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Garnering two nominations this year, the Naxos world premiere recording of John Coriglianos Mr. Tambourine Man picked up a Best Classical Contemporary Composition nomination for the Pulitzer, Oscar, Grammy®, and Grawemeyer award-winning composer. The album, which features conductor JoAnn Falletta and the Buffalo Philharmonic, also brought in a nomination for the recordings soloist, Israeli-born soprano Hila Plitmann, who received a nomination for Best Classical Vocal Performance.
The Pacifica Quartet, recently named 2009 Ensemble of the Year by Musical America, was honored with a nomination for Best Chamber Music Performance for its acclaimed Naxos recording of Elliott Carter String Quartets Nos. 1 5. The second volume of this series is due for release in February 2009. Renowned producer Judith Sherman picked up a nomination for Producer of the Year for her work on the Carter String Quartets on Naxos and 4 additional albums.
A Choral Performance nomination went to chorus master Henryk Wojnarowski and conductor Antoni Wit for the Naxos recording of Karol Szymanowskis Stabat Mater with the Warsaw National Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir. A Best Engineered Album (Classical) nomination went to engineer John Newton for his work on the Naxos recording Respighi: Church Windows, Brazilian Impressions, Rossiniana, which featured conductor JoAnn Falletta and the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra.
NAXOS OF AMERICA DISTRIBUTED LABEL ARTISTS NOMINATED FOR GRAMMYS®
Artists from British-based label Chandos received 5 nominations in multiple categories this year. Spotless Rose: Hymns to the Virgin Mary featuring the Phoenix Chorale, conductor Charles Bruffy, and produced by Blanton Alspaugh, was nominated for Best Classical Album (Awards to Artists and Producer). Additionally, Mr. Bruffy and the Phoenix Chorale were nominated in the Best Small Ensemble Performance category for this recording. Another Chandos choral recording, Rheinberger: Sacred Choral Works, conductor Charles Bruffy (with the Kansas City Chorale and Phoenix Bach Choir) earned nominations for Best Surround Sound Album and Best Choral Performance. Finally, a Best Orchestral Performance nomination went to conductor Rumon Gamba and the Iceland Symphony Orchestra for their Chandos recording DIndy Orchestral Works, Volume 1.
A EuroArts production earned two nominations in the categories of Best Classical Album (Award to Artists and Producers) and Best Opera Recording (Award to Conductor, Producer, and Principal Soloists) for their DVD recording of Kurt Weills Rise and Fall of The City of Mahagonny. The performance featured conductor James Conlon, soloists Anthony Dean Griffey, Patti LuPone and Audra McDonald; the Los Angeles Opera Orchestra and Chorus; and was produced by Fred Vogler. This is the first Grammy® Awards in which DVD recordings of operas are eligible for nomination. Only the audio portion of the DVD is considered in the nominating process.
Also in the category of Best Opera Recording nominations went to conductors Paul ODette and Stephen Stubbs for their CPO recording of Jean Baptiste Lullys Psyché with the Boston Early Music Festival (Mr. ODette and Mr. Stubbs also were nominated last year for their CPO recording of Jean Baptiste Lullys Thésée with the Boston Early Music Festival).
Renowned Italian conductor and Baroque-specialist, Rinaldo Alessandrini was nominated for his Naïve classique recording of Monteverdis LOrfeo.
Finally, violinist Elmar Oliveira earned a nomination for Best Instrumental Soloist Performance with Orchestra for his Artek recording of Violin Concertos by Ernst Bloch and Benjamin Lees with John McLaughlin Williams conducting the National Symphony Orchestra of Ukraine.
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Marilyn Bergman, ASCAP President and Chairman, said: "More than anything else, music sets the mood for the Holidays, evoking the magic of the season and memories of Holidays past. These timeless classics have been recorded by artists in every genre, yet each song retains the original stamp of its creators."
Topping the list for the second time is "Winter Wonderland" by Felix Bernard and Richard B. Smith. This perennial classic, written in 1934, was an instant hit for legendary bandleader Guy Lombardo And His Royal Canadians who took it to the #2 spot on the Billboard charts the same year. 1946 recordings by the Andrews Sisters and Perry Como established the song
as a Yuletide favorite.
Re-entering the Top 25 list after a brief hiatus is "This Christmas," written by Donny Hathaway and Nadine McKinnor. Featured on the 1968 Soulful Christmas compilation album, the song has been recorded by numerous artists including Gladys Knight, the Temptations, Peabo Bryson, Usher, Ruben Studdard and Gloria Estefan. It was also featured on the Soundtrack
for the 2002 movie Friday After Next starring Ice Cube.
The Top 25 most performed ASCAP holiday songs of the past five years are listed below. Each song includes songwriter credits, and cites the most popular artist version played on radio.
1. Winter Wonderland
Written by: Felix Bernard, Richard B. Smith
Performed by: Eurythmics
2. The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)
Written by: Mel Tormé, Robert Wells
Performed by: Nat "King" Cole
3. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
Written by: Ralph Blane, Hugh Martin
Performed by: The Pretenders
4. Sleigh Ride
Written by: Leroy Anderson, Mitchell Parish
Performed by: The Ronettes
5. Santa Claus Is Coming To Town
Written by: Fred Coots, Haven Gillespie
Performed by: Frank Sinatra
6. Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
Written by: Sammy Cahn, Jule Styne
Performed by: Michael Bublé
7. White Christmas
Written by: Irving Berlin
Performed by: Bing Crosby
8. Jingle Bell Rock
Written by: Joseph Carleton Beal, James Ross Boothe
Performed by: Bobby Helms
9. Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer
Written by: Johnny Marks
Performed by: Gene Autry
10. Little Drummer Boy
Written by: Katherine K. Davis, Henry V. Onorati, Harry Simeone
Performed by: The Harry Simeone Chorale Orchestra
11. It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
Written by: Edward Pola, George Wyle
Performed by: Andy Williams
12. Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree
Written by: Johnny Marks
Performed by: Brenda Lee
13. Silver Bells
Written by: Jay Livingston, Ray Evans
Performed by: Kenny G
14. I'll Be Home For Christmas
Written by: Walter Kent, Kim Gannon, Buck Ram
Performed by: Amy Grant
15. Feliz Navidad
Written by: José Feliciano
Performed by: José Feliciano
16. Frosty The Snowman
Written by: Steve Nelson, Walter E. Rollins
Performed by: The Ronettes
17. A Holly Jolly Christmas
Written by: Johnny Marks
Performed by: Burl Ives
18. It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
Written by: Meredith Willson
Performed by: Johnny Mathis
19. Blue Christmas
Written by: Billy Hayes, Jay W. Johnson
Performed by: Elvis Presley
20. (There's No Place Like) Home For The Holidays
Written by: Bob Allen, Al Stillman
Performed by: Perry Como
21. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
Written by: Tommie Connor (PRS)
Performed by: John Mellencamp
22. Here Comes Santa Claus (Right Down Santa Claus Lane)
Written by: Gene Autry, Oakley Haldeman
Performed by: Gene Autry
23. Carol Of The Bells
Written by: Peter J. Wilhousky, Mykola Leontovich
Performed by: David Foster (instrumental version)
24. Do They Know It's Christmas? (Feed the World)
Written by: Midge Ure (PRS), Bob Geldof (PRS)
Performed by: Band Aid
25. This Christmas
Written by Donny Hathaway, Nadine McKinnor
Performed by Gloria Estefan
Some facts about the Top 25 ASCAP Holiday Songs:
Oldest songs:
"Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" and "Winter Wonderland" (both 1934)
Newest song:
"Do They Know It's Christmas? (Feed the World)" (1984)
Most recorded Holiday song:
"White Christmas" with well over 500 versions in dozens of languages
Songs introduced in Film and Television
"White Christmas" in Holiday Inn (1942)
"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" in Meet Me in St. Louis (1944)
"Silver Bells" in The Lemon Drop Kid (1950)
"A Holly Jolly Christmas" in TV special Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
(1962)
Writer with most top Holiday songs:
Johnny Marks with three - "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer," "Rockin' Around
the Christmas Tree," and "A Holly Jolly Christmas"
"Sleigh Ride" is the only holiday song on the list written originally as an
instrumental piece for a symphony orchestra. The Boston Pops Orchestra
gave the first performance in a concert conducted by Arthur Fiedler at
Symphony Hall in Boston, May 4, 1948. Mills Music published it that same
year. The Boston Pops Orchestra recorded it in June of 1949. Mitchell
Parish added lyrics in 1949.
