About this Piece

For some, Also sprach Zarathustra was the most memorable feature of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey—more foreground than background music. But what happens after that colossal 21-bar opening, featured in the 1968 film, culminating in a stupendous brass-and-percussion bang and celebrated skull-numbing organ blast?

Loosely based on Friedrich Nietzsche’s knotty philosophical work of the same name, Zarathustra is a free-form symphonic piece that suggests the moods of the literary text. The composer initially disavowed any connection between his music and Nietzsche beyond being inspired by the book’s poetic imagery and, particularly, its evocative chapter headings, eight of which Strauss employed in his score.

Also sprach Zarathustra was composed in 1896, the year Strauss became chief conductor of the Bavarian State Opera in Munich. The city of his birth prized him greatly as a conductor, but the conservative public—and the impresarios serving that public—considered his compositions rather outré. The premiere was given in the more progressive Frankfurt, with the composer conducting.

The fiery debate that swirled around the score when it was new was caused less by the music than by the conflicting subject matter Strauss proposed. Before the Frankfurt premiere, he authorized the following to be printed:

“First movement: Sunrise. Man feels the power of God. Andante religioso. But man still longs. He plunges into passion (second movement) and finds no peace. He turns toward science, and tries in vain to solve life’s problems in a fugue (third movement). The agreeable dance tunes sound and he becomes an individual. His soul soars upward while the world sinks far below him.”

But that was neither his first (he had already leaked hints of a somewhat different program to the German press) nor his last word on the subject. Strauss decided finally to put the matter to rest by prefacing the published score with the words of Nietzsche’s opening paragraphs, the “Ode to the Sun,” concluding with the exhortation to the creative spirit: “For too long we have dreamt music, now let us awake. We were nightwalkers. Let us now be daywalkers.” (Nietzsche, coincidentally, was a composer himself.)

After the “Sunrise” introduction come eight sections whose titles provide programmatic clues: “Of the Forest-dwellers,” “Of the Great Yearning,” “Of Joys and Passions,” “Dirge,” and “Of Science”—wherein the opening three-note C-major theme of the “Sunrise,” by now associated with Zarathustra himself, evolves into a spectacular fugue. In “The Convalescent,” the preceding fugal subject reaches a peak of frenzied complexity before winding down to a gentle cello solo.

With “The Dance Song,” Zarathustra breaks into a waltz. Some pro-Strauss critics have cited this as the composer’s glorification of Nietzsche’s “life force,” while detractors point to it as an example of his wretched taste. In all likelihood, it is at once indicative of Richard Strauss’ affection for another (unrelated) Strauss: Johann, the Waltz King, and Richard’s sense of humor. The climax of the waltz melts into the finale, “The Night Wanderer’s Song,” announced by a bell tolling midnight, and the work concludes peacefully, with high woodwinds repeating, ever more softly, a B-major chord, while the basses play the low C with which Also sprach Zarathustra began.

—Herbert Glass