The Russian magazine "Nouvellist" commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short piano pieces inspired by the each of the twelve months. The corresponding music appeared in each publication in 1876. Collected in publication later the work became "The Seasons," Op. 37a.
March was nicknamed the "Song of the Lark." The elusive tune of the middle section [0:32], where graces work with syncopations to make the music seem airborne, is the passage that inspired this title from the editors. But this passage is an elaboration of the dialog between treble and bass in G minor that is not only the frame, but also an anchor that gives March meaning as a mediator between opposites.
The English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626) knew of these opposites and wrote about March in his book "The Twelve Moneths." "It is now March," wrote Breton, "and the Northerne wind dryeth up the Southerne durt [...] Now riseth the Sunne a pretty step to his faire height, & St. Valentine calls the birds together [...] the Ayre is sharpe, but the sunne is comfortable, and the day begins to lengthen." Sharpe Ayre but comfortable sunne; in this juxtaposition is Tchaikovsky's G minor.
Lev Oborin (1907-1974), was the first winner of the International Frédéric Chopin Piano Competition when he was twenty years old. He plays March quietly but finds lively clarity in the figuration and plays the rhythmic surface with clever consideration of deeper rhythmic currents. The camera hovers above him and makes us feel like ghosts. The shot seems motionless but is not. We are moving closer. This was planned. The increase in speed corresponds with increasing development and as melodic octaves signal the return [1:11] the closeup accelerates. By [1:39] we no longer see the piano or the hands of Oborin--just a formal quality of focus and concentration. The short quickly retreats during the final cadence which does not resolve as much as it fades outside of our hearing. The camera leaves us hovering.
We awaken: Now beginneth nature (as it were) to wake out of her sleepe," writes Breton, "and sends the Traveller to survey the walkes of the world. [...] It is a time of much worke, and tedious to discourse of: but in all I find of it, I thus conclude in it: I hold it a servant of Nature, and the Schoole-master of Art” the hope of labour, and the subject of Reason. Farewell."
Showing posts with label Tchaikovsky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tchaikovsky. Show all posts
Monday, March 4, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
A Meditation on February; Inside the Seasons by Tchaikovsky
The Russian magazine "Nouvellist" commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short piano pieces inspired by the each of the twelve months. The corresponding music appeared in each publication in 1876. Collected in publication later the work became "The Seasons," Op. 37a.
Tchaikovsky is thinking in terms of Carnival; of lively Mardi Gras and the "large feast that will overflow" according to the epigraph by Pyotr Vyazemsky that was chosen by publisher Nikolay Bernard.
But this is no ordinary event. The piece is tricky and even its fleeting quiet passages bring little relief. It is a concentrated and restless sound world. This performance by pianist Daniela Negrini is a lovely expression of simultaneous dualities; fanfares and kaleidoscopic activity coincide with the focus and stillness of her physical expression. Her performance exposes inner tensions behind the celebratory exterior of this music.
The English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626) knew of these tensions and wrote about February in his book "The Twelve Moneths."
"It is now February," wrote Breton, "and the sun has gotten up a stride of his climbing, the valleyes now are painted white."
But then Breton's prose becomes as still and focused as Daniela Negrini. "The Ayre," writes Breton, "is sharp and piercing, and the winds blow cold."
"Physick now hath work among weake bodies, and Apothecaries drugges are very gainfull: There is hope of a better time not farre off, for this in it selfe is little comfortable: and for the small pleasure that I find in it, I will thus briefly conclude of it: It is the poore mans pick-purse, and the miser’s cut-throat, the enemy to pleasure, and the time of patience. Farewell."
Tchaikovsky is thinking in terms of Carnival; of lively Mardi Gras and the "large feast that will overflow" according to the epigraph by Pyotr Vyazemsky that was chosen by publisher Nikolay Bernard.
But this is no ordinary event. The piece is tricky and even its fleeting quiet passages bring little relief. It is a concentrated and restless sound world. This performance by pianist Daniela Negrini is a lovely expression of simultaneous dualities; fanfares and kaleidoscopic activity coincide with the focus and stillness of her physical expression. Her performance exposes inner tensions behind the celebratory exterior of this music.
The English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626) knew of these tensions and wrote about February in his book "The Twelve Moneths."
"It is now February," wrote Breton, "and the sun has gotten up a stride of his climbing, the valleyes now are painted white."
But then Breton's prose becomes as still and focused as Daniela Negrini. "The Ayre," writes Breton, "is sharp and piercing, and the winds blow cold."
"Physick now hath work among weake bodies, and Apothecaries drugges are very gainfull: There is hope of a better time not farre off, for this in it selfe is little comfortable: and for the small pleasure that I find in it, I will thus briefly conclude of it: It is the poore mans pick-purse, and the miser’s cut-throat, the enemy to pleasure, and the time of patience. Farewell."
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Chloé still beautiful at 100; Yannick Nézet-Séguin with Berliner Philharmoniker
In her "Danse suppliante" near the end of the second part of the complete ballet music, Chloé expresses her sexuality through an english horn solo where the tempo shifts in every bar--oscillating from quarter note=72 in all the odd numbered bars to quarter note=100 in every even numbered bar. Forever young, Chloé turns 100 this year in Ravel's ballet Daphnis et Chloé, which was written for the 1912 season of the infamous Ballets Russe.
That is she turns 100 if, like me you know her through Ravel. If you know her from the Greek writer Longus she could easily be 1,900 years old, but Chloé hides her real age and will certainly never tell.
The French-Canadian conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin, who will become Music Director of the Philadelphia Orchestra in September, returned to Berlin to conduct this program with the Berliner Philharmoniker transmitted over the Digital Concert Hall. The program was centered on the complete ballet music for Daphnis et Chloé, which comprised the second half of the event.
Nézet-Séguin uses clean patterns that are energized and clear. This helped the orchestra focus the significant challenges in figuration that this work presents to ensembles. There are so many passages of liquid fast notes, particularly in the woodwinds, that it is easy for orchestras to drift in precision, or to sound like machines. Nézet-Séguin found the right cues, the right eye-contacts, the right smiles. This performance could easily become a study in ensemble coordination.
There were also whimsical moments that the digital concert hall allowed us to see, as well as hear. The huge hand-cranked wind machine was fun to watch in action. But so was the "human cellist capo:"
There is a moment in the Danse de Lycéion, at rehearsal [56], where Ravel asked the solo cellist to retune their G string to G-sharp momentarily so that a particular gesture can end on a natural D# harmonic. Instead of tuning, the solo cellist's stand mate reached over and pressed down the string so that no tuning was necessary. It worked. The whole thing was caught on camera. It was quite an entertaining surprise--thanks Digital Concert Hall! I wonder how common this technique is...do others play it this way? Let me know!
Ravel would have been partly inspired by the Nietzschean view of the Greeks in the "Birth of Tragedy;" the idea that prior to the age of Socratic reasoning that folks found ecstasy easily within the music of their lives. This performance brought the dancing and quickly spirited side of this work to the surface.
The concert began with Luciano Berio's "Sequenza IXa for clarinet" played by the awesome clarinetist Walter Seyfarth. Sayfarth brought out the electronica atmosphere of this completely analog work for solo clarinet. He made multiphonics sound like feedback from Woodstock. In the meditative opening segment he worked with the color of each sustained pitch, and in the conversational development he played crisp and frisky.
Sequenza IXa is a work that ends in its own form of hallucinatory ecstasy with seven loud and piercing A-flats amid quiet incantations. It was an ending that made the Romeo & Juliet Fantasy Overture, which followed it to complete the first half of the program, sound different as it ended. Tchaikovsky closed the work in B major with the sound of harps implying a realm beyond death in which the lovers would be united.
Heard after Berio, the contrast in metaphysics was powerful. I have to admit that after Berio, I was surprised to hear the fateful sword thrust that felled Romeo as an Ab instead of a G#, as notated. Good programming changes our ears.
That is she turns 100 if, like me you know her through Ravel. If you know her from the Greek writer Longus she could easily be 1,900 years old, but Chloé hides her real age and will certainly never tell.
The French-Canadian conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin, who will become Music Director of the Philadelphia Orchestra in September, returned to Berlin to conduct this program with the Berliner Philharmoniker transmitted over the Digital Concert Hall. The program was centered on the complete ballet music for Daphnis et Chloé, which comprised the second half of the event.
Nézet-Séguin uses clean patterns that are energized and clear. This helped the orchestra focus the significant challenges in figuration that this work presents to ensembles. There are so many passages of liquid fast notes, particularly in the woodwinds, that it is easy for orchestras to drift in precision, or to sound like machines. Nézet-Séguin found the right cues, the right eye-contacts, the right smiles. This performance could easily become a study in ensemble coordination.
There were also whimsical moments that the digital concert hall allowed us to see, as well as hear. The huge hand-cranked wind machine was fun to watch in action. But so was the "human cellist capo:"
There is a moment in the Danse de Lycéion, at rehearsal [56], where Ravel asked the solo cellist to retune their G string to G-sharp momentarily so that a particular gesture can end on a natural D# harmonic. Instead of tuning, the solo cellist's stand mate reached over and pressed down the string so that no tuning was necessary. It worked. The whole thing was caught on camera. It was quite an entertaining surprise--thanks Digital Concert Hall! I wonder how common this technique is...do others play it this way? Let me know!
Ravel would have been partly inspired by the Nietzschean view of the Greeks in the "Birth of Tragedy;" the idea that prior to the age of Socratic reasoning that folks found ecstasy easily within the music of their lives. This performance brought the dancing and quickly spirited side of this work to the surface.
The concert began with Luciano Berio's "Sequenza IXa for clarinet" played by the awesome clarinetist Walter Seyfarth. Sayfarth brought out the electronica atmosphere of this completely analog work for solo clarinet. He made multiphonics sound like feedback from Woodstock. In the meditative opening segment he worked with the color of each sustained pitch, and in the conversational development he played crisp and frisky.
Sequenza IXa is a work that ends in its own form of hallucinatory ecstasy with seven loud and piercing A-flats amid quiet incantations. It was an ending that made the Romeo & Juliet Fantasy Overture, which followed it to complete the first half of the program, sound different as it ended. Tchaikovsky closed the work in B major with the sound of harps implying a realm beyond death in which the lovers would be united.
Heard after Berio, the contrast in metaphysics was powerful. I have to admit that after Berio, I was surprised to hear the fateful sword thrust that felled Romeo as an Ab instead of a G#, as notated. Good programming changes our ears.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Magical Transitions and the Wisdom of Cutting Away the Superfluous in the Digital Concert Hall
Violinist Nikolaj Znaider mentioned "the wisdom of cutting away the superfluous" during his intermission interview with Berliner Philharmoniker violist Amihai Grosz in a concert broadcast through the Digital Concert Hall.
He was referring to a saying attributed to Michelangelo, but that particular wisdom was the single most striking aspect of his performance of the Sibelius Violin Concerto with the Berliner Philharmoniker. Unlike many soloists who have matched wits with this famous concerto, Znaider chose an understated almost conversational framework, choosing to "cut away" the idea that every note in the work must be played molto espressivo. This interpretation was refreshing, and it gave him more room to lift the slowly arcing intensity curves that shape the work. When the time came for passionate outbursts the sound was welcome.
Znaider delivered this performance on the 18th century Guarneri “del Gesu” that Fritz Kreisler played as his primary instrument from 1904-1919. The instrument had an amazingly rich and varied low register and seems to sing with a choir of musical ghosts.
