Last week I listened to Gustave Mahler’s Symphony No. 2 (comments HERE) and I forgot to mention how I’d decided upon that selection: I ran a Google search -- I can’t remember exactly what I’d typed in -- and I stumbled upon this article, “10 Pieces of Classical Music That Will 100% Change Your Life," HERE. The Mahler symphony was on the list. I decided to keep with that list this week as I plan to listen to Edward Elgar’s Cello Concerto, noted in the article as “one of the most famous concertos of all time.” Hmm. That got to me to thinking. I have three violin concertos on my list of Top 100 Favorite Classical Music Favorites (HERE), but not a single cello concerto or even a work specifically for the cello. I’m not even sure if I could name a cello concerto with which I am familiar. That led me to conduct further Google searches, including one for the “greatest works for the cello,” and those inquiries produced articles HERE, HERE, and HERE among many others. The Dvořák Cello Concerto in B Minor seems to be another celebrated work, so perhaps in some future week I’ll listen to that. For now, I’ll give the Elgar concerto a listen, and my comments and rating will be coming soon. Stay tuned! I have now listened to Elgar's Cello Concerto in E Mino several times. Composed in 1919, the work consists of four movements:
In the version I listened to, the first movement segued into the second and the third movement transitioned to the fourth without pause. As the work was written just after World War I and in response to the destruction in Europe, it is filled with anguish and grief. I did like the concerto -- particularly the emotional and tormented first movement -- but I don’t think this would be a “go to” concerto to listen to on any given day -- just like the Holocaust Museum would not be my choice to visit on any random day. I’d have to be in the right frame of mind and perhaps the day would have to be a bit gray and somber. Of course, i don’t mean to imply that Elgar’s Concerto has anything to do with the Holocaust (since that hadn’t even occurred by 1919); instead, I just mean that the circumstances of the day would have to be suited to the mood and pathos of the piece. Interestingly enough, though, I can listen to Elgar’s “Nimrod,” Variation No. 9 of his Enigma Variations, on any day at any time. “Nimrod” is just as passionate and filled with sorrow, but there’s something more uplifting about that piece, something a little more stately and optimistic. That is not the case with the Cello Concerto which is far more somber. The first movement of the concerto opens with sudden and grief-stricken notes from a solo cello, and soon the orchestra begins a lyrical but mournful tune. This theme plays throughout the movement, and the impassioned, fortissimo restatements are quite moving. The second movement opens with a fast crescendo from the strings followed by pizzicato chords on the cello. The tempo picks up in the allegro section, but the acceleration doesn’t necessarily introduce optimism. Think maybe of this stanza from a poem by Emily Dickinson: The Bustle in a House The Morning after Death Is solemnest of industries Enacted opon Earth – In the case of Elgar’s concerto, though, the bustle comes in the aftermath of war. The slower third movement starts and ends with a lyrical melody, and it flows directly into the final movement. The finale changes tempo and mood several times throughout, but it never seems to offer the degree of promise and fortitude found in “Nimrod.” Near the end of the piece, the cello repeats its initial intonations from the first movement. This flows into a final reiteration of the finale’s main theme, and the orchestra closes with a flourish. I did like Elgar's concerto (I loved the first movement), and I suspect that this piece would, in fact, move to the top of my scale were I to hear it in a live performance and I could connect with the raw emotion and passion of the soloist.
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Before I get to Mahler’s Symphony No. 2, let me say a few things about Mahler:
Stay tuned for more comments and my rating! Mahler’s Symphony No. 2 is composed of five movements, and a performance lasts about an hour and a half. The movements are marked as follows: 1. Allegro maestoso 2. Andante moderato 3. In ruhig fließender Bewegung (with quietly flowing movement) 4. "Urlicht" (Primal Light) -- marked Sehr feierlich, aber schlicht (very solemn, but simple). 5. Im Tempo des Scherzo. The work is called the “Resurrection Symphony,” and it was Mahler’s first major work that “established his lifelong view of the beauty of afterlife and resurrection” (info HERE). The fourth movement includes a song from Mahler’s collection “Des Knaben Wunderhorn” (“The Boy’s Magic Horn” -- info HERE). Sung by an alto, this work serves as an introduction to the finale, the symphony’s longest movement, which lasts a little over half an hour. It is divided into two large parts, the second of which begins with the entry of a chorus. I have now listened to Mahler’s symphony three times, and I did like it -- but I didn’t love it. Oh, there are parts of the symphony I did love. For example, I was full of hope that I would love the symphony when I heard the low strings’ dramatic opening played “mit durchaus ernstem und feierlichem Ausdruck” (with complete gravity and solemnity of expression). I also loved the mellifluous orchestration after the hushed entrance of the chorus in the final movement, and other sections of the symphony as well. However, I just think that Mahler needed a good editor, someone who could have worked with him to fine tune structure and format as this symphony just seems to have in it everything that Mahler could pack into it -- a funeral march, delicate melodies marked “Sehr gemächlich” (very leisurely), "cries of despair" (sometimes referred to as "death shrieks"), offstage horns, a transition into the choral section known as the "Great Summons,” an organ, church bells and much more. When I listened to the symphony for the first time -- before reading about it and then listening to it a second time -- my initial thought was that portions of it should have been separated into individual pieces, particularly the first movement. Then I read about the symphony and discovered, “Mahler completed what would become the first movement of the symphony in 1888 as a single-movement symphonic poem called Totenfeier (Funeral Rites).” Other sections of the symphony were written as individual pieces too in that same year. All together, this symphony was composed by turns between 1888 and 1894.
