‘The Musical Language of Berlioz. Review Author[s}: James Ellis Music Analysis, Vol. 5, No. 2/3. (Jul. - Oct., 1986), pp. 270-280. ble URL: bttp://links jstor.org/sici?sici=0262-5245% 28198607 %2F 10%-295%3A2%2F3%3C270%3A TMLOB%3E2.0,CO%3B2-N ‘Music Analysis is currently published by Blackwell Publishing, ‘Your use of the ISTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR’s Terms and Conditions of Use, available at butp:/\vww jstor.orglabout/terms.huml. ISTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at hup:/wwww jstor-org/journalsblack hum Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the sereen or printed page of such transmission, JSTOR isan independent not-for-profit organization dedicated to ereating and preserving a digital archive of scholarly journals, For more information regarding JSTOR, please contaet support @jstor.org, upulwwwjstor.ore/ Wed Nov § 15:58:09 2006Schmalfeldt is perhaps a matter of emphasis rather than substance, and whereas Jarman’s quasi-tonal reading of a cadential structure as the kernel of a pitch-structure is seductive, Schmalfeldt’s approach has the merit of following the chronological sequence of the score. Perle’s analysis, with its progression from leitmotives to “basic cells, perhaps suggests (though does not achieve) the kind of graduated journey through increasingly abstract models of underlying structure I have proposed above, but I find his reading of the music drama no richer than Schmalfeldt’s; anyone with a serious interest will naturally read the work of all three authors Yale have produced the book well, with the co-operation of Universal Edition: its many analytical examples are, in the main, annotated fragments from the published vocal score, reproduced as large asis possible within the book’s traditional format. This i an important publication in many respects, already dated in some ways, but still a likely source of valuable debate and a landmark in the analysis of post-tonal music. Anthony Pople REFERENCES Forte, Allen, 1973: The Structure of Atonal Music (New Haven: Yale UP). — 1918: The Harmonic Organization of The Rite of Spring (New Haven: Yale UP). Hyde, Martha MacLean, 1981: review of Perle 1980, Jounal of the American ‘Musicological Society, Vol. 34, pp.573-87. Jarman, Douglas, 1979: The Music of Alban Berg (London: Faber and Faber). Perle, George, 1980: The Operas of Alban Berg, Vol. 1 (Berkeley: University of California Press), — 1982: reply to Hiyde 1981, Journal ofthe American Musicological Society, Vol. 35, pp.373-7. Jolin Rushton: The Music! Language of ero Cambridge: CUP, 198)xi+ 303pp. £27.50 There cannot be much disagreement today that the formal articulation of concrete musical objects constitutes an essential stage in the understanding of music, and that contemporary analytical activities as such are essential in attaining the elusive goal of a global (in the sense of comprehensive) musicology. I make this point, which may seem unnecessary for the readership of this journal, because such an approach has been noticeably absent from studies of large areas of nineteenth-century music, and perhaps from studies of the music of Berlioz in particular. Infact, Berlioz has suffered more than ‘most from adverse critical reaction to the quality, and even the competence, of his work, point which continually recurs in Julian Rushton’s book as he seeks to answer the criticisms by laying bare the foundations of his own belief in the music (an unusually confessional approach), and the vitriolic response to Berlioz may be due at least in part to the fact that the music does not always follow the accepted rules which lie at the bottom of conservatoire- and college-based education. The critics thus trained are denied their analytical birthright in dealing with this music, since their analytical and critical praxis is incapable of addressing the music adequately. If this is the case, as I believe, then an approach which deals with the music of Berlioz in conventional 270 Music aNaLysts 5:2-3, 1986REVIEWS terms (harmony, melody, form) runs the risk of a theoretical misorientation which is, unhelpful, to say the least. Equally, though differently, problematic is the tracing of torical influences, an activity which assumes a normative view of style in regarding it as a compilation of already-existing elements and thus ‘accounting for’ the clearly extraordinary qualities of the music. However, an approach which favours new perspectives may offer much