Bernard Haitink was the scheduled conductor, but he needed to cancel due to illness, so the young Slovakian conductor Juraj Valcuha got the call. Valcuha projected confidence and led the orchestra with cerebral elegance throughout the evening.
Valcuha did have trouble holding the Philharmoniker back in several moments of the work, like the opening of the third movement, where the dynamic level was too loud and the sound was too heavy. But Valcuha and Znaider also chose to "cut away" the sense of parody in the finale that many interpretations seek. They played the music with a soulful and sexy dance energy and when the the great dark force that closes the movement swept through it seemed a culmination rather than a contradiction.
Valcuha was able to shift around the program that Haitink had planned, which included the Eroica Symphony. The Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 1 and Weber's Euryanthe Overture were tasty choices, and seemed much more interesting than the previously scheduled fare.
It became an evening of magical transitions.
The Euryanthe Overture opened its development with whispered music for 8 muted solo violins in colors that shifted with smoky edges through several minor keys. Somehow this passage seemed to speak directly to the retransition in the first movement of the Tchaikovsky symphony where an elemental and sparse pattern of syncopated intervals emerged from an otherwise logical development section.
The finale of the Tchaikovsky first symphony has an interpretive challenge. The introduction is long...and it returns at the end of the movement. But Valcuha led us perfectly from this return through another magical transition: rising chromatic lines that slowly pulled the music away, and pointed it with great skill toward the allegro vivo sprint that ended the work in breathless euphoria.
It was a program of works that harmonized. Listen again to the opening of the Sibelius concerto, and then the opening of the first movement of the Tchaikovsky. Right?
Valcuha was not only confident onstage, through some clever concert programming he started his success even before he arrived. That was a magical transition in its own right.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
A Meditation on April by Tchaikovsky, Nicholas Breton, and Daniela Negrini
The Russian magazine "Nouvellist" commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short piano pieces inspired by the each of the twelve months. The corresponding music appeared in each publication in 1876. Collected in publication later the work became "The Seasons," Op. 37a.
April was nicknamed after after the flower called "snowdrops" which are grown from bulbs and appear quickly in the spring, not long after real snowdrops disappear. But Tchaikovsky's April seems a juxtaposition of an exterior and interior expressions. It is music that obsesses and occasionally gets stuck in its own patterns. It is a delight:
The exterior quality of the music is expressed in the first phrase as the bass and treble lines push away from one another in gentle contrary motion. Watch carefully as Daniela's hand slowly drift apart during the first twelve seconds of this video. She instinctively pulls her hands off the keyboard.
Now the music turns inward. Literally. The melody [0:14] emerges from the thumbs as is set within the harmony. Eccentric melodic gaps are developed from the octaves that cadenced the first phrase. These gaps are windows. They allow the music from one phrase to see, and almost touch the music from the other. At [0:26] music from the second phrase is repeated creating a song-like [ABB] structure.
The English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626) did not include conflicted ideas when he wrote about April in his book "The Twelve Moneths."
"It is now April," wrote Breton, "and the nightengale begins to tune her throat against May: the sunny showers perfume the aire, and the bees begin to goe abroad for honey."
He writes of the "Shepheards pipe [that] entertaines the Princesse of Arcadia." Maybe Tchaikovsky imagined a similar pipe in the central section of April [0:39]. The music oscillates between G minor and D minor over eight measures before further expanding upon the characteristic gaps [0:52] that are so much a part of the sound of this movement.
"Faith and troth make the true lovers knot," writes Breton, " and the youthfull cheeks are as red as a cherry: It were a world to set downe the worth of this moneth: But in summe, I thus conclude, I hold it the Heavens blessing, and the Earths comfort. Farewell."
April was nicknamed after after the flower called "snowdrops" which are grown from bulbs and appear quickly in the spring, not long after real snowdrops disappear. But Tchaikovsky's April seems a juxtaposition of an exterior and interior expressions. It is music that obsesses and occasionally gets stuck in its own patterns. It is a delight:
The exterior quality of the music is expressed in the first phrase as the bass and treble lines push away from one another in gentle contrary motion. Watch carefully as Daniela's hand slowly drift apart during the first twelve seconds of this video. She instinctively pulls her hands off the keyboard.
Now the music turns inward. Literally. The melody [0:14] emerges from the thumbs as is set within the harmony. Eccentric melodic gaps are developed from the octaves that cadenced the first phrase. These gaps are windows. They allow the music from one phrase to see, and almost touch the music from the other. At [0:26] music from the second phrase is repeated creating a song-like [ABB] structure.
The English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626) did not include conflicted ideas when he wrote about April in his book "The Twelve Moneths."
"It is now April," wrote Breton, "and the nightengale begins to tune her throat against May: the sunny showers perfume the aire, and the bees begin to goe abroad for honey."
He writes of the "Shepheards pipe [that] entertaines the Princesse of Arcadia." Maybe Tchaikovsky imagined a similar pipe in the central section of April [0:39]. The music oscillates between G minor and D minor over eight measures before further expanding upon the characteristic gaps [0:52] that are so much a part of the sound of this movement.
"Faith and troth make the true lovers knot," writes Breton, " and the youthfull cheeks are as red as a cherry: It were a world to set downe the worth of this moneth: But in summe, I thus conclude, I hold it the Heavens blessing, and the Earths comfort. Farewell."
Sunday, March 13, 2011
"Deep Crazy;" Review of The LA Phil Live in HD
“For Hamlet,” said conductor Gustavo Dudamel, “you have to feel DEEP CRAZY.”
Dudamel was talking about the fantasy overture, the last of three written by Tchaikovsky--all inspired by Shakespearean plays. But "deep crazy" might have just as easily been used to describe the concept of programming all three works on a single event...played without intermission.
It worked.
Before any music was sounded we heard Matthew Rhys recite two welded monologues as Hamlet. Rhys set a breathtaking energy in motion that led us naturally into sound as the enigmatic fantasy overture began.