That idea -- that I had sat through a symphony as long as a movie -- turned my thoughts to “what makes a good movie editor?” In an article entitled “3 Key Characteristics of Great Film and Video Editors” (HERE), I found this, “Great editors know that their #1 goal is to ensure that every clip, every edit, and ever transition is put in their timeline to serve the story, and perhaps their #2 goal is to have the courage to cut out that which does not -- no matter how good it is” -- and this is why I think Mahler needed a good editor -- someone with the courage to cut that which did not belong, no matter how good it was.
Interestingly enough, though, the article on Wikipedia cited above noted that Mahler’s Symphony No. 2 was “voted the fifth-greatest symphony of all time in a survey of conductors,” HERE. Perhaps one of these days I’ll listen to it anew and see if it grows on me. To paraphrase Ilsa in “Casablanca,” I’ll say, “Play it once, Sam. For old times’ sake….Play Mahler’s ‘Symphony No. 2.’”
Back in the 1980s, my wife and I traveled to New York City for a weekend of fun in the Big Apple. We each picked a Broadway show to see, and my wife picked “Woman of the Year” starring Lauren Bacall. I chose “Amadeus” starring Ian McKellen as Antonio Salieri and Tim Curry as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. After the show, we bumped into Ian McKellen on the street, and he stopped and chatted with us (plus he autographed my program). We talked about how lines of dialogue like, “God was singing through this little man to all the world,” were tied to the title of the show, “Amadeus,” a name derived from Latin “amare” (“love”) and “deus” (“God”) -- or literally, “God’s love.” Of course, most historians now scoff at the idea that Antonio Salieri poisoned young Mozart, but it seems that Peter Shaffer’s play’s premise was rooted in reports from the day. I found this in an article in Wikipedia: “The death of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in 1791 at the age of 35 was followed by rumors that he and Salieri had been bitter rivals, and that Salieri had poisoned the younger composer, yet this has been proven false,and it is likely that they were, at least, mutually respectful peers.” To be honest, I had never heard of Salieri until I saw Shaffer’s play -- and I was an active listener to classical music at the time. All these many years later, I still can’t say for sure that I’ve even heard a piece by Salieri except for the snippets here and there in the play and the movie. Again, I found this on Wikipedia: “Salieri's music slowly disappeared from the repertoire between 1800 and 1868 and was rarely heard after that period until the revival of his fame in the late 20th century. This revival was due to the fictionalized depiction of Salieri in Peter Shaffer’s play.” This week I decided to listen to something by Antonio Salieri, and I chose his Piano Concerto in C Major. I listened to it twice yesterday, and I’m going to listen to it again today. I’ll post my comments and rating soon. Plus, I’ll post a comment my wife made after she heard it yesterday when I first listened to it. Stay tuned! I have now listened to Salieri’s Piano Concerto in C Major four times, and I could be a bit snarky and say something like, ‘think if Muzio Clementi had written a piano concerto” -- but that would be altogether unfair to Clementi whose works beyond his sonatinas are more complex and captivating than this piece. Salieri’s concerto, a three movement piece marked “Allegro maestoso,” “Larghetto,” and “Andantino,” is pleasant to be sure, but it’s rather dull -- and chord-y. Is chord-y a word? The orchestra and piano play every form of a C major chord, arpeggio, and harmonic run on the keyboard that Salieri could assemble on a page -- and often the accompaniment (both from the orchestra and on the piano) is just the chop, chop, chopping of chords. Yes, the concerto is pleasant -- but engaging? No. Delightful? Well, in a pale, ho-hum sort of way. The first time I played the concerto, my wife was sitting in the room, and when it concluded, I said, “That was by Antonio Salieri.” She knew the name, of course, from her familiarity with Shaffer’s play and Milos Forman’s movie. “That was boring,” she said. At the start of this post, I mentioned my conversation with Ian McKellen about the meaning of Mozart’s middle name, “Amadeus,” and its connection to themes in Peter Shaffer’s play. Oddly enough, though, “Amadeus” wasn’t really even Mozart’s middle name. The composer was baptized as Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, and “at its root, Amadeus comes from the third of his long line of middle names, Theophilus: a Greek name meaning ‘lover of God’ or ‘loved by God.’ In its German form, it translates as ‘Gottlieb,’ while in Latin, it becomes ‘Amadeus.’” (Info from ClassicFM.com is HERE). Of course, in Shaffer’s play, Salieri’s one desire was to compose music that glorified God, yet God seemed to favor Mozart. For Salieri, Mozart -- appropriately named “Amadeus” -- was the “Imago Dei,” the manifestation of God in music. Therefore, I thought I’d look up the meaning of Salieri’s middle name to see what that might suggest about the composer; however, I could not find a middle name for Salieri. His birth name was just “Antonio Salieri,” so I looked up “Antonio.” In Italian the meaning of the name Antonio is “beyond praise.” Alas, poor Antonio did not receive much praise here today. His Piano Concerto in C Major earned a Blue Light Saber.
NOTE: The Marine Band website points out that “only six marches from Volume 6 are in the public domain and presently have Marine Band editions. Recordings of non-PD marches are only available for streaming on YouTube." I selected one march from each volume (two from Volume 3), and the titles are as follows: Volume 1: Yorktown Centennial -- selected because I live in Virginia. Listen HERE. Volume 2: Mother Goose -- selected because I once wrote some music and lyrics for a children’s show based on Mother Goose. Listen HERE. Volume 3: The Quilting Party and The Belle of Chicago -- selected because I have one sister who loves to quilt, and one sister who lived in Chicago. Listen HERE and HERE. Volume 4: Powhatan’s Daughter -- selected because I live in Virginia, home to Wahunsenacawh, the leader of the Powhatan tribe, an alliance of Algonquian-speaking American Indians living in Tsenacommacah in the Tidewater region of Virginia at the time when English settlers landed at Jamestown in 1607. Listen HERE. Volume 5: Wedding March -- selected to see how Sousa’s wedding march compares to those by Mendelssohn and Wagner. Listen HERE. Volume 6: New Mexico -- selected because I’m planning a trip there in the fall. Listen HERE. I will listen to the marches today and tomorrow, and then I will post my comments and ratings later in the week. JULY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU! I have now listened to these seven marches a few times, and as you can tell from my ratings below, these are not necessarily the top-of-the line marches by Sousa. This group of marches is certainly a fine lot of marches, but there's a reason why I've never heard them before -- it's because they are examples of Sousa's second (or third?) tier marches. These marches are not in the same league as "Stars and Stripes Forever," "The Washington Post," "The Thunderer", and "Semper Fidelis" (just to name a few). I suppose someone can't hit a homerun every time. These marches range in duration from 1:25 for the "Quilting Party" to 6:50 for the protracted "Wedding March," and the average length of the seven comes in at 3:06, a very typical length for a Sousa-type march.
Evidently, Sousa capitalized on the popularity of an 1880's tune called "Aunt Dinah's Quilting Party" in this march, hence the name. Also, the first section includes a musical quote of “When a Wooer Goes a-Wooing” from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Yeomen of the Guard. Alas, when it comes to Powhatan's daughter, there is a much wrong with this march as the Disney film "Pocahontas." This march begins with some pretty typical fanfare followed by appropriate pomp for a wedding party, but then a slower, quieter section takes over and just drags on and on and on. There's a little more fanfare at 4:45 that hints at some additional pomp and jubilation, but the slow part takes over yet again. Close to 6:00 minutes into the song, church bells are added to the mix, but it's too little too late. While the "New Mexico" and these other six marches don't rank up there with some of Sousa's best, it is interesting to explore all of the marches of "The March King," the man who "revolutionized and standardized American march music during the 19th and early 20th centuries" (HERE).
In all, John Philip Sousa composed 136 military marches, a remarkable feat to be sure -- especially since so many of them rank as some of the greatest military marches of all time. |
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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