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Joyce Hatto Piano Fraud, Wrapped Up Nicely by The New Yorker

Why did the Joyce Hatto discovery have to be made through technical serendipity? Why hadn’t more people recognized the original recordings? Listen to Mark Singer’s definitive podcast on how the Internet created and then corrected the Joyce Hatto myth.

It’s been out for the better part of the month, so this post is hardly news. But only yesterday did I get around to reading and hearing Mark Singer’s excellent article and podcast on the Joyce Hatto piano fraud.

This coverage is one-stop shopping on one of the summer’s best stories. Let’s sum it up:

  1. Joyce Hatto enjoys minor piano career but stops performing in the 70s.
  2. Her husband, a record producer, begins releasing “her” catalog of recordings, representing an astounding breadth of repertoire and a fevered pace of productivity despite Hatto being unable to perform in public due to cancer.
  3. Classical internet community falls in love with recordings and spunky narrative. Joyce Hatto is the best pianist you’ve never heard of! Why, it almost sounds as if she becomes a different pianist when she plays different pieces!
  4. Not too many people inquire too deeply into the recordings, or the names of the gifted-but-unknown conductors, or the impressive orchestras they lead in the Hatto piano concerto recordings. Mainstream music critics write gushing reviews.
  5. One day a listener slides a “Hatto” CD into iTunes and is puzzled when another musician’s name appears. A reluctant analysis ensues on sites like Musicweb.
  6. Music theorist Nicholas Cook and colleagues prove, through data visualization techniques, that Hatto’s recordings are technically identical other performers’ releases.
  7. Collectors, working collaboratively across the internet, begin to identify true performers.

The discovery of the fraud has, in turn, led to an even more lively discussion on technical and artistic points:

  • Why did the discovery have to be made through technical serendipity? Why hadn’t more people recognized the original recordings?
  • How much do context and backstory add to the enjoyment of art? Singer indirectly alludes to the idea of “Joyce Hatto’s Career” as a work of art in itself when he asks “did it make her happy?” Ms. Hatto died over a year ago, before the truth came out, and her health status prior to her death is not public information. We are left to speculate on just what she knew or condoned.
  • Can this be considered performance art, as has been suggested in the case of J.T. Leroy, the hot novelist with the courageous backstory. Though there’s a compelling difference between the Hatto fraud and the Leroy fraud. Laura Albert wrote her own stuff — she just lied about who “she” was.
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A Final Reckoning: Viktor Ullmann's Last Piece

January 27 is Holocaust Remembrance Day, the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau by Soviet troops. Representing the many victims, especially the doomed artists of Theresienstadt, we’re listening to the Seventh Piano Sonata of Viktor Ullmann. Under the Nazi regime, Ullmann was first silenced as a “degenerate” composer owing to his Jewish ancestry, then deported to the Theresienstadt ghetto/transit camp in September 1942. After contributing to the camp’s poignantly rich artistic life for two years — and composing most of the pieces of his which survive today — he was deported to Auschwitz in mid-October 1944 along with members of his family and many colleagues such as Hans Krasa (composer of the opera Brundibar), Pavel Haas, and Gideon Klein. He’s believed to have been gassed on October 18, 1944.

Here are the Variations and Fugue from Ullmann’s last work, his 7th Piano Sonata. The fugue is on Yehuda Sharret’s Song of Rachel, a popular Zionist anthem. It’s dedicated to Ullmann’s three eldest children and dated August 22, 1944. His youngest son, Pavel, had died in the camp at the age of three and son Max would die in Auschwitz at twelve.  Felice and Jean (Johannes) were safe in the England.

As was Ullmann’s habit, this movement is full of other musical quotations, the most audible of which may be “Now Thank We All Our God.”

