Being haunted by music sounds like something I should be blogging about in October, but with the sunlight growing autumnal and nights growing longer, cooler, I think it will still work. And there’s no better way to describe the hold that Saint-Saens’ Symphony no. 3 has on me right now. Perhaps it’s the spooky intermittent appearance of the organ, as well. The piece is commonly referred to as “the Organ Symphony,” although the organ only appears briefly in the second movement, and in full force in the fourth movement, and then, oh, boy, how it appears, all fortissimo and heart-stopping and full-throttle. Very entertaining to observe in concert halls, when the organ pipes, the bigger the better, are situated behind the back center terrace seating (budget prices for a reason). If you, as the patron observing from a safe distance, know what’s coming, you can watch unsuspecting patrons rocket right out of their center terrace seats when those first chords of the fourth movement sound. Great fun.
But what I want to wax lyrically about today are the first and second movements of Saint-Saens’ Organ Symphony. So incredible. Readers, please, do both of us a favor and listen to at least half of it. And if you really, really don’t have much time, go straight to the second movement. Well, that said, if you’re a person who dozes off during slow movements, no matter how achingly beautiful they are, never mind. Listen to the first movement. It rocks.
Camille Saint-Saens is such a great composer. I’ve written before about how deeply affecting I find his music. (http://www.theclassicalgirl.com/63/) I’ve always been a fan of his “Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N22c3_8gL4Q and then there’s the delicious “Dance Macabre” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyknBTm_YyM) and his Carnival of the Animals (I’m going to guess you’ve heard “The Swan” even if you don’t know it by name. It’s very popular. My dance readers will recognize it as the music for “The Dying Swan.”).
But today is about his Symphony no. 3. This is a symphony with so many distinct and wonderful flavors, it just amazes me. And the first movement is so vibrant, unexpected, cinematic. The second movement utterly transports me. I’ll say no more.
If you want to start up at the second movement, it’s at around 10m15.
If you want to start at the beginning, it’s a lot more complicated but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.
Likewise, if you want to start at the end, go for it. (Hey… backwards!)
And now. As you might know from some of my past music blogs, I always like to mix my classical music musings in with my fiction, and this is no exception. If you have no interest in reading the excerpt, easy enough done, and you can just walk away right now, and I won’t be offended in the least. Although there will be a quiz at the end, so if you want to get a good grade for your blog-reading this semester, well, maybe you should read it. (What do you mean you didn’t know you were being graded? Didn’t you read the contract?)
Okay, wait a second. I never want to force my writing on my readers. And I’m feeling magnanimous today. So, here are the answer to the quiz.
- Most decidedly yes!
- Three chickens
- Aged cheddar
- Only if she’s wearing socks with those little skid-proof dots on the heel and foot pad.
And if you want to go ahead and read my fiction excerpt, here you go. It’s from my novel-in-progress, How Not to Disappear. Kye is my narrator. This is a flashback scene, ten years earlier when she was 14, a very intense, spiritual, musical girl who suffered a breakdown in the aftermath of losing two beloved friends. Back from the mental health institution, she’s trying to put her life back together. Which once again includes music.
If I were you, I’d listen to the music first, then read. For the ultimate sensory experience, I’d suggest reading while listening to the second movement. For an even more ultimate sensory experience, I’d suggest drinking a glass of wine, too. A concurrent back rub might be too much, however. Same thing goes for a television playing in the background.
Life recommenced upon her departure from Serenity Oaks. Slowly but surely. She told her parents she wanted her music back. All of it. Her father kept apologizing, saying they’d just been trying to do the right thing. She understood then, just how afraid of her they all were. It was an odd power. She could hint that “it was taking away my music that put me over the edge” and voila, her music was back, her treasured iPod, the classical composers and compositions that spoke to her more clearly than anyone in the living realm, and she supposed that was what had had her parents so worried. But they needn’t have worried. The instant she came back to it—she returned with Saint-Saens’ Symphony no. 3, the “Organ Symphony”—it was like a hit of narcotics. The only reason she knew about that was because of the drugs they’d tried on her, to “improve” her. How she’d hated the feeling of the drugs creeping into her system. But here, the music sent the natural endorphins stirring, exploding within her, bathing her, soothing her. It was like in The Wizard of Oz, the black and white world Dorothy didn’t question until the moment she opened her Kansas door in the Land of Oz, and color met her eyes. So much color. This undreamed of concept. And that was the music, seeping back into Kye, bringing color back into her world. Tears of relief, of joy, flooded her eyes, and she sat there and wept and smiled through the entire first movement. As for the second movement, slow and tender and almost unbearably sweet, oh, that was the one that got her, bent her double with weeping, tore through her. Purged her. Cleansed her. Made her think there was, after all, something beautiful in the world worth living for.
How did the movement work its magic? What was it that was so piercingly sweet? Was it in a minor key? Perhaps the way there were two voices, the violins up high and the horns lower. The organ chords giving you the sense of church, of security within divine worship. But there was something else. Almost a searching motif, the first violins on a quest, the lower strings a haunting counterpoint beneath them. The poignancy of it all was everything. It was simply everything, every tender hope she would never dare put into words for fear of having it all dashed. It was everything she’d lost, gathered together, cradled in the arms of a benevolent, celestial force, handing it all back to her, if only for as long as the music played.
The end of the movement was a six-note descent motif. First the woodwinds. The violins repeated. Winds and brass. Strings. How to explain the deliciousness of the minor key, something a non-classical music person might say “that’s so depressing-sounding” about? Maybe this was what her father had heard, and thought it too funereal, with the organ in the background. But it was perfect. It was all so beautiful and grand and noble and full of flavor, she could only sit there and cry through it and, paradoxically, feel more uplifted, transported, welcomed back, than she had in a long, long time.
Whew. I’m wasted. Writing fiction is tough. For me, at least. It kind of tears through you. And now, to my chagrin, I realize I promised a quiz at the end.
It’s going to be an easy quiz. I have no fortitude for tough. Not after listening to that second movement four times in a row. (Confession: more like six or seven.)
Classical Girl’s Quiz on Saint Saens and my character Kye and whatever else I come up with:
- Does Classical Girl like Saint Saens’ music?
- Which letter in the alphabet comes first, “D” or “Z”?
- True or false: Tchaikovsky wrote “Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso”?
- What’s one chicken plus two more?
- What year did Saint-Saens compose his 1886 classic, Symphony no. 3?
- What is Kye’s name in my fiction excerpt?
- What kind of cheese does Classical Girl like on her aged cheddar grilled cheese sandwich?
- What’s Classical Girl favorite Parisian city in France that also happens to be the capital?
- Was the French composer Camille Saint Saens born in France?
- Does Classical Girl run around in slippery stockinged feet down her hardwood floor hallway?
Thank you for taking the quiz. You get an A.
And I hope Saint-Saens’ Organ Symphony haunts you. In the nicest of ways, mind you.
This is the San Francisco Symphony’s organ, inside Davies Hall, by the way. Note the oh, so close proximity of the center terrace seats to the organ pipes. Can’t recommend highly enough a San Francisco Symphony performance of Saint-Saens’ Organ Symphony.