental stress, should also be the scores that display the most extensive use of the numbers. This is simply not the case, however, as Bruckner made either limited or no use at all of the numbers in his manuscripts during this time.97  Further still, a comprehensive study of the numbering reveals that Bruckner did not cling to 4+4-bar phrasing quite so readily as Redlich might believe. While it is true that the 4+4 or 8-bar phrase is common in the symphonies, there remains a substantial mix of other, varying phrase lengths. Edward Murphy’s admittedly limited examination of Bruckner’s numbering in the manuscripts of all nine symphonies finds that, in some cases, the number of eight-bar phrases is matched by other, more unusual, phrase lengths. He shows that in the First Symphony, for instance, while eight-bar phrases appear most frequently and account for 27% of the total number of phrases, various other odd-numbered lengths actually combine to comprise 39% of the work.98 Similarly, by Murphy’s calculations, in the later symphonies longer phrases become increasingly common. For example, in the Eighth Symphony 30% of the phrases are over eight bars in length and there are even phrases reaching to 14, 15, 16, 18, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 96 Hans Redlich, Bruckner and Mahler (London: J.M. Dent and Sons, 1970), 32.  97 Jackson, “Bruckner’s Metrical Numbers,” 102. See also Horton, Bruckner’s Symphonies, 232–233.   98 Murphy, “Bruckner’s Use of Numbers,” 39-40.    34 and 20 bars, particularly in the Finale.99 Bruckner does not cling to 4+4-bar phrases, and being aware of his numbering of bars helps to show the variety of phrasing he used, refuting the accusations of monotony in his music.  Still, while informative, Murphy does not attempt to interpret the data he gathers beyond showing the percentage of different phrase lengths. Jackson seeks to explore the numbers in greater depth, endeavoring to find if Bruckner’s annotations can reveal more about the composer’s intentions. He submits three hypotheses about the uses for and meaning of the numbers, proposing first that the systematic use of the numbers dates from the first revision period of 1876-80, even though some numbers appear as early as 1861. Second, while the numbers can have various functions, one of their more important purposes is to indicate the downbeat of a phrase. Finally, Jackson proposes that the numbers can aid in discerning between authentic and inauthentic versions of the different revisions made by Bruckner.100   The last of these hypotheses demonstrates one of the practical applications of the numbers found in Bruckner’s original autographs. For example, by using numbers Bruckner wrote under the measures, Jackson shows how a bifolium originally thought to belong with other sketches from 1865-66 is more likely from the 1890-91 revision. This is because the metrical grid is more consistently applied in the bifolium, a trait missing from the earlier sketches but present in the revised materials.101 However, Jackson’s labeling of the numbers as a type of “metrical grid” that aided Bruckner in pinpointing the downbeat is more questionable. He contends that, after 1876, Bruckner was concerned with correctly !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 99 Ibid., 42.   100 Jackson, “Bruckner’s Metrical Numbers,” 102.   101 Ibid., 106–107.   35 identifying downbeat measures, and that he wanted to ensure they were in the right place. In some cases, Jackson surmises, if the downbeat did not occur in the correct location, Bruckner would revise the music to have it in the appropriate position. In fact, he believes that at times Bruckner would even revise the metrical numbers, even if they would have no effect on the pitch structure, to achieve the desired analysis or result.102 Based on Jackson’s study of the manuscript materials for the Second Symphony, it would appear that Bruckner did, in fact, make some changes to the numbers after revisions to the rest of the music had been completed. This is important, because it highlights Bruckner’s attention to ensuring that specific moments or details in the music were exactly as he wanted them. At the same time, there are issues with how Jackson interprets the use of the numbers as a compositional device.  One significant problem is that Jackson does not clearly define what he means by “metrical grid” or “downbeat.” The presence of a metrical grid is merely assumed, and he does not explain how the numbers written under each measure correspond to any metrical qualities of the music. Jackson likewise refrains from providing a precise definition of his usage of the term “downbeat,” other than to mention it as the “first, accented measure of the individual phrase.”103 This raises the question as to why Bruckner would feel compelled to include numbers under every measure if his goal was to locate and highlight only the first measure of a phrase. Some sort of symbol to indicate the location of a downbeat would seem to be more efficient and logical, though it is possible that Bruckner failed to think of such a possibility. Nevertheless, if Bruckner counted every measure, and if he started each time with a “1” at or near the beginning or a phrase, it would appear that Bruckner may instead have !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!102 Ibid., 103.   103 Ibid., 102.   36 made an effort to indicate the length of phrases, rather than to specifically locate the downbeat.   To be sure, the numbering does not always strictly follow what one might think of as the phrase, and in fact occasionally suggests that Jackson’s hypothesis might have some merit. The Seventh Symphony, for example, opens with two bars of tremolo in the violins, followed by the introduction of the expansive first theme. Bruckner numbers the tremolo bars separately, and then indicates the first phrase as being ten bars in length. What one would typically think of as the first phrase, however, actually lasts only nine measures (mm. 3-11), with the next starting in measure 12 and indicated with a 10. It is possible that Bruckner conceived of measure 12 as an upbeat to the second phrase with the downbeat beginning in measure 13. This creates confusion over measure 12, however, which is distinctly not part of the previous phrase; the two sections are, in fact, unmistakably separated by a half and a quarter rest.104 Whatever Bruckner’s reasoning for numbering measure 12 as 10, such instances are, at least in the first movement of the Seventh Symphony, rare.105 For the most part, Bruckner’s numbering tends to follow the phrasing closely.  Still, more than just tracing the phrasing, the numbering often seems to highlight specific moments within the music. Horton concurs that “the annotations trace the phrase structure of the movement,” but also asserts that the “segmentation is not only a matter of isolating downbeats, but of marking out distinct melodic and harmonic regions according to criteria of statement, repetition, continuation and interruption.”106 As a result, Bruckner’s !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 104 The tremolos in the violins do continue throughout the first and second phrases, but these serve more of a background accompanimental role, and the break between the two sections remains clearly evident.  105 The possible reasons for this particular numbering will be discussed at greater length in Chapter 3.  106 Horton, Bruckner’s Symphonies, 243–244.    37 numbers often draw attention not just to downbeats or musical phrases but an important section or moment of the movement. For this reason, the numbers can offer a unique insight into Bruckner’s views of the music, even, and perhaps especially, when those conceptions may not correspond with our own. In the study of the three movements here, then, the numbers are considered alongside the musical features to understand how Bruckner’s division of the movement into individual moments aligns with the other musical factors being considered in my analyses.   Kurth’s Symphonic Waves   Another important step in the analysis will be to explore the relationship in Bruckner between the moments and the whole of a movement. Here, Kurth’s theory of symphonic waves will provide a way to explain how individual moments can combine to create an overall coherence. The conception of waves was briefly mentioned earlier in this chapter, but here a quotation from the theorist Lee Rothfarb aids in summarizing how Kurth may have defined the theory: For Kurth each musical segment, as an acoustical embodiment of psychic motion,  fulfils a dynamic function. Short-range formal segments consist of localized surges  called “constituent waves,” which contribute to more broadly paced “developmental  waves;” these in turn mount inexorably toward huge “symphonic waves.” After a  tension “discharge,” or what we might call a climax, the tension gradually slackens  during a counterwave, usually accompanied by “reverberating waves” in the wake of  the recent discharge, and “after-waves,” echoing the previous build-up. All of this  undulation lends shape to a musical composition, which becomes a flux of  continuously surging and ebbing waves. The sum of all waves cumulatively produces  the great dynamic sweep of a musical work as a whole.107  Thus, in his analyses Kurth searched for processes of escalation and de-escalation, which could consist of the use of techniques such as “increasing and decreasing rhythmic activity; !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!107 Lee Rothfarb, “Ernst Kurth as Theorist and Analyst” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1985), 418–419.    38 thickening and thinning texture; expanding and contracting register; brightening and darkening timbre; tonally near and distant harmonies,” and so forth.108 Additionally, Kurth argued that the waves did not always occur one after another but rather could overlap without clear boundaries. Smaller waves could extend into each other, and so too could larger waves supersede those at a lower level.109  Despite the appeal of Kurth’s theory for its possible application to Bruckner’s music, there are potential problems that have been raised by various scholars. For instance, Kurth viewed Bruckner as a mystic, as evidenced by beliefs such as that the waves represented “the motion of [Bruckner’s] creative psyche.”110 This was partly an attempt by the theorist to create a defence for a composer’s music that had been criticized by so many. Parkany observes that in the first part of Kurth’s Bruckner, the author “[labours] through an amateurishly mysterious biographical and ‘psychological’ polemic on Bruckner’s behalf.”111 Still, the most important part of the book, at least for modern audiences, remains the second half where Kurth engages in discussions of each symphony. Even here, however, while at times the analyses can be full of detail, in other places he can be exceedingly cursory, missing many details that may be important to an interpretation of the music.112 This problem is further exacerbated by Kurth’s use of questionable editions of the symphonies, as he relied on versions that had been edited by the Schalk brothers and Ferdinand Löwe even though !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!108 Kurth, Selected Writings, 30.  109 Ibid. Rothfarb observes that the larger waves can “supersede smaller ones irregularly,” but that there is still a “clear processive logic.”    110 Ibid.  111 John Stephen Parkany, “Bruckner and the Vocabulary of Symphonic Formal Process” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1989), 84.  112 Stephen Parkany, “Kurth’s Bruckner and the Adagio of the Seventh Symphony,” 19th-Century Music 11, no. 3 (Spring 1988): 266.    39 many of the manuscripts were available to him through the Austrian National Library (Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, or ÖNB).113 The score Kurth uses for the Fifth Symphony, for example, is missing 120 measures in the finale that are present in Nowak’s edition.114  Nevertheless, these problems are not insurmountable, for as Parkany argues the best part of Kurth is not the analyses of each symphony, but the “general exposition of formal process.”115 From the survey of the symphonies in Bruckner, one can create a set of formal characteristics that can in turn be applied to individual works as a flexible paradigm. In this light, Parkany examines Kurth’s analysis of the Adagio from the Seventh Symphony to determine how the theory might allow us to better understand the music. Kurth believes, for instance, that the opening nine measures both present the main theme and form a small-scale wave; mm. 1–4 presents an initial surge with upward leaps, while mm. 4–9 continue the rising trend, bringing the music to a higher point. At the same time, Kurth also identifies mm. 7–9 as an after-wave, coming after the climax as a kind of counterweight to the previous surging.116 Ultimately, Parkany finds that Kurth focuses on moment-to-moment transformations of melodic motives, and sometimes also to rhythmic detail and orchestral texture, but that he generally ignores other aspects of the music like associative borrowings and the role of tonality and harmony in the formal development. A consideration of the harmonic process can, for the most part, be elaborated on in support Kurth’s identification of the waves and the related climaxes, but in some instances the harmonies may reveal an !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!113 Ibid., 267. See also Rothfarb, Kurth as Theorist and Analyst, 191–192.  114 Rothfarb, Kurth as Theorist and Analyst, 191.  115 Parkany, “Kurth’s Bruckner,” 267.  116 Ibid., 271.    40 alternative analysis.117 In my own adoption of Kurth’s theory, in general I consider the individual “moments” as launching points for the waves. A moment that draws attention to itself either melodically, rhythmically, or in all of the above ways constitutes a locus of a dynamic energy that may expand over a larger section of the music producing an overall wave, which lasts until another moment of a similar weight begins to outline a new wave. The waves’ energy and intensifications drawn from the respective moments may manifest themselves through repetition, development, reframing of the moment’s particular elements, and so forth. I concentrate only on the broader symphonic waves, which I conceive of as larger units of energy in which the individual moments coalesce into intensifications or decreased dynamic impulses, gradually building in intensity before reaching a high point, after which there is generally at least some release of the accumulated energy. The moments’ constant novelty or changes contribute either to the intensification or the ebbing of a particular wave. Analyzing how these waves are formed will show that even though Bruckner draws attention to individual moments, they do not create a disorganized, random patchwork of musical ideas, but rather large scale forms that inform the expressivity of the music.  In some instances, the form that is created by the waves will support a reading of sonata form. As Chapter Three will illustrate, for example, a wave covers each of the three themes in the exposition of the first movement from the Seventh Symphony. However, the same analysis also reveals another wave traversing the boundary between the end of the development and the beginning of the recapitulation, revealing a large-scale process that is !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!117 As an example, Parkany points to the resolution contained in the Tuben-choir elegy written for Wagner, which comes toward the end of the movement. If one considers the harmonic process, Kurth’s climax must be changed from m. 173 to the elegy in m. 185 and following, where ambiguous harmonies are finally resolved with a full harmonic cadence. See Ibid., 278–280.   41 not immediately apparent from an understanding of sonata form.   In addition to adopting Kurth’s notion of waves and dynamic energy in Bruckner’s music, I have also appropriated the terminology he uses to describe the shape and formation of these waves. Kurth himself does not lay out a set of definitions for his particular nomenclature, but Parkany has studied Kurth’s works and created an extensive set of terms specifically related to the symphonic formal process. I have borrowed and used those definitions that are relevant to the idea of waves, in order to produce my own analysis for each of the movements examined here. Of Kurth’s concepts, one of the most important is the notion of intensification (Steigerung). This is, as Parkany notes, a “typical symphonic escalation that rises toward a melodic peak, generally over a long span.”118 Other factors, such as rhythm, dynamics, and texture can contribute to the intensification, but for Kurth the melodic element is primary.119 In my own analyses, while I give importance to the melodic profile of a section, I also consider other elements as equally significant in the intensification process. As one example, I consider a repetition of the second theme in the exposition of the Seventh Symphony (mm. 59–68) as an intensification of the wave that spans the Gesangsthema (mm. 51–122) not because of a rise to a melodic peak, even though the phrase does reach the highest notes in the final measure. Rather, additional intensity is created by the repetition of the theme, transposed up a whole step, along with a shift in texture from light woodwinds to lower, heavier strings, generating dynamic energy that pushes the wave forward. It is through one or a series of these intensifications that a wave gradually builds to a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!118 Parkany, “Vocabulary of Symphonic Formal Process,” 99.  119 Parkany, “Kurth’s Bruckner,” 268.    42 climax, or Höhepunkt (high point). These points are “the deliberate summit of the intensification,” and are often not confined to a single moment but can extend over several phrases.120 Additionally, there is sometimes more than one climax within a section of the music, an occurrence in which each of the high points intensify one another, and which Kurth labels as an Übersteigerung, or over-intensification.121 The peaks are then frequently followed by an ebbing (Verebben), a brief “downside” of the wave, or a more extended after-wave (Nachwelle, or Nacherschütterung, meaning “after-tremor”), in which a small intensification relieves some of the energy of the overall wave.122 As the downside of a wave is often rather short, I have only indicated those ebbings and after-waves that are either extended or are significant in some other fashion. Along with these common components of the wave, other events are also occasionally introduced. A turn (Wendung), for instance, marks a sudden shift in the music, which can be melodic, harmonic, instrumental, and so forth. Interruptions (Unterbrechungen) also introduce a surprise into the wave structure; in this case, they are intrusions of “emptiness” that are usually short and are typically found during the course of intensifications or within a climax itself. Emptiness, meanwhile, can denote both “the total or near-total silence surrounding most waves,” and also “the ‘spatial’ sparseness of Bruckner’s orchestral textures.”123 In sum, these definitions form the basic functions of the symphonic wave, which will be used to study how Bruckner assembles seemingly incongruous moments such that they create a dynamic energy that establishes a cohesive form for each of the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!120 Parkany, “Vocabulary of Symphonic Formal Process,” 98–100.  121 See, for instance, Ernst Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 1 (New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 1971), 416.  122 Parkany, “Vocabulary of Symphonic Formal Process,” 99, 121.  123 Ibid., 110, 119–120. Parkany also notes that the total or near-total silence “does not break the intensification but forms a hurdle, the crossing of which creates renewed intensity.”   43 movements examined in this dissertation.  Topics   Throughout the dissertation I refer to the topics and affects that particular moments may have. Here I draw on the theory of topics as discussed by scholars such as Leonard Ratner, Robert Hatten, Kofi Agawu, and Raymond Monelle. Ratner was the first to bring the concept to the forefront of musical scholarship, defining topics as “characteristic figures” that, through “contacts with worship, poetry, drama, entertainment, dance, ceremony, the military, the hunt, and the life of the lower classes,” became associated either with feelings and affections or with a picturesque flavor.124 Furthermore, these topics can be either types or styles; the former refers to a fully worked-out piece, while the latter describes a topic used as a figure or progression within a piece. At the same time, this distinction is flexible, for as Ratner describes, “minuets and marches represent complete types of composition, but they also furnish styles for other pieces.”125 Along with the aforementioned dances, other types listed by Ratner include the polonaise, gigue, and sarabande, while examples of his styles include military and hunt music, the singing style, and “Storm and Stress.”126  Since Ratner’s book first appeared, other scholars have attempted to build further upon his ideas. Robert Hatten, for instance, contends that individual topics in music are organized into what he terms “expressive genres.”127 He then further theorizes that “once a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!124 Ratner, Classic Music, 9.   125 Ibid.  126 The singing style refers to “music in a lyric vein, with a moderate tempo and a melodic line featuring relatively slow note values,” while the “Storm and Stress” style “uses driving rhythms, full texture, minor mode harmonies, chromaticism, sharp dissonances, and an impassioned style of declamation.” See Ratner, Classic Music, 19, 21.  127 Robert Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation   44 genre is recognized or provisionally invoked, it guides the listener in the interpretation of particular features . . . that can help flesh out a dramatic or expressive scenario.”128 Hatten is, essentially, interested in developing a theory that allows for the creative interpretation of works. This is enabled by various techniques such as “troping,” whereby a juxtaposition of contradictory or previously unrelated types can be interpreted tropologically.129 He provides an example of the finale from Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 28, Op. 101, where pastoral and heroic topics are combined. Because of their appearance together, Hatten construes this moment as a “heroic victory . . . within the realm of the pastoral,” and that “[if] the pastoral is interpreted . . . in the context of the spiritual, then the victory will be understood as an inward, spiritual one.”130 This does not touch on other aspects of Hatten’s theory such as his conceptions of markedness and emergent meaning, but it does emphasize the direction of his approach toward topics as one that reconstructs the historical meaning of topics and then subjects them to creative interpretation.131  Kofi Agawu, on the other hand, attempts to combine Ratner’s topics with Schenkerian analysis. Much like Ratner, he finds that each topic creates associative !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1994), 11.    128 Ibid., 89.   129 Hatten also argues that the trope “must arise from a single functional location or process,” and that “[there] must be evidence from a higher level . . . to support a tropological interpretation, as opposed to interpretations of contrast, or dramatic opposition of characters.” See Ibid., 170.  130 Ibid., 171.   131 Hatten also applies the process of creative interpretation to Bruckner’s music. He attempts to ascribe a narrative or semiotic approach to what he views as a disjunctive style in the Fourth and Fifth Symphonies. While interesting, the narrative he derives from the music feels at times forced, and attempts to ascribe a meaning that may or may not be present in the music. See Robert Hatten, “The Expressive Role of Disjunction: A Semiotic Approach to Form and Meaning in the Fourth and Fifth Symphonies,” in Perspectives on Anton Bruckner, ed. Crawford Howie, Paul Hawkshaw, and Timothy Jackson (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2001), 145–184.   45 significations that are either musical types or styles, and he provides his own list of topics.132 Agawu does allow that the order in which topics appear can allow for a certain “plot” or narrative to merge. However, he believes this to be “sheer indulgence” that arises from an analyst’s own engagement with the music, and that they should only be taken as suggestive points of departure.133 The concept of “structural rhythm” is raised as possible alternative for interpretation, in which the “dynamic transitions” of musical parameters as they move from topic to topic creates a musical discourse.134 Thus, whereas Hatten desires to find the “expressive state” of topics, Agawu appears more concerned with their structural implications.135  It should be noted that each of these theories focuses on music from the Classical period, and indeed, both Ratner and Agawu assert that topics seem to work best and appear mostly in music from the late eighteenth century.136 This does not mean, however, that topics are not applicable to other styles of music, including Bruckner’s symphonies. Agawu notes, for example, that “[c]horales, marches, horn calls, and various figures of sighing, weeping, or lamenting saturate the music of [the Romantic] era.”137 Thus, many of the topics used in !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!132 Kofi Agawu, Playing with Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 30.  133 Ibid., 33–34.  134 Ibid., 38–39.  135 The Schenkerian aspect of Agawu’s theory arrives when he develops a beginning–middle–end paradigm based in part on the Ursatz, corresponding to the I-V-I progression or movement from scale degrees 3-2-1. This is an attempt to determine whether any semiotic meaning can be applied to the background. A full examination of Agawu’s concept is beyond the scope of the present discussion; for more information see Ibid., 51–79.     136 Raymond Monelle, The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military and Pastoral (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2006), 7.  137 Kofi Agawu, Music as Discourse: Semiotic Adventures in Romantic Music (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 42.   46 eighteenth-century music carry over into the nineteenth century, though caution is necessary, as one cannot always assume that the use of one topic during the Classical period will carry the same meaning in the next. Agawu also observes that signs are used differently in the Romantic era, as they are not “self-evident” as they were in the eighteenth-century, but were frequently colored or modified by the composer in some way.138 The Romantic period is additionally prone to introducing new sets of topics, demonstrated in cultural contexts such as the rise of the private realm.139  Agawu therefore argues that we should not constrict study of topics to the Classic period alone, even if they were used most extensively during that time. Other scholars have already started looking to the nineteenth-century as another source for topical study; for instance, even though it does not address topics specifically, Leonard Ratner’s book on Romantic music makes reference to them throughout the course of his discussion.140 Janice Dickensheets has also recently written an article that begins to catalogue the distinct topical vocabulary of the nineteenth century. In addition to using Ratner’s established categories of types and styles, Dickensheets adds an additional group known as dialects, which are “much more complex, usually encompassing a broad range of gestures, and frequently incorporating other styles.”141 Many of the types she describes are carried over from the eighteenth century, such as the minuet, gigue, and waltz. Some distinctly Romantic styles, however, include the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!138 Agawu, Playing with Signs, 137. See also Agawu, Music as Discourse, 43.  139 The association here, of course, is to a Biedermeier style. Janice Dickensheets, who provides various examples of specifically nineteenth-century topics, defines the Biedermeier style as evoking old-fashioned elegance in conjunction with a middle-class sense of propriety. There is also a sense of nostalgia for earlier times, all of which is represented musically through symmetrical phrases, lyrical melodies, largely diatonic harmonies, strong cadences, and on occasion the use of Alberti bass. See Janice Dickensheets, “The Topical Vocabulary of the Nineteenth Century,” Journal of Musicological Research 31, no. 2/3 (2012): 114.   140 See Leonard G. Ratner, Romantic Music: Sound and Syntax (New York: Schirmer Books, 1992).  141 Dickensheets, “Topical Vocabulary,” 101-102. Dickensheets also explains that dialects, unlike types and styles, most frequently develop through longer sections of music, “unfolding in a series of events.”    47 Biedermeier, heroic, demonic, and fairy music styles.142 One example of a dialect that Dickensheets provides is the Chivalric style, which is based on gestures that recall earlier eras. Fanfare figures, horn fifths, the use of 6/8 meter to represent galloping horses, and modal harmonic progressions are all musical characteristics that can be used within a section of music to signify this particular style.143  Consequently, given that topics have the potential to provide insight into Romantic music, and therefore into Bruckner’s symphonies, I discuss their appearance throughout my analyses. I do not, however, attempt to construct a narrative based on the unfolding of the topics throughout a movement, as Hatten attempts to do.144 In the movements examined here, I see topics as contributing to the dynamic impact of a moment, a layer of semantic implications within the particular moments themselves. Ultimately, the topics highlight the great variety of moments that Bruckner uses in these movements, and further illuminate any potential meaning they may hold.  Sonata Form ! Finally, I also discuss the first movements analyzed in this dissertation in relation to “normative” conceptions of sonata form. It is necessary here, therefore, to first establish what some various definitions of the form are, and what the expectations for normalcy would have been at the end of the nineteenth century. This can be a potentially difficult exercise, for as Charles Rosen argues, “the ‘sonata’ is not a definite form like a minuet, a da capo aria, or a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!142 For descriptions of these styles, see Ibid., 114–122.  143 Ibid., 125.  144 In his semiotic approach to the finale of Bruckner’s Fifth Symphony, for instance, he detects a chorale motto that he labels “faith” and a questioning motive in the clarinet to which he ascribes the designation “doubt.” To simply his argument, he believes that the two motives struggle throughout the movement, until in the end the chorale emerges victorious and the “diatonic assurances of faith” remove any notions of uncertainty. See Hatten, “Expressive Role of Disjunction,” 152–161.   48 French overture.”145 However, many works in the nineteenth century have used some kind of sonata form in the background, and thus it is necessary to determine a potential standard conception of the form, even if there was great variety in the way it was implemented.  While the first systematic use of the term “sonata form” did not appear until the nineteenth century with the release of A.B. Marx’s treatise Die Lehre von der musikalischen Komposition of 1845–1847, the genre can be traced back to the Classical era.146 During this time, however, the form was known under many different names, ranging from designations such as “allegro” and “long movement,” to “la grande coupe binaire” (the grand binary division).147 In addition to these various names, the sonata appeared in different structures; Rosen, for instance, describes instances of first movement sonata form, slow-movement sonata form, minuet sonata form, and finale sonata form.148 Here, given the focus on Bruckner’s first movements only, the current inquiry can be narrowed down to the first-movement sonata form. In the eighteenth century, this type of form was generally conceived of as having two sections. The first, corresponding to what is now typically labeled the exposition, was dictated by tonal movement; after starting in the tonic, the music would modulate away and establish the dominant, after which there would be a full cadence to confirm the arrival of V.149 In the subsequent section, or what we now think of as the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!145 Charles Rosen, The Classical Style: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven (New York: The Viking Press, 1971), 30.   146 Horton, Bruckner’s Symphonies, 154. The term sonata was used in the Baroque period, but there is a distinct difference between the style as used in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As a result, I am only concerned here with the form as used during the Classical era, and how the sonata continued to evolve into the nineteenth century. For an overview of the meaning of “sonata” during the Baroque, see William S. Newman, The Sonata in the Baroque Era, 4th ed. (New York: W.W. Norton, 1983), 17–32.  147 Ratner, Romantic Music, 269.   148 Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms (New York: W.W. Norton, 1988), 98–132.  