On Variations

Author(s): Hans Keller

Source: The Musical Times, Vol. 105, No. 1452 (Feb., 1964), pp. 109-111
Published by: Musical Times Publications Ltd.
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On

Variations
by Hans Keller

Variation is the basic principle of musical composition-or perhaps, nowadays, one should say 'of
thematic composition', for where there is no theme
or motive, there is no variation.
It might be objected, of course, that repetition is
still more basic, and so indeed it is; but it seems more
realistic to say that repetition is itself the most basic
form of variation: where something is meaningfully
repeated, it adds something to that which it repeats,
whence it is no longer a mere repetition. However
literal, a repetition always varies its model, if only
through its context. There so remains but one kind
of pure repetition, and that is bad repetition.
Between repetition and the more developed kind
of variation there is a field where themes tend to
have the best of both worlds the field of the socalled ostinato, which is the 'obstinately' repeated
theme as it appears in the chaconne and passacaglia,
with more or less complex counterpoints and
variations on top or at the bottom of it. The textbook differentiation between chaconne and passacaglia is that in the former, the theme remains a
ground bass. There is historical substance to this
definition; nevertheless, I would not take it too far.
Not all composers read text-books, and those who
do, don't always like them. To take one of many
instances, the chaconne ('Chacony') from Britten's
second String Quartet emphatically refuses to
conform.
The principle of simultaneous repetition and
variation, in any case, remains the same in both
these ostinato forms which tend to build up by way
of cumulative tension, with the stressedly bare
theme, often altogether unharmonized, at the
beginning. This is what happens, say, in Bach's
C minor 'Passacaglia', whose theme is characteristically economical: it does not only constitute a
model for repetition, but itself consists of repetitions
of a single rhythmic motive-an upbeat and a main
beat. The afore-mentioned Britten 'Chacony', too,
starts unharmonized, as does the 'Passacaglia' from
Peter Grimes. Bach's famous violin 'Chaconne', on
the other hand, immediately introduces a harmonized theme; in fact, the harmony is even more
thematic than the tune itself. And Brahms, in the
(not so called) passacaglia finale of the (so-called)
'Haydn Variations', develops a ground bass from
the theme, which, at this final stage in the composition, he cannot introduce as a single line; at the
same time, he has to throw the unexpected 'ground'
into relief, so he emphasizes it by way of an obtrusive two-bar imitation in the violas. Here, as later
in his Fourth Symphony, the cumulative form of the
passacaglia is used, quite naturally, as eventual
climax. The ground bass at the end of the 'Haydn
Variations' is a little more difficult to grasp than
that of the Bach 'Passacaglia' and, accordingly, it is

repeated over and over again with the greatest

strictness and indeed 'obstinacy': Brahms makes
absolutely sure that you always hear it, all the more
so since the superstructure comes to reach considerable complexity.
The reason why Brahms's ground is more difficult
than Bach's (even though Bach remains, of course,
the more complex composer) is that while the Bach
theme is a regular 8-bar structure, Brahms's ground,
deriving as it does from the Corale St Antonii (which,
at the time of writing, is not supposed to be by
Haydn, though Brahms's own title is 'Variations on
a Theme of Haydn'), is an intriguing 5-bar theme.
Why should a 5-bar structure be more difficult than
a 4- or 8-bar one? For the same reason that 5/4
time is more difficult than common time. But
Brahms makes life as easy as possible in difficult
circumstances: whereas Bach writes four plus four
bars, Brahms confines himself to five and does not
write five plus five, as he easily could have done on
the basis of the St Anthony Chorale. Other things
being equal, shorter themes are, of course, easier to
understand than longer ones.
The Brahms variations are the first orchestral
work in variation form alone. Many other variation
works were to follow. Now why, we may ask, this
enthusiasm, on the part of post-classical composers,
for large-scale variation form-a genre which the
classics, for all their much-renowned universality,
never seem to have discovered ? The simple answer,
which admittedly needs a great deal of explanation,
is that classically speaking, the genre did not exist:
neither Bach, nor indeed Haydn, Mozart, or Beethoven would have recognized the Brahms, the
Franck 'Symphonic Variations', the 'Enigma', or
Schoenberg's Op 31 as variations.
As pre-classical polyphony (several simultaneous
melodies) was replaced by classical homophony (tune)
and accompaniment), the typical pre-classical variation forms, passacaglia and chaconne, grew into the
'themes and variations' as we know them or like to
think of them: strictly sectional variations in which
the theme, the melody itself may well undergo some
drastic transformations, but which adhere, all the
more faithfully, to the harmonic scheme of the
theme, both totally (key) and, above all, locally
(progressions, modulations, rhythmic structure).
Now, there is a limit to the extent to which you can
pile up variations with the aim of achieving a single,
continuous structure, if you cannot allow yourself
to abandon this principle of fairly strict harmonic
repetition: the possibilities of variety remain pretty
narrowly circumscribed, ie confined to one dimension, the change of tune. Lest anybody should
impatiently call out 'Goldberg Variations!' at this
point, I must remind him that this gigantic set of
variations was never intended as one continuous
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piece (even though, under master hands, it comes

