Johannes Brahms: Symphony No. 1 in c minor, Finale

I think it's high time we introduce Brahms.  He is after all the guiding spirit of this blog (as you can see to your right).  I first was introduced to Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) in elementary school.  I had a teacher who decided that each of her students needed to learn something about a composer of the classical genre.  We were thrust into the tiny media center and given the task of identifying and researching a composer of our choosing.  I was probably 8 or 9 and let's just say that my study skills left much to be desired.  I was among a group of youngsters who had been identified as "gifted" which is a relatively indiscreet way of calling someone a smart ass and having them moved into a separate class with other smart asses who are then informed that they are special and unique children.  Incidentally, this is how elitists are born. 

Anyways, back to Brahms.  I thumbed randomly through the bookshelves and pulled out a biography written about Herr Brahms.  I don't specifically recall, but it most likely was the first book I selected.  It had an illustrated image of the composer on the front, a younger rendition of him (pre-beard) and in large, kid-friendly letters it explained that it contained many important details describing his life and times and that he was generally pretty awesome.  I read the book, wrote a report, shared it with the class and moved on with life.  Not once, did I ever listen to his music.

Or see his magnificent beard!

Now, this is no fault to my teacher (and sadly I can't recall which teacher it was, but I did have some wonderful ones in those humble days).  But, looking back I can't help but see the huge inadequacy of my own work.  How could I possibly have understood Brahms at any level without hearing a lick of music?

So fast forward to 2001.  It's summer in Tallahassee, FL.  I had earned a scholarship to attend the Florida State University Summer Music Camp, which consisted of a two-week long block of rehearsals, electives and other fun activities for burgeoning young musicians.  I (again- the lazy, poor study that I am) chose relaxation time as an elective.  I was a bit surprised to find myself whisked away and placed into a large rehearsal hall during said relaxation time with a few people I knew from my band as well as a room full of instruments made of wood and strings.

I didn't fully understand why I had been selected.  I was placed in the top band, but apparently they needed some more wind players for the literature that they had selected for the orchestra.  So we settled in and began reading.  We were given three pieces: Danse Macabre, by Camille Saint-Saëns, Overture to Nabucco from the opera of the same name by Giuseppe Verdi, and Symphony No. 1 in c minor, Mvt. 4 by Johannes Brahms.

Quite the lofty programming for us kids!  We began to work.  One of the directors of the string portion of the camp was Dr. Michael Allen who was a FSU faculty member.  Dr. Allen tragically lost a battle with lung cancer in 2010 and the world lost a valiant defender of the arts.  That summer, he told us a story about a trip he had taken to a museum overseas, possibly the Louvre, but I can't remember for the life of me.  There was a painting that he specifically wished to observe in this particular museum and he made straight for it upon entering.  He recalled that the painting was a particularly valuable work and as such it was surrounded by waist-high velvet ropes and had armed security stationed nearby.  

An obvious masterwork.

As he approached the painting, he described how excited he was to be in the presence of this favorite piece.  He leaned in as close as the ropes (and the now slightly nervous guard) would allow, close enough to see the individual brush strokes on the canvas.  It was remarkable, but in the same moment he told of a feeling of some disappointment.  He had reached the zenith of experience.  He could not absorb any further meaning from the work, even if he had reached out and touched it.  He was limited solely to observation.  He then looked to the Brahms, the Verdi and the Saint-Saëns.  He waved his hand over them and began speaking directly to each of us.  

What he said was that essentially the visual arts are a limited art in scope.  There is no more to be taken away than the observation.  Which despite the fact that observation in itself can produce remarkable emotions and thoughts, it goes no further.  However, with music...you are the art.  The whole process of music is in the creating, the extracting, the interpreting of the art.  Coaxing it from the ink and pulp into a vibrant concert hall.  We not only experience the art, but in reproducing it we become the art.  There is no other medium that offers such an amazing ride.  

