Bela Bart6K'S Concerto For Orchestra

BELA BART6K'S CONCERTO FOR ORCHESTRA
WORLDS CONTENDING:
,
BELA '"
BARTOK'S CONCERTO FOR ORCHESTRA
By
REBECCA LEE GREEN, B.A.(Hons.Mus.)
A Thesis
Submitted to the School of Graduate Studies
in Partial Fulfilment of the Requirements
for the Degree
Master of Arts
McMaster University
September 1987
MASTER OF ARTS (1987) McMASTER UNIVERSITY
(Music Criticism) Hamilton, Ontario
TITLE: Worlds Contending: Bela Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra
AUTHOR: Rebecca Lee Green, B.A.(Hons.Mus.) (University of

Western Ontario)
SUPERVISOR: Professor Paul Rapoport
NUMBER OF PAGES: ix, 192
ii
Abstract
Although the Concerto for Orchestra is Bart6k's largeS~
!
orchestral composition and one of the last works, it has
received comparatively little attention in the scholarly
literature. One reason for this may be the suggestion that it
is artistically inferior, a compromise for the sake of
financial success and public acceptance. This position is
challenged through an examination of the circumstances
surrounding the commission of the work, and its relation to
Bart6k's biography.
The main body of the thesis deals with the music itself
in a comparison of the strengths and weaknesses of nine
analytical approaches--the extent of serious criticism on the
Concerto. Some of these analyses are more successful than
others in discussing the work in a meaningful way. More
importantly, the interaction of these analytical methods allowE
for the emergence of a pattern in the music which is not
evident to the same degree in any of the individual analyses.
The interaction of these diverse approaches to the Concerto,
which both confirm and contradict each other at various times,
provides a wider analytical perspective through which it
becomes possible to suggest that the Concerto for Orchestra is
characterized by a dynamic principle of conflict or "Worlds
Contending," from the title of a poem by Bartbk. Thus, an
understanding of the work is heightened by the extension of thE
analytical perspective.
iii
Acknowledgements
Firstly, I would like to thank my supervisor, Dr. Paul
Rapoport, for his patient supervision and support throughout the
span of this project, especially with regard to linguistic
difficulties. There are several other individuals who graciously
assisted me in the area of translation: Steven Satory, Joanna
Quartel, Melitta Weiss-Amer, and Gabor Vaski. I would also like
to thank Dr. Hugh Hartwell for reading my thesis. Finally, I
wish to acknowledge the late Dr. Lee Hepner, who was responsible
. for sparking my interest in the Concerto for Orchestra.
iv
Table of Contents
Page!
I
Preface ix
Part I: Introduction
A: Biographical Background 3
B: Circumstances of the Commissioning, 21
Composition and First Performance
C: Critical Issues Surrounding the Concerto 37

Popularity; Fourth-Novement Quotation
Part II: Analytical Approaches 55
A: Descriptive Analyses 56
The Conventional View; A Psychological
Analysis
B: Thematic Analyses 82
Platonism in Nusic; The Technique of
Interpolation
C: Folk Music 107

A Lexicographical Approach;
Performance Practice: Parlando-rubato;
Golden Section Proportion
D: Orchestration 12E
E: Symmetrical Pitch Collections 13 ~
Part III: Worlds Contending 16 ~
Bibliography 18 E
v
Preface
That Bart6k has had a profound influence on composition
in the twentieth century is a statement on which ·there is wide
agreement. The subject of his style, on the other hand, has
remained controversial, often perplexing. Part of the diversity
found in Bart6k criticism stems from the lack of shared
assumptions about his music and, therefore, a single method by
which all his music can be analyzed. While some attempts have
been made to subsume Bart6k's entire oeuvre under one
analytical system, none of these approaches have emerged as
dominant. Another situation in Bart6k criticism is that some
of his works have been analyzed numerous times while others
have been generally overlooked by music scholars. In his
recent Bart6k bibliography, Andras Wilheim observes that
"literature on the string quartets continues to increase in
scope, whereas other genres are deemed virtually unworthy of
the analysts' attention. ,,1 .
The Concerto for Orchestra is one work which suffers
from comparative neglect. One reason for this may be the view,
expressed in some of the criticism dealing with the Concerto,
that this piece constitutes a compromise of Bart6k's
compositional integrity for the sake of financial success and
public acceptance. Ironically, this view is reflected most
often in sources which do not devote enough space to a thorough
analysis of the work; therefore, the discussions tend to be
superficial, descriptive analyses.
vi
There are only eight sources which analyze the
Concerto for Orchestra at any length, which is surprising
given the stature of the work in Bartok's oeuvre; it is the
largest orchestral work, one of the last works, and it occupies
a special place in the output since it was the first of
Bartok's American compositions, breaking a four-year
compositional silence. It has traditionally been a very
popular work, partially because of its association with
Bartok's temporary recovery from leukemia, and because it
seemed to coincide with a renaissance in his career as a
musician. Despite criticisms that this work was a product of
Bart6k's artistic compromise for the sake of money and
popularity, I believe that this composition is an important one
and has not received the critical attention it deserves.
At the same time, the comparative dearth of material on
this composi ti.on presents a certain advantage. It enables a
comprehensive discussion of the body of critical writings on
this work. Because of the diversity of approaches to Bart6k
criticism, a comparison of these analytical approaches is
valuable both as a means of investigating this work in more
depth and, also, as a framework for discussing the validity and
success of various analytical methods as applied to the music
of Bart6k. With these ideas in mind, this thesis presents the
analytical observations of nine writers (the eight analyses
plus the theory of Ern8 Lendvai 2 ):
vii
The first section of the thesis consists of an
introduction to the work: biographical background,
circumstances concerning the composition of the work, and some
important critical issues that have surrounded the work. This
section functions as background information for the main body
of the thesis, which examines the various analytical
approaches, including details of specific analytical points
made and a critical assessment of each analysis based on its
objectives and approach.
In comparing these analyses, my aim is twofold: first,
to explore the diversity of analytical methods; and secondly,
to employ the advantages of this diversity towards a richer,
more comprehensive understanding of the Concerto for Orchestra.
viii
Notes
lAndr~s Wilheim, "A Bart6k Bibliography," New
Hungarian Quarterly 22 (1981 ),8:50.
2Although Lendvai does not discuss the Concerto at any
length, his analytical approach to Bart6k is significant.
ix
Part I: Introduction
The concerto is the product of a gloomy

period in the composer's life. Bart6k
has not been well in recent months; nor
has he been especially successful (if
repeated performances are what make
success). And when Dr. Koussevitsky
through his music foundation approached
him to commission this work, Bart6k is
said to have felt himself incapable of
going through with the project. It may
be reading things into the work which are
not there, but the feeling of- increasing
optirnism,-of increasing strength and
vigor is strongly conveyed in this work,
and I have more than a suspicion that it
is highly personal, even autobiographical
.
mUS1C.
1 <
The sentimental tone of this review of the premiere of the
Concerto for Orchestra has characterized much of the
criticism of this composition, often overshadowing musical
concerns. Consequently, the romanticization of the Concerto
for Orchestra as a symbol of Bart6k's improving health and
reviving career, and as a tribute to Hungary, has probably
contributed to its reputation in some quarters as a
composition of artistic compromise. Naturally, the
romanticization of the events surrounding the Concerto for
Orchestra was inspired by actual events in Bart6k's life:
his yearning for Hungary and his concern over the political
situation; his consequent unhappiness in New York compounded
by ill health and financial concerns; the fact that Bart6k

2
had been unable or unwilling to compose anything for four
years.
While biographical details should never be
permitted to distort an understanding of the music, it is
important to be aware of the circumstances surrounding the
commission, composition and first performance of a work,
especially when these details are as significant as they are
in the case of the Concerto for Orchestra. The following
section will attempt to untangle the circumstances
surrounding the Concerto for Orchestra (including the
biographical details of Bart6k's life in America) from the
web of myths that has enveloped it.

3
A. Biographical Background
Bart6k's emigration to the United states in October
1940 was not the result of a hasty decision; nor was it
conceived by him as a permanent event. Thoughts of leaving
Hungary had been entertained by Bart6k as early as 1919
when, after considerable political upheaval, Horthy became
regent of the monarchy. In a letter to his mother, Bart6k
stated:
So long as we remain isolated and

continue to find ourselves in what
amounts to a state of siege, it will be
impossible to do anything. But I have
been making what enquiries I can in 3
different countries a~out the chances of
making a,living . . . -
But Bart6k also had a deep attachment to Hungary and its
people and he was especially loath to leave his mother Paula.
All these attachments prevented him from executing his plans
to emigrate.
In 1938, the political situation in Hungary
again became critical. With the annexation of Austria, the
Nazis were able to gain greater control over cultural life,
including the A.K.M. (the association of composers to which
Bart6k belonged) and Universal-Edition (Bart6k's publisher).
Bart6k reacted to these events with sorrow and alarm. In a
letter from April 13, 1938, he wrote of
the most terrible prospect. That is the

imminent danger that Hungary will
surrender to this regime of thieves and
murderers. The only question is--when
4
and how? And how I can then go on living

in such a country or--which means the
same thing--working, I simply cannot
conceive. As a matter of fact, I would
feel it my duty to ~migrate, so long as
that were possible.
This desire to oppose the evils of Nazism.which Bartok felt
so keenly was, however, counter-balanced by an equally
powerful force--apprehension about life in a strange
country. The letter continues:
But--even in the most favourable

circumstances--to have to earn my living
in some foreign country (to start toiling
at the age of 58, to begin, say,
teaching, and to be wholly dependent on
it) would be immensely difficult and
would cause me such distress of m!nd that
I can hardly bear to think of it.
Over the next two years, Bartok wrestled with the dilemma
created by his conflicting inclinations, making discreet
enquiries about emigration while denying rumours that he was
to leave Hungary. The "stalemate" was broken, sadly enough,
by the death of his mother in December 1939. In his
biography of Bartok, Halsey stevens suggests that, with the
death of Paula Bart6k, "the greatest tie which bound him
[Bartok] to Hungary was broken, [and] there was nothing to
prevent Bartok's leaving Europe. "5 While it is true that a
major obstacle to emigration was removed, Bartok was still
faced with concerns about the manner in which he was to
support himself and apout the uncertainties of an unknown
land. Bartok's concert tour of the United states in the

5
spring of 1940 served to relieve some anxiety about the
nature of life in the United States. 6
During the tour, Bart6k learned of the existence of a
collecti~n of Yugoslavian folk-song recordings made in 1934-5
by the late Milman Parry, a professor at Harvard. Albert
Lord, who had assisted Parry on the expedition, was writing a
book on the texts, but no one had yet studied the music of
these songs. The bulk of Parry's collection consisted of
heroic poems, also called epic-songs. Bart6k, however, was
more interested in the "women's songs," and it was this
material which he transcribed and analyzed under the auspices
of Columbia University. Columbia was able to finance the
project with a grant from the Alice M. Ditson Fund. This
arrangement was both financially and personally opportune for
Bart6k. Through it, he could be assured of a means of
financial support; moreover, the Milman Parry collection
filled a void which had existed in his own collection of
folk-music. In a letter, Bart6k revealed his excitement over
the project: "material such as this can be found no where
else in the world, . . . this is what was so badly lacking to
me [sic] over in Europe."7
Consequently, Benjamin Suchoff portrays Bart6k's
emigration in this light:
Although his economic future--in a

foreign land--surely must have then
seemed precarious, the opportunity of at
long last coming into contact with
recorded autochthonous Serbo-Croatian
musical folklore provided Bart6k, now
6
fifty-nine years old, w~th the strength

to take this bold step.
Shortly after Bart6k's trip to the U.S. in the spring of
1940, Boosey and Hawkes began to make arrangements for a
lengthier tour during the following winter and to try to
secure an academic position for him. Thus, it seemed that
sufficient opportunity was available to enable Bart6k to
leave Hungary for America. The following October, Bart6k and
his wife left Hungary to live in America for an unspecified
period.
Although an aura of permanence was lent to the
Bart6ks' departure for America in October 1940 by the
formality of a farewell concert, there is no indication that
their sojourn in the U.S. was intended to be permanent. It
seems likely that even Bart6k was not certain how long he
would remain in the U.S. On different occasions, Bart6k
referred to the length of their stay as "perhaps for several

years,,,9 "several months,,,10 and "a longer period.,,11 In
his letters from the U.S., Bart6k made it clear that he still
intended to return to Hungary even though the possibility of
such was becoming increasingly remote.
Owing to a variety of 'indescribable'

circumstances, our return to Hungary has
once mOl~ receded into the misty
future.
Furthermore, Bart6k was elected to the Parliament in Budapest
in 1945, possibly on the assumption that his return was
imminent with the end of World War II. On the other hand,
7
this event may have been purely symbolic. Three others were
elected on the same occasion: all were exiles.'3
Having made the decision to become a "voluntary
refugee,"'4 as Bart6k once described himself, and move to the
United states, Bart6k was faced with a dilemma complementary
to that which he experienced in Hungary. Whereas he had felt
compelled by his political conscience (and yet was reluctant
for personal reasons) to leave Hungary, once he had settled
in America, he found himself longing to return to his country
even though such a move was now nearly impossible. In the
following letter, Bart6k expresses this dilemma:
We have been receiving some extremely

depressing news from Hungary: appalling
devastations, terrible misery, chaos
threatening . . . As I see it, for the
time being one cannot even think of
returning to Hungary. Nor is there any
means of doing so--neither transport
nor (Russian) permit. But even if there
were means, in my opinion it would be
better to await developments. Heaven
knows how many years it will be before
Hungary can pull herself together in some
measure (if at all). And yet I, too
would like to return, for good _____ 15
Bart6k's letters from the U.S. are peppered with statements
of powerless concern such as the following: "we all are very
much worried about the situation in Hungary and especially in
Budapest, and are cursing the Germans; but this does not give
any remedy."'6
It should be stressed that Bart6k's homesickness was
not simply a longing to return to the Hungary of the 1940s.
Just as emigration to the U.S. was not really a satisfactory

8
solution to his discontent with the political developments in
Hungary, Bart6k's homesickness would not have been cured by
returning to Budapest. The Hungary to which he longed to
return had been lost forever by the political developments of
the 1930s and 40s. In the U.S., he continued to suffer
anguish over the destruction of Hungary (as he viewed it)--
but at least his emigration afforded the opportunity of
personal safety and staging a form of protest.
Bart6k's protest against Fascism had begun ten years
earlier when an incident involving Toscanini inspired Bart6k
to voice his disapproval. In Bologna, on May 15, 1931,
Toscanini was attacked by an "unspeakable gang" of young pro-
Fascists after having refused to begin one of his concerts
with Giovinezza, which would have caused "the concert
suddenly to take on a gala or political character."l7 In
addition to being beaten, Toscanini suffered the humiliation
of being publicly insulted and threatened by the gang, which
gathered, later, below his hotel window. The next day, his
passport was confiscated and his home was put under
surveillance.
outraged by this event, Bart6k submitted the
following resolution at a meeting of the New Hungarian Music
Society [U.M.Z.E.]:
1. The U.M.Z.E. [New Hungarian Music

Society] was deeply shocked and indignant
at the news of the grave insult suffered
by Arturo Toscanini. The Society assures
him of its wholehearted sympathy and
9
solidarity and offers him its utmost

admiration and regard.
2. The U.M.Z.E. views with concern
the interference with artistic life by
factors outside the arts, factors which
do not even respect the worldwide
prestige of a Toscanini. The Society
therefore believes that the time has come
to raise the problem_of defensive action.
The U.M.Z.E. addresses a circular
letter to all divisions of the I.S.C.M.
[International Society for Contemporary
Music] and asks the drafting of proposals
concerning the integrity and autonomy of
the arts, which are to be presented at
the convention in July at Oxford. It
urges the central presidium to prepare
the conference and to contact other
musical and, if necessary, literary
organizations for their support in the
creation of a worldwide organization for
the institutionfS protection of the
freedom of art.
January 23, 1933 ~as the last time that Bart6k performed in
Germany and, in 1937, he forbade broadcasts of his music on
radio stations which could be received in Germany and Italy.
Perhaps the most poignant evidence of Bart6k's deep-seated
antipathy to fascism in all its forms is to be found in a
clause of his will which reads:
If after my death it should be desired to

name a street after me or locate a
memorial tablet which bears any relation
to me in a public place, then it is my
wish that as long as the former Oktogon
Ter [square] and former Korond in
Budapest are named after those men whose
name they bear at present [Mussolini and
Hitler, respectively], and moreover, as
long as there is any square or street in
Hungary named after these two men, no
square, street or public building should
be name~ after me in this country, and no
memorial tablet connected with me should
be placed in any public place. 1~
10
Given the circumstances of Bart6k's arrival in
America as a "voluntary refugee," mourning his own country
and intimidated and confused by the one in which he found
himself, it is not difficult to understand why he was
unhappy in New York.
If Bart6k's last years were characterized by hardship
and illness, it was not true of his entire stay. Even though
Bart6k and his wife arrived in New York almost two months
before their luggage and had to cope with the unfamiliarity
of a new city and foreign language, Bart6k's initial account
of life in New York was quite positive. Describing their
Forest Hills apartment, he writes:
The streets are wide, we can also see

forests, fields and lakes; there is a
great deal of traffic, but it is not
noisy, only the subway trains rumble
every 5 m~nutes. We h~~e shops and every
kind of amenity . . .
Later in the letter he confesses:
We had a certain amount of trouble in

learning how to use various electric and
gas appliances--cork-screws, tin-
openers, etc., also with the means of
tran~~ort; but we manage fairly well
now.
In a letter from April 2, 1941, Bart6k writes of the things
he had "been unable so far to get used to: human beings
ruminating like cows (every second person is chewing gum);
railway carriages in semi-darkness; the cheque-book

11
system."22 But these concerns have an air of levity rather
than serious grievance.
By May 1941, however, Bart6k had apparently reversed
his initially favourable opinion of the Forest Hills flat.
In explanation of his move to the Bronx, he claimed that the
Forest Hills apartment
was unsuitable in every way. It was a

large apartment house, and we were piano-
played and radio-blasted from right and
left; a lot of noise came in from the
street night and day; every 5 minutes we
heard the rumble of t~~ subway, which made
the very walls shake.
The tone of this letter is much darker and Bart6k concludes
it by the ironic observation that
It is just as well I wasn't over there

[Hungary] on March 25th [his birthday],
or I should have had to appear .
everywhere, and that--as you know--is
something I dislike. Over here, I had no
such worries, for apart from 5 people who
cabled me greetin~~, nobody cared a damn
about March 25th.
Whether it was a source of irritation or concern to
Bart6k or not (this question will be discussed on pp. 33

ff.), his impact on the American musical scene was less than
profound. Initially he was welcomed to the U.S. with
enthusiasm: he gave a number of concerts in 1941 including a
tour which brought him to st. Louis, Denver, Provo, San
Francisco, Seattle, Kansas City and Detroit; on November 25,
1940, he was granted an honorary doctorate from Columbia
University; and on January 20, 1941, the Kolisch Quartet gave
the world premiere of his Sixth String Quartet. Also, as

12
discussed above, special arrangements were made so that
Bart6k could investigate the Milman Parry collection of
Yugoslavian folk-songs, which was located at Columbia
University.
It was shortly after the Bart6ks moved to their home
in the Bronx (May 1941) that their situation worsened. Bela
, Bart6k developed bursitis in his left shoulder in August,
and he faced some anxiety regarding his position at Columbia.
According to Benjamin Suchoff,
Bart6k was under the impression that his

Columbia University appointment involved
permanence . • . He was not informed
that it was to be a temporary research
fellowship of a kind usually given to
doctoral candidates, nor that i t was
financed by a special fund that did not
permit even enewal, let alone
permanence. 25
In fact, the position was renewed several times, and Bart6k
was able to' work from March 1941 until December 1942, but
there was always a threat of termination at the end of each
term.
Concert engagements became much less frequent in
1942, with the result that the Bart6ks were faced with
serious financial problems. In a letter from May 1942,
Bart6k writes:
Our situation is getting daily worse and

worse. All I can say is that never in my
life since I earn [sic] my livelihood
(that is from my 20th year) have I been
in such a dreadful situation as I will be
probably very soon . . . . • . . . . . .
I am rather pessimistic, I lost all
confidence in people, in countries, in
13
everything . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Until know [sic] we had from Baldwin
piano company two free pianos, a baby
grand and an upright. Just today I got
the news the upright will be taken from
us. Of course we have no money to hire a
second piano. So we will have no
possibility to study two-piano works.
And each month brings a similar blow. 26
Comments such as these have, no doubt, fostered the
"American guilt" theory. This term, coined by Suchoff,
refers to the notion that Bart6k was mistreated in America
and that this was a contributing factor to his premature
death. 27 It may also be true, as Paul Henry Lang suggests,
that Bart6k's apparent subsistence in poverty and neglect was
"to a ~onsiderable extent of his own making."28 The
University of Washington attempted on several occasions to
lure Bart6k with a one-year position as guest lecturer but it
was an offer which Bart6k felt he had to refuse while the
possibility of working at Columbia remained. Furthermore,
Ern8 Balogh claims that Bart6k was offered lucrative
positions at both Juilliard and Curtis, but did not wish to
teach composition. 29
In April 1942, Bart6k's illness worsened but his
doctors could not pronounce a firm diagnosis, or at least
Bart6k was kept in ignorance. In the article "Bart6k's
Diseases," his son B~la Jr. states that Bart6k's illness was
diagnosed at this time as "atypical mycloid leukaemia",30 by
a Dr. Hol16, but the following letter suggests that neither
Bart6k nor his physicians could be certain about his condition:

14
It concerns my'health which is impaired

since the beginning of April • . . The
doctors cann't [sic] find out the cause,
and as a consequence, cann't [sic] even
try a tr~1tment. Is not that rather
strange?
The stress of Bart6k's financial situation and
deteriorating health was compounded by the lack of interest
shown in his music. In a letter to Wilhelmine Creel, he
implied that this neglect was intentional: a "quasi-
boycott,,32 of his music among American orchestras. By
January 1943, it became apparent that he could no longer hope
to supplement his income by performing engagements. There
were no commissions forthcoming either, but in any case,
Bart6k was apparently not interested in composing at this
time. 33 Instead, his energy was spent on his
ethnomusicological work. In addition to his transcriptions
of the Milman Parry collection at Columbia, Bart6k was
finishing a book on Serbo-Croatian folksong (which was
connected with his transcription and analysis of the Parry
collection) and a collection of 2500 Romanian melodies.
Aside from a series of lectures at Harvard in
February and a premiere performance of the Concerto for Two
Pianos and Percussion with the New York Philharmonic (an
arrangement of the Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion) on
January 21, there were "no possibilities with concertizing or
lecturing,,,34 according to Bart6k, in 1943. In a letter from
December 31, 1942, Bart6k assessed his situation as "living
from h~lf-year to half-year.,,35 B~la and Ditta Bart6k played

15
the Concerto (it was Bela's last public performance) with
mixed success; according to Halsey stevens, "the"audience
was generally receptive, the critics antagonistic."36 Bart6k
dismissed this significant performance as unimportant, a
"f~mily" business, since it was arranged for by his friend
Fritz Reiner.
Bart6k was not able to fulfill his commitment to
Harvard due to his rapidly deteriorating health. He gave a
few of the lectures; but in March, he had a complete
breakdown and entered the hospital for tests, resulting in

the diagnosis of polycythaemia. The certainty of a concrete
diagnosis was, apparently, not of much comfort to Bart6k.
That he had little faith in his doctors is evident in one of
his letters in which he writes "they are groping about as in a
darkness, try [sic] desperately to invent the most
extraordinary hypotheses."37 In spite of the intervention of
ASCAP, which subsidized further testing 38 , Bart6k's condition
worsened: his temperature remained very high and his weight
dropped to 87 pounds.
Given this situation, Koussevitzky's visit to
Bart6k's hospital room with the offer of a commission does
acquire something of the miraculous. 39 As the terms of the
commission were 1000 dollars (half of which was paid
immediately) and a public performance by the Boston Symphony
Orchestra, the commission was timely in that it offered both
financial support and an opportunity for public exposure. It

16
also provided incentive, Bart6k having composed nothing since
the Sixth String Quartet in August, 1939. 40

17
Notes
1Rudolph Elie, "Review of the Concerto for
Orchestra," Boston Herald Traveler, 2 December, 1944.
2Janos Demeny, ed., Bela Bart6k Letters, trans. Peter
Balaban and Istvan Farkas, trans. rev. Elisabeth West and
Colin Mason (London: Faber & Faber, 1971), p. 144. [Original
in Hungarian]
3 Ibid ., p. 267. [Original in German]
4 Ibid . [Original in German]
5Halsey Stevens, The Life and Music of Bela Bart6k,
rev. ed. (London: Oxford University Press, 1964), p. 89.
6Gyorgy Kro6 says that this trip probably convinced
Bart6k to emigrate (G. Kro6, A Guide to Bart6k, trans. Ruth
Pataki and Maria Steiner, trans. rev. Elisabeth West (N.P.:
Corvina Press, 1974), pp. 222-3).
7Bela Bart6k and Albert B. Lord, Yugoslav Folk Music,
vol. 1: Serbo-Croatian Folk Songs and Instrumental Pieces from
the Milman Parry Collection, edited by Benjamin Suchoff, with
a foreword by George Herzog, The New York Bart6k Archive
Studies in Musicology, no. 9 (Albany, New York: State
University of New York Press, 1978), p. xxii.
8Ibid.
9Demeny, ed., Letters, p. 283. [Original in English]
10Bart6k, Yugoslav, p. xxi.
l1Demeny, ed., Letters, p. 284. [Original in English]

18
12 Ibid ., p. 316. [Original in Hungarian]
13These were Michael Karolyi, Professor Vambery, and
George Boeloeny. See "Budapest Elects Exiles," New York
Times, 28 April 1945, p. 6.
14 Ibid ., p. 340. [Original in French]
15 Ibid ., p. 346-7. [Original in Hungarian]
16 Ibid ., p. 343. [Original in EnglishJ
17Harvey Sachs, Toscanini (London: Weidenfeld and
Nicolson, 1978), p. 211.
18Benjamin Suchoff, ed., Bela Bart6k Essays (New
York: st. Martin's Press, 1976), p. 491. Joseph Szigeti
provides a more strongly-worded translation in With Strings
Attached. He also states in connection with this matter:
"What action was taken is not known to me, butyhat matters
to us now is this expression of Bart6k's attitude so early in
the days of fascism and Nazism." [With Strings Attached:
Reminiscences and Reflections, 2nd ed. (New York: Alfred A.
Knopf, 1967), pp. 347-8.J
19Cited by Todd Crow, ed., Bart6k Studies (Detroit,
Michigan: Information Coordinators, 1976), p. 146.

20Demeny, ed. , Letters, p .. 292. [Original in Hungarian]
21 Ibid. , p. 293. [Original in Hungarian]
22 Ibid . , p. 300. [Original in HungarianJ
23 Ibid . , p. 301 . [Original in HungarianJ
24 Ibid ., p. 302. [Original in HungarianJ

19
25Benjamin Suchaff, "Bart6k in America," Musical
Times 117 (1976):123.
26Demeny, ed., Letters, pp. 320-1. [Original in English]
27See Suchoff, Bart6k in America and also
"Propaganda vs. Facts: Communists Falsify Bart6k's Life in
America," Musical America 75 (Oct, 1955): 8, 30, 33. This
article attempts to refute alleged Soviet propaganda which
suggests that Bart6k was not treated well in the u.s.

