Weekly SpinOn: Metamorphoses

“In nova fert animus mutatas dicer formas corpora: di, coeptis (nam vos mutastis et illas) adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen.”

“My intention is to tell of bodies changed to different forms; the gods, who made the changes, will inspire my work.”
— Ovid, Metamorphoses, tr. A. D. Melville

This is the beginning of Ovid’s tales of transformation, the Metamorphoses, which remind us that nothing remains the same — life and the world are in a continuous flow. Music is an art form, unlike painting or sculpture, that only exists in time and transformation, moment by moment, note by note, a theme is born, altered, fragmented, resurrected. So, metamorphosis is at the core of music, which renders it a perfect theme for a playlist featuring compositions that make these changes both audible and felt.

Track 1-3: Orfeo ed Euridice – Dance of the Furies, Dance of the Blessed Souls

In 1948 Herbert von Karajan transformed the “Felsenreitschule” into an opera stage for the very first time ever. This imposing setting, with its stone-carved arcades, formed the perfect backdrop for the dramatic story from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Orfeo ed Euridice — in this case transformed into an opera by Christoph Willibald Gluck. This story about love beyond death is one of over 250 in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and inspired many composers over the centuries — sometimes ending in tragedy, and at other times rewritten with a happy ending.

Unlike the original tale by Ovid, in which Orpheus loses Eurydice forever, Gluck transforms the story: Orfeo mourns the death of his beloved Euridice and is granted permission by the gods to descend into the underworld to bring her back — on the condition that he must not look at her until they have returned to the upper world. As he enters Hades, he is confronted by terrifying spirits in the “Dance of the Furies”, but his music softens their rage and they allow him to pass. He then arrives in the Elysian Fields, where the “Dance of the Blessed Spirits” unfolds in serene beauty, reflecting the peace of the afterlife — and where he finds Euridice. Though he nearly fails by looking at her too soon – in Gluck’s version – the gods intervene and restore Eurydice to life, granting the lovers a joyful reunion and a happy ending

For the playlist I have chosen the two dances, that show one of the most powerful musical metamorphoses in opera. The “Dance of the Furies” is violent, defiant, and chaotic. The music is jagged, full of rapid rhythms, harmonic clashes, and relentless tension. This is the sound of the Underworld: Orpheus confronts the forces of death, and the music fights back — a struggle against darkness, fear, and refusal.

Then suddenly…

The “Dance of the Blessed Spirits” enters like a breath of celestial air. Transparent textures, a gently pulsing tempo, and the purity of the solo flute create a sense of calm and transcendence. The chaos is gone. Orpheus has passed the threshold — not through force, but through the transformative power of music and love. The metamorphosis is complete: hell gives way to Elysium, rage to peace, storm to stillness. The Dance of the Furies represents resistance, inner torment, the fear of change. The Dance of the Blessed Spirits represents acceptance, healing, and arrival in a higher state of being. Together, they form a complete arc of transformation.

A funny anecdote illustrates this music perfectly: During a rehearsal of Gluck’s Dance of the Furies, the legendary conductor Arturo Toscanini became so physically animated and emotionally swept up in the music’s fury that, mid-gesture, his hat flew off his head and landed dramatically in the orchestra pit. According to witnesses, Toscanini didn’t stop for a second. He kept conducting as if possessed, flailing with even more intensity, the hat incident only feeding the fire. The orchestra responded with ferocious precision, as if conjuring the Furies themselves. It’s a scene that perfectly captures the music’s explosive energy — and Toscanini’s total, almost theatrical immersion in every note.

The “Dance of the Furies” appears in Karajan’s discography only in the legendary 1959 recording, which was also made at a production for the Salzburg festival. He never made another complete recording of Orfeo ed Euridice — in particular, no later studio version of the Dance of the Furies exists, whereas he once recorded the Dance of the blessed souls later on as a stand-alone piece.  However, the 1959 live recording has been beautifully restored, and remains dramatically charged and musically brilliant — even though it was originally released in mono. In his later years, Karajan focused heavily on Richard Strauss, Wagner, and Beethoven, but never returned systematically to Handel or Gluck, which brings us to the next compositions in our playlist.

 

Track 4 – Metamorphosen, Richard Strauss

Composed in the final months of World War II, Metamorphosen is a profound meditation on loss, destruction, and transformation. Written for 23 solo strings, it is one of Strauss’s most introspective and elegiac works. Though it carries no overt program, its slow, seamless unfolding has been widely interpreted as a lament for the cultural devastation of Germany — especially the bombing of Munich and the destruction of its opera house. The title (Metamorphosen) suggests change, but not of the triumphant or heroic kind. Instead, it is a musical process of mourning and reflection. Harmonically rich and densely contrapuntal, the piece flows in a continuous, organic arc.