greater possibilities of informativeness. Both of these venues are followed by Julian Rushton, in ways which will be considered in due course. One of the strengths of The Musical Language of Berl is the consistency and penetration with which Rushton surveys the existing writings on Berlioz’s music. While not concisely reviewed, the texts are used as points of departure for discussion, and ‘occasionally for corroboration, throughout the book. Thus, two composers pre-eminent in their times who have made observations on Berlioz’s music, Schumann and Boulez, are extensively quoted: Schumann’s essay on the Symphonie fantastigue is well known, in the English-speaking world especially since its publication in the excellent Norton Critical Score of the work (Cone 1971). Some of Boulez’s remarks, made inthe relatively informal atmosphere of the Conversations with Célestin Delidge, are interesting for their proposal of a way of describing the music based on concepts of space. Elsewhere, like Schumann, Boulez employs traditional terms to provide a critique of the music. ‘One ‘ight expect Schumann to adopt such an approach, but for Boulez to talk loosely of, ‘melody and harmony is rather surprising: “[Berlioz] invents melodies that contain certain references to Weber or to Beethoven, then harmonises them in an extremely clumsy way . ..;*. .. there are awkward harmonies in Berlioz that make one scream; it iseasy to sce that he picked out his chords on the guitar and could hear almost nothing? (Boulez 1976:20). There seem to me two ways of viewing these statements: either as a confusion of compositional and receptive elements (it is clear that there is no real ‘evidence for either statement), or as a colloquialism which was not intended as a formal theoretical statement at all. We probably cannot answer the question concerning the poiesis of these remarks; but the difficulties of taking informal comment as a theoretical base are obvious. I shall enlarge on this point, since so much of the Berlioz literature relies on anecdotal comment. For instance, Tovey, himself a composer, contributed to the discussion of Berlioz’s music with characteristic aplomb and a similar informality (Tovey 1936). The terminology and analogies he invents are poetic, and certainly evocative, but also ambiguous and imprecise. I have puzzled over the statements that ‘his forms have a certain hollowness’ and that ‘he never writes a piece consisting of introductions to introductions; [nor] . .. entirely of impassioned ends’, without finding in them very much that is meaningful ~ though I would not criticise them solely on account of the ‘metaphoricity involved. It is more of a question that while such texts, including those of Schumann and Boulez, may offer interesting possiblities for an imaginative interpretation of Berlioz’s music, their application in empirical analytical practice is, limited. Indeed, the lack of a taxonomy which can serve both criticism and analysis ‘one of the greatest drawbacks to the literature as a whole, with the result that in works of a descriptive and critical nature, which in their way provide excellent introductions to the music, there are few examples of ‘hard’ analysis linking musical substance to generalised conclusions. In such works the conclusions are often reached before the investigation has begun (cf. Rosen 1984), something which no one could claim for The ‘Musical Language of Berlioz. Other kinds of commentary exist, some of which do include detailed references to the music. Brian Primmer’s The Berlioz Style makes general points by reference to copious ‘musical examples — taking up some 113 pages out ofthe 202 of his book ~ while forthe Music ANALYSIS 5:2-3, 1986 2mREVIEWS ‘most part he attaches minimal comment to them. This musical contact is undoubtedly welcome, but I wonder if Primmer does not thereby abandon the challenge of conceptualisation and thus ultimately evade his goal of defining Berlioz’s style. The rhythmic aspect of Berloz’s music is investigated by Gribner (1971-2) and Friedheim (1976), and the latter has published work on the composer's ‘radical harmonic procedures’ (Friedheim 1960). Form and model are examined by Bockholdt (1972). In common with other investigations, these works seek to define the extent to which Berlioz diverged from traditionally identified patterns — regularity of rhythmic schemata, normalcy of harmonic progression — and in effect form a direct continuation of earlier critical