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Category: classical

Wednesday, 2/17/10

transported, adj. emotionally moved, ecstatic. E.g., Glenn Gould playing Bach.

Bach, Partita No. 2 in C Minor (excerpt), Glenn Gould, piano, live (from The Art of Piano: Great Pianists of the 20th Century)

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lagniappe

I think that if I were required to spend the rest of my life on a desert island, and to listen to or play the music of any one composer during all that time, that composer would almost certainly be Bach. I really can’t think of any other music which is so all-encompassing, which moves me so deeply and so consistently, and which, to use a rather imprecise word, is valuable beyond all of its skill and brilliance for something more meaningful than that—its humanity.

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The nature of the contrapuntal experience is that every note has to have a past and a future on the horizontal plane.

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We do not play the piano with our fingers but with our mind.

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In the best of all possible worlds, art would be unnecessary. Its offer of restorative, placative therapy would go begging a patient. . . . The audience would be the artist and their life would be art.

—Glenn Gould

Thursday, 2/11/10

intimate, adj. 1. Relating to or indicative of one’s deepest nature. 2. Essential; innermost. E.g., Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 15 in A minor, op. 132.

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Beethoven composed his string quartet, Opus 132 in A minor, in the winter of 1824-5. He was 54 and recovering from a serious bowel condition from which he had nearly died. As a result, he entitled the central movement “a song of thanksgiving … offered to the divinity by a convalescent”, and the second section of this movement bears the inscription: “Feeling new strength.”

Over 100 years later, in March 1931, TS Eliot, aged 47, wrote to Stephen Spender: “I have the A minor Quartet on the gramophone, and I find it quite inexhaustible to study. There is a sort of heavenly, or at least more than human gaiety, about some of his later things which one imagines might come to oneself as the fruit of reconciliation and relief after immense suffering; I should like to get something of that into verse before I die.”

Eliot began the Four Quartets in 1935 and worked on it for years, finishing it in 1941. Whereas the composer wrote one quartet, with five movements, the poet wrote four pieces, each divided into five sections. Like Beethoven’s work, Eliot’s poem was triggered by personal suffering, although not of a physical nature. It was probably connected to his separation from his wife, Vivienne, in 1932; her mental illness; and the rekindling of a platonic relationship with his first love, the American university teacher Emily Hale.

The first poem in the series, Burnt Norton, opens with an image of a couple walking in a rose garden and is full of regret for what might have been. At this point, Eliot’s concerns appear personal. However, in 1939, when he was working on the second poem, East Coker, war had broken out and by 1940 Eliot was working in London as an air-raid warden during the Blitz. The climactic verse of the final poem, Little Gidding, is set at night in a London street just after a raid. By the end of the four poems, Eliot had moved from the personal to addressing what he described in the poem as the “distress of nations”.

If suffering is the trigger for both pieces, then faith offers the shared antidote of “reconciliation and relief” that Eliot wrote to Spender about. Both men were practising Christians, and their belief underpinned much of their later work. Beethoven was a Catholic, and Eliot famously converted to Anglicanism aged 38, nine years before writing Four Quartets.

In 1933 Eliot said he wanted to get “beyond poetry, as Beethoven in his later works, strove to get beyond music”. I am sure that it was Beethoven’s religious aims in the long and intense central movement of the quartet that Eliot had in mind when he wrote these words. Beethoven had been studying liturgical music – Palestrina in particular – while he was working on his Missa Solemnis, which he completed two years before starting work on the quartet. This study influenced the central movement of the quartet, which is based, unusually, on an ancient chorale melody and mode. Similarly, Eliot’s poem had a strong religious purpose and referenced Christianity in many forms – from direct quotations of the medieval mystic Juliana of Norwich, to the setting of the final poem in the village of Little Gidding, which was the site in the 17th century for a persecuted religious community.

Interestingly, however, both men were also drawn to the philosophy of eastern religions, with which they supplemented their own Christianity. Eliot quotes from the Hindu text, the Bhagavad-Gita, in Four Quartets. Beethoven was influenced by the older Hindu scripture, the Rig-Veda. In his diary the composer jotted down a line from the Rig-Veda commentary about the idea of God being “free from all passion and desire”. Eliot expresses similar sentiments in his poem when he writes about:

The inner freedom from the practical desire
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving.

—Katie Mitchell, “A Meeting of Minds,” Guardian

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Beethoven, String Quartet No. 15 in A minor, op. 132/Takacs Quartet

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Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Saturday, 2/6/10

Few composers make such expressive use of silence.

Christian Wolff, “For Piano” (1952)/Frederic Rzewski, piano

(In the right mood, I could listen to this all day.)

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lagniappe

Any collection of sounds that you put together, they’ll have a rhythm no matter what.—Christian Wolff

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Abstract Expressionism

On the Road

“Howl”

hard bop

urban blues

doo-wop

rock ’n roll

New York School Composers (John Cage, Morton Feldman, Earle Brown, Christian Wolff)

Not too shabby for a decade (1950s) that’s often dismissed as dull.

