In a 1929 review of the Threepenny Opera, Felix Salten wrote: Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get an original essay... young Weill's music is as characteristic as Brecht's language, as electrifying in its rhythm as the verses of the poems, as deliberately and triumphantly trivial and full of allusions as the popularizing rhymes, as witty in the jazz treatment of the instruments, as contemporary, lively and full of humor and aggression, as the text. (quoted in Hinton, 188) These characteristics which Salten's descriptions seem to relate to the concept of gestus, a word difficult to interpret but which nevertheless became the crucial link connecting Brecht's theories on acting, writing drama and theater production. In epic theater, actors become demonstrators of a character, rather than the characters themselves (rather than using Stanislavski's method of acting, which relies on an actor "putting himself in the shoes of a character "). Brecht wanted his actors to always remember that they were playing another person's story and emotions. Most importantly, epic performers are always concerned with broader social relationships, rather than the selfishness of enclosing themselves in their character. Gestus expresses these broader social relationships with "the idea of ​​contradiction and opposition and the need to find a visible and theatrically effective way of expressing both opposites and the unity of those opposites" (Morley 186)1 . Simply put, gestus is the representation of the theatrical moment that expresses the social relationships and attitudes that the play is about. The desired effect on the audience is verfremdungseffekt, literally “the effect of making strange.”2 This would force the audience to examine their surroundings by removing from the performance what they took for granted. As a composer, Weill contributed to the gestural concept of the Threepenny Opera by creating ways to musically assist the performer in showing the appropriate attitude at a given moment. Music, says Brecht, “became an active collaborator in laying bare the corpus of ideas of the middle class” (Brecht on the Theater, 85-6). Music deliberately in contradiction with its lyrics aims to underline the satirical character of the Threepenny Opera and the madness of its bourgeois characters. Musically, Ronald Taylor suggests that gestural music is first expressed "in the rhythmic arrangement of the text", then is brought back to reality by the insistent rhythms and pointed harmonies of the accompaniment and receives its final penetrating edge in the brash, intrusive instrumentation of the jazz band. , the sharpest weapon in Weill's satirical arsenal” (137). While Peter W. Ferran and others are primarily interested in the lyrical gesture of the Threepenny Opera, the lyrical gesture goes hand in hand with the musical gesture (as described by Weill and Taylor) in each song3, and it’s the combination of the two that makes the songs effective. These different gestures serve to create a grand gesture, through which the intentions of the play and satirical social attitudes are transmitted to the audience. In order to musically display these attitudes, Weill deliberately rejected traditional Handelian opera and wrote a jazzy, syncopated, dissonant score, working on melodies from North and South American popular music, which were at the time popular. fashion in Berlin (Fuegi 199). This music encapsulates the ironic tone of Brecht's lyrics4 and libretto5, satirizing the functioning of both traditional opera and the German bourgeoisie. This satirical gesture is imposed on the public at the very momentwhere the orchestra hits the first note of the performance. The instrumentation eschews the traditionally operatic string ensemble in favor of saxophones, trumpets, trombones, timpani, banjo, and harmonium (Sanders 115). The prologue's description of an opera "so cheap that even a beggar can afford it"6 is followed by a mocking and pompous baroque-type overture, harmonically minor and rhythmically labored. The listener can almost imagine Weill's mocking smile as he first wrote the repetitive melody based on scales and sforzandos7 à la Haydn of each beat. As Foster Hirsch notes, the opening is in 3/4 (as are many Threepenny songs), "but asymmetrically and with unpredictable vocals, seemingly incompetent within its repeated chords" (44). . This style destabilizes the audience from the start; it becomes clear that “here is music that will speak with a forked tongue” (Taylor 137). “The Ballad of Mac the Knife” (“Moritat vom Mackie Messer”), in the historically recognizable Bänkelgesang format, is a perfect example. of a work that “corresponds to the gestures”. According to Peter W. Ferran, "a Bänkelsänger was a medieval and early Renaissance balladeer who traveled the countryside of central Europe performing a sort of warning song about legendary figures... A species of Bänkelgesang was the Moritat, which celebrated – in a moralizing form, with the help of illustrated signs – the odious acts perpetrated by notorious criminals” (7-8). The music of “Mac the Knife” is based on the “motto melody”8 which, according to Hans Keller, “proves not only the melodic, but also the harmonic cell of much of the work” (147). The added sixth, which David Drew calls the “Moritat-motif” (151), is a common