Babbitt and Stravinsky under the serial 'regime.'.
Babbitt's more general influence, his role in shaping our larger musical culture, is the topic of this article. I want to focus in particular on the 1950s and 1960s in this country. It is frequently asserted that this was a period in which Babbitt and his serial approach dominated the American musical scene. Indeed, the notion of a serial "tyranny" has taken firm hold in journalistic and musicological accounts of the period.(2)
This notion, which is in danger of hardening into accepted fact, is largely false. In fact, a study of composers active during the period, who held academic positions and received grants and awards and whose music was published, recorded, performed, and reviewed reveals that serial composers never accounted for more than about one-fifth of any of these categories. The majority of active composers, including those who held the most prominent university positions and who were most often published, recorded, and widely recognized, remained committed to more traditional idioms throughout the period.(3)
Despite its demonstrable marginality in American musical life during the 1950s and 1960s, however, serialism did command a certain intellectual prestige and attracted some of both the admiration and the resistance that normally accrue to new fashions. Among both proponents and detractors, Stravinsky's decision to adopt a serial approach, first tentatively in his Cantata (1952) and Septet (1953), and then with increasing assurance and individuality throughout the 1950s and 1960s, was understood as an epochal event. Stravinsky was the most famous composer in the world, the first and still the only composer in the Western classical tradition to become an international media superstar during his lifetime. His serial music never received the attention of his early ballets, but was far more visible than any other serial music composed during that period.
As a result, Stravinsky's change of style in 1952 has always been Exhibit A for both the prosecution and defense in the case of musical serialism. For serial composers, Stravinsky's change of compositional orientation in 1952 came as a sublime vindication. On the other side, Stravinsky is often depicted as capitulating to the power of a momentary musical fashion.
[Schoenberg's] school was so strong and influential that it compelled obeisance in all lands. One by one the coryphees declared their fealty. We have witnessed the most abject surrender only recently, when Stravinsky, always aloof, arrogant, used to command, bared his head before "the three Viennese," obediently accepting terms.(4)
Stravinsky is seen (like Copland) as currying favor with a younger generation of avant-garde composers.
In the 60s, Copland had the world at his feet except for that small portion older composers most crave: young composers. The young at that moment were immersed in Bouleziana, a mode quite foreign to Copland's very nature (as to the nature of Stravinsky, who also sold out to the system). . . . It was poignant to see Copland and Stravinsky trying to please Boulez.(5)
According to this notion, serial composers, despite their small numbers and limited temporal power, controlled the intellectual high ground and instilled in Stravinsky a sense of intellectual inferiority which impelled him to toe the serial line.
Like all Russian composers, Stravinsky envied the Germans their traditions. The mask fell when it became so terribly important for him to establish belated and retroactive connections with the New Vienna School. Typical of Stravinsky the serialist were self-pitying assertions like this one, from Dialogues and a Diary. "I am a double emigre, born to a minor musical tradition and twice transplanted to other minor ones." At a Stravinsky centennial symposium at Notre Dame in November 1982 I recalled this passage and asked, rhetorically, whether anyone could imagine calling the French tradition "minor." I can still hear Milton Babbitt's "Oh, I can!" - interjected only half in jest. I recalled that it was Babbitt who had shown Stravinsky Schenker's lofty dismissal of the Concerto for Piano and Winds in 1962, just when Dialogues and a Diary was being put together, and wondered how many such encounters with American academic serialists lay behind Stravinsky's confession.(6)
The motivation for this strained concoction [Canon (On a Russian Popular Tune), Stravinsky's serial setting of the main theme of the Firebird finale], so strangely lacking in Stravinskian finesse, is hard to fathom, unless it was to impress his friends at Princeton.(7)
Stravinsky's change in compositional style, then, can be viewed either as a vindication of serialism or a measure of its power to coerce and intimidate by virtue of its intellectual prestige. Either way, Stravinsky functions as a bellwether, a leading indicator and embodiment of cultural trends. Whatever factors shaped Stravinsky's serial turn thus shaped also the larger musical culture. It becomes an important historical task, then, to ascertain the extent to which younger serial composers, including Babbitt, influenced Stravinsky. Did Babbitt play on Stravinsky's sense of intellectual inferiority to pressure him into writing a kind of music that would otherwise have been alien to him, or was Babbitt's influence of a more benign kind? Indeed, did Babbitt have any significant impact at all?
