Jeffrey Alan Ohlmann

Author’s preface

I have been a brass player for going three-and-a-half decades. I have not kept track of what works by David Maslanka I may have played or heard, and I will say honestly that despite the accolades for his music, nothing really had made a lasting impression on me. That changed in the summer of 2018 when I had occasion to perform his only brass quintet, Arise!. Written in 1996 on commission by the Denver-based Aries brass quintet, musically it seemed unlike any of his larger wind ensemble pieces I had previously performed. The piece was quite difficult, and in my preparations I was compelled not just to practice my own part, but to study the score and try to come to an understanding of how it was put together. (You may read my resultant remarks about Arise! in a program note prepared for Neoteric Chamber Winds.) That project gave me a new appreciation of David Maslanka, that while I might not like all of his music all of the time, I do not doubt that there may be craft and skill in the composition.

Only a few weeks later, I found myself preparing his Symphony No. 10 for performance by St. Paul-based wind ensemble Grand Symphonic Winds. Not unlike my experience with Arise!, on the first playing of the symphony I did not understand its musical structure or content. My primary reaction to it was to say it was “the most opaque piece of musical composition” I’d come across in a long time. I again felt compelled to try to come to an understanding of the piece. This has involved repeated listenings, examining the score (as much as this is possible through electronic means), and compiling facts about and commentary from David Maslanka himself regarding previous pieces.

Such a studious approach, however, is not practical for the general audience member. (Nor, it could be argued, should it ever be necessary for basic appreciation of a piece; but that is a topic for another time.) But I do not shy away from my first assessment of this symphony: it is somewhat opaque, and not a typical example of a symphony; and it is my opinion that the casual listener who is not steeped in Maslanka’s ouvre will benefit from some remarks that go beyond the generalities found in a shorter program note. I have two hopes for the pages that follow: one, that they will provide a foothold for a listener who is hearing the piece for the first time and trying to make purely musical sense of it; and two, that I may have some insights to offer on possible deeper understanding of what lies behind the notes themselves.

Jeffrey A. Ohlmann, 12 October 2018

Introduction

Much of Western art music composition since the 1700s has been organized around the paired principles of departure and return, of familiarity and contrast, and of tension and release. The aesthetic appreciation of music, and the journalistic practice of music criticism (when it came into being in the 1800s), could judge a musical composition by how satisfactorily it fulfills, subverts, or surprises when measured against these criteria. In the later nineteenth and into the twentieth century, a new duality emerged: the success or quality of a work of art was judged according to how well it both/either was the deeply personal expression of the artist, and/or was an expression of “universal truths.” As the twentieth century progressed, a different duality evolved: on the one hand an even deeper emotionalism; on the other, increasing abstraction and a devotion to a musical system itself, for itself. In the twenty-first century, we may have to evaluate a piece in either or both of two ways: first, by what that piece brings to us of itself: its discernible properties, the qualities that can be heard, sensed, and generally agreed upon by anyone who listens—we might call this “materials” and “craft;” and second, by what the piece reflects back at us: what we believe we can sense or ascribe of ourselves in it—this we can call the “art” of the piece. This latter property, of course, is by nature individualized, though we may assert that the truly great works of art are capable of reflecting something that we find in common with one another. In this review and critique, I will seek to comment on the noteworthy materials and craft, and consider what are the artistic interpretations of the piece.

Musical antecedents in Maslanka’s work

While any great work of art should be able to stand fully on its own, it can be useful to know something about the composer (artist) and any prior works in the same genre. For a very general overview of Maslanka’s previous symphonies, see A rough survey of the symphonies of David Maslanka. As a composer for fifty years, Maslanka of course has an identifiable style (though I find that, unsurprisingly, it evolved and took a particular turn perhaps sometime around 2004), but beyond generalities there are a number of specific elements found in Symphony No. 10 that can be traced back to previous appearances in his earlier symphonies. In addition to the nine symphonies, two other works for wind ensemble bear inclusion: Mass for Wind Ensemble, Soprano and Baritone Soli, SATB Chorus, Children’s Chorus, and Requiem for Wind Ensemble.

Mass (1996) is a large work (95 minutes performance time) and follows the traditional mass structure and texts, but with additional movements interspersed as preface or prelude to each regular mass movement, with new texts by poet Richard Beale. Any musical features notwithstanding, this work is noteworthy as a major manifestation of Maslanka’s “Holy Mother”-inspired pieces, of which the tenth symphony is another example. (Expansion on this theme follows later in this review.)