149 Ibid., 100   49 development and recapitulation, the movement developed through foreign keys until it gradually made its way back to the tonic, followed by “some part of the material of the exposition in its original form,” and a final cadence that definitively affirmed the tonic key.150  This overview given by Rosen, among others, outlines a harmonic plan, and indeed this was a key feature for the Classical sonata of this type. Leonard Ratner notes that harmonic continuity was essential to the process, and that even though no description of the form appeared until late in the eighteenth century, the harmonic scheme had been established as I-V, x-I.151 Indeed, Ratner gives the illustration of the theorist J.G. Portmann who, as a way of teaching how to compose in the form, reduced Mozart’s Piano Sonata K. 284 to its harmonies. Portmann then created an entirely new sonata with his own melodies, built on the exact same harmonies that Mozart used.152   This method of instruction highlights the importance of harmony to sonata structure in the eighteenth century, and marks one of the key differences from the form as used in the Romantic era. The harmonic plan was still an important component of the music but the emphasis shifted, with thematic materials becoming of greater concern.153 This also changed the view from a binary conception of form (seen in, for example, the I-V, x-I tonal plan) to a ternary structure where two contrasting themes are presented, then developed, and finally recapitulated. Ratner’s observation that there are numerous descriptions of sonata form in nineteenth-century writings, and that this ternary view is common during the middle and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!150 Ibid., 106.  151 Ratner, Romantic Music, 270. See also Ratner, Classic Music, 217–220.  152 Ibid., 271.  153 Rosen, The Classical Style, 31.   50 latter parts of the century explains in part the critics’ propensity to fit Bruckner’s music into such forms. He cites Arrey von Dommer’s 1865 revision of Koch’s Musikalisches Lexicon as a typical example from the period, which presents the form as shown in Figure 1.1. Figure 1.1 – Sonata Form in Dormer’s revision of Koch’s Musikalisches Lexicon (1865)154  First Part Main Theme Group Transition  Second Theme Closing Group Tonic   Modulation to  Dominant or relative     dominant or relative major    major  Middle Part or Development Thematic working-over of the motives from the first part. Free modulation; return to the tonic  Repetition Main Theme Group Transition Second Theme Closing Group    Ruled [Herrschaft] by the tonic  Theorists nowadays have also described sonata form in similar terms, such as, for example, William Caplin in his book on Classical form and Hepokoski and Darcy in Elements of Sonata Theory.155 The latter theorists argue that there were various types of sonata form throughout the Classical era, but they concede that the most typical form is, to use their designation, the “type 3 sonata,” which is a rounded binary structure consisting of an exposition followed by a development and recapitulation.156 With three distinct musical !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!154 As given in Ratner, Romantic Music, 272. For a discussion of how sonata form was explained by theorists, composers, and other writers during the nineteenth century, see William S. Newman, The Sonata Since Beethoven, 3rd ed. (New York: W.W. Norton, 1983), 29–36.  155 See William Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), and James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006).  156 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 16. The authors further note that the form consists of three musical action spaces that are laid out in a large A || BA’ format. This variation of sonata form   51 spaces, this can be viewed as a precursor to the Romantic version of sonata form described above. In fact, Hepokoski and Darcy discuss the harmonic and thematic-textural (or “rhetorical”) functions of each section, calling attention to both the harmonic focus of the eighteenth century and the thematic emphasis of the nineteenth. Regarding the function of the exposition, for example, they write that its “harmonic task is to propose the initial tonic and then, following any number of normative (and dramatized) textural paths, to move and to cadence in a secondary key.”157 At the same time, Hepokoski and Darcy also observe that the sonata had a rhetorical task that they deem “no less important,” the function of which is to “provide a referential arrangement or layout of specialized themes and textures against which the events of the two subsequent spaces–development and recapitulation–are to be measured and understood.”158  While a “normative” view of sonata form may appear to emerge, one must also take into consideration the fact that many composers, particularly those of the mid to late nineteenth century, often did not follow this standard outline and instead frequently introduced their own innovations or alterations. Here we may refer again to Hepokoski and Darcy’s theory, which observes that while there were normative structures, these could be overridden. At times, composers would follow first- or second-level defaults; the first-level referring to those decisions made that were “almost reflexive choices–the things that most composers might do as a matter of course,” while the second-level rejects the default but !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!is one of five that Hepokoski and Darcy supply; other examples include type 4 which describes a sonata rondo structure, and type 1, which consists of an exposition immediately followed by a recapitulation that was frequently used in slow movements. For more information on the different types of sonata form, see Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 343–345.  157 Ibid., 16 (italics in the original). Hepokoski and Darcy note that the most common secondary key in major mode sonatas was the dominant, while minor mode sonatas typically moved to the mediant.  158 Ibid.    52 chooses the “next most obvious choice.”159 Eventually, however, it is possible to have a deformation, where the writer of a sonata consciously rejects “all of the default choices altogether” and chooses to include “something unusual.”160  If Hepokoski and Darcy’s sonata theory is applied to sonatas of the nineteenth century, one will find that these deformations are widespread and can be found not only in Bruckner’s symphonies, but also in the music of other composers such as Schubert, Schumann, Liszt, and Berlioz. This raises the important question for this present project of why is it not more productive to simply reformulate sonata form for a nineteenth-century context and consider Bruckner as one representative practitioner, rather than to use a new theory that focuses on the moments?  There are a number of potential issues and problems in applying sonata theory and the idea of deformations not only to Bruckner’s symphonies, but also to other works, as outlined by Horton. He argues, for instance, that “deformation is only meaningful insomuch as we recognize a standard,” and that the standard, namely the Formenlehre model, can be viewed with suspicion.161 Even if one accepts the Formenlehre model, Horton asserts that one must then ask whether composers consciously engaged in a deformation of an “agreed theoretical norm.”162 Furthermore, during his lessons with Otto Kitzler, Bruckner drew primarily not from the Formenlehre theory but from Ernst Friedrich Richter’s Die Grundzüge der musikalischen Formen und ihre Analyse.163 Consequently, Horton contends that “we cannot !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!159 Ibid., 10.  160 Ibid.  161 Horton, “Bruckner’s Symphonies and Deformation Theory,” 7.  162 Ibid., 8.   163 Horton notes that “Richter agreed with Marx in understanding sonata form as arising from its   53 consider Brucknerian deformations to arise from the same conception of form as deformations in, for example, a symphony by Borodin. If the origin of deformation is theory, then a separate model of the relationship between norm and deviation is required for each instance of the reception of theory.”164 Horton’s implication, then, is that there are so many different deformations and so many models of the sonata that composers of the nineteenth century followed that it would be extremely difficult to reformulate a normative sonata form specifically for the Romantic period. The analyst would be required to trace the models used by each individual composer, determine what the established norms for that particular framework would be, and then finally specify the deformations introduced into the form. This would likely result in a diverse mélange of definitions for sonata form in the nineteenth century, making it nearly impossible to simply reformulate sonata form and include Bruckner as a representative composer. Even if one were to set aside deformation theory, the problem of the many different ways in which composers of the mid to late nineteenth century approached sonata form, each attempting to bring their own unique voice, would still make a standard description of the genre difficult. Consequently, when I speak of a “typical” or “normative” sonata form, I am referring to the remnants of a concept of sonata form that might have lingered in the minds of composers and audiences at the end of the nineteenth century, rather than to how composers of the time may have been approaching the form. Even though Schumann, Berlioz and others were challenging notions of what the genre was, the model of sonata form described by those !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!constituent expressions of the ‘musical idea,’ but departed from him in conceiving of the whole as a two-part form.” See Ibid., 8–9.  164 Ibid., 9.   54 like Dormer and Marx might have served as the basis for a critique of Bruckner’s works by his contemporaries. Furthermore, the diversity of approaches to sonata form in the late nineteenth century makes the creation of a model representative for the time a difficult enterprise. This is not even to mention Bruckner’s highly idiosyncratic style, which itself appears to vary to a great extent from the music of his contemporaries. We can, therefore, speak both of a style against which the music was judged, and of an alternative method of analysis that helps to explain Bruckner’s creative use of form.  Bruckner: An Alternative Approach An old jibe against Bruckner maintains that the composer wrote the same symphony nine times, but the wave analyses of these first movements, along with an examination of his compositional and moment techniques, will reveal remarkable diversity within each work. Rather than a chronological approach, the movements are presented here according to compositional methods. Chapter 2, for example, looks at the Third Symphony, the earliest of Bruckner’s works studied here. Perhaps as a result, the movement is a clearer example of sonata form than the Sixth or Seventh, though the first movement of the Third is highly individualistic when compared to works by composers such as Brahms and Beethoven. Instead of the ideals of conflict and resolution, a different model unfolds according to Bruckner’s principles. The Seventh Symphony occupies Chapter 3, which finds a movement that appears to follow the outlines of sonata form; the harmonic motion, for instance, generally follows the expected outlines with only a few exceptions. Still, looking at the details begins to remove the veneer, and the label of sonata form becomes questionable. If the form of the Seventh is open to doubt, the first movement of the Sixth Symphony, the focus of Chapter 4, presents a case study that is even more difficult to categorize as a sonata   55 form. While it is, interestingly, the movement of the nine major symphonies that most scholars believe to be decidedly a sonata form, the analysis will show a highly improvisatory character that casts a fantasy-like design on the movement. In the end, each of the movements is highly individualistic, and their “personality” is not easily derived from a traditional sonata analysis. Only when we look at the unfolding of individual moments does the originality of Bruckner’s technique begin to emerge. It is hoped that this analysis will illuminate the innovative and idiosyncratic nature of Bruckner’s music on its own merits. To achieve this aim, I have drawn inspiration to some extent from the energeticists, particularly Halm and Kurth, as I believe they offer valuable insight into the compositional processes in the symphonies. Kurth’s idea of symphonic waves, as we will see, helps to explain how large-scale structure is created in the movements, while Halm’s notion that Bruckner’s music unfolds in a succession of different scenes or episodes, each with a unique character and function points toward the idea of the moment. At the same time, however, it is possible to build further on their theories. Kurth’s focus on waves and dynamic energy over longer periods tends to obscure the remarkable details that occur from moment-to-moment. On the other hand, while Halm’s description of scenes and episodes begins to hint at the idea of a moment, he is also concerned with the shaping of Bruckner’s symphonic form in the first movements into a sonata form mould. Rothfarb, for instance, points out Halm’s perception of the difference between Beethoven and Bruckner’s principles of form, stating that the idea of dialectic-oppositional dualism as distinct from epic-successional  dualism is at once the crux of Halm’s differentiation of Beethoven and Bruckner’s  handling of the Hauptform . . . Bruckner’s music dispenses with dialectic  intensification in locations where, in Beethoven, it tends to come to the fore, that is, at  the end of the exposition . . . and in the development section. Instead of dialectic we  find dialogic action, thematic alteration, and accommodation . . . Nevertheless,   56  Bruckner’s music is no less infused with formal logic.165  For Halm, then, the episodes are conceived within the formal logic of sonata form; he is not so much concerned with the uniqueness of the individual moments themselves so much as how various sections or episodes combine to create a form that is different in certain ways from Beethoven’s, but which still lies within the bounds of a traditional genre.  Rather than starting from a position that presupposes Bruckner’s movements must fit into a certain type of form, I propose looking more closely at an element that the energeticists view implies is central, namely the moment. A wave, after all, consists of a succession of moments, while Halm’s description of dialogic music that differs from composers like Beethoven provides further evidence of the distinctiveness of Bruckner’s music. Studying the moments and how they interact, then, can provide new and unique insights into the first movements of the symphonies examined in this dissertation, and illustrate how these moments interact dynamically to create a structure that is individual to each movement. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!165 Lee A. Rothfarb, August Halm: A Critical and Creative Life in Music (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2009), 116–177.   57 Chapter 2 – Symphony No. 3 in D minor, WAB 103,  I: Gemäßigt, mehr bewegt, misterioso   Background & Introduction ! The Third Symphony in D minor, WAB 103 provides a useful starting point for examining the aspects of Bruckner’s music described in the Introduction, since the work is often considered Bruckner’s “breakthrough” in the genre. Constantin Floros notes that  the Third is really the first symphonic work that represents the unmistakable,  idiosyncratic style of the master. Among the early symphonies it is the one with the  strongest contrasts. Compared with the Second, not only do the individual movements  stand out more strongly from each other[,] but the themes appear more graphic and  differentiated. Stark motivic and dynamic contrasts crowd each other more  frequently.1  Similarly, Rudolf Kloiber contends that the Third marks the beginning of a series of Bruckner’s masterpieces, where his ingenuity combines with a monumental symphonic design.2 More recently, Thomas Röder has observed that the general opinion of the “Wagner Symphony” finds the “real and complete” Bruckner appearing for the first time.3 Given the emergence of Bruckner’s distinct style in the symphony, it is perhaps not surprising that the compositional process was among the most eventful in the composer’s career.4 While composing the new work Bruckner travelled to Bayreuth, where he hoped to obtain Wagner’s permission to dedicate either the Second or the Third Symphony to him; !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 Constantin Floros, Anton Bruckner: The Man and the Work, trans. Ernest Bernhardt-Kabisch (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2011), 113.   2 Rudolf Kloiber, Handbuch der Klassischen und Romantischen Symphonie (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1976), 250.    3 Thomas Röder, “Die Dritte und Vierte Sinfonie,” in Bruckner Handbuch, ed. Hans-Joachim Hinrichsen (Stuttgart: Verlag J.B. Metzler, 2010), 151.     4 Hans-Hubert Schönzeler, Bruckner (London: Marion Boyars Publishers, 2001), 61. Bruckner began working on 11 September 1872 with the sketching of the first movement, and completed the entire symphony by the final day of 1873. See Max Auer, Anton Bruckner: Sein Leben und Werk (Leipzig: Musikwissenschaftlicher Verlag, 1941), 233. See also Röder, “Die Dritte und Vierte Sinfonie,” 152.   58 Wagner obliged and chose the Third. Despite Bruckner’s success in acquiring permission to dedicate the symphony to his idol, obtaining a performance of the work proved to be difficult. Even though Cosima Wagner wrote to Bruckner in 1876 to inform him that Richard had taken the Third to Hans Richter in hopes of securing a performance that year, the score would be rejected multiple times.5 The symphony was submitted to the Vienna Philharmonic on a few occasions, but it was turned down in 1874, 1875, and 1877.6   These rejections were likely one cause for the many revisions to which the Third Symphony was subjected. In 1874, as he wrote to Mortiz von Mayfeld, Bruckner had already made “significant improvements” to the original score.7 Though it is not entirely clear what changes were made, alterations on a presentation copy of the 1873 edition may be the modifications to which Bruckner referred. Dermot Gault observes that in this edition the orchestration is strengthened, particularly in the approaches to climaxes, and in one spot Bruckner adds for the brass a rhythmic form of a motto absent from the original version.8 Meanwhile, William Carragan notes that while the entire 1874 symphony is the same length and structure as its 1873 counterpart, there are, especially in the first movement, many differences in the texture and orchestration.9  Whether or not these were the changes Bruckner mentioned in his letter to Mayfeld, they were eventually set aside for a new revision that aimed to make the symphony more !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 5 Auer, Anton Bruckner, 243.   6 Röder, “Die Dritte und Vierte Sinfonie,” 153.   7 Anton Bruckner, Briefe, vol. 1, 1852–1886 (Vienna: Musikwissenschaftlicher Verlag, 1998), 153–154.  8 Dermot Gault, The New Bruckner: Compositional Development and the Dynamics of Revision (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011), 53.   9 William Carragan, “Three Between Two: The Evolution of Brass Writing in Bruckner’s Third Symphony, 1873–1889” (paper presented at the Eighth Bruckner Journal Reader’s Conference, Oxford, England, 12 April 2013).   59 playable, as technical difficulties were one of the complaints from the Vienna Philharmonic.10 Bruckner began the revisions later in 1876, and he continued to work on the Third until 30 January 1878, when he finished a coda for the Scherzo.11 One of the main changes made to the 1877 version is the length, since Bruckner believed he needed to shorten the work by whatever means possible. As a result, the revisions cut a total of 241 measures from the symphony, including most of the Wagner quotations that originally appeared in the 1873 edition.12 Apart from the cuts and additions, the primary changes to the work constituted changes to the scoring of the woodwinds and the brass, particularly in the first and last movements.13  It was with this new revision that audiences would hear the Third Symphony for the first time, but the premiere on 16 December 1877 was an unmitigated disaster.14 After their previous refusals, the Vienna Philharmonic finally agreed to include the symphony in a concert during the 1877–1878 season. This was in large part due to the efforts of Johann von Herbeck, an ardent supporter of Bruckner who was scheduled to conduct the inaugural performance of the Third. However, Herbeck died a few months before the concert on the 28 October, and Bruckner was left to take his place, for no other conductor could be found who !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 10 Auer, Anton Bruckner, 255.    11 Anton Bruckner, III Symphonie d-Moll “Wagner-Symphonie,” Fassung von 1877, ed. Leopold Nowak, Sämtliche Werke III/2 (Wien: Musikwissenschaftlicher Verlag der Internationalen Bruckner-Gesellschaft, 1981), n.p.   12 Floros, Anton Bruckner, 119. Though most of the Wagner quotations were removed, Bruckner did keep a quotation of the sleep motive from Walküre in the Adagio. Nowak notes that the first movement and the finale received the most cuts; the first movement shrank by 94 measures, while the finale lost 126 bars. The Scherzo was the only movement that did not lose any measures, but was in fact enlarged from 152 to 201 measures. See Bruckner, III Symphonie, Fassung von 1877, ed. Leopold Nowak, n.p.   13 Bruckner, III Symphonie, Fassung von 1877, ed. Leopold Nowak, n.p.  14 Auer, Anton Bruckner, 257.     60 was willing to debut the symphony.15 Bruckner was by no means a skilled conductor. August Göllerich recalls the violinist Rudolf Zöllner’s observation that Bruckner appeared rather modest as a conductor, and that when at one rehearsal he asked the musicians to play a particular passage again, they simply laughed and refused.16 Likewise, Auer recounts how at the performance itself, Bruckner at one point forgot to give a signal for the entrance of the orchestra.17  Predictably, then, the premiere was a failure; the orchestra’s execution was substandard, and much of the audience left during the symphony. One attendee recalled how by the end of the performance, there were only seven people remaining in the ground floor seats, while across the hall 25 people remained, laughing loudly.18 At the conclusion of the concert, the musicians also left hurriedly, leaving Bruckner alone on stage to face those who did remain.19 Though his friends and students attempted to console him after everyone had left, Bruckner remained distressed, and reportedly cried out, “Ach laßt’s mi aus, die Leut’ wollen nix von mir wissen” (Oh, leave me alone, the people want nothing to do with me). 20  Unsurprisingly, the reaction of the press following the concert was predominantly negative, with criticisms directed at the tedious length of the symphony and the excessive number of pauses. Many of these critiques make clear, however, that the greatest concern !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 15 H.F. Redlich, Bruckner and Mahler (London: J.M. Dent and Sons, 1970), 87–88. See also Schönzeler, Bruckner, 72–74, and August Göllerich, Anton Bruckner: Ein Lebens- und Schaffens-Bild, vol. 4:1, Wien 1868–1881, ed. Max Auer (Regensburg: Gustav Bosse, 1974), 474–475.   16 Göllerich, Anton Bruckner, vol. 4:1, 475–476.    17 Auer, Anton Bruckner, 257.   18 Göllerich, Anton Bruckner, vol. 4:1, 476.   19 Robert Simpson, The Essence of Bruckner: An Essay Towards the Understanding of His Music (New York: Crescendo Publishing, 1978), 64.   20 Göllerich, Anton Bruckner, vol. 4:1, 478. Translation mine.    61 about the work was an alleged lack of form. A review in Die Presse, for instance, commented on the “lack of proportion, clear organization and logical structural development,” while the Deutsche Zeitung claimed that the symphony was a “shapeless patchwork of shreds of musical ideas.”21  The disappointing premiere and reception did not mark the end of the Third, however. Under the insistence of his friends, Bruckner began another revision of the symphony during the summer of 1888, which was completed by March 1889. Once again Bruckner sought to shorten the work, most notably in the Finale where the first subject was completely cut from the recapitulation.22 The first movement, however, remained virtually unchanged from the 1877 edition in its content and structure, and only a few passages were reshaped.23 Deryck Cooke does note, however, that Bruckner rewrote passages throughout the symphony in his “more complex later style, which seems out of place in the comparatively simple world of the original.”24 Further complicating matters, there are questions over how much influence Bruckner’s colleagues had in the revisions. In fact, Röder suggests that Bruckner was in the habit of “rubber stamping” the changes his helpers made to the symphony after only a brief review, at least until Mahler himself intervened and implored Bruckner to pay closer attention to the alterations.25 Even still, many times Bruckner’s students would make or !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 21 Crawford Howie, Anton Bruckner; A Documentary Biography, vol. 1, From Ansfelden to Vienna (Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2002), 320.   22 Schönzeler, Bruckner, 93.    23  Anton Bruckner, III Symphonie d-Moll “Wagner-Symphonie,” Fassung von 1889, ed. Leopold Nowak, Sämtliche Werke III/3 (Wien: Musikwissenschaftlicher Verlag der Internationalen Bruckner-Gesellschaft, 1959), n.p. The passages affected in the first movement are mm. 321–340, 369–404, and 559–586.   24 Deryck Cooke, “The Bruckner Problem Simplified. 3: Symphonies 3 and 4,” The Musical Times 110, no. 1514 (Apr. 1969): 363.    25 Röder, “Die Dritte und Vierte Sinfonie,” 154.    62 suggest their own cuts and changes, which Bruckner would then either approve or reject. In the Finale, for example, Bruckner accepted two cuts made by Franz Schalk, but disagreed with a third.26 Sometimes, the Schalk brothers even attempted to make changes clandestinely, as evidenced in a letter from Joseph to Franz,  [Bruckner] cannot come to terms with your proposals for the Third Symphony, and  now, having been made timid by Herr Mahler, who happened to be in Vienna, wants  the old score printed again, against which I have put in a personal veto with Rättig.  The only thing for it is to go ahead with the printing without Bruckner’s knowledge  and hope that your presence will restore his equilibrium.27    Despite the difficulties surrounding the 1889 version, the premiere of the newest edition on 21 December 1890 under Hans Richter was an enormous success. Göllerich, for instance, noted that the friendly crowd greeted each movement with tremendous applause, and Bruckner later reminisced that he was called back to the platform twelve times.28 However, even with the warm reception, many reviewers were not quite as impressed, and pointed again to problems with the form. This time, more than one critic suggested that the symphony felt improvisatory in nature and indulged in fantasy, all the while eschewing the standards expected in a properly structured symphony. In the Neues Wiener Tagblatt, the first movement was specifically singled out and referred to as a fantasia rather than a “strongly unified symphonic movement.”29 Hanslick also found fault with the symphony; while he did admit that the Scherzo was a rare example of consistency of form in Bruckner, as a whole he !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 26 Bruckner, III Symphonie, Fassung von 1889, ed. Leopold Nowak, n.p. Dermot Gault also discusses the revisions to the 1889 edition in some detail; see Gault, The New Bruckner, 132–141.   27 Dermot Gault, “For Later Times - Are We Any Nearer a ‘Definitive’ Bruckner Edition,” The Musical Times 137, no 1840 (June 1996): 15.    28 August Göllerich, Anton Bruckner: Ein Lebens- und Schaffens-Bild, vol. 4:3, Wien 1890–1896, ed. Max Auer (Regensburg: Gustav Bosse, 1974), 87–88. See also Bruckner, III Symphonie, Fassung von 1889, ed. Leopold Nowak, n.p.   29 Crawford Howie, Anton Bruckner: A Documentary Biography, vol. 1, From Ansfelden to Vienna (Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2002), 603–605.     63 found the work to be missing a “purified sense of beauty” and lacking in “logical thinking.”30  Before starting my own analysis I will look first at what other scholars have written about the symphony, in order to better grasp how the first movement has been understood and described by others.  While recent scholars have been more amenable to finding solutions to understanding the first movement, whether by devising alternative analytical methods or reconsidering concepts of sonata form, some still believe the movement to be flawed. Robert Simpson, for example, regards the form as defective. The Third has the most problems out of all Bruckner’s symphonies, he argues, particularly in terms of its structure. While conceding that the work was “so far the grandest and most individual Bruckner symphony,” it was still less successful in its construction than the First and Second Symphonies.31 Similarly, A. Peter Brown analyses the first movement as a sonata form, noting that “the first version of the . . . movement is a decisive work in Bruckner’s output; it is the first symphony to fully reveal his proclivity for the monumental.”32 At the same time, however, Brown also finds problems. While there are waves of motion, for example, the numerous pauses throughout the first movement break their flow, and their effect is not considered within the greater context of the entire movement.33 Ultimately, Brown believes !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 30 Göllerich, Anton Bruckner, vol. 4:3, 88–89.  See also Andrea Harrandt, “Bruckner in Vienna,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bruckner, ed. John Williamson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 34.   31 Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 64. Simpson’s arguments as to why the form of the Third Symphony is defective will be explored further later in this chapter.   32 A. Peter Brown, The Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, The Second Golden Age of the Viennese Symphony (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2002), 200.    33 See Ibid. Brown does not specifically say that he is discussing waves in the Kurthian sense, but his description does evoke the same concept. One of the “waves of motion” that Brown describes, for instance, is the coda, which he believes “represents another effort to increase the activity level.” It is important to note that Brown is referring here to the 1873 edition of the symphony and that the pauses were reduced or eliminated in subsequent versions, including the 1877 score used for the analysis in this movement. The study of this edition will reveal that the pauses do not break the flow of the waves but are either found between waves or serve   64 that “Symphony No. 3 is a flawed masterwork, which could not find a totally satisfying sense of pace that matched its shape,” and that even the subsequent revisions could not solve the problems introduced in the original edition.34  Others, justifying a more traditional view of sonata form for this movement, endeavour to emphasize the aspects of Bruckner’s conception of the genre originating in the influence of different composers. Julian Horton, for example, writes that the Third Symphony “is a work in which generalized ‘dialogic moments’ revealing the multiple influences on Bruckner’s style can be observed with exemplary clarity at various levels of structure and semiosis.”35 Within the Third, Horton argues, one finds a network of influential voices, and Bruckner’s style synthesizes these models into a coherent unit. The most notable influences in the first movement of the Third are Beethoven, Schubert, and Wagner, whose styles Bruckner assimilates and attempts to go beyond at various points within the symphony. For instance, Horton observes that the character of the opening passage (mm. 1–46) bears a resemblance to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, where a pianissimo tremolando in the strings leads to the fortissimo unison theme. In a similar fashion, Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony is also evoked, as the tremolandos at the start of Bruckner’s Third establish “a distinctive thematic pattern emphasizing the tonic triad,” much like Schubert does.36 At the same time, however, Bruckner does not simply repeat the ideas of these composers, but attempts a type of synthesis. As Horton writes,  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!specific functions, like acting as an interruption (Unterbrechung).   34 Ibid., 217.   35 Julian Horton, Bruckner’s Symphonies: Analysis, Reception and Cultural Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 173.    36 Ibid., 176.    65  In Beethoven’s model, the climactic unison theme from bar 16 is adumbrated in the  preceding build-up, such that the theme coalesces out of the preparatory motivic  fragments. In Schubert’s movement, the first theme appears as a distinct entity above  the initial tremolandi, and the climax in bars 35 to 38 introduces neither a definitive  form of the theme nor a significant new figure, but rather an isolated climactic  gesture. Bruckner in effect fuses these two precedents together. Like Schubert, he  supplies a distinct form of his first theme over the gathering tremolando, which is  unrelated to the material of the climax; like Beethoven, his climactic theme is of  considerable importance for the symphonic design.37  Effectively, then, Horton views the first movement of the Third Symphony as an evolution of sonata form, whereby Bruckner absorbs the methods of earlier composers and attempts to fuse them into something new and innovative.  In realizing the uniqueness of Bruckner’s style of form, Röder defines the first movement of the Third as a sonata form (“Der 651 Takte lange Sonatensatz”) but applies a more Kurthian approach to his discussion.38 Rather than speaking strictly about the form or its supposed deficiencies, Röder highlights various dynamic events within the movement. In the second half of the first theme (mm. 31–38, 1877 version), for example, Röder writes that after a series of crescendos, the theme breaks through with full force. There follows a string of contrasts that set this part of the theme apart from the first half; the listener experiences loud and soft, high and low, sound and silence all within an eight-bar phrase.39 Such extreme contrasts are also present in the third theme, where the variance between the ff and pp helps to propagate the thematic progression up to the entrance of the chorale.40  While some scholars such as Röder try to look beyond sonata form in an attempt to explain the uniqueness of Bruckner’s symphony, the structure still inevitably underpins these !