This short lied by Robert Schumann might take less than two minutes to perform, but to me it contains the entire universe of human love and longing. It stops me dead in my tracks – completely unable to move – every time I hear it. It is the opening movement of Dicheterliebe, Schumann’s Song Cycle masterpiece and window into his heart, depression, and mental instability.

I’m afraid to write about it, actually, because I’m afraid of ruining it. It’s an easy piece to analyze from a technical standpoint, but oddly enough, no matter how much I tear it apart, the emotional effect doesn’t diminish. The melody & harmony are simple, but not simplistic; the poetry rhymes – nothing weird here. I think the magic comes from the fact that nothing ever comes to a complete resolution – the piece floats in a special space of unknowing and awkwardness. It’s a moment of heart-wrenching love for another that will not be returned.

Our two-week look at the music of spring is almost over … just a few more.

Charles Gounod is best known for his “Ave Maria,” which he didn’t actually write. Bach wrote it; Gounod just slapped a melody line on it. Less than 5% of the notes belong to Gounod. Let’s just forget the Ave Maria. Instead, let’s focus on his fantastic operas and art songs, not to mention his many masses and sacred choral works.

Please. Can we just forget the stupid Ave Maria.

Here is Gounod’s “Song of Spring”: