THE ORIGINS OF CONTEMPORARY AMERICAN OBOE TECHNIQUE
Nora Post

The oboe's role during the late nineteenth century can only be described as paradoxical. While the orchestral repertoire included a wealth of oboe solos, the oboe had, for the most part, been overlooked as a solo instrument. In contrast, the twentieth century has witnessed both the oboe's continued prominence in the orchestra and the development of a sizable solo and chamber literature. In this article, I would like first, briefly to offer an admittedly speculative explanation of this anomaly, and second, to show how the technical demands of the early twentieth century solo and chamber repertoire foreshadowed, and even directly influenced, the evolution of expanded instrumental technique during the past two decades.

My explanation begins with the fact that the oboe is an instrument of formidable color and character. Its timbral presence defies anonymity and refuses to blend easily with other instruments. This invites the hypothesis that the oboe's liabilities as a solo and chamber instrument were, in fact, its strengths within the orchestra. Utilized there for coloration, the oboe's evocative tone epitomized the nineteenth century quest for the unique and the exotic.

But this desire was not limited to the nineteenth century. Twentieth century music, even more than nineteenth, has been characterized by the search for unusual sounds, as evidenced by an unparalleled interest in timbre exploration. This phenomenon, perhaps more than any other, may account for the fact that since the early years of the twentieth century the oboe has been consistently prominent in solo and chamber as well as orchestral works.

In the early twentieth century repertoire, instruments appear to have been used in two ways. Some composers were quite conventional in their use of instruments, even when their compositional techniques were highly innovative. Anton Webern, for example, while musically radical, made few unusual technical demands upon the players, particularly in the case of the woodwinds. The oboe part for his Konzert, Op. 24 [1] for instance, ranges only from B3 to D6, and calls for virtually no dynamic and articulative extremes. Much the same can be said about Arnold Schoenberg, Igor Stravinsky, and Alban Berg. Even a piece as difficult as Schoenberg's Quintett, Op. 26 [2] presents rhythmic rather than general technical challenges for the oboist.

But these were not the only composers whose music did not tax the player. Even later composers such as John Cage, Earle Brown and Christian Wolff, rarely required that traditional instruments be pushed beyond long-established limits.

Other contemporary composers, however, made strenuous demands on the performer. They sought deliberately to transgress the boundaries of the idiomatic. In the vanguard were Edgard Varese (1883-1965) and Stefan Wolpe (1902-1972), whose works of the 1920s and 1930s prepared the way for many of the developments which subsequently occurred. Their requirements with regard to articulation, dynamics, range and sheer stamina were unprecedented, it was largely because of Varese and Wolpe that the subsequent oboe repertoire, especially in the United States, developed as it did. Their writing reflected both a common interest in radically new musical ideas and dramatically new instrumental usage. That the two men were mavericks becomes readily apparent when their ideas, as well as their compositions, are studied.

Varese was an extraordinary musical thinker, one whose theories were far ahead of his time. As early as 1924 he insisted that:

The development of the art has been hampered by certain mechanical restrictions which no longer need prevail . . . Just as the painter can obtain different intensity and graduation of colour, musicians can obtain different vibrations of sound, not necessarily conforming to the traditional half-tone and full tone, but varying, ultimately from vibration to vibration . . .[3]

Varese's artistic goals, perhaps more visionary than realistic, were probably closely tied to his unorthodox approach to instruments themselves. As Milton Babbitt has perceptively observed:

Varese regarded instruments not as things in themselves, not as discrete units, but as part of what was for him this acoustical continuum. And therefore, he really didn't discriminate among instruments. He considered them all as contributors to this particular kind of continuum. [4]

Varese's two works which use the oboe prominently are Octandre [5] (1924) and Integrales [6] (1926). Both testify to his obsession with extraordinary dynamics and articulations. For example, the opening oboe solo in Octandre concludes with a totally unprecedented crescendo from ff to ffff (Ex. 1).

