Thank God! Orchestra Doesn't Play Strauss

Review: ISO's guest artists cast spells with enchanting classics
Jay Harvey, Indianapolis Star, Oct. 15, 2011

I love "guest artists"! And who doesn't love magic.

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times...if only classical music would resort to black magic...

Music associated with enchantment begins and ends this weekend's Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra concerts, but the way the program's other major work was performed Friday was no less enchanting.

Perfect.  Enchantment associated music, other major works that are enchanting too...and to think some people think orchestra programming has become stale.

But this makes me wonder...what is 'enchanting' music? Google images knows everything, let's ask them!

figure enchanting: Oh, dear God. No!

Jonathan Biss, Bloomington-born and on his way to becoming world-renowned, played the solo part in Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat...

Okay, so was this the enchantment asscoiated music, or the enchanting music? I actually thought this would be more obvious. Silly me.

...with an elegance that didn't get too lofty to convey emotional engagement.

It's a tough balancing act, all that elegance muddying up the emotional engagement.

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, just leave the elegance at the door. It's just so damn elitist.

His generally crisp, even articulation never overcame his focus on tone, which had a rounded, singing quality even in leaping passage work.

Wait, crisp articulations and rounded, singing tone in the same performance!?  And an elegance that didn't screw up all that emotional stuff? Get the fuck out!

But why, oh why, must two positive attributes of piano-playing (good articulation and focused tone) be mutually exclusive? Thank god for players like Jonathan Biss, who defy the laws of music criticism and are the exception that proves the rule.

I wonder what makes him such a great pianist.

A thoughtful artist with lots of individuality to bring to the classic repertoire, Biss crafted a first-movement cadenza that blended youthful vigor and studied reflection, its resonant climax aided by abundant pedal.

If I've said it once...more youthful vigor and abundant pedal, please!

The slow movement had just enough reserve as its delicate song poured forth,...

Yes...er...uh? Wait...reserved what?

...with the piano's quiet, single-line outburst near the end filling the hall. The consistent brio and polish Biss applied to the finale...

I know, seriously. Someone really should edit those changes into Beethoven's score. I know he's the "greatest composer of all-time", but he really should know better than to leave the brio and polish out of this finale.

I mean, how else is he going to produce an ovation?
...produced a slow-building but insistent ovation...

See. Were they standing?! I sure as heck hope so if they expected to cause a spontaneous (completely unplanned) encore.

...that resulted in an encore: the fifth of Beethoven's Six Bagatelles, op. 126.

If I've said it once...audiences love brio and polish!

figure Brio plaster polish: Who knew.

In the concerto, guest conductor Gilbert Varga kept the balance and coordination of the orchestra keenly matched to the soloist.

I should hope so.

This was no surprise,...

Oh really? Why?

...given the controlled grandeur and sweep of the program-opener: Mozart's Overture to "The Magic Flute."

Of course! If I've said it once, I've said it thousand times. If you can control the grandeur of Die Zauberflöte Overture, then you are more than ready for the balance and coordination of pre-19th century Beethoven.

But that opera, from which they performed just the famous overture, is so unconventional, what possibly could they pair it with on this concert? A conundrum that has plagued orchestras for centuries.

The unconventionality of that opera from Mozart's last year is nothing compared to the bizarre pantomime scenario for which Bela Bartok supplied a bristling score in the early 1920s.

Really? To which bizarre pantomime scenario are you referring?

Friday's concert ended spectacularly with the suite from "The Miraculous Mandarin."

Hmmm...now I'm a classical music lover, and I've heard of Beethoven and Mozart, and I've even seen Amadeus. So I consider myself an expert on The Magic Flute, and that opera has a guy dressed up as a bird. That's pretty crazy.

figure adult man dressed as bird: See. That opera is pretty silly. Wait...is that a...nipple?!

What's this Mandarin guy got?

In the story line, some roughnecks commandeer a young woman as sexual bait, forcing her to lure visitors to a seedy apartment.

I'm pretty sure most of Mozart's opera are about the same thing. Basically.

Two hapless men are ejected for insufficient funds, and then the title character proves too much to handle, in ways the complete score details.

Two men kidnap a woman into sexual slavery, but their plans are thwarted when the their home is foreclosed on?

Banks...always screwing the little guy!

Wait...this story sounds familiar.

Are these two hapless men the Tim Conway and Don Knotts to the Miraculous Mandarin's orphaned kids from The Apple Dumpling Gang?

figure two hapless men: "You know something, Amos? The Lord poured your brains in with a teaspoon, and somebody joggled His arm. I keep trying to tell you we ain't got no lead to throw, and no powder to throw it with. "

The suite is graphic enough so that it would be inaccurate to say the music transcends the sordid plot.

Uh.... Okay, so I totally agree that the music in a ballet should transcend the plot, although I'm certain I have no idea what that means. But how could you even tell if the music is transcending the plot since you're only hearing the suite (without the whole ballet part)?

Or are you suggesting the music is too accurately depicting the graphic storyline? ...a concept I'm having a difficult time actually visualizing.

Oh bother.
Still, it's one of the milestones of symphonic modernism and received a brilliant performance Friday, with Varga and the ISO conveying every snarling or spooky twist and turn.

Sexual slavery aside, it's still a great piece. But "magic" flutes have nipples.

Obscure, early music by Varga's Hungarian countryman Bartok showcased principal guest concertmaster Alexander Kerr.

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times...I love obscure, early music.

The first of "Two Portraits" features a ceaseless, impassioned violin solo that Kerr sustained beautifully.

He sustained the solo? Is this sustained as in maintained, or as in ratified?

The second one is mocking and vehement; it discards the solo violin -- the composer's payback for a love affair gone awry -- in a performance both idiomatic and picturesque.

I like my vehement mockingly picturesque, too!

Wait...what pieces were associated with enchantment?

figure concert: Whoa. Wait a minute, Doc. Are you trying to tell me that my mother has got the hots for me?

Mozart the Certain

If titles could cry, this one would be committing suicide by drowning itself in its own tears in a small, cold, windowless greenroom of the Vancouver Opera House.

What can Mozart teach us about leadership?

Brad Frenette

Vancouver Sun, Community of Interest Blog

Now, because the title is perhaps one of the most ridiculous I’ve ever encountered, I feel I need to provide a little background, so we don’t get the wrong idea. First, we should note that Brad Frenette is the general director of the Vancouver Opera, so already there’s a lack of journalistic standards and, perhaps, a conflict of interest. And second, the Sun’s Community of Interest blog describes its mission as “[…] featuring the opinions of tastemakers, community advocates and thought leaders from across Vancouver, Canada and the world […],” which means, if the title is any indication, that Brad is more of a tastemaker rather than thought leader. I guess, the wrong idea is already the correct one.

[whew]

Alright, let’s dig in.

--

So, what exactly can Mozart teach us about leadership? [tongue in cheek] Not that I expect an answer.

There are many reasons why I am passionate about opera:

That’s nice. Why don’t you list your reasons? Because, you know, they won’t be generic or anything.

“Okay,” he says.

