… 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.

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.

The romantic era produced some of the corniest music ever. Sentimentality was just what one did in the 1800s. To celebrate this Arbor Day, here’s a little ditty by Henry Russell with words by George Pope Morris. It’s more about sentimental memories than the tree itself, and is quite possibly the corniest piece of music ever written.