Requiem (2013) is a shorter work (11′) and not a requiem mass in the traditional sense, but “a single-movement fantasia.” Commentary provided by Maslanka says this piece was “written in response to an event of the Holocaust in World War II. It is not possible truly to grasp the deaths of millions of people, but the death of one, in this case a year-old baby – brought me face-to-face with the horror and revulsion of the whole” (http://davidmaslanka.com/works/requiem-2013-11, accessed 2018-10-18). Extramusical inspiration or associations aside, Requiem is possibly the most musically-similar composition that precedes Symphony No. 10.

David and Matthew Maslanka’s personal background to Symphony No. 10

The genesis of the piece clearly is rooted in strong emotions: Alison Matthews, wife to David and mother to Matthew, was dying of an immune disorder. David Maslanka then was diagnosed with cancer, and himself died only a month after Alison. Acting on his father’s wishes, Matthew—a qualified musician himself and long-time musical assistant to his father—undertook completion of the piece using what materials had been left by David, either whole or in draft/sketch form. David Maslanka already was a spiritual person well before the end of his life, and frequently sought to impart this spirituality into his music. By his own writing, we know that this tenth symphony is no different, as he speaks of mediation and “images” that came to him as he prepared to begin the work:

The work began as always with meditation: “show me something I need to know about the piece I am going to write.” Here is the first image that came:

The Holy Mother takes me sliding down a rocky mountain slope, all loose small rocks. It’s a wild stony country, very little vegetation, many beautiful colors in large rock formations, brilliant sun. We find a large pool nestled among tall vertical rock faces. The water is turquoise blue. We go into the pool and swim/flow downward, rising again toward a circle of light. At the surface is a “divine” place of craggy multicolored rock faces. A voice speaks my name and says, “you are ready, receive what wants to come through…We are here. You go and do.”

And the second from a few days later:

I am met by the Holy Mother in the guise of an 18-year-old Swiss farm girl – blond, pretty, traditional dress. I am shown various views of the earth and the oceans. The earth is clean, the oceans are clean. Humans have come into balance with the earth and are happy. The farm girl shows me a farm full of milk cows. The world is still technological but we are living an agrarian life, I am shown a large beautiful auditorium where music is being made. The girl thanks me for what I have done to make this new world possible. This is an odd thought for me to accept.

(http://davidmaslanka.com/works/symphony-no-10-the-river-of-time/, accessed 2018-09-11)

This “holy mother” concept dates to at least 1996, when Maslanka mentions such a figure in relation to the composition of his Mass: “Almost from the start of my thinking about the Mass, I was moved to include the “female creative,” or the “Holy Mother,” an image which has arisen in many forms in my meditative life” (http://davidmaslanka.com/works/mass, accessed 2018-09-30). This vision is, in effect, the personification of his creative  muse. He spoke further of this in an interview in 2002:

One of the really strong images that has come into my awareness over the past 15 years, that is just before we moved to Montana, and then very vividly in Montana itself, is the image of what I would call the Holy Mother. In traditional terms, this is the “feminine creative.” In religious history you have the figures of Sophia and Mary, both profound images are identified with the unconscious, which is the source of creative flow. I have been given a direct vision of what I now call the “Holy Mother” and refer daily to this inner image for a sense of now to proceed with any creative task. My visualization is not always in the form of a human figure, because the power that drives the visualization is not limited to human form. The awareness of what I will call the “mother-  creative” is an internal path that connects conscious mind with deep intuition.

(Beth Antonopulous, “David Maslanka,” in A Composer’s Insight, volume 2, edited by Timothy Salzman. Galesville, MD: Meredith Music Publications, 2004, 96).

So we have a spiritually-motivated man, first facing the death of his wife of 36 years, and then suddenly facing also his own mortality; and later, we have the now-parentless son, seeking to bring to completion the father’s last artistic endeavor. One almost could not think of a more emotionally-charged scenario without involving also a murderer and a mistress. We need not merely intuit this, for it is spelled out plainly in Matthew’s commentary about the piece:

Dad titled the completed first movement after his wife and my mother: “Alison.” He was writing as my mother was dying of an immune disorder in the spring of 2017. This movement may be seen through that lens, with bitter rage at the coming loss and a beautiful song full of love.