…beautiful, emotional and inspiring music; literate, poetic language; grand and glorious productions on stages filled with singers, choristers and dancers; and very often, a link with important people and events in the past.

So often—but not all the time, mind you—there’s a link (i.e., ?) with things in (of?) the past.

Believe it or not, I, too, am passionate about the past. Like, it happened and stuff.

But another reason I am passionate about opera is the relevance it has for our lives today.

Because the general director of the Vancouver Opera is telling me that opera is relevant today, I should believe him. After all, he’d have no incentive to tell me otherwise, right?

Fine. How is it relevant? Does it have something to do with Mozart teaching us about leadership?

[Ha ha ha! I still can’t get over the title. It’s just wrong for so many reasons. Anyway…]

Opera is certainly not alone among the arts in this ability to speak to us about our own times, but it is the art form I know best and about which I can speak with certainty.

There’s certainly a lot of certainty going on here.  Certainly, when I encounter so much certainty, I am surely reminded, with certainty, of that without-a-doubt inspiring quip by the most famous of Jedi: “Only certain Sith Lords deal in irrefutable absolutes.”

And after a bit about how the opera company works hard to help their audience appreciate its 21^st century relevancy, despite its “powdered wigs and foreign languages,” this:

But here I believe is the wonderful secret of my art form: opera is about the big things, the important emotions of all of us humans….and these “big things” and large emotions don’t change from year to year, decade to decade, or even century to century. 

Rarely, these days do I encounter such advocacy of classical-era (enlightenment) thinking. Maybe I should go bleed myself to alleviate the headache this is causing me.

Sometimes these sweeping themes…

That is, large emotions that never change.

Sometimes these sweeping themes are rather personal: love and betrayal; estrangement; the distances created between families and friends and the bridges to span those distances.

Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Me! Me! Me! Pick me!

Yes, Empiricus?

That means, sometimes the sweeping themes, which are large emotions that never change, are also societal.

Very good, Empiricus.

Sometimes the big ideas are societal: when we last produced Aida, we investigated the plight of “Women in War” with Lloyd Axworthy, Ruth Segal and others;

Now pick me! Pick Me!

Yes, Brad?

Sometimes, self-promotion is all about leadership and Mozart taught me that.

Wrong, Brad.

…when we staged Macbeth our panelists examined “Power and its Abuse;”

You’re still doing it wrong, Brad. You’re not carrying the four. And you multiplied the denominator only afterwards. See what you did wrong, there?

…in 2002, during the opera Of Mice and Men important BC artists discussed the “Role of the Arts in Effecting Social Change.”

Nevermind, Brad. Just go to recess.

Our current offering, Mozart’s La Clemenza di Tito, is about one important thing:

Well, if the above was of any help, I would guess that Tito is about leadership, which is one large emotion. [cough]

But will it ever be explained? Tune in tomorrow for all the answers or not.

[tomorrow] 

Meanwhile, back at the Detritus Towers…

Our current offering, Mozart’s La Clemenza di Tito, is about one important thing: what qualities do we want in those who lead us?

Finally! Finally something refers to the title, that absurd, absurd title. Maybe now we’ll know the answer to the big question: how can Mozart teach us about leadership?

Mozart’s gorgeous and spirited music, the intriguing scenery and stellar singing are all in the service of this big idea [i.e., one large, never-changing emotion].

Yeah, yeah. But how is it that those things teach us about leadership?

Is ruling with compassion a better idea than ruling with vengeance?

Let’s ask Mozart!

Is the good of the people more important than the reputation of the leader? Does forgiveness in a leader show strength or betray weakness?

Sounds more like Mozart is asking the questions, rather than answering them.

Mozart’s opera inspired us to bring together a first-class panel last week at the Vancouver Public Library to discuss this notion of effective and compassionate leadership.

What can Mozart teach us about leadership?

Columnist Gary Mason, UBC professor Michael Byers, Tsawwassen First Nations Chief Kim Baird, Superintendent of West Vancouver schools Chris Kennedy, and Brenda Eaton, Chair of BC Housing Management Commission, discussed with one another and the audience their beliefs concerning leadership. 

Hello?! What can Mozart teach us about leadership?

Mason spoke of VANOC CEO John Furlong’s exercise in nation building which was built in part on the biggest Olympics torch relay in history…

!!!

…involving Canadians across this land, as well as convincing the powers-that-be to invest in the performance of our athletes, which paid off handsomely and helped unite the country in its pride and patriotism.

That doesn't have anything to do with Mozart, does it?

Michael Byers noted that after his long prison sentence and eventual rise to the South African presidency, Nelson Mandela rejected revenge as a tool of governance and instead focused on “truth and reconciliation” and sought to heal his country by his ferocious support of the Springbok Rugby team as it grew to be the World Cup winner, as portrayed in the film Invictus.

Ah, yes, Invictus. Wait, what?!

Isn’t Mozart supposed to teach us about leadership?

Qualities of leadership:

Just great. Another fucking list.

Qualities of leadership: what the past can tell us about, warn us about, prod us to think about.

Forget grammar, that doesn’t even make the slightest syntactical sense! And if those were the conclusions of the panel...well, "first-class" and "thought leaders" might be a tad exaggerated.

What great art – whether opera, symphonic music, great theatre or inspired painting – can help us to understand about our own lives and our own times:

Will our author give us another list, or is he just feigning? Vote now.

…isn’t that a timely and relevant conversation [...]?

Sorry, you clearly voted incorrectly. Please try new, more certain, leadership. Definitely delete. Obviously not Mozart. Patently an error. Irrefutably 404. Indubitably.

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Mozart's Music Receives Zesty Performance -- It's About Damn Time

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times...let's leave musicology to the professionals. Professionals like Paul Hyde of the Greenville News.

Review: Mozart's personality shines through in Greenville Symphony Chamber Orchestra concert
Paul Hyde, GreenvilleOnline.com (The Greenville News), November 20, 2010

Mozart, it’s often said, kept his personal emotions out of his musical works.

Really? I've never heard this before.

But you know, his music did always strike me as strangely formulaic... 4 bars--half cadence, another 4 bars--authentic cadence. Hard to cram emotion (especially personal ones) into that.

Good call.

figure personal emotion: If Mozart really wanted to add emotion to his music, he really should have just used emoticons like a normal person.

Maintaining an Olympian detachment, Mozart the classicist never revealed his inner self as did many a Romantic composer, Tchaikovsky most notably.

Money troubles don't rival the creative gold-standard of repressed homosexuality.

But clearly the difference between the two couldn't be the increased used of chromaticism, larger, more opulent orchestrations, and the use of superliminal narratives.

And if the Detritus has taught me anything, it's that with this kind of set up surely something will challenge this more than well-established premise (I mean, it is printed in a newspaper so it must be true).

Yet Friday night’s all-Mozart concert by the Greenville Symphony Chamber Orchestra seemed to belie that notion.

Ah, I see. Until now, it had been the performers (which have included the New York Philharmonic, the Berlin Philharmonic, and musicians who actually knew Mozart) who failed to decipher Mozart's hidden message of personal emotion deep inside his music...that is, until the Greenville Symphony took a crack at the task.

