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"I admire paintings just as much as music," Claude Debussy (1862-1918) wrote in a 1911 letter to composer Edgar Varèse (1883-1965) when he was approaching 50 years old and had a plethora of new compositions under his belt and many more to come. In the mid-nineteenth century, Schumann, also a critic and journalist like Debussy, said, "The painter can learn from a Beethoven symphony, just as the musician can learn from a work by Goethe." Debussy must have thought that a painting, at least a major one, conveyed to the observer something intangible and "inexpressible." The French composer wanted to paint pictures with tones, to create visions that had not yet been recorded in music, and to the extent that his music progressed in a way that resembled that of a painter like Monet, it was unavoidable that he would be identified with the Impressionist movement. But Debussy scowled at the name, just as he scowled at the label of Symbolist. In actuality, his aversion to the designations Impressionism and Symbolism originated from his strong desire to avoid being labeled. Debussy's contemporaries were well aware of the composer's wish to be linked with the visual arts. "Judging by his works, and by their titles, he is indeed a painter, and that is what he wants to be," his close friend René Peter observed. His works are referred to as images, sketches, prints, arabesques, masques, and black-and-white studies. It's clear that painting in music is a joy for him." "His music created mysterious resonances within us, evoking a longing at the core for a poetry that only he could fulfill," painter Maurice Denis said. There seems to be something old being operated upon in just about everything innovative. There was always the pianistic heritage of Chopin and Liszt in Debussy's piano works. He molded, reconfigured, and added highly original fragrances to the ingredients at hand, much like an imaginative chef, to create a stunning new pianistic meal. In the field of harmony, he pioneered new-old paths, evoking ancient eras through the use of octaves, fourths, and fifths. Images, Book II, L 111 The bells of the church steeple in the village of Rahon in Jura, France, inspired "Cloches à travers les feuilles" said Louis Laloy, a close friend of Debussy and his first biographer, who was born in Rahon. "Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fut" (And the moon descends on the temple that was) dedicated to Laloy. Laloy, a sinologist, offered the title, which conjures up images of East Asia. The composition is reminiscent of Indonesian gamelan music, which influenced Debussy notably. An image of a golden fish in Chinese lacquer artwork or needlework, or on a Japanese print, may have inspired "Poissons d'or." According to other reports, it was possibly inspired by real goldfish swimming in a bowl. Préludes, Book II, L 123 At the Paris premiere of The Firebird in the summer of 1910, Debussy and Igor Stravinsky met for the first time; the two composers maintained a close friendly friendship until Debussy died in 1918. Although Stravinsky admired Debussy (who was 20 years his senior), the two composers did influence each other. The second book of Préludes tends to be much more adventurous than the first. The principle of polytonality, as an example, is at the core of the foggy Brouillards (Fog, No. 1): in the left hand, C major crosses D-flat major in the right. As in Volume I, there are still some very programmatic pieces, such as the habanera-like Puerto del vino (The Wine Gate, No. 3) or the virtuoso Feux d'artifice (Fireworks, No. 12), which features a final ode to the French national anthem. However, Book II as a whole is more esoteric and, even at times, frightening, with some pieces providing intriguing and abstract portrayals of circumstances or personalities. For example, a newspaper article on King George V's coronation as Emperor of India inspired La Terrasse des Audiences du Clair de Lune (The Terrace of the Audiences of Moonlight, No. 7). A chromatic descending line comes from the quiet first chords, helping to build a wide soundscape against the gong-like basses. Debussy employs a lot of chordal parallel movements here (as well as in Feuilles Mortes N. 2 and Canopes, No. 10) that heightens the drama and, by inverting our expectations, sheds an unsettling, if not macabre, light on an event that we might typically associate with pomp and ceremony. Ondine (No. 8) is inspired by a mythical character who has also been depicted in literature and art, such as Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid (1837). Given that Debussy's colleague Maurice Ravel produced his own version as part of his Gaspard de la Nuit triptych, this prelude is fascinating to explore. The dazzling flutter of the chordal accompaniments and subsequently, the magnificently turbulent arpeggios of breaking waves depict the more dramatic side of the character in Ravel's Ondine. Ondine is revealed to be a creature of enticing beauty as well as stunning power. Debussy adopts a different approach, with calmer ocean waves and a more joyous mermaid, as evidenced by the leaping tone clusters at the beginning. But that is not to imply that Debussy's Ondine is a one-dimensional character. The mermaid's charm is highlighted by the fast and delicate transitions between light and shade. |
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