….The second movement’s title, “Mother and Boy Watching the River of Time,” comes from my father’s final pencil sketch of the same name. It depicts two small figures sitting on a river bank in front of a forest and mountain foothills. The music is largely a transcription of the second movement of the euphonium sonata he wrote for me, Song Lines.

….The third movement became my response to the deaths of my mother and father. It is not what dad would have written; rather, it is a synthesis of my mind and his, colored by extraordinary pain and loss. I have named the movement after my father.

The fourth movement, “One Breath in Peace,” is the acceptance and ability to move forward after loss.

With knowledge of the compositional circumstances thus set, we turn our attention to the musical result—the composition itself.

Description of the work

Most, if not all, serious works of art have two primary aspects to be examined: the surface, which is what is directly perceived by the senses, and the structure, which is sometimes less directly perceptible but which must exist to give the piece shape, form, or direction. While the theoretician and true analyst will rightly assert that the structure of the work is what matters most, the surface is what is directly perceived by the audience upon hearing. The structure works its effects, and in a great work the structure will be sensed upon hearing even without deep analysis. In keeping with the objective of providing some measure of guidance or a “road map” for the casual listener, and not attempting a deep, scholarly analysis of the structure, in the following paragraphs I describe the most salient perceptible (audible) features of each movement, and then will follow with interpretations and finally a judgement rendered about the symphony as a work of art.

By titling a work as a “symphony,” certain general expectations in the listener are set:

• It will be a discernibly multi-movement work. There are obviously numerous variations and exceptions to this rule, some of them great exceptions, but for the purpose of generalization, it holds true.
• The first movement usually will have some musical “weight,” and may follow a general formal plan of an introductory section followed by a variation on the “sonata” of “first-movement” form established by the Classical period: exposition of one or more primary themes; development of the thematic material; recapitulation in some form; conclusion.
• There will be at least one, and more often two, interior movements. Either the second or the third movement will be generally slower or more somber in character, and the other one then will be faster or more vibrant in contrast.
• The concluding movement may have either even more musical/emotional weight than the first, or be a virtuosic demonstration by the composer/ ensemble.
• An especially pleasing symphony often will express a coherence among the movements, possibly through use of a unifying musical theme or themes.
• It may or may not have a descriptive subtitle or even a program that is expressly laid out by the composer in lesser or greater detail.

From the late nineteenth century onward, deviation from these norms is common. In the case of Maslanka’s 10th, we find these characteristics:

• There are four distinct movements.
• The first movement does not follow a typical “first-movement” formal plan.
• The  second movement is more similar than different to the first.
• The third movement is the most substantial of the four, and the most “symphonic” in character, and is contrasting in comparison to the first two.
• The concluding movement is similar to both the first and second movements.

Maslanka had departed from symphonic norms before; in particular the ninth symphony (2011) may be accused of having devolved into an extended fantasy on a number of chorale melodies rather than anything readily identifiable as a symphony. Among all of his symphonies, five movements is the most common, with the remainder split between three or four movements.

First movement description

The first movement is 175 measures in length, with a performance time of about 10 minutes. It is in two primary parts, an introduction (58 bars / 4 minutes) and the main body (117 bars / 6 minutes). The introduction is a long arc of upward motion that crests between mms. 30-38, then descends to m. 58. Generally, it is rhythmically free, with many fermatas. The sound is open, the harmonies spare, giving it a bleak, cold tone that is evocative of some of Shostakovich’s symphonies. (Maslanka professed a special appreciation for Shostakovich.) This initial section culminates in a fortissimo outburst that at first seems like it may be thematic and the start of the anticipated main body of a symphonic first movement, but this quickly fades away and the texture again thins and the forward motion is suspended. Finally, A new texture emerges, a pulsing, chordal accompaniment—familiar to Maslanka’s style—with a lyrical melody introduced by the alto saxophone.

Second movement description

The second movement is is 138 measures in length, with a performance time of about 9 minutes. It begins almost as a “take two” of the first movement, with a similarly thin, bleak opening. The initial statement is a chant-like melody, played by a solo flute, with a contour similar to Wir glauben all an einen Gott (“We all believe in one God”), a hymn tune by Martin Luther, the text a paraphrase of the Christian creed). This similarity may be either purely coincidental, or a deliberate pseudo-chorale, rather than a purposeful interpolation of this melody and its theological implications. The flute is interrupted repeatedly by a boisterous reed ensemble playing contrapuntal passages. The texture makes an abrupt shift to another Maslanka-signature, pulsing-chord accompaniment, overlaid with a flowing euphonium solo. Matthew Maslanka has written that this is largely a transcription of a “sonata” written by David for euphonium and piano.

