Contrasts

Although he wrote well for the clarinet, Bartók had never made a speciality of it as he had wth piano and violin. He welcomed the challenge, however, when, in August 1938, his violinist friend József Szigeti wrote to him from New York with a request for a short piece for himself and Benny Goodman: the “King of Swing,” who had just brought jazz to Carnegie Hall, was now taking further steps in the cross-over direction by developing a new repertoire. The original idea was that the Bartók piece would be a rhapsody in two movements, a slow dance followed by a quick one, corresponding to the lassù and friss of the Hungarian csárdás. Verbunkos and Sebes were, in fact, first performed, under the title Rhapsody (Two Dances), by Goodman and Szigeti with Endre Petri in Carnegie Hall in January 1939. It was only when Bartók visited the United States, a few months before he finally emigrated to that country that, with the composer himself at the piano, the work was introduced as Contrasts in its authentic three-movement form.

The new title was chosen mainly because of the very distinct structural and textural contrasts in the work. Even so, although the possibilities of blending clarinet and violin and piano are limited, it is not true to say that Bartók was content to exaggerate their differences without attempting to combine their colours. The sometimes poetic, sometimes vehement middle section of the first movement is only the most extended example, offset by violin and clarinet cadenzas. Between this gentle parody of the traditional Hungarian “Recruiting Dance”and the concluding ”Fast Dance” the second movement is a necessary area of repose – with clarinet and violin lines contradicting each other in contrary motion against gamelan sonorities on the piano. Taking up a detuned instrument at the Danse madabre beginning of the thid movement, the violinist puts it aside at an early stage to join his partners in the closing Sebes. Both the poetically blended central episode and the reckless violin cadenza are incorporated in the accelerating tempo scheme without deflecting its impetus.

Verbunkos (Recruiting Dance): moderato, ben ritmato

Pihenö (Relaxation): lento

Sebes (Fast Dance): allegro vivace - più mosso

Bartók’s own instrument was the piano. The violin he understood at least as well and he wrote several major works in which it is affectionately and masterfully featured in a solo role. Wind instruments interested him less as solo protagonists but he certainly knew his way round them in an orch­estral context, the clarinet above all. So he welcomed the challenge of writing for solo clarinet when, in August 1938, his violinist friend József Szigeti wrote to him from New York with an offer of $300 for a short piece for himself and Benny Goodman: the “King of Swing,” who had just brought jazz to Carnegie Hall, was now taking further steps in the cross-over by recording Mozart and developing a new repertoire.

The original idea was that Bartók would write a rhapsody in two movements - a slow dance followed by a quick one, corresponding to the lassù and friss of the Hungarian csárdás - and that it would be short enough to fit onto a 78 rpm gramophone record. Verbunkos and Sebes were in fact first performed, under the title Rhapsody (Two Dances), by Goodman and Szigeti with the pianist Endre Petri in Carnegie Hall in January 1939. It was only when Bartók visited the United States, a few months before he finally emigrated to that country, that the work was introduced in its authentic three-movement form. Now under the title of Contrasts, and with the composer himself accom­panying the two dedicatees, it was definitively recorded for Columbia (on two discs) in April 1940.

The new title, which had been the subject of much discussion between the three musicians, was chosen mainly because of the very distinct structural and textural contrasts in the work. Even so, although the possibilities of blending clarinet and violin and piano are limited, it is not true to say that Bartók was content to exaggerate their differences without attempting to combine their colours. The sometimes poetic, sometimes vehement middle section of the first movement is only the most extended example. It is true, on the other hand, that the piano is reduced to a supporting role in that it rarely carries the melodic line and that, unlike the other two instruments, it is denied a cadenza. Goodman’s cadenza surprisingly cuts short the reprise of the opening section of the first movement.

Between the gentle parody of the traditional Hungarian “Recruiting Dance” and the concluding ”Fast Dance” the second movement is a necessary area of repose. Indeed, with clarinet and violin lines contradicting each other in contrary motion against gamelan sonorities on the piano, it is virtually static to begin with. The impetus of the last movement, on the other hand - where both the poetically blended central episode (in chromatic harmonies and Bulgarian additive rhythms) and the reckless violin cadenza are incorporated in the accelerating tempo scheme - is unstoppable.

Bartók’s own instrument was the piano. The violin he understood at least as well and he wrote several major works in which it is affectionately and masterfully featured in a solo role. Wind instruments interested him less as solo protagonists but he certainly knew his way round them in an orch­estral context, the clarinet above all - as anyone who remembers the seductive cadenzas in the The Miraculous Mandarin would surely agree. So he welcomed the challenge of writing for solo clarinet when, in August 1938, his violinist friend József Szigeti wrote to him from New York with a request (and an offer of $300) for a short piece for himself and Benny Goodman: the “King of Swing,” who had just brought jazz to Carnegie Hall, was now taking further steps in the cross-over by recording Mozart and developing a new repertoire. Although he was still working on the Second Violin Concerto at the time, Bartók immedi­ately applied himself to the new score and completed it in no more than four or five weeks.

The original idea was that it would be a rhapsody in two movements - a slow dance followed by a quick one, corresponding to the lassù and friss of the Hungarian csárdás - and that it would be short enough to fit onto a 78 rpm gramophone record. Verbunkos and Sebes were in fact first performed, under the title Rhapsody (Two Dances), by Goodman and Szigeti with the pianist Endre Petri in Carnegie Hall in January 1939. It was only when Bartók visited the United States, a few months before he finally emigrated to that country, that the work was introduced in its authentic three-movement form: now under the title of Contrasts, and with the composer himself accom­panying the two dedicatees, it was definitively recorded for Columbia (on two discs) in April 1940.

The new title, which had been the subject of much discussion between the three musicians, was chosen mainly because of the very distinct structural and textural contrasts in the work. Even so, although the possibilities of blending clarinet and violin and piano are limited, it is not true to say that Bartók was content to exaggerate their differences without attempting to combine their colours. The sometimes poetic, sometimes vehement middle section of the first movement - starting with a low legato on clarinet between quiet double-stops on the violin and shadowy dissonances on the piano - is only the most extended example. It is true, on the other hand, that the piano is reduced to a supporting role in that it rarely carries the melodic line and that, unlike the other two instruments, it is denied a cadenza. Goodman’s cadenza surprisingly cuts short the reprise of the opening section of the first movement.

Between the gentle parody of the traditional Hungarian “Recruiting Dance” (based here on a theme that was to be taken up again in the Sixth String Quartet) and the concluding ”Fast Dance” the second movement is a necessary area of repose. Indeed, with clarinet and violin lines contradicting each other in contrary motion against gamelan sonorities on the piano, it is virtually static to begin with. The nocturnal fears briefly expressed in the middle section are presumably not aroused by anticipations of the devilish fiddler of Saint-Saëns’s Danse Macabre, although that figure is inevitably called to mind by the tritone tuning of the violin at the beginning of the last movement. In fact, the violinist puts aside the detuned instrument at an early stage to join his partners in the dance. Both the poetically blended central episode (in chromatic harmonies and Bulgarian additive rhythms) and the reckless violin cadenza are incorporated in the accelerating tempo scheme without deflecting its impetus.