James, Ravel's Chansons madécasses (MQ 1990)

Ravel's "Chansons madécasses:" Ethnic Fantasy or Ethnic Borrowing?Author(s): Richard S. JamesSource: The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 74, No. 3 (1990), pp. 360-384Published by: Oxford University PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/741937 .

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Ravel's Chansons mad ecasses:

Ethnic Fantasy or Ethnic Borrowing? RICHARD S. JAMES

M AURICE Ravel's Chansons madicasses [Madagascar Songs] (1925-26) takes most first-time listeners by surprise. Far

from the harmonic lushness and timbral brilliance of his more commonly played works, these three songs typify the terse, disso- nant, linear style characteristic of much of the composer's post- 1920 writing. Furthermore, they speak of Africa, a marked departure from Ravel's customary Spanish exoticism. The ethnic orientation is, however, easily explained. The telegram from Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge commissioning the work found Ravel reading through a small book of poetry entitled Chansons madicasses, by Evariste- Desire Desforges, Ritter von Parny (1753-1814).' Since the commission requested, "if possible," a chamber work for voice, piano, flute, and cello, Ravel found himself in need of a suitable text. "Delighted by a peculiar, exotic quality which entirely suited his tastes . . . his choice fell on the fifth, eighth and twelfth Chansons madecasses,"2 along with the title of the collection itself.

I wish to thank Stephanie Reuer for suggesting this article's thesis and some of the critical sources, L. JaFran Jones for her ethnomusicological advice and reading of the manuscript, Glenn Watkins for his numerous suggestions and encouragement, and the Bowling Green State University Faculty Research Committee for its assistance.

I Evariste-Desire Desforges, Ritter von Parny, Chansons madicasses traduites en franfais, 1787.

2 Roland-Manuel, Maurice Ravel (Paris: Gallimard, 1948. Translated by Cynthia Jolly. New York: Dover, 1947), p. 96. Reference, in the extensive Coolidge collection at the Library of Congress, to Chansons madicasses and Coolidge's commission is limited to letters between Coolidge and Henry Prunieres, on whom she relied heavily for transaction of her interests in France. The commission and her reasons for the unusual instrumentation are not extant.

360



Ravel and Ethnic Influences 361

It is possible, however, that this tidy understanding of Chansons madicasses obscures a more complex and significant explanation. Is the style of the work completely attributable to broader trends in Ravel's later style? Is the only connection with Madagascar via Parny's poetry, which itself bears only the most minimal resemblance to anything Malagasy? Is it possible that Ravel, though in no way a scholarly student of traditional musics, knew something about the music of Madagascar and built subtle references to it into these songs, as he had done with specific Spanish elements in the "Alborada del gracioso" movement of Miroirs (1904-05)?

The existing literature on Ravel is of little help. Ravel himself is, typically, all but silent on such matters. Of his two salient comments on the work, one credits the influence of Schoenberg while the other addresses the matters of style and ethnic borrowing in only the most superficial fashion: "Chansons madecasses seems to me to embody a new, dramatic element-even erotic, resulting from the subject matter of Parny's poems. It is essentially a quartet in which the voice is the principal instrument. Simplicity is all important."3 A few of the more perceptive among Ravel's peers saw hints of a more specific exoticism. Roland-Manuel hears a calabash in certain pizzicato sections of the cello part (e.g., Ex. 3).' Com- poser/critic Arthur Hoerde hears in those same sections hints of the African tambour, and adds that the piano part sounds occasionally gong-like (e.g., the low major sevenths and octaves that undergird much of "Aoua!" as well as passages of the other two songs) while the voice reflects a melodic contour generally associated with traditional musics (apparently a reference to the undulations of the line and the limited tessitura of many individual passages). He also thinks that the Parny text necessitates the harsh, nonseductive language and hammered discords of Ravel's score.5 As to any conscious reference to the music of Madagascar, however, H. H. Stuckenschmidt reflects the critical and scholarly consensus

I"Les trois Chansons madecasses me semblent apporter un element nouveau, dramatique-voire erotique, qu'y a introduit le sujet mime des chanson de Parny. C'est une sorte de quatuor oii la voix joue le r6le d'instrument principal. La simplicite y domine." Maurice Ravel and Roland-Manuel, "Une esquisse autobiographique de Maurice Ravel," La Revue Musicale 19/185 (1938), p. 215.

1Roland-Manuel, Maurice Ravel, p. 96. Roland-Manuel and Hoeree are probably referring to a drum made from a gourd though a plucked string instrument with gourd resonators such as the Indian sarod is also possible. ' Arthur Hoer&e, "Les Concerts: chanson madecasse, par M. Ravel (Soiree de Mrs. Coolidge)," La Revue Musicale 6/11 (1925), pp. 243-44.



362 The Musical Quarterly

in his conclusion that Ravel merely imagined, via "supernatural empathy," a Malagasy character.6

I intend in this article to counter the common wisdom, as articulated by Stuckenschmidt, with evidence both of specific stylistic references, in Chansons madecasses, to the music of Madagascar and stylistic similarities between Malagasy music and basic elements of Ravel's late style. These similarities, I argue, are as significant as any overt references, for they explain why Ravel was especially disposed toward Malagasy music, able to remember it, and inclined to emulate it. In order to make my case, it will be necessary to answer two questions in the affirmative. First, are there aspects of Chansons madecasses that are distinct from his other later works, aspects that might best be explained as Malagasy influence? Second, can it be proven that Ravel had heard Malagasy music or, if not, that he at least had the opportunity and motivation to become acquainted with it?