practices which place Berlioz outside the main musical canon, Edward TT. Cone’s series of essays ‘Inside the Saint’s Head’ (Cone 1971-2) stands in a somewhat different relation to their subject, pretending to neither comprehensiveness nor systemisation but still containing in their penetrating observations the most sensitive and broad-minded work on the composer before Julian Rushton’s book. In this brief survey (which has entailed, however, only afew omissions) Ihave sought to stress one aspect of Berlioz commentary; the explication of qualities in his music ‘which seem odd, but which can, soit believed, be traced to conventional models, and which suggest that the works and indeed Berlioz’s style have their true origin in the very tradition which gave birth to our assumptions of musical competence. On the other hand the music historian has more commonly tried to uncover something of the network of influences on Berlioz, especially that of French opera. In this case the goal isa view ‘of Berlioz’s style as a synthesised normalcy, though how decisions are made as to what is unique to Berlioz and what merely cannot be identified as an influence is crucial, and ‘often a point of confusion. The result, though mostly positive in orientation, still leaves Berlioz isolated from the mainstream, or caught between various strands of accepted musical style while leaving (analytically speaking) an alarming residue of inexplicable attributes. Rushton comes down on the side of isolation -‘.. . where (does} Berlioz come in the history of musical forms . .. [2] The shortest answer is, nowhere . .. (p.257) - while attempting to show his relation to canonic models and so have the best ‘of both worlds: ‘Is he, then, related to any traditions at all? Emphatically, yes; perhaps to more than one. But itisa strange relationship. He stands perpendicular tothe line of their development and is not part of them’ (p.258). Iti the definition of this ‘strange relationship’ that has proved so difficult, and ultimately unsuccessful, in the past. But not only has normative criticism here including the geometric ‘normal’, ‘perpendicular to’ failed to articulate its own premises; it has equally failed to develop ‘consistent analytical methodology. The question of what possible aspect of the music to privilege in an inquiry is problematic: I commented earlier on the consequences of ‘employing traditional parametric procedures. Early in the book, Rushton offers his initial analytical criteria, commenting on Berlio7’s own definition of style: ‘Rhythmic impetus is impotence {si} if pitches do not actively support it; unexpectedness is as, much determined by pitches as by any other element’ (p.23). Rushton argues against Bockholdt’s claim that instrumentation is a crucial aspect ofthe musical signification Heagrees with Bockholdt that ‘without the realized sound and space, the music does not exist as Mendelssohn's Sats exists’ (p.24). Yet he concludes that: Bockholdt’s view is persuasively put; it is sympathetic and, in its positive aspect, ‘important. But in its negative aspect, its virtual prohibition on analytical investigation of certain kinds (reductive and formal), itis obfuscatory and mystica. It cannot even be said that Berlioz needed spatial and colouristic polyphony to ‘compose his best music. Part IT and the final chorus of Part III of L’enfance are 2m Music ANALysts 5:2-3, 1986sufficient examples, the later among the loveliest unaccompanied choral music of the nineteenth century and by no means dependent for most of its length on the ‘unseen chorus of angels. Accordingly I do not think it improper to submit Berlioz’s ‘music to analytical reduction, to find the Savz and even, below it [sc] the Ursats. To ddo him justice we must recognize that he is just as inventive on this evel as on any ‘other, and just as markedly individual. (p. 25) ‘Within such a framework Rushton examines aspects of pitch such as consonance and dissonance, and harmonic issues like Berlioz’s evident fondness for mixed #/'b mediant ‘modulations (which are here termed ‘puns’, after the common pitch of #ii and 6 II, ‘which permits a variety of compositional choices and the possibility of exploiting this potential ambiguity), chromaticism in voice leading and diatonicism. Modality, ‘especially, calls forth interesting examples. Among them is Herod’s aria ‘O misére des from L’enfance du Christ. Taking his cue from Berlioz’s own statement that ‘T have tried out some new