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 37 Ibid., 176–177.   38 Röder, “Die Dritte und Vierte Sinfonie,” 155.    39 Ibid.     40 Ibid., 156.    66 discussions. It is not difficult to see why this may be the case since one can, at the very least, find the inspiration of sonata form behind the first movement of the Third. A possible interpretation of the movement in this light is given in Figure 2.1:41 Figure 2.1 – Sonata Form Analysis of Bruckner Symphony No. 3/1 (1877)42   Area:   EXPOSITION  Measures:  mm. 1–102 mm. 103–172  mm. 173–258 Theme: Theme 1 Theme 2 Theme 3 Starts in: d-  F+  f-  DEVELOPMENT mm. 259–404 mm. 405–414 mm. 415–430  Theme 1 Theme 2 Theme 1  f-  F+  B-flat+    RECAPITULATION mm. 431–482 mm. 483–548 mm. 549–590  Theme 1 Theme 2 Theme 3  d-  D+  d-    CODA mm. 591–652 Theme 1 d-  As is often typical with Bruckner’s symphonies, the movement begins with three themes !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 41 This study uses the second revision of the Third Symphony from 1877, edited by Nowak in 1981. Bruckner himself used the original 1873 manuscripts to create the 1877 version, crossing out and adding measures at will, while throwing out unneeded pages. Regardless of his reasons for doing so, this indicates that Bruckner preferred the second edition to the first. Additionally, the third version of 1889 can be somewhat controversial, for it is unknown exactly how much influence Franz Schalk exerted over Bruckner in the revisions of that edition. Furthermore, as Nowak notes, the content and structure of the first movement in the 1889 version remains almost unchanged from the 1877 score. For a chronology on the evolution of the first two editions, see Leopold Nowak, “Die 1. und 2. Fassung von Anton Bruckners 3. Symphonie,” Studien und Berichte: Mitteilungsblatt der Internationalen Bruckner-Gesellschaft 15 (June 1979): 24–29. Deryck Cooke also concludes that “Bruckner brought the symphony as near to perfection as he could in his first definitive version of 1877, and he never improved on it; this is surely the one that should be performed.” See Cooke, “Bruckner Problem Simplified 3,” 362–363.   42 This form is an amalgamation of the analyses of various authors. See Theodor Wünschmann, Anton Bruckners Weg als Symphoniker (Steinfeld, Germany: Salvator Verlag, 1976), 110–111; also Vincent Schenck, “Evolving Harmony and Form in Four Versions of Anton Bruckner’s Third Symphony” (Ph.D. Diss., University of Arizona, 2004), 50–51; Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 201; and Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 66–71.   67 presented in succession, corresponding to an exposition. The alleged development section that follows is devoted primarily to the first theme, with only 10 bars allocated to other material (theme 2, mm. 405–414). In the supposed recapitulation, each of the themes is then reintroduced in the same order as the exposition, before the movement concludes with a coda in the tonic key. Likewise, the overall tonal motion of the movement appears not to be strikingly unorthodox in its execution. The second theme of the exposition is in the expected relative major, for example, while the development cycles through a variety of keys.  Some scholars, such as Theodor Wünschmann, label the movement as outlined in Figure 2.1. Using the 1889 edition, Wünschmann’s major structural points align with the analysis presented here; the only difference is that the first part of the first theme (mm. 5–30, in both the 1877 and 1889 versions) are labelled as a preparation group (“Vorbereitungsgruppe”) for the group of main ideas (“Gruppe des thematischen  Hauptgedankens”) starting at m. 31.43 Others also generally agree with this account of the form but may have slight variations in their interpretations. Simpson, for instance, believes that the development starts not in m. 259, but in m. 263.44 Meanwhile, Brown suggests that the development begins in m. 269, and he labels m. 343, the major outburst in the middle of the development, with the return of the first theme in the tonic D minor, as “recapitulation 1,” while the start of the recapitulation as indicated in Figure 2.1 (m. 431) is indicated as “recapitulation 2.”45  The various structures proposed in these analyses highlight a few of the difficulties !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 43 Theodor Wünschmann, Bruckners Weg als Symphoniker, 110–111.    44 Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 69. Simpson actually says the development starts in bar 261, but he is referring to an 1878 version of the score edited by Fritz Oeser. The equivalent passage in the 1877 Nowak edition begins in measure 263.   45 Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 201.   68 scholars have had in analyzing the first movement as a sonata form, and why they may have been tempted to label it as flawed. One other element that for many detracts from the movement, but that is not easily discernible from an overview of the form, is the abundance of pauses. As Brown notes:  this movement is also marked by many pauses and is one of Bruckner’s most  fragmented structures. In the exposition and recapitulation, pauses are used to  demarcate significant structural points. The development also uses the pause to  define its subsections.46  While Bruckner reduced the number of pauses in the 1877 version of the score, they are still conspicuous; for example, during the exposition there are seven pauses during the initial presentation of the first theme (see mm. 32, 33–34, 38, 41–42, 67, 90, and 91–92). The pauses do act, as Brown suggests, to mark structural points and subsections, or they can also serve to segment a theme, as is the case in mm. 32 and 90. However, they also contribute to the occasional disjunctions or to slowing down of the motions set up by the other dimensions, thus punctuating, as we will see, the special qualities of the movement.47    While the Third is frequently viewed as Bruckner’s breakthrough symphony, issues such as fragmentation raise questions about how one should interpret the first movement, since the surface adherence to traditional conceptions of sonata form may not suffice to explain all of the enigmatic qualities. Instead, it seems that Bruckner’s style relies on small, moment-to-moment gestures and changes that provide the impetus for a dynamic movement of energy that moves the music forward. As a result, rather than examining how well the music may or may not fit into a sonata form framework, the uniqueness of the first !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 46 Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 209.   47 Other issues that critics have raised with regard to the form of the movement, such as the massive outburst of the first theme in the tonic in the middle of the development (m. 343) will be discussed later in this chapter.    69 movement can be better revealed by studying the unfolding of moments and the individuality of their processes, an analysis to which I now turn.   The Exposition   At first glance, the opening of the movement may appear to be harmonically static and to have repetitive themes (see Example 2.1 below for mm. 1–4). However, looking more closely reveals various layers in these initial moments, with numerous events occurring on the local level that demand our attention. The first four measures are one example, for at first they appear to be a simple introduction created by accompaniment figures that remain fixed in the tonic D minor.48 This section proves to be more than just an introduction, however, for dynamic energy and intensification is already being created, evidenced in part by the rhythmic interest. Kurth in particular notes the richness of the rhythm at the beginning, where Bruckner introduces a variety of note values simultaneously.49 Starting in the first measure, the violas play sixteenths, the cellos quarters, and the basses quarter notes on beats 1 and 3; the violins follow in the second measure with eighth notes. The varied rhythms of the strings are added to tied whole notes in the woodwinds as well as the rhythm of the main trumpet theme entering in m. 5. These rhythmic values are differentiated also by the groups of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 48 Many scholars have noted a connection between the opening this symphony and Beethoven’s Ninth. At the most fundamental level, for instance, Röder mentions the use of D minor in both works; see Röder, “Die Dritte und Vierte Sinfonie,” 151. In addition, Julian Horton observes that “the texture and gestural character of the opening passage [of Bruckner’s Third], bars 1 to 46, resembles that of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in its trajectory from pianissimo tremolando string texture to fortissimo unison tutti theme.” See Horton, Bruckner’s Symphonies, 176. Stephen Parkany, meanwhile, believes the main trumpet theme also has a connection to Beethoven, noting that “[the] trumpet call . . . comes from a long D-minor tradition, especially the Viennese precedents of Don Giovanni and Beethoven’s Ninth.” See Stephen Parkany, “Bruckner,” in The Nineteenth-Century Symphony, ed. D. Kern Holoman (New York: Schirmer, 1997), 204.   49 Ernst Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2 (New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 1971), 826. Kurth writes, “Besonderer Beachtung ist auch der rhythmische Reichtum innerhalb der Filigranarbeit dieses ganzen Themas wert: in der Bratsche Sechzehntel, in der Violinen Staccato der Achtel, in der Celli Viertel und in die Bässen auf jedes Halbe ein Staccato-Ton; dazu nun die differenzierten Rhythmen in der Trompetenlinie und die ruhenden Holzbläsertöne.”    70 Example 2.1 – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), introduction, mm. 1–4  instruments that play them, adding timbral variety to the different note values, and they are further separated by staggered entrances; the second violins, for instance, enter in the second half of m. 2, while the first violins follow and come in on beat three of m. 3. Meanwhile, between these two entrances the oboes join in with a sustained chord. The entrance of layers at different points, which each rise higher in the register, creates an increasing intensity, which builds to the introduction of the main theme in m. 5.50 As the first theme also emphasises the notes of the tonic triad, the introductory figures serve as a kind of precursor to the main trumpet theme itself, since the first four measures contain the basic arpeggio elements of the theme with the emphases on the tonic note and the rest of the triad. Far from being a simple, static introduction, then, the first four bars are already starting to create a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 50 The layers continue to build and intensify even after the introduction of the main theme; the flutes enter in measure 5, while the horns begin later in bar 9.   71 dramatic tension and intensity that will build to the first climax at rehearsal A (m.31), and the eruption of the second part of the first theme.51  After this introduction, the first theme arrives in the trumpet (m. 5) and circles around the tonic note; the first few measures (mm. 5–7) outline the root and fifth scale degrees of the tonic triad, but have more of a static feeling (see Example 2.2 below). Further movement of the theme in mm. 9–12 generates intensity, for it traces, still in the trumpet, an upward stepwise motion reaching towards the tonic pitch back at its original level, before dramatically dropping down an octave and cadencing on the tonic in m. 12. The topic of the theme contributes to the tone as well: an arpeggio military signal, a call to attention, is superimposed on the busy layered background.52 Yet, upon this confident melodic move to  the tonic, the woodwinds add a two-measure closing descending line (mm. 11–12), suggesting a move towards the submediant B-flat major harmony that arrives at m. 13.   Measures 13–17, meanwhile, sound like a continuation of the first theme (see example 2.3 below), and the character of this section contrasts with the opening.  Here, the topic of this concluding horn motive loosens the impact of the previous trumpet call, as its stepwise movement, the pp dynamic, and its subsequent lingering on a repeated F-E motive signify an affective move to a more emotional world of nostalgic past.53 This is accomplished as Bruckner introduces an echoing rising scale in the horn, while the bass continues to sustain  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!51 The intensification leading toward m. 31 also describes part of the process of a wave. This and other waves in the movement will be discussed in greater detail later in the chapter.  52 Leonard Ratner, Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (New York: Schirmer Books, 1980), 18–19.   53 The 1961 Eulenburg edition (based on the second printed score published in 1890) of the Third Symphony contains the word ausdrucksvoll (full of expression) above the trumpet theme in measure 13. While this marking does not appear in Bruckner’s manuscripts or in any of the Nowak editions, this confirms that others have also read this moment as nostalgic. See Anton Bruckner, Symphony No. 3 in D Minor (London: Eulenburg, 1961). Note too that mm. 13–14 are a variation of the end of the main trumpet theme (mm. 9–12), making it sound as a remembrance or echo of the earlier theme, again evoking the nostalgic past.   72 Example 2.2 – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), main trumpet theme, mm. 5–9          73 Example 2.2 (cont.), mm. 10–13        74 Example 2.3 – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), continuation of main theme, mm. 13–17  the D pedal and the other voices continue their ostinato ending on a dominant chord above the tonic pedal D in m. 17. Meanwhile, in m. 15 the oboe and clarinets play A and E, hinting at the dominant, which conflicts with the tonic function outlined. This double tonic/dominant function is present even in the phrase-closing cadence on A/E (dominant pitches) in m. 17, superimposed on the strong D tonic pedal that continues.   Measures 17–22 prolong harmonically the superimposed tonic-dominant functions, while melodically lingering with a reiteration of the phrase’s last few measures  (mm. 15–  75 17). Gradually, the motive’s ending notes F–E take over the main melodic function, supported throughout by the dissonant tonic-dominant superimposition. The F–E motion constitutes by itself an orchestral layer, and starts to carry the development as the movement is passed between the horns and woodwinds. At m. 25, the duration of the motive is cut in half as the dynamic levels begin to build throughout the orchestra, and in m. 27, a strong dotted-note signal with syncopation in the trumpets doubles the hurried repetitions of the motive stated loudly in the winds, in yet another rhythmic diminution that further boosts the tension. These changes create another change of affect, as the nostalgic past is left behind for an immediate present, creating a sense of anticipation and anxiousness as the music continues to build. Thus, while the movement began with a sense of stasis by firmly emphasizing the tonic D minor harmony (especially through the held pedal D), as of m. 13 Bruckner simultaneously creates a sense of urgency, a teleological accumulation towards a goal, by small local motivic, rhythmic, dynamic, topical changes that create tension and drive the music forward.  This accumulation culminates with the arrival of a climactic explosion introducing the last part of the first theme (mm. 31 ff.), which is quite different in character from the first section. The unison ff marcato motive (hereafter referred to as motive X, see Example 2.454), which moves in a stepwise descending outburst, stands distinct from the hushed pianissimo opening of the beginning of the theme. Yet motivically it is not entirely new, for it is strongly related to materials heard previously. On the one hand, it originates from the preceding F–E figure that led to the accumulation of tension earlier and which now carries over into the first   !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!54 This section will play an important role in the rest of the movement, and therefore I have assigned motive names to facilitate discussion throughout the chapter.    76 Example 2.4 – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), motives X, Y, and Z  two notes of the motive at m. 31.55 On the other hand, as Kurth observes, there is a relationship between the ascending tetrachord A–B-flat–C–D of the theme in the trumpet at mm. 9–12 and the descending tetrachord at mm. 31–32 (see example 2.5a and b below).56 Moreover, the climactic unison descending tetrachord in mm. 31–32 is related to the horn’s short phrase of mm. 13–16, which outlines both an ascending and a descending tetrachord (see example 2.6 below). While these interrelationships illustrate Bruckner’s interest in the organic connections of his materials, the arrival at m. 31 and the following passages could not be more shocking. This section of the movement, from mm. 31 to 67, constitutes such a surprise because of the extraordinary switches, tonal and otherwise, that take place. In fact, the differences between the first and second parts of the main theme are great enough that some scholars see fit to designate them as distinct sections. Renate Ulm points out that opinions vary as to !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 55 Simpson also recognizes that the first two notes of the motive introduced in measure 31 are “anticipated by a repetitive figure in woodwind and horns as the crescendo mounts.” See Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 67.   56 Kurth writes, “In der Dritten ladet hier alle Linienenergie gegen die Symbolik des Steilabstieges aus, fast einer genauen Umkehr des diatonisch ansteigenden Quartmotivs aus dem oberen Skalenteil, (der auch schon in der thematischen Hauptlinie der Trompete aufschien), nur bedeutsam geschärft durch den Halbtonschritt in das cis statt in das c.” See Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 828–829.   77 Example 2.5a – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), trumpet theme, mm. 9–12  Example 2.5b – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), descending tetrachord, mm. 31–32  Example 2.6 – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), horn phrase, mm. 13–14  whether the first thirty measures should be considered part of the main theme, since the material in bar 31 and following has such a different character.57 In this case, as mentioned above with Wünschmann’s analysis of the form, the first section is designated not as part of the main theme, but as a “preparatory group.”58 However, whether the first thirty bars are considered as part of the main theme or as a preparation for it, the melodic associations between them show that they are intrinsically connected.59  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 57 Renate Ulm, ed., Die Symphonien Bruckners: Entstehung, Deutung, Wirkung (Kassel: Bärenreiter-Verlag, 1998), 103.   58 Wünschmann, Bruckners Weg als Symphoniker, 110.    59 Throughout this thesis, I view the material in mm. 5–30 to be part of the main theme, given the importance the trumpet fanfare motive plays throughout the movement. The theme, for instance, is present throughout the development including at the critical outbreak in rehearsal O, marks the beginning of the recapitulation, and is a key thematic component of the coda (see rehearsal X and following).   78  Looking at mm. 31 to 38 harmonically reveals Bruckner’s use of some rather striking procedures. The initial unison descending tetrachord (mm. 31–32) would seem to maintain the D minor tonality established previously; the F on the downbeat of m. 31 falls to a C-sharp in the following measure, suggesting an immanent resolution to D. This expectation is met, but only partly, for while the anticipated D does appear at the start of the next descending tetrachord, it arrives only as an upbeat. Furthermore, while Bruckner does resolve the initial tetrachord, he quickly shifts the focus to the C-natural on the downbeat of m. 33, which descends down through B-flat and A-flat to G. This suggests a G minor tonal area, with the D in m. 32 acting as a V/iv. In the next measure (m. 34), however, Bruckner moves to a C, implying that the G was instead acting as a dominant. However, because of its metric position on a weak beat, C becomes not a resolution, but an upbeat (and appoggiatura) to the downbeat D-flat of the next measure (m. 35), thus immediately shifting to a completely different harmonization. This is by now partially expected, given that the C-sharp (m. 32), D (m. 32), and G (m. 33) all acted as dominants. Here, then, one might now anticipate that the C will also suddenly shift and act as a dominant itself, leading to F minor.60 Bruckner, however, moves to a D-flat, an unexpected resolution that gives an impression similar to a deceptive cadence.61 This D-flat only remains momentarily, as through another legerdemain Bruckner cancels the flats of E and D, landing by m. 37 on a closing formula in the home key D minor, as if nothing happened (see example 2.7 below)!62   Against the background of these continual harmonic shifts, Bruckner also plays  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!60 F major would also be possible here, but the A-flat in m. 33 suggests the minor as more likely.  61 Miguel Javier Ramirez, “Analytic Approaches to the Music of Anton Bruckner: Chromatic Third-Relations in Selected Late Compositions” (Ph.D. diss., The University of Chicago, 2009), 160.   62 Of course, in a tonal reductive view the passage is simply a prolongation of the D minor harmony, but I argue that it is specifically the details that give this music its dramatic expression.   79 Example 2.7 – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), reduction of mm. 31–38    metrically and rhythmically with the initial motive X (mm. 31–32). The repetition in mm. 32–33 features an added upbeat (end of m. 32, see Example 2.8a below) in addition to a different rhythmic profile, while another occurrence of the motive in mm. 34–35 (hereafter referred to as motive Y, see Example 2.4) is inverted and placed in a lower register. Finally, the section concludes with a new closing motive (motive Z, see Example 2.4 above) that bears some similarities to part of the opening trumpet theme in mm. 8–9 (see Example 2.8b below). This passage is rather remarkable, then, not only for ways in which our harmonic expectations are continually shifted, but also in the way Bruckner effortlessly varies the original tetrachord over top of this harmonic background. Measures 31–38 form a type of formula that is repeated again, slightly modified, in mm. 39–45. While the thematic material is the same, this time Bruckner fills out the harmonies for the passage. There are no great surprises here, as the added harmonies    80 Example 2.8a – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), motive X with added upbeat, mm. 32–33   Example 2.8b – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), opening trumpet motive, mm. 8–9 compared with motive Z, mm. 36–37   generally correspond to the expectations set forth in the previous section. A further change does come after the completion of the harmonized version of the formula, as in mm. 46–47 an echoing of the closing formula in D minor lingers in the oboes, clarinets, and horns seemingly reinforcing the tonic.   This echoing sets into motion yet another pattern of further repetitions of the last half of the phrase, whereby mm. 42–47 are repeated two further times (mm. 48–58). The harmonic movement, though transposed, essentially functions as before, but now begins to move toward the dominant key area. In the first repetition (mm. 48–53), Bruckner initially maintains the D minor tonality from the end of the previous phrase, but then immediately moves up to the Neapolitan E-flat in m. 49 before slipping the same formula a half-step higher, into E minor at m. 51. The following measures (mm. 54–58) still play with sequencing the same formula, moving up by step to F-sharp, G-flat, G-sharp, and G-natural,   81 all this in an isolated echoing in the higher register. But the unexpected deceiving harmonic shifts continue: while the formula is seemingly re-established with a G-flat major chord, (m. 55), the music shifts again soon after (m. 57) to a G-sharp diminished chord, rather than to the G minor that would be expected after hearing the two previous phrases. One measure later (m. 58), though, G minor does appear to arrive, but an added E in the clarinets indicates that this can also be interpreted as an E half diminished chord. Thus, in one sense Bruckner does provide the expected resolution, but in another introduces further harmonic variety into the passage.63 In any case, the harmony facilitates a move to D major in m. 59, at which point the melodic material becomes stuck on the cadential formula (m. 45), now with a consistent rhythmic reinterpretation as a triplet plus half note, which combined with a descending bass line gradually leads from D to the arrival of the dominant A major, preparing the way for a repetition of the first theme, but surprisingly, now in the key of the dominant.    The entire passage from m. 31 to the appearance of the dominant in m. 67, also consists of a number of moments that evoke new topics and affects. On the one hand, there is an element of questioning, as the motives from mm. 31–35 imitate the descending and rising intonation of a human voice when asking a question. At the same time, however, there is also a sense of inner torment or agony produced by continual repetitions, starting in m. 48, of the phrase from mm. 34–37. The intensity of the emotions is increased further as, starting in m. 48 the melody begins to rise in range. Finally, the phrase becomes “stuck” (m. 59–67) as the orchestra hits ff, signifying the height or climax of this section of the music. Responsible for setting up this idiosyncratic trajectory are the individual moments outlined by the musical materials, which seem to express their own will to lead from one thing to another, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 63 Of note, the combination of the expected G minor and the apparent half diminished E also highlights the third relation of E–G, with the focus on E-flat/E in mm. 49–53 moving up to G-flat/G in mm. 55–58.   82 irrespective of any previously existent rules.    Following the arrival of an A major harmony, there is a sudden pause of almost two full measures (mm. 67–68). In some sonata forms, such a tonal move would indicate the beginning of the second theme, but instead Bruckner brings back the entire first theme, both the first and second parts. In one sense it is almost as if he is preparing for a monothematic exposition, such as one might encounter in certain Haydn symphonies, or in Schumann’s Symphony No. 4. The impression of a monothematic exposition is, however, eventually altered with the introduction of the second theme in F major at m. 103. Another work Bruckner may have used as a model for this opening is Beethoven’s Ninth. In that symphony, Beethoven opens with an open fifth A–E insinuating either A major or minor. The ambiguity continues until m. 16, where the first theme appears in D minor. The entire first presentation of the theme, lasting from mm. 1–34 is then repeated on a new tonal level in mm. 35–50, with the opening A–E transposed to D–A, and the counterstatement of the first theme appearing in B-flat at m. 51.64 Whatever Bruckner’s influences may have been, there are slight changes in the reappearance of the first theme in A major: though the military signal character of the opening remains, the melody is now truncated as its first three bars are passed between trumpets, woodwinds, and horns.65 The entire section (mm. 69–88) remains in the dominant !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!64 For more information on this section of Beethoven’s Ninth, see David Benjamin Levy, Beethoven: The Ninth Symphony, revised ed. (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003), 52–55.   65 Not only is the melody shortened, but the entire repeat of the first theme in the dominant is cut to 32 measures from the original 67. As mentioned, the exact reason for including a shortened repetition of the first theme in the dominant is not entirely clear, but the reappearance does have the effect of generating additional intensity. The questioning and inner torment evident in the first iteration remained unresolved, and the restatement in the dominant could be heard as another attempt to solve the “problem” in a new key. The deceptive cadence in measure 89 and subsequent move toward F major keeps the music away from any immediate resolution, however.     83 key, but an intensification leading to the second part of the first theme culminates with a deceptive cadence, modulating to B-flat with the arrival of motive X in m. 89.66 This motive, which was previously responsible for interrupting the diatonic first section (mm. 31 and following) once again breaks away from a static harmonic zone, introducing more chromaticism. Similarly, while the first part up to m. 89 built intensity and anticipation through modulation to the dominant and a shortened melody, this section (mm. 89–102) suddenly releases the pent-up energy and begins to fade, emphasized by the lingering of motive Z. As the power starts to decrease, the music turns toward F major, preparing for the key of the second theme. As before, the second measure of the ascending phrase (m. 93) shifts to the Neapolitan, with the B-double-flat chord spelled enharmonically as A major. However, given previous precedents one would expect the end of this phrase to resolve up a half step to B-flat; this does occur, but there is first an intervening measure where Bruckner first moves through a diminished B seventh chord and a B-flat minor seventh chord in m. 95 (see Example 2.9 below).67 The wandering through different harmonies, like the echoes of motive Z, both give an impression of seeking for resolution. Appropriately, then, these motives and the harmony further contribute to the topic of this section (mm. 89–102), which relates back to the questioning and inner torment heard earlier. As the motive repeats, the torment remains unresolved, the question unanswered.  Ultimately, hope of an immediate resolution of the motivic and tonal conflicts set up in the materials of the first theme’s dominant key appearance is cut off by the abrupt  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!66 The appearance of this part of the theme in B-flat also relates to Beethoven’s Ninth, where the counter-statement of the main theme was also in B-flat.    67 Of note, the repeat of the first theme in the dominant does not end in A major, nor is there a final cadence in the key. The deceptive cadence marks the end of A major, after which the music begins the transition to F major. A major does briefly appear again in measure 93, though as mentioned this functions more as the enharmonic equivalent of B-double-flat major, the Neapolitan of A-flat major.    84 Example 2.9 – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), reduction of mm. 94–104  introduction of the second theme in m. 103. Bruckner here simply juxtaposes the end of one idea with the beginning of another, contrasting one. The change is sudden, but in one sense this could very well be the point Bruckner is attempting to emphasize here.68 Indeed, he typically avoided a purposeful modulation and transition into the second theme, or Gesangsperiode (a term first used by Bruckner himself, in this movement starting at m. 103) in his symphonies, preferring instead to set them apart as a kind of new beginning that acts as !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 68 The contrast between the first and second themes is intensified by the harmonies; although the end of the first theme shifts toward F major, Bruckner turns the tonic pedal into an augmented German sixth (see mm. 99–102). This gives the impression that the passage will resolve to the dominant C, rather than F. As a result, the entrance of the second theme in F major is unexpected, even though there may be an apparent tonic pedal (see Example 2.9).     85 a “calming zone” after the peak of the main theme.69 That the two themes do not completely connect is, therefore, not important, but is rather enriching, as it introduces a new topic. After the deceptive cadence at rehearsal C (m. 89), the first theme has, in a sense, said all that it can for the moment and simply fades away. This allows for a new section to arise, but far from being just a random theme, Bruckner purposefully uses the material to calm the music after the build-up of the first theme group. The calming is accomplished in part by the introduction of the new topic, which is soothing and lyrical. The melody, for instance, initially consists of short, delicate two-measure phrases primarily in the strings, but later expands to include an expansive, song-like melodic line in the cello (m. 129, see Example 2.10). Example 2.10 – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), cello melody, mm. 129–137  In spite of the change of topics, however, the second theme does share a connection with the earlier decaying motive (mm. 95–101) in that the quarter note triplet rhythm is carried over into the second violins (see Examples 2.11a and b below).70 In many other ways, however, the first and second themes are dissimilar. As suggested, the character of the two  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 69 Hans-Joachim Hinrichsen, “Bruckner als Sinfoniker,” in Bruckner Handbuch, ed. Hans-Joachim Hinrichsen (Stuttgart: Verlag J.B. Metzler, 2010), 96. See also Ulm, Die Symphonien Bruckners, 104.  70 Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 831.    