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3— Stravinsky Re-Barred
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Music Criticism

The idea that in passages of metric irregularity meter and phrase might often coincide in some characteristically Stravinskian fashion (that, in other words, the barring might here often represent a localized form of phrasing or grouping) is not especially new. Well before publication of the composer's recollections in Expositions and Developments, critics had come to roughly the same conclusions about the rhythmic phenomenon. The difference, however, was that these earlier conclusions were drawn up in the form of an indictment. The one-dimensional implications of this meter-phrase coincidence were viewed as an impoverishment.

It need hardly be remarked in this connection that the opinions of critics such as Cecil Gray and Constant Lambert are today of little or no consequence. Certainly the general tone of this early English commentary is pompous in the extreme. While Lambert's Music Ho! A Study of Music in Decline (1934)[1] is at times subtle and entertaining, and a good deal more compelling than Gray's earlier A Survey of Contemporary Music (1924),[2] both Lambert and Gray project a puffy, know-it-all image that is difficult to shake. Nor are the musical heroes of these critics—Delius for Gray, Sibelius for Lambert—likely to inspire confidence, especially as these affections come at the expense, in devastating detail, of nullities such as Debussy,


Schoenberg, and Stravinsky. Of course, verdicts in music criticism need not count for much—"opinions are mostly worthless," as Virgil Thomson once observed.[3] Listeners familiar with the music and musical issues at stake are more likely to be taken by the descriptive details of an argument than by its judgmental bias; often enough, details pursued on behalf of a negative assessment can just as easily be weighed in favor of the sympathetic vote, and the very traits isolated and decried by the detractors can become the ones that admirers most admire. What is interesting is that Gray and Lambert erected a critical edifice that has in one way or another served as a point of departure for nearly all subsequent critiques of Stravinsky's music. Even Theodor Adorno, intellectually a more acceptable figure nowadays, can add little to the general impression of the music as conveyed by Gray and Lambert. Most appropriately, all three critics—Gray, Lambert, Adorno—are not in the least hesitant about directing their attention to that single dimension in which Stravinsky's impact has most readily been felt, namely, that of rhythm.

As a general premise, rhythmic "effect" is seen as a net loss, since it disrupts the balance of the classics, an idealized equilibrium between melody, harmony, rhythm, and timbre. An emphasis on one of these components can come only at the expense of the others.

Although it is often convenient for the purposes of criticism and analysis to speak of musical language as if it were made up of three or four separate and independent elements in combination—melody, harmony, rhythm, and possibly . . . color—we must be careful not to think of it as such. As long as we make use of these terms in order to define more accurately certain qualities in certain works, they are quite legitimate and sometimes even necessary, but that is all. In actual fact it is impossible to conceive of one without the others. They are interdependent and indissoluble. . . . Not only, however, are these component elements inseparable from each other, but each is at its highest when they are all in complete equilibrium, when one does not predominate over the others. In the music of the greatest masters . . . one will find this perfect balance and equipoise; you cannot say of this music that it is "harmonic," "rhythmic," or "melodic"; it is all and it is none. But the moment that one element grows at the expense of the others the perfect concord is broken or impaired.[4]

Melody is the first casualty. In Gray's words, Stravinsky's melodic style, "short and monotonous," consists in the main of "a ceaseless alternation between two or three notes."[5] (The "Evocation of the Ancestors," Examples 9 and 10 in Chapter 2, comes readily to mind, as do the opening pages of Les Noces . Years later, apropos of a few measures from the Elegy to J. F. K. (1964), Stravinsky him-


self acknowledged the two- or three-note alternation as "a melodic-rhythmic stutter characteristic of my speech from Les Noces to the Concerto in D [1947], and earlier as well—a lifelong affliction, in fact.")[6] More to the point, for Gray the emphasis on rhythm led not only to "an impoverishment of melody and harmony, but to the loss of the very quality to which [Stravinsky] sacrificed the other two—rhythmic vitality." Divorced by sheer "effect" from its sister components, rhythm stiffened into design or pattern; it "degenerated into meter."[7]

The moment [rhythm] is divorced from the other constituent elements of musical speech it changes its character; it stiffens, petrifies, and becomes lifeless—becomes meter . In much the same way that formal design and rhythm when they cease to be representative tend, inevitably, automatically, to become mere geometrical pattern, as in a wallpaper or carpet, so musical rhythm, divorced from melodic implications, also becomes inert, lifeless, mechanical, metrical .[8]

