Last week I listened to a piece by a composer I am very (or at least “somewhat”) familiar with, Johannes Brahms (HERE). It turned out that I had, in fact, heard the piece before. I’m just not a big fan of Brahms, so I didn’t put it together that his Piano Concerto No. 1 was “oh – that piece.” This week I thought I would pick a piece by a composer I know little to nothing about so I landed on a violin concerto by Philip Glass. I have heard of Philip Glass, but I really don’t know anything about him – other than that he is a twentieth century composer. If I’ve heard anything by him it’s just been on the radio as I’ve listened with music on in the background. I can’t say that I can name anything by him. I just searched his name on YouTube, and then selected his violin concerto at random. Prior to listening I also searched “Philip Glass” on Google, and surprise surprise, the first thing to pop up was an article in Wikipedia that includes this: “He is widely regarded as one of the most influential composers of the late 20th century. Glass's work has been associated with minimalism, being built up from repetitive phrases and shifting layers. Glass describes himself as a composer of ‘music with repetitive structures.’” The complete article is HERE. What did I think of this concerto? My comments and rating will be posted soon, so stay tuned! SPOILER ALERT: While the Brahms' Piano Concerto went from "marvelous" to "meh," the opposite is true with the piece by Glass. It goes from "good" to "great." #justsaying I've listened to the Glass concerto a few times now, and there is something hypnotizing and satisfying about listening to minimalist music – especially if the composer hits on just the right combination of intriguing chords, mesmerizing harmonies and innovative rhythms. Minimalist music can be captivating, pleasing and/or provocative – akin to staring at the works by Rothko in the visual arts world.
Glass has done this with his violin concerto from the start – although in the first and second movements I would like to have heard a bit more repetitiveness. Glass has, in those movements, composed and orchestrated some intriguing chord progressions, hypnotic harmonies and seductive rhythms, but it all moves on too quickly. A bit more repetition would allow listeners to become more absorbed with and entranced by the sound (the second movement achieves this to a greater degree than the first). And then there is the third movement. I became engrossed by third movement. It moves at a clip – a real foot-tapper – and it is a whirlwind of fury, fervor and drama. As I was listening, I stopped what I was doing and just focused on the video and the sound. A listener commented under one of the videos of the work I watched, “Staggering, divine, hypnotizing, should never end.” Like all good things (well, like all things, really) the work does come to an end. Glass slows the tempo down quite a bit and quiets the orchestra as the concerto fades, and he allows the listener to catch his breath. I loved it.
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I will post my comments and rating later this week. You can listen to the concerto HERE. If you’ve seen my “Top 100 Classical Music Favorites” on this site (HERE) you can easily ascertain that I’m no fan of Brahms. Oh, there are pieces by Brahms I enjoy – it’s not that I don’t like his works – he’s just not one of my “go to” composers when I listen to classical music. For this week, though, when deciding on which piece to listen to, I randomly opened a book I own called Composers, Their Lives and Works, and I landed on pages 158 and 159 – the entry for Johannes Brahms. Opposite a timeline of Brahms’ key works is a quote from Clara Schumann, “It is as though he (Brahms) has been sent by God himself” – and the timeline shows that in 1853, Brahms met “Robert and Clara Schumann, who recognize his genius and promote his career.” The next key date, 1859, states, “Premier of Piano Concerto No. 1 in Hanover, with Brahms himself as soloist.” I decided at that point to listen to Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 1 not realizing that I have, indeed, heard this piece before. I recognized it immediately when I heard the dramatic opening with its intense timpani roll and impassioned strings. I just haven't listened to it enough to know that this was Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 1. Shame on me! So what did I think of Brahms' Piano Concerto No. 1? Did I enjoy it? Well, yes -- and no. I loved the first movement. With its drama, power, passion and pathos, who wouldn't? However, I'll admit that I wondered what could have been achieved with this movement if it had been in the hands of Beethoven or maybe even Schubert? (Or others?) This criticism might sound a bit harsh, but some sections of Brahms' work sound to me like heavy-handed Hanon exercises for full orchestra. The depth of this concerto just did not reach the same level as the Rach 2 or the Grieg A Minor. Those two concertos hook listeners from the start and hold their interest to the very end. I lost interest with the second and third movements of this Brahms concerto. Even the melodic, slower sections of the Rachmaninoff and Grieg works hold listeners in rapt attention because the music is so beautiful. Not so with this piece. While the first movement might move audiences to stand and cheer for more at its conclusion, the dull Adagio and the run-of-the-mill Rondo might make them just want to stand and leave. My final assessment of the piece: "Wowza-wow" for the first movement; "meh" for the rest.