Babbitt was, and remains, the dominant figure in American post-war serialism. By the early 1950s, when Stravinsky began his serial turn, Babbitt was already known as the leading figure among the small group of younger American composers interested in Schoenberg and Webern. When Stravinsky, guided by Robert Craft, began to share that interest, it was logical and inevitable that he and Babbitt would come into contact.(8) Indeed, Stravinsky and Babbitt were in frequent and friendly contact throughout this period.
I knew Stravinsky very well. We were very close indeed - we were friends - and I lived very closely with him through the period in which he became enamored of all these ideas and forged for himself a very special technique.(9)
Babbitt was an early and knowledgeable student of Stravinsky's serial music, and his early analytical study of it remains a standard source of information.(10)
Babbitt's knowledge of Stravinsky's music was profound, detailed, and intimate, as the following anecdote suggests:
On the morning of 9 January 1960 Stravinsky conducted the final rehearsal for the first, so to speak, performance of the Movements, after which he lunched with the pianist for whom the work was commissioned, her husband, and others of us. Although or perhaps because the luncheon wine had been ordinary neither in quality nor quantity, Stravinsky - at the conclusion of lunch - insisted that Claudio Spies and I escort him from the Ambassador Hotel - the luncheon scene - down the street to the Gladstone, and then up to his suite, where he further insisted that we sit, surrounding him, while he produced and displayed all of his copious notes, alphanumerical and musical, for the Movements, and then proceeded, as if to restore for himself and convey to us his original, unsullied image of the work, to lead us on a charted voyage of rediscovery. I do not know how long his exegesis lasted, but I do recall that dusk arrived and we scarcely could follow visually the paths and patterns that his finger fashioned from his arrays of pitch-class letters, but we dared not switch on the light for fear it would disrupt the flow of his discourse and the train of his rethinking. But I doubt that it would have, for he did not drop a syllable in whatever language he was speaking at that moment when I, in a spontaneous burst of detente, observed that the hexachord of the Movements was, in content, that of Schoenberg's De Profundis. If I do not recall when that extraordinary exposition ended, I surely cannot recall how, but I do recall how Claudio Spies and I attempted immediately, collaboratively, and subsequently to reconstruct that grand tour.(11)
The reverse, however, was not true. There is no evidence that Stravinsky was closely familiar with any of Babbitt's music. Stravinsky did praise a work of Babbitt's, The Widow's Lament in Springtime, but only in the most general terms, referring to
the many excellent smaller examples of - what seems to me anyway - a distinctly American and very lovely pastoral lyricism: Ruggles' Angels and Lilacs, Babbitt's The Widow's Lament in Springtime, Copland's Dickinson songs.(12)
Stravinsky also expressed his lack of interest in or knowledge of Babbitt's theoretical writing about twelve-tone music.(13) Whatever composers' shop talk they shared moved in one direction only: Babbitt learned about Stravinsky, but not the other way around.
Furthermore, and most conclusively, Stravinsky's twelve-tone music bears no significant relationship to Babbitt's, beyond an initial commitment to a series of twelve tones as a referential structure. The lack of a relationship is difficult to prove, but a comparison of two apparently similar passages may help to focus the discussion. The first is from Babbitt's song The Widow's Lament in Springtime, a work singled out for praise by Stravinsky, as noted above. It dates from 1950, just before Stravinsky's serial turn, and is typical in many ways of Babbitt's approach during this period. Example 1 provides the opening of the piece (Example 1b) and the four-line trichordal array on which it is based (Example 1a).
[Musical Expression Omitted]
[Musical Expression Omitted]
Arrays of this type have been described in detail in the literature, so I will merely observe that it consists of four lines, each containing the twelve pitch classes.(14) The lines are not all related to each other by transposition or inversion, but their constituent trichords and hexachords arc, and in interesting ways. The array can be thought of as embodying a note-against-note counterpoint, and the resulting chords are highly symmetrical. In the actual music, these chords are rarely heard as such, but the passage can be heard as, among other things, an elaboration of the simpler chordal structure of the array. I emphasize this aspect because it is one that bears apparent similarity to a frequent practice of Stravinsky's.