inflections: Herod’s air of insomnia is written in G minor on this scale [the scale quoted is phrygian on GI... This brings about very sombre harmonies, and cadences of a peculiar character which seemed to me to suit the situation’, Rushton sets about a modal interpretation of the passage (it is reproduced as his Ex. 25) However, Berlioz is clearly giving compositional information, which does not necessarily reflect the music all that well. The chromaticism inherent in the voice leading, which leads to highly expressive inflections of the harmony from moment to ‘moment, seems a more useful area of investigation than an appeal to modality, since the ‘work is by no means composed ‘on this scale’, as Rushton acknowledges: the composer of the aria ‘is not at all interested in modal consistency” (p. 48). No real conclusion is reached, for the argument is diluted by a failure to consider the theoretical problems: the issue of modality is not centrally relevant as an analytical hypothesis. Berlioz’s comments, fora variety of reasons, can be trusted no more than those of others to form a coherent theoretical base, and this criticism applies ina general sense to a number of sections of the book. By comparison, and indicative of the keenness of which Rushton is capable where no methodological confusion reigns, Chapter 6, ‘concerning instrumentation’, is a fascinating discussion of how integral to certain of Berlioz’s musical conceptions instrumentation is. In particular, the unravelling of the introduction to The Damnation of Faust captures attention, especially in showing how apparently anomalous instrumentation procedures are governed by large-scale issues of structural tension. At this point, Rushton brings about a genuine rapprochement of issues which it is all too easy to allow to remain discrete. He concludes: All this shows that Berlioz was no orchestrator. He was thinker in orchestral terms. iis music does not take the form of a homogeneous discourse on a single plane, but of a diversification, a polyphony of perspectives, which may find its expression in thematic and rhythmic combinations, in curious tonal connections, or in the separation of orchestral layers. (pp. 88+ Subsequent chapters - ‘Concerning counterpoint, pedal and fugue’, ‘Concerning shythm’ - similarly highlight technical aspects of the music. But while they certainly are comprehensive surveys of the literature, and eloquent expositions of the breadth of Rushton’s knowledge of the works, they are prone to the consequences of parametric segregation which I mentioned earlier. To illustrate this in some detail I shall take an example from Chapter 7, ‘Concerning the bass’ MUSIC ANALYSIS 5:2-3, 1986 223‘The metatheoretical motto of the book, taken from Turnell’s The Novel in France, concerns structural properties of Stendhal’s grammar: ‘Stendhal’s prose bears a marked resemblance to eighteenth-century prose, but this resemblance is deceptive . . . His prose does not move steadily forward from one fixed point to another .. . Each sentence «corresponds to What the French calla fat psychigue, and ther relation to one another forms the pattern of his style. In his discussion of a few bars from the ‘Scene aux champs’ (Symphonie fantastique IIT), Rushton draws a direct musical analogy with the literary ait psychique. The context isa discussion of unexpected inversions of chords: ‘At bar 44... parallel octaves between treble and bass (Ex. 50: broken slurs) are aitigated by the arrival ofa $ instead of a root postion. The bass A arrives from nowhere; itis not part of line, for the next bass-regsternote is F (bar 46), and there is no linear progression to the next accented bass-note (Bb , bar 47), which is too remote from the A and ina higher octave. The lower bassoons adhere to Fin bar 44, leaving the double-bass sections divided between F and low A. The $chord appears tobe pure colour, a fait prychigu. Rushton adds that ‘In Ex. 50 we have left monochrome for the potentially stratified air of the orchestra’ (p.97). The concept of fait psychique appears in this context as a musical ‘event which, he claims, cannot be explained by reference to any convention of musical ‘grammar. (Itis, in fact, Rushton’s equivalent of that which is ‘beyond analysis’ [Cone], and also corresponds to what Hugh Macdonald complained, in an early review of this book, was absent from Rushton’s work [Macdonald 1984]. Clearly, though, the appeal to ontology [ef. Rosen 1984], whereby some part of