So we set into the Brahms, and he explained different passages and talked about the form and how Brahms destroyed several versions of his first symphony from an overactive sense of perfectionism.  How he paid homage to the works of Beethoven.  He paid special attention to the low brass chorale in the middle of the movement and how that theme is torn asunder and reassembled in a triumphant battle cry toward the closing.  How Brahms must have painfully waited until the right moment to reintroduce it and bring everything to a climax.  

Dr. Allen ignited within us all an awareness of the special gifts we possessed.  That the power to generate and regenerate art was contained within.  Dr. Allen also ignited in me a passion for the work of Johannes Brahms.  For some reason, it spoke to me on a level I have difficulty describing.  I learned who Brahms was in 1994, I started listening to Brahms that summer of 2001, and 12 years later I am still wholly consumed by the man's contributions to the world.  

A small warning: Our listening example today breaks a rule.  Teenagers have limited attention spans and as such one of the things I have learned while doing LF's is that you have to get to the point fairly quickly with the younger set or you'll lose them.  As a general rule, I try to keep the length of the excerpts around 5 minutes on average.  The fourth movement is around 17 minutes in length.   

Now, I do understand the few (very few) of you who do actually read this blog regularly don't have time like that to just kick around.  The recording is from a complete performance of the work (which requires around 40-50 minutes), but the embedded video starts at the beginning of the 4th movement.

If you're really in a hurry you can bump it forward to 39:20 or so and hear a fair bit of all the thematic material (including at 42:17 when the triumphant melody introduced by the low brass chorale earlier returns).  I apologize for the random anime girl staring you down on the video, but it's the Vienna Philharmonic performing and the best recording I found on YouTube of this work.  

If you do have the time, I highly recommend listening to the entire piece.  


It's worth it.



Homework: Write down a specific place that this piece reminds you of. Somewhere you've lived, visited, passed through, etc.

See you next Friday.

-ED



Sources:
www.youtube.com
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is owned by Warner Bros.
The modified Bob Ross image is property of Bob Ross Incorporated. 

Antonio Carlos Jobim: Samba de Uma Nota Só (Ella Fitzgerald and Joe Pass)

I don't watch American Idol, unless I happen to be in the room when my wife has it on.  To avoid being needlessly antagonistic, I will keep my personal opinion of the show succinct: 

I feel they do a good job at recognizing and developing disposable art.  Performers are praised for things like stage presence and obviously on their ability to sing on pitch, but I feel too much emphasis is placed on appearance and presentation and not nearly enough on substance.

Apparently, I'm not alone.


 
Mr. Harry Connick, Jr. was apparently a "mentor" judge, and had the opportunity to offer advice on some jazz standards that were pulled from the Great American Songbook, something of which I have heard he is well-read.  As of writing, I have not seen the particular episode in question.  I've found various online dissertations on the matter, many of which are conflicting.  Some people criticize that Mr. Connick, Jr. was arrogant and rude to the other judges in pushing his opinion.  Others claim that he was right in presenting educationally sound musical ideas in a medium that has been long void of such thought.  I have my bias, I'll leave that to Facebook flame wars and (other) arm-chair pundits to decide.  

Here's the first article I read.

The big takeaway from this (and it's true regardless of whether you feel Connick was out of line), is that the people on the American Idol stage usually possess little or no true musical education.

The point he continually made was that the vocalists on stage were singing songs that they didn't understand.  Songs are designed to communicate a message.  Some tell a story about burning down Georgia.  Others talk about falling in love, or worse, love lost.  Some are sympathetic, others tend to be bellicose.  Mr. Connick's qualm was when the disposable art interacted with the indispensable art of which he is bred.  The runs and the trills and other vocal gymnastics fit with modern music.  It's germane with pop.  It's just like watching a firework show, bigger is better.  But it doesn't have staying power.  If you've seen one firework show, you've seen them all.  You can take it or leave it.

Or remove your face with it.

Now, these "idols" do work hard, they do try hard and they put forth a great deal of effort into what they apparently love to do.  However, the system is flawed.  I've met too many people who claim that they can't sing or they can't play an instrument.  No one can...initially.  Harry Connick, Jr. had to have been (at one point in his life) an annoying child who when introduced to a piano would invariably begin pounding on random keys to make noise.