So Stravinsky's obsession with rhythm in the Sacre has led, not only to the impoverishment of both harmony and melody, but to the loss of the very quality to which he sacrificed the other two—rhythmic vitality. The Sacre du Printemps, so far from being the triumphant apotheosis of rhythm, the act of restoration to its rightful supremacy of the most important and essential element of musical expression, is the very negation and denial of rhythm. In sacrificing everything to it, Stravinsky has, with admirable poetic justice, lost it, along with its companions, as well. Rhythm has here degenerated into meter.[9]

Gray follows this with an account of the "Sacrificial Dance."

Even those sections of the Sacre which give the impression of complexity, such as the final dance of the Elect, in which every musical interest is sacrificed to rhythmical purposes, are very primitive in construction. The time-signature changes constantly from bar to bar, but the music itself does not; it is only the eye and not the ear which perceives the changes. There is nothing there but the incessant reiteration of the same insignificant metrical phrase in slightly varying quantities. . . . Strip the music of the bar-lines and time-signatures which are only loincloth concealing its shameful nudity, and it will at once be seen that there is no rhythm at all. Rhythm implies life, some kind of movement or


progression at least, but this music stands quite still, in a quite frightening immobility. It is like a top or gyroscope turning ceaselessly and ineffectually on itself, without moving an inch in any direction, until, in the last bars of the work, it suddenly falls over on its side with a lurch, and stops dead.[10]

The description here of paradox, of seeming "rhythmic vitality" that conveys an overall impression of stasis or "frightening immobility," is entirely apropos. So, too, is the sense of futility that accompanies the conception of "a top or gyroscope turning ceaselessly and ineffectually on itself." A rhythm that, outwardly restless, conveys little overall sense of "movement or progression" is in fact one of the more striking aspects of Stravinsky's invention, acknowledged in these terms by countless critics on both sides of the fence, and a topic to which we shall eventually be returning for further discussion. An early admirer of Stravinsky's music, André Schaeffner, likewise pointed to "the rigid, solemn, priestly, petrified, or gilded" aspect of Stravinsky's art, to "a fixed, hieratic, mummified quality" that seemed "so paradoxical in a musician whose richness of rhythmic invention is undeniable."[11]

Many of Gray's arguments are rephrased by Lambert. There is, initially, the sense of a "dissociation" of rhythm "from its melodic and harmonic components," leading in turn to a "short-winded" melodic style.[12] Indeed, for Lambert it is "the lack of a melodic faculty," the apparent inability of this composer to chisel a melodic substance of his own (to create "a typical Stravinskian tune"), that provoked the stylistic upheaval of neoclassicism, the abrupt move from the borrowed or fabricated folk tunes of the "Russian" era ("monotonous peasant fragments") to the comic rewriting of Pergolesi in Pulcinella .[13] And here, too, rhythmic "effect" and its consequent "dissociation" tend merely "to restrict the development of the specific element" favored.[14] Rhythm deteriorates into meter or "mathematical groupings."


Stravinsky's rhythm is not rhythm in the true sense of the term, but rather "meter" or "measure." In many sections of Le Sacre the notes are merely pegs on which to hang the rhythm.[15]

Histoire consists almost entirely of an objective juggling with rhythm, or rather meter, for there can be no true rhythm where there is no melodic life. Like Gertrude Stein, Stravinsky chooses the drabbest and least significant phrases for the material of his experiments, because if the melodic line had life, dissection would be impossible. . . . The melodic fragments in Histoire are completely meaningless in themselves. They are merely successions of notes which can conveniently be divided up into groups of three, five, and seven, and set against other mathematical groupings.[16]

In most if not all of these particulars, Adorno follows suit. True, the argument acquires a Marxist and Freudian rationale. Yet, here too, Adorno's comments are not altogether new. Gray also complained about the "infantilism" of some of the shorter "Russian" pieces such as the Berceuses du chat and Pribaoutki and portrayed the composer's celebrated wit and irony as something "wholly negative," a kind of "grin" which, when compared to "the ghastly inhuman laughter of Schoenberg's Pierrot Lunaire ," was "mere cynicism," an empty, "meaningless dog-laugh."[17] And he ridiculed the aesthetics of "abstraction" along with the composer's "absurd feats of austerity" (which for Adorno became "renunciation" or "a perverse joy in self-denial"),[18] referring the reader for further study "to Professor Sigmund Freud's treatise on the 'Resemblances between the Psychic Life of Savages and Neurotics.'"[19] Here follow Adorno's comments on Stravinsky "the rhythmist," where reference is again made to the element of "dissociation" and its adverse consequences.

