Why do I believe there is no such thing? I am dissatisfied with most theory books on the market, and I think it almost impossible to write a good and complete one. And I depsair of finding a good comprehensive one to use in class.

To help illustrate why I think there is no such thing as Music Theory, I went to a university music library, did a search for relatively recent articles with the key words ‘Music Theory’ and this is what I found:

“The figure displays pcsets X= {x1, x2,….xN} and Y = {y1, y2,….yN} that have the same cardinality. Furthermore, the pitches instancing the various pcs of X and Y can be laid out in registral order here so that x1 is below (or the same as) y1, which is (strictly) below x3, and so forth until we reach y(N-1), which is (strictly) below xN, which is below (or the same as) yN. In short, we could say that the normal orderings of the two pcsets ‘dovetail’ (though that is not quite precise to allow for the possibility that any xN might be the same as yN). In these circumstances, the retrograde of Figure 7 will indeed be a formal voice leading, and it will indeed instance the downshift voice leading from Y into X. But the special circumstances are very restrictive.”

‘Ach, seine Theorie!’ Names will be kept secret to protect the guilty. And really, this was the first article I found. I didn’t have to look hard for something ridiculous, and to confirm that this was not atypical, I looked further into the theoretical journals and found much more of the same.

But then again, this is a very easy thing to do, to make fun of theory. Sadly easy, especially after the late twentieth century. It’s a harder thing to be constructive, and why it is harder to be constructive is the essence of what I want to write about here.

(republished from CalArts Music School Theory Wiki)

Some Things that are allegedly Common in Sonata style 

And why they allegedly are allegedly Important allegedly

(remember: it’s-a-not-a any one form)

WARNING THIS PRODUCT CONTAINS GROSS GENERALIZATIONS WHICH MAY BE SOMEWHAT WILDLY INACCURATE.

•“first theme”

this is just as accurately called a “a first thing”, a “first area” a “first key” or “the first thingummy”.  It is important in that it establishes some sort of identity, some sense of style, some method, some something.  First thingummies vary very widely:  Think of Mozart Sym #40: it’s almost a tune, but harmonically shifty and draws one in, down, and restlessly through.  Beethoven’s 6th symhony starts with a true tune that is the epitome of groundedness, happiness, stability, and F major, while the first whatever of his 5th symphony is absolutely nothing at all like a tune, and questions the very concept of what ‘identity’ means [it is no coincidence that he was a true progenitor of (as well as prime candidate for help from) the type of thinking that lead to the later revolution in psychoanalytical thinking in his adopted city of Vienna.]  Haydn is a bit more cagy—his first themes are often gossamer witty, sometimes serious, sometimes foolishly simple or vice versa, mostly defying categorization.  As the sonata style developed and became somewhat ossified in the mid- and late- 19th century, first themes became more and more regularly solidly defined (Mendelssohn, Schumann, Brahms [sort of], Chaikovsky &c) and often longer and longer—culminating in some of Bruckner’s where the 1st theme itself can be almost 2 minutes long: imagine how long the rest of the symphony must be to balance such a behemoth.  (Imagine it & feel free to get up & get some popcorn—you won’t miss much.)  As the sonata style was used to delineate a final farewell to tonality and all that, the first themes of Mahler again become more and more questioning and hard to definitively describe while still supporting long, playful, fierce, meaningful, manic-depressive sonata forms.  (He actually saw Freud.)

Many theorists divide themes into ‘periods’ and ‘sentences’ but, well, that is just a wee bit too much of a construct and is best ignored.  For one thing, many composers like Haydn and especially Beethoven like to play the guess-where-the-theme-really-begins game.  (think of the beginning of Beethoven #9.)  In general, first thingummies set the entire tone of the piece, presenting something that must be tickled, revolted against, reckoned with tonally, timbrally, thematically, psychologically.