"The silence is so important," said Dudamel in preconcert footage, "it is always the feeling of...WHY?"
The orchestra focused on these silences, and each the 8th rests in the strange figure that falls away after the very first presentation of the opening fate motive seemed carefully sculpted. As the performance unfolded it became clear that Dudamel was shaping the score like a work by Mahler; shaping lines and twists to edge the philosophical.
Ok, now for more deep crazy: follow the Hamlet overture in F minor with another overture by Tchaikovsky (also in F minor): The Symphonic Fantasia on the Tempest. As if by the magic that powers the tempest this worked also.
There was no applause that separated the works, and with only a brief narration we were set upon the waters that open Tchaikovsky's Tempest. It worked because it felt like a developmental continuation of Hamlet.
In this early work, Dudamel found and voiced the non-Shakespearean influences that moved Tchaikovsky--a mixture of exact opposites combined in a single work--the style of Wagner and the style of Mendelssohn. The attitudes of both composers felt blended and almost reconciled in this elegant but dramatic performance.
Cheers to the section strings for the 21st century clarity in the rhythmic interplay of the opening texture. The precise frictions of this passage generated a platform to launch this second of the three overtures.
Orlando Bloom (as Romeo) and Anika Noni Rose (as Juliet) gave us a narrative blend that harmonized with the musical blend in the final work of the event: the famous Romeo & Juliet Fantasy Overture.
This production had a technical elegance in the camera angles that was lacking in the first transmission last January. The preconcert footage was informative and colorful. Only the post-concert questions came up short--we just wanted to decompress and, if anything, talk with the folks who had just performed. The questions were banal and distracting in this context.
But this was it. This event realized some of the massive potential in this new medium. I am already looking forward to the next transmission on June 5.
Dudamel was talking about the fantasy overture, the last of three written by Tchaikovsky--all inspired by Shakespearean plays. But "deep crazy" might have just as easily been used to describe the concept of programming all three works on a single event...played without intermission.
It worked.
Before any music was sounded we heard Matthew Rhys recite two welded monologues as Hamlet. Rhys set a breathtaking energy in motion that led us naturally into sound as the enigmatic fantasy overture began.
"The silence is so important," said Dudamel in preconcert footage, "it is always the feeling of...WHY?"
The orchestra focused on these silences, and each the 8th rests in the strange figure that falls away after the very first presentation of the opening fate motive seemed carefully sculpted. As the performance unfolded it became clear that Dudamel was shaping the score like a work by Mahler; shaping lines and twists to edge the philosophical.
Ok, now for more deep crazy: follow the Hamlet overture in F minor with another overture by Tchaikovsky (also in F minor): The Symphonic Fantasia on the Tempest. As if by the magic that powers the tempest this worked also.
There was no applause that separated the works, and with only a brief narration we were set upon the waters that open Tchaikovsky's Tempest. It worked because it felt like a developmental continuation of Hamlet.
In this early work, Dudamel found and voiced the non-Shakespearean influences that moved Tchaikovsky--a mixture of exact opposites combined in a single work--the style of Wagner and the style of Mendelssohn. The attitudes of both composers felt blended and almost reconciled in this elegant but dramatic performance.
Cheers to the section strings for the 21st century clarity in the rhythmic interplay of the opening texture. The precise frictions of this passage generated a platform to launch this second of the three overtures.
Orlando Bloom (as Romeo) and Anika Noni Rose (as Juliet) gave us a narrative blend that harmonized with the musical blend in the final work of the event: the famous Romeo & Juliet Fantasy Overture.
This production had a technical elegance in the camera angles that was lacking in the first transmission last January. The preconcert footage was informative and colorful. Only the post-concert questions came up short--we just wanted to decompress and, if anything, talk with the folks who had just performed. The questions were banal and distracting in this context.
But this was it. This event realized some of the massive potential in this new medium. I am already looking forward to the next transmission on June 5.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
A Meditation on January by Tchaikovsky
The Russian magazine "Nouvellist" commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short piano pieces inspired by the each of the twelve months. The corresponding music appeared in each publication in 1876. Collected in publication later the work became "The Seasons," Op. 37a.
It is a month of surprises and unexpected deflections in the Tchaikovsky setting, and even the innocent opening phrase leans obliquely into A major. Developmental continuation [0:27] is accelerated [0:35] using tasty half-diminished sevenths in a strange sequence from A-flat to C major and culminates [0:43] in a quickly articulated sequence of flat-ninth chords. We just barely make the return [0:50].
"It is now January," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "& Time beginnes to turne on the wheele of his Reuolution." His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," becomes filled with thoughts of sleep and of food:
"The Hedgehogge," writes Breton, "rowles up himselfe like a football. [...] Downe beds and quilted cappes are now in the pride of their seruice."
"The Hare after a course makes his hearse in a pye: the shoulder of a hog is a shooing horne to good drink."
Tchaikovsky seems to think in the dualities of January in the sexy central section beginning at [1:13]. We hear C major and E minor juxtaposed in radically different figurations. We are missing the resolution of the augmented sixth chord that would provide logical connection between the two. Ideas are repeated in disbelief.
This music swirls like an echo of the first section's deflection and ends in the mists of Schumann. Restatement [2:09] sounds as cold as it did before, though this time we find the dominant of E minor [2:29] which becomes V/V for our return [2:53].
"To conclude," writes Breton, "I hold it a time of little comfort, the rich mans charge and the poore mans misery. Farewell."
It is a month of surprises and unexpected deflections in the Tchaikovsky setting, and even the innocent opening phrase leans obliquely into A major. Developmental continuation [0:27] is accelerated [0:35] using tasty half-diminished sevenths in a strange sequence from A-flat to C major and culminates [0:43] in a quickly articulated sequence of flat-ninth chords. We just barely make the return [0:50].