The works had a strongly autobiographical flavor.

Who knew? I'm very excited to discover what deep meaning has been previously unheard in these mystery Mozart works.

A listener could sense the man behind the music.

This is very exciting.

figure man behind the music: Why, the masons were responsible for the economic collapse, behind the JFK assassination, faked the moon-landing, and (from what I've read) are made up of humoid reptilians who run the world by replacing world leaders.

Take, for instance,...

Ooh. A "for instance". I guess an example would be nice. But really, Paul, we would have taken your word for it.

...the first piece on the concert, which took place at the Peace Center’s Gunter Auditorium.

Is the location important our cryptographic discovery, or were you just throwing that in to satisfy those pesky 5 w's?

Mozart wrote the three-movement Symphony No. 27 when he was only 17 years old.

Excellent. We'll start with insights into the mind of the young genius. Just think of how different he must have felt, an isolated genius still under the shadow of his famous father and constantly performing in the courts of royalty. Nope, not just your typical youth full of hope and gumption.

The sprightly work is clearly the work of a young man, a little superficial...

A little superficial...wait, the young man or the work?

...but full of youthful hope and gumption.

This is quite the penetrating analysis. I'm not sure how you were able to ascertain these kinds of insights. I mean, hearing an upbeat, major mode symphony primarily in triple meter written by a teenager...how ever could you discern this image of a young man full of hope?

But never mind, this was the clearly the product of the playing by the Greenville Symphony.

What kind of account did they offer?

Conductor Edvard Tchivzhel and the orchestra offered a spirited account of the appealing symphony.

You'd have to think that a performance that yielded answers to 237-year old mysteries would have to be at least a "spirited" account, if not an effervescent one.

Likewise, “A Musical Joke” spotlighted the playful adult Mozart in full-throated guffaw, parodying some of the inept composers of his day.

See now, I knew about this one.

figure musical joke: Har har har.

A listener got a vivid sense of Mozart the notorious prankster in this odd but amusing work, with its ditsy themes, meandering phrases and intentional wrong notes.

figure another musical joke: I'm laughing on the inside.

A vivid sense of a notorious prankster?

I guess there's no arguing with how significant an insight this is into the hidden personal emotions of Mozart. He was young, and had a sense of humor...breakthroughs for sure, but there must be more.

I mean, these first two works are obscure Mozart, what about his greatest hits?

In the second half of the concert, the Overture to “The Marriage of Figaro”...

Interesting. This is indeed full-on super-famous Mozart. I wonder what personal emotions Mozart managed to squirrel away in a piece about meant to precede and introduce a fictional story.

...showed a less antic but more effervescent side of the composer.

I see. So, it was Mozart's personal effervescence that made this piece what it is, and not the fact that he stole the opening melody from the combination to Willy Wonka's musical lock. At least that's what I've always taken from this work...Mozart's compulsive kleptomania.

Most people don't realize that the Haffner Symphony was really written as part of plea deal with the good people at Haffner's Discount Pantaloons and Wig Shoppe.

Tchivzhel and the orchestra presented a zesty reading of the piece.

The performances were spirited and zesty, just like my favorite salad dressing. And on such a historic evening...

figure zesty: "A spirited mixture of garlic, onion, sweet red bell pepper, carrots and Italian spices sure to help you grill like a gourmet."

Throughout this annual all-Mozart concert, Tchivzhel elicited crisp, clear-textured playing from the orchestra’s musicians.

Crisp, too?! This must have been one incredibly tasty salad...er, concert.

Closing the program was a familiar late work, the Symphony No. 40, a minor-key composition that has suggested to many listeners Mozart’s bleak state of mind at a time of depression and financial difficulties.

Good point. With also his highfalutin musicology, some music fundamentals could help reveal some important truths as well. And in case any of you have forgotten the basic rule of all music composition...minor-key equals sad and major-key equals happy. Really, all you'll ever need to know about music, at least in my experience.

figure sad mozart: Mozart composing a piece of somber, but not quite woebegone, music.

Though, I wonder which part of the 40th symphony specifically suggested financial difficulties?

Personally, I think it must have been the 11-tone row used in the powerful development of the 4th movement. The decentralized key center clearly represented his general economic malaise, in which the 11 used tones represented everyone getting their money, with the 12th pitch, being Mozart, getting none. Brilliant.

And for you to have picked this up simply from a zesty performance. Bravo, sir!

Tchivzhel emphasized the work’s restless, turbulent spirit. The work ends on a note of darkness and irresolution,...

Yes, that 8-bar dominant pedal into strong beat tonic triads really does leave you feeling uneasy.

...as if it had much more to say — a perfect symbol of the composer himself.

Is that really symbol? Maybe more of a metaphor, wouldn't you say?

Whatever.

A mere three years after writing the Symphony No. 40, Mozart would be dead, probably of acute rheumatic fever,...

Is this a particularly important point, or were you just tossing this in for...I don't know, let's say, to show that you read Mozart's wiki page before you wrote this article.

...two months short of his 36th birthday.

Ah, so in addition to the 40th symphony revealing Mozart's personal emotions, it also foretold events to come?

A sad, untimely death it was for the composer, to be sure,...

Because there are those who would doubt this?

...but what a grand and poignant life’s legacy he left behind, as the Greenville Symphony Chamber Orchestra’s annual all-Mozart concerts graciously remind us.

Yes, but the point was about the personal emotions the symphony discovered embedded in pieces previously thought to be cold and barren.

The Ketchup Is too Spicy for My Tater Tots

You think the title is on the ridiculous side? Well, have I a review for you!

The Seattle Chamber Music Festival is beloved by its fans for its Romantic sweet spot, but even the most ardent champions of easy-on-the-ear melody would have had to reconsider the merits of dissonance last Sunday night.

Damn! That, indeed, sounds spicy. So spicy, in fact, I might reconsider renewing my subscription to Earplugs-R-Us, the Anti-modernist Relief Association’s bi-annual magazine that caters to concertgoers who are routinely subjected to unresolved fourths. The magazine also comes with complimentary earplugs, duh.

But, really, who am I kidding? Bring on the pain! Bring on the pain!!

The evening opened with Mozart's crisp and deceptively melodious Piano Trio in B-flat Major...

Bring on the p...

Huh?

Uh, surely, the Mozart isn’t the spicy bit; it doesn’t even hit the “Romantic sweet spot.” It makes me wonder, then, what, if anything, could make one “reconsider the merits [really, merits?] of dissonance”?

Compared to the pleasant, cuppa-tea-with-milk-and-honey Mozart...

(Does your stomach churn when you see “cuppa,” too?)

Compared to the [...] Mozart, Prokofiev's Quartet No. 2 in F Major is a stiff shot of vodka.

Prokofiev? You’re shitting me.

F friggin’ major!?

And dissonant to the point that it makes one wonder if dissonance is overrated? Huh? What are you? Eight years old?!

To jog our memories, maybe we should give it a listen.