The oboe part for Integrales is similar to Octandre in its demands. The oboe's first entrance includes a crescendo which progresses from p to ffff within three beats (Ex. 2).

Later, as many as five dynamic shadings are required within two beats (Ex. 3).

This remarkable writing can best - or perhaps can only--be understood in terms of Varese's idiosyncratic approach to dynamics. As Babbitt recalls:

I discussed dynamics very often with Varese, although I was never quite sure that when he agreed with me, he really agreed with me. But the fact of the matter is that we very often talked about this problem of dynamics; of course my music has many of the same problems. We had agreed that when we write for an ensemble, that we are not writing relative dynamics. We are writing resultant dynamics, dynamics which indicate the contributory characteristics of each of the constituent instruments. And therefore, it was the conductor's job --or whoever is in charge of the ensemble-- to see that they balanced. When he writes four f's for the oboe and four f's for the trumpet, that means the same loudness, it is not relative to the scale of the instrument, which, we agreed was so dependent upon the individual performer that you couldn't possibly determine it. Those are resultant dynamics, and Varese should have written that in his scores. [7]

Composer and Varese scholar Chou Wen-Chung concurs with Babbitt, as can be seen in the following exchange:

Q. The difficulty with Varese's music now is not rhythmic or conceptual. The dynamics are impossible. Babbitt says that he and Varese often spoke about this, and that the dynamics on the page were not the dynamics intended to be played. If, for instance, everyone had fff, what Varese really meant was that it had to be balanced out. Is that correct?

A: Yes, that's absolutely true. Varese always said that there were two ways of notating dynamics . . . one is to notate dynamics for each instrument according to the instrumental capacity in dynamics, in order to predict the kind of balance you win get. The other is to notate them in an absolute way, so that the dynamic levels indicated in the score are what he expects to hear out of the balance of the performance. Now that, of course, is not always so in his scores He starts with that. Then I know that in certain spots he would make changes to accommodate the instruments in question.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In other words, if you have a fortissimo passage, with oboe and trombone, let's say, he expects the conductor to balance the two instruments.

Q: How do you explain the beginning of the second movement of Octandre, with the solo piccolo playing fff?

A: He wants that instrument to play as loudly as possible. I think there is here the question of a conflict in notational philosophy. [8]

Conflict or not, Varese's dynamics pose staggering problems for the oboist, who must play loudly as possible almost all the time simply to be heard. This is especially true of Integrales where, in most performances, the brass overwhelm the oboe. If the conductor attempts to apply Babbitt's concept of "resultant dynamics," the interpretation will lose energy, since the brass will be underplaying. To maintain the real character of both Integrales and Octandre, the only solution is for the oboe to "blast" at maximum volume. Even then, there will probably be passages when the instrument will not be audible.

Varese's articulations are also remarkable. Octandre contains one of the earliest uses of fluttertongue for the oboe (Ex. 4). The work also abounds with accent marks, most frequently in the context of forte dynamic markings. Chou Wen-Chung comments on this interrelationship of dynamics and articulation:

Q: Do you think his articulations are of the same philosophy as his dynamics?

A: I would say, in general, yes Now there are always exceptions. You have also to realize that these scores were written in the early 20s, and at that time, notation for dynamics was hardly standardized. And certain things that composers would often do are not really done anymore. Sf, for example. He was really carrying over a certain traditional approach towards dynamics into what he was then projecting in his music with respect to dynamics.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

He certainly had a very strong desire to use instruments differently. [9]

Surprisingly, Varese is not particularly inventive in his choice of range for the oboe. Neither Octandre nor Integrales ascend higher than G5, the traditional limit of the instrument, a rather curious restraint for someone who is so original and demanding in his usage of dynamics and articulations.

Given the difficulties of performing Varese's music even today, one cannot help but wonder how earlier players managed to cope with his scores. Professor Chou recalls:

Q: Do you remember how people felt about playing it, do you remember those times yourself?

