ESSAYS(PERTAINING DIRECTLY OR PERIPHERALLY TO

KAIKHOSRU SHAPURJI SORABJI’SPIANO SONATA NO V: OPUS ARCHIMAGICUM [1934-35])

BY

TELLEF JOHNSON

2010HYPERFOCAL MEDIA

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE

1. SONATA V: OPUS ARCHIMAGICUM (1)

2. SORABJI’s single-movement sonatas (4)

3. THE ARCHMAGE (7)

4. SORABJI AND B-A-C-H (8)

5. SORABJI’S DEDICATION (BROM-A-G-E) (9)

6. THE TAROT (11)

7. SORABJI AND THE OCCULT (12)

8. SORABJI AND DIES IRæ (14)

9. OPUS CLAV., OPUS ARCH. AND BEYOND (16)

10. SORABJI AND THE MULTI-MOVEMENT MECHANISM (17)

11. SORABJI AND BUSONI (21)

12. SORABJI AND THE FUGUE (23)

1. SONATA V: OPUS ARCHIMAGICUM

PARS PRIMA: MAJOR ARCANA

FIERO: ARDITO (I)This opening movement is based in the organic fantasy sound world found in the earlypublished sonatas but is much more propulsive and violent in its intensity. Unique arethe repetitive anchors on B throughout – the initials of the original dedicatee, BernardBromage. In addition, Bromage’s name is referred to in the opening chords, basedaround the motto G-A-B-E. Sorabji seems to have consciously discarded the method ofcataloguing all the various themes he used in the Fourth Sonata, relying on a moreinstinctual approach to subconscious reiteration of various themes, mottos and phrasesthroughout the movement where he sees fit. The movement ends with a particularlyfiendish coda-appendage.

PRESTO: SOTTO VOCE INQUIETO (II)This movement acts as a palate cleanser from the variegated dissonant terrain of the firstmovement, behaving as a nexus to the melancholic third movement Punta d’Organo. Thetextural influences can surely be found in Alkan’s Mouvement semblable et perpetuel fromthe Trois Grandes Études Op. 76 or the Finale from the Piano Sonata No. 2 in Bb MinorOp. 35 by Chopin. One can also see a direct parallel to Sorabji’s relatively brief (incomparison to this Presto) Transcendental Study No. 77 (“Mouvement semblable etperpetual”) which refers to the above-mentioned Alkan etude ad verbatum. Thismovement also builds on Sorabji’s own Prelude from the Prelude, Interlude and Fugue, aperpetual motion piece consisting of unbroken sixteenth notes at breakneck speed. Here,Sorabji ups the ante by adding double notes and a longer duration. The work ends againon B.

PUNTA D’ORGANO (III)This movement is based entirely on a pedal note of B, maintaining the work’s obsessionwith its dedicatee’s initials while merging the punta d’organo subgenre with that of thetropical variegated nocturne, a clear favorite of Sorabji’s. The movement’s opening pagein particular is lushly harmonic, even unusually so for Sorabji. The piece ends as itbegins, with a series of beautiful sensuous chords flanking the unending drone, clearlyevoking Le Gibet from Ravel’s Gaspard de la Nuit. A direct link can be drawn to thePunta d’Organo’s sister movement, so to speak, the Transcendental Study No. 69 (“Lapunta d’organo).

CON FUOCO – ARDITO E FIERO (IV)This movement acts as a mirror to the first movement, returning to the violent,mercurial organic fantasy sound world. In keeping true to the motivic organization of

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the work, this ends with a lengthy pedal-point on the note B.

PARS ALTERA: MINOR ARCANA(V)This movement is a series of wild and intricate episodes connected with a series oftrumpeting B octaves in alternate registers. Also of note is a section that returns over thecourse of the work for gradual effect with propulsive left hand octaves, not unlike Liszt’sFunérailles. The repetitive nature of these gestures evoke a kind of primitive minimalismwhich contrasts the denser and more complex sections and is unique overall to Sorabji’swork. The movement builds to an enormous climactic coda with an organic section offast repeated chords that ultimately give way to a massively augmented reiteration of theB-octave beginning.

ADAGIO (VI)The Adagio falls into the nocturne category, rivaling Djami and Gulistan for texturaldetail. What distinguishes the movement from those pieces is a gradual build-up to afortissimo bell-like chorus that resounds almost simultaneously in all pianistic registers,requiring Sorabji to use seven or eight staves, the most he ever deployed in any of hispiano compositions. This majestic, discordant interlude can be linked in its style toVariation XXVI of Sorabji’s Symphonic Variations (which uses six staves). In the Adagio,the interlude returns a second time in a much more extended and intense manner.

PARS TERTIA: ARCHIMAGUS

PRELUDIO (VII)This movement is a wild flourish that is structured around a series of bell-like chordsbased on the Bromage motto. Triadic in nature, these chords become gradually morediscordant over time. In between these increasingly sour signposts is fast toccata-likewriting with a syncopated bass line. As a climax is reached, the B-A-C-H motto appears,and the piece explodes in a series of cascading runs and then ends in quiet octavesreiterating the Bromage motto.

PRELUDIO CORALE SOPRA DIES IRÆ (VIII)This movement uses the Dies Iræ theme, developing the familiar plainchant through anextended series of hauntingly beautiful and powerful episodes while reintroducing theBromage and B-A-C-H mottos. An increasingly cataclysmic build-up develops into whatmay very well be the most extended and violent climax in Sorabji’s canon.

CADENZA (IX)This movement is also a punta d’organo, this time repeating A over and over against wildfiligree. The Dies Iræ theme returns at the highest point of pianistic saturation and thepiece explodes in violent chords as seen in movement 4 and the preceding PreludioCorale movement.

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FUGUE LIBERA CINQUE VOCI E TRE SOGGETTI (X)The Fugue uses three subjects, one sewn from the opening notes of the Bromage motto,the second based on the Dies Iræ motto and the third and final one a skittish motoricmechanism engineered from the B-A-C-H motto. It is inevitable that the Dies Iræ andB-A-C-H subjects clash mightily in the climatic and unprecedentedly dense Coda Stretta,ultimately resolving on a B-A-C-H chordal flourish ending, of course, in B Minor.

