Four Pieces for Clar and Piano, Op. 5

With a composer like Alban Berg it seems so much easier to write about his biography and compositional evolution than to come face-to-face with the music itself. The works often sound difficult, abstract, “scientific”—if one can meaningfully use such an epithet. But we must come to grips with the music in its minute details in order to get a sense of how it operates and how it succeeds or fails aesthetically. The Four Pieces for Clarinet and Piano, op. 5, represent both the poetic and the visceral. The former quality may be attributed to Berg’s natural melodic gift and his ability to transcend compositional limitations (and there are many limitations imposed by strict adherence to Schoenberg’s twelve-tone theory) in order to write music that is beautiful, even haunting. Note, for instance, Berg’s use of echo tones in all four pieces. The visceral effect emerges through his dramatic use of contrasting dynamics, high and low registers, spare and full textures, and modern clarinet techniques, such as fast flutter tonguing.
But to say all this is, in a way, to ignore the 20-ton elephant in the room: atonality. Liberation from the control of tonic pitches and chords was Schoenberg’s great achievement, and Berg—a fervent disciple of that revolution—took atonal pitch organization to heart in works like op. 5. Rhythms are equally unpredictable, the basic pulse constantly shifts, and 2-versus-3 and 3-versus-4 cross rhythms occur as often as not. Still there are echoes of tradition, especially in Berg’s use of symmetry to create rounded A-B-A forms (as in No. 2) and prominent returns of a principal motive (as in the funereal chords of No. 4). Harmonies may sound modern, but recurring chords and gestures help stabilize our awareness of form.
Consider the ending of No. 1, where the clarinet discharges no less than eighteen low Gs! These notes spill forth like clones of one another, and Berg instructs the performer to play them “without expression” (ohne Ausdruck). Against this hypnotic repetition he writes ethereal bell-like chords in the piano. Piece No. 3 probably sounds the most untraditional of all, with its angular twelve-tone opening theme and witty one-ups-man-ship at the end. Yet the work exudes major 7th intervals, making certain moments sound like Debussy. As for No. 4, by the time the opening chords reappear, Berg has established the expectation of imminent conclusion. He plays on that expectation and launches instead into an almost violent coda, dwelling repeatedly on an arching motive in the piano. The crushing climax of the crescendo dissolves quickly into the hush of pianissimo major-7th chords: austere sounds that leave almost no imprint on the acoustic world.
It is hard to get a sense of all this in a single listening, of course. The joy of increased familiarity lies in discovering Berg’s consummate lyricism, sense of timing, and craftsmanship. With op. 5 Berg achieved a balance between conventional form and avant-garde pitch and rhythmic structure. Each piece is infused with a melodic spirit, making the set both deeply expressive and a recital favorite among clarinetists.

(c) Jason Stell