New Year, Same Detritus

C’mon Tennessean! You’re telling me there’s no classical music news? Really?









No. Not really. (See last entry)








I suppose, in the end, it is nice that there is space for Mahler amidst the sea of other random crap. Though, it is a bit puzzling why the story “Angelina Jolie thinking about brief return to film” is found in both “Celebrities Headlines” and “Entertainment Headlines.” Whatever.

What about the Mahler? (Click) Sweet, a concert announcement:

Tonight and Saturday, the symphony will continue its presentation of "Mahler's Sixth."

Sixth what? The sixth double concerto for fife and ondes martenot? Symphonies don’t just play symphonies, you know! Or do you? Have you ever been inside a concert hall? I mean, just for the sake of your inexperienced concert-goers, it might be nice to say, without a doubt, that it is Mahler's Sixth Symphony, instead of just hinting at it.

I’m glad the Tennessean was able to find the best and brightest. Sheesh. Grammar—where to start? The quotations? A lesson in possessives? Titles? Nicknames?

I suppose, if you’re given space for only 130 words...

No. No excuses for poor grammar. Nor vocabulary. And especially not for a lack of musical expertise.

In addition Joseph Haydn's "59th Symphony" also will be performed.

Commas, anyone? Hello...

Also, “also” is redundant; it is the synonym of “in addition.” Don't forget to watch your word count.

Haydn (1732-1809) and Gustav Mahler (1860-1911) are from Austria...

So far, so good, Google.

...with Haydn frequently referred to as "the father of the symphony" for having penned more than 100 pieces.

(rolls eyes) I’ve written nearly one-hundred pieces. Does that mean I’m almost a father?

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And another little Tennessean promo about the same concert:

While neither piece, thematically speaking, will necessarily start your 2009 off with a big Cheshire grin, Haydn’s Symphony No. 59 in A major “Fire” and Mahler’s Symphony No. 6 in A minor “Tragic” remain two enduring examples of brilliance from two of classical music’s masters.

Instead of watching Barack Obama give his inaugural speech, we’re going to show archival footage of his fifth grade book report. It’s not thematically as good, but he got an A on it.

Way to sell it, people. Tickets start from $15 and go up to $85! Enjoy!
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Exciting Economic Report

Before I get going, I need to apologize for two things. One, I try to make it a policy to only go after music critics who write reviews (or, as in the previous post, critics who make “liberal” use of the word review)—those who write for major daily newspapers. Unfortunately, I stumbled across this clunker, which is from an opinion blog associated with the L.A. Times. However, its author, Tim Cavanaugh, is widely respected for his political blog and opinions; so I don’t feel that bad. And this time, he says some strange things about music. Second, I don’t like going after the blogs of bloggers. But, I can’t resist. So I’m forgoing ethics, just this once, hopefully. Sorry.

I’m sure that it goes without saying that music, especially “classical” music, is not terribly profitable, which forces or, more likely, directs composers to seek financial stability in academia. Tim Cavanaugh has a problem with this, as I do. But not for the same reasons.

Sound of money: free-market economies and long-hair music

Longhair does not need to be hyphenated. But I don’t care about that, this time. What’s important is that we’re going to discuss the free-market. Is it good for “classical” music? Is it bad? Something along those lines, anyway.

KUSC ran a richest-classical-composer feature a few days ago, which drew its top-10 list from a 2005 survey by a U.K. radio station.

There’s a link to this in Tim’s blog. In it, the survey adjusts composers’ salaries and commissions for inflation. Its purpose, to simply compare financial success among composers across different eras. And to Tim’s surprise some names were absent.

It's unlikely the numbers — which were apparently calculated in adjusted currencies — have changed much since then, so here's the list:

1. George Gershwin
2. Johann Strauss II
3. Giuseppe Verdi
4. Gioachino Rossini
5. George Frideric Handel
6. Joseph Haydn
7. Sergei Rachmaninoff
8. Giacomo Puccini
9. Niccolò Paganini
10. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Why is this interesting (to me at any rate)? Because longhair music is pretty much universally recognized as an art form that can't compete in an open market and must be supported through royal or (these days) public patronage. Yet this list is remarkable for the lack of patronage its members enjoyed.

A thesis! Financially successful composers were antithetical to general economic knowledge.