"It is now January," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "& Time beginnes to turne on the wheele of his Reuolution." His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," becomes filled with thoughts of sleep and of food:
"The Hedgehogge," writes Breton, "rowles up himselfe like a football. [...] Downe beds and quilted cappes are now in the pride of their seruice."
"The Hare after a course makes his hearse in a pye: the shoulder of a hog is a shooing horne to good drink."
Tchaikovsky seems to think in the dualities of January in the sexy central section beginning at [1:13]. We hear C major and E minor juxtaposed in radically different figurations. We are missing the resolution of the augmented sixth chord that would provide logical connection between the two. Ideas are repeated in disbelief.
This music swirls like an echo of the first section's deflection and ends in the mists of Schumann. Restatement [2:09] sounds as cold as it did before, though this time we find the dominant of E minor [2:29] which becomes V/V for our return [2:53].
"To conclude," writes Breton, "I hold it a time of little comfort, the rich mans charge and the poore mans misery. Farewell."
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Thinking December with Tchaikovsky
The Russian magazine "Nouvellist" commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short piano pieces inspired by the each of the twelve months. The corresponding music appeared in each publication in 1876. Collected in publication later the work became "The Seasons," Op. 37a.
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. December was inspired by images of Christmas. An additional epigraph from Korney Chukovsky sets the mood:
Décembre: Noël
Once upon a Christmas night the girls were telling fortunes:
taking their slippers off their feet and throwing them out of the gate.
Tchaikovsky celebrates the holiday season with a festive waltz memorable for its hesitation on the third beat of the second phrase [0:18]. This "molto ritardando" emphasizes all three beats of the measure, but when the waltz tempo resumes we want to hear the measure as a hypermetric downbeat and yet it is an upbeat because it is the cadence of a four-bar phrase. Our sense of dancing is confounded. Pleasantly confounded.
This sense of being confounded is developed in the transition beginning at [0:34]. Ideas are sequenced and cycled, cut and folded. A measure is dropped [0:42] and we enter the contrasting waltz [0:46] propelled and worried about tripping.
"It is now December," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "and hee that walkes the streets, shall find durt on his shooes."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of hard edges and even of suffering. "Now Hennes, beside Turkies, Geese and Duckes, besides beefe and Mutton, must all die for the great feast, for in twelue dayes a multitude of people will not be fed with a little."
But his mood lifts: "Now plummes and spice, Sugar and Hiney, square it among pies and broth, and Gossip I drinke to you, and I pray you bee merrie."
What about last minute shopping in 1626? "Strange stuffes will be well sold, strange tales well told,strange sights much sought, strange things much bought, and what else as fals out."
"To conclude," writes Breton, "I hold it the costly Purueyour of Excesse, and the after breeder of necessitie, the practice of Folly, and the Purgatory of Reason. Farewell."
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. December was inspired by images of Christmas. An additional epigraph from Korney Chukovsky sets the mood:
Décembre: Noël
Once upon a Christmas night the girls were telling fortunes:
taking their slippers off their feet and throwing them out of the gate.
Tchaikovsky celebrates the holiday season with a festive waltz memorable for its hesitation on the third beat of the second phrase [0:18]. This "molto ritardando" emphasizes all three beats of the measure, but when the waltz tempo resumes we want to hear the measure as a hypermetric downbeat and yet it is an upbeat because it is the cadence of a four-bar phrase. Our sense of dancing is confounded. Pleasantly confounded.
This sense of being confounded is developed in the transition beginning at [0:34]. Ideas are sequenced and cycled, cut and folded. A measure is dropped [0:42] and we enter the contrasting waltz [0:46] propelled and worried about tripping.
"It is now December," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "and hee that walkes the streets, shall find durt on his shooes."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of hard edges and even of suffering. "Now Hennes, beside Turkies, Geese and Duckes, besides beefe and Mutton, must all die for the great feast, for in twelue dayes a multitude of people will not be fed with a little."
But his mood lifts: "Now plummes and spice, Sugar and Hiney, square it among pies and broth, and Gossip I drinke to you, and I pray you bee merrie."
What about last minute shopping in 1626? "Strange stuffes will be well sold, strange tales well told,strange sights much sought, strange things much bought, and what else as fals out."
"To conclude," writes Breton, "I hold it the costly Purueyour of Excesse, and the after breeder of necessitie, the practice of Folly, and the Purgatory of Reason. Farewell."
Monday, November 1, 2010
Thinking November with Tchaikovsky
The Russian magazine "Nouvellist" commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short piano pieces inspired by the each of the twelve months. The corresponding music appeared in each publication in 1876. Collected in publication later the work became "The Seasons," Op. 37a.
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. November was inspired by images of carriage rides. It is called Troika, which was a distinctive carraige drawn by drawn by three horses that were harnessed side-by-side. An additional epigraph from Nikolay Nekrasov adds a sense of the cautionary:
In your loneliness do not look at the road,
and do not rush out after the troika.
Suppress at once and forever the fear of longing in your heart.
Lev Oborin (1907-1974) was the winner of the inaugural International Frédéric Chopin Piano Competition in 1927. He studied with Busoni, and is known to most music lovers for his collaborations with violinist David Oistrakh.
This is the cold war November. One is reminded at [0:17] and again in the strange symmetry of forced naturalness at [2:34]. One imagines the finale of Shostakovich's fifth symphony--a sense of forced consensus, forced enjoyment: "Suppress at once and forever the fear of longing in your heart."
This performance sings the pentatonic folksiness of the opening tune, and develops balanced discourse into the texture during the counterstatement at [0:29]. The celebratory restatement at [0:50] is where the sense of sadness woven into into this occasion seems most discordant with the music itself.
