Make Art Song Fun Again

A brief background on the vibrant history of European art song tradition. Spoiler: it’s actually fun!

Salons. In the modern context, they’re a place to get a new haircut or a manicure. However, in the late 18th century through the early 20th century, a salon was where guests shared political ideas, music, art, and poetry. In European salons, the seeds of revolution were planted alongside the spread of petty gossip and the first performances of famous lieder. Salons were organized social gatherings, often hosted by bourgeoisie and noble women who had the fortune of having ample space and a piano. Guests at a salon would typically be well-educated in religion, politics, philosophy, science, and the arts. In other words, art song tradition is as rooted in elitism, privilege, and the upper class as opera is, unfortunately. Poor folks were not singing Schubert around the piano.

Jeunes filles au piano (Girls at the Piano) by Pierre-Auguste Renoir, painted in 1892.

It’s difficult to overstate what salons and the social status of owning a piano did for the popularization of lieder– it’s likely there would not be a vital art song tradition without both factors. Although the piano was invented in 1700, most folks preferred the harpsichord until Bach was convinced to try out a piano in the late 18th century. Due to his wild popularity, other composers, such as Mozart and Beethoven, also began playing and composing for piano in place of the harpsichord by the late 1700s. 

The popularization of the piano coincided with the rise of the middle class. Owning a piano was a status symbol and signified increased leisure time, especially for women. Playing the piano was more common for women of the expanding upper middle class, and it became an expectation for women to study and play the piano gracefully. Despite this, women were not encouraged to pursue a concert career or to compose music. Clara Schumann was one notable exception to both of these rules.

A salon in the late 1700s.

While 17th and 18th-century salons originated as a social endeavor, throughout the 19th century, they became much more intellectual and political. Believe it or not, the American Revolution was a hot topic of political discussion in French salons of the late 1700s! As Europe ushered in the Romantic era, salon culture heavily explored literature, poetry, art, and music. Romanticism emphasized passionate love, appreciation of beauty, and the largeness of the natural world and humanity’s relation to it. Lieder was the perfect vehicle for these sentiments.

Unlike operas, musicians did not typically perform art songs for large audiences in concert halls– the songs, often played on the piano by the composer himself, were sung by lay people in salons. Although the two are so often grouped together today because 19th-century lieder is sung with a classical singing technique, opera and art song are pretty different. Operatic singing takes years of training and practice to execute, but lieder were meant to be sung by anybody for small audiences of friends while drinking wine and talking politics. 

That’s our guy Schubert at the piano!

Today, art song is used as a vehicle for building classical singing technique when the voice isn’t quite ready to execute the vocal acrobatics of opera or to fulfill university requirements for juries and recitals. While art song became increasingly virtuosic and challenging for the singer as the tradition developed in the late Romantic era and beyond, it was intended to be accessible, evocative, and fun. Yes, lieder were supposed to be fun, not something a sophomore vocal performance major halfheartedly sings for a panel of their university professors to get an A in voice for the semester.

Salons weren’t accessible or equitable; they were purposefully selective and elitist. They were literally bougie. However, the original purpose of art song, to exchange musical ideas and emotions among friends, has been totally lost in our modern classical music practice, and it’s time to bring it back. Art song is casual; it’s meant to be sung by anybody; you’re supposed to drink a glass of wine, make mistakes, and start over. The composer might play what they write and then change their mind and rewrite portions before the next performance. Maybe someone sings a song, and another wants to sing the same one, so it’s performed twice in a row; maybe they make up some words here or there. Perhaps it becomes a political song, or words change to tease someone in the room. It just isn’t that serious. 

Looking hot at my master’s recital. UNCG, May 2019.

For my master’s degree recital, I dressed in a golden gown and sang French, German, and American art songs for a polite audience that clapped at the end of my sets like they were supposed to. I didn’t speak with the audience or use music and was the only one singing. I had to do a comprehensive exam where I explained everything I knew about these songs to a panel of my professors to earn the right to perform them. Because I’m a bit of a weirdo, I did perform some new songs about Ruth Bader Ginsburg and included staging, but that’s because I’ve always wanted to make classical music a little less stuffy.

Only singing art song in recital is not salon culture. That’s relegating a vibrant and invigorating art form to academia’s boring and regimented walls. Performance art is alive! Lieder encompasses what it means to be human!

Consider this essay merely an introduction to my shifting perspective on lieder. Conveniently, I’m actually singing some Schubert and Schumann in what I would loosely consider a salon setting at the Germanic-American Institute in St. Paul this Sunday, February 26, at 4 pm. Don’t hesitate to reach out for details. If you’d like to purchase tickets, click here.

