Mozart and his Requiem

I respect Mozart and his influence on western music as much as the next consumer of classical music, but I have always been more drawn to the emotionally charged pieces of the romantic period and the intellectual depth of modernism. Mozart’s works are technically flawless, but there is something about many of them that just doesn’t connect with me personally. The Requiem is different. It’s so full of textures and emotion. At times it is tender, and at other times it is fiery. At its core, it is a profound piece of music that masterfully combines a beautiful orchestra with a powerful choir and soloists. To see it performed by the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra in the Strathmore on March 7th was a joy for the eyes and ears.

Before delving into the history of the piece, one is first struck by the technical aspects. This is a big piece of music - literally. Strings and brass and vocal soloists, and a massive choir bring this piece to life. Watching this piece unfurl, I thought to myself how difficult it must be to keep something this grand together. I love watching conductors, seeing how they control the environment with subtle or gargantuan gesticulations, so seeing conductor Jun Märkl sweeping the air so grandly as to be seen by the last row of the choir was a thing to behold. I would also be a traitor to my instrument if I did not point out that this is one of the first times that the trombone is seen in such a prominent position. The fact that low brass even had a spot in a classical piece is notable, not to mention some beautiful solo parts.

The true allure of this piece is the mystery that has surrounded it since its composition in 1791 (you could even say it started even before composition, as Mozart was so unclear of the identity of the man that came to him to commission it). I have always been captivated by stories behind the music, and how fate and circumstance molded the modern perception that we have of a piece of music, and Mozart’s Requiem, a piece written for the powerful circumstance of death, takes the cake in this respect. The story is so compelling that it has been retold as a short play by Pushkin, an opera by Rimsky-Korsakov, and a play by Peter Shaffer which was later adapted into 1984’s Best Picture of the Year – Amadeus. As the story (I apologize for abridging it so) goes, that Mozart did not know the gentleman who had commissioned this piece, and with his health diminishing as he wrote the piece, he mistakenly embraced the logic that the death mass must be for him. This belief must have fueled him to work on the piece with a special dedication, even as his death became imminent. The Lacrimosa section was the last music that Mozart ever wrote, leaving his pupils to finish the Requiem.

It’s a sad story, but, in an odd way, it seems morbidly appropriate for a man who gave so much to our musical tradition. Psychologists (as well as experience and common sense) tell us how the fear of death and the desire to leave a legacy are powerful drivers of our actions here on earth. Mozart saw both in this piece. This confluence of emotion and talent in composition is something remarkable and desperately uncommon. Although the Requiem might not have been intended for him, it is his. In listening to it, you can see and hear a genius searching for his place in this world and the next.

Of Sound and Solitude

This past weekend, I read a piece by William Deresiewicz entitled The End of Solitude. In addition to being a wonderfully thought provoking and well written article, the think-piece made my mind wonder (as many things do) to thoughts of music. In his piece, Deresiewicz argues that solitude, which was once valued in society, has now become something which we are constantly attacking with modern technology. During the Romantic era of the nineteenth century, solitude became both secularized and salient, Deresiewicz writes. The writings of Thoreau, Wordsworth, Melville, and Whitman are excellent examples of man’s need for some degree of solitude. In spending time isolated, or wrapped up in nature and divorced from human influence, man was able to find the divine.

How many times in your day are you alone? If you live in a city or metropolitan area, that doesn’t help. Cell phones, e-mail, text messages, twitter, YouTube, and Facebook create a world in which even when we are physically alone, we are still communicating with others in a fairly direct fashion. “A constant stream of mediated contact, virtual, notional, or simulated, keeps us wired in to the electronic hive…” Without solitude, we are becoming Star Trek’s Borg Collective.

Although the happenings of the 20th century are probably what got us into this crisis of solitude, there are several musical pieces from this era that contemplate this need for isolation. I immediately think of 4’33” (said as “Four Thirty Three” or “Four Minutes and Thirty Three Seconds”) by the experimental composer John Cage. In the piece, a pianist, backed up by an orchestra, plays a rest for four minutes and thirty three seconds. No notes are heard. As per John Cage’s instructions, the instrumentation, as well as the duration of the rest can be changed. Although the piece is frequently the butt of musicology jokes, there is something to it. Cage is forcing you to hear silence, which does not happen too much in our society. In hearing this silence, you are meant to contemplate the greater nature of music, art, and life. (Cage was a truly unique composer, some of his music can be seen at the left - yes, that's the sheet music). Charles Ives’ The Unanswered Question, performed by the BSO a few weeks ago as the opener to their Organ Symphony program, is a piece in a similar vein. There is very little to the piece; flutes, strings, and a few trumpets playing mostly sustained notes create dissonance, a sense of timelessness, and a slightly ominious mood. As the title of the piece would suggest, it begged several question about music, sound, and art, of which there is no answer. You must contemplate, in solitude, these questions for yourself.

