Pieces by Thomas Adès, Debussy, Vaughan-Williams, Smetana, and Elena Langer plus related interviews and videos continued BSO’s season-long Music in Changing Times. [continued]
Boston Camerata’s An American Christmas 2020 served as a balm and a comfort this week because it captured a unique and infrequently heard repertoire in a historical space of visual and auditory beauty. It functioned both as a replacement for a concert, and as a formal record of a many-years-long performance tradition. [continued]
Artistic Director Ryan Turner and video director Nathan Troup sent the finale of Emmanuel Music’s three-part Britten Chamber Festival to viewers last night. The stream runs for 60 days. [continued]
Something of a misbegetting resulted from shoehorning an abridgment of Handel’s Messiah into an aspiringly slick chimeric Covideo to fill a 55-minute public TV slot. Expert singing and playing jousted for screen time with a sometimes inane travelogue of Boston. The H+H – WGBH production runs free for the next couple of months on YouTube, Vimeo and Facebook. [continued]
The third concert of this streaming BSO season, and the concluding radian of its somewhat disappointing narrative arc on America’s Promise, proffered music by Copland, Tower, Barber, and Adu-Gilmore to illustrate the thematic “optimism and openness as well as resilience and self-reflection.” Marcelo Lehninger carried the baton on December 3rd. [continued]
Captured live a week ago at ISGM’s Calderwood Hall before 19 persons, Evren Ozel’s virtuosity, clarity and messaging inspired feelings of hope. [continued]
Thanksgiving Thursday saw the BSO unlock its second “American Promise” stream, in which Thomas Wilkins conducted Harlem Renaissance-centered works by Jessie Montgomery, William Grant Still, Duke Ellington, and chamber music by Osvaldo Golijov. [continued]
Returning to the virtual stage for “The Shape of Joy,” the Criers put their usual exuberance to good use. [continued]
With solo pieces for oboe, violin, and piano in compressed time-space, Radius recently livestreamed the out-of-the-ordinary by giving ear to a lesser known contemporary composer cluster. [continued]
Ending 260 days of silence in Symphony Hall, Ken-David Masur led the BSO in its inaugural installment of “Music in Changing Times,” a new 15-part series of multimedia streaming concerts [continued]
A be-masked and be-distanced NEC Philharmonia (string orchestra) under guest conductor Christopher Wilkins livestreamed a lively and poised recital of 20th– and 21st– century pieces. [continued]
Guerrilla Opera has embraced online programming this season with a series of “Covid experiments.” As the final event of the Boston New Music Festival, “Dreamwalker, a month-long audio-visual production, combines a group of these experiments in a veritable feast of drama, film, and music. [continued]
Jamaica Plain Chambermusic welcomed a small but mighty audience to the Church of the Advent on the flat of Beacon Hill on an autumnal Friday night for a currently rare occurrence: in-person chamber music [continued]
Thanks to excellent filmography and sound quality, the Terezin Music Foundation’s annual gala once again shared an important message in the context of a concert which melded works written by Holocaust victim-composers with pieces written before and after. A call went out for Elijah the Prophet and “We Shall Overcome” came as a reply. [continued]
Instead of broadcasting prerecorded videos or a livestream to open its Covid season, the New England Philharmonic invited Philadelphia-based composer TJ Cole’s for a Zoom discussion and music explication. [continued]
Fourteen Emmanuel Music players under Ryan Turner transmitted Bernard Labadie’s arrangement of Bach’s Goldberg Variations on October 24th. The welcome online feast will remain available on YouTube. [continued]
In musical notation, “moto perpetuo” doesn’t so much describe a physical impossibility but rather a state of uninterrupted, uniformly moving notes—as realized by various composers in their own distinctive manners…. [continued]
Beethoven’s sets of pianos minuets from the 1790s, WoO 7 and WoO 10, could have been transcribed (by him or by a publisher’s hack) from a ballroom string orchestra versions. They are elegant enough and straightforwardly tuneful and danceable, but they have the flavor of dashed off for quick money — or, in those days, chump change and no royalties.
Schubert’s earliest minuets are precisely comparable; he inherited the classical minuet-and-trio form from Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven and ran with it. 30 Minuets for piano, D 41, date from 1813 (he was 16 years old); ten of these are lost, and one assumes that he wrote them for household use, or in school, because none was published until the Schubert Gesamtausgabe in 1889. The texture typically shows a left-hand part moving in quarters, sometimes with two changes of harmony in the bar; the Trio section often has a left hand in seesawing eighths. These textures suggest a relatively moderate tempo suitable for regular dance steps, roughly 100-120 to the quarter. No. 1 begins like “O my darling, Clementine”; nine others begin with a dotted upbeat.
If Andris Nelsons and the BSO play and there’s no audience in Symphony Hall to hear it, does it still make sound? The answer is a resounding yes, as the music director returns to Symphony Hall this week to begin recording three new Beethoven-inspired concert streams for release in February HERE. The streams will be available for purchase and viewing on February 11th, 18th, and 25th.
Nelsons leads the band for the first time since last January, just weeks before the covid plague forced the BSO (and most everyone else) to close its doors to the public and cancel the remainder of last and all of this season. See the official announcement with video statements HERE.
Video and photos of Nelsons’s first appearance with the BSO in a year will include rehearsals (from January 6th) of the Eroica. The conductor and the musicians wear masks situate themselves on a 36-foot extension—more than doubling the size of the stage—built to accommodate social distancing requirements between and among orchestra members.
In tonal music (at least until Debussy) there are basically two kinds of harmony: dominant harmony, and everything else. Dominant harmony is what we develop a feeling for when we consider harmonic motion: dominant progresses to tonic, V goes to I. The most obvious strong harmonic progression is dominant-to-tonic at the end of a phrase, and the strongest version of this is called “perfect authentic cadence.” Theorists cherish this as a PAC rather than as a Political Action Committee.