Example 1: Movement I

Oh! Now I get it. Because Russians drink vodka, see, unlike Mozart. And they’re all bears, bears who drink vodka. So, they’re un-bear-ably dissonant.

Right?

...

Wait. That doesn’t make any damned sense. What’s really going on, here?

Maybe the rest of the review will explain.

The starting Allegro is a stolid contraption of levers and pulleys, a steel factory producing energy in the form of audible vibrations.

Not to ruin your nice little story, but did you ever consider that the actual, in-front-of-you string quartet is, you know, making real, audible vibrations?

Maybe it’s just me, but confusing the real for the simulation (metaphoric description) is, well, a detrimental symptom of postmodernism that nobody needs; not here, anyway.

It seemed impossible that the night could get any better, but after intermission it did.

I’ll cut to the chase: it was Lalo. Lalo’s Piano Trio in A friggin’ minor. (The descriptive writing is a bit over the top, here, so it is omitted) Anyway...

End of dissonance inquiry.

I don’t get it. Either our author has a weak stomach or...I just don’t get it.

Maybe the title and hook left us some clues.

Review: Stiff shot of dissonance vibrates at Seattle chamber-music fest
Sumi Hahn
Special to the Seattle Times

No help here.

Dissonance in music is a taste acquired over time.

If only Bach wrote dissonant music...

Like a craving for coffee or scotch, the appetite for such harmonics is also culturally conditioned.

That’s part of it, sure, I guess.

One man's song may well be another man's noise.

There you have it: dissonance.

And now: Mozart, Prokofiev, and Lalo. Enjoy!
-

Migh Gud Tidel

Coming up with titles is like waiting in a long line for the restroom: you have to go—immediately!—but there’s no relief in sight. So, embarrassingly, you’re forced to...

From Mozart to Mahler, it was a bounteous year for classical recordings

...you’re forced to favor alliteration over accuracy.

Now, it’s not a horrible title, as these things go. We’ve seen much worse, especially atop year-end, top-ten type articles like this. But give it a gander once more and think about what it means to go from Mozart to Mahler.

Is the title suggesting that the music chronologically ranges from Mozart (b.1756) to Mahler (b.1860)? No. That would be silly; it’s only 104 years. Even if we expand the range by using Mahler’s death year (1911), that leaves only a 155 year window. I hardly expect experienced critic John von Rhein to be so narrow. If that’s not it, then what is?

Figure 1. Continuing with the classy toilet humor. Only $29.99!

Perhaps the title suggests that all the composers fall within the alphabetical space, between Mahler and Mozart? Hmm. There are some big M-boppers:

Marin Marais
Frank Martin
Bohuslav Martinu
Jules Massenet
Felix Mendelssohn
Gian Carlo Menotti
Olivier Messiaen
Giacomo Meyerbeer
Darius Milhaud
Claudio Monteverdi

That’s still pretty silly, a top ten list with music by composers whose last names begin Ma-Mo. That can’t be it. Is it a stylistic thing? Seems unlikely.

I know! Let’s go to the text for answers.

1 Mahler: "Symphony No. 9." Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra, Alan Gilbert, conductor (BIS). : With Gilbert at the helm, the New York Philharmonic could be in for an exciting new era. His final concerts as chief conductor of the Stockholm orchestra inspired a studio recording of Mahler's sublime valedictory that strikes a wonderful balance between desolation and acceptance, with luminous sonics to match.

2 Mozart...

Or perhaps the editor didn’t bother to read about the other eight recordings?
-

A Little Help: On Behalf of Sheet Music Purveyors

In another life, your very own snark factory, Empiricus, was once a snarky little sheet music purveyor. Back then, there were many idiomatic oddities with which I had to regularly deal—someone looking for a specific piece of music might have the wrong Hoboken number and I’d be charged with trying to help them find exactly which Haydn piece they came to the store for. Other times, a very thick accent proved challenging. Fortunately, there were always tricks of the trade that produced some good results. One, if they could sing the theme, or melody, or whatever, then that increased the chances of finding the right piece. Two, someone else might not know the name of the piece, but knew what the music’s cover looked like. There were always ways around missing information.

Sometimes, however, there was an utter lack of communication. It might have gone like this:

Little Empiricus: Hello there. Can I help you find something?

Sabine Kortals of the Denver Post: Yes, please.

Little Empiricus: It would be my pleasure. What are you looking for?

Sabine: Mozart’s Piano Concerto.

Little Empiricus: Which one?

Sabine: The “Elvira Madigan” Concerto.

Little Empiricus: ...? The “Elvira Madigan” Concerto?

Sabine: Yes. It’s very “beloved.”

Little Empiricus: (scratches head) Huh. Is it this one? (sings) Do, Mi (flat), La (flat), So, Fa (sharp), Mi (flat)...

Sabine: No, that’s not it.

Little Empiricus: How about this? (sings again) Mi, Do (sharp), Re, Fa (Sharp), Si, Re, Sol (sharp), La...

Sabine: No. That’s not it, either.

Little Empiricus: Hmmm. Don’t know what to say. I’ve never heard of the “Elvira Madigan” Concerto, before. Sorry. Do you have any other information?

Sabine: No (sigh). Well, thanks anyway. (leaves)

-

Then, later that evening, I’d return home from work and Google “Elvira Madigan” and “Mozart Piano Concerto,” to see what I might find, just in case Sabine ever came back to the store. Then I’d find out that “Elvira Madigan” is reference to a Swedish movie. A Swedish movie! In it, the second movement from Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 in C Major (K.467) is played as a backdrop to a “lazy boat ride.” Crap! Of course I know that piece! Dammit! That's another Breitkopf & Hartel I failed to sell! You might be able to see, now, why I was fired.
-

Music City Mayhem

Maybe all of this starts with the musicians, unable to properly describe themselves in words. After all, they specialize in music, right? Maybe, because of their “authority by successful practice,” their language seeps into the critic’s lexicon. Maybe.

Consider Giancarlo Guerrero, formerly of the Eugene Symphony and most recent appointee to the helm of Music City’s Nashville Symphony Orchestra:

The decision to kick off the symphony's 2008-2009 season with a program consisting entirely of the work of George Gershwin, a composer trained not in a conservatory but on Broadway, Guerrero said, was an easy one.

Now, I’m a fan of Gershwin, sometimes. It’s just that, praise advertising, I associate his music with commercial schlock. Tom Hanks and FedEx, anyone? That I can’t have. And that’s my problem.

However, here’s my question: why was it, exactly, that an all-“composer not trained in a conservatory but on Broadway” program was an easy decision?

"I knew that I wanted something American to open the season because that's kind of the personality of the orchestra," he said of the symphony, which has long been known for its affinity with the music of composers from the United States.

Gershwin was certainly American. I give him that.

"Gershwin hadn't been done here in a while...

Fair enough.

“...and I'd had the privilege, for the last couple of years, of working with (pianist) Kevin Cole, who in my opinion is one of the greatest Gershwin interpreters around.

Go on.

“Plus, I said to myself, 'If you want to sell the house, this will do it.' "

You need to pay the rent. I get it.