the musical essence escapes the analytical process, is an integral part of Rushton’s method.) For the sake of completeness, Rushton’s Ex. 50 is reproduced as part of a reduction of the whole passage, bs 33-48 (and is contained between the asterisks: see Ex. 1). We ‘can reasonably claim that this self-contained statement of the theme, one of a series of, variations in the movement, may be treated for analytical purposes as a tonal unit. (It may already be seen that there are no reasons apparent in the music for Rushton’s segmentation of bs 41-4, nor do any appear in the text.) Ex. 2 is a voice-leading reduction on two levels, which indicates that the first bars form an initial ascent with upward transfer of register to the first note of the Fundamental Line. Bars 41-4 represent a prolongation of the initial note, 5, while the following bars provide a descending register transfer followed by the descent of the Fundamental Line, initiated from a striking upper neighbour note caused by the coincidence of two voices, as indicated in the deep-level reduction. The parallel octaves noted by Rushton begin earlier than he claims (from b. 41, horn). It is not clear how parallel octaves can be ‘mitigated’ by anything, including ‘the arrival of a. In fact, the parallel octaves continue into b. 44, s notated in Rushton’s example, and the bass A is transferred from an inner voice over the range of two octaves (Ex. 2, higher level). This range is already ‘mapped out by the tessitura of the previous three bars which represents atthe surface level the doubling of a single melodic line at the distance of three octaves. The transfer is reiterated inb. 44. the high F is also transferred down by two octaves, composed out ‘over two and a half bars (bs 44-6), though the Fundamental Line has a simultaneous transfer of only one octave. The chord at the start of b. 44 is clearly of great rhetorical effect, as Rushton observes, exhibiting the most extreme registers of the whole passage, as well as the loudest dynamic and fullest instrumentation. But the bass part is not illogical here, at least according to its voice leading. The A forms part of a bass arpeggiation which reaches V through III and IV; the ‘next’ bass note, F, forms part of 274 Music ANALYSIS 5:2-3, 1986REVIEWS ISIC ANALYSIS 5:2-3, 1986 275Ex.2 276 Music ANALYSIS 5:2-3, 1986REVIEWS Feta Music ANALYSIS 5:2-3, 1986 a7REVIEWS a progression towards b.44 which does not appear at a deep level, while the Bb inb.47, far from being ‘too remote from the A’, is the next pitch in the deep-level progression (the A is prolonged, if for no other reason than that itis not contradicted at any level). A number of other features are worthy of comment. The deep-level progression of parallel fifths (bs 41-4) culminates with a sixth in b.44 ~ further evidence of the thetorical importance of this moment. Further, the ascent in consecutive octaves noted in these bars isa doubled voice which reaches over from an inner part, and itis repeated in the woodwinds as part of their ornamentation of the final cadence, where the fundamental line descends to 1 (deep-level reduction), In fact, the overall harmonic ‘motion of the passage is decidedly conventional, though the voice leading is very ingenious, and foreground detail, including instrumentation, endows the music with its remarkable expressivity. Perhaps this is best exemplified by the mixture of D and Db in the penultimate bar, with the held-over Dt in the second half of b.47 producing a ninth chord, a remarkable ornamentation of the tonal resolution. It seems, therefore, that Rushton’s fait psychique is, s an analytical term, merely “obfuscatory and mystical’, for it inhibits the proper exposition of relationships within the music. Clearly only a close reading, and one which does not abandon rational terminology, can illuminate the multiplicity of significations within a passage (or, at least, the process must be carried through to its conclusion before its results can be evaluated properly). Such a reading does not inhibit the natural and unique properties of the music, as Macdonald seems to believe. On the contrary, it gives an ordered and rational framework that enables the complex natural attributes of the music, and the jonships which exist between them, to be appropriately and meaningfully ‘The final point I want to consider is the crowning effort of analysis in the book: the analysis of the overture to Benvenuto Cellini (Chapter 13). This isa