Between 1870 and 1920, French music was in the midst of an identity crisis. The horror and embarrassment of the Franco-Prussian war and the First World War created a desire for a distinct French identity, which asserted itself in the music of the time. French music became the antithesis of German Romanticism, which was glossed over and eventually superseded by the aesthetic of the Classical era. Over the past few weeks, it has been fascinating to read the perspectives of brilliant composers from this time like Debussy, Ravel, and Milhaud who were actively shaping the French musical identity. I relate to some of their views on the philosophy of music. Debussy desires to “preserve [the] element of magic [that is] peculiar to music” (Strunk Source Readings in Music History) by avoiding formulaic composition. I believe that musicality should rise above everything else, and that too often we privilege technical prowess (whether in performing or in composing) over the beauty of music. In Ravel’s 1928 lecture at Rice University, he explains that the means by which music is presented, whether using German chromaticism or French diatonicism, are secondary to the ends of “sensitiveness and emotion [which] constitute the real content of a work of art.”
I also resonate with the clarity of form and simplicity valued in French music of this time, as a reaction to German Romanticism. As a brass player I always have loved the power of Mahler and Strauss, but have found it harder and harder to listen to the great Romantics in my daily life. The emotional heaviness and musical complexity demands a lot from the listener. Mahler is very personal, containing emotion that is often too raw to share with others. Mahler often explores themes of death, such as in the funeral march first movement of Mahler’s 5th Symphony, or his Kindertotenlieder, (Songs on the Death of Children!). It requires a certain headspace and focus to experience this music, so it is not music that I have the energy to listen to all the time.
Music that is clear, succinct, and delightful, like that of Milhaud’s Le Train Bleu, is much more accessible. It can more readily be a part of my daily life, as it doesn’t require emotional investment. It is uplifting, joyful, and absurd–without any heaviness. The brevity of the music leaves me wanting more, but inspires me to listen again. Perhaps it is due to society’s unease towards true display of emotion that this French music feels more comfortable than that of the Romantics. I am all for challenging oneself by being vulnerable, but sometimes it is just nice to indulge in relaxation through easygoing music.
The part that I do not resonate with about French identity in music is the nationalism that formed its distinct style. As a military kid, I have lived all over the United States– both coasts, the Midwest and the Deep South. The people living in these places are vastly different, and to me there seems to be very little uniting all of them under one identity. Benedict Anderson claims that the nation is an “imagined political community,” because any member has to imagine the bonds that tie them to the millions of other members they do not know. A nation is an extrapolation from your interactions with the people around you in your local community. Because I have never been in one community long enough to truly call it home, my perception of the nation is one of many communities that are starkly different from each other. Ravel might say that this hybrid identity makes me unable to appreciate the musical works of others, because I have no individuality against which to judge others. I disagree, and say that my hybrid identity has given me a variety of experiences to use for my own judgement.
French Music between 1870 and 1920 has such a unique character, and I resonate with its simplicity and delightfulness. The nationalistic drive to create the French style is not something to which I can relate, but I understand that this was a result of the historical and cultural conditions during this period.