Pulcinella Suite

Russian composer Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) welcomed his reputation as an enfant terrible who flaunted conventions and pushed boundaries at every occasion. Discovered by impresario Serge Diaghilev and commissioned to present several works abroad with the famous Ballets Russes, Stravinsky’s reputation exploded. But such was his personality and musical curiosity that he would not rest contentedly on his laurels. Diaghilev eagerly sought something fresh from his protégé and suggested a ballet based on 18th-century music. During World War I, Stravinsky and his family lived in Switzerland, and it was Swiss conductor Ernst Ansermet who helped convinced Stravinsky of the merits of such a project. Thus the concept of Pulcinella emerged in 1919; the premiere quickly followed in Paris in May 1920.
The music Diaghilev had in mind for Pulcinella was generally credited to Giovanni Pergolesi (1710-1736), composer of Italian comic operas, sacred works, and instrumental music. Even though we now know that much of the Pulcinella material was originally written by other composers, neither Diaghilev nor Stravinsky could know that at the time. Stravinsky warmed quickly to the idea of a neoclassical, or more specifically neo-baroque project. As he put it:

Pulcinella was my discovery of the past, an epiphany through which the whole of my late work became possible. It was a backward look, of course—the first of many love affairs in that direction—but it was a look in the mirror, too.

Stravinsky’s reimagining of the past changed the immediate future of the Ballets Russes and ultimately all of 20th-century music.
The complete ballet involves singers and a modest-sized orchestra. With costumes and sets designed by Pablo Picasso and choreography by Leonid Massine, the successor to Nijinski at the Ballets Russes, Pulcinella marks a star-studded collaboration. In typical comic fashion, the plot centers on love, jealousy, fights and reconciliation, concluding with a marriage or two. Diaghilev found the story in a manuscript dated 1700 and located in Naples.
Stravinsky excerpted eight movements from the original ballet to make a Pulcinella Suite in 1922; years later he further reduced it to make the smaller Suite Italienne. The primary differences between Suite and full ballet relate to vocal music. Overall, the Pulcinella Suite takes the form of the conventional Baroque suite, opening with an Overture (called here a Sinfonia) and continuing with various dances. The music opens as a straight-forward orchestration of the source material. The opening Sinfonia is bright and crisp; Stravinsky remains thoroughly respectful and invisible. Only at one moment—irregular grouping of five beats within the prevailing four-beat meter—might the perceptive listener discern Stravinsky’s shadowy presence.
The second movement opens with a tender solo melody in the oboe. This minor-mode Siciliano will remind some of Bach. That suggestion fades at times when Stravinsky’s harmony and use of string effects go slightly awry. Subtle dissonant touches continue into the following Scherzino, but still there is little trace of Stravinsky’s own voice at work. Indeed, one critic condemned the composer for plagiarizing all of this Baroque material. But by the end of the Scherzino, the pace and striking contrasts begin to accelerate. There are passages in the Tarantella that suggest (to me, at least) progression towards the spiritual world of Beethoven: dramatic pauses, unison string runs that drive to cadence. With ironic humor, Stravinsky next writes a short Toccata that features only wind instruments; the Toccata was a typical keyboard work that focuses on different touches used by player.
The Gavotte seems clear enough except for aberrant dissonances in the bassoon. In the Vivo movement it falls to the trombones to keep the joke going along. During the Minuet, tempo alone, which is grandiloquently slow, makes a striking effect especially in light of the ensuing rapid finale. By this time, the transformation from authentic Baroque music to pure Stravinsky has taken place. Yet the changes have been quite gradual, and it’s hard to see exactly when and how it took place. Certainly one can identify a few spicy moments that betray Stravinsky’s hidden hand. But overall, by a kind of alchemical prank, we have arrived at 1920 from 1720 with no obvious glimpses inside the magician’s hat.

(c) Jason Stell