The Sound of Music: How Béla Bartók Embodies a New Age of Anxiety

Béla Bartók, one of Hungary’s greatest composers, experiments with dissonance and the gravitas of tranquility to give a new meaning to the classical — a genre that both calls attention to, and calms, our greatest fears.

Written by Antonio Arizmendi

Photo courtesy of Bartók Archives

Every generation has its own anxiety to confront: war, social alienation, the tumult of maturity. The throughline is in how each age group expresses its turmoils through music.

The ‘70s brought Marvin Gaye, addressing the struggle of Black Americans in What’s Going On. Radiohead dove critically into ‘90s consumerism and the age of information in OK Computer. In the 2010s, Lorde summed up those awkward, raw teenage years in Pure Heroine. These markers of angst, with their bitter yet comforting words, allow listeners to cope with the issues swirling around them, providing them with hope in the midst of the existential dread.

For the first half of the 20th century, an unassuming ethnomusicologist named Béla Bartók expressed his own generation’s struggle without a single lyric. Confronting the terrors of both World Wars, Bartók relied on the cataclysm inherent to dissonant strings and shattering, brass epiphanies to project the dread and guilt of bloodshed.

His classical works are not pieces to fall asleep to. They deliver a flurry of fluctuating emotions from unsettling to funereal to sanguine. Experimental and genuine, Bartók stretches the limits of music to relate every tinge of pain and minuscule sigh.

In the aftermath of World War I, Europe was reeling from decimation. In 1928, Bartók composed “String Quartet No. 4 in C Major,” which reflects the alienation that shuddered throughout the world. The first movement, scored in allegro (a “bright” tempo), retains a sense of direction through atonal chord progressions. Rising strings swoon, ending in catastrophic defeat through sudden stops. This style reflects the dynamic Hungarian dances and Romanian folk songs Bartók recorded and studied. Silence becomes deafening in these dances as erratic glissandos gloss between notes, interrupting in an effort of pure anxiety.

The third movement resigns to peace. Bartók’s vision of a post-war fugue manifests as a gentle sweep of chord progressions, with the cello’s somber line emitting a forlorn nostalgia. In the fourth movement, pizzicato plucks beat against the cello in one of Bartók’s many sonic inventions. This creates a Mephisto waltz both sinister and playful, delicate and harsh.

Every movement of the quartet represents an emotional aspect of war: anxiety, gloom, the paranoia toward future violence. Bartók expresses these themes with inventive, atonal means. From glissandos to pizzicatos, the composer elicits these distinct emotional responses, grounded in instrumentation.

In 1945, nearly two decades after the conception of “String Quartet No. 4,” Bartók crafted one of his most harmonic and graceful concertos, the “Piano Concerto No. 3” in E Major. Having fled the fascist invasion of Europe during World War II, Bartók composed this piece in New York, presenting it as a birthday gift to his second wife and infusing it with a unique blend of tranquility and jubilation.

The first movement erupts in a display of Gershwin-like, jazzy melodies supplemented by resonant brass notes. In tribute to his homeland, this movement follows the structure of a Hungarian verbunkos dance, full of sparkling percussion, tonal shifts, and chromatic texture.

Rare for Bartók, the second movement is harmonious and romantic. The Tristan Chord, most identifiable in the video at 9:46, moves toward dissonance then resolves like a gentle sigh, guiding this chorale. Even the pedaling becomes more prolonged, with every sustained note carrying a delicacy that clashes against the eccentricity of the previous movement.

A call and response between the woodwinds’ bubbly flares and the chord progression of the piano create a bittersweet, meditative scene. The third movement contrasts the prior with its celebratory vigor and blaring horns.

Conceived after the war and just before his own death, “Piano Concerto No. 3” invites a hopeful context. Paying direct homage to his Hungarian roots and introducing a tonally complex romance into every keystroke, Bartók suggests a future liberated from the painful experience of war. He appeals to a generational pride and the inherent beauty found within music, ultimately celebrating those features of life most important to himself.

As conflict continues to dominate today’s political atmosphere, Bartók’s work still holds significance. Through inventive techniques, jarring chords, and transcendent melodies, his music allows listeners across generations to feel seen amidst tumultuous tragedies. By interweaving dissonance with harmony and pain with release, the composer communicates a hope for resolution.