Violin Sonata no 2

Not lacking in either talent or self-confidence, a teenage George Antheil (1900-1959) foresaw great things for himself and his music. Unfortunately the premiere of one work in particular, Ballet mechanique (1924), failed so miserably in New York City that Antheil was never again really taken seriously in the U.S. (though the French loved it). He had pushed so far beyond the pale, asking for the use of sirens and airplane propellers in concert and sixteen coordinated player pianos. Nevertheless, he composed hundreds of other works that include avant-garde conceptions tempered by the reality of what could be achieved in performance. For instance, the Violin Sonata No. 2 is wild, fractured, and ecstatic, but it is also comprehensible. It is scored for a traditional pair of instruments, violin and piano, with a bit of percussion toward the end just for good measure. Lasting just under ten minutes, Antheil’s Sonata No. 2 vacillates almost constantly between moods, themes, and tempos. Rather than indicating precise metronome speeds every few measures, Antheil glibly injects such character markings as “sweet,” “sour,” “broken,” and “giggled.” And when delving into a popular ragtime motive, he simply writes “up to the minute.” If you know something of Erik Satie, you will not be surprised to learn that Antheil admired the Frenchman’s irreverence.

In order to appreciate this sonata, listeners must allow themselves to be manipulated every few seconds by kaleidoscopic changes. The analogy often used is that of a 1920s-era radio dial being tuned at will. Every variety of theme takes its turn, from tender to muscular and aggressive, from familiar to bizarre. The whole work rounds off with a percussive solo cadenza by the pianist, who then, in fact, turns literal percussionist during the final tango. Antheil himself called the work “cubist tin-pan-alley,” which wonderfully encapsulates more than just the musical ethos. Dedicated to his close Ezra Pound, the sonata was composed in the heart of left-bank Paris in 1923 by a young man proud of his reputation as music’s “bad boy.” A dazzling coterie of influential, rebellious artists that included Pound, Joyce, and Hemingway needed a brash musician. Antheil more than fit the bill.

(c) Jason Stell