A: . . . I was involved in the rehearsals and recording sessions when the so-called EMS recording of Varese was made. At that time, Frederic Waldman was the conductor, and he hired some of the best young performers, who have since become very important and so on . . . very much recognized But I realized that they struggled through these pieces enormously.

Q: What made it so hard for them?

A: Demands on the instrumental technique and rhythm. And also the understanding of what really goes on. I was at the rehearsals. . . Waldman called numerous hours of rehearsal, and it was amazing how difficult it was for all those very capable people. It was equally amazing that they finally got something reasonable recorded. In fact, in some respects that recording is still the best. It's not precise, but it had certain qualities because Varese was always there. [10]

The extreme difficulty of Varese's works raises the question of whether he actually understood what it was that he was requiring from the players. His colleagues agree that he knew exactly what he was asking for. According to Henry Brant, Varese, a master of orchestration, deliberately tried to push instruments beyond their recognized limits. [11] Professor Chou provides an insightful comment:

Q: Why does Varese totally disregard the idiomatic?

A: I can only provide guesses, really. He was certainly a wizard at orchestration in the conventional sense. He wrote numerous large scale works . . . of course, many of them have perished. So there is no question but that he knew these instruments well . . . having also been a conductor himself. I think he was preoccupied with developing his own ideas, his own concepts. And, of course, you should also know that he was also always interested in finding some kind of electronic means (the word "electronics" didn't exist yet - he called it "electrical means") to realize and project his ideas So I would say he certainly was consciously pushing all the instruments to their extremes, and in doing that perhaps did not really care that much about certain practicalities. But it doesn't mean that Varese was not aware of whether it could be achieved or not. I think he was: He always felt that if he pushed people hard enough, they could get it. I would say at that time it wasn't the case! Very few people "got" it, they probably approximated it. [12]

Although the music of Stefan Wolpe is quite different from that of Varese, the two men were alike:

. . . in treating instruments as purely as a source of sound. In that respect, yes, they have certain viewpoints that are similar. And I would say in certain aspects of their music, yes, you would find similarities. And, after all, Wolpe and Varese were friends, knew each other very well, and so on. [13]

But Wolpe's works are even more difficult to perform. Babbitt recalls a revealing story which may account for this:

I think there is no question about it . . . that he wanted his music to be more intricate than anybody else's, he wanted his music to be more difficult than anybody else's, he wanted his music to be longer than anybody else's. There was that famous question asked at his Composer's Forum, after his Battle Piece had been played . . . you know that's a huge piano piece -- 25 minutes of murder! At the question period, someone asked him whether this piece was intended for actual use at battle. He didn't answer - he regarded it as a nasty comment -- but the answer obviously was yes. I mean he was constantly embattled at battling. It was to be used in his battle. [14]

Wolpe's "battle" was reflected in almost everything he wrote. The piano works are especially illustrative, since Wolpe, a pianist himself, was certainly aware of the instrument's limitations. [15] Irma Wolpe, for whom many of the piano pieces were written has also tried to explain why Wolpe's music was so difficult to perform:

. . . He always tried to write simple music but he never could achieve it because he was always driven by his own demon and the demon was complexity. And the complexity was part of his way of thinking. He said that when he had an idea, then instantly seventeen different activities entered into play -- so he couldn't help but being tremendously complex in his writing for instruments. But on the other hand, since he had a genius for the piano, it was in some ways playable, but you had to be a superlative pianist . . . It was tantalizing it was there as a challenge and in order to be done, you had to stretch yourself beyond any limit. [16]

In her program notes for Wolpe's Form IV, [17] she develops these ideas even further:

As soon as an idea developed, a number of differing configurations (actually regroupings of the original one) stepped from all sides into its path. They were not necessarily of the same length as the theme, rather fragments, echoes, verticalized imitations which would block its progress, stopping it and forcing it to react to them. The way he put it--they even had the power to liquidate the initial shape, creating conflicts as extreme as music can show and producing a continuity tight and, at the same time, challenging in its complexity and explosive power. These interfering elements may assume the most varied shapes: strict limitations in every form, floating remnants, sometimes linear or crumpled like dead leaves, distended masses of sonority viscous or pointed like daggers.

