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.
Being involved in Art Music often is an experience that produces an oceanic feeling – a sense that we are connected to the past, present, and future, to people around the world, to the entire universe, perhaps. Music has to be experienced in order for it to be music and not just noise. It’s the old “if a tree falls in the woods and nobody is there to hear it” game. Whether the music is performed live, recorded, or in the imagination of a person’s brain, it is the human experience that makes it music and not merely vibrating air molecules (or imagined vibrating air molecules).
So every time you hear a piece by a dead composer, you’re still hearing the present, even if you sense a window to the past. And when you hear a new piece by a living composer, you might envision future audiences being moved by the same strains long after you’re gone. Still, you’re in the present, and the music is in the present.
It is part of the human experience to acknowledge that we are finite. Maybe music is one of the things we turn to because we want something to be infinite; we want a piece of our life experience to exist after we have departed from the world. And that’s when the oceanic feelings come sweeping into the heart.
This week I heard a brand new piece for organ and timpani by Kurt Knecht. The title – Toccata, Adagio, & Fugue – reminds us of a famous piece from the past by the same name by Johann Sebastian Bach. So even though I heard no Bach, in a sense, I still experienced Bach’s legacy. But despite the traditional title and forms, the piece has a harmonic and rhythmic edge – something fresh and exciting – that was emphasized by the untraditional instrumentation: organ and percussion. In the present, I was sitting by the composer himself, and next to one of Philadelphia’s most famous composers, as we heard music organized in a way never heard before (well, except in the composer’s head). In the future – who can really say? The musical ideas are recorded on paper and the piece has a chance at immortality. Even so, the notes on the paper are just dots – and the music itself must be somehow be in the present to become real.
What a thrill to be a part of a continuous, living, evolving, history of music!
Kurt is also a co-founder of MusicSpoke, a music publisher which is nothing short of revolutionary.
Blogging: some days the words flow from a never-ending stream of genius and awesomeness; other days, I end up blankly staring at my screen, watching the worst of YouTube, desperately looking for inspiration. (the same thing can happen when it comes to music composition, by the way!) When I’m stuck, the first thing I do is search for historical events that happened on the day of the post. So what happened on June 30? The Tunguska Event – and no, I had never heard of this until today’s web search.
Basically, the Tunguska Event was a meteor that struck the middle of Siberia in 1908 and caused a massive explosion that leveled 2,000 sq. km of forest (and caused no known human casualties***).
.. a big BOOM … in Russia … eureka! I’ve got it! I’m a genius!
Tchaikovsky‘s 1812 Overture is the most famous musical BOOM. It was written in 1882 to celebrate Russia’s victory over Napoleon in 1812. As far as the music is concerned, it’s not the most amazing piece ever written; I’d venture to say that it’s one of Tchaikovsky’s tackier contributions to the Art Music canon (pun intended). I’m not saying it’s bad, but compared to his 6th symphony or to his opera Eugene Onegin, the 1812 Overture is a hodge-podge collage of nationalistic sentimentality, including some ridiculously long, melodic sequences (like the one that starts at 0:52 and ends at 1:39 – yes, 45 seconds of descending tetrachords …), and, of course, cannons!
This is why I’m posting just the finale, not the whole piece. You can listen to the whole thing if you want, but trust me, it’ll just be a long wait until the cannons come out. Here’s what you’re hearing:
0:03 La Marseillaise, the French National anthem, representing Napoleon of course
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