Today, a round number of years ago, in Paris, the composer Jean Barraqué (1928-73) died; the anniversary is reason enough to devote a brief presentation to him and one of his works in particular, by way of a first acquaintance with them.
Hailing from one of the districts just to the west of the capital, he commenced his musical studies there during the Occupation, subsequently attending the course given by Olivier Messiaen at the Conservatoire from 1948 until 1951, encountering under those auspices several aspiring composers, most notably amongst them Pierre Boulez; then continued with Pierre Schaeffer at the Groupe de recherches de musique concrète which had just been established by the Radiodiffusion-télévision française, until 1954. Already early in the 1950s he composed his first works; texts of musical analysis began to appear. In 1957 his Piano Sonata (1952) was recorded for the first time; other works followed. Five years later he published a book on Debussy. He became an affiliate of the Centre national de la recherche scientifique, remaining until 1970. Posthumously, in 1993, publication of his works was taken on by Bärenreiter. In 2001, his writings were collected in a volume published by the Éditions de la Sorbonne, while documents relating mainly to the Sonata were donated in the course of the 2010s to the Akademie der Künste in Berlin, which made use of this archive to bring out a critical edition of the work in 2019.
A bit before his own book was published, a perspicuous critic whom he had met while they were fellow students, André Hodeir, in an account of advancements made in Musique depuis Debussy, situated Barraqué as thus far the most accomplished successor of the earlier composer, the one who pursued those innovations the furthest. Great praise it was, and especially highly did the admirer commend the Sonata, which, as he had phrased his appreciation in a prior essay, pourrait être le testament d’un maître parvenu à la fin de sa carrière : elle offrira, croyons-nous, aux commentateurs des siècles à venir plus d’une occasion de s’étonner.*
* “La Musique occidentale post-webernienne”
Indeed, in this work one may both hear and not hear more than in most others – as it seems to my ears after first encountering the Sonata in the performance by Roger Woodward, with the composer in attendance (October 1972).
Often this work is designated a counterpart to Boulez’ of four years earlier, his Second Piano Sonata, and, to be sure, common to both are their proximities to a piece they alike exalt, Beethoven’s Op. 106; yet the winds which blow through this one, buffeting it audibly and inaudibly about, seem different to me. Hence, regarding this music by Barraqué, where to venture some words, if not here.
While waiting or not waiting for future occasions of astonishment, the differences in tone may be noted, though briefly.
This music sounds nervous, indeed more than nervous; so off on the side of its gestation I surmise an often nerve-wracking experience. A sensitive adolescence under the Occupation, would have known shock after shock as the deportations began, the policies even those whose hands were less than dirty found ways not to mention, then and later. Nor should the various after-effects be discounted, for in turn there was set into motion estrangement upon estrangement, rubbing out earlier contours of the humane as though such essential demarcations had all along been simply lines sketched in sand. – Overlapping or overlayered noises of erasure, consequently, impinged upon him ever more as the brief euphoria of the Liberation receded; afterwards, therefore, he sought to render them, preserving them from forgetfulness, in an apt musical form. That quite soon he did devise one, is shown by the distributions of silence included in the work. (Its difference from the Second Piano Sonata, can be referred simply to the fact that Boulez was some years older than Barraqué, and might therefore, just on that account, have experienced the whole period with another intensity and attitude.)
Granted, some conjecture is admixed in this explanation, but it does largely avoid psychological hypothesis; and in any case, the aim is to present what I have heard, on a first listening.
The music somehow seems to want to present itself as a pair of ears sans visage – the main reasons for this on its part, are what I should like to ponder, on mine.
Faceless music indeed, for those nurtured on the excitements and posturings of the Paris musical scene!* This is the assessment of a contemporary. The wry hint that figures in it, underscores its plausibility.
* G. W. Hopkins, “Jean Barraqué”