Stravinsky's admirers have grown accustomed to declaring him a rhythmist and testifying that he has restored the rhythmic dimension of music—which had been overgrown by melodic-harmonic thinking—again to honor. In contrast it has been rightly asserted by the Schoenberg school that the rhythmic concept—for the most part manipulated much too abstractly—is constricted even in Stravinsky. Rhythmic structure is, to be sure, blatantly prominent, but this is achieved at the expense of all other aspects of rhythmic organization. Not only is any subjectively expressive flexibility of the beat absent—which is always rigidly carried out in Stravinsky from Sacre on—but furthermore all


rhythmic relations associated with the construction, and the internal compositional organization—the "rhythm of the whole"—are absent as well. Rhythm is underscored, but split off from musical content. This results not in more, but rather in less rhythm than in compositions in which there is no fetish made of rhythm; in other words, there are only fluctuations of something always constant and totally static—a stepping aside—in which the irregularity of recurrence replaces the new.[20]

Note the allusion here to the mechanical character of the invention, to the fact that it does not admit "any subjectively expressive flexibility of the beat," a matter to which we shall likewise be returning for additional comment. Crucial to Adorno as well is the static nature of rhythm's "dissociation," its splitting-off "from musical content." For whether the shifting accents occur within periods of metric regularity or whether, in passages of irregular barring, the material is dissected or sliced up into smaller "melodic cells" that are in turn reshuffled and varied in length, a true sense of progress or development is replaced by "mere repetition."[21] "There are only," as he says, "fluctuations of something always constant and totally static."

The most elementary principle of rhythmic variation—which is the basis of repetition—is that the motif be constructed in such a way that, if it immediately reappears, the accents of their own accord fall upon notes other than they had upon first appearance (for example, "Jeu de Rapt" in Sacre ). Frequently, not only are accents shifted, but length and brevity are interchanged as well. In all cases, the differentiations derived from the motivic model appear to be the result of a simple game of chance. In this perspective, the melodic cells seem to be under a spell: they are not condensed, rather they are thwarted in their development.[22]

The school rooted in Stravinsky has been called motoric. The concentration of music upon accents and time relationships produces an illusion of bodily movement. This movement, however, consists of the varied recurrence of the same: of the same melodic forms, of the same harmonies, indeed of the very same rhythmic patterns. Motility . . . is actually incapable of any kind of forward motion.[23]

Most serious in this indictment is the charge of arbitrariness. "The modifications of accents . . . could in all cases just as well be fixed in another way."[24] In this


sense they are "abstract irregularities" that, "void of traditional meaning," constitute a kind of "arbitrary game," a "game of chance." (Gray pictured them as "geometrical pattern, as in wallpaper or carpet," while for Lambert the "abstract" patterns defined by the irregular or shifting accents were "rhythmical jigsaw puzzles.") Thus, too, pursued as ends in themselves (because "dissociated" or "split off from musical content"), the shifting accents were unprepared, and were therefore apt to be experienced as a series of "convulsive blows or shocks." And while the notion of shock is acknowledged as fundamental to much modern music, its implications in Stravinsky are "dehumanizing." Unable to apprehend the logic behind the "abstract irregularities" and hence unable to participate (to anticipate, resist, or absorb), the listener, as if under a spell, became the hapless victim of a kind of barrage. The composer's complicity is termed "sadistic" or "sadomasochistic."[25]

In the "sacrificial dance," the most complicated rhythmic patterns restrain the conductor to puppet-like motions. Such rhythmic patterns alternate in the smallest possible units of beat for the sole purpose of impressing upon the ballerina and the listeners the immutable rigidity of convulsive blows and shocks for which they are not prepared through any anticipation of anxiety.[26]

