The Tone Poems of Richard Strauss

Richard Strauss wrote tone poems. His half-friend, half-rival Gustav Mahler wrote symphonies. That’s clear enough, isn’t it? Tone poems tell stories, paint pictures, create atmospheres. Symphonies demand we take them on their own terms: we can dream as we listen, invent stories or landscapes, but in the end it’s the abstract musical argument that matters.

That’s what you might call the ‘official’ view. In reality, it’s more complicated, and more interesting. Strauss’ first major orchestral work – written in 1884 when he was just 20 – was a straightforward Symphony in F minor. Johannes Brahms, the arch ‘classical-romantic’ and declared enemy of programme music, is the model. Mahler’s First Symphony, composed at age 22/23, first appeared as a ‘Symphonic Poem’ (interchangeable with ‘Tone Poem’) with the title ‘Titan’, furnished with an elaborate descriptive programme.

So did the two composers simply swap roles? Not really. Mahler may have dropped titles and programme notes, but he clearly wanted people to interpret his music and search for its ‘meaning’. And for Strauss, the series of superb large-scale orchestral works he produced from Don Juan (1888) to the Alpine Symphony (1915) were far more than illustrative music, yet they can powerfully suggest images, events, even objects. All of this would have horrified Strauss’ arch-conservative musician father, but that (one suspects) was partly the point.

Richard Strauss is at the same time a poet and a musician.
Romain Rolland

Don Juan

Don Juan is a thrilling outpouring of passion, in radiant orchestral colours, and it can be mostly just enjoyed as such. But the key word is ‘mostly’. The impossibly sweet, even sugary, violin solo near the start is a surprise. That’s when you need the programme. This is Juan’s next conquest, but it’s not a portrait of the unfortunate girl herself, but of how she appears in Juan’s eyes – a sentimental, self-flattering ideal. And how do we make sense of the ending if we don’t know the story? Juan’s intoxicated white-water ride suddenly collapses, and we’re left with desolation. The seducer’s heart is revealed, in all its devastating emptiness.

Till Eulenspeigel

All you really need to know about Till Eulenspeigel (1895) is that Till is a legendary prankster who comes to a predictably grim end. Do you even need to know that? The sense of high-energy subversive fun develops quickly, and the perky clarinet figure that stands for Till couldn’t really be anything other than a rude gesture. The moment when he’s executed is genuinely scary – but then comes the mocking laugh again at the end. Knowing the details of the story line can make it more delicious perhaps, but it can also get in the way. Why stop to think when the music is telling the story so vividly?

Ein Heldenleben

Ein Heldenleben (A Hero’s Life, 1898) is self-evidently a sweeping, dramatic heroic symphony. The central ‘battle’ section speaks thrillingly for itself, with its clashing trumpet fanfares and wild military drum tattoos. The hero (we can guess that it’s Strauss himself) seems triumphant, but then why the collapse into fretful, then peaceful reflection? Well, all heroic careers have to end, and not always in death. When the testosterone-fuelled massed horn theme encounters diabolical chattering woodwind, this is clearly a serious threat. Strauss claimed that this represents his critics – but is that really good enough? The revelation that the scolding, then soothing violin solo that follows is a portrait of Strauss’s wife makes more sense. But the musical picture is moving enough on its own terms.

Also sprach Zarathustra

Also sprach Zarathustra (Thus Spake Zarathustra, 1896) does need some explanation. Daringly, it’s a portrait of a philosopher (Friedrich Nietzsche) and his ideas. After the stunning opening (famous from the film 2001, A Space Odyssey), a lot of it can, at first, seem a letdown. We might expect a triumphant return at some stage, but it never happens. Instead, thematic fragments finally disintegrate in hushed, weird ambiguous harmonies. Is Strauss questioning Nietzsche’s messianic proclamation of a new era for humanity? Has he sensed the same profound doubt in Nietzsche himself? It sends one back to search for more – and then the real adventure begins.