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2. SORABJI’S SINGLE MOVEMENT SONATAS (0-3)

Sorabji’s piano sonatas are unique works, providing a stepping-stone to the mature pianosymphonies that would occupy roughly the last fifty years of his composing career. Thesonatas represent a curiously consistent trajectory in the increasing length and scope thatwould define Sorabji’s work as it progressed from the 1920s onwards.

Sonata “0” was designated Sonata Op. 7 by the composer; as it was never published andhis next piano sonata was published as Sonata No. 1, it has since become known asSonata “0”. It is a pleasant work lasting around 23 minutes that is as much a collectionof the composer’s early Franco-Russian influences as his attempt to write a large-scalework for the piano in one movement in a “ceaseless musical fabric.” Out of all of thesonatas, “0” is the only to use actual repetition of sections rather than cleverly reiteratedmotives that would characterize Sonata No. 1, an ecstatic solo work also in onemovement, but unique in its exuberant mood and application of virtuoso techniqueswithout losing the substance that propels it.

Sonata No. 2 is perhaps Sorabji’s most misunderstood sonata. Radically different from itspredecessors, it consists of a series of climaxes and vistas that, over a long duration of 50minutes, continually and paradoxically grow larger and larger until a cataclysmic climaxoccurs. Despite such chaos, those grasping for harmonic, rhythmic and melodic unitycan find useful signposts in this work. Just as we maintain consistency through our ownhandwriting, so does a composer – even Sorabji in this experimental period. He seemssubconsciously to have found himself drawn to similar chords, rhythms, melodies andtextures even if, as sometimes seems to be the case, he was making all attempts to avoidany suggestion of self-repetition. For instance, Sonata No. 2 begins with an ascendingmotto in thirds, as if rising out of a murky mid-register into some sort of half-light. Thatmotto is heard many times in the course of the work, the fabric to a musical Persiancarpet saturated with color and detail. The motto is not always repeated exactly,rhythmically or intervallically, but many times throughout the work’s duration, the earwill easily identify this ascending gesture, from which new ideas and textures organicallygrow in a constant and compelling stream-of-consciousness. Being able aurally torecognize this musical shape from time to time is the key to the simple navigation of thiscomplex work, though the time it takes to gain aural familiarity is considerable, given thesonata’s overall length.

Sonata No. 3 retains many of its predecessor’s qualities. Whereas Sonata No. 2 was oftenconcerned with using the ascending interval of the third and the augmented triad as abuilding block, Sorabji now is preoccupied with an ascending dissonant interval of thesecond (major and minor) which shapes the direction of many of the work's importantgestures, most notably the declamatory introductory phrase in eighth notes andpermeates the harmonic texture, allowing for one of Sorabji's most dissonant works.

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It is not unwise to think of both Sonata No. 2 and Sonata No. 3 as an enormous Persianrug, with the listener a small ant traversing its terrain. At once, the work up-close seemsathematic, even jarring and unconnected, but like that rug, the overall cumulative effector larger picture reveals a series of inter-connective threads based around the prevailingascending interval of choice. Just as even the smallest of steps gradually lead a walker onan adventure through changing landscapes, Sorabji’s introductory ascending intervallicsteps in Sonata No. 3 leads us down a musically thorny, angst-ridden expressionistic pathof dense foliage (dissonant contrapuntal textures), wide-open vistas (long chains ofeighth notes) and churning industry (furious rapid-chord passages), ultimately self-destructing in what must be one of the most outrageous climaxes in musical history.Conceivably, in the world of experimental jazz, where music, whether strictly notated orimprovised, has a free-form, spontaneous nature, Sorabji’s compositional approachmight have been welcomed; however, in the circles of conservative musical 1920sLondon and the concise, ordered thinking of the avant-garde’s post-Second VienneseSchool, the Sonata No. 3 may have appeared a deliberate affront to the principles of theday.

Yet for all of Sorabji’s apparent dismissal of motivic cohesion, perhaps rooted in a deep-seated desire to defy the establishment, his subconscious instinctively finds repetition inthe form of the literary technique of foreshadowing. In the Sonata No. 3, Sorabji hints atthe work's massive final climax with a tell-tale leitmotiv from as early as the secondminute of the ninety-some minute piece; this leitmotiv stands out against the thornyharmonic texture with its contrasting descending triad (sol-mi-do), a repetitive anddistinct sing-song pattern not unlike a singer's vocal warm-up. One can listenthroughout this piece for this motif until it finally appears full force at the 65th page andthen gradually infects the last ten minutes in bold fortissimo unisons in both hands,forming the basis for a propulsive series of three hundred and seventy chords which leadto the work's apocalyptic final gesture.

Sonata No. 3 seems to represent Sorabji’s attempt to bring closure to this experimentalcompositional style. It contains the wildest pages that he had produced up to that pointand is, in the composer’s own words, “a gehenna-like work of some hour and a quarter’sduration,” staking the composer’s desire to rival the large-scale works of Beethoven,Alkan and Reger in terms of grandiosity and length. It is arguably the most difficultsingle-movement Sorabji work (or possibly of any other composer for that matter).Uncompromising, angular, intense, and seething with contrasts of every dynamic,emotional and textural kind, it represents the undisputed summit of his early output.

Sonata No. 3 was completed in 1922, a year of prolific activity for Sorabji during whichsix works were completed or in progress. He wrote this work, like his others, away fromthe piano, first calculating the length of manuscript pages in his head. Once a generalduration was determined, he was then free to traverse the depths and limits of his

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creative subconscious as pen touched paper. From the title page of the originalmanuscript, Sorabji seems to have seen the work in three sections, although such anintention had no eventual bearing upon the piece’s structure as it emerged when written.

Such a musical approach is rare in Sorabji’s overall œuvre. His other large-scale worksfrequently generate their huge contrasts in texture and mood between differentmovements, or commit to a single ecstatic state, as in the extended nocturne-pieces, afavourite genre of the composer’s. At the early sonatas’ time of completion, Sorabji wasstill a young composer trying to find his own voice, possessed by a wealth of wildlycontrasting ideas that would eventually crystallize into the more formally rigorousmature works that followed almost immediately, coincidentally with the ascendantinfluence of Busoni.