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LIST CONTAINS MANY EXPECTED NAMES, BUT ALSO SEVERAL MAJOR SURPRISES;
CHICAGO SYMPHONY IS HIGHEST-RATED ORCHESTRA IN USA
When you compare baseball or other sports teams, there’s only one statistic that matters in the end: who wins the most games. When it comes to assessing the respective quality of the world’s top orchestras, the comparisons are much more complicated to make. Many different factors and qualities must be taken into consideration, and assessments are much more subjective. Despite the challenges, and potential controversy, Gramophone has gone in search of the “World’s Best Orchestra” and, in its December issue, will publish its list of the world’s Top 20 orchestras.
To create its list, Gramophone polled leading critics around the world, including Alex Ross (New Yorker) and Mark Swed (Los Angeles Times) in the U.S., Rob Cowan in the U.K, critics from France’s Le Monde, Austria’s Die Presse, Germany’s Die Welt, and the leading paper in the Netherlands. Also included were various editors associated with Gramophone around the world, including editor James Inverne and editor in chief James Jolly in London, and the respective editors of the local editions of Gramophone in Korea, Spain and China.
Depending on the reader’s geographical location and personal tastes, Gramophone’s list will by turns confirm, surprise, and possibly confound. Three of the world’s most famous orchestras occupy the top three positions, but their ordering might surprise some readers. At No. 5, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra is America’s top-ranked orchestra. While many of the Top 10 orchestras are more than a century old (and then some, with the Dresden Staatskapelle, at No. 10, being founded in 1548!), the Russian National Orchestra (founded in 1990) and the Budapest Festival Orchestra, this season celebrating its 25th anniversary, are relative youngsters.
Gramophone’s editor James Inverne observes:
“The celebrated ensembles on our list represent the triumph of “character” in orchestras. Too many bands these days have a uniform, slick but generalized sound, whereas the Concertgebouw (No. 1) is one of the last to really have an immediately identifiable sound, and to arguably (to an extent) plumb the character of composers in the way an actor will with his roles. Others on the list who also have that quality are the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (that famous brass sound) at No. 5, the very unsung Budapest Festival Orchestra (No. 9), and the Dresden Staatskapelle (No. 10).
Iván Fischer, who founded the Budapest Festival Orchestra in 1983, comments:
“I think it’s a good list and it’s a great honor to be part of it. For me, the difference between good orchestras and great orchestras is obvious: in good orchestras musicians may get it right, but in great orchestras they offer that special ‘extra.’ It’s the musicians’ personal involvement, imagination, intuition, and ability to take risks that makes a great orchestra what it is: a group of creative artists.”
Several guest artists and critics offer short written appreciations for members of the Top 10 Club, including Marin Alsop (for the London Symphony Orchestra [No. 4], which she has guest conducted frequently) and Leonard Slatkin (for the Los Angeles Philharmonic [No. 8], where he was principal guest conductor 2005-2007).
Gramophone’s “World’s Best Orchestra” cover story will be published on November 21 in the UK (November 28 in the US). Gramophone’s complete list of monthly “Editor’s Choice” recordings, thousands of archived reviews, breaking news, and much more can be found at the magazine’s web site: www.gramophone.co.uk
Gramophone’s complete list of Top 20 orchestras follows.
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“Be prepared for something unforeseen to happen,” a Chinese musician-friend had cautioned me, with a smirk. And so it was with a bemused sense of trepidation that I embarked on my trip to the Beijing Modern Music Festival last May to perform my clarinet concerto Voices. I had been invited by Ye Xiao-gang, director of the festival, at the behest of my colleague Chen Yi. Prior to my departure from the U.S., in response to a frantic request from the orchestra management, I had hastily packed several items – castanets, a wa-wa mute, and a flexatone – lent to me by generous acquaintances. Several of the instruments in my score were not commonly owned, or even known, by smaller Chinese orchestras.
After ten hours spent at Newark Airport, including two flight cancellations, I finally boarded the plane and arrived in Beijing at 1AM, only to have my bankcard rudely swallowed by the local ATM. A driver arrived to transport me to Tianjin, a city located about two hours away from the capital. The midnight trip was a grey, polluted blur. My mind was enveloped in a groggy fog after two half-days of travel, and a steady stream of industrial, covered trucks – delivering goods from the ports of the China Sea to Beijing – clogged the highway, belching soot. Bland billboards loomed from the roadside and a busy whirr of construction persisted through the night.
Following a 4am check-in at the hotel, I collapsed into deep, two-hour sleep and was awoken for breakfast. Walking into the 9am rehearsal, I conjured some Zen, expecting a number of ‘issues’ to surface. “A great deal will depend on the conductor,” my friend had warned. “You’ll need someone who understands American rhythms.”
The young, energetic conductor Yang Li greeted me upon my arrival. To my surprise, he spoke English quite well. “I’m glad you are here!” he said excitedly. “We have already been rehearsing for several days!” I learned that he was the son of the famous choral conductor Yang Hongnian whose China Children’s Choir was world-renowned for their skill; training together from a tender age, the singers remained with the group throughout their teenage years, often into their twenties. Yang Li had studied conducting in Stuttgart, and German words were sprinkled throughout his animated conversation. “Do not worry if the orchestra sounds imperfect,” he assured me with a wink. “They are still getting used to your jazzy flavor. We will concentrate on your piece all day today and tomorrow.”
The first reading of my concerto was quite rough; many of the difficult wind passages seemed downright shaky, and huge swaths of the music were missing. But the string section held their own, and the principal winds attacked their parts in a determined – if occasionally stiff – manner. Yang Li spoke encouragingly to the orchestra, then turned to me and pointed at his score. “This is the hardest part,” he announced gravely. “Where you write ‘Bebop.’ They’re not getting the rhythm accurately. Go over there and play it with them.” He urged me toward the woodwind section.
All eyes were on me. I hesitated. It seemed somehow presumptuous to step into their space; as the soloist, I would be crossing an invisible boundary. Yang Li persisted, “You must show them how to play the first movement. Much better than if I do it! You are American; this is your music.” So I stepped in front of the woodwinds and executed a blindingly fast two-bar passage of 64th notes. The whole orchestra immediately burst into applause.
Please,” he entreated, ignoring the clapping. “Once more.”
“OK…” I said, moving back toward my normal spot.
“No, stay where you are,” he gestured. “In the orchestra. Play with them, in the section!”
So I stood next to the principal clarinet player and we all played together. It sounded pretty awful.
“Play it again,” Yang Li said. We did.
“Again.” We repeated it.
“Again.”
Steadily, almost imperceptibly, the two-bar phrase solidified.
“Now Derek, play it slowly, very slowly.” I did it, stressing the non-‘ghost’ notes.
He spoke to the orchestra in Mandarin. “I explain to them what you are doing. How you emphasize some notes and swallow others. Play again.” I did, exaggerating the syncopation.
He barked a command to the orchestra, then turned to me. “Now we all play in the slower tempo.” Remarkably, the entire wind section eked out a slightly clumsy but discernable swing.
“Again!” he hollered. They played.
“Now a little faster...” Yang Li was no longer conducting, but allowing me to lead from my post, standing in front of the wind section.
“Again,” he insisted, with a tiny smirk. And so it went, for at least an hour, Yang Li breaking down the movement into small phrases and imploring me to demonstrate.
During a moment of inspiration, I unearthed a potent metaphor for describing to the musicians my swooping, gliding musical rhetoric: Peking Opera. It seemed like an apt touchstone with which to cross the cultural divide; Peking Opera prominently features exaggerated vocal gestures via high soprano and falsetto singers, deliberately caricaturizing speech for dramatic purposes. Yang Li appreciated the stylistic analogy and echoed it repeatedly when explaining my piece to the orchestra; we had found our Rosetta Stone.
