A VISITOR FROM AN UNKNOWN PLANET:
MUSIC IN THE EYES OF FILIPP HERSCHKOWITZ
© Dmitri Smirnov
A VISITOR FROM AN UNKNOWN PLANET:
Music in the Eyes of Filipp Herschkowitz
(As part of this Soviet issue of Tempo, we are privileged to publish the first substantial memoir and reminiscences to appear in English of Filipp Herschkowitz (1906-89), the Rumanian-born musicologist and composer who studied with Berg and Webern but spent almost half a century (1939 to 1987) in the Soviet Union. There he taught more or less clandestinely, becoming a focus of inspiration for successive generations of Russian composers, including many who are now recognized as the leaders of contemporary music in the USSR. Among the closest to Herschkowitz was Dmitri Smirnov, who has written a so-far unpublished book on his relations with this 'skeleton-key figure' in the history of modern Soviet music, and who wrote the following article at the special request of Tempo. For such an elusive person, the scattered references to Herschkowitz have rendered his name in a surprisingly large variety of spellings: the Editor of Tempo has seen it quoted as Hertzkovitch, Herskovits, Herscovici and Hercovic in addition to its invariable form in Russia, 'Gershkovich'. Although several of our contributors have used the forms Philip and Gershkovich in their original copy, we have decided for reasons of consistency to use the Austro-German form 'Herschkowitz' - by which Webern undoubtedly knew him in Vienna, the city where he died last year. Mr. Smirnov's article has been translated and edited by Rosamund Bartlett.)
I have never in my life met such an extraordinary person as Filipp Moiseyevich Herschkowitz, nor am I likely to ever again. He was a man of sharp intellect and great learning; and he combined a deep love of true art with a merciless irony, which was directed at everything and everyone around him. His clever remarks, serious as well as humorous, would instantly become anecdotes that would go round the whole of Moscow. He lived in a minute one-room flat with his young wife Lena and their cat Kisik, and could barely make ends meet. They refused to make him a member of the Union of Composers, Muzfond1 would have nothing to do with him, and those who could have helped to support him, or even just lend him some money steadily, became fewer and fewer in number. He would spend days poring over a volume of Beethoven sonatas, a Mahler or Schoenberg score, making ever more unique discoveries, which would one day, he thought, go to make up a book – his life's work.
Sometimes he gave lessons, but would always say 'I do not have any pupils. I am my only pupil'. When someone once called himself a pupil of his, without failing to point out that Herschkowitz was Webern's pupil, Filipp Moiseyevich exclaimed indignantly: 'So all I am is a vehicle for Webern's ideas!2 That's not very nice... especially since that is not appropriate for Webern. Or to be more precise, it is very inappropriate for Webern'. In the USSR, the fact that he studied at some point in Vienna with such a famous figure seemed utterly unreal to many people, and was enough to make people look at him as a being from another planet. As it happens, he really was no more than a accidental visitor from an unknown planet in our country.
Favin (or Fabish) Herschkowitz was born in the Romanian town of Yassy, into the family of a button merchant, on 7 September 1906 (25 August according to the old calendar). He studied at the conservatoire in Yassy (where he claimed he was well taught in harmony) and in 1927 entered the Vienna Academy. There he studied with Josef Marx, who had become friends with Schoenberg because of their shared interest in painting ('Both painted pictures', said Herschkowitz, 'I don't know who was the worst'). From 1929 to 1931 he studied with Alban Berg ('who taught nothing') and then, in 1934, with Anton Webern, at the same time working as a proof-reader at Universal Edition (from 1931-1938). Webern gave him a diploma -a scrap of paper which he himself had drawn up -which said that Herschkowitz, having followed a full course of instruction, had the right to teach composition and theory. With this diploma in hand, Herschkowitz escaped from Hitler and Nazi Vienna to the town of Chernovtsy, which Stalin had just joined to his empire.