All but two of the composers on the list date to the industrial revolution or afterward, and the two who came earlier than that — Haydn and Handel — did plenty of lucrative for-profit work in Britain, which boasted the most liberal economy in Europe. Verdi, Rossini and Puccini were all piece-work producers who were less interested in pleasing the royal ear than in filling up the house with paying customers. Paganini and "Waltz King" Strauss were expert self-promoters and brand builders, Rachmaninoff made much of his fortune on recordings and performances, and Gershwin made it to the top of the list strictly by producing music for a large popular audience. I'm not sure he ever got a dime of public support.

For the most part, I agree with the above analysis. Those composers were, and still are, financially successful. These guys filled seats; in some cases, to do so, they pandered.

By comparison, Richard Wagner, another 19th-century rock star with a long list of patrons and supporters including a king who built the composer his own mansion and theme-park/mini-city, didn't make the list. That's a special irony given how massively popular Wagner was and still is, not just in opera houses but throughout the popular culture.

He is still popular, to a degree. What are we supposed to learn from this?

You could counter that money earned is no indication of musical achievement,

Yes. I could counter with that. But, then again, we weren’t talking about musical achievement. We were talking about how financially successful composers did not require patronage, thus bucking common knowledge off its horse.

and that wastrels like Wolfgang Mozart and Franz Schubert, or humble workers like J.S. Bach, would top a list of actual composing value.

They would. (I think “wastrel” is a little archaic. Don’t you?) So give some counterpoint, buddy boy.

True enough, but hardship and poverty are the default positions of human existence.

Like Jeb and his comatose brother.

It's success that's the unusual thing,

“Financial” success, not success, which we already knew, and agreed upon.

and the numbers here indicate [financial] success becomes a little more likely in a profit-centered environment.

In other words, in order to make a lot of money, i.e. be “financially” successful, you should focus on making a profit. Those words of wisdom would moisten Benjamin Graham’s eyes.

Interestingly, Gershwin and Rachmaninoff, who both died before the middle of the 20th century, are the most recent names on the list. Audience indifference has since encouraged classical composers to avoid the uncertainty of the marketplace;

There have always been only a few composers who wee able to make a living solely by composing—the lucky ones, like John Adams. Hell, even Beethoven taught piano lessons.

but maybe all those composers with academic sits would have been better off trying to make a bigger buck.

Again, his point: if you want to make a bigger buck, try to make a bigger buck. Foolproof! How come no one ever thought of this before?

What I find funny, though, is that many of the composers on the list wouldn’t necessarily be financially successful today, much less “in the canon,” without the exploitation of their music in commercials, television shows or movies.

So, I’d like to try an experiment. Guess the piece that I have linked with the composer. Are you correct? Have you it heard before? If so, where?

1. George Gershwin
2. Johann Strauss II
3. Guiseppe Verdi
4. Gioachino Rossini
5. George Frideric Handel
6. Joseph Haydn
7. Sergei Rachmaninoff
8. Giacomo Puccini
9. Niccolò Paganini
10. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Were you right? Okay, I admit that the Haydn is tough, and I could have found a better Rachmaninoff (but Shine crossed your mind, didn’t it?). Either way, can you think of a second melody by these guys? In some cases, I’m very hard pressed to do so. Now how about Beethoven, the financially crippled piano teacher? Of course you can.

I'm not entirely sure what I'm saying, except that the free-market influences the canon. And one hit wonders like Rachmaninoff, Leoncavallo and Pachabell benefit.
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Now This Is Tragic

Yes, “classical” music ticket sales are down, for the most part, which in my view is tragic—there’s so much worthwhile music and music-making around, even in the Denver Metro Area. Unfortunately, Denverites will never know about it, because the Colorado Symphony Orchestra’s presenters don’t “balance” well. As Sabine Kortals explains:

Friday’s concert by the Colorado Symphony Orchestra and conductor Peter Oundjian got me wondering about the balance between programming and the quality of a performance.

Ostensibly, we should be worried about something. I’m just not sure what it is yet; either the programming or the quality of the performance. I hope it’s neither.

No doubt, conductor and orchestra delivered supreme music-making in a trio of works by Joseph Haydn, Richard Wagner and Sergei Prokofiev.

Fantastic! The performance, as indicated by the title of the article—

CSO performance anything but tragic

-was quality. In fact, it was better than quality; it was supreme. And by some standards the programming was adequate, too. It represented three centuries, or periods, of music—classical, romantic and, well, neo-tonal, or something, I guess. Also, the fact that they even played a piece composed within the last one-hundred years is, considered sometimes, a miracle. Granted, it’s not terribly adventurous, but the programming seems balanced enough, to me. What then could be the problem, Sabine?

But, Boettcher Concert Hall was conspicuously empty for this program of orchestral masterpieces with the common theme of tragic love.

Well now I’m befuddled. The performance was supreme, right? The program was adequate, i.e. only “masterpieces” were programmed, right? So...? So the concert hall was empty, because of the theme, “tragic love?” Give me a minute, while I ruminate.

...

Okay, give me another.

...

Am I to understand that this concert’s audience-getting failure was induced by the audience’s apprehension about a particular topic, which the symphony presenters thought up? Tragic love? Sorry, I just don’t see the connection.

The Prokofiev was the ballet music for “Romeo and Juliet.” Tragic love, yes. Masterpiece, yes; the Wagner was from “Tristan und Isolde.” Tragic love, yes. Masterpiece, yes; the Haydn was “La Passione” Symphony. Tragic love, maybe. Masterpiece, sure.

This “tragic love” theme, while fairly arbitrary, does not seem like the problem here at all. What does Sabine think?

Would a more balanced program have made a difference?

She doesn’t know. I’m not sure she even knows what she means by balanced.

Or perhaps it was Opera Colorado’s opening of “Don Pasquale” the same night that diverted most CSO regulars?

Dammit! This bit of information could have been helpful earlier. I mean, I suppose that a number of CSO regulars might prefer opera to Prokofiev, in which case this “balance” of which you speak is a non-issue. The issue, then, would be “do people prefer opera to the symphony?”

Yet, I still find it odd that Kortals suggests that “tragic love” is the culprit. If you are not familiar with “Don Pasquale,” it is an opera buffo, or comic opera; it’s about funny love. So, if I’ve interpreted this correctly, Sabine implies that people prefer funny love to tragic love. I’d like to see the behavioral sciences study data. How tragically flawed.

Even so,

Even so?

the sparse showing at Boettcher was a pointed reminder that—no matter how fabulous are the musicians and their collective artistry—presenters must be ever mindful of the proclivities of their audience.

Translation: concert attendance was doomed, because the presenters failed to pander to their audience’s preference for funny love (opera), as opposed to tragic love (symphony).

This is a silly conclusion, at least compared to the original question. If you remember, Sabine wondered about the “balance between programming and the quality of a performance.” So, by Sabine’s logic, the performance had to be extremely extra-splendidly-awesomely-fantastically-better–than-anything-ever-ever supreme, in order to make up for the presenters’ funny love versus tragic love oversight.

All she had to say is that the presenters shouldn’t have scheduled a concert on the same night as the opening of an opera.

Now that’s tragic.

Me, Dances With Scherzo

It’s somewhat disturbing how critical reviews lack the relevant research, or references, often required to speak authoritatively about particular works. The results tend to be meaningless, gerund-ridden, adjective-laden fluff. Immediately, this comes to mind.

I was delighted, however, to come across this review by Tom Strini, who actually used a little analysis, albeit someone else’s, to shed some light on the mysteries of Beethoven’s First Symphony. The only problem here is that he attempts to translate the analysis for the average reader, which becomes intolerably insulting.

Musicologist Elaine Sisman [...] argues that Beethoven advanced a particular agenda in this symphony: He [sic] wanted to climb aboard the same pedestal as Haydn and Mozart. Beethoven did not choose the key of C major by accident. C was the key of the fanfare, of the declarative and robust. The “Jupiter” Symphony, Mozart’s 41st, final and most famous, is in C. So is Haydn’s Symphony No. 97, one of his best-known [sic] then and now.

Sisman believes Beethoven modeled his symphony on those two works. She cites the similar Mozart/Beethoven harmonic plans in their first-movement development sections, and she notes that both placed peculiar digressions into miasmic, tonally unstable minor mode [sic] between the second theme and the closing theme.

I have a couple of problems with Sisman’s assertions, but nothing major. Now, for us music illiterates, take it away Strini!

That sounds a little technical, but if you hear the piece this weekend, the creepiness of these passages will explain just what Sisman means.