Example 2 contains the conclusion of A Sermon, a Narrative, and a Prayer (Example 2b) and the four-part array on which it is based (Example 2a). Stravinsky wrote this piece in 1961, the same year in which he praised the Widow's Lament. The four-part array combines what for Stravinsky were the four basic forms of the series. Arrays of this kind are reasonably common as a basis for Stravinsky's late music - they occur first in Threni, with antecedents as far back as Agon, and for the last time in the Postlude to the Requiem Canticles. These arrays have interesting structural properties, although they have scarcely been noticed in the literature. Stravinsky called them "constructions of twelve verticals."(15) The passage in Example 2b consists of the twelve chords of the array.
[Musical Expression Omitted]
It is in his use of four-part arrays like this one that Stravinsky's compositional practice seems most strongly to resemble Babbitt's. If one were going to argue that Babbitt influenced Stravinsky, shaped his late style in some demonstrable way, the argument would have to be made right here, where their styles seem most to converge.
But I think a closer look will make it clear that these arrays and these passages actually have very little in common. For Babbitt, the trichordal array was a theoretically fertile intersection of Schoenbergian combinatoriality and Webernian derivation, both suitably generalized, and susceptible of an astonishing variety of compositional realizations. For Stravinsky, the four-part array was something much simpler: it was a way of writing twelve-tone chorales.(16) Most of Stravinsky's twelve-tone music is highly contrapuntal in texture: the serial lines normally maintain polyphonic independence. But Stravinsky was setting lots of religious texts in this period and wanted to be able to write chorales, solemn homophonic passages which could function as what he called, on one occasion, a "chordal dirge."(17) For this purpose, he invented his four-part arrays. Far from being a theoretically charged starting point for a world of musical
[Musical Text Omitted]
realizations, these four-part arrays were, for Stravinsky, a local solution to a local problem.(18) So despite any apparent similarities, Stravinsky's and Babbitt's arrays are entirely different kinds of creatures. If Babbitt influenced Stravinsky in this period, then, he did not do so by virtue of his musical ideas, as embodied either in his music or his theorizing, neither of which Stravinsky knew.
Stravinsky was not particularly interested in theoretical abstraction and generalization. He had specific, concrete ideas of what kinds of sounds he wanted to write, and he appropriated, or invented, ways of doing so. Serialism presented itself to him as a bunch of musical possibilities, some well understood, some only partly understood, and some creatively misunderstood. He took what he wanted, and invented the rest.
I might also note that Boulez, frequently imagined as an important influence on Stravinsky in this period, had as little substantive impact as Babbitt. Stravinsky became aware of Boulez's music in 1951 and there was close personal contact between the two composers during the brief period between 1956 and 1958.(19) In 1952, Stravinsky attended rehearsals of Boulez's Polyphonie X and, according to Craft (1974), "made an analysis of the score." Stravinsky also expressed admiration for Le Marteau sans maitre, Boulez's best-known work.(20) Furthermore, the row for Structures la appears among the compositional sketches for Stravinsky's Threni.(21) But neither Polyphonie X nor Le Marteau nor Structures la contains serial structures remotely similar to anything Stravinsky ever wrote. Furthermore, whatever analysis Stravinsky might have made, Boulez's serial structures have proved extremely difficult to ascertain from the scores, which have begun to reveal their secrets only recently.(22) Stravinsky's knowledge of Boulez's music was necessarily superficial and there is little sign in Stravinsky's music of any desire to emulate Boulez in any way. If Stravinsky did in fact want to please Boulez, he did not try to do so through perceptible imitation.
For his part, Boulez was generally contemptuous of Stravinsky's music after Les Noces and, apart from arranging a disastrous performance of Threni in Paris in 1958, never expressed the slightest interest in Stravinsky's serial music.(23) Stravinsky knew Boulez's music only superficially, but generally liked what he heard. Boulez knew Stravinsky's music somewhat better, and despised it. In the aftermath of the Threni debacle, and when Stravinsky became aware of Boulez's attitude, he largely broke off contact.(24) In this poisonous personal environment, and in the absence of compelling musical evidence, it is hard to credit Boulez as a significant influence on Stravinsky.