Four awesome Twin Cities singers (Eryn Tvete, Josh Diaz, Jimmy Finch, and myself) are performing on the program alongside our fearless pianist, Emily Urban. We will discuss our pieces before performing them, so the audience gets a bit of context. It feels like one small step toward salon culture and away from the stuffiness of recital halls. 

Singing songs with friends while drinking wine and discussing politics and current events sounds much more fun than cramming for an undergraduate recital. Let’s make art song fun again.

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Feminist Fridays: Gretchen am Spinnrade

What if men cared more about preventing unwanted pregnancies?

Our guy Franz. I see he escaped some facial deformities that often accompanied late-stage syphilis. Photo: Wikipedia, baby!

I know it’s a Sunday, but Feminist Fridays are BACK! We’re digging into one of my favorites today with Schubert’s Gretchen am Spinnrade (Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel), a wild ride worthy of aria status, using the famous Goethe text, Faust.

Let’s back up and talk about our guy Franz Schubert (1797-1828). He wrote around 600 vocal works, primarily lieder (art songs) in his short life, in addition to symphonies, sacred music, operas, and piano and chamber work. He famously died officially of typhoid fever in 1828, but many scholars postulate he died of syphilis. I’m not sure why this is so scandalous; many people died of syphilis back in the day. No, seriously. Everybody was dying of syphilis, and it was gnarly. Thank goodness for penicillin, am I right?

Schubert made the most of his short time on earth by becoming one of the most prolific German art song composers of all time. The sheer number of works he composed over a few years is truly astounding, and we can thank him in many ways for ushering in a new era of compositional style. Beethoven reportedly was impressed!

The agony!!! Gretchen at her spinning wheel. Artist: Frank Cadogan Cowper.

Gretchen am Spinnrade is perhaps Schubert’s most iconic piece for soprano. Although it is an art song, the intensity, storyline, and relationship between voice and piano evoke the dramatic sensibility of an operatic aria. He wrote the song at the tender age of 16, further proof of his compositional genius. 

Ugh, one of the best. Enjoy the incredible vocalism of Kiri Te Kanawa.

Google Translate meets my own poetic translation for clarity.

Let’s talk about the story of Faust for a minute. Although the character of Faust has been around since the 1500s, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s play is one of the most consequential and well-known interpretations. In two parts, Goethe tells the story of a medieval man who sells his soul to the devil.

But I don’t really care about Faust– I care about the beautiful young woman, Gretchen (or Margaret, the two names are used interchangeably), whom he seduces and impregnates.

She accidentally kills her mom with a sleeping potion meant to keep her unaware of Faust’s visit, her brother condemns Faust, who kills him with the devil’s help, and Gretchen drowns her baby. Gretchen is then imprisoned for murdering her child, and although Faust attempts to free her with the devil’s help, she refuses. Ultimately, she is pardoned by God as she dies.

Woof. Romanticism, man.

This song is set before all of the tragedy unfolds. Gretchen has met Faust, and his charms consume her. She sits restlessly at her spinning wheel, heard in the piano accompaniment, as she obsesses over her love for Faust. They haven’t had sex yet, but her longing for him builds in the vocal line as the piano accompaniment imitates her increasing inability to focus on her work. 

Definitely turned some heads while reading this in Iowa.

Like many women before her, having sex with a man was the worst choice Gretchen could have ever made. The implication of this choice was unfairly 100% on her. I finished a fabulous book, Ejaculate Responsibly: A Whole New Way to Think About Abortion, by Gabrielle Blair, while sipping a delicious chai at a coffee shop in Ames, Iowa, last Sunday. It’s a short read but supremely validating and angering all at once. 

Blair was able to clearly articulate a frustration of mine in the conversation surrounding unwanted pregnancy and abortion: 100% of unwanted pregnancies are caused by irresponsible ejaculation, and yet, women bear most or all of the responsibility of preventing unwanted pregnancies.

Through 28 straightforward arguments, Blair attempts to shift the abortion issue away from legislating women’s bodies and toward a focus on equalizing the playing field of responsibility in preventing unwanted pregnancies. Assuming both parties are fertile, women are fertile for approximately 24 hours per month, whereas men can impregnate a woman 24/7, 365 days per year. Despite this, women account for 90% of the birth control market and face stigmas surrounding prioritizing men’s comfort and pleasure over pregnancy prevention. 