28 paul Henry Lang, "Bart6k at Columbia," High
Fidelity/Musical America, 31 (Mar. 1981 ):38.
29 Ern6 Balogh, "Bart6k's Last Years," Tempo 36
(1955):16.
30 Bela Bart6k Jr., "Bela Bart6k's Diseases," Studia
Musicologica, 23 (1981 ):438.
31 Demeny, ed. Letters, p. 324. [Original in English]
32 Ibid ., p. 325. [Original in English] Gy6rgy Kr06
makes reference to a letter, written to Kodaly in 1941, in
which Bart6k wrote: "The big orchestras are virtually
boycotting me. It is fortunate that I have no spirit for
composing anything new and I do not even have time; if I
would have a new orchestral work it would be impossible to
have it performed." (G. Kr06, "Unrealized Plans by Bart6k,"
Studia Musicologica 12 (1970):23-4)
33 The subject of Bart6k's 'compositional silence'
will be discussed below.

20
35 Ibid ., p. 325. [Original in English]
36Stevens, p. 97.
37Janos Demeny, ed., Bart6k Bela levelei (az utols6
ket ev gylijtese) [Letters collected in the last two years]
(Budapest: Muvelt Nep Konyvkiad6, 1951), pp. 176-8, cited by
Halsey Stevens, p. 98. [Original in English]
38According to one source, ASCAP contributed a total
of approximately $16,000 in subsidizing Bart6k's medical
expenses. (E. Balogh, "Bart6k's Last Years," Tempo (Summer
1966),36:15)
39 It should be stressed that, however fortuitous
Koussevitzky's commission was to Bart6k personally, its being

offered precisely at this time in Bart6k's life was not as
coincidental as it might appear. Koussevitzky was quite
concerned at this time about the plight of penniless
composers, and he even expressed his views on how they should
be supported in a letter to the editor of the New York Tim.es
which appeared on May 16, 1943 (sec. 2, p. 5), shortly after
the commission was offered. Also, the idea of awarding the
commission from the Koussevitzky Foundation to Bart6k was
suggested by Szigeti and Reiner, two of Bart6k's closest
friends. This fact was never divulged to Bart6k, who would
have viewed it as an act of charity and probably would have
been refused on that basis.
40As mentioned above, Bart6k did· arrange his Sonata
for Two Pianos and Percussion for orchestral performance.

B. Circumstances of the Commissioning, Composition and First
Performance
There is no evidence th~t Bart6k ever formally
articulated an intention not to compose during the period 1939-
43; however, there is a passage in one of Ditta Bart6k's letters
(written shortly after the Koussevitzky commission was
received) that would suggest that he did so informally:
One thing is sure: Bela's 'under no

circumstances will I ever write any new
work' --- attitude has gone. It's more
than three years now ___ 1
Gy6rgy Kr06 quotes the letter as follows: "it was Bart6k's
firm decision not to write any new works under any
circumstances" and "that happened over three years ago."2 I
think this interpretation is misleading. Granted, Ditta's
letter is confusing; the quotation marks suggest that this
was a statement of Bart6k's, and "under no circumstances"
implies a "firm decision;" however, there is also the
implication that this was only an attitude, not a resolution.
In fact, Bart6k did make some attempt at composition during
this period, but- abandoned his efforts due to his despairing
state of mind. This would suggest that Bart6k's
compositional sile~ce resulted from disability rather than
conscious intention.
21
22
The following letter (also somewhat ambiguous) has
been quoted in support of the view that Bart6k was
demoralized by the lack of interest in his music, and that he
stopped composing for that reason. This portion of the
letter follows an account of the financial hardships which
Bart6k was experiencing. He mentions the publication of some
articles (in English) as one of the few remaining sources of
income, concluding:
So, with my books and articles I am

gradually advancing to the position of
an English writer (I don't mean it
seriously, of course); I never had an
idea that this will be the end of my
career! Otherwise, my career as a
composer is as much as finished: the
quasi boycott of my works by the leading
orchestras continues, no performances
either of old work(s) or of new o~es. It
is a shame--not for me of course.
It is difficult to draw solid conclusions based on this
letter. First of all, the phrase "end of my career" is
ambiguous. (The letter was written in English, so
translation is not an issue here.) It could mean that his
career was over, but it could also refer to the latter part
of the career. Furthermore, did Bartok simply mean that his
career as a performed composer was ended, since no orchestras
were playing his works, or that he would no longer compose at
all? If he meant the latter; was this the result of an
independent personal. decision, or lack of public interest in
his music? The argument that he did not compose because he
received no commissions is unreliable since he later refused

23
commissions in order to work on his own compositional
projects. What is clear from the letter is that Bart6k was
conscious of the lack of interest in his music. Therefore,
his "decision" not to compose may have been bound up with the
American attitude towards his music. However, compared to
the melancholy tone of most of the letter, Bart6k's attitude
towards the so-called boycott is perfunctory.
In the following letter to Ralph Hawkes, of the
publishing firm Boosey and Hawkes, Bart6k tries to explain
his inability to compose. While he is not very specific,
neglect by the public does not seem to have been a
preoccupation:
Therefore, I really don't know if and

when I will be able to do some composing
work. Artistic creative work generally
is the result of an outflow of strength,
highspiritedness, joy of life, etc.
All this [sic] cond!tions are sadly missing
with me at present.
Yet another hypothesis is offered by Paul Griffiths--
that Bart6k's work on Yugoslavian folk song "contributed to
his withdrawal from composition."5 It is certainly true
that most of Bart6k's attention was focused on his
ethnomusicological work during this period; in fact, it was
one of the few things about his life in America which he
found worthwhile. Despite his health, he devoted a great
deal of time and energy to this work, but after only a brief
attempt at composition in 1942, he abandoned it due to the
fact that he had no stamina for this activity. This suggests

24
that, whereas Bart6k was very industrious and productive in
preparing his folk-song collections, he was not capable of
the same energy when it came to compositional activity, since
he was not in the proper state of mind.
Regardless of the cause or conditions of his
compositional silence, the revival of Bart6k's interest in
composing was an event of great import. Soon after the
commission was offered by Koussevitzky, Ditta was able to
write to J6zsef Szigeti with excitement, reporting that
"plans, musical ambitions, compositions are stirring in
B6la's mind."6 Although Bart6k's health did not improve
until several months later, he wrote of an association
between the commission and his improved physical condition:
My health suddenly improved at the end of

August. At present I feel quite well, I
have no temperature, my strength has
returned . . . Perhaps it is due to this
improvement (or it may be the other way
round) that I have been able to finish
the work that Koussevitzky
commissioned. 7
Bart6k's initial response to Koussevitzky's commission was to
refuse it on the basis that he would never again be well
enough to compose, but he did eventually accept the initial
payment of 500 dollars and left New York City for the quiet
retreat of Saranac Lake in northern New York state.
Bart6k worked on the Concerto for Orchestra from
August 15 until October 8, 1943 while he was recuperating at
Saranac Lake. It was written in five movements and scored
for strings, 2 harps, timpani, percussion, 4 horns, 3

25
trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba and three each of the woodwinds
with doublings on piccolo, English horn, bass clarinet and
contrabassoon. The movements are entitled Introduzione,
Giuoco delle coppie,8 Elegia, Intermezzo interrotto and
Finale. Bart6k's correspondence reveals little about the
compositional process but there are some interesting details
from other sources about the genesis of this work.
Gyorgy Kr06 and Tibor Kneif have both claimed that
the Concerto for Orchestra originated as a cantata 9 , most
likely on the basis of Ditta Bart6k's comment that "it was
Bela's idea to combine chorus and orchestra,,10 for the
Koussevitzky commission. Apparently this idea was rejected
by Koussevitzky, who wanted a purely orchestral work that

would highlight the talents of his orchestra, the Boston
Symphony. This requirement was certainly fulfilled by
Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra, in which there are many
virtuosic solo passages for the various instruments. The
idea of a concerto for orchestra probably resulted from one
of the suggestions Ralph Hawkes made in April 1942 to Bart6k
for new compositions. Hawkes proposed the idea of a modern
series of Brandenburg Concertos for string orchestra and
various solo instruments. While this instrumentation does
not correspond to that of Bart6k's Concerto, the Baroque
concept of concerto informs the work as much as the
nineteenth-century virtuosic concerto principle.

26
The piece may have had its fundamental beginnings in
1939. In this year, Hawkes and Bart6k discussed an idea for
a "long orchestral work in the form of a ballet."11 Although
he notes that Bart6k "did not even outline his ideas"12 about
this work to Hawkes, Kro6 claims (for reasons unstated) that
these ideas were incorporated in the Concerto for Orchestra.
Kro6's assertions seem to be based on findings by Laszl6
Somfai as described in the following passage:
Laszl6 Somfai correctly deduced from the

letters written to Boosey and Hawkes and
found in Budapest that the Ballet
frequently mentioned in the
correspondence between 1942-43 whi6h was
prepared for the New York Ballet Theatre
was actuallY the Concerto [for
Orchestra].13 ---
Ove Nordwall also suggests that some of the material used in
the Concerto for Orchestra was originally written in 1942 for
a ballet. 14 Unfortunately, Nordwall can be no more
conclusive on this point than Kro6.
Kro6 supplements his conjectural evidence concerning
his hypothesis that the Concerto was a "realization of
Bart6k's earlier plan for a "ballet symphonique"'5 with
evidence deduced from the Concerto itself: the programmatic
titles of some of the movements, the "stage character of the
music," and the subsequent interest that choreographers have
shown in it. 16 Kro6's conception of the Concerto may also
have been influenced by evidence that the New York Ballet
Theatre had apparently planned a production of the Concerto
in autumn 1944 or in 1945. It was for this purpose that

27
Bart6k transcribed the work for piano in January-February
1944.
Thus, the conceptual parameters of the work which
Bart6k wrote extend beyond the orchestral work which
Koussevitzky commissioned, farther even than the concerto
principle which gives the work its name. Given the nebulous
evidence of the influences of ballet and cantata, it would be
dangerous to overemphasize their impact on the work; however,
a few observations can be made in this respect. Kneif
suggests that "the 'Elegy' of the third movement could be the
core of the cantata version with its cantabile chain of
variations performed in rubato style."17 Another pi~ce of
evidence suggesting that Bart6k was inspired by song in this
work is the appearance in the fourth movement of a Hungarian
patriotic song (mm. 43 ff.).
Griffiths' point that "the Concerto is decidedly not
a work for dancing"18 is well-taken, the interest of the New
York Ballet Theatre notwithstanding. Nevertheless, dance
influences can be found in the stylized, jazz-inspired second
movement and in the energetic fifth movement, which has often
been described in terms of dance. 19
The premiere of the Concerto for Orchestra was given
over a year after the work was completed, on December 1, 1944
(and repeated on December 2) by Koussevitzky conducting the
Boston Symphony Orchestra. Contrary to the information that
appears in the printed score, the first performance took

28
place in Symphony Hall, Boston, not in Carnegie Hall, New
York. 20 Bart6k was able to attend the rehearsals and both
performances, which proved to be the last of his public
appearances. He had not fully recovered his health and had
to obtain medical permission, which was "grudgingly
granted,"21 to make the trip. Despite any discomfort he may
have suffered, Bart6k described the trip as
worth wile [sic], the performance was

excellent. Koussevitzky is very
enthusiastic about the piece, and says it
is 'the best orchestra piece of the last
25 years' (including ~he works of his
idol Shostakovich! ).2
There are divergent accounts of this anecdote. Ujfalussy
claims that Bart6k embellished Koussevitzky's original
statement from twenty to twenty-five years. 23 According to
Citron, it was Koussevitzky who elaborated his own
compliment. 24 The actual difference of five years is not
that significant--it is high praise in either case.
Koussevitzky offered another criticism of the work,
which required quite a different reaction from Bart6k. In
response to Koussevitzky's comments about the Finale of the
piece, Bart6k wrote an alternate ending in February 1945,
which has become the standard version. It is nineteen
measures longer than the original.
The first performance of the Concerto for Orchestra
has been heralded as the event which stimulated a dramatic
surge of interest in Bart6k and his music; however, the point
is debatable. Rudolph Elie's review of the pre~iere records

29
that the Concerto was "not . . . taken readily to heart by
yesterday's audience."25 Nevertheless, the review was
essentially positive, calling the work "the composer's
masterpiece, which is to say it must also rank among the
musical masterpieces of recent years."26 While Elie's
appraisal of the Concerto's impact on the public was based,
ostensibly, on the "typical Bart6kian austerity and
severity,"27 Olin Downes' review of the first New York
performance attributes the "cordial reception" which it
received to "the fact that the score is by no means the nut

to crack that other of Bart6k's late works have offered;" he
calls the Concerto a "wide departure from. its author's
harsher and more cerebral style.,,28 The·divergence in these
two reviewers' impressions of their respective audiences'
ability to comprehend the work may simply reflect differences
in municipalities and readerships. More importantly, it is
impossible to accurately assess how favourably a work was
received on the slim testimony of two critics, a fact to
which the inconclusive evidence in this case bears witness.
The revival that Bart6k enjoyed during the last year
of his life may have been instigated less by the performance
of the Concerto than by the championship of Bart6k by Yehudi
Menuhin. In the fall of 1943, shortly after having completed
the Concerto for Orchestra, Bart6k met Menuhin in New York.
Bart6k was impressed with the violinist's musicality and his
interest in contemporary works, and his admiration was

30
reciprocated by Menuhin, who performed Bart6k's works
frequently. In 1944, Menuhin played the Violin Concerto No.2
in Washington, Baltimore, Pittsburgh and London. The
statement that "Bart6k is the fourth in the procession of the
great B's of music,"29 which appeared in the San Francisco
Chronicle, was inspired by a performance by Menuhin of the
first violin sonata. In the fall of 1943, Menuhin
commissioned Bart6k to write a work for him, which Bart6k
composed during the first few months of 1944 while
recuperating in Asheville, North Carolina. The premiere of
this work (Solo Violin Sonata) took place a few days before
that of the Concerto for Orchestra.
Another prominent figure in the renaissance of
Bart6k's career was the publisher Ralph Hawkes, who tried to
promote Bart6k in the United States, assist him in the matter
of obtaining the royalties that were due him, and who

/
commissioned a Seventh String Quartet. In his memoir,
printed in a special issue of Tempo, he denies the notion
that Bart6k died in absolute poverty and neglect. While he
does not prove otherwise, Hawkes defends his position as
Bart6k's publisher and suggests that Bart6k was a victim of
the conditions produced by war-time restrictions:
harsh words have been uttered that could

be interpreted as indicating that he
[Bart6k] died utterly penniless and
completely neglected. This is not true
. . . That his royalties were not large
was true enough; on the contrary, they
were small. It must be borne in mind at
the same time that the war produced a
31
financial crisis for all Europeans with

international business and royalty
interests . . . Bart6k's royalties from
Europe were unobtainable except from
England and then only with difficulty.
No one without an active knowledge of
these acute complications could have any
idea what strangulat~Bn can be effected
by such regulations.
There is evidence in Bart6k's own letters that his financial
position was finally secure by December 1944, due largely to
Boosey and Hawkes, which had agreed to pay him 1400 dollars
yearly for three years. (This was comparable to the yearly
salary of a secretary or sales-clerk in 1943.) In addition
to this, Bart6k was by this time receiving a sUbstantial
amount from the sale of music. Since Bart6k's financial
situation had already improved by December 1944, the cause of
this improvement can hardly be attributed to the impact of
the Concerto for Orchestra premiere, which took place in the
same month.
While it is true that Bart6k received several
commissions subsequent to the December 1 performance of the
Concerto, two of these were initiated by Ralph Hawkes: the
Seventh String Quartet mentioned earlier; and the Viola
Concerto, commissioned by William Primrose at Hawkes'
suggestion. Both works were begun but left unfinished.
Bart6k received two other commissions, neither of which he
fulfilled. One was for a duo-piano concerto from Ethel
Bartlett and Rae Robertson,31 and the other was from Nat
(Nathaniel) Shilkret for participation in a film score which

32
was to involve the contributions of Stravinsky, Milhaud,
Schoenberg and others.
To say that "from almost complete obscurity, almost
complete neglect on the part of performers, Bart6k had
suddenly become sought after,,32 on the basis of these last
commissions is an inflammatory view of the situation and of
the'importance of the performance of the Concerto. As
mentioned earlier, two of the commissions were instigated by
Ralph Hawkes, who had already been trying to promote Bart6k's
music for some time. Furthermore, both William Primrose and
the Bartlett-Robertson duo were from Britain, where the
public may have been more receptive to Bart6k's music . . (In
August 1945, Yehudi Menuhin wrote to Bart6k of "a general
PybliC in London more than ready and eager to welcome you and
your music.,,33 In any case, the Concerto was not performed
in England until 1946.) It is not my intention to detract
from the significance of the first performance of the
Concerto for Orchestra, only to demonstrate that it was not
the sole cause of the growing interest in his work in 1945.

33
Notes
1Janos Demeny, ed., Bela Bart6k Letters, trans. Peter
Balaban and Istvan Farkas, trans. rev. Elisabeth West and
Colin Mason (London: Faber & Faber, 1971), p. 326. [Original
in Hungarian]
2Gy6rgy Kro6, "Unrealized Plans and Ideas for
Projects by Bart6k," Studia Musicologica 12 (1970):23.
3Demeny, ed. Letters, p. 325. [Original in English]
4Cited in Kro6, Unrealized Plans, p. 25.
5paul Griffiths, Bart6k (London: J. M. Dent & Sons,
1984)~ p. 73.
6Demeny, ed. Letters, p. 326. [Original in Hungarian]
7Ibid ., p. 330. [Original in Hungarian]
8 This movement was originally entitled Presentando
Ie coppie.
9See Kro6, A Guide to Bart6k, trans. Ruth Pataki and
Maria Steiner, trans. rev. Elisabeth West (n.p.: Corvina
Press, 1974), p. 224 and Tibor Kneif, "Zur Entstehung und
Kompositionstechnik von Bart6ks Konzert flir Orchester,~ Die
Musikforschung 26 (1973):42.
10Demeny, ed., Letters, p. 326. [Original in
Hungarian]
11 Kro6 , Guide, p. 222.
12 Ibid . In a letter from April 25, 1939, Hawkes
lists "Ballet Symphonique" among Bart6k's current projects,

34
but adds "as this work has not yet taken shape, we can leave
it."
13Kro6 , Unrealized Plans, p. 13. While many of
Kr06's suppositions are fascinating, their accuracy is
suspect since they are seldom documented properly. Kr06
gives no details about Somfai's deductions nor does he
indicate where they can be found.
140ve Nordwall, "Bart6ks Sonata f5r violin solo:
F5rlagets utg~va ar bara en etapp," Nutida Musik (1985-86),
2:19.
15Kr06 , Guide, p. 225.

16 Ibid .
17Tibor Kneif, "Zur Entstehung und Kompositions-
technik von Bart6ks Konzert fUr Orchester," Die
Musikforschung 26 (1973):42. Unless otherwise indicated, all
subsequent translations are my own.
18Griffiths, Bart6k, p. 175. In its context, this
statement is a cautionary adjunct to the evidence Griffiths
presents that the Concerto contains material written earlier
for a ballet.
19 See the following: Kro6, Guide, p. 231; Halsey
Stevens, The Life and Music of Bela Bart6k, rev. ed. (London:
Oxford University Press, 1964), p. 282; Serge Moreux, Bela
Bart6k, trans. G.S. Fraser and Erik de Mauny (New York:
Vienna House, 1974), p. 197; Vera Lampert and Lasz16 Somfai,
"Bela Bart6k," in The New Grove Modern Masters (New York: W.

35
W. Norton & Co., 1984), p. 74; Jozsef Ujfalussy, Bela Bart6k,
trans. Ruth Pataki (Boston: Crescendo Publ. Co., 1972), p.
370.
20There was another set of performances in Boston on
December 29 and 30, 1944, just four weeks after the premiere,
and the New York premiere was given a few days later, on
January 10 and 11, 1945 by Koussevitzky and the Boston
Symphony.

22 Ibid .
23Ujfalussy, p. 375.
24Pierre Citron, Bart6k (Paris: Microcosme, 1976), p.
76.
25RUdolph Elie, "Review of the Concerto for
Orchestra," Boston Herald Traveler, 2 December 1944.

26 Ibid .
27 Ibid .
28 0lin Downes, "Bart6k Concerto Introduced Here," New
York Times, 11 January 1945, p. 18.

29 Demeny,
, ed. , Le tt ers, p. 344 . [Original in English]
30Ralph Hawkes, "Bela Bart6k: A Recollection by His
Publisher," in Bela Bart6k: A Memorial Review (New York:
Boosey and Hawkes, 1950), p. 14.
31 0lin Downes has suggested that the Third Piano
Concerto was begun with the duo in mind but that Bart6k
decided to bequeath it instead to his wife Ditta Pasztory as

36
a "final message." ("Bart6k's Testament," New York Times,
14 October 1945, sec. 2, p. 4.

32 stevens, p. 103.
33Dille, D., ed., Documenta Bart6kiana, vol. 3
(Mainz: B. Schott's Sohne, 1968), p. 262.

C. Critical Issues Surrounding the Concerto
Popularity
While the association between the commissioning of
the Concerto for Orchestra and the amelioration of Bart6k's
last years (financially, physically and emotiona~ly) may be
justified, it should not be allowed to assume the
melodramatic proportions that it does in H. W. Heinsheimer's
anecdotal account from Fanfare for Two Pigeons:
It was then, in the summer of 1943, that

something happened in the room in Doctors
Hospital in New York that strangely and
mysteriously resembles an event in
another sickroom 152 years earlier: the
sudden appearance of the "mysterious
stranger," who had come to commission the
dying Mozart to write the Requiem. This
time, in streamlined New York, the
messenger was no mystery man. He was a
well-clad, elegant gentleman of very
aristocratic ?earing . His name was Serge
Koussevitsky.
On the strength of the fact that the work was to be dedicated
to Koussevitzky's late wife, Heinsheimer claimed "it was to
be a Requiem, after all!"2 in his ludicrous attempt to
sustain the scenario of Koussevitzky as a modern-day version
of Mozart's masked stranger. Concerning the effect of this
commission on Bart6k's health, Heinsheimer says:
37
38
Undoubtedly the learned specialists who

attended Bart6k in the sickness which two
years later consumed what was left of him
will have more logical explanations for
the incredible recovery that set in
almost immediately after Koussevitzky's
visit. All we know is that soon they
found him to be so much better ~hat they
released him from the hospital.
Heinsheimer's sensationalization of the events
surrounding the Concerto is misleading and unfactual. It has
also, along with other similar accounts, supported the notion
that, due to the circumstances of his life at that time,
Bart6k composed the Concerto in ord~r that he might gain
popularity and revitalize his faltering career. In his
review of the English premiere, Ernest Newman implies that
Bart6k effected a compromise and that, as a result, the work
is artistically inferior.
It is unwise to make up one's mind about

a new work of this kind on the basis of a
single hearing, but my own first
impression was that in making himself
more generally accessible Bart6k has
become rather less Bart6k. The concerto
is an unending succession of captivating
and brilliant things; but do they cohere
in the way we have a right to expect from
the composer of ~he quartets and the
violin concerto?
Queries such as this one have echoed through the criticism of
this work and of Bart6k's "American Years." In his book on
Bart6k; Pierre Citron poses the following question:
Is there, aside from the chronology, an

"American period" of Bart6k's that
corresponds t~ a different aesthetic or
to decadence?
39
Many have answered this question in the affirmative, basing
their conjectures on the circumstantial evidence of his
personal life and upholding the contention that Bart6k
compromised his artistic integrity in a desperate attempt to
gain favour with the public in order to improve his financial
situation.
The issue of Bart6k's rapport with the public was
linked with the Concerto for Orchestra from its first
performance. As we have seen, Rudolph Elie estimated in his
review of the premiere that the Concerto was not completely
successful with the public at that time. One day later, he
wrote an article entitled "The Public vs. Bart6k: Is There
Really a Case?", .which offers insight into the contemporary
opinion of the public about Bart6k's music:
If anyone were to ask the average

informed musical person whose music he
could get along most successfully
without, he would be more than likely to
reply "Bart6k's" without a moment's
hesitation. Even the most advanced
musical person to whom K~enek or
Schoenberg or Villa-Lobos holds no terrors
would--andusually doeg--hedge on the
matter of Bela Bart6k.
The reliability of this appraisal is difficult to judge; it
is, nevertheless, a fascinating (and surprising) statement.
Elie attributed Bart6k's unpopularity to the following
elements:
Thus the combination of a dissonant

idiom, an unfamiliar (if often piquant)
melody; a savage, primitive austerity and
severity in presenting these materials
results in the almost universal coolness
40
with which Mr. B~rtok's music is accepted

in this country.
Predicting Bartok's future reception, Elie reverses his
initial appraisal of the Concerto's impact on the public:
. . . up until the performance o~ his

Orchestral Concerto I shouldn't have
thought any of his larger works would be
revived. But this really marvelous
composition has at last brought his
previous works into focus so far as the
average musical person is concerned by
tempering the semi-eastern melodic
conception which is his birthright with
the wgstern conception which is our own,
Thus, several critical issues have been associated with the
Concerto since its first performance: its popular appeal,
and its place as a climactic turning point in Bartok's career
as a composer.
It was not until Olin Downes' review of the New York
premiere that the artistic merit of the work was questioned.
There might even be the suspicion, with

an artist of less sincerity than this
one, that he had adopted a simpler and
more melodic manner with thegintention of
an appeal to a wider public.
Downes raises the possibility in the most tentative language;
but, despite the fact that he rejects his own hypothesis
almost immediately, the suggestion remains.
But that would not be Mr. Bartok's

motive. ijor would the emotional
sequence of this music, and the care with
which it has evidently been 6ashioned,
support such an assumption. 1
41
In the years shortly after Bartok!s death, the notion that
Bartok's American years constituted an "esthetic
regression"11 was stated in stronger terms. In discussing
public reaction of the musically informed to Bart6k's last
completed work, the Third Piano Concerto, Scott Goddard
states:
This latest style, they grumbled, was his

weakest; he had become old in spirit, had
lost his eagerness for ~dventure, was
writing easy music. Some went further,
suggesting that now he was writing pot-
boilers for a livelihood in bad times. 12
William McNaught presents a similar scenario:
It tells us again what we learnt from the

violin concerto of 1944 [sic] and the
concerto for orchestra of 1945 [sic]:
that Bart6k at sixty was setting out to
ingratiate himself with the musical
public after ~olding aloof from it most
of his life. 1
Hence, the "wide departure from its author's [Bart6k's]
harsher and more cerebral style,,14 on which both Olin Downes
and Rudolph Elie remarked is associated, because of Bart6k's
personal circumstances, with compromise and loss of
integrity.
That Bart6k's American period was characterized by an
aesthetic of artistic compromise is refuted by Citron. He
raises the point that
There is hardly anything which these

four works [written in America] hold in
common. . . . One hears of "Bart6k for
the public" but that is already true of
the Violin Concerto and Divertimento and
not true of the Violin Sonata. The
42
contemptuous remfSks are based especially

on the Concerto.
The observation that Bart6k's American works have no unifying
features undermines the notion, expressed by McNaught and
Goddard, that Bart6k intentionally and consistently altered
his style while in America in order to win public
attention.
This notion has also been refuted on the basis that
such a compromise would have constituted a drastic alteration
in Bart6k's personality, which was characterized by unfailing
integrity. People who knew Bart6k wrote these words about
him:
Neither did it occur to him to do

anything against his convictions to try
and improve his position. He was
constitutionally incapable of overcoming
his pride by trying to cudgel some of
America's star conductors--among them his
former compatriots--to put on their
programmes a work of his own . . . . .
I think above all of his uncompromising
spirit, of his ability to not bu~ge an
inch, not bend in any direction.
I felt at once that I was facing someone

pared down to the essential core, a man
who would ~corn anything but the direct
and true. 1 .
I have never known anybody who was so

uncompromising and upright . . • and who
never shrank tsom even the hardest
consequences.
Bart6k's attitude towards the public was one of indifference.
This is evident in his attitude towards the alleged boycott
of his works by American orchestras (llit is a shame--not for
me of course ll19 ) and in the following anecdote. One of his