86 Example 2.11a – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), violin rhythm, mm. 95–96  Example 2.11b – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), violin rhythm, mm. 103–104  themes varies; whereas the first has the quality of a fanfare and later of inner torment, the second is more delicate and lyrical. Additionally, Kurth observes that in contrast to the clear, piercing melodic line of the first theme, the second has such richly interwoven voices that it is often difficult to single out a main line. Likewise, rather than a long, drawn out melody, the voices form short motives that last two measures and tend to repeat.71 Like the different melodic lines, the rhythm also interlocks as the Bruckner rhythm (that is, a duplet + triplet, or elsewhere a triplet + duplet) in the second violins contrasts against straight quarter and eighth notes in the first violins. Harmonically, the second theme appears at first fixated on F major, as an F pedal appears in the bass, mirroring the first theme. After twelve measures, however, the music changes suddenly to G-flat (m. 115), marking the beginning of a journey through more remote key regions. After the half step rise, the theme eventually also moves a half step below F in m. 141.72 Bruckner establishes the mediant of D minor as would be expected here, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 71 Ibid., 831–832.   72 Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 197. These are only two of the keys touched on by the second theme; there is also, for instance, a modulation to D-flat in measure 155.   87 yet F is abandoned and the music wanders to other keys until finally a strong affirmation of F major appears with the fff in m. 161. Whereas the first theme was relatively stable tonally, with prolonged sections in the tonic and dominant keys, the Gesangsthema introduces a tonal landscape that shifts more frequently.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Another difference between the two theme groups is the ways in which they unfold. As we have seen, the first theme presented two sections set against one another. The second theme, in contrast, is more akin to a theme and variations, not so much melodically as in areas such as timbre, harmony, and texture. To begin, the first section of the group (mm. 103–124) opens gently in the strings with a folk-like dance melody, against which the horns play a countermelody, starting in m. 107. Enhancing the sense of folk music and dance, the music unfolds in short, two-measure moments, as illustrated by the melody in example 2.11b. In m. 115, the theme begins to repeat with an increased song-like lyrical intensity as the music shifts up a half step into G-flat major. Bruckner also adds the oboes and clarinets (m. 117), introducing additional colour and variation. The course of the second theme suddenly changes with an outburst in m. 125 that adds the trumpets and trombones to the theme for the first time. This immediately brings about a more militaristic fanfare quality, but the calm quickly returns two measures later (m. 127). Even so, the eruption affects the character of theme, as the original rhythm that alternated between a triplet + duplet and a duplet + triplet becomes “stuck” on a duplet + triplet. Underneath this, a tuneful melody appears in the cellos (m. 129), with the short, folk-like tune from the start of the second theme, which gives way to an expansive, lyrical subject. However, along with the contrast of the horns the predominant string texture remains. After the cello plays through its melody once, a horn echo and the string accompaniment concludes the section (mm. 137–139). There is no   88 transition in the next part; however, as at rehearsal E (m. 141) the previous segment simply ends and a new one begins. Still, the similarities between them, such as the continuation of the string texture and key rhythmic elements help to create a sense of continuity. In fact, the rhythm becomes even more interwoven as the duplet and triplet appear simultaneously in either half of each measure.73  The short, two-bar phrasing returns along with the original melody, which is now in the cellos. This change effectively combines features from earlier parts of the second theme; while the rhythm and melody are from the first section (mm. 103–124), the appearance of the melody in the cellos imparts the more lyrical feeling conveyed in mm. 129–137. As in the first section, there is also a repeat a half step higher, now from E major back to the tonic in m. 151. Here, however, this leads to an abrupt intensification in D-flat (m. 155) where the music is stripped down just to the Bruckner rhythms, save for the bassoons and the third and fourth horns (mm. 155–161). The tutti orchestra, with a growing crescendo from f to fff, recalls the militaristic fanfare heard earlier (mm.125–126), and the passage builds once more to a climax that leads to the third theme (mm. 165–172). Thus, while there is increased harmonic interest in the second theme, the appeal lies not only in the tonal moves, but also in how the theme evolves throughout the passages by what happens motivically in the changing and evolving textures, rhythms, and melodies. Gradually unfolding through time, the theme asks the listener to pay attention to and follow its path.   The third theme differs from those typical in Bruckner’s later works, as this final section is developmental, drawing on elements from the first two themes.74 The half note !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 73 Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 832.   74 Ibid., 834.     89 motive introduced in mm. 173–174 is anticipated earlier in the second theme, with the sudden brass outburst of bar 125. Similarly, the unison presentation of the melody hearkens back to the second part of the first theme as in, for example, mm. 31–33. The Bruckner rhythm, so prevalent in the second theme, continues here as an accompaniment even though the character of the figuration has changed; Kurth observes that the earlier mild and chant-like quality of the motive is transformed into a harder-edged one, in part due to the larger melodic leaps that are now present (see Example 2.12a and b).75 Later in m. 181, an Example 2.12a – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), “hard-edged” Bruckner rhythm, mm. 173–176  Example 2.12b – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), chant/lyrical rhythm, mm. 109–114  extension motive appears in the trumpet, reminiscent in timbre and partly in melody of the first theme, furthering the connection to what has come before. The third theme group, then, serves as a kind of culmination of the first two, as elements from both are combined to create a synthesis out of the many contrasts as discussed above. Despite these relationships, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 75 Ibid.    90 however, the theme introduces yet another new topic, with an octave, chant-like texture that differs from the Gesangsthema.   A repetition of the unison third theme at rehearsal G (m. 197) leads to the peak of the exposition, complete with the outbreak of a chorale in m. 203. The chorale bridges the end of the third theme group and the beginning of a closing section, starting in m. 213. As with the third theme, the chorale is based on previous material, including part of the first theme heard in imitation between the trombones and horns (mm. 213–220). Though drawn from earlier parts of the movement, the use of a chorale here indicates a new topic, one with obvious religious implications, and this sacred connection is further reinforced later in the closing section. First, Bruckner inserts a brief quotation from the Gloria of his Mass in D minor into the woodwinds, in mm. 231–236 (see Example 2.13a and b).76 Later, at the very end   Example 2.13a – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), Miserere quotation, mm. 231–236   Example 2.13b – Mass in D minor, WAB 26, Gloria, mm. 100–103    !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 76 Röder, “Die Dritte und Vierte Sinfonie,” 156.     91 of the exposition (mm. 251–258), a sequence of triads appears in root position, and, as Redlich observes, recall the opening of Palestrina’s Stabat Mater.77 While an overt religious aspect is not directly noticeable in the final moments of the exposition, these moments do create a more solemn, ceremonial atmosphere that contrasts from the topics previously introduced. Different in character from the fanfare opening, the ending of the exposition brings a brief respite from the earlier proceedings. The change in topics provides some breathing space and relief from the tension and turmoil that had built up throughout the first section of the movement, while suggesting some kind of apotheotic redemption. In this ending it appears as though the exposition will close in A major, with the dominant settling in at rehearsal H (m. 221). Gradually, however, the movement works its way back to F, with the sustained chords in m. 255 and following completing the return.78 With the completion of the exposition, it can be helpful to take a step back and examine the section both through Bruckner’s numbers and the larger-scale dynamic forces, to gain a better sense of how the first part of the movement functions. Naturally, Bruckner’s numbers inscribed in the manuscripts for the Third Symphony cannot reveal his entire compositional process, but they do provide some insights into how he conceived of individual moments (see Figure 2.2 below for a list of the numbers). The first part of the main theme (mm. 1–30), for instance, shows that the initial four introductory measures are separated into their own group, and are not included with the entry of the main theme. The two could be combined to make a set of 12 measures, though Bruckner has chosen not to do so. 12-measure groupings do not occur elsewhere in the 1877 version of the Third, but they   !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 77 Redlich, Bruckner and Mahler, 57.  78 The plagal cadence in mm. 254–255 also contributes to the solemn, religious affect of this passage.   92 Figure 2.2 – Bruckner’s Manuscript Numbers in Symphony No. 3/1 (1877)79 EXPOSITION First Theme Group  Second Theme Group  Third Theme Group a (m. 1)   a (m. 103)   a (m. 173) 4 8 8 8 2   8 4 6 4    8 b (m. 31)   a (m. 125)   b (m. 181) 8 8 8 4 8 2   4 8 4    8 8 a (m. 69)   a (m. 141)   a (m. 197) 2 8 10    6 4      4 8 4 8 b (m. 89)   b (m. 151)   Coda (m. 221) 8 6    6 4 8 4    6 4 8 8 8   DEVELOPMENT First Theme   “False Recapitulation” Second Theme m. 259    m. 343    m. 405 8 4 8 8 8 6   8 8 4    8 2 8 8 m. 301    m. 363 8 8 8    8 4 8 4 m. 325    m. 387 8 6 4    8 8 2   RECAPITULATION First Theme Group  Second Theme Group  Third Theme Group a (m. 431)   a (m. 483)   a (m. 549) 4 8 8 8 2   8 2 8     8 8  b (m. 461)    a (m. 501)   b (m. 565) 8 8 6    6 8 4    8 8 [6 + 4 or 10]80     a (m. 519)     8 6 8 8    !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 79 These are the numbers as recorded from my study of the manuscript; see Anton Bruckner, “Wagner Sinfonie No. 3 D-moll,” autograph score of the Third Symphony, 1873–1878, Mus.Hs. 19.475, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna Austria. This is also the manuscript that Nowak used to prepare his score of the 1877 edition. An engraver’s copy of the first, second, and fourth movements also exists, but this source does not contain any written measure numbers. See Anton Bruckner, “Symphonie No. 3,” annotated copy of movements 1, 2, and 4, Mus.Hs. 34.611, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna Austria.  On the diagram presented here, each number represents how many measures Bruckner numbered; for instance, the first 4 means that mm. 1–4 have the numbers 1 through 4 written underneath, while the following 8 indicates that mm. 5–12 would be numbered 1–8, and so on.    80 The final four measures at the end of the third theme are not numbered here, therefore it is unknown whether Bruckner would have indicated a 6 + 4 measure grouping or a single section of 10 measures.    93 Figure 2.2 (cont.) –Manuscript Numbers, Symphony No. 3/1 (1877)  CODA First Theme   b (m. 629) a (m. 591)   8 8 4 2 2   [8/4+4]81 8 8 8 6  do exist in the later 1889 edition, and even earlier in the Second Symphony.82 While the numbering of the introduction may not be unusual, this has the effect of emphasizing them; rather than just being a part of the theme that follows, the passage has its own distinct identity, and thus calls attention to the processes that are started there.83 The firm establishment of D minor as the tonic, the general tone and timbre of the first theme, the introduction of rhythmic variety, and the intensity created by gradually adding layers are all some of the compositional processes initiated in the four-measure introduction.   From this background the fully formed theme emerges, consisting of 8 measures. Likewise, the response to the theme also runs for 8 bars, ending with an echo of the F–E motive in m. 20. As discussed earlier, Bruckner uses the motive to push the development of the section forward, as it becomes the primary focus until the entry of the second half of the main theme (m. 31). Interestingly, Bruckner here chooses to divide the 10-bar segment into 8+2 measures (mm. 21–28, and 29–30), rather than keeping them as a single unit.84 The reasoning for the division is not entirely clear, unless Bruckner wanted emphasis placed on !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 81 There are two sets of numbers for mm. 591–598. The first indicates that this is an 8-bar section, while the second set of numbers divides the measures into two equal sets of 4.   82 Bruckner most commonly used 8- and 4-measure numberings, but was prone to use any combination of numbers. The 1889 version of the Third Symphony, for example, has 3-, 11-, 14-, and 22-measure groups, among others. In all of the symphonies, groups of numbers from 1 to 16, with the exception of 13, and of 18, 20, and 22 can be found. For a complete list of the numbers used in each symphony, see Edward Murphy, “Bruckner’s Use of Numbers to Indicate Phrase Lengths,” Bruckner Jahrbuch (1987/88): 51.   83 The introductions of other symphonies are likewise numbered as a separate group. See, for example, the Seventh, discussed later in chapter 3.  84 In the recapitulation, the corresponding section is also numbered in 8+2 bars. See mm. 451–460.   94 the sudden rhythmic acceleration in the last two measures, as a final flourish before the entry of the new motive in bar 31. Apart from this final moment, however, the rest of the numbering follows eight-measure phrases, with three further groups following the short introduction.   In fact, comparing the second, more fragmented half of the first theme reveals a different type of numbering. Eight measure groups are again most common, but now with the pauses they create some interesting issues. The section opens normally enough, with the initial presentation of the motive and its response filling the first eight measures (mm. 31–38). The next part is also eight measures, but here the end of the numbers does not align with the end of the phrase. Rather, the theme ends one measure earlier (m. 45), while an echo spans over Bruckner’s numbering of 8 and 1 in mm. 46–47. The next phrase then begins offset with 2, and ends above a 7 in bar 53.85 Finally, this means the subsequent motive starts with an 8 (m. 54), though this can be heard as a pickup for the following measure. Still, Bruckner’s numbering creates unique problems here. If we count the half note in the oboes and clarinets in m. 46 as a pickup, this would group what seems to be an echo of the previous bar (m. 45) with the next phrase, and still leaves the problem of the motive beginning with the number 2 in m. 48.  The final two measures of the section provide a potential solution to this dilemma. Here, Bruckner numbers two bars of rests (mm. 67–68) as their own individual group. This gives significance to the rests, for they are not merely tacked on to the end of the previous phrase. If we attach importance to such empty bars, then the supposed echo in mm. 46–47 could be a type of bridge over two further measures of rests. In this interpretation, the phrase !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!85 Of note, however, is that a note is held in the second oboes until measure 54. Still, the melody itself finishes one bar earlier.   95 ending in bar 45 should actually be heard as having a measure of rest following its conclusion. Similarly, a measure and a half of rests precede the motive starting in m. 48. The oboe motive (mm. 46–47) is, therefore, heard simultaneously as not only a reminiscence of what has come before, but also an anticipation of what is to come. Rather than mere emptiness between these two sections, the motive provides a bridge that connects the two themes.  The repeat of the theme in the dominant (A major) at m. 69 proceeds much as the first time, and this raises an important point about Bruckner’s conception of the numbers and how he conceived of the music. When the first theme is heard initially, following the four-bar introduction (mm. 1–4), Bruckner numbers the first phrase 1 through 8 (mm. 5–12). The analogous section in the dominant repetition of the theme is similarly numbered 1 to 8 (mm. 71–78), though there is a crucial difference in the way this phrase is constructed. Whereas the first presentation of the theme is squarely in D minor, the repetition begins to shift harmonically halfway through. While there is still an A pedal throughout the section, in m. 75 the theme wanders away from A major towards a B-flat tonal area. This shows that Bruckner uses the numbers to give his intention of what the motivic idea is. He is, in essence, less focused on the tonal functions in the passage than on showing where the motivic material falls.86 For the most part, the second and third theme groups follow rather predictable numberings. In the second theme group, for example, the numbers reset at certain structural points throughout the section, whether at a modulation (m. 110–111), the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 86 The final measures before the entrance of the second theme are also of some interest; this is where the first theme seems to be interrupted, and Bruckner’s numbers suggest that this may indeed be the case. The final phrase of the first theme, where the F pedal is introduced (mm. 97–102) runs for only six measures. There are other 6-bar groups indicated elsewhere in the movement, but this is the first and appears after the listener has been subjected largely to 8- and 4-measure sections. As a result, the “cut off” feeling of the final segment is reinforced by the way in which Bruckner numbers the measures.    96 introduction of new thematic material (m. 129), or with a change in texture (m. 141). The third theme group is similar; the introduction of the trumpet motive in m. 181, for instance, marks the beginning of a new cycle in the numbers. Thus the consistency of the numbers in these sections reflects the regularity of the second and third themes. 87   Even as Bruckner focuses attention on individual moments, one can find support for the “moment-to-moment” theory by applying Ernst Kurths’s concept of waves to discover an overall dynamic process at work.88 Kurth believed that one could not come to an understanding of form in Bruckner’s music merely by looking at themes and the groups they create, instead proposing that symphonic motions themselves must be studied.89 Form is not static in Kurth’s view, but is rather an active process of forming, and consequently, music is a constant struggle between “becoming” (Werden) and “being” (Sein), or between motion and stasis.90 The tension generates energy, out of which symphonic waves are formed, creating an ebb and flow in the music. As Lee Rothfarb writes, it is “all of this undulation [that] lends shape to a musical composition, which becomes a flux of continuously surging and ebbing waves. The sum of all waves cumulatively produces the great dynamic sweep of a musical work as a whole.”91 Each of the waves that make up a work generally has a prototypical shape, in which an intensification builds to a climax, followed by a fading or !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 87 The numbers for the remainder of the movement are examined following the discussion of the development and recapitulation.  88 Kurth did apply the theory of waves to this and the other movements discussed in the dissertation. However, Kurth does not provide an extensive listing of all the waves in each movement. As a result, I have done my own analysis of the waves, and mention Kurth’s discussion when relevant.    89 Kurth, Selected Writings, 151–152. Only the main points of Kurth’s theory will be raised here. For a more extensive discussion of the concept of Kurth’s waves, and on how I have applied his theory to the present study, please see the discussion of the methodology in Chapter 1.     90 John Stephen Parkany, “Bruckner and the Vocabulary of Symphonic Formal Process” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1989), 90–92.   91 Lee Rothfarb, “Ernst Kurth as Theorist and Analyst” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1985), 419.    97 downside. The intensifications embody an increase in energy, using musical techniques such as repetition or an expanding register to build toward a melodic peak.92 After the climax of the wave, the accumulated energy often begins to wane, though Kurth notes that even in the process of de-intensification a new surging can begin.93 Additionally, there is not a single line of waves rising and falling throughout the piece, but rather there are multiple layers that exist simultaneously. “Component waves” stand at the basic level, including both motives and phrases; above these, “developmental waves” cover larger sections and are defined by Kurth as “uniform respirations in the overall symphonic motion.”94 Lastly, largest are the “symphonic waves,” which reveal the energetic motion over massive parts of the movement.95  In the first movement of the Third, a symphonic wave spans the entire exposition as the movement gradually builds, through a series of intensifications, toward the climactic chorale in m. 213 (see Figure 2.3 below for a wave analysis of the movement).96 At first, however, there are two smaller developmental waves, each lasting through the two repetitions of the main theme (mm. 1–67, and mm. 69–102), and both of which have a rise and fall quality to them. The waves gradually intensify, through the moment-to-moment procedures described earlier, to a climactic point where the second part of the main theme suddenly appears (mm. 31 and 89 respectively). Afterwards, the music begins to ebb in both !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 92 Parkany, “Vocabulary of Symphonic Formal Process,” 99.   93 Kurth writes that, “surging is always a chief trait of wave formations, even when as a whole they are in the process of deintensifying.” See Kurth, Selected Writings, 155.  94 Ibid., 152.    95 Rothfarb, “Kurth as Theorist and Analyst,” 418–419. This study focuses primarily on the larger-scale developmental and symphonic waves, in order to illustrate how Kurth’s theory can be used to show an overall cohesion and “form,” even with a focus on smaller-scale moments.  96 The analysis of the waves given here is my own.    98  Figure 2.3 – Bruckner, Third Symphony (I/1877): Waves Overview “EXPOSITION”+ ! ! ! ! ! ! !1! 31! 48! 67! 69! 89! 97! 103!THEME+1+ CLIMAX!WITH! AFTER6WAVE! INTERRUPTION! INTENS.! CLIMAX! AFTER6WAVE! GESANGSTHEMA+! INTERRUPT.! ! ! ! (HARMONIZATION)! ! THEME!2!I!(d6)! d6! …!mod!…! G.P.! a6!(V!ped.)! Bb+! F+!ped.! F+!!125! 141! 151! 161! 162! 165! 173! 181!INTENS.! INTENS.! INTENS.! CLIMAX! EBBING! AFTER6WAVE! THEME+3+ INTENS.!mod…! E+! F+! F+! F+!…!mod! C!ped.! f6! d6!!!!  99  ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !!! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !!325! 343! 363! 389! 395! 398! 404! 405!INTENS.! CLIMAX! OVER8INTENS.! AFTER8WAVE! TURN! AFTER8WAVE! INTERRUPTION! GESANGSTHEMA!! (OUTBURST)! ! ! ! ! ! !mod…! d8! d8! E+!…!ab8! ab8! ab8!…!F+! G.P.! F+!!! ! ! ! “DEVELOPMENT”! ! ! !197! 213! 221! 251! 259! 271! 287! 300!INTENS.! CLIMAX! EBBING! EBBING! DEV.! INTENS.! INTENS.! INTENS.!! THEME!1! ! (CONT.)! THEME!1! ! ! !F+! E+! A+! F+! F+! f8! g8! a8!!Figure 2.3 – Bruckner, Third Symphony (I/1877): Waves Overview, continued   100   !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !!! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !!! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !!! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !!! ! ! ! ! “CODA”! ! !549! 565! 573! 581! 582! 591! 624! 629!TH.!3! INTENS.! CLIMAX! INTERRUPTION! CLIMAX! TH.!1! EMPTINESS! TH.!1!! ! ! ! ! ! INTERRUPTION! INTENS.!! ! ! ! ! ! ! CLIMAX!d;! mod…! gb;! G.P.! a;! d;! mod…! d;!!! “RECAPITULATION”! ! ! ! ! ! !415! 431! 461! 483! 501! 519! 529! 541!TRANS.! THEME!1! CLIMAX! GESANGSTHEMA! INTENS.! INTENS.! INTENS.! CLIMAX!mod…! d;! mod…g;…! D+! mod…! mod…! mod…! D+/A+!!Figure 2.3 – Bruckner, Third Symphony (I/1877): Waves Overview, continued!  101 instances, even though in the diminishing energy there are still processes of intensification that create momentum into the next section.  After the climax of the first wave (m. 31), the questioning motive enters (m. 34–37), but this is not an ebbing or after-wave. Instead, the motive acts as an interruption (Unterbrechung) of the climax that then resumes in m. 39.97 The questioning motive (m. 42) returns, releasing some of the energy created by the climax. Once again, however, to say that this quiet section (mm. 42–47) is completely an ebbing would be misleading.98 While there is a shift from fff to p, for example, the unexpected harmonies in mm. 43–45 create tension. Still, by m. 45 the music arrives back in D minor, creating some stability and marking the end of the wave. An after-wave starts in m. 48, however, as motives y and z begin an excursion through various harmonies. While the wandering motives may seem to be working off the energy from the previous main wave, there are again processes of intensification at work. The repetition of the motive a whole tone higher (mm. 48–53), for instance, increases the intensity of the question, as does the expansion of the register in mm. 54–58. As a result, the insistence of the questioning motive leads a brief climactic moment for the after-wave, and ultimately the end of the first occurrence of the main theme.   The repetition that follows employs much the same process, whereby intensification leads to a climax (m. 89), followed by a subsiding of the built-up energy. This time, however, there is not much in the way of further intensification in the downside of the wave. Rather, as described earlier, the first theme appears to gradually fade away until the second theme suddenly enters at rehearsal D (m. 103). Looking at both waves of the first theme together, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!97 This interruption does not occur in the repetition of theme, since the climactic outburst is heard only once.    98 The echo in mm. 46–47 is one example of how the wave appears to diminish in intensity in this section.    102 then, an even larger developmental wave emerges whereby there are a number of intensifications leading to the climax in bar 89. We have seen how the music continues to intensify even after the highpoint at rehearsal A (m. 31), leading to the repetition of the main theme. The escalation increases in the second half, as Bruckner shortens and repeats the first theme (see mm. 71–88), giving it a greater sense of urgency. The outbreak to which the shortened motives lead in bar 89 also commands attention; not only does it echo the earlier discharge of the second part of the main theme, but it now does so harmonized, making the moment sound fuller and more complete. The wave is completed as the energy dissipates in a brief after-wave, from m. 97 until the entrance of the second theme.  As has been discussed already, the Gesangsthema that follows is, in one sense, a respite, or “calming zone,” from the continuously building tension of the first theme. In another way, though, the second theme group functions as a very gradual series of intensifications that creates a drive toward the third theme and the subsequent ultimate climax of the exposition. The process of variation allows Bruckner to subtly add intensity throughout the section; see, for instance, the added cello melody (m. 129–37), or the increase in orchestral texture (m. 141), or the breakdown into repetitions of the Bruckner rhythm (m. 151). This last variation climbs to a fff climax (m. 161) that suddenly breaks off, but quickly resumes and regains momentum as the music is propelled directly into the third theme. Even though the Gesangsthema continues immediately into the third theme, it still forms its own individual developmental wave, as locally the intensifications are directed toward the climax in bar 161. A short ebbing (mm. 162–164) leads to an after-wave, and the residual power from this intensification is then able to generate the transition that will lead into the final theme of the exposition.   103  As a culmination of what has come before, the third theme uses a series of intensifications to build to the peak of the exposition. Initially, starting at m. 173, Bruckner makes use of the contrast between ff and pp, as well as a rising motive, to generate tension. The dynamic contrasts continue into the next part of the wave (mm. 181–196), where a new trumpet motive interacts with a fragment of the third theme. To round out the section, a repetition of the opening is presented (mm. 197–204), but this time it is shortened when the chorale section suddenly enters. This marks the climax of the exposition, as the first theme is heard in imitation first in the trombones, then in the horns. The intensity generated by this culmination is such that Bruckner requires many measures to bring the energy down before the beginning of the development, with a final ebbing lasting from m. 221 to the end of the exposition at m. 358.  Overall, then, there is a large symphonic wave spanning the exposition, leading to these final moments. The music begins to intensify in the first theme group, which does manage to reach a moderate climax, but the power gained is quickly dispersed by the “calming” effect of the Gesangsthema. The intensification process begins anew, however, and this time develops through both the second and third themes until the outburst of the chorale. The music begins to subside, at least for now, allowing for a seamless transition into the next section of the movement.  The Development & Recapitulation ! Even though in the simplest formal diagram of the movement (shown above, in Figure 2.1) the development is located at m. 259, there has been quite a bit of debate as to where the development of the movement actually begins. At first glance, the double bar lines at rehearsal J (m. 259) would seem to indicate the opening. This would be logical, since the   104 double bar lines are not merely an editorial inclusion, and Bruckner includes them in the autograph score. In this interpretation, the exposition gradually fades until it comes to rest on a held F major chord in mm. 255–258. By way of transition, the development then repeats the chord twice, moving from F major to minor in the process and allowing for the return of the first theme in the minor key. In Simpson’s interpretation, however, the development does not begin until m. 263, indicating that it is instead the change from major to minor that signals the beginning of the development.99 Still others like Brown may maintain that m. 269 marks the proper beginning; here, the end of the sustained chords, the whole rest and subsequent shift to F minor, as well as the reintroduction of the main theme in the new minor key are all given as justifications for the development’s starting in this location.100 Regardless of which interpretation may be correct, the fact that the beginning of the development is not clear again highlights the perceived problem of “formlessness” in Bruckner’s music.  In any case, the debate can be narrowed to three choices; the start of the development is either at mm. 259, 263, or 269. Those arguing for m. 269 would point to the end of the sustained chords (in mm. 251–268) and the reintroduction and development of the first theme in a setting similar to the opening of the movement. However, a stronger case can be made that the development begins at m. 259, including Bruckner’s inclusion of a double bar line, a usage that appears in other symphonies. Even if the bar line were not indicated here, there are already developmental procedures taking place in m. 259 and beyond that suggest either that location or bar 263 as the best alternative. First, the woodwinds echo the F major chord just played by the strings, but suddenly the chord switches back to the strings and modulates to the minor. Over top of the strings, the horn plays the first theme in augmentation (see mm. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 99 Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 70.  100 Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 201.   105 263–268). Thus, measure 259 or 263 seem as likely starting points, and one must decide whether the development begins with an “introduction” (the repetition of the held F major chord starting in m. 259) or with the entrances of the first theme following a few measures later.   Bruckner’s numbers written in the manuscript can help to provide a possible solution for the problem of where the development begins. While the answer suggested by the numbers is not incontrovertible proof, the solution is compelling. An important detail to note about Bruckner’s numbers is that major structural moments begin not only in the measure numbered 1, but that the sections themselves also begin on the downbeat of that measure. In the first movement of the Third, for instance, both the second theme (m. 103) and the third (m. 173) begin on the downbeat of a 1 measure. Looking ahead, the recapitulation (m. 431) and coda (m. 591) start in the same fashion. Applying this logic to the development, then, immediately eliminates the entrance of F minor in m. 263 as a possibility since the entrance appears on a measure labelled 5, and not 1. Bar 269 remains a possibility for the start, though here the second violins do not begin on the downbeat of 1, but halfway through the previous measure. Though a seemingly small detail, the early entrance of the violins does not correspond to the way Bruckner numbers other sections of his symphonies. That leaves m. 259 as the best possible location for the start of the development, a place that gains further credence thanks to the double bar lines indicated by Bruckner directly prior to the measure.  