In Gounod’s opera, Faust, the devil had a hand in helping Faust seduce Gretchen, which could be a commentary on how tempting it is to sin, or it could be a way of absolving Gretchen of her actions. Regardless, love makes people do stupid things, like getting knocked up and accidentally killing their mom with a sleeping potion. Right?

In my mind, Gretchen resembles Ophelia– a tragic character swept up in the problems of and mistreatment by men, only to die, tortured, and alone. She fits nicely into a literary trope of helpless women who become victims at the hands of the men who were supposed to love them. At least Hamlet also dies– In Goethe’s version of Faust, the hero goes on to have an entire part two without mentioning how he ruined Gretchen’s life and caused her demise. At least she got to go to heaven. Yes?

My hope for a modern Gretchen is that she could fall in love and have sex with a man who understands that preventing unwanted pregnancies falls on both parties. By taking control of her sexuality, our modern Gretchen can restlessly daydream at her spinning wheel without worrying about a life-upending change. It makes for a far less dramatic story– distinctly less darkly romantic but much more empowering.

The devil can still condemn Faust to eternal damnation, though– he’s the worst.

‘Til Death Do Us Part: Frauenliebe und -leben Part 8

Who are we, if not the people we love?

This post belongs to a series formerly known as “Frauenbild Fridays.” Click here to see the original post.

Well, fellow feminists, we’ve come to the end of our first song cycle, Schumann’s Frauenliebe und -leben. Since this is a piece about a woman’s life and love, we can assume the last song features our protagonist on her deathbed, reflecting on a life well lived with her family and fulfilling career in the rearview mirror.

Wait, we forgot something– a woman’s life in this period wasn’t hers! 

The last piece in Frauenliebe, “Nun hast du mir den ersten Schmerz getan,” translates to “now you have caused me my first pain,” and refers to the death of our protagonist’s husband. Of course! It’s not her death that ends her life but rather her husband’s. We should have known.

At first glance, the lyrics remind me of the now defunct Hindu practice of Sati, also known as “widow burning,” where some women would burn themselves alive on the funeral pyres of their dead husbands, either willingly or unwillingly. In Frauenliebe und -leben, our protagonist metaphorically resigns herself to death as her husband’s body lies in front of her. It is a dark and macabre image.

I adopt a critical eye immediately, so I’d like to take a step back and assess two things before I get all cynical. First, Chamisso wrote these poems in the aftermath of the Sturm und Drang era, a precursor to the Romantic period translating to “storm and stress.” Alongside the stereotypical themes of the time, such as nature and romantic love, the romanticization of death and strong, negative emotion also pervaded literature, art, and music.

This is what comes up when you Google Sturm und Drang. Rock ‘n’ Roll, baby!! I’m moody now! Angst!! Turmoil!!! | Abraham van Beijeren, River Landscape

It makes sense that folks of the 1800s were obsessed with death and dying. 1840 was a time in which death was much more normalized than it is in our culture equipped with modern medicine. In the 1800s, the global average of childhood deaths was a whopping 43.3%. Nearly half of all kids died before they even reached adulthood! Of course, it wasn’t smooth sailing once the surviving children reached adulthood– the average lifespan in the 1800s hovered between 30-40 years of age. Next time I feel like I haven’t accomplished enough, I’ll just remember that if I had lived two hundred years ago, I’d probably be dead by now!

The second factor I’d like to assess is a little squishier: love. When someone close to us dies, a tiny part of us also dies because we are part of each other. Through seven songs, we discovered our protagonist’s intense love for her partner and expanded upon her experience to center herself rather than her husband.

Grandma and me at my high school graduation. I look awful, but I think she looks cute, so we’ll roll with it. I will not be taking questions about my sunglasses. Northfield, Minnesota, 2011.

My grandma died nearly seven years ago, leaving behind a little gap in my heart. A grandparent is often the first acute death young people experience, and it was difficult to cope when my grandma died. I’m fortunate that those closest to me have lived long lives thus far, so I haven’t experienced the pain of losing a parent, sibling, best friend, or significant other. However, I can still imagine our Frauenbild doesn’t know how to go on without her closest confidant– it was hard enough for me to reckon with my grandmother’s death.

In short, I think Frauenbild’s grief is warranted, even if her outlook is antiquated and colored by the views of men at the time. 

Let’s allow the lyrics to speak for themselves for a moment.

Translation from, surprise, Google Translate.

I do not know what Jessye Norman is doing with her rolled “r” here, and frankly, I don’t care.