Saturday, 1/16/10

If I were a piece of music (as Barbara Walters might put it), here’s the one I’d want to be (today, anyway): deceptively simple, continually (albeit subtly) changing, perpetually fresh.

Morton Feldman, Triadic Memories, excerpt (1981)/Aki Takahashi, piano

(Feldman’s late piano pieces, including this one, accompany more of my daily life than any other music. Among other things, they work wonders when sleep won’t come [I mean that as a compliment]: slip the CD into the bedside Bose player, turn the volume down, hit the repeat button, and drift.)

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lagniappe

[Triadic Memories is] Feldman’s greatest piano piece, and thus one of the great piano works of the 20th century.—Kyle Gann

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Some modernist composers such as Stockhausen want to embrace everything in their music. Others work by exclusion, ruthlessly paring their music down until only the essential core remains. The American composer Morton Feldman, who died in 1987 aged 61, was perhaps the most ruthless of all these great renouncers. He didn’t want lyricism or complication or any of the storm and stress and conflict that go with ‘expression.’ What he wanted was to ‘tint the air’ with gentle sounds, revealed in slowly changing patterns.—Ivan Hewitt

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Even if you’re not up for discerning the grand construction in Feldman’s meditative, pared-down music, its medicinal value is so strong that, while I was recovering from surgery, it worked as well as Motrin—or the Mozart piano concertos I have used after a wisdom-teeth extraction. Think of what Feldman could do for hangovers.—David Patrick Stearns

Thursday, 1/14/10

No matter how many years I listen to music, there’s still nothing like the thrill of hearing, for the first time, something that grabs you by the collar—as this did last night—and doesn’t let go.

Alfred Schnittke (1934-1998), Concerto for Piano and Strings (1979)/Evgeny Svetlanov, piano, Sinfonie Orchester der USSR

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

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lagniappe

mail

In the Christian’s automobile, no need to worry about a parking space. Amen! [The Dixie Hummingbirds, 1/10/10]

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I want you to know how much I enjoy the music posts.  I learn a lot about many people I really don’t know, and those that I do make for great listening again.

Tuesday, 1/12/10

I began listening to this piano sonata many years ago, after discovering, at our local library, a recording of it by Claudio Arrau, which I proceeded to check out over and over again (until I finally bought it). Since then I’ve also heard recordings by Artur Schnabel and Wilhelm Kempff and Solomon and Andras Schiff, as well as this one (thanks to my brother-in-law John, who gave it to me as a present years ago). As with any masterpiece, there’s no such thing as a “definitive” performance; it’s inexhaustible. Different performances reveal different dimensions. Listen to the way the dark, subdued second movement opens up to the joyous third movement: it’s one of the most hopeful passages of music I know—one I never tire of hearing.

Beethoven, Piano Sonata No. 21 in C major, Op. 53 (“Waldstein”)/Emil Gilels, piano (1972)

Part 1 (beginning of 1st Movement)

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Part 2 (end of 1st Movement and 2nd Movement [begins at 2:41])

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Part 3 (3rd Movement)

Saturday, 1/2/10

“Check out Gonzales”—a longtime friend (in a recent email)

Gonzales, Piano Vision (2007)

Part 1

Part 2

(Yo, Scott: Thanks!)

Saturday, 12/26/09

Food, people, music: part of what fascinates is variousness. Take the world of contemporary classical music: it’s inhabited not only by Elliott Carter’s thorny dissonance (11/19/09, 12/12/09), but also by this composer’s spectral elegance.

Tristan Murail (1947-), “Le Lac pour ensemble” (2001)/Argento Chamber Ensemble

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lagniappe

Composers who have taken inspiration from spectralist methods . . . aren’t tune-happy populists by any means. But they have brought a new sensuousness to European music. In place of the spastic gesturing that was de rigueur during the Cold War era, their work often unfolds in meditative, deep-breathing lines. While spectralist music would hardly serve as the soundtrack to a yoga session, it does have the capacity to generate a state of eerie calm. In a way, it is the European counterpart to American minimalism, which, back in the nineteen-sixties, returned emphatically to musical ABCs.—Alex Ross

Friday, 12/25/09

John Lee Hooker, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Dinu Lipatti: where else would you find these three artists together, performing back to back, besides a cyberstage?

John Lee Hooker, “Blues For Christmas” (1949)

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Rahsaan Roland Kirk (tenor saxophone, manzello, flute, stritch), “We Free Kings” (1961)

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Dinu Lipatti, “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” Johann Sebastian Bach/Hess transcription (1947)

Saturday, 12/12/09

Last week a recording of his complete works for solo piano (so far), Oppens Plays Carter (on Chicago-based Cedille Records), was nominated for a Grammy.

This week he celebrated his 101st birthday.

Next week?

Elliott Carter, Quintet for Piano (1997), Ursula Oppens, The Arditti Quartet, live

Part 1

Part 2

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