As a prelude to the first question, one must establish the essential features of the music of Madagascar. Malagasy music began a process of rapid and profound change during the nineteenth century as a result of increasing contact with European culture. These changes have continued since Ravel's time, leading to a present-day Malagasy music that is quite distinct from that of the early twentieth century, let alone precontact styles. Period sources agree that the Malagasy people were uncom- monly receptive to and adept at European music, thereby hastening the disappearance of the traditional music of Madagascar. Hence, the real question is: What did Malagasy music sound like in Ravel's day? There are two important corollaries: (1) how traditional, as opposed to European- influenced, was the Malagasy music that Ravel might have heard? and (2) what features of that music would have seemed noteworthy or memorable to Ravel?7

6 H.H. Stuckenschmidt, Maurice Ravel: Variations on His Life and Works (Philadelphia: Chilton Book Co., 1968), p. 204.

7 Madagascar is a large island whose people originally comprised several semi-

independent cultures with differing music and musical instruments. Knowing which of these Ravel might have been exposed to is, however, not problematic since period sources

agree that the French were almost exclusively in contact with and interested in the much

higher culture of the Merina/Hova high-plateau people. Virtually all of the Malagasy musicians to visit France during Ravel's lifetime appear to have been representatives of this group.




Available recordings of Malagasy music' all date from after, some well after, Ravel's own lifetime. While helpful, they can hardly be relied upon to provide a completely accurate idea of what Ravel might have heard.9 Fortunately, a fair number of references to and accounts of Malagasy music survive in written sources dating from the first quarter of the twentieth century. A few of the more superficial ones are rendered all but useless by a failure to make any distinction between Malagasy music and music performed by Malagasy musicians, e.g., colonial bands playing essentially European music. There are, however, at least three independent articles appearing during the first decade of the twentieth century in major French music periodicals that provide a detailed and largely consis- tent picture of Malagasy traditional music and its visibility in France.10 Each is a least reasonably sensitive to the central ethnic issues and scholarly problems inherent in trying to capture this rapidly changing tradition. Julien Tiersot, the most respected of the three writers, expresses dismay at what he considers the total lack of sound ethnomusicological work by scholars residing in Madagascar. Tiersot himself consulted with Malagasy musicians living in or visit- ing France, particularly Raony LaLao and Joseph Randriamparany. The former, a member of a well-known musical family in Madagascar, resided in France for several years and apparently spent a great deal of time demonstrating Malagasy traditional music for Tiersot."

8 Folkways FE-4502: African and Afro-American Drums, Band 6; Columbia KL-205: The Columbia World Library ofFolk and Primitive Music, Vol. II, Bands la-d; Folkways FE-4504: Music of the World's People, Vol. I; Ocora 24: Musique Malgache, Ocora 18: Valiha, Madagascar, Ocora 83: Possession et Poisie d Madagascar. ' The Mus6e de l'Homme in Paris reportedly has a number of recordings of Malagasy music from the 1930s. Descriptions of these in the collection catalog (Collection Musie de l'Homme (Paris). Paris: UNESCO, 1952) suggest a type of Malagasy music more Westernized than what Ravel would have heard, with emphasis on music at missionary schools and government or military functions. The catalog also lists wax cylinders of Malagasy music that appear to have been made at the Exposition universelle de 1900. If true they might offer corroboration of the more readily available text descriptions presented below.

I0J. Tiersot, "La musique A Madagascar," Le Minestrel 68 (1902), pp. 273ff. Reprinted and expanded in Encyclopidie de la Musique et Dictionnaire de Conservatoire (1922), s.v. "La musique chez les negres d'Afrique"; A. Sichel, "La musique des Malgaches," Revue Musicale 6 (1906), pp. 389-91, 448-52. Reprinted and expanded in Encyclopidie de la Musique et Dictionnaire de Conservatoire (1922), s.v. "Histoire de la musique des malgaches"; Marius-Ary Leblond, "Lettre sur la Musique Malgache. Le Sentiment de la Musique chez les Primitifs," Bulletin Franfais de la Sociitt Internationale de musique 4/8 (1908), pp. 877-87. " Tiersot admits that LaLao's idea of traditional music, deriving from an oral tradition that had for some time existed in close contact with Europeans, may not be free of European influence.




The following synopsis of Malagasy music, then, is a compilation of observations taken primarily from these three written sources supplemented by aural analysis of the available recordings. Since the turn-of-the-century French were dealing almost exclusively with the island's dominant Merina/Hova culture, people of primarily Malay/Indochinese/Indonesian descent, comments will be restrict- ed to that repertoire.

A. Sichel, the author of another of our three major sources on Malagasy music, characterizes the melodic lines of Malagasy music as consisting of two- to three-measure units, repeated, often numerous times, with modest embellishment (see Ex. 1).1 The vocalist(s) or melodic instrument(s) frequently begin phrases on a relatively high note and descend to an undulating phrase ending. Instruments generally do not double the voice(s) but establish similar yet frequently asynchronous motivic repetition patterns. The result is a linear texture, with frequent homophonic passages, in which the individual parts retain at least limited independence and often combine to create intricate rhythmic interplay. Pitch relations, both horizontally and vertically, are characterized by diatonic adherence to a scale pattern roughly equivalent to the Western Lydian mode. The most surprising pitch feature, however, is the prevalence of thirds and parallel thirds, a feature in part enforced by the tuning of the valiha, the quintessential Malagasy musical instrument. While some have suggested that this is indicative of Western influence, Tiersot convincingly dismisses it as coincidental resemblance.3 Tiersot also pinpoints the major source of dissonance in Malagasy music: what Western listeners would hear as occasional bitonality between the vocal part and the instrumentalists. He suggests that this indicates a lack of polyphonic sophistication on the part of the Malagasy. Sichel, however, reports that this bitonality seemed to please the Malagasy, and thus was presumably quite deliberate.