One, the Milwaukee Symphony only played the Beethoven, not the Mozart. So I think it would have been extremely difficult to listen to both of the passages at the concert. Two, Sisman’s analysis wasn’t all that technical, if you ask me; all you needed to get was that there are structural similarities, particularly harmonic similarities, between the two opening movements’ middle sections. Three, how on this good, green Earth, if you actually had been able to compare the development sections, could a sense of “creepiness” confirm Sisman’s thesis? I mean, there’s Tom Cruise creepy; and then there’s Mel Gibson creepy.

She believes that both Mozart and Beethoven alluded to genre music from “ombra,” opera scenes among ghosts or in the underworld.

That could be creepy, I’ll admit. But I don’t understand how similar harmonic plans translate to creepiness. Could you please elaborate for me?

The ombra effect in the First Symphony is arresting, and foretells even spookier things to come in later symphonies.

It’s... eye-catching? That’s why it’s creepy? That’s how they’re similar? Beethoven gets creepier?

So much for that. Maybe Papa Haydn can teach us something.

One of Beethoven’s most striking effects in the First Symphony comes at the very beginning. He starts with a C7 chord; the B-flat within it is alien to C major and points to the key of F.

I’ll buy that. But, does this have something to do with how Beethoven tried to attain Mozartean or Haydnian status?

Beethoven feints tentatively toward this key and that, through 12 long, slow bars of introduction. He gives us a C chord in measure 8, but it doesn’t really feel like home.

So no. Thanks for the info. (sigh) Go on, then.

Finally, at the end of measure 12,

I’m starting to dislike how Strini never spells-out a number. My problem, I guess. Go on.

... the strings tumble into a root-position C, firmly establish the home key, tear off at a break-neck tempo and change the mood decisively.

I once wet my pants during first-grade square dancing. Naturally, I wanted to hide it; so, I remained seated on the floor. But that wicked, wicked teacher made me get up and dance. Boy was that embarrassing. My jeans were several shades darker than they once were. The girl with whom I was partnered squealed with disgust. Oh boy, here it comes; I thought to myself, “Jesus shit-Christ.” Of course, she pointed and laughed. By the time the whole class was rolling on the floor laughing at me, the teacher had grabbed me by the arm and whisked me away to the bathroom to clean up. I, too, can change the mood decisively.

Go on.

The moment is astonishing,

(unenthusiastically) Why?

... all the more so, because that C in measure 13 both supplies the relief of long-delayed resolution and launches an entirely new impulse.

I’m beginning to think that the whole I-researched-some-stuff-and-want-share-it-with-you thing is the wrong approach. Besides, whatever happened to his girlfriend, Sisman? What happened to Beethoven striving for things? Or copying people?

... Strini? Hello?

The harmony is Beethoven’s technical means for creating the kind of Eureka moment that anyone, musically literate or not, can understand.

Just a retranslation here: anyone can understand Beethoven’s “I Found It!” moments, because of the harmony. Okay. So what about the harmony? Is it the same harmony that he stole from Mozart’s developments? Or was it referring to the harmony in just the first thirteen measures?
I’m confused. I don’t understand why Strini said that. By correlate, would Mozart’s harmonies also create “Eureka?” moments anyone could... I don’t know.

I better let Strini explain this one.

In subsequent works...

We’re not talking about subsequent works! Are we? I thought this was about the First Symphony, or Tom Cruise vs. Mel Gibson creepiness.

... Beethoven often elaborated on the notion of feeling toward a tonality, as if for a handhold on a fog-shrouded cliff.

Whoa! Hold up a minute. The notion of feeling-toward-a-tonality? Or the notion of feeling, toward a tonality? ...!?!?!?... Beethoven is on a cliff? He’s scaling a cliff? How can he elaborate on scaling a cliff? Is it a tall cliff?

It’s almost characteristic of his style,

So it only seems like he’s scaling a cliff.

culminating in the opening of the Ninth Symphony.

But he is scaling a cliff, with his feelings, toward a notion of tonality, which is almost what he does, and then did. (cries alone in a corner, which is like a cliff, of feeling, shrouded in fog)

But Beethoven did not invent it.

(wipes tears from face, goes back to Journal Sentinel Arts page)

The scaling a cliff part, (sniffle) or the “I found it!” part?

