Book Review: The Saddest Music Ever Written: The Story of Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings”
Larson, Thomas. The Saddest Music Ever Written: The Story of Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings” Pegasus Books, 2010. 262 pp.
Reviewed by James Allen Anderson
Thomas Larson’s book, “The Saddest Music Ever Written: The Story of Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings,” is an in-depth examination of a pivotal composition from the orchestral standard repertoire, tracking both its creation, its relationship to other works of the composer, and the larger cultural impact it has had on society. The title “The Saddest Music Ever Written” comes from a 2004 BBC Today radio program that held a contest to find the saddest music in the world. Of the 400+ entries, Samuel Barber’s Adagio finished first, garnering more than 50% of the vote.
The book’s strength comes from its historical and anecdotal passages that are communicated in a fluid and facile manner. Theoretical analysis is concisely and accessibly presented in a way that even the layman can understand. For the most part, the writing is thoughtful, polished and engaging, and the content is both interesting and informational.
The book is organized into three large sections interspersed with two “interludes” and framed by an opening “prelude” and concluding “postlude.” The larger sections follow a roughly chronological format and combine fact and insight in a proficient way. The interludes offer tangential respites in essay fashion, with topics such as “How To Describe The Adagio” and “How To Play the Adagio.” Throughout the book Larson tracks perspectives of world-wide historical events with Barber’s biographical material and ties these threads to the author’s familial experience with the Adagio. This interesting structural technique gives moments in the book the feel of a novel, creating, perhaps, an identity crisis between reference text and literary work.
Mr. Larson gives care to demonstrate the changing perspective of the Adagio and how social application of the music is evolving. Beginning with announcements of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s death in 1945, and the radio industry’s penchant for pairing appropriate musical selections to reported events, the Adagio’s birth as a sonic eulogy began. Other social references are explored, including the role of the Adagio in the Kennedy memorial, sacred service music, 9/11, the film industry (e.g. Platoon and The Elephant Man), video games, dance mixes, and ceremonial events such as the Olympics, to name but a few.
The main focus of the book attempts to probe the composer’s compositional muse, seemingly concluding that the Adagio sprang forth from the inner turmoil that Barber both repressed and grappled with all his life. The author suggests that this innate melancholy finds its clearest voice in the Adagio. Although Mr. Larson strives admirably to support the claim of an innate “sadness,” the subtext, and perhaps the most important conclusion addressed, is the cathartic possibilities contained in music for both the individual and for a larger societal purpose.
If the book has a fault, it can be found in the passages that descend into a forced poetic dialogue or pop-psychological analysis. These types of conclusions seem to be more of a personal expression of the author’s inner experience, as opposed to the presentation of objective ideas that allow the reader to reach their own conclusions. These moments, however, are few and the work on a whole successfully gives a thorough account of the Adagio’s creation and subsequent multi-faceted use.
Devoting an entire book to a single nine-minute composition and titling it with such a provocative title may seem a bit ambitious; however, Larson tackles the challenge with a personal narrative that keeps the reader engaged through the final pages.
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James Allen Anderson is the Director of Orchestral Activities at the Hayes School of Music at Appalachian State University (NC).
December 27th, 2010 at 3:42 PM
Forgive my self-aggrandizing enthusiasm here but once in a blue moon, a reviewer gets almost everything right about an author’s book, at least, from the writer’s point of view.
Such is the case with James Allen Anderson’s review of my book, The Saddest Music Ever Written: The Story of Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings.” His summary says exactly what is in my book but he hits the bull’s-eye when he speaks of the book’s structure.
“Throughout the book Larson tracks perspectives of world-wide historical events with Barber’s biographical material and ties these threads to the author’s familial experience with the Adagio. This interesting structural technique gives moments in the book the feel of a novel, creating, perhaps, an identity crisis between reference text and literary work.”
I wish I could have formulated this last idea as I was writing what I consciously wanted to be a different music book, precisely somewhere “between reference text and literary work.” I hoped to counter the notion that writing about music had to be about the composer, the music, the era, the work: covering one or all of these components typically comprises the traditional music book. I wanted to add in another dimension: How does music affect us emotionally and how can an author embody this meaningfully in writing. Thus, I included my initial hearing of the “Adagio,” imaginative descriptions of my family’s experience with the piece, and much about the life of Samuel Barber and his partner, Gian Carlo Menotti, focused on their highly charged relationship over four decades.
Mr. Anderson saw this analysis as personal and inner, which it is—and controversial, in that such play between history and experience brings forth a subjectivity that may conflict with the “objective” story of Barber’s composing his lament and its cultural reception.
Again, I’m guilty as charged. I wrote the book knowing that this conflict is difficult to bridge. It requires more adventuresome readers than are apt to read books about classical music. To his credit, Mr. Anderson sees this adventure neither as off-putting nor as consuming the book (a couple reviewers have, thus misrepresenting my effort). More than 80 percent of the book is devoted to things beyond the personal narrative.
So when Mr. Anderson says that I present the idea that sadness is innate to Barber’s personality and most of his compositions, again he’s right on the money. But this is even better: “Perhaps the most important conclusion addressed [in the book] is the cathartic possibilities contained in music for both the individual and for a larger societal purpose.”
How true! Not only is this music cathartic for me and for my family’s life during the time when the “Adagio” was written, but it has been cathartic for nearly everyone who has heard it in its many contexts, grieving national catastrophes.
I wanted to write a book that showed both dimensions: just how cathartic one piece of music has been in my individual life and in that of my culture.
An author will find that only a tiny portion of his reviewers are completely wrong or completely right about his effort. Here I marvel at a remarkable instance of the latter. Bravo to Mr. Anderson for his insight and accuracy.
Thomas Larson
December 27, 2010
January 12th, 2011 at 11:13 AM
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