During the time of composition, Sorabji was actively championing his music for friends,colleagues, and the general public. Sonata No. 1 and Sonata No. 2 went through theprinting press and the young composer-pianist performed these and possibly others ofhis works privately for distinguished listeners including William Walton and writerSacheverell Sitwell. On Friday, January 13, 1922 Sorabji publicly premièred these twosonatas in Vienna to a small but enthusiastic crowd consisting of Schönberg pupils,publishers and critics. Critic Paul Bechert was baffled by the music, saying in short, that“compared to Mr. Sorabji, Arnold Schönberg must be a tame reactionary. Withal, theimpression Mr. Sorabji creates is that of a fully sincere personality, in whose madnessthere must be some sort of method. Just what that method implies, future generationsmay perhaps be able to discover.”

After completing the Sonata No. 3, Sorabji was ready to move on to different methods,organizing the two remaining Sonatas and large-scale works into shorter movements, butextending overall durations in the process.

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3. THE ARCHMAGE

The Archimagus, or Archmage, is an almighty sorcerer or wizard. The term is coinedfrom the Greek word arche, meaning “first,” and magus, a reference to the astrologers ofancient Persia. Archmages are a staple of rôle-playing games and video games, havingfirst been seen prominently in fantasy literature where they are often portrayed asgrandiose, omnipotent figures transcending tangible forms of human power tosupernatural levels. This could be Gandalf in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy orArchmage Arugal in the videogame World of Warcraft. In almost all cases they are asubset of any profession or group that uses these extraordinary powers in a highlydisciplined way. A good analogy would be that archmages are to wizards what a surgeonis to a doctor, or what a virtuoso performer is to a mere practitioner of the standardrepertoire.

Sorabji’s use of “Archimagus” to title the third and final movement of Sonata No. 5seems to emphasize the powerful, all-encompassing rôle of that section, comprising aPreludio, Preludio Corale (on Dies Iræ), Cadenza, and Fuga. The title Opus Archimagicummeans “work of the arch-mage,” as the Opus Clavicembalistcum’s Latin-based title meant“work for the piano.” Therefore, the title Opus Archimagicum ultimately emphases theidea of an omnipotent, all-knowing and controlling sorcerer (perhaps a metaphor forcomposer?) as the tantamount element to this large epic piano work.

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4. SORABJI AND B-A-C-H

Many composers admire J. S. Bach and it’s not hard to see why, given that Bach’sconsiderable output often balances an almost mathematical, intellectual precision andrigor to create some of the most emotionally moving compositions in the canon. Bach’sbalance of the mind and intellect with the sublime is an irresistible combination seldomequaled by any other creator of music, and yet many composers may not fully relate toBach’s accomplishments until later in their development when their fledglingpreoccupations and immature inspirations have worn off and they begin to demonstratea mastery of their own particular art.

Sorabji’s early influences owe themselves to Delius and Scriabin, but we gradually seeBach’s spectre pleasantly hanging over his own emerging œuvre, initially by way ofSorabji’s contemporary idol, Busoni. As Busoni (and Liszt, Schumann and Bach himselfdid before him), Sorabji began to quote directly the B-A-C-H motto in respect to themaster in his first mature work, the 1924 Organ Symphony No. 1 and in the final sectionof Sonata No. 5 (Opus Archimagicum) whose movement 7, Preludio, uses the B-A-C-Hmotto in large chords, juxtaposing a similarly voiced motto G-A-B-E (the Bromagemotto); both mottos ring like tolling bells, continuing on into movement 8, the PreludioCorale on Dies Iræ, sometimes dwarfing the Dies Iræ theme and, in movement 10, the B-A-C-H appears as the start of the second subject just as the Bromage motto begins theintroductory notes of the first subject – finally, B-A-C-H wins out by concluding theentire piece in enormous-spanned chords.

Sorabji transcribed two Bach works for solo piano, Prelude in Eb, which was a favoritepiece of his friend Reginald Best, and the Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue, retitled bySorabji as Transcription in the Light of Harpsichord Technique for the Modern Piano of theChromatic Fantasia of J. S. Bach, followed by a Fugue. The Transcendental Study No. 99deals with the same material, as does the opening gesture of the earlier Toccata No. 2.

It could be said that, in the light of his entire life and compositional career, Sorabjiultimately grew to admire Bach over all other composers.

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5. SORABJI’S DEDICATION (BROM-A-G-E)

Sorabji’s numerous friendships over his long lifespan are sometimes represented byexhaustive correspondences. Occasionally, it might seem that Sorabji’s side of thecorrespondences bordered on the obsessive:

From a letter from Philip Heseltine to Frederick Delius, February 11, 1914:

"The Parsee I told you about continues to write the most gushing and enthusiastic letters! Inthe fourth letter, I was already "the most sympathetic person he had ever come across", save hismother (to whose apron-strings he appears to be tied!), and by the time the fifth was reached,he was convinced that in a "former incarnation" (!) I must have been closely related to him:"the law of Karma has ordained us to meet in this life. What sort will it be in the higherstages of the Marwantara? Can you imagine?!!" etc. etc. He concludes with the wonderfulphrase, "Yours quite as much as my own"!!! This to a person he has never seen! It really is greatfun, and I encourage him to write more and more, since I find his letters most entertaining,and sometimes really interesting when he talks about music."

In a letter to his former composition tutor, Heseltine writes:

"The Blackamore whom you spotted at Ravel's concert was the very man!... I shall never dareto visit him now and am beginning to fear that, amusing as his correspondence is, I shall soonrepent having encouraged it, since I am sure I will never get rid of him again! He becomesmore and more queer every letter he writes, but it is getting much too personal: I am "the mostsympathetic person he has ever met", etc. etc.(although he has never met me- for that, at least,I am thankful!!) Moreover he is convinced that in a former incarnation, I must have beenrelated to him. What funnys these Parsees are!!"

One wonders if the demise of a friendship with Sorabji occurred when it was clear thatthe other side did not reciprocate Sorabji’s feelings equally. This may have been the casewith the occult scholar and lecturer Bernard Bromage, to whom Sorabji felt stronglyenough to devote a 6-hour long composition. Sonata No. 5 (Opus Archimagicum) isbased on all things Bromage, which would explain Sorabji’s programmatic use of thetarot, the obsessive pedal points based on B(ernard), the use of the motto G-A-B-E(Bernard B[rom]AGE) and its very title being a possible pun: Archmagicus, without theLatin use (in “King’s English”) becomes ArchMAGE, not unlike BroMAGE. If this wasintended, comparing Bromage to grand sorcerer would be, to use Sorabji’s own phrase,putting the dedicatee in “in highest estimation,” an attempt to flatter Bromage beyondhis wildest belief. Yet, many years later, Sorabji affixed a new dedication to Sonata No. 5,directed to Clinton Gray-Fisk, the principal critic of Musical Opinion:

TO CLINTON GRAY FISK:-HIS AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, THE AUTHOR OF THIS ‘ERE PIECE.