•Elided Cadence

Since all sonata style music ‘goes’ somewhere harmonically, many (not all) composers felt it important that the first theme area not be too stable, or that a reason be created to depart from it.  As a result almost every sonata style piece contains an elided cadence is where one thought’s ending is cut off or incorporated into another thought.  This is a crucial little formal device that is often overlooked.  It sets things tilting forward, and creates a sort of justification for the coming modulation.  Or maybe its the other way around.

•Bridge Theme

An elusive beast, not really worth chasing, but useful if harnessed.  Mozart seems to have been particularly fond of them.  Bridge themes are things you do after the first theme on the way to modulating to your new key.  Mozart often invests them with real thematic importance, i. e. they have identities, and distinct ones at that—distinct from the first & second themes.  They became more and more useful in the later 19th century as sonatas became more and more directly dramatic allegories: they can be used as another cast member.  It is almost always useless, though, in the early classical styles to argue about whether a particular bunch of stuff is a Bridge Theme or not.  Part of the point of that material is to be modulatory, and it is usually slippery.  Silly analysts with a little too much time on their hands see a need to call it something, though, when it differs from the first thematic material.  Consider two examples:  Beethoven 5th doesn’t seem to have any bridge theme at all (why doesn’t he want one?) while Mozart #40 most definitely does.  As in all things sonata, 

Interestingly (says the theory weasel) the Bridge theme/stuff can be on either side of the elided cadence

• The Modulation

Like, only the most important part.  At first, major sonatas ALWAYS modulated to the dominant and minor sonatas almost ALWAYS modulated to the relative major.  Ways to get there —including choice of types of elided cadence, bridge material, sequences, intermediate harmonic references &c.—are as much part of the piece as anything, and can be seen both to react somehow to the character of the first theme and to support the desired goal.  Haydn’s journeys to Italy inspired a period of so-called sturm und drang  (‘shtorm and shtress’) which is often characterized by restless, minor themes and interesting modulations.  Mozart, ever the faithful correspondent and sponge, picked this up and squeezed out his own versions, involving modulations that go far beyond the dominant or major goal before settling back on it (remember that F major piano sonata’s forays into that Ab7-sounding +6 chord …). Beethoven picked up on this sort of thing and actually modulated to weird areas.  The ‘Waldstein’ sonata is in C major…mostly.  The modulation takes the tonic, adds a dominant 7th, then reinterprets that enharmonically as a +6 of….anyone?….anyone?…Emajor.  A third away, instead of the traditional 5th away.  Schubert continued this very revolutionary way of thinking of modulating by thirds, say stopping for a rest in an e-minor bridge theme on the way between C and G major (er, I think that’s Symphony #9).  Brahms went him one better, in homage to Beethoven, he of the long shadow, stopping on the thirdfor hours: having that  (sometimes) be the modulatory goal: his Symphony #3 which we will look at later starts in F major and modulates to a second theme in A-f**king major thank you very much.  So far jsut like Ludwig v. B, But he goes further: After the recapitulation in the home key, instead of having the second theme also in the home key (read ahead for explanation) he modulates to a second theme in Db major-. Get it?—it’s a symmetrical, third-balancing answer—Brahms the progressive indeed.

• the Cæsura

[named for & related to the surgical procedure reputedly named after the method of delivery of the emperor.]  After the goal (or at least a half-cadence thereof) is reached.  There is.  A pause.  Almost.  Always.  A breath, that (by being nothing) says ‘OK, now we are here,’ and that sets apart what is to follow:

•the second, well, ‘theme’

[ditto all that stuff about the first theme.]  Where have we got to?  If you’re Mozart, it’s usually a place as different as possible: different shape of tune, different key, different timbre—its a contrast that translates into a large scale tension: “hey, buddy, uh, weren’t you somewhere else and why are you here and how are we going to get back because if we don’t I’m going to feel uncomfortable, I mean, it’s not as if I don’t like this stuff but this ain’t home, know what I’m saying?”  However if you’re Haydn, it’s often a place the-same-yet-different, the same theme in a different key creating a different, more organic kind of tension that wows the Paris critics (“M. Haydn can do with one theme what the others need several to do”) but often leaves the drive-time radio Djs cold. (“Witty.  Oh, right, sure, uh, but we were thinking of something a little less subtle, more profile, you know—really, thanks, we’ll call you”)  The later sonata-formists almost never adopted this approach, going instead for the hey-this-is-the-new-and-different-poignant-towering-dramatic-second-theme-to-contrast-with-the-poignant-towering-dramatic-first-theme approach.  Beethoven is another matter, and usually goes for that high-contrast thing, but often sneaks in similarities or downright derivations of the first theme, setting analysts asqueaking with delight.  