(As an aside, the euphonium piece in question is titled Song Lines, and as of this writing, appears to be unpublished, and its precise date of composition is unknown to the general public. The Spring 2018 edition of Montana Music News, a publication of the Montana State Music Teachers Association, makes a passing reference to it: “[University of Montana faculty pianist] Steven Hesla….teamed up with Matthew Maslanka to present the World Premiere of David Maslanka’s ‘Song Lines’ for euphonium and piano in Portugal.” (https://msmta.com/wp-content/uploads/ 2018/03/MSMTA-Newsletter-Spring-2018.pdf, page 16, accessed 2018-09-11). The implied performance date is summer 2017. This performance is corroborated by an article appearing in the June 2017 edition of Der Nekarbote, The official gazette of the city Neckargemuend, Germany, the sister-city of MIssola, Montana. (“Steven Hesla: Ein Vater der Städtepartnerschaft,” Der Neckarbote Nr. 24, 18 June 2017, 9, https://www.lokalmatador.de/fileadmin/user_upload/Lokalmatador/ePaper/Pdf/neckargemuend_2018_24.pdf, accessed 2018-09-11).)

This relatively simple melody and accompaniment makes way for a more rhythmically active, syncopated tutti section. After building some momentum, like this first movement this energy gradually subsides and the previous euphonium melody returns. The movement is capped by a coda marked “very deliberate,” featuring a new type of chordal accompaniment now in the harp rather than piano, with a lopsided rhythm, over which a long-toned melody lingers in the alto saxophone and horn.

Third movement description

The third movement is 299 measures in length, with a performance time of about 15 minutes. This movement begins with a straightforward introduction (24 bars / 2 minutes)  that features the chorale melody Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier  (“Dearest Jesus, we are here”). The traditional chorale phrases are separated by various free-form vocalizations made by the instrumentalists. After a complete stanza of the chorale melody (plus a repeat of the final phrase), the body of the movement begins with a theme derived from the 2nd or 4th phrase of the original chorale. The overall effect of up to this point is evocative of the finale to Mendelssohn’s “Reformation” symphony, which employs Ein feste Burg (“A mighty fortress”)  in a somewhat similar manner.

The theme that continues the main body of this movement is bold and confident, unambiguously in a major mode. The chorale-derived theme is presented twice through the next 28 bars (about 2 minutes), first by a solo trumpet with piano chords, then by the whole ensemble with additional flourishes.

The next substantive section is a fairly conventional development on the chorale theme. The turbulence of this development is paused by a more relaxed, pulsing texture that introduces a new, lyrical theme. Heard first in the English horn, then the alto saxophone, it is answered by the ensemble with a counter statement. Swirling figures build and ultimately release the lyrical theme in its full form. This new melody features many repeated pitches in each phrase, a characteristic of a vocal melody with a text. Matthew Maslanka identifies this as a tune found in one of the musical sketches left by his father, labeled there as “The Song at the Heart of it All.” But if there is a text to this “song,” it is not given. The character of this melody is more like a folk song than a chorale. In his earlier works, David Maslanka invented folk-like melodies that intentionally simulate the style of actual folk melodies. Specifically, he spoke of the 7th Symphony as “…‘old songs remembered’. With one exception all the tunes are original, but they all feel very familiar” (http://davidmaslanka.com/works/ symphony-no-7, accessed 2018-09-28). Moreover, the ninth symphony uses a nearly identical theme in the fifth and final movement (Symphony No. 9, mvt 5: Fantasia on O Sacred Head Now Wounded, 14′ 30”).

The forward motion is halted by long unison tones, broken finally by a sharp strike on the piano. The low instruments of the ensemble murmur until a solo euphonium performs a full, nearly unaccompanied statement of the “song at the heart of it all” melody. Religious chords in the other low brasses add solemnity, leading to the recapitulation of the main chorale theme.

It is at this moment that the movement takes its most decisive turn from a conventional symphonic movement. Ordinarily, the recapitulation is affirmative, cementing the return of the primary theme(s) unadulterated, and—in a tonal work, at least—grounding the themes firmly in the original key. Here, however, as the chorale theme tries to assert itself, the euphonium bursts into the texture with what can only be described as primal, almost inhuman wailing. A second, dissonant key center grinds against the tonic of the chorale theme, denying us the resolution we expect.