The rhythmic component of Malagasy music receives scant attention in period sources. Individual parts are rhythmically unremarkable, and the percussion adds little of the rhythmic intricacy or propulsion that Westerners hear in the music of mainland Africa. The primacy rhythmic interest is found in the

2 Encyclopedie de la Musique, s.v. "La musique chez les negres d'Afrique." 3 Ibid.




Ex. 1. "O ravaza." Al A A

".9' r r ) V) '" "l r?

r Y

P O ra-va-za - ny you-la kou menn - i-

1 r 3----- A A A

, L

I I L,- --r I I

zaho- tsy ha- ten dy - re- o la - hy - Ny

3 A A

vo- la ko me- na r- e o la - hy -

Solo r A

E - e Ra-no i! Choeur E-e - e Ra-no a! A

E - e Ra-no i!

Reprise plusieurs fois wI

e ra no 6

Ja 'la lao rizy jai m'la lao. jai m'la lao rizy jai m'la lao. Ja m'la lao rizy e Jai m'la lao. Jai m'la lao rizy e Jai m'la lao.

asynchronous network of ostinati and the uneven subdivisions of large metric units (McLeod cites dividing a 12-pulse unit into 3-2-3-2-2 or a 24-pulse unit into 5-7-7-514). Thus, rhythmically as well as harmonically, Malagasy music would have seemed noticeably less exotic than, say, that of the Far East or mainland Africa.

The most enchanting aspects of Malagasy music to most Western listeners, particularly in the early twentieth century, were the instruments and the instrumental parts. Tiersot says as much5 and goes on to single out the valiha, as does virtually every other

" The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, s.v. "Malagasy Republic [Madagascar]," by Norma McLeod.

" Encyclopidie de la Musique, s.v. "La musique chez les nrgres d'Afrique."




writer on Malagasy music, as "the instrument par excellence of Madagascar."16 The hollow bamboo tube that makes up the body of the valiha is surrounded by strings that are plucked with both hands. The largest had twenty strings and was capable of nearly three diatonic octaves (chromatic alteration is not possible). The arrangement and tuning of the strings make thirds, a tonic sol, and the raised fourth scale step almost obligatory. The valiha can be used as a melodic instrument, can accompany other instruments, or can provide a complete melody and accompaniment texture as a solo instrument. Tiersot describes the sound as weak, yet sweet, silvery, and harmonious, reminiscent of the lute. Sichel applies the adjectives soft, clear, and crystalline and reports that the valiha was formerly played by virtually all Malagasy freemen, many of whom dazzled European auditors with their virtuosity.

Lokangavoatavo, or simply lokanga, is a somewhat more generic name used to refer to several related string instruments. In essence, they are all violin-type instruments with a calabash-in this case a half gourd that rests against the chest. The length of the two to three strings is altered by pinching them. Sichel suggests that the instrument's muffled sound is particularly apt for accompanying. Like the valiha, the lokangavoatavo is plucked, features a tonic sol and raised fourth degree, and was rapidly disappearing from Malagasy culture by the turn of the century. The list of indigenous instruments common to traditional Malagasy music concludes with a soft wooden flute, a small and a large drum, rattles, and clapping.

Traditional Malagasy music seems to have been dominated by songs and dance music, much of it characterized as slow, soft, and melancholy by turn-of-the-century Western listeners. The vocal component might feature soloists, small ensembles, choruses, or combinations of the three, declaiming a prose text. They were usually joined by instrumental forces: percussion instruments alone or the common Malagasy ensemble of valiha, flute, and drum. This latter trio, with or without voice, was also a standard dance music ensemble.

Turning now to a comparison of Chansons madecasses and Malagasy music, there are several areas of potential similarity that can be dismissed. Parallels in the melodic language are equivocal.

16 " [L]'instrument par excellence de Madagascar." Ibid.




Ex. 2. Daphnis et Chloe, three measures before rehearsal number 122. Condensed, ostinati only.

Picc., Fl., Ob.,Am AAf

Horns

Trumpets

Violas

CelliI kI II k J

The predominantly falling contour of the Malagasy is not found in Ravel's vocal part, though a descending ostinato pattern, in a variety of permutations, dominates the work (e.g., the flute and vocal lines in Ex. 3). Segments of all the melodic lines in this work are undulating and of limited range. This is, of course, a virtual clich6 of exoticism, and while an effective means of suggesting native chanting (as several period commentators on Chansons madicasses note), it cannot be said to reflect any specific knowledge of Malagasy music.

The repetition of small units that is standard in Malagasy music is easy to find in Chansons madicasses. This in itself is hardly surprising. Ostinati are another clich6 of ethnic music reference, and a preoccupation of early twentieth-century composition in general. Ostinati and pedal points, including insistent pitch reiteration, are also a sine qua non of Ravel's own style. A thorough examination of Ravel's use of ostinati, however, reveals a first clear hint of Ravel's awareness of Malagasy music. First of all, the pedal points so common in much of Ravel, both sustained and reiterated, are all but lacking in Chansons madicasses. Many of the ostinati in his other works, even those dating from the 1920s, are essentially chord arpeggiations or undulations (see Ex. 2). Conflict with the




Ex. 3. Chansons madicasses, "I est doux," mm. 30-35. ? 1926 Durand S.A. Used by permission of the publisher. Sole representative U.S.A., Theodore Presser Company.

Tempo 10 OTTAVINO

pizz . mm"

TempoFl

Que vos pas Tempo lF

soient lents, qu'ils i - mi tent les at - ti- tu - des du plai-

13

--3-.-L

.7 ' ' /L I t-"-N-w




1i T A "l tT I I ~'I P" r"i. I I A b

I U'' I! kI I Ii Ii Ii

S "L k"An IL

TI J

sir et l'a- ban- don de la vo lup - te.