•The codetta

Second themes are by definition more stable: they don’t modulate.  However, the very tension that one is pursuing on a larger scale makes second themes seem vulnerable to hamonic unconvincingness.  Therefore, there is often a need for a stabilizer at the end to really nail down that new key.  This is directly related to smaller scale modulations, where a brief flirtation with a secondary dominant does not guarantee a true modulatory feel.  If it’s not too offensive, think of lions as a metaphor: the female lion often requires more than 1,000 copulations to fertilize, and the evolutionary biologists’ theory about that is that it is adaptive to reinforcing in the mind of the male the fact that the offspring are his, thus making more likely his parental support in an otherwise cruel world.  Reinforcement.  Repetitions: V-I,  V-I, V-I, and soon you believe that that new key is really yours.  The codetta (‘little tail’ in Italian, after all,) is thus a balancer of sorts, and in some composers can actually be new thematic material in the second them key-world.

•That pesky repeat sign

Yup, after all that, you go back and do it again.  Why?  Well, sonata styles are derived from dance forms that repeated in this way, ( OK, OK, rounded binary forms, if you must:    ||:A A’ :||: B A :||    where A’ is a modulatory A, B is in a new key and returns to the original key in the last A.  Rounded from the fact that it looks like a three part ABA thingy, binary in that it s two repeated chunks o’ music.  Think of Bach’s Air on the G-string) and they keep this repetitive feature right up to the mid-19th century and often beyond, though the record producers often prove too much for them.

It might seem that this repeat undercuts the sonata-form-as-journey metaphor, but this metaphor can be replaced with a sonata-form-as-architecture metaphor where   /\  is similar to  //\  and spatial tension is substituted for linear tension.

The second repeat (back to the development) was the first to go, mostly because (I think) it had become unnecessary for reasons of balance: the second half was getting longer and longer anyway.  After a while, composers began to write out the first repeats, varying the musical material as they went.  Also, a solo concerto often has the full first half (which in sonata style is often called an exposition) playued by the orchestra with the second theme in the original tonic.  Then the solo enters for the repeat of the exposition, carrying the 2nd theme to its new refurbished home with all the concomittant problems.

•The Development

It was a stormy night at sea … .sorry . .. anyway, the development section is in some ways the most fun: it is by design the least stable, and, as sonatas matured, became more and more playful, deep, thoughtful, potential-full.  There is no one way to ‘develop’ a theme, and the word itself is somewhat biased towards a Beethovinian variation/deconstruction/atomization of the thematic material.  This is not always what happens although after Beethoven, well, everyone had to try that sort of stuff.  Beethoven himself was merely extending what Haydn and especially Mozart had begun.  Listen to the development of Mozart Sym #40: the original sequence is taken one step too far into unsure harmonic grounds, it is made into a bit of a fugue and then is slowly reduced until it is just two notes.  Very similar to the development in Beethoven Sym #5.  Coincidence?  I DON’T THINK SO.  Beethoven’s most famous development is the Third Sym’s: it is as long as an entire Haydn sonata and contains new thematic material, causing one to wonder what the real function of that section is.  Well, theory weasels wonder about such things, at least, but, really, it is quite wonderfully wacky in historical context.  Really.  This concept of ‘development’ soon consumed all it saw: many late 19th century sonatas begin ‘developing’ as soon as they start, constantly varying before the theme itself is set, and in some ways, Wagner’s operas are huge development sections—constant variation, turning—one can get queasy, as the French did and they do make delicious fun of that German constant development while not entirely avoiding being infected by. it.  As development sections annexed the Sudatenland, er, most of other music, that is, it paved the way for the big early 20th century split: the 12-tone folks driven by constant variation and the neo-classicists, driven by an aversion to the nausea this could cause.