Herschkowitz spent six years in evacuation in Central Asia, mainly in Tashkent, where Mukhtar Ashrafy, the Uzbek 'caliph' of music, made him a member of the Union of Composers. He would not let him into Muzfond, however, so he was unable to borrow money. At some point in 1946, Herschkowitz moved to Moscow. He was not reinstated in the Union of Composers (a campaign had begun against cosmopolitans, which expressed itself mostly in the persecution of Jews), although he was, on the other hand, accepted into Muzfond this time. The names of his teachers meant nothing in Moscow at that time, and a quarter of a century later the name of Schoenberg was used 'to frighten little children'. By the 195OS, however, musicians had started to become interested in the New Viennese school, and the presence in Moscow of a 'living witness' played a decisive role. It was Herschkowitz who directly influenced young composers in a 'pernicious, noxious and corrupting' way by wanting to escape from the suffocating, although in many respects comfortable, prison of 'socialist realism'. A whole pleiad of composers, musicologists and performers had their eyes opened, thanks to him, and were indebted to him for their accomplishments and development. I do not think that it is appropriate here to give their names, since not all his relations with these people were trouble-free. With some he broke off all contact, and it is difficult to judge objectively who was at fault.3
Despite his unfixed social position, Herschkowitz gave lecture-series during the 1960s at the Eleven and Kiev conservatories. In the 197Os he published two of his most important articles – unquestionably the best contributions to Soviet musicology4 – in the journal Uchenye zapiski tartuskogo universiteta: trudy po semiotike (Tartu University Scholarly Notes: Studies in Semiotics), whose print-run was never more than 100) copies. Herschkowitz also wrote a series of compositions during this time: three pieces for piano, four pieces for cello and piano, a Cantata for voice and chamber ensemble to verses of Rilke and Lorca. His music was never performed; and whilst this upset him ('as long as my piece has not been performed or shown to anyone', he would say, 'it seems that it does not exist'), he considered his main compositions to be those about music; music itself followed in second place. I have seen those scores fleetingly, but am convinced that they deserve the most serious attention. One could say that they were written entirely in the style of Schoenberg, but an extremely rigid discipline and a deep awareness of the compositional process lends them a particular value.*
As time passed, the Second Viennese School went out of fashion, without ever having come into fashion in the first place, and Herschkowitz was deserted by everyone: an eccentric that no one needed, who spoke in amusing paradoxes or dull truths. He sought in vain for people who shared his views and people who would be able to understand him. 'I need someone to share my thoughts about music!' he would say over and over again; but his was a voice in the wilderness. Unable to find a way out of this spiritual vacuum, he made an application to leave the country, but was refused permission. In desperation, he even wrote a letter to Tikhon Khrennikov, the immutable leader of Soviet music, in which he said that he was turning to him since they had something in common despite all their differences: the fact that their thoughts were expressed in musical notes. Herschkowitz saw his life as a sonata; its exposition had taken place in Vienna, its development in the Soviet Union and it now required a reprise. Khrennikov did not perceive the beauty of this idea and dictated a formal reply to his secretary in which he said that such matters were dealt with by OVIR,5 and not him.
These were hard times for Herschkowitz. His application to OVIR was automatically followed by expulsion from Muzfond and an order to pay back his huge financial debt. The circle of his acquaintances narrowed drastically, the editorial board of. Tart Scholarly Notes returned his articles, his name was no longer mentioned anywhere and pronounced only in a whisper.6
Finally an invitation came from the Albania Berg Stiffing, who asked him for help in pre- paring Berg's collected works for publication. In December 1987, Herschkowitz left with his wife for Vienna, where he continued intensive work on his book and on the translation of his essays into German. Within half a year he fell ill. A brain tumour was diagnosed, but after three successful operations, his kidneys failed. He died on 5 January 1989 and was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Vienna.
After his death, Herschkowitz's widow, who had already completed work on the manuscript of his book (or rather, two books) which run to about 700 pages, wrote to me from Vienna. ' As long as Filipp's works remain unpublished', she wrote, 'all his works, that is, whatever is said about Filipp, will only ever be words. Without these writings of his, one could say that it is impossible to speak the truth about him'.7 Of course it is difficult not to agree with this. Yet for the time being we can gain understanding from the few things that are already published, and share our scattered impressions about our meetings with this exceptional person.