The seventh sonata is also the short score for a planned Second Symphony, eventually realized by Bernhard Wulff. (Look for the CD and DVD conducted by James Conlon.) Reviewing a performance of the orchestral version, James Reid Baxter offers this chilling description:

Wulff described the final Variations and Fugue on a Hebrew Folksong as a ‘final reckoning with European culture, which allowed things like Terezin to happen’. It is simply the most disturbing music I have ever heard. The little melody is lightly varied several times, then subjected to vehement, superb fugal treatment which sets alarms ringing — the possible symbolism of which is stomach-turning. The horror grows as ‘Now Thank We All Our God’is sonorously declaimed by the brass over a furious counterpoint, which builds to a general pause. Then a single, derisory blare of ‘B-A-C-H’ is heard on trombine, and the father of German music is dismissed in a ferocious stretto using the Hebrew melody, which concludes the Symphony with heartbreaking energy, singing in the face of deliberate murder of so many millions of futures. The sheer strength required to write, in those circumstances, silences all criticism. Never has the idea of ‘music as music’ seemed so small: as Wulff wrote, this is not ‘engaged composition, this is music as the will to survive.

Ullmann kept a diary in Theresienstadt in which he addressed the idea of singing in the face of… (words fail).

I have composed quite a lot of new music here in Theresienstadt, mostly at the request of pianists, singers and conductors for the purpose of the Ghetto’s recreation periods. It would be as irksome to count them, as it would be to remark on the fact that in Theresienstadt, it would be impossible to play a piano if there was none available. In addition, future generations will care little for the lack of music paper that we presently experience. I emphasise only the fact that in my musical work at Theresienstadt, I have bloomed in musical growth and not felt myself at all inhibited: we simply did not sit and lament on the shores of the rivers of Babylon that our will for culture was not sufficient to our will to exist. And I am convinced that all who have worked in life and art to wrestle content into its unyielding form will say that I was right…”

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Met “Tosca” Booed: Luc Bondy vs. Franco Zeffirelli

Pre-emptively trashing the Tosca production that was replacing his wasn’t exactly sporting of “F-Zeff,” but his thesis matches one that John has advanced in this pages: Puccini’s original settings are too much fun to sacrifice on the altar of Regietheater. That’s why Puccini seems rarely subjected to directorial intrusion, and perhaps why messing with Tosca at the expense of the Zeffirelli production seems a particular affront to some members of the audience.  Add the fact that this opening was the season’s Gala (with an audience self-selected for perhaps a greater conservative tendency) and we have ourselves a big, fat “Boooooo…”

“He’s not second rate. He’s third rate.”
 – Franco Zeffirelli in anticipation of Luc Bondy’s new Tosca at the Met.

“I’m a third-rate director, and he is a second assistant of Visconti.”
– Luc Bondy, on Franco Zeffirelli, following the opening night boos of his Tosca.

The New York Times summarizes a defense of the production by the Met’s Peter Gelb and Bondy’s spirited comeback to Zeffirelli.

I think it’s fair to disclose that we here at the palatial world headquarters of Holde Kunst are basically in favor of Regietheater (aka Eurotrash, aka Director’s theater) because it’s better than being afraid to try new things for fear of upsetting the old guard. On the other hand, we find ourselves dismayed at the majority of particular examples of Regietheater that we’ve encountered.  I probably missed some nuances in Diane Paulus’s Don Giovanni at Chicago Opera Theater because I kept getting distracted by the “exclusive night club’s” recognizable KLIPPAN sofas from IKEA.  I’ve seen the Nurse in Romeo et Juliette sung,  apparently, by Mary Todd Lincoln. And I can’t tell you how alarmed I was when I first saw this picture from the current Bayreuth production of Parsifal – and how (relatively) relieved I was to find that this hospital ward wasn’t actually the church of the grail and the guy in fishnet stockings was at least Klingsor and not Amfortas or Gurenamnz.

In this case, Bondy’s vision is replacing a beloved, traditional production by Franco Zeffirelli, who took an opportunity to pre-emptively trash the production:.

