Today, Friday, June 1, 2018 at 10:45 AM EDT (GMT -4) the Detroit Symphony Orchestra will webcast a free live concert. Here’s the program:
Today, Friday, June 1, 2018 at 10:45 AM EDT (GMT -4) the Detroit Symphony Orchestra will webcast a free live concert. Here’s the program:
The sky is slate gray
Dead leaves crunch beneath my feet
Or skitter away.
Collar turned up, I
Shove my hands in my pockets
Against the cold wind.
I walk along with
Furrowed brow, lost in thought, with
Even measured steps.
Looking up, I see
Autumn’s rich, vibrant colors
Surrounding the lake.
More than the cold, it
Takes my breath away–there is
Here you can find a haunting piano solo performance of the nocturne by Wladyslaw Szpilman, whose story became known worldwide in the movie “The Pianist.”
Image attribution: Lake view through autumn leaves by http://www.ForestWander.com [CC BY-SA 3.0 us (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/us/deed.en)], via Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Looking_through_tree_autumn_leaves_lake_-_West_Virginia_-_ForestWander.jpg
Dusk. As the light fades,
Birds sing their last song, and deer
Emerge from the woods.
A crescent moon peeks
Through the trees, gathers courage,
And rises boldly.
An open window.
Notes like fireflies twinkle
In the cool night air.
They dance for a while,
Then fade away, but surely
They’ll last forever.
You might be expecting a nocturne here. But what inspired this was Chopin’s Andante Spianato. Below is a performance by Daniil Trifonov.* I also like the performance of Benjamin Grosvenor on his Dances album. Both sublime.
Have a pleasant evening.
*Email subscribers, please click here to see the video on my webpage.
Image attribution: Nightfall image via https://pxhere.com/en/photo/1324389, CC0, public domain.
When you think of Chopin, you don’t necessarily think of whimsical musical pieces about cats and dogs. But the story goes that two of his waltzes may have been inspired by pets.
The pets actually belonged to George Sand and her family, with whom Chopin was living at the time. They had a cat, Valdeck, and two dogs, Marquis and Dib.
Valdeck, being a cat, would occasionally walk or scamper across Chopin’s piano. That part of the story is certainly true, as anyone who owns a cat and a piano will attest. The story goes that the notes the cat sounded in its journey across the keyboard caught Chopin’s ear. We’ll never know for sure if that is true, but a minute into Chopin’s Waltz in F Major (Op. 34 No. 3), there is a sprightly flutter of notes up and down the keyboard that might sound to you like a cat running on the keyboard. You can judge for yourself.
As for Marquis, the story goes that Marquis was chasing his tail, and George Sand challenged Chopin to write music to describe it. And so they say the “Little Dog Waltz” was born, though most people know it by the name Minute Waltz (Op. 64 No. 1). Listen and see if you can picture the dog chasing its tail.
And if you have a minute, you might also want to check out this humorous rendition by Marc-André Hamelin, in which the music goes somewhat, and delightfully, awry).
While we may never know if these stories are completely true, we know that Chopin wrote the Galop Marquis with Marquis in mind: his name on the manuscript!
“Piano Playing Cat” by ryansmut February 1, 2010, http://ryansmut.deviantart.com/art/piano-playing-cat-152617468
Image of Galop Marquis manuscript, http://www.christies.com/lotfinder/books-manuscripts/chopin-frederic-gallop-marquis-manuscrit-musical-5151994-details.aspx
“Mary had a little lamb”
Into a small horn.
History was made:
Voices’ vibrations turned to
The tiniest grooves.
People gathered ‘round
To hear the tinny sounds, now
Played upon demand.
In the suave sixties
You could spin disks—hi-fi sound!
Don’t scratch the record!
Fast forward. Today
Music’s turned to ones, zeroes,
Heard around the world.
And we all walk ‘round
And hear hi-fi sound that’s fed
To only our ears.
(In the future, will
All the world’s music be sent
Right into our brains?)
From the very beginning of recorded sound, classical music was a presence, and it was significant in the development of music technology.
The first wave of development included Edison’s recording of sound on wax cylinders. You can see a demonstration of how Edison’s original wax cylinder recordings were made here.
As soon as he developed mobile recording equipment, Edison sent his engineer, Theo Wangemann, to Europe to collect recordings. Here is an 1889 recording of Brahms playing an excerpt of Hungarian Dance No. 1. Here is Otto Neitzel, a student of Liszt and a teaching colleague of Tchaikovsky, playing a portion of Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in 1890. This is believed to be the first recording of a work of Chopin.
This 1903 recording was an attempt to record a live opera performance, the opening scene of Act 2 of Leoncavallo’s I Pagliacci at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. You can find more Edison recordings here.