In the resulting discourse he made use of the whole gamut of dynamics, of changing densities, of shifting levels which illuminate the events in the most striking way. At a first hearing one may perceive more strongly the disruptive volcanic features, only to become aware later of the even more powerful conceptual, thematic and emotional unity which binds them together [18]

Wolpe's first work for the oboe, the Suite im Hexachord, [19] calls for dynamics which extend from ppp to ff. Articulations include three different types of accents (, , and ). In addition Wolpe makes one of the first requests for harmonic fingerings found in the oboe literature (Ex. 5) [20] But most extraordinary of all is his choice of range. With a total disregard for existing convention, the piece sweeps from the oboe's lowest note to the first A6 in the oboe literature. The A6 is no casual gesture but, rather, the final, sustained pitch of the Fugue (Ex. 6). Such exorbitant writing did not recur until other composers began tentatively to explore this register almost two decades later. The Suite im Hexachord:

. . . is most extraordinary in its use of the two woodwind instruments. Wolpe's music demands a technique which contradicts all previous ideas of the idiomatic. For Wolpe, instruments did not have limits; they were like unrestricted musical tools of his imagination. Perhaps such music is so rarely performed. It was not until Jack Kreiselman and Josef Marx played the Suite im Hexachord in the early fifties that it received its premiere. As the second oboist to play the work, I first performed it thirty-six years after it was written. Aside from the problem of technique, the relentless intensity of Wolpe's music demands considerable stamina and concentration from the performer. Perhaps this too may account for the infrequency of performance. [21]

The technical innovations found in Wolpe's Sonata for Oboe and Piano [22] (1939-41) are quite different than those of the Suite im Hexachord. While the range of the Sonata, for instance, ascends only to F6, its dynamic and articulative demands are more complex than the earlier composition. For the first time in his oboe works, Wolpe employs the marking fff, and his accent notation expands to include four types (, , , and ), all of which are frequently used in all registers. Sf and sp markings are also common. Of particular interest is the need for rapid tonguings. In the first movement (quarter = 92) [23], double tonguing is implied in several passages (see Ex. 7). At a time when double tonguing was not considered possible for the oboe, Wolpe's requirements must have seemed even more unreasonable than they do today.

Finally, Wolpe's disregard for the idiomatic is further illustrated by his choice of a trill which does not exist on the modern oboe, a b-flat3 to B-natural 3 trill, [24] occurring at a critical transitional point in the first movement (Ex. 8). Given its structural importance, the trill must be played.

These elements, the demands for extremes in range, dynamics, rhythm, and articulation, [25] make Wolpe's music extraordinarily difficult for any instrumentalist and the oboist in particular. Josef Marx (for whom Wolpe's oboe works were written) spent years mastering these compositions. The result, according to Babbitt, was that:

Joe Marx and Wolpe (though I think Joe may not remember it anymore) used to have screaming fits at each other. Joe insisted that Wolpe was not taking the instrument into account. And Wolpe answered violently that, after all, the composers imagine the new legions and resources of instrumental playing, and the instrumentalist must realize them. [26]

Whatever his merits or shortcomings as a performer, it is difficult not to sympathize with Marx.