“I have not seen yet any Puccini operas successfully adapted to this idiotic new way to approach his music,” he said. “You have to follow Puccini’s precise instructions.” Bringing interpretations to the staging of “Tosca” is especially tricky given that it is set in highly identifiable places in Rome, where any tourist can go. (Franco Zeffirelli, on Luc Bondy’s production of Tosca)

This wasn’t exactly sporting of “F-Zeff,” but his thesis matches one that John has advanced in this pages: Puccini’s original settings are too much fun to sacrifice on the altar of Regietheater. That’s why Puccini seems rarely subjected to directorial intrusion, and perhaps why messing with Tosca at the expense of the Zeffirelli production seems a particular affront to some members of the audience.  Add the fact that this opening was the season’s Gala (with an audience self-selected for perhaps a greater conservative tendency) and we have ourselves a big, fat “Boooooo…”

So what’s so bad about the new Tosca? You can see for yourself at your local theater on October  10. Here’s what I’ve heard:

  • Tosca stabs Scarpia in a more sensitive anatomical area than is customary.
  • Instead of laying out Scarpia’s body respectfully with candles and and a cross, she fans herself on the sofa.
  • Prostitutes are seen earlier in the action — on said sofa as well as crawling around on all fours.
  • Cavaradossi paints a topless Mary Magdalene, which Tosca slashes with a knife.
  • Scarpia writhes against a similarly nonvirginal statue of the Virgin Mary.
  • Tosca’s suicidal leap is depicted by a body double hanging from a string as the curtain falls.

Here is a non-snarky negative review from NJ.com.

Opera Chic offers a contrarian view, declaring that “Only in New York City would an essentially conventional, prudent opera director such as Luc Bondy be considered some sort of insane, incendiary bomb-thrower…” – part of a detailed treatment of the production covering several blog posts.  

But the prize goes to this Edith Wharton take on Monday night’s opening. It’s a spot-on rewrite of the opening scene in The Age of Innocence

Today’s post is by Bonnie Gibbons.

Live in HD Series 2009-10 Schedule

  • Tosca by Giacomo Puccini — October 10, 2009
  • Aida by Giuseppe Verdi — October 24, 2009
  • Turandot by Giacomo Puccini — November 7, 2009
  • Les Contes d’Hoffmann by Jacques Offenbach — December 19, 2009
  • Der Rosenkavalier by Richard Strauss — January 9, 2010
  • Carmen by Georges Bizet — January 16, 2010
  • Simon Boccanegra by Giuseppe Verdi — February 6, 2010
  • Hamlet by Ambroise Thomas — March 27, 2010
  • Armida by Gioachino Rossini — May 1, 2010
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New Production Boo-ed at Met; Links on Audience Etiquette

Opera director Mary Zimmerman and her creative team were recently booed by a Met audience for their new production of Bellini’s La Somnambula. The Wall Street Journal’s Terry Teachout provides an audio recording of the curtain calls, and muses on why boos are rare in New York, while common in Italy and sometimes elsewhere (google “Roberto Alagna La Scala,” or “Chereau ring brawl” for some celebrated examples). 

Opera director Mary Zimmerman and her creative team were recently booed by a Met audience for their new production of Bellini’s La Somnambula. The Wall Street Journal’s Terry Teachout provides an audio recording of the curtain calls, and muses on why boos are rare in New York, while common in Italy and sometimes elsewhere (google “Roberto Alagna La Scala,” or “Chereau ring brawl” for some celebrated examples). 

Teachout also laments the “mandatory standing ovation” (which a WSJ reader attributes to our “everyone-gets-a-trophy” culture, but Teachout attributes to the cost of tickets). But then it gets confused. On the one hand, he imagines that an artist might rather be booed than treated with indifference, because at least booing indicates engagement. On the other hand, Teachout suggests a “silent boo” mechanism of having audience members recycle their programs in some sort of thumbs-up, thumbs-down choice of bins. (Mightn’t the most thoughtful critics want to keep their programs, skewing the results?)

Also on the topic of audience etiquette, Emanuel Ax asks “Why can we interrupt at the Met?” (or rather, why can’t we applaud between movements in an orchestral concert, just like we can after a big opera aria)?

Why, indeed? Even though I know “the rules” (and onced served as Enforcer in music camp where we used evening concerts to teach kids concert etiquett), I’ve wanted to applaud after a particularly rousing first or second movment of a beloved symphony. Who made these rules?

Actually, Alex Ross traced the history of clapping in 2005. It used to be that if you sat sedately between movements the artists’ feelings would be hurt. Hint: Alex’s sources blame Wagner for setting too reverent a tone in the hall.