AL M'

e 44.. B

lo r

bar line or between the metric implications of the occasional con- current ostinati is far less common. In comparison with these generalizations, ostinati play a far greater role in Chansons madicasses and look somewhat different. Mm. 30-35 of "I1 est doux" serve as a representative illustration (see Ex. 3). The entire texture comprises slightly modified repetitions of brief musical ideas. None could be termed arpeggiated, especially by the standards of other Ravel works, and the four parts move independently of the metric implications of each other, let alone the bar line (the piano part being an exception to the latter). The contour, degree of variation, and independence of these ostinati are characteristic of Malagasy music (all but the latter are visible in Ex. 1) but rarely found to this extent in Ravel. Parallels are found in the orchestral version of "Une barque sur l'oc6an" (1906; original piano version, 1904-05) (e.g., mm. 92-103), the Shiherazade songs (1903) (e.g., mm. 11-37), Miroirs: "La Vall6e des cloches" (e.g., mm. 1-11), and the development of the B-flat ostinato at the opening of "Le Gibet" from Gaspard de la nuit (1908). These passages, however, do not dominate their respective works as does similar material in Chansons madicasses. It is significant that the pieces cited are relatively early works, dating from around the time that Ravel first had the opportunity to hear Malagasy music. Clearly, the use of




ostinati in the latter was quite compatible with the style of Ravel's first maturity, perhaps even influencing it. Finally, it is worth noting that Shiherazade is one of the few other examples of non-Spanish exoticism in Ravel's oeuvre.

Ravel continues his remarks on Chansons madicasses, quoted at the outset of this article, with "The independence of the voices [in Chansons madicasses] is more obvious in the Sonata [for Violin and Piano (1923-27)]."1 He explains the texture in the sonata, however, as deriving from the essential incompatibility of the two instruments. In Chansons madicasses there can be no such rationale. The songs mark an extreme in Ravel's tendency towards a more linear texture equaled only in the Sonata for Violin and Cello (1920-22). Henry Prunieres, in his review of Chansons madicasses, called attention to this stylistic trend: "In recent years Ravel's art has become more linear, thinner in texture, more contrapuntal."'8 These features, common in his postwar output, can at least partly be attributed to his coming to terms with the ideas of Les Six and Arnold Schoenberg, and with the more restrained neoclassicism so popular in France during the 1920s. What makes the texture of Chansons madicasses most distinctive is that, in addition to its linear qualities, it can often be described as a melody accompanied by independent (as opposed to synchronized) ostinati (see Ex. 4 or mm. 45-51 of "Nahandove" as compared to Ex. 2). This is actually closer to the texture of Malagasy music than to the textures one expects from Maurice Ravel, a striking similarity if not evidence of actual awareness of Malagasy music on Ravel's part.

Harmonically, the diatonicism of Chansons madicasses is suffi- ciently in character for Ravel that one can hardly see Malagasy influence there. And one looks in vain for any effort on Ravel's part to emulate the parallel thirds of Malagasy music. There are, however, two harmonic features of the songs that reinforce the link to Malagasy music: the use of the raised fourth scale degree and, to a lesser extent, bitonality. The raised fourth permeates Chansons madicasses, both melodically and harmonically. This is particularly true of "Nahandove," wherein prominent examples include the

17 "L'ind(pendance des parties (s'y affirme), que l'on trouvera plus marqu&e dans la sonate (pour violon et piano)" Ravel and Roland-Manuel, "Une esquisse autobiographique," p. 215. 1 A. Orenstein, Ravel: Man and Musician (New York: Columbia University Press, 1975), p. 92.




Ex. 4. Chansons madicasses, "Nahandove," mm. 55-58. ? 1926 Durand S.A. Used by permission of the publisher. Sole representative U.S.A., Theodore Presser Company.

A .9 dFLAUTO A&

1w u TII IIII II 1LI N U

A A 4w

(e)?m, ! -1 clir ta douc ha - e a-f I -bt

A I -I

U I t ~

I T-) mU,

1/ /I IA 1l r

nI 1

A .9 C. LI IL I I L le J "1. 101 1]

te) c ux hu- mi - desh e e sa a lt

AI "i],

AL 1].

f U.1U, 4 TI ""I

,I I :rYo "11, 1uI I tesIeuUhu mi-C, r

!J

juxtaposition of C and F-sharp in mm. 29-33, and A against D-sharp in mm. 78-84, and the melodic and harmonic juxtapositions of A- sharp and E (which are partially illustrated in Ex. 4 [mm. 55-58] and actually span mm. 50-62). The raised fourth, of course, appears in a great deal of early twentieth-century music and is not




a rarity in Ravel's other works. He was also strongly attracted to modal melodies, usually Dorian and Phrygian. The opening vocal line of "Asie," the first of the Shiherazade songs, and a number of subsequent harmonic progressions feature a raised fourth, and additional instances are found in the "Habanera" of Sites auriculaires (1895-97) (mm. 1-9, piano 1: the B-sharps and there- after), the Trio pour violon, violoncelle, et piano (1914) (mm. 64-67), the first portion of "Une barque sur l'oc6an," and passages from L'heure espagnole (1907-09). More instances are found in the final movement of the G-Major Piano Concerto, written several years after Chansons madicasses. In none of these scores, however, is it as pervasive or clearly emphasized as it is in Chansons madicasses.

Bitonality is commonplace in "Aoua!" and "I1 est doux," wherein two different key signatures are the rule. Mm. 6-29 of "Aoua!" are an especially fine example. In the representative portion of this passage found in Example 5, the vocal part and the right hand of the piano suggest D-sharp minor while the left hand and cello are solidly in G. In both tonalities, the raised fourth is also present-the C-sharp is found in the flute part at the end of m. 9 while the A-natural gains prominence as a melodic high point in m. 11 of the vocal part. The A-natural is also found in the cello and the left hand of the piano, the D-sharp appears in the flute part, and the C- sharp is prominent in the right hand of the piano, thus reinforcing the raised fourths and further unifying the texture.

There are other more limited instances of bitonality in late Ravel, most notably the second movement of the sonata for Violin and Cello (e.g., mm. 97-140, 280-303) and the second movement of the Violin Sonata. It is interesting that one finds in these two works, as well as in the Chansons madicasses, some of the most extreme linearity and independence of parts in Ravel's output. Bitonality, in fact, frequently seems to be used in these works to further delineate the individual parts. To a lesser extent, bitonality figures in most post-1920 Ravel. It was also, of course, a bit of a preoccupation in postwar French circles in general, and had been drawn into twentieth-century parlance by Stravinsky, Bart6k, and Ravel himself around the turn of the century. Thus, bitonality and the raised fourth, like texture and the manner of ostinato usage, reinforce the impression that extensive stylistic common ground existed between Malagasy music, Ravel, and early twentieth-century style in general. Ravel's clear emphasis on such features through-




Ex. 5. Chansons madecasses, "Aoua!" mm. 8-11. ? 1926 Durand S.A. Used by permission of the publisher. Sole representative U.S.A., Theodore Presser Company.

-- I I~f I " I AIwl Idj I 'l 1I

A A1

Du tems de nos p - res, des blancs de - scen -

A"* i? I l a, ,..

U L" L__W

711.

,_-___,_'_____....---_1_,_,___t_-______/_

I 1I I

di rent dans cette i le; on leur dit: Voi - 1?t des




out his Chansons madicasses underscores the likelihood of his awareness of their importance in Madagascar.

The vocal line in Chansons madicasses, like most in Ravel, is rhythmically quite fluid, the result of the composer's preoccupation with responding to both the expressive and declamatory imperatives of the text. One must look to the instrumental parts for any sign of uncharacteristic use of rhythm in Chansons madicasses. Even here, the novelty is not in the syncopations of the individual parts (far from uncommon in Ravel) but in the sometimes intricate interplay between their repetition patterns as well as the ways in which these patterns sometimes ignore the bar line (again, see Ex. 4 or mm. 45-51 of "Nahandove"). The degree to which Ravel indulges in these rhythmic subtleties is all but unprecedented in his output, and provides a striking parallel to Malagasy music.

A preoccupation with effective and striking timbres and timbral combinations is almost a given in early twentieth-century music, even among composers not expressly known for it. Chansons madicasses, with what biographer Leon Paul Fargue termed its "paradoxical and extraordinary timbre,""9 is no exception. Ravel brilliantly exploits the individual timbres of the instruments in these songs, in the process further delineating both their individuality and the linear nature of the piece. He does unusual things with each instrument, some of which may well be interpreted as Malagasy references. The high tessitura of the cello part along with the interesting use of pizzicato, harmonics, and muting suggest that Ravel may have been attempting to downplay characteristic cello qualities in favor of a less Western sound. The pizzicato effect in particular caused period critics to evoke the calabash-a feature of the lokangavoatavo--and the African tambour. At least one passage of harmonics, mm. 6-8 of "Il est doux," sounds a great deal like the soft Malagasy wooden flute.20 There is, however, no bowed string instrument in traditional Malagasy music; only the cello's pizzicato, particularly the pizzicato harmonics in Example 3, suggests either the valiha or

9 "[U]ne sonorite paradoxale et... inouie." Leon Paul Fargue, Maurice Ravel (Paris: Domat, 1949), p. 36.

201 am indebted to Glenn Watkins for the observation that a similarly exotic cello part exists in Quatre poemes hindois (1912) by Ravel's student Maurice Delage, a work with which Ravel was certainly familiar.




the lokangavoatavo. The flute part itself features a "quasi tromba" effect in "Aoua!" that, though it has no particular counterpart in Malagasy music, in the context of this portion of Chansons madicasses-essentially a war song-reminds one of the Malagasy fascination with European military brass music. Such passages do, like the range of the cello part, cause the instrument to sound less conventional. The periodic "ottavino" interludes draw a closer parallel to Malagasy music simply by virtue of the greater timbral similarity between the piccolo and the Malagasy flute. The serious student of Ravel will find the piano writing in Chansons madicasses a marked departure from the composer's traditionally chordal, pianistic writing for the instrument. With some exceptions, the piano provides an additional single-note ostinato line (Ex. 4) or establishes the beat much in the manner of a percussion instrument (Ex. 3).

If Ravel had set out to select Western instruments for their abilities to evoke Malagasy music he could have made more literal choices. Such overt reference was not, however, in his nature. And, of course, the instrumentation was specified by the commission. On the other hand, it is not inconceivable that, with Parny's text in hand, even this instrumentation might have further inspired the incorporation of Malagasy references. There are passages, like that in Example 3, that seem distinctly reminiscent of a Malagasy singer chanting an undulating, falling line to the accompaniment of the valiha, wooden flute, and drums or clapping.

If one combines these timbral effects with the extensive use of non-arpeggiated ostinati, the manner in which the latter are deployed, the overall linearity of the writing, the use of the augmented fourth degree, the bitonality, and the melancholy nature of the songs as a whole, it is easy to believe, if impossible to prove, that Ravel was drawing, consciously or unconsciously, on some personal knowledge of traditional Malagasy music. And the importance of these features in Ravel's general stylistic profile, not to mention the stylistic preoccupations of the early twentieth century, readily explain the appeal of Malagasy music and the relative ease with which Ravel incorporated references to it into Chansons madicasses. The first of the two questions articulated above-are there any distinctive aspects of these songs that are best explained by the influence of Madagascar?-is thus answered in a cautious affirmative.




