By “modern love story”, I don’t mean “Romeo & Juliet retold with contemporary characters” – I mean “a prostitute lures a lecher to be robbed and murdered, but the lecher is magical and won’t die until his lust is fulfilled.”

When Béla Bartók‘s ballet “The Miraculous Mandarin” was premiered in 1926, it was quickly banned for its questionable morals. But it was cool to be intense, politically charged, and controversial back then – after all, this was the era which included the rise of facism and communism, American prohibition and speakeasies, and all kinds of varied fringe arts ranging from elegant, traditional-sounding neoclassicism to clunky, forward-looking futurism. Time has eroded this ballet’s edgy effect – after books like Lolita or movies like Pulp Fiction, the story of the Miraculous Mandarin feels pretty tame:

A woman dances to lures victims into a room where they are robbed by three bandits. Eventually, a Chinese man comes, and he jumps on the woman in lust. The three bandits attack him and stab him, but he won’t bleed. He begins to glow with an eerie light. The woman realizes what is happening, and orders the bandits off the victim. He jumps up and embraces the woman – his lust fulfilled, his wounds begin to bleed and he dies. Ah, love.

Rage can be a funny emotion, as long as you’re not the one who is feeling it. Musicians are lucky – when we have emotions bottled up within us, we can play music to blow off steam or come to terms with our feelings.

We usually don’t associate Art Music with feelings like rage, but when you feel this way, you have to find an appropriate outlet. When you’re too worked up to play something calming, and too frazzled to play something structured, you have to find something barbaric. Enter Béla Bartok, and his Allegro Barbaro. Bang those keys, make it ugly, until everyone knows how angry you are!

… they STEAL.

Frédéric Chopin had a pretty kickin’ idea when he wrote his nocturnes for solo piano. They are perfect – intimate, romantic, dreamy. Well, when Chopin kicked the bucket in 1849, Franz Liszt took his idea and ran with it. The guy wasn’t even cold in his grave, and already Liszt was penning a shameless copy of his style.