In this way, the musicians slowly grew comfortable with the gestural language of my work. The evolution was especially palpable during the breaks; the principal cellist winked slyly as he bowed glissandi imitating slides and groans, the first clarinet player parroted my licks, the trombonists practiced funky inflections, fall-offs, and ‘doits’, the trumpeters rehearsed syncopations and ‘ghost’ notes, and the hornists perfected their rips. During the second movement – which is based on an Irish folk song – the concertmaster riffed on a fiddle lick and the piccolo player painstakingly deconstructed the 'keening' grace notes in her solo, a low, melancholy echo of the clarinet melody. After much practice, the pianist was able to create a subtle, resonant thump with a soft mallet on the strings, and the harpist achieved a sultry portamento pedaling. I had been worried about whether the bass guitar player would possess any knowledge of slap techniques, but to my delight, he turned out to be a virtuoso; he gigged regularly in a Tianjin funk band and, though never having played electric bass with an orchestra, he quickly learned to negotiate the complex task of following a conductor while grooving with the rhythm section.
Given their lack of resources, the percussionists were particularly noteworthy in their dedication to realizing my orchestrational nuances. Lacking an extra drumhead available for puncture, they set about searching for creative solutions to simulate a ‘lion’s roar’ using timpani. Two squeaky rubber ‘Hello Kitty’ toys were ingeniously substituted for a cuica. A makeshift vibraslap was constructed for the final bars of the slow movement. The drum set player memorized a lengthy 7/8 funk groove so that he could more easily watch the conductor. And the entire section teamed up to find a tub deep enough to immerse a large gong in water, auditioning three or four containers before a vessel of appropriate size was located.
By the end of the first afternoon we had already rehearsed for double the amount of time that an equivalent new piece would have received with a Western orchestra. It was a long working day for the musicians: 9am-5pm, punctuated by a few half-hour breaks, during which they practiced, smoked, or played ping-pong. By concert time the following evening, we had clocked three days of rehearsal on my concerto alone (three other contemporary works were also featured on the program: by Ching Wen Chen, Zhang Lida, and Jing Xiang). Yang Li appeared thoughtful. "Voices will be pretty good tonight in Tianjin,” he mused, “but it will improve greatly by the time we perform in Beijing, because we will rehearse in-between the concerts too.” He smiled impishly. “They don’t do that in the West.”
What drove the relaxed, devoted, and optimistic atmosphere that permeated the rehearsal process? Part of it was Yang Li’s disarmingly casual, yet focused, manner; but the copious time allotted for the musicians to familiarize themselves with my compositional language was undoubtedly a vital factor. In the States it is rare to receive more than two or three rehearsals to hone a contemporary piece (and the scenario is often even more hectic when playing standard repertoire; I’ve performed the Mozart – and even the Copland – concerto without a full dress rehearsal). In most of Europe the situation is not much better; in England it is probably worse. By contrast, in Tianjin the generous amount of rehearsal time allowed a chamber music sensibility to prevail. Rather than relying on sight-reading chops, the players melded together into an ensemble, internalizing my musical gestures on a vastly more intimate level. I gazed with admiration at these dedicated musicians, earning less money for a week of work than most Western orchestral players make at one rehearsal.
I recall reading about the tumultuous history of Aaron Copland’s Short Symphony. Deemed unplayable – and subsequently abandoned – by Stokowski in Philadelphia and by Koussevitsky in Boston, the work had to wait for its premiere until Chavez's orchestra in Mexico City allotted ten rehearsals. It wasn’t performed in the States for another decade. Imagine the possibilities were a bold commitment undertaken today by major Western orchestras to prepare, perform, and record challenging and unorthodox new works. Yes, it would require time. And time - in the West - is often equated with money. But the rewards would be priceless, and timeless.
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Musica Surfica is a documentary which involves a unique gathering of classical musicians and surfers, with a purpose to opening minds to new ideas by demonstrating the benefits of taking risks in their art. Shot on King Island in Southern Australia, the documentary follows one mans creative journey, Richard Tognetti, leading violinist and Artistic Director of the Australian Chamber Orchestra, as he seeks new inspiration from traditional and classical music. He teams up with Derek Hynd, one of the worlds most influential surfers, who challenges him (and 2 time world champion, Tom Carroll) to ride an un-finned surfboard, which demands fresh thinking, or ancient methods, to keep control. Winner of Best Documentary at the New York Surf Film Festival, it is written and directed by Mick Sowry who also writes at www.safetosea.blogspot.com. To buy a copy visit the website here.
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With her dazzling looks and a career trajectory second to none, Magdalena Kozená is surely one of the most glamorous women on the operatic stage. Thats even before she opens her mouth. And when she does well, you cant argue with that voice. Melt down an ingot of 40-carat gold, then filter it through a finely trained larynx and the result may resemble her focused, pure, flexible and shining tone.
Yet traditionally, its the sopranos who enjoy the most glitzy operatic roles, with the image to match; Kozená is a mezzo-soprano, a [voice type] that composers all too often relegate to the roles of sisters, young boys and mothers-in-law. Perhaps inside every mezzo-soprano there is a dramatic soprano longing to get out. Of course, if I were a dramatic soprano there would be some wonderful roles to sing and Im a bit jealous, the Czech singer, 35, admits. But one should be happy with what ones got. In her case, thats not bad: Kozená, who gives a recital in the Barbicans Great Performers series on Sunday, has got everything.
Four years ago, though, she hit the headlines in another way when it emerged that she and the conductor Sir Simon Rattle were leaving their respective spouses to set up home together. A frenzy of unwelcome media attention followed. Now, though, scandal has subsided into domestic bliss. The pair have settled just outside Berlin (Rattle is the chief conductor and artistic director of the Berlin Philharmonic) and have two sons, Jonas, aged three and a half, and Milos, four months. And Kozená, happy with the quieter schedule she has adopted for the sake of her family, seems as warm as her voice, relaxed and very ready to laugh.
Maybe thats why its the national sense of humour that she misses most about her native Czech Republic. Even if you translate it into another language, its never the same, because people abroad dont have that way of thinking, she says. Every time I go back, I feel we laugh at things that nobody would laugh at in Germany where I live, or in England, or anywhere else. Sometimes I laugh and everybody thinks Im crazy!
Those high spirits illuminate much of the repertoire shes bringing to the Barbican, which also features in her new album: Czech songs from Dvorák and Janácek to Petr Eben, entitled Songs My Mother Taught Me. The music also contains a gentle but deep vein of pathos. Some of these songs are very witty yet sad at the same time, she says. I think the melancholy is very Slavic we have some heartbreaking melodies.
Much of this can be attributed to the musics folk roots. In the albums opening number, an unaccompanied traditional folk song, Kozená adopts a raw-edged, back-to-the-earth timbre rarely heard from her. Is this a new direction, or something that has been lurking all along under her usual refinement? I think that if you sing this music with too much vibrato or too prettily, it doesnt sound authentic, she explains. I tried to sing it in the way that a folk singer would; you can allow yourself a bit more roughness in your tone, with colours that you couldnt possibly use in Mozart. Still, theres not too much repertoire in which you can afford to experiment this way. I wouldnt do it every day because it can interfere with your technique, but from time to time its fun.
The title, Kozená says, is more than appropriate: I used to sing this repertoire as a student and some of the songs even as a kid. Born in Brno, which was the home city of Janácek, she was singing before she could talk: I dont remember it, but my mother told me I used to imitate every sound I heard on the television or around me in the street. It was always a big passion.
Music could have taken her in a different direction: When I was three, I fell in love with the piano because my kindergarten teacher played extremely well. I decided at once that I was going to be a pianist, and I was very stubborn about it. Fate intervened when Kozená broke her hand just before her entrance exam for the Brno Conservatory: I had always sung in childrens choirs, so I decided to enter as a singer instead. Eventually she studied both, which was unusual. But singing won, and I am very glad, she says, twinkling. I think it was the right decision!