complex work, which can only give much cause for introspection to the analyst. Rushton marshalls his ‘techniques in an illuminating and entertaining account. Voice-leading reductions, other pitch reductions, melodic analysis, rhythmic views, proportional considerations (the Golden Section rears its problematic head here, as elsewhere in the book) and formal schemes, together with a large-scale sense of the build-up of tension and its resolution, are all brought into play: In this overture, as in other works of Berlioz itis the interaction of procedures which counts; no single elements, not even tonality, predominates [1c]. Loosely interlinked themes, their reordering inthe recapitulation, rhythm, instrumentation, even a fundamental line ... Thope [this] blow-by-blow account... . does not seem too heavy for such musical buoyancy. (p.207) I would not wish to deny the efficacy of individual observations which are made in the course of the analysis. However, itis necessary once again to consider Rushton’s theoretical stance. Later in the chapter, referring to a voice-leading reduction of the overture, Rushton states: ‘. .. this is not a Schenkerian study; it attempts to convey something of the life of other dimensions oblique to the fundamental and very simple conclusions drawn from an Ursatz’(p.225); ‘.. . motive intertwinings . .. the Urline, harmonic strata, motivic links, instrumentation, an arcade-Like adherence tothe tonic, continual postponement of thematic resolution, and extraordinarily exact proporto a veritable armoury of connections which unify the work without the aid of the classical “suspension bridge” so alien to Berlioz’s upbringing’ (p.227). What must be elucidated is the relationship between each item of this ‘veritable armoury’, without which there 278 Music ANALYSIS 5:2-3, 1986cannot be any real unity. There are two orthodoxies of contemporary music theory which might serve to define thisrelationship. The first, grounded in a concept of structure, holds that the significant organisation of a musical work is hierarchical, so that certain elements within a work are subordinate to other, ‘deeper’, events, though al elements arein some way necessary to the effective existence of the’structure, hence of the work. We are all familiar with examples ofthis principle in analytical practice (of which the preceding brief discussion of ‘Scene aux champs’ is one). The other orthodoxy has as yet produced neither elegant, nor refined signs of its practical application, though as a theoretical principle it has received powerful articulation (Whittall 1982: 14, Kerman 1985: 73-5). It holds that musical works may be organised as the locus where differing and disparate forces, interact, and that itis this interaction which produces meaning within a work: the work. becomes, in Barthesian terminology, the site of the production of meanings (Barthes, 1970: 22°3), not the repository of meanings. According to this view, different systems, or codes, may form the substance of a work by their interaction, though none has necessary precedence. This general principle is implicit in, for example, contradictory analyses of the same work, neither of which is demonstrably incorrect. In general this idea can be observed much more frequently in the analysis of twentieth-century works than is the case with earlier music; but it may simply be that until recently tonal forces ‘were previously felt tobe dominant in the organisation of this music Both theories, in fact, demand an analytical process which first identifies musical objects and then traces the network of connections which exist between them. Rushton’s stance towards the Benvenuto Cellini overture is drawn from Schumann: *. . how should sonata [form] be defined for a mid-nineteenth-century style? ... Schumann, described not only Fantastique [but the “traditional model” in terms of theme as much as key ... The “arched” form of the Fantastique is even more apparent in Benvenuto... (p.217). Rushton clearly favours the view of a work en temps durée, with events studied as an order, just as they are perceived. His analysis is a procession of observations concerning all kinds of events, and forming, to use his terms, an ‘arched’ or ‘arcade’-like picture of the music. The observations are interesting and typically acute. Why, then, 1am I so worried that the analysis doesn’t reveal anything like all it should? 