Not only that, he said, but orchestras love to play Gershwin.

They also love to play other things. But, good enough for me. This all seems reasonable.

"He was the first composer to truly combine jazz and American music and turn it into classical music.”

Oh no. Let’s just ruminate on this for a while.

-

-

-

No. Take out “first” and “truly,” then we might have something.

Gershwin might not always be given his due in classical circles,

All together now: “But...?”

...but Guerrero likens his genius to that of Mozart.

Holy shit. Who said musicians aren’t creative? Fanciful, even? Ridiculously fanciful? Hyperbolistically ridiculously fanciful? Super-hyperbolistically ridiculously fanciful? Super-duper times a million-billion hyperbolistically ridiculously fanciful? Number one super-duper times a billion-billion...you get my point.

"It just came to him," he said of Gershwin's compositions.

That’s it? He had ideas, that... “came to him?” That’s why he’s like Mozart? Hmmm...

"He had the sounds in his head and he knew how he had to write.

If I remember correctly, I have heard stories of how his lack of “conservatory training” hurt his orchestration. What did he do, in some cases? He outsourced the work. "Truly" American, indeed.

I don’t give Wikipedia entries complete credence when it comes to music, but I thought this was appropriate:

The Concerto in F shows considerable development in Gershwin's compositional technique namely because he orchestrated the entire work himself, unlike the Rhapsody in Blue which was done by Ferde Grofé, the orchestrator for Paul Whiteman's orchestra.

All by himself, sometimes. Ha!

“He was so ahead of his time.

If you’re comparing him to the American auto industry.

“ 'An American in Paris' uses saxophones, which at the time were unusual.

Such is the case for all instruments that were once relatively new (Adolph Sax patented the saxophone in 1846). I mean, just because Mozart and Beethoven and C.P.E. Bach wrote music for Ol’ Ben Franklin’s “armonica,” or glass harmonica, doesn’t exactly mean that they were forward-looking, now does it? Composers tend to make use of new instruments as they become available. (In a scholarly voice) Thus! Let’s just drop this line of logic, shall we?

'Rhapsody in Blue' uses banjo. In the Cuban Overture you have that array of Latin instruments, which, again, were unknown at the time in classical circles."

No dropping of that line of logic? Okay. Then let me say this again: Maybe, because of musicians’ “authority by successful practice,” their problematic language seeps into the critic’s lexicon. Maybe.
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Between the Lines, Some Useless Information

In Monday’s Living Here (?) section of the Sacramento Bee, I was asked a question of the highest philosophical order, a question of such depth that the great Lando Calrissian (respectable administrator of Cloud City) couldn’t answer it, let alone comprehend.

Can you name any of Mozart's worthy peers?

What's that? Can I name any of Mozart’s worthy peers, you say? Well, yes. Yes, I can. There’s...