Everything depends upon the manner in which music deals with the experience of shock. The works of Schoenberg's middle years take up a defensive position by portraying such experiences. In Erwartung  . . . the gesticulation recalls a man gripped by wild anxiety. Psychologically speaking, however, the man is saved by his anticipation of anxiety: while shock overcomes him, dissociating the continuous duration of traditional style, he retains his self-control. He remains the subject and, consequently, is able to assert his own constant life above the consequence of shock experiences which he heroically reshapes as elements of his own language. In Stravinsky, there is neither the anticipation of anxiety nor the resisting ego; it is rather simply assumed that shock cannot be appropriated by the individual for himself. The musical subject makes no attempt to assert itself, and contents itself with the reflexive absorption of the blows. The subject behaves literally like a critically injured victim of an accident which he cannot absorb and which, therefore, he repeats in the hopeless tension of dreams.[27]

Arbitrariness—"abstract" design or pattern that is "void of traditional meaning"—is an impression shared by all three critics. And what may have induced this shared response can perhaps be traced to two interrelated factors: (1) the absence, during periods of acute metric irregularity, of an acceptable tactus (that is to say, an


acceptable marking for the beat or unit of pulsation),[28] and (2) the fact that the shifting accents which accompany the irregularity (or which, during periods of regular metric periodicity, disrupt the periodicity) severely compromise melodic identity. In other words, the difficulty seems to have arisen not so much from the absence of a steady meter as from the fact that in the most disruptive cases the irregularity occurred at a subtactus level, at a level below that of a standard (and in some instances preestablished) pulse. One of Adorno's complaints is that the rhythmic patterns in the "Sacrificial Dance" involved "the smallest units of beat," thus restraining the conductor to a series of mechanical, "puppet-like motions." In tonal music, of course, irregularity may routinely be inferred at the hypermeasure levels of metric structure, and even at the level immediately above that of the measure; in Stravinsky's music, irregularity occurs routinely at the level of the measure, coming by way either of the tactus or, as indicated already, note values or "units of beat" below that of a standard or prearranged pulse.

For example, at nos. 37 and 40 in the "Ritual of Abduction," the principal melody of this movement is introduced within a  image metrical framework where the tactus is unmistakably the dotted quarter-note with a marking of 132. Subsequently, at no. 46, the melody is dissected or sliced up into smaller metrical units of  image , and  image, forcing the listener at some point to abandon the dotted quarter and to adjust, if possible, to the rapid eighth-note as the "common denominator." (See Examples 14a and 14b. The irregularity at no. 46 will eventually force listeners to make at least an attempt at the eighth-note, although their initial efforts will most likely be directed at attempts to reconcile the abrupt "break-up" with the prearranged dotted quarter-note pulse. The situation is somewhat similar at the beginning of the "Evocation of the Ancestors," where the half-note pulse of the 1929 revision is challenged almost immediately by disruptive  image bars.) Moreover, the disruption of the tactus is all the more ferocious at no. 46 since it comes at the expense—comes by way of the mutilation—of a previously established metric identity, namely, that of the principal melody as first introduced at nos. 37 and 40. Hence, in this and similar passages throughout The Rite , the impression gained by all three critics of a rhythm "dissociated" or "split off from musical content" and of a melody sacrificed in the interests of "rhythmic effect."

More subtly, the disruption at no. 46 brings to the foreground those elements, meter and pulse, which in past tonal music are apt to be taken more or less for


Example 14:
"Ritual of Abduction"

granted on a background, nearly subconscious level of perception. In other words, in first establishing and then disrupting these ingrained levels of metrical structure, passages such as those at no. 46 have the effect of momentarily intensifying their presence. Hence, too, for the above critics, the shared impression of a rhythm that had mechanically stiffened into design, that had "degenerated into meter." The metric irregularity at no. 46 could have come by way of the tactus, the dotted quarter-note at nos. 37–46, and hence by way of extensions or contractions of the  image meter to, say,  image or  image . And although all three critics would doubtless have reacted similarly to this alternative, the disturbance is far less wrenching, as perceptual adjustments at this level are made with greater ease. A good comparison would be to


nos. 57–64 in the "Ritual of the Rival Tribes," where, by way of the quarter-note as tactus, the meter alternates among  image , and  image . Only if the irregularity had ventured into the realm of the eighth-note, a subtactus unit, would the disruption here have rivalled that at no. 46 in the "Ritual of Abduction."