Sisman points out that Haydn opened his Symphony No. 97...

Also known as the “Fat Friend Who Makes You Look Better” Symphony.

...with a slow, off-tonic, introduction.

So Beethoven lifted more material. First he stole Mozart’s development, and creepiness; now, he’s stealing introductions from Papa Haydn. What a hack!

Haydn reused the chord progression of the introduction later in the first movement, and Beethoven followed suit.

What an unoriginal, glass-eyed hack! I hope he didn’t also steal sonata form, or minuet form, or scherzo form, or rondo... What’s that? He did? Jerk.

Did Beethoven consciously model his First Symphony on Mozart and Haydn?

Ah, finally, the point emerges.

Sisman thinks he took his cues from the “Jupiter” and the 97th to honor Mozart and Haydn, to announce his place in their tradition...

Beethoven on a rooftop, naked: “You hear that, world! I am asserting myself in a tradition! Take that!”

... and to exercise some one-upmanship.

That must’ve been why he “borrowed” heavily from those cherry-picked symphonies. How does he exercise it? The one-upmanship?

The one-upmanship lies in part...

Listen carefully, composers. You may, one day, want to assert yourself in a tradition and get your one-upmanship. This is exactly how to do it.

... in Beethoven’s tremendous forward drive,

You hear that? Forward drive.

... with a daring, banging tympani part, springy dotted rhythms and on-the-fly antiphonal exchanges between winds and strings.

Got all that? Good. What else?

Beethoven labels his third movement with the traditional “Minuet,” but it is nonetheless a wild, rollicking scherzo.

You were right, he did steal the scherzo. That bum.

He really challenges the wind players; the First Symphony is almost as much band music as orchestra music.

Beethoven really showed Mozart and Haydn good.

Some early critics complained about its explosiveness.

Or did he?

Still, he was extending a tradition, not blowing it up.

So, extending a tradition equals one-upmanship. Air-tight logic, there. I won’t touch it.

Beethoven demonstrates an absolute grasp of the techniques and strategies of his forbears [sic], in his key plans, in his classical structural proportions, in melodic materials that are contrasting but compatible, and in his uncanny economy of means.

You, Forbears. Me, Dances with Scherzo. [Sorry. I have no real complaint. I just don't like that word.]

I know it’s been a while, but I don’t remember discussing classical structural proportions. Nor do I remember talking about contrasting melodic materials and their compatibility. Oh, yeah. I also don’t remember anything about Beethoven’s uncanny economy of means.

This is getting silly. Seriously, this is what the article sounds like:

Beethoven is interesting. He wanted to be really good. Sisman says that he may have borrowed things from Mozart and Haydn to do that. She also says that he borrowed a creepy thing from opera. The first few measures are pretty cool. Later, he scaled cliffs in the fog. Hadyn did cool things, first. But Beethoven really, really wanted to be good. So he made his pieces with forward drive. He also used other techniques that he learned from his Four Bears, but I don’t want to talk about them.

Am I really all that far-off?

Beethoven was willful, and this music sounds willful.

...?...

But very little in the First Symphony is arbitrary, even when Beethoven recomposes a recapitulation or sees to a bit of developmental unfinished business by enlarging a coda.

On the other hand, I dislike ice cream on cold days. I remember once I had some ice cream on a cold day and the record store was closed. And Mom wouldn’t allow us to come inside until Dad mowed the lawn. But the Civil War escalated beyond the point of zero French involvement.

We didn’t talk about any of this. Ever. Ever. ...!??!?!...

(goes back to corner, curls up, eyes redden)

The First Symphony, historically, has been discounted as Haydnesque...

I prefer Haydnian.

... and, therefore, backward-looking.

(cries)

True, Beethoven went further in later works; the First does not point toward Romanticism to the degree of the Sixth or the Ninth.

(yells from across room, tears flowing)

But we were talking about the First Symphony! Jerk!

But the First is no mere promising work by a young fellow finding his voice. Beethoven knew exactly what he was about, down to the smallest detail.

( yells from across room)

Yeah! He was about stealing things from Mozart and Haydn just so he could throw it back in their faces! I hate reading these things!

He was after brilliance in the First Symphony, and he got it.

(screams from across room)

But this wasn’t about brilliance!

(gets up, finds Dad’s gun, inserts muzzle of gun into mouth, ...)
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