Any discussion of Wolpe and Varese would be incomplete without mention of their influence on other composers generally, and the American oboe repertoire in particular. In Babbitt's judgment:

Wolpe had a tremendous impact on a lot of people. The most obvious one was Ralph Shapey, and there was always a cluster of students. And then there was the indirect influence. I would certainly suspect that he had an influence on Elliott Carter. I don't know if Elliott would think so or not, but I certainly would. I think he had an enormous influence - first of all - on a lot of composers, including David Tudor. By the way, he certainly had his influence on people like Charles Wuorinen, and on many of Charles's students. [27]

Wolpe's utilization of extreme contrasts in both dynamics and articulations is mirrored in the oboe music of Wuorinen, [28] and Harvey Sollberger [29] as well as in Babbitt's own Woodwind Quartet [30] The expanded range Wolpe employed was the model for the later works of Isaac Nemiroff, his student and colleague. [31] The two major oboe sonatas of our era are still those of Wolpe and Gunther Schuller, [32] and there is no question but that Wolpe's oboe music directly influenced Schuller's own sonata. [33] The evidence strongly suggests therefore, that Wolpe, probably more than anyone else, was responsible for the development of the twentieth century oboe repertoire. That Wolpe's influence did not assert itself more generally until at least the early 50s is understandable, because the difficulty of his works precluded their performance until that time.

Varese's impact was of a somewhat different order. In Chou Wen-Chung's opinion:

. . . The influence is more subtle than apparent, for the following reasons: Varese is a composer who will always be viewed as an individualist, rather than being in the mainstream. I would say that right after his death there was enormous influence and interest in young composers. By now it's sort of taken for granted. For the past 20 years one finds that the young composers are interested in one or the other thing. If their basic outlook is towards a stricter view of music, that is, music has to be highly organized and so on--then they would find Varese is not analytically or theoretically as interesting as they would like to find him to be, and therefore they feel that it is not really something they can use as a foundation for their own. On the other side, you find that people who are interested in a much freer approach to music find him too organized, even though Varese made it possible for both groups to really come into existence -- especially the second group. But I can't imagine any young composer today without the Varese sound, a certain concept of his in mind. I think that we touched on a very important point. In the 20s and 30s--as early as then--he was already doing all sorts of things that people only began to do in the 50s. I think Varese's music is well known even though it is not played that much. I just don't believe that there is not a very subtle and continuing influence on his part. When the dust is settled, I think his influence will become more apparent. [34]

Like Wolpe, but in another way, Varese performed a critical service for the oboe. He was the first twentieth century composer to give the oboe pre-eminence in the chamber ensemble. This was especially important because the two major chamber works of the early twentieth century, Schoenberg's Pierrot Lunaire [35] and Stravinsky's L'Histoire du Soldat [36] had bypassed the oboe in favor of the clarinet.

If Varese introduced the oboe to the twentieth century chamber ensemble as "personality," Wolpe gave it a contemporary solo repertoire. Ironically enough, the sheer difficulty of their works, which for a time made performances extraordinarily rare, helped immeasurably to prepare contemporary oboists for the demands soon to be made upon them by other composers.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Anton Webern, Konzert, Op. 24, for nine instruments. 1934 (Vienna: Universal Edition, c1948). [return]

[2] Arnold Schoenberg, Quintett, Op. 26, 1924 (Vienna: Universal Edition, n.d.). [return]

[3] From Chou Wen-Chung, "Open Rather Than Bounded," Perspectives of New Music 5/1 (Fall-Winter 1966): 1. [return]

[4] Interview with Milton Babbitt, Princeton, New Jersey, 10 March 1978. [return]

[5] Edgard Varese, Octandre, for flute, clarinet oboe, bassoon, horn, trumpet, trombone and contrabass, 1924 (New York: G. Ricordi and Co. c1956 . [return]

[6] Idem, Integrales, for small orchestra and percussion, 1926 (New York: G. Ricordi and co. cl 956). [return]

[7] Interview with Milton Babbitt, Princeton New Jersey, 10 March 1978. [return]

[8] Interview with Chou Wen-Chung, New York, New York, 17 March 1978. [return]

[9] Interview with Chou Wen-Chung, New York, New York, 17 March 1978. [return]

[10] Ibid. [return]

[11] Interview with Henry Brant, Buffalo, New York, 6 June 1978. [return]

[12] Interview with Chou Wen-Chung, New York New York, 17 March 1978. [return]