1 suspect the answer lies with Rushton’s assumption of Schumann’s sonata-form statement as an analytical methodology. The two views that observe connections over the course of the whole work are a reductive graph, whose purpose is equivocal, given that ‘this is not a Schenkerian study’, and the elucidation of the work's several themes, together with their periodic repetitions. Using the latter, and following Schumann, Rushton comments on instances where the thematic model of sonata form is deviated from, especially in aspects of recapitulation. Here two criticisms I made earlier coincide. The critical attitude which seeks for conformance to, or divergence from, a traditional model should, as I have indicated, be handled with the utmost caution; and where an. investigation "is founded specifically, in analytical terms, on rather informal observations the resulting investigation can be compromised, or at worst thrown off the rails. In short, Rushton does not satisfy our need for a synthetic view. This would entail ‘a discussion of the network of relationality which connects systems together, and which would constitute an explication over and above the narrative structure of the work. It ‘may be noted here that the multiplicity of models used in this analysis indicates that Rushton favours the second theoretical position I outlined, that of the work conceived as a network. Here, as for music theory in general, it remains to be seen, until further work is carried out using these ideas, whether the dominance of hierarchy continues in MUSIC ANALYSIS 5:2-3, 1986 279‘our (collective) view of music, or whether this concept of network will find its place in analytical practice. T have been necessarily selective in discussing aspects of The Musical Language of Berlios, and no doubt much that has been omitted is intimately connected with the arguments here outlined. Indeed, criticism of a general kind is difficult, since the book contains a plethora of snippets of information and telling observations, and each subject is liable to spawn discussion of other matters not immediately related to itself. One result is that the arguments sometimes lose direction, and lead to a lack of real conclusions. The same is true of the theoretical issues I have discussed at some length. ‘The reader cannot help wondering whether Rushton’s scholastic integrity has led to over-reliance on previous commentators, and I for one wish he had allowed his imagination a much freer rein. On the other hand, such a repository of information, shot through with flashes of insight, is of great value, In conclusion, how does the book define Berlioz’s musical language? My lasting impression is of fragmentation without a corresponding synthesis: it reveals many details of the music without really characterising its stylistic centre. Perhaps this task exceeds the scope of present-day research, in which case it would be an unfair criticism of a book which is pioneering in so many respects. What is certain is that future Berlioz study cannot but be grateful to Rushton for his contribution, which will surely have a major impact once its analytical and theoretical implications have been fully digested. James Ellis REFERENCES Barthes, Roland, 1970: S/Z (Paris: Seuil). Bockholdt, Rudolf, 1972: ‘Eigenschafter des Rhythmus im instrumentalen Satz bei Beethoven und Berlioz’, Bericht iiber den Internationalen Musikwissenschafilchen Kongress, Bonn, 1970 (Kassel). Boulez, Pierre, 1976: Conversations with Célestin Deliége (London: Eulenburg). Cone, Edward'T.., ed., 1971: Berlios: Fantastic Symphony (Norton Critical Score) (New York: Norton). —— 1971.2: ‘Inside the Saint’s Head’, Musical Newsleter Nos 1 (1971), pp.3, 16; 2.1972), p.19. Friedheim, Philip, 1960: ‘Radical Harmonic Procedures in Berlioz’, The Music Review, Vol. 21, pp.282-96. —— 1976: ‘Berlioz and Rhythm’, The Music Review, Vol. 37, pp.5-44. Grabner, Eric, 1971-2: ‘Some Aspects of Rhythm in Berlioz’, Soundings, Vol. 2, pp.18-28. Kerman, Joseph, 1985: Musicology (London: Fontana). ‘Macdonald, Hugh, 1984: review of The Musical Language of Berlioz, Times Literary Supplement, 24 February, p.187. Primmer, Brian, 1973: The Berlioz Style (London). Rosen, Charles, 1984: review of The Musical Language of Berlioz, New York Review of Books, 26 April, pp.40-3. Tovey, Donald F., 1936: Essays in Musical Analysis, Vol. 4 (London: OUP). Whittall, Arnold, 1982: ‘Musical Analysis: Descriptions and Distinctions’, Inaugural Lecture in the Faculty of Music, King’s College London, 280 Music aNaLysts 5:2-3, 1986