Upcoming:

John has written a review of the Copenhagen Ring Cycle on DVD, and Bonnie will be “live-blogging” the DVDs one by one. If you love or hate Wagner or Eurotrash, check it out here!

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Obama Inauguration Music & Symbolism, Part 2

This post was supposed to be a discussion of the John Williams Inauguration composition Air and Simple Gifts. But the piece itself just wasn’t that interesting! So how about some brief comments and links, and have some more Marian Anderson?

This post was supposed to be a discussion of the John Williams Inauguration composition Air and Simple Gifts. But the piece itself just wasn’t that interesting! So how about some brief comments and links, and have some more Marian Anderson?

The piece (see video below) consisted of an air that felt primarily soothing, rather like a sunbeam that comes through the window warms part of your carpet on an otherwise chilly day. The “Simple Gifts” portion was an obvious nod to Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring, which is perhaps the quintessential American classical composition. So quintessential, probably, that it’s unnecessary to point out that Anthony McGill’s gorgeously played clarinet entrance on the “Simple Gifts” melody is a verbatim quote from the Copland version. (Listen to that on YouTube, with some Ansel Adams photographs.)

Here’s the video from the Inauguration:

Alex Ross gathers some reviews, and offers some hopes for what an Obama administration might do for classical music and the arts. He also links to a brief video of Obama narrating Copland’s Lincoln Portait.

By now the “scandal” has broken that the musicians, due to the cold temperature, were marking along to a recording they’d made — the instrumental equivalent of lip-synching. There have been a few “Milli Vanilli” quips, but it’s not like they hired, well, better musicians to do the playing behind the scenes. My favorites were the attempts to tie this “scandal” to the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics, where the “cuter” girl lip-synched for the girl with the better voice. Whether they could have found “cuter musicians” than Ma, Perlman, McGill and Gabriela Montero is pretty subjective, but believe me when I say the use of a prerecording was the right call. Musical instruments are made of wood, metal, fabric and glue. Know what happens to those materials in cold weather? They contract. Strings, inparticular, get brittle. The brass band hit several clunkers in those fanfares they played as people were walked in.

So, let’s get back to Marian Anderson and why she was such a big deal. Some of my favorite clips:

Handel’s “He Shall Feed His Flock” in a very slow performance that would certainly never be allowed in today’s era of “early music authenticity.”

 

Schubert’s “Erlkoenig” — listen to how successfuly Marian differentiates the voices.

“Sometimes I fee Like a Motherless Child”

For those reading this on a feed - this is Bonnie Gibbons talking, not John. It’s come to my attention that author names aren’t being included on the feed, which I’ll try to get fixed. Generally, if the post discusses a piece of music in detail it’s John, because that’s what he does for a living. With a day job in web site development, I’m generally the one with the digital music industry news, or the “around the web” stuff. Due to my respect for this day job, I rarely have an opportunity to discuss music in detail, and never did get the chops to, say, discuss the music of George Perle, who passed last week.

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Obama Inauguration Music and Symbolism, Part 1

Whatever your political persuasion in the 2008 election, it’s beyond dispute that the inauguration of an American president of African descent is historic. Given that Obama has lived so long in, and represented, the Land of Lincoln, it was inevitable that he’d tap into the Lincoln mythology with gestures such as his train trip into DC and his taking of the oath of office using the same bible that Lincoln used in 1861. A piece of symbolism missed by the TV commentators, not to mention me at the time, was the backstory of Aretha Franklin’s performance of “My Country Tis of Thee.” As a lover of true contralto voices and a history buff, I’m a little sheepish that it took a belated visit to The Rest is Noise to remind me that Marian Anderson sang the same song on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1939. Anderson, an internationally successful opera singer, had been denied permission to perform to an integrated audience in venues owned by the Daughters of the American Revolution and a local white public school.

View at Britannica.comWhatever your political persuasion in the 2008 election, it’s beyond dispute that the inauguration of an American president of African descent is historic. Given that Obama has lived so long in, and represented, the Land of Lincoln, it was inevitable that he’d tap into the Lincoln mythology with gestures such as his train trip into DC and his taking of the oath of office using the same bible that Lincoln used in 1861.

