if Mozart had written nothing other
than his piano concerto no 21 in C
major, he would have still been
famous, its adagio is resplendent,
written even in our DNA, time stops,
one enters an epiphany
Maria Mazo could win the Rubinstein
Competition for her interpretation of
this iconic piece
Richard
again my especially musically erudite friend,
Norm, has returned with a catchy morsel, a
popularized version this time of the third
movement, the “Alla Turca“, of Mozart’s
piano sonata no 11, in A major, K 331,
possessed by the glitzy spirit, in this
outing, of Las Vegas
these whet my appetite always for the entire
meal, the source from which these playful
tidbits originate, like an ebullient tributary
returning to its more elementary, and
profound, as it were, spring, a lost child
needing to return to its place of origin
for direction and validation
Mozart, you’ll note, is not Beethoven, though
he might be a not inconsequential Mozart, I
think of his stuff as music for the nursery,
toy soldiers and rocking horses, dairy maids
and cuckoo clocks, not at all to inform but to
delight, the musical structure is foursquare,
lilting ever, and entirely comprehensible,
Mozart just wants to have fun, with here
and there a nod to melancholy, perfect, I
would think, for a powdered and pampered,
though pilloried eventually, indeed
guillotined then, court
the first movement, you’ll remark, is a set
of variations, a bit of a novelty still during
this period, 1778 to 1783 approximately,
the date of composition is not precisely
known, which allowed for, of course, a
variety of styles, voices, to be flaunted
in one only section of a work, instead
of the usual call and response of,
ordinarily, the traditional movement,
extending already, incidentally, the
possibilities of the sonata form, which
later composers would make much
use of
neither of the next movements are
slow, Mozart, as I said, just wanted
to essentially enjoy himself, or his
sponsors did, music did, that’s
what they payed him for
but the times they were a’ changing
as indeed they still are
Richard
psst: thanks Norm
to my utter surprise when I checked I’d never
but only once in the many months I haven’t
been able to shut up since I started spouting
my bristling endorsements, like a very rushing
river gushing with the overflowing bounty of
an inveterate spring, mentioned Schubert, an
incandescent voice from surely heaven
it was about his String Quartet in C major, the
D956, not surprisingly, it is utterly enchanting,
D for Otto Erich Deutsch still, incidentally
here’s an alternate version of it, an utterly
inspired one
but if I’ve reintroduced Schubert it’s specifically
this time to compare him with Beethoven, they’re
easily confounded, I even did it once myself, to
my crushing embarrassment, in erudite and
unflinching company, oof, I cringe to even
remember it
the D959, moments only after the 956 of course,
has all the idioms of a Beethoven, and exercises
them as expertly, the beat, however, is always
on, unlike Beethoven, whose beat is always off,
contrary, rebellious, against the prevailing
order
though this variance might seem slight, one
senses already in the younger and later
Schubert a return to form, elegance, and civility,
the First Empire had indeed taken hold during
the transformation of Napoleon from hero of
the Revolution to a different incarnation of
Emperor, Chopin as well would be beholden
to later similarly reinstated French courts
so seemingly trivial an alteration speaks
volumes when one attentively listens, one
must do this with one’s heart
such a return to aristocratic principles is not
uncommon, incidentally, we seem, indeed, to
thirst for dynasties, if you’ll note the return of
late, of the Bushes, the Clintons, and most
recently the Canadian Trudeaux
Putin is another, though arguably somewhat
less democratic, version of that principle
Beethoven is off the beat then, Schubert on, you
won’t find much else that’s different upon first
listening, you’ll note only that their music is very
much the same, rigorous beat, tonal, essentially,
harmonics, and the return eventually of the
melodies, Classical imperatives, but with the
distinction of the new Romantic,
transformational however, sensibilities
Schubert might’ve even outpaced Beethoven
had he survived, I think, but he didn’t, he died
much too young, at the most tender age of
only 31, younger even than the more
celebrated Mozart, famous for succumbing
prematurely at the still early age of 36
may they rest, may they all rest, Schubert,
Mozart, and the somewhat longer-lived
Beethoven, still early deceased at 56, in
eternal peace, for they have brought us
but wonders
Richard
psst: here’s a movie to go with the earlier