very close to one), but as a collection of variations
from which suitable ones might be chosen according
to the performer's mood (the earliest precedent for
a whole class of contemporary 'indeterminate'
pieces, in fact).
With the advent of homophony came sonata
form, and with the advent of sonata form came
development which, essentially, is large-scale
modulation. At this stage, 'variation' and 'sonata'
form became opposite approaches: sonata form
developed contrasting themes, whereas variationspace certain double variations by Haydn and
to re-state single themes in
Beethoven-tended
different guises.
As sonata form grew, its central achievement,
which was large-scale integration by way of development, assumed ever greater significance; sooner or
later it was bound to penetrate other forms, including, eventually, the 'opposite' form of variations,
which it could thus turn into a symphonic form of
wide, self-containing proportions. We find the first
inkling of this departure in the finale of Beethoven's
Eroica Symphony, a work that is, quite generally, a
presage of symphonic things to come.

In Brahms's Orchestral Variations (as we might

call them if the wrong attribution of their theme to
Haydn worries us too much), old and new variation
forms meet, for the first time, in what we might
describe as head-on collusion: a new symphonic
form is in the making. The variations are still all
in the same key, or rather the same tonality (B flat
major or minor), and the rhythmic structure of the
theme is retained to an astonishing degree, but the
local harmonic texture is varied to an extent that
enables the tune to surge ever further ahead until,
paradoxically, it 'develops' without modulation:
since the basic framework of the theme is incessantly
recalled, if only to remind us how far we are venturing away from it, smaller-scale changes of harmony,
together with drastic changes of melody, are enough
to produce the impression of development-of
increasing harmonic tension and instability. The
foundation-stones for truly symphonic variations
are laid: a wide ternary arch, proceeding, like sonata
form, from stability over instability back to stability,
is clearly established. Accordingly, what used to be
the simple, final recurrence of the theme, the coda
variation in fact, assumes the proportions of a grand,
varied recapitulation-the above-mentioned passacaglia finale, which culminates in a final, heroic
statement of the theme. It is a two-sided triumph.
'We are back!' is not the only cry of joy; underneath,
there is more extended and lasting satisfaction: 'We
got away far enough to be able to come back like
this.'
But the real revolution, hitherto unrecognized as
such, came with Franck's 'Symphonic Variations',
whose very title shows that the composer himself,
at any rate, was fully aware of the nature of his
achievement-the
interpenetration of symphonic
The assimilation of
and variation technique.
sonata procedures extends, beyond the use of
development, to the integration of two contrasting

themes, and the widely-arched form necessitates,

not only a finale at the end, but also an introduction
at the beginning-the
very features which were
to characterize Schoenberg's own orchestral
'Variations'.
At this point, however, let us pause to remember
that Beethoven's genius had taken great care to
confuse history: he was really the man who had
done it all before, achieving as he did this kind of
single-movement structure, albeit with the help of a
diversifying chorus, in his 'Choral Fantasy'. But so
far in advance of even the immediate future was he
with this music that far from leading to further
developments in a totally uncharted field, it remained misunderstood and so neglected. The very
fact, however, that neither he nor anybody else
would have dreamt of calling the Fantasy 'Symphonic Variations' clinches our point: at that stage,
the form had not come anywhere near a comprehensible, recognizable existence. If you wanted to
steal forms from the future, you had to call them,
rather apologetically, 'Fantasies'.
The Elgarian masterpiece consolidates; it does
not really break new ground. In point of fact, as the
Schoenberg 'Variations' were to show, there was not
much new ground to break: atonality apart, they
themselves do not, formally, go far beyond what
Beethoven, Brahms, and Franck had explored in the
first place. Nevertheless, by all kinds of subtle
developmental devices, Elgar establishes extreme
and, at times, unprecedented contrasts between the
characters of his variations, almost turning some of
them into new themes in the process, with the underlying 'Elgar' theme as unifying element. 'Dedicated
to my friends pictured within'-the inscription has
always been quoted to describe the basic inspiration
behind the work, but the composing imagination
works the other way round: the creative need to
produce symphonic variations by way of contrasting
musical characters produced the incidental inspiration, the extra-musical idea of contrasting human
characters.

The Schoenberg 'Variations' themselves, by now

a recognized classic of our time, are the composer's
first orchestral essay in 12-note technique. They
work without key, then, and the question arises:
how do we here stand so far as the continued history
of developmental variation technique is concerned,
if development means modulation ? Where there is
no key, there is no modulation, so what does
Schoenberg do ?
He takes his cue from Brahms who, as we have
seen, gets in a great deal of development without
modulation. The theme and its texture are subjected to the most far-reaching metamorphoses, nor
indeed is its rhythmic structure left intact. In
addition, the motive B-A-C-H (Bb-A-C-B in German) is used in the introduction and the finale in
order to contribute to the symphonic development.
Schoenberg described his entire composing method
as 'developing variation', implying that he always
repeated less than expected, while yet remaining
more thematic than was obvious on the surface.

