You might recognize this march as the theme music to Monty Python’s Flying Circus. It’s actual title is The Liberty Bell March, one of the most famous works of the march master John Philip Sousa. And it is the perfect way to celebrate the American Independence Day.

On the actual Liberty Bell are these words: Proclaim Liberty thro’ all the Land to all the Inhabitants thereof.

Maurice Ravel wrote “La Valse” as a commission by the famous ballet choreographer, Sergei Diaghilev (who also commissioned the Rite of Spring, and many other famous early 20th century pieces.) Diaghilev rejected the music, saying “It’s a masterpiece, but it’s not a ballet. It’s the portrait of a ballet.”

Indeed it is a masterpiece. There’s plenty of clichéd waltz material here, but it’s presented as a parody. It doesn’t play like the countless standard 18th century European waltzes. It’s more like a drunken dream about going to a posh party and getting swept up in the music and dancing. Imagine approaching a large European manor home. You can hear the distant music inside, you see the fancy dresses and carefree partygoers. You enter the home and are overwhelmed by the music and the rhythm. You dance and dance, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, sometimes with your lover, sometimes by yourself. Eventually the champagne kicks in, and everybody starts getting wild and out of control. The music, and the party, end abruptly and you are thrown out the front door. 9/10 would waltz again.

A piece of music, written about a piece of music? That’s sooooo meta …

To dovetail off of yesterday’s post, music has to be in the present in order to exist. Organized dots on a page are not music – it doesn’t become music until it exists either as imagined or real vibrating air molecules, heard by a human. The harsh reality of this is, sometimes great music can be sitting dormant in books (or even a person’s brain), waiting to be heard by others. Take, for example, Edward Elgar‘s Cello Concerto.

The concerto received one of the famously worst premieres in music history – all thanks to an inconsiderate conductor who didn’t allow for enough time to rehearse the piece. When it was first performed in 1919, the orchestra did so poorly that the piece instantly fell into obscurity. It wasn’t until 1960 – 25 years after Elgar’s death – that the piece exploded in popularity due to a particularly stunning performance by Jacqueline du Pré (about whom a film was recently made.)

A twist of circumstances, a poor decision by a person in control, and history can be changed. It might not be fair, but it’s life.