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EPISTLE DEDICATORY:

MY DEAR CLINTON:I TRUST YOU WON’T TAKE IT AMISS MY REDEDICATING THIS WORK, TOYOU, IT HAVING BORNE SINCE IT WAS BEGUN IN 1934 (UP TO NOW 1943)THE NAME OF ONE FOR WHOM I HAD FOR TWENTY YEARS REGARDED ASMY GREATEST FRIEND UNTIL HE DENIED ALL FURTHER POSSIBILITY OFTHE TRUST AND FAITH THAT IS THE VERY ESSENTIAL OF FRIENDSHIP:BUT THAT I PLACE YOUR NAME ON IT IN SUCCESSION TO THAT OF ONEFOR WHOM FOR SO LONG I HAD SUCH REGARD, SPEAKS, I THINK YOUWILL AGREE AMPLY FOR THE ESTIMATION IN WHICH I HOLD YOU.

YOURS EVER.K.S.S.X. III. MCMXLIII

The greatest irony was that when Sorabji’s relationship with Bromage soured, or grewnon-existent, he changed the dedication, thus rendering the original meaning of theentire composition almost null and void – for Sorabji would never be able to removeBromage from the music’s numerous mottos and motifs that pervaded the whole, shortof burning the composition, which thankfully he did not do. It would almost be theequivalent of painting the Mona Lisa and then trying to distance oneself from thesubject; nevertheless, this was neither the first nor last instance of a Sorabji compositionto receive a second dedicatee.

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6. THE TAROT

The tarot is a pack of some 78 cards, originating in 15th-century Europe, but which soonafterwards found use by mystics and occultists as a guide to spiritual paths. Today, thetarot has been embraced in contemporary pop culture as a method for predictingindividuals’ fortunes and futures.

The tarot card has two distinct parts:

MAJOR ARCANA (Greater Secrets) – consists of twenty-two cards, each with acharacter: The Fool, The Magician, The High Priestess, The Empress, The Emperor, TheHierophant, The Lovers, The Chariot, Strength, The Hermit, Wheel of Fortune, Justice, TheHanged Man, Death, Temperance, The Devil, The Tower, The Star, The Moon, The Sun,Judgment, and The World.

Carl Jung was the first psychologist to see the tarot cards in a symbolic and metaphoricalmanner. For him, the cards represented various basic archetypes rooted in the humansubconscious. As a result, people may find kinship with certain cards that they feel bestrepresent their personalities. Timothy Leary suggests that the cards represent the entirelength of one’s life in all its multifaceted elements and stages.

MINOR ARCANA – (Lesser Secrets) – consists of four suits (like traditional playingcards) of 14 playing cards each. The suits lend themselves not to characters but to imagesor symbols: swords, wands, coins and cups.

In the 1920s and 1930s, Aleister Crowley hired the artist Lady Frieda Harris to paint thecards, using what he had learned in the Order of the Golden Dawn to design his version(Thoth Tarot). The project achieved such an epic and protracted scope that Crowley didnot live to see the final result.

Sorabji’s Opus Archimagicum uses the two different tarot parts to mirror its own first twosections; Part I is titled Major Arcana, Part II, Minor Arcana. The content within islargely free from any further reference to the cards; overall, Sorabji seemed to be thinkingof the cards as a signpost for his overall design. Sorabji’s decision to use suchprogrammatic associations, obvious or vague, seem to derive from the limits that he seton the composition by adhering to concerns and associations most appealing to theoriginal dedicatee, Bernard Bromage.

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7. SORABJI AND THE OCCULT

It is important to emphasize the influence of one of Sorabji's colleagues, the composerand critic Philip Heseltine (1880-1930), around this time. Heseltine's positive reactionto Sorabji's early attempts at composing undoubtedly spurred Sorabji to soldier onthrough a succession of original piano concerti and works for piano solo. It seems that,during these formative years, Sorabji looked up to Heseltine as a musical mentor,confidant, and friend. It is then no coincidence that Sorabji would be at least mildlyinterested in the occult/paranormal phenomena that achieved some currency in Londonin the early 1920s, through Heseltine's insistence that they attend sessions at the LondonSchool for Psychical Research, where such subjects of telepathy and automatic writingwere discussed and explored. Indeed, automatic writing may have been an influence onSorabji’s methods of composition. The idea of writing material that may not obviouslyderive from the writer’s conscious thoughts is not unlike composing in general, whichcan be said to depend to some extent on subconscious associations and abstractions thatdo not necessarily need conventional or literal logic to be validated. The speed at whichSorabji composed, always away from the piano – and the complex and diverseassociations that his music triggered – might seem to have a direct connection with thetechniques applied in automatic writing.

During the composition of Sonata No. 3, Sorabji was interested in meeting the notoriousoccultist Aleister Crowley, nicknamed “The Beast,” a magician, entrepreneur and sexualsadist whose claim to fame arose chiefly from his ground-breaking novels about drug-addiction, his adoption of the biblically attributed 'number of the beast' – 666 and,much later, his idolization by the British glam-rock scene in the 1970s. Sorabji's desire toplay for Crowley seems to stem again from Heseltine's urging; the young composerattempted to track Crowley down when on vacation in Italy with his mother, venturingsouth to Cefalu, Sicily to Crowley's infamous Abbey of Thelema. Sorabji’s interest inCrowley was satiated after he eventually heard him speak in London, subsequentlyarranging to see him. Unfortunately, Sorabji's letters to Heseltine stop short ofdescribing this unusual encounter, leading us to wonder which piece or pieces he playedfor Crowley. Sorabji wrote later about Crowley being “largely a figure of fun,” andperhaps not the towering character the ambitious and idealistic young composer mighthave hoped him to be.