As a true pupil of Webern, Herschkowitz saw Beethoven as the 'highest point of development of musical form'.8 'Everything goes towards Beethoven and from Beethoven', he would often repeat. Taking Beethoven as a starting- point and applying him like a standard to the work of other composers, there arose in his mind a strictly limited group of composers who were the 'Great Masters'. When Brahms was dropped from the canon, followed by Haydn, and finally his own teacher Berg, a 'magnificent seven' remained: Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Wagner, Mahler, Schoenberg and Webern. Of course one can laugh at such a limited view of the history of music and at such a narrow understanding of what makes a 'Great Master'. What about all the others? What is it that makes them worse composers? Let us hear what Herschkowitz himself said:
There are two kinds of composers, those who make music and those who do something with music. In order to count the first group on our fingers (I have in mind the last 250 years), we won't have to bother with our toes; the fingers on our hands are enough.9 The second group are all the rest; enough to create a population of a not exactly small country. The music of the first group is made with sounds, but exists independent of the sounds. The music of the second group is made for sounds. The first is a world of crystals, the second a world of (good and bad) porridge...
The great masters make up a strictly organic chain. They are always 'innovators' and never 'avant garde'. Innovation is the only possibility of remaining on the rails of tradition.l0
The great masters have always known their predecessors: Beethoven was aware of Mozart, Wagner was aware of Beethoven and Mahler was aware of Wagner...
The great masters are distinguished from the others by the fact that when you listen to their music, only they exist. Bach is in no way less of a composer than Beethoven, Mozart no less than Bach. When one listens to Tchaikovsky or Prokofiev, there are some bits one might like, but then one says that it is no worse than...
After Webern, all composers tried to be new, thinking that music, which was not new, could not be music. But Schoenberg, after all, was new on the basis of tradition! That should not be forgotten!1l
Herschkowitz's attitude to the works of the great masters
was highly selective. 'Beethoven has only six symphonies', he loved to
say, or:
Beethoven is Beethoven in his piano sonatas, beginning
with the first; while in all his other cycles, in no way is he Beethoven
from the very beginning. I have a very specific litmus paper test for determining
that.l2
Discovered by Schoenberg and developed by Webern during discussion with his pupils, the 'litmus paper' is a principle based on the two opposite conditions of musical structure: fixed and floating,l3 which make up the basic construction of form in the music of the Great Masters and which are most evident in Beethoven. This geometry is not spatial but temporal; it turns temporal material into spatial material.14
It is not all that easy to understand the difference between 'fixed' and 'floating'. Herschkowitz confessed that even he did not understand it at first, and only did when he stopped studying with Webern and began to do his own research. He would often say: 'It's very important. Whoever does not understand it is not looking at music in the right way!'.
By not adhering to this principle, the researcher is deprived of the most important instrument for music analysis, the comprehension of its structure and essence. Composers who do not seek to break with the great musical tradition lose orienteering directions for their personal quest. Both thus run the risk of remaining on the level of amateurs.