Unable, then, to identify these elementary terms of reference, unable to rely on the crutch of a steady meter or uniform pulse, critics were understandably at a loss in locating a grain against which the invention could in some meaningful fashion be heard and understood. Nor, by the same token, could they appreciate the contradictions or reversals in the metric identity of the reiterating fragments, chords, configurations, or "cells," since such "displacement" hinges necessarily on these automatic, background terms of reference. Whether acknowledged or unacknowledged by the meter, the patterns defined by the shifting accents or stresses were thus interpreted as "abstract" design, "as in wallpaper or carpet." As music such design was, quite literally, meaningless.

In a curious way, too, all three critics would have found confirmation for their arguments in the analytical excursions of Pierre Boulez.[29] For while Boulez is an admirer of The Rite —while, for Boulez, The Rite is a piece in which rhythm had in fact finally been given its due—his more technical accounts tend merely to document the earlier vision of abstract design and pattern.

Boulez's analysis of the passage at no. 46 in the "Ritual of Abduction" is shown in Example 14b.[30] The outline here is useful because it scans the characteristic block structure prominently in evidence. Two blocks of material, labeled B and A respectively, are placed in an abrupt juxtaposition with one another; Block B, which consists of an F-punctuation spanning a single  image bar, marks off successive appearances of Block A, the principal block, whose durations vary in length and are hence "mobile." (Recall the similar construction examined in connection with the "Evocation of the Ancestors" in Chapter 2, a setting to which we shall be returning in due course.) Yet Boulez's commentary never strays beyond the design itself, beyond the measurements and proportions as defined in Example 14b; it never confronts the meaning or significance of these measurements and hence the experienced reality of the passage as a whole. This is not to suggest that the design is irrelevant to perception, but only that the irregularity at no. 46 cannot be removed from the conditions of periodicity that precede it. For it is only with reference to these prior conditions of periodicity, pulse, and melodic identity that the disruptive effect of the passage, its explosive sense of timing and suspense (and so its "mean-


ing"), can properly be gauged. The element of disruption is entirely absent from the carefully enumerated graph of Example 14b.

At the heart of many of these problems is the fact that, like earlier critics, Boulez takes the irregular or shifting meters at face value. Indeed, his extensive analysis of rhythm in The Rite includes no mention at all of the role of steady metric periodicity, even though steady meters govern much of the music in Part I with, by and large, their traditional hierarchical implications intact. Like his predecessors, Boulez tends therefore to ignore the grain against which the disruptive effect of the invention is felt. Rhythm may not here have reached a state of impoverishment, but it remains a one-dimensional affair nonetheless. Attention is drawn to the irregularity and reshuffling of the individual "melodic" or "rhythmic cells," which, acknowledged or unacknowledged by the meter, form the basis of the kinds of designs illustrated in Example 14b. Indeed, all four critics, Gray, Lambert, Adorno, and Boulez, are "radical" interpreters of Stravinsky's music, in the sense in which this term was first introduced by Andrew Imbrie several years ago.[31] What this means is that, in analytical review and hence presumably in perception, they tend to readjust their metrical bearings "radically" at the first signs of conflicting evidence. On the other hand, the instinct of the more "conservative" listener is to cling to an established regularity for as long as possible, and often with the consequence that the effect of conflict or disruption is all the more acutely felt. Thus, too, for the conservative listener, the one-dimensional implications of the meter-phrase coincidence often prove deceptive. For while the irregular barring might indeed often represent a localized phrasing or grouping, the other side of this coin is that it might not in fact reflect the full extent of metrical awareness. It might harbor a preestablished or readily inferable periodicity which guarantees the apprehension of contradiction in metric identity—indeed, that very "displacement" that commentators have been prone to invoke when confronting Stravinsky "the rhythmist."

In contrast to the irregularly barred passage at no. 46, the rhythmic pattern of the celebrated "Augurs of Spring" chord at no. 13 is introduced in a steady  image setting. Boulez's analysis of this eight-measure stretch, shown in Example 15, marks off the individual measures as independent "rhythmic cells" that are in turn linked to longer two-measure "cells" labeled A, B, and B1.[32]


Example 15:
"Augurs of Spring"

Example 16:
"Augurs of Spring"

His intent is to trace the reappearance and reordering of these "cells" in the varying contexts that lie ahead, and what emerges from his account is the clear sense of a "rhythmic theme," a rhythmic pattern that is in fact "split off from musical content" and that gradually acquires an independent life of its own. The passage of transition at no. 30, although overlooked by Boulez, serves as illustration. Shown in Example 16, the entire eight-measure pattern is lifted from its initial setting at no. 13 and applied to the bridge leading directly to the movement's climactic block at nos. 31–37.

