An Orchestral Picture of Dorian Gray

Basil has every right to fear, as the moment Lord Henry and Dorian Gray meet, Lord Henry begins extolling the virtues of Youth and Beauty--as well as the subsequent disaster in losing both. Despite Gray’s initial refusal of these new dangerous ideas, particularly the idea that sin can only be purified by actively accepting the temptation, he swiftly gives in. That failure to hold up much of a fight indicates that there was capacity for dangerous behavior within Dorian Gray. This is reflected in the poignancy and tempo of Valse Sentimentale’s strings. Although the movements are still light and airy, the main body of the piece is distinctly melancholic, almost nostalgic, indicating a nostalgia for youth, despite not losing it yet. 

Lord Henry gives voice to the internal desires within Dorian Gray. After returning from a brief escape in the garden outside of Basil’s house, Dorian exclaims, “If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old! For that--for that--I would give everything!” marking the point at which he accepts his primary purpose: to pursue passion above everything, devoting his life to becoming a living work of art. It is here that Kingdom of Predators most reflects Dorian Gray’s development. Kingdom of Predators makes use of an entire symphonic orchestra in contrast to Valse Sentimentale’s purely string composition, adding more presence and force to each passage. The call-and-response of each instrument (1:30) creates a build up that is paid out in the somber violin solo. That payout represents the completion of Lord Henry’s seeds, the formation of Dorian’s new motivations.

Yet, he often refers to her by the characters she plays as, even going so far as to say that she is never truly Sibyl Vane. His infatuation comes not from a real love for the person but an obsession with the art. It becomes clear, given his disposition about her, that he could never actually marry her, mostly due to the restrictions upon his quest that she would put in place. This realization is put front and center when, in act of defiance for her old life, Sibyl Vane acts poorly. Dorian responds by rejecting her, despite their engagement, with enough intent and malice to lead directly into Dance of the Knights. The heavy, large brass instruments that fill the track the moment it begins carry a distinct impact with every note. The plodding rhythm is intentional and direct, just as Dorian Gray’s rejection of Vane’s true personality was far too calculated to be seen as a mistake. 

His rejection causes Sibyl Vane to take her own life, news which he receives personally from Lord Henry. Although initially regretful the night before, a few reassurances from Lord Henry causes Dorian to dismiss the whole incident, telling Basil “there is nothing fearful about it. It is one of the great romantic tragedies of the age.” Acting was, of course, what drove Dorian to Sibyl Vane. As a form of art, it appealed to Dorian’s newfound senses for the beautiful, extending to cover the nature of her death as well. Suicide by poison is precisely how Romeo dies; although Sibyl would have been playing Juliet, her suicide by poison is a remarkable parallel to the plays that drew Dorian to her. In that, her death becomes just another play, and thus beautiful. 

Much like most of Dorian Gray’s experiences, his new life is an exercise in denial. Not self-denial, clearly, as that would mean denying to himself his passions; rather, it is the denial of reality and its ugliness. His relationship with the Picture mirrors this practice, as he comes to deny the existence of it in order to avoid his own reflected ugliness. As a living, physical conscience, the portrait is most abhorrent to Gray in the moments it reminds him that his actions do have real consequences. This is clear when Dorian Gray first discovers the portrait’s properties the night of Sibyl Vane’s death, as the painting adopts a cruel smile. Initially, he feels perturbed by the change, finding his regret not in the actual actions he committed but in their result, further lending credence to the selfishness at the core of his desires. However, the moment that he denies his hand in Sibyl Vane’s death, he simultaneously denies the Picture, taking solace in the fact that “Not one blossom of his loveliness would ever fade.” Rather than face his own inner image, Dorian Gray chooses to take pleasure in knowing that he himself will always be beautiful. 

Lacrimosa, with its dramatic vocals overtop foreboding strings, encapsulates the feeling of watching someone turn away from a path to redemption. It most fits Basil Hallward’s feelings about Gray, as his friend chooses to hide away from the consequences of his own actions in favor of a life of pleasure. The song does not really contain any sort of major shift towards a major chord, which could denote a shift in character towards more positive actions. When faced with a figurative fork in the road, to choose using the Picture as a physical moral compass or to choose putting a screen in front of it and forgetting about it, Dorian Gray chose the path with darkness, much like the oppressive vocals that cover Lacrimosa.

