It is difficult, indeed, to think of a composer more possessed of an overweening ego than that of Richard Strauss (other than that of Wagner, that is). Thankfully, his was not malicious, and was to some degree justified. Strauss is almost unique in that his long life (unlike that of, say, Verdi) spanned remarkable changes in musical style, not to speak of world history. He is known both as a master of late romantic symphonic style in his large tone poems for orchestra, composed mostly in the late 1880’s and 90’s, and also for his modern, often strikingly dissonant operas of the twentieth century. On the one hand his operas can still seem jarringly challenging–witness the sordidness of Salome (1905) with its lust, incest, decapitation, and necrophilia (including the controversial total nudity in the “Dance of the Seven Veils at the Metropolitan Opera, not long ago). On the other, few musical compositions are more beautifully romantic and serenely appealing than the Four Last Songs (all of which treat the graceful acceptance of death after a long and rich life) that he wrote in 1948, the year before his death.
Don Juan is a tone poem, a genre whose creation was largely spearheaded by Bedřich Smetana (remember the opera, The Bartered Bride?) and Franz Liszt. The musical premise is simple–write a single movement composition for orchestra that tells a story about something in the “real” world. The “stories” of Strauss’s tone poems vary: MacBeth; the final moments of an old man dying in delirium and the transmigration of his soul; Don Quixote; the escapades of a medieval scamp; the life of an anonymous hero (read Strauss, himself, some would say); and a musical depiction of several of the subsections of Nietzsche’s Zarathustra.
Strauss was a master of writing for the orchestra. He knew exactly how to extract the most from its instrumental resources–so much that generations of players complained of the “difficulty” of his works. He thought nothing of depicting the silverware on his breakfast table or the sheep in Don Quixote. All of his music is a challenge to perform, but players love to do so. The story of Don Juan is familiar, and Strauss’s work, written in 1888, firmly established his reputation as a young composer to be reckoned with. Combining elements of both rondo and sonata structure, it evolves as a series of musical illustrations from episodes in the life of the seducer. At the time, the work seemed a bit explicit, even garnering criticism from his admirer, Cosima Wagner. Nevertheless, Strauss, as so with many of his musical characters, simply thumbed his nose at the world.
The opening is inimitable in the world of music, hitting you right in the face, and you know right away this is about the “heroic” arrogance of someone used to getting his own way. After a bit of scene setting, we hear the grandiloquent “Don Juan” theme, but the ensuing music teasingly turns back and forth on a dime between the loud, overweening Don and a soft depiction of his gentle victims. Soon, a pianississimo chord with harp arpeggios signals a love scene, introduced by a high, atmospheric solo violin, followed by the love theme in the winds, in Strauss’ best ultra-romantic style. But “love” doesn’t last long for this miscreant, and he’s off to more conquests in a surging, driving musical welter. Strauss goes on to develop and play with the ideas heard so far. A few (appropriately) dark movements ultimately yield to yet another scene of “romance,” led by a sensuous oboe solo.
The dreamy mood drifts on for a while, but apparently the Don awakes suddenly, and a soaring, bold new theme is heard in the unison horn section—one of Strauss’s signature utterances. The development of now-familiar ideas continues, with the relentless pace picking up in intensity, vividly paralleling Don Juan’s self-destructive mania. A sudden quietude interrupts, and ominous woodwind solos over string tremolos truncate the confident ideas heard earlier. The fatal message is clear. But the Don’s not defeated yet!—but in his mind only. A delirious recapitulation of the opening mad, confident arrogance ensues, trying desperately to defy fate. But that fails and destiny awaits in a sword fight with the son of an old nobleman callously slain by the Don. Our “hero” dies—but only because, sensing the waning of his life force, he puts up only a sham of defense. The end comes quickly—the music crashes to an abrupt stop. The eerie silence is broken by a soft chord in the strings, with a fatal dissonance added by the trumpets. Death triumphs, with a last flutter of the heart uttered by the violas.
–Wm. E. Runyan
©2021 William E. Runyan