Example 17 shows an even more radical approach. Here the analysis marks off the groupings as defined by the shifting accents, so that in opting for the irregular meter, the analyst (or composer) may be imagined as having "jumped the fence." The eight-measure stretch is split up into irregular bars of  image and  image . Note the extreme irregularity of the design as here defined, which even obscures the retrograde implications of cells B and B1 as noted by Boulez. This re-barring may seem a bit farfetched, but it is in fact


Example 17:
"Augurs of Spring"

seen not to be so if, as in Example 17, a reiterating fragment, taken from no. 46 in the "Ritual of Abduction," is applied.

Missing from these accounts, however, is an appreciation of the role of the steady  image meter. In fact, the "Augurs of Spring" chord at no. 13 is a classic example of the typical Stravinskian set-up: as is shown in Example 18, the passage is preceded by a clear definition of the governing  image periodicity, here coming by way of a D image-B image-E image-B image ostinato whose duple implications are unmistakable. (The preparation figures as a kind of bait. Boulez's "preparation," marked for the initial two measures of no. 13 in Example 15, comes much too late.) The impression of  image periodicity is likely to persist at least through the fifth bar of no. 13, where, up to this point, the shifting accents occur regularly on the offbeats of the  image scheme. Doubt may arise at m.6, however, where this accentual identification is contradicted. The stress is shifted to the beat, and from this point on the effect of disruption is similar to that of the irregularly barred passage at no. 46; it materializes in the form of a systematic attack on the prevailing meter and tactus (here the quarter-note with a marking of 100). In other words, at some point in this display onbeats become indistinguishable from offbeats and, in terms of both the meter and pulse, the listener becomes "lost." So, too, in establishing and then disrupting these familiar crutches, their automatic, background character breaks down and they are momentarily thrust to the surface of musical consciousness. Yet perhaps just at the initial point of disorientation (or perhaps at the point where the tactic, pursued at greater length, would have become tedious and hence counterproductive; the timing here is crucial), the D image-B image-E image-B image ostinato reappears at no. 14 and restors, retroactively, the  image "feel" to the section as a whole. Nor are the longer two-, four-, and eight-measure units irrelevant to this conception. Indeed, in light of the initial regularity of these hypermeasures, it seem not in the least whimsical to apply dots in the Lerdahl-Jackendoff manner indicating the levels of a conventional metric structure—the levels of the quarter-


Example 18:
"Augurs of Spring"

note (tactus), measure, and the two- and four-measure units (see Example 18).[33]

Of course, the purpose of these introductory remarks is not to squeeze the variety of rhythmic structure in The Rite —or, indeed, in Stravinsky's music generally—into a single barrel of uniformity. On the contrary, steady meters often imply a construction that, in harmonic, melodic, and instrumental detail, differs fundamentally from that implied by irregular meters, so that a central concern in these chapters will be the identification of two prototypes of construction based on these distinctions. The kind of construction presupposed by the steady meters of "Procession of the Sage" and "Dance of the Earth" is quite different from the block structures that accompany the shifting


meters of "Ritual of Abduction" and "Evocation of the Ancestors." And irrespective of the imposed irregularity of Example 17, there are reasons for the steady  image design at no. 13, just as there are reasons for the notated irregularity at no. 46 in the "Ritual of Abduction." Yet, as should by now be equally apparent, correspondences between these essential types are no less obvious and of no less consequence. Our argument has in fact been that in passages of metric irregularity, contradictions or reversals in the metric identity of reiterating fragments often impose themselves by way of a concealed periodicity. Readers will doubtless detect the conservative bias of this perspective. Yet, without some measure of conservatism, it is difficult to imagine how a perception of this music can avoid the impression of arbitrariness, of "abstract" design and pattern, as stingingly portrayed in the accounts of all four critics cited. If the shifting accents or stresses are to have meaning, then this can come only to the extent that the resultant patterns are tied to regularity, and often, as noted, to hidden implications of steady periodicity.

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3— Stravinsky Re-Barred
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