We hear the “most perfect” form of this in root position, with the leading tone (LT, or ^7) in the upper voice, rising to the tonic degree. Almost as “perfect,” the ^2-^1 in the upper voice places the leading-tone in an inner voice. Imperfect authentic cadences still resolve dominant-to-tonic, but can include inversions (not in root position), e.g. V6-I, with the leading-tone in the bass.
The aristocratic minuet from the 18th century, a highly stylized dance for a couple, or for several couples in a square format, watched over by polite society, was considered proper and difficult, and therefore a social test. We have two feet, but the minuet has three beats to the bar, so the positioning of steps varied between left, right, and together. There are plenty of 32-bar standard minuets in music, 8 + 8 bars, each repeated, followed by a “Trio” consisting of another 8 + 8 bars repeated, and then a da capo. Beethoven’s 12 Minuets WoO 7, 6 Minuets WoO 9, etc., composed in the mid-1790s are typical, and you probably played the Minuet in G Major, WoO 10 No. 2, before you were ten years old because it was in everybody’s beginning piano book — maybe it was the first thing by Beethoven that you ever heard, even before Für Elise or the “Moonlight” Sonata. Schubert’s 30 Minuets, D 41, from 1816, weren’t published before 1889, and meanwhile ten of them were lost. (The Trio for No. 21 is only 15 bars — one supposes an engraver’s error.) Unlike Beethoven’s minuets, which he wrote for orchestra (i.e., ballroom use), Schubert composed his for piano, i.e., for home use.
The David Elliott Memorial Orgy (1942-2020) will commemorate the 58 years David served as voice of Harvard Radio, and will weave together iconic and beloved moments at WHRB that tell a story of the station’s longtime mentor, host, and friend. Listeners and WHRB alumni (“ghosts”) will also be commenting throughout. The Orgy is in nine sections: Early Years, Classical Music Relations, WHRB Historian and Community Keeper, Harvard Broadcasts, Special Programs, Love of Opera, and Holiday Broadcasts. The memorial is slated for Thursday, December 24 from 8 am to 6 pm on WHRB, 95.3 FM and streaming HERE.
The Early Years section will feature a discussion of and a work from one of David’s earliest WHRB broadcasts, a series entitled Voices That Live that the Boston Globe highlighted in 1961.
The Classical Music Relations section will likely prove most interesting to the Boston classical music community. It begins with interviews David conducted with three of the most influential figures in classical music: soprano Renee Fleming, violinist Joshua Bell, and composer Aaron Copland. It continues with excerpts from David’s interviews with directors of classical music organizations in the area, including Deb Boldin from the Chameleon Arts Ensemble; Benjamin Zander from the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra; Gil Rose from Odyssey Opera and the Boston Modern Orchestra Project; and Kathy Fay from the Boston Early Music Festival. Key musical recordings related to David will also be heard throughout this section. These include one for which he was the recording engineer: a luminous 1971 performance of Aaron Copland’s 12 Poems of Emily Dickinson from Sanders Theatre, sung by famed soprano and long-time Boston area opera teacher Phyllis Curtin, with Copland at the piano. Tributes will also be heard from other members of the Boston classical music community, including Ryan Turner, Martin Pearlman, Ron Della Chiesa, and Susan Byers Paxson.
Were the world not in the throes of a once-in-a century pandemic, countless tributes and performances honoring Beethoven would be marking the composer’s 250th birthday celebration this month. Here in New York, I was looking forward to attending a performance of his Ninth Symphony, a touchstone to which generations have turned in search of hope, solace, perspective, courage, or simply a sublime musical experience. The work has so deeply enmeshed itself in history and culture that, as Charles Rosen said of Mozart’s Piano Concerto in D Minor, “…it is difficult at times to say whether we are hearing the work or its reputation, our collective image of it.”[i] While unquestionably a crown jewel of the Western canon, the Ninth also stands apart from that canon on account of its sheer scope. Utopias germinate in periods of suffering and strife that nevertheless harbor the potential to transcend the ever fraught and undesirable present. Is it fair to suggest then, that the capacity of the Ninth Symphony to speak to us today has been heightened by the mounting challenges of our times?
The magnitude of our losses this year, and the failure of the federal government to contain the pandemic have led to collective disbelief, helplessness, mourning, and trauma. Non-pandemic news has been consistently alarming also, but one event stood out: the on-camera asphyxiation of George Floyd by a white police officer, calmly and in cold blood, so flagrantly violated our innate sense of justice that it instantly became an agent of change. Demand surged for racial justice, opening one of America’s rare windows since the Civil War for radical and meaningful change. What would it have been like to attend a live performance of the Ninth Symphony in this simultaneously harrowing and hopeful year? This question led me to wade into the lore of the work itself.
The Ninth’s central idea of a universal reconciliation is anchored in Friedrich Schiller’s ode “An die Freude” (To Joy), written in 1785 and revised in 1803, the latter version being the basis of Beethoven’s setting. The period of the poem’s composition saw the emergence of a new discourse that defined the human subject, for the first time in history, without reference to a larger religious or social framework and only in relation to itself. This figure—the individual, independent human being— had just come of age and had found its epoch-making expression in the Declaration of Independence, which spoke of “unalienable Rights” to “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” and in the French Déclaration des droits de l’homme (1789), which boldly opened with the statement that “men are born and remain free and equal in rights.” The historic moment marked the emergence of humankind from its “self-incurred immaturity,” in Immanuel Kant’s famous definition of the Enlightenment.[ii]