Leon Fleisher Is My Hero

Read here.

Merry Christmas!

Kabalevsky Sonata Op. 46

So I promised to write about this sonata. I spent some time yesterday working on it, and fall more in love with it all the time. It's the perfect antidote for too much Mozart.

The sonata was composed in 1945, right towards the end of World War II. The Soviet Union emerged from the war as one of the world's superpowers, but the victory came at a steep price. The estimated death toll was roughly 27 million. I can imagine that, despite the victory, the USSR was not a particularly bright and happy place in 1945.

According to Kabalevsky, this is not a strictly programmatic work. However, the two themes of youth and war are prevalent throughout the sonata. The themes clash through the piece, and youth is victorious in the end. And if you know Kabalevsky and his penchant for the inspiration of children, that makes perfect sense. It made really wonderful propaganda for the Communists at this time, but it also, in an under-handed way, made known Kabalevsky's opinion of the war. This is a good example of what I mentioned in the post about Kabalevsky. He was able to write truly good music under the Communist regime. He did what he needed to do to be able to write his music. Anything is possible if you are talented and clever enough to make it so.

The entire sonata is energetic and spirited. Both youth and war are energetic and spirited; they are so in completely opposite ways. The first movement opens with a theme of youth. It's bright and quick and mischievous in an innocent sort of way. It skips along. The second theme is also one of youth, perhaps less carefree but still fun and light. The rhythms here are particularly fun to play (and by fun, I mean difficult but impressive). In the development of the first movement, the war theme appears. All these really crazy rhythms come flying out of nowhere, but it's really exciting. There's a lot of big bass stuff in here as well, symbolizing the war theme. Youth and war struggle for a bit, then the war theme subsides completely and almost instantaneously. There's a sense of nervousness and agitation through the rest of the movement.

The second movement is very similar. It opens with a sweet, graceful youth theme. The war theme comes back, but it's sneakier this time around. (I prefer this) These dissonances start creeping in. Every time you hear one, it's a little bit less subtle. I'm just so inspired by the way Kabalevsky does this. It really is masterful. As in the first movement, the youth theme comes back in the end, much more raucous than we've heard it before.

The third movement portrays the triumph of youth. It's a fast waltz (*FAST* waltz) and it's witty and roguish. I think it depicts very well that overwhelming exuberance of youth.

Kabalevsky

My semester from hell has ended! I'm enjoying some much needed relaxation (with my handsome new fiancé! *girlish squeal*), and figure that I could do something at least semi-productive with all this free time.

As much as I love Mozart, I'm very happy to be free of him for a good while. My jury went well and I am officially a performance major now! Hooray! This means that I get to start planning super-fun things like a junior recital!

I have this odd fascination with 20th century Russian composers. The Soviets really could compose music like none I've heard (and I mean that in the best possible way). There are 20th century elements involved, those being dissonance, strange rhythmic patterns and meter changes, etc. But they somehow manage to simultaneously create beautiful melodies. I suppose I like it because it's interesting in all the ways that only 20th century music can be interesting, while still be an enjoyable listening experience. I am particularly in love with Shostakovich's second piano sonata but, unfortunately, the technical difficulties are too much for me to handle right now. My professor was kind enough to assign me a Kabalevsky sonata instead so I can get my Soviet fix.

Kabalevsky was an interesting guy. His father was a mathematician, but he was drawn to the arts and became a composer. He studied at the Moscow Conservatory and became a professor there in 1932. At this time he joined the newly formed Union of Soviet Composers, which promoted the idea of Socialist Realism in the arts. Generally speaking, they promoted Communism, though their doctrinal goal was a "truthful and historically concrete depiction of reality in its revolutionary development." He joined the Communist party in 1940 and began writing lots and lots of fun-time patriotic Communist music, including pieces with names such as The Heroes of the Revolution of 1905, Vast Motherland, and Revenger of the People. Oh, yes. In the 1940s he was briefly accused of formalism. That is, he was supposedly composing music for music's sake and not for the glorification of the Communist party. But he knew some people who knew some people and the charges were quickly dropped. I do admire his ability to write creative music under such a strict regime. It's something that many composers struggled with.

My favorite thing about Kabalevsky (besides his being a hard-core Commie, obviously) is his desire to bring good music to children. In fact, before a few weeks ago, I had no idea that he wrote anything but really wonderful early- and intermediate-level literature for children. During his lifetime he set up strong music education programs in some twenty-five Soviet schools. He also wrote several large-scale works involving children's choruses.

In terms of his actual music, it was much less adventurous than that of his contemporaries. The harmonies are interesting, but diatonic for the most part. He liked to play with chromaticism and the interchange of major and minor.

I want to write about the sonata I'm playing, but I'll most likely be long-winded about that as well. I'll leave it for next time.

Nurturing Creativity

I found this to be...wonderful, actually.

Read here.

Long-Haired Music

One more short post for today.

For those of you who don't know, I love Mental_Floss with a deep and everlasting passion. And this series on classical music is wonderful.

Enjoy!

Hermode Tuning

For those of you interested in tunings, my friend Chris introduced me to hermode tuning. If you click on the "HMT" link at the top of the home page, you can get an introduction to the concept. Apparently the creators of hermode tuning use dynamic rather than static tuning. Most tunings use a standard ratio for all intervals, i.e., static tuning. Dynamic tuning adjusts to the musical content, apparently. Personally, I think this is really amazing, but I don't know of any other dynamic tuning systems. If anyone does, please let me know!

You can listen to hermode tunings here. What I particularly like about this site is that they give several different sound options for each example. It's often difficult to hear the differences between equal temperament and something less standard unless you can hear them in succession. But it really does make a difference.

Federico Mompou

I don't remember the last time I was so excited about a composer discovery. Seriously. I discovered Federico Mompou like ten minutes ago, and have spent the last nine minutes furiously youtubing everything I can find. I'm so excited that I have to write about this right now instead of practicing for my lesson.

Mompou was a Spanish composer during the late 20th century (he died in the eighties). According to Wikipedia (my most reliable source during this hasty, excitable post), he was influenced by French Impressionism, most notably Satie (whom I also love! Eek!).

I really don't know anything else about him, and am too excited about sharing this with the world to actually look anything up. His music is beautiful. Maybe this is just my rebelling against too much Mozart. Mompou is gloriously ametrical and ethereal. There's so much space! And freedom!

Just listen, and revel in it!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jweZ2sgHwhE&feature=related

Prodigy

If I ever wind up having to seriously teach piano, I'm going to tack on a postscript at the end of my syllabus. It will be titled "Concerning Your Child Prodigy" and will include this excerpt from Schonberg's fantastic book The Great Pianists.

"In 1770 Mozart, on tour with his father in Italy, gave an exhibition (for it was an exhibition rather than a concert, even though it was "reviewed") at the Reale Accademia in Mantua. At the Accademia there were several professional musicians, and they prepared the program. First one of the boy's symphonies was played. Then he was soloist in a piano concerto that he had to read at sight from manuscript. Then he was supplied with a solo sonata which he not only had to read at sight but also supply with variations; and, that done, he had to transpose the work to another key. Then he had to compose an aria on the spot, to words given him, sing it himself and accompany himself on the clavier. Following this, the concertmaster of the orchestra gave Mozart a theme, and Mozart had to improvise a sonata from it. Then he had to improvise a strict fugue. Then he had to play the violin in a trio. Finally he conducted, from the clavier, one of his own symphonies. Mozart was fourteen years old at the time."