If Stravinsky wrote twelve-tone music to impress Boulez, then he failed miserably in his goal and knew that he had failed. Even after conspicuously losing Boulez's favor and attention, Stravinsky nonetheless persisted in writing twelve-tone music. It is possible that a desire to impress Boulez, to ally himself with a powerful force in contemporary composition, played a role in sparking Stravinsky's initial interest in serialism. It is certain, however, that his commitment to the serial approach, and the long list of remarkably original works he wrote in that idiom, indicate that he had other, more pressing motivations for composing as he did.
Stravinsky was aware of what he imagined the younger serial composers thought of him before he made his serial turn. Craft describes the crisis brought on by the negative reception of The Rake's Progress.
The Rake's Progress was regarded by most critics as the work of a master but also a throwback, the last flowering of a genre. . . . Stravinsky found that he and Schoenberg were everywhere categorized as the reactionary and the progressive. What was worse, Stravinsky was acutely aware that the new generation was not interested in the Rake. . . . On March 8, he asked to go for a drive. . . . On the way home he startled us, saying that he was afraid he could no longer compose and did not know what to do. For a moment, he broke down and actually wept. . . . He referred obliquely to the powerful impression that the Schoenberg piece [Septet-Suite, Op. 29] had made on him, and when he said that he wanted to learn more, I knew that the crisis was over; so far from being defeated, Stravinsky would emerge a new composer.(25)
And Stravinsky himself confirmed his own willingness to learn from his juniors:
I have all around me the spectacle of composers who, after their generation has had its decade of influence and fashion, seal themselves off from further development and from the next generation (as I say this, exceptions come to mind, Krenek, for instance). Of course, it requires greater effort to learn from one's juniors, and their manners are not invariably good. But when you are seventy-five and your generation has overlapped with four younger ones, it behooves you not to decide in advance "how far composers can go," but to try to discover whatever new thing it is makes the new generation new.(26)
But despite his awareness of new music around him, in the world of twelve-tone composition Stravinsky was, to a very large extent, an autodidact. In its specific content, Stravinsky's twelve-tone music bears virtually no trace of influence from the younger generation of twelve-tone composers to whose system he is supposed, by some, to have capitulated.
In a series of works, extending from the Septet and Cantata of 1952 and 1953 through the Requiem Canticles of 1966, Stravinsky developed his own distinctive serial style and wrote a range of compelling works. There is hardly a work in the period in which he did not try something new - his music continually evolved, and in ways that were essentially independent of both previous and contemporary developments. In listening to and studying these works, one comes away, I think, with a sense of a continuous and adventurous exploration. Here is a composer at the height of his eminence turning away from familiar habits to try something new, and not just once, but again and again, searching restlessly, and creating works of unsurpassed beauty and power. Stravinsky's late works are best understood not as a bowing to pressure or a toeing of a party, line, but as a willed, individual voyage of exploration.
Babbitt, among others, including Boulez and Craft, helped to launch Stravinsky on the voyage, and to hint at some possible destinations. They opened a door, but had neither the power nor the will to push him through it, or prevent his return. Babbitt may have suggested and exemplified new ways of thinking in and thinking about music, but Stravinsky did what he wanted within his highly individual musical idiom. And I think Babbitt's impact on Stravinsky is similar to his impact more generally on the musical culture of the 1950s and 1960s and beyond, not to coerce or compel, but to enlarge permanently our sense of what music is and might be.
1. What follows is a revision and elaboration of one portion of the paper I presented at the Library of Congress on 2 May 1998.
2. The following quotations may serve as examples of a pervasive current point of view: "A list of American-born composers with established reputations before World War II who in the first postwar years adopted serial principles, however momentarily, is as diverse as it is fascinating and would include names like Sessions and Copland, who were known in the 1920s for their espousal of the cause of American music. Many composers of the next generation, however, made their initial reputation through a subscription to serial procedures, an endorsement that for a time from the mid-1950s on seemed almost a requirement for artistic survival" (Glenn Watkins, Soundings: Music in the Twentieth Century (New York: Schirmer, 1988), 528). "Thanks to Boulez and Babbitt, what had once been a style soon became a discipline, and one that could be taught to students much more easily than tonal modernism with its emphasis on stylistic diversity. By the 1960s, serialist composers had become ensconced on the faculties of America's most prestigious schools of music. . . . The general perception in musical circles was that serialism had triumphed; even Stravinsky and Copland finally converted in old age. As more and more composers submitted to the method's lockstep discipline, the public, too, came to agree with this judgment - and it responded by, in effect, giving up on new music altogether" (Terry Teachout, "The New Tonalists," Commentary (December 1977): 55).
