"Boléro" By Maurice Ravel
By the late 19th century, factories across Europe had revolutionized the production of goods. France was slow to turn to industrialization, and far fewer factories operated in the country. Where they did exist, pay was terrible, working conditions were abhorrent.
Ravel grew up around factories. “In my childhood I had a great interest in mechanical things,” he wrote. His father was a civil engineer, and Ravel loved “going over factories and seeing vast machinery at work. It is awe-inspiring.” When approached to write a new ballet score, Ravel set a story of jealousy and retribution in the shadow of a factory. The scenario was eventually rejected, but Ravel’s machine-like music remains.
The ballet was set in Spain, a country that provided Ravel with inspiration throughout his career. “I have always had a predilection for Spanish things,” he wrote. “I was born near the Spanish border, and my parents met in Madrid.” By the time he wrote the ballet, Ravel had never stepped foot in Spain. Bolero mimics sounds he knew: guitars (in the plucked strings), castanets (in the snare drums), and “tunes of the usual Spanish-Arabian kind.”
The Spanish boléro emerged in the 18th century as a mix of folk and classical dances. Like Ravel’s Bolero, the traditional dance has three slow beats in a bar, but Ravel’s version takes liberties with the rhythm. “In reality,” he wrote, “there is no such boléro.” For the French, Spain was considered exotic. It lay close to North Africa, and Africa was—according to one prominent writer of the time —“half Asiatic.” Many today find such attitudes problematic, but Ravel’s audiences were seized by the thrill of “alien” lands.
Bolero is a vast musical machine. A simple rhythm is played again and again on snare drum, while soloists snake above, playing two sinuous melodies. Standard orchestral wind instruments begin (flute, clarinet, bassoon), then more distant cousins continue (oboe d’amore, tenor and soprano saxophone). The music gathers steam. One soloist becomes a duet, becomes a trio, becomes a full orchestral section. Another snare drum joins the first. At its peak, the din is deafening. Trombone whoops and gong strikes herald the end. But is this a factory, or warfare?
Program Notes by Tim Munro