With the reassurance of there being musical evidence of Ravel's awareness of Malagasy music, we may now turn to the historical question of whether Ravel actually heard Malagasy music or at least had the opportunity and motivation to do so. Let us begin with the text of Chansons madicasses itself. Texts provided potent inspiration for many of Ravel's works, both vocal and nonvocal (e.g., Gaspard de la nuit). Ravel, from his youth, was unusually well versed in French literature. As for Parny, Orenstein notes that Ravel knew his poetry from his student days. A more recent biographer, James Burnett, adds that it was Ravel's fellow student and close friend Ricardo Vifies who introduced him to the Chansons madicasses collection. Ravel himself attributed much of what he considered new and dramatic in these songs to "the subject matter of Parny's poems.""2 But what sort of traditional Malagasy flavor do they impart to the work? How Malagasy are these poems? The nearly unanimous conclusion is, not very. Parny was born on the island of Reunion, over 400 miles east of Madagascar. He is reported to have had at least partial Creole ancestry, spent some time in France and perhaps India, made the acquaintance of Voltaire, and returned to his birthplace. Tiersot, who makes perhaps the most detailed case against a significant Malagasy quality in Parny's Chansons madicasses, suspects that Parny may have known and even been inspired by Malagasy texts, but that his work is essentially in the exotic/romantic poetic style popular in his day.22 In spite of this tenuous resemblance to genuine Malagasy texts, Parny's Chansons may still have functioned perfectly well as a reminder to Ravel, when he reread it, of past contact with Malagasy music. One might even conclude that composer and poet were kindred spirits in this instance, making veiled reference to Malagasy models within a style quite clearly European. Both might have in known their models thoroughly while feeling no obligation to make their references particularly overt.

Ravel's interest in ethnic materials is well known, but worthy of brief summary and analysis here. His lifelong love of things Spanish dates from his youth, while the famous International Exposition of 1889 marked the beginning of his passion for Russian and Oriental music. In his autobiographical sketch, Ravel speaks of

21 "[L]e sujet mime des chansons de Parny." Ravel and Roland-Manuel, "Une esquisse autobiographique," p. 215.

22 Tiersot, "La musique ' Madagascar," pp. 289-90.




a "profound fascination which the Orient exerted on me during my youth."23 Gabriel Faure, his primary teacher, certainly encouraged his students' explorations of world musics, and Ravel's association with Les Apaches and the Diaghilev circle and the tremendous success of his entries in the folk song setting competition sponsored by the Maison du Lied in Moscow (first prize in four of seven categories) document the post-student era extension of these early preoccupations. Tzigane (1924), inspired by Hungarian Gypsy violin playing, Chansons madecasses, and his various jazz dalliances show that Ravel's exoticism continued to evolve and bloom late into his career.

Ravel's interest in ethnic musics has attracted considerable analysis. The composer suggested his own understanding of the concept in comments on his use of jazz in a lecture given at Rice University in 1928:

While I adopted this [blues] popular form of your music, I venture to say that nevertheless it is French music, Ravel's music, that I have written. Indeed these popular forms are but the materials of construction.... Think of the striking and essential differences to be noted in the 'jazz" and "rags" of Milhaud, Stravinsky, Casella, Hindemith, and so on. The individualities of these composers are stronger than the materials appropriated. They mould popular forms to meet the requirements of their own individual art.24

Glen Watkins quite rightly applies a similar interpretation to the Chansons madicasses itself: "Whatever external forces may have been brought to bear, they simmer beneath the surface of the music: melody, rhythm, and harmony confirm that the underlying person- ality of the composer is never in question.'"25

Stuckenschmidt offers a perceptive analysis of the general nature of Ravel's interest in cultural traditions other than his own:

Ravel did not need to make an effort of will to enter into the folk inheritance, and his way of doing so was worlds away from any mere pedagogical or pedantic desire for exploration. It is precisely through this artistically instinctive leaning toward folkloristic forms that the constant attraction of cultures geographically remote became clear to him. By this is not meant the exotic colors that he borrowed from ... [Rimsky-Korsakov and Borodin], but his settings of Greek and other folk

23 "[L]a fascination profonde que l'Orient exeria sur moi des mon enfance." Ravel and Roland-Manuel, "Une esquisse autobiographique," p. 208.

24 Maurice Ravel, "Contemporary Music," Rice Institute Pamphlet 15/2 (1928), p. 140. 25 Glenn Watkins, Soundings: Music in the Twentieth Century (New York: Schirmer, 1988),

p. 127.




melodies.... His work on these recreations of folk songs was spread over the period 1904-1914. . . but it had a sublimated continuation much later in the Chansons madecasses and in the Bolero [ 1928].26

G. W. Hopkins is a bit more analytical:

His huge appetite for the exotic and the antique was coloured by a preference that they should be retailed through the distorting glass of a naive intermediary. It would be fair to say that he was less anxious to depict external reality than to select those qualities of it that made it peculiarly accessible to a kind of sym- pathetic perception: he not so much portrayed nature as captured its effect on human sensibilities.27

In the case of Chansons madicasses, the Parny text may be seen as a part of that distorting glass. Hopkins's analysis may also help explain why Ravel chose to ignore certain central characteristics of Malagasy music: the omnipresent third, the major mode, and the guitar-like nature of the dominant valiha. While they might have more accurately reflected the nature of traditional Malagasy music, such features would have sounded quite Western to most listeners, thus failing to "capture its effect on human sensibilities."

It is also possible that Ravel's approach to the use of ethnic models may have been a changing one. There is a critical ten-year hiatus between Deux milodies hibraiques (1914) and the composer's next two exotic works, Tzigane and Chansons madicasses-a decade of considerable personal and cultural change. By the mid-1920's, in fact, his style had changed quite noticeably, and he was spending more time finely crafting his works. He may not only have turned to some new sources-African-American jazz, Gypsy violin playing, and Malagasy music-but to a new, more intimate relation to his models. This theory is not clearly borne out in Tzigane, but it is at least encouraged by Chansons madicasses and the jazz syncopations of the Piano Concerto for the Left Hand (1929-30).

Among his numerous and widely spaced encounters with the music of other peoples, we find no explicit reference to any experience with the music of Madagascar. It seems plausible, however, based on his lifelong interest in world musics, that had it been available to him he would have taken notice. Therefore, the question becomes, What is the likelihood that Ravel had the oppor-

26 Stuckenschmidt, Maurice Ravel, p. 184. 27 The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, s.v. "Ravel, (Joseph) Maurice," by

G.W. Hopkins.




tunity to hear Malagasy music? To answer this question, it will be necessary to review briefly the history of Madagascar and its relations with France.