Yikes! I'm late in getting my comments and rating posted for Debussy's Cello Sonata. You see, I'm a retired middle school principal, and for most of this year I had plenty of free time. Now, though, I'm standing for a school's assistant principal who is out on maternity leave, so I'm working full time (albeit, just for a few more weeks). Hence, I'm late with my comments! Fear not, though, gentle reader! I will be working on them today, and I will get my thoughts posted here later this evening. Stay tuned! As stated above in my explanation for posting late, I mentioned that I am a retired middle school principal. Currently I am working full time, but for most of the school year, I would work only days here and there as a substitute teacher at two schools near my home. In those cases, I would report for duty, start each class by taking roll and reviewing the day’s lesson plans, and then – once the students were settled and working – I would play classical music in the background. My “go to” pieces were Schubert’s Fantasie in F Minor (one student remarked, “that’s the most aggressive and peaceful music I’ve ever heard”) and an album by pianist Yundi Li featuring three of Beethoven’s piano sonatas, No. 8 (“Pathetique”), No. 14 (“Moonlight”), and No. 23 (“Appassionata”). Many students would comment, in particular, about the drama heard in the “Pathetique.” Because I’ve listened to those sonatas so many times this year – coupled with the fact that I recently heard Fanny Mendelssohn’s Piano Sonata in G Minor for the first time and LOVED it (WOW, talk about a dramatic work) – I decided this week to listen to a piano sonata. Quite randomly I chose to select one by Claude Debussy. Well, I had decided on a piano sonata by Claude Debussy, that is, until I couldn’t find one. I did find a six-plus hour YouTube video of Debussy’s “Complete Music for Piano Solo” (HERE), and even there, no sonata was listed (check in the comment section for a comment by “Piano Classics” that says, “Tracklisting can be found here!” It lists all of Debussy’s solo piano pieces, and there is no sonata). Soooo – that’s how I landed on Debussy’s Cello Sonata. And what did I think of Debussy’s Cello Sonata? More comments -- and my rating -- coming soon (I promise). Stay tuned (again). Debussy wrote this sonata in 1915, and it has three movements:
I. Prologue (Lent) II. Sérénade (Modérément animé) III. Finale (animé) {Léger et nerveux} According to the comments on the YouTube video linked above, “The Cello Sonata is a late work by the French composer Claude Debussy. It was the first of a planned series of 'Six sonates pour divers instruments', however Debussy only completed two others, the sonata for violin and the sonata for flute, viola and harp. The sonata is notable for its brevity, most performances not exceeding 11-12 minutes. It is a staple of the modern cello repertoire and is commonly regarded as one of the finest masterpieces written for the instrument.” I enjoyed listening to the piece, but I have to admit that it won't be a “go to” sonata like those I mentioned above. Instead, the piece reminded me of a conversation I had recently with some folks about the W. C. Fields/Mae West movie “My Little Chickadee.” “How so?” you ask. Well, since the onset of COVID, my wife and I take part in a movie discussion group that meets almost weekly on Zoom (we generally meet three Fridays in a row and then take a Friday off). We put out a schedule of movies to watch, we all watch the “movie of the week” when we can, and then we meet on Friday evenings to discuss the films. We’ve seen everything from Hitchcock to Film Noir to silent movies to mockumentaries and so on. A couple of weeks ago we watched and discussed “My Little Chickadee.” As expected, that movie did not get a lot of symphonious felicitations (as W. C. Fields might say). Instead, it got more eye-rolling than even Mae West could offer. However, we did acknowledge that the film gave an opportunity for 1940 audiences two see two major icons of comedy – W. C. Fields and Mae West – perform together on the silver screen in a spoof of a Hollywood Western. The rather-thin plotline for My Little Chickadee” was described in our Friday night discussion as a “mish mosh" as it seemed that the screenwriters just threw in “bits” throughout the story to showcase the talents of Fields and West – and really, that’s just what they did – as the screenwriters were W. C. Fields and Mae West themselves (who, by the way, could not stand each other). Mae West had the original idea for the story of a seductress being kidnapped by a masked bandit, but then she threw in the schoolhouse scene and the song “Willie of the Valley.” W. C. Fields threw in a couple of gambling gags (Cousin Zeb: “Uh, is this a game of chance?” Cuthbert J. Twillie: “Not the way I play it.”) and the bar scene with that strange story of Chicago Molly. And then there was that scene with the goat. Well – I won’t get into that! LOL! So what does “My Little Chickadee” have to do with Debussy’s Cello Sonata? Nothing, really, except that as I listened – and I listened to it a number of times – it seemed like a “mish mosh” of themes with various and sundry bits and lines embedded within the piece that just made it seem incohesive. There is a fluid, forlorn melody that flows through much of the Prologue and Serenade, but there are runs and motifs that seem desultory to me. More so with the finale. I know that Debussy is often credited with being the Father of Impressionism, but I have the impression that he just threw musical spaghetti to the wall for this piece to see what would stick I dunno. It was all just too loosey-goosey to me. I stick with the Schubert Fantasie and the Beethoven sonatas for now.