When I think of the times in the day that I am truly alone, I cannot think of many. An exception to this incessant stream of signals, I believe, can be found in music. Although the aforementioned pieces are especially appropriate examples, the very nature of all art and music has a certain built-in quality of meditative solitude – you must enjoy this art by your own standards, by yourself. Ironically, when I am listening to classically performed pieces, live or on a recording, I find my mind drifting more freely than it does on almost any other occasion. Even though there are hundreds of others in the room, and you are listening to a signal created by not just one, but dozens of other humans, it is very possible to feel alone. Although it might not correspond directly to Deresiewicz’ idea of solitude, I think this feeling of isolation you may achieve when you are wrapped up in a piece of music is close to what is he is getting at. It is a temporary release from the electronic hive.

Feb. 19th Concert

I love walking out of a concert burning to talk about what I’ve just heard. For one thing, it means that the music successfully flushed everything else out of my head, and with the stresses of life, who doesn’t need that to happen every once in a while? Additionally, it means that the music fulfilled one of the many purposes of art by begging us to contemplate it in some way. Walking out of last Thursday’s (Feb. 19th) concert at the Strathmore, I had a lot to talk about.

Starting off a concert with a Charles Ives piece is an edgy move that is sure to catch the attention of your audience. The Unanswered Question, the first piece on the program, is no exception. For those unfamiliar with the composer, he was… to put it lightly… ahead of his time. There are stories of Charles Ives, as a young boy, sitting on a street corner at an open-air fair, between two brass bands, and listening to them perform at the same time, their melodies crashing in dissonance inside his head. When this is your childhood memory of music, you are going to write some interesting things. Although it sounds nothing like a brass band, The Unanswered Question does take full advantage of dissonance and lives up to the pensive quality of its title. The piece never gets too loud, although it does layer sounds in a way that forces the listener to ask “where is this going?” As you would expect, this question is not answered by the time the piece fades away. Conductor Marin Alsop’s use of her musicians worked very well for the piece. She only had the flute section on stage, with the strings backstage and trumpets positioned at the side and back doors of the hall. This, obviously, created an unsettling effect. Hearing violins in front of you, you squinted at the stage wondering why you couldn’t see them, only to be shocked to trumpet blasts from the left or right. The concert was off to a great start.

Although more traditional, the concert’s highlight, Saint-Saëns’ 3rd Symphony (AKA The Organ Symphony) was equally notable. This beautiful, sweeping work is really a fine example of a romantic symphony, especially when it is masterfully performed. I have always loved Saint-Saëns for his ability to create something that is just enough outside the ordinary to really intrigue you. And such a diversity of style he had! Among his most famous works, Carnival of Animals is all over the board, from tender to bombastic, Danse Macabre (depicted at left) is the quintessential Halloween piece, and Danse Bacchanale (if you don't think the classics can be edgy, watch that clip) from Samson et Dalila has to be one of the most fun and energetic pieces out there (if you’re into low brass or timpani, you would especially agree with me). The 3rd Symphony, with the incorporation of the massive organ, also does not disappoint. What I love about this piece is the truly restrained use of the organ. It is not a concerto for the instrument, but rather an example of the instrument’s ability to contribute to the texture of the traditional symphony. When the organ first enters, several minutes into the piece, you actually feel it before you hear it, it’s coming in so low and soft. In contrast the stops are (proverbially and literally) pulled out at the beginning of the final movement when it comes through in all its glory.

To think, all this and some Mozart, too. Three centuries of music in three pieces -quite a lot to reflect on, if you think about it.