The poetry in this piece evokes the acute pain of loss. Even in the translation, we can feel the burden of grief our protagonist is grappling with. The broken iteration of Seit ich ihn gesehen as a postlude is quintessentially Schumann and makes me cry, I won’t deny it. The piece is a beautiful end to the cycle, but not to this woman’s story.

Although her husband is dead, I want to hear an epilogue where she continues to grow alongside her grandchildren. I want to read her memoir recounting her travels with friends. I want our protagonist to volunteer at a hospital or mentor young colleagues in her field. I want her to go on living.

The beauty of existing as a 21st-century American woman is finally becoming the main character in our own stories. For so long, we lived in service to God and husband. We existed only to produce more people, which is a powerful job but limiting when we see all the options available for men.

I savor my worth as a human not being tied to whether or not I’m beautiful, married, or a mother. My value doesn’t lie in producing sons who can go on to do something great; I can be something great myself. Women have only experienced this power in the mainstream sense for a generation. I won’t take it for granted and I won’t let anyone take it away from me.

The death of our Frauenbild’s husband may have been the end of her story, but it’s not the end of our modern twist. After my grandpa died in 1999, my grandma went on to retire as the English department chair at Le Sueur High School, travel around Europe with her friends, and remain an integral part of my childhood. I’m sure she missed my grandpa deeply, but I only remember her as a sharp-witted, independent woman who lived and loved joyously. Although the grief of losing a loved one leaves a hole that no one can fill, our protagonist’s life will continue because it is her own, just like my grandma’s.

Thank goodness– I can’t imagine being a sidekick in my own story.

One of the last times my grandma was healthy enough to hear me sing live. Concordia College, 2014.

Now you’ve caused the first pain

But it hits me.

You sleep, you soft, merciful man,

The sleep of death.

The abandoned one looks ahead,

The world moves on.

I have loved and lived, 

I go without you.

I find joy in those around me,

The grief dulls every day,

Where there was lost happiness

New life grows.

Frauenbild Friday: Frauenliebe Pt. 6

Honestly, I’ve been dreading this one a little because there’s no way around it– this song is about sex, and my mom and all of her friends read this blog. It’s also about sex in a very pre-sexual revolution sort of light– intimacy leads to babies, this is the only function of sexual relations, and everything else is SIN, I TELL YOU!! SIN!!!! Mom and friends, I’m sorry. 

I’ve been dying to use this painting since I started the blog. DO NOT SIN, or the devil will visit you in your sleep!! The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli, 1782. Image courtesy of theartstory.org.

Even in 1840, we know people had sex outside of marriage. In fact, young men were encouraged to “sow their wild oats,” so to speak, with prostitutes and the like, while women were expected to know absolutely nothing about sex and needed teaching from their husbands. Haven’t you all watched Bridgerton? The shame of losing one’s virginity and the burden of unplanned pregnancy has always fallen on the woman, and that hasn’t gone away. A quote from The Breakfast Club comes to mind regarding virginity as a woman: “If you say you haven’t, you’re a prude. If you say you have, you’re a slut. It’s a trap.” Remember in my introduction to Frauenbild Fridays when I mentioned the “Madonna/Whore Complex”? People love to shame other people about sex, especially women and members of the LGBTQ+ community.

Most people know Margaret Atwood for her novel turned TV show, The Handmaid’s Tale. It was my favorite book I studied in high school, and it inspired me to read all of Atwood’s work I could get my hands on. Most of her writing is centered around dystopic future universes dripping with seething commentary on our current world. However, she wrote a historical novel in 1996, Alias Grace. It’s set around the time our song cycle was composed. One of the most riveting and angering plotlines is a maid in the tale engaging in a romance with a son of the family she works for, who gets her pregnant. He claims she got knocked up by somebody else and refuses to acknowledge the child. Knowing she will lose her well-paying servant position and reputation, the maid attempts to abort the fetus. She bleeds out on her bed and dies. So yeah, that’s what happened in 1840 when a woman had a Süsser Freund encounter–or perhaps 2040 if we keep eliminating reproductive rights. 

Sexuality is a controversial topic these days. Many people in the United States believe that unless you’re attempting to conceive a child, any sexual act is unholy and their job to punish. Right-wing commentators unleash a vendetta upon the LGBTQ+ community daily. Reproductive rights diminish around the country. A small group of people’s desire to control American citizens’ private lives is disgusting, unacceptable, and, unfortunately, historically consistent. When will we learn?