Shortly thereafter, the opera recordings of tenor Enrico Caruso became wildly popular. He recorded on cylinder first (here’s one from 1903, E lucevan le stelle from Puccini’s Tosca), and then on disks (Questa o Quella from Verdi’s Rigoletto).
Another treasure of this era is a recording of Rachmaninoff playing his Etude-Tableau in A minor (Op. 39 No. 6) in 1925.
Vinyl came into its own, and conductor Leopold Stokowski made the medium his domain, crafting a “Stokowski sound” that would translate well to vinyl, bringing classical music to countless households. Here is a Stokowski recording of the first movement of Dvorak’s Symphony No 9 (Op. 95) from 1934. The sound of vinyl continued to improve: here is Eugene Ormandy’s recording of the same piece from 1944.
An aside: Rachmaninoff and Stokowski recorded Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2. Apparently, it nearly turned into a slugfest, as the two men strongly disagreed about the interpretation (ok, wait–with the infamous Bernstein-Gould disagreement over the Brahms Piano Concerto No. 1, I can see where there could be a difference of opinion…Brahms wasn’t there. But this was Rachmaninoff’s piece, and he was standing right there. Ah, Stokowski!). You can hear it fully restored here.
The fifties brought stereo sound; of course, you might say the idea had been around for a long time, but technology had to catch up: the Venetian polychoral style that was used at St. Mark’s in Venice, a style that was popular from the 1540s, made use of choirs singing in alternation from separated choir lofts. Wow, just like headphones! But then, Thomas Tallis could be said to have invented surround sound with his composition Spem in alium for eight choirs of five voices each, first sung in an octagonal hall, around 1570. You can hear Spem in alium here.
Classical music was also present at the advent of digital sound: Sony’s first CD release was to be Glenn Gould’s recording of Bach’s Goldberg Variations; Philips released Bach’s Mass in B Minor on CD.1
Today, CDs and mp3s are making it possible for anyone to hear not only the masterworks of the most famous composers (not to mention various interpretations), but also the works of less well-known composers, others whose works have not been heard for hundreds of years, and others who finished their compositions just this year.
No one knows how music will be delivered in the future; but thanks to recording technology, we now have about 1000 years of classical music at our disposal, to be heard wherever and whenever we want.
Life is good.
Image attribution: Photograph of Edison wax cylinder phonograph (1899) by Norman Bruderhofer, http://www.cylinder.de (own work (transferred from de:File:Phonograph.jpg)) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.
Piano works are
What he’s known for, but there’s more
That you need to hear:
His versions of Polish songs,
A stirring trio.
Get to know Chopin
In a whole new dimension
In non-solo works.
Now let us all say
Happy birthday to the great
It is Chopin’s birthday today! Church records list his birthday as February 22, 1810, but since Chopin and his family celebrated his birthday on March 1, it is considered the correct date.
Where does one begin to write about Chopin? He was brilliant. His works revolutionized the piano repertoire, and enriched the world of music forever. His mazurkas and polonaises captured the soul of Poland, his nocturnes and preludes plumbed the depths of human emotions. Countless words have been written about his piano solo works.
So I’m going to write about his other works.
Did you know that Chopin didn’t write solely for the piano? Certainly, there is a piano present in all his works (and he wrote a piece for two pianos, Rondo in C for Two Pianos, Op. 73, Op. posth.), but lesser known are his compositions that include other instruments.
Chopin wrote two concertos for piano and orchestra (Op. 11 and Op. 21). There are many wonderful videos of the concertos performed at the International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition, and you can find them here. You can also hear and see Piano Concerto No 1 performed by Evgeny Kissin (Zubin Mehta conducting) or Martha Argerich (Jacek Kaspszyk conducting). Here is a link to Piano Concerto No 2 performed by Arthur Rubinstein (conducted by Andre Previn).
Cello fans will enjoy this video of Chopin’s Cello Sonata (Op. 65) performed by Natalia Gutman and Sviatoslav Richter, or this performance of the Introduction and Polonaise brillante in C major (op. 3) performed by Daniil Shafran and Anton Ginsburg.
Here is Chopin’s Trio for Violin, Cello, and Piano (Op. 8), a wonderfully stirring piece of music.
Chopin also set several poems in Polish to music. Here is one of his Polish songs for voice and piano.
And now, since it is Chopin’s birthday, here is a fun tribute to him, the song Happy Birthday in the style of Chopin, with some added improvisation.
Whose pianistic brilliance
Reached beyond the grave:
His unpublished works
Were supposed to be destroyed;
But fate intervened.
But then sometimes fate
Abruptly ends the music–
Sometimes in mid-line.