In conclusion, a six-year-old's ability to play Chopsticks does not make him a prodigy.

Schumann Dichterliebe

So, for my midterm for studio accompanying, I had to play one of these two Schumann lieder. Because our professor loves us so much and wants us to learn, I also had to write a paper about these two lovely lieder. I'm posting some excerpts from the hastily written paper because I feel guilty if I go too long without posting something. I also feel guilty if I take the time to actually write something out for this blog when I have a mountain of reading to do for piano lit.

Enjoy! And you can listen to the first piece here and the second piece here.

Dichterliebe, or “The Poet’s Love” was composed by Robert Schumann in 1840. The set consists of sixteen songs, the text for each song written by German poet Heinrich Heine. This piece follows the song cycles of Schubert’s Die Schöne Müllerin and Winterreise. From the perspective of a pianist, the music itself seems to take precedence over the text. It is well known that Schumann believed poetry to be a substandard art form compared to music. He once said that “it must wear the music like a wreath.” This song cycle has a hyper-sensitive, very intimate feel. Schumann obviously takes great care with each song, often employing suspensions and chromaticism. Each song is relatively short, but there is incredible depth of emotion within each.

Im Wunderschönen Monat Mai is the opening song for Dichterliebe. A fairly accurate translation is presented here:

In the darling month of May when

Buds were bursting into bloom

And birds were trilling, I told

Her of my love and longing.

This song is a beautiful and intimate start to the cycle. The melodic line lifts through each verse, creating a sense of longing and yearning. The dynamics never reach beyond mezzo forte, keeping the tone light and feminine. The accompaniment in this song doubles the vocal line in the top voice. This happens fairly often with Schumann’s works, and should be disguised. It would be best to bring out different voices, rather than the mimicking top line. The piano should sing out while the vocalist is silent, but remain sotto voce when the vocalist begins to sing. Because this song is so tender, it might be best to ritard a bit in measure four, before the singer comes in. It creates an air of expectation. The last chord of this song is particularly interesting. The song ends on a seventh chord, unresolved. This adds to the feeling of expectation which is pervasive throughout the song. This unresolved chord is resolved at the beginning of the next song in the set.

The other song which I would like to discuss, as I mentioned in the introduction, is Ich Grolle Nicht is drastically different, and stands apart from the other pieces in Dichterliebe. This is inherent in the text, which follows:

I’ll not complain though my heart is breaking.

Love lost forever! Though you glitter with diamonds

I have long known there is no answering ray of light

In the blackness of your heart; long known that a

Serpent feeds on this heart of yours. I saw, my love,

How wretched you are.

How different from the sweet, tender Im Wunderschönen Monat Mai! In this song cycle about a poet’s love, this is the only song which expresses any negative emotion. This is one of the most popular and challenging songs in the cycle. The accompaniment consists entirely of block chords, which gives a deceptive air of uniformity. In fact, elasticity is necessary to convey the emotion of the song. The song is brimming with irony. The singer proclaims that he bears no grudge, but it is obvious from the character of the piece that he does. The phrase “Ich grolle nicht”, loosely translated “I’ll not complain”, is repeated several times for emphasis. This adds to the irony of the piece—it is obvious that the singer is complaining throughout the song, and wishes to do so.

Don't Judge Me

I've been reading The Inner Game of Tennis for my piano pedagogy class at Baylor. I'm almost to the end (fortunately. The paper is due on Tuesday.) As the title suggests, the book is about tennis, but has been applied to music as well.

Anyway, I'm not going to go into details about the entire book. As I have to write a paper about it, I might put excerpts up later. What I want to talk about is a chapter towards the end, titled "Games People Play on the Court." This could just as easily be called "Games People Play on Stage." He breaks down the attitudes which people have towards the game of tennis (or the act of performing). These genres are playing to achieve excellence, playing to make or keep friends, and playing for health or fun. He also breaks these into sub-genres, but I won't go into that.

The author tells us that most people go into a sport (or play an instrument) for fun, but that it quickly becomes competitive. Musicians in particular tend to set impossible standards for themselves. Because of this, playing music often becomes a source of frustration when, in fact, it should have the opposite effect.

The author, Timothy Gallwey, explains that this is rooted in the beliefs of Western culture. (I agree with him, by the way. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing this in such a sweet and amenable tone.) We measure others by their competence. We strive for excellence so as to be respected. Because that's how one gains respect, no? Musicians are judged based on how well they perform. You are a good musician if you can perform well. Because of all this, we form a pattern of measuring our self-worth based on whether or not we succeed at any given thing. Others judge us based on our actions, therefore we judge ourselves based on actions.

I hope that you've noticed the glaring problem. It is this: for every winner, there's a loser. And musicians have it the worst. Why? Because music touches people, and as a result, there are a hell of a lot of people who want to be musicians. This means that, in the music world, for every winner, there are a million losers.

My real mission in writing this is to remind my fellow musicians to remember why you're playing in the first place. Particularly in the classical world, it's all too easy to get caught up in being better than the person sitting next to you in studio. I'm directing this to other people, but I have to remind myself of this every day. I'm not especially competitive regarding other things, but I am fiercely so when it comes to playing the piano.

Remember to play because it makes you happy--not because your self-worth hinges on your ability.

How Much Should We Practice?

This is because I need an excuse to not stress about not getting in my four+ hours every day.

Read here.

Mozart Piano Concerto #22

I apologize for my negligence. I feel like I'm drowning in music that I need to learn. Among the music is my lovely Mozart concerto. (As an aside, I love it when, while learning a piece, friends reach the point where they begin calling it "their" piece. Their concerto. Their sonata. I think that it's a milestone in the personal development of the musical learning process. If that makes sense.)

I don't know why pianists don't play this concerto more often. To be honest, this is the piece that sold me on Mozart concertos. I never found them to be particularly interesting or engaging before. Though, it could also be my taste, which (I hope) is expanding and refining.

I could write for ages about how much I love this concerto. But I've only memorized the first movement, so I'll talk about the others later. (I never feel that a piece is really known, internalized, until it's memorized.) I love that it opens with big, triumphant E-flat chords. It reminds me of Beethoven's Emperor Concerto, though maybe with less bravado. It quickly withdraws into a pretty, sweet melody. For four measures. Then the E-flat chords are back! It's so teasing and charming and just delightful. The piano work is brimming with fast scales and arpeggio figurations. It keeps with the charming character, I think.

Listen to an Annie Fischer recording, if you can find one. She doesn't take the piece too seriously, and I think that's key.

How to Be a Concert Pianist

I had to read an article for my piano pedagogy class about concert pianists. Some researcher got together a bunch of concert pianists and asked them about their lives. It turns out that there are quite a few similarities among the pianists. Here's a bit from what I wrote (and I wrote it in a hurry, so forgive my potentially poor writing).

"All of the pianists started piano lessons at a fairly young age. Interestingly, most did not take lessons of their own accord. Common through all of the pianists was the parents’ belief in the value of music lessons. Even when the parents were not musical themselves, they insisted on piano lessons for their child, and almost all relied on teachers who lived close by. The first teacher was generally an average pianist, though all of the pianists had fond memories of their first teacher. Lessons were basic, and regular recitals were part of said lessons. Most of the pianists practiced at least one hour per day at this early stage, and a parent would often sit in on the practice sessions, praising the child and giving instruction as needed.