3. See my "The Myth of Serial 'Tyranny' in the 1950s and 1960s," Musical Quarterly 83 (forthcoming), for an empirical, statistical study of the place of serialism in American music of that period.
4. Paul Henry Lang, "Introduction," Problems of Modern Music, ed. Paul Henry Lang (New York: Norton, 1960), 10-11. Lang had made the same point, more succinctly, two years earlier: "Stravinsky has capitulated to the dodecaphonists" ("Editorial," Musical Quarterly 44 (1958): 505).
5. Ned Rorem, quoted in the New York Times, 10 November 1985 and 16 January 1994.
6. Richard Taruskin, Stravinsky and the Russian Traditions: A Biography of the Works through Mavra (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 3.
7. Taruskin, Stravinsky and the Russian Traditions, 1648.
8. Craft's role in Stravinsky's turn to serialism has been a matter of some dispute. based on careful study of Stravinsky's correspondence and compositional sketches and manuscripts and other relevant documents from the period, I conclude that Craft's own description of his role is accurate: "When I met Stravinsky, in the spring of 1948, his fortunes were at a low ebb. Most of his music was not in print, he was not recording, and concert organizations wanted him to conduct only Firebird and Petrushka. More important, he was becoming increasingly isolated from the developments that extended from Arnold Schoenberg and had attracted the young generation. Stravinsky was aware of this despite the acclaim for Orpheus, his latest composition, and if he wanted to understand the other music, he did not know how to go about it. I say in all candor that I provided the path and that I do not believe Stravinsky would ever have taken the direction he did without me. The music that he would otherwise have written is impossible to imagine." (Robert Craft, "A Centenary View, Plus Ten," Stravinsky: Glimpses of a Life, (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1992), 16-17. See also Craft, "On a Misunderstood Collaboration: Assisting Stravinsky," the Atlantic Monthly (December 1982): 68ff; reprinted as "Influence or Assistance?" in Present Perspectives (New York: Knopf, 1984), 246-64; reprinted again in Stravinsky: Glimpses of a Life, 33-51.
9. Milton Babbitt, Words About Music, ed. Stephen Dembski and Joseph N. Straus (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1987), 20.
10. Milton Babbitt, "Remarks on the Recent Stravinsky," Perspectives of New Music 2, no. 2 (spring 1964): 35-55; reprinted in Perspectives on Schoenberg and Stravinsky, ed. Benjamin Boretz and Edward Cone (New York: Norton, 1972), 185. In more recent years, Babbitt has remained interested in Stravinsky's serial music and has made major contributions toward understanding it. See "Stravinsky's Verticals and Schoenberg's Diagonals: A Twist of Fate," in Stravinsky Retrospectives, ed. Haimo and Johnson (Lincoln, Nebraska: University of Nebraska Press, 1987) and "Order, Symmetry, and Centricity in Late Stravinsky,' Confronting Stravinsky, ed. Pasler (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986), 247-61.
11. Babbitt, "Order, Symmetry, and Centricity," 248 - 49; similarly in "Stravinsky's Verticals and Schoenberg's Diagonals," 16-17.
12. Stravinsky and Craft, Dialogues (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), 100; originally published, in 1961, as Dialogues and a Diary (New York: Doubleday).
13. See, for example, his article, "The New Terminology," in Themes and Episodes (New York: Knopf, 1961), 20-21, where Stravinsky derides theoretical terms like "dyads," "simultaneities," and "pitch priorities," all of which are associated with Babbitt's theoretical work.
14. See Andrew Mead, An Introduction to the Music of Milton Babbitt (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), especially Part Two, "Mapping Trichordal Pathways."
15. I discuss these arrays in detail in "Stravinsky's 'Constructions of Twelve Verticals': An Aspect of Harmony in the Serial Music," Music Theory Spectrum (forthcoming). In chord number 5, the viola's A[flat] is an apparent misprint for G[flat].