The first difference is he didn't stop.  The second is someone handed him music.  

Someone probably molded his banging into cogent order.  It took time.  He's 45, so there's potentially decades of effort right there.  Therefore he is unique, because for some reason many people have decided that they can't sing or play unless someone of musical authority grants them the privilege.  I'm here today to tell you that it's not true!

Will a few people become multinational pop stars?  Yes.  Will the vast majority of mankind fail to become a household name beyond their circle of friends?  Yes.  Should you sing or play anyway?  Yes.

Will you ever be this cool?  No.

I think for Mr. Connick, Jr., the biggest problem came when the vocal gymnastics didn't align with the somber message of the tune.  When you're sad, when your world is crashing in on you, most people don't feel like doing gymnastics.  A huge part of post-Classical music is connecting with those inner human emotions.  When you sacrifice the art in sake of a fireworks show, you prove your ignorance.  And deep down I feel it was that pervasive ignorance that Mr. Connick was hoping to right.  Just like any good teacher.

So it is in that same vein I bring you something of that era gone by and hope to share some musical education with you as well.  The chosen piece today is the "One Note Samba" by Antonio Carlos Jobim (1927-1994).  Jobim was a Brazilian composer who with saxophonist Stan Getz (1927-1991) became a driving force in introducing the Bossa Nova style to the world with their hit "The Girl from Ipanema".  If you've been on hold with the bank before, chances are you've heard it.

No Ma'am, we're musicians.

Now, Jobim is not the only centerpiece of today's lesson, we are looking at a specific rendition of the "One Note Samba".  We now turn to Ella Fitzgerald (1917-1996) and Joe Pass (1929-1994).  There exists 6 albums featuring collaboration between these two titans of the 20th century.  Interestingly enough, the recordings were released from 1973 through 1986, close to the autumn years of both musicians.  Pass had become famous for reinventing improvisation on the guitar by incorporating his apparent wealth of music theory knowledge and using creative harmonic patterns by fingering picking instead of using the more prevalent guitar pick.  To me it sounds like he can emulate an entire rhythm section with his Gibson ES-175.  Ella Fitzgerald had such a command of the voice, with a range exceeding 3 octaves and the ability to improvise freely with a vocal quality that was almost horn-like.  She earned the moniker, the "First Lady of Soul" and defended the title readily through 60 years of professional performance.  

There is some music that no matter how many times we've heard it, you can always want more.  For me, listening to Pass and Fitzgerald play the One Note Samba can never be enough.  There are lyrics to this piece (originally in Portuguese):

This is just a little samba

Built upon a single note

Other notes are bound to follow

But the root is still that note

Now this new one is the consequence

Of the one we've just been through

As I'm bound to be the unavoidable 

consequence of you

There's so many people who can 

talk and talk and talk

And just say nothing

Or nearly nothing

I have used up all the scale I know

And at the end I've come to nothing

Or nearly nothing

So I came back to my first note

As I must come back to you

I will pour into that one note

All the love I feel for you

Anyone who wants the whole show

Re mi fa sol la si do

He will find himself with no show  

Better play the note you know

For some reason, the majority of recordings I've found of this duo performing has Ella abandoning the words in lieu of singing the melody in scat.  For those who may not know, scat vocals are nonsense syllables that emulate improvisation by instrument with the voice.  Different syllables are used to mimic horns and create a wide array of articulation and tone.  Ella was one of the best.  

In the end, I don't really know why I love hearing these two perform this song.  I guess I find it amazing for someone to say so much without really saying anything at all.

Homework: Write about a time you communicated with someone without talking.

See you next Friday.

