By Georg Predota, Interlude
The young Frank Martin
Martin frequently wrote and lectured about his own work and about music in general. His beliefs are beautifully captured in a statement from 1966. “Whatever the movements of the soul, the spirit, the sensibility that are manifested in one’s work, and whether the state is one of anguish or even despair, one’s art inevitably bears the sign of … this liberation, this sublimation which evokes in us a finished form, and which is, I think, what is called beauty.”
Frank Martin was the tenth and youngest son of a Huguenot pastor, and he would later say of himself. “As a son of a minister, and as the son of a minister who has not renounced his faith, religion has affected me twice as strongly.” Spirituality was a continual source of inspiration, and on the 50th anniversary of his death, let us commemorate his lifelong devotion to sacred music.
The “Mass for double Choir” dates from 1922, however, it was premiered only in 1963. Martin never intended this work to be performed publicly, as he “was afraid that it would be judged on a purely aesthetic level… it was a matter between God and myself.” Personal modesty aside, Michel Khalifa writes, “for a long time, Martin had been unable to fathom his own religious feelings. He had first to come to terms in his own way with the faith he had been brought up with.”
Frank Martin’s Mass for double choir – Credo
The same might be said for Martin’s musical language. Since the Mass was not destined for public ears, Martin was free to experiment stylistically. Initially, it almost sounds like a homage to the vocal polyphony of the Renaissance, with free-flowing and metrically liberated vocal lines, a meticulous setting of the text, and a prevailing polyphonic texture. While we hear the influences of Gregorian chant and J.S. Bach, the harmonic language unmistakably originated in the 20th century.
Decades later, Martin found some shortcomings in his work. “Even though I wrote the mass for a large number of voices, it is music of an inward nature. My musical language has developed considerably since that period. There are some things in this work that I would no longer be able to write; there are also weaknesses that I would never repeat… Let us hope that conviction, youth and some beauty can still be appreciated in this mass that is almost half a century old.”
Golgotha
Frank Martin’s Golgotha – Andante
Martin continued to compose smaller religious works, but he made his breakthrough with several well-received instrumental works and concertos. Only in the spring of 1945 did he once again turn to spiritual matters. As the composer relates, “I admired a marvellous collection of etchings by Rembrandt at an exhibition in our Museum of Fine Arts. Amongst so many masterpieces, I was particularly impressed by three prints, three states, each very different, of a vision of Calvary, usually entitled The Three Crosses.”
“Against a dark background of humans, who seem to be frozen in shock, the three crosses rise up; a sheet of white light descends from heaven onto the central cross, bearing Jesus in agony.” Martin later commented, “on this small surface of paper, we see the moment in world history where the fundamental incompatibility that exists between our material world and the world of the spirit was most dazzlingly manifested.”
For his oratorio Golgotha, Martin fashioned a text from the Passion narratives of all four gospels, concentrating all the light on the person of Christ while leaving the other protagonists in the shadows. In the manner of J.S. Bach, Martin intersperses the narrative with poetic reflections taken from St. Augustin’s Confessions and Mediations. In his music, Martin focused on finding the “right expression for each scene and each sentiment.”
Much of the music has the luminous transparency of a stained-glass window. As he relates, “I was not afraid to write certain passages in a very simple musical language, and others in a much more complex and tormented language… Let me assure you that no difficulties were included in this score unless I found it essential for the musical expression of the text.” The work, an act of faith and devotion, premiered in Geneva in April 1948.
Maria-Triptychon
Frank Martin
The Maria-Triptychon originated as a “Magnificat” for soprano, solo violin and orchestra at the request of the violinist Wolfgang Schneiderhan and his wife, the soprano Irmgard Seefried. Martin writes, “At first, it was performed in Lucerne, but it soon became clear to me that the “Magnificat” required a surrounding musical frame. I therefore added an “Ave Maria” and a “Stabat Mater” to form what might be called the two flanking panels to the central panel and gave it the title Maria-Triptychon.”
Eventually, Martin added a piano to the medium-sized orchestra, and the obbligato solo violin plays in an almost concertante fashion. We immediately enter a mystical world in the first measures of the “Ave Maria.” An annotator writes, “From the sound of the slowly soaring violin, doubled by harp harmonics and una corda piano, it is clear that Martin has found in these Marian texts a release from the angst which pervaded a good deal of his earlier music.”
Neo-classical rhythms and a sharper level of dissonance are immediately audible in the “Magnificat.” Martin creates a complex texture with both the violin and voice circling in and out. Changes in mood related to the text are also expressed in the music, and repetitions of words become a specific device to unify musical form. A harsh dissonant ostinato over a static pedal point serves as the foundation for the soprano to intone the short lines of the “Stabat Mater.” The music is unrelentingly intense and only achieves some kind of tranquillity on the final “Amen.”
Requiem
Frank Martin’s Requiem
Sacred works dominate the last years of Martin’s life. Most important among these late works is the Requiem, dating from 1971/72. He had wanted to write a Requiem for decades, but the final stimulus came only in January 1971. As Martin relates, “I went on a Mediterranean trip where I was able to contemplate all alone in Saint Marc’s Church in Venice, the Cathedral of Monreale in Palermo and the Greek temples of Paestum near Naples. These three monuments, which express the sentiments of the adoration so completely, awakened in me a desire to build in my turn, using my limited means, a temple devoted to the adoration.”
Martin scored the work for four soloists, choir, orchestra including cembalo, and organ. He reduced the contrapuntal aspects of the music in order to give priority to the liturgical text. A gentle pianissimo from the strings and organ initiates the “Introit,” and after the music intensifies, it returns to the quiet of the beginning. The “Kyrie” opens contrapuntally but concludes with a quiet “Lento” passage.
The expansive “Dies Irae” opens vigorously and is followed by a chamber-like “Andante.” The intimate duet of oboe and tenor allows the orchestra and choir to rejoin, and after an energetic outburst, the movement simply dissolves. Reduced forces are employed in the “Offertorium,” while the “Sanctus” terminates with a powerful brass fanfare. The organ and alto contemplate the words of the “Agnus Dei,” with the inserted “In Paradisum” establishing an ethereal mood. Musically, the “Lux Aeterna” returns us to the “Introitus”, with the music exuding “an air of optimism.”
Polyptyque
Polyptyque
Martin’s religious and spiritual inspiration also informs his instrumental works. When he was asked by Yehudi Menuhin and Edmond de Stoutz to write a concerto for violin and string orchestra, Martin produced a set of six pictures of the Passion of Christ. He found his inspiration in Siena, when he saw “a polyptych by Duccio, a set of very small panels representing the various episodes of the Passion.”
Martin was looking to “transpose into music the emotions that these scenes aroused in me, and in Image des Rameaux, I visualised a noisy crowd pressing forward to see the Lord entering Jerusalem… In the Image de la Chambre, we see Christ addressing disciples, and the Image de Judas portrays a being full of anguish, tormented at heart…The Image de Gethsémané is the anguish of loneliness, an intense prayer, and the Image du Jugement shows the full horror of the crowd freed from all restraint… I felt that there was no other possible ending save an Image de la Glorification.”
Michael De Sapio suggests, “Amid the deluge of music written in the 20th century, Martin’s work stands out for its integrity, humanism, and striving for beauty within a framework of changing conceptions of harmony, melody, and rhythm.” Fifty years after his death, as Alain Corbellari has recently written in a dedicated article for Interlude, “Frank Martin is very much alive,” and his expansive oeuvre awaits further exploration and renewed interpretations.
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