Though Madagascar is located several hundred miles off the southeast coast of Mozambique, the first settlers were Indonesians who arrived during the first five centuries A.D. as part of "a long period of colonization reinforced by successive migrations from more than one part of Indonesia."28 They were followed by African immigrants, but the Indonesians retained the dominant position on the island, including possession of the most viable portion of the island: the fertile highlands. It was with this Malay/Indo- chinese/Indonesian high culture, the previously mentioned Hova and Merina peoples, that Europeans established their closest ties. Musical instruments figure among the evidence in the case for Indonesian settlement of Madagascar: the valiha, in particular, has a close parallel in Indonesia.29

During the late nineteenth century, France wrested colonial power over Madagascar from the British. Throughout the final two decades of the century, the French gradually and indecisively moved from their tenuous hold on a few coastal settlements towards domination of the entire island. Yet France was divided on the whole question of colonies and colonial policy. Imperialist adventures tended to conjure up painful memories of the ancien regime and Napoleon. By the 1890s, however, attitudes were changing. French culture, economy, and general influence were on the rise. The quasi-evangelical notion of "bringing civilization" to "undevel- oped countries" was increasingly popular. The debate over colonial policy extended to the various methods of colonization. Histori- cally, there had been two rival theories: annexation, usually favored by the military and the colonizers, and protectionism, a somewhat more fashionable approach that imposed economic and international controls but left the native people with a large degree of authority over local governance. In 1896, the new resident general, Joseph-Simon Gallieni, determined that neither system had succeeded in Madagascar, so he developed an alternative method: his "policy of races." In theory at least, this policy recognized and

28 A.M. Jones, African and Indonesian (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1964), p.2. 'Development of the gamelan seems to postdate this particular migration; hence the

lack of similar instruments in Madagascar and the Indonesians' African settlements. Jones, African and Indonesian, pp. 223-25.




attempted to balance all racial groups on the island (thereby critically weakening the Hova/Merina power structure with which France had been experiencing problems) and tried to respond flexibly to the needs of all groups with a series of programs aimed at developing native potential, local self-government, and medical care. This plan, also applied with apparent success in Indochina and the Sudan, is credited with making the Gallieni decade in Madagascar relatively prosperous and successful for all parties.

The Revue Madagascar, published during Gallieni's residence, indicates in perhaps overly glowing terms the growing commerce and cultural exchange between the two countries. Quite a few natives ventured to France and returned to Madagascar with French training in the arts and sciences. Actual figures for the number of Malagasy in France are difficult to ascertain. In 1901 there were 1,150 Africans living in France; by 1911 that number had tripled.30 Another source reports that during the war years over 5,000 Malagasy laborers worked in France.31

It is clear that from the time of Ravel's earliest awareness of the world around him (the late 1880s), colonial issues were being debated widely. The French adventures in Madagascar, particularly Gallieni's experiments in methods of colonization, were very much in the news, and at times incited heated political argument in both the press and government circles. We know that numerous Africans were living in Paris throughout this period, and it is highly probable that there were plenty of Malagasy among them, including the two Malagasy musicians referred to by Tiersot. If, as Orenstein suggests, Ravel "followed contemporary political developments and artistic trends as a keenly interested observer,'"32 it is likely that he was quite well aware of Madagascar, thus increasing the likelihood that he would have taken advantage of opportunities to hear the music of that country.33

3o Georges Mauco, Les Etrangers en France: Leur rnle dans l'activit i iconomique (Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, 1932), p. 38. Whether or not those from Madagascar are listed among Africans is not clear, although it would seem the only category in this source in which they would fit.

31 M. Huber, Le population de la France pendant la guerre (Paris: Les Presses Universitaires, 1931), pp. 202-04.

32 Orenstein, Ravel, p. 3.

33 Stuckenschmidt, on the other hand, asserts that "Ravel was not a political being and paid little attention to the events of the day" (Stuckenschmidt, Maurice Ravel, p. 240). I am unable to disprove Stuckenschmidt's contention, though Ravel's subscription to a socialist




This was also, of course, the era that, beginning with Matisse's discovery of some intriguing African art objects in a Paris curio shop around 1906, became preoccupied with things African, particularly in France. While the lack of a strong Malagasy tradition in the plastic arts excluded Madagascar from this fascination with African art, other sorts of artifacts-Malagasy tools, weapons, and even musical instruments-were a part of the cultural influx. Most ethnic, scientific, and learned society museums, as well as all of the Expositions universelles from 1878 onwards, exhibited African materials. The pages of the Revue Madagascar suggest that, by 1900, these exhibits generally included artifacts from Madagascar, often somewhat improperly linked with the nearby mainland. Concerning Malagasy musical instruments, Tiersot reports that the Conservatoire's museum displayed a valiha, a lokangavoatavo, and a Malagasy flute by the turn of the century. By the time Curt Sachs compiled his Les instruments de la musique de Madagascar in 1938, the Musee de l'Homme owned about 200 Malagasy instruments. A 1952 catalog of that museum's collection reports several hundred wax cylinders, 78-rpm disks, and field recordings of Malagasy music, some of which may date to the beginning of the century.

The French musical community's interest in Malagasy and other world musics extended well beyond organology. A survey of leading contemporary French music periodicals yields a wealth of articles on world musics, including the three on Malagasy music by Tiersot, Sichel, and Leblond. The earliest documented performance of Malagasy music in France was an appearance at, of all places, the Folies-Bergere by two singers accompanied by a valiha, an event that Tiersot, in 1902, noted as having taken place several years earlier.

