Actually, that title is completely wrong. If you don’t have solid rhythm, you’ll never dance this waltz.

Nearly all music (seriously – I mean like 99% or more) is in one of a couple meters. We divide them into a few categories: duple vs. triple; simple vs. compound. Duple means there are 2 (or 4) beats per measure. Triple means there are 3 (I bet you guess that already, though.) Simple means you can divide each beat into 2 smaller beats (twinkle, twinkle, little star); compound means you can divide each beat into 3 smaller beats (row, row, row your boat). You can have simple or compound duple meter (2/4 or 6/8 – 2 beats per measure, and each beat can be divided into 2 or 3 smaller beats); you can have simple or compound triple meter (3/4 or 9/8 – 3 beats per measure, and each beat can be divided into 2 or 3 smaller beats).

Confused? Don’t worry. The important thing is that we are by no means limited to using only these meters, despite the fact that they dominate the music we hear. Write something in a different meter – say, 5/4, 7/4, 11/8 – and your piece will have either a rhythmic edge that excites people, or a disorganized pulse which only confuses people. Enter Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, arguably the smoothest crafter of melody to have ever walked the earth. This “Waltz” from his Sixth Symphony is in 5/4 time, but flows so smoothly that you wouldn’t know it’s in a quintuple meter unless you tried to dance to the music. It’s a standard form for a dance: trio – there’s an A section with a sweeping cello melody, followed by a B section marked by a timpani pulse, then a return to the A material.

Gustav Mahler was a composer of superlatives. Why have one hundred musicians on stage when you could have one thousand? His Fifth Symphony‘s famous slow movement, Adagietto (meaning “just a little slow”) has a tempo marking of Sehr Langsam (meaning “very slow”).

Teasing aside, the music is marvelous and it’s easy to hear why it is his most played piece. There’s a touching story that this was a love-song he composed for his new wife. Mahler wrote this poem for her, and attached it to this movement:

“How much I love you, my sun, I cannot say to you in words.
Only through my lamenting can I show my longing and love.”

Musically, it’s a very slow lyrical song, played by the warm sound of the strings playing very slowly; the harp provides a sense of rhythm and motion through its arpeggios. The sense of longing comes through as practically every phrase is ripe with instances where you expect a certain note at a certain time, but are denied that expectation for an extra beat or two.*** And at a slow tempo, the wait for the musical fulfillment can be painful – that kind of wonderful pain of wishing yourself in your lover’s arms.

*** need a specific example? Right at the beginning – you’ll hear the violin melody come in at 0:10. It plays sol – la – ti – do … a simple musical idea that most anybody will recognize and know (think the theme song of the Adams Family, just very very slow.) You expect to hear the final note “do” at 0:15 … but you are denied that pleasure until 0:18. It’s only 3 seconds, but practically every phrase in the piece uses this compositional trick. And there’s even a marvelous 7-8 suspension at 0:58.

On this day, in 1945, the first nuclear weapon, codenamed “Trinity“, was detonated in Alamogordo NM, as part of The Manhattan Project. The project’s leader, J. Robert Oppenheimer, lived a wild life as magical and worthy of any ancient Norse saga. It’s hard not to read about him without invoking an air of mysticism. For one, the codename “Trinity” came from a devotional poem by John Donne: “As West and East / In all flatt Maps—and I am one—are one, / So death doth touch the Resurrection.” and “Batter my heart, three person’d God.” More than that, Oppenheimer said the bomb test brought to mind words from the Hindu poem, Bhagavad Gita: “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”

American composer John Adams was commissioned to write an opera titled Doctor Atomic, in which Oppenheimer was to be portrayed as a modern-day Faust. The opera’s text was taken from declassified military and scientific documents, and sacred poetry. This politically edgy opera made quite a scene when it premiered in 2005, and was later performed at the Met (which is a HUGE deal for any contemporary opera.) Adams later adapted a “Dr. Atomic Symphony” for orchestral concert use. Musically, its style incorporates elements of neo-romanticism, film music, and post-minimalism (ok, I admit, I just made up that last word!)