-ED




Sources:
www.youtube.com
www.wikipedia.com
http://torus.math.uiuc.edu
http://www.brazzil.com/
http://www.nextavenue.org/

Seikilos Epitaph

Our first series will come to a close with what is perhaps not the oldest piece of music ever, but a nevertheless astounding artifact from Ancient times.  It is the oldest surviving complete musical composition, which in itself is incredibly significant considering it dates from anywhere from 200 BC to 100 AD (potentially 2,000 years old!).  All music we have that was written from before the Seikilos Epitaph is only incomplete fragments.  

The music itself is inscribed in a cylinder of marble meant to be a grave marker.  The epitaph begins by announcing:

"I am a tombstone, an icon. Seikilos placed me here as an everlasting sign of deathless remembrance."

Hello.

It's hard to say who this Seikilos guy was.  The only historical reference we have on him comes from this tombstone.  Most people from this era who were capable of writing music like this were either professional musicians or priests.  The inscription also references another person named Euterpe which is presumably whom the stone is dedicated to and leads one to believe that she was Seikilos' wife.  It's a bit morose though, since these stones typically adorned the gravesite of one who passed at a young age.  

The song has the following text (the 1st and 3rd lines are the rhythms and notes, the 2nd and 4th are the lyrics):

Translated as:

While you live, shine,

have no grief at all;

life exists only for a short while,

and time demands its toll.

Written above each word is a Greek symbol indicating a specific pitch in their tonal system (think of it like an ancient Solfège system: do re mi fa so etc.) along with another symbol that would indicate duration (either a one, two, or three) which is commonly translated into the modern notation system today using eighth, quarter, and dotted quarter notes.  It looks like this:

So it's not long, it can be performed in under 30 seconds if need be, and we know nothing about any other compositions Mr. Seikilos might have written.  Much of what existed in this era was lost to wars or pillaging or just time in general (much like Seikilos warns us of in his song).  The Seikilos Epitaph was almost lost to humanity on several occasions and the stone has had an interesting journey to say the least.

Seikilos himself lived in a city known as Tralles (which is in present-day Turkey).  It was discovered in 1883 by a Scottish archaeologist and biblical expert named Sir William Mitchell Ramsay near a railroad construction site near the Turkish city of Aydin.

*Insert joke about American geography knowledge*

From here I've found two divergent tales about the stone.  One story says that a senior official in charge of the construction project took the stone as his own personal property and gave it to his wife who had the bottom of the stone ground down so it would sit level and support a flowerpot in her garden.  Another story claims that the Greco-Turkish war destroyed the museum in Smyrna that housed the artifact and it was later discovered in some Turkish woman's garden, supporting a flower pot.  I'm not sure which story is true, but it seems plausible that some Turk's idiot wife with a green thumb thought this priceless piece of antiquity would be better served as a flower pedestal and destroyed the base of the piece, obliterating the final lines.  

Reminds me a bit of these two.

From there it was rediscovered, lost, smuggled out of Turkey, lost again, and then found in Copenhagen at the National Museum of Denmark.  There is a movement from within Turkey to have it returned on the basis that it was illegally removed from the country of origin, but I can't find any other information about that effort. 

It is striking to me that Seikilos has seemingly been quite successful in his efforts to thwart death and be remembered, even if all we know about him is what can be culled from a 2,000 year old piece of marble.  The text of the song is stunning too in how it exhibits such a strong emphasis on taking joy from the brevity of life.  The final line is especially meaningful to me and reminds me of an adage from Earl Nightingale:

"Don't let the fear of the time it will take to accomplish something stand in the way of your doing it. The time will pass anyway..."

As time does indeed demand its toll.

The clip this week comes from the San Antonio Vocal Ensemble with an approximation of what it might have sounded like with appropriate accompaniment from a lyra or cithara and some liberal interpretation on percussion. 

Homework: As you listen to this recording, think about someone you've lost. Someone who may have meant a lot to you, but is no longer here.  Write what comes to mind.  

See you next Friday.

-ED




Sources:
http://musicologicus.blogspot.com/
IMSLP's PDF of the translated score
http://www.findagrave.com/
www.wikipedia.com
www.youtube.com
The map of Turkey and surrounding countries is property of Google.
The image of the "Turkish" couple is from the movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail.