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Drawing on key elements from musical thought in inter-war Hungary, this 2007 book provides a unique perspective on the nation's musical heritage both inside and outside Hungary's borders during the Cold War. Although Ligeti became part of the Western avant-garde after he left Hungary in 1956, archival sources illuminate his ongoing contact with Hungarian musicians, and their shifting perspective on his work. Kurtág's music was more obviously involved with Hungarian traditions, was entangled with the Soviet occupation, and was a contributing part of the city's diverse musical culture. However, from the mid-1960s onwards, critics identified his music as an artistic and moral 'truth' distinct from the broader musical life of Budapest: it was an idealized symbol of life beyond the everyday in Hungary. Grounding her interpretations of works in these complex political circumstances, Beckles Willson is nonetheless sympathetic to arguments by Ligeti, Kurtág and Budapest music critics that their music might have a life beyond nationalist and Cold War ideology.
This book strikes me as being two books in one. Unfortunately neither one of them is thorough enough to be convincing and satisfying. One book might have been "Hungarian Music During the Cold War," but it would have required more detail on Hungarian history and more detail on music beyond Kurtag and Ligeti. The other book might have been "Kurtag and Ligeti: Reception of Two Hungarian Composers in Hungary and In the West," but this would have required more detail especially on their reception in the West in order to better understand the different reception in Hungary. Obviously Arnold Whittall, General Editor of the Cambridge University Press series Music in the 20th Century, saw things differently.First the strength of the book, which is some interesting detail on Kurtag and Ligeti. Willson clearly has greater expertise on Kurtag, having previously published a monograph on Kurtag's first major work, "The Sayings of Peter Bornemicza, Op. 7" (1962-68). One of the most important insights of this book is the exalted status Kurtag came to enjoy in Hungary by the 1980s. He "became an ennobled musical presence -- a 'genius' for Budapest" (p. 2), "constructed as an otherworldly individual, pure, and beyond the reach of language" (p. 3). "[T]he meteoric rise of Kurtag" is seen as "a product of the society that had evolved under the Soviet regime" (p. 3). Willson explains that "Hungarian constructions of Kodaly and Bartok have frequently had recourse to messianic rhetoric, and ... Kurtag's rise is thus representative of a pervasive trend..." (p. 3). Though it seems difficult to understand from the vantage point of the West where I stand, Kurtag became "Kurtag," seen as a symbol of resistance to the occupation. This was not any sort of outward, political resistance, but rather an inward integrity that emphasized truth and suffering and avoidance of any celebration of the regime.Turning to Ligeti, Willson finds a letter from the composer while in Cologne in 1956 in which Ligeti comments on his investigation of the music of Boulez and Stockhausen. He says "[i]f they're like Mondrian, I'd rather be like Klee" (91) which I find to be delightfully apropos. However, I find that Willson engages in too much psychoanalysis in her attempt to find evidence of "longing and loss" in Ligeti's music. Better is the analysis of the use of Christian language by the two Jewish composers, focusing on Kurtag's "Peter Bornemicza" and Ligeti's "Requiem." Still more could have been said about the use of the dominant religious culture by non-believers. Willson does not address the irony of the Jewish Kurtag becoming a revered cult figure in overwhelmingly Catholic Hungary. But the interpretation of "Peter Bornemicza" as a demon-possessed singer experiencing divine illumination only in the finale with a C# major triad is certainly provocative.Chapter Four, "After 1968: Budapest, Kurtag and events" is the core of the book. The Seventies were years of cultural thaw, and the Budapest New Music Studio was the center of the emerging avant-garde, musically but not politically radical (131-136). Kurtag was already a senior figure, and attended but did not participate in NMS events. Important details emerge on Kurtag's career. He had a powerful backer in Andras Mihaly, composer and cellist, who was a communist during the war and so presumably enjoyed the support of the Soviet-backed regime, though Willson does not elaborate on his politics. It was Mihaly who organized both the Darmstadt