Last week I listened to David Popper’s “Polonaise de Concert” for cello (HERE). I had never heard of David Popper, and I discovered him and his work on the website for “From the Top, (HERE), a podcast described as “America’s largest national platform celebrating young classically-trained musicians.”
The discovery of David Popper prompted me to run a Google-search on “unknown classical music composers,” and I came across this blog on “Unknown and Forgotten Composers,” HERE. The first name on the blog as of the date of my search and the name emboldened in the first article’s title was Mikalojus Čiurlionis. Mikalojus who? Yep, I had never heard of him. To be honest, I listen to the works of many “unknown and forgotten composers” almost daily. I’ve deliberately decreased how much news I watch these days. It’s just too depressing – especially since the “former guy’s” attempted coup to overthrow our government and the GOP’s sanction of his seditious actions – so now I start each day by tuning into the classical “Music Choice” channel on my television. I begin almost every morning with a warm muffin from the oven, a cold brew coffee, and a healthy dose of classical music. “Music Choice” certainly plays a fair share of famous works from the generally accepted concert hall repertoire, but they also broadcast many pieces that are new to me. Just this morning I heard a scherzo from “Concerto Symphonique” by Henri Litolff, the rondo from a piano concerto by Giovanni Paisiello, a habanera by Ernesto Halffter, and other works by “unknown and forgotten composers.” Have you ever heard of Litolff, Paisiello or Halffter? I hadn’t (until this morning). So back to the blog I happened to land on and dear, old Mikalojus Čiurlionis. I looked up some of his works on YouTube and decided to listen to his tone poem “Miske,” or “In the Forest.” While the work doesn’t necessarily evoke a forest for me – not in the way that Bedřich Smetana’s “The Maldau” conjures up the journey of a river – it is a lush and beautiful work. At times hushed and tranquil, at other times sumptuous and soaring. Throughout, the work is elegant, rich and majestic. If you’ve never heard this work before, definitely take the time to devote about sixteen minutes to hear it. It is sublime.
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Have you ever listened to “From the Top,” the NPR podcast described on their site (HERE) as “America’s largest national platform celebrating young classically-trained musicians”?
I’ve heard a few episodes via WQXR, New York City’s one and only classical music radio station. Recently, I was perusing From the Top’s web page, and I came across an episode which includes a 12-year-old cellist performing “Polonaise de Concert” by David Popper. David Popper? Who in the world was David Popper? The only Popper I am aware of is Mr. Popper from “Mr. Popper’s Penguins,” the humorous classic of American children’s literature about a humble house painter and his brood of high-stepping penguins (info HERE). I looked up David Popper, described on Wikipedia (HERE) as a “Bohemian cellist and composer,” and decided to listen to his “Polonaise de Concert.” A polonaise is defined as “a slow dance of Polish origin in triple time, consisting chiefly of an intricate march or procession,” but Popper’s begins with and embraces a spirited Latin flair throughout. However, the proud and peppy opening theme doesn’t last long before the polonaise moves on to a second theme. Overall, the piece showcases a variety of Latinx moods and themes. Popper's polonaise looks like a fun piece to play, and it is an enjoyable piece to listen to. However, it definitely has the feel of a technical practice piece suitable for a concert or recital, allowing the cellist to show off versatility in technique. I did enjoy Popper’s polonaise though I wish he had extended or developed some of the themes. Chopin’s Polonaise in A Major, the “Polonaise Militaire,” for example, includes fitting repeats throughout the piece to allow the distinct themes to be savored. That is not the case in “Polonaise de Concert.” Still, it is a captivating piece, and I enjoyed it very much.
A few years ago, my wife read the memoir “Born on a Blue” by essayist, novelist, poet, translator and autistic savant Daniel Tammet. Tammet, by the way, has set the world record for memorizing the most digits of Pi; learned to speak Icelandic in a week; and has a neurological condition that allows him to see numbers (and other concepts) in color (hence, he was “born on a blue day”).
I remembered talking about that book with my wife when I recently stumbled across some information on synesthesia, the “perceptual phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway” (info HERE). For example, when Tammet works with numbers, he perceives colors associated with them. While I was investigating the phenomenon of synesthesia, I stumbled upon musician Michael Torke, a composer described on Wikipedia as one “who writes music influenced by jazz and minimalism” (info HERE). He’s also a synesthete for he sees music in color. As a matter of fact, Torke has composed a number of pieces associated with color, and many are included in his suite, “Color Music,” a suite “well known for its association with the composer’s synesthesia” (info HERE). In exploring the peculiarity of synesthesia and discovering the works of Michael Torke, I decided this week to listen to his piece “Bright Blue Music.” Of course, the color “blue” is often tied to sadness (“What’s wrong? You look so blue”), and that’s true in music too when you listen to “the blues.” However, Torke’s piece is not about the color “blue” and/or the desperation included in so many blues hits (a list of top blues standards is HERE); instead, it’s about the color “bright blue,” and it is a joyous and heartwarming piece. One listener to the video linked above described the piece as “the most exquisite and ravishing affirmation of joy of life. Boundless and unrestrained.” Listen to Torke’s “Bright Blue Music.” It’s not as energetic or exuberant as Shostakovich’s “Festive Overture,” but it’s a spirited and buoyant piece.
Last week I listened to, commented on, and rated Francis Poulenc’s Concerto for Two Pianos, HERE. That made me wonder as to whether or not anyone had composed a concerto for three pianos. I ran a Google-search on “concerto for three pianos,” and I was completely surprised by what popped up: Almost all of the information centered on Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 7, K. 242 (info HERE).
I had no idea that Mozart had written a concerto for three pianos. Interestingly enough, the day before I had listened to Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 27. In the second movement of that concerto, marked “Larghetto,” there are lengthy passages of the piano playing nothing more than a single note at a time, and I remember thinking about how Mozart had achieved such beauty with such a simple approach – a simple melody played by one key at a time, accompanied by mellifluous strings. That made me wonder – if Mozart could compose such a beautiful work with just one key at a time, what might he have accomplished when working with 264 keys (i.e., three pianos)? Therefore, I decided to listen to his Piano Concerto No. 7 this week. The concerto is composed of three movements (I. Allegro; II. Adagio; III. Rondo: Tempo di minuetto), and it has a very distinct Mozart sound to it – that is, upon hearing the concerto for the first time, I suspect any fan of classical music would say, “oh, that sounds like it was written by Mozart.” It has all the hallmarks of his work: simplicity, delicacy, clarity, an emphasis on elegance and balance, and dulcet melodies with some use of counterpoint. The concerto does not include any particularly memorable melody lines (which Mozart wrote so often), but it certainly is pleasing to listen to. To be honest, the work doesn’t even seem to be remarkable in any way in that it was written for three pianos. When listening to it, I rarely thought, “wow – that sounds like three pianos”; instead I think Mozart could have accomplished the same result with just two pianos -- or maybe even one piano with two pianists. Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 7 is certainly a fine and pleasing work, but nothing spectacular. Hmm. I wonder if anyone has ever written a concerto for four pianos? SPOILER ALERT: The answer is yes – and once again, I was completely surprised when I ran a Google-search for “concerto for four pianos.” |
A New Hope:As the header above says, each week I will listen to a piece of classical music that I've never heard before, and then I will report out what I thought about it. Archives
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