A special aspect of the work is also reflected in its title, which refers to 23 solo strings. By writing for solo strings, Strauss meant that each instrument has its own unique part, rather than playing in sections (as in a traditional string orchestra). This creates a rich, polyphonic texture, where voices weave independently — a kind of musical metamorphosis in itself. It also adds to the emotional intimacy and complexity of the piece by making the sound dense but transparent, the lines deeply expressive and the listener hears not a mass, but 23 individuals in conversation. This choice reinforces the work’s meditative and elegiac character — as if each player mourns and transforms in their own voice.

Karajan had a very strong connection to the music of Richard Strauss, who he met personally and with whom he also corresponded during his early years as a conductor. In 1984 the traditional “Totensonntagskonzert” (Remembrance Sunday) was filmed for German television and Karajan’s film production company Telemondial. Only in the version for television, Karajan gave a very rare insight into his view of a work, talking about the “Metamorphosen” and his own personal memories of Richard Strauss. We have made this short work introduction available on the official Karajan YouTube channel in our “Treasure from the archive” series:

In his short introduction he also talks about a major change of the work he dared to make: Karajan – and as far as I know only he – changed the orchestration of the piece from the composers original 23 strings to a much bigger instrumentation towards the end of the work, emphasising the transformational quality of the work even more.

There is a very specific connection between the “Metamophosen” and the next track in our playlist: Near the end, Strauss quotes the funeral march from Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony — a gesture loaded with historical and emotional weight — and annotates the passage with “In Memoriam” in the score.

 

Track 5 – Symphony No. 3 “Eroica”, II. Marcia funebre: Adagio assai, Beethoven

The second movement of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony, titled Marcia funebre. Adagio assai, is a funeral march that fits the theme of transformation in a direct and structured way. It moves through contrasting phases: from quiet mourning to intense outbursts, and back to a sense of resolution. The music doesn’t just express grief — it gives it form and progression. It shows how emotion can evolve over time, and how music can carry that change.

Much like Richard Strauss and his “Metamorphosen”, Beethoven composed the Eroica (1803) during a time of personal and political upheaval. He was struggling with the onset of deafness, but also developing a new, more expansive musical style. The symphony was first dedicated to Napoleon, hence the byname “Eroica” (heroic), whom Beethoven admired as a symbol of republican ideals. But when Napoleon declared himself emperor, Beethoven famously removed the dedication. That shift from admiration to disappointment can be heard in the tone of the funeral march — it’s not just personal loss, but the loss of an ideal.

Herbert von Karajan recorded the Eroica several times, but his 1962 version with the Berlin Philharmonic is among the most focused and controlled. In the second movement, Karajan avoids extremes and keeps the structure clear. The pacing is steady, the dynamics carefully shaped. His interpretation emphasizes the long lines and formal clarity, rather than emotional weight alone. It suits the idea of transformation well — not dramatic change, but quiet evolution through form.

 

Track 4 – Parsifal, Act I: Transformation Music, Richard Wagner

The last track on our playlist includes the theme of the playlist in its title: the Transformation Music from Act I of Richard Wagner’s Parsifal. It accompanies the scene change from the forest to the Grail temple. The music unfolds slowly and evenly, not to mark dramatic action, but to shape a shift in atmosphere — from the natural to the sacred. Rather than underlining events, it establishes a new space through sound.

Wagner composed Parsifal between 1877 and 1882, and the opera premiered at the Bayreuth Festival. The work deals with ideas of redemption, compassion, and inner change. The music in this scene reflects that — not through action, but through a gradual shift in tone and perception. Although Wagner did not formally label this passage Transformation Music, the term became common in rehearsal and performance practice, and is now widely used to describe this orchestral interlude.

In 1980, Karajan conducted and directed Parsifal at the Salzburg Easter Festival, assembling a distinguished cast that included Peter Hofmann as Parsifal, José van Dam as Amfortas, Kurt Moll as Gurnemanz, Dunja Vejzovic as Kundry, Bernd Weikl as Klingsor, and Matti Salminen as Titurel. What made this production special was Karajan’s complete artistic control. As both conductor and stage director, he was able to shape every aspect of the performance into a cohesive whole. The result was a precise, atmospheric interpretation that emphasized clarity, restraint, and a sense of inward transformation — all supported by the refined playing of the Berlin Philharmonic.

Before stage rehearsals started, Karajan got the cast together and recorded the piece in the studio with the Berlin Philharmonic. This allowed him to define the musical interpretation in detail before transferring it to the stage. The result is a studio recording that reflects his ideal balance of phrasing, tempo, and orchestral transparency — a controlled and refined version of Parsifal that complements the more spacious flow of the live performance. He avoids excess, allowing the pace and harmony to carry the moment. As the final track in this playlist, it points to transformation as something internal and slow — not dramatic, but enduring.

Unfortunately, in that case, the transformation ends abruptly as Wagner’s through-composed structure makes cutting out tracks merely impossible!

—  Pia Bernauer (Karajan Institute, Salzburg)