The development itself concentrates almost exclusively on the first theme, save for a short section dedicated to the second theme (mm. 405–414). First, an augmented version of the opening trumpet theme (mm. 5–7) appears along with the held root position chords in the strings (mm. 263–268). This is followed by the reappearance of the eighth-note triad figure   106 from the beginning of the movement (mm. 2–3 and following), along with a new presentation of the first part of the main theme, now both augmented and inverted (compare mm. 5–7 and mm. 271–275). The “flipping” of the main theme also changes the character and topic; rather than its original confident, fanfare-like quality, the theme is imbued with a rather more mysterious and uncertain temperament. These attributes are further enhanced by the switch to F minor, dynamic markings of pp and ppp, and by Bruckner’s instructions for the violins to play “at the softest without any swelling” (“Auf das leiseste ohne alle Anschwellung”). All told, these qualities are similar to motive Y first heard in mm. 34–36, and, indeed, it is this material that suddenly appears in mm. 42–45, interrupting the trumpet theme. Motive Y, in fact, plays a critical role throughout the development, as it divides different moments throughout this section of the movement.101 Here, motive Y separates two presentations of the main theme; the first as described above, and the second (mm. 287–296) slightly more complex with inversions of the main trumpet theme set against its original form. The second section retains a similar character to the first, and motive Y (mm. 282–285), which retains its questioning aspects, interjects its inquisitiveness in the midst of this mystery, as though inquiring as to what is happening.102   Motive Y reappears in m. 296, functioning again as a bridge between two segments; however, now motive Y leads not to the trumpet theme, but to a development of motive X !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 101 The use of this motive in each instance will each be examined as they occur.   102 Interestingly, motive Y also affects the course of the harmonies, shifting the focus from G-flat to G minor by employing a procedure reminiscent of that from the exposition. Though it does not start by shifting from F to the Neapolitan G-flat, it does, as before, move to the dominant D major as the melody moves down by a half step (compare measure 44 and 284). In the exposition, the resolution to the new key fell to a final triplet and half note motive, as, for instance, in measure 45. Here, however, there is a grand pause equal to one measure after the arrival on the D seventh chord. G minor then appears not with the final part of the phrase, but as the next section begins with the main trumpet theme. In a sense, then, the new segment starting in measure 286 attempts to respond to or resolve the question that was posed, both by resolving to G minor and by presenting a new variation of the trumpet fanfare.   107 (see m. 300 and following). There is a distinct change in the atmosphere from the first part of the development, marked by an alteration to the character of motive X; the theme now becomes rather more relaxed and even lyrical. Rather than acting as an outburst of accumulated energy from the initial half of the first theme, the motive now provides a break from the uncertainty raised in the opening section of the development. At the same time, however, continuous motion in the pizzicato strings outlines minor tonalities, introducing an underpinning of tension and suspense to the proceedings. Eventually the woodwinds begin to echo the strings (m. 317), leading to a forte outburst in E-flat at m. 320.   The forte does not last for long, however, and by m. 325 another section begins as the music drops back down to pp. In this part, the tension becomes much more palpable as the orchestral texture thickens, while the accompaniment becomes more complex, changing from steady pizzicato eighth notes to a variety of rhythms. Despite this change in character, Bruckner uses motive X to provide continuity. Here the motive helps to build the intensity, first as it gradually crescendos, then eventually switching to the second variant (from m. 32–33), where a quarter note is added to the beginning of the phrase, and sixteenths replace the eighth notes. The sixteenth notes in particular give the melody an added drive, which is further enhanced when the sixteenths themselves are further reduced to thirty-second notes in m. 339. Two measures before this, the added quarter note is dropped, so that all considered, throughout the passage leading up to the outburst at rehearsal O (m. 343), the melodic material appears to accelerate and stretch the tension to the breaking point.103  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 103 The melodic and rhythmic procedures are accentuated by the harmonies Bruckner implements, as chord after chord seeks resolution. For instance, if we consider the passage from mm. 337 through 342 as being in D minor, there is a sequence of rotating VII and vii° chords in third inversion leading to the dominant-tonic resolution at rehearsal O (m. 343). Before the arrival of the tonic, however, each of these leading tone chords expresses a strong desire to move to D. The inclination for these chords to resolve to the tonic D minor is further enhanced by the melody, which continually lands on a C-sharp, itself expressing a yearning to ultimately move to D.   108  It is also interesting to note that up to this point, apart from the omission of the second half of the trumpet theme and the interjection of motive Y, the materials follow the same order as set forth in the exposition, and the sizes of the corresponding sections in the exposition and development are also similar. In the exposition, the first occurrence of the main trumpet theme lasts 26 measures (mm. 5–30), while the first development of the theme also consists of 26 measures (mm. 271–296). In the exposition, the second half of the main theme takes 37 measures (mm. 31–67) the first time it is played, while in the development Bruckner devotes 42 measures (mm. 301–342) to the material. However, despite these similarities the character of the sections in the development is, as we have seen, quite different, and comes across as episodic when compared to the flow and trajectory the motivic material originally had earlier in the movement. This indicates that Bruckner is concerned not only with development on a harmonic and motivic scale but also with how he can manipulate and alter the moments themselves. In one sense, this could be considered more of a metamorphosis than development, with the first part of the exposition (mm. 5–67) transformed into something new, even though it still consists of the same materials.    The increasing tension created by motive X eventually brings about a clear, bold statement of the first theme in the tonic (m. 343), even before the arrival of the actual recapitulation later in the movement (m. 431). As a consequence, the eruption can cause confusion if the movement is interpreted as a sonata form. Brown, for instance, labels the outburst as “recapitulation 1.” Not only is this moment similar to the first eight measures of the original theme’s melody at the beginning of the movement but it also presents the motive in the tonic key. The section bears all the resemblance of a recapitulation, yet this function is immediately denied, as the development continues after eight measures. That this portion of   109 the music appears as a possible recapitulation was troubling for some critics. According to Brown, the mixing of developmental and recapitulatory passages was for those like Hanslick, Herbeck, and Felix Otto Dessoff a prime example of Bruckner’s formlessness since it does not follow a supposed textbook definition of sonata form that dictates the tonic key should not appear in the middle of the development and that there should be only one recapitulation.104 Simpson also argues that in addition to not following these traditional conceptions of form, the inclusion of a massive outbreak here destroys the momentum of the movement; namely, he suggests that what has come earlier has not been able to generate enough force to carry the idea. Furthermore, Simpson writes that “things are made worse when the sense of dead weight is made finally unmanageable by the continuation in stolidly square phrases with no more movement in them than in the average national anthem.”105 This particular section, then, seemingly causes problems for the structure of the movement, and, given the power with which it is presented, also deprives the actual recapitulation of its energy.106 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 104 Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 197–200. This argument does not take into account, however, that false recapitulations in the tonic are common. See James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 221–226.  105 Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 70. See also Derek Watson, Bruckner (New York: Schirmer Books, 1996), 84. Simpson believes that Bruckner intended that the outburst beginning in measure 343 to have three intended functions: “(a) to bring back a sense of the tonic at a point before things have got too far for it ever to be restored satisfactorily, (b) so to provide a solid tonal background for the official recapitulation, which he has decided will begin 80-odd bars later, and (c) to mark the central climax of the development and hence of the movement as a whole.” The passage is unsuccessful, however, since, as Simpson argues, “the intentions and the reality do not coincide because the problems of momentum in a sonata movement on this scale and with this kind of slowness have defeated the composer at this stage in his development.” See Ibid., 70.   106 Though they focus on the late eighteenth-century sonata, one may question if James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy’s sonata theory and their idea of rotational forms could provide an explanation for the outburst. However, Darcy himself argues that this movement is an example of a congruent triple rotational form. That is, each rotation corresponds to the boundaries of the exposition, development, and recapitulation. The entire development, then, is one rotation, which does not account for the sudden and striking return to the tonic d minor in the middle of the development. See Darcy, “Bruckner’s Sonata Deformations,” 266–268. For more on rotational forms in development sections, see Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 217–228. It is   110  Indeed, questions arise over how far the middle part of the movement can even be considered as a “development,” since the themes and motives are not subjected to much alteration. The changes consist primarily of techniques like inversion and rhythmic augmentation or diminution; rarely does one see themes combined or new thematic material emerge from established motives. However, it is possible to construct an alternate understanding of the development section. Rehearsal O (m. 343) falls 17 measures past the halfway point of the movement (m. 326), and assuming the development begins in m. 259, comes exactly one bar before the middle of the development section. The outburst, then, occurs at a structurally significant point in the piece, and also gives a rounded configuration to the development. The section begins quietly, gradually building over time to the fff at m. 343, where the energy that has been accumulating to this point now powerfully discharges over an extended period. The music slowly becomes more peaceful, and eventually the melodic second theme emerges to close the development; the section is, essentially, one large rise and fall.   Bruckner’s striking use of the trumpet theme in the tonic illustrates even further his concern with the motivic material and creating highly individualistic moments. In the exposition, the build up of the second half of the first theme (mm. 59–68) led to a grand pause (mm. 67–68) that quickly dissipated the accumulated energy.107 Here, however, the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!possible that the outburst could be interpreted as a type of “deformation,” defined by Hepokoski and Darcy on page 614 of Elements of Sonata Theory as “the stretching of a normative procedure to its maximally expected limits or even beyond them-or the overriding of that norm altogether in order to produce a calculated expressive effect.” There are, however, problems with applying the idea of deformations to Bruckner’s symphonies, as was explored in Chapter 1.    107 The second time that motives X, Y, and Z appear in the exposition (starting m. 89) there is no build up, but rather the music dies down and lingers before the entrance of the second theme (see mm. 97–102). In this sense, then, the passage leading up to measure 343 is more akin to the first instance of the motives in the exposition.    111 pent-up energy is able to find a release through the sudden outburst of the trumpet fanfare. Therefore, this is a “development,” but one that is focused on motivic matters, even to the expense of traditional formal and harmonic details. Furthermore, the re-emergence of the first part of the main theme in fff provides the listener with a new moment. Apart from the chorale at the end of the exposition, the trumpet theme was always subdued with a mysterious character.108 Now the personality changes completely; while the fanfare quality remains, any sense of mystery is forcefully subjugated as the theme manifests a tragic atmosphere.109 The power of this cataclysmic moment is strengthened through strong tonal motions, such as in mm. 359–372, where only dominant and tonic chords appear, and by the theme itself, which is presented primarily in unison or a homophonic texture throughout the brass and woodwinds. Bruckner also manages to maintain the intensity of the moment by increasingly fragmenting the trumpet theme throughout the course of the outbreak. The initial presentation of the theme (mm. 343–350) is followed by another appearance (mm. 351–358) that introduces slight changes; the first three bars are inverted (mm. 351–353), the triplet figure is echoed (mm. 354–355), and the final note of the theme is dropped. Measures 359–361 then act as a brief conclusion to the first section of the outburst, as elements of the first and second half of the theme are melded together. The rhythmic values and upward direction of the first half of the inverted theme is retained (compare mm. 351–353 to 359–361), and the step-wise motion from the final three bars of the theme is used (compare mm. 356–358 to 359–361). Next, the music becomes “stuck” on the first three measures of the inverted theme, which is repeated twice (mm. 363–369). The rhythmic value of the motive is then cut in half, as the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 108 It is also worth noting that while the trumpet theme did appear fff in the chorale (see m. 214–220), this occurrence of the motive is inverted, and not in its original form as it appears in measure 343.   109 The marked change in the quality of the theme also suggests that this passage is developmental and not recapitulatory, given the degree to which the mood of the trumpet theme is changed.   112 original form of the theme is heard in the horns and is echoed by the rest of the woodwinds and brass in the inverted configuration (mm. 370–374). As the pace quickens, the echo between original and inverted motives continues, while Bruckner suddenly adds more voices to the texture starting in m. 375. Finally, the rate of the echoes increases, and by m. 383 the rate of the call and response is reduced from two measures down to just one.   Throughout this passage, then, Bruckner uses various motivic techniques to maintain the intensity and power. The harmonies are rather straightforward, and Bruckner instead focuses on creating variety through changes in texture, rhythm, and subtle transformations of the theme. Furthermore, even though this section is monothematic, the techniques Bruckner uses still manage to create a variety of smaller sections in which the theme is presented each time in a different light. Only a sudden break and the intrusion of motive Y (mm. 388–394) is able to bring the massive soundscape to a halt. Motive Y is heard successively three times, suggesting that, given the character and previous topical associations of the motive, there remain questions that have yet to be resolved, regardless of the authoritative outburst in the tonic. Despite this interruption from motive Y the outbreak resumes its course, but only for two further measures, and a second interruption of motive Y is required to finally dispel the energy.   With the outbreak dissipated, the Gesangsthema returns for a rather short appearance, which lasts all of ten bars. It does, however, retain its lyrical, song-like character, with development of the theme created by an inverted melody. After the energetic drive of the first half of the development, in addition to the intense outburst in the middle, the second theme, as in the exposition, provides contrast and aims to relieve some of the tension that has accumulated over the course of the movement. The calm atmosphere instilled by the second   113 theme remains in the retransition that follows (mm. 415–430), with a motive combining rhythmic elements from the first theme (mm. 15–18 in the horns and flutes) and the melodic contour of the third theme (for example, mm. 177–178, 197–198, see also Example 2.14a–c below). Amidst the serene mood, however, some of the mysteriousness of the exposition begins to creep back in, through elements such as the low bassoon and bass line (mm. 423–426) and the entrance of ppp timpani in m. 427.110   Bruckner’s numbers in the development again provide useful insight into how he conceived of motivic structure  (refer to Figure 2.2 for a list of the numbers in the manuscript). For example, the numbering in two sections (mm. 271–286, and mm.287–300) near the beginning of the development varies, even though they are very similar otherwise. The first time, sixteen measures are divided into two divisions of eight bars each. The second of these groups starts at m. 279, and it would seem that by placing the 1 here an emphasis is placed both the key change to G-flat and the entrance of the trumpet fanfare motive in the horns, where it is harmonized for the first time in the development. Measures 287–300 are also divided into two parts, however now one group of eight measures is followed by another with only six. The missing two bars are due to the rhythmic diminution of the trumpet theme in mm. 371–373 (compare the cellos and bass here to mm. 271–276), but even so there is an analogous key change and entrance of the horns with a harmonized version of the theme (m.293). One might therefore expect Bruckner to also label m. 293 with a 1, but he instead maintains the original eight measure numbering and takes the two measures from the next !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 110 Harmonically, the section is fairly straightforward, consisting of key areas that rise by thirds. Starting in a B-flat tonal area, D major briefly appears in the second half of measure 416 before F-sharp enters in the next measure, and the pattern continues all the way up to the entrance of E major in measure 421. Ultimately, the E acts as a dominant to A major, which Bruckner then uses to lead back to D minor and the opening of the recapitulation.     114 Example 2.14a – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), retransition motive, mm. 415–416  Example 2.14b – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), motive from mm. 11–13  Example 2.14c – Symphony No. 3/1 (1877), melodic contour, third theme, mm. 177–178   grouping. This means that the “1” falls not at the key change and harmonized theme, but instead two measures later (m. 295) at what seems a rather insignificant point to begin a new set of numbers, since there is no new key and no new introduction of any thematic material.  While the decision to number measures 287 and following as one to eight, rather than one to 6 in order to line up with the key change may seem curious, this shows that Bruckner wanted a balance in the opening of the two sections. Furthermore, as there is continuous repetition of the trumpet theme in different instruments, there is never a complete “stop and start.” For instance, even as the music shifts to G-flat and a harmonized version of the theme begins, other statements are still continuing in other voices; most notably, the theme in the   115 basses and cellos does not finish until the downbeat of 1 in m. 279. The situation is similar when the section is repeated, although now the cello and bass theme falls within the eight measures, while the harmonized version in the horn now starts two measures before the “1,” with the middle of the motive at the boundary of the two groupings (mm. 293–296). This suggests that the flow of the theme could continue ad infinitum, with slight variations each time, the theme passed between the different instruments. It is only motive Y that brings the theme to a halt, and its interruption is reflected in the unbalanced groupings that conclude each section (mm. 279–285, mm. 295–300). With the repeating trumpet themes, it would be relatively easy to extend the final part (mm. 295–300) by an additional two measures to create an overall balanced structure; in this case, then, the interruption of motive Y is manifested in the abbreviated numbering.  Another peculiar instance of numbering occurs in mm. 333–342. One might expect Bruckner to number the section as a group of 10 given the similarities in texture and motivic material. However, he divides the measures into 6+4, a partitioning that imitates the segment leading up to rehearsal A (m. 31), discussed earlier in this chapter. The reason for splitting the measures may also be similar, allowing for an accentuation of the rhythmically diminished motive introduced in mm. 339–342. Such an explanation would again highlight the focus on motivic rather than harmonic matters, since only two bars before m. 339, the harmony falls into a repeating alternating pattern of IV 6/5 and viio 4/2 chords. Were the tonal moves of more importance, a more logical numbering of the measures would be four (mm. 333–336) plus six (mm. 337–342) in order to emphasize both a shift back to D minor and the establishment of the harmonic pattern described above. Instead, Bruckner chooses to highlight motivic changes, in this case the rhythmic diminution of motive X.   116  The massive outburst arrives after the passage just described, and follows a rather straightforward numbering scheme (mm. 343–386). Still, even though it may appear uncomplicated, the numbers can further elucidate Bruckner’s thought process. As described above, the outburst has a strong, tragic temperament, with well-defined tonal moves and sections where the trumpet theme undergoes a variety of changes. That the numbers are clear and direct therefore reflects the characteristics of the outburst. There is nothing complicated about the motives, harmony, or numbers, there is just an expenditure of energy. In each case, the numbers also highlight the entry of a new variation of the thematic material. Measure 359, for instance, where elements of the first and second half of the trumpet theme are melded together, marks the beginning of a new set of numbers. Similarly, the halving of the rhythmic values of the theme in m. 371 initiates another group. Thus, even when the numbers have clear boundaries, they reveal how Bruckner thought of different moments, with each variation divided into their own section.  One peculiarity arises near the end of the development, with the conclusion of the Gesangsthema. Measures 413–414 are numbered as individual group, when at first glance it would appear more logical to include them as part of the previous set (mm. 405–414). Almost everything is similar: the dynamics, the instruments playing, the rhythm, even the melody seems to be a continuation from the previous measures.111 The harmony does modulate to F minor, but even still, there were harmonic changes earlier in the previous group, and F minor itself soon gives way to other tonal areas. The key appears to lie in the indication of gestrichen (bowed) for the cellos and basses; after the careful phrasing indicated in mm. 405–412, Bruckner emphasizes the change in bowing. This reveals just how !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 111 Even the accompanimental lines appear to be a continuation of the 8-measure grouping. See, for instance, the first violin line, which continues its ascent right to the end of measure 414.   117 concerned Bruckner is with individual moments, for rather than numbering two seemingly congruous sections as one, he allows a subtle change in sound to mark the start of a new group that lasts for only two measures!    The transition that follows the two measures leads back to the recapitulation, but the arrival does not convey the typical energy one might expect from such a moment, due to the earlier “first recapitulation” in m. 343.112 The approach does appear typical from a harmonic perspective, as various chromatically coloured E seventh chords (mm. 422–426) move to a sustained A dominant seventh chord (mm. 429–430), which Bruckner in turn uses to move back to the tonic d minor. The transition into m. 431 is, in fact, a perfect authentic cadence, which would seemingly suggest that the entry of the recapitulation would sound assured and decisive. However, the moment comes across as quite the opposite, giving much the same impression as the switch from first to second theme in the exposition: the development appears simply to die out while the recapitulation softly enters. Again there is little in the way of a melodic transition, as a sustained chord leads to held and tremolando chords similar to those first heard in the opening of the movement. As with the exposition example, there is also a timbral shift as brass instruments yield to the strings and woodwinds, creating yet another contrast between the two parts.  In spite of the recapitulation’s unassuming entrance, the first part of the trumpet theme appears much as it did in the exposition, apart from a brief motive in the horns (mm. 438–440) that further adds to the fanfare quality of the passage. As before, momentum gradually builds until the outbreak of motive X (mm. 461–463), and the section unfolds in !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!112 Both Simpson and Brown note a lack of strength at the start of the recapitulation. See Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 200, and Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 71. Ulm, meanwhile, argues that this is the appropriate recapitulation because not only does it reintroduce the home key, but also the original mood and character of the main subject. See Ulm, Die Symphonien Bruckners, 104.    118 much the same manner as when it first appeared, along with the same topics, save for a few exceptions. The chord on the first beat of m. 462, for instance, is harmonized as a C-sharp diminished seventh, rather than as A major (m. 40).113 Later, more significant changes emerge when the ascending theme (mm. 34–36) repeats in m. 470, as the motive, rather than rising, sinks down a whole step. Following the expectations set up throughout the movement, one would anticipate the melody rising to start on D as in, for example, m. 48. Here, however, Bruckner drops to the B-flat (m. 470), with the phrase ending in C minor (mm. 473–475). Whereas previously the repetition of the phrase at a higher level generated added intensity and anxiety, its lowering here signals a sense of resignation. Notably, Bruckner follows this descent in mm. 476–482 not with material from the exposition, but with the repeated motive Y heard in the development (mm. 388–394 and 398–404). There this segment attempted to halt the massive outburst, while here it strives to stop the new descent.   As was the case in the development (mm. 398–404), the motive again leads to the beginning of the Gesangsthema. Ending with an A dominant seventh chord, it prepares the way for the theme to arrive in the D minor, but as is usual in Bruckner, he avoids setting the second theme in the tonic in order to delay complete resolution until the coda. Starting instead in D major, the Gesangsthema again retains its song-like character, complete with the lyrical cello line (m. 507 and following). There are, once again, a few subtle changes, including the addition of timpani at the beginning (mm. 483–488) and conclusion (mm. 541–548) of the theme. At the end of the theme, the timpani accentuate the grand, climactic character of the passage, but at the start, with a hushed ppp tremolo, they darken the sound. Bruckner’s exact reason for adding the timpani at the beginning is not certain, but it could !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 113 It is arguable, however, that the C-sharp chord is a more natural fit, given the emphasis on the leading tone in the original unison presentation of the theme in measure 32.   119 represent a “leakage” of the turmoil from the first theme into the second theme zone; even though the lyrical melody and arrival of D major may to be an oasis in the midst of inner torment, the ominous D’s in the timpani hint that this is not a true resolution. Still, the section follows much the same shape that was set forth in the exposition, though now the theme builds to a radiant climax in D major (mm. 541–548) that segues into the third theme.  The grandness of the climax and the reappearance of the relative major at the end of the Gesangsthema may seem to indicate a final transfiguration from minor into major, but the third theme suddenly enters and reasserts D minor (m. 549).114 Only the first eight measures of the theme are included, however, before a descending line in the woodwinds leads to a sustained E. Still, the third theme retains the same militaristic fanfare characteristics it had in the exposition, which for the moment ends any chance of final resolution that the Gesangsthema might have hoped to bring. The third theme does, however, soon lead back to the first theme (m. 565). Various parts of the movement merge together here; the beginning (mm. 565 and following), for instance, is similar to the section of the outburst in the development where the trumpet theme was passed between voices (see mm. 375–386). Likewise, a chorale-like setting of the main theme in the brass (mm. 573–586) hearkens back to the closing of the exposition (mm. 203–210). The effect created is, at least initially, quite different from any other presentation of the theme, as with the hushed dynamics (mm. 565–572) and the motive echoing seemingly randomly through different instruments, the impression is one of chaos or confusion. Gradually, however, the voices begin to coalesce until the chorale erupts triumphantly (m. 573), as if a deus ex machina provided a solution. Two chorale sections are heard, first in G-flat major (mm. 573–580), then in A major (mm. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 114 Not only is D major averted here, but also the theme soon after modulates away from the tonic.    120 581–586), appearing to be some sort of arrival. However, the orchestra suddenly breaks off leaving only a slowing fading timpani tremolo (mm. 587–590). This interruption marks an important point in the movement; coming at the end of the recapitulation, it may at first appear as though the latest climax (mm. 581–586) may allow the dominant to triumph over the tonic. As a result, the silence and lone timpani is a powerful moment, as it breaks this final assertion of the dominant. At the same time, however, a quiet, fading timpani remains, repeating the dominant note A, leaving a sense of tension. Has the dominant prevailed, leaving the movement to fade into oblivion? Or will the chasm somehow be crossed, and resolution obtained? The answer, of course, arrives with the return of the tonic at the start of the coda.   As Kurth notes, the beginning of this coda (m. 591) has a rather melancholy feel about it, due in part to the solo timpani in the measures just prior, but also to the sinking bass line that follows.115 The despondency is further intensified by continual repetitions of the first three measures of the main trumpet theme (see brass instruments, mm. 595 and following), as instruments take turns starting the motive, but are unable to complete the theme. The echoes of the theme increase, growing louder and faster, almost as though a sense of panic is beginning to take hold. The coda continues to build up to a fff, before motive Y from mm. 34–36 interrupts one final time (m. 622 and following) as the motive prepares the way for resolution of the movement. There are more surprises here first, however; given the recent appearances of motive Y, for instance, one might expect three repetitions of the ascent, such as in mm. 388–394 and 398–404. Instead, however, we finally receive motive Z, which was so endemic to the theme earlier in the movement. This suggests perhaps some sort of answer !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 115 Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 842.   