A piece of symbolism missed by the TV commentators, not to mention me at the time, was the backstory of Aretha Franklin’s performance of “My Country Tis of Thee.” As a lover of true contralto voices and a history buff, I’m a little sheepish that it took a belated visit to The Rest is Noise to remind me that Marian Anderson sang the same song on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1939. Anderson, an internationally successful opera singer, had been denied permission to perform to an integrated audience in venues owned by the Daughters of the American Revolution and a local white public school.

These YouTube video show Anderson’s performance along with Franklin’s. The Anderson performance includes an introductory speech by Harold Ickes, who had authorized the performance in his capacity as Secretary of the Interior.

Martin Luther King, Jr. may have been referencing Anderson’s performance in his 1963 “I Have a Dream” speech:

This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My country, ‘tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.”

At least one TV commentator quoted this excerpt as Aretha stepped up to the podium Tuesday, but in none of the network videos I’ve seen did they mention Marian Anderson at that moment.

Anderson was celebrated by by Queen Latifah (paying homage through words and a similar style of fur coat) at Sunday’s Lincoln Memorial concert. But not during the inauguration TV coverage in conjunction with Franklin’s performance of the same song, seven decades later, in such vastly different circumstances.

Part 2 of this post will discuss the John Williams chamber piece premiered at the ceremony.

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Bach's Financial Crisis Soundtrack

I just had to share this little gem from The Guardian, in which Paul Lay reviews Bach’s Cantata No. 168 as a commentary on today’s financial crisis. This cantata chastises the unjust steward from Corinthians and the Gospel of Luke, with a nod to what Lay refers to as “the monied men of 1720s Weimar.”
bach.jpg

I just had to share this little gem from The Guardian, in which Paul Lay reviews Bach’s Cantata No. 168 as a commentary on today’s financial crisis. This cantata chastises the unjust steward from Corinthians and the Gospel of Luke, with a nod to what Lay refers to as “the monied men of 1720s Weimar.” (Bach students will recall that the great prestige of Bach’s position at Leipzig’s Thomaskirche was due to that cities position as a trade power of the era, and that grumbling business correspondence is considered overrepresented in Bach’s surviving letters.)

Some text highlights include “Thine Accounting! Judgement Day!” (Tue Rechnung! Donnerwort!), and “”Capital and interest must one day be settled” (in which the tenor soloist worries about… accounting errors?)

Lay concludes:

Quite what the the economic situation was in Weimar at the time I cannot say, but after listening to Bach’s Cantata 168, we can conclude that the God-fearing Lutherans of the day shared Mervyn King’s concern with moral hazard, took a realistic view of the business cycle, and whether they liked it or not were unlikely to be fed escapist rubbish by the musical genius in their midst.

Enjoy this YouTube clip, or purchase a copy as a gift for that special financial whiz in your life.

Bach: Cantatas, BWV 94, 105, 168

Deutsche Grammophon

J.S. Bach: Cantatas, Vol. 15

by Ton Koopman, Deborah York, Sandrine Piau, Christoph Pregardien, Paul Agnew, Klaus Mertens, Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra & Choir

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Blogs Are Abuzz for Anna Magdalena Bach - Did She Compose the Cello Suites?

Close-up of title page to the first volume of Singende Müse an der Pleisse, a collection of strophic songs published in Leipzig in 1736, by “Sperontes”, Johann Sigismund Scholze. JS and Anna Magdalena Bach may be the couple pictured.Martin Jarvis decided, as a 19-year-old violist, that the famed cello suites didn’t sound like J.S. Bach.

“Certainly in the first suite, the movements are short and very simple, in comparison with the first movement of the violin works. And I couldn’t understand why,” he said. 

After years of forensic study, the conductor and professor at Darwin University finally discovered this alleged slam-dunk: a manuscript with the notation “Ecrite par Madame Bachen Son Epouse” which says “written by the wife of Bach” rather than “copied.”

We already knew of Anna Magdalena’s role as a copyist. Obviously neither that word, nor the recognizable handwriting of Anna Magdalena would cut it as proof given her known role as a copyist — but in news reports Dr. Jarvis mentions “18 reasons why they weren’t written by Bach.” (Specifics would be great.)