43
performances of the First Piano Concerto (in 1928, Berlin
with Erich Kleiber conducting)
received a cool reception--there was even

some hissing from the audience. When a
friend expressed his indignation to
Bart6k after the concert, the composer
replied 'Why are you so indignant? If
they buy a ticket for a concert, they
have the right not only to express t~nir
pleasure but also their displeasure.
In his article "Bart6k and Popularity," John Meyer concludes
that
For Bart6k to have deliberately courted

favour, it would have meant a remarkable
change from all that he had done and been
throughout his life. 21
He also observes that, while popularity is not a reliable
indicator of greatness, neither does it preclude artistic
merit.
The arguments for the "esthetic regression" theory
considered thus far have been based primarily on the fact
that the Concerto found favour with the public: no musical
reasons were given. Serge Moreux, however, attributes the
allegedly flawed nature of the Concerto to "the embarrassing
confusion of styles of succeeding sections,"22 thus implying
that the work lacks coherence. We saw this observation made
also by Ernest Newman. While J6zsef Ujfalussy reiterates the
"belief that Bart6k, in his last years,·had been obliged to
make concessions to American taste and had betrayed his
earlier ideals,"23 he goes on to argue that:
Like so many of the great masters

throughout the history of music, Bart6k
44
communicated his ideas in a variety of

genres, sometimes in concentrated form
and at other times 'diluted.' He had no
wish to be praised as a 'misunderstood'
composer and therefore assessed
realistically the demand for his music
which he satisfied with an appropriate
arrangement in genre and form which
entailed no intellectual compromise . . .
he realized that in a concerto a
brilliant instrumental performance and a
more relaxed tone in the form of
communication were not concessions b~4
characteristics of the genre itself.
This interpretation is not unfounded since, despite his
personal indifference, Bart6k was known to be concerned over
the public response received by other performers of his
works. Andor Foldes recalls an occasion when Bart6k
suggested to him that he omit the second movement of the
Piano Sonata (the "hardest one to digest"25) out of concern
that Foldes would receive negative reviews because of the
difficulty of the music.
Halsey Stevens presents yet another hypothesis about
the Concerto for Orchestra. In opposition to the
accusations of Newman and Moreux, he asserts:
the Concerto for Orchestra is a strong,

vital work, contemporary in the best
possible sense, since in it are
amalgamated into a homogenous fabric all
the diverse elements which touched Bart6k
from his earlies~~creative years to the
end of his life. U
(Horst Weber expresses a similar notion [see pp. 96 ff.].)
Stevens portrays the Concerto as a synthesis of personal
expression as well as musical influences:

45
But beyond all this, and above it, is the

superlative integration of every aspect
of the composition into a pertinent and
personal whole. If it is eclectic to
combine oils, pigments, and canvas from
recognized sources into an original and
personal work of art, then this is an
eclectic ~9rk and Bart6k an eclectic
composer.
Tibor Kneif considers stevens' argument unacceptable as a
result of its "appeal to tonal memento-images,"28 presumably
because of the passage quoted above. Indeed, stevens'
analytical comments on the Concerto are too vague and this
weakens his argument for the Concerto as a
great work, one of the greatest produced

in this century, not because of the
startling originality of its materials or
the novelty of their treatment, but .
because the problems it poses are broad
and vital ones, solve~ with the utmost
logic and conviction. 9
What these problems are and how they are solved, are
questions which stevens does not pursue. His analysis of the
Concerto, like the others discussed in this section, is
informative but superficial. It is ironic that none of the
critics whose polemical ideas have been outlined in this
section have explored the Concerto sufficiently to be able
support their claims with musical reasons. And yet, it is
vitally important to support aesthetic statements about a
work with musical evidence. This work is a demanding
composition to understand as well as to perform and,
therefore, requires more than superficial analytical
investigation.
46
Fourth Movement Quotation
According to Gyorgy Sandor, Bart6k once explained to
him that the fourth movement of the Concerto for Orchestra
conveys a programme. Ferenc Fricsay has paraphrased it as
follows:
A young man confesses his love and

serenades his beloved only to be
interrupted by a band of rowdy drunkards
whistling a couplet. . . . In the tones
of the serenade, we can recognize a song
that was extremely popular in the period
between the two world wars, 'Szep vagy,
gyon yora vagy, Magyaror~~ag' (Hungary"
gracious and beautiful).
The characters in this vignette are symbolized thematically:
the young man is supposedly represented by the opening theme
(mm .. 4-12), the beloved by the cantabile theme (rom. 42-61)
and the "rowdy drunkards" by the interruption theme beginning
at measure 75. Yet another layer of meaning is added by the
association of the loved one with Hungary and the rowdy
drunkards with German soldiers, transforming this movement
into a political allegory.
Given the programmatic aspect, the use of musical
quotations in the Concerto is h~ghly significant. Fricsay
notes that a patriotic Hungarian song is heard in this
movement. This is, in fact, the cantabile theme associated
with the beloved country of the young man. The origin of the
theme which is associated with the German soldiers is not so
easily traced. It has similarities with both the second

47
theme (first movement) of Shostakovich's Seventh Symphony and
the aria "Da geh' ich zu Maxim" from Leh~r's The Merry Widow.
According to Bart6k's son Peter, his father decided
to parody Shostakovich's theme when he heard the Seventh
Symphony on the radio,31 since he found it banal. Solomon
Volkov attributes the banality of Shostakovich's theme to
the fact that it "assimilates a popular tune from Leh~r's
operetta The Merry Widow."32

In his discussion of the identity of the quotation,
W. H. Thijsse notes that Bart6k uses only a portion of
Shostakovich's mar~h theme--the segment resembling "Da
geh'ich zu Maxim" (indicated by a square bracket in Example 2).

I.
DAR
Ig. in V II P ~ i ) IJ v~
~o off .' to Max - imS. Where
I'
... ... ~
$# i' i } i '" }
IJ
•~ I J
ft' }, j #J\ I
UAN.
I'
D."N.
I§ #~
fun
:P
laugh
and
and
Jl
fro
kiss
, - lie
J)
and
beams,
J
flat
With
ter!
Jl P
I.
Lo
all
I~ V P
the
10. Do
girls
do,
Iii
JOII
I.
ehat
I F.
jolt.
- ter.
V
Glo
Example 1. Franz Lehar, The Merry Widow, No.4 "Maxim's,"

mm. 33 ff.
V.all ~~J
hili Cuc.a)
J
·I~ I· 'I~ I·
j
I,
l'P'.••••
I. : : . ,
Ii • I
J
Y.all IWl ! J
I •r I ;
11
.I;
J
i
V-all 11ft ·1. I· 14 4' \
: v.a;I:II~ i' , plu :
it' I ~ , 19
}
"
J I 1 I
Example 2. Dmitri Shostakovich, Symphony No.7, Schirmer,
I: rehearsal no. 19 + 4mm. ff. (violin).
48
Example 3. Bela Bart6k, Concerto for Orchestra, Boosey and

Hawkes, IV: mm. 76 ff. (clarinet).
The three themes can be compared as follows. First of all,
Shostakovich's theme is in E-flat, not D. Secondly,
Shostakovich's version begins on the second degree of the
scale, instead of the first. This eliminates the lower
neighbour tone just before the final note, which appears in
Lehar's version. Bart6k utilizes Shostakovich's version of
the descending scale-motive, but he repeats it four times,
which is closer to Lehar's phrase structure. This would
suggest that Bart6k was parodying both Lehar and
Shostakovich.
Thijsse considers it impossible that Bart6k did not
know the Lehar theme. 33 This assumption is corroborated by
Ujfalussy,who claims that Bart6k once "cited The Merry Widow
as an example of foreign-influenced shallow musical taste.,,34
Since Bart6k was familiar with the music of The Merry Widow,
it is probable that he recognized the Shostakovich theme as a
parody and therefore thought of the possibility of
burlesquing the Lehar theme himself.
William Austin criticized the interrotto section of
the fourth movement as a "topical political harangue,,,35 but

49
the subject, or object, of this "harangue" is not clear.
Possibly, Austin recognized the Shostakovich theme and
assumed the parody was directed toward the Soviet Union. It
may also be argued that this so-called diatribe was directed
towards Nazi Germany since Shostakovich's theme was possibly·
a representation of the Nazi siege of Leningrad. Because
this work was written during the siege, and because of
Shostakovich's claim that he "wanted to create the image of
our country at war, capture it in music,"36 the Seventh (or
"Leningrad") Symphony became an extremely powerful symbol of
the war: "in the Soviet Union, it [Seventh Symphony] was
raised to the status of symbol, and excerpts from it can be
heard in many films and plays devoted to the war."37 Wide
popularity was achieved in America as well. It was performed
sixty-two times in the U.S. during the first year alone.
Gerald Abraham offers the following description of
the Seventh Symphony:
A patriotic call to arms, with the

wrathful spirit of denunciation
characteristic of an anti-Fascist
document. Two worlds are opposed to one
another in the Symphony. One is a world
of thought and feeling, of great passions
and noble aspirations . . . The other
world is brutal, senseless and
implacable. Against the background of
constant drumming there are sounds of a
martial theme. It is repeated twelve
times, not developing, only growing in
volume. It advances, yet there is
something static about it. Cruel like
the mechanism of force, this music
arouses a feeling of hatred, it calls for
vengeance. It contains nothing
naturalistic, no "war sounds." It is a
50
psychological portrait o~ the enemy,

ruthless and denouncing. 8
The theme that he describes, representing the brutality of
the Germans, is the same theme that Bartok uses to symbolize
the Nazi soldiers in the fourth movement of the Concerto.
Thus, the extra-musical associations of this theme make it
just as appropriate a symbol for the German soldiers as the
popular Hungarian song "Sz~p vagy, gy6n y6r« vagy,
Magyarorszag" is suitable for symbolizing Hungary as the
beloved.
One final note should ·be made in this regard. Those
who know the Lehar aria will recall that it belittles
patriotic loyalty. Danilo prefers to spend his time at
Maxim's, drinking and flirting with young ladies there
instead of serv~ng his country in his bureaucratic job.
The attitude of Danilo can be directly juxtaposed against that
of the young serenader for whom country and beloved are one
and the same.
It is impossible to uncover the motives behind
Bart6k's use of the Lehar-Shostakovich quotation in the
fourth movement; however, the symbolic meaning of the Lehar
melody as well as that of the Leningrad Symphony combined
with the nature of Bart6k's programme suggest that its
inclusion is not a simple parody.

51
Notes
'H. W. Heinsheimer, Fanfare for Two Pigeons (Garden
City, New York: Doubleday & Co., 1952), p. 119.

2 Ibid .
3 Ibid ., p. 121. The implication that Bart6k's health
improved immediately on receiving the commission is
unfounded. Bart6k left the hospital in order to go to a
sanatorium in Saranac Lake, New York, for further rest. It
was here that his health improved, but not until the end of
August (Koussevitzky visited Bart6k in May, not in the
'summer' as Heinsheimer states. Heinsheimer continues his
account by stating that Bart6k recuperated in North Carolina
(which he did, but not until the following winter) instead of
Saranac Lake. This is further evidence of Heinsheimer's
unreliability.
4Ernest Newman, "Review of Concerto for Orchestra,"
Sunday Times (London), 10 March 1946.
5Citron, Bart6k (Paris: Microcosme, 1976), p. 162.
6Rudolph Elie, "The Public vs. Bart6k: Is There
Really A Case?" Boston Herald-Traveller, 3 December 1944.

7 Ibid .
8 Ibid .
90lin Downes. "Bart6k Concerto Introduced Here," New
York Times, 11 January 1945, p. 18.

10 Ibid .
52
11Halsey stevens, The Life and Music of Bela Bart6k,
12Scott Goddard, "Bart6k in Perspective," The
Listener 12 (Feb. 1948):276.
13William McNaught, "London Concerts," Musical Times
87 (Dec. 1946):379. McNaught's reference to the Violin
Concerto of 1944 is misleading. If, by this, he intended the
Violin Sonata (which was written in 1944), his coupling it
with the Concerto for Orchestra is ludicrous because they are
completely different, as Citron observed. If McNaught was
mistaken about the date (his date for the Concerto for
Orchestra is al~o wrong), the example does not support .his
argument since the popular Violin Concerto (No.2) was
written in 1937-8, some years before Bart6k's sixtieth
birthday and his emigration to the U.S.

14Downes Concerto.
15Citron, p. 162.
16Andor Foldes, "Bela Bart6k," Tempo 43 (Spring
1957):25-6.
17Yehudi Menuhin, "Bart6k at 100: A Titan
Remembered," Saturday Review 8 (March 1981 ):39.
18Denijs Dille, "The Life of Bela Bart6k, II," in
Bela Bart6k: A Memorial Review (New York: Boosey & Hawkes,
1950), p. 11.
19Demeny, ed., Letters, p. 325.

53
20Cited in John A. Meyer, "Bart6k and Popularity,"
Studies in Music 3 (1969):72-3.

21 Ibid ., p. 73.
22Serge Moreux. Bela Bart6k, trans. G. S. Fraser
and Erik de Mauny, (New York: Vienna House, 1974), p. 196.
23J6zsef Ujfalussy, Bela Bart6k, trans. Ruth Pataki
(Boston: Crescendo Publ. Co., 1972), p. 368.

24 Ibid .
25 Foldes, p. 25.
26 Stevens, p. 283.
27 Ibid .
technik von Bart6ks Konzert flir Orchester," Die
Musikforschung 25 (1973):41.
29stevens, pp. 283-4.
30Ujfalussy, p. 370-1. See also F. Fricsay, Uber
Mozart und Bart6k (Copenhagen: Edition Wilhelm Hansen, 1962),
pp. 59-61.
31See stevens, p. 282.
32Solomon Volkov, Testimony: The Memoirs of Dmitri
Shostakovich, trans. Antonia W. Bouis (New York: Harper &
Row, 1979), pp. xxxiii-v.
33 See W. H. Thijsse, "Het 'citaat' uit Bart6ks
Concerto voor orkest," Mens en Melodie 13 (1958):77-8.

34Ujfalussy, p. 371.
54
35William Austin, "Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra,"
Music Review 16 (Feb. 1957):39.

36 Volkov, p. 154. Shostakovich is also reported to
have said that the Seventh Symphony is "not about Leningrad
under siege, it's about the Leningrad that Stalin destroyed
and that Hitler merely finished off." (Volkov, p. 156). An
argument based upon these comments can only be speculative
since there is much controversy over Volkov's biographical
methods and, consequently, the validity of these statements.

37 Ibid ., p. 136.
38Gerald Abraham, Eight Soviet Composers (London:
Oxford University Press, 1944), p. 30.

Part II: Analytical Approaches
It may be a consequence of some of the attitudes
outlined in the section on Critical Attitudes that
comparatively little serious analytical attention has been
directed towards the Concerto. Because of its important
place in Bart6k's oeuvre as one of the largest and latest
works and because of the issues surrounding it, I believe that
this work merits serious critical investigation. The method
which I have chosen for this purpose is to examine the various
analytical approaches that have been taken towards the Concerto
for Orchestra. Not only will this examination consist of a
comprehensive survey of the scholarly criticism of the work, the
variety of methods available will provide insights into the
complexity and diversity of this work. As each method to be
discussed is unique, each analysis will be dealt with in the
manner most suited to revealing its objectives and procedures.
In this way, the methodology will serve the purpose of this study,
which is to investigate the richness of the Concerto for
Orchestra as expressed through the voices of its analysts.
55
56
A. Descriptive Analyses
The Conventional View
William Austin was the first critic to publish an in-
depth analysis of the Concerto for Orchestra. In his
prefatory remarks to the analysis, which appeared in Music
Review in 1957, Austin justified this endeavour by asserting
that the Concerto for Orchestra "deserves to be studied with
the care that critics have long devoted to the classics"' on
the basis that its place within the canon of musical
masterpieces was secure. Its admission to the ranks of the
"standard repertory" seems to have been a result of its
popularity in the concert hall. Austin claims "its success has
changed the whole relation between the repertory and the avant-
garde for the better."2
Austin is vague about this last point. Surely he does
not intend to classify the Concerto as an avant-garde work,
which it would hardly have been considered in 1944, much less
thirteen years later when this analysis was written. It was,
however, written by a composer w.ho was considered to be avant-
garde in his day. Austin's comment may have been intended to
refer to the fact that the Concerto, a work by a so-called
avant-garde composer, was embraced by an audience not previously
disposed to the avant-garde repertory. We have already seen

57
this connection made, most vehemently by Serge Moreux, in a
context less favourable to the artistic worth of the piece.
If Austin views the work as avant-garde in any way,
this attitude is not revealed in his conservative approach to
the analysis. His discussion utilizes the vocabulary of
nineteenth-century formal principles and functional harmony
with all the accompanying attitudes and stylistic expectations.
While this approach is not always appropriate, Austin's work
provides a solid basis for future analyses and a useful
contribution to a basic understanding of the piece.
His method is descriptive; i.e., he proceeds through
the work section by. section, describing the musical events as
they occur. This allows him to be comprehensive in that he
says something about every section of the work. Austin
succeeds in avoiding the endemic hazards of descriptive
analysis by enriching his descriptive comments with formal and
harmonic analyses where they are deemed useful. For instance,
his discourse on the first thirty-five measures contains
comments such as "a barely audible rustling arises in the
violins" and "chromaticism . . . squirming unpredictably in a
narrow range;"3 however, he also presents a summary of
harmonic movement of this passage. After describing the
musical events of measures 1-35 as a listener would hear them,
he summarizes their significance in terms of harmonic
relationships: "now we can recognize the hierarchy of

58
structural chords and decorative tones in the whole passages
[sicJ, 1-35.,,4
I.Ux.i1.
B
A:vi ii &:1
Example 1. William Austin, "Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra,"

Music Review 16 (Feb. 1957):23.
Also, Austin makes excellent use of musical examples, another
rarity among descriptive analyses due to the limitations of
format (in a newspaper review) or space (in a book on a larger
topic) .
There are two major digressions in the analysis in
which Austin discusses the composition in terms of expectations
fulfilled or denied. One i~volves the sensitive issue of the
quotation in the fourth movement. (See pp. 46 ff. for a
discussion of this.) The other major criticism concerns the
first theme of the first movement (mm. 76-91), particularly
measures 79-81. As Austin observes, this theme is a synthesis
of the upward-swinging motive, which effects the transition
from the introductory section (mm. 1-76) to the first theme,
and a motive crafted out of fourths, which plays a major role
in the opening section. The first gesture, formed from these
two motives (mm. 76-78) is then inverted, but not strictly, as
the theme unfolds. In Austin's view,
the last two notes [of the passage ending

m. 81J are surprising: a strict inversion
would have given a half-cadence (c g)
instead of which Bart6k chooses notes
59
that pro~el the melody more urgently

forward.
Austin attributes this "crafty refinement" to a sacrifice of
"spontaneous inspiration to a hypercritical ingenuity"6 and
he makes further comments about additional structural defects
in this prominent theme concluding that "it seems not quite
worthy of the work."7 Cadential issues seem to be Austin's
primary concern. He condemns Bartok's disruption of the
sequences in measures 80-81 and 85-86 on the basis that
cadences are averted in both cases;. however, the emphatic
cadential extension of measures 86-91 is perceived by Austin
as an unnecessary delay. In Elliott Antokoletz's view (see
pp. 156 ff.), this cadential extension is not only logical,
it is essential to the development of the work as a whole.
But, of course, Antokoletz utilizes a completely different
set of criteria.
Despite his fastidiousness in some of the musical
matters of this work, Austin exhibits an uncritical attitude
in connection with his research into the extramusical aspects
of this work. As a result of (apparently) consulting only
one source on the subject,8 Austin's prefatory comments on
the circumstances surrounding the Concerto present a
distorted view of these facts and, especially since he relies
on Heinsheimer, they adhere to the romanticized view of these
events, which was challenged in the Introduction of this
thesis. Austin alludes to the familiar fallacies (including
Bart6k's sudden restoration to health and the attention the

60
Concerto received at its first performance), and he refers to
Bart6k's "flood of inspiration at Asheville, N.C.,"9
subscribing to the fallacy perpetuated in Heinsheimer's book
that the work was written there.
Some of Austin's questions about the interruption
in the fourth movement might have been answered with more
penetrating research. As mentioned earlier, Austin deals
with this issue in a lengthy passage on pages 38-9. After
asking "What is the sense of it? [the interruption],"10 he
calls it an "astonishing personal polemic" on a "topical
political harangue,"11 attributing the undeniable bitterness
of the parody of Shostakovich's theme to Bart6k's mistrust of
communist Russia. Having little more to rely on than the
music itself, Austin is only able to assume that Bart6k "let
a perverse impulse run away with him and mar one of his
finest achievements.,,12
Similarly, the existence of alternative endings is a
source of bewilderment to Austin because the reason for such
does not reveal itself in the music. The motive for
alternative endings was quite clear in the case of the Second
Violin Concerto, since one version was a simplified
one. There is no such technical difference in the two
endings of the Concerto for Orchestra. Austin finds this
choice annoying because he "should like to have only the one
he [Bart6k] preferred, or else, perhaps to have liberty to
compromise between the two."'3 Had Austin known that the

61
second ending was composed later, at the suggestion of
Koussevitzky, surely he would not have hypothesized as he
does in this article, that Bart6k "prefers to let chance
decide just where and when the end occurs."14
This statement is somewhat hyperbolic, especially
since the second ending is always performed and this is
logical since it was composed in response to criticism of
the first ending. However, if the second ending is in every
way preferable to the first, Austin's observation that "to

publish these alternative endings is surely strange"15 is
well-taken. He does not, however, pursue this peculiarity.
I would contend with Austin's dismissive attitude towards the
difference between the two versions. The difference between
them is more than "slight" as he suggests, but this is a
possibility which is not investigated in this nor in any of
the other analyses of the Concerto. (See pp. 17+ ff. for a
discussion of this question).
Austin's is one of the few analyses to deal with each
movement of the Concerto. 16 Thus, as a standard reference
analysis, it is quite useful; however, there are two major
problems, which have been adumbrated above. Firstly,
Austin's dogged adherence to the language and symbols of
functional harmony is inadequate in this context. He admits
as much in connection with the third movement, measures 118-
128: "to interpret such a phrase by conventional theories of
composition is to misunderstand the music altogether.,,17 But

62
he simply attributes the incompatibility of the phrase and
the theory to the transcendence of the music rather than
considering the possibility that the theory is in~ppropriate.
He does not pursue other ways of viewing the passage in his
efforts to describe it. Again, this passage can be discussed
more satisfactorily by means of another method (see pp. 13~
f f. ).
In order to reconcile the theory and the composition,
Austin resorts to harmonic analyses such as the following,
which can claim the advantage neither of illuminating the
passage in question nor of exhibiting the theoretical system
to best advantage.
63
;, * ~ ~..Hl>~-:---"" ~ ...
n.1
ct.1
r"J!!: \ \ I \ ~~L~ \ I
la.L
r-:.~~ii I I I J P··.pr·1 I I I
-.1
-= -.-:CL.,~
~jUf :JC:
b.lla,
,....., P-
I" ...... .,...
U", I
I,,, p.- 1>+- ?J -;
~ @I
Ylu.l.
-
I'" I I I 1 I -I I I
V1u.U
I"..v
I -r- I -r- l~ u~..p""=f -I
n •.
::r
, J --r~
.;0;.;
I "I I I "'P~l
"...
\ I I 1 1 1 J ..p 1
'\
·UUaln.teU. &. ,... 6. bt JIaaUoaWW,I.,.:
--
~ a.un.1_tacel.
t:y./ioII
@L
;
raIlent. _
- - &tempoM""-; ~. ~
n.1
I
- -
I
- ----
I
, J
--
I I
"'1
'"'b:_ """-
Ballar
II" ---.
...... , ! ~
rallent. _ _atempo mill_ _ _ _ _ _ .=~~
VI ....
Yln.a
r I Iw~ :T IP J I I
~
n •.
-..;:
~ I"~-~ I P \ I -.. 1 ,,----
"co.
I 1 .~ =
D.BI.
, - - -
Example 2 . . Bela Bart6k, Concerto for Orchestra, Boosey and

Hawkes, IV:mm. 21-37 with Austin, p. 36.
64
While he manages to provide chords with labels, they often
forfeit their claim to any genuine function. The passage
analyzed in Example 2 bears no relation to C-major or C-minor
but Austin insists on labelling D-chords as C:ii, and c:ii to
accommodate the A-flats in measure 23. Granted, the harmonic
support provided by harp and strings is somewhat ambiguous;
but it reinforces the melodic evidence that this passage is
in D. The flute line outlines a D-minor triad, begins and
ends on D, and the dominant (A) is given special emphasis in
measures 21-2. In measures 22 and 24, the harmonic support
is clearly D.
According to Austin, there is a modulation in measure
27 to B-minor. There are several problems with this.
Firstly, some of Austin's labellings seem unduly awkward.
For instance, the first chord of measure 27, which is a C-
sharp seventh chord is labelled as D:V 9 or b:V of III.
Secondly, the progression to b:i in measure 27 is not very
strong; Austin does not indicate that it is a second-
inversion chord. Moreover, his analysis implies that the
passage continues in B-minor when in fact there is an unusual
cadence on C in measure 31. B-minor is clearly not the goal
of this passage.
Austin's descriptive comments are more interesting
than his analyses. Concerning the first-movement passage
beginning in measure 363, he suggests that "the parts lose
their identity in a mere fourth-chord" and that this chord

65
"epitomizes the introduction, the allegro theme, and the
trombone theme, expressing their tension in harmony rather
than melody"18 is astute, but he seems unable to avoid
searching for an explanation in terms of functional harmony.
For the section at I:mm. 363-79, he finds so-called
resolution in measures 396-401: "the fourth-chord can be
interpretedJas a functional triad (A: vii) with third lowered
and fifth both lowered and raised."19 If Austin were able to
synthesize statements like this into a convincing overall
harmonic and formal con~eption of the work, his use of the
traditional harmonic system would be more convincing.
Austin does provide a chart summarizing the formal
and harmonic activity of the movement, but the key areas do
not seem to correspond to those of traditional sonata-form
and he makes no comment on this. We would expect the second
key area of the exposition theme to be A-flat whereas there are
two areas: D-flat and B. Also, the recapitulation begins in A-
minor rather than the home-key.
Ern8 Lendvai has also charted the key areas of the
first movement. From his analytical perspective, these
"untraditional" key areas are related to each other. (See
also pp. 114 ff.)

66
F tonic (exposition) bar 76

D-flat subdominant (first part of development) bar 231
A dominant (second part of development) bar 313
F tonic (recapitulation) bar 386
F tonic (coda) bar 488
Example 3. Ern8 Lendvai. Workshop of Bart6k and Kodaly.

(Budapest: Editio Musica Budapest, 1983), p. 674
(first movement).
D-flat and A are labelled as sub-dominant and dominant
respectively through Lendvai's axis system. In this system,
the entire circle of fifths is connected by means of major-
minor equivalencies and relative keys; ie., C (major, minor)
is linked with both A (major, minor) and E-flat (major, minor),
which are in turn related to F-sharp, or G-flat. Hence,
every pitch has one of the three functions: tonic, dominant,
sub-dominant. Thus, if F (A-flat, B, D) is tonic, then D-flat
has a sub-dominant function (along with E, G, B-flat) and A
has a dominant function (along with C, E-flat, G-flat).
Lendvai's chart is not a complete display of sonata-form key
areas; nevertheless, it is indicative of an overall
conception which is lacking in Austin.
This shortcoming is the second major flaw in Austin's
analysis. One of the major criticisms that have been
levelled against the process of analysis by music scholars is
the tendency of music analysis to do the work of the
dissecter--revealing the inner organs of a musical
composition and rendering it lifeless in the process. While

67
I believe this analysis has definite strengths, as mentioned
above, it does tend to suffer from symptoms of the dissecting
tendency. Austin presents a plethora of facts in his
analysis, but they are left unexplained. Suffering from the
lack of a synthetic impulse, this analysis simply displays
the structural components of the work without examining their
relationships to each other or uniting them into a cohesive
whole.
It may well be argued that this was not his
intention; 'however, the analytical approach which he has
chosen assumes that there is an important relationship
between chords in a passage and key areas in a movement and
between between formal components such as exposition and
development. The fact that these relationships do not reveal
themselves in Austin's analysis might suggest that the work
is not well-crafted. But other analytical methods can be
used to elucidate aspects of the composition which are
unrevealed in Austin's approach. This would suggest that
Austin utilizes a method in this analysis which does not
reveal the salient features of this composition. Because
Austin neither pursues these relationships inherent in his
analytical method nor ventures beyond the method, his
analysis is, despite its wealth of detail, a rather
superficial study of the Concerto.

68
A Psychological Analysis
Ten years after Austin's conventional analysis
appeared in the Music Review, the same journal published a
"psychological" analysis by Gilbert French entitled
"Continuity and Discontinuity in Bart6k's Concerto for
Orchestra." What French called psychological is in fact a
brand of "listener-response" analysis, a musical version of
the reader-response criticism of the kind practiced by
stanley Fish in which "criticism is no more than an account
of the reader's developing responses to the succession of
words [notes] on the page.,,20 In this approach, the reader
becomes the writer since he/she must re-create the text by
reading it. The analogy to music criticism breaks down since
there are two re-creators of the musical text, the performer
and the listener, and the listener often takes a less active
role.
While French is willing to claim the role of
authority that comes with Fish's brand of reader, he does not
take the delight that Fish does in the rupturing,
disorienting, nature of the "text." According to Catherine
Belsey, Stanley Fish
is interested in the disruptive text,

understood in his case as the text
ordered in such a way that the discursive
sequence fails to fulfil the expectations
it generates, thus challenging the reader
to confront problems, difficulties and
questions which cannot readily be
resolved into an easy and reassuring
69
harmony. He defines th~s mode of

presentation as "dialectical," in
opposition to the "rheto~tcal" text which
"satisfies its readers."
This position is in fact antithetical to French's aesthetic
ideal.
French's inclination (implied by the value-laden
dichotomy of his title "Continuity and Discontinuity etc.")
to reject disturbances in the music as aesthetically
undesirable stems from his definition of the "text." In his
introduction, he describes music as a "dynamic, direction-
filled, life-force motion which is not merely mechanical but
living;" in other words, music can only be understood as an
"association of one part with another.,,22 This attitude is
rooted in the ideas of nineteenth-century formalist analyst-
critics such as Hanslick whose "vision . • . was and is of a
perfect, organic relation among all the analyzable parts of a
musical masterpiece. ,,23 Kerman calls this attitude
"organicism" and argues that "analysis exists for the purpose
of demonstrating organicism.,,24
French's position is thinly disguised by the posture
of tolerance in the following passage:
I do not consider this type of analysis the

be-all and end-all of music analysis. One
can very definitely derive a magnificent
sense of beauty from the third movement of
Dvo~~k's Concerto for cello and orchestra,
despite the awful modulation anq split down
the middle of it. (my emphasis) 5
Firmly embedded in the ideology of French's analysis is a
quest for organicism and coherence which, if not unearthed,

70
renders the work flawed and one's aesthetic experience
marred. Hence, rupture or contradiction is unacceptable in
French's aesthetic position.
Although organicism is subscribed to widely among
musicians,26 it is not an inviolable position, especially in
the twentieth century, which has produced a great deal of
music that celebrates contradiction and fights closure.
However, as Kerman has suggested, the rise of analysis in the
nineteenth century was closely linked with the ideology of
organicism, since analysis was used as a tool for exposing
the organic structure of a composition.
Much contemporary literary criticism has not
subscribed to the ideal of organicism. Critics have
suggested that the structure exists in the interpretation
rather than the artifact:
the object of critical attention is the

structure of the reader's experience, not
any 'objective' structure to be found in
the work itself--Everything in the text--
its grammar, meanings, formal units--is a
product of interpre~~tion, in no sense
'factually' given.
While it may be extreme to suggest that there is no inherent
structure in music, it may be argued that there is no single
structural principle in music. Kerman observes this when he
notes that there is music which
may really not be "organic" in any useful

sense of the word, or its organicism may
be a more or less automatic and trivial
characteristic. Its aest~gtic value must
depend on other criteria.
71
This, I would a~gue, is the case with the Concerto for
Orchestra; therefore, French's analytical approach is based
on certain aesthetic assumptions which do not obtain in this
work. This, compounded by his methodology, renders his
analysis extremely subjective.
While French admits to a degree of subjectivity, it
has much deeper roots than he realizes. He pledges to
balance the "subjectivity that enters in in [sic] the
listening, and the unquestionable objectivity derived through
constant reference to . . . the score."29 How can one
separate the subjectivity of "listening" from the process of
interpreting a score? To rely once again on an analogy with
lit~rary criticism, this would be as if the literary critic
were to claim objective balance by supporting the
subjectivity of his interpretation (reading) with the
"objectivity" of the words on the page. Naturally, the
critic can find support for his interpretation in the text
since the way he/she interprets the text depends on what
he/she finds in the text; but, once the text has been
manipulated to support a particular point of view, it is
hardly objective. In appealing to the "unquestionable
objectivity" of the score, French is simply legitimizing his
subjective judgements as supported fact.
As it is, French's dependence on the concrete facts
of the score is not great. His comments about the score are
mainly concerned with dynamic and tempo markings and

72
instrumentation, with the occasional term such as stretto and
inversion. No harmonic analyses are given; therefore, the
language dealing with harmonic events in the work (when it
occurs) is vague. Of the trumpet duo (mm. 100-101) of the
second movement, French says:
There are just enough notes not fitting

into the harmonic chords . . . that the
breve pause indicated can absorb the
otherwis~ weak change to part two of this
section. 0
Whatever French intended to communicate about this passage is
unclear.
In certain passages where the harmonic language is
particularly el.usive, French declines any comment about the
harmonic activity. For example, he refers to the passage in
the third movement described by Austin as transcendent,
defying harmonic analysis, as "the greatest· faux pas of the
entire work, the stylistically completely dissociated
appearance of an old theme."31 It is often difficult to
argue with French since terms like "stylistically completely
dissociated" are ambiguous; but this is a ridiculous
objection. The reappearance of old themes is often a vital
part of formal construction and it is so in this case. The
reappearance of this theme is completely logical, even
necessary, as the fulfillment of the arch-form of this
movement.
The third movement begins with the fourths-motive
borrowed from the first movement. Following this section is

73
an atmospheric series of flute and clarinet flourishes (mm.
10-18), which are then stated in augmentation and stretto at
measure 22. At measure 34, the central portion of the
movement begins, which consists of a series of variations on
thematic material from the introduction to the first
movement. It is not a literal statement of material from the
first movement; however, the connection is clear because of
the regular four-phrase structure and prominence of major and
minor seconds. Also, it is flanked by more literal
statements from the first movement (from mm. 39-47 and 51-
58). After the central section, the woodwind flourishes of
minor thirds and minor seconds return (m. 99) and the
movement concludes as it began--with the transcendent
statement of the fourths-theme. The proportional structure
reinforces the formal shape of this movement as indicated
in the Example below:
... ... .
Example 4. Proportions are approximate only.

74
The central section is 67 measures long,
approximately double that of the first section~ which is 33
measures, and the third section, which is 28 measures. The
central statement of the third movement begins at measure 62,
approximately half-way through--there are 128 measures in
total.
It is ironic that French condemns the Concerto for
its formal incongruities. One of the greatest problems of
French's analytical approach is its inadequacy for
discussing form. In an attempt to stem the threat of critical·
anarchy which his brand of criticism poses, with its
definition of the text as the sum of all its critical
interpretations, Fish appeals to the notion of
"interpretative strategies,"--ways of approaching literature
that are shared by readers. By using these strategies,
critics can prevent the possibility that their criticism
will be completely idiosyncratic and only readable by the
author. French rejects one set of the "interpretative
strategies" of music, what he calls the "late nineteenth-
century type of analysis which discusses works in terms of
sonata-allegro, rondo and other traditional forms, relating
key to key, and tagging the many techniques used for
variation."32
In actual fact, French has not freed himself from
thinking about music in a late nineteenth-century mode,
even though he does not take advantage of its familiar

75
terminology. His failure to grasp the form of the third
movement has been observed. In his discussion of the first
movement, French criticizes the brevity of the recapitulation
in spite of his claim to avoid traditional forms. But he
does not seem to conceive of measures 231-466 as a
development section (as is generally done), which would
account for the "short cut-off developments, so many climaxes
with no preparation . . . ,"33 in short, the ephemeral,
transitory nature of the development. French does not
replace the conventional tools of analysis (interpretive
strategies) with a suitable alternative: hence, his nebulous
terms .and obfuscatory logic.
Although French does not define his terms adequately
(e.g. -"psychologically orientated flow"), one can assemble a
profile of his ideas by examining his language throughout the
analysis. It has been suggested that French's perception of
music is defined by organicism; the parts must be assembled
in order to produce a coherent whole. Consequently, his
stylistic objections to the work arise when events are
"jarring" to the listener or when there is a so-called "lack
of integrity." Disorienting sections such as the development
section just described interfere with the listener's
instinctive search for continuity since "the effects on the
listener are disintegrating.,,34
This attitude is carried to such extremes that even
surprise is an undesirable quantity in French's

76
psychological perception. According to French, music must
proceed seamlessly, obeying the precepts it has established,
and avoiding all but the smallest levels of contrast and
variety. I will concede the Concerto contains seemingly
incompatible elements and aural surprises but I cannot
subscribe to the view that it is, because of this, an
"unsuccessful work as far as larger form is concerned."35
French's opinion about the Shostakovich quotation in
the fourth movement differs, as with the end of the third
movementt from Austin's. Whereas Austin asked the question
"What is the sense of it?"36 and stated that "the
interruption is an utterly different mode of communication
from that of the rest of the work,"37 French manages to
discover a rhythmic and melodic connection of the
interruption section with the first section:
My judgment is that it [interruption

section] is quite integrated. Complete
continuity continues rhythmically from
the prior section. But more important, I
believe there is a melodic continuity as-
well. The first seven notes of the
Shostakovich theme parallel an inversion
of the first notes of the second the~g'
or the last half of the first theme.
Once again, French does not succeed in making his point
clear. It is not clear what he means by rhythmic continuity,
as there are several metrical changes (from 5/8 (3+2) to 8/8
(3+3+2) to ¢) and the predominant rhythmic activity i~ this
section is quarter notes, accelerating to triplet eighths,

77
compared with groups of two and three eighths in the
preceding section.
French does make an interesting point regarding the
"melodic continuity" of the cantabile theme (rom. 43 ff.) and
the interruption theme (mm. 75 ff.) But it is ironic that,
after all his criticisms of the Concerto's incongruities,
French finds the fourth movement to be "quite integrated;"
this is one section that Bart6k clearly intended to be
jarring. A further irony is that French's comments do not
reveal the most important thing about this continuity--its
programmatic significance.
Like Austin, French was riot aware of the programme
connected with the fourth movement (see pp. 4G ff. for a
discussion). Since it has been suggested that the
interruption theme (rom. 75 ff.) may symbolize the political
and artistic domination of Hungary by Germany and the
cantilena theme (mm. 42 ff.) the purity of ideal, patriotic
love (more specifically, Hungary itself), it is especially
significant to view the interruption theme as an inversion of
the cantilena theme. By means of this inversion, the
programme is reflected through musical process as well as in
the symbolism of the themes, although, since both of these
themes use pre-existing material, their similarity was not
engineered by Bart6k. This makes their relationship even
more remarkable. Thus, while French makes an interesting
observation about the inversion in the fourth movement, his

78
narrow analytical perspective prevents him from revealing its
full significance.
That I view French's analysis as unsuccessful has, no
doubt, become evident. It is an interesting approach, but
French's application of it suffers from two major problems:
1) his blindness to his own subjective aesthetic position
and the degree to which his subjectivity infuses the work; 2)
his refusal to articulate his ideas in terms that are
generally understood and agreed upon by musicians. Austin
also made comments of the listener-iesponse variety, but he
also approached the work in a more objective manner by using
formal and harmonic analytical techniques. Consequently, his
critical comments of the "I like, I don't like" variety are
not as autocratic; they offer an opinion instead of
legislating one.
79
Notes
1William Austin, "Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra,"
Music Review 18 (Feb. 1957): 21.

2 Ibid .
3 Ibid ., p. 22-3.
4 Ibid . , p. 23.
5 Ibid . , p. 24.
6 Ibid .
7 Ibid., p. 25.
8Elsewhere in the article, Halsey stevens' biography
of Bart6k is mentioned, but Austin cites only the Heinsheimer
source.
9Austin, p. 21 •
1 0Ibid. , p. 38.
11 Ibid. , p. 38-9.
12 Ibid . , p. 39.
13 Ibid . , p. 47.
14 Ibid .
15 Ibid .
16The other analyses which discuss all movements do
so from a specialized perspective (i.e. orchestration or
folk-music). French's approach is too idiosyncratic to
afford a reliable overview of the movement.
17Austin, p. 35.
18 Ibid ., p. 27-8.
80
19 Ibid .
20Terry Eagleton, Literary Theory: An Introduction
(Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1983), p. 85.
21Catherine Belsey, Critical Practice (London:
Methuen, 1980), pp. 32-3.
22Gilbert G. French, "Continuity and Discontinuity in
Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra," Music Review 28(1967):122.

23Joseph Kerman, "How We Got into Analysis, and How to
Get Out, " Critical Inguiry 7 (Winter. 1980):315.

24 Ibid .
25French, p. 122.
26 In his historical
sketch of organicism in musical
analysis, Kerman includes such figures as Hanslick, Forkel,
E.T.A. Hoffmann, Schenker, Tovey, Reti, Schoenberg. Janet M.
Levy discusses the issue in "Covert and Casual Values in
Recent Writings about Music," Journal of Musicology 5 (Winter
1987):3-27.
27Eagleton, p. 85.
28Kerman, p. 320.
29French, p. 123.
30 Ibid ., p. 127.
31 Ibid. , p. 129.
32 Ibid ., p. 122.
33 Ibid ., p. 126.
34 Ibid .
35 Ibid ., p. 1 34.
81
36Austin, p.38.
37 Ibid ., p. 39.
38French, p. 130.
B. Thematic Analyses
Platonism in Music
The third approach to be considered is that of Tibor
Kneif in an article entitled "Zur Entstehung und
Kompositionstechnik von Bart6ks Konzert fUr Orchester." It
consists of three parts. The first section is music-
historical, the second, analytical, and the third, critical,
that is to say, it is an interpretation of the analytical
findings according to Kneif's hypothesis of Platonism in
Bart6k's music. The combination of these three modes of
investigation produces a scholarly, thoughtful study on the
subject.
Kneif presents the background information in the
first section sympathetically, but without the sensationalism
that is often an ingredient. The quality of his work does
not suffer from the quantity of material amassed--Kneif
presents by far the most information about the Concerto of
any single source, covering details about the commissioning
and first performance. In this section, Kneif puts forward
an interesting theory about the source of Bart6k's creative
energy--conflict with his environment:
82
83
Bart6k's mental energy had earlier been

drawn from a constant tension of
challenge and confirmation. Resistance
to the enyironment was an element of life
for him.
Kneif also gives a summary of the critical response to the
work in the years following the composition. While this
information is not explicitly relevant to his subsequent
discussion in the article, the history of what has been
thought about a composition is an important part of its
background, especially of this work.
The main historical issue that Kneif discusses is the
contention, which we considered earlier, that Bart6k made
an artistic compromise in composing the Concerto. Kneif
quotes Serge Moreux as the principal exponent of this point
of view. The antithetical view of Halsey Stevens is also
presented. As we saw earlier, Kneif rejects Stevens'
concept of the Concerto as a personal testament. Unlike
Stevens, Kneif does not eschew "microscopic dissection;"2
therefore, his penetrating analysis reveals some very
interesting observations about the Concerto.
Rather than providing an entire map, Kneif presents
an inset diagram of the work: the introduction to the first
movement and the recurrence of its material in the third
movement. By doing this,· Kneif puts his finger directly on
the locus of the entire work, exploring one of Stevens'
"broad and vital" compositional problems. He suggests that
the confrontation and reconciliation of the two contrasting

84
motives of the first eleven measures constitute such a
compositional problem and its resolution.
Kneif is among many analysts who remark upon the
contrasting motives which are linked together in measures 1-
)110 They are then reiterated in two swelling restatements
'(mm. 12-21 and 22-34). The cell which gives rise to the
first motive (mm. 1-5) is the interval of a fourth, and the
second motive (mm. 6-11) is characterized by the interval of
a second. While it assumes the role of dialectic opposition,
the second motive can also be conceived of as a product of
the first motive in which the major second is the connective
material between the fourths. The interval of a second (in
its inverted form, as a seventh) also plays a fundamental
role in linking the two motives (m. 6), so that the flute
motive at measure 30 (C-C-C-sharp-C) can be viewed as an
expression of the tension between the two primary motives (C-
sharp-C in measure 6 and F-sharp-F in measure 16). As Kneif
expresses it, "the two end points of the already traversed
circle of fifths between C-sharp and C are drawn together in
one single motive in the first measure of the solo flute.,,3
The open end of the scissor-like flute motives in measures 11
and 21 also contains the minor second/major seventh tension.
The tension which undoubtedly exists between these
end points is not simply intervallic. Kneif demonstrates
that an axial tension also exists between C-sharp and C in
measure 6. Conceding that B constitutes the opposite pole of

85
the first motive intervallically (it is farthest away from C-
sharp), Kneif claims that the most "exposed" note of this
motive is A on the basis that it is the farthest away (within
the motive) from C-sharp in the sub-dominant direction on the
circle of fifths. As further proof of the function of A as a
sub-dominant pivot, Kneif suggests that the pull of the sub-
dominant is continued in an imaginary line in the treble (in
opposition to the tonic pull of the bass-line back to C-
sharp) from A to 0, G and finally C, which is articulated by
the violins in measure 6. Thus, the C-natural in the treble
(violins) creates some kind of "sub-dominant" tension against
the tonic C-sharp in the bass (double basses).
con sardina
P legato
Example 1. Tibor Kneif, "Zur Entstehung und Kompositions-

technik von Bart6k's Konzert flir Orchester," Die
Musikforschung 26 (1973): 43.
Clearly, this is not "sub-dominant" in the sense of
functional harmony because there is no harmonic progression
involved; in Kneif's explanation, sub-dominant and tonic
influences occur simultaneously, not successively. Possibly,
Kneif uses the term sUb-dominant only to refer to a
particular domain of the circle of fifths; indeed, it is
evident that Kneif is more interested in the circle of fifths

86
than in harmonic progressions involving the sub-dominant. He
views the dominant/sub-dominant relationship in question as
an opposition, which initiates the "continued conquest of the
circle of fifths.,,4 This takes place over the course of the
three periods. The first motive ~s expanded intervallically
in its successive statements to cover one, then two
additional fourths, thereby exposing further the circle of
fifths. Because Kneif does not define his terms nor elaborate
his ideas, this peculiar but fascinating hypothesis is a
little bewildering. It is interesting to note, however, that
A also has a subdominant function according to the axis-
system of tonality as developed by Ern8 Lendvai (see the
section at p·age- 68. ~'..f'> because of the relation of A to F#.
Kneif also demonstrates the rhythmic heightening that
occurs over the three periods necessitated by the increasing
length (number of fourths) in each statement of the first
motive.
l. J. IJ. ·1 J aJ"---"1 ~ Je
cis fis h
2. J ~ I Jh Je 1j ~ 1
a"---"
J hj
cis Cis d
3. JJJIJJ IJJJIJJJ
cis Cis h e a d c g a e h
Example 2. Kneif, p. 45.
Thus, the growth-impulse that clearly characterizes this
passage is not simply a one-dimensional phenomenon (i.e.

87
covering a greater tonal range). It is three-pronged:
melodic, through the expansion of the tonal range; harmonic,
by ~eans
, of progression through the circle of fifths;
rhythmic, through the diminishing time values. With this
heightening, the motivic material becomes increasingly
autonomous, although Kneif does not consider even the most
defined statement of the material (measures 51-57) to be a
full-fledged theme. 5
In fact, some of the statements of the theme are
quite self-sufficient. Perhaps Kneif adopted this position
in order to sustain his theory of Platonism; if one theme
were clearly more developed than the others, it might revoke
the idea ~f all themes being a version of an unstated "ideal"
theme. But Kneif's own definition of musical Platonism
preempts this eventuality, because elsewhere he claims that
the more defined statements of the theme are no closer to the
original theme than less melodic variations.
The transition connecting the introduction to the
main part of the first movement is constructed out of a
tritone which is simply reiterated melodically at the same
pitch for thirteen measures. The instability of this
interval, compounded by the unrelieved repetition, finds a
kind of resolution in measure 76, the first theme of the main
section of the movement.
Kneif discusses the formation of the tritone motive,
which functions like a gigantic anacrusis to the main theme,

88
but does not explore the relationship between the transition
and the main theme of the movement. This theme (mm. 76 ff.)
recalls the opening fourths-motive (mm. 1-6), with major
seconds being the "joints" of the construction.
:: :;;C:P:\:I=:;::~:I::=
it'h"c,. ({ro,," :Z:!~tI\. f.3.(.{'.)
Example 3. Bela Bart6k, Concerto for Orchestra, Boosey and

Hawkes, I: mm. 76-85 (violins).
The first and -fourth measures of this theme, derived
from the tritonal transition, might initially seem anomalous
amongst these fourths and seconds until one notes that they
can be conceived of as filled-in statements of the fourth-
plus-second motive. In this way, they are perfectly
integrated with the rest of the theme. Likewise, the
initially disorienting transition becomes meaningful as a
linear statement of the two intervals which define the
introduction (and the entire movement), an ideal summarizing
motive. Although Kneif does not pursue these ideas in his
analysis, they support his notion of the compositional
problem of the work: the juxtaposition of fourths and

seconds.
89
The following diagram is Kneif's outline of the form
of the first movement, showing the fundamental opposition of
the fourth and second intervals expressed now in formal terms
as the opposition between the first and second themes of
sonata-allegro form, the first theme (Hauptthema) being
constituted mainly of fourths and the second theme
(Nebenthema) of seconds. 6
Hauptthema Nebenthema Hauptthema Hauptthema Hauptthema Nebenthema HaupttheOll

(T.76-148) (T.149-230) (T. 231-271) (T.272-312) (T. 313-396) (T.396-487) (T.4SS-52!'
S L S L· S L S
~-----VV------~·~--------~~~--------~f '~----~v~----~
Exposition Durchfiihrung Reprise
At this point, Kneif moves to the third movement to
di~cuss the melodic development of the introductory material
from the first movement. As we have seen, the third movement
is a chain of variations in the shape of an arch, with most
of the melodic material derived from the first movement.
statements of the theme based on fourths open and close the
third movement and the central section is based on measures
30-34 of the first movement, flanked by re-statements of
measures 39-47 and 51-58. Kneif perceives a new weight
distribution in this movement because the seconds-inspired
thematic material (I: mm. 30-34) assumes the greatest
importance, as opposed to the fourths-inspired theme (mm. 76
ff.), which dominated the first movement.

