The good news today, Dear Reader, is that unless your life is a serious mess, it’s probably a lot better than Geirr Tveitt’s.
“Who’s he?” you may be saying, and if so, relax. I had no idea who he was until Susan mentioned him in a comment left on a post in this blog. Well, when Susan comments, you check it out! And so I found myself listening to one of Tveitt’s compositions, which—sorry, Susan—just missed for me.
Tveitt, 1908-1981, was a Norwegian composer and cultural figure, who studied at the famous conservatory in Leipzig and then in Paris with Honegger and Villa-Lobos, and with—here comes the big name—Nadia Boulanger. So there’s every reason to say, as most commentators do, that his music bears influences of Stravinsky and Bartók.
The other influence is Norwegian folk music, and thus far, that’s what he’s known for. His opus 150 work, 50 Hardanger Tunes for Solo Piano, may be his most famous.
Well, I used the word “influence” a bit too carelessly in that last paragraph. Maybe it’s the long, dark winter days, but there is something about Norwegians—and I’m half of one myself—that makes you think of brooding, somber, just-on-the-edge-of-madness men. These guys tend not to be the life of the party.
And Tveitt, who added an extra “t” to make his name more Norwegian—oh, and changed his first name from Nils to Geirr for the same reason (is this telling you something?)—went a little nutty on the Norwegian thing. He came up with an idea…but wait, let Wikipedia tell you:
Another result of Tveitt's Norse purism was his development of the theory that the modal scales originally were Norwegian, renaming them in honor of Norse gods. He also developed an intricate diatonic theory, which interconnected the modal scales through a system of double leading notes. These ideas were published in his 1937 argument Tonalitätstheorie des parallellen Leittonsystems. Even though most musicologists agree that Tveitt's theories are colored by his personal convictions - his thesis is intelligent, challenging and thought-provoking.
The purism also extended to an interest in an idea in vogue in the 30’s rejecting Christianity and returning to the “heathen” belief in the Norse Gods and their epic struggles against the evil jötunn. Apparently, Tveitt was so obsessed that he thought up his own timeline, based not on the birth of Christ but Leif Ericson’s arrival in Canada.
He got all of this next-to-loonyness from Hans S. Jacobsen, whom some might call a philosopher but others—more accurately, in my view—would call a collaborator. Because remember, this was the 30’s, and there was another group of people, the Nazis, who also had these funny ideas about the Teutonic gods and mythology. And so when the Nazis invaded Norway, Jacobsen became a part of the National Assembly.
Tveitt did not. But his interest in the movement that Jacobsen headed was enough to tar him in the minds of the intellectual / cultural class. Nationalism and purism were out—his music became out of fashion.
Except for the common man—who fell in love with a radio program on folk music that Tveitt co-produced in the 60’s and 70’s. But though he had achieved fame throughout Europe before the war, he was snubbed at home.
Tveitt retreated to the family farm with his scores, which he put in wooden boxes. He retreated as well to that traditional Norwegian curse of depressed men: the bottle, and became an alcoholic. We now move from gloomy to tragic—in 1970 the house burned to the ground, and 80 percent of his manuscripts turned into, and are now to this day, ashes.
Hey, I’d reach for the bottle, too….
He dies in despair in Hardanger, convinced that music will not live on.
Like so much thinking borne of depression and despair, it wasn’t true. Tveitt is increasingly getting heard, and getting played. And the two concertos for Hardanger fiddle show Tveitt at his best. Yes—the Norwegian influence is there. How could it not be, given that the Hardanger fiddle—a violin that has an additional four strings running beneath the fingerboard and under the bridge—is the national folk instrument?
But there’s so much more in his work—a distinct voice, however flavored with the influence of Paris in the 30’s.
Both Tveitt and Grieg are seen as nationalist composers, and both studied in Leipzig and Paris and then came home. That, however, seems to finish off the “compare” side of the “compare and contrast” equation: they had such different fates. Grieg composed little, but all his music remains. Tveitt was apparently prolific, but comparatively little of his music comes down to us. Grieg dies honored and beloved—at least 30,000 people come to the funeral. Tveitt dies in obscurity.
But he attracts devotees. His ballet, Baldur’s Dreams, was “tediously” (in Wikipedia’s words) restored—it literally arose from the ashes. Another piece, Morild for solo piano, was recently reclaimed after a recording by Tveitt was found of it. And though the sheet music was gone, an American musicologist sat down, listened to the piece, and wrote down the notes, as if taking dictation. Yup, some guys can do that.
I wrote before that the first piece I heard left me, well, breathful.
But, the piece below?
Anybody seen my inhaler?