Herschkowitz developed and continued this principle, and we will really only be able to understand it when his works have been published and we can look at them in detail. He talked of different levels of 'fixed' and 'floating', their mutual relationship in form, about their diffusion over an entire cyclical work and also about cycles of works in which they play a joint role. At its most basic level, the principle looks like this: 'Fixed' denotes that which is linked to the main tonality, which the main theme expresses best of all. The main theme, as a rule, is constructed in a fixed way. Everything else - links, secondary (themes), development – are built in a 'floating' manner, and floating in varying ways, moreover. There is a neutralizing relationship between the one and the other: a 'less floating' secondary theme can correspond to a 'less fixed' main theme; the musical problem of a work can even stand the relationship of the two themes on its head: the main theme, instead of the secondary theme, can have a floating structure, and, correspondingly, a secondary theme can have a fixed structure.15
This principle in its fullest form is the material concept of musical form in the presence of which 'music, the most immaterial of the arts, becomes our property'.16
Herschkowitz left dozens of perceptive remarks about each of the great masters. Here are some of them:
...(Bach's) work still represents a map, on which there are more blank spots than on the map of Africa in the 19th-century. We must recognise, however, that Bach's blank spots will never be completely understood. And that is only because the greatness of a great master is endless. 17
Beethoven is the same as Mozart. Everything in Mozart is developed by Beethoven. They are one and the same.18
The essence of Beethoven lies in the fact that he solved Mozart's problems in a different way .19
In the work of Wagner (which has been classified as romanticism, but which in fact represents a new height of classicism), form is fully restored to its rightful place as the prime force and essence of the art of music. But for a long time after Wagner, the concept of form remained emasculated, and yielded to restoration only with difficulty .20
There are no longueurs in Wagner; it's we who have a problem with brevity.21
None of the great masters studied at conservatoires except for Mahler.22
Schoenberg, the musical Columbus of our time, actually discovered a new route to good old India when he discovered America.23
Webern! the last master of German music...24
Whilst Herschkowitz had respect and even 'sympathy' for many other composers, such as Haydn and Brahms, for example, Schubert and Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev and Berg, he lamented the unconscious, primitive and uncreative state of the principle [of 'fest' and 'locker'] in their works, and even sometimes complete disregard for the principles which are the main source of images in a composition, the essence of the great musical tradition. Many of them often served as the targets of his attacks:
Brahms knew how to write a main theme, but he did not know what to do with it.25
In Brahms, form does not develop, but stretches like a thread, although it does stretch well.26
While Schumann and Mendelssohn – both stupendous talents
– wrote their symphonies, sonatas et cetera like cheap popular prints,
Brahms (like Wagner, but in a different way to Wagner) understood the essence
of Beethoven. But this was not a creative understanding. From his understanding
of Beethoven, Wagner created the possibility of becoming Wagner. Brahms
never did away with his pointless desire to become a second Beethoven.27
Schumann is a composer from the GDR.28
Berlioz is probably the worst of the famous composers.29
In the 19th-century there was a bad composer, Cesar Franck, who wrote cycles in which themes from the previous parts repeated themselves in the last parts and he thought he was going further than Beethoven!30
The chain of great masters broke off for Herschkowitz with the work of the New Viennese School. On 3 I January 1983, when he declared that he did not consider Berg a great master any more, he explained:
It was easier for Schoenberg than for Webern, because he was already a great: tonal composer. Webern was not, but nevertheless he succeeded. Berg was too faithful to the 'letter of tonality' and he was therefore not a great master, despite my warm feelings for him as a person.
Other contemporaries fared worse:
Stravinsky made music out of ballets, as Shostakovich made his symphonies out of film music -the experience he gained from his activities as a ballroom pianist left its mark on his music.31
Shostakovich is just one great public place, while Stravinsky is just one great private place.
Stockhausen is the same as Boulez but without the tails.
'A hack in a trance', 'an omelette from a shell', 'musical wallpaper', 'music castrated from time' – these were the epithets he often applied to composers and their works.
Herschkowitz considered that there was a decline or recession in music in our times. The desire to appear new and original at all costs had turned music into empty sounds and bagatelles, he thought, and was explained purely by a thirst for success, which he called 'non-Euclidean careerism'. 'The most epigonal music is that which tries to be new!' Filipp Moiseyevich would exclaim.
He was glad when he liked something in new Soviet music, something, which in his words represented 'an exhibition of talent'. Without considering genius as the highest level of talent, he would call for a 'rejection of talent', and for composers to become 'mountaineers'. For the person 'whose attitude to himself was as serious as his attitude to music', he gave the following instruction: 'Do not be kind to yourself; do not turn the "creative process" into patting yourself on the head, do not let yourself be on familiar terms with music...Talent is not a vice. One can discard it for something more solid'.32
And in these words one can perceive a hope that this current
decline in music is temporary, that the baton which was handed from one
great master to another will some day be grasped by a new genius, so that
the tree of genuine of music will once again blossom.
In our time -a time of vigorous artistic development
-we must find a niche for Herschkowitz's perhaps controversial views, since
they shed light on many elements in music still relevant today. The legacy
of the brilliant scholar of music, Filipp Moiseyevich Herschkowitz, should
not be buried and forgotten; and I would like to believe that we do not
have to wait long before it becomes accessible to the musical community
at large.
Moscow, 30 January 1990
Translation © copyright 1990 by Rosamund Bartlett
Notes:
1. Institution offering subsidies, medical aid, etc, to
musicians. (tr.)
2. Literally, Herschkowitz refers to himself as a mere 'shoe-horn'
and Webern as the 'heel' being squeezed into the shoe. (tr.)
3. Nevertheless I'll name those who had contact with Herschkowitz,
as far as I know. They were the composers A. Volkonsky,
E. Denisov, A. Schnittke,
S. Gubaidulina, N. Karetnikov,
A. Lokshin, G. Zinger,
M. Meyerovich, A. Muravlev,
V. Silvestrov, L. Grabovsky,
V. Artyomov, A. Vustin,
V. Shoot, V. Suslin,
E. Firsova, B. Frankshtein,
L. Gofman, the musicologists M. Druskin,
N. Fishman, Y. Kholopov,
M. Tarakanov, S. Vekshtein,
A. Ivashkin, the performers 0. Kagan,
N. Gutman, L. Isakadze,
I. Monighetti, T. Alikhanov
and others.
4. 'The tonal sources of Schoenberg's dodecaphony' and 'On an invention
of Johann Sebastian Bach'. The editorial board of Uchenzie zapiski tartuskogo
universiteta refused to publish the third article, on Arnold Schoenberg's
Suite for piano. (D.S.) Note also his 'Some Thoughts on Lulu' in The International
Alban Berg Society Newsletter, No.7, Fall 1978. (Ed.)
* Musikverlage Hans Sikorski apparently plans to publish Herschkowitz's
Four Pieces for cello and piano. (Ed.)
5. Soviet visa office (tr.)
6. Herschkowitz never forgave Yury Kholopov, who in his book on Webern,
which came out in 1984, did not even include his name in the list of Webern's
pupils.
7. Letter of 6 June 1989.
8. From 'On invention…'
9. There is no Russian word for 'toe' – the word for finger is used.
(tr.)
10. From a letter of 16 July 1982.
11. From a conversation held on 28 July 1980.
12. From a letter of 8 April 1988.
13. In the original German: 'fest' and 'locker'.
14. From a letter of 16July 1982.
15. 'On an invention of Johann Sebastian Bach'.
16. 'The tonal sources of Schoenberg's dodecaphony'.
17. '0n an invention...'.
18. From a conversation held on 28 July 1980.
19. Conversation of 31 January 1983.
20. 'The tonal sources...'.
21. Letter of 20 December 1984.
22. Conversation of 2 August 1982.
23. 'The tonal sources...'.
24. Conversation of 2 August 1982.
25. Conversation of 4 October 1983.
26. Conversation of 31 January 1983.
27. From a letter of 16 July 1982.
28. Conversation of8 October 1982
29. Conversation of 28 July 1980.
30. Conversation of Apri11970.
31. Conversation of 8 October 1982.
32. Letter of 16 July 1982.
A VISITOR FROM AN UNKNOWN PLANET: MUSIC IN THE EYES OF FILIPP HERSCHKOWITZ
– translated by Rosamund Bartlett. Published in "Tempo", No.173, pages
34-38, London, June 1990 (English)
also С НЕВЕДОМОЙ ПЛАНЕТЫ: О ФИЛИППЕ ГЕРШКОВИЧЕ
(shorter version)– "Moskovskij Komsomolets", page 4, Moscow, 21 March
1991 (Russian)
Dmitri Smirnov, Philip Herschkowitz and Elena Firsova 2 July 1982 Moscow ©DSmirnov |
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