90
According to Kneif, the opening statement of the
third movement is an "almost note-perfect" -retrograde
inversion of the opening bars of the first movement:
I, T. 1 - 6 t 2 3 4 5 6
1'J'f ujJ If r r r r If
".--...
ijrl.
i III, T. 1 - 5 3 2
!tJ: g
6
-rr
:;
"
J
-r #2 ~j ~r [ro
This is a very interesting observation, although it
requires some manipulation of the actual musical material.
Firstly, the opening-C-sharp of the first-movement sequence
is omitted.in order to compensate for the different number of
pitches in the two sequences. Furthermore, there is a
digression in the third-movement sequence from the
intervallic pattern established in the first-movement
sequence. The intervallic movement between degrees 3-2 and
2-1 of the third-movement sequence is altered so that degree
2 is a minor second lower and degree 1 a minor second higher
than expected. (If the pattern were followed, degrees 2 and
1 would be G-sharp and C-sharp respectively.)
Despite these anomalies, inversion appears to be an
operative principle in this movement. As well as the
inversion of the opening statement and of the relative
importance of fourths- and seconds-inspired themes, the major
seventh (fourteenth) linking the motives in measures 6, 16

91
and 29 of the first movement is inverted to a minor second in
the analogous passage of the third movement (m.4).
As a consequence of the reductive direction of
inversion (larger intervals to smaller ones), there is a
corresponding impulse towards constriction in the size of
intervals in general throughout the course of the third
movement. For instance, the pattern established in measures
5-9 of perfect fourths and minor seconds is transformed into
patterns of minor thirds and minor seconds in measure 10.
The perfect fourth/minor second pattern (mm. 5-9) is, itself,
a constriction of the opening sequence. Likewise, the oboe
line (mm. 10 ff.) wavers within the interval of a minor
thir~/ and is ~early silenced at the end of the movement.
Here, the theme appears in the piccolo, confined only to a
major seqond (m. 123-8).
Symptomatic of this constrictive tendency is the
predominance of closed melodic configurations, such as
circles, as opposed to linear shapes in the first movement.
Compare the tritonal transitional motive of the first
movement (Example 6), which appears often in it, with a
characteristic gesture of the third movement (Example 7):

92
• & tempo
.1
n~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ok.I,u~'~~~~~.~~
Example 6. Concerto for Orchestra, I: mm. 91-93

(flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon).
Example 7. Concerto for Orchestra, III: mm. 10-11 (flute).
Rather than allowing the principles of inversion and
constriction to govern his discussion of the movements, Kneif
discusses the third movement in terms of its variation of
melodic material from the first movement. Therefore, his
implicit inferral that the laws which govern the first
movement are inverted in the third movement is left
unexplored, but the operation of these principles is a point
which is, I believe, vital to an understanding of the third

movement.
Kneif probably refrained from pursuing the
implications of his own observations because it would have
involved deflecting the focus away from his primary interest:
melodic variation and his theory of Platonism. In the third
section of the article, Kneif concludes that Bartok's "theme
and variation " technique is actually "variations without a

93
theme," or musical Platonism, in which only the
concretizations of an imagined theme are heard:
. . . the varied shapes all represent

approximate reflections of a musical
idea, which is referred to in each shape
but which itself never actually appears. 6
Although Kneif claims that there is no connection
between musical Platonism and its philosophical counterpart,
he sometimes describes his theory in philosophical terms. As
opposed to Goethe's notion of the Urphanomen as merely
existing in its particular expressions, Kneif asserts that
Bart6k's Platonism involves the dualism of both imaginary
idea and concrete objectivity. Because the variants are not
always necessarily autonomous themes, they refer constantly
to an'ideal model; hence, a reciprocity between concrete
statement and idea. When referring to the variations, Kneif
also uses the term "pale shadows,"? whose link to Platonic
philosophy is unmistakable.
Kneif accounts for eight variations of such a theme
in the first and third movements of the Concerto:
Introduzione: mm. 30-34, 35-50, 51-58; Elegia: mm. 29-33,
34-44, 45-53, 62-83 and 86-92. While he notes that some of
these statements are more essential, and others more specific
or individualistic, this hierarchy does not, according to
Kneif, indicate relative degrees of proximity to the Urthema.
Each statement is an individual expression of the essence of
the proto-theme. Although the eight variations cannot be
conceived of in relation to this theme (as i t is never

94
actually sounded), they are unified nonetheless, through the
intervallic predominance of seconds and through similar
phrase structure.
As a result of the phrase construction and the
falling contour of the lines (especially in III: 62-83),
Kneif hypothesizes that these variations were inspired by
folk-song. 8 Kneif also draws on Bart6k's involvement with
folk-music to justify the idea of musical Platonism.
Observing that Bart6k conceived of folk-music as an
expression of certain primal archetypes, which are then
varied in an infinite number of ways, Kneif suggests that
Bart6k imitated this creative process in his own music.
Finally, Kneif uses Platonism in Bart6k's music to
support his argument that Bart6k belongs to the Romantic
tradition. Because Platonism implies transcendence, he
asserts that it is aesthetically attractive to the Romantic
sensibility. It is not surprising, then, that variation
technique is a favourite form of the Romantics. Kneif posits
that, through Bart6k's use of Platonism, his Romantic
characteristics as a composer are revealed and he places
Bart6k in a historical context as the heir to Schumann,
claiming that:
It seems that the most consistent and

precise expression of this romantic
variation technique is to be found in
Bart6k, who no longer allows the theme to
sound at all, but has it sublimate to
that idea, which dominates with regard to
the fully composed patterns and does not
95
allow its unfol~ing to full musical

reality at all.
The conclusion of this article is rather
unsatisfying. From providing very detailed information about
the Concerto in Part II, Kneif proceeds to discuss it in Part
III in a mode which is almost completely abstract, re-
mystifying what was de-mystified in Part II. What is
especially disappointing is the fact that, while Kneif skirts
vital issues in order to concentrate on his theory of
Platonism, he does not pursue it to its logical conclusion.
No doubt, the eight transformations are linked by a proto-
theme, or original theme, but, like Bart6k, Kneif never
allows his "theme" to be explicitly stated!
I would venture to state explicitly what lies

. ,
implicit in Kneif's article: that the proto-theme is based on
the idea of the interval of the second; more specifically,
the "contrast of small-interval structure and broader fourth
melody."'D This suggestion does not contravene Kneif's
definition of Platonism as "reflections of a musical idea""
rather than an actual musical construct. In fact, the notion
that the proto-theme is constituted of the idea of the
second-interval in contrast to the fourth-interval satisfies
the conditions of Kneif's musical Platonism on several
counts. Since it is an abstract idea, the proto-theme is not
and can not ever be stated completely in musical terms; by
the same token, its abstract nature precludes the event that
anyone of the eight transformations be any closer to it;

96
each of the transformations expresses the idea of "small-
interval structure" to equal degrees. Furthermore, it seems
logical to conceive of the proto-theme as something different
in essence than its concrete musical expressions, as an
abstract idea rather than a musical one. Inevitably,
Platonism as Kneif defines it is not an uncommon occurence in
composition, which often consists of articulating a
compositional idea into sound.
The Technique of Interpolation
Published in the same year as Kneif's analysis
(discussed above), Horst Weber's "Material und Komposition in
Bart6ks Concerto for Orchestra" shares certain features it.
Both articles are in three sections, both concentrate on the
first and third movements, and both concern themselves with
the compositional "problem" posed by Bart6k in the
introduction to the first movement. They do not perceive the
same "problem" but that is of little consequence.
Weber does not, however, subscribe to Kneif's idea of
Platonism. In fact, he refutes the hypothesis, suggesting
that Kneif's theory of Platonism in Bart6k's music is "one-
dimensional."'2 It seems the term "one-dimensional" refers
to Kneif's contention that the eight transformations of the
theme exist on a lateral basis, or plane;'3 whereas Weber has
a hierarchical view of their proximity to an original theme.

97
Weber labels only three of the variations, but these names
reveal his hierarchical conception:
Vorform [Proto-form] (I: mm. 30ff.)
Originalgestalt [Original shape] (I: mm. 39ff.)
Variation (I: mm. S1ff.)
In answer to Kneif's statement that the theme at I:m.39
is not well-enough defined to constitute a theme in comparison
to the following statement, Weber observes that it is almost
a requirement of variation-themes that they be comparatively
general in order to allow for subsequent development.
Weber also criticizes Kneif's conception of Bart6k as
the heir to Sc~umann (and, consequently, as a late figure of
Romanticism) and yet he devotes a good part of his own
analysis to demonstrating the influence of strauss on
Bart6k's compositional style. Of course, by doing this, Weber
also places Bart6k in the Romantic tradition.
The major part of Weber's article is devoted to
analytical comments about the Concerto, concentrating on the
first and third movements. Weber views the introduction to
the first movement (mm. 1-76) as the formulating of certain
principles by which the entire work will be generated at
every level. These principles are exhibited in the opening
eleven-bar segment of the first movement: the 'Theme'
[Thema] (mm. 1-6) is a modal construct, the 'Sound-field'
[Klangfeld] (mm. 6-10) is based on whole-tone harmony and the
'Flute-figure' [Flotenfigur] (m.ll) is chromatic. With

98
reference to these three passages, "it seems as though at the
beginning of the introduction Bart6k envisioned the current
situation of contemporary composition and represented it
through various musical thoughts.,,14 The unfolding of the
Concerto is, therefore, an attempt to "assimilate these
differing style elements to each other and· thereby to
attain a homogeneous musical idiom."lS This statement could
be an ironic comment on the lack of success which Bart6k
achieved, because Weber refers to Bart6k's style elsewhere as
heterogeneous. On the other hand, the process of
assimilation to homogeneity is no doubt more vital than the
actual achievement of the goal.
Indeed, Weber confirms this indirectly in discussing
this process, which he calls interpolation (p. 772). This is
defined as a process in which sections that belong together
are separated from each other through the interpolation of
contrasting sections; conversely, contrasting sections are
linked together. In this way the disparate elements of the
work are united; however, "as a composi~ional method,
interpolation conceals in itself the admission that a
synthesis of the differing elements is not possible.,,16
Consequently, while the goal of the composition is the
assimilation of its diverse components (homogeneity), this is
categorically impossible.
Throughout the course of the analysis, Weber gives
several examples of how the principle of interpolation is

99
utilized--on the level of the theme, the movement and the
work as a whole. Let us recall the three "styles" of
composition--Theme, Soundfield, and Flute-figure--and
consider how they are interpolated in the main theme of the
first movement (mm. 76 ff.). 'Theme' is represented in this
theme by the fourth-steps of measures 77-8 and 80-81, 'Sound-
field' by measures 81 ff., which supposedly recall the whole-tone
harmony of measures 6-11, and 'Flute-figure' by the chromatic
tritone gestures in measures 76 and 79.
Although both Kneif and Weber may be said to view the
Introduction as a generator of the motivic material of the
movement, especially that of measures 76 ff., Weber's
representation of this theme has little in common with the
view of~theme-formation inherent in Kneif's approach. Weber
views the main theme at measure 76 as a mixture of compositional
styles, which appeared in the introduction as representative
of the main streams of contemporary composition. Based on
Kneif's view of melodic development, the major theme would be
considered an autonomous construct inspired by the same
general principle exhibited in the first motive of the
introduction (mm. 1-6)--fourth intervals separated by
seconds. (Kneif does not make this specific observation; nor
does he state that the main theme at measure 76 is also
organically related to the first motive (mm. 1-6) by virtue
of its architectural shape: initial rising gesture,
complemented by an inversion resulting in an arch shape.)

100
At the level of the movement, the juxtaposition of
contrasting elements occurs in a format which is designed for
that The first theme of

this sonata-allegro movement is, according to Weber, a hybrid
of all three elements of the introduction; however, Weber
argues that this main theme is also differentiated, as
primarily representing 'Theme, I from the second theme (mm.
149ff.), which has allegiances to 'Soundfield.' But when
Weber outlines the dichotomy between the first and second
themes in the following passage, his argument deteriorates.
Weber draws on a likeness to 'Flute-figure' as evidence in
his case for the second theme's affinity with 'Sound-field.'
. . . whereas the first theme appears

as a" distinctive rhythmic-melodic pattern
with a characteristic interval-structure,
melodic gesture is lacking in the second
theme [155 ff.]; following the flute melody
of mm. 30 ff., the changing of two tones
becomes almost thematic, the falling
figure towards the end (mm. 170 ff.) recalls the
sextuplet of the "Flute-figure" (m. 34).
The harmony stagnates in the y;cond theme
just as in the "Sound-field".
The difference between these modes of composition becomes
increasingly blurred throughout the analysis.
Blurring of 'Sound-field' and 'Flute-figure' also
occurs in Weber's description of the third movement: the
faltering oboe melody in measures 10 ff. which recalls the
'Flute-figure' in the introduction is cited as an example of
the 'Sound-field' influence. There is no evident
justification for the fusion of these two styles of

1 01
composition. On the basis of Weber's article, it would be
more likely for the 'Flute-figure' and 'Theme' to be
associated because, in a chart of the first three statements
of each of the compositional styles, Weber designates that
these two components both "modulate" to polychromaticism:
u
Abschnitt I: "Thema Klangfeld Figur
modale Diatonik Ganztonharmonik Chromatik
u
Abschnitt II: "Thema Klangfeld Figur
modale Diatonik Ganztonharmonik polymodale Chromatik
u
Abschnitt III: "Thema Klangfeld Melodie
polymodale Chromatik tonale Struktur polymodale Chromatik
Bxample 8. Horst Weber, "Material und Komposition in

Bart6ks Concerto for Orchestra," Neue Zeitschrift
fUr Musik 134 (1973): 771.
Weber makes only brief references to the other
movements of the Concerto. According to him, the
interpolation principle is most evident in the fourth
movement where a "Cs~rd~s-reminiscence" literally interrupts
the "dancing oboe melody" and "nostalgic song of the
viola.,,18 In other words, the "Cs~rd~s-reminiscence" is an
interpolation. The fifth movement bears evidence of the
interpolation principle because of its attempt to combine
both chain-form and sonata-allegro form, as representing folk
and concert-music, into one. It is this attempt which
prompts Weber to call the fifth movement "music about

music.,,19
The operation of interpolation on the work as a whole
is expressed succinctly by the following chart:

102
Gemeinsame Thematik
t +
II III IV V
1-
I t
Gemeinsame Form
t.
i
Gemeinsame Satztechnik
Example 2. Weber, p. 772.
The thematically similar first and third movements are
interpolated by the second movement, which is linked to the
fourth by their common formal conception as dance movements.
Likewise, the three inner movements separate the two outer
movements, which make use of similar compositional
techniques, devices such as inversion, stretto, fugato.
Weber does not make reference to the function of the
three compositional styles at· this level.
In the third section of the analysis, Weber
substantiates his theory about the technique of interpolation
by drawing on historical evidence of Bart6k's development as
a composer. Citing such disparate influences as strauss,
Debussy, Schoenberg and folk-music, Weber concludes that the
technique of interpolation was a means by which Bart6k could
deal with the conflicting compositional trends which he
encountered in his lifetime.
The most fundamental artistic contradiction that
Bart6k encountered was between folk~music and art-music.
Weber suggests that Bartok turned to folk-music as a means of
emancipating art-music from "the autocratic rule of the
traditional major-minor system,,,20 more specifically the

103
German art-music tradition. Weber also suggests that this
emancipation had political overtones, in that breaking away
from the stronghold of the German-Austrian artistic tradition
symbolized rebellion against their political domination of
Hungary. Again, folk-music was an ideal vehicle since,
through it, a style of music distinct from that of the German
tradition could be created.
Weber goes on to point out that folk-music was not a
completely satisfactory alternative to the old system of
major-minor tonality; thus, "the argument with the old
harmonic system continued in Bart6k's temporary inclination
towards atonality, which was not accomplished through
folklore at all, but through tendencies of "western" art-

music.,,21 Ultimately, Bart6k was not prepared to embrace the
solution of art-music (atonality) since it was fundamentally
opposed to folk-music in which, Bart6k asserted, atonality
was inconceivable. Weber concludes that
Bart6k's stylistic development is

characterized by this tension between the
ultimately emotional commitment to the
folk-music of his homeland and the
reflection of compositional problems
which the m~~ical tradition had
bequeathed. .
And, Weber explains, this tension is expressed in Bart6k's
music through the technique of interpolation in which these
conflicting influences are juxtaposed, resulting in a
homogeneous compositional style. Although this hypothesis
about Bart6k's music is based to a degree on biographical

104
information, it is a valid one since it is supported
convincingly by the music in contrast to other "biographical"
discussions of the Concerto.

105
Notes
technik von Bart6ks Konzert fUr Orchester," Die
Musikforschung 26 (1973): 40.
2Halsey stevens, The Life and Music of Bela Bart6k,
3Kneif, p. 45.
4 Ibid .
5 Ibid., p. 49.
6 In the following diagram, S refers to schnell (fast)
and L to langsam (slow).
7Kneif, p. 51.
8 J . Breuer and J. Downey also make these
observations.
9Kneif, p. 51.
1 0Ibid., p. 49.
11 Ibid .
12Horst Weber, "Material und Komposition in Bart6ks
Concerto for Orchestra," Neue Zeitschrift fUr Musik
134 (1973):771.
13Kneifls phrase (p. 51) is "auf derselben Ebene". In
his article, Weber says "auf einer Ebene liegt," p. 771.

14Weber, p. 768-9.
15 Ibid ., p. 770.
16 Ibid . , p. 772.
106
17 Ibid ., p. 770.
18 Ibid ., p. 772. What Weber refers to as Csardas-
reminiscence is in fact the parody of the theme from
Shostakovich's Seventh Symphony and Franz Lehar's The Merry

Widow.
19 Ibid .
20 Ibid .
21 Ibid ., p. 773.
22 Ibid .
C. Folk Music
A Lexicographical Approach
There is no need to belabour the point that folk-
music was a vital musical influence in Bart6k's life. His
folk-song-collecting expeditions in eastern Europe are well-
known, as are his convictions, expounded in his writings,
about the significance of folk-music in developing a national
compositional style. In his Harvard Lectures of 1943, Bart6k
outlined two components which had facilitated the emergence
of the new art music in Hungary:
a thorough knowledge of the devices of

old and contemporary Western art music
for the technique of composition; and,
second, . . . the newly-discovered rural
music material of incomparable beauty and
perfection: fO the spirit of our works
to be created. l
Thus, as Weber suggested, both Western art-music and
Hungarian folk-music were important components of Bart6k's
musical language. As we have seen, Bart6k was occupied
almost exclusively during his American years with
ethnomusicological work: a collection of Romanian folk-
songs, a book on Serbo-Croatian folk-song and the
transcription of the Milman Parry collection of Yugoslavian
107
108
folk-songs. Because the Concerto for Orchestra is also a
product of this period, it is imperative that the influence
of folk-music on it be examined.
One of the most difficult problems involved in this
endeavour is that Bart6k's use of folk-music is not facile;
direct quotation of folk-song is only a superficial symptom
of the pervading presence of folk material in Bart6k's music.
Indicative of this is the fact that passages containing no
primary folk-music material are, nevertheless, often
described as folk-like. The fifth movement of the Concerto
is one example. Bartok alludes to the degree to which folk-
music is implicated in his music in the following. passage:
It is the character of peasant music,

indescribable in words, that must find
its way into our music • . . . Peasant
motives (or imitations of such motives)
will only lend our music some new
ornaments, nothing more. 2
This complexity is acknowledged by John Downey in the
introduction to his book La musigue populaire dans l'oeuvre
de Bela Bart6k:
We know, generally, that there exists in

Bart6k's works a particular liaison
between folk-music and his own
composition, but, actually; the influence
of one on the other was not until now
clearly defined in our understanding. 3
The goal of his study is to investigate the ways in which
Bart6k was able to distill the essence of various folk-musics
and incorpor~te them into his own compositional language,
a process which Bart6k himself did not discuss.

109
Downey does not restrict his study to any specific
portion of Bart6k's oeuvre; nor does he focus exclusively on
the folk-music of Bart6k's native country. The first section
of his study outlines the characteristics of the folk-musics
of Hungary, Romania, Slovakia, the Arabian region of Biskra,
the Ukraine, Bulgaria, Serbo-Croatian Yugoslavia and Turkey
including melodic, rhythmic, metrical, and formal elements as
well as information pertaining to scales, cadences, and
ornamentation; even special features such as the Hungarian
parlando-rubato style. This panoramic outline facilitates a
discussion of the Bart6kian oeuvre based on these diverse
influences.
Despite his objective to verify the relationship
between the actual folk melodies that Bart6k collected and
the music he composed, Downey's discussion of Bart6k's music
(including the Concerto for Orchestra) is little more than a
labelling of melodic, rhythmic and formal folk elements.
Here are some examples of his findings: the theme beginning
at measure 90 of the second movement of the Concerto ·is seen
to be influenced by Serbo-Croatian music because the theme is
played by two trumpets at the interval of a major second (a
prominent interval in Serbo-Croatian music); the oboe melody
(mm. 10-18) of the third movement is Arabian-influenced
because of its scale, limited range and the circling of the
melody around a central point; and the technique in the fifth

1 10
movement whereby short motifs are repeated over reiterated
chords is purported to be of Romanian inspiration.
Because it is oriented towards the subject of folk
music rather than a specific composition (the Concerto is
only one of many works discussed), Downey's analysis does
not necessarily cover the salient features of each movement--
only those in which folk music is involved. Furthermore, the
lexical nature of Downey's approach does not lead to a
profound study of how the music really works. Despite the
intention stated in his introduction to pursue the liaison
between folk and composed music, Downey does not fulfill
this objective. He locates the source of influence {albeit
more complex than melodic quotation),.but neglects to explore
the transformation process.
An example of this shortcoming can be found in his
treatment of the fourth movement. Downey begins by
commenting on the unusual scale of the opening theme (mm. 4-
12), which he implies is foreign to European folk-music.
Nevertheless, he claims that the theme has a particularly
Hungarian flavour (because the fourth phrase contains a
greater number of beats than the first three) and then
comments on its similarities to a Slovak melody, which he
quotes in the text. Some points of similarity are the
alternation of 5/8 with other metres (3/8, 3/4) and the
prominent role played by the tritone, but Downey does not
actually compare the two scales. As this example

111
demonstrates, Downey neglects to pursue the relationship
between actual and "composed" folk-music; nor does he
integrate his findings into an overall conception of Bartok's
use of folk-music.
As a lexicon of folk elements, this work is useful;
however, the information it uncovers is simply presented, not
critically examined. Downey's investigation is so broad,
embracing all folk influences in Bart6k's entire output, and
his treatment of it is so general, that his findings simply
corroborate what was already assumed--that Bart6k drew on
many kinds of folk music in his compositions. What Downey's
study does contribute is detailed evidence of this
assumption, and this is valuable. But Downey seems content
to discuss the "ornamental" role of folk-music, the use of
"peasant motives (or imitations of such motives),,,4 rather
than probing into how folk music is assimilated into Bartok's
musical language.
Performance Practice: Parlando-Rubato
Another type of discussion of the Concerto based on
folk-music is that of Janos Breuer who, because his topic is
more specialized, is able to discuss the Concerto with
respect to the influence of folk-music in a much more
detailed manner. Breuer's article is further defined by his
primary interest in performance practice.

1 12
Breuer's central point concerns the rhythm of the
trumpet melody of the slow introduction (mm. 39-47), a
transformation of which occurs in the third movement. Citing
examples of folk-song rhythms from Bart6k's own book on
Hungarian folk-songs, Breuer demonstrates that the rhythm of
the trumpet melody is closely related to rhythms of Hungarian
folk-music. He also discusses the parlando-rubato style of
Hungarian music in which a group of notes of equal value is
not executed in a metronomically exact manner; certain notes
are lengthened and shortened, resulting in a more fluid line.
Although there are no markings on the first appearance of the
trumpet melody (I: mm. 30 ff.), the tenuto and phrase
markings on the recurrence of the theme in the third movement
(m. 34), suggest Bart6k's plastic parlando-rubato conception
of this theme. 5
Example 1. Bela Bart6k, Concerto for Orchestra, Booseyand

Hawkes, III: mm. 34 ff. (violins).
Only when the trumpet melody is executed in the
parlando-rubato style is its inherent vitality revealed,
because this flexible trumpet melody is then set against
steady eighth-notes which accompany it in the bass (mm. 39
ff.). The performance of the accompanying eighths in strict

113
time represents tempo giusto, another style in Hungarian
folk-music.
Sections of the slow introduction of the first
movement are governed by either one of these two performance
modes; only in the trumpet melody (mm. 39 ff.) do these two
styles occur together. It is for this reason, according to
Breuer, that the trumpet melody functions as the pivotal
center of the slow introduction. Like Kneif and Weber,
Breuer conceives of the introduction as a unification of
contrasting elements, but in his discussion, this principle
of contention is epitomized by the contrasting par lando-
rubato and tempo giusto styles.
Breuer's analysis is also unique among those
considered in this thesis in that his critical comments are
inevitably directed to the various recordings of the work
rather than the actual composition. Failure of a performance
to reveal the fundamental principle of tension--the parlando-
rubato within the tempo giusto--results, in his opinion, in
an unsuccessful execution of the work. According to Breuer,
the Hungarian musician instinctively executes this trumpet
melody in the parlando-rubato style, which is so prevalent in
Hungarian music. In actual fact, only two of the four
recordings (all conducted by Hungarians) are deemed
satisfactory by Breuer. 6 It is peculiar and annoying that
Breuer gives musical examples of only the unsatisfactory

1 14
versions of the passage, not those of the recordings which he
endorses.
Breuer's argument implies that the piece can be
performed successfully only if the parlando-rubato style is
employed where appropriate. But Bart6k gives no articulation
markings, at least in the first appearance of the theme, to
indicate the proper performance style to the uninitiated
performer. Furthermore, parlando-rubato is not a style
easily imitated by classically-trained musicians. One cannot
argue that Bart6k assumed that this piece would be played by
Hungarian orchestras, since we know he wrote the work
specifically for an American orchestra. And yet, the work
does benefit from a certain vitality when performed as Breuer
advocates.
Along with the issue of national performance
practice, Breuer's critique of recordings raises a new
question regarding criticism of the Concerto. None of the
other analyses offer bibliographical information about·
recordings consulted even though the recording(s) may have
played a major role in the formation of an aesthetic opinion.
In his analysis, French alludes to the variability of
recordings when referring to "the subjective limitations .
presented by one or another interpretation of the work on

record. "7 But even French, whose analysis relies heavily on
recordings because of its emphasis on the listening process,
does not indicate which recording(s) he consulted. If the

115
recordings differ as much as Breuer suggests, French's
criticisms may have more relevance to certain recorded
performances than to the composition itself.
The topic of folk-music informs Breuer's article on
the Concerto in quite a different way than it does Downey's
book; this is partially due to the difference in objectives
of the two studies. Folk-music is the focus of Downey's
work; therefore, the discussion of the Concerto is merely
illustrative of the central objective to trace the liaison
between folk music and Bart6k's composition. In contrast,
Breuer's primary interest is to examine the Concerto, which
he does with the aid of his insight into Hungarian folk
music. It is almost certain that, being Hungarian himself,
Breuer's interest in folk-music stems from a quite different
source than that of Downey, which in turn affects the manner
in which the topic emerges in his writing. While it is not
the raison d'@tre of Breuer's article, folk-music infuses the
observations that he makes about the Concerto and the way
that he conceives of the work.
Nevertheless, Breuer's insights about folk-music are
directed specifically toward the Concerto for Orchestra and
not, therefore, applicable to Bart6k's method of composing
generally, the liaison between Bart6k's collected folk-music
and Bart6k's composed music to which Downey refers. Ern8
Lendvai, another Hungarian musicologist, explores this
liaison more rigorously than either Downey or Breuer.

1 16
Golden Section Proportion
Ern8 Lendvai's "golden section system" is founded on
the premise that "the words of Bart6k's musical language stem
from the deepest layer of folk music"8 and that the essence
of this music was integrated by Bart6k into a compositional
system which obeys the laws of the golden section principle.
One of the most attractive aspects of Lendvai's theory is its
treatment of the Bart6kian oeuvre as a whole, not as a
collection of disparate styles:
An astonishing result of ~y studies on

Bart6k relates to the unity of style in
his music, which is at least as organic
as that of, say, Bach or Mozart:
"Bluebeard's Castle," "Music for Strings,
Percussion and Celeste," and the
"Concerto for Orch§stra" permit analysis
by the same means.
Although Lendvai has not, to my knowledge, published an
analysis of the Concerto, nor relied with any consistency on
examples from the Concerto in his other writings, I believe
that his approach merits consideration in this thesis because
of its importance in Bart6kian analysis and, in this chapter,
because of its conception of the assimilation of folk-music
into Bart6k's compositional language. 10
It is no doubt an oversimplification, but not
inaccurate, to summarize Lendvai's theory of Bart6k's music
as a system of dualism in which two opposing, yet
complementary, factions exist in a yin/yang type of
relationship. Perhaps this construct is most concisely

1 17
defined by the following excerpt from a table of antonyms
formulated by Lendvai in explanation of the operation of the
two systems in Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion. 11
Golden section system Acoustic system
chromaticism diatony
closed world open world
circular pattern of melody straight pattern of melody
rhythm with strong ending rhythm with weak ending
uneven metre even metre
symmetries asymmetries
organic logic
feminine symbols masculine symbols
finite: circular motion infinite
geometric nature mathematical nature
The contrast of these two systems results from the fact that
they receive definition from two antithetical principles:
the golden section system which is organic (physiological)
and geometric; and the acoustic system which is based on
logic (physics) and mathematics. The musical adjuncts of
these systems are 1) the pentatonic music of the peasant
class, which is considered to be a product of nature, and 2)
the rationalized, composed music of Western civilization,
which is based on the intervals of the overtone series as
revealed by the science of physics. The complexity of
Lendvai's theory cannot be accommodated in this chapter;
therefore, the following discussion will be devoted to an
examination of the portion of Lendvai's theory which deals
with folk-music: the golden section system.

118
Golden section is a proportional principle, numerous
examples of which can be found in the natural, organic
worlds, in which a length is divided in such a way that the
ratio of the smaller part to the larger part is identical to
that of the larger part to the whole. This proportional
principle can also be expressed as a numerical sequence,
called the Fibonacci series, in which each number is equal to
the sum of the previous two. The ratio of two contiguous
numbers in the series is the most accurate expression in
whole numbers of golden section proportion.
According to Lendvai, this principle pervades every
aspect of Bart6k's composition to the extent that
golden section is a no less significant

constituent element in Bart6k's creation
of form, melody and harmony than overtone
harmonization and construction in periods
embracing eight or four b~5s in the
Viennese classical style.
But Lendvai does not suggest that the utilization of golden
section principles by Bartok was intentional or conscious,
and whether it was or not makes no difference to the success
of Lendvai's theory. Lendvai's contention that Bartok was
innately drawn to golden section proportion relies on two
arguments: 1) that the permeation of Bartok's music by the
laws of the golden section was a consequence of his immersion
in the folk music of Eastern Europe and 2) that this folk
music is based on golden section principles by virtue of its
identity as an organic product of nature.

1 19
The notion that folk-music is a phenomenon of the
natural world was one to which Bart6k himself subscribed:
. peasant music is the outcome of

changes wrought by a natural force whose
operation is unconscious; it is
impulsively created by a community of men
who have had no schooling; it is as much
a natural product as are the variouS
forms of animal and vegetable life. 1 3
Therefore, it could be argued that this music, as a product
of nature, is governed by the same principle that is found in
the structure of the sunflower, the pine cone, even the
cochlea of the human ear: golden section proportion.
Indeed, this does appear to be the case. If the
first five terms of the Fibonacci series are expressed in
terms of ~ntervals (where 1=semi-tone, 2=whole-tone and so
on), the results are as follows; minor second, major second,
minor third, perfect fourth, minor sixth. The pentatonic
scale as defined by Lendvai 14 is characterized by these
intervals, which also dominate Bart6k's compositional
language, both melodically and harmonically. Conspicuously
absent from this collection of intervals are the major third,
perfect fifth, major sixth, which are characteristic of the
music of major-minor tonality in Western culture. These
intervals would, according to Lendvai's system of dualism, be
present in connection with passages inspired by the acoustic
system, but Denes Bartha proposes that they are, for the most
part, avoided by Bartok. 15

120
In defense of his hypothesis that the pentatonic
folk music of Eastern Europe is a natural phenomenon
governed by the organic golden section principle, Lendvai
advances the argument that the cochlea of the ear is
constructed on golden section principles; therefore, the
golden section intervals (+2, -3, P4, -6) are "natural" ones.
Clearly, the physiological apparatus of

our ears (with the logarithmic structure
of the cochlea) is such as to make so-l a-
so-mi (2, 3, 5), congenial at the
earliest stage, of which the primitive
levels of folk music and the simplest
nursery songs provide unequivocal
evidence. In such primitive melody
cultures, the sense for major tonality
and functional attraction are completely
unknown. Harmonic thinking arises from a
quite different source, from the overtone
system, which could have come into its
own:exT~usively with instrumental
mUS1C.
Thus, because of its identity as a natural phenomenon, the
folk-music of Eastern Europe is informed by the golden-
section principle so that, in assimilating this music, Bart6k
internalized the proportional laws of the golden section
principle.
To return to the specific details of the theory, it
will be recalled that, when expressed numerically, the
intervals of pentatony corresponded exactly to the numbers of
the Fibonacci series. This is the only direct link between
folk-music and golden section proportion, but this link,
along with Bart6k's comment about folk music as a natural
phenomenon, is a solid piece of evidence for the assumption

121
upon which Lendvai's theory depends: that Eastern European
folk music is an expression of the golden section principle.
In his numerous analyses, Lendvai has found a wealth of
evidence of the operation of the golden section principle in
Bartok's music in melodic, formal and harmonic spheres.
Lendvai's comments about rhythm have been less extensive and
will not be considered here.
By counting measures or even note values, the
geometric mean (point of golden section) can be determined
and, in some works, corresponds to major articulation points.
This is the case in Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion:
. . . golden section of the first

movement indicates the centre of gravity
in the movement: the beginning of the
recapitulation. (Since the movement
consists of 443 bars, and 443 x 0.618 =
274, recapitular~on sets in precisely in
the 274th bar!)
This is not the only way in which the golden section can be
applied to formal construction. Performing "nearly a
thousand geometrically satisfactory measurements," Lendvai
"demonstrated that every unit of the Sonata for Two Pianos
and Percussion, from the whole of the work to the tiniest
cells, is divided according to the rule of golden section."18
In the Dance Suite, the thematic material is built on
progressively larger golden section cells: the first
movement is constructed of major seconds (2), the second
movement of minor thirds (3), the third movement of perfect

122
fourths (5) and in the fourth movement, the cells combined
produce a minor sixth (8).
The same principle of cellular development is
utilized harmonically so that themes are accompanied by
vertical representations of golden section intervals which
expand sequentially through the series. When Bart6k utilizes
traditional chords (triads), they often appear in an
inversion which allows golden section intervals (P4, -3, -6)
to sound rather than the sonorities that characterize major-
minor tonality (+3, P5).
III~J,jf
_g
~g mfiE(q$ (yplc.d
",,,,,,,. dlllrJ
3+5 = l\ 'it;..::ii "f ISur,',k:
(t 1l1.1Jllr- nUllur I'
Example 2. Ern8 Lendvai. "Duality and Synthesis in Bart6k's

Music," New Hungarian Quarterly 3 (1962): 98.
There is evidence of the golden section principle
operating in the Concerto for Orchestra which Lendvai does
not mention. For instance, the motive first stated in
measures 1-6 is repeated twice, becoming progressively
broader. In the first statement, a span of two fourths is
covered. The second statement expands to cover three
fourths, and the third statement covers five fourths.
These are the major points of Lendvai's theory: that
Bart6k subconsciously emulated the essence of folk-music--
golden section proportion--in his own compositional

123
language. The contrast between this approach and Downey's is
sUbstantial. Lendvai's writing is more adventurous, and
therefore more controversial; consequently, it has received
much criticism, most vociferously from Roy Howat. 19 Despite
any weaknesses of Lendvai's approach and/or any in the
validity of his presumptions, his hypothesis allows for a
unique insight into the liaison between folk-music and
composed music. His theory d~livers the mandate established
by Downey to investigate this liaison because, by
establishing folk-music as a product of nature, Bart6k's
composed music is intimately linked with his "collected"
music, not because of any iconic similarity, but by the
generating principle which informs them both. Because of
this, Lendvai's approach is able to account for the
perplexing situation that Bart6k's music is felt to be folk-
inspired even when direct quotation is not employed.

124
Notes
'Benjamin Suchoff, ed., Bela Bart6k Essays (New York:
st. Martin's Press, 1976), p. 363.
2 Ibid ., p. 341.
3John Downey, La musique populaire dans l'oeuvre de
Bela Bart6k (Paris: Centre de documentation universitaire,
1966), p. 34.
4 Suchoff, ed., Essays, p. 341.
5Breuer discusses motives for the markings in the
article. (j. Breuer, "Egy Bart6k-dallam nyom~ban," Muzsika
14 (1971), 8: 26-9, 9:37-9, 10:25-7)
6Breuer does not provide recording numbers. The
conductors he mentions are: Andr~s K6rodi, Gyorgy Lehel,
Gyorgy Solti, and Antal Dor~ti.
7Gilbert French, "Continuity and Discontinuity in
Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra," Music Review 28 (1967):
122.
8 Ern 8 Lendvai, "Duality and Synthesis in Bart6k's
Music," New Hungarian Quarterly 3 (1962), 7:92.
9Lendvai, Duality, p. 92.
10The following discussion of Lendvai's theory will be
drawn from "Duality and Synthesis in the Music of Bela
Bart6k." For a more recent and lengthier exposition of his
views, see The Workshop of Bart6k and Kod~ly (Budapest:
Editio Musica Budapest, 1983).

125
llLendvai, Duality, pp. 112-3.
1 2 Ibid., p. 93.
13 Bela Bart6k, The Hungarian Folk Song, ed. Benjamin
Suchoff, trans. M.D. Calvocoressi (Albany, N.Y.: S.U.N.Y.
Press, 1981), p. 3.
14Lendvai's use of pentatonic refers to what he calls
mi pentatony (mi-so-Ia-do-re). In this pentatonic
scale, minor rather than major thirds and sixths predominate.
According to Lendvai, "peasant songs belonging to the deepest
layer of folk-music have a mi-pentatonic character" (Workshop
of Bart6k and Kodaly, p. 12.)
15Denes Bartha, "La Musique de Bart6k" in La
Resonance dans les echelles, ed. E. Weber (Paris: 1983).
16Lendvai, Duality, p. 110. This argument is highly
contentious. While Lendvai may consider the overtone series
to be un-natural in that it is based on a physical law
rather than a physiological one (i.e. structure of the
cochlea), other theorists, most notably Schenker, have seized
on the existence of the overtone series as evidence that the
octave, major third and perfect fifth are natural sonorities.
17Lendvai, Duality, p.93.

18 Ibid .
19 See "Review-Article: Bart6k, Lendvai and the
Principles' of Proportional Analysis," Music Analysis 2(1983):
69-93. Howat suggests that Lendvai's calculations are
unscientific and his system too arbitrary.

D. Orchestration
Orchestration, a compositional element that has not
thus far not been considered in any of the analyses, is the
primary focus of J. Volek's article "Uber einige interessante
Beziehungen zwischen thematischer Arbeit und Instrumentation
in Bart6ks Werk: Concerto flir Orchester" [On some interesting
relationships between thematic material and instrumentation in
Bart6k's work Concerto for Orchestra]. It is obvious from the
title of the work alone that orchestration should be a vital
element in the study of this piece. But Volek goes further
than dealing with orchestration as a component of the work; he
suggests that the orchestra is actually the "theme" of the
Concerto for Orchestra.
Following a lengthy discourse on the nature of
orchestration, Volek advances the opinion that the first
movement of the Concerto can be conceived of neither as
sonata-form nor as rondo-form, although it seems to have
elements of both. Even a combined form is eventually
disqualified. Similar misgivings are held in regard to the
second and fourth movements, which correspond, but not
exactly, to ternary forms.
126
127
Rather than viewing this non-conformity to
traditional formal patterns as a measure of the lack of
integrity in the work, Volek entertains the possibility that
the structure of the movements and the work as a whole are
governed in some way by orchestration. Acting on this
assumption, Volek proceeds to demonstrate how the Concerto is
structured with respect to orchestration or Besetzung, which
he defines as a process whereby instruments and instrument-
groups take on certain functions and are assigned certain
melodic and rhythmic characteristics, and even certain
intervals, as in the second movement. 1
The article is divided into two sections, the first
dealing with "transformation" and "transposition,"
developmental techniques that rely on the resources of
instrumentation rather than motivic variation or modulation.
The second section deals with the structural role of
orchestration within each movement and in the work as a
whole.
Volek points out that the process of instrumentation
is inseparable from the conception of a theme. Since every
theme is characterized by a particular orchestration, one can
speak of the three main themes of the first movement of the
Concerto as music "of" the strings (mm. 76 ff.), the
woodwinds (mm. 154 ff.) and the brass (mm. 316 ff.).
Throughout the course of a work, these themes are developed
through reiteration in contrasting instrumentations:

128
Here it is not only a matter of a direct

alteration of timbres, but the motive
that is taken over goes right through an
effective veil of detachment; [it] comes
under the influence of different,
heterogeneous orchestration and, more
often than not, chan~es because of it and
becomes assimilated.
Transposition is the process and transformation the result of
this orchestrational form of development. Although Volek
defines his terms in this way at one point, his usage of them
is not consistent with his own definition. Firstly, he does
not maintain the distinction between process and result; and
secondly, the term transformation is often used in contexts
which imply its more general meaning.
Volek's first example of instrumental development
(transformation) is of measures 6-11 of the first movement.
Whereas many critics have labelled this gesture as
antithetical to the opening fourth-step arch, Volek regards
this wedge-like passage as a "transposition" of the first
five measures. But, although it is not simply a question of
re-orchestration, he does not explain how they are connected.
While the two motives may be linked at some level, Volek
suggests that the original motive is contrasted with its own
transpositions. Volek also provides examples of
transformation as it occurs in the third movement. The
details of these examples will not be discussed here;
however, it is interesting to note that, according to Volek,
transpositions of the opening theme from the first movement
are governed by the principle of inversion and diminution; the

129
same principle of inversion and tendency towards constriction
-were made apparent in Kneif's article.
In the second part, Volek discusses each movement in
terms of its orchestration and the structural use of
orchestration in the work as a whole. He views the Concerto
for Orchestra as possessing a symmetrical balance provided by
its orchestration: the first and fifth movements feature the
orchestra as a body of instruments, stressing the strengths
of the orchestra as a whole [plenum]; the second and fourth
movements feature the orchestra in chamber groups because of
their emphasis on solos or duets; the third movement is a
combination of these two approaches--the orchestra as a whole
and as individual components. Thus, -the Concerto possesses a
structural balance due to the orchestrational methods
employed.
Symmetry is also created in the Concerto as follows.
The second and fourth movements are dominated by woodwinds,
whereas the most important thematic material of the first and
fifth movements is given to the string and brass sections.
In addition, the string theme of the first movement (mm. 76
ff.) initiates the main section of the movement and the brass
have a less-important closing theme (mm. 514 ff. ).3 The
relationship between the two groups is reversed in the fifth
movement so that the string theme acts as a preparation for
the weightier brass fanfares.

130
In discussing this article, one cannot overlook
Volek's observations about the programmatic use of
orchestration:
Therefore, orchestrations and

transpositions contain not only
technical, formal variety and opposition
but also broad and deep stylization--
somewhat boldly expressed--also a hidden
genre-characterization, which is capable
of creating an evocative line of ideas,
thoughts and emot!ons by means of content
rather than form.
Although this statement is vague, Volek does make more
specific comments about the programmatic use of
orchestration. The atmosphere of levity in the second
movement is achieved, according to Volek, due,to the lack of
an essential role for the strings in the orchestration of
this movement. This levity is even placed in a specific
context, again suggested by the orchestration: the scene
opens in a small theater with a "tone-curtain" portrayed by
the snare-drum rhythm (mm. 1-8). The entry of the characters
in pairs follows and the brass chorale at measure 123 is the
intermission.
"Ideas, thoughts and emotions" figure prominently in
Volek's treatment of the third movement, particularly in his
discussion of the final fourteen bars. Volek describes this
passage as follows. Spanning measures 112 to 118 is a
"sweet, Lohengrinesque 'rainbow.,"5 This is interrupted by
the horn in measure 119, which sounds a dissonant two-note
motive. As if to rectify this disturbance, a portion of the

1 31
"rainbow" passage is reiterated in measures 120-22, followed
by an adjusted statement of the horn motive (F-sharp to G-
sharp in m. 123). Two bars later, dissonance again intrudes
in the horn (A-G), but:
this last, mild dissonance cannot,

however, suppress the bright illumination
of the moment, in which also the iron law
of dissonance in the Elegy changes in a
trembling way into a pure chord of
longing for reconciliation and balance. 6
This "chord of longing for reconciliation and balance" is
established in measure 122, which Volek considers to be the
zenith of the movement, a "moment of light in the realm of
darkness."7 Volek describes the nadir, which occurs in
measure 98, as a "true plunge into the depths of despair."B
Here Volek is no longer discussing the Concerto under
the rubric of orchestral structural principles; it is
descriptive analysis. It is also one of many examples in the
article in which Volek digresses from his own topic,
definition or method. Despite the lack of focus, Volek's
comments are very interesting. What is disappointing in his
discussion of this section is that he does not elaborate on
what he calls the "iron law of dissonance." Does
"reconciliation" actually occur in this passage and, if so,
what is the nature of it?
As we have seen, this passage has posed problems for
several critics: its elusive harmonies prompted Austin to
call it transcendent; French thought the passage to be "the
greatest faux pas of the entire work.,,9 Volek's fanciful

132
description also acknowledges the colourful, haunting effect
of these chords, but he comes no closer to explaining it. At
this point, I would like to embark on a digression of my own
in an attempt to analyze this passage further using the
method of Polymodal Chromaticism developed by Ern8 Lendvai. 10
In this system, the relativity of chords in
"functional harmony is replaced by the relativity that
operates in solmization. Furthermore,
the symbols of relative solmization each

designate a musical CHARACTER, and if we
recognize: which sign represents light or
darkness, which is accompanied by a rise
or a descent, . . . we shall have
conquered something of the lTalm
concealed behind the notes.
For example, the major chord represented by do-mi-so
can be modified to a minor chord by flattening mi to rna.
Likewise, la-do-mi can be made major by sharpening do to die
Hence, major and minor chords have different qualities
depending on the context, and can be expressed either as do-
mi{ma}-so or as la-do{di}-mi. The presence of di creates a
brighter sound and, with rna, the sound darkens. When di and
rna are used together, a "polar tension" is the result. Fa
and ti, so-called sensitive notes, "carry some sort of
"functional" tension--and within the 7-degree system these
render the dominant-tonic attraction possible.,,12 {Si and re
have analogous functions in the minor key.} Conversely, ta
and fi are "static colour-elements" and represent balance

133
because they are the characteristic elements of acoustic
overtone harmony.
Consequently, if A=do in the passage beginning at
measure 112, the sudden feeling of elevation in measure 115
occurs because A-sharp=di in this context. Similarly, the A-
minor chord in measure 118 is particularly sombre because
C=ma. This sombre mood is heightened by the addition of the
horn-call F-G (si-ta) to the A-minor chord in the next
measure; rna + ta produces a "sorrowful or languid
character.,,13 The restoration of mi (m. 122) is initiated by
a pentatonic cadence (so-la-mi) in measures 120-22 in the
first violin part. But, before it is completed (m. 122),
polymoda~tension is created in measure 121. Ma is sustained
in the ceQlo line against fi in the double bass, creating a
complex apotheosis: passionate, because of rna but also
elevated because of fie The statement of mi (C-sharp) in
measure 122 seems to dissolve this tension as rna and fi
resolve to do and so respectively, and ti (in the viola)
rises to do. But the tension is not dissipated, only
maintained in equilibrium, because the pentatonic cadence
(la-mi/F-sharp--C-sharp) in measure 122 implies pentatonic
6/4 harmony (C#-F#-A), 14 whereas the actual sounding notes
are E, A, C-sharp; that is, A-major in second inversion.
Thus, the cadence is neither unequivocally pentatonic nor
diatonic.
134
The balance is indeed delicate and is nearly upset in
measure 123 with the tentative F-sharp-G-sharp (la-ti) in the
horn and B (re) in the piccolo. G-sharp and B suggest the
dominant (E-major), which sounds simultaneously with its
tonic (A) until the horn again splinters the ~sound-field"
with A-G (do-ta). This causes a rupture of the balance, so
that re (in the piccolo) vibrates in a tremolo-figure
involving di and rna, which constitute polar tension. By this
time, the A-major chord in the strings has ceased to sound
and the final sound event is an echo in the timpani of the
pentatonic la-mi cadence from measures 121-22.
Analysis by means of Lendvai's method of Polymodal
Chromaticism allows for a more detailed articulation of the
expressive chromaticism of the passage which prompted Volek
to use the term "rainbow." It also attempts to explain the
issue of reconciliation and in this passage; a kind of
reconciliation is established between pentatonic and diatonic
systems, but it is established through an equilibrium, which
is tenuous at best.
Volek's article is quite lengthy and can be
convoluted at times. Furthermore, his point is often
difficult to grasp because of technical problems such as
insufficient measure indications and unclear use of terms.
Despite these shortcomings, Volek's approach is refreshingly
unique and some interesting ideas emerge from it. Unlike the
other analysts, Volek acknowledges the limitations of his own

135
approach, confessing that it is not adequately equipped to
deal with every aspect of the Concerto. Because of his
flexible attitude towards analysis and his willingness to
search for an appropriate mode of discussing the Concerto,
Valek's study exposes a symmetry and structure that did not
emerge in other studies based on more traditional methods.

136
Notes
1
J. Volek, "Uber einige interessante Beziehungen
zwischen thematischer Arbeit und Instrumentation in Bartoks
Werk: Concerto fUr Orchester," Studia Musicologica 5(1963):
560.
2See Volek, p. 565.
3This theme first appears in measure 74 but its most
significant statement occurs at measure 556 at the conclusion
of the movement.
4Volek, p. 571 .
5 Ibid . , p. 580.
6 Ibid . , p. 581 .
7 Ibid .
8 Ibid ., p. 580.
9Gilbert French, "Continuity and Discontinuity in
Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra," Music Review 28 (1967):129.
10Bartok also used this term in the Harvard Lectures
[B. Suchoff, ed., Bela Bartok Essays (New York: St. Martin's
Press, 1976), pp. 354-92.] but Lendvai's use of the term is
different than that of Bartok.
11Ern8 Lendvai, The Workshop of Bartok and Kodaly
(Budapest: Editio Musica Budapest, 1983), p. 96.
12 Ibid., p. 465.
13 Ibid ., p. 202n.
137
14pentatonic harmony refers here to chords which
harmonize pentatonic melodies. According to Lendvai, these
chords invariably appear in 6/4 position, rather than root
position which is more common for chords of major-minor
tonality. The root of these pentatonic chords is the bottom
note, not the lowest note when the chord is rearranged in
thirds. In fact, in a pentatonic context, this "root"
position of the pitches is the most dissonant; whereas, in
major-minor tonality, root position is the norm and the 6/4
position requires resolution. Consequently, the chord (from
bottom) C#-F#-A could function either as stable C#-pentatonic
or as unstable F#-minor (second inversion) in major-minor
tonality, depending on the context.

E. Symmetrical Pitch Collections
The final analytical approach to be considered is found
in Elliott Antokoletz's The Music of Bela Bart6k: A study of
Tonality and Progression in Twentieth-Century Music. Like
Downey's study, Antokoletz's book does not deal with the
Concerto alone. It discusses many of Bart6k's works in order
to illustrate Bart6k's transformation of folk-music into an
alternative harmonic language based on symmetrical pitch
relations. Antokoletz states in the preface that the pieces
used were chosen both for their ability to illustrate the basic
principles of the theory and with consideration for equal
representation of the various genres of Bart6k's oeuvre.
The problem of how to approach Bart6k's music is one of
the fundamental considerations directing the inquiry of this
thesis. It is one that Antokoletz is also keenly aware of and
which he attempts to address through the development of his
theory. Observing that
there has been no theory, comparable to

that of the traditional tonal system, to
draw together all pitch formations in his
[Bart6k's] ~usic under one unified set of
principles,
Antokoletz states that the purpose of his study is to
demonstrate that Bart6k's music is based on "an all-
138
139
encompassing system of pitch relations,,2 and that this system
is characterized by equal division of the octave (symmetry),
as opposed to unequal division (asymmetry), on which the
major-minor system of tonality is based. Antokoletz is
interested not only in locating and labelling these
symmetrical pitch collections but also in examining the
"progressive" relationships o~ these collections to each
other and the work as a whole: how these collections are
formed and how they function in the overall structure of the
composition, as an alternative to the relationships in major-
minor tonality.
In consulting Bart6k's sketches, Antokoletz found
that many of .the symmetrical formations in Bart6k's music
appeared in the sketches as diatonic folk modes; therefore,
Bart6k's compositional process as viewed by Antokoletz often
consists of an expansion of the raw material of folk modes
(asymmetrical patterns) into abstract symmetrical pitch
collections.
This mode of thought is reflected in the format of
the book:
chapters are categorized according to

principles moving from traditional (folk)
characteristics through in~reasingly
abstract pitch formations.
The Concerto is discussed in two of the eight chapters:
"Interaction of Diatonic, Octatonic and Whole-Tone
Formations" and "Generation of the Interval Cycles." That
these are the two final chapters of the book (with the
140
exception of the conclusion) is interesting in light of
Antokoletz's organizational scheme. It would imply that
Bart6k's compositional procedure in the Concerto relies more
on abstract principles than on actual folk material.
Before embarking on a discussion of these chapters,
it will be necessary to provide some background to
Antokoletz's theory and definitions of his terminology. The
notion of symmetrical versus asymmetrical constructions is
explained by Antokoletz as follows:
In traditional tonal music, composers

worked according to a system in which the
octave was divided into unequal parts.
The fundamental division was derived from
the perfect fifth, . . . In turn, the perfect
fifth of the triad was unequllly divided
into major and minor thirds.
Bart6k's music, conversely, is based on "equal subdivision of
the octave into the complex of interval cycles. IIS The octave
can be divided evenly by every interval, except the perfect
fifth (or its inversion, the perfect fourth); therefore,
there is one interval 1 cycle 6 (chromatic scale), two
interval 2 cycles (whole-tone scales), three interval 3
cycles (diminished-seventh chords) and so on. Since the
octave cannot be divided equally by the perfect-
fifth/perfect-fourth, its interval cycle has a longer
periodicity--several octaves rather than one octave. The
interval 5/7 cyqle 7 is the circle of fifths. Thus, by
arranging pitches of diatonic modes as segments of the circle
-of fifths, the asymmetric collection is symmetrized.

1 41
Non-diatonic sources (found, again, in folk music)
can also be symmetrized by the extension of the symmetrical
segments within the larger (asymmetrical) non-diatonic pitch
collections. The symmetrical segments within these larger
collections can be either diatonic, octatonic or whole-tone
patterns, as illustrated in the following example:
231 Non-diatonic mode found in Hungarian peasant music, with

divergent overlapping modal segments
whole tone (B.-C)

rI
diatonic segment
I
y- • ~. • Ii. b. -
oct atonic segment
LJ ________ J':-:--::-:-__::_=_'
whole-tone segment (D.-E.-F-G-A-( »
Example 1. Elliot Antokoletz, The Music of Bela Bartok

(Berkeley, Calif: Univ. of Calif. Press, 1984),
p . 2 0 5, ex • 2 3 1 .
Thus, Bartok formulated symmetrical pitch-
collections from both diatonic and non-diatonic folk-music
sources: by re-ordering the pitches from diatonic
collections into interval 5/7 cycle segments;8 and by
developing or extending symmetrical segments found in non-
diatonic collections. In the Concerto for Orchestra, these
symmetrical collections (diatonic,9 octatonic and whole-tone
scales) are used both as a means of generating thematic
material and as formal structural devices.
It was observed above that symmetrical formations
consist of cycles of intervals, which divide the octave (or
larger period) in equal divisions. The generating interval

142
of these cycles is an important component of symmetrical
pitch relations because of the decrease in importance of
other structural elements:
Due to the free use of the modes, which

led to a weakening of the hierarchical
pitch relations inherent in the
traditional dominant-tonic progressions,
greater emphasis had to be placed on the
intervallic properties of both the
harmonic and melodic constructions as a
means of establishing local and large-
scale structural coherence. The new
means of providing coherence in an idiom
based on equalization of the semitones
is primarily found in the intervallic
pitch-cell.' 0
In his book, Antokoletz refers in particular to three
symmetrical intervallic pitch-cells: cell X, cell Y and cell
z. The first two cells are microcosms of larger symmetrical
collections: cell X is a four-note segment of the interval
cycle (chromatic scale); cell Y, of the interval 2 cycle
(whole-tone scale). Cell Z, on the other hand, is
constructed of two intervals: interval 1 (minor second) and
interval 5 (perfect fourth), e.g. D-G-G-f-Cf. The fact that
it is "based on two tritones, . . . enables Z to be permuted
around either of two axes of symmetry . . . ,,11 Since the
total cycle of the cell (one octave) is divided equally into
two equal parts, there are two axes of symmetry, depending on
how the fourths and semitones are arranged.