By high school, most of the pianists had moved on to new and better teachers. Lessons became more detailed, dealing with interpretation, technique, and building repertoire. It was at this point that most of the pianists began to develop a deeper commitment to the piano, listening to recordings, attending concerts, and reading books about composers, for example. Practice became less about time and more about what one needed to do with the music. Many of the pianists started to play in youth competitions. Notably, the pianists who participated in these competitions stressed that merely playing in the competitions was much more important than winning or losing. By this point, it was obvious to most of the pianists that a career in music was eminent.

Between the ages of twelve and nineteen, the pianists started lessons with master teachers. At this point, they were working with professional musicians who understood the implications of a solo career as a concert pianist. The amount of work required for each lesson demanded a minimum of four hours of practice per day, sometimes more. All of the pianists mentioned that it was at this point that they began to take charge of their music, interpreting the music for themselves, rather than interpreting solely on a teacher’s advice. In a sense, they took over their own development. "

Cherubino

Good news: School started last week! Hoorah!

Bad news: The new studio accompanying teacher thought that it would be a brilliant idea to give us all two Mozart aria accompaniments to learn. In a week. And not just any week, but the first week of school. It wouldn’t be so bad. I love Mozart. Really. We’re like blood brothers this semester. But Mozart’s cute little sense of humor makes these arias excessively difficult to play.

The opera is The Marriage of Figaro, and the arias are Cherubino’s. I don’t pretend to know much about opera, but Cherubino is a charming character. He’s a page, meaning he’s 15-ish years old. I would say that he provides comic relief, but I’m pretty sure that this whole opera is one giant comic relief. At any rate, Cherubino sings about how he is plagued by love, and falls deeply in love with every woman he sees (essentially). And we can’t blame him. Falling in love is, after all, one of the favorite pastimes of romantic adolescent boys. The arias themselves would be somewhat serious, except for the fact that they’re played/sung at ludicrously quick tempos. (You can listen to them here and here.) Hence my problem trying to learn them in a week.

They can’t be learned well in a week, I say, after trying very laboriously and neglecting other Mozart and new Chopin in the process. They might even sound a bit sober tomorrow. Quelle horreur, Monsieur Mozart!

Street Pianos

Obviously, I am very behind the times here. I heard about this project a few weeks ago, after it had concluded in New York. With that being said, I admire what this man is doing. I try very hard to keep my posts from being too personal, because there are very few people who would want to read about my personal life. But I want people to know why it is that I find this project--the goal of which is the sharing of music--to be so inspiring.

I've been a good pianist for quite some time now, but I've been a dismal performer until very recently. And believe me, I am still learning, and have a very long way to go. The reason for my terrible performance skills wasn't due to lack of ability. I merely did not understand the concept of engaging an audience. In my mind, there was an invisible wall between *my* person and *my* music, and the people sitting in the seats in front of me. I didn't want to share the music, because it was mine. I believed that the audience wouldn't understand anyway. Most importantly, I did not realize that it was, in fact, my job as a performer to share music with the people who were there to listen.

Eventually, I came to see that this idea of my being solitary, alone in the music, was not what I needed to continue to be happy with my chosen career. Essentially, I had a eureka moment, and came to the realization that the only way I could have long-term musical contentment was by playing *to*someone. When I play Beethoven, for example, I want the audience to feel what I am feeling when I play.

What I'm trying to say is this. It's best when someone is there to listen. And that is why I love Luke Jerram and what he's doing.

I'm fairly certain that I sound disgustingly pretentious right now. Share the music, man, and all that jazz. This is what happens when I'm feeling especially feminine and become inspired to write about feelings. So forgive me, and thank you for humoring me by reading this, if indeed you made it through to the end.

More Temperaments

Somehow, I doubt that anyone who reads this blog is as interested in temperaments as I am. However, I find it fascinating. As a result, I want to be able to explain it well, and I'm afraid that I fell short last time. This is merely another explanation. I'm not forcing you to read it, and forgive me for my single-mindedness concerning topics that interest me.

Chopin Nocturne Op. 72 No. 1

A friend and I were talking music last night, and this piece came up in conversation. Of course, I had to revisit the piece, and it's as wonderful as I remember. It's an appropriate piece for an empty music building at 6 am. It's lonely-sounding.

As angsty as this piece is, I really do love it. Chopin composed the piece when he was seventeen. He was like that emo kid in high school that no one likes, the one who writes really self-absorbed songs about being misunderstood, accompanied by mediocre guitar strumming. I'm convinced that Chopin was trying to convey the same emotions, but *he* actually did a good job. I'm looking at you, emo kid.

I'm shamelessly poking fun, but I really don't take this piece lightly. It's heartbreakingly beautiful. I love piano, and I love playing. But I can count on one hand the pieces I've played that have really moved me, and this is one of them. I'm a sucker for Chopin, but it's gorgeous. Listen here.

This is supposedly Chopin's first nocturne, and it's much more simple harmonically and melodically than some of his later nocturnes. Personally, I find that appealing. There's nothing to hide behind, there are very few moments of virtuosity. It's delicate and sensitive and emotional.

Enjoy.

BONUS: EMANUEL AX IS COMING TO BAYLOR. AM I EXCITED?! I AM EXCITED!

The Mozart Effect

So apparently listening to Mozart won't make you more intelligent. It's not about Mozart, it's about music that you enjoy. So, according to Rauscher, "If you love Pearl Jam, you're going to find a Pearl Jam effect." Oh dear. Too bad for all those parents who played Mozart for their unborn children. Personally, I still think it's a good idea. At least there's a chance that the poor, defenseless baby would grow up with even a shred of musical taste.

Copland "Appalachian Spring"

Since I was on the subject of American composers with the Lou Harrison post, I thought it would be a good time for me to gush about "Appalachian Spring." This is one of my favorite pieces of all time. Top three, easy. I've never listened to Copland as a composer before now, but I'm quickly becoming a great fan. I heard this piece on the radio at my grandfather's house when I was a little girl, and thought it was beautiful (I had good taste even then). The piece has stuck with me all these years. I feel obliged to say that I have attached very fond childhood memories to this piece, which may be a biased reason for why I love it so much.

The piece was originally commissioned by the famous choreographer Martha Graham. It was composed as a ballet, and Copland later rearranged the piece as an orchestral suite. Most of the original music remained.

The ballet is a story about-- are you ready?-- American pioneers! BEST. BALLET. EVER. What I'm guessing would have to be the most adorable little pioneer couple in the world gets married and builds a farmhouse in Pennsylvania. I've never actually seen the ballet, but apparently a revivalist preacher also shows up. A revivalist preacher WHO DANCES BALLET! I just get really excited about this. I think it's a great concept. In the same vein as Philip Glass writing an opera about Gandhi.

Anyway, the orchestral suite is magnificent, in the truest sense of the word. These are Copland's notes on each of the eight sections of the suite.

1. Very slowly. Introduction of the characters, one by one, in a suffused light.

2. Fast. Sudden burst of unison strings in A Major arpeggios starts the action. A sentiment both elated and religious gives the keynote to this scene.

