Balanchine’s Choreography of Ives

The Fifties was the decade during which admirers of choreographer George Balanchine had a chance to see just how “far out” he was willing to go … whether they wanted to go with him or not! Balanchine’s education had included intense studies of music theory and the structural analysis of scores. However, the twentieth century was when the foundations of those studies were challenged by new approaches to composition that, for example, no longer saw the need for a tonal center or a perfect cadence to define that center. As a result, in the decade following the end of World War II and the emergence of a new and adventurous crop of composers, everything was “up for grabs.”

Over the course of the Fifties, Balanchine committed himself to choreographing music by twentieth-century composers at their most adventurous. Three ballets from his repertoire stand out for the ways in which they confronted those adventures. Ironically, the very first of these acknowledges music that had preceded not only World War II but also World War I. The composer of that music was Charles Ives; and the music for the four movements of the “Ivesiana” ballet was composed between 1904 and 1908.

Each of the movements bore the name of the composition being set: “Central Park in the Dark,” “The Unanswered Question,” “In the Inn,” and “In the Night.” (Originally, the ballet had six movements; but the choreography for “Halloween” and “Over the Pavements” was subsequently dropped.) “Ivesiana” was premiered on September 14, 1954. (By way of context, Ives’ second symphony, completed in 1902, was not given its first performance until February 22, 1951, when it was played by the New York Philharmonic conducted by Leonard Bernstein; so it is not out of the question that Bernstein tweaked Balanchine’s interest in Ives.)

The second ballet involved one of Balanchine’s favorite composers, Igor Stravinsky. “Agon,” which was discussed on this site this past June, was first performed on November 27, 1957. As was observed at that time, Stravinsky’s score included his first efforts to work with a twelve-tone row, thus crossing the metaphorical bridge that had separated him from Arnold Schoenberg. Balanchine had taken on Schoenberg’s music for his “Opus 34” ballet, first performed on January 19, 1954; but that work seems to be all but entirely forgotten. He was clearly much more in his element when working with Stravinsky, even if the atonal portions of the music bordered on the simplistic spelling-out of tone rows.

The last of the three ballets was actually a joint project. The complete orchestral works of Anton Webern were divided between Balanchine and Martha Graham. Each provided half of a two-part ballet entitled Episodes. As might be expected, Graham’s portion was based on a narrative, the subject being the relationship between Mary, Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I, the Queen of England. Balanchine’s choreography, on the other hand, was abstract and suggested that he was well aware of many of the theoretical underpinnings of Webern’s scores.

Today I discovered that John Clifford had uploaded a 1964 Canadian video of “Ivesiana” to YouTube. Given the pioneering role that this ballet plays in the Balanchine canon, I could not resist the opportunity to view it and discuss the experience. By way of disclaimer, I should note that I have not the foggiest idea of how much Balanchine knew about Ives. However, if he followed his usual approach to preparing a new ballet, writing out his own piano reduction of the orchestral score, then I have to wonder how he felt that strategy turned out for him. (By way of context, I would guess that there are still quite a few conductors that have difficulties in parsing many, if not most, of Ives’ scores.)

Arthur Mitchell and Patricia Neary dancing “In the Inn” (screen shot from the video being discussed)

Of the four pieces that Balanchine set, “In the Inn” was probably the closest to his comfort zone. The music sounds enough like a pastiche of popular tunes that Balanchine could resort to many of his steps based on “hoofing.” Indeed, Patricia Neary and Arthur Mitchell looked as if they had been chosen to serve up something entertaining for the televised version of The Ed Sullivan Show.

This is not, in any way, intended as a dismissive brush-off. Balanchine knew a thing or two about hoofing; and it is clear from his choreography for the musical On Your Toes that he knew about the “cultural clash” between hoofers and ballet dancers. He would subsequently return to that clash in the “Rubies” movement of his Jewels ballet; and, in many respects, “In the Inn” provides “warm-up” material that subsequently served the creation of “Rubies.”

More challenging was the task of setting the first two movements. Both of the Ives compositions were originally given very lengthy titles: “A Contemplation of Nothing Serious or Central Park in the Dark in ‘The Good Old Summer Time’” and “A Contemplation of a Serious Matter or The Unanswered Perennial Question.” It goes without saying that contemplation is not the sort of activity that lends itself to choreography; and there is more than a suggestion that, in both of these movements, Balanchine was basically experimenting with patterns that would be suitable in getting him from beginning to end. As a result, the emergence of a popular tune evoking that “Good Old Summer Time” passes by almost unnoticed. “In the Night” is similarly ambiguous; but, because this is the final movement of the ballet, Balanchine was able to set it with a relatively pleasing approach to apotheosis.

As a result, I would speculate that Balanchine was probably as flummoxed by Ives’ composition techniques as was just about anyone approaching his music during the first half of the twentieth century. Nevertheless, I have to applaud Balanchine for being able to get his passionate audience to sit still and listen to Ives’ music. (Sadly, Ives died four months before the first performance of “Ivesiana.”) Furthermore, the fact that he could get that lightning to strike again for Webern is just as impressive. The bottom line is that I would leap at any opportunity to see performances of either (or both) “Ivesiana” and Balanchine’s portion of “Episodes;” and, if Balanchine was not quite there yet when that Canadian video was made in 1954, having a video record should benefit us all in following his path.