Yet, in a way, his New Hedonism is still the result of Lord Henry’s work, as he develops the idea from a book of sins given to him by Lord Henry. The only difference: Dorian Gray sees himself in the protagonist of the book, claiming that “the whole book seemed to him to contain the story of his life written before he had lived it,” while Lord Henry only went so far as to take fancy to the psychology of the protagonist’s sin. In this way, Dorian Gray is still a strange product of someone else’s influences just as he develops his own mode of living. His New Hedonism is ultimately just another way of rejecting the reality around him, as he submerges the senses with the goal of ignoring consequence. That “happy” new ideal is tied to the upbeat, flitting movements of Serenade for Strings, especially at the very beginning. The light notes, brief and swift, convey an air of weightlessness, as Dorian Gray conceives of his own methods for floating lightly through life. This happy ideal is followed by the overwhelming barrage of noise of Danse Macabre (5:00) as Dorian Gray drowns himself in sensation. The unrivaled opulence his New Hedonism demands is paralleled by the swift, chaotic movements of Danse Macabre.

Most importantly within this interaction is the continued oscillation between pride and despair Dorian experiences in the face of his own corruption. He experiences an immense amount of pride when describing the existence of the Picture, but feels despair upon revealing it to Basil. The constant changing of emotions, swinging like a pendulum, are characteristic of a child, and the very same characteristic of Dorian Gray at the beginning of his journey. In both instances, he was petulant and prone to outbursts; only now, he has actually given body to the brief passions that had stirred him. Reinforcing this process is the “uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward that came over him,” as Basil asked Dorian to pray for forgiveness. By pushing how truly awful he believed the change in Dorian to be, Basil challenged Dorian’s manner of living, thereby once again revealing ugliness in someone who hated ugliness. Dorian Gray still only truly understands how to hide away his problems. In this case, Basil Hallward is someone that cannot be hidden away or ignored. Therefore, Gray’s emotions only continue to intensify, replicated in the intense build of Symphony No. 7 (6:28). The crescendo only adds to the emotional weight behind Dorian Gray’s detestment of both himself and Basil Hallward, with the music peaking in a slow grand climax before dying to a whisper. 

Prelude in C-Sharp Minor is meant to be the flip side of Symphony No. 7; while Symphony No.7 inspires heightened emotional pressure, highlighting the rage of Dorian in the face of Basil Hallward, Prelude in C-Sharp Minor draws on the sorrow and despair experienced in the same moment. It’s long, haunting minor chords drag along, reflecting the weight of the Picture in Gray’s mental landscape before evolving into more rapid, dissonant notes that encapsulate the desire for action in the moment. For Dorian Gray, the desire to hide and the desire for action coexist, just as overwhelming hatred dances in tandem with oppressive sorrow. 

Denying the truth in Basil’s words, the truth in the portrait, comes directly from the belief that his life can still be the ideal he sought since Lord Henry first spoke to him. The belief that everything could be made right again is most clearly shown in Concerto No. 4’s fast, easy strings that are reminiscent of Serenade for Strings, connecting to his wishes of returning to the ideal as he originally imagined it so many years ago. In contrast, Concerto No. 2 is slow and oppressive, demonstrating the pressure put upon his ideal by reality in the form of Basil Hallward and the Portrait. Before the rapid energy of Concerto No. 4 can be reclaimed, reality must be dealt with. 

The murder is also in line with Dorian Gray’s fear of the conscience. Although he has consistently turned away any challenge that reminded him of his present, albeit suppressed, conscience, it continues to force its way in and reveal the ways in which Dorian Gray is not perfect. Just as he might curtain away the Picture, his conscience never actually goes away, but is rather hidden. Basil Hallward was like the angel on Gray’s shoulder, a physical and vocal reminder of reality and all its inherent ugliness. Therefore, as a vessel of conscience that could not be so easily ignored, Hallward had to be destroyed. As every sensation was meant to cleanse Dorian Gray of conscience by cleansing him of concern, so too is the murder meant to cleanse Gray. 

