The Fine Art of Listening

I know it sounds tacky, or clichéd, but, like a good book, music can transport you to worlds you never knew existed.

Read a good book, and you are right there in the action. When the characters cry, you weep with them; when they are overjoyed, you are elated too. And when the action is intense, you stay up all night reading until the conflict is resolved.

Listen to some Salsa, and you are in Havana, with a Mohito in your hand. Listen to a Gamelan ensemble, and you can practically smell the incense of a Buddhist temple. Listen to one of Brahms‘ Hungarian Dances, and all of a sudden you are an Eastern European peasant, with a killer ‘stache and an awesome hat, or maybe a ridiculously flowery dress.

Lace up those boots and get your Csárdás on!

At least, so says Rosina, the heroine from Rossini‘s opera, The Barber of Seville.

In Rosina’s well loved solo, she presents herself as coy and sweet, but wickedly clever. She sings “A thousand tricks I play until I have my way; be on your guard.” Then, working with her lover, she proceeds to make an idiot out of a cruel, elderly suitor. Don’t let the gorgeous bel canto singing fool you – and definitely don’t play games with this woman!

One of the challenges of being a composer is finding that sweet spot where good music lies. If your style is too conservative, audiences will be bored – they’ve heard this before. If you writing is too progressive, audiences will put off – they don’t understand it. There’s also an argument that there is a finite number of melodies that can be composed, and what does one do when they’re all used up?

Sometimes, the best stuff is the simplest stuff. The main theme to the second movement of Dvořák‘s New World Symphony is so simple that it might as well be a nursery rhyme or a preschool song. But it continues to stir the souls who hear it, over a century after it was composed. It’s a bit to the right of the sweet spot, but boy is it sweet.

Sweet.