MESMERIZED BY THE SNARE DRUM

BY BART DE VRIES

I must have been four or five years old when I got my first vinyl record, with four pieces: The Moldau by Smetana, Eine kleine Nachtmusik by Mozart, Valse triste by Sibelius, and Ravel’s Boléro . I still remember the cover: the conductor’s photo­negative head in red, yellow and green on a dark bluishpurple background. At the top ‹Hifi Karajan› was printed in bold white sans serif typeface. I was young and ignorant of the latest technical developments, and thought that von Karajan’s first name was ‹Hifi›, but I loved the music. My parents weren’t conservative in their taste, but classical music was their passion and, in their absolute belief, the highest form of the arts. Recognizing my nascent love for classical music, they were happy to buy me the record. Music for the millions? Perhaps, but written by the best composers and conducted by the most famous living conductor.

My first love (and the reason for wanting to have the record) was Eine kleine Nachtmusik, but I was soon mesmerized by Boléro, which is arguably the centerpiece of this symphonic concert. Combined with Debussy’s Images, of which the second movement is called Ibéria, and Suite N°2 from de Falla’s El sombrero de tres picos (The Three­Cornered Hat) it is also an ode to Spain in general. The mysterious rhythm set out by the snare drum at the beginning of Boléro immediately pulled me into the piece, and the hypnotizing repetitions kept me deeply enthralled until the trombone’s screeching glissandi and the descending dissonant chords in the full orchestra broke the spell at the very end.

Boléro was conceived as a ballet commissioned by Ida Rubinstein who had danced for Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes. She had asked for an orchestration of six pieces from Albéniz’ cycle of piano pieces Ibéria, but Ravel decided to write his own composition based on the old Spanish dance form boléro in ¾ time. Initially the piece helped me to learn the sounds of the individual instruments in the orchestra, especially the wind instruments. The ethereal lightness of the flute (first phrase), the misty sound of a distant ship’s horn of the bassoon (second), the oriental sound of the Eb­clarinet (third), and the nasal, terse warmth of the oboe d’amore (fourth), all made their imprint on my young perceptive brain.

The composition consists of three layers. The ostinato (a continuously repeated motif) is played by the snare drum (sometimes accompanied by one or more other instruments). The ¾ time is at first given by the pizzicato playing violins and cellos, later by multiple other instruments as well. The first melodic theme is introduced by the flute and repeated by the clarinet, after which the second theme is played by the bassoon and repeated by the Eb­clarinet. This set of four phrases is reiterated four times (making a total of sixteen phrases) gradually increasing in volume with different (and larger) combinations of instruments.

Over time I became intrigued by how the sounds of different instruments blended together. I was surprised by the chiming, almost organ­like sounds of the two piccolos and the celesta (eighth phrase), and the capability of the flute to give the muted trumpet a barely audible aura of light (fifth). Ravel is rightfully considered to be a great orchestrator. I must have listened to Boléro lying on the ground with my head on the loudspeaker of our Philips portable gramophone dozens of times. It never failed to work its magic. Hearing it live by the Sinfonieorchester Basel will be even better.