By that time, she was virtually a professional already. Aged 16, she and a lute-playing friend began to give concerts of renaissance and early baroque music in the historic castles of the Czech Republic. Sometimes I was criticised by teachers who thought I should just study and not be distracted by giving concerts so young, she recalls, but I learned so much from doing this and that was the moment I decided I wanted to be a singer, not a pianist, and when I began to think I can actually earn my living this way.
She first steamed up the hearts and minds of music fans internationally when Deutsche Grammophon brought out her album of Bach arias in 1997; she was only 23. After that, she says, A lot of things seemed to happen at the same time. The Bach CD went down a storm and as well as winning her an exclusive DG contract it helped her to find a manager. A rewarding creative partnership with the baroque specialist conductor Marc Minkowski was a highlight of those early years: s a very musician, and passionate about theatre, she enthuses. He gave me a lot of work and some extremely interesting projects.
Today, though, theres no doubt as to who the most important conductor in Kozenás life is. Some people dont like to work with their spouses, she remarks. They prefer to separate professional from personal life. But I think that if you know someone so well, then working with them becomes even easier because you dont have to discuss things: you just have this knowledge of the person and their music-making and things happen naturally. Its easier than working with anyone else. Rattle has also led her towards repertoire she had hesitated to tackle before. Simon encouraged me to sing Mahler, and I think that was a good choice. I always wanted to, but I was scared that it wasnt quite the right time. Now Im singing this repertoire more and more and I feel very happy in it.
Home life in Berlin is proving more than satisfactory too. I love Berlin because there is so much green and you can easily be with nature, she says, but at the same time you have all the advantages of a big modern city with its culture and concerts. I love nature, and if I had the choice between living in the centre of a city or living on a farm, I would choose the farm every time. But that isnt practical if you have children who need to go to school, so Berlin is a good compromise.
With the centenary of Mahlers death approaching in 2011, there should be much to look forward to from her in this direction, and around the same time there looms the possibility of her debut in the most celebrated of all mezzo roles: Carmen. Meanwhile, next year she will sing the greatest of the roles for the first time Oktavian in Strausss Der Rosenkavalier, at the Berlin Staatsoper.
This rich, romantic repertoire is some distance from the baroque and classical sphere where she made her name. Not that shes abandoned it her next album will be of operatic arias by Vivaldi but inevitably over time, she says, the voice moves on. Motherhood has made a difference, physically as well as emotionally. Going through those hormonal changes, the voice becomes a bit richer, rounder maybe, and stronger too, she says. s not been as great difference for me as it can be for others, though. Some women go through huge changes after giving birth, they even change their fach [voice type]. Unfortunately, she jokes, this didnt happen to me. I thought that maybe when I had kids Id become a dramatic soprano! But no
She need not worry: her fans love her just as she is, and next year contains innumerable highlights including an artist-in-residence slot at the Lucerne Festival and a project involving staged cantatas at the Aix-en-Provence Festival. And meanwhile, the songs her mother taught her are ready to pass on to the next generation.
Magdalena Kozená sings at the Barbican on 9 November. Box office: 020 7638 8891.
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Here, in late 1976, the keyboardist/guitarist/composer/producer talked about his current solo album, Act Like Nothing Wrong, and forayed into his past to describe projects from back in the day.
Steven:
When did you first start playing?
Al:
I first started playing when I was six years old. I sat down at a piano and played The Tennessee Waltz on the black keys because thats the only song I knew. And from that day on I was hooked. We couldnt afford a piano and the only time I could play is when wed visit someone who had a piano. So I would not go with my parents to someones house unless they had a piano. Finally, they bought one when I was about ten and I went through a myriad of teachers because I played by ear; I had trouble playing technically which still exists today.
I played until I was about fourteen and then I played guitar for years. I quit because it wasnt real status to play the piano at that time. Piano was like milk, its the basic food, the basic instrument. You can figure everything else out off of it. All the horn players in Blood, Sweat Tears cut me on piano, all the horn players played piano better than I did. Eventually the trombone player [Dick Halligan] took my place on keyboard when I left the band.
When I was a junior in high school, I took private lessons from a guy on Long Island named Gerald Knighter. That was extremely helpful but it was also a tremendous setback in my playing career as he told me I would never be a good player. He quit teaching me piano. I dont think Ive ever overcome that; I convinced myself that he was right and I quit ever thinking I could ever play. It hurt me immeasurably [even] today.
Steven:
When did you first start working with Blood, Sweat Tears?
Al:
Right after I left The Blues Project; there was this kind of glimmer in my eye concept. Actually I didnt do much playing in that band because I wrote the horn charts and the horn charts is usually what I would have played on the organ or the keyboard and so it didnt leave me very much to play.
Steven:
Was the idea of using brass in a sort of rock band your idea?
Al:
Yeah, the brass thing was an idea that I had and I wanted to introduce that to The Blues Project but there was no acceptance for it there. I was just turned down cold. And I was writing all these songs that showed up on the first Blood, Sweat Tears album that were adaptable for brass and that I heard in my head. I heard them [songs] in my head, finished, and they had to have brass, they couldnt make it with just The Blues Project instrumentation. So I had to quit and put together this band and that was my motivation.
Steven:
What instrumentation were you using on the first BST album?
Al:
I bought an organ which I had custom-wired; it was a Hammond and I had little things put on it that I liked. I had the volume pedal removed so it could go anywhere on the floor and I had the stops pre-set to how I wanted them. And I had the thing beefed up so it was louder than a regular one. Of course, this was in 67 before they made those chopped up ones. All of us bought instruments when we got the advance from CBS; its just that mine was the most expensive. Steve [Khan] got a guitar, Bobby [Colomby] got a set of drums and a couple of the horn players got axes. Nobody really had much money in those days, and so I sort of made a pact with everyone and said, Look, if anyone ever splits the band, they oughta be able to walk with their axe. And of course when I got kicked out, they kept the organ. I thought it was terrible, it really pissed me off.
Steven:
Was Super Session the project you went into directly after BST?
Al:
Yeah, I didnt have anything to do and thats why I did it. Either did Bloomfield; we found out that our careers were amazingly parallel. In that we both played with Dylan, we were both in blues bands, and we both quit them to form horn bands [Bloomfield assembled The Electric Flag]. And we were both kicked out of our horn bands. And so it just seemed that we should come together.
It was very casual, thrown together, hastily assembled album. The thing thats important about it is that none of us were trying anything, it was just totally relaxed. We didnt have anything to prove except go in there and play music. And of course it was bigger than anything any of us had out at the time. Before that, I assume we all probably tried too hard.
Steven:
Your first album after Super Session was
Al:
I Stand Alone, which is why it was called that. OK, after all this shit, here I am by myself now.
Steven:
At this point, did you primarily consider yourself a guitarist, or a keyboardist, a writer, a singer?
Al:
Yes, all except the last one. Yeah, singing was always my weakness. The problem was that the music Ive always loved and felt was not the voice that God gave me. I always wanted to have a throat transplant with Buddy Miles or something. I love black gospel music more than anything and I just cant sing it; its very frustrating to me. So I do the best I can but its sort of useless; I get better at it every year but Ill never be the thing that Im imitating.
Primarily, my main instrument is the Hammond B3 organ like they had at Columbia [recording] Studios. There were some ridiculous organs at Columbia in those days; some where the tremolo wouldnt turn on. I think on some days when we were recording Child Is Father To The Man album, I had a Hammond organ where you couldnt turn the tremolo on, it just stayed without tremolo. Id have to use the vibrato for any change but thats what it was.
Steven:
Did you used to amplify the organs?
Al:
I didnt really use any amplification. When I used to play with Dylan, I played a Hohner Pianette, and I used it on the Highway 61[Revisited] album. It was the first Hohner electric piano; I remember because they brought it to us to try it out. This girl named Chris White, I think, shed bring Dylan harmonicas and shed bring me all these keyboard things. I used it live and on stuff like Just Like Tom Thumbs Blues. And I used it in the beginning of The Blues Project and on the first album, Live At The Caf Au Go Go.
