Des Knaben Wunderhorn (The Youth’s Magic Horn)
Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)
Although the genesis of Des Knaben Wunderhorn is complex, the songs in the collection convey their messages readily without our having to absorb every detail of their background. They were inspired by an early 19th century compilation of folk verse. Gustav Mahler set fourteen of these poems, most with orchestral accompaniment, a few with piano accompaniment. Some of the songs reappeared in his symphonies, notably the vocal elements of his Second, Third and Fourth, and in instrumental guise within others. Des Knaben Wunderhorn served as the font and inspiration for much of Mahler’s compositional output in general: a musical quarry, almost. However, Mahler did not envisage the songs as a ‘cycle’ on their own. He did not specify which songs were to be included in a concert performance; in what order they might be organised; or even whether they should be sung by a female or male singer; nor did he suggest that any might be performed as duets. Where the texts suggest that such a treatment could be effective, they are often performed thus. The orchestral versions were published in 1905, exactly a century after the publication of the poems.
If the forgoing suggests that we are to be presented with a musical hotchpotch, be confident that the reality is otherwise. In several of the songs outlined below, two poetic themes are explored: a military idealism, glorifying honour and conquest if a little hesitantly at times; and a pastoral, romantic and wistful sense of longing. Running through all the songs is a bewitching fecundity of musical invention that seems to spring effortlessly from nowhere. An anecdote recounted in The Real Mahler by Jonathan Carr focuses on Natalie Bauer-Lechner, a society gossip and recorder of the bons mots that the celebrities of her day let slip. She had the nerve to ask Mahler how he composed.
My God Natalie, how can anyone ask such a thing? Do you know how to make a trumpet? You take a hole and wrap tin around it; that’s more or less what you do when you compose. It happens in a hundred different ways. One minute it is a poem that is the inspiration, the next it is the melody. I often begin in the middle, often at the beginning, sometimes even at the end, and the rest of it gradually falls into place until it develops into a complete whole.
Exemplifying such thoughts, these songs captivate us by combining spontaneity with meticulous attention to word-setting and orchestration. They tell no story in particular yet, together, they leave us with a strange blend of satisfaction and loss: a glimpse of the ‘magic horn’ of our youth, perhaps, if that can have meaning for us.
Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)
Although the genesis of Des Knaben Wunderhorn is complex, the songs in the collection convey their messages readily without our having to absorb every detail of their background. They were inspired by an early 19th century compilation of folk verse. Gustav Mahler set fourteen of these poems, most with orchestral accompaniment, a few with piano accompaniment. Some of the songs reappeared in his symphonies, notably the vocal elements of his Second, Third and Fourth, and in instrumental guise within others. Des Knaben Wunderhorn served as the font and inspiration for much of Mahler’s compositional output in general: a musical quarry, almost. However, Mahler did not envisage the songs as a ‘cycle’ on their own. He did not specify which songs were to be included in a concert performance; in what order they might be organised; or even whether they should be sung by a female or male singer; nor did he suggest that any might be performed as duets. Where the texts suggest that such a treatment could be effective, they are often performed thus. The orchestral versions were published in 1905, exactly a century after the publication of the poems.
If the forgoing suggests that we are to be presented with a musical hotchpotch, be confident that the reality is otherwise. In several of the songs outlined below, two poetic themes are explored: a military idealism, glorifying honour and conquest if a little hesitantly at times; and a pastoral, romantic and wistful sense of longing. Running through all the songs is a bewitching fecundity of musical invention that seems to spring effortlessly from nowhere. An anecdote recounted in The Real Mahler by Jonathan Carr focuses on Natalie Bauer-Lechner, a society gossip and recorder of the bons mots that the celebrities of her day let slip. She had the nerve to ask Mahler how he composed.
My God Natalie, how can anyone ask such a thing? Do you know how to make a trumpet? You take a hole and wrap tin around it; that’s more or less what you do when you compose. It happens in a hundred different ways. One minute it is a poem that is the inspiration, the next it is the melody. I often begin in the middle, often at the beginning, sometimes even at the end, and the rest of it gradually falls into place until it develops into a complete whole.
Exemplifying such thoughts, these songs captivate us by combining spontaneity with meticulous attention to word-setting and orchestration. They tell no story in particular yet, together, they leave us with a strange blend of satisfaction and loss: a glimpse of the ‘magic horn’ of our youth, perhaps, if that can have meaning for us.