121 to motive Y, but even now the harmonies suggest that a final resolution has yet to arrive.116 Given the pattern formed in the exposition, the D-flat should resolve to D minor, which is, naturally, the home key. Instead, Bruckner moves from A major to a G-sharp diminished seventh. As a result, this motive that has played a prominent role throughout the movement creates one final crisis. It seems at first that the motive has broken free of its continual ascents to finally achieve some sort of settlement, but the resolution is ultimately false. This is left to another moment, the final portion of the coda. Here the G-sharp from m. 627 proves to be a leading tone to A in the next measure, which then facilitates the final return of D minor. The music is now firmly in the home key, and there are no further indications of any other key. Furthermore, the two halves of the first theme now appear together, with motive X from m. 31 altered to end on D rather than C-sharp. With the final resolution accomplished, the movement closes with a flourish of the full orchestra.117  Turning once more to the numbers, as one might expect the recapitulation, even though it is slightly truncated, mirrors the numbers set forth in the exposition. Measures 451–460, for example, are numbered 8+2 rather than as 10, just like the analogous section in the exposition (mm. 21–30). Consequently, not only does this show that Bruckner wanted to emphasize the moment in mm. 459–460, but his consistency in numbering each part in the exposition and recapitulation the same way helps to confirm that he did want two distinct groups before the entrance of motive X.  Throughout the remainder of the recapitulation and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!116 The suggestion that a final resolution has yet to come is further enhanced by the overall characteristic of this section as a type of reminiscence. Motive Y breaks into the final flurry of the coda, as if to pause and briefly recall and contemplate on motives that were heard earlier in the movement.   117 It should be noted, however, that this is still a “tragic” resolution, since, as is frequently the case in Bruckner’s symphonies, the tonic minor has not transformed into the parallel major. Furthermore, as noted at the beginning of the coda, there was an inability to complete the main theme, and even though it appears at the end of the movement with motive X, the last half is still missing. Indeed, it is not until the concluding moments of the final movement that D major finally appears, along with the complete trumpet theme.   122 coda, the numbers logically follow the entrance of themes, or obvious changes in texture, although another issue does arise at the beginning of the coda.118 Here, Bruckner actually indicates two sets of numbers for mm. 591–598, one that spans the entire 8 measures, and one that is divided up into 4+4 bars. Given what has come before, however, one can reasonably assume that the latter option is a better fit, for the first four measures are a reflection of the introduction to the movement. In the measure labelled both 5 and 1, the trumpet theme enters, much as in the beginning. Consequently, for the sake of consistency, a reading of 4+4 would be more logical. While Bruckner’s numbers here might seem to be contradictory, it can also show how he was open to finding the best groupings for each section of the movement. Overall, however, the numbers in this movement provide useful information by illustrating how motivic processes were of central importance to Bruckner.  In some ways the waves in the recapitulation resemble their earlier counterparts from the exposition, though there are a number of differences among them. The Gesangsthema is the most similar, with another series of intensifications leading to a climax, while the first and third themes are both truncated versions of the exposition; the first theme, for instance, has only one wave, rather than two. The coda, meanwhile, is primarily a final intensification and climax for the entire movement.119 While the waves in the exposition and recapitulation !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!118 It is difficult to ascertain what implications Bruckner’s numbering may have for the interruption prior to the coda in mm. 587–590, as this section is blank without any numbers indicated. It is therefore unknown whether Bruckner would have preferred to include the segment along with the previous six measure grouping, creating a 10-measure segment spanning mm. 581–590, or if he would have labeled them as an individual part, leaving 6 (mm. 581–586) and 4 (mm. 587–590) measure groups at the end of the recapitulation.  119 It is interesting to note that on a local level, the final intensification and climax of the coda is interrupted by a moment of emptiness that occurs in mm. 624–629. One of Kurth’s definitions of emptiness (Leere) is the “spatial separation of the texture into few highly-focused energy-lines,” and here the tutti orchestra suddenly condenses into the flutes, oboes, and clarinets. Kurth’s other description of emptiness is also apt, as he notes it is the “frame of silence surrounding waves; this usually forms a hurdle whose crossing creates renewed intensity.” See Parkany, “Vocabulary of Symphonic Formal Process,” 106. While this is not a literal silence, the sudden piano in only a few instruments after a triple forte with the entire orchestra gives an almost simulated impression of silence. In this sense, then, it is a characteristic “interruption” (Unterbrechung), which   123 are similar, they differ somewhat from the development. The Gesangsthema, for instance, appears without the series of intensifications that lead to a climax. It is, in essence, a severely truncated version of the theme as it appears elsewhere in the movement. The wave of the first theme in the development is closer to those of the exposition and recapitulation, as intensifications initially build to a climactic moment. In the development, the order of material in this initial part of the wave is different, however. Up to m. 299, for instance, Bruckner intersperses sections from the two parts of the first theme, here the first half of the trumpet fanfare and motive Y from the second half. Then, beginning in m. 300, the intensifications leading to the climactic outburst (m. 343) utilize only motive X (m. 31) from the second part of the first theme. Following the climaxes, however, the waves differ; in the exposition, the wave spanning the first theme ends with an after-wave in one case (mm. 59–67) and a short ebbing in the other (mm. 92–102), but the development contains an over-intensification (m. 363) followed by a longer de-intensification process.120 The after-waves in each case make use of different material also, with the exposition using the motive from m. 37, and the development primarily taking motive Y from the first part of the same phrase (mm. 34–36). Still, the overall shape of the first theme waves in the exposition and development is similar, with a build-up leading to a climax and subsequent release of energy. Given this, it suggests that the order of the materials is not causally predetermined. Rather, Bruckner manages to make similar shapes of waves from a different ordering of the musical materials.  If we look at the movement dynamically, instead of focusing on sonata form, an idiosyncratic structure emerges. Given that both the first and second parts of the first theme !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!is followed by the final, climactic outburst of the movement.   120 In the recapitulation, the first theme concludes with an ebbing lasting from mm. 464–482.   124 take up the bulk of the development, the outburst in the middle of the movement (m. 343 and on) becomes a central point where the dynamic energy flows to and from, while the statements of the first theme at the beginning and end (in the coda) of the movement create a kind of bookend. Within each iteration of the first theme in the exposition and recapitulation, the energy is at first intensified and directed toward the climax of each section. Beyond this, the end of each part of the movement also has a climax containing material (the trumpet fanfare and motive X) from the first theme.121 After the climax in the exposition the energy gradually begins to intensify once again, until finally the built up tension is released in the development’s outburst at m. 343. Following the initial climax there is an over-intensification, and from this point the energy begins to dissipate. Only with the arrival of the first theme at the start of the recapitulation does the music begin to gain momentum again, building to final climaxes at the end of the first theme group and into the coda (refer to Figure 2.3 for a diagram of the waves).  The dynamic shape reveals a movement that is, as we have seen throughout the chapter, highly individualistic and different from sonata forms by other composers such as Beethoven and Brahms. Rhetorically, for instance, Bruckner’s music does not follow the same model as used by other nineteenth-century contemporaries. The rhetoric of Beethoven’s and Brahms’s symphonic sonata forms is most often one of dramatic conflict and resolution, following a Hegelian resolution of contradiction in a dialectical form. Beethoven’s Third Symphony is but one example of this, exhibiting a process of challenge, struggle, and victory. In the first movement, the first theme begins with a heroic character, but a descent to C-sharp in the melody soon raises doubts. Throughout the movement, the theme undergoes a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 121 In the exposition and development, the trumpet fanfare is used, while the recapitulation combines both the trumpet theme and motive X from measure 31.   125 variety of transformations and there is also opposition from other elements, most notably a leaping figure from another part of the first theme that features accents on weak beats. This later part of the theme leads to a dissonant climax in the development, which threatens to subsume the original heroic motive. As the main theme struggles with these various elements throughout the development, however, they are eventually transformed; the skirmish ends with victory, as the first theme no longer falls to the C-sharp.122  This is, of course, a rather brief and simplistic analysis of Beethoven’s symphony, but it does illustrate how Bruckner’s rhetorical process differs. Namely, there is not the same concept of a struggle and resolution, wherein the thematic material is gradually transformed. The main trumpet theme, for instance, is presented fully formed when it first appears, and the first three bars are exactly the same at the start of the movement (mm. 5–7) as they are at the end (mm. 649–651). Nor is there a struggle between themes, as at most motivic material interrupts other themes (such as motive Y does in m. 622), and thematic material remains mostly compartmentalized. Instead, Bruckner’s rhetoric is, as the waves show, one of ebb and flow, not only in the individual statements of themes, but also across the theme groups and large sections of the music.  The rhetorical process of the movement is reflected motivically, since the ebb and flow does not require the same thematic procedures as in Beethoven or Brahms. Whereas in the Eroica the first theme undergoes many transformations, culminating in a grand, heroic ending, Bruckner’s motivic writing contains only gradual changes and does not lead to a final apotheosis. Indeed, at the end there are shifts in momentum as, for example, when motive Y interrupts (m. 622), or earlier when the music is reduced to a lone timpani tremolo after a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!122 Jan Swafford notes the tendency of the main theme to slide down to a C-sharp or other chromatic variants, even in Beethoven’s sketches for the movement. See Jan Swafford, Beethoven: Anguish and Triumph: A Biography (New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014), 341.   126 loud chorale (mm. 582–590).   As a result of Bruckner’s rhetorical and motivic processes, the overall weight of the movement varies from that of sonata-form movements by other composers. The dialectical approach of Beethoven, for instance, means the weight is directed towards the end of the movement, where the final synthesis and victory is achieved. However, in the first movement of Bruckner’s Third there is a more balanced approach. While the coda does end with a final flourish, as described earlier the breakthrough in the development (m. 343) gives significance to the middle of the work, as the energy flows to and away from this particular moment. The weight is, consequently, distributed more evenly throughout the movement, from the introduction of themes in the exposition (the climax at m. 31and the subsequent twists and turns, for example), to the outbreak in the development, to the final measures of the coda. Bruckner’s techniques tend to emphasize the moment; without the struggle central to the symphonies of composers like Beethoven and Brahms, themes can be explored in detail, and the balance of the structure with its ebb and flow gives shape to the individual moments Bruckner offers us.  Finally, one must also note the central importance the second half of the first theme, comprised of motives X, Y, and Z, within the first movement. As mentioned earlier, the first arrival of these motives is so striking that some scholars like Wünschmann contend that m. 31 actually constitutes the beginning of the first theme. As the theme continues, the constant shifts toward and away from the listener’s expectations make the moment stand out. The second appearance of the motives, at m. 89, marks a deceptive cadence, and a modulation to B-flat major, which Bruckner uses to lead to the F major of the Gesangsthema. In the development, motive X enters innocently enough at m. 303, but through constant repetition   127 and rhythmic diminution, the motive gradually gains more and more energy until the massive outburst of the first part of the main theme in m. 343. The eruption of the trumpet theme continues unabated until motive Y interrupts twice (mm. 388 and 398), finally dissipating the accumulated energy, and leading to the calmer second theme. The reappearance of all the motives in the recapitulation proceeds as it did in the exposition, with the exception of the changes mentioned earlier. Motives X and Y appear a final time in the coda, where motive Y first interrupts the repetitions of the trumpet theme (m. 623). After the break the main trumpet theme resumes, but in its final flourishes is combined with motive X, both firmly in the tonic d minor. The importance Bruckner gives to these motives is rather unusual, as typical expectations hold that the first theme – in this case the main trumpet theme – would gain the most importance or meaning throughout the course of the movement. Not only does the importance of the second half of the theme reflect Bruckner’s idiosyncratic compositional style, but it also illustrates how analysing the music with an eye toward the moment can help us better understand the movement, for one might miss the intricacies of motives X, Y, and Z while looking at the symphony in terms of a conventional sonata form.   128 Chapter 3 – Symphony No. 7 in E major, WAB 107, I: Allegro moderato   The Manuscripts & Editions   As with many of Bruckner’s symphonies, the Seventh also poses questions about the authoritativeness of the different sources available.  Yet the issues surrounding the Seventh are not as difficult to resolve as, for instance, those of the Third or the Eighth symphonies, since this work was less extensively revised. A few sketches for the Seventh do exist at the Austrian National Library (Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, hereafter referred to as ÖNB). Some are primarily limited to a few pages for the fourth movement;1 and while there is one folio containing a sketch of the final 58 measures of the first movement (from m. 386 on), the source is in a mostly completed form with only a small number of missing parts and a few markings in pencil.2 On the other hand, a complete autograph score, also from the ÖNB, serves as the principal source available for the symphony.3 This copy was originally used for the first performance in 1883, after which Bruckner made a number of minor revisions to the work. These changes are apparent throughout the score, as evidenced by scratches made on the pages, additional pieces of paper glued on top of the music, and markings made in ink or coloured pencil indicating cuts or changes to notes, dynamics, tempi, and instrumentation. As straightforward as many of the changes appear, they have been a source of contention for subsequent editions of the symphony, for both Josef Schalk and Ferdinand Löwe are believed !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1 See Anton Bruckner, “Siebente Symphonie [Nr. 7 E-Dur],” sketches from the Finale, Mus.Hs. 6024, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, Austria; also Anton Bruckner, “Finale Sinfonie No. 7,” sketches from the Finale, Mus.Hs. 6025, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, Austria; and Anton Bruckner, “Siebente Symphonie [Nr. 7 E-Dur],” sketches from the Finale, Mus.Hs. 28232, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, Austria.   2 Anton Bruckner, “Siebente (7.) Symphonie E-Dur, 1 Satz (Ende),” autograph sketches from the end of the first movement, Mus.Hs. 3164, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, Austria.   3 Anton Bruckner, “Sinfonie No. 7 E-dur,” autograph score of the Seventh Symphony, Mus.Hs. 19479, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, Austria.   129 to have influenced the changes that Bruckner made.4   Since the alterations were made to the autograph score itself, the changes made their way into the first published edition, printed by Albert J. Gutmann in 1885. It is not known, however, exactly how much influence Schalk and Löwe exerted, nor whether or not Bruckner authorized the modifications. Questions of authenticity were therefore very much a concern when Robert Haas and Leopold Nowak prepared their respective 1944 and 1954 editions of the score. On the whole, Haas tended to avoid including parts he deemed were affected by Schalk and Löwe while, contrastingly, Nowak was not as eager to remove the changes indicated in the autograph. Perhaps most famously, Haas excised the cymbal clash from the Adagio. Nowak included the cymbal, however, citing a letter that shows the conductor Arthur Nikisch suggested the cymbals and triangle to Bruckner, who then himself added paper with the additions.5 Still, despite the contrasting approaches of Haas and Nowak, the first movements of each edition are not radically dissimilar, with many of the differences between them related to tempo, dynamic, or articulation markings. Deryck Cooke observes that the variations between the two are limited to 29 measures in the entire work, and are !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 4 Leopold Nowak, for instance, references a letter Josef wrote to his brother Franz, in which he reveals that he and Löwe had been discussing some “changes and improvements” for the score of the Seventh. See Anton Bruckner, VII Symphonie E-dur, ed. Leopold Nowak, Sämtliche Werke (Wien: Musikwissenschaftlicher Verlag, 1954), n.p. Schalk, a conductor and musicologist, and Löwe, also a conductor, were both students of Bruckner. They were both dedicated supporters who promoted and endeavored to have Bruckner’s music performed and published. At the same time, they also assisted Bruckner with tasks such as revisions and orchestrations. Their collaboration has caused complications, for at times changes were made conceivably without Bruckner’s knowledge; in the case of the Ninth Symphony, for instance, Löwe made major changes to the score posthumously. Further information on the Schalks and Löwe and their association with Bruckner can be found in Dermot Gault, The New Bruckner: Compositional Development and the Dynamics of Revision (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011), 113–153. Another article that discuss Bruckner’s circle of students is Andrea Harrandt, “Students and Friends as ‘Prophets’ and ‘Promoters:’ The Reception of Bruckner’s Works in the Wiener Akademische Wagner-Verein,” in Perspectives on Anton Bruckner, ed. Crawford Howie, Paul Hawkshaw, and Timothy Jackson (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2001), 317–327. A discussion of the effect the “intervention” of Schalk and Löwe had on the symphonies can be found in Benjamin M. Korstvedt, “Bruckner Editions: The Revolution Revisited,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bruckner, ed. John Williamson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 121–137.    5 Bruckner, VII Symphonie, ed. Leopold Nowak, n.p.    130 insignificant enough that they do not affect the sound of the symphony a great deal.6  However noble Haas’s intentions may have been in attempting to preserve Bruckner’s original vision, this study uses and refers to the Nowak edition. As Nowak shows, Bruckner was most likely aware of and authorized the changes made in the autograph and, thus, his edition presents a version of the symphony more likely to be in line with the composer’s desires. Furthermore, in the instances where Bruckner’s wishes cannot be clearly determined, Nowak provided distinct markings to clearly indicate any questionable changes, whereas Haas does not.7 In addition to Nowak, the autograph score is also referenced here as required, given that the original contains many notations not present in any of the print editions. Most importantly, for instance, are the numbers Bruckner wrote under nearly every measure, and which will provide valuable insight for understanding his compositional process.   Questions of Form   As in the previous chapter, before proceeding with my own analysis I first pause to look at the history of the symphony and how others have approached and analyzed the first movement.  The Seventh holds a unique position among Bruckner’s symphonies as the first !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 6 Deryck Cooke, “The Bruckner Problem Simplified. 4: Symphonies 5–9,” The Musical Times 110, no. 1515 (May 1969): 480. A few examples of the differences include brackets placed by Nowak around multiple tempo indications found in mm. 351 through 363 to indicate that they appear in the autograph in another hand, while Haas excludes these tempi indications altogether. Similarly, Nowak also inserts the p markings in the violas, cellos, and basses at measure 34 in brackets, while one measure later Haas omits some of the accents in the third and fourth horns found in the Nowak edition. The most significant discrepancy in the first movement arrives at rehearsal E, where Nowak omits instrumental parts from the third theme. The first and second horns, first and second trumpets, trombones, and timpani all have sections missing here. Meanwhile, Nowak includes an oboe passage that Haas does not. An examination of the autograph score suggests that Haas believed Schalk and Löwe influenced Bruckner to change the music here beyond his original intentions. The oboe part included by Nowak appears in ink in the autograph, while each of the segments Haas incorporates but Nowak does not is scratched out in Bruckner’s original copy.   7 Cooke finds the inclusion of extra tempo markings in brackets to be unfortunate, however, as he believes they are Nikisch’s “conductor markings.” Yet at the same time, Cooke notes that Bruckner likely authorized the tempos. See Cooke, “Bruckner Problem 4,” 480.    131 to bring him a measure of success. Although the première in Leipzig received mixed reviews, the second performance in Munich on 10 March 1885 was enthusiastically received, garnering praise from critics like Heinrich Porges who declared the composition one of the most important symphonic works of the past 20 years.8 While part of the success of the performance can be attributed to the receptivity to Wagnerism in Munich at the time and, consequently, also to speculation that the Adagio was composed in memory of the recently deceased Wagner, the Seventh exhibited a number of qualities different from Bruckner’s previous symphonies. Constantin Floros suggests that characteristics such as fewer caesuras, a more lucid formal organization, and more easily remembered themes were part of the reason audiences in Munich and elsewhere praised the symphony.9 Even though Bruckner himself expressed concern prior to a proposed concert in Leipzig that the Seventh would be too difficult for the public to grasp, the changes described by Floros have often been pointed to as a reason for the success of the work beyond the first performances.10 Kurth, for instance, believed that the fame of the symphony was due in part to certain simplifications (gewisse Vereinfachungen) and the concrete approaches taken towards the familiar frames or structures (gewohnten Bilder) of the outward form in the first three movements.11 More !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 8 Other reviews of the Munich performance were similarly positive. Fritz von Ostini, for instance, thought the Seventh was comparable with Beethoven’s best works, while Dr. Paul Marsop of the Berliner Tageblatt believed the symphony made an impact that no other work in recent memory had been able to achieve. See Crawford Howie, Anton Bruckner: A Documentary Biography, vol. 2, Trial, Tribulation and Triumph in Vienna (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 2002), 447–452.   9 Constantin Floros, Anton Bruckner: The Man and the Work, trans. Ernest Bernhardt-Kabisch (New York: Peter Lang, 2011), 128–129.     10 Howie, Bruckner: A Documentary Biography, 416.   11 Ernst Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2 (New York: Georg Olms Verlag, 1971), 973. Kurth writes: “Daß die Siebente Bruckners Ruhm begründete, liegt nebst der Schönheit und Gedankengröße wohl zum Teil darin, daß er in den äußeren Formen gewisse Vereinfachungen und sehr greifbare Annäherungen an die gewohnten Bilder vornahm, wenigstens in den drei ersten Sätzen.” On the form of the last movement, see Timothy L. Jackson, “The Finale of Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony and Tragic Reversed Sonata Form,” in Bruckner Studies, ed.   132 recently, A. Peter Brown has written that the exposition of the first movement does not seem to have any complications, while the themes, texture, and rhythm have a clarity that goes beyond what is found even in the Fourth Symphony.12  These observations suggest that the symphony has certain qualities that differentiate it to some degree from Bruckner’s other efforts in the genre, and, additionally, that the work fits into a more traditional symphonic mould. This implies that the first movement employs a clear sonata form, which is seemingly affirmed through a cursory study of the movement. An outline (see Figure 3.1) unveils an exposition (mm. 1–164) comprised of three themes, a development spanning mm. 165–232, and a recapitulation and coda that closes the movement in mm. 280–412 and 413–443 respectively. Similarly, the harmonic motion to some extent follows a standard sonata form pattern, with familiar progressions such as a shift to the dominant in the second and third themes of the exposition and the return to the tonic with the entrance of the recapitulation.  Indeed, by means of a more traditional sonata form analysis Brown contends that the movement exhibits sonata principles more clearly than most of Bruckner’s other similar movements, thus being one of Bruckner’s most orthodox applications of sonata form.13 In the outline of the movement that Brown provides, which follows the analysis set forth in Figure !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Timothy L. Jackson and Paul Hawkshaw (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 140–208.    12 A. Peter Brown, The Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, The Second Golden Age of the Viennese Symphony (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2002), 262. There have been, to be sure, negative criticisms of the Seventh. After the first Viennese performance on 21 March 1886; Hanslick labeled the work a “symphonic boa constrictor,” while Gustav Dömpke, who frequently found fault with Bruckner’s works, proclaimed that Bruckner “composes like a drunkard.” See Dermot Gault, The New Bruckner: Compositional Development and the Dynamics of Revision (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011), 120. The Seventh also prompted Dömpke to comment that Bruckner lacked any real sense of “musical formal shape,” because he lacks coherence in “melodic and harmonic component parts.” See Benjamin M. Korstvedt, “Between Formlessness and Formality: Aspects of Bruckner’s Approach to Symphonic Form,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bruckner, ed. John Williamson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 170.   13  Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 264.    133 3.1, the form appears far from troublesome. The three main themes follow one another  Figure 3.1 – Sonata Form Analysis for Bruckner Symphony No. 7/114 Area:   EXPOSITION Measures:  mm. 1–50 mm. 51–122  mm. 123–164 Theme: Theme 1 Theme 2 Theme 3 Starts in: E+  B+/-  b-  DEVELOPMENT mm. 165–184 mm. 185–218 mm. 219–232 mm. 233–280 Theme 1 Theme 2 Theme 3 Theme 1 B+/-  d-  e-/+  c-  RECAPITULATION mm. 281–318 mm. 319–362 mm. 363–390 mm. 391–412 Theme 1 Theme 2 Theme 3 Theme 1 E+  E+  G+  E+ ped.  CODA mm. 413–443 Theme 1 E+  clearly, with the separation between exposition and development made even more explicit with the inclusion of a double bar line.15 One unique feature that Brown does note occurs in the final 53 measures, where all but 22 are on the tonic chord. This could be viewed as a powerful affirmation of the tonic, but Brown believes the home key actually loses its effect by the end of the movement, and the movement is, as a result, no longer decisively in the home key, sounding instead rather “open-ended.”16 Interestingly, even though Brown attempts to outline a clear sonata form, the ending illustrates how the framework is not !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!14 This sonata form analysis is derived from various sources. See Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 262–264; also Graham Phipps, “Bruckner’s Free Application of Strict Sechterian Theory,” in Perspectives on Anton Bruckner, ed. Crawford Howie, Paul Hawkshaw, and Timothy L. Jackson (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2001), 231–251; and Peter Gülke, “Von der Fünften zur Siebten Sinfonie,” in Bruckner Handbuch, ed. Hans-Joachim Hinrichsen (Stuttgart: Metzler Verlag, 2010), 191–194.   15 Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 263.   16 Ibid., 264.   134 always entirely clear; the loss of the tonic’s effect at the end of the movement shows how there are other moments at work subverting the normative structure. Certain scholars have attempted to explain the presence of sections that disrupt a “traditional” sonata form as modifications of the framework. A prime example of such alterations to form comes from Hepokoski and Darcy, with their theory of sonata deformation. First proposed by Hepokoski, and applied to Bruckner by Darcy, the idea suggests that in the nineteenth century, composers began to bring various deformational characteristics into their music, which were placed in conversation with the more traditional elements of sonata form. While he does not discuss the Seventh Symphony specifically, Darcy provides examples of the various deformations that Bruckner utilized himself.17 An example, for instance, is the delaying of the “ultimate fate” of the movement until the coda. Darcy notes that almost all of Bruckner’s first and last movements avoid resolution in areas like the development and recapitulation by closing in a key other than the tonic. Thus it remains for the coda to bring about the final resolution or redemptive moment that is needed to bring the movement to an end.18  In the same manner, Hepokoski and Darcy’s theory of rotational form, “where a movement cycles through the same thematic material several times, usually (though not always) in the same order,” could also possibly be used to help explain the form.19 There can be multiple rotations in a movement; in a basic version of the form, for instance, three !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!17 Warren Darcy, “Bruckner’s Sonata Deformations,” in Bruckner Studies, ed. Timothy L. Jackson and Paul Hawkshaw (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 257. Aside from Bruckner, Darcy notes that composers such as Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Liszt, and Wagner, among others, also utilized deformations in many of their works.   18 Ibid., 259.  19 Ibid., 264.    135 individual rotations (triple rotation form) line up exactly with the boundaries of the exposition, development, and recapitulation. Within each of these sections the themes then repeat in the same order, though they do not have to be literal repetitions.20  In his symphonies, Bruckner typically employs double or triple rotations, and the Seventh is an example of a non-congruent triple rotation. In this type of form, the third rotation starts not with the entrance of the recapitulation, but somewhere within the development. In the case of the Seventh, the beginning of the third rotation corresponds with a breakthrough of the first theme (m. 233, to be discussed in further detail later in the chapter) that leads directly to the start of the recapitulation.21 Overall, the concept of sonata deformations and the theory of rotation form do provide some new insights into how the structure of the first movement of the Seventh may fit into broader patterns, but by finding overarching theoretical frameworks we again risk losing sight of the intricacies that give Bruckner’s music its originality. Further, it locks one into conceptualizing the movement in one particular way – as a sonata form with alterations – rather than encouraging the listener to explore and perceive other processes and possibilities in the music.   Meanwhile, Jackson, following the theories of Hepokoski and Darcy, views the extended tonic in the coda as a type of delayed arrival typical of Bruckner’s compositional devices. Jackson argues that Bruckner employs certain “deformational” strategies to create a movement that has roots in sonata form, but which stretches typical conventions to present a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!20 Of this type of rotation form, Darcy gives the example of the first movement from Mozart’s Piano Sonata in F, K. 533. In this piece, the first and third rotations present the thematic in the same order, and correspond to the exposition and recapitulation. The second rotation, spanning the development, is shorter, but only because the transitional and closing themes have been cut; the primary thematic material is still presented in the same order. See Ibid., 264–265.  