Beating the Drum to Ravel's Bolero
The Listen Guide
Boléro, M. 81
Welcome, I'm Maurice Ravel, and this is the listen guide to my Boléro. You'll follow one theme as it travels from the flute through the whole orchestra, swelling from a whisper to a roar, and see why such a simple plan works so well. Whenever you're ready, put yourself to the test , because my fellow composers and I also teach you on this site to recognize our pieces when they play.
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Listen for the Small Things First
Before you press play, here's the trick: don't wait for the tune to change, because it won't. Listen instead to the snare drum, which taps the same rhythm 169 times from start to finish, and to the bass, which sticks to the same two notes for all but eight measures. On top of that steady floor the theme travels from instrument to instrument, so your only job is to notice who is carrying it and how many friends have joined. Keep an ear on the volume too, because the whole piece grows from very soft to very loud, like one candle slowly joined by a whole roomful.What's in a Name? Fandango Almost Won
I first called the piece Fandango, and only later did I change the title to Boléro. Ida Rubinstein had asked for a ballet with a Spanish character, and the new name suited that request. The score carries the marking "Tempo di Bolero, moderato assai", which asks for a pace that is very moderate and very steady. A title like that is a promise, and I kept it by never hurrying for about fifteen minutes.Not a Textbook Shape, Not Even Close
Choosing the form was an adventure, because I turned away from the usual textbook shapes. What I wrote is one theme in two forms that alternate again and again, with no development at all. So I'll divide the piece by what the orchestra is doing, in four stages: a soft beginning, a long handing-around of the tune, a steady swelling of sound, and a final turn to E major before C major returns. It's a little like a train that never changes track but keeps adding carriages.Section 1: Whispering in C Major
Everything starts in C major, very softly, with the snare drum already tapping the rhythm that will not stop until the end. That insistent rhythm was inspired by the sounds of factories, which is why it feels more like machinery than like a dance step. The mood is calm, patient and a little mysterious. This is the moment to settle in, because the tempo never changes and the key stays put for a long time, and that is exactly the point.Section 2: Same Sentence, Different Voices
Now the clarinet and the bassoon take their turns, followed by other instruments, and what changes is the color of the voice, not the words. Listen for the two forms of the theme answering each other, like the two halves of a conversation. The key stays in C major and the pace stays put, so the story is told only by who is speaking. By the end of this stretch the sound has become a little fuller, though the mood is still relaxed.Section 3: The Crowd Gathers
Here the crescendo does its real work, as the sound grows from soft to something you can feel in your chest. My score asks for a very large orchestra, with trombones, a tuba, a celesta and saxophones among many others, and you can hear the instruments joining in combinations. Underneath, the snare drum and the bass still don't budge, which gives the growing sound a strange, steady tension. It's like a crowd filling a square one group at a time, all of them walking to the same beat.Section 4: One Detour, Then Home
Near the end, for just eight bars, the music moves to E major, and after so much C major it feels like stepping into a different room. Then C major returns and the music reaches its very loud peak. I once described the piece to The Daily Telegraph as "an experiment in a very special and limited direction", and this finale is where the experiment pays off. At the premiere in 1928 the audience answered with shouting and stamping, which I'm happy to take as proof that it was heard.The Play Button Awaits
Now it's your turn, so press play and let the music carry you along. While it plays, keep in mind what we talked about: the unchanging rhythm, the tune passing from voice to voice, and the slow climb in volume. Fifteen minutes or so is a small price for a journey that never takes a sharp turn. I hope you find the ride through my Boléro as thrilling as I found writing it.---
So that is Boléro: one small rhythm and one long walk toward a very big sound. Did you enjoy this listen guide to Boléro? I once called the piece an experiment in a very special and limited direction, and I still think that describes it well. An experiment like that keeps offering something new, because each time you hear it you may notice a different instrument or a different moment in the long climb. There is still a lot more to explore, from the night it was first danced in Paris to the way skaters and filmmakers later made it their own. If you'd like to keep going, click on the links below to explore more of Boléro. The next time that quiet rhythm begins, I hope you'll stay with it all the way to the end.