Johann Gottlieb Graun (1702–1771)
Johann Ernst Eberlin (1702–1762)
Gioseffo Hectore Fiocco (1703–1741)
Georg Andreas Sorge (1703–1778)
Karl Heinrich Graun (1704–1759)
Jose Antonio Carlos de Seixas (1704–1742)
Frantisek Antonin Ignac Tuma (1704–1774)
Nicholas Chédeville (1705–1782)
Giovanni Gualberto Brunetti (1706–1787)
Giovanni Battista Martini (1706–1784)
Baldassare Galuppi (1706–1785)
Pietro Domenico Paradisi|Paradies (1707–1791)
Michel Corrette (1707–1795)
Georg Czarth (1708–1774)
Pasquale Cafaro (1708–1787)
Egidio Romualdo Duni (1708–1775)
Johann Adolf Scheibe (1708–1776)
Johann Gottlieb Janitsch (1708–1763)
Christoph Schaffrath (1709–1763)
Paolo Salulini (1709–1780)
Charles Avison (1709–1770)
Franz (Frantisek) Benda (1709–1786)
Franz Xaver Richter (1709–1789)
Jean-Noel Hamal (1709–1778)
Domenico Alberti (1710–1746)
Giovanni Battista Pergolesi (1710–1736)
Thomas Augustine Arne (1710–1778)
Joseph Marie Clément Abaco|dall’Abaco (1710–1805)
Wilhelm Friedemann Bach (1710–1784)
Domènec Terradellas (1711–1751)
William Boyce (1711–1779)
Ignaz Holzbauer (1711–1783)
Jean-Joseph Cassanea de Mondonville (1711–1772)
John Hebden (1712–1765)
Sayat Nova (1712–1795)
John Stanley (1712–1786)
Friedrich II der Grosse (the Great) (1712–1786)
Jan Benda (1713–1752)
Johann Ludwig Krebs (1713–1780)
Pedro António Avondano (1714–1782)
Gottfried August Homilius (1714–1785)
Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (1714–1788)
Christoph Willibald von Gluck (1714–1787)
Nicoló Jommelli (1714–1774)
Jacques Duphly (1715–1789)
Georg Christoph Wagenseil (1715–1777)
James Nares (1715–1783)
Girolamo Abos (1715–1760)
Mathias Georg Monn|Man (1717–1750)
Jan Václav (Johann) Stamitz|Stamic (1717–1757)
Jean-Baptiste Quentin (1718–1750)
Leopold August Abel (1718–1794)
Ferdinand Zellbell (der Jüngere) (1719–1780)
Leopold Mozart (1719–1787)
Domenico Porretti (1720–1783)
Johan Nicolaas Lentz (1720–1782)
Johann Schobert (1720–1767)
Posh Spice (1720-1767)
Wolf Blitzer (1720-1788)
Just Checking to See If (1720-1769)
If You’re Still Reading (1720-1800)
Johann Friedrich Agricola (1720–1774)
Maria Teresa Agnesi Pinottini (1720–1795)
Carlo Antonio Campioni (1720–1788)
Pieter Hellendaal (1721–1799)
Johann Philipp Kirnberger (1721–1783)
Johann Ernst Bach (1722–1777)
Pietro Nardini (1722–1793)
Nardini Is My Favorite Name (1722-1788)
Schobert is My Second Favorite (1722-1777)
Jiři Antonin Benda (1722–1795)
Christian Ernst Graaf|Graf (1723–1804)
Anna Amalia von Preußen (1723–1787)
Karl Friedrich Abel (1723–1787)
Maria Antonia Walpurga|Walpurgis (1724–1780)
Ignaz (Ignace) Vitzthumb (1724–1816)
Giovanni Battista Cirri (1724–1808)
Gioseffo Ferdinando Bertoni (1725–1813)
François-André Philidor (1725–1795)
Johann George Tromlitz (1725–1805)
Charles Burney (1726–1814)
Henri Hardouin (1727–1808)
Johann Wilhelm Hertel (1727–1789)
Claude-Benigne Balbastre (1727–1799)
Armand-Louis Couperin (1727–1789)
Johann Gottlieb Goldberg (1727–1756)
Tommaso Traetta (1727–1779)
Pasquale Anfossi (1727–1797)
Nicoló Piccinni (1728–1800)
Johann Gottfried Müthel (1728–1788)
Franz Xaver Pokorny (1728–1794)
Johann Adam Hiller (1728–1804)
And Now a Wonderfully Musical Name (1728-1791)
Pellegrino Tomeoni (1729–1816)
Florian Leopold Gaßmann (1729–1774)
Anton Cajetan Adlgasser (1729–1777)
Pieter van Maldere (1729–1768)
Pierre-Alexandre Monsigny (1729–1817)
Giuseppe Sarti (1729–1802)
Padre Antonio Soler (1729–1783)
And Now a Not So Musical Name (1729-1789)
Leontzi Honauer (1730–1790)
Antonio Maria Gaspare Sacchini (1730–1786)
Capel Bond (1730–1790)
For All Your Bail Bond Needs (1731-1797)
Gaetano Pugnani (1731–1798)
Frantisek Xaver Dušek (1731–1799)
(Johann) Christian Cannabich (1731–1798)
Johann Christian Kittel (1732–1809)
František (Franz) Xaver Brixi (1732–1771)
Franz Joseph Haydn (1732–1809)
Johann Christoph Friedrich Bach (1732–1795)
Thomas Linley (the elder) (1733–1795)
Anton Filtz|Fils|Filts (1733–1760)
Benjamin Cooke (1734–1793)
Luka Sorkočević (1734–1789)
François-Joseph Gossec (1734–1829)
Franz Ignaz Beck (1734–1809)
Johann Ernst Altenburg (1734–1801)
Giovanni Mane Giornovichi|Ivan Jarnovick (1735–1804)
Johann Gottfried Eckard (1735–1809)
Johann Christian Bach (1735–1782)
Johann Georg Albrechtsberger (1736–1809)
Carl Friedrich Christian Fasch (1736–1800)
Jean-François Tapray (1737–1819)
Josef Myslivecek (1737–1781)
Michael Haydn (1737–1806)
Constantin Reindl (1738–1799)
Leopold Hofmann (1738–1793)
Jan Evangelista Antonin Kozeluh (1738–1814)
Johann Baptist Vanhal (1739–1813)
Friedrich Wilhelm Rust (1739–1796)
Karl Ditters von Dittersdorf (1739–1799)
Giovanni Paisiello (1740–1816)
Henri-Joseph Riegel|Rigel (1741–1799)
André-Ernest-Modeste Grétry (1741–1813)
Johann André (1741–1799)
Johann Gottlieb Naumann (1741–1801)
Vaclav (Wenzel) Pichl (1741–1805)
Jerónimo Francisco Lima (1741–1822)
Anton Zimmermann (1741–1781)
(father) Roman(us) Hoffstetter|Hofstetter (1742–1815)
Luigi Boccherini (1743–1805)
Francesco Petrini (1744–1819)
There’s a Lot of Names (1744-1823)
I Know (1744-1801)
But I Don’t Want You To Miss Any (1744-1818)
Because They All Wrote Good Music (1744-1798)
João Pedro de Almeida Mota (1744–1817)
But Really I Bet Mr. Ortiz’s Question (1744-1210)
Is Only Hypophora (1744-1789)
A Stupid Rhetorical Device (1744-1806)
That Gets Things Moving (1744-1801)
By Asking a Question (1744-1779)
Either Way It’s (1744-1790)
Pretty Lame If You Ask Me (1744-1822)
Marianne Anna Martinez (1744–1812)
Besides What Possible Relevance Could (1745-1830)
This Have In Any Discussion (1745-1811)
Concerning a New Disc Of A (1745-1823)
Lesser Known Composer (1745-1808)
That’s What the Review’s About (1745-1789)
By the Way (1745-1803)
Georg (Jiři) Druschetzky|Druzecky (1745–1819)
Jan Václav Knéžek (1745–1806)
João de Sousa Carvalho (1745–1798)
Johann Baptist Krumpholz (1745–1790)
Carl Stamitz (1745–1801)
Giuseppe Giordani (1745–1798)
Joseph Boulogne, Chevalier de Saint-Georges (1745–1799)
Ivan Evstaf’evich Khandoshkin (1746–1804)
James Hook (1746–1827)
Argh! Shiver Me Timbers and Such (1746-1821)
William Billings (1746–1800)
(Louis) Joseph (Marie) Quesnel (1746–1809)
Johann Wilhelm Hässler (1747–1822)
Johann Abraham Peter Schulz (1747–1800)
Leopold Kozeluh (1747–1818)
Theodor Freiherr von Schacht (1748–1823)
Christian Gottlob Neefe (1748–1798)
Francesco Azopardi (1748–1809)
Jean-Frédéric (Johan-Fredreric) Edelmann (1749–1794)
Domenico Cimarosa (1749–1801)
Antonio Rosetti|Rossetti|Rősler|Rössler|Rosety (1750–1792)
Names Used Under the Witness Protection Program (1750-1820)
Jean-Balthasar Tricklir (1750–1813)
Daniel Gottlob Türk (1750–1813)
Antonio Salieri (1750–1825)
Why Does It Seem Like (1750-1831)
Every Time Salieri Is Mentioned (1750-1811)
It’s Always In Reference To (1750-1795)
That Movie About Mozart? (1750-1808)
Hasn’t Anyone Ever Heard His Music (1750-1749)
It’s Quite Good (1750-1820)
Johann Franz Xaver Sterkel (1750–1817)
Dmitri Stepanovich Bortniansky (1752–1825)
José Maurício (1752–1815)
Muzio Clementi (1752–1832)
Nicola Antonio Zingarelli (1752–1837)
Ludwig August Lebrun (1752–1790)
Justin Heinrich Knecht|Knechtl (1752–1817)
Johann Friedrich Reichardt (1752–1814)
Pedro Étienne Solère (1753–1817)
Nicolas-Marie Dalayrac (1753–1809)
Jean-Baptiste Bréval (1753–1823)
Johann Baptist Schenk (1753–1836)
Michel Yost (1754–1786)
Vicente Martín y Soler (1754–1806)
Franz Anton Hoffmeister (1754–1812)
Mateo Pérez de Albéniz (1755–1831)
Giovanni Battista Viotti (1755–1824)
Federigo Fiorillo (1755–1823)
Antonio Capuzzi (1755–1818)
I Know Him (1755-1812)
He Owns a Pizzeria (1755-1810)
In Queens and Has Been Known (1755-1829)
To Associate With a Certain (1755-1804)
Fast Eddie (1755-1817)
Christian Kalkbrenner (1755–1806)
Johann Christoph Vogel (1756–1788)
Thomas Linley (the younger) (1756–1778)
Joseph Martin Kraus (1756–1792)
Pavel (Paul) Vranický|Wranitzky (1756–1808)
Alessandro Rolla (1757–1841)
Ignaz Josef Pleyel (1757–1831)
António Leal Moreira (1758–1819)
Karl Friedrich Zelter (1758–1832)
François Devienne (1759–1803)
Jacques(-Christian-Michel) Widerkehr (1759–1823)
Franz Vinzenz Krommer|Křamer (1759–1831)
Franz Christoph Neubauer (1760–1795)
Nicolas Rozé (1760–1823)
For A Good Time Call Joshua Kosman (510-555-5555)
Johann Rudolf Zumsteeg (1760–1802)
Jan Ladislav Dušek|Dussek|Dusík (1760–1812)
Jean-François Le Sueur|Lesueur (1760–1837)
Luigi Cherubini (1760–1842)
Evstigney Ipatovich Fomin (1761–1800)
Johann Christian Ludwig Abeille (1761–1838)
Antonín (Anton) Vranický|Wranitzky (1761–1820)
Feliks Janiewicz (1762–1848)
Marcos Antonio Portugal (1762–1830)
Franz Wilhelm Tausch (1762–1817)
Adalbert (Vojtech) Gyrowetz|Jirovec (1763–1850)
Franz Danzi (1763–1826)
Étienne-Nicolas Méhul (1763–1817)
Anton Eberl (1765–1807)
Jan Jakub Ryba (1765–1815)
John Addison (1766–1844)
Samuel Wesley (1766–1837)
Rodolphe Kreutzer (1766–1831)
Seriously Though ((1766-1812)
This Opening Question Begs Another (1766-1820)
How Many Composers Can Edward Name? (1767-1819)
If He Can't Come Up With (1767-1831)
Joseph Haydn You Know (1767-1840)
Off the Top of His Head (1767-1822)
In Like Two Seconds...? (1767-1841)
José Maurício Nunes Garcia (1767–1830)
I Mean I Could Have Named (1767-1855)
A Couple Dozen of These Guys (1767-1841)
But Then Again, I'm Supposed to (1767-1810)
Know More Than the Average Person Right? (1767-1847)
Andreas Jakob Romberg (1767–1821)
Christian Friedrich Gottlieb Schwencke (1767–1822)
Bernhard Heinrich Romberg (1767–1841)
Johann Georg Heinrich Back(h)ofen (1768–1839)
Carolus Antonius (Antoine) Fodor (1768–1846)
Louis-Emmanuel Jadin (1768–1853)
(Jean Baptiste) Edouard Du Puy (1770–1822)
João José Baldi (1770–1816)
Ferdinando Carulli (1770–1841)
Johann Christian Heinrich Rinck (1770–1846)
Anton Reicha (1770–1836)
Max Keller (1770–1855)
Friedrich Witt (1770–1836)
Peter Hansel (1770–1831)
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827)