Close-up of title page to the first volume of Singende Müse an der Pleisse, a collection of strophic songs published in Leipzig in 1736, by “Sperontes”, Johann Sigismund Scholze. JS and Anna Magdalena Bach may be the couple pictured.Martin Jarvis decided, as a 19-year-old violist, that the famed cello suites didn’t sound like J.S. Bach.

“Certainly in the first suite, the movements are short and very simple, in comparison with the first movement of the violin works. And I couldn’t understand why,” he said. 

After years of forensic study, the conductor and professor at Darwin University finally discovered this alleged slam-dunk: a manuscript with the notation “Ecrite par Madame Bachen Son Epouse” which says “written by the wife of Bach” rather than “copied.”

We already knew of Anna Magdalena’s role as a copyist. Obviously neither that word, nor the recognizable handwriting of Anna Magdalena would cut it as proof given her known role as a copyist — but in news reports Dr. Jarvis mentions “18 reasons why they weren’t written by Bach.” (Specifics would be great.)

There are several mentions on blogs, but none provides additional detail or (yet) a good discussion beyond what’s in the most detailed

Reuters article

. Over at the

Museum of Hoaxes

, there’s a little more detail, with a mention of “a musicologist from Sweden who has used statistics to conclude the cello suites did not fit into Bach’s other works.”

The Telegraph

did find a Belfast Bach Scholar who described the findings as “highly important.” Unfortunately they also have some skeptical quotes from academic Stephen Rose and cellists Julian Lloyd Webber and Steven Isserlis:

Stephen Rose, a lecturer in music at Royal Holloway, University of London, said: “It is plausible that she corrected, refined and revised many of his compositions, although there is not enough evidence to show that she single-handedly composed the Cello Suites.”

Cellists who have performed the Suites extensively remained skeptical. Julian Lloyd Webber insisted that the compositions were “stylistically totally Bach” and that “many composers had appalling handwriting, which meant better copies would naturally have been made, with the originals then discarded”.

Steven Isserlis, the cellist, who is working on a recording of the Suites, said: “We can’t say that it is definitely not true, in the same way that we can’t prove that Anne Hathaway did not write some of Shakespeare’s work, but I don’t believe this to be a serious theory.”

Given that Anna Magdalena did serve as a copyist, it’s hard to imagine how a physical analysis of the manuscripts could prove her authorship — unless you could somehow place an original manuscript in a time and place where it literally couldn’t have been the work of Johann Sebastian. What’s really needed is a consensus among at least some Bach experts who are in a position to address whether the compositional technique and style of the suites might indicate Anna Magdalena’s role. Dr. Jarvis will be speaking at the New Zealand Forensic Science Society — not a peer-reviewed musical conference. (I could be misinterpreting the term

forensic study

here. Given that the details aren’t obviously accessible on the web, it could be what historians call manuscript studies — or it could branch out into some kind of scientific analysis of the musical choices reflected in the scores. The point is that no specific finding reported in the media comes close to justifying Dr. Jarvis’s thesis.)

According to his faculty profile, Dr. Jarvis presented on this topic at the 2002 Musicological Society Conference - Newcastle. His publications include:

  • “Did J S Bach Write the Cello Suites? Part 2 The Musical Analysis” Stringendo Australia 2003

  • “Did Johann Sebastian Write the Cello Suites?” Musical Opinion, UK, 2002

  • “Did J S Bach Write the Cello Suites? Part 1” Stringendo, Australia, 2002

  • “The Significance of Anna Magdalena Bach”, Musical Opinion July/Aug 2005

I haven’t been involved in musical academe for many years and am not in a position to determine how peer-reviewed these publications are, so my apologies in advance if I’m wrong. But Musical Opinion, at least, is a classical music magazine. Stringendo seems to be the newsletter of the Australian Strings Association.  Sadly, it’s not online so we can’t assess the 2003 musical analysis.

Perhaps the last doubt-casting word comes from Jarvis himself:

“It doesn’t sound musically mature. It sounds like an exercise, and you have to work incredibly hard to make it sound like a piece of music,” he said.

