Alhambrismo!
Part 2: The Nationalist Movement in Nineteenth-Century SpainThe nationalist movement in Spain first emerged in the early 1830's as a reaction against the virtual monopoly that Italian composers and singers exercised over the lyric theaters of Spain, and in particular the Royal Theater of Madrid. Supplanted by Italian opera, Spain's native lyric theater had completely vanished by that time.26 The first successful opposition to this foreign domination emerged during the 1840's in the form of the modern zarzuela; a home-grown genre of musical theater with spoken dialogue, characteristic and often humorous Spanish subjects, and typically Spanish songs, dances and instrumentation (i.e., guitars and castanets were added to the orchestra).
One of the earliest composers of zarzuelas was Francisco Asenjo Barbieri (1823-1894). His masterpieces Pan y toros (Bread and Bulls, 1864) and El barberillo de Lavapiés (The Little Barber of Lavapiés, 1874) are among the most outstanding zarzuelas ever composed. Manuel de Falla, who was generally very critical of this genre, said of these works:
Two zarzuelas by Barbieri have a special merit: Pan y toros and El barberillo de Lavapiés, for they evoke the rhythmic and melodic characters of Spanish song and dance at the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries. These works exerted, beyond any doubt, a great influence on Spanish composers, giving our music, from the 1850s [sic] to the works of Isaac Albéniz and Enrique Granados, features that distinguish it from all the others.27
Barbieri was also the most eminent Spanish musicologist of his time, and the discoverer of the so-called Cancionero de Palacio in 1870. This huge collection of four hundred and sixty polyphonic songs of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was edited by Barbieri and published in Madrid in 1890. Musicologically, the importance of this collection can hardly be exaggerated.
Following in the footsteps of Barbieri was Felipe Pedrell (1841-1922) who, as previously mentioned, had directly influenced Albéniz. As a musicologist Pedrell's achievements were many. Delving into Spain's rich musical past, he resurrected the works of many great but nearly forgotten Spanish composers. Included in the eight volumes of his Hispaniae schola musica sacra, which he began publishing in 1894, are compositions by Cabezón, Victoria, Morales, and other outstanding sixteenth-century Spanish polyphonists. He also compiled and edited a large collection of keyboard works by Spanish organists (Antología de organistas clasicos espańoles, 1908). At the other end of the musical spectrum, his published collections of Spanish folk music (Cancionero musical popular espańol, 1918-22) were also of immense importance, even if the purity of his editions was occasionally suspect. As a composer he was not a success. His numerous compositions, which included a number of operas, found no public favor, and posterity has largely confirmed the verdict of his day.28 It has been suggested that Pedrell's shortcoming as a composer was that "he interpreted his own doctrine too literally. In attempting to give a national color to his operas", he used an abundance of borrowed material, not all of which is "sufficiently integrated into the texture of the work."29
Today, Pedrell is mostly remembered as the teacher/spiritual leader of his three famous disciples: Albéniz, Enrique Granados and Manuel de Falla. The following account, in Pedrell's own words, not only sums up his relationship to Albéniz, it gives considerable insight into the characters of both Albéniz and Pedrell:
I noticed ... that when we discussed these technical problems and others more difficult still, that much grieved, he would withdraw into himself; and when I realized that he did not understand the arid regulations, I determined in the future never again to talk to him about rules, chords, resolutions and other technical hieroglyphics; but to dwell on a fine and cultivated taste, merely seeing to it that so extraordinary an intelligence was correctly guided. And thus, since quite indirectly and unconsciously he had a solid training, due to the magnificent literature of the piano, I was finally able to say to him, to stimulate his imagination, 'To the devil with all the rules! Fling them into the fire, all these treatises on harmony, counterpoint and composition, these theories of instrumentation and whatnot, which were not written for you, and which in the end will only paralyze your natural genius.'30
Shortly after the resurgent zarzuela had come into its own (circa 1850-1860), instrumental music, which had long been neglected in Spain, also experienced a revival. The most prominent Spanish musician (instrumentalist) of this time was Pablo de Sarasate (1844-1908), the aforementioned internationally renowned violin virtuoso whose interpretive style and brilliant technique captivated audiences in every country of Europe as well as North and South America. Born at Pamplona in the Basque region of northern Spain, he was educated at the Paris Conservatory, from which he graduated at age 13 with first prizes in violin and solfege. At 15 he began touring Europe as a mature virtuoso. His playing inspired several leading composers, including Camille Saint-Saëns, Edourd Lalo and Max Bruch, to dedicate important works to him. Sarasate himself also wrote a considerable amount of music for the violin – 54 opus numbers in all. His compositions demonstrate a nationalism clearly rooted in Spanish folk music and a proclivity to dazzling virtuoso display.31 "He was, moreover, one of those who contributed most efficaciously to popularizing 'the Spanish idiom' abroad, sharing honors [in this respect] with Albéniz" and Granados who came after him.32 Among Sarasate’s best known works are the four books of Spanish Dances for violin and piano (1878-82) and his fantasy on Bizet’s Carmen for violin and orchestra (1883). Less known, but equally ingenious, is his brilliant Navarra for two violins and piano (1889).