3. Moderate. Duo for the Bride and her Intended-- scene of tenderness and passion.

4. Quite fast. The Revivalist and his flock. Folksy feeling--suggestions of square dances and country fiddlers.

5. Still faster. Solo dance of the Bride-- presentiment of motherhood. Extremes of joy and fear and wonder.

6. Very slowly (as at first). Transition scene to music reminiscent of the introduction.

7. Calm and flowing. Scenes of daily activity for the Bride and her Farmer husband. There are five variations on a Shaker theme. The theme, sung by a solo clarinet, was taken from a collection of Shaker melodies compiled by Edward D. Andrews, and published under the title "A Gift to Be Simple." The melody most borrowed and used almost literally is "Simple Gifts."

8. Moderate. Coda. The Bride takes her place among her neighbors. At the end, the couple are left "quiet and strong in their new house." Muted strings intone a hushed, prayer-like choral passage. The close is reminiscent of the opening music.

The opening in particular is beautiful to me. When people tell me that they can't stand dissonant music, I direct them to the opening of this piece. What Copland does is so ingenious. He builds chords and sonorities which would ordinarily sound unpleasant to the ear, but spreads said sonorities throughout the orchestra. So what we hear is this expansive resonance, not rooted in any tonality, reminiscent of the vast American West. There's also a lovely set of variations on a Shaker theme, as mentioned in the notes. The last variation is virtually nothing more than the entire orchestra playing a simple folk tune. I love you, Aaron Copland.

This piece screams "LOVE ME!", and that's exactly what Copland was trying to do. He was able to create classical music which is distinctly American, and accessible to a wide range of audience. I have never met a person who doesn't like this piece (I was going to write about Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" today, but decided that I wanted to be a bit more likable. I'll save it for a day when I'm feeling less accommodating.). At this point I could also go into a torturously long spiel about neoclassicism, but I will refrain. All you need to know is that Copland wanted people to love this piece. So you should. Make Copland proud.

Also, I couldn't find a good recording of this piece on Youtube, so you'll have to look it up yourself. But please do, it's worth it.

Musicophilia

I feel like a terrible person for having gone this long without talking about Oliver Sacks. He's an incredibly well-known physician, Professor of Clinical Neurology and Psychiatry at Columbia. He's written several wonderful books about case histories of interesting patients he's had (The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat), victims of the encephalitis lethargica epidemic in the 1920s (Awakenings), and deaf studies (Seeing Voices), among others.

Anyway, in 2007, he published a book called Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain. And this post is really nothing more than me shamelessly begging you to read this book, because I think it really is that good. As the title suggests, it's merely a collection of stories. He talks about a group of children with William's Syndrome who are especially attuned to music from birth; the phenomena of amusia; patients who have suffered strokes and are only able to convey emotion through music. The list goes on and on.

There's one story in particular, "Seduction and Indifference", that I think sums up very well the inspiration behind the book. The author states:

"The neuroscience of music, in particular, has concentrated almost exclusively on the neural mechanisms by which we perceive pitch, tonal intervals, melody, rhythm, and so on, and, until very recently, has paid little attention to the affective aspects of appreciating music. Yet music calls to both parts of our nature-- it is essentially emotional, as it is essentially intellectual."

He goes on to give examples of music-loving patients who had accidents of various kinds, and from that time forward, would show complete indifference towards music. In other words, they respond normally to everything *except* music. This can also go the other way. A patient can have an accident (an example is given of a man struck by lightning), and can suddenly feel an uncanny inspiration to play an instrument, where before there was no musical motivation.

"The fact that one may have not only a selective loss of musical emotion but an equally selective sudden musicophilia implies that the emotional response to music may have a very specific physiological basis of it's own, one which is distinct from that of emotional responsiveness in general."

In other words, the ability to enjoy or repulse music may actually be a separate, individual part of the brain. Personally, I find that fascinating. And so should you.

Lou Harrison Piano Concerto

I don't want this to be a blog about temperaments, but I've discovered this whole world of temperaments and I think that it's fascinating. So you get to hear all about it!

My piano professor recommended this piano concerto to me. It's composed and performed using a tuning called Kirnberger II temperament. I'll talk more about that in a bit, but I want to give a background on the composer. Lou Harrison was an American composer whose life spanned most of the 20th century. As far as I know, he's not terribly well-known, but then again, I don't know a whole lot about contemporary American composers. His music tends to focus more on rhythm and melody, rather than harmony. His music, at least this piano concerto, reminds me a bit of Copland. Just a bit.

The piano concerto was written for the pianist Keith Jarrett, who, incidentally, was a famous jazz pianist. (As a side note, I want to start writing about jazz, but as of right now have only the vaguest knowledge of it. Give me time though, it'll start to pop up in this blog.) As I mentioned before, it uses the Kirnberger II temperament. It was developed in the 18th century by a German theorist and composer named Johann Philipp Kirnberger. Recall that the ideal tuning would be acoustically pure fifths. This can't really be done because when you tune from C to C, up in pure fifths, you don't have a real C by the time you get to the top. However, Kirnberger wanted to get as close to this as possible. To compensate, he shrunk two of the fifths, while the other fifths remained pure. He was also able to keep three pure thirds, the rest being slightly wider. If you go to the Wikipedia article, it's got a helpful little graph.

Anyway, the concerto in itself is really lovely. Movement 1-Part 1, Movement 1-Part 2, Movement 2, Movement 3, Movement 4. I urge you to listen to the whole thing. Of course, I always urge you to listen to the entire piece, but don't stop at the first movement with this one. It's so American, particularly the fourth movement, I think. It's most definitely my favorite piece of the moment. It's a bit difficult (for me, anyway) to hear the difference in temperament, because the differences are so incredibly minute. It's subtle, but a bit richer, as are most of the non-equal-tempered pieces which I've listened to lately.

Prolificacy

This is only funny because I'm fairly certain that it's not nearly as exaggerated as was intended.

I love you, Mozart.

Bartok Mikrokosmos

I had my first exposure to Bartok my freshman year, when I played three pieces from the fifth volume of the Mikrokosmos. The Mikrokosmos is a set of 153 progressive piano pieces in six volumes, composed between 1926 and 1939. Volumes 1 and 2 are intended for beginning pianist, and volumes 5 and 6 consist of professional repertoire. There are people who have recorded all six volumes. I think this is amazing. Anyway, Bartok is most definitely an acquired taste. I didn't appreciate him for quite a while after I started playing these pieces. And by "didn't appreciate him", I mean that I truly despised the pieces. I didn't understand them, they're most certainly not traditionally tonal in nature, and they were more difficult to play than I expected. But I learned to love them, as I started to deal with them on a more intimate level.

The first piece is #122, entitled "Chords Together and in Opposition." This still isn't a piece which I would listen to for fun. I don't wake up on bright, sunny mornings and think, "Man, I really need to listen to Chords Together and in Opposition like right now!" But it is riotous fun to play. I imagine that it's the same sort of fun which a four-year-old enjoys when banging out clashing chords on a piano. The piece in itself is a wonderful stress reliever. It wound up being a bit of an empowering thing, feeling like my quiet, passive self could play such a loud, raucous, blatantly rude-sounding piece. And play it well, if I might add.