Yes, the suites are hard. I never really mastered the last three as an advanced (but not performing-career-bound) college-level cellist.  And while the first three lie beautifully under the fingers in the congenial keys of G major, D minor and C major, it’s challenging to do them justice.

But the reasons have nothing to do with musical flaws. The cellist plays alone and must manage the pacing and large-scale momentum independently. Pianists are accustomed to this, but the unaccompanied cello repertoire is quite small — and many student cellists face this challenge in these pieces alone. An even bigger challenge is bringing out the contrapuntal underpinnings of the music while playing a single line. My teachers spent countless hours explaining how and why to “bring out the base line” etc. and only after learning music theory did I truly understand.

Enjoy these free YouTube performances and decide for yourself. And a hat-tip to Dan Perry for bringing this story to my attention.

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Classical Music Beach Reading

t has been a shamefully long interval since our last post. Of course, our lack of posting fervor can in no way be attributed to any form of summer laziness. But for those in the audience who find themselves in a “beach reading” mood, here are some of my favorite light books on classical music. None of which, I promise, will get you any better at musical analysis.

It has been a shamefully long interval since our last post. I can only claim, in my case, various forms of distraction — including the new Holde Kunst layout. (Ahem… how do you like it?)

Of course, our lack of posting fervor can in no way be attributed to any form of summer laziness. But for those in the audience who find themselves in a “beach reading” mood, here are some of my favorite light books on classical music. None of which, I promise, will get you any better at musical analysis.

One of the best reads ever — and just becoming seasonal — is Bayreuth: A History of the Festival by Frederick Spotts. It may be hard to buy the words “Bayreuth” and “light reading” in the same paragraph, but so it it. This is a gossipy romp through a century or so of performances, productions, backstage machinations, and family squabbles. If you’ve ever wondered how exactly the Festspielhaus’s hidden orchestra and unique sonic properties came about, or what it’s actually like to perform there, you’ll get a pretty detailed rundown of that, too.

The next book is almost as old as I am, but I recommend Gentlemen, More Dolce Please! (original and “second movement” volumes) by Harry Ellis Dickson. In this orchestral player’s memoir you’ll be treated to a hilariously apt rundown of the various personality types found in each section of the orchestra. (Oboists have a turbulent love-hate relationship with their reeds, but Bassoonists seem to take their reed issues in stride.) This is where the phrase “so young and already viola” was immortalized, along with “so beautiful it was like a lousy cello” (said of Koussevitsky’s double bass virtuosity).

Want to know who deemed Wagner’s music “better than it sounds”? The answer (George Bernard Shaw) can be found in, well, Better Than It Sounds: A Dictionary of Humorous Music Quotations by David W. Barber. We’re off to an excellent start with the definition of Accordion as an instrument in harmony with the sentiments of an assassin.” (Ambrose Bierce) Shaw’s wit is also found in the Lexicon of Musical Invective by Nicholas Slonimsky and Peter Schickele.

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The National and the Confessional in Smetana and Dvorak

How should we feel about avowedly “national” music? Remember, if you value “patriotism”, for instance, as all the presidential candidates are required to avow every hour, on the hour, you must respect patriotism in nations other than your own. Otherwise it’s not patriotism per se you value, but some kind of hegemony, cultural or political.

Is music universal? Maybe, but I have my doubts. Just as there are individual people who have no use for or response to music (consider the  famous cases of Sigmund Freud and Vladimir Nabokov, for instance), I rather suspect that there are probably nations or cultures that have no use for music. Nations of Ullyses Grants (“I know two tunes: one of ‘em’s “Yankee Doodle” and the other one ain’t.”). This mildly amusing Grant anecdote may be apocryphal for all I know, and it may be that a learned anthropologist would tell me that they’ve never encountered an amusical cuture. But this I know: if amusical cultures exist, the Czechs ain’t one of them.

How should we feel about avowedly “national” music? Remember, if you value “patriotism”, for instance, as all the presidential candidates are required to avow every hour, on the hour, you must respect patriotism in nations other than your own. Otherwise it’s not patriotism per se you value, but some kind of hegemony, cultural or political.

