Barber- Knoxville: Summer of 1915
Samuel Barber composed Knoxville: Summer of 1915 based on a short prose piece authored by James Agee. The opening sentence of the prose, “We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville, Tennessee in the time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.” is unsung, but appears printed at the top of the score. Both the location and year are important; while the piece describes the sun setting slowly on a peaceful summer evening, the larger metaphor is that of darkness on the horizon despite constant reassurance. War raged in Europe, and the United States was determined to remain neutral. The American South, including Knoxville, was almost fully recovered from the death and destruction of the Civil War. Throughout the piece one gets the impression that the characters have had a long, tiresome day. The harmonies and rhythms are generally not energetic and take on a “sleepy” character. It is the long recovery from war that has worn the music out.
Barber’s musical imagery is very vivid throughout the work, meshing perfectly with the soloist (usually a soprano) who often sings a description of the sounds shortly after they are heard. Musical portrayals of a rocking chair, machinery, and prayer (among others) all figure prominently before the music itself falls into a deep trance.
The piece begins with a choir-like wind figure playing a theme in a minor key that, like the other themes in the piece, will be repeated throughout. It is contemplative and has a hint of an “end of the world” type melancholy. However you want to characterize it, there is definitely something amiss that must be resolved. After a brief string transition, a slow, gently ascending 3-note motive in the flute accompanied by the harp precedes the entrance of the soloist (theme two). The imagery of the text soon helps us describe the sound; the flute is a chair, “rocking gently” on a summer evening (1:00). The strings enter soon after, repeating the same 3-note motive that the flute continues into the next phrase (“People go by…”). The orchestral strings (1:51) play the opening phrase of theme two and the soloist completes it with “people in pairs.” The gently rocking harp is transferred briefly to the bass before returning soon after. Throughout this section the soloist sings to theme two, which is continually sequenced upwards along with the 3-note rising motives. An oboe plays theme two at 2:53, the second phrase of which is taken up by the strings. The music descends and quiets, a soft cushion of sound out of which a horn plays a series of ever slower 3-note motives before the music pauses.
At 3:40 the mood changes entirely. Piercing winds and frantic strings are followed by a mechanical sounding trumpet sounding an alarm. The first section of the trumpet solo continues to be played quietly in the low strings and winds. At 4:24 the soloist returns, and again the lyrics shed light on the music. A whining oboe accompanies “A streetcar raising its iron moan…” . A dancing flute plays the trumpet’s phrase as the “small malignant spirit” while a triangle (the only percussion instrument in the piece) faintly dings in the background (5:11) as the “stinging bell.” The trumpet motive continues, but is passed through the orchestra and is finally transformed into major by the bassoon (6:12) over shimmering strings. An orchestral ascent is topped off by the french horn accompanying the soloist, “Now is the night…”. The music has calmed as night has fallen. A heavy wind melody (6:55, “Low in the length of lawns…”) is lifted by an ascending flute melody, returning to theme two in the strings with the “rocking” motive played by the harp.
A quiet but tension-filled string melody in the high register imparts an eerie mood to the piece which steadily grows before the harp reassures us with arpeggiated descents, after which the winds enter at 8:34 with a lyric and serene theme three. The soloist repeats the theme beginning at 8:53 (“On the rough wet grass…”) describing an evening stargazing session. A slowly descending flute plays notes that almost sound wrong (9:20), but they describe the quiet talk of “nothing in particular” sung about soon after. Quick wind and harp figures twinkle at 9:48 accompany “The stars are wide and alive…” before the music seems to broaden at 10:14 with the entrance of the french horn playing a steadily rising figure underneath “All my people are larger bodies than mine…”. Theme three is repeated several times beginning with “One is an artist…” (10:49) before the bassoon triggers an avalanche-like effect and the entire orchestra prepares the soloist for theme three in minor (“By some chance, here they are…”) at 11:20.
Theme two then returns (12:16) after a powerful 2-note descending figure in the winds and brass, this time depressing and with all the charm of a funeral. A lone trumpet playing the theme from the very beginning of the piece hovers on the periphery like an angel of death. This indeed fits well with the soloists hesitant-sounding prayer to “bless my people…in the hour of their taking away.” The conclusion of the prayer (13:15) is the climax of the piece as first the trumpet and brass and then the strings repeat the slow, swelling melody from the beginning of the piece. This passage depicts those moments in which we wonder “What if…?” It is the acknowledgement that the unthinkable is possible, and that prayer will at least give comfort to those who pass.
We are saved from this sobering reverie by the “rocking” motive in the harp at 14:01, making the previous episode seem like nothing more than a passing worry. The calmness that characterized the beginning of the piece is restored, although coming on the heals of such a powerful and emotional section gives this passage a hint of coldness, as if this reassurance is not fully accepted. The soloist enters with “After a little while…” at 14:14 and is soon joined by quiet violins. We are transported into the narrator’s dream world, and this section has a very dream-like quality about it. Emphasis on “…ever…” (15:19) highlights the timeless nature of dreams, after which the music descends back into the peaceful rocking chair and a brief reappearance of theme two. The warm horn melody, peacefully rising winds, and ever slowing harp conclude the piece with a musical depiction of falling asleep.
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Barber’s Knoxville is undeniably beautiful for both voice and orchestra, yet it is built from the simplest ideas. While Adagio for Strings might be his most recognizable work, Knoxville certainly deserves a place amongst the important American compositions of the 20th century.
The text of Barber’s Knoxville: Summer of 1915 is below.
It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds’ hung havens, hangars. People go by; things go by. A horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt: a loud auto: a quiet auto: people in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard, and starched milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squared with clowns in hueless amber.
A streetcar raising its iron moan; stopping; belling and starting, stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks; the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen, faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter; fainting, lifting, lifts, faints foregone: forgotten. Now is the night one blue dew.
Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose.
Low in the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes…
Parents on porches: rock and rock. From damp strings morning glories hang their ancient faces.
The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my eardrums.
On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there. They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine, with voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds.
One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me.
By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night.
May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.
After a little I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well-beloved in that home: but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.
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If you are interested in listening to a recording, I recommend Marin Alsop’s 2004 release with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra on Naxos. You can buy this recording from Amazon by clicking on the image below. Alternatively, you can purchase this recording from the iTunes Music Store often at a reduced price by following the link below.
This article is part of the Music 365 series. To find out more about this project, please visit the project homepage.
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