In the history of Spanish music the names Isaac Albéniz and Enrique Granados are inextricably linked together. And although certain parallels exist between these men and their music, the sources of their inspiration were quite different. Both were born in Catalonia, approximately seven years apart. Both were students of Pedrell and ardent exponents of his nationalist doctrine. Both were renowned pianists and composers known primarily for their piano music. But beyond these similarities the resemblance fades. Albéniz, who had an outgoing personality, was more adventurous and less disciplined, and nearly all of his best music was inspired by Andalusian culture. Granados, on the other hand, had none of the thirst for adventure that the young Albéniz had; in fact he disliked traveling. Born in Lerida on July 29, 1867, he showed early signs of musical talent. After his family moved to Barcelona he began studying piano with Joan Baptista Pujol, and some years later (1883), composition with Pedrell. In 1887 Granados went to Paris to study piano with Charles de Beriot, a renowned professor at the Conservatory. Returning to Barcelona in 1889, he began his concert career shortly thereafter with a highly successful debut performance at the Teatro Lirico in 1890. "His first success as a composer came in Madrid in 1898 with the opening of his opera Maria del Carmen, a work that earned him a decoration from the King."33
Although Granados composed a great variety of music, including orchestral pieces and an abundance of chamber music, today he is best known for his piano music, especially the suite Goyescas (1911), which he later expanded into an opera by the same name, and his Tonadillas al estilo antiquo for voice and piano (1912). These miniature masterpieces are an attempt by Granados to give musical expression to his idealized vision of late eighteenth/early nineteenth century Madrid. Both were inspired by the paintings and sketches of the legendary Spanish artist Francisco Goya (1746-1828), whom Granados idolized. As such, this music tends to look more to the past, to a time when the cultural life of the Spanish capital was concentrated in its street and squares and majas and majos,34 clad in brightly colored costumes, strolled down gas lit boulevards teeming with life; when street fairs, religious processions, performances by strolling jugglers and musicians, and even bullfights – which back then often took place in open plazas – were an integral part of the city’s bustling street life.
Granados, like Goya before him, was inspired by this great mélange of life and what he believed was the most colorful and romantic moment in his nation’s history. This doesn’t mean, however, that he was impervious to the earthier, less urbane music of Andalusia, that which fired the imagination of Albéniz. On the contrary, Andalusian dance rhythms, cante jondo-like35 melodies, and dominant-centered Phrygian harmonies are found in some of his finest and most effective compositions, most notably Spanish Dances Nos. 2, 5, 11, and 12.36 These characteristic traits are even found in Goyescas.
The story of Granados' death sheds as much light on the status of Spanish music in the second decade of the twentieth century as it does on the character of the man. At the time of his death, Granados – along with Manuel de Falla – was the foremost Spanish composer of his day. The following account of this tragic event is told by Tomas Marco:
For several years Granados worked on his collection of piano compositions titled Goyescas, which received its premiere in Barcelona on March 9, 1911, with the composer himself at the piano. He presented it to great acclaim a short while later in the Salle Pleyel in Paris, where it was so successful that he was awarded the Legion of Honor. The Paris Opera suggested to the composer that he write an opera based on the music, and he went to Switzerland to do so. The resulting opera was received enthusiastically in Paris, but the outbreak of the First World War prevented it from being staged. Granados then offered it to the New York Metropolitan Opera, which produced it, with the composer himself appearing onstage at its premiere on January 26, 1916. Immediately afterward, Granados accepted President Woodrow Wilson's invitation to give a recital in the White House. This recital meant losing passage on a ship that was to take him directly to Spain and returning instead by way of Liverpool. He and his wife were on the steamer Sussex when it was torpedoed by a German submarine as it crossed the English Channel. Granados found safety on a life raft but then attempted to rescue his wife; both perished. The date was March 24, 1916.37
The triumph of Spain’s greatest musicians on the international stage was not replicated inside their native land, however, and the apparent indifference and/or hostility toward their music is usually attributed to the conservative (if not uncultivated) taste of the Spanish musical establishment and concert-going public. In an article on modern Spanish music published in 1908, the French critic Georges Baudin summed up this unfortunate situation as follows:
Spain is a beautiful but indifferent woman . . . And this general, indolent, indifference is especially fatal to musicians [who cannot escape across her borders].38
The efforts of Sarasate, Albéniz, and Granados paved the way for Manuel de Falla (1876-1946) who is generally regarded as the greatest composer in the history of Spanish music. But because all of Falla's masterpieces were composed in the twentieth century, he need not be discussed in the context of this essay. His everlasting contribution to Spanish music has been the subject of numerous books and articles, and it is to these publications that I commend the reader.
Part 1. Adventure, Romanticism, and a Good Cigar
Part 3. A Synthesis of Styles: The Music of Isaac Albéniz