Far more important, however, is the event that probably inspired Tiersot's article, and perhaps those of Sichel and Leblond as well: the Exposition universelle de 1900 in Paris. The direct successor to the 1889 exposition that is so well known to students of turn-of-the- century French music, the event in 1900 was even larger and featured very impressive Japanese music and dance performances. Madagascar evidently took full advantage of this opportunity to introduce itself to Europe. The first floor of the pavilion was dominated by a huge scale model of the island, complete with surround-

newspaper, Le Populaire de Paris (Orenstein, Ravel, p. 113), may reinforce Orenstein's opinion. His active socializing among people highly sensitized to politics, however, might suggest that he could not have been too ignorant of such events.




ing water and examples of the local flora and fauna. Native villages and colonial outposts were reconstructed, and exhibits featured historical and geographical documents, samples of local agriculture and industry, and natural history and paleontology displays. The historical dioramas were a particularly big hit with the crowds.

Of the 102 natives sent as part of the Malagasy delegation, thirty-five were former musicians of the queen of Madagascar. They were not there, however, solely to demonstrate Malagasy traditional music. Judith Gautier, in her book on "musiques bizarres" at the exposition,34 notes that the first thing heard by visitors to the Malagasy pavilion was a military band that played so well as to be indistinguishable from its French counterparts. Only after several selections by this band did one hear traditional music. These concerts occurred at least daily throughout the summer. The mixture of traditional and Western elements makes interpreting certain reviews of the exposition quite impossible, but other reviews clearly praise the traditional music offerings. From a few detailed descriptions, we learn that the valiha, lokangavoatavo, and flute joined groups of vocalists. In his 1902 article, Tiersot remarks on the great opportunity to hear Malagasy traditional music at the 1900 exposition and laments the fact that the chaos of the exposition made serious analysis and recording impossible. Fortunately, as noted previously, at least two of the finer Malagasy musicians at the exposition remained in France for several years, and Tiersot was able to study their playing at length. At least one of them, Raony LaLao, studied at the Paris Conservatoire, where he was eventually awarded second prize in flute.

We know, then, that Ravel had daily chances during the summer of 1900 to hear Malagasy music and that a very talented Malagasy musician attended the Conservatoire from 1900 to about 1903, precisely the period during which Ravel, having been officially dropped from the Conservatoire, was nevertheless auditing Faure's composition class there. The 1889 exposition had sparked a lifelong fascination with Oriental music-would he have missed an even bigger exposition eleven years later? In addition to his general interest in exotic musics, he was composing his Shihdrazade works, reading 1001 Arabian Nights, meeting with Les Apaches (who were strongly attracted to such music), and perhaps following the colonial

"4Judith Gautier, "Les chants de Madagascar," in Les musiques bizarres d l'Exposition de 1900 (Paris: Libraire Ollendorff, 1901), pp. 3-30.




situation in Madagascar with some interest. Could his knowledge of Parny's Chansons madicasses, dating according to Vifies from his student days, have inspired him to seek out Malagasy music at the 1900 exposition, or could his contact with the latter have caused him to pick up the former? Given the enlightened atmosphere of Faure's studio and Faure's own interest in world musics, it is likely that the elder composer, who was in the habit of introducing his students to the various intellectual circles of Paris, might have taken Ravel to the exposition or even introduced him to Raony LaLao. Finally, it may be more than coincidental that the passages in Ravel's music (other than Chansons madicasses) that seem to reflect Malagasy influence most closely-the manner of using ostinati, melodic contour, and a raised fourth-are found in the opening pages of his Shihdrazade songs, particularly "Asie." Ravel was at work on these songs during the first few years of the century and completed them in 1903 in the direct aftermath of the Exposition de universelle 1900. Thus, these pages may represent a brief, early experiment in incorporating the sounds of Malagasy music, experiments conducted while this initial contact with Malagasy music was fresh, to be expanded upon years later in Chansons madicasses.

Even if one accepts the likelihood that Ravel heard Malagasy music between 1900 and 1903, there is still, of course, the obvious anomaly that another twenty years would elapse before he sat down to write Chansons madicasses. It is possible he heard Malagasy music from Malagasy laborers in France during the war, and there were probably some Malagasy musicians living in Paris throughout his life. But perhaps this time interval is not a critical issue. For Ravel, works "crystallized" after evolving in his mind over a considerable period of time, usually on long walks: In my own work of composition I find a long period of conscious gestation, in general, necessary. During this interval, I come gradually to see, and with growing precision, the form and evolution which the subsequent work should have as a whole. I may thus be occupied for years without writing a single note of the work-after which the writing goes relatively rapidly; but there is still much time to be spent in eliminating everything that might be regarded as superfluous, in order to realize as completely as possible the longed-for final clarity. Then comes the time when new conceptions have to be formulated for further composition, but these cannot be forced artificially, for they come only of their own free will, and often originate in some very remote perception, without manifesting themselves until long years after."5

" Ravel, "Contemporary Music," p. 141.




It would also be well to recall Debussy's remark that Ravel pos- sessed "the finest ear that has ever existed."''36 It is not at all unlikely that a man of Ravel's talents and working methods would have recalled, nearly twenty-five years later, the salient features of Malagasy music he had heard in his late twenties, and that these sounds might have figured in one of those long periods of gestation. His rereading of the Parny poems at the moment of commission, the stylistic changes that were moving him closer to the linearity and bitonality of Malagasy music, and the composi- tional reassessment and nostalgia of his postwar years then might well have jogged memories of things Malagasy.

It is clear that Ravel had the opportunity to become acquainted with Malagasy music, and it would have been completely in character for him to have availed himself of that opportunity. There is also ample rationale for how and why this awareness resurfaced during the 1920s, and substantial evidence of Malagasy influence in the score of Chansons madicasses itself. In this light, the common conclusion that Ravel took a naive, secondhand, or even fantastical approach to exoticism needs to be reexamined, an effort that should bring us closer to understanding the complex creative mind behind his stylish facade.

36 "[L]'oreille la plus fine qui aitjamais exist6e." Rollo Myers, Modern French Music from Faurd to Boulez (New York: Praeger, 1971), p. 105.



James, Ravel's Chansons madécasses (MQ 1990)

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Transcript of James, Ravel's Chansons madécasses (MQ 1990)