Friday, April 29, 2011

The Devil Went Down to Venice

Screeeeeeeeeeeech! Shreeeeeeeeee! Scraaaaaaaaaatch! That’s not noise, that’s music-making at its most diabolical. Literally. Giuseppe Tartini’s four-movement Devil Trill Sonata is a sonic nightmare (again, literally) prompted by the restless nocturnal wanderings of a mind gripped by the dark side of Catholic doctrine. Let’s let the maestro tell it:

"One night, in the year 1713 I dreamed I had made a pact with the devil for my soul. Everything went as I wished: my new servant anticipated my every desire. Among other things, I gave him my violin to see if he could play. How great was my astonishment on hearing a sonata so wonderful and so beautiful, played with such great art and intelligence, as I had never even conceived in my boldest flights of fantasy. I felt enraptured, transported, enchanted: my breath failed me, and - I awoke. I immediately grasped my violin in order to retain, in part at least, the impression of my dream. In vain! The music which I at this time composed is indeed the best that I ever wrote, and I still call it the ‘Devil's Trill,’ but the difference between it and that which so moved me is so great that I would have destroyed my instrument and have said farewell to music forever if it had been possible for me to live without the enjoyment it affords me."

So he didn’t quite capture the tune he heard in his dream, but Tartini shouldn’t have been so hard on himself. What he did manage to produce is still a gripping piece of music. The opening notes set the scene; the composer is consumed with longing and perhaps a dash of melancholy. The mood brightens briefly, suggesting the beauty that Tartini may have experienced in his dream. But just when you think things are looking up for our musical narrator, Skreeeeeeeeeeeee! That’s right; this work is a skreeeeeeee-for-all in its early stages.

But the twists and turns don’t end there. The battle between wistfulness and optimistic beauty – as suggested by frequent shifts in tempo and major/minor notes – rages on with no clear winner. In the second movement, we’re treated to a jumpy little theme as the notes pile up, producing a textured sound that keeps getting bigger and bigger. Before long, we find ourselves running at break-neck speed along a rocky path with an every-shifting terrain beneath our feet. Where are we? Is this…? Could it be…? Are we in H-E-double hockey sticks? Yes we are. It may have a bad reputation, but from a sonic standpoint, it’s not so bad here.


Eventually, we find ourselves back on more solid ground. The mood once again turns melancholy, then snarky, then melancholy, snarky, etc. Finally, the trilling (this piece is called the Devil’s Trill, remember?) becomes too fast, too furious and too spooky. It all breaks down in the end and we’re left with echoes of the themes from earlier in the piece. Thank you for the strange trip, Tartini. It was fascinating. But next time, you may want to pop a No-Doz when you feel the urge to sleep. I’m not sure I can handle many more musical side effects of satanic visitations.

There are plenty of performances of this piece on YouTube, but the one I’ve been listening to is from here. To my untrained ear, it is technically flawless and emotionally charged – necessary skills for such a demanding and personal piece. This site is great, by the way. Old classical musical performances that are too old to be copyrighted. Check it out.

Recording notes:
Composer: Giuseppe Tartini
Works: Devil's Trill Sonata
Performer: Gerhard Taschner (violin), Unknown (piano)
Year: 1949

Monday, April 25, 2011

Striking Gould

In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t really know much about classical music. It is a recent interest of mine and, while I dig it, I think my appreciation of it is still very superficial. This blog, therefore, is me learning out loud. Now, I have no business comparing myself to Glenn Gould, so I won’t even try. But I will say this: I believe his interpretations of the classics are also an example of learning out loud. Or possibly teaching out loud. His somewhat mechanical style is a very precise, technical way to explore the music he’s performing. It doesn’t always click with me on a deep, spiritual level, but he certainly had the capacity to illuminate a work on a nuts-and-bolts level. He was very interested in discovering the “architecture” of music, and as such, listening to his playing is a great way for a novice enthusiast like me to become acquainted with the structure of the composition without pesky sentiment and romantic notions getting in the way.


That being said, there is plenty of soul-nourishing goodness to be gotten from Glenn Gould’s Bach Recital: Italian Concerto, Partita No. 4,Concerto in F Major, Toccata in E Minor. I checked this CD out from the library in my neighborhood several months ago, and I believe it is my favorite Gould recording at this point. Here’s why: as always, the unparalleled precision and tonal separation that draws attention to the counterpoint is there in full force (he’s the greatest henpecker who ever lived), but I believe some genuine, honest-to-goodness emotion sneaks through. It is this striking balance that I find satisfying on a psychic plane. Something no other Gould recording has yet accomplished.