...to name a few.

So, those were some of Mozart’s near-contemporaries and worthy peers. Pray tell, then, why would you like to know, Mr. Ortiz, sir?

For most, the only name that comes to mind is composer Antonio Salieri.

Aw shit. I knew it.

And this is only because of Salieri's appearance as a major character in the Oscar-winning film "Amadeus."

I wish that movie was never made.

Um, Haydn, perhaps? No. He’s not a composer that comes to mind as a worthy peer of Mozart’s? To you, Ed, maybe.

But talent was not scarce in Mozart's time.

You think? Good work.
-

Cultured New York

If ever there was an argument to be made for drawing a line between modern music and “classical,” it’s this. Take it away New York!

But that first Webern set [...] drew a smattering of polite applause and a resounding boo.

Good gosh. Music written way back in 1924, which has stuck around for one reason or another (mostly because some think it’s really good), is still being booed, in New York, when it interferes with their precious Mozart. How gauche.
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Guess! That! Piece!

Announcer: From the Detritus Review, here in beautiful sunny Burbank, California, this is (audience shouting) Guess! That! Piece! That’s right folks! It’s once again time for everyone’s favorite musical quiz show, brought to you by Blogger and the San Jose Mercury News, it’s (audience) Guess! That! Piece!

Chuck Dribble: Thanks for joining us again. I think we have a really great show lined up for you tonight. But we have a lot to do, so let’s get going.

Last time, our contestant was unable to correctly identify Dvorak’s Eighth Symphony. Let’s see if today’s competitor can do better. Shall we?

Lets welcome our guest to (audience) Guess! That! Piece! Welcome, Empiricus. It says here on my card that you’ve had some previous musical training.

Empiricus: That’s right! In addition to being a professional counterpoint student, I've also been known to whip out the old clawhammer banjo on occasion.

CD: Well, that’s pretty impressive. But I have a feeling that you might run into some trouble with today’s selection. I hope you can put those big brains to use. Are you ready?

E: Ready!

CD: This is how to play: I will give you three phrases or sentences that describe a particular piece of music. All you have to do is (audience) Guess! That! Piece! The sooner you can identify the piece, the better the prize. Do you understand?

E: I do.

CD: Then, let’s begin to (audience) Guess! That! Piece!

Clue One:

...it's regal and reflective, but not overly so.

E: You’re right, Chuck. This one seems pretty hard. But, I have to say that, given the two adjectives, I might be able to narrow it down. “Regal and reflective,” to me, suggests something that is perhaps austere. So given my giant wealth of knowledge, I think that this phrase might describe...a minuet. A classical-period minuet, maybe. Unfortunately, I can’t guess the piece, just yet. I think I need some more information.

CD: Very good reasoning, Empiricus. Your brain indeed seems to be working. Since you couldn’t identify the piece after the first clue, let’s see if you can get closer with the next one...

...after this commercial break.

-

CD: We’re back! And today’s contestant, Empiricus, is about receive the second of three clues. After the first, he wasn’t able to identify the piece but thought it might be a minuet. Let’s see if he can get closer with the second clue and (audience) Guess! That! Piece!

Okay, Empiricus. The first clue was tricky, but you were able to get some information out of it. That’s encouraging. Are you ready for the second clue?

E: I sure am, Chuck.

CD: Here you go. Good luck.

Number Two:

You can imagine it being played as backdrop to libations in a Viennese beer garden.

E: Hmmm, Chuck. From what I remember of Viennese beer gardens, there wasn’t any classical music. But then again, I wasn’t listening to much of anything anyway, if you get my drift.

(audience laughs)

So, you see, it doesn’t follow that the Viennese beer gardens are regal and reflective. But then again, if the sentence is just an image, as I suspect it is, I’d guess that it revealed the location and disposition of the composer. So...well...

CD: I’m going to need an answer.

E: As I see it, the answer could be any minuet by any composer from or associated with Vienna. They all liked their beer. So, Chuck, I really don’t know.

CD: Any guesses?

E: Uh...Haydn, Symphony No. 27.

CD: Sorry, Empiricus, that is wrong. It is not Haydn’s Symphony No. 27. But you still have one more clue to go. And if you get it correct, you can still win a lovely prize...

...after these messages.

-

CD: Hello again. Thanks for rejoining us. Well, we’ve come to the most critical juncture on Guess! That! Piece! Today’s contestant, Empiricus, will be given one final clue. If he is able to guess the piece, he will win a nifty prize. If he is unable to guess the piece, he will go home empty-handed.

Are you ready, Empiricus?

E: I’m getting closer, so one more clue ought to do the trick. I’m definitely ready, Chuck.

CD: Good luck. You’ll have two minutes to answer after I give this clue.