Intimacy is just that– it’s intimate. It’s a shared moment between two (or more, you do you) people that is no one else’s business. Intimacy is the glistening glue holding this piece together. When I hear this song performed well, it’s almost as if I’m uncomfortable invading this private moment between two people. Their hopes, dreams, and wants are between just the two of them. 

Jessye makes the most difficult song in the cycle sound easy peasy. *chef’s kiss*

You know the drill. Thanks, A2 level German knowledge and Google Translate.

This song is just so beautiful. From personal experience, it’s also wicked hard to sing– it’s incredibly exposed and requires precision equal to that of a tightrope walker. The understated accompaniment, paired with the impossibly long vocal lines, paints an atmosphere of sensuality and privacy from the first chord. As the piano line animates in the middle section, the vocalist gains energy and courage, and the relaxation back into calming bliss is a powerful musical experience.

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I’m so happy that our Frauenbild can practice vulnerability and experience safety and security with a partner she loves. I delight in the fact that she was married at a time when falling pregnant out of wedlock was life-threatening. I’m thrilled that she experienced a positive sexual awakening. Everyone deserves that, and not everyone is safe to love who they want to love right now or even how they want to love.

God called on his people to “love thy neighbor.” Let’s do that. 

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Sweet friend

I am amazed at everything you do

Everything you are

What you could be

And when I am in your arms

I know I am safe

I know I am loved

I know I am home

But mostly

I know you.

Frauenbild Friday: Frauenliebe Pt. 1

I. Seit ich ihn gesehen (Since I saw him)

Clara Schumann at the piano. © img.apmcdn.org

I carefully considered which songs to start with, but the choice is clear– I have to start with Frauenliebe und –leben, poetry by Adelbert von Chamisso, and set to music by Robert Schumann.

Robert Schumann (1810-1856) was a prolific composer of German art song and was one of the finest composers of the Romantic era. One of my favorite bits of lore about Schumann is that he allegedly used a mechanical device to strengthen his weaker fingers while playing piano, which permanently damaged his hand. His wife, Clara Schumann, reportedly discredited this, but she may have had a vested interest in debunking this theory as Robert was studying with her father. Who knows! If you know the actual truth, tell me. Regardless, Schumann gave up his dreams of pursuing a performing career to compose.

It is more than worth noting that Schumann’s wife, Clara, was a respectable composer in her own right and a far better pianist than he ever was. However, because she was a woman, she is remembered by history as Robert Schumann’s wife as opposed to a musician and artist worthy of our attention. This lack of performance has shifted recently as more musicians wish to interpret the compositions of female composers, both past and present.

Frauenliebe und –leben was composed during Schumann’s famous Liederjahr, or year of song, in 1840. In that year alone, he wrote 138 songs. Busy bee!! Eight songs make up the song cycle, written for female voice and piano. Mezzo-sopranos often perform the cycle today, but I don’t know why other than the fact that it doesn’t have soaring high notes. 

Here’s our set list:

1. Seit ich ihn gesehen (Since I saw him)

2. Er, der Herrlichste von allen (He, the most wonderful of all)

3. Ich kann’s nicht fassen, nicht glauben (I cannot grasp it, believe it)

4. Du Ring an meinem Finger (You ring on my finger)

5. Helft mir, ihr Schwestern (Help me, my sisters)

6. Süsser Freund, du blickest mich verwundert an (Sweet friend, you look at me in wonder)

7. An meinem Herzen, an meiner Brust (On my heart, at my breast)

8. Nun hast du mir den ersten Schmerz getan (Now you have caused me my first pain)

Performing Frauenliebe und -leben in recital at Concordia College in Moorhead, MN with the incomparable Stephen Sulich at the piano.

I love this song cycle. I sang it at my senior voice recital at Concordia College and would like to sing it again. The music is genius, and the sentiment is sweet. Sometimes, in the frenzy of examining literature and art through the feminist lens, we obliterate the presence of romantic love. This omission is not necessary and is frankly ridiculous. Being in love with somebody is excellent! I simply seek to explore the sentiments of a woman who doesn’t define herself by a man. Her love is her own choice and is one of the many beautiful things about her, and it is certainly not the most interesting. Suppose this song cycle was just called Frauenliebe, fine. It’s about a woman in love. But it’s not. It’s called Frauenliebe und –LEBEN (leben means life in German), which implies that this woman’s life was wholly dedicated to loving this man. She is not alone. Many women today still live entirely for someone else, whether it be their husband, children, parents, or a caregiver role in some other capacity. I’m not advocating for selfishness, but I am supporting a self-fulfilling existence, or at least allowing for that option. Screw being a Frauenbild, live your life for yourself, enriched by others. 