Then I used a Farfisa organ with The Blues Project because I didnt have a Hammond organ until Blood, Sweat Tears. I played the Farfisa about of the way through The Blues Project and then they brought a cheap portable Hammond organ, an L111, and I used that until the end of The Blues Project. It was a big update over the Farfisa but there were sounds I couldnt get on it that I could get on the Farfisa. The Farfisa was a cool organ. When I think about it, its best exemplified by Country Joe The Fish. They really used it, it was their sound. They were funny organs.
Steven:
In summing up, what is it about your playing that you think most people recognize?
Al:
I use a lot of moving bass lines especially in composing which I got from Dylan; Dylan did that a lot. Like, if you play a C chord, F chord, C chord, F chord, you keep moving your bass up from C, D, E, F, to change what the chord is. You get an almost gospel feeling to it. And I like having chords which do not display the root in them. Probably the two most complicated songs I wrote are on my last album, Missing You and Turn My Head Towards Home. You cant really tell what key theyre in because they modulate so much.
Steven:
And youve always seemed to approach your music very tongue-in-cheek; you dont seem to take yourself too seriously.
Al:
I dont take anything really super seriously. The book is a great platform to unveil my sense of humor. Its called Backstage Passes and will be out in February [1977]. Its not serious, great to put down next to the toilet and pick up when youre getting down to it. Its just meant to make you laugh, theres a lot of information and pictures in it, and its just not a serious work. All the things that passed before my eyes from 1959 to 1969. I talk about my bar mitzvah at the Hollis Hills Jewish Center on Union Turnpike. Everybody is the same - if you cut my hair off, I look just as nerdy as I did then.
Similar posts: classical music
- Mood:normal
- Music:Moby
Every fall, I fall off the band wagon. During the summer, I make it to the pool 2-3 times a week. Then the music season begins, excuses pile up (ie the congestion I incur after a swim really interferes with my vocal production), and weeks pass between swim sessions.
I've been feeling really blue lately. The lack of blogging is evidence. What posts I have made have been uniformly cranky. This update would be just as cranky had I not persevered.
On Friday, I finally made it to the pool at work, and had a very abbreviated swim. I can't just hit the deck anymore and swim more than a mile if I have taken more than two weeks off (which I have). My schedule this week is full of rehearsals, so I knew that I had better swim on Sunday, else let another week go by without real exercise. I set off on my bike yesterday at 1 PM to fulfill my quest. Quest, indeed.
1 PM - Huff and puff on my bike to Golden Bear Pool (UC Berkeley), only to learn that it was closed because of a malfunctioning pump (go to Music Library)
2 PM - Stop by Willard pool (Southside, Berkeley) - learn that it only opens at 2:30 (go home, turnover garden)
3:30 PM - drive to Willard - only to learn that it was closed for the season! (Somehow, I missed this the first time that I stopped by - the hours and the season were listed on separate flyers)
4:00 PM - Drove to King pool (North Berkeley) - it had closed at 3:30
4:30 PM - Drive back to Strawberry Canyon (UC Berkeley) - open until 6!
4:40 PM - change in the locker room... I forgot my goggles!
At this point, I almost began to cry. I can't swim laps without goggles. I can get in the pool, but I can't work out.
But, I asked the lifeguard if he had an extra pair. He rummaged around in two places, and I had to squeeze behind a crawlspace, but we located a very-scratched, but otherwise adequate pair.
Hallelujah!
Folks, the swim was amazing- as if to reward my Herculean efforts, the afternoon sun cast the pool in golden auras. Refracted rainbows danced on the pool's floor. I had a quiet lane to myself for most of the swim, while happy children splashed about at the shallow end. A perfect end to a near-disastrous quest. I'm also feeling much better, thank you.
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- Mood:Good
- Music:DJ Smash
A violin can sound like many things, but I for one would rather it didn't sound like the dog next door. I have just listened to one new disc too many: a clearly gifted and imaginative violinist who nevertheless seems compelled to hack through romantic-era sonatas either Very Fast, Loudly and Aggressively or very slow, playing with around two hairs of the bow to make a wispy vibratoless pianissimo that you can barely hear against the piano (NB it is not the pianist's fault). And full, of course, of those ugly bulges and barks and stops and starts (an effect much like drivers who accelerate after a speed camera, then slam on the breaks just before the next one) that masquerade as expressiveness; the ideal violin territories of beautiful tone, colour through varied rather than absent vibrato, and songful and speaking phrasing are apparently forbidden to any hapless young artist who wants to be noticed.
It reminds me of hearing one of the most depressing piano concerto performances in living memory - either Very Fast and Loud and Aggressive or so excruciatingly slow that I suspected the pianist in question was about to stop altogether. The audience went nuts, of course, but I think the composer, a man of exceedingly discerning taste, would probably have sent in the polonium sushi. This event would have been less depressing if it hadn't been action-replayed numerous times by other pianists in other concertos.
This style of playing has nothing to do with the composers and their music, but everything to do with fashion. Some musicians are inspired enough to pull these stunts off convincingly, but most just seem desperate to do something 'different', exaggerating to project ideas that actually don't exist. Besides, it's not different any more. It is the same as everyone else who's trying to be different...
Such trends have risen to the fore through certain exponents heavily promoted by their record companies, though many are good enough musicians to know better. Younger artists are trying to emulate them, to very little effect.
Why should music leave the listener feeling irritated, infuriated and occasionally nauseous if that isn't what the composer intended? Couldn't a red cardboard blob warn us off?
Now may I please direct you to one of the most wonderful piano CDs I've heard in ages: Maurizio Pollini's brand-new Chopin recital, on DG. This is truly great, fad-free musicianship, delivered with authority, humility and absolute integrity. In case you'd forgotten - many have - that's what it is all about.
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- Mood:Good
- Music:Roxette
These are things we do need to talk about because we need to learn how to get along with each other-something we seem to be failing at a lot these days. I wrote part of this post as a response to both Anu and MM (though Anu mistakenly thinks I think she is a she devil) and left it as a comment on MMs blog, but though it is partly a response, its also an attempt in my own head to muddle through some questions-so please forgive me if this is somewhat inarticulate. It is a difficult topic. Also, Anu, if you happen to come across this, it is not directed at you personally. Its also directed at myself-its a process of thinking aloud.
Is it possible to set aside our hurt and angry feelings for the time being and enter into this discussion in the nature of a dialogue?
We can all come up with examples of how people from other religions, indeed our OWN religions have tried to pressurise us to see God their way. So MM can come up with examples of how Hindus may have insisted shes actually Hindu, which she has done, and Anu can come up with instances of how she felt bad that her Christian and Muslim friends rejected her prayed over food, while she did not reject theirs. These personal experiences do go a long way in shaping us and how we view each other. But where is this back and forth of anecdotes leading us? We can all come up with them to prove a point and no one will be any the wiser, everyone in fact will just end up feeling more angry and resentful.
If we are religious people, of whatever faith, we must ask ourselves, is THIS the meaning of our faith-arguments over prayed over food etc. Or, at the risk of sounding patronising, but there is no other way to ask it, is the purpose of our faith something bigger-to reach out to and connect with what is Divine. Hindus, Muslims, Christians etc are always going to argue with each other AND amongst themselves about religious practices, that invariably involve questions of diet, rite and ritual. At some point one set of religious is going to clash with another.
What do we, believers of today, do with these rules and rituals, especially those of us who say we have problems with religion but do follow some rituals? I believe the first thing is not to force them on each other, even on others of our own faith, because Hindus, Muslims, Christians etc are far from being homogenous entities. Many of us are familiar with arguments with our own family members on matters of ritual, leave alone people of another religion.
The next is to try and understand why we do what we do whether it is idol worship, refusing or accepting Prasad, singing hymns or refusing to permit music. I feel, there never is ONE satisfactory answer (I may be wrong), but we can try to put together a picture from the available answers and our own thought processes. I believe these answers are available to us from not just our own religious base, but other religions and spiritual paths. We may choose to stick to one path because that gives us the most spiritual satisfaction, but should that mean we stop engaging with why we do something a particular way or not? We think about where we should buy a house, where we should put our children in school, which bank to put our money in, surely we should think about why we find certain religious practices offensive or non-offensive, both within our faith and outside it, and why we follow some and not others.
