Bach and Scriabin: The Apollonian and Dionysian in Music
It is hard to think of another pair of composers as diametrically opposed along so many dimensions as are J. S. Bach and Alexander Scriabin. Yet they don’t cleanly map onto the Apollonian and Dionysian, as it may seem at first. Bach, though he may be a devout Protestant, and Scriabin, an inspired transhumanist, don’t lend themselves to such clear-cut distinctions.
To me, Bach is the strongest attractor in all of the existing musical soundscape. I spent almost two full years in my early 20s unable to listen to or play anything but Bach. Now, too, I can go for months listening to the cello suites and little else. Scriabin is a state of mind all its own, though tinged with insanity and inherently unstable, and of great magnetic power of an altogether different kind.
The epigraph to Bach’s Little Organ Book reads: “Dem höchsten Gott allein zu Ehren, dem Nächsten d’raus sich zu belehren” — “To the glory of the almighty God, and so that my neighbor may be benefited thereby.” He would sign his compositions with S.D.G., Soli Deo Gloria — To God alone, the glory. Most of his music is an expression of his faith, a devotion to God. It is therefore a shame that the three of his works that were sent to space on the Voyager Golden record — Brandenburg concerto No. 2 (first movement), Gavotte from the solo violin partita no. 3 in E major, and Prelude & Fugue in C major from the Well Tempered Clavier Book 2 — are not chosen from his best, that is, devotional music. As a friend noted, the selection committee was trying too hard to be secular or straight up had bad taste. The universal pieces are the religious ones.
Scriabin, on the other hand, had a lofty “self-image as a high priest of an art which would bring about the end of the world, uniting all mankind in an ecstatic and all-consuming burst of energy.” [1] But to get there, Scriabin walked (flew? soared?) a long path. His strongly Chopin-flavored early works, those smoldering embers of late Romanticism, betray little of what was to come around the inflection point of op. 57, when he was in his mid-30s. Among the brighter embers of his early oeuvre are:
First period (1880s-1903)
Étude op. 2 no. 1: an incredibly mature piece written, stunningly, when he was just 15
Études op. 8: especially no. 2, no. 11 & no. 12 (‘Revolutionary’, like Chopin’s op. 10 no. 12)
Preludes op. 16: five things of beauty
Études op. 22: four sketches, suffused with nostalgia and melancholy
There’s a telling episode from Scriabin’s years as a Moscow Conservatory student where, feeling challenged by a fellow student, he damaged his right hand while practicing Mily Balakirev's notoriously difficult Islamey. He was told he would never recover (he eventually did). As a "cry against God, against fate”, he wrote his first masterpiece, Piano Sonata No. 1 op. 6. Big “better to reign in hell than serve in heaven” energy, in that piece. He also wrote Prelude and Nocturne, op. 9 for left hand alone, in the aftermath of his injury. So much grief in these pieces, for what he thought was a permanent loss (though in the Nocturne it is softened).
Second period (1903-1907) is distinguished by more tonal ambiguity than his earlier works.
Piano Sonata no. 4 op. 30: marks the beginning of this period
Poèmes op. 32: no. 1 is dreamy, very feminine, you can hear bursts of soft laughter in it; no. 2 is in stark contrast to it — an impulse, a leap forward, a call to action.
Étude op. 42 no 4: pure, brittle, luminous.
Étude op. 42 no. 5: listen at your peril; it’s one of the most unsettling pieces of his. I think it is about the Fall.
Already in Scriabin’s early works, harmonic opulence, even decadence, comes forth but it is still largely within the late Romantic paradigm. Even though Piano Sonata no. 5 op. 53 and Poem of Ecstasy op. 54 are also considered a part of his second, pre-mystical, period, they already have inklings and full-blown elements of demonic possession and deep sensuality. His later works are “a celebration of the power of sound to arouse” [2], ranging from enchanting to phantasmagoric (more about them below).
Yet all throughout Scriabin’s works, there’s an Apollonian clarity of structure, of intention and precision. It is even expressed in his calligraphic handwriting — few composers are known for such crisp and neat manuscripts [3]. Bach’s handwriting is way messier, for what it’s worth.
Manuscript of Poème op. 59 no. 1. The Juilliard Manuscript Collection.
