François Couperin wrote approximately ten bazillion short pieces for harpsichord. Okay, not really; but he wrote enough that if you were to listen to them all in a row, it would take well over 10 hours.***

Most baroque composers gave their keyboard compositions boring titles that merely told you the tempo or what kind of dance they were: titles like “Suite” or “Minuet” or “Allegro.” Couperin gave many of his works names that evoke a scene, mood, or idea – a full 100+ years before programmatic music became all the rage. And to boot, he actually wrote the book on keyboard playing.

One of his short harpsichord pieces is titled “The Mysterious Barricade.” People have interpreted this title to mean a number of different things: the barricade between life and death; the barricade between past, present, and future; and the barricade that underwear provides.

***If you’re up for that Couperin marathon, start here, with book I, then continue through volume IV. And bring popcorn. A LOT of popcorn.

I remember seeing an Onion article titled “Finest Opera Singer Of Her Generation Unknown By Her Generation.” It’s both funny and sad because, like much of the Onion’s content, it’s fake but completely true.

There’s an up-and-coming opera composer named Missy Mazzoli, whose newest work, Breaking the Waves, will be premiered by the Opera Company of Philadelphia. It has my attention because I like her music and because Mazzoli is the same age as I am; it’s exciting to see works from my generation being performed by major companies. After two generations of a slowly widening divide between Art Music and its audiences, I am confident that things are starting to improve. Maybe the tables will turn and Mazzoli will be known by her (my) generation.

This chamber piece by Mazzoli, titled “Still Life with Avalanche” tells a touching story about the shock of losing someone unexpectedly:

“There’s a moment in this piece when you can hear that phone call, when the piece changes direction, when the shock of real life works its way into the music’s joyful and exuberant exterior. This is a piece about finding beauty in chaos, and vice versa. It is dedicated to the memory (the joyful, the exuberant and the shocking) of Andrew Rose.” – Missy Mazzoli

Say you’re cruising down the highway, and all of a sudden, music! The distance between the concrete blocks you’re driving on are all exactly the same – and the bump, bump, bump, bump of the car as it passes from block to block makes a sort of drum-beat. Or maybe you turn on your tractor, and the turning of the engine is so infectious that you just have to get our your guitar and jam along …

We’ve all had funny moments when life gives us an unexpected musical moment. There are even some theories that the whole idea of music started with repeated noises. When we were primitive cave-dwellers, hearing a foreign noise could be very distressing – could the origin of that noise be something that could kill us? But hearing it over and over again, in the same rhythm, or same pitches, relaxes our brains and tells us that no, that’s not a tiger prowling around our cave, that’s just the wind blowing the trees. A bit of a stretch yes, but that’s the really really short version.

One example of “unexpected music” that we’ve all probably had is the experience of riding in a train. So many moving parts, and such a constant speed, make train travel a mesmerizing rhythmic experience. Well, Arthur Honegger took that to the next level when he wrote “Pacific 231” – instead of sitting in a train and experiencing unexpected music, you can now sit in a hall and experience unexpected train travel. This piece needs no further description – you’ll know exactly what is going on as you listen – and what a great ending!