Anu says there were friends of hers to whom she offered payasam who later washed out their mouths when they found out that part of it had been offered as prasad (neivedyam rather than prasad at this stage?), and that she has now started refusing blessed food from them. Personally, I wouldnt have a) offered the food without finding out if it was acceptable or not (but Anu has clarified this in a comment) b) not remained friends with people who acted so unthinkingly.
My question is, is a blanket response (and here Im not talking of Anu), i.e.you hurt me so I will hurt you and others of your community, doing anything to help us or making matters worse? Because some Muslims and Christians may have behaved in a deliberately hurtful manner towards you do you do the same to them and vice versa? Isnt it better not to have anything to do with people who have no qualms about hurting you, rather than resorting to tit for tat?
Now its time for me to be anecdotal with personal examples. Ive had practising Christians tell me contradictory things. One, for example, told me that Christ was the only way and tried to force me to read a pamphlet out to her that she had given me-a sort of repeat after me that Christ is the only way. Another told me God has articulated Himself in different ways in this world. Her use of the word really struck me as beautiful.
I told the one who told me Christ was the only way, that I believed in Christ and His example very strongly, but there were other paths and if she cared to look, shed find the essence of Christ in other, non-Christian teachings as well. She disagreed and said I hope you see the light and I said I doubted Id come round to her way of thinking and that was that, I did not talk to her again.
The other Christian, on the other hand, is one of my closest friends-I feel spiritually closer to her than a lot of fellow Hindus, she understands me better than most. Because of the unpleasant nature of the experience with the first person in the example (and others), I could have stopped going to St Pauls as I regularly do in London, could have stopped taking my friend to temples (yes there are Christians who come to temples) and could have stopped trusting my other Christian friends. But would I not be intellectually, emotionally and spiritually the poorer for it? There are fellow Hindus whose behaviour has been despicable, who have commented on everything from As caste to my lack of it, to our should we start thinking of ways to hurt them now as pay back?
No, Im not trying to push my own religious agenda here. My Christian friend and I like to visit churches and temples and talk to each other about how we feel; yesterday we were talking about Buddhism and how religions have approached the question of negative thoughts and emotions and fear. But there may be others who consider this sacrilege or not want to do something similar-they may want to stick to the Bible or the Vishnu temple they frequent every morning and not seek anything outside that. That is fine, as long as it is not in the nature of an imposition on someone else who holds contrary views, as long as one is not hitting someone over the head with ones Bible, physically or metaphorically or offering prasad where it is not welcome.
There was a Sikh song my old room-mate used to play, with the words Har ke naam ke vyapari.
Somewhere, there is danger of us all becoming those vyaparis.
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Music isn't just a distraction or entertainment, argues Daniel Levitin, author of the bestseller "This is Your Brain on Music." It's central to our being, an activity that connects to complex behavior such as language, collective undertakings - think building the Roman aquaducts -- and the passing on of knowledge from one generation to the next.
I'm late recapping Daniel Levitin's lecture on music and the mind last Thursday. He was an entertaining speaker, casual, knowledgeable, accessible -- he spoke for about an hour in Schnitzer Hall, then took questions for almost another hour. His current book, "The World in Six Songs," picks up where his bestseller "This is Your Brain on Music" left off, advancing the theory that early humans may have learned music before they learned language.
It's a provocative thesis, but intriguing, too.
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- Mood:smile
- Music:Christina Aguilera
By Chika Osaka
Making music just got easier. A Japanese game maker has teamed up with the nation's leading mobile phone network carrier to enable users to play an orchestra with their fingertips.
Game manufacturer Taito has created the "Chokkan Classic" software for NTT DoCoMo's i-mode Internet service that lets users to pick their instruments and the melody they want to play.
To activate the sounds, users must either rub or move a finger infront of their phone's infrared sensor. The sensor can also be used to sync several users' phones to create the myriad sounds of an orchestra.
A Taito performer, who called himself "Tricky," directed a full performance of Mozart's "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" recently at the annual Tokyo Game Show as baffled viewers looked on.
"Sound is triggered once the sensor on the mobile phone captures any kind of movement in front of it," explained Tricky.
"If you stop the movement and let's say you're playing a flute, then the sound of a flute will completely stop.
"Whether you're playing a flute, violin or cello doesn't really matter because anyone can join and play as long as you're in sync during the session," he added.
Playing games and paying for goods electronically using mobile phones is common in Japan, the world's biggest market of 3G mobile users, where phones are swiped at ticket gates or vending machines to pay for train fares or drinks.
Taito says the new software was created to make classical music more accessible for younger mobile phone users.
With the interactive software, the company also hopes to survive the competitive mobile gaming market, which had suffered an unexpected slump last year, with many game developers and analysts pointing to weak distribution channels.
The number of mobile phones sold in Japan by NTT DoCoMo, which controls half the country's mobile market of 100 million users, dropped 21 percent in the April-June period from a year earlier.
According to Taito, tech-savvy consumers are no longer impressed by new applications that once drove sales such as music distribution, TV phones and camera phones.
Japan was the world's fourth-largest market for mobile phone sales in 2007, after the United States, China and India.
Similar posts: classical music
- Mood:lol
- Music:Linkin Park
A violin can sound like many things, but I for one would rather it didn't sound like the dog next door. I have just listened to one new disc too many: a clearly gifted and imaginative violinist who nevertheless seems compelled to hack through romantic-era sonatas either Very Fast, Loudly and Aggressively or very slow, playing with around two hairs of the bow to make a wispy vibratoless pianissimo that you can barely hear against the piano (NB it is not the pianist's fault). And full, of course, of those ugly bulges and barks and stops and starts (an effect much like drivers who accelerate after a speed camera, then slam on the breaks just before the next one) that masquerade as expressiveness; the ideal violin territories of beautiful tone, colour through varied rather than absent vibrato, and songful and speaking phrasing are apparently forbidden to any hapless young artist who wants to be noticed.
It reminds me of hearing one of the most depressing piano concerto performances in living memory - either Very Fast and Loud and Aggressive or so excruciatingly slow that I suspected the pianist in question was about to stop altogether. The audience went nuts, of course, but I think the composer, a man of exceedingly discerning taste, would probably have sent in the polonium sushi. This event would have been less depressing if it hadn't been action-replayed numerous times by other pianists in other concertos.
This style of playing has nothing to do with the composers and their music, but everything to do with fashion. Some musicians are inspired enough to pull these stunts off convincingly, but most just seem desperate to do something 'different', exaggerating to project ideas that actually don't exist. Besides, it's not different any more. It is the same as everyone else who's trying to be different...
Such trends have risen to the fore through certain exponents heavily promoted by their record companies, though many are good enough musicians to know better. Younger artists are trying to emulate them, to very little effect.
Why should music leave the listener feeling irritated, infuriated and occasionally nauseous if that isn't what the composer intended? Couldn't a red cardboard blob warn us off?
Now may I please direct you to one of the most wonderful piano CDs I've heard in ages: Maurizio Pollini's brand-new Chopin recital, on DG. This is truly great, fad-free musicianship, delivered with authority, humility and absolute integrity. In case you'd forgotten - many have - that's what it is all about.
Similar posts: classical music
- Mood:cry
- Music:Christina Aguilera
Music isn't just a distraction or entertainment, argues Daniel Levitin, author of the bestseller "This is Your Brain on Music." It's central to our being, an activity that connects to complex behavior such as language, collective undertakings - think building the Roman aquaducts -- and the passing on of knowledge from one generation to the next.
I'm late recapping Daniel Levitin's lecture on music and the mind last Thursday. He was an entertaining speaker, casual, knowledgeable, accessible -- he spoke for about an hour in Schnitzer Hall, then took questions for almost another hour. His current book, "The World in Six Songs," picks up where his bestseller "This is Your Brain on Music" left off, advancing the theory that early humans may have learned music before they learned language.
It's a provocative thesis, but intriguing, too.