Towards a new American culture

With the inauguration and the opening of a new Congress, it seems like there has been a lot of political rhetoric in our lives recently, even by the standards of Washington, D.C. Don’t ask me to remember what speech it was from, but one of the things our new President recently said that struck a chord with me was that Americans need to change their culture (or something along those lines). In the context of the speech, President Obama was referring to the culture of greed and materialism on Wall Street and the financial markets which got our economy into the hole it is in, but his comments also made me reflect on the broader concept of culture in America.
What is American culture? It’s a hard question, and I wouldn’t be wise to try to answer it through this medium, but it’s definitely something to think about when you want to give your brain an exercise. Because of our diversity, I think it’s safe to say that American culture is multifaceted and influenced by a massive number of sources. On the other hand, America has been accused of not having its own culture, and of being too young of a people to have truly developed a cultural identity.

Again, this is an argument that entire books have been written on and it would be an injustice to attempt to condense further discussion on our nation’s cultural identity into this short discussion. However, I do feel safe saying that whatever American culture is, we could benefit from more of it. More trips to the symphony or a play, more dances, more books. When I hear the President saying we need to change our culture, I agree whole heartedly – we need to change our culture by become more in touch with it. In my opinion, the arts are selfless and are the antithesis of the greed and corruption which have caused such problems.

Even when the world seems to be too chaotic to deal with, a well performed piece of music, or a well executed play has a way of cutting through the mess outside and making you feel at peace with yourself. Multiple research endeavors have shown that people who regularly interact with the arts lead happier, fuller lives. Increasingly, the arts are even being seen as having medicinal qualities, with stories of people overcoming illness at a more rapid rate when they actively engage in music appreciation, or pick up a paint brush. Therefore, I don’t think it is a huge jump of knowledge to think that a dose of culture can help an ailing nation.

It is unfortunate that in times of economic trouble, funding for the arts is one of the first things on the chopping block, although that is a subject for another day. There is, however, a silver lining as people see this time of challenge as an opportunity to reconnect (or connect for the first time) to an artistic outlet that brings them joy. I recently came across an article about the effects of the recession on philanthropic donations and was pleased to see a quote that reminded me of this. When asked why, in a time of recession, she gave $30 million to the Performing Arts Center of Miami-Dade County which bears her name, Adrienne Arsht commented “to me, the arts are as necessary to our existence as almost anything else.”

Happy New Year!

The new year is a great time to start new things... like a blog about a symphony orchestra. Through this forum, I hope to share some of my perspectives and thoughts on the fine music of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra and symphonic music in general. Like many active and potential members of a BSO concert audience, my "formal" knowledge of music is limited. I played piano and trombone (not very well) in high school and a bit of college and even dared to pick up a violin for about a year because I wanted to create the beautiful sounds of an orchestra myself - that didn't happen. What I can say I do very well is appreciate listening to music. I also love talking about it and love sharing my interest with others.

The new year is also a great time to make resolutions. It seems like every year I resolve to find more time for culture in my life, but this year I'm going to stick to it. Being a young and new member of the Washington, D.C. metropolitan community, I find that there are just so many opportunities! Going to the symphony more often is going to be right up there on the list next to "spend more time with friends and family" (this could actually happen) and "go to the gym three times a week" (this probably won't happen).

However, I'm going to add a twist to this resolution. I'm going to bring other people to the symphony, too. I think a lot of people have figured out that dinner and a few tickets to a classical concert makes for a great and special date night with the significant other, or a particularly classy night out with friends, but what about as a gift? A little while back, I was lying in bed thinking about all of the things I had to do the next day (and wasn't particularly looking forward to), one of which was to buy a present for that person-who-has-everything. It suddenly dawned on me that this friend of mine had been chatting with me earlier about how he wished he could take better advantage of cultural activities around town. How about a gift of two tickets to Verdi's Rigoletto, which was playing in a few weeks at our local performing arts center? I remembered how, knowing that I enjoyed classical music, a friend of mine had gotten me two tickets to Carmen and it was a great gift. My gift of tickets was a similar hit. A pair of tickets was not really that expensive (I think it was between $60 and $70 for both, about what I would normally pay for a nice gift for a good friend), and it was definitely a unique gift. My friend and his date really enjoyed the evening, and we had a good discussion about it after the fact.

If you happen to know a person's taste in composers or musical styles, even better - here is a chance to tell the person "I didn't just buy you a sweater, I actually thought about this!" Even if you don't know the person's taste, you are still telling them "I think you're a classy person who would enjoy a sophisticated night out." You're also helping the person set up a lovely date or evening with a significant other, which is surely appreciated.

Try it, and see if it helps you and your friends keep "go to the symphony more often" in the success column of your New Year's resolutions.