143
75 Permutations of cell Z-SI2 around either of two axes of symmetry
(0) Z-8 (sum 3) (b) (sum 9)
I 1 2 7 1 2 7 • Z 7 8 1 .7 8 1 2
Example 2. Antokoletz, p. 72, ex. 75.
Therefore, cell Z can be expressed either as two perfect
fourths separated by a minor second or as two minor seconds
separated by a perfect fourth.
The Concerto is examined from two perspectives,
corresponding to the topics of the two chapters in which it
is discussed. In chapter 8, entitled "Interaction of
Diatonic, Octatonic, and Whole-Tone Formations," Antokoletz
outlines his basic point as follows:
In the Concerto for Orchestra,

diatonic, octatonic, and whole-tone
formations are either independently
developed or elided to form hybrid pitch-
co~lectt~ns at prominent structural
p01.nts.
In the first movement, the interaction of the
formations is one of juxtaposition--diatonic against
octatonic motives:
The first theme of Movement I (m. 76),

. . . is based on two contrasting
motives . . . Motive a (F-G-Ab-Bb-B) is a
five-note segment of an octatonic scale,
while motive b (C-F-Eb-Ab) is an
ambiguous four-note segment of either ~n
octatonic or diatonic scale.(Ex. 310)1
144
310 Concerto for Orchestra, Movement I, mm. 76-91
Allegro vivace, J.-aa

r--------,
• II I a1 t
-' b
--
, I
~ ~ p~ . - -"-~
Vlns.l
./"
- ....p-;; .
I~ f- - ~ b~.
~
-
1\ ~ ...-
- - ~
-
;-~
Vlns.ll
I~ f-
I ~, h ,~ h I. ~
VIe.
". "lI po.
vPh h h ,~ L~'"
Vel.
f
r1* ~ II r
:
D.Bs.
, f
Diatonic and octatonic segments of the second and
fourth movements are formed by eliding and overlapping as
demonstrated in the following example:
313 Concerto for Orchestra, Movement IT, mm. 17-19
I complete octatonic (A'-B'-cl-D'-E-rl-G-A) I.

,..---------, I octatonic motive ·1
[jjJ J.!r~ ft, Ii @r""~.!.-~lml!'I-;:;.-...-.~-:-:~!-""'--t!!.--'_l-,
·,·::tgg ;\1':;; : :I
if_________
I
~
dominant 7th 1 ~
~
I
II dominant 7th IJ I
I diatonic motlve'aL __________
I I
9"tatonic octatonic
(o\t-BI-Cf-DI-( )_rl_FLA) (GI-AI-B-ct-( )-E-EI-G)

145
The fifth movement "extensively develops the diatonic and
octatonic figurations and themes that were juxtaposed or
elided in the preceding movements. "14
Because the thematic material of the Concerto is
generated by segments of the symmetrical formations expressed
in short motives, the entire work can be viewed as cyclical,
since these motives appear at transpositions and in slight
modifications in every movement. Theme B from the fourth
movement (mm. 42-50) appears in an expanded form at the end
of the fifth movement:
321 Concerto for Orchestra, Movement V, mm. 594-98

''-I; Th(,M~ B
I
r--------, r--------,
[lli] I whole tone I
I
I
whole tone
gf£p£J
I
I
00 -~
d· t ·
Tr:F]=
laomc
,
I
:J :/
I
diatonlC
6t~e=jJ'.~'~
I I
It 8
octatonlc I
Itt I
0niC
oc Q on c
or
octatonic expanded
I 4
I
Motivic material from the first movement is present as well:
The initial phrase of this theme (mm.

559-63) may be considered a
transformation of motive b from Movement
I (see mm. 77-78), since it is based on
the original ~itch content of the latter
(C-Eb-F-Ab) . 1
Antokoletz establishes that the fanfare section (mm. 482-558)
of the fifth movement acts as a focus for the developmental
activity of this movement. In this section, all three types
of pitch formations appear in their complete forms, but by
measures 559-72 (what Antokoletz calls the closing-theme

146
group), diatonic constructs are dominant. The octatonic
motive a from the first movement is reinterpreted in the
alternative ending within a diatonic context. The diatonic
fanfare from the opening of the fifth movement (mm. 1-4) is
re-stated in the ascending scales of measures 621-25. The
woodwinds and strings unfold the Lydian portion of the motive
(mm. 1-2) while the horns unfold the Mixolydian portion (mm.
3-4). The combination of their lower tetrachords contains
the diatonicized motive a (F-G-A-Bb-B) from the first
movement, a transformation which was foreshadowed in I:m.
488. Thus, the fifth movement develops and resolves the
juxtaposition of various symmetrical constructs.
In chapter eight, "Generation of the Interval
Cycles," motives a and b (from movement I) are examined from
another perspective: as autonomous intervallic constructions
rather than as segments of a larger cycle. Antokoletz makes
many of the same points about thematic unity as Kneif and
Weber. For example, he observes that motives a (m. 76) and b
(mm. 77-8) have in common interval 2, which is then combined
with interval 1 to produce motive a and interval 5 for motive
b. Theme 2 (mm. 155 ff.) is a fusion of a varaiant of the
intervallic structure of motive a and the rhythmic structure
of motive b. Perhaps more significant is the fact that Theme
2 is characterized by interval 2, which is the intervallic
link between motives a and b.

147
Development is achieved "by cyclical extension of
their intervallic properties [those of motives a and b]."16
An example of this process occurs at mm. 258 ff. where "a
sequential extension of motive b in each of the canonic
voices gives as an interval-ratio 5:2 ordering,17 G-C-Bb-Eb-
Db-Gb-E-A, of a complete octatonic scale (G-A-Bb-C-Db-Eb-E-
Gb)."18 This 5:2 collection is considered a reinterpretation
of the 2:1 ordering of motive a because both interval-ratio
collections 5:2 and 2:1 can be formed by "two interlocking
interval 3 cycles (G-Bb-Db-E and C-Eb-Gb-A).,,19
The intervallic properties of these motives generate
complex networks of interval-cycles.

148
373 Concerto for Orchestra, Movement I, mm. 117-21
m. 117 ff.
complete whole-tone cycle
r---- Im Y-l I
obs. I, n: E~ F G
I I I I
clts. I, n G A B q
in B~:
L______ I Y-7
I
t t jt t
r----,
C
ICY~le
B D
I ICIcY~le EI IcY~le E~ G~
I IcY~le I
F A~
I
1(4\1
IG
1
1
BI
I
C
vns: 1
I I I I I I I I I 1 1 I
FI F-M G--B~ A--C B-D D~ F G~
I
Z-6/0 I IZ-8/2 I IZ-1O/4 11/ I
Z-O/6 I I
Z-2/8 ~Z-6/0 I
I I
1 1 rill r 1I
implied C D E G~ A~ () C\
on {I I I I,J I I
weak beats~FI A~ m C D (t 0 J
L __________ -------------------------------
complete whole-tone cycle
The three tritone boundaries established by motive a (m. 75,
76, 79) are separated by intervals 2 and 1, which also
constitute the intervallic content of motive a. Antokoletz
identifies these tritone boundaries as partially responsible
for generating the interlocking cycles shown in Example 6.
(See pages 306-7 for a more complete explanation.) Likewise,
the interval-cycles generated by motive b in measures 134-48
reflect its intervallic properties. These are the interval
5/7 and interval 2/10 cycles.
The fifth movement has a developmental role in the
sphere of the generation of interval cycles as it did in the

149
area of symmetrical formations: "all these interval ratios
[established in Movement IIIJ. are fully developed in
the closing scale passages (mm. 482 ff.) of Movement V."20
Beginning in III:m. 5, a series of cyclic patterns emerges.
The first is cell Z with an interval ratio of 5:1. The
ratios of these cycles become consecutively smaller--4:1, 3:1
etc.-- until measure 33, at which point "all the interval
ratios between 5:1 (cell Z) and 1:1 (cell X) have been
systematically unfolded."21
These interval ratios are developed, then, in the
fifth movement, beginning at measure 482, the same section in
which development of the diatonic and octatonic formations
takes pla~e. In this section, the sequence of the interval
ratios is reversed so that they become increasingly larger,
culmin~ting in 5:1 (cell Z) in measures 583-84; "thus, cell
Z serves both as a focal point and as a basic structural
formation in generation of the interval cycles."22 It
functions as a point of departure in the third movement and
as a culmination point in the fifth movement. But the
statement of cell Z at measures 583-84 is only of penultimate
significance because the tritone, which forms the boundary of
cell Z (and many other constructions in the work), is
extended still further to interval 7 or the perfect fifth in
measures 585-86.
Antokoletz is careful to stress the importance of
cell Z in the Concerto. In addition to the structural

150
function of cell Z mentioned above, the intervallic
properties of interval 5 (perfect fourth) and interval 6
(tritone) are exploited at many places in the Concerto. As
we have seen, motive a spans the interval of a tritone; and
motive b is characterized by two perfect fourths separated by
a major second. Thus, these two motives could be said to
express two of the intervallic properties of cell Z (perfect
fourth, tritone).
The structural presence of the fourth-interval has

been widely acknowledged: William Austin made reference to
the distinctive fourth-chords in his analysis; and the
sequence of fourths which appears at the beginn~ng of the
first moveme~t and again in the third has been noted by
almost every analysis. The significance of the tritone has
not been as widely explored, but, in connection with his
theory of intervallic cycles, Antokoletz makes some
insightful comments about its thematic and structural
contribution. In the first movement, measure 51, the tritone
first appears "as a prominent thematic element, serving as
the boundary interval of the initial chromatic phrase in vn I
(mm. 51-52) and also prominently placed in vn II (Ex.

371).,,23
1 51
371 Concerto for Orchestra, Movement I, mm. 5 1- 52, vns
In measure 58, the tritone is stated linearly (Eb-A) and
develops into a transition-motive between the introduction
and first theme of Movement I (mm. 63-75). Motive a of the
first theme is formed by a transposition of this motive one
whole tone higher. The inversion of motive a in measure 79
involve~-yet another transposition of the tritone motive; the
last note of motive a (B) is transposed down a minor second
to B-flat, which is the first pitch of the inverted motive.
These three "tritone boundaries" form "a succession of three
tritone cycles (Eb-A, F-B, and E-Bb) [which] are separated by
interval 2 and interval 1, respectively, a reflection of the
intervallic alternations in motive a of the theme. [at m. 76

ff.J"24 These three tritone-boundaries (Bb-E, F-Cb, Eb-A)
define the three statements of motive a in measures 123-27.
Because these three tritones are interlocking, they form
interval cycles and generate Z cells.

152
cell Z
cell Z
, cell Z .,----,.
A ,..---..... A A
Eb--E--F--A--Bb--B--Eb--E
,V'----' VI~ V
cell Z
.I
cell Z
I
cell Z
Example 8. This diagram shows the three tritone figures

(arranged sequentially) and the Z cells that
emerge. A =semitone; ~ =perfect fourth.
Measures 117-21 contain a series of "vertically stated
tritones . . . that serve as basic structural elements in the
generation of a complex of interlocking interval cycles (Ex.

373)."25 (See Example 6)
There are other instances which Antokoletz does not
mention in which the appearance of the tritone is also
significant. An important structural use of the tritone
occurs in measures 93-98 of the third movement. This is a
transitional passage back to the motive with which the
movement began. Like the tritonal transition passage in the
first movement (mm. 58-75), this motive is a linear chromatic
statement of the tritone; but this time, it is only stated
twice and is slightly ornamented. It also descends instead
of ascends.
The tritone is used thematically also. In the
fourth movement, the first theme is, like motive a, based

153
on the tritone. In this case, the tritone is divided into a
major second (2) and major third (4) instead of perfect
fourth (5) and minor second (1). During the "interruption"
section, the tritone is employed in the tuba as a distortion
of the traditional V-I authentic cadence (mm. 102-03),
prompting a shattering of the theme as the violins respond
with their own statement of the tritone in measure 103. A
few measures later, the tuba begins a restatement of the
theme in A-major, a tritone-transposition of the original E-
flat.
While one could criticize Antokoletz's analysis for
its failure to discuss certain aspects of the piece, the
objective of the book must be considered; Antokoletz's
discourse is ultimately guided by the theory rather than the
composition under discussion. 26 Therefore, .if he does not
discuss a vital aspect of the Concerto, it is because the
theory would not be further elucidated by it.
As a matter of fact, Antokoletz's analysis is
surprisingly thorough, and his observations parallel those
made in the other analyses with surprising frequency. For
instance, Antokoletz's discussion of the juxtaposition of
diatonic and octatonic pitch formations in the first movement
is similar to Weber's theory about the various modes of
composition which are introduced at the beginning of the
first movement and which interact throughout the movement;
and, although he has quite a different way of expressing it,

154
Antokoletz, like Kneif, views the third movement as being
governed by a basic principle of contraction. Furthermore,
Antokoletz explains how folk-music influenced Bart6k's
composition, not in a superficial way, but as an impetus to
new and unique methods of composition.
Although Antokoletz's discussion of the Concerto is
not lengthy, he manages to synthesize many of the
observations that were made individually in the other
analyses. Antokoletz is able to achieve this primarily
because of his comprehensive view of Bart6k's compositional
technique. As he states in his preface, Antokoletz
recognizes the problem of terminology and analytical method
in Bart6k criticism and attempts to provide a solution. The
absolute necessity of developing an appropriate mode of
analysis can be illustrated by comparing the approaches of
Antokoletz (who searches for a suitable analytical method)
and Austin (who utilizes a familiar but unsuitable one) to a
particular passage in the Concerto.
In discussing the allegro theme of the first
movement (mm. 76-94), Austin observes that the first measure
of this theme is comprised of "a transposition of the
ostinato motive [mm. 63-75J" and that the second and third
measures "recall the introductory motive [mm. 1-6J.,,27
Antokoletz also makes the distinction between these two
motives, and he discusses how these motives interact with
each other and how they are developed. Austin did not
155
discuss how the components of the Concerto related to each
other, quite possibly because they did not interact in ways
which his analytical method was capable of demonstrating.
According to Antokoletz, the two motives of the
allegro theme are juxtaposed to each other because of their
identity as contrasting pitch formations--diatonic and
octatonic. It is interesting to recall that Weber also
viewed the allegro theme as consisting of contrasting
structural components. The two modes of composition
governing the passage under discussion were Flute-figure
(chromaticism) in measure 76 and "Theme" (modal-diatonic
harmony) in measures 77-8. 28 Unfortunately, Weber did not
pursue th;s idea very far, whereas Antokoletz explores how
the oppos~tion of these elements is developed. In his view,
development begins already in measure 79, where the inversion
of motive a is slightly altered to form a partially
diatonicized statement of the originally octatonic motive.
This is achieved by altering G of the octatonic form to G-
flat in the inverted statement, which produces an "F-Phrygian
[diatonic] segment (Bb-Ab-Gb-F)."29
Austin does not discuss this departure in measure 79
from the exact inversion of measure 76. What concerns him
is the deviation in measures 80-81, which he describes as
"surprising: a strict inversion would have given a half-
cadence C-G) instead of which Bart6k chooses notes that
propel the melody more urgently forward."30 Likewise,

156
Antokoletz chooses not to comment on measures 80 ff. However,
his analysis allows for an explanation of the avoidance of a
cadence on C in measure 80 and the "delayed" cadence in
measures 86-90, which Austin calls "over ingenious and not
sufficiently expressive.,,31
Antokoletz describes the passage at measures 86-91 as
follows:
the pitch content of motive b is expanded

in both the motivic and chordal material
to a complete diatonic collection, the
cadence establishing the priority of the
F-Ph5¥gian permutation (F-Gb-Ab-Bb-C-Db-
Eb) •
This development is foreshadowed in measure 79 where the
originally octatonic motive a is partially diatonicized to
produce an F-Phrygian segment (Bb-Ab-Gb-F). Since this
precedes the more complete F-Phrygian collection in measures
86 ff., Antokoletz views this diatonic-octatonic motive (m.
79) as a link between the octatonic motive a (m. 76) and the
diatonic extension of motive b (mm. 86 ff.). Likewise, this
diatonic expansion foreshadows the outcome of the opposition
of diatonic and octatonic formations in the entire work.
In the closing-theme group of the fifth movement (mm. 558 ff.),
the context is now predominantly diatonic; that

is, of the three sets [diatonic, octatonic and
whole-tone], only diatonic scales appear in their
complete forms, an~ these prominently initiate and
close the section. 2
Thus, the cadential "delay" in measures 86-91 is not an
"over-ingenious" aberration as Austin suggests; it is vital
to the development of the movement and of the entire work.

157
Likewise, the avoidance of strict inversion in measure 79,
which would have produced a C-cadence, is a foreshadowing of
the emergence of F-Phrygian in measures 86 ff.
While Antokoletz's conception of measures 76-91 suggests
why Bart6k did not adhere to strict inversion, he does not
account for the specific deviation which does occur. I would
like to suggest that the cadence in measures 80-81 is completely
logical in terms of Antokoletz's analytical approach. It was
observed earlier that the tritone was an interval of
structural importance in the work. The cadence on B in
measure 81 is an example of this prominence because it occurs
a tritone above the starting pitch of the phrase. The second
phrase (mm. 82 ff.) is separated from the first, again by the
interval of a tritone, as it begins on F, an octave above its
starting pitch in measure 76. The second phrase concludes on
the same pitch on which the allegro theme began. Thus the
two phrases of this theme can be represented as follows.
OF
tritone [
tritone
[ BF i) 1st phrase
(mm. 76-81 )
1) 2nd phrase
(mm.82-91 )
Example 9.
Furthermore, the particular cadential deviation in
measures 80-81 accounts for the seemingly unrelated thematic
material in measures 82-85. Instead of moving up a major

158
second and down a perfect fourth (which would have been an
exact inversion), the inversion of motive b in measures 80-81
moves up a perfect fourth and down a major third (spelled as
a diminished fourth). The third is a prominent feature of
the following phrase, providing a contrast to the previous
thematic material in which fourths and seconds were the most
important intervals. In fact, the passage from measures 82-
85 consists almost entirely of major and minor thirds.
There are only two exceptions (aside from the tritone jump
which initiates the phrase): a rising perfect fourth and a
falling major second--intervals from the original motive b
(mm. 77-78). A rising major second precedes the development
of motive b in measures 86 ff., which is more than a
cadential extension; it contains motivic development as well
because the inversion attempted in measures 80-81 is
fulfilled in measures 86-91--this passage contains both the
original and (strictly) inverted forms of motive b. Thus,
measures 80-81 could be viewed as a deviation from the
expectations established in measure 77, which are finally
realized in the cadential extension of measures 86 ff.
This comparison demonstrates the divergent analytical
conclusions that can result depending on the method that is
used. As Antokoletz stated in his preface, the lack of a
suitable analytical method is a major problem in Bart6k
criticism. The Austin example is an illustration of this
point because Austin sometimes deals with the anomalies in

159
his analytical approach by criticizing the aesthetic value of
the composition. But, as we have seen, many of these
criticisms are refuted by examining the work according to
another method. Thus, a composition that appears to be
flawed in some way, as in the analyses of French, Austin and
the other descriptive analysts, can become an example of a
complex, highly sophisticated compositional method when
discussed within a different analytical framework.

160
Notes
1Elliott Antokoletz, The Music of Bela Bart6k: A
Study of Tonality and Progression in Twentieth-Century Music
(Berkeley, Calif: Univ. of Calif. Press, 1984), pp. xi-xii.

2Ib'd
1 . , p. ' ,
Xll.
3 Ibid ., pp. xiii-xiv.
4 Ibid ., pp. 67-8
5 Ibid ., p. 68.
6Where it is desirable for brevity or accuracy,
Antokoletz refers to intervals in numeric values, where
l=semi-tone, 2=whole-tone and so on. Hence, the term
interval 1 cycle refers to a recurring cycle of minor
seconds.
7Because the perfect fourth and fifth are
complementary intervals, the "descending" segment of the
circle of fifths can be expressed as an ascending series of
fourths and the ascending segment as a descending series.
8Symmetrical division by this interval results in a
special cycle: the circle of fifths.
9Unless otherwise specified, diatonic collections
are assumed to be symmetrical through their connection to the
interval 5/7 cycle.
10Antokoletz, p. 78. The reader is directed to the
following note on page 16: A cell is defined by [George]
Perle (in Serial Composition, p. 9) as a group of pitches

1 61
that "may operate as a kind of microcosmic set of fixed
intervallic content, statable either as a chord or as a
melodic figure or as a combination of both."
11 Ibid., p. 71.
1 2 Ibid., p. 254.
13 Ibid .
14 Ibid ., p. 267.
15 Ibid ., p. 265n. Although Antokoletz specifically
writes "initial," he ignores the first three measures of this
theme.
16 Ibid ., p. 309.
17 This notation refers to a sequential series of
two intervals (5 and 2 in this case).
18Ibifd., p. 310.
19 Ibid .
20 Ibid., p. 300.
21 Ibid .
22 Ibid ., p. 303. The expansion process begins with a
4-note 1:2 segment at measure 482; 1:3 appears at measure
498; 1:4 at measure 573; 1:5 is stated only briefly at
measures 583-4, and not in its original sequence.
23 Ibid ., p. 306.
24 Ibid .
25 Ibid ., p. 306-7.
26 See , however, the review of this book by Paul
Wilson in The Journal of Music Theory 30 (Spr. 1986):113-121.

162
27Austin, "Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra," Music
Review 16 (Feb. 1957):24.
28Weber included a third influence, Soundfield (whole-
tone harmony) in mm. 81 ff.
29Antokoletz, p. 254.
30Austin, p. 24.
3 1 Ibid., p. 25.
32Antokoletz, p. 254.
33 Ibid ., p. 265.
Part III: Worlds Contending
In Sound and Sentiment, Steven Feld analyzes the
sound expressions of the Kaluli people as a means of
understanding their culture and aesthetics by utilizing several
potentially contradictory analytical approaches. Rather than
viewing these differences as irreconcilable, Feld is inclined to
view them as "mutually revealing. ,,1 Feld goes on to say that
while this will be taken as a muddy and

inelegant conclusion by those who believe
in the exclusivity of theoretical
constructs, . . . I have freely drawn
upon what is useful in each. I believe
that a proper analysis of the Kaluli
materials demands elaborating patterns
and utilizing whatever is necessary to
the task; for this I have not chosen a
single paradigm but rather have explained
what needs explaining, bringing
everything necessary into the argument. 2
While the subject matter varies considerably, this thesis on
Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra has, like Feld's study, drawn
on a variety of analytical approaches, both corroborating and
conflicting with each other. As Feld was able to weave a
pattern of meaning from the vast amount of data he collected,
which arose from the plurality of methods he used, I believe
the diversity of analytical approaches to the Concerto for
Orchestra reveals something about the composition that does
not necessarily become evident in any individual analysis.
163
164
In the process of comparing the analyses of the
Concerto, a recurring theme emerges, in some cases more
forcefully than others. The underlying principle of the
Concerto is, I would suggest, one of tension created by the
unification of opposites. While it may be argued that a
great deal of music depends upon the creation of a certain
amount of opposition, the extent to which conflict and
contrast infuse the Concerto on every level reinforces this
hypothesis. To illustrate my point further, I will review
the analyses to demonstrate how they reveal the operation of
conflict in the Concerto~
Like many of the points that emerge from Kneif's
article, the notion of contrast is not articulated as such in
his analysis, but it is there nonetheless. Kneif's main
hypothesis is that a so-called musical Platonism operates
in the Concerto so that many variations appear of a theme
which is never stated. It was my contention that this-
Platonic theme is in fact the idea of the second-interval as
opposed to the broader fourth-interval. Kneif discusses the
contrast between fourths and seconds in connection with the
introduction to the first movement in which the motive of
measures 1-6 is distinguished by fourths and the motive of
measures 6-11 by seconds. He claims that the confrontation
and reconciliation of these two motives is one of the primary
compositional problems of the work.

