When I came across this video of Stephen Hough playing his arrangement of the Korean folk song Arirang as an encore at a concert in Seoul, I knew I had to share it with you. It is beautiful. The audience laughs in surprise and delight when they realize what he is playing.
To call Ariranga Korean folk song is an understatement. It is the Korean folk song, an unofficial national anthem, known by folks of all ages. And yet it is many songs; each generation has its own version, each region has its own verses. But the song remains. And it is not only a national treasure: the song’s importance has been recognized by UNESCO, and it is on the List of Intangible Cultural Heritage. Here is a traditional version.
Here is a modern interpretation, still beautiful, but far from traditional, by popular singer Sohyang. You will see people singing along in the audience.
How like a haiku
Is the music of Mompou:
What is needed, stays;
What is not, is gone.
Once the image is painted
The sound fades away.
“The music of Federico Mompou is the music of evaporation.”1
These words by pianist Stephen Hough caught my attention. I hadn’t heard the name Mompou, or his music, for a few years. At that time I had heard some pieces from his Canciones y Danzas (Songs and Dances). And delicate little pieces they were.
But evaporation? Definitely. Let me explain.
In his delicate miniatures, Mompou distilled his music down to quintessential elements. It is simple in the way a haiku is simple—there may be few notes, few words, but they are exactly the ones needed to convey the thought, nothing extraneous is included. Some pieces even dispense with the bar lines separating measures of music in a seeming suspension of time. Listen to Impresiones intimas (Intimate Impressions) No 1, the first piece in this video, just one minute in length.
Mompou began writing music in 1917, and was an honorary member of Les Six in Paris. He was still writing in 1979. Perhaps his most well-known work is Música Callada (Silenced Music; typically translated as Music of Silence or Silent Music), a cycle of music written in four books between 1959 and 1967.
The majority of pianists who play the works of F. M., despite their obvious dedication and the loving care with which they interpret it, do not always manage to comprehend the blend of spirituality, poetry, and passion intermingled in it, and, many times they highlight one of these elements too much, forgetting the others, or relegating them to a secondary status. Another essential factor in the interpretation of this music is its characteristic “rubato,” which is difficult to apply, and apply judiciously.2
So much to consider in so few notes. It is indeed the art of haiku.
“My only desire is to write works in which nothing is missing and nothing is superfluous.”
When I found this video of Stephen Hough warming up with Moszkowski, I had to share it with you. It is not only incredible playing, it is such a jaunty, cheerful piece, and Hough’s fingers dance. Enjoy!
Grieg’s Lyric Pieces
Ten books of songs without words
All tell a story
Edvard Grieg wrote 66 songs for solo piano that are collectively known as Lyric Pieces. They are in various opus numbers, and were written between 1867 and 1901. A characteristic feature of the Lyric Pieces is that they paint a picture or describe a mood. These miniatures are gems, and I have enjoyed learning a few of them.
Here is Grieg himself playing Butterfly. The sound quality is so good because he played into a Welte-Mignon reproducing piano. The date of the recording is 1906.