Fourth movement description

The fourth movement is 144 measures in length, with a performance time of about 8 minutes. There is a brief (16 bars / 1 minute) introduction. From the first four notes of the movement, the overall melodic tendency is a downward line that settles on a sustained pitch. Like the first and second movements, the opening is comparatively sparse in texture and dominated by woodwind voices. The thematic material for this introductory section, though rhythmically obfuscated, is based on the melody of the chorale Jesu, der du meine Seele (“Jesus, you who are my soul”). As remarked earlier, the melody and the text of a chorale typically are intertwined. The first verse, in German and in English, is as follows:

Jesu, der du meine Seele Hast durch deinen bittern Tod Aus des Teufels finstern Höhle Und der schweren Seelennot Kräftiglich herausgerissen Und mich solches lassen wissen Durch dein angenehmes Wort, Sei doch itzt, o Gott, mein Hort!

Jesus, it is by you that my soul through your bitter death from the devil’s dark hell and the heavy pain of sin has been mightily snatched away, and you have made this known to me through your delightful word: be now, oh God, my stronghold.

http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Texts/Chorale022-Eng3.htm, accessed 2018-10-19.

After a brief pause, the texture shifts to a simple, continuous arpeggio pattern in the piano, with long, uncomplicated descending lines from a solo oboe, coming to rest each time on D. A subtle element that should  not to be overlooked in this same section is the pianississimo (ppp) pulsing of the bass drum. The section is in straight 4/4 time, but the drum stikes on two beats, then rests on one, repeating in this manner. The effect is incontrovertibly that of a heartbeat.

The introductory material returns at meas. 49, this time in muted brass, but now with an underlying dissonance in the harmonic support. Again like the first and second movement, the ensemble builds to an impassioned outburst, but this time it is somewhat more contained. The moment passes and the piano and oboe return, now in triple meter, but still generally trending downward and coming to rest. The woodwind choir from the very beginning returns for two brief imitative statements, and the movement concludes with a solo male voice and piano performing the final phrase of the chorale.

Interpretation

First movement interpretation

Knowing that the first movement is the only portion that was fully completed by David Maslanka prior to his death, and the title given to the movement of “Alison,” we can agree with Matthew’s statement given above that this movement is David’s combined love song, outrage at the universe, and farewell to his wife. The lyrical melody introduced by the solo alto saxophone has two key features: one, the first phrase consists of three notes—there are three  syllables in the name “Alison;” and two, the first phrase of the melody also is 6-bars—there are six letters in “Alison.” The following phrases are 5, 5, and 4 bars in length, the theme shortening as Alison Maslanka’s life was being shortened. Toward the end of the movement, the phrase lengths are the same, but the note values themselves have been abbreviated.

Second movement interpretation

The second movement follows a similar musical and emotional shape as the first. Between the title given by Matthew, “Mother and Boy Watching the River of Time,” and David’s inspirational “holy mother” or “female creative” figure, interpretation of this movement could go at least two ways. It is already established by the first movement title (and the known pre-musical context of the composition) that this symphony, at least as it started, is “about” the death of Alison. The “mother and boy” of this movement therefore could be construed as Alison and Matthew. This interpretation is further supported by the extended euphonium solo in this movement, the source of which Matthew has stated is a work written by David for him. This conclusion, however, is undermined by the fact that such an extended euphonium solo is not a unique feature to this David Maslanka work: both the third movement of Symphony No. 5 (2000) and the the fifth movement of Symphony No. 3 (1991) likewise feature this instrument in long, prominent solos—although the conception of those two symphonies also are on themes of loss and lament (http://davidmaslanka.com/works/symphony-no-5, accessed 2018-09- 28).

The alternative interpretation is that the “mother” is David’s “mother creative” and that he (David) is the boy. The “River of Time” could be all of time & creation, or life and family as David has experienced it, or David’s creative span alone. This notion is supported by the first “image” in the creative process for this symphony given above (“The Holy Mother takes me sliding down a rocky mountain slope….We find a large pool nestled among tall vertical rock faces. The water is turquoise blue”).