So who is our Frauenbild turned protagonist? Chamisso and Schumann didn’t give me a lot, so she gets to be whoever I want her to be.

Elly Ameling, a prolific interpreter of art song. Expect to hear a lot more from her.

English translation sort of by me, sort of by Google Translate.

Bridgerton was the most popular show on Netflix when it premiered in 2020, and I was one of its many viewers. I even started reading the books–despite the cringe-inducing romantic smuttiness of it all, one of the appealing factors is the deep feeling the characters express for each other. This outpouring of love is quintessentially romantic, reminiscent of our first Frauenliebe song. So what would this love at first sight look like today? Even the phrase makes me roll my eyes, but I’m reminded of when I spent all night texting boys on my flip phone who would never like me back. Now that makes me cringe. I crafted the perfect witty response, gave out careful compliments, and listened intently as they vented about school or girls, as if being the one who was there would enlighten them to my sheer perfection. It was profoundly anti-feminist, trying to be whatever I thought these stupid boys wanted me to be. Alas, eyes glued to the screen, I did it anyway. It was all-consuming; my entire brain focused on the screen of my phone, waiting for it to light up. I imagine our protagonist was subject to the same creeping obsession with being loved. That’s a human experience– we seek love from others. Exhausted from work, she scrolls mindlessly through a dating app, disillusioned from mediocre conversations and lukewarm connections. She starts another interaction out of boredom, but this guy seems different. He’s not perfect, but he grabs her attention. Six feet tall, since that seems to matter on here.

See you next week for more FrauenFUN!!!

Frauenbild Fridays!

In German, Frauenbild translates to  “female image.” I remember first hearing the term in a course on Song Literature (yes, that’s a real course, and it’s two semesters) during my graduate degree, and it stuck with me.

A Frauenbild is the Madonna of the Madonna/whore complex. She is the perfect feminine image. She exists to assist a man on his journey to self-actualization; she is a prop, a manic pixie dream girl. Frauenbild is just another way of describing the male gaze; the idolatry and objectification of a woman, the act of putting the female figure on a pedestal, and expressing disgust, disdain, and disappointment when she falters. 

A Frauenbild is quintessentially romantic.

Admittedly late Romanticism, but a Frauenbild in action.
Edmund Blair Leighton, 1890.

I am a classically trained soprano and have spent years studying and performing operatic repertoire, American musical theatre, church music, and art song. Western art song was born in Europe during the Romantic era and encompasses the genre of poetry set by a composer for solo voice and piano accompaniment. Art song was often a way to have fun– anybody wealthy enough to have a piano could invite friends to their salon and sing songs together while they drank wine. Think of it as an old-time karaoke night. 

Today, art song lives on in the recital hall, and unlike the salons of France and Germany, it has become a tool for developing vocal technique and musicality for the young singer. Nobody is drinking whiskey and shouting Erlkönig anymore, and frankly, that in and of itself is a tragedy.

If you haven’t seen Jessye Norman’s bizarre Erlkönig, you haven’t lived.

Back to the Frauenbild– she is everywhere in art song! The presence of an unattainable feminine ideal during this time is not shocking, as our 19th-century composers and poets were nearly all men, and feminism as we know it was non-existent. Women were objects of male affection. For example, take Frauenliebe und -leben, written by Adelbert von Chamisso and set to music by Robert Schumann. It’s an entire song cycle about a woman falling in love, getting married, having babies and her husband dying. It’s also the only major work from this era and genre centering around a woman’s life. (Someone will challenge me on this, I’m ready to be proved wrong.) Anyway, the ONLY MAJOR WORK ABOUT A WOMAN’S LIFE, and men wrote it. Again, not shocking, just a little disappointing.

An illustration of our Frauenbild from the book Frauenliebe und -leben by Adalbert von Chamisso, illustrated by Paul Thumann.

If you’ve never heard of German art song (also known as Lieder) before this moment, I invite you not to dismiss this as stuffy nonsense. I love these songs. I don’t want people to stop performing them. I’m tired of classical music hiding in the walls of academia, destined to rot in a museum instead of blossoming in a state of rebirth into mainstream culture. They’re just songs, and I want to have some fun with them.  I want to imagine what the Frauenbild in Die schöne Müllerin was thinking (certainly not about the narrator) or who the woman behind the blue eyes in Brahms’ Dein blaues Auge could be. Did Clara Schumann have blue eyes? Let me know. 

Welcome to Frauenbild Fridays.