Recently I listened to and reviewed a horn concerto (HERE), and then I listened to and rated/reviewed a concerto for four horns (HERE). Of course, in the past I have commented on other concertos. As a matter of fact, the very first piece I reviewed on this site was a concerto, Béla Bartók’s Piano Concerto No. 1 (HERE). This week I landed on a “Concerto for Orchestra” by Elliott Carter. So what is a concerto? A concerto is a musical composition that usually showcases a solo instrument accompanied by an orchestra (though some feature two or more instruments). Typically a concerto is composed in three movements. Because Carter composed a concerto “for orchestra,” that piqued my interest in the history of the concerto. I found some information HERE and more – on the early form known as the “concerto grosso” – HERE. The “concerto grosso” was most prevalent during the Baroque period, and such concerti passed melodies between a small group of soloists and the full orchestra. The idea of a solo concerto (i.e., featuring a soloist accompanied by an orchestra) grew from that. So what is a “Concerto for Orchestra”? An article on Wikipedia (HERE) begins, “Although a concerto is usually a piece of music for one or more solo instruments accompanied by a full orchestra, several composers have written works with the apparently contradictory title Concerto for Orchestra. This title is usually chosen to emphasize soloistic and virtuosic treatment of various individual instruments or sections in the orchestra, with emphasis on instruments changing during the piece.” Late last summer I listened to a sort of concerto -- a piece for harp and chamber orchestra -- by Carter called “Mosaic.” At that time, I responded to an internet blogger's comment that it was “the worst piece of classical music ever written.” My review is HERE. Spoiler alert: I did not agree that it was “the worst piece” ever written. By the way, I found this information on "Mosaic," words from the composer himself, Elliott Carter: “Carlos Salzedo, the extraordinary harpist, who was a member of the small group of modernists that surrounded Varese and Ives in the 1920’s and 30’s and has remained a memory which I cherish. His unusual developments in harp technique always seemed to me too infrequently explored in recent times. So in writing Mosaic, commissioned by the Nash Ensemble, I decided to explore many of his exciting inventions to recall his friendship in the early 1930’s. The score is formed by many short mosaic-like tessera that I hope make one coordinated impression.” So back to Carter’s “Concerto for Orchestra.” I was able to listen to it early last week before my recent road trip to upstate New York, and I plan to listen to it another time or two this week. I will post my comments and my rating on the work soon. Spoiler Alert: This concerto MIGHT be in the running for the “worst piece of classical music ever written." Stay tuned! Okay, so now I’ve listened to Elliott Carter’s Concerto for Orchestra a couple of more times, and I need to write something about it.
I’ve heard people say before that it’s easier to write about something you don’t like than something you do like. Well, I don’t like this concerto, but I feel a bit stuck about what to say about it. I was hopeful in the first minute or so when the concerto opened – the crescendo in the snare drum’s roll, soon augmented with strident percussion and a shrill tremolo in the high strings, made me consider that a mystery was about to unfold, a noir-ish story to be told by the orchestra. But then the piece didn’t go off in any particular direction; instead it careened a bit out of control in every direction, as if every instrument wanted to blurt out everything it knew about the “story” all at once. It was quite cacophonous. Things settled down a bit about two minutes in; however, the structure of the piece at this point seemed as though the various instruments – all witnesses to whatever story was being told – just blurted out random “facts” or bits of information required to make sense of the “story.” It’s all too bad, too, because it did sound as if the orchestra had an interesting “story” to tell – it just needed better editing. Imagine reading a novel where the elements of the plot are all just tossed out randomly and haphazardly, paragraph after paragraph, page after page, with nothing in the right order. It wouldn’t take a reader long to toss the book aside and start something anew. Elliott Carter’s Concerto for Orchestra is just a clunky, discordant piece. It’s jarring, jumpy, and jolting. It’s noisy and strident, and whatever "story" it is attempting to tell, it all gets lost in the noise and the clatter. It does sound like there is a “story” somewhere in there to be told, but the final version by Carter missed the mark considerably. Interestingly enough, on the day I first listened to this concerto – with its mysterious drum roll and percussion at the onset – I heard another piece for the first time that opened with a curious and cryptic beat – and this piece piqued my interest at the very start and held it throughout the piece. It too had a story to tell, and the arrangement I heard of this work interpreted it masterfully. Interestingly enough, the piece, called “Remember Me,” or “Dido’s Lament,” is performed by the Los Angeles Flute Quartet. It is not a modern piece like Carter’s, but it has certainly been arranged with a clever and modern approach. If/when you get a chance, listen to it HERE. BTW: Info on “Dido’s Lament,” the aria “When I am laid in earth” from the opera Dido and Aenas by Henry Purcell, is HERE. |
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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