David Maslanka had previously remarked on water as a metaphor for life and concept of a life-energy that is both separate and at one with a particular lifespan. In the program note for Unending Stream of Life – Variations on All Creatures of Our God and King (2007) for Wind Ensemble, he wrote: “The title, ‘Unending Stream of Life,’ comes from the Vietnamese Buddhist monk and prolific author on Buddhist subjects, Thich Nhat Hanh. One statement of his stayed with me throughout the composition of this piece: ‘We are life. We are inextinguishable!’” (http://davidmaslanka.com/works/ unending-stream-of-lifewind-ens-2007-25, accessed 2018-10-17).

In a 2010 interview, he elaborated on this thought further:

Thich Nhat Hanh often uses the illustration of the ocean and the waves on the ocean. He says the ocean is life and the waves are the specific manifestation of that life. The wave is a separate thing and yet the wave is the ocean. So in our understanding of it, life is in the human body and each one of them is a manifestation of that human life. Not only do you not die, as it were, you simply do release this manifestation…you come to a certain point when life no longer sustains itself, but the energy which pushes it does not go away…it can’t. It moves onto whatever else it goes to and becomes over time something else and many, many more things more than likely. We don’t know what that is and yet that is the fundamental idea here that there is finally, no death as such…we do simply continue.

…I would like the option for something bigger and more complete….I think that personalities dissolve but the fundamental energy that drives every organism and drives the earth itself and drives the universe does not. So this is the thought that Thich Nhat Hanh was expressing. When you get that as the underlying thought, it is fundamentally hopefully and uplifting, as opposed to depressing and disastrous.

(Scott A. Hippensteel, A Study Of David Maslanka’s “Unending Stream Of Life”. DMA Dissertation, Ball State University: Muncie, Indiana, May 2011, 138-139.)

Third movement interpretation

Of the four movements, the third was the least-completed and least-sketched by David, and so there is by definition more of Matthew’s work  in the final product than David’s. Matthew has written that “the third movement became my response to the deaths of my mother and father. It is not what dad would have written; rather, it is a synthesis of my mind and his, colored by extraordinary pain and loss” (http://davidmaslanka.com/works/ symphony-no-10-the- river-of-time, accessed 2018-10-19).  The prominent use of the chorale Liebster Jesu, hier sind wir (sometimes wir sind hier; either way, “Dearest Jesus, we are here”) is simultaneously in the style of David and an homage to him. Matthew selected the melody of the 2nd and 4th phrase of this chorale as the first primary theme to this movement.

A key feature of any chorale is the marriage of the tune and text, such that invoking either one typically evokes the other. The text of the first stanza of Liebster Jesu with English translation is as follows:

Liebster Jesu, hier sind wir, deinem Worte nachzuleben: dieses Kindlein kommt zu dir, weil du den Befehl gegeben, daß man sie zu Christo führe; denn das Himmelreich ist ihre.

Dearest Jesus, we are here, gladly your command obeying. With this child we now draw near in response to your own saying that to you it shall be given as a child and heir of heaven.

Text & translation: https://hymnary.org/text/blessed_jesus_here_we_stand and https://hymnary.org/text/liebster_jesu_wir_sind_hier_deinem_worte, accessed 2018-10-12)

Between the two available texts for the 2nd and 4th phrases, “gladly your command obeying” and “in response to your own saying,” the first of the two texts offers more fertile ground for speculation about its place in the symphony.

In commentary for Symphony No. 5 (2000), David Maslanka stated that he was “not a Catholic, nor even a practicing Christian” (http://davidmaslanka.com/works/ symphony-no-5/, accessed 2018-10-13). Matthew Maslanka’s religious proclivities are not known. But by employing a chorale, Christianity is invoked and Christian beliefs necessarily then color any context in which it the chorale appears. According to typical Christian belief, the death of a loved one, especially when unexpected or tragic, is often described as “God’s will,” or, by extension, following God’s command. But there is often tension in the believer between his or her desire to adhere to the will of God, and the sorrow or anger felt at the worldly loss.