These posthumous works
Let the creative candle
Burn a bit longer,
Into the life and soul of
A voice lost to us.
Work gets interrupted, whether it’s the humble writing of a blog, or the composition of a symphony. Sometimes things are…terminally interrupted, or lie finished, but unpublished, languishing long after a composer’s death.
Chopin requested that all unpublished works that were “not worthy of me” be destroyed after his death.1 But Chopin’s mother and sisters countermanded that, and had Chopin’s friend Julian Fontana pick out the best pieces, which were then published and cataloged as posthumous works.2,3
And this is hardly a unique case. After Schubert’s death, some of his unpublished songs were gathered into a song cycle that was called Schwanengesang (Swan Song). While some of the songs appeared on consecutive pages in Schubert’s manuscript version, by no means were all of the songs unambiguously meant to be presented together, and his last song, Taubenpost, was clearly added by the publisher.4
And then there is the matter of incomplete works. Schubert’s eighth symphony remained unfinished at the time of his death. Mozart’s Requiem was incomplete—he had written sketches for several movements, and it fell to Franz Süssmayr to complete it, who added some movements of his own for good measure.
Bach’s The Art of Fugue ends in the middle of a fugue. Mahler’s last symphony was unfinished, and Puccini’s opera Turandot was missing part of the finale at the time of his death.5
In some cases, the works are presented as is (Schubert’s Symphony No. 8, Bruckner’s Symphony No. 9). But given the human nature to tinker, some latter-day composers have tried their hand at completing some of these incomplete works based on the composer’s sketches (see here for a list). Not all of these extrapolations have been universally accepted. They are interesting experiments though.
Some works that see the light of day only posthumously may be awkward yearbook pictures from a composer’s youth, others unsuccessful experiments that the composer neglected to pitch into the fireplace. Others, gems that lacked a bit of polishing and a publisher. Yet all give one more glimpse into the composer’s life, like finding a photo of a relative long gone. I cannot help but quote Douglas Hofstadter’s poignant reference to a Chopin étude (please forgive the length) from his book I Am a Strange Loop.6
One gloomy day in early 1991, a couple of months after my father died, I was standing in the kitchen of my parents’ house, and my mother, looking at a sweet and touching photograph of my father taken perhaps fifteen years earlier, aid to me, with a note of despair, “What meaning does that photograph have? None at all. It’s just a flat piece of paper with dark spots on it here and there. It’s useless.” The bleakness of my mother’s grief-drenched remark set my head spinning because I knew instinctively that I disagreed with her, but I did not quite know how to express to her the way I felt the photograph should be considered.
After a few minutes of emotional pondering—soul-searching, quite literally—I hit upon an analogy that I felt could convey to my mother my point of view, and which I hoped might lend her at least a tiny degree of consolation. What I said to her was along the following lines.
“In the living room we have a book of the Chopin études for piano. All of its pages are just pieces of paper with dark marks on them, just as two-dimensional and flat and foldable as the photograph of Dad—and yet, think of the powerful effect that they have had on people all over the world for 150 years now. Thanks to those black marks on those flat sheets of paper, untold thousands of people have collectively spent millions of hours moving their fingers over the keyboards of pianos in complicated patterns, producing sounds that give them indescribable pleasure and a sense of great meaning. Those pianists in turn have conveyed to many millions of listeners, including you and me, the profound emotions that churned in Frédéric Chopin’s heart, thus affording all of us some partial access to Chopin’s interiority—to the experience of living in the head, or rather the soul, of Frédéric Chopin. The marks on those sheets of paper are no less than soul-shards—scattered remnants of the shattered soul of Frédéric Chopin. Each of those strange geometries of notes has a unique power to bring back to life, inside our brains, some tiny fragment of the internal experiences of another human being—his sufferings, his joys, his deepest passions and tensions—and we thereby know, at least in part, what it was like to be that human being, and many people feel intense love for him. In just as potent a fashion, looking at that photograph of Dad brings back, to us who knew him intimately, the clearest memory of his smile and his gentleness, activates inside our living brains some of the most central representations of him that survive in us, makes little fragments of his soul dance again, but in the medium of brains other than his own. Like the score to a Chopin étude, that photograph is a soul-shard of someone departed and it is something we should cherish as long as we live.”
I think it’s appropriate to close with a work that might never have been heard: Chopin’s Nocturne in C -sharp minor.
Image attribution: Final page of Bach’s The Art of Fugue by Johann Sebastian Bach. (Berlin State Library, Germany.) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3ABach-unfinishedfugue.jpg . The note at the end, written by Bach’s son Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, says, “in this fugue, where the name B A C H is introduced in the countersubject, the composer died.”