Stravinsky's "Symphony of Psalms"

In light of the recent choir concert, I'd like to write on Stravinsky's "Symphony of Psalms." Unlike our performance of it last night, this recording is performed with orchestra. It is composed of three movements. The first movement is underscored by a primordial ostinato, and above it, the choir struggles between the e and f, as if caught in the inevitability of their own mortality. To me, it sounds like civilizations trying to rise against the face of time like crippled birds to the air or waves in the ocean to the sun. The rebellion of the spirit rises only to fall inexorably, creating a rocking sensation and thus adding to the sense of time moving mercilessly foreward. One thing I notice in the orchestration is the presence of the winds--their sharply blunt sound conotes a primitive thrusting.

Flummerfelt felt the second movement to be a response to the first movement. In listening, it seems as though the fugue is a rather nebulous and further perplexing answer to the question of human mortality and existence stated, rather than posed, in the first movement. With its dipping, haunting intervals, slithering like a snake, coiling around the monuments of human limitation, it builds slowly and suprisingly into an almost gentle tapestry, soothing the ear until interrupted by the sopranos singing "I wait." It is perfect, for it seems the answer to our inescapable conundrums is really a sort of waiting silence, a mix of bitter, mocking despair and sweet hope. We wait as we breathe, and nothing shall be certain until we breathe no more. In this section, we also have the only PAC in the entire piece--at the end of the first choral section. It is only held for one beat, because the tonic is quickly spoiled by a lowered half step. Then the choir re-enters, stronger, like a great trudging weight, now carrying with it the chilling intervals of the beginning fugue. It ends with the sopranos holding a c, on a drawn out static chord, that leaves the listener hollow, cold.

The last movement begins with tenderness. "Alleluiah"..."Laudate domine" (praise to god)...It is reconciliation with the mystery, wonder at all paradox and all significance, awe of the human condition. It is my favorite movement--the soprano line is so gentle, magical. But this is not only a calm movement, it is also full of rhythmic frenzy and stark contrast. But how could a movement which concludes such a work be only that of peace and resignation? This is not a passive praise, this is a rhythmic almost angry "laudate dominum" spat out in various syncopations. The voices move together in a rhythmic tension which builds and then subsides again into white ecstasy--but only for a movement, the strength of spirit rises and the voices are joined by the brass section. But again, this returns to a sweet melody in the soprano section accompanied by the basses until the whole choir joins, and builds (with the sopranos rising up and up) and climaxing in a jarring cadence of harsh intervals. Then, all subsides into a resigned wave of hypnotic repetitions of text and melody. This is where I absolutely adore the soprano line--it is otherwordly. (half half quarter quarter--e, d, c, d) The whole work ends on a alleluiah and then breaks the last word "domine", symbolizing man's as a finite being's incapacity to approach the infinite, or rather to achieve the ultimate.