Number Three:

Best was the sixth movement, in which the ensemble set up a slow, droning flutter-coo, with [the oboist], a sensational player, soaring overhead with butterfly wings.

E: Wow, Chuck. That’s a mouthful... Okay. There are some new things that are very important. And they might be of some help to me.

The piece has at least six movements, which is an ideal setting in which to find a minuet. Perhaps it’s part of a suite or a partita. So that’s good. I’ll stick with that. Now, I’ve never come across something that could be described as a “slow, droning flutter-coo” before. I mean, “droning” and “flutter” don’t work, do they? Can something drone and flutter-coo at the same time? I don’t even know what flutter-coo is. It’s probably a poetic reference, or something.

Huh. Suite or partita by a Viennese composer who liked beer... You know, Chuck, it would be really helpful to know the whole instrumentation. All I have is one oboist. And since there are few, if any, pieces that are scored for solo oboe, by a classical Viennese composer, the piece must surely have more instruments. Perhaps a wind quintet. Ooh! Maybe a serenade or a divertimento. An opera? Well...I’m thinking Mozart, Chuck.

CD: Think it over a little more, Empiricus. You’ve got less than a minute left.

E: Mozart what? That’s the question. ‘Cause, I remember that Mozart wrote about 104 pieces called “minuet,” and that doesn’t include those inserted into symphonies and sonatas and such. I’m at a loss, Chuck. This is incredibly difficult.

CD: I need an answer.

E: Mozart’s...wind ensemble...

CD: Can you be more specific?

E: Oh. Uh...winds, winds...they’re often B-flat instruments. How about B-flat, Chuck?

CD: I need a title.

E: Um..um...how about Divertimenti? Mozart’s Divertimenti for winds in B-flat.

CD: Is that your answer?

E: Sure, Chuck.

CD: You are...

...going to have to wait for the answer after this short break.

-

CD: And...we’re back. Moment of truth, Empiricus. You answered Mozart’s Divertimenti for winds in B-flat. Is that right?

E: Yes, I suppose.

CD: Well, Empiricus. Your answer is...

...

Knock, knock.

E: Who’s there?

CD: A serenade.

E: A serenade who?

CD: A serenade is the correct answer. In fact it’s Mozart’s Grand Partita, also known as the Serenade in B-flat, K.361. Although you didn’t win, Empiricus, good job Richard Scheinin! The description was apt.

Well, that’s all the time we have today at (audience) Guess! That! Piece! Please be sure to join us next time, when another contestant gets an opportunity to win some nifty prizes at (audience) Guess! That! Piece! Goodnight.

-

(husband turns off TV)

Husband: That wasn’t a very funny episode.

Wife: That’s because it was a compliment.

H: Oh. (pauses) Those boys over at the Detritus Review are...peculiar.
-

Grand Re-opening!

Thanks for being patient, everyone. Both Sator and I have been on a weeklong hiatus without easy access to the intertubes, hence such stagnant content. But be warned! We’re back. Refreshed and invigorated from our repose, it’s full-steam ahead!

First up, some fun with silly opening premises.

-

Cheryl North of the Oakland Tribune treats us to this opening doozy:

Is the music of Mozart really "classical"?

Just what does it mean when the word "classical" precedes the word "music"? The answer can be a bit confusing.

Upon first reading, I was excited by all this. It sounds like something one might find in some scholarly journal. You know, a fine essay probing the etymology and epistemology of the term’s usage.

Bzzzt! Wrong.

In current common usage, "classical music" usually means serious music from the educated Western European tradition appropriate to concert halls, churches and other, more or less formal venues. Folk, rock and pop music would generally appear at the other end of this spectrum.

I’ll bite. Go on.

Or — "classical" more properly means the very specific style of music composed from about 1750 to around 1810. The definitive composers of this era were Franz Josef Haydn, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Ludwig van Beethoven during his early years. The period's signature music, as well as much of its architecture, painting and literature, was characterized by an emphasis on well-defined form, clarity and harmonious, balanced proportions. More often than not, classical art forms were beautiful, esthetic and pleasing to both the senses and the soul.

Sure. (skeptically) Your conclusion?

A majority of musicians agree that Mozart's music almost perfectly meshes with all the classical criteria.

Four out of five doctors agree that...

Cheryl, I want the names and addresses of those musicians who did not agree, so I can slap them upside their heads. That is, if you actually polled musicians. And some of them actually disagreed with your definitions. Which would be actually pretty lame. Because you probably didn't need to poll musicians in order to find a majority that agreed. And the rest of your article had nothing to do with the opening premise.
-

Specificity Required

Let’s try a bit of deductive reasoning to identify this enigma, this mysterious “Allegro,” to which Sabine Kortels of the Denver Posts refers.

Closing the delightful, well-paced program with flair and finesse, Spivakov led the [Moscow Virtuosi Chamber Orchestra] in a light, breezy reading of Mozart's brief "Allegro."

Okay, the facts. It's a piece by Mozart. Allegro means fast. It was written for orchestra, presumably without a soloist. It is brief. It is, loosely, “light” and “breezy.”

All we have to do now is find a list of Mozart’s works and start to rule out pieces that don’t fit the facts.

List

(scanning....scanning...)

I wonder if I can include the allegro movements from his symphonies? How ‘bout another list?

List 2

(scanning...scanning...)

Dammit! I give up. Sabine, please just give us the Köchel Number, or some other identifier.
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Wherein Ancient Rhetorical Devices Are Explained

I’ve been meaning to write about Vivien Schweitzer for a while, now. I can’t find anything about which to call her out, because, well, she’s good. So I’m taking this opportunity to point out an oft-neglected rhetorical device: Extreme Understatement. Anti-hyperbole. Perhaps there’s a fancy ancient-rhetoric name for it, I don’t know.

What? Look it up? Okay. [looks it up]

It’s called Litotes. Here’s a good example:

“Business carried on as usual during alterations on the map of Europe.” --Winston Churchill

WWII = alterations on the map of Europe. Classic. He’s one of my favorite rhetoricians.

Here is another (good example and favorite rhetorician):

When David Robertson first conducted at the Metropolitan Opera in 1996, he had the distressing experience of leading a performance of Janacek’s “Makropulos Case” in which a tenor died onstage.

Holy crap! “Distressing”? More like fucking terrifying, if you ask me. Potentially traumatic, even.

Then, this:

Things went more smoothly on Saturday night, his first appearance at the house in a decade, leading Mozart’s “Entführung aus dem Serail” (“The Abduction From the Seraglio”).

More smoothly = nobody died onstage. Wow. Exemplary.

Keep it up, Ms. S.

Original article here.

Hail to the Chief

This lovely bit of prose comes from the former President of the Music Critics Association of North America, 1993-1997.

There’s a tinkly passage for string harmonics and piano diddles, then a jagged dance, and later big oozy slides up and down the strings' fingerboards.

Wow. Former President. Hmm. That’s like when Joseph II said that Mozart used too many notes.

That quip came to mind Friday evening during the world premiere of Robert Xavier Rodriguez’s new piano trio.

No kidding.
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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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