Today’s piece isn’t necessarily scary, but it is dark, deep, and heavy. I don’t associate it with Halloween, but I do remember an old Halloween cartoon in which a crazy old man played it on the piano in his haunted house.

There’s a tradition in keyboard composition to write a set of pieces in all 24 keys – that is, all 12 pitches of the chromatic scale (A, A#, B, C, C#, etc), in both major and minor tonalities. The idea to write this sort of musical collection can be traced to composer Vincenzo Galilei (who, incidentally, was the father of Galileo … lest you think musicians are dumb performing monkeys.) However, the first successful set of compositions in all 24 keys is without a doubt Johann Sebastian Bach‘s Well Tempered Clavier. The Well Tempered Clavier has since become one of those magical works which is all things to all people. It is used as a teaching tool for children and adults, pianists, composers, and more; and yet, you’ll hear selections from it on many piano concerts, and regularly see performances of all 24 pieces (memorized, usually.) Since its completion, all the great pianists have played it, and most composers refer to it as one of their inspirations.

Sergei Rachmaninoff would have known this work, as well as Chopin‘s and probably Scriabin‘s sets of 24 preludes. Being one of the greatest composers for piano in the early twentieth century, it would be wrong if he didn’t contribute his own exceedingly difficult set of pieces in every key. This Prelude in C# minor is practically a right of passage for young pianists, since it calls for a number of skills that are necessary as they graduate to more advanced literature. There are large chords, big jumps, and the middle section requires finger dexterity. And it has the added benefit of being not too hard, but sounding hard – making it good for impressing friends at parties.

This video contains a performance by Rachmaninoff himself!

Nothing is quite as inspiring as a dirty piece of poetry.

Well, that’s how it all began. Stéphane Mallarmé wrote a sexy poem called “The Afternoon of a Faun“, in which a faun dreamily describes some intimate experiences he had with some nymphs that morning. The poem is highly effective at creating an erotic mood, and is considered one of the finest ever written in French. Enter Claude Debussy, who found the poem and set it to music as a “tone poem“. To be clear, he did not set the text of Mallarme’s poem to be sung by a singer or choir; instead, instruments alone were used to paint the evocative mood with erotic, chromatic melody and lush harmony that was truly groundbreaking when it was written. Mallarme at first was worried that the natural “music” of the poetry would be destroyed by a composer’s music. Debussy invited him to premiere; Mallarme’s fears were assuaged, and he wrote the composer a nice letter praising the piece. Later, one of the most influential ballet dancers of the 20th century, Vaslav Nijinsky, would create a ballet using the music.

This goes to show that when powerful minds are at work, even a lazy afternoon can change the world.

So there’s this thing called basso continuo.

If you’ve ever seen a “lead sheet“, then you’re already halfway to understanding basso continuo (or BC.) A modern lead sheet displays the melody (and words) of a song, with the chords listed above the melody. The bass, guitar, and keyboard instruments play the printed chords while a voice or melodic instrument plays the melody. Rewind 250 years. Nearly every composition that wasn’t a solo keyboard work had a basso continuo part. They all read the same piece of a music – a bassline with a series of numbers which indicted the chords to be played. This part was played by the bass instruments (cello, double bass, bassoon) as well as the instruments capable of playing chords: the harpsichord, organ, lute, and … the Theorbo!

The Theorbo is a guitar on steroids. Put away your six-string – this badboy has 14-19 strings (and unlike the 12-string guitar, each of the 14 strings is tuned to a completely different note – no doubling.) This selection from a dance suite by Robert de Visée (court lutist for Louis XIV) takes the theorbo out of its basso continuo role and lets you hear its dulcet tones in a solo performance.