The second piece in my little set, "Boating", is a barcarolle. A barcarolle is a folk song sung by Venetian gondoliers. The rhythm is supposed to be reminiscent of a gondolier’s oar strokes. Obviously, this piece isn’t actually a barcarolle, but it’s supposed to evoke that feeling, hence the name. It's equally as grating as the first piece, but in a different way. It's sad, and eerie. It reminds me a bit of one of the Shostakovich preludes which I mentioned in an earlier post (Op. 34 no. 22)

I was never able to play the last little piece up to my standards, despite it being my favorite piece of the three. It's called "Bagpipe Music", #138 in the Mikrokosmos. The rhythms are what initially fascinated me about the piece, and what made it so fun to play. It's one of those pieces that I still idly tap out on tables subconsciously. (I sometimes wonder if all pianists do this, play keyboards on desks and tables when bored or idle.) Despite the rhythms being quite strange, once I was able to play them, they were very comfortable. Not easy to play at a desired tempo, but comfortable when played slowly. The piece is so lively. Bartok was heavily influenced by Hungarian folk music, and it's absurdly obvious to hear in this piece. It's like a rustic peasant bagpipe dance, except no one could actually dance to an underlying rhythm like that one. I also particularly like all the quintuplets used in the melody, and the fact that it vaguely reminds me of another of the Shostakovich preludes (Op. 34 no. 21).

I couldn’t find any recordings of these pieces on youtube. It was discouraging enough that I almost didn’t post this. So please, find recordings if you can. Or if you’re really curious, hunt me down and I’ll play them for you. As I said before, it’s an acquired taste. I’m becoming a fan of 20^th century music, but I am particularly fond of these. I think that they're worth listening to at least once.

Thank You Dr. Kemp

Last night, out of boredom, I was browsing articles dealing with the social psychology of music. I was attempting to find out if there are reasons as to why certain people are drawn to particular composers. I didn't find much that I didn't already know. (Unstable people tend to prefer Wagner. Well, duh.) But, I did come across an article entitled "Individual Differences in Musical Behavior" by a guy named Anthony Kemp. I think that the idea of a prevailing personality type for musicians is intriguing. I'm a bit skeptical, but this guy certainly understands *me*. Here are a few excerpts.

“It is well documented that musicians tend to be introverted, although within this generalization considerable variation amongst different types of musician has been found. This research shows that musicians’ introversion takes a different form to that of the general population; whilst displaying the primary traits of detachment and self-sufficiency, musicians do not exhibit those traits related to seriousness and shyness. This tends to suggest that musicians are indeed self-contained people but that this is a self-imposed result of their work patterns which have been instilled from the earliest stages of music tuition. The extended period of isolation spent in practice rooms require the young musician to be comfortable in that kind of environment. In other words, music, and especially the playing of complex and demanding instruments, attracts self-sufficient and more socially aloof types; and frequent engagement in extended periods of solitary practice is likely to accentuate these traits.”

“All these approaches stress the essential nature of this feature of musicians’ temperament which encapsulates the notion of their inner strength and resolve to master and bring order to their internal lives.”

“Drevdahl and Cattell coined the term ‘bold introvert’ to describe the temperaments of creative types, and this appears to accord with Storr’s more recent view that the capacity to be alone can be interpreted as emotional maturity rather than a manifestation of fear.”

Equal Temperament Tricked Me

When I started this blog, I meant to write more than I’m writing now. I have more free time than I think I do. In other words, I like to pretend that I’m super-busy and not a social recluse when all I really do is play the piano and read books all day. Not that it’s a bad lifestyle. But I am, in fact, akin to a hermit. Meaning, I do have time to put into writing. And it’s beneficial for me.

I just finished reading a book entitled “How Equal Temperament Ruined Harmony (And Why You Should Care)”. It’s by a man named Ross Duffin. (I feel the uncontrollable urge to point out that Duffin is a pansy name, but that’s not what I’m going to talk about.) He’s an early music scholar of some sort. I think the title of his book is misleading. It makes it sound as if his argument is more forceful than it is. Essentially what he’s saying is that equal temperament is often not the best tuning option, particularly concerning voice, strings, and woodwinds. Rather than arguing against the banishment of equal temperament, he’s arguing against the exclusive use of that particular tuning system. Dr. Duffin wants people to be aware of other options of tuning an instrument. And I agreed with him more than I thought I would.

First, I feel as if I should give a definition for equal temperament. If a musician tunes a piano (for example), starting at C and tuning up in *acoustically pure* fifths, by the time the C is reached again, it’s not really a C. It’s just a bit higher than a C should be. This causes serious problems, obviously. An instrument tuned using equal temperament contains fifths which are slightly smaller than a real fifth. We’re talking quarters of semi-tones. Very minute differences. Of course, this means that the fourths are slightly wider, and the thirds are much, much wider. Our modern ears have become accustomed to this, and it sounds fine to us. Also, it allows for every key signature to be used, and they all sound exactly the same. It has its perks.

What most people don’t know, however, is that ET didn’t become prominent until the 1800s, and permanent until later. This means that Bach, Mozart, Haydn, and even Beethoven, didn’t use ET. And *this* means that their music probably sounded much different than how we hear it today on ET-tuned instruments. I don’t want to go too far into all the different tuning methods which Dr. Duffin discussed. However, I wanted to point out that most of them employed a concept called “extended meantone”. Essentially, a musician using extended meantone differentiates sharps and flats. For example, D-sharp has a different sound than E-flat. The interval from D to D-sharp is smaller than that from D-sharp to E. I hope that makes sense. I’m not sure if this is even possible to do on a keyboard instrument. The author didn’t go into it. But it seems fairly easy for string players, and would certainly produce a different tone than that which today’s audience is used to hearing.

I think it’s an interesting concept. I didn’t know that other tuning systems were ever used. I thought that equal temperament had always been the only way to tune an instrument. Even in my two solid years of music theory at Baylor, it was never brought up. But I think that it’s at least something which people should know about and explore, particularly when dealing with early music.

Debussy Arabesque No. 2

I burst into giggles every time I hear this piece. Those of you who know me also know that I do that fairly often without much prompting, but it really is that fun, I promise. It's so cute. This is the second of two arabesques that Debussy wrote for piano. The first is well-known. It's standard pedagogical literature. I played both of them my freshman year of college. I played the first one well, but it didn't inspire me the way this one did. I try to put this piece out in the open as much as possible because I think it's just lovely.

Debussy lived in France during the 1800s, and is thought of as a sort of pioneer of Impressionism in music. Critics called his music "impressionistic" from the beginning, even though he hated the term. As much as I love dear Monsieur Debussy, his music does fit the description. I've talked about program music in previous posts. I think of Impressionism as a reaction to that. Rather than telling a story, a piece of music conveys a mood or atmosphere. Une *impression*. Quelle surprise! (I'm using a French composer as an excuse for smatterings of bad French. Don't judge me.) Anyway, whether or not he liked it, Debussy was quite a talented Impressionist.

I really love that he called this piece an Arabesque. Because frankly, "arabesque" is a vague name for a piece of music, and this piece could have been called anything, really. An arabesque (in music) is a piece of music which is highly ornamental. That is quite literally the only criteria. There is a genre of Turkish music known as arabesque music which is highly ornamental. That's where the classical Western composers got the name. The Western arabesque, incidentally, has nothing to do with Turkey or Turkish music. But who cares, right? Most people in 19th century France probably didn't care about Turkish music anyway. But they LOVED Debussy. And that's all that matters. And I'm sure they thought it was very avant-garde of him to name pieces after Turkish music. As I said before though, this piece fits the description of an arabesque as well as anything can fit such a vague description.