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- Mood:smile
- Music:Robbie Williams
Deutsche Grammophon, 1985
Most music historians group Beethoven among the Classical era composers. But he wasn't really of the Classical era, nor was he truly of the Romantic era. He straddled both.
His work evolved from Classical in style into forerunner works of the Romantic era (arguably the Third Symphony), and then evolved into true Romantic works (the Fifth and the symphonies that followed). And of course his later works (e.g., the Late String Quartets) went far beyond the Romantic era, which were a hundred years ahead of their time in their experimention with atonality.
Listener Notes for Beethoven's First Symphony:
1) The gentle soft opening chords of this symphony is a shocking contrast to the familiar "dut-dut-dut dahhhhh" sledgehammer opening of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, isn't it?
2) The rapid eighth notes that begin at about 1:58 in the first movement sound like they could be the backdrop of any of Mozart's symphonies. But then Beethoven throws a wrench into our perceptions at the 5:52 mark of this movement, and he shows how this symphony differs from Classical era works. Mozart or Haydn would probably be about ready to wrap up the first movement at this point. But Beethoven? No way. He's just getting going. He modulates the key up a step, goes on to compose and extended bridge, and then returns to the main theme at the 7:20 mark.
3) Crappy trumpet part alert: After playing a few chords in the second minute of the first movement, and some desultory chords here and there (but mostly counting rests), the trumpets finally get to come in for real for a few arpeggios at the very end. Bor-ing! Not the kind of of symphony I would have like to play as a teenage kid, that's for sure.
4) The entire second movement sounds exactly like something Haydn might write, particularly considering its brevity.
5) The fourth movement opens up with a really neat feature. The strings softly hint at the main theme, playing portions of an ascending scale, adding note to them each time, and then letting loose with the main theme. What an interesting way to gently build tension! And Beethoven uses this effect a few more times in the movement to build tension elsewhere. Really creative.
6) Note at 5:38 in the fourth movement (right near the end), when the trumpets play a unison high note with the violins play. The trumpets hit that note way flat. It's always a bit annoying to hear a bad intonation mistake at the climax of a symphony--it kind of kills the moment.
In our next post, we'll cover the other work on this CD, Beethoven's Second Symphony.
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SP: You betcha.
JD: I just simply can’t believe in the midst of this intense campaign season, you could find the time to talk with me about the “Hammerklavier” Sonata.
SP: Well, ya know, Beethoven was the dude who said thanks but no thanks to Napoleon. Plus from all the mavericky songs he wrote, maybe this one could be known as the most maverickyest.
JD: I have to confess I’m a bit surprised you are so familiar with this particular work.
SP: Well, Mr. Snooty Juilliard Graduate, I’ll have you know I did my thesis on the Hammerklavier at Hawaiian Pacific University. Of course I had to continue revising it at Northern Idaho Massage Institute. And at Montana College for Bear-Loving Beauty Pageant Alumni. But also too the Hammerklavier’s on my Pod whenever I go wolf hunting … those dactyls get me SUPER pumped.
JD: What was your thesis called?
SP: Originally I wanted to call it “Frickin Kick-Ass Beethoven,” but my advisor was in a bad mood that day because Felicity chose Noel over Ben. So I had to change it to “Trickle-Down Fugonomics: A Reaganian Model of Beethoven’s Counterpoint.” That’s how I got funding from the American Enterprise Institute.
JD: What was the main thrust of your thesis?
SP: Jeremy, I guess my point is, a fugue is more than one voice, just like America. And it has certain values.
JD: Please elaborate …
SP: Well, you know Jeremy, we’re overtaxed. And Beethoven says, well, goshdarnit, just try and govern that fugue subject. Cause he knows that government is really the problem, and the scariest two words in the English language are “Schenkerian Analysis.”
JD: So you don’t think a Schenkerian 3-line governs the unfolding of the Hammerklavier?
SP: Let’s put it this way, Jeremy. And I know your type has a hard time getting past the filter, so let me unfilter you right here and now. Nobody, but no one, can do better than the free enterprise of the notes left to themselves. And Beethoven himself, look right here, says “fugue in 3 voices, with some license.” And also too license is just another word for maverick and and maverick is another word for freedom and freedom is just another word for America and no Austrian analyst tells America what to do.
JD: Word! Explain to me this trickle-down theory.
SP: The “Hammerklavier” is the perfect instance of my example, Jeremy. Ever notice how the piece is full of chains of thirds?
JD: Sure, Sarah. It is well noted in Charles Rosen’s The Classical Style, and many other sources.
SP: Well, ask yourself another question: do they ever go up?
JD: Hmm. Well, I guess not.
SP: Booyah! As my grandma used to say, you can’t bag a moose with a spoon.
JD: Ok, l think I see where you’re going with that. Tell me a bit about the harmonic language of the work.
SP: It’s great to see Beethoven being so pro-B-flat major.
JD: I guess I would have said it’s “in” B-flat major, not “pro-” B-flat major? …
SP: Oh, Jeremy, I wouldn’t expect a naive Upper West Side nacho-eating liberal like yourself to understand that every key is, in fact, a war against every other key. And you know unless we defend B-flat major one day we’ll wake up and there won’t be a B-flat major. Two flats come at a price, eternal vigilance, or I guess what I’m sayin’ is, these flats don’t run.
JD: But Sarah—to play devil’s advocate here—you could make that one of the defining, most beautiful elements of the piece is the presence of sort of “radical” notes, notes that don’t really belong in B-flat major, strange other notes, neither major nor minor …
SP: All that sounds really good on paper, Jeremy, at your Ivy League coffeeshops and so forth, but out here in the real world where I’m sitting there’s plenty of common sense telling me that wrong notes are wrong notes. There was a great piece on Lou Dobbs the other day about this, called “Why Is G-Flat Getting My Tax Dollars?”
JD: I didn’t know he was a Beethoven scholar.
SP: There’s Walmarts and Walmarts of stuff out there you don’t know. I agree with Lou, we can put up with these immigrant notes, but only if they enter the key legally, through the proper channels, and for heck’s sake let’s not get in the business of givin’ ‘em driving licenses. They should pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.
JD: I’m not sure how that applies to Beethoven … ?
SP: Just cause Beethoven can wigglewaggle his way into all sorts of keys doesn’t mean we have to give them amnesty. Next question.
JD: Tell me your thoughts about the slow movement.
SP: [pause] In what respect, Jeremy?
JD: The third movement: how would you describe it?
SP: [pause] I gotta confess, I usually fast forward through that one … It’s kind of a bummer. And since unlike some Americans out there I don’t hate America, I don’t want to dwell on all those negativity.
JD: But some people might make the case that the third movement is kind of the emotional core of the work … ?
SP: Ya know, I feel pretty strongly that a composer is a lot like a musicologist, except that he has actual notes to put down on paper. [Applause]
JD: Sarah, you didn’t really answer my question …
SP: I got some questions for you. For example, why does Beethoven decide to kick fugal butt at the end of this song? What’s the point? I think another interesting question is why in fact is this piece in B-flat major? I mean didn’t he already write the “Archduke” Trio, which is ALSO in B-flat major? Why couldn’t he just write the “Archduke” trio again? I know a lotta folks out there, in Main Street all across this land of ours, they’ll tell you, they’re just more “Archduke” kinda folks then they are “Hammerklavier” folks. And that’s fine. That’s why America is so great. I would never take away their right to bear “Archduke.” And its true the “Archduke” is a lot more Budweiser to those folks the “Hammerklavier” seems like some sort of weird imported wheat beer or somethin’, but my point is, it’s like Beethoven sat down to write the “Archduke” but then as his pen or quill or chalk or whatever hit the paper it took a kind of wrong turn, God bless him …
JD: A wrong turn?
SP: Well, I don’t mean wrong in a bad way, but in a weird way. I think the best way to explain it is it’s like that movie with the guy, you know, who turns into a fly. It’s like there’s the “Archduke” trio and all that good noble normal Beethoven stuff, but then it gets fused with some alien DNA and so, like instead of a normal scherzo you get this little strange runt of a crazy scherzo and then in place of a really long slow movement you get an even longer slow movement and everything just spirals out of control, like some sort of crazy Bach futuristic Beethoven hybrid thingamabob.
