Conference Agenda

Aleksandr Pushkin’s “little tragedy” Mótsart i Sal'yéri (written 1830; published 1832) is frequently cited as fueling international conspiratorial speculation about Mozart’s death (Braunbehrens 1989; Jacobs 2005; Herrmann 2019). The first work of Mozartian fiction to mention Antonio Salieri by name, its themes of envy and criminality resonate through later adaptations of the tale, most notably Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s operatic setting (1898) and Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus (1979). Pushkin’s image of Salieri as a workmanlike composer threatened by genius, however, is far removed from depictions circulating in German literature, which emphasize Salieri’s later-in-life impact as a composition teacher. This presentation centers two lesser-known short fictions inspired by Salieri from this time: Gustav Nicolai’s Der Musikfeind (1835) and Leopold Schefer’s Der Sohn vom Ritter Gluck (1837), with a focus on the ways Nicolai and Schefer reinterpret elements of Salieri’s pedagogical career to present very different views of his interactions with students, purported musical values, and historical legacy.

Nicolai and Schefer draw on their experiences as critics and composers, reflecting a deep engagement with early constructions of Romanticism, musical nationalisms, and biographical anecdotes. Furthermore, they each draw on the paternal language adopted by many of Salieri’s documented students in musical tributes and personal reflections (including Schubert 1816; Hüttenbrenner 1825). Schefer, himself a student of Salieri’s in 1816–17, adopts this view sincerely, positioning Salieri as the titular figurative “son” of Gluck whose musical impact on the likes of Beethoven and others transcends both spurious rumors and Salieri’s own failing mental state. By contrast, Nicolai’s novella, which presents Mozart’s death as emblematic of the corrupting nature of the theatrical business, depicts Salieri’s teaching career as a nefarious strategy to consolidate his artistic influence after retiring from the theater. By exploring these novellas together in the context of emerging biographical discourses, I argue that, for German commentators engaging with Salieri's immediate posthumous reputation in the 1830s, narratives of his status as a well-regarded mentor were more relevant as a reflection of a figure in still-living (if contested) memory than the more abstract musings on genius and envy that would quickly capture a more longstanding and international popular imagination.

Music teachers, both in the classroom and in the studio, have often been the subjects of narrative film (see Melody for Three [1941]; Madame Sousatzka [1988]; Music of the Heart [1999]; School of Rock [2003]). In these stories, the teacher-student relationships appear on a spectrum from supportive to antagonistic. One might expect the success of teachers to depend on this relationship, with “good” teachers that support their students prevailing in the story. However, this is not the case. For the teacher to achieve their objective and end the film in control of the narrative, their goals and those of their students must align.

Nowhere is this disconnect between narrative control and good teaching more apparent than in Mr. Holland’s Opus (1995, dir. Stephen Herek) and Whiplash (2014, dir. Damien Chazelle). Glenn Holland displays all the qualities of the good teacher, adapting his methods to different students and patiently working with musicians of all levels. Yet he fails to save his own career in the end, denied funding by a board of his former students. Terrence Fletcher, meanwhile, is mentally, physically, and emotionally abusive to his students, particularly his star drummer, Andrew. Despite, or because of, the abuse, Fletcher achieves his goal of creating the next big jazz musician. Both examples interact with the musical genius trope, as Holland attempts to write a masterpiece composition and Fletcher attempts to create the next great jazz artist. Only one musician succeeds in this “genius” goal, and it is not the teacher with empathetic pedagogy.

These differing levels of control are emphasized by the musical sound worlds in each film; onscreen performances can highlight or subvert success, while the nondiegetic tracks can strengthen or undermine musical authority. For example, Holland’s composition appears in the nondiegetic realm, but only in fragments. Meanwhile, a nondiegetic theme associated with Andrew is later performed by Fletcher within the diegesis. Thus, it is not the quality of teaching or mentorship but rather the alignment of student and teacher goals, bolstered or denied by the music, that determines the filmic narrative of fictional music educators.

Chicory: A Colorful Tale is a 2D adventure game in which the Brush used to colour the world is passed down from Wielder to a chosen successor. One plays as Pizza, janitor to the current Wielder, Chicory. One day, colour disappears from the world. Pizza finds that Chicory has abandoned the Brush because she is depressed. Pizza decides to pick it up, colour the world back in, and combat the “corruptions” representing the doubts of herself and others. What appears to be a game for kindergarteners ends up tackling imposter syndrome and the often-fraught relationships between teachers and their students. Composer Lena Raine’s approach to representing these themes was informed by her own postsecondary training in a conservatory-style environment. In her liner notes, she describes being “raised by the standards of long-dead white men” and has compared Western music theory to the “legacy of the Wielders.” In this paper, I argue that her soundtrack to Chicory makes a pointed statement about gatekeeping in postsecondary music programs as well as the narrow scope of repertoire and approaches taught there.

Chicory juxtaposes the ultimately positive relationship between Chicory and Pizza with Chicory’s traumatic past with her mentor, Blackberry. Raine depicts these relationships through leitmotivs (e.g., Pizza’s theme derives from Chicory’s) and timbral choices. Raine also uses timbre to represent both the weight of tradition and Pizza and Chicory’s eventual decision to forge a new path in which anyone can be a Wielder. She begins with a palette of predominantly Renaissance instruments (e.g., recorder, harpsichord, lute) that gradually expands to modern orchestral instruments and synthesizers. The way she combines recordings of live performances with synths and samples of varying degrees of fidelity exemplifies the tendency for game music to challenge “dominant timbre aesthetic values of perfection and realism” (Summers 2023, 26). This paper contributes to the discourse on the significance of timbral choices in game soundtracks as well as how music can be used to align players with characters’ points of view. I also share reflections that playing this game has prompted concerning mentorship and supremacy in postsecondary music programs.