[13] Ibid. [return]

[14] Interview with Milton Babbitt, Princeton New Jersey, 10 March 1978. [return]

[15] Babbitt agrees ". . . that he did probably maintain that innate call-it-what-you-will-internalized sense of what you can do at a piano" (Interview, 10 March 1978). [return]

[16] Interview with Irma Wolpe, New York, New York, 26 December 1977. [return]

[17] Stefan Wolpe, Form IV: Broken Sequences for piano, 1969 (New York: C. F. Peters Corp cl970). [return]

[18] Irma Wolpe, Program note to Stefan Wolpe, Form IV: Broken Sequences. [return]

[19] Wolpe, Suite im Hexachord, for oboe and clarinet, 1936 (New York: Josef Marx, n.d.). [return]

[20] The traditional order of the movements, which Wolpe himself preferred, was: IV. (Adagio), I. (Allegro), II. (Pastorale), III. (Fugue). Because this is not the order of the movements indicated in the score, to avoid confusion, all examples will be identified by movement name. [return]

[21] Nora Post, Program note to Stefan Wolpe, Suite im Hexachord (June in Buffalo IX, "In Memory: The Music of Stefan Wolpe and Isaac Nemiroff," 15 June 1977). [return]

[22] Wolpe, Sonata for Oboe and Piano, 1939-41 (New York: Josef Marx: n.d.). [return]

[23] There is some question as to the correct tempos for both the first and fourth movements of this work. The first movement is incorrectly marked eighth = 112-116. A tempo of approximately quarter = 92 has been employed by Irma Wolpe (who premiered the work and Anne Chamberlain, both of whom have performed the work with Josef Marx and this author. The fourth movement is marked half-note = 80 in the oboe part, and quarter = 132 in the piano score. Of the two indications, the latter alone has been adhered to. [return]

[24] Only the Prestini system oboe is capable of playing this trill. This rare instrument possesses a left hand thumb key, below the normal left hand thumb position, which yields a B-flat3 to B-natural3 trill. [return]

[25] Edward Levy puts it somewhat differently observing that "The use of contiguous contrast typifies all of Wolpe's music." (Levy, "Stefan Wolpe," Dictionary of Contemporary Music, p. 822). [return]

[26] Interview with Milton Babbitt, Princeton New Jersey, 10 March 1978. [return]

[27] Interview with Milton Babbitt, Princeton, New Jersey, 10 March 1978. [return]

[28] Charles Wuorinen, Bicinium, for two oboes 1966, Chamber Concerto for Oboe and 10 Players, 1965, and Speculum Speculi, for six players 1972 (an from New York: C. F. Peters Corp.). [return]

[29] Harvey Sollberger, Two Oboes Troping, 1962 (New York: Composer's Facsimile Edition, n.d.). [return]

[30] Babbitt, Woodwind Quartet, for flute, oboe, clarinet, and bassoon, 1953 (New York: Associate Music Publishers, c1966). [return]

[31] Isaac Nemiroff, Atomyriades, for solo oboe 1972, Duo for oboe and bass clarinet, 1973, and Trio for oboe/English Horn, clarinet/bass clarinet and piano, 1976 (copies of composer's mss.). [return]

[32] Gunther Schuller, Sonata for Oboe and Piano, l951 (New York: Josef Marx, cl958). [return]

[33] Schuller's conversation with the author, Boston, Mass., 12 March 1973. [return]

[34] Interview with Chou Wen-Chung, New York, New York, 17 March 1978. [return]

[35] Schoenberg, Pierrot Lunaire, op. 21, fur eine Sprechstimme, Klavier, Flote, Klarinette, Geige und Violoncell, 1912 (Vienna: Universal Edition, c1914). [return]

[36] Igor Stravinsky, L'Histoire du Soldat, for clarinet, bassoon, trumpet, trombone, percussion, violin and contrabass, 1918 (New York: International Music Company, n.d.). [return]

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