•The Recapitulation

The return. Home: the first key, the first theme, the return to the womb.  Sometimes proceeded by a dominant pedal.  A wonderful moment compositionally because it is the release, the moment one has been set up for, the money moment—or it least it can be.  Also, it can be played with:  in Beethoven Sym 3, he gives the horns a goofy false recapitulation which is hurredly corrected by the rest of the orchestra—sort of a viola joke, but with horns … . and in Mahler 4 the recap sneaks in almost entirely unnoticed, the orchestra stops and goes “huh? . ..  oh” and continues on in the middle of the first theme.  That moment of return …gosh.  It should be treated with love.  Words of caution:  the recap can be undermined by careless developing: in Schumann’s f-minor piano sonata, there is a passage in the development section in f-minor which sort of deflates the tension and undercuts the recap a bit.  What was he, thinking?  Also, this sense of need for returm can itself be played with:  how about a recapitulation on the bridge theme, Mr Haydn?  Bet you were expecting that first theme!  Also, there’s that extra recap in Beethoven 5 at absolutely no extra charge.

•The Second theme in the first key area/mode

This is the most important part:  the second theme, once the symbol of difference, tension, otherness, is wrrrrrestled down into the first key area, keeping its identity while compromising on harmonic placement.  Keep in mind that this presents a sort of problem if you choose to see one:  remember all that bridge stuff and that modulation in the beginning?  Now what do you do?  Well, Mozart in his later period is king of the go further still, add a wee bit of more ‘development’ to modulate still further …er …well, back to the original key—heh, heh, heh . .. .  You can look at it as justifying/hiding the fact that we’re not going anywhere by flailing our arms.  Schubert, that wiesenheimer had a novel solution in his Sym #5:  Hey just have the recap in the subdominant so the same modulation (up a 5th) to the second theme can be preserved but you’ll be back in the original tonic.  Get it?  Hello? Is this thing on?  In the later dramatic sonata forms, the changes can be different: in Chaikovsky’s Romeo & Juliet the bridge stuff is that dum-dum, dum dum da da dum stuff with all the cymbals clashing in representation of the sword-dueling.  After the recap, though, the cymbals don’t play—everyone has been killed already.  It’s so sad.  While that example is not a harmonic one, it does illustrate the narrative feel of the form and the sense that after the recap, things need to be changed: the same but different.

•The Coda

Less formal, often humourous (‘we’re done, tee-hee’), sometimes infuriating (will you stop it with those V-I’s already, Herr Beethoven.)  It’s exactly the same as the codetta, except now it has to balance the entire piece, and has to convince you that that second theme which was so laboriously reinforced in a different key really does belong back in the tonic.  Again, sometimes new material is introduced in the coda, but its the tonal reinforcement that counts.  Of course, in the late wacky sonata forms sometimes they ended in the wrong key altogether, but then they would go lie down on a couch and talk about it.

SOME SUMMERY SUMMARY THOUGHTS

Looking for Krystal clear examples of sonata style?  They’re hard to find and boring.  Believe it or not, most of these guys wrote music not ‘forms.’  The term ‘sonata form’ didn’t exist  until the mid-early-mid 19th century.  The very fact that sonatas are so different from one another while sharing all these hard to define common things is what makes the style so rich: sonatas are more different from one another than minuets, rondos, and theme and variations which were the other forms used in symphonies & chamber music.  This fact also makes them very rewarding to study — hidden in the concept of the form is the thought that harmony matters, that musical stuff has definable mass and can be sticky, slippery, funny, tragic and can sing a song of itself.  Also there is the fact that the style became so dominant, then stale, something to react against à la Chopin & Wagner & Debussy, then refreshed à la Brahms and Debussy and Bartok, and then of course finally the staple of analysis classes (look at all those terms, those handles … be still, oh theory weasel … .)