Haas - dark dreams for orchestra

Georg Friedrich Haas on dark dreams

Your last piece to be performed at the Berlin Philharmonie was in vain. Has your new work drawn on in vain?

I don’t think so. Of course it is by the same composer. But the same composer, 13 years on, is certainly a different one.

It is written for a large orchestra rather than an ensemble…

…and one has to handle intonation differently when it comes to a large orchestra compared to a chamber ensemble.

Your orchestral work limited approximations with six pianos tuned in twelfth-tone intervals and your new concerto grosso No. 1 for four alphorns and orchestra were consciously written for soloists from whom the orchestra take their lead regarding intonation.

This is not the case in dark dreams.

But is there micro-tonality in this piece?

Yes, I can’t write without it. There are a few overtone chords, but overall the intonation is far easier than in in vain.

Can one describe your music as Klangmusik, which is primarily based on the attraction of the sounds?

That is definitely something which characterizes my personal style – the development of the sound contains the main information. That said, there is something special that happens in this piece: towards the end, a very clear melodic structure suddenly appears. After 17 minutes, the bassoon starts playing a solo melody. After the lengthy development of the sound prior to this, this linearity appears as an alien element – an expressive alien element.

And this is then transferred to the orchestra?

The orchestra then takes over the melody: the whole orchestra begins to sing. I write a lot in unison in that part, with the tones spread over several octaves. Imagine an organ where you can continually and gradually change the register, say through a computerized control system – which of course would not be possible on an organ.

So we get a sort of Klangfarbenmelodie.

I started using this technique at the beginning of Tetraedrite. The idea came to me when I heard Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic with Mahler’s 9th. In Tetraedrite, it’s very simple: there are two unisoni, one with all the strings and one with all the wind. In dark dreams, it is a bit more complicated because these unisoni are extended to several octaves with the registers constantly changing. One melody, for example, begins in a medium register and then shifts to another octave, then the lower register unfolds.

You say you got the inspiration for a work by listening to Mahler’s 9th conducted by Simon Rattle. Does this mean that very concrete experiences are the starting point?

I suppose that the trigger can no longer be recognized. By listening, a process is set in motion that then continues.

Was there also a concrete trigger for dark dreams?

Indirectly yes, because I continue where Tetraedrite left off. A section of dark dreams was also influenced by a composition class. A student, Nina Young, wrote a piece for six percussionists, which impressed me a lot. There was one point when the instruments play the same notes very quickly: one plays Dadidadidadi and the other Didadidadida. I said, that’s an exciting thought – you could do a lot more with that than you’ve done in your work. I sat down at the piano and started to improvise. Then I apologized – I noticed that I was beginning to compose myself. Later I thought a bit more about it. And now there’s a long section [in dark dreams] just like what the student composed for the percussion instruments – it consists only of F sharp and A sharp (= B flat) but in a much more varied way and extended to the whole orchestra. That’s the second time in my life that I have consciously adopted something from a student. Incidentally, the first time it happened, it was from a piece that wasn’t very good.

But you do not have any dark dreams about your students, do you?

No, I enjoy teaching them. However, I do have a somewhat uncomfortable feeling about the title of my new orchestral work. It has something quite obviously exhibitionistic about it. But I don’t really want to go into more details about that. The title says it all really.

Everyone can make of it what they wish.

That’s the way music as a form of expression works. My concrete dark dreams – whatever they may be, if they do in fact exist, which is something I would not claim – are completely irrelevant for the understanding of the music.

For you they are catalysts, motivation. And for the listener, the title is a clue…

Exactly, a kind of invitation as to what to listen for.

Do you expect the listeners to develop quite concrete associations when they listen to the piece, that they reflect on their lives, that they deal with difficult personal questions, that suppressed things come to the surface?

It would be an accomplishment if this were to happen. Music is ultimately striving to achieve this, what we reflect on ourselves. One could also use dark dreams as the title for Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony in B minor, at least for the first movement.

When you are writing a piece for the Berlin Philharmonic, are you then challenging the particular virtuosity of the players? Is this something, which you have in mind, while you are writing? Or does it not really matter who later performs the piece?

The high level of the orchestra and conductor and his high opinion of in vain – these were things that paralyzed rather than motivated me. But here’s a simple example: the orchestra’s bass bassoonist is quite fantastic and there’s a solo for bass bassoon at the end. I know how great the brass section is and that’s why I gave it very special tasks. The strings are always so secure in their intonation and that’s why I use that. But it’s not something that’s been planned beforehand. The bass bassoon solo wasn’t envisaged at all – it became clear at the end that it had to go in this direction. Here was this wonderful player and thus the possibility for this solo.

Of course, your sounds require a suitable space to come to life. Did the Berlin Philharmonie play a role in your vision?

It was really more the abstract space since the piece will be performed at Carnegie Hall as well, and these are quite different spaces.

When you do finally hear the performance of the piece, you have spent months imagining, searching for the appropriate notation, will you still be surprised by the performance or simply reassured?

Things always happen that weren’t planned. If you’re lucky, they are good things that enrich the work. These you can then apply to the next work. It’s a constant learning process. Unfortunately, intonation is often problematic in my music, and it often isn’t realized the way I would have hoped. In this case, it may be that I am negatively surprised and must rest my hopes on the next performance or remember an earlier, better one.

Are there also positive surprises?

Here’s an example. In the trio of the third movement of Torso, my Klangfarben composition on Schubert’s unfinished piano sonata D840, I consigned the main melody to the double basses in an extremely high register. That was a risk and I was worried that it would sound awful. At the first rehearsal I even had an ossia version ready. But the double bassists were so happy that for once in their lives they got to play a Schubert melody, that they came very well-prepared. This part was also always perfect in later performances. Such a thing can occur. I can’t imagine a fundamental surprise any more though. I have too much experience for that now.

And do you have high hopes for dark dreams?

That one surrenders oneself to the pull of the sounds and emotions and that the music communicates directly with the listener without having to explain very much. Much is always said about micro-tonality. But I don’t think it is necessary, for example, that the audience identifies the extended section before the bassoon melody as series of overtone chords. It’s enough simply to enjoy the wonderful sound of the wind instruments.

Karsten Witt interviewed Georg Friedrich Haas on 18/12/2013

KWMM, 02/2014 | Translation: Celia Wynne Willson