A Long Disquisition Upon (Classical) Music

Today I went on a quest for new YouTube clips, and I found them in plenty. Above is the Adagio of Haydn's Cello Concerto No. 1 in C major, as played by Jacqueline du Pré. It's one of the pieces I grew up hearing, so I am especially fond of it. I think that listening to so much music when I was little, impressionable and sensitive to atmosphere, really did deepen and beautify my life. It wasn't only our records and tapes that I liked, but also Papa's live music. The Mozart, Schubert, and Beethoven piano sonatas that he often played (I'm guessing when he wanted to relax) when we were little made me feel sheltered and content.

Besides, particularly in those sonatas Papa doesn't superimpose anything on the music, but lets it come out naturally. The way one plays does say something about one's character, and if one is vain, bored, unsympathetic, emotionally shallow, or who knows what, it'll come out, and most likely get in the way of the music. So if the playing is unimpeded by these things, limpid as a mountain brook and even indicative of goodness of character, it is extremely nice to hear apart from its musical loveliness.

I think that Schubert's Sonata in B flat major is one of the most demanding pieces in this respect. If one is superficial, pompous, insincere, harsh, etc., — or, I guess, if Schubert simply isn't one's cup of tea — it is terribly evident. As it's my favourite piece, I probably hugely overidealize it, but I think that it is the epitome of modest sincerity, sympathy, depth, and nobility. The first movement reminds me of a church (me and many other people; the stately chords and moderate tempo may be responsible for that). In the second movement the minor chords seem to me like the rending of heartstrings, corrosive in its sadness, followed by a low melody of consolation. Depending on my mood, I feel a corresponding ache when I play it; and for a year or two it was my sanctum sanctorum, which I would only play if I felt that I'd do so in the right spirit. It's similar with the second movement of the previous sonata (A major). In this case it is apparently not wrong to believe that Schubert was thinking of his approaching death as he composed the music, and I often think of him as I play, and admire how he seems to have reached a form of tranquillity.

One thing I like in Glenn Gould's music, by the way, is how his personality played a role. The hint of pedantry, the love of experimentation, the way he was intrigued by the music, intermittent impatience, etc., come out quite transparently. Even where I do not agree with his interpretation, it is invariably interesting, and I always think that it was a station on his way to understanding the piece. In this respect, too, he was refreshingly modest; he didn't pretend that his version was the be-all and end-all. I think he was a genius, too, in the way he found quirky and authentic atmospheres in his music (as he could not have, had he superimposed too much on it). His later Goldberg Variations recordings, to me, have medieval touches despite the modern sound, whereas his Mozart is the essence of classicism, etc. Of course I wasn't alive during the Middle Ages or the Enlightenment; but I think one can intuit the Zeitgeist, and that Gould did this perfectly.

Anyway, another discovery was the "Jewel Song" from Faust (which is familiar from the Tintin comics) as sung by Nellie Melba at the Metropolitan Opera in a year that must be long distant, as the sound quality is pretty terrible. But then I came across the same soprano singing "Ave Maria" from Otello at her farewell concert, Covent Garden, 1926. There the sound quality is excellent, and her timbre comes across well. Besides, I reencountered the ancient recordings of Brahms's voice on wax cylinder, and of Joseph Joachim playing Hungarian Dances No. 1 and 2.

From there I came across Arturo Toscanini's recording of the Tannhäuser overture. I'm not well versed in Wagner, and what I do know mostly comes from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. So as I listened my mind was mostly occupied with visions of a gangly grey rabbit striding about sporting two golden braids and a Viking helmet, and Elmer Fudd solemnly intoning, "Kill the wabbit!" Very highbrow cultural references, I'm sure. (c: Anyway, I liked Toscanini's conducting. The entire orchestra is one surge of music, flowing with the moods as naturally and nearly as easily as a solo instrument, and at times it appears to be on the brink of unmanageable power. This was largely the case in Brahms's Piano Concerto No. 1, in a 1935 recording where Vladimir Horowitz was the soloist. It isn't kitschy either, I think. Only the Wagner, though I think it had intelligence and profundity, was close to a cliché. The scenic effects that the composer pioneered are still common today (e.g. flute solo for a tranquil forest setting; well, someone else probably came up with that, but it's the kind of effect I mean), and the romantic lavishness of Toscanini's interpretation is typical of the scores for black-and-white Hollywood films.

Altogether I very much like that, as in literature and architecture and so many other fields, there is so much to explore and discover in the musical repertoire. At times it's depressing because I feel like an ignoramus, but on the other hand it's relieving to know that I'll be surrounded by wealth and plenty, in the shape of new songs, buildings, books, etc., as long as I live. Besides, as long as I keep growing, I'll find new interpretations and nuances in them, even if it takes a while for a fresh perspective to emerge.