From a letter to Philip Heseltine:

“[Crowley] is the dullest of dull dogs… he wants however to hear me play and when I’mfinished with my Solstitial Fast which started last night Sunday at 6 and ends next Sunday at6 PM, he is coming to hear some of my demons. He had on a red poplin silk waistcoat withgold buttons and his face is sunburnt up to the hat-line, above it’s lighter, making him looklike a mask in a Chinese play. His face is that of a prosperous overfed foxhunting tory-squire –

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the unteachable in full pursuit of the unwearable.”1

Sorabji’s direct use of occult elements as programmatic themes in his music reveals itselfin the proposed but perhaps never written Black Mass, for chorus and organ and SonataNo. 5: Opus Archimagicum with its references to tarot lore and the mystical Dies Iræplainchant; it can also be seen in the two programmatic M. R. James-influenced shortworks Quaere reliqua hujus materiei inter secretiora and St. Bertrand de Comminges: Hewas laughing in the tower – and explicitly so in the movement titled Of a neophyte andhow the black art was revealed to him in his Toccata No. 4.

Throughout the rest of his life, Sorabji maintained a fascination for numerology,astrology and stories of the supernatural, retaining a healthy interest in various offshootsof some of the mystical concerns that may have helped to spark his initial creative spiritas a young man.

1 A play on words uttered by Oscar Wilde in his famous comment on fox-hunting: “The unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable.”

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8. SORABJI AND DIES IRÆ

Dies Iræ (Day of Wrath) is a famous 13th-century Latin hymn credited as having beencomposer by Tommaso de Celano. The text describes the Day of Judgment, or day ofreckoning.

Although composers as diverse as Haydn, Berlioz and Liszt used the motto in theirworks, Sorabji’s deployment of Dies Iræ can probably be linked directly to Charles-Valentin Alkan’s use of the same motto in his Symphonie for piano solo (nos. 4-7 of hisDouze Études dans les tons mineurs, Op. 39). As Sorabji’s love for Bach initiallymanifested itself through Busoni, his nearly 20-year obsession with the plainchant couldhave come from the then obscure French master whom he so revered and admired.Alkan’s presence in the Opus Archimagicum is felt throughout, not only in the secondpresto movement but, in particular, in the preludio corale which features the plainchantbut possesses a particularly Alkanesque sensibility in its use of basso registers for dramaticeffect and the overall draconic tone present throughout. It seems that Sorabji may havebeen attracted to the Dies Iræ theme due to its dramatically sinister implications ofeternal damnation, its Roman Catholic origin (a branch of Christian religion which wasto interest him very much), from the standpoint of an almost baroque theatricality aswell as its rôle in other compositions he admired such as Alkan’s Symphonie or, for thatmatter, Liszt’s Totentanz and Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique. Sorabji’s first attempt touse the piece in a major work was in his Variazioni e fuga triplice sopra Dies Iræ perpianoforte, a mammoth series of variations in three parts; in retrospect, he seemeddissatisfied with results of this, although the Seven Deadly Sins section of the second partis quite striking for its time in its programmatic novelty. Sorabji moved on to develop hismulti-movement style before adopting the Dies Iræ directly in the Preludio Coralemovement of Opus Archimagicum; this movement is unique in that the main themefights for attention with two other similarly developed mottos, firstly B-A-C-H andsecondly G-A-B-E (derived from the dedicatee Bernard Bromage’s name).

At the head of this movement, Sorabji develops the entire plainchant in an extendedintroduction similar to that of Liszt’s Ballade No. 2 in B minor, then departs from thisapproach by casually developing certain fragments of the chant as it suits him almost inthe manner of a fantasia, with ensuing episodes that seem to reject the structural rigidityof a typical theme-and-variations device. Ultimately, Sorabji creates many layers ofrichness and unpredictability with the plainchant, sonically maintaining the elegiac toneand aura of mystery that has enshrouded the motto over centuries.

Whilst Sorabji’s subsequent return to use of the Dies Iræ manifested itself largely as aquotation in St. Bertrand de Comminges: He was Laughing in the Tower, his final andtotal mastery of the chant originated in what may be the finest specimen of the theme-and-variations genre, the Sequentia Cyclica super “Dies Iræ” ex Missa pro Defunctis inclavivembali usum (to give it its full title) in which his use of Dies Iræ achieves its ultimate

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summa in a roughly 7-hour long set of 27 variations, transporting the entire chantthrough a variety of different musical worlds, permutations and developments to astunning and apocalyptic finale.

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9. OPUS CLAV., OPUS ARCH. AND BEYOND

Whilst Opus Clavicembalisticum gets a lot of attention for being “the most notoriouslydifficult work in the piano literature”, it has not yet been widely recognized that, post-1930, Sorabji created other works that dwarfed its size and ambition which for manyyears sat around in manuscript copy. Efforts by the Sorabji Archive to distribute Sorabji’smusic have helped the adventurous to glean insights into other behemoths that thecomposer bequeathed, but the sheer impenetrability of the manuscripts themselves havemade this difficult. Now newly type-set, Opus Archimagicum can clearly call its fame asone of Sorabji’s largest and most forbidding compositions – but is it “better” than theO.C.? The answer to that question must inevitably remain entirely subjective, but if oneuses a series of criteria based on general common sense and the obvious, a few points ofinterest can be drawn between the two works that showcase their relative strengths andmerits, all of which will be left up to the reader to ponder.

Sorabji continued the juxtaposition of contrasting movements in a number of other largeworks over the next forty years with varying results. Of particular interest is the SixthPiano Symphony, his only other large-scale multi-movement work in three distinctlyspecified sections that comes close to the proportional balance of form found in OpusArchimagicum.

OPUS CLAV OPUS ARCHFour fugues One fugue at very endUses theme and variations/passacaglia Uses long movementsUses Sorabji’s own and C-G-H M’D mottos Uses B-A-C-H, Dies Iræ and G-A-B-E (Bromage) mottosIntroito and Preludio-Corale opens Preludio and Preludio Corale opens Part 3In 12 movements lasting c. 4.5 hours In 10 movements lasting c.6 hoursIncludes Fantasia, 2 cadenzas, Toccata Uses a Presto, Preludio and one cadenzaLength of first movement = c. 2 minutes Length of first movement = c. 40 minutesSlow movement = Adagio Slow movement = Punta d’organo

Uses large-scale pedal point for entire composition (B/B minor)Uses A/B/A symmetrical form in Pt. 1 (movement 1[A]/2,3[B]/4[A])

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10. SORABJI AND THE MULTI-MOVEMENTMECHANISM

If one looks at Sorabji’s early large-scale works, principally the first four sonatas, theyfollow a free single-movement form, charting an evolution from a kind of organic fantasyrooted largely in Franco-Russian influences (Sonatas “0” and 1) to an almost written-down improvisation around repeated gestural shapes exploding into a series of graduallyintensifying climaxes. As Sorabji found himself completing the c.90-minute Sonata No.3, there may have been no way farther to go in that direction. He needed to find a betterway to house his eclectic and disparate influences as well as his desire for successivelylarger climaxes; perhaps one solution was to return to the idea of a multi-movement planthat would lend shape and structure to his subconscious for the first time via familiarclassical forms often popular in the Baroque and Classical periods. This return to thepast proved equally effective to Sorabji’s idol Busoni in his Fantasia Contrappuntistica, sowhy not the Parsee give it a whirl?