In the conclusion of the third movement, we hear this conflict in the harmonic clashes over the chorale theme. We also hear the dissonant wails by the solo euphonium. Throughout the symphony, there is temptation to assume that when the euphonium is featured prominently, it is a stand-in for Matthew himself, and the emotional tone of whatever music it plays is representative of Matthew’s own emotions. As noted above in the interpretation of the second movement, there are other instances of prominent euphonium solos in David Maslanka’s previous symphonies, which refutes this position. But on the other hand, Matthew has written that this movement is “his response” to the deaths of David and Alison. He also writes, “The restatement of the opening material [in the third movement], though at first comforting, becomes jarring and unsettled, rising to a dissonant roar. The euphonium soloist is left to scream, ‘why?!’ at [the] world that seems content to keep spinning” (http://davidmaslanka.com/works/symphony-no-10-the-river-of-time/). Indeed, the euphonium utterances at the end of the third movement are like the primal moans of some pre-verbal creature.

Fourth movement interpretation

David and/or Matthew’s use of the chorale Jesu, der du meine Seele has already been noted, and the first stanza quoted in the preceding description of the movement. But it is the final two stanzas that offer the most bearing on this movement in the overall emotional arc of the symphony:

Nun, ich weiß, du wirst mir stillen Mein Gewissen, das mich plagt. Es wird deine Treu erfüllen, Was du selber hast gesagt: Dass auf dieser weiten Erden Keiner soll verloren werden, Sondern ewig leben soll, Wenn er nur ist Glaubens voll. Herr, ich glaube, hilf mir Schwachen, Laß mich ja verzagen nicht; Du, du kannst mich stärker machen, Wenn mich Sünd und Tod anficht. Deiner Güte will ich trauen, Bis ich fröhlich werde schauen Dich, Herr Jesu, nach dem Streit In der süßen Ewigkeit.

Now I know you will quieten my conscience, that torments me. Your faithfulness will fulfill what you have said yourself: that on this wide earth no one should be lost but should live forever, if only he is full of faith. Lord, I believe, help my weakness, Let me never despair; You, You can make me stronger, when sin and death assail me. I will trust in Your goodness, until I joyfully see You, Lord Jesus, after the battle in sweet eternity

These texts, “Now I know you will quieten my conscience, that tortures me…Let me never despair” speak to Matthew’s description of this movement: “the acceptance and ability to move forward after loss.”

Judgement

As an example of “the symphony,” Maslanka’s tenth fails to satisfy many of the expectations normally set for the genre. The first and second movements are too similar in scope and arc, more alike in tone or mood than they are different. We could accept an entire first movement serving as an introduction to the rest of the larger work, but then we expect the second movement to be something different; and here it is not different enough. We are unsure now of the direction that the whole piece may be going. The third movement offers a more expected symphonic experience; As already noted, the introduction is similar to the final movement of Mendelssohn’s Reformation Symphony, and the rest of the movement follows a more-or-less typical three-part, exposition-development-recapitulation form as one would expect in a first movement of a conventional symphony. The final movement does serve adequately as a coda to the whole work, but again it has many similarities to the first and second movements, which dilutes its effectiveness.

If the work is not ultimately satisfactory as an example of the symphony, the question is left as to whether it is an effective composition sui generis. Can it stand alone, musically, without all the knowledge of the circumstances of its composition; or, is the piece too personal to allow audiences to experience it as anything other than biographical of its composers? Here, too, I think it falls short, and largely for the same reasons that it is not a good symphony. The similarity of movements 1, 2, and 4 is unrewarding. The comparative desolation of the movement openings, followed by the outbursts and return to quietness, are not viable without the extramusical background knowledge. The recapitulation of the third movement, with the primal cries of the euphonium/low brass and the jarring polytonal chords, likewise does not make musical sense without the knowledge of the events that inspired Matthew to complete the symphony in the way that he did.

The final question, then, is if it is not a good symphony, and not a great piece of music in and of itself, is it at least a successful monument and memorial to the life of David Maslanka? I think the answer now is yes. When all of the extramusical knowledge is taken into account—Alison’s illness and death, followed then by David, leaving the work incomplete; and then David’s request to Matthew that he finish the symphony—and when David Maslanka’s career and ouvre is surveyed, even from a distance, this symphony is brought into perspective, and the work does succeed. We can hear in the first movement David’s sorrow and love for his wife. We can hear in the third movement the anger and anguish of Matthew at the loss of his parents. And in the fourth movement we can feel these emotions calming, the passions returning to ground just as the melodies slowly descend and settle on long, sustained notes, undisturbed; and then, in the final moments of the piece, a simple evocation and tribute to David. It is a fitting eulogy to a composer whose  contributions to the world of wind instrumental music will continue to live on.

This material © 2018 Jeffrey A. Ohlmann. All rights reserved.