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So successful was he, in fact, in replacing modulations by drastic changes of texture and structure,
that his orchestral 'Variations' came to contain
more development than does many an official
sonata form.
We have come full circle, or rather, full spiral.
At the outset, we said that repetition was really
variation; at the end, we say: so is development.

A Piano Contest
'National Piano Playing Competition-National
Final', said the tickets, suggesting the kind of great
public spectacle which, in Moscow, would have
meant queues along the streets and day-long television coverage. But this turned out to be a contest
only for under-18s, attracting a sparse audience
(doubtless largely of competitors' relatives and
friends) to the Wigmore Hall on the afternoon of
Dec 16.
It was organized by the Society for the Piano.
Inquiry elicited the frank admission that the
society's existence is notional: it is a creation of the
British piano-manufacturing trade.
There are
apparently no members, but there is an imposing
list of vice-presidents (including Bliss, Britten, and
Walton) and a distinguished advisory council
(including Louis Kentner and Gerald Moore). Sir
Malcolm Sargent is president of this singular body.
Its work, apart from the organization of this contest
at two-yearly intervals, is unknown to me-but,
said the programme, 'one of the proudest achievements of the Society for the Piano was the early
encouragement it was able to give to John Ogdon'.
Surely the presentation of a British piano to Ogdon
took place only after he had won the rather greater
encouragement of the Tchaikovsky prize at
Moscow?
Anyway, here were eleven young pianists
assembled to compete, with a Broadwood boudoir
grand for first prize and a Chappell upright plus
?100 for second. A well-known musician in the hall
thought the order of the prizes could more justly
have been reversed. A young professional, he remarked, needs a full-sized concert grand to practise
on; a boudoir is neither an effective substitute for
this nor a useful everyday piano for cramped living.
There were money awards for third and fourth
prizes. The judges were Ruth Railton, Phyllis Sellick,
Martin Cooper, Sidney Harrison, Hans Keller,
Louis Kentner, and (chairman) Gerald Moore. A
Danemann concert grand stood on the platformbut hardly proved the equal of the habitual Steinway.
Nine competitors, aged 15-17, played a choice of
stipulated items by Beethoven and Chopin. Two
competitors, aged 13, had been allotted items
technically less demanding, and played a Haydn
sonata movement and Debussy's Arabesque No 1.
Four competitors were then recalled and asked to
play prepared pieces of their own choice. Then,
before the results were announced, Hans Keller
made a personal statement: he was, he said, 'constitutionally a traitor' to competitions on the ground

To compose is to vary, and 'variations' are only a

special kind of varying, too complex to be called
repetitions, too theme-conscious to be simply
called development. But all music repeats, and all
music develops. Variations themselves show the
composing process under a magnifying glass.
The original version of this essay appeared in the programmebook of a 1962 Promenade Concert devoted to works in
variation form.

by Arthur Jacobs
that they are inimical to the artistic spirit and that,
whoever may be declared to win, others may do just
as well in their actual careers.
The awards themselves led me to add my own
doubt to Mr Keller's. The first prize was awarded
to Nichola Gebolys, aged 13; the second and third
to Frank Wibaut and Stephanie Bamford, both 17;
the fourth to Rosalind Bevan, 16. The high promise
of all of them is not in doubt, nor the exceptional
gifts of the winner. But I do not see how it can be
said that a good 13-year-old can be said to have
shown more achievement than a good 16- or 17year-old playing a more difficult selection of pieces.
It may be hypothetically claimed that the 13-yearold will be better than the others when she has
reached their age; but the converse hypothesis could
be invoked, involving the jury in the impossible task
of imagining how the performers at present 16 or 17
would have played at 13.
It seems to me that there should have been two
classes in this competition, corresponding to the
different grades of pieces permitted. I do not presume to criticize the jury's order of preference
within the older age-group. I never cease to marvel
at the way in which (though we professional critics
habitually disagree even on whether a leading
virtuoso understands Beethoven or not) adjudicators
at various competitions bring forth their firm
verdicts, awarding trophies on the confident allocation of 97 points against 96. Perhaps this is why
critics are so seldom chosen as adjudicators.

The winner of the 1962 Royal Amateur Orchestral Society's

Young Composer's Award was Patric Standford for his Symphonic
The judges were Freda Swain, Franz
Vivace Movement.
Reizenstein, Frank Wright, Christopher Wiltshire (last season's
winner) and Arthur Davison.
The 1963 Royal Amateur Orchestral Society's Silver Medal
Award was won by Marie Hayward, a 24-year-old soprano
studying at the Royal Academy of Music under Roy Henderson.
Miss Hayward has been invited to appear as a soloist at the
Society's concert at the RCM in June.
To mark the centenary of the birth of Richard Strauss, Boosey
& Hawkes and Fiirstner are to issue a complete edition of his
songs, edited by Franz Trenner and Walter Seifert. This edition
will contain, in three volumes, songs for voice and piano, songs
for voice and orchestra, songs orchestrated by the composer,
and unpublished songs where manuscripts are available.
The publishers and editors appeal to owners of song manuscripts to send photo copies as soon as possible to The Managing
Director, Boosey & Hawkes, 295 Regent Street, London Wl.
All owners will be reimbursed.

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