165
The contention of musical material functions again in
the first theme of the first movement (mm. 76 ff.) because it
is constructed of two contrasting motives: the first (m. 76)
is characterized by seconds, the second by fourths (mm. 77-
8). As this theme is developed, the interval of a fourth
becomes more prominent than the interval of a second;
therefore, on a larger level, the first theme is contrasted
with the second theme (mm. 149 ff.), which is based on a
distinctive, rocking seconds-motive. Kneif notes that, while
the fourths-motive dominates the first movement, the third
movement consists mainly of variations based on the seconds-
motive. Thus, the conflict of perfect fourths and major
seconds ,operates at the level of motive, theme, theme group,
and movement.
The notion of contrast is also fundamental to Weber's
concept of the Concerto. He suggests that the introduction
to the first movement presents three styles of composition in
measures 1-11 and that they influence the rest of the work on
various levels. These three motifs represent conflicting
styles of contemporary composition, an issue which, as Weber
observes, preoccupied Bart6k's own thoughts about
composition. Bart6k was particularly troubled over the
development of twelve-tone composition since, because of his
deep involvement with folk-music, he could not reject
tonality altogether. Weber also hypothesizes that symptoms
of the compositional dilemma that Bart6k faced emerged in his

166
own compositional technique. In this technique, which Weber
calls interpolation, stylistic elements are juxtaposed with
one another and homogeneous sections are separated from each
other. While the aim of this technique is to produce a
homogeneous whole, Weber suggests that this goal is, in fact,
impossible to achieve; thus the juxtaposition of diverse
musical events highlights their contrasting properties, which
can never be reconciled.
It will be recalled that some critics objected to the
Concerto on the basis of its "embarrassing confusion of
styles,"3 as Serge Moreux expressed it. It may well be that
this stylistic plurality was an objective of Bart6k's rather
than a shortcoming. Many of these critics also suggested
that the eclectic style of the Concerto for Orchestra could
be attributed to an attempt by Bart6k to ingratiate himself
with the public. Weber accounts for the eclectic style of
the Concerto by suggesting that the conflicting elements of
Bart6k's style intensified during his years in the United
States and that the diverse styles of the Concerto are not
absent from his other works--it is just that the
contradictions are more apparent in this composition.
It is difficult to deny that the Concerto contains
some kind of conflict of musical material when one considers
that Kneif, Weber, Antokoletz, Breuer and Volek all arrive at
similar conclusions from completely different points of view.
In his analysis, Antokoletz also discusses the first theme of

167
the first movement (mm. 76 ff.) as an opposition: in this
case between diatonic and octatonic pitch formations (what
Weber labelled modal-diatonic and chromatic compositional
styles).
Breuer describes the dynamic tension of the first
movement as a contrast between parlando-rubato and tempo
giusto. The conflict provided by this source is most intense
at measures 39 ff. where the freer parlando-rubato style of the
trumpet line is juxtaposed against the steady tempo giusto-
style string accompaniment. Opposition between the two
styles exists, however, throughout the first and third
movements. Breuer also mentions the opposition created
between tve two motives, composed of fourths and seconds
respectiv~ly.
Yet another source of contrast is provided, as
illustrated by Volek, through orchestration. In his article,
he suggests that the first and fifth movements employ the
orchestra as a whole; whereas, in the second and fourth
movements specific instruments are featured in chamber or
solo contexts. The third movement uses these two orchestral
possibilities in combination. The five movements are also
contrasted in terms of the various groups that figure
prominently in each. Woodwinds carry the majority of the
thematic material in the second and fourth movements, with
strings and brass having less important roles; in the second
movement, the strings have no thematic role whatsoever, and

168
in the fourth movement, the brass are consigned to "sound-
effects" in the interruption section. Strings and brass are
vital, neverthess, in the first and fifth movements; however,
their functions and relative importance are reversed. In the
first movement, strings are more essential whereas the most
powerful thematic material of the fifth movement is set for
the brass instruments.
Volek's specific theory about orchestration in the
Concerto points to a more obvious source of contention in this
work--that resulting from the concertant principle. In his
programme-note on the Concerto, which was printed in the
program of the premi~re performance, Bart6k says: "the title
of this symphony-like orchestral work is explained by its
tendency to treat the single instruments or instrument groups
in a "boncertant" or soloistic manner.,,4 The terms
concertant and concerto have had various meanings, not always
clarified by the context. It is no different in this case.
According to Claude Palisca, concertare means "to
coordinate or unite in a harmonious ensemble a heterogenous
group of players or singers, or both. IIS Palisca goes on to
point out that
many modern writers make much of the

idea of opposition and contention in the
concerto, invoking a bellicose image of
instruments and voices attacking and
counterattacking. It is doubtful that
such an idea existed in the migds of
seventeenth-century composers.
169
Whether it existed in the seventeenth-century mind is not,
however, the issue at hand. The fact is that Bart6k, as a
modern figure, probably thought of the concertant principle
at least partly in terms of opposition and contrast. Although
it was not an essential characteristic of the earlier
concertos, soloistic virtuosity became a primary feature of the
nineteenth~century concerto. Whi~e it appears from the note
quoted above that Bart6k named the piece for its virtuosic
treatment of the instruments, there is evidence that the older
meaning of concerto--contrast, either in the sense of "attack
and counter-attack" or the more benign sense of the harmonious
blending ~f heterogeneous forces--was intended ..
R~lph Hawkes suggested to Bart6k that he write a modern
series of.Brandenburg Concertos and it has been suggested that
some of the material Bart6k sketched for this project may have
been used in the Concerto for Orchestra. 7 Whether or not this
was the case, certain aspects of the piece do recall the
ripieno/concertino textural contrasts of the concerto grosso.
Observe, for example, the contrast created by the juxtaposition
of the passage beginning at measure 248 of the first movement,
which gradually increases in orchestral density to measure 271,
with the sparse statement of the theme at measure 272, set for
clarinet, with violin and viola accompaniment.
Furthermore, the forces of the orchestra are pitted
against each other beginning at measure 231 of the first
movement, where the contrasting motives of the first theme are

170 I
divided between strings and brass. These terse statements are
answered by a weighty response from the full orchestra in
measures 232-236. At measure 242, the orchestral contrast is
expressed consecutively, instead of simultaneously, in blocks
of orchestral colour. The ascent by whole-tone (from m.242) t(
the climax at measure 248 is articulated by the entire
orchestra in three distinctive motives, each played by a
different instrumental family. The whole tone scale is
embellished in the strings by statements of the tritone motive
from the first theme, articulated on each pitch of the scale.
\242\
..... 1
f <rUe• •
..... a
f
"". ...-'
f
.....
f
...-.. . .
Example 1. Bela Bart6k, Boosey and Hawkes, Concerto for

Orchestra, I: mm. 242-5 (strings).
Juxtaposed against this, the wind section utilizes the same
technique in inversion and imitation.

1 71
.....
nta,LU
:1
.. II
-.
r.o.m
Jj
Example 2. Concerto for Orchestra, I: mm. 242-5

(piccolo, flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons).
The brass section is represented by the horns, which play
the scale in unornamented notes. Further contrast is provided
by both horns and strings, which are divided and play in
imitation within the section.
Example 3. Concerto for Orchestra, I: mm. 242-5 (horns).
While the second movement is often cited as an example
of the virtuosity required by this work, it should also be
stressed that this is a concerto for orchestra. While the five
duets do demonstrate the virtuosity of the members of the wind
section, they also emphasize the contrast of orchestral
timbres. The duet-texture is then contrasted with the denser

172
five-part harmony of the brass chorale. A similar contrast of
instrument-families occurs in the fourth movement in which the
outer sections, played by strings and woodwinds, are sharply
contrasted with the "trio," in which the brass section is
prominent. The examples in which the concerto principle
operates in the Concerto for Orchestra are far too numerous to
be given in this study; however, the examples presented
demonstrate some of the dynamism created by the operation of
the concertant principle in this work, yet another example of
the ubiquitous presence of contrast and contention in the
Concerto for Orchestra.
Opposition is also an essential component of Ern8
Lendvai's theory about Bart6k's music. Although the discussion
of his theory in this thesis (see pp. 116 ff.) was concentrated
on the aspect which concerned folk-music, Lendvai's main
hypothesis is that Bart6k synthesized into a dualistic
compositional style the two primary musical traditions by which
he was most influenced. In the introduction to the most recent
of his English publications, Lendvai expresses his·position
forcefully:
Bart6k's tonal system is DUAL. In my

analytical studies, I have used the terms
"Bart6kean chromaticism" and "Bart6kean
diatony" to describe the two
characteristic aspects of his music. I
refer to the former as the PENTATONIC,
the latter as the ACOUSTIC (OVERTONE)
system. They represent the two sides of
the same coin: presuppose and exclude gach
other--constituting contrast in unity.
173
Lendvai's hypothesis is polemical and, while criticism of his
work is certainly justified, I feel that his theory is worth
considering.
I would like to provide an example from the Concerto
of Lendvai's notion of the pentatonic vs. acoustic dynamics
of Bartok's music. A few points should be made, however,
about the nature of the contrast of the two systems. The
relationship between pentatony and the overtone or acoustic
system is particularly vital because of the fact that they
are complementary systems. For instance, those intervals
which are not found in one scale are present in the other;
together,.the two scales account for every pitch of the
chromatic_scale. Similarly, the most stable chord in the
acoustic system (triad in root position) has a function of
dissonance in the golden section system, whqse characteristic
chord is a triad in second inversion. When positioned around
re (the "symmetry centre"), certain structural features (eg.
tonics, cadences and leading tones) of one system can be
considered mirror opposites of those of the other.
cadence cadence
so la y...."d,o ~ m,iJ,a so
I
la
leading tonic tonic leading

tone tone
ACOUSTIC GOLDEN SECTION

SYSTEM SYSTEM
Example 4.
174
See also p. 117 for a partial list of the opposite characteristj
of the two systems.
The passage I would like to discuss is the
alternative ending of the fifth movement. In his comments on
the existence of two endings to the fifth movement, Austin
said "either version is more than satisfactory, and the
difference between them is slight in the perspective of the
work as a whole.,,9 I disagree. The second version is
different; after all, it is nineteen measures longer.
Furthermore, the difference is significant, especially "in
the perspective of the work as a whole."
In the first version, an ascending piccolo run (m.
602) leads to a cascade of descending thirds in the woodwinds
and upper strings, which leads to the final pitch, F. The
bass support ascends by step from B-flat. The cadence is
modal, the final tonic (F) being approached from E-flat a major
second lower.
In the second version, the pattern of descending
thirds is developed, again leading to F (at m. 610). The
cadential pattern (from m. 609) is repeated, but, in the
third repetition (mm. 613-14), the motive is altered and
progresses to C, instead of F. This initiates a powerful
tutti statement in horns, trumpets and trombones of a minor
third figure from one of main themes of the movement.
Immediately following is the cadential figure (mm. 621-25),
which, unlike that of the first ending, ascends to F.

175 .
The most important difference between the two endings
is that there is a powerful embodiment of contrast in the
second version, which summarizes the contention between
acoustic and golden section systems that operates throughout
the work. Not surprisingly, the conflict between these
systems is first evident in measures 76 ff. of the first
movement--a passage which, as we have seen, contains contrast
on many levels. The two motives (m. 76 and mm. 77-8) are
contrasted as diatonic vs. octatonic pitch formations;
chromatic vs. modal scales; intervallic relationships
(fourths vs. seconds); and,later, by orchestration.
These two motives also symbolize acoustic and golden-
section properties. Characteristics of the acoustic system
are prese~t in measure 76 in the melodic outline of the first
half of the F-scale with both the flattened and sharpened
fourth. The flattened fourth belongs to the scale as it is
used in Western harmony but the sharpened fourth is also
appropriate since it belongs to the "acoustic" scale,
Lendvai's term for a scale with major third, sharpened fourth
and flattened seventh degrees. This scale is complementary
to the one consisting of golden section intervals. Measures
77-8 are characteristic of the golden section system because
the intervals, perfect fourths and m~jor seconds, are
Fibonacci-series intervals (5, 2). (Strictly speaking, the
first motive also contains intervals from the series (1, 2),
but, as they are also present in the other system, they are
176
not especially characteristic of the golden section system.)
Fourths are the primary intervals of pentatony (according to
Lendvai) and, therefore, characteristic of the golden section
system. Another feature of the motive in measures 77-8 whiCh
identifies it as a golden section motive is the fact that its
total range spans a minor sixth, or, represented by semi-
tones, 8--the next Fibonacci number after 5. Thus, the
cellular construction of this motive can be represented as
follows:
Example 5.
The conflict between the two motives in measures 76-78
is developed in the first movement, but not resolved. This
can be seen to be the case in the final cadence of the first
movement, in which the two motivic figures precipitate two
conflicting cadential patterns: authentic and plagal. The
"acoustic" motive, in woodwinds and strings (mm. 520-1), now
spans a fifth, still an "acoustic" interval, and is supported
in the lower instruments (bassoon, celli and basses) by
authentic (V-I) root movement. The golden section motive,
more elaborate than that of measures 77-8, but still based on
perfect fourths and major seconds, is played by the brass
instruments (mm. 514-521). Here, the cadential figure is

177
plagal (IV-I). It is significant, given the predominance of
the perfect fourth in this movement, that the final tonic is
approached from both above and below by the interval of a
fourth. This also gives evidence of the way the two systems
are related to each other by mirror-inversion.
A similar kind of cadential tension is created at the
end of the third movement. The melodic cadential figure in
measures 120-2 (sol-la-mi) is typically pentatonic. But,
while the expected harmonic support would be a pentatonic 6/4
chord (C#-F#-A), the result in m. 122 is a diatonic 6/4
chord: E-A-C#. Despite the ambiguity of this chord, it
suggests A major, and this is underlined by the chromatic
cello line, which"descends to A in measure 122. The tonal
meaning of this cadence is obscured further by the horn and
piccolo. After the strings have ceased to sound, a plagal C-
sharp resolution is again suggested tentatively by the
timpani.
The fifth movement commences with a juxtaposition of
the two systems, as the "acoustic" horn motive of measures 1-
4 is answered by the equally forceful fourth-chords in the
strings. There are two primary theme-groups in this
movement: one is based on the opening "acoustic" fanfare
motive (mm. 148 ff.); the other is pentatonic (mm. 201,
trumpet). Note that the orchestral forces are divided in the
same way in the fifth movement as in the first: brass for the
golden section theme, and strings and woodwinds for the

178
"acoustic" theme. Another distinctive interval of the
golden section theme is the minor third (as in V:mm. 204 ff.)
and it is this portion of the motive which is dramatically
reiterated in the second ending of the fifth movement. This
occurs in rom. 616-620.
. r .......- - . - -II-... - - - - - ·ff
..,
.",- ; ~~:fI
,.
-L I ...
I.m {
- -
1 ...I,r
u.JT
I"
"
~. "
al
---.A. "• ~ . -~ ~ I~~ 6'
,- ---
I"
~ :. !.
TptdaC
1.11
"
I'" ,IT I"" d l~ Ij- ~J, _J~ I;· ,.,,~.~
-
i)l'"
I.D
n-' •.
m
{ m
{ ~ I''''
~~
1Jf
I
f~ pi
J
f--=.fff
...,-
OJ
p ......... - • - • - - - • - - - - • -.if
-
f U.wtta -.a.rh .1 ~
~
IIJI.
..
ri'.::~ '..i.,;~ ...... -..-...- ..;..~--,,-~
-- /'"h:l f
TI....
rv' -= t= 'Ji..L.......L.. ~ ...---:::-,.. ~ ~ HJ ~
16251
.....,D
rv- .J
~. '" :=0
rJ' ,~~~y ..- --:::=:,- -.:-- -,;' ~ -~1-
.... -......- ....-. .. . -
-
~~
-
roo ~
... ,I'
~
11-
.f
~
-
:.;. .. .........
-,..;-:-;-=-:-~
;.~-~
•
-=- -1' .- ...........

Ii' ~1='
.~
f IT
Example 6. Concerto for Orchestra, V: mm. 616-625 (horn,

trumpet, trombone, tuba, percussion, strings).
According to Lendvai, the tonic of a pentatonic
melody can be determined as follows: where there are two
pitches, the tonic is the one lying either a minor third
below or a major second above. Thus, in this context,
pentatonic-C is established as a tonic in mm. 616-20,

179
reinforcing the movement to C in measure 615. This
affirmation of C-tonic conflicts with the establishment of F
in measures 609-13--the figure with which the first ending
concluded. Despite the vigour of the pentatonic brass motive
in measures 616-20, the final cadence re-affirms F, not C.
The plagal cadence on C in measures 619-20 precipitates the
final cadential flourish and triumph of F.
Thus, the final bars of this work effect a solution
to the conflict established throughout the composition.
Although the "acoustic" cadence is the final one to occur,
the golden section cadence (mm. 616 ff.) is more forceful;
t thus, a kind of balance is achieved between the two, much

"-
iF
I like that of the third movement (see pp. 13~ ff.). The first
ending cqntains neither the trenchant conflict nor the
satisfactory resolution that the second ending provides and
is, for these reasons, inferior to the later version.
These are some musical reasons supporting my
hypothesis that the Concerto for Orchestra is governed by a
principle of contrast. Also, there is much biographical
evidence that conflict was a condition in which Bart6k
thrived and Weber even suggests that Bart6k's compositional
style grew out of contradictory influences that he
encountered. Kneif argues that conflict was the source of
Bart6k's artistic energy and spiritual well-being; and, in
his article on Bart6k's personality, B. Petho speaks of

180
Bart6k's "polarization and antagonism of inside world and the

search for a solution by artistic means.,,10
We have seen, also, that Bart6k was fraught with
anxiety about the political situation in Hungary during the
time he was composing the Concerto and that he was torn
between protesting against Fascism and returning to his
homeland. The political conflict between Hungary and foreign
powers is epitomized in the programmatic fourth movement.
The destruction caused by war is symbolized by the inversion
of the cantilena/Hungary theme, which initiates the
interruption theme. The latter theme represents German
soldiers and all that their presence signifies--political and
artistic domination executed by force. But the strength of
the first world is affirmed by the victorious return of the
serenader after the musical violence done by the interruption
theme. This triumph is tempered, however, by the fragmented
statements (mm. 127 ff.) of the serenader's original theme
(mm. 5 ff.). The return of this theme is described as
follows by F. Fricsay.
The grotesque charade of violence is

past, the poor serenader remains behind
with his battered instrument, tries once
again to strike up his song but he gets no
further than the Introduction, only little
parts of his song recur, as if his voice
would interrupt the crying and with 3
small piccolo-notes, which could be
fallin~ tears, this lovely movement
ends. 1
While this interpretation is excessively melodramatic, there
is no doubt that this movement represents to some extent the

181
conflict of political factions and ideological worlds which
occupied Bart6k's mind and conscience.
As we have seen, the principle of conflict and
contradiction infuses this composition on many levels. Not
only does it operate musically; there is evidence of conflict
as a trait of Bart6k's personality and in the programmatic
content of the fourth movement. There is even evidence to
suggest that the notion of conflict influenced the aesthetic
conception of the work.
"Worlds Contending" is an unfinished poem written by
Bart6k 12 in which three countries vie for the attention of
the sun. Bart6k apparently wrote the poem with the idea of
composing two choral works, which, along with Cantata
Profana,_~ould represent the three musical worlds of Hungary,
Romania and Slovakia. The latter two pieces were never
written; however, we know that -Bart6k's original idea for the
Koussevitsky Foundation was to compose a choral piece--a
cantata, according to Kro6 and Kneif. It is quite possible
that Bart6k may have incorporated some of his ideas for the
planned cantatas in the Concerto for Orchestra.
The evidence from various spheres (musical,
biographical, programmatic, aesthetic) compels the
supposition that the Concerto for Orchestra is governed by a
conflict-principle. There are, however, three analyses which
have not figured in the conclusions drawn about the principle
of conflict in the Concerto. But the fact that these

182
analyses have not contributed to the argument does not mean
that they undermine the hypothesis. It is not surprising
that these three analyses (Downey, Austin and French), none
of which discuss the conflicting, contradictory nature of the
Concerto, are also the least successful in discussing the
music.
As I suggested in the section on folk-music, Downey's
outline of folk-music in the Concerto can hardly be called
analytical. The notion of contrast in the work may be
inherent in his comments but, since he never synthesizes his
ideas about the Concerto, this point does not materialize.
Austin's analysis also suffers from the "dissecting" tendency
in which details are presented but not organized in an
overall conception. As we have seen by comparing his
comments to Antokoletz's, Austin's method does not reveal the
relationships, particularly those of contention, that exist
in this piece.
Even more inappropriate is the method that French
employs. The idiosyncracies of this approach are heightened
by the fact that French's aesthetic position is antithetical
to the one that ostensibly governs the Concerto for
Orchestra. The "jarring" moments and surprising elements of
the Concerto which French criticizes are, quite possibly,
symptoms of the composition's underlying principle rather
than compositional flaws. While French is willing only to
recognize characteristics of organicism as aesthetically

183
valuable, the Concerto does not provide a consistently tidy,
unified construct, resolving all tensions. As we have seen,
even Bartok's resolutions, when they occur, are not free of
contradiction.
In a sense, French does reveal the conflict that
exists in the Concerto, but this conflict is interpreted as
artistic weakness instead of the aesthetic orientation of the
work. Likewise, Moreux, Citron and Ujfalussy seize on the
stylistic plurality and formal eclecticism of the work as
evidence of Bartok's artistic compromise. But when this work
is viewed as a paradigm of "Worlds Contending," these
qualities of the work become not its failings but its assets.
184
Notes
'Steven Feld, Sound and Sentiment: Birds, Weeping,
Poetics, and Song in Kaluli Expression (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982), p. 227.

2 Ibid .
3Serge Moreux, Bela Bart6k, trans. G. S. Fraser and
Erik de Mauny (New York: Vienna House, 1974), p. 196.
4Bela Bart6k, "Explanation to Concerto for
Orchestra," in Bela Bart6k Essays, ed. Benjamin Suchoff (New
York: st. Martin's Press, 1976), p. 431.
5Claude Palisca, Barogue Music, second edition
(Englewood Cliffs, N.J: Prentice-Hall, 1981), p. 66.

6 Ibid .
7See Gyargy Kro6, A Guide to Bart6k, trans. Ruth
Pataki and Maria Steiner, trans. rev. Elisabeth West
(n.p.: Corvina Press, 1974).
8Ern 8 Lendvai, The Workshop of Bartok and Kodaly
(Budapest: Editio Musica Budapest, 1983), p.9.
9William Austin, "Bart6k' s Concer·to for Orchestra",
Music Review 18 (Feb. 1957), p. 47.
10Bertalan Petha, "Bart6k's Personality," Studia
Musicologica 23 (1981), p. 453,
llFerenc Fricsay, Uber Mozart und Bart6k (Copenhagen:
Edition Wilhelm Hansen, 1962), pp. 59-61, quoted in F. B6nis,
"Quotations in Bart6k's Music," Studia Musicologica 5 (1963):
377-8.
185
12printed in Bela Bartok Letters, Demeny, ed., p.
349-50.
Bibliography
Books
Abraham, G. Eight Soviet Composers. London: Oxford University

Press, 1943.
Antokoletz, Elliott. The Music of Bela Bartok. Berkeley,
California: University of California Press, 1984.
Bartok, Bela. The Hungarian Folk Song. Edited by Benjamin
Suchoff. Translated by M. D. Calvocoressi. Annotations
by Zoltan Kodaly. The New York Bartok Archive Studies in
Musicology, no. 13. Albany, New York: State University of
New York Press, 1981.
Bartok, Bela and Lord, Albert B. Yugoslav Folk Music, Vol. 1:
Serbo-Croatian Folk Songs and Instrumental Pieces from the
Milman Parry Collection. Edited by Benjamin Suchoff.
With a foreword by George Herzog. The New York Bartok
Archive Studies in Musicology, no. 9. Albany, New York:
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Citron, Pierre. Bartok. Paris: Microcosme, 1976.
Crow, Todd, ed. Bartok Studies. Detroit, Michigan:
Information Coordinators, 1976.
186
187
Demeny, Janos, ed. Bela Bart6k Letters. Translated by Peter

Balaban and Istvan Farkas. Translation revised by
Elisabeth West and Colin Mason. London: Faber & Faber,
1971.
Dille, D., ed. Documenta Bart6kiana. Vol. 3. Mainz: B.

Schott's Sohne, 1968.
Downey, John W. La musique populaire dans l'oeuvre de Bela

Bart6k. Paris: Centre de documentation universitaire,
1966.
Fassett, Agatha. Bela Bart6k: The American Years. New York:
Dover Publications, 1970.

Griffiths, Paul. Bart6k. London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1984.
Heinsheimer, H. W. Fanfare for Two Pigeons. Garden City, New
York: Doubleday & Co., 1952.
Kr06, Gyorgy. A Guide to Bart6k. Translated by Ruth Pataki
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[N.P.]: Corvina Press, 1974.
Lendvai, Ern&. Bela Bart6k: An analysis of his music. London:
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The Workshop of Bart6k and Kodaly. Budapest:
Editio Musica Budapest, 1983.
Lesznai, Lajos. Bart6k~ Translated by Percy M. Young.
London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1973.
Moreux, Serge. Bela Bart6k. Translated by G. S. Fraser and
Erik de Mauny. New York: Vienna House, 1974.

188
Sachs, Harvey. Toscanini. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson,
1978.
Stevens, Halsey. The Life and Music of Bela Bart6k. Revised
edition. London: Oxford University Press, 1964.
Suchoff, Benjamin, ed. Bela Bart6k Essays. New York: st.
Martin's Press, 1976.
Szigeti, Joseph. With Strings Attached: Reminiscences and
Reflections. 2nd ed. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1967.
Ujfalussy, J6zsef. Bela Bartok. Translated by Ruth Pataki.
Boston: Crescendo Publ. Co., 1972.
Volkov, Solomon. Testimony: the Memoirs of Dmitri
Shostakovich. Translated by Antonia W. Bouis. New York:
Harper & ROw, 1979.
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Adorno, T. E. "On the problem of musical analysis." Music
Analysis 1 (1982): 169-87.
Austin, W. "Bart6k' s Concerto for Orchestra." Music Review 11
(1957):21-47.
Balogh, Ern8. "Bartok's Last Years." Tempo (Summer 1966),
36:12-16.
Bartha, Denes. "La Musique de Bart6k." In La Resonance dans
les echelles musicales, pp. 279-90. Edited by Edith
Weber. Paris: Centre National de la Recherche
Scientifique, 1963.
189
Bart6k, Bela Jr. "Bela Bart6k's Diseases." Studia Musicologica
23 (1981):427-41-
"Bela Bart6k dies in hospital here." New York Times, 27
September 1945, p. 21.

B6nis, F. "Quotations in Bart6k's music: a contribution to
Bart6k's psychology of composition." Studia Musicologica 5
(1963):355-82.
Breuer, J. "Egy Bart6k-dallam nyom~ban." Muzsika 14 (1971),
8:26-9, 9:37-9, 10:25-7.
"Budapest Elects Exiles." New York Times, 28 April 1945, p. 6.
Dille, Denijs. "The Life of Bela Bart6k, II." In Bela Bart6k:
_ A Memorial Review. New York: Boosey & Hawkes, 1950.
Downes, Olin. "Bart6k Concerto Introduced Here." New York
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"Bart6k's Testament." New York Times, 14 October
1 945, sec. 2, p. 4.
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Herald Traveler, 2 December 1944.
---------- "The Public vs. Bart6k: Is There Really a Case?"
Boston Herald Traveler, 3 December 1944.
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.'
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What is the thesis about?

What is the thesis about?

What are some of the analytical approaches discussed in the thesis?

What are some of the analytical approaches discussed in the thesis?

BELA BART6K'S CONCERTO FOR ORCHESTRA

REBECCA LEE GREEN, B.A.(Hons.Mus.)

Submitted to the School of Graduate Studies

in Partial Fulfilment of the Requirements

for the Degree

TITLE: Worlds Contending: Bela Bart6k's Concerto for Orchestra

AUTHOR: Rebecca Lee Green, B.A.(Hons.Mus.) (University of

SUPERVISOR: Professor Paul Rapoport

NUMBER OF PAGES: ix, 192

Firstly, I would like to thank my supervisor, Dr. Paul

Rapoport, for his patient supervision and support throughout the

span of this project, especially with regard to linguistic

difficulties. There are several other individuals who graciously

assisted me in the area of translation: Steven Satory, Joanna

Quartel, Melitta Weiss-Amer, and Gabor Vaski. I would also like

to thank Dr. Hugh Hartwell for reading my thesis. Finally, I

. for sparking my interest in the Concerto for Orchestra.

B: Circumstances of the Commissioning, 21

Composition and First Performance

C: Critical Issues Surrounding the Concerto 37

Part II: Analytical Approaches 55

C: Folk Music 107

E: Symmetrical Pitch Collections 13 ~

Part III: Worlds Contending 16 ~

That Bart6k has had a profound influence on composition

in the twentieth century is a statement on which ·there is wide

agreement. The subject of his style, on the other hand, has

remained controversial, often perplexing. Part of the diversity

found in Bart6k criticism stems from the lack of shared

assumptions about his music and, therefore, a single method by

been made to subsume Bart6k's entire oeuvre under one

analytical system, none of these approaches have emerged as

dominant. Another situation in Bart6k criticism is that some

of his works have been analyzed numerous times while others

have been generally overlooked by music scholars. In his

recent Bart6k bibliography, Andras Wilheim observes that

"literature on the string quartets continues to increase in

scope, whereas other genres are deemed virtually unworthy of

the analysts' attention. ,,1 .

The Concerto for Orchestra is one work which suffers

expressed in some of the criticism dealing with the Concerto,

that this piece constitutes a compromise of Bart6k's

compositional integrity for the sake of financial success and

public acceptance. Ironically, this view is reflected most

often in sources which do not devote enough space to a thorough

analysis of the work; therefore, the discussions tend to be

superficial, descriptive analyses.

Concerto for Orchestra at any length, which is surprising

given the stature of the work in Bartok's oeuvre; it is the

largest orchestral work, one of the last works, and it occupies

a special place in the output since it was the first of

Bartok's American compositions, breaking a four-year

compositional silence. It has traditionally been a very

popular work, partially because of its association with

Bartok's temporary recovery from leukemia, and because it