16. Aggregates and combinatoriality, so basic to the Babbittian conception of the twelve-tone world, play virtually no role in Stravinsky's twelve-tone music. In the middle movement of Canticum Sacrum, "Ad tres virtutes hortationes," Stravinsky does use a series based on the chromatic hexachord and occasionally exploits its combinatorial properties to create aggregates. But an interest in aggregates generally, and in hexachordal combinatoriality specifically, are not characteristic of Stravinsky's serial music.
17. Stravinsky, in his program note for the Introitus, wrote: "The choral chant is punctuated by fragments of a chordal dirge." Reprinted in Themes and Episodes (New York: Knopf, 1966), 62-63.
18. I think, by the way, that Stravinsky turned to the verticals of his rotational arrays for the same purpose - because he wanted to write music with a certain texture and impact. Although the vertical harmonies derivable from the rotational arrays are astonishingly fertile theoretically and compositionally, Stravinsky almost always uses them in relatively simple textures, as another way of writing twelve-tone chorales.
19. The history of the Boulez-Stravinsky relationship is detailed in Craft, "Boulez in the Lemon and Limelight," in Prejudices in Disguise (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1974), 207-13.
20. Stravinsky and Craft, Memories and Commentaries (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1959), 123.
21. This was recently discovered by David Smyth and reported in his unpublished article, "Stravinsky as Serialist: the Sketches for Threni." The relevance of this series to the music of Threni is unclear to me.
22. See Lev Koblyakov, Pierre Boulez: A World of Harmony (New York: Harwood Academic Publishers) and Stephen Heinemann, "Pitch-Class Set Multiplication in Theory and Practice," Music Theory Spectrum 20, no. I (1998): 72-96.
23. The following comment is typical of Boulez's attitude, one he expressed on many occasions: "The period in Stravinsky's output that I find most important is from 1911 to 1923. I think it was in 1923 that he finished the instrumentation of Les Noces. Afterwards there are a few points - a few oases - in his output: for instance, certain static passages in the third movement of the Symphony of Psalms. However, after an adventure that had taken him - like Schoenberg - such a long way, there came this regression, this fear of the unknown and the desire to organize the world in a reassuring way" (Pierre Boulez, Conversations with Celestine Deliege (London: Eulenberg Books, 1976), 107). Note that Boulez made this comment after Stravinsky's death. His exclusion of Stravinsky's late music from the "few oases" can thus be taken as deliberate.
24. A comment by Stravinsky in 1970 gives a sense of the situation: "I have not had any contact with M. Boulez myself since, shortly after visiting me in Hollywood three years ago, he talked about my latest compositions (in an interview) with unforgivable condescension, then went on to play them at a prestigious concert in Edinburgh. This was not the first proof of disingenuousness I had had of that arch-careerist, but it will be the last in which I have any personal connection." (Letter to the Music Editor of the Los Angeles Times, 23 June 1970; reprinted in Igor Stravinsky, Themes and Conclusions (London: Faber and Faber, 1972), 216).
25. Craft, "Influence or Assistance?" 251-53. Craft gave a slightly different version of the story in 1994: "We drove to Palmdale for lunch, spareribs in a cowboy-style restaurant, Bordeaux from I.S.'s thermos. A powdering of snow is in the air, and, at higher altitudes, on the ground. Angelenos stop their cars and go out to touch it. During the return, I.S. startles us, saying he fears he can no longer compose; for a moment he actually seems ready to weep. V[era] gently, expertly, assures him that whatever the difficulties, they will soon pass. He refers obliquely to the Schoenberg Septet and the powerful impression it has made on him. After 40 years of dismissing Schoenberg as "experimental," "theoretical," "demode," he is suffering the shock of recognition that Schoenberg's music is richer in substance than his own." (Robert Craft, Stravinsky: Chronicle of a Friendship, revised and expanded edition (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 1994), 72-73, diary entry for 8 March 1952. The original edition (New York: Knopf, 1972) had no entry for this date.) This alternative version, although it omits the actual shedding of tears, is even more emphatic than the earlier one in its assessment of the impact of Schoenberg's music.
26. Stravinsky and Craft, Conversations with Igor Stravinsky (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980), 133. Stravinsky's comment was made in 1957.
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|Title Annotation:||composers Milton Babbitt and Igor Stravinsky; A Symposium in Honor of Milton Babbitt|
|Author:||Straus, Joseph N.|
|Publication:||Perspectives of New Music|
|Date:||Jun 22, 1997|
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