The Sonata No. 4 is the first of Sorabji’s piano sonatas to be divided into movements,but his first major work to embrace such a strategy is Organ Symphony No. 1, dividedinto three large movements each embracing musical forms that had by then becometraditionally associated with the organ itself: the prelude, the passacaglia, the postlude,the pedal-point, the toccata, the fugue. It is unique to observe Sorabji applying similarmethodology to a work for piano solo several years later, the Toccata No. 1. This piece,comprising five movements but no large-scale sectional structure, builds its momentumthrough a series of fugal episodes relieved only by a brilliant and brisk Cadenza thatoccurs roughly midway through the work. It has become clear from Organ Symphony No.1 and Toccata No. 1 that, for Sorabji, a concluding, slow-burning Fugue that builds toan exorable climax proves to be an effective way to conclude a work, just as it had beenfor composers from Beethoven to Reger.

Sonata No. 4 is the first of the sonatas to embrace the multi-movement structure,successively developing the potential of Toccata No. 1, keeping the “organ-friendly”forms and structures of the fantasia, cadenza and [concluding] fugue while juxtaposingthese with the organic single-movement type design of Sonatas 0-3 as well as thenocturne-type writing seen in Le Jardin Parfumé. Such a method radically expandsSorabji’s overall length past Sonata No. 3’s c.90 minutes but at the same time allows forindividually shorter and more varied movements, creating greater variety of mood andtexture as well as allowing the music actually to arrive at legitimate conclusions as onemovement ends and the next one begins, thus negating the sometimes unsatisfying peaksand valleys of the first three sonatas.

This strategy of Sorabji’s continued through his entire compositional trajectory of large-scale works, through the seminal Opus Clavicembalisticum, Sonata No. 5 (Opu s

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Archimagicum), Piano Quintet No. 2, Toccatas 2-4, Organ Symphonies nos. 2 and 3 andthe Piano Symphonies. Of additional interest is Sorabji’s addition of additionalestablished devices such as the punta d’organo, the scherzo or the operatic aria to spice upor provide adequate contrasts and connections within his large-scale multi-movementcompositions.

It is interesting to perceive, in the world of “20th century Western art music,” what isultimately good or bad, or effective or ineffective, because so much is of an individualopinion based on one’s own life and limited to one’s own particular set of experiencesstarting from birth, yet one can never divorce the universal human factor from any formof expression, popular or not. The human spirit at its most universally primal cravesmovement, motion – and it responds accordingly to such; artists have accordingly tried,in their own forms, to reflect this. Sorabji’s method is to use shape and time to representthe human journey and his juxtapositions of the contrasting movements in his majorworks, when managed effectively, create an overall large-scale aural and structural shapethat stimulates the psyche and its intellect with an unique symmetrical balance notunlike those found in nature with the yin and the yang.

Which large-scale (i.e. 3+-hour-long) Sorabji work has the best chance of reaching suchan ideal?

Although there can hardly be a single “correct” answer, one would look for a work that,overall, has a good balance – it would have to have a clear beginning, middle and end,not unlike that of a play or film or opera. One might venture to say that the 3-actstructure, among the most dramatic and satisfying in the story-telling world, finds itsparallel in 3-section works such as the three Organ Symphonies, Piano Symphonies 2, 4and 6, Opus Clavicembalisticum and Piano Sonata No. 5 (Opus Archimagicum); evenworks such as the Symphonic Variations and Sequentia Cyclica super “Dies Iræ”, perhapsamong the most brilliant theme-and-variations works in the entire history of the piano,fit into the same mould, for all that Sorabji does not specify three separate sections assuch for performance purposes in either case (the former is approaching its worldpremière at the time of writing and the pianist, Jonathan Powell, has already perceivedtwo ideal places in which to break it – i.e. after variations 13 and 22).

For the work to reach its maximum ideal in form, each part must balance it as a wholeand not unnecessarily weigh down the others. This poses challenges in interpretingOrgan Symphony No. 2, whose first part is an introduction to the gigantic second andthird movements as well as Organ Symphony No. 3, whose finale takes the lion’s share ofthe whole and may initially seem disproportionate to the first and second movements.Opus Clavicembalisticum is similarly challenged and, although each part is consistentlyand gradually extended from the one before, one might wonder if Interludium B shouldform its own part, making it a four-section rather than three-section structure in order toaid the listener in grasping the work as whole. Piano Symphony No. 2’s second part seems

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a little weightless in comparison to the first and third parts but features a strong lyricalmiddle movement in which an extended duration is inevitable and structurallyappropriate. In the case of Piano Symphony No. 4, a symmetrical structure in which thesecond part assumes a weightier rôle flanked by a shorter first and third section seemshighly satisfactory and Piano Symphony No. 6 seems to find a well-proportioned balanceoverall. In terms of durational proportion, Piano Sonata No. 5 (Opus Archimagicum) hasthe most balanced structure of all the works in question, for its first, second and thirdparts are of equal length at around 2 hours each, making a grand total of some 6 hours.

When it comes to the structural analysis of the movements within these large-scalesections, one looks for effective variety and contrast, as well as a pleasing design thatwould allow the ear to recognize it as such during the course of a listen. Such a design ischallenging to find in Piano Symphony No. 4’s middle section which, despite the geniusof its preludio/interludio/ostinato variations-set, has an additional theme-and-variationand fugue-set which needs to be prefaced with a pause or intermission in performance,for it is a challenge for the ear to discern it from what precedes it. As a result, it issometimes difficult to grasp the shape of the work. In addition, it seems that certainsections of Piano Symphonies 2 & 6 have a number of separate, detached movementswhich seem to give the listener more of a feeling of episodic Sorabjian variety than atight-knit, memorable juggernaut slowly building over its lengthy course. Despite theclarity and effective arrangement of two brilliantly proportioned opening movements(perhaps owing to the overall success of the entire composition), O p u sClavicembalisticum, like its model, Busoni’s Fantasia Contrappuntistica, utilizes a numberof fugues prior to the brilliant, conclusive Coda Stretta that often challenge the freshnessof the structure with a textural repetitiveness and sometimes halt the momentum,something that Sorabji’s subsequent large-scale works wisely avoid.

Once again, Opus Archimagicum’s arrangement of movements for contrast andindividuality in the listener’s mind is exemplary. Although it lacks the compressed,introductory one-two punch of the Introi to and Preludio Corale of OpusClavicembalisticum, the first part uses a unique symmetry to divide what mightcustomarily be a large-scale single movement organic fantasy (found in the likes of OrganSymphony No. 1, Piano Sonata No. 4 and Piano Symphonies 2, 4 & 6) into two halves,then injected with two transitional movements, the diabolical Presto: Sotto Voce Inquietowhich is a nexus and palate cleanser to the beautiful Punta d’Organo third movement thatfuses the Sorabjian nocturne with a Bachian pedal-point not unlike Ravel’s Le Gibet.Opus Archimagicum’s second part is completely different from any of the other large-scaleworks in that it, like the first section, is symmetrical, divided into two halves withmovements 5 and 6 generally contrasting each other and, for that matter, anythingpreviously heard before them. Movement 5 is a violent fantasy linked with clear motivicrepetitions that return from time to time and movement 6 is a ravishing Adagionocturne with two bell-toll climaxes spread across seven staves.

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Opus Archimagicum’s third and most successful section is its last, which begins with abrilliant preludio, a preludio-corale based on Dies Iræ and a Cadenza that is another palatecleanser/nexus-type connection to the final Fugue. In this sense, Opus Archimagicumbehaves like an inverted Opus Clavicembalisticum, as the first part of OpusClavicembalisticum shares a similar structural ground plan to the third part in OpusArchimagicum, although Sorabji wisely uses only one large fugue to conclude it.

To conclude, Opus Archimagicum may well owe its success to a proportionately balancedthree-part structure to which it adheres, and even more so to the fact that the number ofmovements within and their contrasting and symmetrical relationship with each other isquite possible for the listener to distinguish on first hearing and remember afterwards.Such a structure also allows for an effective large-scale climactic build up that is gradualand fairly coherent in its grading despite the immense number of small-scale climaxessprinkled throughout the entire composition. This is quite unique and rare in itself inthe Sorabjian realm.

While such a bird’s-eye view of these very different large-scale works may prove to beproblematic in itself, looking at Sorabji’s surface shapes clearly affords insights andinterest in how the ultimate picture – the bird’s-eye view of thousands of notes – mayemotionally and intellectually affect the listener as a whole.

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11. SORABJI AND BUSONI

When writing to his friend and musical confidant Philip Heseltine in the 1920s, Sorabjiheaped glowing praise on a variety of composers, in particular the Russian AlexanderScriabin and the English Frederick Delius who was a contact of Heseltine’s. In fact,Sorabji’s first attempt at composing anything was a transcription of Delius’s In a SummerGarden. Yet, as Sorabji continued composing and completed the Piano Sonata No. 1, hehad a most remarkable opportunity to play that work in 1919 in London for the seminalcomposer-pianist Ferruccio Busoni.

Whereas Delius and Scriabin played an substantial rôle in the formation of the musicalvocabulary of Sorabji’s early works, this chance encounter with Busoni seems to havebeen one of the most significant in Sorabji’s life. Piano Sonata No. 1 owes little to Busoniin its compositional language, but the good experience Sorabji had playing for il Maestromotivated the Parsee not only to dedicate it and Piano Sonata No. 2 to Busoni but alsoto absorb some of the more adventurous aspects of Busoni’s own idiom in the latterwork. There are moments in Piano Sonata No. 2 that seem culled straight from Busoni’sIndian Fantasy and a variety of textures appear in its peaks and valleys that appear to bevery “Busoni-eseque” in their harmonic and textual shadings. But this was only thebeginning. Soon after the completion of the Piano Sonata No. 3 in 1922, Sorabjidiscarded his single-movement organic-fantasy style for the multi-movement structurefavored again by Busoni in his Fantasia Contrappunistica. If that wasn’t enough, Sorabjicompleted the Trois Pastiches, one of which contains a transcription of material fromBizet’s Carmen, owing to Busoni’s own transcription from the same opera. Themovement titles in Opus Clavicembalisticum could be straight out of Busoni’s FantasiaContrappunistica, complete with a Coda Stretta to boot. And then, in Piano Sonata No. 5(Opus Archimagicum), Sorabji uses the B-A-C-H motto to ground the composition, asdid Busoni. Finally, there is the dedication of the Variazioni e fuga triplice sopra Dies Iræper pianoforte to the memory of Busoni that borders on the obsessive in its praise andidolization. What was the real reason for all of this?

It might have been simple enough to say that Busoni was kind to Sorabji and, for theaccomplished but insecure young composer, having such a legendary figure so receptiveto him might have been the event that freed him to embrace Busoni’s own work not somuch in the manner of homage but as a key to solving the various problems that hadaffected his early work. Most art is based on what comes before it and Sorabji followedthe maxim that one can use another person’s ideas as long as he/she brings somethingnew to the table. Indeed, Sorabji brought an emotional tempest to dinner, so to speak,taking forms pioneered by Busoni’s re-discovery of Bach’s Art of Fugue and explodingthem to almost pathologically perverse lengths. Busoni’s own music might have itsdifficulties, but it doesn’t possess the almost flamboyant malevolence that colors Sorabji’sbest works. Nor does Busoni’s work contain the meditative transcendental quality thatcharacterizes Sorabji’s nocturnes and the best sections of the various large-scale multi-

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movement works. The extreme contrast and virtuoso writing pushed to seemingly absurdheights in Sorabji’s music is all his own and, ultimately, it is this unique quality that thelistener remembers, not the form – i.e. the Busoni models were merely a method orconduit for Sorabji to gain access to his own voice. Had he played for Schönberg orRachmaninov in lieu of Busoni and elicited similarly positive responses, Sorabji mighthave gone in different directions perhaps more sympathetic to those men but, mostlikely, his personal, emotive voice would still have remained intact.