device in jazz composition, giving a somewhat discordant feel to the whole structure. This discordance is due to the quality of the sixth as "the inhibitory degree par excellence, because its opposition to the tonic is based on the strongest possible measure of agreement... hence the arch-inhibition, the interrupted cadence V -VI...the added sixth is the “bad” most accurate note” (Keller 147). The ballad is played at an easy, blues-like tempo and with a deceptive near-repetition of its sixteen-bar melody (Fuegi 202). As Kim Kowalke notes, “each verse after the first two is clothed in a new musical outfit composed of modified instruments, rhythmic patterns, countermelodies, and dynamics” (qtd. in Fuegi 202). The lull of the 4/4 blues contrasts sharply with the lyrics, which read like a criminal record of Macheath's crimes: At the edge of the murky waters of the Thames, men tumble abruptly. Is it the plague or cholera? Or a sign that Macheath is in town? (3PO 3)9The list is rather long, comprising nine stanzas. There's a sense that this is just the beginning of the scale of Macheath's transgressions, as if the Street Singer could go on listing Macheath's crimes for an entire evening. Here, Weill's sentimental melody and Brecht's biting lyrics combine to pique the bourgeois audience. who has constantly occupied the Berlin opera stage. The hypocrisy of the bourgeoisie is exposed, drawing a parallel between the criminals of Macheath's world, who drown men and rape women, and the criminals of Berlin's financial world, who increase their personal wealth by stealing from the poor. Macheath echoes this sentiment in the third act: "What is breaking into a bank versus founding a bank?" What is killing a man compared to employing a man? (3PO 76). Geoffrey Abbott tells us that in the original Threepenny Opera production, Weillused "Mac the Knife" as an instrumental accompaniment to Macheath's entrances, the style matching the mood of the particular scene. For example, when Macheath is led to the gallows, the song was to be played “like a funeral march” (168). Apparently this process is no longer commonly used in productions of the Threepenny Opera, but it may be useful to recall the satirical intention of Brecht and Weill in the production, while remembering that parody and satire are created in part through repetition. It is possible that by repeating "Mac the Knife" throughout the production, Brecht and Weill dealt a subtle blow to the world of opera music (which constantly repeats melodic themes, but with complete sincerity), thus than like the world of the German upper class, whose circumstances may vary, but the central "melody" (or way of life) remains the same. The Moritat motif of the added sixth appears again in "Peachum's Morning Hymn", in which Jonathan Peachum cynically tells the audience about his world, filled with dishonest criminals. The song is performed as a deliberate, moralizing waltz in a dirge-like minor key, reading like a sermon and accompanied by a large organ. (Melodically, we have already classified this as a "Moritat motif"; however, rhythmically and stylistically, we might call it the "Peachum motif.") Peachum considers himself above these "dilapidated Christians" (3PO 5). , although the “angry pietism” (Sanders 115) that Peachum proposes is hardly suitable for a man who runs a business that supplies beggars and takes a fifty percent cut of their meager income. Non and Nick Worrall note that Peachum's angry character is particularly evident in the original German text, "Verschacher dein Ehweib, du Wicht!" » (“And sell your old woman, you rat!” [lxvi]) These guttural consonants allow the actor who plays Peachum to spit his words with a pious fury that illustrates his character well from the start. Peachum generally sings in a slow, steady manner, as if he realizes his hypocrisies and hopes his style will proselytize for him. Drew suggests that by using this repetition of the added sixth, "the chord acquires, over the course of the score, such an important signaling [sic] function that it could well be described as the chord of the Dreigroschenoper" (Drew 151). He describes the use of the Dreigroschenoper chord and the Moritat motif as "necromantic conjurations" (150), but does not explain the dramatic connotations of the motif. Using these two examples listed above, it is possible to find a dramatic throughline within a melodic throughline and, in doing so, find Weill's satirical gesture in these tunes. The two songs together constitute a single message to the audience, using the Moritat motif as a grouping mechanism. First, the Street Singer appears and tells us the story of Macheath, with his knife "not in such an obvious place" (3PO 3). This scene immediately gives way to Peachum's song, in which we see another man taking advantage of the poor, albeit by less violent means.10 Later in the first act, Macheath and Polly, Peachum's daughter, marry in a stable with Macheath's cohorts as witnesses. . After the men are unable to provide a suitable wedding song ("Wedding Song for the Less Well-off" or "Hochzeits-Lied"), Polly offers her talents for entertainment. The song “Pirate Jenny” (“Seeräuberjenny”) is the story of a barmaid Polly saw in a bar in Soho. The barmaid, furious at the mistreatment inflicted on hercustomers, predicts that one day a pirate ship "with eight sails and its fifty loaded cannons" (3PO 20) will appear in the harbor and destroy the entire town, except the pirate Jenny herself. . The song is based on Senta's revenge ballad from Wagner's The Flying Dutchman, and here Weill creates a "quasi-Wagnerian atmosphere of mystery and high expectations, translated into neurotic 20th-century terms" (Sanders 117). The song has two contrasting sections: the breathless patter of the verse, in which Polly describes the actual process of killing the lot, and the slow, sustained, reverent description of the ships (the instruments of destruction) in the chorus. , it would be a mistake to interpret this song as an empowering ballad either for women or for the working classes, as it has sometimes been described. Foster Hirsch notes that if "Pirate Jenny" had been sung as a conventional opera, Jenny's revenge would have been accompanied by "the orchestra crashing and...the soprano spinning through endless histrionic roulades to denote her retribution triumphant” (46). But as we see, when the pirates ask Jenny who in town is going to die, she quietly replies, "The plot!" And as soon as the first heads roll, I will say: hoppla! (3PO 21) In Weill's score, Jenny's “hoppla” is pronounced a cappella. Hirsch suggests that this inflection is akin to today's “whatever,” a glib phrase, deadened by emotion and devoid of meaning (46). The chilling chord progression moves toward the dominant but never resolves, leaving Jenny navigating uncertainty, rather than a blossoming of new-found strength. ), features the Peachums and their daughter, Polly. Peter W. Ferran rightly points out that two vocal modes are at work here (15). The first is personal (“Do I desire much?”), in a major key and a fast tempo. This illustrates Polly's naivety in what she thinks is love: she wants to "enjoy the embraces of a man" (3PO 32), without realizing (yet) that her new husband has at least three other lovers at his side. Peachum intervenes with his pious moralizing, with a Bible in hand. (Note the reappearance of our "Peachum motif": the allegro tempo of Polly's words returns to Peachum's deliberate, sustained delivery accompanied by the organ.) The second impersonal vocal mode takes over here ("Who would disagree?" ) and Ferran notes the shift from a description of the Peachums' own situation to an observation of common worldly attitudes (15). Finally, the song ends with a “rhythmic ‘last word’ gesture: eight bars of decisive diatonic finality, sixteenth notes and eighth notes in G minor, a semitone higher than the song’s final F sharp minor” (17 ). This change in tone seems to musically symbolize the universality of the message: “the world is evil” (Blitzstein). The song is sung in several keys and, therefore, its message is applicable in several societies. The “Ballad of Immoral Gains” (Zuhälterballade) by Macheath and Jenny is probably the best example of the contrast between the music and words of the Threepenny Opera. The song is written as a tango, a South American style most often associated with exoticism and romance. Although the tango time signature is a rather simple 2/4, the marcato quarter note determines the rhythm and is overlaid with a somewhat complex pattern of dotted eighth notes and dotted sixteenth notes, followed by a pair of eighth notes. (This is what tango dancers are referring to when they describe the rhythm as "slow, slow, fast, fast, slow"). Once again, the syncopation subtly reminds the audience of the current jazz craze in Berlin, while giving it a sufficiently uneven rhythm. for theprevent ourselves from being lulled into a feeling of complacency. The quarter note marcato plays a huge role here – each note is a new attack, rather than each note transitioning gracefully to the next. (This can be compared to the repetitive sforzandos of the Threepenny Overture.) The minor key gives off a false romanticism, especially considering the lyrics, which are entirely unromantic. Tango music and dance were new to Europe in the early 1920s, and Weill appears to have used this new and complex style to emphasize the fact that the relationship (or rather sexual arrangement) between Macheath and Jenny is anything but simple ; rather, it's a crackle of syncopated, sadomasochistic attacks. Jenny describes how Macheath would “make her fall headlong down the stairs” (3PO 44). The last verse tells the story of Macheath accidentally impregnating Jenny, but to solve the problem they "threw him down the drain" (3PO 44). Alienation is expressed here in the contrast between the music and the lyrics. Just as importantly, this is expressed in the lovers' use of the third person when describing each other as a duet ("She was generally reserved" [3PO 44]). The epilogue of this song, in which Jenny betrays Macheath, can be seen as another verse illustrating this violent relationship. Through the song and the scene that follows, the universe of the Threepenny Opera appears clearly: no one can be trusted, and anyone will betray anyone in order to earn their thirty silver coins. . This idea ties into the next song, "The Second Threepenny Finale - What Keeps Mankind Alive?" (“II. Dreigroschenfinale”), which ends the second act. It is in this song that Brecht seems to become expressly political. It is actually made up of three separate systems. Ronald Sanders