"It is now November," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "and according to the prouerbe, Let the Thresher take his flayle, and the ship no longer sail: for the high winds and the rough seas will try the ribs of the shippe, and the hearts of the sailors."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of the "countrey people" coming to market, and of the onset of the cold. "Schollers before breakfast haue a cold stomacke to their bookes...the Winds now are cold, and the Ayre chill, and the poore die through want of Charitie. In summe, with a conceit of the chilling cold of it, I thus conclude in it: I hold it the discomfort of Nature, and Reasons patience. Farewell."
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. November was inspired by images of carriage rides. It is called Troika, which was a distinctive carraige drawn by drawn by three horses that were harnessed side-by-side. An additional epigraph from Nikolay Nekrasov adds a sense of the cautionary:
In your loneliness do not look at the road,
and do not rush out after the troika.
Suppress at once and forever the fear of longing in your heart.
Lev Oborin (1907-1974) was the winner of the inaugural International Frédéric Chopin Piano Competition in 1927. He studied with Busoni, and is known to most music lovers for his collaborations with violinist David Oistrakh.
This is the cold war November. One is reminded at [0:17] and again in the strange symmetry of forced naturalness at [2:34]. One imagines the finale of Shostakovich's fifth symphony--a sense of forced consensus, forced enjoyment: "Suppress at once and forever the fear of longing in your heart."
This performance sings the pentatonic folksiness of the opening tune, and develops balanced discourse into the texture during the counterstatement at [0:29]. The celebratory restatement at [0:50] is where the sense of sadness woven into into this occasion seems most discordant with the music itself.
"It is now November," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "and according to the prouerbe, Let the Thresher take his flayle, and the ship no longer sail: for the high winds and the rough seas will try the ribs of the shippe, and the hearts of the sailors."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of the "countrey people" coming to market, and of the onset of the cold. "Schollers before breakfast haue a cold stomacke to their bookes...the Winds now are cold, and the Ayre chill, and the poore die through want of Charitie. In summe, with a conceit of the chilling cold of it, I thus conclude in it: I hold it the discomfort of Nature, and Reasons patience. Farewell."
Friday, October 1, 2010
Thinking October with Tchaikovsky
The Russian magazine "Nouvellist" commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short piano pieces inspired by the each of the twelve months. The corresponding music appeared in each publication in 1876. Collected in publication later the work became "The Seasons," Op. 37a.
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. October was inspired by images of transition. An additional epigraph was given based on a phrase from Tolstoy:
"Autumn, falling down on our poor orchid,
the yellow leaves are flying in the wind."
In this wonderful live recording by Victor Goldberg, October emerges from an elusive and complex setting that floats like a falling leaf--there are turns and twists; updrafts. But settling is clear even if the dominant is delayed and resisted. There is no stillness until the very second of the arrival in D minor [0:32] which opens on the music of a new scene.
The new setting is a variation set as an operatic duet. The tune is now in the tenor. The soprano voices an unsettled sense inspired by the melodic minor scale balanced by a framing that becomes part of a chordal structure. The soprano is singing of transformation where horizontal becomes vertical.
The second half of the variation both echos and unravels, cadencing in d minor, again at the very last instant. Goldberg carries the independence of these two lines with exquisite gracefulness.
The central section [1:05] is a development that unfolds in a embedded patterning. The music unfolds in waves and echos; each measure bearing a relationship in gesture to the one before it. A central phrase is reached at [1:30] that is repeated [1:49] before the final phrase focuses us on D minor once again.
In the completion of a larger-scale embedded pattern, the music of the first section is repeated without change [2:28]. But a magical moment happens during the codetta [3:38]. The music quiets and becomes chant-like, obsessing on the sound of B-flat resolving to A, until an unexpected push up to C (the 7th scale degree) forces an unsettled close in whisper music.
"It is now October," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "and the lofty windes make bare the trees of their leaues, while the hogs in the Woods grow fat with falne Acorns."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of the differences between those who have harvested and those who have not: "the multitude of people raiseth the price of wares & the smoothe tongue will sell much...but the poore must not beg for feare of the stocks. Dancing and fencing are now in some use, and kind hearts and true louers lye close, to keepe off the cold: the titmouse now keepes in the hollow tree, and the black bird sits close in the bottome of a hedge. In briefe, for the fresh pleasure I find in it, I thus conclude of it: I hold it a messenger of ill newes, and a second seruice to a cold dinner. Farewell."
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. October was inspired by images of transition. An additional epigraph was given based on a phrase from Tolstoy:
"Autumn, falling down on our poor orchid,
the yellow leaves are flying in the wind."
In this wonderful live recording by Victor Goldberg, October emerges from an elusive and complex setting that floats like a falling leaf--there are turns and twists; updrafts. But settling is clear even if the dominant is delayed and resisted. There is no stillness until the very second of the arrival in D minor [0:32] which opens on the music of a new scene.
The new setting is a variation set as an operatic duet. The tune is now in the tenor. The soprano voices an unsettled sense inspired by the melodic minor scale balanced by a framing that becomes part of a chordal structure. The soprano is singing of transformation where horizontal becomes vertical.
The second half of the variation both echos and unravels, cadencing in d minor, again at the very last instant. Goldberg carries the independence of these two lines with exquisite gracefulness.
The central section [1:05] is a development that unfolds in a embedded patterning. The music unfolds in waves and echos; each measure bearing a relationship in gesture to the one before it. A central phrase is reached at [1:30] that is repeated [1:49] before the final phrase focuses us on D minor once again.
In the completion of a larger-scale embedded pattern, the music of the first section is repeated without change [2:28]. But a magical moment happens during the codetta [3:38]. The music quiets and becomes chant-like, obsessing on the sound of B-flat resolving to A, until an unexpected push up to C (the 7th scale degree) forces an unsettled close in whisper music.