Maybe he was in a good mood that day. Maybe the recording technicians had just gotten a raise. Maybe a lot of things. All I know is that this is Bach at his most technically demanding and Gould at his most laid back. It’s as if, confronted with the daunting task of tackling the partitas especially, Gould decided to take the path of least resistance. He doesn’t argue or fight with the music before him, he surveys, he accommodates and eventually, submits to the piece. He’s powerless to improve upon it. This frees up the Canadian wunderkind to approach the music honestly and openly, resulting in a reverential performance that is free of pretense and full of loving nuance. Baroque music always has a sense of forward motion, but rarely – in my limited experience – has the journey been so stirring. I think, at his best, Gould shows us a very good way to approach Bach. It doesn’t need adornment, it just needs clarity.

Recording notes:
Composer: Johann Sebastian Bach
Works: Partita No. 4 (BWV 828), Concerto in F Major (BWV 971), Toccata in E Minor (BWV 914)
Performer: Glenn Gould

Friday, April 22, 2011

Sightseeing with Beethoven

The office in which I work is located within smelling distance of Tsukiji, the world’s largest fish market. Every day, while walking from the train station to the office, I see (and tower over) tour groups of retirees stepping off of enormous busses as they are about to be led through a maze of stalls selling tuna, knives and other implements of culinary destruction. Who is leading them, you ask? This woman:

Courtesy of St Stev

Or another very much like her. These women tend to be informative and able to paint a pretty picture of the area they are showing. After having listened and re-listened to Beethoven’s sixth symphony for a few months now, I’m convinced that he could have been a terrific flag-wielding tour guide, you know, if the whole composing thing didn’t work out for him.

Before I even knew that this was his “pastoral” symphony, the pastoral nature of the work shone through, clear and bright. Rarely has music created such vivid images in my mind and I can’t think of a single example when the images matched up with the expressed intent of the composer so thoroughly. The maestro thoughtfully included scene settings for the score to inform musicians and listeners about what he was imagining while composing:
  1. Erwachen heiterer Empfindungen bei der Ankunft auf dem Lande (Awakening of cheerful feelings upon arrival in the country): Allegro ma non troppo
  2. Szene am Bach (Scene at the brook): Andante molto mosso
  3. Lustiges Zusammensein der Landleute (Happy gathering of country folk): Allegro
  4. Gewitter, Sturm (Thunderstorm; Storm): Allegro
  5. Hirtengesang. Frohe und dankbare Gefühle nach dem Sturm (Shepherds' song; cheerful and thankful feelings after the storm): Allegretto


    I appreciate the notes, but honestly, they are scarcely needed. Even without them, I had the feeling from the very first swell of the strings that I was descending into a flowery meadow. It was really quite remarkable. The “brook” movement is flowing and contemplative. The “folk” movement is, well, folksy and merry. As advertised. The storm changes the mood dramatically and, for my money, really and truly sounds like a storm. Finally, the clouds lift and the mood because simultaneously joyous and reverent. The country folk from the third movement are thankful for the passing of the storm, and they know exactly how to give it up to God.

    With every listen, there’s something new to discover (birds calling, thunder pealing, peasants dancing) but the terrain remains the same. Not only does this symphony transport me to another place, but another time. In an age of ubiquitous first-person shooters, take some time to relax and become a first-person country hiker. Beethoven, flag in hand, will be glad to show you the way.

    Find out more about the sixth here. This article does a good job explaining why this symphony is considered to be pastoral. The performance I am listening to (and am insanely in love with) is available here at archive.org:

    Recording notes:
    Composer: Ludwig van Beethoven
    Work: Symphony No. 6
    Conductor: Bruno Walter
    Performers: Columbia Symphony Orchestra
    Date: Jan. 13, 15, and 17, 1958

    Thursday, April 21, 2011

    What's Cheapskate Mozart?

    Truth be told, I started a blog once before, but it wasn’t sustainable. I had trouble writing insightful, engaging content about the subject of that blog – wine – due to budget and time constraints. Also, I’m pretty much over wine as something to obsess about. I still love the stuff, but I’ve found I’d rather drink it than write about it. Taking these factors into account, I’ve decided to start another blog based on something that I never have and never will tire of – music. And going one step further in order to negate financial considerations, I will only blog about music available for free on the Internet or from the libraries in my area. It’s a simple idea that also seems practical. No wine buying involved except as a mood enhancer.

    At this point, my natural tendency would be to write several more paragraphs about the ins and outs of what kind of music I’ll likely cover here (hint: it won’t be Mozart-centric) and what I plan to do with this blog in the future and why I like to write in the first place and… and… Stop! You don’t care yet. So I’ll leave it here and hopefully, we can gain some insight into music and deepen our appreciation together. Comments are welcome and appreciated.