Dionysian Bach
It has been said that there’s everything in Bach’s music except randomness and sex. While this is true about randomness, discerning ears can find abundant sensuality in Bach’s music. It certainly is more veiled and discreet than in Scriabin or most other composers — but it’s unequivocally there. Listen to the Allemande of the Keyboard partita in D major BWV 828 [4]. It’s in his French Suites. He wrote the first French Suite in D minor BWV 812 as a wedding gift for this second wife, Anna Magdalena. I daresay it’s even in the Aria from Goldberg Variations BWV 988.
In my mind, there’s also a clear division between heavenly and earthly violin sonatas and partitas as well as cello suites.
Heavenly:
Sonata in G minor BWV1001 | Partita in D minor BWV1004 | Sonata in C major BWV1005
Earthly:
Partita in B minor BWV1002 | Sonata in A minor BWV1003 | Partita in E major BWV1006
Sonata in G minor opens with Adagio, a prayer of a lost soul looking for direction. Violinist Maxim Vengerov’s masterclass on this movement is well worth watching. He is certainly a master of effective high-level metaphors in music education.
Partita in D minor is a quest for transcendence culminating in the Chaconne, written in the aftermath of his first wife’s death.
Sonata in C major is a distillation of heavenly peace and serenity. Especially the third movement, Largo, is out of this world.
Partita in B minor is one of the most mirthful, zestful and spirited pieces written in a minor key — and it is very much of this world.
Sonata in A minor: first movement, Grave, is a lament, an expression of all too human passions. For some reason in my mind it invariably evokes Hamlet’s solliloqiy “O, that this too too solid flesh would melt/ Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!”
Partita in E major has a sprightly childlike energy throughout. A recording of the Gavotte from this partita is currently making its way in space beyond the Solar system.
The three heavenly cello suites are:
in D minor BWV 1008 | in C minor BWV 1011 | in D major BWV 1012
And the earthly ones:
in G major BWV 1007 | in C major BWV 1009| in E-flat major BWV 1010
For what it’s worth, I think one of Bach’s rawest pieces, along with the Chaconne and Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue BWV 903, is the Sarabande from Keyboard partita in E minor BWV 830. He let a lot come through in that piece.
Bach sounds magnificent on any instrument. Take any piece and arrange it for any instrument or voice, and it will sound glorious. Scriabin’s sorcery is largely enabled by the affordances of the piano — the cloud of overtones on top of intoxicating harmonies is essential for the Scriabin sound. This is especially true of his late works.
Scriabin’s mystic period (1907-1915)
So what happened around op. 57? op. 57 no. 1. Désir and no. 2. Caresse dansée (1907) are two enchanting ephemeral pieces that both open with an incomplete version of Scriabin’s so called mystic chord C F♯ B E. Unlike “normal” chords constructed by thirds (or, equivalently, by sixths), it is constructed by fourths (=fifths). The full version of the mystic chord, consisting of an augmented fourth, diminished fourth, augmented fourth, and two perfect fourths, is also known as the Prometheus chord (C F♯ B♭ E A D), used in his op. 60, Prometheus: The Poem of Fire. It also makes an appearance in his piano sonata no. 5, written earlier.
Scriabin’s late works are atonal (not centered around a tonic) in a way that is very distinct from atonal experiments of Arnold Schönberg and the second Vienniese school. A lot of his works from this period are named Poèmes, implyinig extra-musical content but also referring to an outcome of poiesis, of creation. Poèmes op. 59 no. 1 and op. 69 no. 1 are among my most beloved pieces of his. A fragile dream, an elusive vision that at once caresses and stuns the senses but is constructed so carefully by human thought, with nothing superfluous or missing. A perfect balance of the Apollonian and Dionysian.
Scriabin admired Nietzsche, and was deeply influenced by The Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music and Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Schopenhauer was another big influence, and what Scriabin most appreciated about these philosophers was the high place they granted music in culture. Music as “the highest of all art forms, and the only artistic medium capable of transforming life.” [5]
This also relates to the mission of Russian cosmism as uniting humanity in cosmic evolution and transformation, towards All-Unity (Всеединство) with God and nature, and Scriabin saw the power of music in achieving these goals. He had close ties with the philosophers Nikolai Berdyayev and Vladimir Solovyev, the originators of cosmist ideas. Scriabin’s late works are an expression of this philosophy, especially the Divine Poem, the Poem of Ecstasy, and Prometheus: The Poem of Fire.