The piece itself is lovely, as I said before. It is very ornamental. Listen here. This is Debussy playing his own music! I get really excited about composers playing their own music. It feels very authentic to me. This piece is so impish. It makes me think that Debussy was probably a handful as a child. Incidentally, he was a handful. His music teachers had all kinds of behavioral problems with him. It's also rousing fun to play. It's less difficult than it actually sounds, and your fingers just dance when you can manage to play it that fast. Also, if you have a good ear, you can hear that it changes keys a surprising amount of times over the course of the three minutes. It adds to the mischievous quality, I think. I also particularly like the abrupt ending. It's bubbly and effervescent and frothy and I'm really just describing a glass of champagne but it reminds me of something like that. Like a charming child and a glass of champagne.

Yefim Bronfman

Yefim Bronfman is coming back to the Houston Symphony in September! I. Am. So. Excited. He's playing Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto 1, and it's going to be beyond amazing. There's no point to this post besides the fact that I'm ecstatic about this.

I'll write something substantial tomorrow.

Berlioz "Symphonie Fantastique"

When I mentioned a few posts back that I would write about Symphonie Fantastique at some point, I meant soon. Very soon. Like now. Because I just listened to it again today and it's as fun as I remember. Also, I'm itching to tell the story behind it. But first, a little background on the Romantic period. One needs to understand the emotional context of this century, and though I touched on it in the last post, Romanticism needs more than a "touch."

The Romantic era was not subtle by any means. Actually, "not subtle" is a gross understatement. Said era was catapulted by Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, which was debuted in 1808. People--as in grown adults--would hear this symphony, and leave the theatres fainting, crying, etc. And this was considered normal. Part of me gets that, Beethoven's Fifth is an emotional piece of music. But really? REALLY? Man up. Anyway, for the next 100 years, the vast majority of composers were succumbing to this affected, histrionic sort of atmosphere. To be fair, I'm not saying that all music during this period was like that, but much of it was. It was emotionally charged.

Hector Berlioz was the King of Romantic. Romantic with a capital R. A capital R fifty stories high with flashing neon bulbs. The story behind this massive symphony stays true to his character. The whole thing started (Once upon a time) in 1827. Berlioz happened to see a performance of Othello, and fell ferociously in love with the woman who played the character of Ophelia, Harriet Smithson. (Her name lacks romantic flair, but she was an actress, so we forgive her short-coming.) He started writing her many impassioned love letters, but obviously she had no idea who he was, so the letters went for the most part unanswered. Berlioz, as expected, felt anguish beyond the power of description at his lover's scorn. The fact that he was practically stalking her didn't seem to register. So, in what I believe was a last-ditch effort to win her love, he composed for her a *massive* five-movement programmatic symphony. (As a side note, I think that symphony-writing is a legit route for capturing that ever-elusive lover. It's pretty impressive, and not often attempted. My boyfriend hasn't written me a symphony, just saying.)

On to the actual symphony, and then I'll reveal whether or not it actually won dear little Miss Smithson's heart.

As previously mentioned, this symphony is programmatic. The program notes for all five movements are written out here. The program notes are incredibly specific, so there's not a whole lot for me to say. I'll give a brief overview of each movement, and talk a little bit about the musical idea which is supposed to represent the ideal woman, and how it changes through several of the movements.

The first movement is entitled "Daydreams and Passions." You're on the edge of your seat already, I can sense it. Listen here. A young man (read: angsty musician/Berlioz) falls in love with the beautiful woman of his dreams (read: saucy actress/Smithson). The little melody representing the ideal woman starts at about 6:03, when the violin comes in, and goes to about 6:40-ish. It shows up in every movement, but is changed.

The second movement, "A Ball", can be listened to here. In this movement, the little ideal woman melody shows up quite a bit. It's supposedly symbolic of the thoughts of this woman constantly disturbing the poor man's thoughts. Even in the midst of this enchanting party, he still sees the face of his beautiful would-be lover. *SIGH*

Movement three! "Scene In the Fields" Part I and Part II. Incidentally, this tends to be everyone's least favorite movement, because it's long and pastoral. And no piece of music should be precocious enough to attempt to be both. It's just rude. Young man (Berlioz) literally "reflects upon his isolation." Oh goodness. This movement is the young man saying, "I'm going to go off into nature and wrestle with my feelings." But it's okay, because the fourth movement makes up for it!

Listen to it here. Its title is "March to the Scaffold." The young man is so overcome by grief that he decides to poison himself with opium, then proceeds to have one of the craziest dreams EVER. It's a drug trip musical! He dreams that he kills his ideal woman, and is led to the scaffold and executed. This is great though, if you listen at 4:15, that loud, sudden chord is his head being chopped off, and then rolling off the scaffold. (I'm going to write what you're thinking, and what I'm thinking--ahahahahahahahaha! Yes, I laugh, every time, I think it's terribly funny.)

Anyway, in the final movement (listen here), titled "Dream of a Witches' Sabbath", the young man dreams that all of these horrid creatures have gathered for his funeral. Including, guess who, the lovely ideal woman, who, incidentally, is not so ideal anymore. She reappears in the form of a witch. If you listen closely, you can hear that original ideal woman melody, though now it's turned into a grotesque sort of folk dance. For those who don't know, the Dies irae was a well-known Gregorian chant. Berlioz took it and turned it into a witches' dance, quite a gutsy thing to do at the time.

I spent almost the entire post teasing Berlioz, but this really is a great piece. Sometimes I just can't help myself. But do listen, because it is a masterpiece of Western music, despite being overly-romanticized. And I suppose Berlioz couldn't help that. By the way, Berlioz did finally get Miss Smithson to marry him, and they had a terribly marriage. They couldn't stand each other, and got divorced nine years later.

Brahms Op. 119 No. 1

In the roughly 6 years of experience that I've had with classical music (which isn't much, I know), Brahms has seemed to be one of the most underrated composers among pianists. I think that much of it has to do with the subtlety of many of his piano works. He was a Romantic composer, and wrote fairly prolifically for piano. The fact of the matter is, when pianists think of Romantic era piano music, they think of Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt, etc. This is totally legit, I do the same thing. I had never given Brahms a second thought until I was forced to learn a pair of impromptus during my freshman year. Actually, "forced" is a strong word. I was more coerced. I obliged begrudgingly. But like so many people, I thought that Brahms was kind of boring. I was so terribly wrong.

The things that I love about Brahms are general, not specific to this one piece. However, I'm going to focus on just the one piece, because I want to give specific examples of the general things that I find absolutely amazing. Before anything else, listen here. (Richter is a great pianist, by the way. So sensitive.) Most people are not blown away by this little impromptu. It's not exactly spectacular. But there are two things in particular which I want to bring to attention--the harmonies and the counterpoint. I chose this particular recording of the piece because Richter takes a slow tempo, so the harmonies can be heard, and because he doesn't use too much pedal, so it's clear enough to hear the counterpoint.

First things first. That oh-so-luscious harmony. One can listen to the piece without much thought, but if one listens carefully, the harmony almost never does what is expected. It sometimes goes unnoticed because Brahms is so good at making all of the music just melt together. It's unconventional, but nothing feels out of place. Here I'm going to delve into some pseudo-technical discussion, for those who can follow what I'm saying. If not, pay attention to those parts in the music and savor the delicious sounds. The first five notes roll out a Bm7 chord, starting at the top and falling to the root. There's a split second to hear all of the notes ring out together before the same thing happens, this time with a DM11 chord. I'm not joking, it's beautiful and amazing and wonderful. This is followed by a GM11 chord, also rolled out from the top in this ambrosial arpeggio. I know I'm getting really heavy with my adjectives, but I love this stuff so much, I can't help it. This is all in just the first three measures. I could go on and ecstatically analyze the whole piece like this, but I won't for the interest of time and space. This is enough to pique interest. Listen also especially towards the end, when the triplets come in, around 2:15.