Nothing could match a climatic moment of emotional release other than Dies Irae. Its immediate high-energy, sharp staccato notes ring in the great swells like a flood. Each rising crescendo of the vocals feels like another stab. While Symphony No. 7 did contain a peak to its musical tension, the peak was far more subdued than the constant bombardment of noise that is Dies Irae. Similarly, Dorian Gray understood as Basil cried “Good God, Dorian, what a lesson!” that he had to get rid of this final person that could reveal just how damaged he had become; yet, the actual emotional release of committing murder is far greater than the realization that he must. 

The long, poignant cello of Sealed Vessel relays the distraught atmosphere that surrounds Dorian Gray after Hallward’s death. To face the complete failure to actually enjoy a life built around pure enjoyment, to feel that “life has been exquisite,” yet understand that he cannot live the same life, is nothing short of total loss to him, as the one thing he cared about most is now out of reach. However, there is the chance for something more, as one obstacle still remains: the Picture. The addition of violin over the cello forms a new layer, a new opportunity. Still melancholic, but with an air of finality, reflecting Dorian Gray’s last chance to escape his ugly reality by destroying the Picture.

Gray, in all of his petulant denial and propensity to pass blame, honestly believes that “the portrait...had marred his life...It was the portrait that had done everything,” despite the fact that it is the portrait that enabled his life to begin with. Rather than see that it was his own ugliness that brought him to this point, Dorian Gray instead pushes the consequences of his actions upon a painting of him. Staring at the portrait one last time, he comes to the conclusion that the painting had been the real stain upon his life, for “it had been conscience,” and to let conscience in the way of his passions would be to swim against the current of his New Hedonism. With this realization comes the grand tension of String Quartet No. 6. Just as Symphony No.7 denoted the decision to murder Basil Hallward in an act of rejection, String Quartet No. 6 and its constant tide of crescendoes and decrescendoes denotes Dorian Gray’s decision to murder the Picture. The resurgence of the main motif (3:10) marks the actual act of stabbing the portrait, of “kill[ing] this monstrous soul-life,” to retreat to a life of peace once more, free from conscience. 

Of course, destroying that which housed his soul meant killing himself in the process. In the same breath, both Dorian and Dorian, the one in body and the one in spirit, are destroyed. Ultimately, it was the same desires--for passions, for sensation, for opulence--that led Dorian Gray to his death, the weight of his goal to make life a work of art causing him to accidentally commit suicide. The Picture, which had truly given form to and facilitated his new life, was also the one to take it away; when nothing else was left to be blamed except himself, Gray chose to blame the version be believed to be the fake, unaware that when Basil Hallward said “I shall stay with the real Dorian,” the day Gray unintentional bargain, it would be true. 

Yet, even so, the occasional moments of conscience peeking through revealed that Gray was never just an evil person. In recognizing himself that the youth and beauty he had clung so dearly to was a mistake that accelerated his decay rather than prevent it, he is simultaneously acknowledging that he is, in part, responsible for his own misery. Although the pity appeared as a result of the altered Picture, Dorian Gray did experience regret at his treatment of Sibyl Vane. However, in both scenarios, his regret was quickly covered by his childish desire to escape from responsibility, from consequence, as both are uniquely realistic things. Things that can only come from an overbearing reality were things to fear. 

The tragedy of witnessing moments of possible redemption, or possibly even the tragedy of never witnessing moments of justice, tie into the plodding minor notes of Gnossienne. There is no upturn to the song, no melody line that may indicate a greater change in Dorian Gray; there is only the consistent beats of the piano, which is the sole instrument. That element of solitude also relates to Dorian Gray’s end, as he was left inwardly isolated from his peers, even being unable to properly spend time with Lord Henry, whom he regarded as his closest friend. Without the ability to properly secede into a rush of sensation, Gray was left alone, a single piano where that had once been an ocean of sound.