A few years ago I had an annoying incident at O’Hare airport, returning from Europe. I think it may have been from France or Germany, but let’s just say it was from Prague. I somehow got in the wrong line for passport control and an exasperated agent called me over to the appropriate line, the one for American citizens. (For better or worse, I’m always immediately recognizable as an American… hmm, maybe it’s due to the loud Hawaiian shirts, the loud voice, and the chic ensemble of plaid shorts with socks and sandals. On the other hand, if I tried to wear a leather jacket and an earring, I would be immediately perceived as an “ugly American” trying to be an “ugly European”)…

Anyway, the agent berated me thusly: “You shouldn’t have to wait in line, you belong here, not like those other people.” And his tone dripped contempt for “those other people”. Maybe he meant to show comraderie with me, or whatnot. But I didn’t like it, it stuck in my craw. Before the death of the dollar I went to Europe quite frequently, and I promise you, I sure wouldn’t want that jackass on the reception committee at the other end.

Which brings us to the case of Smetana, a composer who explicitly stated that he valued the “national” more than the “universal”; this view even caused a rift with a friend. Now, Smetana’s experience abroad, in Sweden primarily, but Germany as well, cemented his narrowly Czech outlook… he had a rough time getting his career going as well as he wanted it to go, he was homesick and estranged from his family. Also, the fate of the Czech lands for much of its history has been to be a victim of Austrian and German control, and of course this pattern continued in the generations after Smetana’s death, with the Soviet Union added to the list of offenders against Czech sovereignty most recently.

So Smetana’s view is understandable, to say the least. But does it limit his appeal? Does knowing that a composer isn’t writing for you cause you any qualms? Do you prefer Beethoven, who is writing for you? In his aspirations Smetana is more Czech than Schubert is Viennese, more Czech than Tchaikovsky is Russian, more Czech than Ives is American. Is this a problem?

No, because music is abstract, and a composer cannot control the intrinsic meaning of an abstraction, only its outward semblance. It’s out of his hands. Case in point, “From Bohemia’s Woods and Valleys” uses a polka as the symbol of nationhood, the people, which is then combined with music representing nature in a mystical epiphany. If Gershwin were to use a fox-trot in “From America’s Woods and Valleys” should polka dancers feel left out? Nietzsche had it right, it’s neither the best nor the worst that is lost in translation. And don’t ever let a Russian tell you that you can’t “really understand” Mussorgsky, or a Norwegian tell you that you can’t “really understand” Grieg. But when it comes to non-Western cultures, I’m mute. I just don’t know enough.

Dvorak was a staunch Catholic as well as a staunch nationalist. His frustration with the publisher Simrock ignoring his pleas to publish his name in the Czech manner, as well as providing Czech texts in his scores is well known. And I’d go so far to say that a fair minded person would be almost obliged to respect the nationalism of a Czech vis a vis. the dominant and foreign German influence and control, politically and culturally, in the Czech lands at the time.

Dvorak’s confessionalism might be more palateable than the nationalism of Smetana for non-Czechs, partly because Dvorak didn’t hesitate to include Hussite themes in for instance, his “The Hussites” overture, although the Hussites were completely opposed to Catholocism. Dvorak thought that the Hussites nevertheless represented important and admirable traits. And confessionalism is often trans-national; Catholocism certainly is. But is confessional exclusivity any better than national exclusivity, especially since typically in the former case those left out are thought to be denied salvation?

Once again, music itself provides an elegant rebuttal to the exclusiveness crowd. Consider the case of William Byrd, or Bach himself, who signed some document condemning the beliefs of the prince of Anhalt-Coethen, and then memorably eulogized him with movements from a (Catholic!) mass setting. Consider the poignant and instructive case of Shostakovich, who wrote thrilling and moving music for the Soviet ideology, that so many people insist on appropriating for very different ideologies! Consider the anti-ecclesiast Verdi in his “Four Sacred Pieces” and Requiem. 

Great composers have often expressed ugly jingoistic credos. But their own works as often as not belie their ideological intentions. Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. This applies to Wagner as well, by the way, although you need several strong men to dump out the unusually deep tubs of bathwater.

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