The counterpoint is equally wonderful. Brahms was a fan of Baroque music and, as a result, used a lot of counterpoint in his works. It's hard to believe that this piece is full of counterpoint. It certainly doesn't sound like Bach. The piece is so liquid-sounding, almost anti-structured. But the counterpoint is there, I promise. Granted, it's hard to pick out the different voices just by listening (it's easier for me because I have a score sitting in front of me right now), but Richter does just about the best job I've ever heard. So listen carefully, and they'll make themselves known. The melody is very simple, almost childishly simple. Just a hint, most notes are not the actual melody, but are rather countermelodies. For example, in the Bm7 chord, only the first note of the arpeggio is actually part of the melody. Also, listen especially to the middle section, which starts around :53. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.

Vivaldi "Spring"

I feel like I need to write about Baroque music. But Baroque music is hard to write about. (Yeah, like who knew?) I was going to write a post about this Bach French Suite that I played last spring, but I hated it. I love Bach, I truly do. I think he's a genius. Everyone thinks he's a genius. But I think that particular piece is cursed. I never could play it well. A graduate friend of mine played the piece for her master's recital, and had to restart the piece three times over. It's that bad. So I'm not going to write about French Suites. At least not today. I'm going to write about Vivaldi instead.

In 1773, Vivaldi wrote a set of four concerti entitled The Four Seasons. (Auto-spelling is telling me that I misspelled "concerti." Good grief.) Besides being wonderful works of music, these pieces really started to set the standard concerto form. The form of each "season" consists of two relatively fast movements broken up by a slower movement. The pieces are written for solo violin and string quartet, with a basso continuo. This isn't exactly what one thinks of as a concerto, but this was more like a modern concerto than anything which was written before. More interesting though, at least to me, is that these pieces are the first known examples of program music.

Program music is art music, essentially. It might be easier to describe in terms of its opposite, which would be absolute music. Absolute music is music which is intended to be non-representational. Taken at face value, in a sense. Program music is referenced. It is meant to evoke certain images of the outside world. One of the most famous examples of program music is Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique, which is essentially a programmatic acid trip. (And yes, that is as fun as it sounds. I'll write about it at some point.)

Back to Vivaldi. "Spring" is the most well-known of the concerti from The Four Seasons. If nothing else, it's worth listening to for the incredibly virtuoso violin playing. Vivaldi was a renowned violinist, and many of the techniques which he employed in his compositions have become standard. He really was revolutionary in that sense as well. Anyway, for each of the "seasons", Vivaldi composed a sonnet which was intended to describe the music (hence why it's called program music). This is the sonnet for "Spring."

Allegro
Springtime is upon us.
The birds celebrate her return with festive song,
and murmuring streams are softly caressed by the breezes.
Thunderstorms, those heralds of Spring, roar, casting their dark mantle over heaven,
Then they die away to silence, and the birds take up their charming songs once more.

Largo
On the flower-strewn meadow, with leafy branches rustling overhead, the goat-herd sleeps, his faithful dog beside him.

Allegro
Led by the festive sound of rustic bagpipes, nymphs and shepherds lightly dance beneath the brilliant canopy of spring.

Oh my goodness, I just feel all warm and flowery now, visions of softly caressing breezes and rustic bagpipes dancing in my head! Listen to the song here. Honestly, the sonnet describes the piece better than I could. That's really why I chose the piece, it talks about itself. A few things to note, though. At about 1:40 in the video comes the "Thunderstorms, those heralds of spring..." The piece modulates to a lower register of the instruments, then to a minor key, fitting of a thunderstorm. Also, the violin is amazing here. I think it's imitating lightning, and it sounds incredibly tumultuous. The last movement, the Allegro, is so charming. It does sound like a light, lilting waltz. It's a bit plaintive, but lovely all the same.

Lang Lang

I hear so many university professors rip on Lang Lang. It's a near-constant diatribe against him. "Lang Lang is a hack." "Lang Lang is a showman and nothing else." "Lang Lang is as unclassy as pianists come." All of this is true. BUT he's also doing something that no pianist has been able to do in a very long time.

I promised myself that I wouldn't be a music critic. I'm not normally assertive enough to criticize well, but I am very adamant about this. I'll try to keep it brief.

To begin, let me say that I whole-heartedly approve of what Lang Lang is trying to do. He's a young pianist (27 years old) with a very hip appearance. He has done a very good job of bringing classical music to people who normally pay no attention whatsoever to what they would consider to be a very stuffy genre of music. He is a pop culture pianist. He is absolutely a showman. But doesn't he have to be? To draw the average person into the world of classical music, a pianist has to be a bit over-the-top. He has to cancel out the stereotype of "boring classical music." And Lang Lang does a fantastic job of this. Watch him here, here, and here. Is he fun to watch, or is he fun to watch? He's fun to watch, right? I saw him play Chopin's Piano Concerto #2 with the Houston Symphony a while back, and was blown away by how utterly ridiculous he is. And I know that there are better pianists out there. The point here is, though, that most people don't know that there are better pianists out there. However, Lang Lang is opening an unknown world to those people, who then may discover legitimate, respectable pianists--Emanuel Ax, Yefim Bronfman, Andras Schiff, etc., etc. In all honesty, what's the worst that could happen? People see a riveting (if not very classy) performance by a true showman. He won't singlehandedly ruin the world of classical music. I promise.

Haydn Hob. XVI:23

My ambitious number of summer projects includes spending a lot of quality time with Mozart's piano concerto (K. 284). I haven't played any Classical Era music in what feels like forever. So, I'm digging up some old sonatas and such that I've played over the last few years, and reacquainting myself with the genre. This is the first piece that I found and looked through, a late-ish Haydn sonata. I worked through it during my freshman year at Baylor.

Let it be known that I love Haydn. The poor guy is incredibly underrated, particularly among casual listeners of classical music. I can't figure out for the life of me why this is. Because of his compositional style, his music is very accessible to those not familiar with classical music. This is true for the following two reasons:

1. He would often take just one theme, and develop that one theme throughout a piece (as opposed to, say, Beethoven, who would introduce and develop several themes in just one movement of a piano sonata). It's one "Haydnisitic" characteristic that I really enjoy. Incidentally, that is an easy way to distinguish Haydn's music from that of Mozart. (I will admit that they often do sound similar! And Haydn and Mozart were like BFFs, totally. So it makes sense.) Mozart used the several-theme approach to sonata composition. Haydn did not. Voila!

2. His music is light. It's well-known that Haydn was an excessively cheerful person. This is secretly why I love him so much. We are kindred spirits. I am, in fact, also BFFs with Haydn. This also makes me pretty tight with Mozart, and I'm hoping that will help in regards to the aforementioned concerto. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that his music is happy, plain and simple. It is also well-known that Haydn had a natural propensity for practical jokes. There's a might-be-fable about Haydn getting kicked out of a choir when he was younger because he cut off a fellow chorister's pigtail.