21 Ibid., 267–268. The third rotation does not include the coda (m. 413 to end), for as Darcy notes, the “Brucknerian coda almost always functions as an incipient “extra” rotation…it usually begins with [primary theme material], expanded to lead towards the final telos of the movement.” See Ibid., 267 n. 32.    136 unique vision of the form. Specifically, Jackson illustrates how Bruckner employs the concept of definitive tonic arrival (DTA), whereby the final, definitive arrival of the tonic resolution is delayed until the end of the movement, typically at the beginning of the coda.22 Though, as Jackson notes, Bruckner does not entirely avoid reprising the tonic in the recapitulation, its further delay naturally increases the weight of the tonic arrival. E major does appear at the beginning of the recapitulation (m. 281), but this can be reinterpreted as part of an ascending arpeggiation passing from C in m. 233 up to G in m. 363 (see Example 3.1 below).23 Jackson observes that other aspects of the music contribute to the DTA, such as the prolongations of the Kopfton 5ˆ  (B) throughout the movement, even in smaller sections, and its descent to 1ˆ  only upon the arrival of the coda in m. 413.24 The DTA is Jackson’s primary focus as he is comparing how the movement compares to techniques used by Sibelius in his Kullervo, op. 7. Consequently, he does not comment further on other aspects of the movement, but he does concur with Brown that the movement is an example of “normative sonata form,”25 and the irregularities are explained as techniques Bruckner used to stretch and deform traditional musical structures.  That the movement may be something other than a sonata form with deformations is proposed by Robert Simpson, who contradicts the other analyses mentioned here by arguing !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 22 Timothy L. Jackson, “Brucknerian Models: Sonata Form and Linked Internal Auxiliary Cadences,” in Sibelius Forum II: Proceedings from the Third International Jean Sibelius Conference, Helsinki, December 7–10, 2000, eds. Matti Huttunen, Kari Kilpeläninen, and Veijo Murtomäki (Helsinki: Sibelius Academy, 2003), 156. Jackson notes that the DTA strategy is not uncommon in Bruckner’s music, as the finales of the Third, Fourth, and Seventh Symphonies all delay definitive tonic resolution until the start of the coda.   23 Ibid., 159.   24 The prolongation of the Kopfton in smaller moments is evident where sections of the themes emphasize B, as can be seen with the attention given to the contrast between C and C-sharp in the first theme as neighbours to B. See Ibid.  25 Ibid., 158.    137 Example 3.1 – Symphony No. 7/1, arpeggiation from C to G, mm. 233–36326   that only the Scherzo in Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony is a true sonata form, while the first movement develops quite differently. His desire to reinterpret the first movement as something other than sonata form originates from his opinion that, “[on] paper the first movement of the Seventh looks like a clumsily formed sonata design with its tensions in the wrong places.”27 According to Simpson, a better plan for the movement sees it divisible into two parts; first, the evolution of B minor and major from a start that is on, not in, E major, and, secondly, the reappearance of the tonic, with resistance from B.28 The first part of the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 26 Example appears in Ibid., 160.   27 Robert Simpson, The Essence of Bruckner: An Essay Towards the Understanding of His Music (New York: Crescendo Publishing, 1967), 142.   28 Ibid., 148.    138 movement is, essentially, about the gradual emergence of B major (and minor) as it begins to take over, where in m. 103 an F-sharp pedal signals its entrenchment.29 In the next section, however, E major is restored as the rightful tonic in a process that spans the remainder of the movement. Simpson’s description accurately describes the overall harmonic movement, and will prove useful for the analysis in this chapter. An examination of the movement reveals that B major/minor does, in fact, slowly emerge over the course of the exposition, while the remainder of the movement involves a gradual return to the tonic. At the same time, however, Simpson’s analysis merely replaces one large-scale form with another, and as a result misses the details at the local level that become apparent when examining the individual moments.   Indeed, as we have seen, many analyses of the Seventh Symphony generally examine harmony and form, but not the way the music unfolds between the main harmonic areas. As a result, describing the movement as a sonata form does not fully convey the intricacies it contains. As intimated before, this dissertation proposes that the uniqueness of Bruckner’s style can instead be best captured by studying the way in which the music unfolds from one moment to the next, and their essence consists of the individuality of their processes. Studying the individual moments, considering Bruckner’s measure numbers, and looking at the overarching waves of the movement are all techniques that will help to illuminate how the music unfolds, and we turn now to the beginning of the movement to examine the various processes in motion.30    !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 29 Ibid., 145.   30 For a discussion of the numbers Bruckner wrote on his scores, as well as Kurth’s concept of waves, please see chapter 1.    139 The Exposition ! The symphony opens with a cello and horn arpeggio theme arching upward over soft, shimmering violin tremolos, almost as if emulating the beginning of Wagner’s Rheingold.  Yet when the violas enter (m. 6) the ascent ceases, and the theme twists around C-natural, its range now limited when compared to the expansive opening motive.  The C-natural acts as a flat VI in E major, and leads to a cadence in the dominant at m. 9, which is followed by an addition to the phrase that emphasizes the arrival in B major (see Example 3.2). Even in this Example 3.2 – Symphony No. 7/1, opening theme, mm. 3–11  first phrase, the complexity of the moment in Bruckner’s music becomes apparent. These first eleven measures sound as one complete idea, yet when broken down into smaller segments, a surprising amount of variety becomes evident.31 Measures 3 through 6, for instance, outline E major with the initial ascent, establishing the tonic of the movement. While the entire phrase is lyrical, this first part is less so, being more akin to a fanfare rising out of the distance.  The next four measures (mm. 6–9) contrast with the first subphrase, introducing a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 31 The notion that several distinct parts combine to form a complete theme is also hinted at by A. Peter Brown, who writes, “though [the primary theme] is marked by several articulatory pauses in the melody, its impression is one of a single continuous thematic idea.” See Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 262.   140 song-like motive that, instead of establishing a key, suggests instead movement to the dominant harmony B major. Finally, the end of m. 9 through to m. 11 serves to reinforce the arrival on the dominant, while still maintaining the lyrical quality introduced in the previous part (mm. 6–9). This seemingly coherent first phrase, then, has multiple functions that reflect the pattern of the first half of the movement as a whole. As Simpson noted, there is a tendency on the larger scale to move away from E major to B, a transition that is anticipated in these first eleven measures. Furthermore, each of these three sections yields a unique experience for the listener. The mood of the expanding, rising line is suddenly interrupted by the winding motive in mm. 6–9, with a striking registral fall of a minor ninth, followed immediately by a sense of “shrinking” intervals as the next notes A-sharp, B, C-natural are separated only by half steps.  After this change, one might expect the phrase to end in m. 9 with the arrival of the dominant, yet an elaboration and further confirmation of B major follows in mm. 10–11. Such contrasts and developments lead the listener in new directions and focus attention on the individual moments as they occur.  The final two bars of the first phrase reinforce the dominant that arrived in m. 9, yet there is little sense of completion here. The music gives an impression of wanting to push forward; Kurth observes that the sound at the end of the phrase is still “glowing hotly,” and that the close of the melody is too short to bring the music to a close.32 In m. 12, the second part of the phrase begins, and even though it sounds new, there are similarities between this section (mm. 12–24) and the first half of the theme. Indeed, as Kurth points out, the commonalities of these two phrases are obscured by techniques such as rhythmic variation and sequencing.33 One might note, for instance, thematic resemblances between measure 7 to !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 32 Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 976.     141 9 and 16 to 18 (see Example 3.3a and b). The melody in the violas and cellos follows the same basic outline, with an initial leap followed by a descent and concluding semitone rise. Likewise, the interval of a descending fourth first heard in m. 9 (B–F-sharp), for example, is reiterated throughout the second half and recast as tritones in mm. 13, 15, and 17 (C-sharp–F-double sharp, E–A-sharp, and G-sharp–C-double sharp, or D respectively). Example 3.3a –Symphony 7/1, theme from mm. 7–9  Example 3.3b –Symphony 7/1, theme from mm. 16–18  Despite the similarities, however, Bruckner still expands the tonal inflections, creating new dynamic and emotional arrivals. A progression by thirds (G-sharp minor, B major, D-sharp minor), for instance, opens up new harmonic areas before leading back to the tonic. The harmonies are supported by a violin accompaniment that becomes more active as the first violins begin to move by fourths, an action echoed by the second violins that now advance more rapidly in half notes. Furthermore, while the first half of the theme maintained a relatively even dynamic balance, here the music builds to a climax in m. 16. Two related short-breathed motives lead to a leap that jumps to the highest note yet introduced in the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!33 Ibid., 977.    142 melody. These first two motives (mm. 12–13 and 14–15) create both tension and mystery; the tension is created within each motive as the melodic line rises only to fall, and as the second motive climbs and begins a fifth higher than the first. A sense of mystery is created as the short motives sound incomplete and suggest that more is forthcoming, while the rests in between create anticipation for what might come next.34 The climax that follows completes the idea introduced by the earlier motives and appears to transition to the dominant by m. 24. In fact, the narrative of the emergence of B major/minor is reflected in the second half of the theme, as the climax and what follows appears to establish the dominant. B major is subverted, however, as Bruckner suddenly shifts back to the tonic E for the repetition of the first theme. Within these first 24 measures then, the overall large-scale structure of the movement is reflected in the finer, intricate details of smaller moments.  A repetition of the first theme starts in m. 25, and as often happens in Bruckner, this appears like a new beginning rather than a straightforward repetition, but with the theme sounding fuller with the addition of woodwinds and brighter with placement in a higher range. The orchestral texture becomes even more expansive as the next climax in m. 38 approaches, and in the aftermath of this latest high point, Bruckner begins to expand the harmonic vocabulary beyond the more basic tonal regions heard to this point. Toward the end of this repetition of the first theme, however, the music appears to move toward the dominant B (see mm. 46–50). As Simpson observes, the end of counterstatement of the first theme is on, rather than in, the dominant. If the music were truly in the dominant B, one would expect the new theme combined with B in m. 51 to act as an arrival. This is not the case, however, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!34 The harmonies on the last half note of each motive also contribute to the anticipation, as they are each diminished triads that point towards a new key.   143 for if the music were to end at this point the listener would expect a resolution to E major.35 Even more surprising is that the first half of the first theme does end in the dominant; in m. 23 a V/V chord appears, leading to the dominant in the next measure. As Simpson notes, it appears that the music has actually “settled” into B here, quite unlike before the entrance of the second theme. However, within the space of one measure Bruckner suddenly modulates back to E major for the counterstatement of the first theme (m. 25), effectively escaping from establishing the dominant.36  Looking also at the thematic characteristics of this section, one could argue that the apparent emergence of a new theme in the oboes and clarinets (m. 51), combined with the simultaneous appearance of the dominant, suggests the arrival of the second theme.37 However, to begin with, the new materials in m. 51 are in the dominant minor key (b minor) and are very unstable tonally, unfolding in a series of sequences moving into the flat areas. In addition, and importantly, it is unclear as to where the new thematic idea actually starts. The material (mm. 41–50) following the climax of the first theme (mm. 38–40), for instance, cannot be labelled simply as part of the first theme group but rather as a possible transition or an anticipation of the second theme. In these measures, there are melodic similarities with the rising seconds found in the second theme (see the minor seconds, B-sharp–C-sharp, in mm. 43–45, and the major seconds at the beginning of mm. 51 and 53).  The violin motive of mm. 42–43 also bears rhythmic similarities to the start of the second theme as presented in m. 51, the former being almost a condensed version of the latter, and each consisting of an ascent !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!35 Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 144.  36 Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 144.  37 Many analyses do, in fact, point to measure 51 as the beginning of the second theme. See, for example, Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 263, as well as Phipps, “Bruckner’s Free Application Sechterian Theory,” 235, and Jackson, “Brucknerian Models,” 161.   144 covering roughly an octave (see Example 3.4a and b). It could be suggested then, that the lines between first and second theme are blurred, or that the Gesangsthema actually begins earlier. Example 3.4a –Symphony 7/1, violin motive, mm. 42–43  Example 3.4b – Symphony 7/1, oboe motive, mm. 51–54   Those who believe the second theme enters in m. 51 point to the harmonic outline of the prior passage as one possible explanation for their interpretation. This point of view is explained by Phipps, who notes that the A major harmony in m. 40 temporarily completes a section (mm. 34–40) with harmonic regions that are all related to the tonic E major. Consequently, the music could easily be made to pass through some sort of F-sharp harmony, or as Phipps notes, “some form of ii, iio, viio7/V, or augmented-sixth chord, to end in B major and complete the phrase.38 Bruckner avoids this resolution, however, passing instead through a variety of other harmonies. Finally in m. 50, the move from F-sharp to B does appear and, as a result, Phipps views the intermediate material between the first half of m. 41 and the last !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!38 Phipps, “Bruckner’s Free Application of Strict Sechterian Theory,” 233–234.    145 half of m. 50 as an incise.39 However, thematic and motivic structures also contribute to our understanding of form, and complications arise from ignoring such aspects of the passage in these measures. As mentioned, for example, the violin motive in mm. 42–43 appears to anticipate the melody beginning in m. 51. At the same time, however, other parts of this section echo the preceding first theme, such as the rising figure in the violins in mm. 47 to 49, which is reminiscent of the opening arpeggiated motive.  A potential way of explaining this conundrum comes from comments made by Kurth, who labels the material after m. 40 as an after-wave or tremor of the climax (starting m. 35) that occurs just prior.40 Furthermore, he suggests that the section also acts as an anticipation of the upcoming second theme, where, as mentioned above, the rising seconds in the first violin (see mm. 43–45) foreshadow the rising seconds that are prominent in the second theme.41 In this light, the segment can be considered a transition, not in the normal way to which we might be accustomed, but as a passage of energy that combines components of both themes together to flow from one to the next. Thus, there are elements of reminiscence and anticipation experienced in these moments, until the arrival of a second theme in m. 51.42 This treatment of the thematic material, combined with the lack of a definitive appearance of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 39 Ibid. Phipps derives his idea of incise from H.C. Koch, who defines the terms as “an incomplete segment of a phrase that does not end a complete idea.” See Ibid., 255–256 n. 22. Phipps further argues that the intervening measures are an incise because they begin with a reharmonization of the previous four notes of the bass line. Additionally, Phipps believes the addition of an allusion to the Abendmahlmotiv from Wagner’s Parsifal further enhances the idea, since Gurnemanz’s line (sung to the motive), “she [Kundry] lives here today, perhaps renewed, to cleanse her guilt from her earlier life,” is suggestive given the reharmonizing of the bass line with the allusion, followed by Bruckner’s conclusion of the phrase with his own material.   40 The terms “after-wave” and “after-tremor” are often used interchangeably to refer to the same component of the wave.   41 Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 981.  42 Phipp’s connection to Gurnemanz’s line from Parsifal also works with this interpretation. In this reading the simultaneous dissolution of one theme and the initiation of another could symbolize the cleansing of an old life and renewal that follows.    146 the dominant, may work against our expectations of sonata form, but the individual moments provide an alternative through which the passage can be understood. The thematic ambiguity of the passage pointing back and forth enhances the feeling of anticipation. The listener hears something new, but it is not immediately apparent what this unfamiliar music might be, and curiosity is only satiated with the clear arrival of the second theme.43   Whereas the first theme continually introduced new twists and turns, the Gesangsthema that emerges in m. 51 contrastingly provides a sense of stasis and repetition, but through constant sequencing it also suggests a transitional function. Here, Bruckner introduces a single musical phrase that subsequently recurs multiple times. This gives the impression of regularity, which is further enhanced by a consistent pattern in the harmonic motion. After starting in B, the theme moves to G minor (m. 53), then B-flat in the next bar. This marks the beginning of a sequence that descends by whole tone through A-flat (m. 56) and G-flat (m. 58). The dominant of G-flat, D-flat major, is changed to C-sharp minor in measure 59, initiating a repetition of the theme that contains a similar sequence.   The feeling of such suspension is not unfamiliar in Bruckner’s second theme areas. Darcy contends that this “suspension field technique” occurs frequently in these areas and can be created in two different ways. The second theme group can either appear in a key !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 43 Although they do not provide a complete answer, Bruckner’s numbers can again aid in clarifying how the second theme emerges. Bruckner begins by numbering a new phrase starting in measure 35, which runs eight bars to the end of the Parsifal allusion, found in the horns, at measure 42. In that same bar, a new theme rises in the violins, the very one that shares similarities with the second theme, and an entire measure of this theme is heard before Bruckner’s numbering resets and counts off another eight bars. Meanwhile, measure 51, that which many suggest is the start of the second theme, marks the beginning of another phrase according to Bruckner’s numbering. This might suggest that measure 51 should be considered as the onset of the second theme group, but the numbering actually supports the interpretation suggested above. The second theme does not clearly and immediately emerge in measure 51, but is gradually revealed in the transitional passage that comes before and mixes elements of both themes, and this process is further reflected in the overlapping of phrases made apparent by Bruckner’s numbering.    147 other than the expected one, or, as happens here, become repetitive, circular, or rotational.44 As a result, the way in which the moment is experienced changes here. Rather than an uncertainty of what might come next, the focus is instead placed, as Kurth notes, on the main melody itself, and on the changes that occur in each utterance of the theme.45 The initial light woodwind theme is replaced in m. 59 by the low strings, with a presentation that is more contrapuntal and has a weightier characteristic than the previous iteration. In the third appearance of the theme (m. 69), only the head motive is heard three times, twice in its original form (first found in mm. 51–55) and once with an altered construction.   The third iteration of the motive releases the tension that the previous two had created and leads into a short interlude or transitional section (m. 81) that lasts up to the first beat of m. 89. The second theme had started to build to a climax, but this break relieves that momentum. Despite the seeming calm that returns, however, Bruckner is still able to drive the music forward; Kurth, for instance, notes a “motive of great tension” in the bass voices, with the intervals of sixths and sevenths that they contain (mm. 81–84).46 Therefore, the passage interrupts the attempt of the second theme to arrive at a climax but once again starts to build toward the culmination of the theme.   After the interlude of mm. 80–88, a new development of the melody commences in m. 89 with a chorale-like statement in the horns. The harmonic pattern discussed earlier also returns under a different guise, here with ascending fifths followed by descending thirds. The woodwinds follow with a passage that sounds like an echo of the now silent horns. Once !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 44 Darcy, “Sonata Deformations,” 271.   45 Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 981.   46 Ibid., 982.    148 again, Bruckner focuses attention on the melody, presenting yet another variation by reworking both the timbre and by placing the theme in a different polyphonic setting.  What seems to begin as another repetition (m. 103) actually greatly intensifies and pushes into a climactic passage that will ultimately lead to the third theme beginning in m. 123. The passage is initiated with an inversion of the second theme and gradually builds to a full tutti texture.47 This is the largest build-up in the movement so far, and the fact that it occurs over an F-sharp pedal is significant. Throughout the second theme, B major and minor appeared at various points, only to be quickly subverted by movement to other tonal areas. However, finally the F-sharp appears as a dominant pedal of B, signifying the clear establishment of the key.48 Yet even now, the arrival of B is not as pronounced as it could be. Where one might expect a triumphant V to I cadence, Bruckner instead abruptly launches into the third theme. The resolution is subverted because the cadence is not emphasized; Bruckner forms the transition in such a way that it rather sounds like one theme simply stops and another starts nonchalantly as the powerful ff fanfare of the orchestra shifts suddenly and abruptly to the p (woodwinds) and pp (strings) entry of the third theme.49 As such, it is left to the third theme to fully explore the possibilities of B major and minor.50  While the dominant is established in the second theme, the way in which the key arrives is quite contrary to what may normally be expected in sonata form. The exposition !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 47 Kurth observes that this intensification is not built in sequences, but rather terraces up by building on the pedal F-sharp. See Ibid., 983.  48 Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 145.  49 The abrupt change from ff to pp also coincides with the sudden exit of the brass instruments, creating a thinner texture that further lessens the impact of the entrance of the B minor chord in measure 123.   50 Simpson suggests that the appearance of the third theme is necessitated as a release of the tension caused by the victory of B. See Ibid., 146. Kurth, on the other hand, views this moment as a tearing of the aggregated masses of sound. See Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 984.    149 typically embodies conflict and opposition; one will recall, for instance, Rosen’s description that the movement from tonic to dominant creates polarization. Instead, in the Seventh the harmonic transition from first to second theme group, as discussed above, actually serves to lessen the distinct contrast between these segments. Furthermore, the dominant only gradually emerges throughout the course of the Gesangsthema. There is no pronounced arrival and cadence, and only by m. 103 is an F-sharp pedal established, the V/V which interestingly still avoids the tonic B chord. Only with the third theme does the B arrive, but as mentioned the F-sharp to B cadence is far from convincing.  In conjunction with the harmonic structure, the first two themes of the movement also contribute to the subdued sense of opposition. While, as mentioned above, the Gesangsthema does introduce a sense of stasis that contrasts from the frequent twists of the first theme, they are both, at least initially, rather calm and peaceful in character. The movement begins with hushed pp strings, while the main theme enters only slightly louder at mf. The Gesangsthema, meanwhile, also begins with a quiet pp accompaniment (now in the horns and trumpets), with the thematic material entering at a p. There is a slight climax in the first theme, where the volume grows to ff (m. 38), but the energy quickly subsides as the transition to the Gesangsthema begins. Thus, while the two sections differ in the character of the themes, the overall atmosphere remains similar, creating a degree of continuity between them.   While the end of the second theme does bring about a climax that engenders some drama and tension, it is quickly muted by the entrance of the third theme, which again opens quietly at m. 123 as in the manner of the previous two themes.51 This new theme presents a !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!51 In fact, Bruckner indicates ruhig, (to be played calmly or peacefully), at the beginning of both the second (m. 51) and third themes (m. 123).    150 slightly exotic, dance-like, possibly pastoral character. Kurth, however, finds the theme somewhat “demonic,” being more rigid and “shadowy,” and interpreting the melody as a Ländlerweise, he says, would be misleading.52 Contrast is created here through motivic variation, as four-measure blocks with repeated melodic figures and recurring I-V harmonies open the theme group. Overall, there is a large amount of repetition in the passage, sometimes with slight variations in the material, such as in the first violins in mm. 127 and 128. Also of note is the theme’s unison presentation, which contrasts with the previous two; there is a lack of the rich, enveloping sound that was an integral part of the other themes. Though the harmony moves to different tonal areas (B minor, mm. 123–126, F-sharp minor, mm. 127–130, D major/minor, mm. 131–134), a persistent tonic to dominant movement likewise contributes to the impression of repetitiveness.   A sudden reduction of the texture occurs in m. 131 with the entry of a melody in the violins. The block harmonic pattern continues along with the melody, until an almost entirely unison theme emerges a few measures later (m. 135). The repetitive nature of the theme group is maintained as the music gradually builds, first to a full orchestral texture and then to a fortississimo. It is at this point in m. 145 that the brass erupts with repeated rhythmic dotted chords on a B dominant seventh, as if the brass signals are announcing the arrival of something important. Kurth notes the similarities between these chords and those found before the introduction of the third theme at m. 123, an interesting observation since whereas the first instance of these chords led to a downplaying of the emergence of the dominant, the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 52 Kurth does not provide a detailed explanation as to why he finds the theme “demonic,” other than to say that the rigidity is already inherent in the theme with its square or angular steps (“Starr ist es schon an sich mit seinen eckigen Schritten“). See Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 984.    151 second appearance brings about the clearest resolution in B yet.53 But instead, this latest climax is abruptly aborted, as the music begins to taper off in pp before a concluding section arrives and settles into B major.  This final section of the exposition is, because of this arrival of B major, both interesting and important. B first reappears in m. 145, at the height of the climax of the third theme. The B seventh chord, unlike earlier in the movement, sounds definitive here, in part due to the fff dynamic, the loudest heard to this point. Soon after, the V/V, F-sharp major, enters (mm. 149–152), leading directly to a closing section (mm. 153–164) that is, finally, firmly entrenched in the dominant key. Thus, while Bruckner does follow a standard sonata form procedure of modulating from the tonic to dominant, he avoids definitively staying in B until the very final moments of the exposition. Furthermore, the climactic arrival of the B seventh chord in m. 145 lasts but two measures, before the music veers off to a G major 6/3 chord for a two-bar digression. When the dominant returns in m. 149, a calm atmosphere returns and B major is established as though nothing had ever happened. The dominant thus takes over very surreptitiously, without the dialectical opposition typical in the sonata forms of composers like Beethoven. If traditional conceptions of form are avoided, different conceptions of time offer an alternative way of hearing the exposition. For instance, throughout the third theme (mm. 123–164) the sense of time differs from traditional notions of linearity, and instead there is a cyclic feeling of returning. This is emphasized not only through the continual repetition of themes but also through other techniques like recurring harmonic blocks that are then transposed and repeated. Far from being steady and periodic, however, Bruckner’s use of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 53 Ibid., 986.    152 numbers emphasizes the irregularity of the passage (see Figure 3.2 below for a chart of the numbers in the movement). The third theme consists of 8, 4, 10, 4, and 4-bar phrases, with a concluding section comprised of an 8- and 4-bar phrase. The highly repetitive, almost minimalistic, initial 8-bar phrase is interrupted by a new, more lyrical, 4-measure phrase, which is itself brought to an end by the sudden introduction of ten measures (m. 135 and following) that build to the climax of the theme. The climax enters with another short, 4-bar phrase, and more regular phrasing returns as the music subsides. The phrasing gives substance to the idea of individual, whimsical, and perhaps even irrational, moments. The variation of the third theme that appears in mm. 131–134, for instance, comes across as a new moment, as a lyrical pause or respite from the main proceedings.54 That Bruckner labelled the measures as a four-bar phrase shows that he too, in some respect, viewed this as a distinct unit, as being separate from both the 8-measure phrase before and the 10 measures that follow. Were Bruckner to have combined bars 131–134 into the previous 8 to create a 12-measure phrase, one could not so easily argue that the segment represents a distinct moment, for instance.  As a consequence, the characteristics of the third theme (mm. 123–164) create a sense of time that varies from those in the first two theme areas. The movement started with a melody that maintained a more traditional sense of linearity, gradually unfolding over time and taking unexpected turns throughout its progression.55 In the second theme, the journey of discovery is replaced instead by a feeling of suspension. While in some respects the  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 54 The idea that these four measures are set apart from those surrounding them is borne out further by the sudden change in texture and dynamics, both before and after this particular passage.  55 Jonathan Kramer defines linearity as “the determination of some characteristic(s) of music in accordance with implications that arise from earlier events of the piece. Thus linearity is processive.” See Kramer, The Time of Music: New Meanings, New Temporalities, New Listening Strategies (New York: Schirmer Books, 1998), 20.   