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12. SORABJI AND THE FUGUE

The fugue has fascinated many composers over the centuries, as it is a curious device thatdemands an intellectual mastery of technical form but also generates a sense of direction,motion and a goal like no other musical sub-genre. World literature’s finest works ofteninvolve a hero or anti-hero on the archetypal mission or quest; how is a fugue anydifferent? The subject in a fugue must be put through a number of “tests” and gothrough a variety of different rôles; once having fulfilled these, the composition ends, i.e.the goal is reached or the task achieved. All the while, the constant movement generatedby this process gives the listener a sense of purpose and direction until the climax isreached and the challenges resolved.

In most of his seminal works, Sorabji’s treatment of the fugue is no different fromBeethoven’s use of it in the Hammerklavier Sonata or that of any other 17th or 18th

century composer that uses a fugue as a dramatic end point to a large work; in much ofSorabji, the fugue has the final answer and is the summit of the composition, both froman intellectual and a dramatic standpoint.

What is frustrating about Sorabji’s fugues is a problem unique not to him but to all 20th

century composers who essentially are attracted to the fugue’s linear or horizontal aspects(the entrance of the various subjects and countersubjects to build textural density anddramatic intensity), but not to its vertical (i.e. harmonic) parameters; the finest modernfugues therefore tend to focus on idiosyncratic themes that can easily be identified by theear and simultaneously generate a wild excitement in their reiterations, as to hopefullycompensate for the lack of harmonic beauty or mastery that the finest fugues of previouscenturies were able to attain. Sorabji’s ability to do this is spotty at times, but from hisentire output there are several fugues that do maintain genuine interest and from both adramatic and musical standpoint throughout their sometimes unwieldy durations.

Sorabji’s fugues range from the free-form (the Cadenza-fugata in his second orchestralsymphony) to the extremely rule-oriented in regard to the treatment of the subject andits various inversions and countersubjects (e.g. the fugues in Opus Clavicembalisticum ).We have a brief Fughettina in the short piano work Toccatinetta sopra C.G.F. and massiveones in Organ Symphonies 2 & 3 of which the latter probably lasts at least ninety minutesand the former an even more improbable two hours. Sorabji chooses to use a variety ofdifferent voices for various fugues although, in a Sorabji fugue, this tends to seemtechnically irrelevant to the extent that all ten fingers are constantly utilized sometimesto a breaking point regardless of the voice count! In a major Sorabji work, it is notuncommon for the fugue to last a full hour or more, depending on how many subjectshe uses and the tempo that he chooses.

Sorabji’s first use of the fugue seems to have occurred in 1922, where Piano Sonata No. 3has a fugato-like section that builds to an enormous climax. The same year, Sorabji wrote

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an actual fugue movement in Prelude, Interlude and Fugue for piano solo. One wouldprobably attribute Sorabji’s embracing of the fugue at this point of his life to Reger’sBach and Handel Variations for piano solo, of which both end with dense fugues thattake on organ-like sonorities, traits similar to Sorabji’s early attempts at this sub-genre,but by the time Sorabji was writing Opus Clavicembalisticum, the fugues, from aninspirational point of view, clearly respond to the model of the Busoni FantasiaContrappunistica fugal playbook. Opus Clavicembalisticum’s use of a Coda-Strettaemphasises this, though Sorabji’s take on the idea of an extended fugal coda isnightmarish and apocalyptic, something no one would have attributed to Busoni’sparticular musical language.

As Sorabji is never entirely predictable, there are several large-scale works that deviatefrom using the fugue as a closing movement. Opus Clavicembalisticum does close withone but, in addition, it uses three others as major signposts throughout its course.

All but the first of his numbered piano symphonies feature a concluding adagio with alarge fugal movement immediately preceding it, perhaps a sign of Sorabji’s maturity inthat a somber and slow finish would ultimately be of even greater emotional depth.

Unusual to Sorabji is the fact that his massive Piano Quintet No. 2, probably well inexcess of three hours in length, lacks a fugue anywhere. Also of interest is how none ofthe full orchestral Sorabji works feature a major fugue movement (Sorabji’s counterpointmerging with full instrumental forces would surely have been unique to behold!).

In reference to the aforementioned idea of accessibility, Sorabji’s best fugues utilizefamiliar mottos that help ground the listener. The Dies Iræ theme, for example, is used inthree fugues – the finale of the Variations, Opus Archimagicum and Sequentia Cyclicasuper “Dies Iræ.” Unique to Opus Archimagicum is the way in which each fugue subject isbased on a pre-existing motto or idea – the Bromage motto, the B-A-C-H motto and theDies Iræ theme. Rather than being reduced to a soup of textural density and dissonantangularity, these elements stand out and connect directly with the listener. Alsofascinating from a purely structural angle is Sorabji’s technique of sticking three or morefugues that are completely independent from one another back-to-back, using asometimes virtuoso nexus as glue. This method is seen chiefly in Piano Symphony No. 6,with something of an antecedent in Piano Symphony No. 3. This method offers to thelistener the idea of constant contrast and change within a clear-cut fugal context.

Here is a breakdown of the Fuga finale for Piano Sonata V (Opus Archimagicum):

DUX PRIMUS

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First subject begins with the G-A-B-E Bromage motto (first four notes). All five voicesenter and their countersubjects are developed and inverted over the course of thissection.

Stretto 1 occurs, reiterating the entrance of all five voices on the Bromage motto.

DUX ALTER

The second subject enters, the first six notes straight from the intro of the “Dies Iræ”theme. Once again, all five voices enter and are developed and expanded with theircountersubjects. A climax occurs where the second subject is played out against thecounterpoint in large chords.

DUX TERTIUS

The third theme is a skittish staccato theme in sixteenths beginning on the B-A-C-Hmotto (first four notes). As always, the five voices enter and develop the theme and itscountersubject to the maximum breaking point.

CODA STRETTA

This concluding section pits all of the themes together against one another, explodinginto a cascade of chords. Dies Iræ occurs in a canon in the treble and bass, supportingand/or contrasting the inner voices. The final pages explode into a rapid-fire successionof chords, with the B-A-C-H theme taking final precedence over everything, ending thework in B Minor.