For these works, written programs were made available to audiences, either in the form of pre-published articles or concert program notes. The plot inevitably featured a protagonist who overcomes adversity and achieves communion with the divine. [5]
Scriabin’s contemporary, music critic Leonid Sabaneev, wrote of him:
Unlike Liszt, Scriabin did not become a spiritual composer, but was a composer of the spirit; he went down the path of conscious theurgy. [6]
Scriabin’s late piano sonatas are an exemplar of his dark arts at play, now tapping into primal fears and anxieties, now stunning with sudden brittleness and breathtaking tenderness. They are a perfect soundtrack to the early 20th century, on the verge of major upheavals and yet still luxuriating in the most harmonically opulent and glorious sounds ever conceived by man.
Piano Sonata no. 6: Op. 62: Modéré: mystérieux, concentré. Noir, haunting, slow burn development.
Piano Sonata no. 7: Op. 64: ‘White Mass’; Prophetique.
At its explosive climax, the music jolts into a vertiginous dance and tears a hole in the fabric of the universe with a huge rolled chord. Perhaps recalling his visit to New York in the winter of 1906–1907, here Scriabin writes a 25-note “skyscraper” chord, a stairway to heaven. [5]
The skyscraper chord from piano sonata no. 7 op. 64 ‘White Mass’.
Piano Sonata no. 8: Op. 66: Lento. Somewhat reminiscent of the 6th. It’s considered one of Scriabin’s most technically challenging works.
Piano Sonata no. 9: Op. 68: ‘Black Mass’. Scriabin’s most Prokofiev-like sonata, reminds me of Prokofiev’s 8th (one of the War Sonatas).
Piano Sonata no. 10: Op. 70 ‘Insect Sonata’. In Scriabin’s own words, "My Tenth Sonata is a sonata of insects. Insects are born from the sun [...] they are the kisses of the sun." You can hear their iridescent pellucid wings fluttering throughout the piece.
Scriabin died in 1915, a year into the Great War, not being able to complete his most ambitious project yet: a synesthetic, multi-modal performance called Mysterium, to be performed in the foothills of Himalayas. Mysterium was conceived to last a week and be followed by the end of the world and the replacement of the human race with "nobler beings”. In a way, the end of the world as it was known did indeed happen, but the appearance of nobler beings is still pending.
Appendix: Recommended albums (by no means an exhaustive list)
Note: links are from Apple Music
Bach: Sonatas and Partitas Vol. 1, Vol. 2 (Frank Zimmermann, violin)
Bach: Complete Cello Suites (Jean-Guihen Queyras, cello)
Bach: Partitas 1, 3 & 6 (Piotr Anderszewski, piano)
Bach: The French Suites (Colin Tilney, harpsichord)
Glenn Gould Remastered - The Complete Columbia Album Collection (58 hours, dominated by Bach recordings)
J.S. Bach: Goldberg Variations, BWV 988 (Jeremy Denk, piano)
Alexander Scriabin: The Complete Piano Sonatas (Ruth Laredo, piano)
Scriabin: Le Poème de l'extase, Piano Concerto & Prométhée (Chicago Symphony Chorus, Chicago Symphony Orchestra & Pierre Boulez)
Ravel & Scriabin: Piano Works (Andrew Tyson, piano)
Scriabin: Piano Sonata no. 9 op. 68 “Black Mass” (Daniil Trifonov, piano)
Scriabin: The Solo Piano Works (Maria Lettberg, piano)
[1] James Baker, in the afterword to his analysis of Scriabin harmony, The Music of Alexander Scriabin.
[2] Stephen Hough, in: The Alexander Scriabin Companion: history, performance and lore.
[3] The Juilliard Manuscript Collection has a few of Scriabin’s manuscripts, free for you to marvel at.
[4] Thanks to pianist Derek Wang who drew my attention to this.
[5] Lincoln Ballard, in: The Alexander Scriabin Companion: history, performance and lore.
[6] Leonid Sabaneev, 1911