The first movement of the sonata is a wonderful example of Haydn's basic thematic approach. Listen here. The first two measures, that pseudo-arpeggiated sequence, is developed through the entire first movement. The development of the sonata begins with that exact same theme, in a different key. And the recapitulation begins with that exact same theme, in the same key. Even besides that, the entire movement is riddled with little variations of this theme, some which are obvious and some which are harder to find. I think that it's really just a game that Haydn plays.

The second movement is a bit more pensive. Listen here. In fact, it sounds a bit Romantic Era in nature. There's a continual chord arpeggiation in the bass, played under a gorgeous melody in the treble. In spite of the yearning sort of quality, I think that it's still very true to Haydn's character. It strikes me as being earnest, and honest. Almost child-like.

Listen to the third movement here and try to find the theme of the movement over and over again. This might be my favorite movement of the three. It's so witty and teasing. It's like Haydn's sticking out his tongue at the listener, threatening to chop off someone's pigtail. A lot of that mischievous feel comes from what he does in the main theme. In the main theme, there's a two-note slur that ends on a strong beat, and opposed to an off-beat. Two-note slurs, technically speaking, are supposed to end on weak beats. Haydn is, in fact, breaking a pretty solid musical rule, and doing it fairly often throughout the movement.

Chopin op. 26 no. 1

Another piece I played this last semester, an early Chopin polonaise. I'm stretching my limbs here with pieces that I know really well.

I have to give background on the polonaise as a musical genre before I go into this particular composition. So bear with me. The polonaise originated in Poland, sometime during the late 18th century, I believe. Like so many genres in which Chopin dabbled, the polonaise has its roots in simple Polish folk dances. It is a dance, always in 3/4 time, and always with a modest rhythmic structure, characterized by this rhythm in particular. In the 17th century the Polish nobility got a hold of it and decided to make it all sophisticated and stately and whatnot. Of course, through this "refinement" of the genre, the polonaise also became more elaborate, mostly because the Baroques couldn't leave anything alone. Ornamentation was, after all, a composer's best friend! It did, however, retain that characteristic rhythm which, incidentally, can have either a militaristic or a patriotic sort of tone, depending on how one wants to listen. During the late 18th century, Poland was dealing with quite a bit of political upheaval, and almost disappeared from the maps. Because of this, there was a surge of Polish nationalistic music being composed. The polonaise had always been Polish music, and Polish composers took full advantage of their native music. As a result, the genre began to assume a very emotional quality, with the music being both majestic and melancholy. During this time,Prince Michal Kleofas Oginski (whom no one has ever heard of, but who has a really amazing name) began to compose polonaises for the salon, which in turn made the piece generally even more flowery. The polonaise eventually degenerated into a virtuostic piano work, which is where Chopin comes in! Finally!

The c-sharp minor polonaise was composed in 1836, and is one of Chopin's earliest composed polonaises. In his earlier compositions of this genre, he was heavily influenced by the bombastic, showy polonaises of Liszt (who, incidentally, was an expert in the field of bombastic and showy). It's obvious, too. You can listen to recordings here, here, and here. One has to listen to no more than the first 15 seconds of the song to be immediately captivated. Maybe that's why I enjoyed this piece so much. I literally cannot be ignored when playing this piece. I'm fairly certain that it's actually impossible. It's just so loud. The entire first half of the piece is that way, more or less. There is great Polish pride pouring forth from every note. It quite literally makes me angry at my ancestors for being Czech instead of Polish (though we do lay claim to Dvorak, whom I will write about a later time).

Then, all of the sudden, halfway through the piece, there's this sudden, dramatic change in mood, due largely to the very abrupt modulation to D-flat Major. This grand, militaristic march-like music is reduced to something tender, emotional, and full of heart-felt yearning. This very much alludes to my previous statement about the polonaise being both "majestic and melancholy." My particularly favorite part of this is the section where the left hand takes the melody. I can imagine it as a cello line, and a beautiful one at that. And of course, Chopin, through compositional genius, is able to link these two very separate musical ideas of patriotism and pride through rhythm, the characteristic steady beat being felt and heard throughout the piece.

All of that being said, the thing is just gorgeous. It's also a real beast to play. But worth it. So worth it.

Shosti Op. 34

I played three of these preludes for my piano jury/audition for the performance program. Shostakovich has always been a favorite of mine. I had an odd childhood in that I was exposed to an eclectic mix of music. My maternal grandfather has always loved Shostakovich, ergo dear little Shosti was part of the mix.

I can't say that I enjoyed #21. For one, I didn't truly understand the character of the piece until two days before I was supposed to perform it. The piece is something like a very confused march/waltz. It's in 5/4 time, with shifts between 2+3 and 3+2. I couldn't find this on Youtube, so find a recording for the full effect. At first, I thought it was a charming parody of a schmaltzy Viennese waltz. Like if Strauss had gotten totally smashed before he had composed "On the Beautiful Blue Danube." Though, the more I listened and played, the more "off" it started to sound to me. In reality, it's almost macabre. It reminds me of a circus freak show. One is supposed to laugh at the incredible weirdness of it all, but doesn't really want to do so. It's uncomfortable. The meter is constantly shifting, and there are several places where the melody becomes very chromatic and slinky, and it's all mushed under the pedal, per the request of Shostakovich. It's sort of disgusting, actually.

#22 I enjoyed more, one reason being that I understood the character. Listen here. I don't have anything to say about it, really. It's just sad. It's tension, contracting and uncontracting, over and over, what feels like a million times over the course of the two pages. (One quick thing--listen to the four chords around 2:00. It's one of the coolest progressions I've ever heard.) The beginning few lines are particularly lovely, beautiful contrapuntal melodies. Then the bass takes the melody in what would be a gorgeous cello line, if played on a cello. The whole piece is a nice contrast to the previous prelude, if only because I like this one and not the other.

My professor assigned me #14 towards the middle of the semester. He had decided that I needed one more to play for my audition. Listen here. The prelude is one page long, literally six lines of music. It's also the most emotionally exhausting piece I've ever played. More than ever, I am convinced that no person can convey despair like a Russian. This piece is the musical equivalent of Anna Karenina desperately throwing herself under a moving train in Tolstoy's novel. It's literally a waltz/dirge. Except that it's played at such a slow tempo, you can hardly hear the 3/4 time. The piece is marked "pesante" in the beginning, which translated means "heavy." It more conveys a tone of voice at the piano. Or rather, a lack of voicing. The opening chords are sort of dropped into the bass register with no regard for how ugly the sound is when one plays in that way. Then the accented E-flats come in, wailing away. By the time the climax of the piece is reached, there's no regard for inflection, even. One just bangs out the music until the end, where it decrescendos to something akin to soft sobbing.

I'm terribly ambitious

I need this to get myself started, or else I won't do it. I want to write about music. I love music, and I love writing, and it seems an obvious choice. I'm a piano performance major at Baylor University. I recently changed my major from piano pedagogy. One reason being that I do not have the gratuitous amount of patience required to teach small children. The other reason being that I want to write about classical music. Unless I can communicate my personal musical ideas effectively, I won't be able to understand the musical ideas of others. Or that's what I'm telling my parents. I want to immerse myself in this very mystical world of performing and attempts public communication of emotion.

In effect, this is a space for me to write about what I hear, and have others read it. Or not, as the case may be.