I have long been fascinated by the question of coincidence when it comes to composers being influenced by one another. We know that there is no coincidence when we hear Beethoven’s influence on Brahms, or Schubert’s influence on Bruckner, but is this always the case when we hear echoes of one composer in the work of another? Could it be that we think we hear the influence of composer A on the work of composer B, when in fact composer B wasn’t even aware of the work of A? This question dawned on me as I was working on Scriabin’s third sonata.
Scriabin (1872-1915) occupies an intriguing place on the timeline of romantic music. Working at the same time as Brahms, Tchaikovsky, Debussy and Strauss, he started out writing sumptuous and fervent late-romantic music, only to abandon it for a quasi-modernist style of writing in his later years, following a short transitional period (which contains some of his most iconic works, such as the fifth sonata and the Poem of Ecstasy). His earlier tonal works have a peculiar quality to them: a lack of any interest in folk music. This is especially uncharacteristic of a Russian composer, as Russian music relies heavily on folk influences. Paradoxically, however, these same works of Scriabin are greatly influenced by Chopin, who, of course, had a great interest in folk music. Moreover, Scriabin wrote cycles in Chopin’s most personal genre, the mazurka—a genre folkish by nature.
The third piano sonata in F-sharp minor, Op. 23, bears resemblance to a great work of Chopin, the third sonata in B minor, Op. 58. The parallels between the two works are many: both have four movements, emphatic and dramatic first movements, scherzo-like second movements in E-flat major, and expansive slow movements in B major. What strikes me as a parallel between the two opening movements is the abundance of octaves and dotted figures. Therefore, I don’t think the resemblance is coincidental.
But there is another underlying connection in Scriabin’s third sonata which I find less obvious, and hence more intriguing. The fiery last movement, marked Presto con fuoco, begins in F-sharp minor, has a lyrical second theme in the expected relative key of A major, and following a tumultuous development section, the second theme returns as expected (and desired) in F-sharp major. So will the work end triumphantly in F-sharp major? It seems like it might, as Scriabin builds a monumental climax in F-sharp major following a long pedal point on the dominant, after which the theme of the slow movement grandiosely enters in F-sharp major. But just as we think the work is to end in major, the composer wrests that illusion from us, and ends the work abruptly in F-sharp minor after a tornado of upward figures in the right hand.
The reaching of this epiphanic moment in major which is swiftly undercut by the return of the minor key is not something I’d associate with any composer in Scriabin’s “vicinity,” but it is something I do strongly associate with Schubert. Such a major-to-minor moment lends itself perfectly to Schubert’s emotional swings and fatalistic combination of triumph and torment. We hear it in many of his last movements—in the sonatas in A minor, D. 845, and C minor, D. 958, and in the famous Death and the Maiden string quartet. These parallels are hard to ignore: Scriabin’s ending is essentially Schubertian.
Here comes the curious part: given that in the 1890s, knowledge of Schubert’s music was limited (especially in non-German circles, so much so that Rachmaninoff admitted in 1928, a century after the composer’s death, that he wasn’t aware Schubert wrote piano sonatas), would Scriabin have known these endings? It seems unlikely to me, but of course I could be wrong. Indeed, I didn’t look into it, because I enjoy the possible coincidental nature of this parallel. And so, I like thinking of this ending as Schubertian, even though I’m well aware that the composer himself would have likely balked at that idea.
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“a little bird told me so”. God bless you Arielthankyou so much for sharing “grandson” in my heart
1. IMHO Scriabin is very likely to have heard Schubert’s music, as he traveled widely in Europe and even to USA, after a period of teaching piano in the moscow conservatory. Scriabins teenaged classmate in Prof Zverevs Moscow piano class, Rachmaninoff, was a conservative stick in the mud by comparison, “the last Romantic”. Scriabin was also based in Switzerland (a bilingual country, French and German spoken) for many years after separating from his wife Vera. Surely, German speaking countries kept Schubert’s piano repertory alive, even at the end of the 1800s into 1900s?
2. Coincidence? Probably… Great composers do not have to hear other composers’ music in order to solve musical problems in the same logical way. Music is a living thing, and sometimes demands things of composers in the same way. Or to express their emotions in the same way (like Scriabin changing to F# minor from major at end of 3rd piano sonata (not just because Schubert did something similar once or twice). This erroneous view is akin to the oft quoted similarity between the chord changes of John Coltranes Giant Steps, and the bridge of the Rodgers and Hart tune Have You Met Miss Jones? Both modulate rapidly through a cycle of keys related by major 3rds. So what? The laughably insulting implication is that Coltrane, the greatest tenor sax player and music theorist of the last half of the 20th century, copied the idea from a pre-existing tune by a very able tin pan alley songsmith. Some ignorant jazz harmony experts apparently don’t know that Chopin, Liszt, and yes, Schubert and Scriabin, had already explored key relations of major 3rds. And minor 3rds. And any other modulation you can think of. And thet don’t know that jazz musicians of the caliber of Charlie Parker, Monk, Coltrane, were very familiar with the works of the great composers in all genres. It’s the new creative expression of the idea that matters, not the idea itself. Major 3rd relations or switches from major to minor, are just part of the vast expanse of the musical landscape, patiently waiting for humans to notice a pattern or phonemenon that can be exploited in a creative fashion. A major to minor key change, or vice versa, is a device waiting to be made use of. It’s not the INVENTION of any composer. In maths, Newton and Leibnitz both discovered differential calculus in the 16-1700s, independently, and unknown to each other for a decade. No copying, academic plagiarism or unconscious influence was involved. Math and music involve patterns. Anyone can see them, if they look hard and long enough, and have a humble enough attitude to pray for enlightenment. Music always provides answers to aid the search of sincere supplicants whose aim is true.