JD: That’s actually not totally uninsightful, Sarah. I’m sorry I liberally condescended to you. It’s true everything in the slow movement of the “Hammerklavier” speaks in exaggerated or caricatured ways. When you compare it to the symmetrical arches of the “Archduke” slow movement the “Hammerklavier” has a tendency to get stuck, to wander or obsess, as if Beethoven were commenting on the very nature of musical narrative itself, as if he were questioning the foundations of phraseology … Whereas the “Archduke” seems the very summit of phraseology, a kind of Mount Olympus.
SP: Yeah, whatever.
JD: Sarah, what’s your favorite part of the “Hammerklavier”?
SP: Well that’s really hard to say, but I think I gotta go with the opening of the last movement.
JD: The Largo introduction? Mine too! Maybe we have more in common than we thought!
SP: Yah, I really love how those chords just kind of sit there waiting for something to do … and then something will happen … and then we’ll be waiting again … lotsa suspense and mystery you know … it’s sort of a transition with no clear or obvious goal … how do I put this …
JD: Kind of a bridge to nowhere?
SP: Smart ass.
JD: Sarah, the last movement is one of the most famously difficult things in all the piano repertoire. Do you have any advice for this American pianist about this movement before he performs this work on tour?
SP: You don’t want to hear my advice.
JD: Oh come on let me have it.
SP: I think it’s pretty obvious.
JD: I’m dying to know.
SP: You’re not gonna like it.
JD: Please
SP: Trill, baby, trill!
JD: [sinks head in hands] The interview is over.
Similar posts: classical music
- Mood:bad
- Music:Roxette
The concert began with the Scottish Premiere of the Pastoral Symphony by Brett Dean. While Dean suggests countless works since Beethoven's own Pastoral Symphony have found inspiration from nature, Dean's own symphony focuses on the "growing sense of loss;" what will the world be like when we have destroyed nature completely. The piece was orchestrated for an nonette, with wind, percussion, percussion and percussion. There was a great deal of tonal color throughout, starting with an imperceptible murmur on the strings, but eventually the piece gets so busy it's hard to tell the direction from the noise. It flowed with peaks and valley's, but never allowed us anything to grasp, to hold, to enjoy. Olari Elts, the conductor, did an amazing job at getting the ensemble to respond to the nuances of the piece. However, in the end, we were left with a sense of despair wondering how this was about nature. If so, then perhaps the composer did a wonderful job at creating "the soulless noise that we're left with when they're all gone." The polite applause at the end was evidence of an audience that felt they somehow missed it.
Toru Takemitsu's Treeline (1988) and Requiem (1957) were next on the programme. The music is very Debussy like, with rich harmonies and haunting melodies. Treeline floats along the strings with a very modern feel. The Requiem was dark and mourning, with an excellent use of sul ponticello giving the piece an eerie element, very tonal, and yet thoroughly modern. At the end of each piece (one at the end of the first half, the second started the second half of the programme), the audience gave a long and protracted applause very much resonating with the music deftly played by the ensemble.
The highlight of the evening was the Requiem aeternum co-commissioned by the SCO and the Swedish Chamber Orchestra. Based on several different texts, it doesn't follow the standard liturgy, but rather creates its own to examine death. As the composer states in her notes for the piece, "No one knows what happens after death. We may believe. We may speculate. But no living human being can say." The music cries out to understand not only death, but God in relation to it. The soloists, Helena Ek and Maria Koehane are both soaring Sopranos who can reach incredible highs and yet maintain a richness in the lower registers which adds depth to the music. Rehnqvist uses these voices with masterful effect, beginning the piece with a solo voice lilting over the audience. Eventually the voice is joined by winds, which melodically build the tension as the words of the piece explores birth, the creation of life. The next movement is a duet in plainsong, calling to one another across the hills, while the strings hum threateningly underneath, giving the movement an ancient feel. The SCO chorus is first heard in the requiem aeternam at the end of the second movement. Rehnqvist uses the strings doubling the voices to give accent to the sound, particularly with the basses and the double basses rumbling in their lower register. The Kyrie eleison uses the traditional words, and starts with a bass flute with a somber mood. Eventually this changes to a sense of pleading, "Lord, have mercy" as if to say, "If you exist, then please have mercy." The fourth movement uses the same words as the first with a return to the soft solo voice, accompanied by a harp.
From here the Requiem begins its ascent into dread, grief, anger, acceptance and eventually hope. Rehnqvist has an excellent command of the voice as we hear elements of folk music in the solo voice, sometimes singing in their lower register and at other times soaring at the top of the vocalists range. The choir often had moments where parts were singing in canon pitting voices against each other a semitone apart and yet never feeling like the music was uncomfortably discordant, quite the opposite, the close chords built tension but also gave the piece a rich harmony that was truly beautiful. The Sanctus started with accented whispers, startling and effective, while the Libre me used the chorus and all its strength to create a sense of anticipation and pleading. But in the end, we are left with quiet solace, wanting more and yet knowing it's over.
Requiem aeternum is an incredible addition to the canon of existing requiems. When the piece is performed in Sweden it will be paired with Faure's Requiem which should provide a wonderful companion to the music of Rehnqvist. While both pieces are approximately thirty-five minutes in length, if anything, Rehnqvist's could be much longer. It soars, but never seems to get quite high enough or stay there long enough to really satiate our desire to hear more. It's an amazing piece of music, and perhaps, like life, it ends too soon.
Similar posts: classical music
- Mood:Very good
- Music:Robbie Williams
He did perform an extra concert on the Queen Victoria, as she circled off the coast of Istanbul, waiting for the sea to become calm enough to dock.
All the staff and crew were very grateful that he stepped in, at only 30 minutes notice, to entertain the patiently waiting guests.
Then the eventful journey home began.
Whilst going through customs at Istanbul airport, Robin was taken to one side, searched and questioned.
"Have you visited any other countries before arrival in Turkey?" was the first one.
With thoughts of the film 'Midnight Express' coursing through his head, his mind went completely blank.
He couldn't remember one destination he had been to in the last week.
"Errm, ohh, you're not going to believe this but I really can't remember," didn't seem to satisfy the officer.
Eventually, he pulled himself together, explained that he had been on the Queen Victoria, and handed the official a Turkish landing card.
The customs men were happy, and off Robin went.
Once I arrived at Manchester airport to meet him I was greeted with the information that his plane was an hour late.
That was OK, I'd made arrangements for children to be collected from school, so purchased a newspaper and rather enjoyed some time reading and some people watching.
However, as the information on the screen shifted to 'landed', then, 'arrived', and slowly to, 'reclaiming luggage', (yes, I'm very familiar with the whole process, and for those not so used to it, don't be fooled by the 'reclaiming luggage' stage. Sometimes that only appears once you have already been reunited with your loved one, or, they are wandering around looking for you, whilst you while away the time in a coffee house thinking thy are still disembarking...)
But still no sign of Robin.
Even on the occasions of missing luggage, of which there are many, (try this one, or this one, for a start) he should have appeared by this time.
I was starting to become concerned.
Then, finally, he appeared and all was revealed.
He must have been looking particularly shifty on this day, as once again, he had been stopped at customs.
Not just stopped and asked to remove shoes and go through the scanner once again, I mean seriously stopped.
Taken off to an interview room and asked to sit down.
"So, Mr Hill, how long were you in Istanbul?"
"Just under two days."
"That seems a strange length of time."
"Well, I was just passing through."
"Passing from where?"
He we go again.
But this time he was ready, and recalled the various destinations, reasons for his travels, which was reinforced by the concert guitar in a large, protective case right next to him...(which had already been scanned and proved to be completely harmless.)
Finally they let him go.
Strange really.
He passes through the airport so frequently that you would think he was on first name terms with most of the staff.
Then again, maybe that's the problem.
Frequent traveller, multiple destinations, glazed travel weary expression...
Anyway, he's home and he's fine, as thankfully he was able to convince the various customs officers that he simply wants to play his guitar, and make music.
Similar posts: classical music
- Mood:hangry
- Music:Enrique Iglesias
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