"It is now October," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "and the lofty windes make bare the trees of their leaues, while the hogs in the Woods grow fat with falne Acorns."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of the differences between those who have harvested and those who have not: "the multitude of people raiseth the price of wares & the smoothe tongue will sell much...but the poore must not beg for feare of the stocks. Dancing and fencing are now in some use, and kind hearts and true louers lye close, to keepe off the cold: the titmouse now keepes in the hollow tree, and the black bird sits close in the bottome of a hedge. In briefe, for the fresh pleasure I find in it, I thus conclude of it: I hold it a messenger of ill newes, and a second seruice to a cold dinner. Farewell."
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Thinking September with Tchaikovsky; the Summers farewell
The Russian magazine "Nouvellist" commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short piano pieces inspired by the each of the twelve months. The corresponding music appeared in each publication in 1876.
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. September was inspired by the hunt. An additional epigraph was given based on a phrase from a poem by Pushkin:
"It is time!
The horns are sounding!
The hunters in their hunting dress are mounted on their horses;
in early dawn the borzois are jumping."
September is set in fanfares and blazing sound.
The theme appears first in the bass. Its excitement is set in conflicts: measures cast in triplets alternate with measures in duple rhythms. Harmonies in inversion surprise where one would expect to hear root position. "It is time," says the poem, and this is music in motion.
A restatement is given with the melody set an octave higher [0:15]. An E-flat surprises us with bright augmented color in the left-hand that remains no less startling as it resolves to D. Energy scatters and reforms as the hands are set against one another [0:22]. One final octave transformation leads the melody into a grand fanfare [0:32] that is also restated [0:38] before culminating in a passage of reflections.
The central section of September [0:58] is more development than other central sections we have heard over the last several months. It allows the triplet gestures to be placed together in longer strings, first heard as a bass passage [1:14] and later as melodic figuration [1:18].
The final section [1:44] is an echo of the first modified only for the final two chords. September is focused, deliberate, and intensely active.
"It is now September," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "and the sunne begins to fall much from his height, the medowes are left bare, by the mouthes of hungary cattell."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of preparations: "Paper, pen & inke are much in request [...] Coales and wood make toward the chimney...In briefe, I thus conclude of it, I hold it the Winters forewarning, and the Summers farewell. Adieu."
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. September was inspired by the hunt. An additional epigraph was given based on a phrase from a poem by Pushkin:
"It is time!
The horns are sounding!
The hunters in their hunting dress are mounted on their horses;
in early dawn the borzois are jumping."
September is set in fanfares and blazing sound.
The theme appears first in the bass. Its excitement is set in conflicts: measures cast in triplets alternate with measures in duple rhythms. Harmonies in inversion surprise where one would expect to hear root position. "It is time," says the poem, and this is music in motion.
A restatement is given with the melody set an octave higher [0:15]. An E-flat surprises us with bright augmented color in the left-hand that remains no less startling as it resolves to D. Energy scatters and reforms as the hands are set against one another [0:22]. One final octave transformation leads the melody into a grand fanfare [0:32] that is also restated [0:38] before culminating in a passage of reflections.
The central section of September [0:58] is more development than other central sections we have heard over the last several months. It allows the triplet gestures to be placed together in longer strings, first heard as a bass passage [1:14] and later as melodic figuration [1:18].
The final section [1:44] is an echo of the first modified only for the final two chords. September is focused, deliberate, and intensely active.
"It is now September," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626), "and the sunne begins to fall much from his height, the medowes are left bare, by the mouthes of hungary cattell."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of preparations: "Paper, pen & inke are much in request [...] Coales and wood make toward the chimney...In briefe, I thus conclude of it, I hold it the Winters forewarning, and the Summers farewell. Adieu."
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Thinking August with Tchaikovsky
The Russian magazine "Nouvellist" commissioned Tchaikovsky to write twelve short piano pieces inspired by the each of the twelve months. The corresponding music appeared in each publication in 1876.
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. August was inspired by the "song of the harvest." An additional epigraph was given based on a phrase from a poem by Aleksey Koltsov:
August is full of fiery intensity and can be a spectacular showpiece. This performance is by the young Natalia Bezuglova, a Russian pianist who has already started to attract attention on the competition circuit.
August oscillates. Twice the opening section shifts between the vibrant chords of the opening measures to the widely spaced bass [0:06] of the second four measures. This phrase pair then oscillates to a syncopated development [0:15] which is stretched to five four-bar phrases before returning to the first theme [0:31]. The music breaks from oscillation [0:37] to create a cadenza closing for this section.
The central section is a collision: D major appears without warning. Gentle lyricism and extended rhythms seem super-charged after the aerobic energy of the music we have heard. Oscillation is developed by altering it toward dialog, with descending lines [1:01] balanced by rising lines [1:12], then a tow-bar ideas are echoed between the hands.
The return [2:18] becomes another oscillation.
"The pipe and the Taber is now lustily set on worke," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626) about August, "and the Lad and the Lasse will haue no lead on their heeles."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of harvests and reaping in August: "the new Wheat makes the Gossips Cake [...] and the Garland of Flowers crownes the Captain of the Reapers...In summe, for that I find, I thus conclude, I hold it the worlds welfare, and the earths Warming-pan. Farewell."
The editor chose subtitles that set the mood for each month. August was inspired by the "song of the harvest." An additional epigraph was given based on a phrase from a poem by Aleksey Koltsov:
"The harvest has grown,
people in families cutting tall rye down to the root!
Put together haystacks,
music screeching all night from the hauling carts."
August is full of fiery intensity and can be a spectacular showpiece. This performance is by the young Natalia Bezuglova, a Russian pianist who has already started to attract attention on the competition circuit.
August oscillates. Twice the opening section shifts between the vibrant chords of the opening measures to the widely spaced bass [0:06] of the second four measures. This phrase pair then oscillates to a syncopated development [0:15] which is stretched to five four-bar phrases before returning to the first theme [0:31]. The music breaks from oscillation [0:37] to create a cadenza closing for this section.