and Budapest premieres of "Peter Bornemicza," Kurtag's first impact outside Hungary. Kurtag gained a post as piano instructor at the prestigious Liszt Academy in 1967, and later as chamber music instructor -- Mihaly was Chair of the Department of Chamber Music. Willson traces the emergence of "Kurtag" especially through his 1975 composition "Four Songs to Poems by Janos Pilinszky Op. 11." It premiered at a Kurtag portrait concert in the "Music Of Our Time" Festival at the Liszt Academy, a key event in Kurtag's canonization. The second song is titled "In Memoriam F.M. Dostoevsky," and is an example of the theme of revelation through suffering. Willson sees it as emblematic, as "narratives of tragedy and redemption have a history in Hungarian mythology" (148). An idealized image of Kurtag subsequently developed in the Hungarian press. One article sees in Kurtag's music "the need to be searching -- but never finding the Truth" (143). The chapter ends with Kurtag elevated to the role of seeker, musical mystic, and guru (162).The subsequent chapter on Ligeti, "After 'The West': Ligeti looks back," focusing on the composer's return to Hungary in the 1970s and then his turn to incorporate Hungarian folk music in his "late period" of the 1980s, is less impressive. Ligeti became an Austrian citizen in 1967. Willson spends some time documenting what she calls his "creative acts of memory," self-mythologization through selective and inaccurate presentations of his past in Romania and Hungary. Both the theme of the canonization of Kurtag and Ligeti's "creative acts of memory" have substantial elements of debunking. Willson's exposition would be more convincing if she included multiple points of view on both points.A powerful quote is taken from Ligeti's essay in "Mein Judentum," a 1978 collection of essays by Jewish writers in Germany, based on his experience as a Hungarian Jew in Romania who did forced labor during the war and experienced the extermination of some close family members:"I have remained what I was, a Central European Jew, half assimilated and religiously unaffiliated ... the inhibitions and resentments that we all -- Jews and non-Jews -- have borne since the time of Hitler are incurable: they are psychic facts with which we must live" (168).I don't find Willson's treatment of Ligeti's music to be particularly insightful, but she presents the interesting history of the composer's return to Hungary in the 1970s. His first visit was in 1970 when he was invited to judge a composition competition. Ligeti engaged in dialogue with Hungarian composers and critics, and he argued for Hungary to join the new avant-garde world. His second visit in 1979 was marked by rapprochement and celebration -- "Ligeti was the long-lost (and found) great Hungarian" (191). But when he returned in 1983 for a 60th birthday celebration only 30 people attended his lecture (192). Willson notes that as the Cold War came to an end, Ligeti's music was "completely off the radar" in Hungary.Chapter Six turns again to Kurtag in Hungary, where by the 1980s he was becoming a living legend (200). Willson's analysis of three compositions, "Messages of the Late Miss R.V. Troussova, Op. 17" (1978-80), "Omaggio a' Luigi Nono, Op. 16" for Choir (1979), and "Songs of Despair and Sorrow Op. 18" for Choir (1994) are quite insightful. In particular she conveys the political interpretation of Hungarian critic Istvan Balazs, who sees "Troussova" as a metaphor for Eastern Europe, cowed by foreign occupation. Her treatment of "Kafka Fragments, Op. 24" (1982-5), which I consider to be Kurtag's masterpiece, is less developed, noting only that it emphasizes that "truth is inherently irreconcilable with power" (212).If you enjoy the music of Kurtag and Ligeti, you may well find this book to be worth your time. However, to do justice to "Hungarian music during the Cold War" Willson would have needed to include more detail on Hungarian history, for instance the Hungarian uprising of 1956, and expanded her coverage beyond the two composers. And to do justice to Kurtag and Ligeti, more detail would have been necessary, particularly in order to contrast their reception in the West to the reception in Hungary. The most fascinating part of the book is the creation in Hungary of the saintly Kurtag, a symbol which as far as I know is not to be found in the West. How Kurtag is seen in the West is not addressed at all, which leaves a major gap. The book is less strong on Ligeti, but it could have been made stronger by a parallel development of Ligeti's reception in the West.(verified library loan)