Schubert, “The Company of Strangers“,
the very best film Canada has ever had
to offer, bar none, a gaggle of old women
are stranded in the Laurentians after their
tour bus breaks down, Schubert would’ve
loved it
and been honoured
___
Beethoven’s piano sonata no 28, opus 101,
in A major, is the first of what is considered
to be his late piano sonatas, as opposed to
early and middle, three entirely distinct
periods that are easily recognizable upon
closer listening, the early ones are bold,
even headstrong, with Beethoven’s ever
characteristic vigor and Promethean authority,
the length themselves of his early works are
a testament to his sense of his own great
personal validity, the first four, to my mind,
go on much longer than often enough they
should, a typically youthful presumption on
his part, and are musically at best trite, I find,
after their first expositions, the repeats come
as redundant, and tolerable merely, surprises,
even the famous 8th, the “Pathétique“, opus 13,
is, I think, too brash and impudent, however in
this manner, nevertheless admittedly, entirely
effective, listen
the “Pastorale“, of the middle period, opus 28,
no 15, is where I deem the music to become
henceforward sublime, it has a settled
confidence that brims with not only technical
wizardry but with also positively enchanting
and entrancing musical ideas, bursting like
very flowers in springtime, with colour and
inspired, effervescent, imagination
the late period is where Beethoven becomes,
however, a sage, a prophet, and indeed a
hierarch in the new secular order of a
reconstituted Heaven, after all, someone
had to take the place of the now discredited
angels, Nietzsche called them Übermenschen,
Supermen
the 28th sonata starts out slowly, or rather,
more slowly than the earlier forthright ones,
already a sign of less physical, more
measured and considered reponses, my
impression here is of a grandfather visiting
his granchildren, jovial but not too disportive,
merely jaunty, always cheery but for a moment
of haunting melancholy, at the adagio, before
becoming congenial and avuncular again,
with then a big, boastful ending, snapping
staunchly his patriarchal suspenders,
getting the last, and traditional, word, with
a firm, which is to say, a foursquare-major-
chord, finish, the aural equivalent of turning
out the lights
musically, however, the progressions are
exploratory, incremental, more and more
layered with possible, and often apparently
rejected outcomes, in order to try out
something more fitting, maybe, more
accurate, a deconstruction, in other words,
of musical ideas, an investigation, in search
of a viable musically cohesive path
in the 28th sonata Beethoven, I think, is
doodling, however, coming up with the
methods of his great addresses, the
language here is not yet philosophically
precise, a smattering merely of pianistically
plausible ideas, musical sketches, the first
stirrings here, you’ll gather, of formal jazz
in the next sonata, the 29th, the still
unsurpassed “Hammerklavier”, he writes
the definitive book, speaking for music in
the forthcoming history of the world, and
determining its future path, we are still
moving along on his transcendent carpet,
no one ‘s come along still to give us a
more assured ride, kind of like Homer,
some would say Shakespeare, others
Albert Einstein, other, incidentally,
post-Christian, post Revolutionary
Supermen
who do you presently pray to, who are
your angels, who your Superwomen,
-men, towards what do you aspire,
towards whom
Superwomen, -men, incidentally,
cultivate their own efflorescence,
manifest their own, I think, destinies,
or, if you like, their own Heaven
much as I believe angels also do
Mozart’s Fantasy in C minor on the
same program shows him in a nearly
Beethovenian mode atavistically, much
more somber than he usually is, but he’s
nevertheless easily distinguished by
his much less intricate musical
accompaniment and his much more
rigorous melodic line, you’re more
likely to hum it
Mozart also composes from the nursery,
I find, the exhilaration of playful discovery,
you can see the toy soldiers, the golden
tresses on little milkmaids in dirndls with
red circles for cheeks
Mozart’s pieces are like nursery rhymes
Beethoven progresses to literature
before you judge me too harsh on Mozart,
by the way, consider that my favourite
piece of the two in this program is the
Mozart, it’s like comparing apples and
oranges, though, it depends on your
mood that day which you’ll favour
cheers
Richard
psst: just in case you missed it, this version
of the “Pathétique“ is the best I’ve ever
heard, indeed, of all the pieces here
the most extraordinary, don’t miss it
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