describes the first system as "utterly austere...the least operatic of the score's finales, this number sounds like a nightmarish version of a Salvation Army anthem, a choral sermon transformed into a black mass anti-bourgeois” (121). It is in this system that Macheath and Jenny utter the famous lines: "Food comes first/morals follow" and "Humanity can stay alive by its talent for keeping its humanity repressed" (3PO 55). . Men live by feasting on each other, and morality should not be discussed while the poor are starving. Macheath takes up the second system by asking: “What keeps humanity alive? It's important to note here that the question is not, "What keeps the rich alive?" The question extends to all of humanity. Brecht and Weill thus work together to form the idea that all men survive "by bestial acts" (3PO 56), whether they are the wealthy Berliners in the audience, men like Jonathan Peachum, or prostitutes. ordinary like Jenny. Therefore, the audience should be left to ponder the complex way in which the human race survives, regardless of its social status. It's also interesting to note that Macheath sings his initial question ("What keeps a man alive?") in a strong, climax-filled rubato (as if Macheath were saying, "Listen to this") , in a major key. In doing so, he seems to infer (or at least hope) that the answer to this question is both easy and satisfactory for everyone. However, this is not the case, as he launches into a litany of brutal complaints against the human race, employing cannibalistic language and mocking cynicism (Blitzstein's Macheath sarcastically reminds us: "Forget that they are supposed to be his brothers"). This is where the choir joins the third system. Peter W. Ferran mentions that it is thechorus which formulates the thesis of the song: “So gentlemen, let's face reality: we all survive thanks to crime” (17). He goes on to assert that since the chorus of an opera generally “states an eternal truth,” the chorus here becomes the “voice of the times,” speaking to the hypocrites of the world. The over-articulation of the words and music, with its resounding stanzas and antistrophes, ostensibly keeps the audience in check, reminding them that they are the ones to be entrusted with this message. Macheath bribed Smith, an officer, to let him out of prison; however, he is again betrayed by Jenny and finds himself in prison again, waiting to be hanged. As he is led to the gallows, Peachum interrupts the action, telling the audience that he cannot risk offending them; therefore, a different ending will be substituted. Here, “justice yields before humanity” (3PO 78), and in “The Third Threepenny Finale – Appearance of the Deus Ex Machina” (“III. Dreigroschenfinale”), Macheath is pardoned by Brown on horseback. Although exaggerated during its performance, Brecht asked the actors “to carefully fulfill the formal obligations of this final chorus” (Ferran 19). It is, as Weill writes, "an example of the very idea of ​​opera being used to resolve conflict, that is, being given a function in establishing the intrigue and must therefore be presented in its purest and most authentic form” (quoted in Manheim & Willett, 90). Macheath is saved from the gallows, and Jonathan and Cecilia Peachum stand in front of the curtain to address the audience directly and remind them that “saviors on horseback are rarely put into practice”11 (3PO 79). The Peachum motif appears again here, in Peachum's deliberate pacing and sermon-like prose. Drew notes that the "anapestic rhythm" of the allegro moderato in C minor echoes Macheath's "Call from the Grave" and Polly's "Pirate Jenny," "while the continued commitment to the minor mode reinforces the idea that in truth no one has been saved – because the world remains poor and man remains evil” (157). However, Weill and Brecht rescue us from the idea that we are doomed in an explosion of dominant seventh harmony12. The dominant seventh is commonly used by composers, particularly those of jazz, to destabilize the triad chord before (usually) resolving it with a major chord.13 This progression reminds the audience of the previous scene: tension and trepidation (like the illustrates the seventh chord) followed by liberation and freedom (as illustrated by the resolving dominant/tonic chord). Here, Macheath's experience freed from the gallows is reproduced both musically and thematically for the audience.14 Additionally, the question posed in the second finale, "What keeps humanity alive?" is slightly twisted to say, "What will keep humanity alive?" The answer is here in the final declaration issued by the whole society: “Injustice must be spared from persecution: soon it will die of cold, for it is cold” (3PO 79). The music here, while parodic, is also "decidedly anthemic...from a piously distended melody to an organ-like orchestration" (Ferran 19). These four lines remind the audience to “hunt down injustice” (Blitzstein), but that it too will pass. The implication here, however, is that the poor will freeze to death long before injustice occurs, and so they had better do something about their situation before it is too late. The music here is reminiscent of many Bach cantatas, in which “solos alternated with choral figures and dialogues were dressed up with recitatives” (Hirsch 51). Manheim and Willett's translation did not.