The central section is a collision: D major appears without warning. Gentle lyricism and extended rhythms seem super-charged after the aerobic energy of the music we have heard. Oscillation is developed by altering it toward dialog, with descending lines [1:01] balanced by rising lines [1:12], then a tow-bar ideas are echoed between the hands.
The return [2:18] becomes another oscillation.
"The pipe and the Taber is now lustily set on worke," wrote English writer Nicholas Breton (1545-1626) about August, "and the Lad and the Lasse will haue no lead on their heeles."
His entry, from "The Twelve Moneths," talks of harvests and reaping in August: "the new Wheat makes the Gossips Cake [...] and the Garland of Flowers crownes the Captain of the Reapers...In summe, for that I find, I thus conclude, I hold it the worlds welfare, and the earths Warming-pan. Farewell."
Friday, July 9, 2010
What Women Want and a Waltz; on the Met's 2007 Eugene Onegin
In the film "What Women Want" starring Mel Gibson and Helen Hunt, Nick Marshall (Gibson) catches voltage when both he and a hair-dryer fall into a tub [0:17]:
As a result he can hear what women think.
Without the voltage, Eugene Onegin (Dimitri Hvorostovsky) channels his inner Mel Gibson during the Act II waltz from the 2007 Met broadcast. The dancers are so beautifully compressed on the huge Met stage [0:49] that thoughts of both male and female dancers are squeezed out. They sing in wegotisms:
"This is superb! We never expected such great company, and dancing....to a band!" The camera is swept to a gentleman sitting on the periphery. This is the poet Lansky (played by Ramón Vargas) who is lost in a book.
A trio. The men sing a phrase while the women are motionless and outside of time. The men sing collective thoughts--"festive occasions are rare in the country, hunting is more typical, it is nice to get a break from the hound and the hare." The music swings from D major to G major and hunting horns sound in the background.
Balance. The guys are now motionless, while the women sing collectively--"That's what guys think is fun--shooting and fishing and getting up early. They come home exhausted when we're looking for fun." The women sing B minor in triads that rub against the bass.
The younger women call on Captain Petrovich to tell them the name of his regiment. He replies "Sure, but why aren't you dancing?" "No one has asked us." "In that case the pleasure is mine!"
When the first strain of the waltz returns as does the key of D major, and the camera pans out to view the entire ensemble. Tatiana (Renée Fleming) dances with Onegin, even though he rejected her in the most cruel way in the prior scene. Tension is palpable.
Onegin "Nick Marshall-izes" the crowd. The women around him think: "Look at them! How sad for Tatiana. If they get married she will find out that he is a tyrant...and I heard that he has a gambling problem..." Moments later they sting him worse; "He's most discourteous and conceited...they say he's a freemason...I hear he gets buzzed on wine all the time."
He hears their collective thoughts.
(Still, how gorgeous are those dresses? Michael Levine was the costume designer. )
Onegin moves outside the circle. His singing moves out-of-sync with the cycles of 4-bar phrases in the dance music. The music turns seamlessly developmental. Tchaikovsky knew how to mess with dance.
Onegin knows how to mess with Lansky. He dances and flirts with Lansky's girl Olga.
We hear the final return of the primary dance music, with the same satisfied text. But this time the design of the set distinguishes who is inside and who is outside. This time the music becomes unhinged with hemiolas and wicked chromatic progressions. This time the guests exit quickly from the diagonals leaving Lansky inside, alone and bewildered.
A storm causes Nick Marshall, from "What Women Want," to lose his gift. Onegin causes his own storms and becomes a victim of his gifts.
Without the voltage, Eugene Onegin (Dimitri Hvorostovsky) channels his inner Mel Gibson during the Act II waltz from the 2007 Met broadcast. The dancers are so beautifully compressed on the huge Met stage [0:49] that thoughts of both male and female dancers are squeezed out. They sing in wegotisms:
"This is superb! We never expected such great company, and dancing....to a band!" The camera is swept to a gentleman sitting on the periphery. This is the poet Lansky (played by Ramón Vargas) who is lost in a book.
A trio. The men sing a phrase while the women are motionless and outside of time. The men sing collective thoughts--"festive occasions are rare in the country, hunting is more typical, it is nice to get a break from the hound and the hare." The music swings from D major to G major and hunting horns sound in the background.
Balance. The guys are now motionless, while the women sing collectively--"That's what guys think is fun--shooting and fishing and getting up early. They come home exhausted when we're looking for fun." The women sing B minor in triads that rub against the bass.
The younger women call on Captain Petrovich to tell them the name of his regiment. He replies "Sure, but why aren't you dancing?" "No one has asked us." "In that case the pleasure is mine!"
When the first strain of the waltz returns as does the key of D major, and the camera pans out to view the entire ensemble. Tatiana (Renée Fleming) dances with Onegin, even though he rejected her in the most cruel way in the prior scene. Tension is palpable.
Onegin "Nick Marshall-izes" the crowd. The women around him think: "Look at them! How sad for Tatiana. If they get married she will find out that he is a tyrant...and I heard that he has a gambling problem..." Moments later they sting him worse; "He's most discourteous and conceited...they say he's a freemason...I hear he gets buzzed on wine all the time."
He hears their collective thoughts.
(Still, how gorgeous are those dresses? Michael Levine was the costume designer. )
Onegin moves outside the circle. His singing moves out-of-sync with the cycles of 4-bar phrases in the dance music. The music turns seamlessly developmental. Tchaikovsky knew how to mess with dance.
Onegin knows how to mess with Lansky. He dances and flirts with Lansky's girl Olga.
We hear the final return of the primary dance music, with the same satisfied text. But this time the design of the set distinguishes who is inside and who is outside. This time the music becomes unhinged with hemiolas and wicked chromatic progressions. This time the guests exit quickly from the diagonals leaving Lansky inside, alone and bewildered.
A storm causes Nick Marshall, from "What Women Want," to lose his gift. Onegin causes his own storms and becomes a victim of his gifts.
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