153 Figure 3.2 – Bruckner’s Manuscript Numbers in Symphony No. 7/156 EXPOSITION First Theme Group  Second Theme Group  Third Theme Group a (m. 1)   a (m. 51)   a (m. 123) 2 10 12   8 10 8 8 4   8 a (m. 25)   a (m. 89)   b (m. 131) 10 8 8    10 4 8 12   4        c (m. 135)         10 4        Closing (m. 149)         4 8 4   DEVELOPMENT First Theme   Second Theme Third Theme  m. 165    m. 185   m. 219 8 12    8 10 8   2 8 4      First Theme   First Theme  m. 233    “Phipps Recap” (m. 249) 8 8     8 8 8 4   RECAPITULATION First Theme Group  Second Theme Group  Third Theme Group a (m. 281)   a (m. 319)   a (m. 363) 10 12 8 8   8 8 8    8 4       a (m. 343)   b (m. 375)     8 12    4         c (m. 379)         12  First Theme Group a (m. 391) 2 8 12   !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 56 These are the numbers as listed on the manuscript, which was also used as a primary source by Nowak. See Bruckner, “Sinfonie No. 7,” Mus.Hs. 19479. There are also numbers written in autograph sketches for the final 65 measures of the first movement, which correspond exactly to the numbers provided here. The only difference is that under the grouping of 12 measures in the coda (mm. 421–432), Bruckner also indicates an alternative grouping of 4+8 measures. See Bruckner “Siebente (7.) Symphonie,” Mus.Hs. 3164.  Each number given in the diagram here represents how many measures Bruckner numbered; for instance, the first 2 means that mm. 1–2 have the numbers 1 through 2 written underneath, while the following 10 indicates that mm. 3–12 would be numbered 1–10, and so on.     154 Figure 3.2 (cont.) –Manuscript Numbers, Symphony No. 7/1  CODA  First Theme Group    a (m. 413)    8 12 8 3 repetition exhibited by the second and third themes are similar, the latter moves forward with more energy, due to the irregularity of phrasing and rising and falling sequences. Thus, while the themes are similar in other regards, in the opening of this movement there exist three distinct sections each characterized most strongly with its own unmistakable quality of time.   Bruckner’s numbering on the manuscript further helps to reinforce the idea of three distinct sections in the exposition, as in each theme the numbers highlight the character of the themes. As mentioned, the first theme unfolds gradually with unexpected turns, and throughout a sense of forward momentum is created. The theme opens with an expansive reach upwards (mm. 1–6), the next section (mm. 6–9) propels the music forward by contrasting and beginning to modulate, while the final part (mm. 9–11) continues to elaborate on the theme and, even though it confirms the dominant, gives the impression of wanting to push ahead. The second half of the main theme (mm. 12–24), meanwhile, creates tension and builds to a climax, before appearing to settle in the dominant; in m. 24, however, there is the sudden shift back to the tonic for the repetition of the entire first theme. Throughout the section, the numbers reinforce the sense of forward motion, as in all but one occurrence the beginning of a new group coincides with the overlap of thematic material. In both mm. 12 and 34, there is an “early” entrance of the second half of the main theme, while the violin motive starting in m. 42 coincides not with a new group of numbers, but with the final number (8) of the previous section. Only at the repeat of the theme (m. 25) does a set of   155 numbers occur simultaneously with the beginning of a new motivic section. In every other instance, however, the numbers highlight the overlapping and movement between motivic material, whether it be the propelling of the first half of the theme (mm. 2–11/25–33) into the second (mm. 12–24/34–42), or the swelling up of an after-wave (m. 42 and following) from the fading first theme.  Bruckner’s numbering at mm. 12 and 34 appears unusual, since as mentioned, the numbering of a new section starts after entrance of the theme. In the manuscript, the new phrase in m. 12 does not begin with a 1 written underneath the measure, but instead a 10 ostensibly signals the completion of the previous phrase. Bruckner’s reasoning for placing a 10, rather than a 1, under m. 12 may have been the result of a desire to emphasize the downbeat of m. 13 rather than the first three notes of the previous bar. Certainly, the falling C-sharp to F double sharp in the violas, cellos, and clarinets is repeated and emphasized elsewhere in the following measures, most notably in bars 15 and 17, suggesting that the two dropping notes are an integral motive in this particular section. The metrical aspect is one consideration here, but Kurth’s analysis suggests another possible alternative. In his view, the end of the first phrase in m. 11 still contains energy that drives the music into the following phrase. Furthermore, though sounding new, the second half of the theme bears some similarities to the previous section, as discussed above. As a result, the numbering may serve to reinforce the link between the two phrases. While they can be considered as separate entities, they are part of the same theme group and have melodic similarities. In addition, the energy from the end of one phrase propels the music into the next, and in this sense the 10 represents the remnants or the echo of the previous theme, for as much as m. 12 marks a new   156 beginning, it also links to the past.57   Meanwhile, the numbers Bruckner writes for the second theme contrast with their usage in the first theme, and further illuminate the contrast between the two sections. In the Gesangsthema, Bruckner ensures that each group of numbers begins and ends with the repetition of the theme, or in other words group beginnings align with downbeats, whereas they do not in the second half of the first theme. There is sometimes overlap–the ending of one statement of the theme (m. 59) coincides with the start of another repetition and a new set of numbers, for instance–but the numbers in each case always begin with the start of the thematic material. This, then, reflects not only the repetition of the second theme, but also the ideas of stasis and regularity that are also prominent. One peculiarity with the numbers does occur around m. 85 in the middle of the “interlude” section (mm. 81–88). Rather than numbering the segment as a complete, individual group, the first four measures (mm. 81–84) are affixed to the end of the previous part, while the final four bars (mm. 85–88) are labelled as their own individual group. Given the predictable and regular numberings that precede this section, it would be logical to expect that mm. 81–88 would also be designated as a separate grouping. Yet Bruckner’s conception of the interlude seems different: the first four measures (mm. 81–84) are attached to the previous section, while mm. 85–88 are numbered individually 1 through 4. At m. 85, where the new group of numbers begins, both the cellos and basses drop out, while dynamically the music falls from mf down to pp. The sudden drop in dynamic level, combined with the thinning instrumentation gives these four bars an echo-like quality. Therefore, the numbering suggests that Bruckner thought of mm. 85–88 not as a continuation of the previous four measures but rather as a resonance or after-thought that !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 57 Bruckner applies this same numbering throughout the movement wherever the two phrases are repeated together. In the exposition, for instance, measure 34 is marked in the manuscript with a 10, as is measure 290 in the recapitulation.    157 arises from the end of the last phrase. Viewed in this light, Bruckner’s numbering does not represent an interruption of the interlude passage but instead maintains the regularity of numbering that has been consistent up to this point in the second theme.58  As the numbers of the third theme were discussed above, we need only summarize their effect here, but suffice to say the numbers similarly reflect the character of the theme. In the first and second theme groups, the length of numbered sections is generally consistent; the first theme, for instance, consists of longer groups all over 8 measures in length, while in the Gesangsthema only two 4-bar sets are set among six others that are also all longer than 8 measures. Contrastingly, the third theme consists of a mixture of long and short number groups, which are all mixed together. The sizes of the sections vary widely, as 8 measures are followed by 4, then 10, next 2 more 4-measure segments, and finally an 8 and another 4-measure division; the numbers thus emphasize the irregularity of the theme group. Additionally, as in the second theme the sections of numbers all start at clearly defined points that correspond to changes in thematic material, further highlighting the contrast between different parts of the theme. As a whole, then, the numbers for the exposition highlight the evolution of the themes at the small-scale level.  The Development & Recapitulation ! The development begins after a double bar line in m. 165, and proceeds with a highly ordered presentation of each of the themes, in the same sequence in which they first !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!58 Bruckner also appears to interrupt the ending of the next section (mm. 99–102 of mm. 89–102) with a new set of numbers; mm. 89 to 101 are labeled 1 through 10, while the last bars (mm. 99–102) are indicated 1 through 4. In this instance, however, the final measures more clearly contrast with the first section, both motivically and in instrumentation. An alternate set of numbers, 3 to 6, also appear in the manuscript above the 1–4 in mm. 99–102, further suggesting that Bruckner always conceived of the section as consisting of two parts.     158 appeared.59 Inversion is widely used throughout, as becomes evident with the emergence of the first theme now rising and then falling, rather than vice-versa. The melody begins in B major, but only the first part appears, as a fragment of the third theme interjects in the flutes (m. 171–2). A repetition of the phrase follows, though now in the minor; a change through which Bruckner gradually modulates away from B minor towards D minor, marking the introduction of the second subject. Overall, the first theme retains the lyrical quality from the start of the movement, but the placement of the melody in the clarinets and oboes, together with the chordal accompaniment of the trombones, gives the passage a more reverential and introspective character. The pace of the section likewise changes, recalling the slow movement of a symphony.   The development of the second theme consists primarily of altering the melody so that it, like the first theme, descends rather than ascends. The theme is first heard twice in the original form (mm. 185–192), in the cellos and next echoed in the violins. The initial motive then starts again in the cellos and in d minor (m. 193 and following), but now the inverted form is followed by the original form, which leads to an extended, drawn out presentation of this part of the theme that concludes in m. 210. After this passage, the concluding part of the theme returns (such as in mm. 58–59), appearing inverted in the violins (m. 210 and following). In general, the development of the Gesangsthema has a different character than in its first occurrence. Quite different from the lyrical quality first associated with the theme, there is now a more solemn and mournful quality to the music, due in part perhaps to the falling rather than rising motives. Despite this, however, an increase in energy begins with !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 59 Brown notes that this is perhaps the most organized development found in Bruckner’s music. See Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 263. Phipps likewise notes the orderly approach to each of the themes, which appear in succession subjected to a variety of “learned” techniques. See Phipps, “Bruckner’s Free Application of Strict Sechterian Theory,” 242.   159 the establishment of the final part of the theme in m. 210. While the inverted theme still descends, it rises each time the motive is repeated, and the bass line likewise moves up by half steps, passing from G all the way up to C, before resolving to E minor in m. 219 through a B dominant 4/3 chord (m. 218).  The increase in energy assists in driving the music forward into the more animated third theme, the emergence of which is now much more subdued than in the exposition, where a climactic force induced its arrival. Now, only the initial string motive (mm. 123 on) appears, inverted in the cellos and basses and with the original form played in the flutes. From this, a melody based on the original descending woodwind motive (also mm. 123 on) emerges in m. 221 on the upper strings, while another alteration appears starting two measures later. The music begins to fade as the texture becomes more homophonic, and once again, rather than a grand outburst, the energy of the theme diminishes. Kurth also takes note of this trend, writing that all three parts help to prepare the stillness that appears in mm. 229–232, and that there is, in fact, a tension against the outbreak of forces.60  Up to this point, there is nothing particularly unusual about the development section, but this is not altogether unexpected given the freedom with which composers could expand on material within the section. Rosen indicates that one of the primary functions of the development is to explore the possibilities of melodic material through thematic transformation.61 Hepokoski and Darcy further note that late eighteenth-century and later sonatas feature a development that most frequently serves as a “working-out” of expositional material and that usually move through a variety of tonal areas.62 While Bruckner’s !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 60 Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 988.  61 Rosen, Sonata Forms, 262.     160 transformation of the themes is limited mainly to inversion, he does alter the melodic material and explore different tonal areas like D minor (m. 185) and E minor (m. 219).  However, the second half of the development raises further questions. With a striking change of mood, an outbreak of force marks the return of the first theme (m. 233), which begins with double imitations of the main motive in C minor, though this is still the development and not yet the recapitulation. A few repetitions of the theme lead to forceful descending thirds heard in almost the entire orchestra, which comes to rest with a held A-flat moving down to a G. This leads back to C minor, and the mood calms once again, with the original form of the first theme appearing alongside its inversion (m. 249). Notably, Phipps argues that the recapitulation actually begins here, at m. 249, even though the passage is still in C minor. He contends that nineteenth-century conceptions of form are based primarily on thematic materials and, therefore, argues that the return is prepared in two steps.63 First, C minor is established “through its diatonic circle of fifths and dominant pedal point” in mm. 226–232, and secondly, C minor is “given thematic status by means of a restatement of the inverted first subject from the beginning of the development … played by full orchestra at fortissimo [starting at m. 233].”64 The actual recapitulation, according to Phipps, is identified by the return of the initial form of the first subject and the re-establishment of the nine-measure phrase that was present at the beginning of the movement.65 While most analysts believe the recapitulation begins later, Phipps’ reasoning again highlights the difficulties !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!62 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 195–196.   63 Phipps notes that, for example, A.B. Marx used his descriptions of “fourth-“ and “fifth-rondo form” to establish his idea of Sonata form. See Phipps, “Bruckner’s Free Application of Strict Sechterian Theory,” 257, note 37.   64 Ibid., 247.   65 Ibid.   161 sometimes present in ascribing standardized forms to Bruckner’s music. If, however, we follow the unfolding of the music, another explanation for this part of the development can be established, one that will also illustrate how Phipps’ recapitulation is better labelled according to different terminology.   Going back first to the end of the exposition (m. 153 and following), B major definitively arrived as a legitimate key, with the next section revealing the implications of the establishment of this new tonal area. Here Bruckner presents a new or reimagined world, where things have quite literally been turned upside down, a concept exemplified by the inverted motives. Similarly, as has been described above, the new explorations of the themes, in conjunction with other methods like changes in instrumentation, creates a new sonic environment. The first theme, for instance, becomes more mysterious, while the second has a more sorrowful character about it. In each of the three themes, then, Bruckner guides us on completely new excursions, where entirely new possibilities are opened up.   Further, the development of each subject progresses along a similar path, with an inverted arrangement of the melody preceding a section that fades away rather than builds to a climax. This, in part, helps to explain the sudden fortissimo introduction of the first theme in C minor at m. 233. As mentioned, Kurth believes the development of all three themes work together to create a tension against the force of an outbreak, and the eruption of C minor at m. 233 and return of the first theme is, then, the trigger that releases and discharges the accumulated tension.66 Furthermore, Kurth also suggests that this moment is an !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!66 The tension against an outbreak exists because in the exposition, each theme gradually built to a climactic moment; the first theme at measure 38, the second at measure 119, and the third at measure 145. Therefore, the exposition creates certain expectations, which are then altered in the first half of the development. Each of the themes again build, but the energy they create is nowhere near the level found in the exposition, and each fades before a climax is reached. As a result, the themes imply they are working towards a high point, but all in turn subvert such a moment; this, in conjunction with the expectations created during the exposition, creates the “tension” to which Kurth refers.   162 anticipation of the recapitulation, with its forceful reiteration of the first theme.67 Taking Kurth’s idea a step further, one might suggest that the music from m. 233 on represents an attempt of the movement to return to the tonic. While it forcefully breaks away from the dominant key in an attempt to return to E major, instead it “misfires” and lands in C minor. It is notable that this also helps to delay the arrival of the tonic, for this ties in to Jackson’s view of the movement as a gradual crystallization of the definitive tonic arrival (DTA). He argues that this section serves a key structural function in the progression toward the DTA, by forming the starting point for an ascending arpeggiation, from the C here, through the putative tonic E in m. 281, to the G of the third theme in m. 363, that aids in avoiding the tonic until later in the movement. Jackson further notes that,  [the] harmonic motion C–G (E+: bVI–bIII, mm. 232–363) can be regarded as an  unusual “auxiliary progression” interpolated within the background V–bIII–I in order  to delay the “crystallization” of I. We might say that the E associated with the reprise  “anticipates” DTA without realizing it.”68  The importance of this moment is also highlighted by the appearance of the sharpest dissonant chord, where on a fff in m. 241 a B-flat, D-flat, F, and A-flat appear over a C pedal.69 This emphasizes even more how far the music is yet from any resolution and thus, unsuccessful in its attempts to restore the original order, the energy of the first theme is dispersed, and we arrive at the moment Phipps believes is the recapitulation.  Given the signs, it is perhaps better to label this new section as a kind of compensation that attempts to correct the sudden appearance of the first theme in fff and the “wrong” key, rather than as a recapitulation proper. The previous section (mm. 233–248), !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!67 Kurth, Bruckner, 2 vol., 988.   68 Jackson, “Brucknerian Models,” 159. The G major of the third theme in measure 363 will be explored in further detail later in this chapter.   69 Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 989.   163 given its immense outburst, the attempt to delay the tonic arrival, and the highly dissonant chord, suggests that further development needs to be completed. Starting in m. 249, the original form of the first theme returns, combined with the inverted motive in an atmosphere more reminiscent of the opening. The second part of the theme now also reappears, but rather than viewing these returns as a recapitulation, we can regard them as another attempt to bring about the final resolution of the developmental section. The interruption of the inverted theme with C minor alone did not work, and so here the original form of the motive is combined with these elements in a second attempt to bring about change.  This section, after rehearsal letter N (m. 249), brings a feeling of relaxation following the preceding outburst, yet even still there is a tension underlying the music. Previously, apart from the outburst at m. 233, the accompaniment to the first theme was largely homophonic. To be sure, that style of accompaniment is still present at rehearsal M (m. 233), but the imitations of the inverted motive make the passage more contrapuntal. At m. 249, the original form of the first theme appears initially against an inversion and is then pitted against a countermelody in the first violins beginning a few measures later (m. 251). As a new element of the theme, the melody creates tension; the countermelody rises above in a higher violin register, demanding our attention, and is broken up by rests, which contrasts with the unbroken, flowing main theme. In m. 261, the theme begins again, only this time a step up in d minor, further adding to the underlying quality of anxiety present in this section. Next, the woodwinds repeat a four-note pattern that reaches higher and higher in range, and the first violin follows with a variation of the motive. The continual attempt by this motive to move higher in the register again increases the tension, but the music eventually settles on an E-flat seventh chord in m. 277, and in a compact four bars, presents the original and inverted   164 forms of the first theme along with an abbreviated version of the countermelody. The development is perhaps the section that follows the expectations of sonata form most closely, but as the above discussion has shown, even here there are arguments regarding Bruckner’s construction of the middle of the movement.  After the four measures of the E-flat harmony (mm. 277–280), a sudden shift to E major marks the beginning of what most scholars argue is the recapitulation (m. 281, see Example 3.5 below). For the first time, both the original and inverted forms of the theme are presented at the same time rather than in imitation, the tonic E major has returned, and the tension from the previous section is alleviated.70 Even here, however, there are questions with regards to the form, for the return to E is not definitive as a dominant preparation is avoided.71 Furthermore, as Simpson notes, there is a shift away from the tonic toward B major in m. 287, which then causes “the biggest crisis of the movement” as the music begins to “drift into dark mysterious modulations.”72 When taken into consideration with the dual presentation of the theme, much of this section sounds more like another variation than it does as a recapitulation of the opening. The notion of the first theme as a type of variation gives some indication as to what is happening with the moments in this section of the movement. As the themes have been heard multiple times, there is no longer a sense of newness associated with them. At the same time, however, Bruckner still finds novel ways to treat the themes so that we do not experience the thematic material as being merely recapitulated. For example, the shimmering violins and flute playing the inverted theme add another component to the lower strings that were themselves key in the opening measures of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 70 Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 263.   71 Phipps, “Bruckner’s Free Application of Strict Sechterian Theory,” 248.   72 Simpson, Essence of Bruckner, 147.   165 Example 3.5 – Symphony 7/1, lead up to and entry of recapitulation, mm. 277–279         166 Example 3.5 (cont.), mm. 280–282  the symphony. Likewise, the theme is heard in its entirety only once before it stalls and the first four bars of the theme are repeated three times. This final part, from rehearsal P (m. 303), gives the impression of coming to a standstill from the repeated statements of the partial theme, yet there is still unrest as the theme slowly rises higher in range each time. If   167 examined as part of a sonata form, this moment may not follow conventional conceptions of a recapitulation, but examined on its own it begins to come into focus. Having transitioned at the end of the exposition to B major, the goal of the movement is now to re-establish E and to reassert the dominance of the first theme. The shift back to the tonic in m. 281, that coincides with simultaneous playing of the original and inverted forms of the first theme, sees one of the most powerful efforts to maintain control here, yet it is still unsuccessful. As the attempt fails, B major tries to reassert its dominance, yet that also fails and the music is forced to, in Simpson’s terms, drift, giving the other themes another opportunity to return.73  The return of the second theme also does not establish the tonic, even through an extended section that comes to a remarkable climax. Starting in E minor, the second theme at first follows a harmonic path similar to its initial appearance.74 Up to m. 334, the character and sound of the theme are also strikingly similar to the opening. Measures 319–326 retain a calm and peaceful mood, while the following section (mm. 327–334) is again weightier in nature, with a greater seriousness. Despite the similar temperament of the opening, however, there are several alterations. The horn and trumpet accompaniment (mm. 51–59), for instance, shifts to the flutes, while the melody now appears only in the clarinets.75 Additionally, a pizzicato motive appears twice in the violins, in mm. 323 and 325. The repetition starting in m. 327 also begins with the theme in the cellos and basses, but the texture is thicker with the addition of a horn accompaniment (m. 327 and following), and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 73 Ibid. It is also interesting compare m. 302 with the first occurrence of this material in m. 24. Whereas in m. 24 a dominant in the last half of the measure leads back to E major, in m. 302 an F-sharp dominant seventh chord implies that B major may be confirmed. However, Bruckner avoids the cadence, instead moving to a D major dominant seventh chord in m. 303.   74 Simpson argues that the modulations of the previous theme tilt the “tonal balance” so that this E minor functions more as the dominant of A minor than a reference to the tonic. See Ibid., 148.   75 The accompaniment figure also appears in the first clarinets starting in measure 322.    168 flutes and clarinets doubling the melody (mm. 330–334). The violins, meanwhile, change from supplying counter-melodies (see in particular mm. 59–63) to providing staccato accompanimental figures (mm. 329–334).  For the next 28 measures (mm. 335–362), the music twice builds to what Simpson argues is the brink of the dominant B, as though this is its final attempt to maintain supremacy.76 The two segments denoted by Simpson (mm. 335–342 and mm. 343–362) certainly reach a sense of grandeur, bearing a resemblance to a dramatic moment in an adagio.77 Even without recognizing the harmonic significance that Simpson acknowledges, the impression of the passage is one of great intensity, as though something critical is happening. Furthermore, while the second theme also came to a climax in the exposition, the character here is quite different and again emphasizes the way in which Bruckner continues to explore new avenues with the thematic material. Beginning at rehearsal R (m. 335), for instance, the texture gradually becomes more expansive as more instruments are added, and a quick sixteenth-note motive appears in the first violins and violas, filling in an extra layer of activity complementing the longer, drawn-out second theme by alternating with its own prevalent turn motive. Slight connections are also drawn to the first theme, for as Kurth observes, the sixteenth-note pattern introduced here bears similarities to a motive in the first violins at m. 288.78 The combination of motives from different themes, the added numbers of instruments, and the gradual crescendo all unite to increase the emotional impact of the passage. This perception is heightened further at m. 343, as the sixteenth-note motive in the !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 76 Ibid. Simpson does not provide measure numbers, but says there are two waves that build toward the dominant B. Given this information, it is conceivable that he is referring first to mm. 335–342, which ends on a B-flat seventh chord, and mm. 343–362, which ends with an F-sharp.   77 Kurth also notes the resemblance to an Adagio; see Bruckner, vol. 2, 992.   78 Ibid.   169 violins and violas reaches ever higher and the theme is repeated at a ff in its inverted form with additional support from the brass.  Suddenly, the climactic passage drops in m. 351 to a pp, leaving only the strings playing in hushed tones. Once again, however, the music gradually builds until the second theme itself begins to break down and the violin’s sixteenth motive becomes prominent. At this particular moment in bar 359, B major also makes a final attempt to break through. A C-sharp minor chord leads to a sustained F-sharp in mm. 361–362, where embedded between two F-sharp major chords a repeated B-major triad is heard. The reappearance of B, along with a flurry of violin notes in the extreme high end of their register, suggests that the key may finally become dominant.!Bruckner’s numbering in the score also accentuates the importance of this moment. Whereas the previous section was broken into phrases each eight bars long (mm. 335–350), here the entire segment is numbered as one twelve-measure unit (mm. 351–362). One might have expected Bruckner to split the section into 4+8 bars, dividing the first four measures from the entrance of the theme in the woodwinds. As a result, Bruckner envisaged this not a conglomeration of multiple moments, but he instead meant for the entire passage to be considered as a whole, thereby giving the section added emphasis.  The third theme, however, enters in G major at m. 363 and rescues the movement from the grasp of B major. The return of the theme is light and playful at first, similar to its first appearance; the exotic dance-like characteristic is maintained, along with a slower harmonic motion. The moments do not give rise to anything particularly unexpected here, and the ensuing familiarity is used to gradually lead the music back to E major. The first hints of a return appear at m. 371, with the introduction of E-flat, and m. 375, where A major-minor is established with E as the dominant. The arrival of A launches an upward   170 thrust with all instruments soon joining in, but rather than leading to a climax as in the exposition, the music suddenly descends and gradually slows. An F pedal materializes as the strings continue to descend and, finally, in m. 391, an E is attained. As if to mark the significance of this event, in his numbering Bruckner does not include the E with the previous descent or the entrance of the next theme. Rather, he gives the note its own two-bar phrase, perhaps echoing the opening moments of the symphony where an E-G-sharp dyad appeared alone.79   While at first the E receives its own two-measure phrase, the note continues for the rest of the symphony as a tonic pedal. As the note quietly reverberates in the timpani, the second half of the first theme softly enters, preparing the way for the triumphal coda. At rehearsal X (m. 413), the final climax begins and Bruckner emphasizes only the E major chord and the opening of the first theme from this point until the end. Brown contends that these final moments should be a powerful confirmation of the tonic, but that they actually lose some of their potency. As the tonic chord is continually repeated over so many measures, Brown believes that the chord squanders the effect and is no longer convincing by the end of the movement.80 However, as the goal of the movement has been achieved, the exact purpose of these final moments is to surround and flood the listener with the “light” of E major and the sound of the victorious theme. Kurth, in fact, describes the continual emphasis of one key here as a radiating, concentric flooding light, which gives a sensation of the infinite.81 The repetition of the same harmony and theme envelops the listener; there are !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 79 While E is reasserted here, Timothy Jackson argues that the Kopfton 5ˆ , or B, is prolonged until the beginning of the coda (measure 413), where it descends to 1. See Jackson, “Brucknerian Models,” 159.   80 Brown, Symphonic Repertoire, vol. 4, 264.  81 Kurth, Bruckner, vol. 2, 994.   171 no more expectations of twists or turns here, and one is free to revel in the sound.  That Bruckner once again eschews traditional ideas of sonata form by delaying the final resolution of the tonic until the coda further illustrates how a moment analysis can be useful. The idea of the DTA and sonata deformation provides one potential escape for analyzing the recapitulation, but these theories focus on Bruckner’s tonal moves to the exclusion of everything else. While the effort to reestablish the tonic is indeed important in the final part of the movement, there is much happening motivically as well. As discussed above, the themes reappear, and each in order at that, but at